David Coe - The Sorcerer's Plague

"I wouldn't have thought you wanted anything to do with me," he said, pulling abreast of Q'Daer.

The young man shrugged. "We both lost our tempers," he said. "Live with the Fal'Borna for a while and you'll realize that this isn't so uncommon." A smile crossed his lips and was gone; he still refused to look the gleaner in the eye.

"Well, I apologize for hitting you. I'm not sure why I did it. It wasn't at all like me."

"Perhaps you're more like the rest of us than you care to admit." Grinsa nodded and gave a small laugh. "That may be," he said. "But still, I am sorry."

The man nodded in turn, glancing at him for just an instant. "Apology accepted."

It all seemed quite pleasant, far more so than Grinsa would have thought possible. And yet something in Q'Daer's bearing gave him pause. He didn't know the Weaver well, but he had always been a good judge of people, and he could tell when someone was hiding something.

So he smiled and nodded, and acted as though their conflict had been settled. But he kept a firm hold on his magic, and he was conscious suddenly of the dagger that he wore on his belt. He had taken the measure of the man's power, and he thought that he could prevail in a battle of sorcery, if it came to that. But he wasn't going to take any chances, not with so much at stake.

There was an old saying in the Forelands. Always keep your enemies at arm's length. Closer, and their blade might find your heart. Farther away, and your blade might never find theirs.

They stopped and made camp by a small stream that curved through the grasses and rich dark soil of the plain. Clouds still hung low over the land and daylight gave way to night in ever-darkening shades of grey. They found enough wood among the trees growing by the rill to build a warming fire, and they ate a small meal of smoked meat and bread.

The dark-eyes said little. The younger merchant watched Grinsa and Q'Daer keenly, as a grouse might eye a circling falcon, but Torgan had retreated into himself. He merely stared at the fire and ate what was offered to him in sullen silence.

Since apologizing for their earlier encounter the Forelander hadn't said much either; Q'Daer thought it possible that Grinsa considered the matter settled, which suited his purposes quite well. But they would have to speak some time if Q'Daer were to begin to gain the man's trust. He had also decided hours before that he couldn't allow the Eandi and the Forelander to become too friendly. It would have been quite natural for them to begin working together; Q'Daer didn't want that.

"Tell me, Grinsa," he said now, with a glance at the merchants. "Are the dark-eyes of your land similar to these two?"

The Forelander had just taken a bite of meat, and he paused briefly in his chewing, his pale eyes flicking first to the Eandi and then to Q'Daer. After a moment he finished chewing and swallowed.

"They're like some men I knew in the Forelands," he said evenly. "They're different from others."

"That surprises me. I'd heard that you had friends among the Eandi of the north, that you fought alongside their kings and nobles. Yet these two fight among themselves. At every turn they show themselves to be cowards and liars. They may have killed thousands. And you want me to believe that they're just like your friends in the Forelands."

Grinsa shook his head. "That's not what I said. You can find honorable men in any land, regardless of the color of their eyes." He gestured vaguely at the merchants. "I don't know these men very well, but I sense that they're not too different from some of the people I knew in the Forelands. Just as you're not."

Q'Daer's eyes widened slightly. "Me?"

A smile touched the man's face. "Yes. You remind me of several Qirsi I knew in the North."

"Friends of yours?"

Grinsa shrugged. "Some. As I say, there are all sorts of men, of all races."

Torgan continued to ignore them, the firelight reflected in his one eye. But the younger merchant had been listening, and now he said, "Sounds like you're no better in his view than we are, Q'Daer."

"Shut your mouth, dark-eye," Q'Daer said.

The Eandi shrugged, then took another bite of meat.

"Is that what you meant?" the Fal'Borna asked Grinsa.

The Forelander cast a hard look at the merchant, but then turned to face Q'Daer, his expression easing. "I meant nothing beyond what I said. You seem to think that people here-Eandi and Qirsi alike-are quite different from the men and women I knew in the Forelands, and I'm just telling you that the differences aren't that great."

Q'Daer nodded, though he wasn't quite satisfied with the man's answer.

"It's been a long day," Grinsa said, standing and retrieving his sleeping roll. "I'm going to get some sleep. I'd suggest the rest of you do the same."

Q'Daer watched Grinsa and the merchants arrange themselves on the ground around the fire before reluctantly doing the same. He wanted to stay awake, to keep talking so that they couldn't sleep either, but he knew he was being foolish, like a petulant child. Somehow the Forelander had managed to make himself the leader of their little group. Somehow the young merchant had managed to twist their conversation. None of this was going the way it was supposed to. He would have to be more careful in the days to come.

Q'Daer stared up into the darkness and listened to the fire settling beside him. After some time he began to grow calmer, his thoughts clearing like the sky after a passing storm. He still considered Grinsa a threat to all that he wanted, but with E'Menua's help he had glimpsed a way past the danger.

Before leaving the sept, while Grinsa said farewell to his woman and child, Q'Daer had spoken with the a'laq. D'Pera had been there when he entered E'Menua's z'kal, but the a'laq sent her away. Q'Daer had only seen him do this a few times before; the last time had been following the storm in which Q'Daer's men perished.

"You dislike the Forelander," E'Menua had said, once they were alone.

He saw no point in denying it. His cheek still throbbed where Grinsa had struck him. No doubt E'Menua could see the bruise, and even if he couldn't, others had seen what happened. There were few secrets in a Fal'Borna sept.

"Yes, A'Laq. I dislike him."

"Why?" Immediately, E'Menua shook his head and held up a hand to silence him. "It's all right. I know why. In your position I might hate him, too."

"My feelings aren't important, A'Laq. He's a Weaver, and his presence here strengthens your sept. He and I will find this Mettai witch and stop her."

The a'laq nodded once and smiled. "You are truly Fal'Borna, my friend. I wish your father had lived long enough to see the man you've become."

"Thank you, A'Laq."

E'Menua motioned for him to sit.

"I know how difficult a time you've had since the storm," the a'laq said, when Q'Daer was settled on the other side of the fire. "I know that you fear you've fallen out of my favor."

Q'Daer lowered his gaze. "L'Norr is my friend, and a good man, A'Laq. I believe either one of us would be a worthy husband for U'Vara."

"I agree with you. But I think you're stronger than he is. I have sons, so I don't expect that either of you will ever rule this Sept. But I want a strong husband for my daughter."

"Yes, A'Laq."

"I also want the Forelander to stay here."

Q'Daer's mouth twitched. "Yes, A'Laq."

"You have every reason to want him to leave, I know. And that means that you have every reason to want him to succeed in this endeavor with the dark-eye merchants. He and I have struck a bargain. If he succeeds, I'll allow him to leave. If he fails, he stays and agrees to be properly joined to a Weaver."

It was just as Q'Daer had feared. Despite the a'laq's kind words of a moment before, he felt his hopes of being joined to U'Vara slipping away.