Soon they were moving again and, perhaps mercifully, the pain made Enly forget about anything else.

Late in the day, Barjen joined him and asked him how he felt. When Enly told him, the Mettai nodded as if he had expected this.

"That will pass eventually," the man said. "But it could take half a turn or more. Your injuries were severe." He faltered briefly, but then went on. "With injuries like yours, there's only so much our magic can do."

Enly felt as if someone had poured cold water down his back. "What do you mean?" But he knew. Actually he'd been expecting this. He'd come too close to dying for there to be no lasting effect.

"You might not be able to… to do things that you used to. I've heard soldiers speaking of your skill with a sword. You might not be the swordsman you once were. You might not be able to move as nimbly or as fast."

He swallowed, nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course. Should I leave you?"

Enly shook his head, but didn't say anything at first. Something had been gnawing at him for the past day, and he didn't know quite how to put into words what was on his mind.

"I didn't mean for the eldest's son to do what he did," he finally said, knowing that this didn't sound right. "Neither did Captain Onjaef. We didn't know what the curse would do."

"We know that," Barjen said. "None of us knew, except perhaps Mander. He seemed to understand."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Barjen said. "Live well. Make his sacrifice mean something. That's all any of us can ask of you."

"How is the eldest?"

The Mettai shook his head. "Not well."

He started to walk away, but Enly called him back.

"Forgive me for asking," he said, "but yesterday, when you healed the others, did anything… did anything go wrong?"

"No," Barjen said. "Not a thing. It probably means nothing. But there are a few among us who wonder if by embracing the curse as he did, Mander finally broke it."

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know," the man told him. "I suppose we'll find out."

"I hope those of you who believe this are right," Enly said.

"Thank you." The man smiled and walked away.

Enly took a long, slow breath. With injuries like yours, there's only so much our magic can do. He'd be lame for the rest of his life. That's what the man was telling him.

"Damn," Enly said quietly. He felt tears welling and he willed them away. He could still be a soldier, and someday he'd still be lord governor. He refused to give in to self-pity. He stared back at the foot soldiers with his head held high. But inside, his heart ached. Tirnya would never settle for a broken man.

A short time later, they halted for the night. Enly's men built him a fire and laid out his sleeping roll and blankets. He ate a small supper and then lay down, grateful to be still and warm.

He had almost dozed off when he heard footsteps nearby. Opening his eves, he saw Tirnya standing over him.

"Hello," he said guardedly.

"Hello." She stood there for a moment, clearly feeling awkward. At last she sat down on the grass beside his fire, a few fourspans from where he lay. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Lousy."

She frowned.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you wanted an honest answer." He forced a smile. "I feel great, never better."

Her frown deepened and she stood again. "I'm sorry you're not well. I'll leave you alone." She turned to leave.

He cursed under his breath. "Tirnya, wait!" He tried to sit up, winced, and collapsed onto his back.

She had stopped and faced him again, and now she looked down at him, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Do you want me to get a healer?"

"No," Enly said. "I want you to sit and talk to me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She sat again, closer to him this time.

"It's been a long day," he said.

"You're still in a lot of pain."

He nodded. "But Barjen says that's to be expected." He turned his head toward the fire so that he wouldn't have to see her face. Best just to get it over with. "He also said that I might not heal entirely. I'll be… I'll be lame."

She said nothing. After a few moments of silence he chanced a look at her. She was chewing her lip, staring at the fire as well.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. I shouldn't even be alive. I wouldn't be if it wasn't for you." He made himself grin. "I suppose this means you'll have a clear shot at the crystal dagger next year."

A sly smile crept over her face. "I was thinking along similar lines," she said. "This makes things easier in a way."

He stared at her, stung by her words. "That's quite a thing to say!"

"Oh, hush!" Tirnya said. "I didn't mean it that way. I was simply pointing out the obvious. Only one person from any family is allowed in the tournament, and you and I would have fought day and night over which one of us would enter."

"What are you-?" Realization crashed over him like an ocean wave. "What are you saying?" he asked, his grin genuine this time.

"Figure it out for yourself." She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Sleep," she whispered. "You need rest."

He nodded, unable to speak.

She stood and started to walk away. Then she stopped and walked back to him. "Was there anything else Barjen said you wouldn't be able to do?" she asked coyly, a hand on her hip.

He felt his cheeks redden. "No," he said. "Nothing else."

"Good," she said, turning and starting away again. "Because that would have been a problem."

Enly laughed. It made his ribs ache, but he couldn't have cared less.

Chapter 26

They watched in silence as the Eandi army marched away from the plain. Grinsa stood with L'Norr, H'Loryn, and O'Tal, fearing that at any moment one of the Fal'Borna, or perhaps one of the Eandi, would decide that ending this war was a mistake. He sensed that L'Norr regretted acquiescing to the rest, and he actually found himself keeping a light hold on his own magic, just in case he had to stop the young Weaver from striking at the retreating soldiers.

As it happened, his precautions proved unnecessary, and before long the Eandi had vanished from view, leaving the Fal'Borna army alone on the plain. The air was turning cold again, and dark clouds loomed in the west. Grinsa caught the scent of snow riding the wind.

L'Norr stared eastward longer than the rest, but at last he turned to Grinsa and said, "Tell the a'jeis I want to be riding within the hour. We have a long journey back to the sept."

"Yes, A'Laq," Grinsa said.

L'Norr steered his mount away from the others.

"You're his only Weaver now," O'Tal said, watching the young man ride off.

"He has D'Pera," Grinsa said. "And her daughter shows signs of being a Weaver."

"How long have you lived among the Fal'Borna, Forelander?"

Grinsa hesitated, knowing what the man was going to say. "Long enough to know that an a'laq cares far more about the number of men who are Weavers."

O'Tal nodded. "D'Pera will be able to help him as he learns what it means to be a'laq, but she's not a warrior. And U'Vara will probably be his n'qlae before long. But his sept has lost two Weavers. He needs you now more than ever."

He might as well have said, He'll never let you leave now. That was how Grinsa heard his words. He'd been hoping that with the end of the war he and Cresenne would be able to get away from the plain, to make a life elsewhere for themselves and Bryntelle. He still believed that they could leave now-L'Norr and D'Pera wouldn't be strong enough to keep them there against their will. But there could be no denying that L'Norr would want him to stay.

"It's too bad, really," O'Tal said. "If E'Menua had lived, I would have asked you to come and live in my sept."