No matter how Cresenne answered, she knew that she risked losing this friendship, the only one of any meaning she had formed since arriving in the sept. She knew as well, though, that if she lied or tried to soften the truth, she'd only make matters worse. F'Solya had never been anything but honest with her; she deserved the same in return.

"Because," Cresenne began, "when I lived in the Forelands, I was once part of a Qirsi conspiracy that aimed to destroy the Eandi courts. Eventually, I came to see that the man leading the conspiracy was evil and brutal and intent on destroying the land, not saving it. I left the movement, and thanks to Grinsa and the compassion of an Eandi king who had no reason to believe that I was anything more than a white-hair traitor, I'm still alive today. They could have assumed that I was just like all the others; they would have been within their rights to execute me."

F'Solya didn't look convinced. If anything, her expression appeared to have hardened.

"I'm not from a clan, F'Solya. Maybe that's why we look at this so differently. You've grown up believing that the world is divided into Fal'Borna and J'Balanar and Talm'Orast, and also Mettai and Eandi. My world was… different. There were Qirsi and Eandi. And there were different realms, Eibithar, Sanbira, Wethyrn. But someone could be both Qirsi and Aneiran, Eandi and Caerissan. It was more complicated."

"So you think we're simple?" F'Solya demanded.

Cresenne winced. She wasn't handling this well. "Of course not. It's just…" She stopped, shaking her head again. "You want to know the real reason I trust these men?" She didn't wait for a reply. "They saved Grinsa's life. They cast a spell that defeated the curse, and then they made it so that Grinsa could pass that spell on to Bryntelle and me."

"That's what they tell us," F'Solya said, in a voice that chilled Cresenne's blood.

"You don't believe them?"

"We have no proof that they made us immune. We can only take their word for it and hope that it's true. But if we trust them, and then it turns out that they've lied to us, thousands could die. And maybe that's what they have in mind. Maybe the Eandi put them up to this."

"They saved Grinsa and Q'Daer! Surely you believe that!"

"Saving two to kill thousands? That's a trade any warrior would make."

"F'Solya-" Again Cresenne stopped herself. She had intended to say that Besh and Sirj wouldn't do this. But her friend would surely ask how Cresenne could be so certain, and she had no good answer. She was trusting all to Grinsa's judgment, and though she believed that he was right, she knew that F'Solya wouldn't share her faith in him.

A small, satisfied smile touched the woman's lips and was gone. "Think about it," she said. "Your man trusts them. And perhaps if they had saved I'Joled, he and I would feel the same way. But they didn't. They saved the life of a Forelander. Perhaps they knew that your husband would be easier to convince than a Fal'Borna. Perhaps this was part of their plan."

"Q'Daer trusts them, too!" Cresenne said.

F'Solya raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"

Another question she couldn't answer. Cresenne had assumed that the young Weaver and Grinsa were of one mind with regard to the Mettai. But did she know this for certain? For that matter, did Grinsa?

"How many others feel this way?" she asked after some time.

F'Solya shrugged. "I'Joled didn't say. Many, I'm sure. As I said, we're at war with the Mettai. We'd be wary of these men no matter who brought them here." As soon as she said this she smiled again, though her brow creased.

Cresenne knew what she was thinking. "No one else would have brought them here, though. Isn't that right?"

The woman hesitated, then nodded. "I can't imagine that Q'Daer wanted to. He would have tried to send them away long ago."

Cresenne put down the skin she was working on and stood. "Excuse me," she said. "I have to find Grinsa."

The words sounded oddly formal to her own ears. She sensed that her friendship with F'Solya had changed, perhaps forever. But that was the least of her concerns. She left the tanning ring without waiting for her friend's reply.

Besh couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. The Qirsi shelter, this z'kal, as the Fal'Borna called it, was remarkably effective in keeping out the cold and wind of the plain, and the pallet on which he lay was as comfortable as his bed back in Kirayde. For the first time in a turn, he had slept through the entire night, untroubled by visions of Lici and her plague. He would gladly have slumbered for another several hours, but Sirj had already left the shelter, and Besh could hear that others in the sept were up and about.

Reluctantly he threw off his blankets, pulled on his britches and shirt, and stepped out into the brisk morning air. Sirj sat on a stump of wood beside the shelter looking out over the sept.

"How long have you been up?" Besh asked, inhaling deeply and stretching his back.

"Not long. An hour, maybe."

Besh nodded. "Have you seen the Forelander?"

Sirj merely shook his head. Looking at him again, Besh realized that the younger man wasn't merely gazing out at the settlement. His eyes were alert and he wore a grim expression.

"What's the matter?" Besh asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Sirj said. "Try not to appear alarmed. But take a casual look around. It seems to me that we're being guarded, but they don't want us to know."

Besh nodded again. His pulse now was racing, and his stomach began to knot. He glanced about, trying to appear relaxed. It didn't take him long to see what Sirj meant. There were at least a dozen Fal'Borna warriors nearby, all of them with blades on their belts, several of them holding spears as well. Some of them were standing; others sat. But they had formed a loose ring around Besh and Sirj's shelter. There was no way for the Mettai to leave the area without encountering at least one of them.

The Qirsi didn't seem to be watching the two men, but there was something a bit too studied in their demeanor.

"Damn," Besh said under his breath. "You say that you haven't seen Grinsa?"

Sirj gave a quick shake of his head. "Not yet."

"What about Q'Daer?"

"Not him, either."

"Have any of them said anything to you?"

"They've barely even looked at me. I think they were told to keep watch on us, and that's all. But I don't like it. If they're watching us, that means they don't trust us. They're halfway to deciding that we're the enemy."

"Grinsa won't let that happen. We healed him, and Q'Daer, too. We made them immune to the plague."

"Yes. You killed Lici, too. They don't seem to care about any of that. And I don't think that Grinsa can help us much. He's not Fal'Borna."

"He's a Weaver," Besh said. But he knew that Sirj was right. From all he'd heard about the Fal'Borna, it seemed that they were distrustful of Qirsi from every other clan in the Southlands. He could only assume that they would be even more wary of outlanders. "All right," he said a moment later. "Let's assume Grinsa can't help us. What do we do?"

Sirj shook his head. "There's not much we can do. Even if Mettai magic was a match for Qirsi magic, we're only two against an entire sept." He looked up at Besh. "If they decide to make us their prisoners, or worse, if they decide to kill us, there's nothing we can do to stop them."

"Well, then," Besh said, taking a long breath, "we need to find out what their intentions are."

Sirj looked at him with alarm. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing I hadn't been planning to do anyway," Besh told him, starting toward the heart of the settlement. He glanced back over his shoulder. "It's morning and I'm ready for my breakfast."