"I don't understand," B'Vril said, looking first at Grinsa and then at the Forelander. "How can I already be immune?"

"The spell I created is as contagious as Lici's plague," Besh said. "When Grinsa used his magic against you he passed on the spell."

B'Vril eyed Besh doubtfully. "How will we know if it worked?"

Besh smiled weakly. "I hope we never will. I hope that the plague has run its course and all of Lici's baskets have been destroyed. But the only way we can be certain is if you're exposed to the plague."

Even in the firelight, Besh could see the man blanch.

"The spell worked when he used it on me," Grinsa said. "It'll work for you, too."

B'Vril looked back at the Forelander. "I can pass it to my men?"

"Q'Daer already did when he held their magic. You can pass it to others the same way. Any contact with your magic should make them immune, too." The Fal'Borna turned to Besh again. "Thank you."

Best shrugged. "It turns out I didn't do anything, but you're welcome. I'd ask that you remember our agreement."

"I will. You have my word."

B'Vril stood, thanked Besh again, and bade him and Sirj good night. He stepped past Grinsa, nodding to the Forelander as he did, and returned to his warriors.

Grinsa sat down beside Besh.

"You were ready to help him," the Forelander said. "You would have been justified in refusing, the way he spoke to you."

"No," Besh said, putting away his blade. "I wouldn't have been. How could I have justified allowing those men to die when I have the power to save them?"

"I don't know. But other-"

"Please, Grinsa," Besh said, cutting him off. "I know that you mean well. Sirj and I are grateful for your friendship and your protection. But I'm tired, and I'm sore, and I'm in no mood to talk. I want to sleep and tomorrow I want to ride as far as we can without it killing me."

Besh grimaced at what he heard in his own voice. This was no way to speak to a friend. But Grinsa merely smiled and placed a hand on Besh's shoulder.

"Sleep sounds like an excellent idea." He stood once again. "Dream well, my friend," he said, and walked away.

"He's a good man," Sirj said, and Besh thought he heard a gentle rebuke in the younger man's tone.

"I know." What else could Besh say?

They awoke the following morning with first light. B'Vril and his mer said quick farewells and rode off toward the rising sun and the war that was approaching from the east. A short time later, Besh and the others broke camp as well.

Besh's muscles had grown stiff overnight, and he could barely walk, much less climb onto his horse. He needed help from both Grinsa and Sirj; by the time he was sitting in his saddle, he was exhausted and humiliated.

The first step his mount took made him gasp with pain, and he nearly told the others to leave him there. Better to be found by another company of Fal'Borna warriors than to endure such misery. But as the morning wore on, his discomfort subsided a bit. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he wouldn't be sore again come morning, but he could feel his muscles loosening, and he decided that he could go on, at least for the moment.

The company rode farther during the course of this day than they had during any day since turning south toward E'Menua's sept. By nightfall, Besh was utterly exhausted and his muscles burned. He barely ate any supper and had no sooner lay down beside the fire than he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Morning seemed to come way too soon, and upon awaking again he could barely move. But once he was sitting his horse, he began to feel better. They rode even farther this second day than they had the one before.

So it went. Each day Besh's discomfort abated a bit more quickly. Each evening they stopped after having covered more distance than they had the previous day. They encountered no more Fal'Borna war parties, and they saw no sign of the Eandi army that was said to be on the march.

Besh could see Grinsa's spirits lifting with each league they covered. Even Q'Daer's mood seemed to be improving. He and Sirj, on the other hand, could not help but dread their arrival in the sept, and, ironically, by making himself a better rider, Besh was hastening that moment.

Sirj said little about his own fears, as was his way, but Besh could tell that he was growing increasingly anxious, even as his riding improved as well.

Several days after their encounter with B'Vril's company, as they were passing a series of low, grass-covered hills, Q'Daer suddenly glanced back at Grinsa and the two Mettai, a smile on his square face.

"We're close!" he said. "Another league and we'll be there."

Grinsa nodded, but otherwise none of them spoke. The Fal'Borna's grin faded, and after another moment he faced forward again, apparently disappointed by their response.

"What does he expect us to say?" Sirj muttered, turning just enough so that Besh could hear him.

"I don't think he was taunting us," Besh answered. "He must not think we have anything to fear from his a'laq."

"Or else he just doesn't care."

That seemed as likely an explanation as any. Besh said nothing.

Grinsa steered his horse over to theirs, a look of concern in his pale yellow eyes.

"You're afraid of what will happen when we reach the sept." He offered it as a statement.

Besh merely nodded.

"I am, too," Grinsa told them. "We didn't find Lici; we allowed Torgan to get away. In the strictest terms, I failed, and E'Menua would be within his rights to insist that I remain here forever and take a Fal'Borna Weaver as my wife.”

"That's hardly the same thing," Sirj said, his voice tight. "We're afraid we'll be killed."

Grinsa nodded, seemingly unaffected by what the younger man had said. Besh sometimes wondered if the Forelander ever lost his temper. Then he remembered watching him confront Torgan, hearing him threaten a Qirsi man in S'Vralna who had just used magic to shatter the bone in Besh's leg. Perhaps a man wielding as much power as Grinsa did couldn't afford to give in to rage. And thinking this, Besh had another thought as well: We're fortunate to have such a man as our friend.

"You're right, it's not the same thing," Grinsa said to Sirj. "My point is this: We both have cause to fear E'Menua. But we can help one another. I've sworn this to you before, and I swear it again today. I won't allow E'Menua to harm you, and if I have to I'll give my life to save yours. I owe you no less."

"We can give the same oath," Besh said. "But all three of us know that it's worth far less coming from Sirj and me."

Grinsa smiled. "I'm not as sure of that as you are. But I had something else in mind. As I said before, I've failed in nearly every task that E'Menua set before me. We did find you, however, and you not only killed Lici, you defeated her curse. If you and I make it clear to him that we're friends, and that the spell you used to defeat the plague grew out of our friendship, it might help both of us."

"You should tell the a'laq whatever you think you need to," Besh said. "The truth is, without your help I never would have come up with the spell, and you would have died. As far as I'm concerned you deserve as much credit as I for defeating the plague."

"It's not just defeating the curse, Besh," Grinsa told him. "You killed Lici. I know you don't like to talk about it, but the Fal'Borna will want to hear the story of her death. You'd be wise to tell it as often as you can."

Besh nodded, though he could feel his stomach tightening. To this day, he didn't like to think about killing Lici, much less talk about it. He'd had no choice in the matter. She had wounded him and was on the verge of killing him with a second plague that might have proved fatal to all Mettai. Still, he'd never killed before, and he hoped never to kill again.