"So, they really use blood magic?"

E'Menua nodded again. "To great effect, it seems. According to some of the other a'laqs, a Mettai woman has cursed us, and with help from an Eandi merchant is spreading the disease throughout Qirsi lands."

"A merchant?" Q'Daer repeated.

"Not just any merchant. Torgan Plye." Q'Daer's mouth dropped open.

L'Norr just shook his head. "Torgan? Are you certain?" "S'Plaed was certain."

"But Torgan wouldn't do anything to destroy his profits. You know that. He cares about gold and nothing else."

"It seems something has changed, L'Norr," the a'laq said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Unless you think the other a'laqs are lying to us."

"No, of course not, A'Laq!"

"I don't understand," Grinsa said. "How could one Mettai and one merchant spread a disease throughout Qirsi lands?"

The a'laq eyed him briefly, as if he thought Grinsa was questioning their strength or their intelligence. "We don't know," he said after a moment. "But clearly it has something to do with our magic. The only survivors have been children too young to have come into their power." "So the merchant is Mettai as well?"

E'Menua looked at the other men, who both shook their heads.

"I didn't think he was," the a'laq answered. "Now I'm not certain." "So it's possible that the merchant had nothing to do with it."

"He refused to meet with S'Plaed," E'Menua told him. "He spent only a few hours in the sept, long enough to make his share of gold and spread this venom the Mettai have contrived. Then he left. The pestilence struck later that day. He knew what he was doing."

"You don't know that for certain," Grinsa said.

It meant nothing to him. Of course, the notion of a pestilence outbreak frightened him. He feared for Cresenne and Bryntelle, as well as for himself. But the rest of it he barely understood. Certainly, he didn't care a whit for this merchant of whom they spoke. So then why did he continue to argue? Was it just in his nature? Back in the Forelands he had argued similarly on behalf of a young lord falsely accused of killing the daughter of a rival house. He had risked his life to save the boy, though at first he'd thought him nothing more than a spoiled noble. Later, the boy proved himself a true friend and valuable ally in the fight against the dark conspiracy that almost consumed the Forelands. But Grinsa had hardly glimpsed the lad's potential when he fought for his release. What was it, then, that drew him to fight every injustice, no matter the cost to himself? He couldn't answer, nor could he explain why he risked angering the a'laq.

"You know more about this than I do?"

"I know only what I've heard you say just now," Grinsa said, holding the a'laq's gaze. "But from that, I've learned that this Torgan Plye is a merchant who cares for little beyond his own wealth and the selling of his wares. Since you know him by name and reputation, it seems that he must do a fair amount of trading with Fal'Borna septs, which makes me wonder why he would suddenly decide to kill you off."

E'Menua narrowed his eyes. After a moment he began to chuckle.

"You don't hesitate to speak your mind, do you, Forelander? I like that."

He turned to the other two men, as did Grinsa.

Q'Daer didn't look at all pleased, and Grinsa thought he knew why.

A moment before it seemed that Grinsa had angered the a'laq. Now the sept's leader appeared even more impressed with him than he had been before. This could only serve to fuel the younger Weaver's jealousy. "Word is Torgan is headed south, toward the Ofirean," E'Menua said. "That might bring him near us. Find him." He glanced at Grinsa before adding, "But don't kill him. Bring him to me."

"What if the Mettai woman is with him?"

The a'laq looked at Grinsa again and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I know little about Mettai power, but if they need blood to wield it then I'd assume that they carry a blade of some sort."

The a'laq nodded. "They do."

"Then tell them to surrender their blades," Grinsa told the two young Weavers. "Tell them that if they refuse you'll kill them where they stand. And, if necessary, use mind-bending magic to keep them from defying you."

Q'Daer and L'Norr eyed Grinsa sullenly, clearly unhappy about having to take orders from him. Q'Daer looked particularly resentful; Grinsa couldn't help wondering if he regretted their initial encounter on the plain and wished he had turned Grinsa and Cresenne away from the sept. But E'Menua nodded and laughed. "Who would have thought that a Forelander would have such stones? Go," he said to the two men. "Take forty warriors with you. Let Torgan see that we don't mean to play games."

"Yes, A'Laq," Q'Daer said.

Both men bowed, then turned and strode toward the paddock of horses west of the village.

"They're both shocked that I allow you to speak to me so." "I wasn't aware that I was speaking disrespectfully."

E'Menua looked at him. "You do not address me as A'Laq. You challenge me and argue with me without hesitation. Few men who are not a'laqs themselves would dare do the same."

"My apologies," Grinsa said, but again, he didn't call the man A'Laq. Was he purposefully goading E'Menua?

"Is it because you were used to leading Qirsi in the Forelands? Do you miss having such authority yourself?"

"No, I was never a leader like you are. I was a simple gleaner in a traveling festival. And then I served an Eandi king in his war against renegade Qirsi."

E'Menua regarded him briefly. After a few moments he turned his gaze to the hills beyond his sept. "I'd heard some talk of this war, and of the Qirsi who fought with the dark-eyes, but I never understood. Why didn't you join with our people?"

"Our people fought on both sides," Grinsa said pointedly. "The man-the Weaver-who led the renegades would have been a despot. He was cruel and arbitrary and would have ruled through fear and violence. I would have opposed him no matter the color of his eyes."

"He was defeated. You had a role in that?"

"I killed him," Grinsa said.

"But not before he shattered your shoulder," the a'laq said. "That's right."

"And today you risked my ire by arguing for the innocence of an

Eandi merchant. Some would say that your blood runs more Eandi than it does Qirsi."

"They'd be wrong. But they'd also be wrong to assume that I'll always side with a Qirsi against an Eandi, no matter the circumstances."

"That's a dangerous attitude in this land," E'Menua said. Though he'd been living among the Fal'Borna only a short time, Grinsa knew that at times the a'laq spoke in veiled threats. He didn't seem to be doing that now. He was just offering an observation, Weaver to Weaver. "I'm not saying it's wrong," he went on, sounding thoughtful, "but it is dangerous."

"I understand."

"Be sure that you do, Grinsa." The a'laq turned to face him. "You wish to leave us, to move on and perhaps find another clan to live with. We wish for you to stay, and it remains to be seen which of us will get his way. But no matter where you and your family settle, you'll need to keep such thoughts to yourself, at least until you're better known and more fully trusted. The Blood Wars have been over for more than a century, but they're not forgotten. Our grandfathers' grandfathers made peace with an enemy they hated. To this day, that peace has endured, and so has the hatred. Make no mistake, my friend: Weaver or not, if the Qirsi with whom you settle believe you to be a traitor to our people, they'll kill you, and your family as well."

Grinsa searched his mind for some appropriate response, something brave, something that would show the a'laq that he wasn't afraid. But nothing came to him, nothing at all.

Q'Daer seethed as he and L'Norr went to gather riders. Who did this orelander think he was, giving them orders as if he had already moved into E'Menua's z'kal? And for that matter, why was the a'laq al- ready placing so much faith in this man, who seemed so eager to reject Fal'Borna ways and challenge E'Menua's every word?