But he knew that Grinsa was right. The Fal'Borna wouldn't care about his misgivings, and might well take them as an affront. Lici's death was more likely to save his life and Sirj's than anything else they had done since leaving Kirayde.

"I don't know if E'Menua will arrange to have a shelter built for you," Grinsa went on a moment later. "If he doesn't, Cresenne and I will make room for you in ours."

Besh laughed and shook his head. "No, Grinsa. You haven't seen your wife in a long time. If need be, Sirj and I will sleep beside a fire. But I have no desire to share your shelter tonight."

Grinsa's face turned crimson, drawing a snort of laughter from Sirj. Q'Daer glanced back at them, scowled, and faced forward again.

"He's speechless," Sirj said.

The Forelander smiled, then laughed. "I am."

They rode on, saying nothing. Occasionally Grinsa chuckled to himself and shook his head again. Soon, they topped a small rise and looked down upon the sept. It sat in a shallow basin and looked to be little more than a loose array of small triangular structures. Thin ribbons of blue-grey smoke rose from the top of several of them, as well as from perhaps a dozen fires burning outside. A narrow stream wound past the settlement and more than two hundred horses grazed in a large paddock just to the west of the structures.

As they drew nearer, Besh saw that the structures were made of skins and wood. Nothing more.

"They live like this through the Snows?" he asked.

"The z'kals are sturdier than they look," Grinsa said. "And with a fire burning within, they're quite comfortable. At least they were the few nights I spent here."

"The Fal'Borna are a hardy people."

"Yes, they are."

Grinsa sounded distracted. Looking his way, Besh saw him scanning the sept, no doubt searching for his wife.

Several children played near the paddock and now they spotted the riders. For an instant they stared. Then, with shouts of excitement, they sprinted back toward the settlement.

Men and women began to emerge from the shelters, all of them looking northward toward Besh and the rest of the company.

Abruptly, Grinsa spurred his mount to a gallop, thundering past Q'Daer and toward the heart of the settlement. Looking once more at the sept, Besh spotted the man's wife. She was taller and leaner than the Fal'Borna and her skin was bone white, not at all like the golden color of the clanspeople. She held a child in her arms and, like the others, she gazed in their direction.

Seeing Grinsa, she began to run toward him. They met at the edge of the settlement. Grinsa dismounted in one swift, fluid motion, covered the remaining distance in two great strides, and gathered her in his arms, kissing her deeply. She clung to him with one arm, and still clutched their baby in the other.

After a moment, Besh looked away, feeling that he was intruding on their privacy, even from this distance. Glancing back at Sirj, who sat behind him, he saw that the younger man was still watching them, a tear in his eye.

Besh wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be long before they returned to Kirayde and Sirj was reunited with Elica and their children, Mihas, Annze, and Cam. But it would have been an empty promise. They were a long way from Mettai land, and war was coming to the plain.

"I miss them, too," he said quietly. "Not as much as you do, but very much, just the same."

The younger man merely nodded.

By the time they reached Grinsa and his wife, others from the sept had joined them. There were several women and children, and one young man who looked a great deal like Q'Daer, to whom Grinsa spoke. Q'Daer had already joined the cluster of people, and had warmly embraced the young man who resembled him. Besh wondered if they might be brothers.

The Forelander was holding his child now, and he still held his wife's hand. Besh had never seen him look happier. He looked up as they drew near, and beckoned them over.

"This is Besh," he said to the woman, indicating the old man with an open hand. "And this is Sirj." He regarded the other Fal'Borna standing around them. "These are the Mettai who killed the woman and defeated her curse," he told them, raising his voice. "They're the reason Q'Daer and I are alive They're also the reason all of you are now immune to the plague that spread across the plain."

The others there looked up at them, their expressions guarded despite Grinsa's reassurances. But the woman stepped forward, stopping beside the mount and favoring them with a dazzling smile.

"Thank you for my husband's life," she said, her voice clear and stron_g, "My name is Cresenne ja Terba, and for as long as I live I'll be indebted to you both."

Besh had always considered the Qirsi a strange-looking people. The Fal'Borna were odd enough, with their white hair and yellow eyes. But their skin at least had a golden hue to it that made them look a bit less odd. Other clans-and apparently Qirsi from the Forelands-had skin so white that it looked almost transparent. Even Grinsa, with whom he had spent more time than any other person of the sorcerer race, still struck him as alien in appearance. But even with her pale complexion and ghostly eyes, this wom before him was as beautiful as anyone he had ever met. Her face was oval, with features delicate and perfect. There seemed to be long white scars on the cheek and along her jawline, but they were faint and didn't detract from her beauty. Her hair, which hung loose to the middle of her back, looked so fine and soft that Besh actually had to keep himself from reaching out to touch it.

"You honor us, my friend," he said, gazing back into those pale eyes. They were the color of sand or of dried plain grass.

The woman grinned. "Well, good. That was my intention."

Besh and Sirj climbed off their horse, but stayed near it, as if the beast might protect them if the crowd of Fal'Borna turned on them.

There had been a great deal of noise coming from all the people clustered around the company, but now a hush fell over them. Cresenne turned, as did Grinsa and Q'Daer.

A man and a woman were approaching from the middle of the settlement. The woman had a piercing gaze and a handsome square face. There were lines around her mouth and eyes, but otherwise she didn't appear to be particularly old. It was the man, however, to whom Besh's eyes were drawn. He was nearly a full head shorter than Grinsa, even a bit shorter than Q'Daer. But he was broad in the chest and shoulders, so that he looked bigger and more formidable than the young Weaver. With his large round yellow eyes and narrow, tapered face he resembled a cat, predatory and keenly intelligent. Like most Fal'Borna warriors he wore his white hair tied back. A whine stone, much like the one F'Ghara had given to Besh and Sirj, hung at his throat.

"The a'laq," Sirj whispered.

Besh nodded. E'Menua, Grinsa had called him. Besh noticed that Cresenne had retreated to Grinsa's side, and he sensed that she feared this man. Given the silence that now hung over the sept, it seemed that all of these people did. Even Q'Daer was eyeing the a'laq uneasily, and Besh hadn't known the young Fal'Borna to fear anyone.

Only Grinsa didn't seem cowed by the man. He stood straight, marking the a'laq's approach, his arm around Cresenne's shoulders.

The a'laq stopped a short distance from the Forelander, and for a moment they eyed each other in silence. Then the a'laq looked around, his gaze barely lingering on Besh and Sirj.

"Where are the merchants?" he finally asked, his eyes coming to rest on Grinsa. He had a rough voice, the sound of stone grating on stone.

"I think you know," the Forelander said. "Q'Daer would have told you already. He spoke to you in a dream several days ago."

The look that flashed in E'Menua's eyes could have kindled wet wood. "I'm asking you," he said.