There were two Qirsi in front of him, both of them standing, both of them bearing spears. As soon as they saw him coming, they planted themselves in his path. They held their spears ready, but they didn't actually point the weapons at him.

Besh didn't break stride, but rather walked right up to the two men and stopped in front of them. He heard Sirj hurrying to catch up with him.

"Where are you going, Mettai?" one of the Fal'Borna asked him.

They were both young men, powerfully built, with golden eyes, long white hair, and bronze skin. Strange as they appeared to him, they were also beautiful and forbidding. It almost seemed to Besh that all Fal'Borna warriors resembled these two. Looking closer, he could see that the man who had spoken had a rounder, softer face than the other, and that his eyes were more widely spaced. But the differences were subtle. It was as if Qirsar himself had reached down and created these people in his own image.

"I was on my way to speak with my friend Grinsa," Besh told the men, offering his most disarming smile. "He and I have matters to discuss. And I have to admit that I'm also hoping he'll have a bit for me to eat."

The two men exchanged glances.

"Is there a problem?" Besh asked, looking from one of them to the other, as Sirj stopped beside him.

"You're to stay here," said the first man. "Both of you. We can have food brought to you."

Besh's smile faded. "I was led to believe that we're guests of your a'laq. Was I wrong? Are we in fact prisoners?"

"You're Mettai," the man said, as if that answered the question. "We're at war with your people. You are guests of the a'laq. If you weren't, you'd be dead by now."

"We were declared friends of the Fal'Borna by an a'laq named F'Ghara," Sirj said. "That must count for something."

Besh still carried F'Ghara's white stone in his pocket. He pulled it out now and held it up for the man to see.

The Fal'Borna cast a quick look at the necklace, but his expression didn't change at all. "I don't know anything about that," he said. "I was ordered to watch you, and to keep you here. The rest is up to the a'laq."

Besh turned to Sirj, who stared back at him bleakly. After a moment the younger man shrugged and shook his head.

The old man faced the warrior again. "I'd like to speak with your a'laq."

"The a'laq decides who he'll speak to. If he chooses to see you, you'll be summoned."

Besh felt himself growing angry. If this was what it meant to be a guest of the Fal'Borna, he would have hated to be their prisoner. But he knew that railing at this man would do no good, and that defying him might well get him killed, and Sirj, too.

"Food, then," he said thickly. "We'd like to eat. Please. And we'd like to speak with the Forelander."

The warrior nodded, then looked at his comrade, who turned and started toward a cluster of shelters. There was nothing for the two Mettai to do but make their way back to their shelter.

"This isn't going to end well," Sirj said under his breath as they walked. Besh merely nodded, knowing the younger man was right.

They think Besh and Sirj made it up?" Grinsa asked, hardly believing what Cresenne was telling him. She nodded, watching him. She looked pale and frightened and lovely.

She had found him wandering the empty grounds of the marketplace, where he'd gone after his conversation with E'Menua. Bryntelle was with the young Fal'Borna women who cared for the sept's children, and Cresenne had been at the tanning circle where she usually spent her days. He'd been surprised and pleased to see her, but that had quickly given way to alarm when she began to tell him what she'd heard. They had walked beyond the horse paddock, where they were unlikely to be disturbed. They gazed out over the plain as they spoke, holding hands once more. Even now, angry and afraid for the two Mettai, he couldn't be with Cresenne without touching her. They'd been apart for too long. It was almost as if he needed to assure himself that she was real, rather than a dream or some conjured illusion.

"Is it possible?" she asked after a lengthy silence. "I know you trust them, but you have no proof that their spell will protect us from the plague, do you?"

He looked at her, pained by the question. She shook her head and lifted his hand to her lips.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But F'Solya… she sounded so sure of herself. And she said that the only way to test the spell was to put our lives at risk, which is true."

"I'm alive," he said. "So is Q'Daer. That's my proof."

"Don't be mad at me. I was just… I don't know anything about these men except what you've told me. And most of what I've heard about the Mettai-the plague, their alliance with the Eandi-doesn't lead me to trust them. I know that they saved you, and for that I'll forever be in their debt, but if F'Solya can make me wonder about them, imagine how easy it will be for I'Joled and the others to convince the rest of the sept that they're our enemies."

She had a point. E'Menua had made clear that he wasn't ready to trust them; what F'Solya had said to Cresenne was quite similar to what E'Menua had told him. And he had to admit that he had doubts of his own. None of them had anything to do with Besh's and Sirj's motives. He trusted the two men completely. But Cresenne was right: How did they know that the spell had made Grinsa immune to another onset of Lici's plague? How did they know that he was able to pass that protection on to Cresenne and Bryntelle and the others?

"Grinsa?" she said, her forehead furrowed with concern. "Say something."

"There's not much I can say, except to admit that you're right. E'Menua voiced similar suspicions. Once the Fal'Borna have made up their minds about an enemy, there's very little chance of convincing them otherwise."

"But we have to try," she said. "Don't we?"

He looked her in the eye and smiled. "Yes. So let's start by convincing you."

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me. We'll go and speak with Besh and Sirj. Once you're convinced, maybe the four of us can think of some way to win over the others."

She smiled in return and they started back toward the settlement. As they neared the shelters, Grinsa changed directions, drawing a puzzled look from Cresenne.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"If we're going to have any chance of changing E'Menua's mind, we'll need Q'Daer's help. He should be part of this conversation."

She frowned deeply.

"You disagree?" Grinsa asked.

"No. But this sounded much more pleasant when it was just going to be the four of us."

Grinsa laughed. "Well, I can't argue with that."

Q'Daer and L'Norr were still outside the a'laq's shelter. L'Norr's face colored slightly at the sight of Cresenne, but he said nothing.

"Can we have a word with you?" Grinsa asked Q'Daer, taking care to keep his voice low.

Q'Daer looked sidelong at the entrance to E'Menua's z'kal, as if the a'laq were standing right there. After a moment, he nodded. He climbed to his feet and followed them a short distance from the shelter.

Before Grinsa could say anything, Q'Daer told him, "The Mettai wish to speak with you."

"Did they tell you what it was about?"

Q'Daer shook his head. "I didn't see them. One of their guards came to me and asked where he might find you."

A chill went through Grinsa's body. "One of their guards?" he repeated. "They're being held prisoner?"

Q'Daer's expression soured. "They're being watched, Forelander. And before you say anything more, you should ask yourself if you have any reason to be surprised by this. I tried to tell you that the Mettai didn't belong here. We should have sent them back to their lands when we had the chance. Now…" He looked away, shaking his head.