For Besh and Sirj, however, this race southward couldn't have been more perilous. In the best of times, the old man would have felt vulnerable traveling across the plain. The Fal'Borna had a reputation as a hard and dangerous people. The necklace F'Ghara had given them seemed like scant protection. But now, with war coming, and with Mettai marching alongside the men of Stelpana, Besh feared that he and Sirj were riding to their doom.

Worse, he knew now that they had no choice. He'd been ready to leave Grinsa and Q'Daer, to ride back to Mettai lands and put the clans and their Eandi enemies behind them. He knew that Sirj wanted to. But Grinsa had argued that the danger to them was too great, and this evening's encounter with the Fal'Borna war party had convinced Besh that he was right. He'd had little experience with Qirsi magic, but he knew enough to understand that only Grinsa's and Q'Daer's intervention had kept B'Vril and his men from killing them. If Sirj and he had come upon the warriors on their own, they'd be dead already.

They were helpless. There was nothing they could do but follow Grinsa and Q'Daer back to the sept and hope that the Forelander would manage to keep them alive.

"I feel like a child."

"What?" Sirj said.

Besh looked at him, surprised by the question. It took him a moment to realize that he had spoken aloud. "Nothing."

"What if this new Fal'Borna is trying to turn them against us?" Sirj asked, still watching the Qirsi.

"Grinsa trusts us more than he does the Fal'Borna. Even if that's the Fal'Borna's intent, he won't betray us."

"But the other one-"

"Stop it, Sirj! We have enough to worry about without you imagining things!"

Sirj stared at him for a moment, then looked away. Besh shook his head, cursing his temper. He and Sirj had come a long way since leaving their home village of Kirayde. Eight years before, Sirj had married Besh's daughter, Elica. At the time, and in the years since, Besh had assumed that Sirj wasn't worthy of being her husband. He mistook Sirj's reticence for simplemindedness, and he would have preferred that Elica choose a more prosperous man; a wheelwright, perhaps, or a farrier, rather than a trapper. But since being forced to journey with him, Besh had come to realize that Sirj's reserved nature masked a keen mind and a courageous heart. The man didn't deserve to be spoken to in that way.

"I'm sorry, Sirj," he said after a long silence. "I really don't think that Grinsa or Q'Daer will break faith with us. I can't think that way, because I'm convinced that they're our only hope of surviving this war."

Sirj nodded, his gaze still lowered. "I know. That's why I want to know what they're saying."

Of course. Sirj wasn't being foolish. He was already a step ahead of Besh. "We can talk to Grinsa and Q'Daer later, after the other Fal'Borna are gone." As Besh said this, he glanced toward the Fal'Borna warriors, who had made their own fire. None of them had so much as looked toward the Mettai since he and Sirj had moved away from Grinsa and the others, but Besh continued to keep an eye on them. Grinsa had seemed concerned that the men might try to hurt them. Besh thought it possible, too.

"Do you think that this Weaver will let you use the spell on him?" Sirj asked.

"He'd be an idiot not to."

Sirj grinned. "I don't think that answers my question."

Besh laughed. Even as he did, though, he saw the Fal'Borna Weaver rise from his seat beside the other fire and start walking in their direction.

"Here comes your answer," he said.

Sirj looked up, instantly growing serious. Grinsa had stood as well, and was following the man. Clearly the Forelander had taken it upon himself to keep Besh and Sirj safe. And though Besh usually had confidence in his own ability to watch out for himself, under the circumstances, he was grateful.

B'Vril stopped a short distance from their fire and cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you," he said.

Besh waved him on. "Of course. Please join us."

The Fal'Borna stepped into the firelight, and after a brief hesitation, sat down on the ground. Grinsa had halted just beyond the reach of the fire's glow, and he remained in the shadows, content, it seemed, to watch and listen. "I want to learn more about this spell you've offered to put on me."

"Not just on you," Besh said. "You need to understand that. This is a spell that you can pass on to any Fal'Borna, simply by using your magic on them."

"I'm a Weaver," the man said. "I can wield the magic of all my warriors as a weapon. Would that pass your spell to them?"

Besh looked up at Grinsa, who nodded.

"Yes, it would," Besh said, facing the Fal'Borna once more.

B'Vril exhaled. "I see."

"You fear that I intend to harm you and your men, that I'll place this spell on you and you'll be unable to stop it from spreading."

"The thought had occurred to me."

Besh nodded. "I understand. I expect that the Forelander has tried to put your doubts to rest and has failed. So I won't even make the attempt. If he can't convince you, I certainly can't."

"This plague that's been spreading through our lands has us scared."

"Yes," Besh said. "It should. But Lici didn't intend the plague for your people. She took it to the Y'Qatt."

The man frowned. "The Y'Qatt?" Clearly he didn't believe this, and Besh understood why. The Y'Qatt were aescetics, Qirsi who eschewed all use of magic because they believed that Qirsar, the god of the Qirsi, had never intended their powers to be used.

"I know. It made no sense to us, either. But years ago, when she was just a girl, the pestilence struck her village. She crossed N'Kiel's Span in search of help, hoping to find Qirsi who could heal her family and friends. Instead she found the Y'Qatt."

"Blood and bone," B'Vril muttered.

"Everyone in her village died, and Lici blamed the Y'Qatt." Besh leaned forward, making the man look him in the eye. "You believe the Mettai are your enemy. I understand that. This plague, this war; these are tragedies. But Lici didn't want to hurt you. She lost what remained of her sanity when she learned that her cursed baskets were headed out onto the plain. And the rest of us…" He shook his head. "You think that Sirj and I might be different from other Mettai and that therefore you can trust us. But you have it backwards. It's the Mettai who march against you who are different. I don't know why they're doing this, but I promise you that most of my people would want no part of your war.”

B'Vril didn't respond other than to nod. He didn't look at Besh. "You don't believe me," the old Mettai said, feeling weary.

"It doesn't matter if I believe you. Even if all you're telling me is true, it can't change the fact that these Mettai have allied themselves with the Eandi. They've made all of your people enemies of all of mine. That's simply the way of things."

Only to the Fal'Borna, Besh wanted to say. But he kept this thought to himself.

"But I can see why Q'Daer and Grinsa trust you," the man went on after a moment's pause. "And I'd be grateful to you if you would use your magic to make me immune to the plague."

"All right," Besh said. "In return, I'd ask that you tell other Fal'Borna what I've told you. You don't have to believe it, and you don't have to try to convince them of anything. I ask only that you repeat what I've told you and let others judge for themselves."

He didn't answer at first, and Besh started to wonder if the Fal'Borna would refuse him. But then B'Vril nodded again. "All right."

Besh smiled. "Thank you."

He pulled out his knife. But before Besh could cut himself Grinsa stepped forward into the firelight.

"You don't have to do that, Besh."

"What do you mean?" the Mettai asked.

"I used my magic on him," Grinsa said. "Or rather, I stopped him from using his magic on me. He's already immune."