"The animals are in no danger, N'Qlae," he said. "They'll have some discomfort, but that's all."

"We need to strike at them now, N'Qlae," Cresenne broke in.

The woman didn't appear mollified, but after a moment she nodded to Cresenne, and said in a soft voice, "Language of beasts."

Besh saw several of the Fal'Borna nod in response, but otherwise he couldn't tell what was happening. An instant later, however, he heard the sound of galloping horses and more angry shouts from the J'Balanar.

"Those of you with language of beasts go to the west end of the sept and send away the horses of the men there," the n'qlae said. She looked at some of her other warriors. "Shapers."

This time the sound that followed made Besh's stomach turn. He'd been attacked with shaping power; he knew how much it hurt to have the bone in his leg shattered by magic. The muffled cracks and screams of pain that rent the night brought back those memories far too vividly.

The n'qlae turned to look at several other Fal'Borna, and then at Cresenne. "Fire."

The flame seemed to rise from the ground, like an orange mist. But it fanned out quickly, lighting the night. Besh could see the J'Balanar now. Most of them were sprawled on the ground. Some were still upright, but were vainly trying to outrun the n'qlae's fire. They never had a chance. It swept over them like floodwaters, and when it had passed, all on the plain was still.

They could hear more shouts coming from the west, and the n'qlae wasted no time.

"Follow me!" she called, sprinting in that direction. Besh, Sirj, and the other Qirsi did as she commanded.

Before they could reach that end of the sept, however, they saw a second wave of fire. This one was headed toward the sept.

"Damn!" the n'qlae said. She halted, closed her eyes, and held out her hands.

Besh was running beside Cresenne and now he saw her stumble, right herself, and stop, swaying slightly.

Another wave of fire formed, sailed over the shelters that were still in front of them, and then swooped down to meet the J'Balanar's magic. The two walls of fire crashed together a short distance from the sept, lighting the night as if the sun itself had fallen to earth. But the enemy's flame was stopped.

The n'qlae started running again, shouting "Shapers!" as she went. Perhaps a dozen of the Fal'Borna women ran after her. The others followed, too. And before they made it past the last of the shelters another wall of fire was headed at them from the J'Balanar.

The n'qlae called on those with fire magic once more and sent another flame to meet that of the enemy. The two bursts of fire magic met farther from the sept this time, but the effect was much the same as it had been last time: brilliant and violent. He could see the J'Balanar beyond the conflagration, the dark markings around their eyes stark against their pale skin.

"Shapers!" the n'qlae said again, even before the fires had faded.

Silence, and then that terrible snapping sound, and the howls of agony.

"Why haven't they attacked us that way?" Sirj asked of no one in particular.

"I think they must have sent their shapers to the south end of the sept," Cresenne said, her voice low. "They're dead already."

"Fire!" the n'qlae said, a note of triumph in her voice.

Already another flame was forming out on the plain, but this one was small and weak-a far cry from the attacks that had come earlier. The n'qlae's answering fire dwarfed that of the J'Balanar. It rushed toward what remained of the raiders, smothering that small flame and abruptly cutting off the low moans and cries of those who had been wounded.

Silence descended on the plain, broken only by the wind, the dry crackle of burning grass, and the crying of a young child from one of the z'kals.

The n'qlae turned to all of them, the smile on her face harsh and exultant. "The night is ours!" she said.

A cheer went up from the Fal'Borna.

The n'qlae approached Besh, Sirj, and Cresenne. "The three of you fought well! The a'laq will hear of what you did tonight." She looked around at her fellow Fal'Borna. "These three fought as Fal'Borna! It'll soon be dawn and I say we should feast on the morrow and all day to honor them as new members of our clan! What say you?"

Again the Fal'Borna shouted their approval.

The n'qlae nodded, still smiling. "So be it!" She looked at Cresenne and the two Mettai. "You have our thanks. We'll see to the young ones and then gather the dead," she said, raising her voice again.

She walked away, followed by the women and those few men who were still in the sept.

Watching her go, Besh felt sick to his stomach. He had done what he had to-and he would have done it again if it meant saving Sirj and himself, and Cresenne and her child. But this had been his first battle, and though he and Sirj hadn't killed anyone, they'd had a hand in the deaths of dozens.

"Are you all right?" Cresenne asked him, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Yes, thank you."

"You saved us all," she said. "Both of you did. The a'laq is sure to free you now, no matter what happens."

Besh nodded, but neither he nor Sirj said anything.

"I need to check on Bryntelle," the woman said, backing away from them, clearly anxious to find her daughter.

"Of course. Go." Besh made himself smile, though it faded as soon as she turned her back on them and hurried away.

"We're warriors now," Besh said, as they watched the woman disappear into the night. "First Lici made me a killer, and now I'm a warrior."

"What did you expect would happen when we cast that spell?" Sirj asked. "I didn't think about it."

Sirj turned to look at him. "Well, I did. If we'd lost, the J'Balanar would have killed us both, and that woman, and her baby. Maybe I should feel guilty, but I don't. You promised Elica that you'd keep me alive, and you did that. Again. So, unless you regret it, I'd suggest you stop feeling sorry for yourself and instead thank the gods that we're still alive to tell Mihas and Annze and Cam the story of this night."

"You're right," Besh said.

The younger man seemed surprised by this. After a moment he nodded once and then walked away.

Besh remained where he was, staring out over the plain, watching as the last of the small grass fires burned themselves out. He wanted to weep, but he didn't allow himself that release. Cresenne and Sirj were right: People were going to die this night no matter what. Better the J'Balanar raiders than them.

But a part of him couldn't help wishing that he'd never left Kirayde.

Chapter 22

After the hunt, the warriors and their a'laqs enjoyed a feast of all the rilda that Grinsa and the other hunters had killed. Grinsa made a point of sitting with E'Menua, Q'Daer, L'Norr, and the warriors from E'Menua's sept, though he would have preferred to sup with O'Tal and his men. He also apologized to E'Menua for hunting with O'Tal rather than with Q'Daer.

"I didn't realize I was expected to hunt with the men from our sept, A'Laq," he said as they ate. "O'Tal invited me to hunt and I thought it would be all right if I hunted with him. I meant no offense."

E'Menua still appeared to be sulking, but he waved off Grinsa's apology. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I wasn't offended."

Grinsa wasn't sure he believed this, but he kept his doubts to himself. "You and O'Tal are rivals," he said instead.

The a'laq's eyes narrowed, giving his face a feral look. "Is that what he told you?"

"I just gathered as much from the way the two of you spoke to each other."

Again E'Menua dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "I care little about him one way or another. He's a pup. A few years from now he might be a worthy rival to me, but for now he doesn't have enough hunts under his belt or Weavers in his sept to be of consequence."