"Jasha is dead, killed by Torgan."

"And Torgan escaped?"

Grinsa nodded. "That's right. He nearly managed to kill Q'Daer and me before he did."

"How is that possible? The man is Eandi. He's weak and a fool. And yet he nearly bested both of you."

The Forelander said nothing. At last the a'laq turned to Q'Daer.

"I… I told you, A'Laq. He had a scrap of cursed basket. From one of the villages we found that had been struck by the plague."

"Ah, yes," E'Menua said. He turned those bright yellow eyes on Besh and Sirj. "The plague."

Suddenly Besh understood. Grinsa was right: E'Menua had known all of this already. But he wanted to have it repeated aloud for all the rest of the Fal'Borna to hear, so that they would see Besh and Sirj as their enemies, despite whatever Grinsa had told them.

"E'Menua, son of E'Sedt," Grinsa said, "I present to you Besh and Sirj of the Mettai village Kirayde."

"We thank you for welcoming us to your sept, A'Laq," Besh said, knowing that he was taking a chance. "Three times now, your people have honored us so. You do so today. Q'Daer did so when he welcomed us into his company."

He pulled F'Ghara's necklace from his pocket. "And another a'laq, F'Ghara, who leads a sept east of here, gave us this stone as a token of his friendship and that of all your people."

E'Menua's eyes narrowed briefly. "F'Ghara gave you that?"

"Yes. After he learned that I had killed Lici, the woman who created the plague."

The a'laq regarded him for another moment. Then he turned to Grinsa again. "You were supposed to kill her."

"Yes, but Besh did. She's dead. That's what matters."

"You've made a mess of everything. And you've brought these Mettai to my sept in a time of war."

Grinsa gave no indication that the a'laq's rebuke troubled him. "I don't believe we've made a mess of anything," he said evenly. "But that's a matter you and I can discuss in private."

E'Menua glared at Grinsa, his jaw muscles bunched. After a moment he turned to Q'Daer.

"Find them a place to sleep," he said, his voice thick with anger. "Make certain they have food and wood." He cast a dark look Grinsa's way. "You, come with me."

E'Menua turned sharply and started back the way he had come.

Grinsa kissed Cresenne and smiled at her. "I'll be back soon." Then he looked at Besh.

"I'm sorry," the old Mettai said. "I've made matters worse for you."

The Forelander shook his head. "No, you haven't," he said, dropping his voice. "They were going to be difficult no matter what happened here. You said what you had to to save your life, and Sirj's. You did the right thing." He patted Besh's shoulder and turned to follow the a'laq.

"Come with me, Mettai," Q'Daer said. "We may have to build you a shelter. ',

Besh nodded, but still he stood there, watching Grinsa walk away, wondering what E'Menua intended to do to him.

Grinsa didn't want any part of this fight. Not now, so soon after returning to the sept. He'd been apart from Cresenne and Bryntelle for the better part of two turns, this after being apart from them for turn after turn while they were still in the Forelands. All he wanted was to hold them both, to kiss Cresenne and look into the beautiful pale eyes of his daughter. Instead he had already allowed himself to be drawn into E'Menua's foolish games. The a'laq wanted this confrontation. So be it.

Grinsa could tell how angry E'Menua was with him. He had heard it in the a'laq's voice and he could see it now in the way the a'laq stalked toward his z'kal. He had incurred the man's wrath on several occasions before leaving with Q'Daer and the merchants to search for Lici. Once, the a'laq had gone so far as to strike him. So he had some idea of what to expect when they reached E'Menua's z'kal.

E'Menua pulled back the flap of rilda skin that covered the entrance to his shelter and motioned Grinsa inside. Grinsa ducked into the z'kal and turned to face the entrance. As he had expected, as soon as the a'laq stepped into the shelter and straightened, he reared back and aimed a backhanded blow at Grinsa's face.

The last time this happened, Grinsa had anticipated the blow and allowed the man to hit him. He didn't allow it this time.

Grinsa reached up and grabbed the a'laq's wrist before E'Menua could strike him. The a'laq's eyes widened. He tried to wrench his arm out of Grinsa's grasp, but Grinsa held him firm. E'Menua was a powerful man, and in his youth he might have been able to defeat Grinsa in a battle of physical strength. But not anymore, not at his age, despite the old injury to Grinsa's shoulder that had left him slightly deformed. Grinsa sensed that E'Menua was gathering himself to use shaping magic against him, and he reached forth with his own magic to stop him, just as he had done to B'Vril.

"Let go of me!" the a'laq demanded, his voice low, menacing.

"No, not yet."

E'Menua threw a punch with the other fist, but Grinsa seized that arm, too. He felt the a'laq grappling for control of his other magics, and he blocked him. He had no doubt that the Fal'Borna were skilled warriors, but based upon his confrontation with B'Vril and now this encounter with the a'laq, he sensed that their command of Qirsi magic lacked precision. Or perhaps battling the renegade Weaver back in the Forelands had honed Grinsa's skills so well that few Qirsi anywhere could stand against him in a contest of magic. Whatever the reason, his mastery of the man's magic was even more complete than his physical advantage.

"I'll call for the others," E'Menua said. "D'Pera, Q'Daer, L'Norr. You can't defeat four Weavers."

Grinsa shook his head, though he kept his expression neutral. He didn't wish to humiliate the man. He only wanted to prove to him once and for all that he couldn't be controlled. "It's an empty threat," he said, "and we both know it. You don't want them to see you like this, and neither do I."

Still E'Menua fought him. He struggled to free himself from Grinsa's grasp. He fought for control of his magic. All to no avail.

"Damn you!" he finally said through clenched teeth. But an instant later he seemed to surrender. He stopped trying to pull his arms free, and he ceded all control of his magic to Grinsa.

Grinsa let go of the man's wrist and arm but held fast to E'Menua's magic. The a'laq continued to glare as he rubbed his wrist with the other hand. It was red where Grinsa had held him.

"You can release my magic, too."

"I don't trust you," Grinsa said. "If you'd care to throw down the blades you carry, I might consider it. Otherwise…" He shrugged.

E'Menua regarded him again, his eyes narrowing slightly and a faint smile touching his lips. "You'll be a Fal'Borna yet, Forelander." But he didn't pull out his weapons, and Grinsa didn't relinquish his hold on the man's magic.

The a'laq walked around the fire ring in the z'kal and sat. He gestured for Grinsa to do the same.

"What is it you want?" he asked as Grinsa lowered himself to the ground.

"You know what I want."

By Fal'Borna law, all Weavers were to be joined to other Weavers. E'Menua and his people didn't recognize Cresenne as Grinsa's wife; in the days immediately following their arrival in the sept, the Fal'Borna had referred to her again and again as Grinsa's concubine. The a'laq had demanded that Grinsa be joined to a Weaver, and of course Grinsa had refused.

"We had an arrangement," E'Menua said. "You were to find the Mettai witch who made the curse. You were to kill her and prove the innocence of those merchants. Instead, the merchants are gone and the woman was killed by the Mettai. You failed, and now you must live with the consequences of that failure. You're Fal'Borna. You're a member of this sept. That's what we agreed to. You'll marry a Fal'Borna Weaver, just as you said you would."