Still Grinsa hesitated. If B'Vril truly thought that Q'Daer had betrayed his people, would he still consider him Fal'Borna?

"The rest of you do the same," B'Vril called to his men. "Your spears and your blades."

The other warriors dropped their weapons on the ground beside their mounts.

Grinsa took a long breath and then, with great reluctance, eased his grip on B'Vril's magic. The man smiled with obvious relief and nodded.

"Thank you," he said. "Perhaps one day you'll show me how you did that." Grinsa had to grin. "Perhaps."

B'Vril dismounted, walked to Q'Daer, and held out his hands. Q'Daer gripped the man's wrists from below so that B'Vril could grip his wrists from above at the same time. It was a traditional Fal'Borna greeting, one that Grinsa had seen before. When B'Vril released Q'Daer and turned to him, offering his hands in the same way, Grinsa knew just what to do.

"I see you've learned some of our customs," he said.

Grinsa nodded. "Some, yes. There's still much I don't know."

B'Vril let go of his arms and turned to the Mettai. He didn't approach them, nor did he offer the customary greeting. But he looked both men in the eye.

"Your people are marching to war against us."

"Yes," Besh said. "I don't know why. I never thought I'd see the day when we involved ourselves in your battles with the Eandi."

"Your people are also responsible for the pestilence that's been destroying Fal'Borna villages. Is it such a leap to believe they'd bring war as well as plague to our plain?"

"The plague was brought here by one person," Sirj said hotly. "And Besh killed her. We've told you that already."

Besh placed a hand on Sirj's shoulder.

"Her name was Lici," the older man said. "She's the one Sirj is talking about. She came from our village, and we followed her. Eventually we captured her, and in the end I had no choice but to kill her. You're right, though. It was a Mettai curse that killed those people and razed their villages. It was also a Mettai spell that cured Grinsa and Q'Daer of Lici's plague. I created that spell, and I can use it tonight to make you and your men immune to the plague, so that if you encounter any more of Lici's cursed baskets you'll be safe. And later, you can use your healing magic to spread my spell through your entire sept. Your people need never fear that curse again."

Clearly, this was more than B'Vril had expected. He eyed Besh with obvious curiosity, but his mistrust seemed to have vanished, and a small grin played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, this has been a most extraordinary evening," he said at last. "I'll consider your offer, Mettai. Even before this war, I never thought that I'd allow a Mettai to use his magic on me, but I would be… relieved to know that I was immune to that plague."

"Let me know when you're ready," Besh said.

B'Vril nodded to him, gave Sirj a quick, uncertain look, and turned back to Q'Daer. "We should talk, Weaver to Weaver. I need to know…" He faltered, glancing once more at the Mettai. "I have questions for you."

"Of course," Q'Daer said. "When you arrived, we were about to build a fire and eat. We don't have enough food to feed you and your men, but you're welcome to sup with us."

"I'd like… I'd like to speak with you and the Forelander alone." Q'Daer looked at Besh and Sirj.

"Yes, all right," Besh said, his voice flat. "We'll make our own fire. I'm tired anyway. Too much riding."

Grinsa caught Besh's eye. "Where I can see you," he said.

The old man nodded, casting a wary eye toward the Fal'Borna warriors. "Yes, I understand."

He and Sirj walked off a short distance, taking with them the wood they had gathered. Grinsa and Q'Daer quickly built their own fire, and soon were sitting beside it, eating a bit of dried rilda meat and cheese, while B'Vril sat across from them, also eating rilda.

"You had questions?" Q'Daer asked after some time.

"Are you sure you can trust them?" B'Vril asked immediately, as if he'd been aching to say the words the whole time. "The Mettai, I mean."

Q'Daer smiled thinly. "I knew who you meant." He looked at Grinsa briefly. "For a long time I wasn't sure. And then I got their plague and I was certain that they had cursed me. But they saved me. The Forelander, too. That spell Besh offered to use on you… Let him. It'll protect you."

B'Vril nodded once, but he still looked uncertain. "So, these Mettai can be trusted. But the rest…"

"The rest have made themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna," Q'Daer said.

"That's right," B'Vril said. "And that's why I wanted to speak with you. We know so little about their magic. At first I thought that finding you was nothing more than chance, but I realize now that it's a gift from the gods." He leaned forward. "You've seen them conjure," he went on in a lower voice. "Now, tonight, I've seen it, too. But there's so much more I need to know."

"Yes, of course."

"Q'Daer," Grinsa said, frowning.

The young Weaver looked at him, as if daring Grinsa to say more.

And really, what could Grinsa say? A group of Mettai had joined the Eandi army that was marching toward Fal'Borna land. The Qirsi had every right to defend themselves and to speak of what they knew about blood magic.

Grinsa shook his head and stared into the fire. "Never mind," he said quietly.

"From what I've seen, there are three elements to Mettai conjurings," Q'Daer began. "Blood, which they get by cutting themselves on the back of their hands, as you saw the old man do; earth, which they can simply pick up; and the spell itself, which you heard the man speak to himself."

"Do they have to say it out loud?" B'Vril asked.

Q'Daer said nothing. Grinsa realized that both men were watching him, waiting for him to answer.

"I'm new to this land," he said, not bothering to look at them. "I don't know any more about their magic than you do."

"You talk with them," Q'Daer said. "I've seen you. I think you know a great deal about how they conjure."

Grinsa didn't answer.

"They're marching against us," the young Weaver went on, sounding angry. "And if you think that the Eandi army and their allies will spare you or your woman or your child because you're from the Forelands rather than the plain, you're a fool and worse. Your hair is white; your eyes are yellow. To them, you're the enemy regardless of where you were born."

Grinsa knew Q'Daer was right, though it made his chest ache just to admit as much to himself.

"Yes, they have to say it aloud," he finally told them. He felt as though he was betraying Besh and Sirj, and he wanted to rail at Q'Daer and B'Vril for drawing him into their war with the Eandi.

Instead he raised his eyes, meeting Q'Daer's gaze. "What else do you want to know?"

What do you think they're talking about?" Sirj asked, peering through the darkness at the other fire and the three Qirsi seated around it. Besh kept his gaze fixed on the fire and took another bite of hard cheese. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"They must be talking about us. That's why the Fal'Borna didn't want us there."

He was sure Sirj was right, but he said nothing. There was no sense in troubling him further.

For Besh, the Qirsi's conversation was the least of his concerns. His entire body hurt from riding that damned horse today. He'd told Grinsa that the Mettai were not horsemen, and he'd known that he was far too old to try to become one now. His back and legs were stiff, and he'd strained muscles he didn't even know he had.

Yet he could hardly argue with the Qirsi's decision to abandon the cart and make them ride. Q'Daer's people were under attack; had Besh been in his position, he would have been desperate to return to his sept. And having been away from his own family for far too long, the old man could imagine how keen Grinsa must have been to rejoin his wife and child.