It had been two days since the armies of Stelpana forded the wash, and they had yet to see even a single Fal'Borna rider, much less a white-hair army. Enly, who rode at the head of the force with Tirnya, Stri, Cries, and the two marshals, had expected that he would be in no rush for their first battle. He still doubted the wisdom of starting this war, and he feared their first encounter with Qirsi magic.

But to his surprise, he felt himself growing impatient with every hour that passed. This wasn't battle lust, or some sudden change of heart. On the contrary, he realized that one way or another he just wanted to get that first fight over with. If war was coming, then let it come; Enly had waited long enough.

So on the third morning, when two of the scouts regularly sent out by Jenoe returned so soon after they'd been dispatched, Enly knew a moment of relief, even as he felt his pulse quicken. The marshal had assigned scouts to ride ahead of the army, behind it, and on either flank. These two men had been sent forward.

Upon seeing them riding back toward the army, Jenoe called a halt. Tirnya, who as usual rode between Stri and her father, glanced at Enly, her cheeks flushed. He couldn't tell if she looked eager or frightened.

"Report," Jenoe said, as the two men stopped in front of him.

They were both young soldiers from Qalsyn-Enly assumed that they came from Stri's company, or maybe Tirnya's. One of them had a wispy beard and mustache that were blond, like his hair, and barely visible. The other one appeared too young to manage even that much.

"There's a village up ahead, Marshal," the bearded one said. "Very small. But a village jes' th' same."

"It's called a sept," Gries said quietly.

The others looked at him briefly.

"Well, whatev'r i' is, 't's small. Can' be more 'n hundred people."

"All septs look small to men who come from the larger cities of the sovereignties," Gries told them. "Most of our soldiers can only compare the settlements to their homes, and its not a helpful comparison."

"You seem to know a good deal about the Fal'Borna, Captain," Jenoe said.

"My father has taught me much, Marshal. Perhaps he knew that this war would come eventually."

"How big is the paddock?" Enly asked.

Cries looked at him and nodded approvingly at the question. The scout appeared puzzled. "Th' what?"

"The paddock," Gries said, facing the man again. "How many horses are grazing beside the… the village?"

The young soldier turned to his companion and shrugged. "I don' know. D' you?"

"A lot," the other man said. "Couple o' hundred a' least. Bu' we didn' see any white-hairs. No' one."

"They're there," Gries said. "They wouldn't flee the sept and leave their horses behind. More likely they spotted these two or learned of our approach.

They'll be ready for us."

"Do you have any idea how many warriors this sept might have?" Jenoe asked him.

"With that many horses, they'll have several hundred people in their sept."

Jenoe nodded. "So roughly half of them would be warriors."

"No," Cries said. "The Fal'Borna are as patriarchal as any clan in the Southlands. But you're about to attack one of their septs. Every person in that settlement who's old enough to carry a weapon is a warrior. And every one of them past his or her fourth four will be able to wield magic."

Jenoe and Tirnya exchanged a look.

The marshal faced the scouts again. "Well done," he said. "I need for one of you to go to the back of our column, find the leader of the Mettai, and bring her to me."

Before either man could respond, Enly said, "I'll get her."

Jenoe furrowed his brow. "Really, Captain, I was hoping that you'd remain here and help us devise a strategy."

"I doubt that I have much to offer, Marshal. I trust Captain Ballidyne to speak for me."

Tirnya couldn't have looked more surprised.

Jenoe, however, seemed to understand. "Very well, Captain. Please bring her to me as quickly as possible."

"Of course." Enly turned his mount and rode at a brisk canter back past the other soldiers to the small cluster of Mettai villagers. The villagers were all sitting on the ground, despite a light covering of snow from a squall the previous night. Seeing him approach, Fayonne rose. After a moment, her son did as well.

"You're looking for me, I assume," the eldest said.

"Yes. The marshal wishes a word with you. Our scouts have spotted a sept ahead. It looks as though we'll be facing the Fal'Borna before the day is through."

Fayonne didn't look formidable in any traditional sense. She was small, so thin as to be almost waiflike. The years had whitened her hair and left deep lines on her face. But at the mention of the Fal'Borna she didn't quail, or widen her dark eyes, or betray any hint of the fear that Enly himself felt. He couldn't help but admire her courage.

"I'd like to bring my son," she said in an even voice. "I believe he'll be of value in any discussion of tactics."

Mander's expression didn't change. He stared back at Enly as if daring him to refuse the eldest's request.

"Of course," Enly said. "Please follow me."

He turned Nallaj, his bay, and began to lead the two Mettai toward the front of the column. He noticed that soldiers from all the armies were watching them, their eyes seemingly drawn to the Mettai like moths to a flame. There was fear in the looks they gave the woman and her son, and hostility as well. Once again, Enly wondered if this alliance Tirnya and Jenoe had forged with the sorcerers would work. Allies were supposed to trust one another. And he saw no trust at all in the way Stelpana's soldiers regarded these two.

By the time they returned to the front of the column, Jenoe, Tirnya, and the others had dismounted and were standing in a loose circle. Seeing them approach, Jenoe stepped away from Marshal Crish and the captains, a smile fixed on his youthful face.

"Eldest," he said. "Thank you for joining us. Did Captain Tolm tell you why we stopped?"

She nodded. "He said there's a sept ahead."

"That's right. We believe it's a large one, with several hundred Fal'Borna warriors. Their paddock is full, but our scouts saw no people at all." Fayonne made a sour face. "You gave yourselves away."

The marshal bristled, and Enly wondered if he'd reply in anger. After a moment, though, he merely said in a tight voice, "So it would seem."

"That's unfortunate," Fayonne went on. "It will make this more difficult.

They'll raise a mist and I'd imagine they'll try to unnerve your horses with their magic. And when you're close enough, they'll use shaping power against you."

"What would you suggest we do?" Jenoe asked.

She looked at her son, who was staring at the ground, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.

But to Enly's surprise, he was the one who answered.

"There are about fifty of us," he said, "and I think we'd be best off dividing ourselves into three or four groups. One group can use fire against their shelters. Another can use a finding spell. And still-"

Enly held up a hand. "Wait. What's a finding spell?"

Mander grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "It's magic that seeks out other magic. We can spread it over the village and if the white-hairs are hiding, it will show where they are."

"Can it be used to find a specific kind of magic?" Gries asked. Mander and his mother exchanged looks.

"I don't know," the man said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Can it find Weavers?" Gries turned to Jenoe. "If we could identify the Weavers by sight, it would make fighting them much easier. We could have our bowmen concentrate all of their fire on the leaders. If we kill them, defeating the rest would be easy."