Jenoe had ordered his archers back into position, but he stood near where Tirnya still knelt beside Enly, gazing across the plain at the Qirsi.

"What is it they're doing?" he muttered.

Tirnya laid a hand gently on Enly's arm before standing and walking over to her father. The Fal'Borna, she saw, had re-formed their lines. But they gave no indication that they intended to attack.

Gries joined them, looking as puzzled as Jenoe.

"Could they be waiting for us to start fighting again?" "Tirnya asked her father.

"I never would have believed that they'd do such a thing," the Fairlea captain said before Jenoe could answer. "But I think they are."

At that moment, four men rode forth from the white-hair lines. They bore no spears, and they halted halfway between the two armies.

"A parley?" Jenoe asked.

Cries shrugged.

"Get Hendrid," the marshal said. "The four of us will speak with them."

"What if it's a ruse?" Gries asked.

"Then I suppose we'll be killed."

Cries raised an eyebrow, and went to find Waterstone's marshal.

The two of them returned a short while later with their horses as well as Jenoe's and Tirnya's.

"You think this is wise?" Jenoe asked, taking the reins from Cries. "They're on horses," Gries said. "I believe it puts us at a disadvantage to face them on foot."

Jenoe looked at Tirnya.

She nodded, taking a breath. "I agree."

"So do I, actually," Jenoe said. He looked at Hendrid, who nodded in return.

They swung themselves onto their mounts and rode out to meet the enemy, halting a short distance from them and eyeing them warily. Three of the men who waited for them were clearly Fal'Borna. They were stout and broad, with golden-hued skin and long hair worn tied back. The fourth man appeared to Tirnya to be from another clan. His skin was as pale as bone and he was taller than the others, though just as broad. Actually, she'd never seen a Qirsi like him, and she found herself continually glancing his way.

The three Fal'Borna were of different ages. One of the men appeared old for a Qirsi, and the other terribly young. But it was the third man who spoke, breaking a lengthy silence.

"By all rights, you and your army should be dead by now," he said, his voice as deep and cold as ocean waters. "Those of your kind who trespass on our lands rarely live to see their homeland again."

Jenoe smiled thinly. "I've seen no evidence yet that you're capable of killing us. So perhaps you should skip the idle threats and tell us what you want."

The Fal'Borna narrowed his eyes. "Without your Mettai friends, you're nothing."

"And with them we're more than you can handle. So I'll ask you again, what do you want?"

"You were leaving before we caught up with you," the pale stranger said.

"Isn't that so?"

Tirnya's father regarded him with genuine surprise. "I've never heard such an accent before. What clan are you from?"

"I'm from the Forelands," the man said. "But I ride with the Fal'Borna, and I'll die with them if I have to."

Jenoe stared at him for another moment before nodding slowly. "Yes," he said. "We were leaving. We've come to see that we were wrong to start this war, and we wish to return to Stelpana. As you've seen, though, we're willing to fight if you force the matter."

"We won't," said the Fal'Borna man. "If you leave now, we'll allow you safe passage out of our lands. Raise a weapon against us again, and we'll unleash the full might of our magic."

"What about other armies we might encounter between here and the Silverwater?"

"I can speak to other alaqs-Weavers have that ability. I'll tell them to let you pass. But they'll be just as unforgiving if you break your word."

Tirnya thought that her father would reply in kind with a threat of his own, but he seemed to think better of it.

"All right," he said. "We'll need time to care for our wounded, but you have my word as commander of this army that as long as we aren't attacked, we'll do nothing to harm any of your people."

"Done," the Fal'Borna said. He glanced at his companions, wheeled his horse away, and started back toward his army. The other men followed, though the Forelander hesitated just a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he simply rode away with the others.

"I never thought I'd see this day," Hendrid said, watching them go. "The Fal'Borna agreeing to a truce; who'd have thought it possible?"

"Not me," Jenoe said. "Let's do what we have to and be on our way before they change their minds."

Chapter 25

There were many other wounded in the Eandi army besides Enly, and though none of them was as badly hurt as the lord heir had been, many of them were in terrible shape. Not long after Tirnya, Gries, and the two marshals returned from their parley with the Fal'Borna, one of the Mettai, a man Tirnya had never spoken to before, approached Jenoe. He was slight and shorter than Tirnya, and he had dark hair and dark eyes, like so many of the Mettai.

"Excuse me, Marshal," he said. "But if you need healing for your warriors, we can help you."

Jenoe smiled, though he looked puzzled. "Thank you…"

"Barjen, sir."

"Thank you, Barjen. Tell me, where is the eldest?"

The man shook his head. "She grieves for her son, and she has asked me to speak for our people in her place."

"What about the curse?" Tirnya asked.

"We'll use care when we heal your men," Barjen said. "Mander saved a man who should have died. It's not surprising that the curse took him. We won't be so bold, and if a spell does go wrong, the cost shouldn't be as great."

Tirnya's father appeared to weigh this for a few moments. "Very well. We appreciate your offer, Barjen. We have many wounded and not much time to get them ready for the journey back home. So however many of them you can heal, we'd be most grateful."

"Then we'll get started right away."

The army had its own healers as well, men trained in the use of salves, tonics, and poultices, and for the rest of the day everyone in Jenoe's force focused their energies on aiding those who had been wounded. The Mettai used their magic on those whose injuries were most serious, while Stelpana's healers tended to the rest.

Tirnya did what she could to help the healers who had marched from Qalsyn, preferring to keep her distance from the Mettai, though because of distaste for their magic or fear of the curse she couldn't say. She also avoided Enly. The mere thought of him roiled her emotions in ways she couldn't quite comprehend, and she needed time to sort out her feelings. She thought him arrogant and insufferable, and though there had been a time when she was attracted to him despite his many faults, that was long ago.

At least, this is what she had been telling herself for the past several hours. But she would never forget the panic that gripped her when she saw him fall from the talons of that eagle. Her heart had quailed at the thought of his death, of having to live the rest of her days without him. Half the time he made her want to tear out her hair. They bickered constantly, disagreed about almost everything. But she'd known him nearly all her life.

That's what it was! They'd been… well, yes, friends… for so long that she couldn't imagine not having him around. He was as familiar to her as her parents. This made sense to her. She even nodded to herself, drawing an odd look from the healer she was assisting at the moment.

He was like a brother. Anyone would have been terrified of losing a brother.

But with that thought came a memory, unbidden and unwelcome. Her vivid recollections of the passion they had shared, the taste of his skin, the feel of his lips on her neck and breasts, gave the lie to the idea that he had ever been anything akin to a brother to her.