David Coe: The Sorcerer's Plague

Sirj just stood there, until at last Besh gestured for him to get moving again.

"No," the younger man said. "This isn't about you being cold. You've treated me this way for years. And now I'm asking you what I've done to deserve it."

Besh passed a hand over his brow. His stomach growled, and he wished he'd eaten something when he had the chance. "Elica asked me the same thing the day before we left. Truth is, you never did anything wrong."

"And yet you've been punishing me for all this time."

"Yes, well, when Annze finds herself a husband, you'll understand." That of all things brought a smile to Sirj's lips.

"Now, go on," Besh said, waving him on again. "I'm not getting any warmer standing here talking about this nonsense."

Sirj eyed him a moment longer, still smiling. Then he nodded and started walking once more.

Besh soon realized that one of the reasons he had treated Sirj so poorly since leaving Kirayde was that he'd dreaded having to make conversation with the man. But even now, after they'd reached something of an understanding, Sirj seemed content to walk in silence. Perhaps they were more alike than Besh had been willing to admit. Hadn't Elica tried to tell him this as well?

Late in the morning, they came within sight of the Silverwater. Besh had made them follow a southerly course, thinking to start their search for Lici in the area around N'Kiel's Span and whatever was left of the old woman's childhood home. Now, though, Besh began to question his original plan. People were dying in the villages north of here. If they wanted to stop Lici from doing any further damage, that was where they needed to go.

Better then to turn north before crossing the wash. Otherwise they'd be covering much of the distance in Fal'Borna land.

"Wait," Besh said.

Sirj stopped and looked back at him.

"We should turn north, toward the Companion Lakes."

"I thought we were going to the span."

"That's what I'd intended, but I think I was wrong. She's been heading north, spreading the illness in Y'Qatt villages around the lakes. That's where we should be."

"But…" He shook his head. "Never mind." He started walking again, northward this time.

A few hours before, Besh would have left it at that, not really caring to hear the man's opinions, or at least having convinced himself that he didn't. But after their conversation, he felt that he owed Sirj more. "What were you going to say?" he called.

Sirj didn't stop. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

Still the man kept walking.

"Please," Besh said. "I want to know."

Sirj halted and turned. He regarded Besh for some time, seeming to wrestle with something. Finally, he looked away, toward the river. "I was just going to say that we're here now. It can't be more than a half day's walk to the banks of the wash. As long as we've come this way, we should do what we planned." He met Besh's gaze again. "Don't you want to see where she lived? Isn't it possible that you'd learn as much from seeing her home as you have from reading that daybook you carry with you?"

"You're right," Besh said after a moment's pause.

Sirj appeared genuinely surprised.

"Well, you are."

"I know," the man said. "I just didn't think you'd admit it." Besh had to laugh.

With the wash in view, and Lici's home village less than a day away, Besh found his weariness sluicing away, and with it his discomfort. He didn't expect to find much in the village. For all he knew, Sentaya had never been resettled and its buildings had been left to decay. But having read Sy1pa's journal, he almost felt that he had heard Lici's tale with his own ears. He did want to see it.

It seemed that Sirj did, too. Or maybe he sensed Besh's eagerness, for he quickened their pace. Before long they could hear the wash and see that its waters were running high with all the rain that had fallen. Soon, they could also see the bridge curving gracefully over the current.

"N'Kiel's Span," Besh said, pointing.

Sirj glanced back at him and nodded, smiling like a child. "I've always wanted to see it."

They reached the banks of the wash well before dusk and immediately turned north toward the span, halting just before it. For some time they just stood, staring at the ancient stone, watching the water course by beneath it.

"I thought it would be bigger," Sirj said eventually. "I suppose I should have known better, but still…" He shrugged.

"I thought the same," Besh told him. "So many battles were fought here, and yet it's just a small bridge."

Before Sirj could respond, a horse whinnied. Both of them spun toward the woodlands north of the bridge along the east bank of the wash. "Did you hear that?" Besh asked.

Sirj nodded. "Is there a village near here?"

"Sentaya used to be. But from what Lici told Sylpa, I didn't think anyone survived the pestilence when it struck."

"That was a long time ago. Others may have settled here."

"Perhaps," Besh said. But a moment later, he drew his blade.

Sirj did the same, and they started toward the trees. A path led from the end of the span to the forest, and they followed that. The mud was marked by some cart tracks and hoofprints, but certainly not as many as one would expect had there been a village nearby.

As he walked, Besh strained his ears, but he heard nothing more; no voices, no animals. His heart was pounding and despite the cold and the fine, cool mist falling on them, he felt sweat running down his temples.

"It's probably just peddlers," Sirj said. But the way he kept his voice low, one might have thought they were creeping toward the camp of road brigands. And perhaps they were.

Besh said nothing.

A moment later, their path entered the wood. It was far darker among the trees, but Besh could still make out the lane and the cart tracks carved into the mud. Indeed, here, sheltered from the rain by the leaves and limbs overhead, the tracks were far clearer. There were three sets at most, two leading farther into the forest, one leading the opposite way.

"There's no village here," Besh said. "Not a living one anyway."

Sirj just nodded, his dark eyes watchful, his lean frame coiled as if battle ready.

On they walked, until, topping a small rise, they saw something that made Besh's blood turn cold. A short distance off, in front of the ruins of an old wooden house, stood a horse and cart. There was nothing remarkable about either. The cart was old and weatherworn; the nag was white, with a mane the color of a Qirsi's eyes. But Besh recognized them immediately. So did Sirj.

"Those are Lici's," he whispered, scanning the wood and the remains of the houses.

"Yes," Besh said, uncertain as to whether to flee or shout out her name. In the end, he decided to do neither. "Come on," he said, starting forward again. "Let's find her."

"Wait, Besh," Sirj said, facing him. "What are we…? Are we going to fight her?"

He shrugged. "That depends on what she does. We might well need her help controlling whatever magic she's set loose upon the land, so I'd rather not have to kill her. But if she gives us no choice, then that's what I'll do."

Sirj stared at him, as if he'd just suggested that they declare war on the Fal'Borna. "You could do that?"

"I gave my word to Pyav-a blood oath-that I'd find her and keep her from doing any more harm. I'll do whatever I must to honor that oath."

"All right," Sirj said, sounding a bit awed. "Then I'll help in any way I can. But I wish I'd brought my ax."

Besh grinned. "I think we're more likely to need magic."

They continued up the lane, past wrecked houses and small, fenced- in plots of land that might once have been gardens but were now overgrown. Eventually they came to what must have been the marketplace. There were several old shops, all of them in disrepair. There were even a few old carts and the pale bones of horses. But no Lici. They followed the lane past the marketplace and through the rest of the village, until they were in the forest again.