Q'Daer took a breath. "It's the Forelander; I don't like him. You shouldn't, either. None of us should."

L'Norr shrugged. "I'm not sure I do like him. We've only known him for a few days. I haven't made up my mind about him one way or another."

"Well, I have," Q'Daer said, looking away. "He cares nothing for our customs. He argues with E'Menua at every turn and mocks us with his disrespect. We should send him away, and his whore and bastard with him. They have no business living in our sept."

"You've decided all this already?"

"Haven't you heard the others talking about him, about what a fine husband he'd make for U'Vara?"

L'Norr shook his head slowly. "I don't think Grinsa has any intention of marrying anyone. His woman might not be a Weaver, but I have no doubt that he loves her as he would a wife."

Q'Daer dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand. "That's not the point."

"Isn't it? You dislike him because he doesn't respect our ways. But in this instance, that's a good thing, right? He won't live by Fal'Borna customs, so he won't see any need to marry a Weaver. He's happy with the woman he has."

Just as Q'Daer had thought: His friend didn't understand the danger. And for now at least, perhaps that was all right. Q'Daer would take care of the problem himself, and so would reap the rewards that would come of getting rid of the man. Eventually, E'Menua would tire of the Forelander's disrespect. And when that happened, Q'Daer would be ready.

"You're probably right," he said, nodding and forcing a thin smile. "I think you're humoring me."

Q'Daer grinned and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. L'Norr might have been too trusting of strangers, but he certainly understood his friends well enough.

"I am," he admitted. "But still, I see the sense in what you're saying. And anyway, there isn't much I can do about Grinsa right now. Let's gather the men, and go hunting for those dark-eye merchants." He looked to the west and then up at the sun. It seemed a fair day, but Q'Daer knew that a storm was coming. He could feel it in the wind. "I want to be back before nightfall," he said. "It'll be raining by then."

L'Norr said nothing. Perhaps he thought that Q'Daer had become too cautious when it came to storms, but he had the good sense to keep this to himself. He merely nodded, and they started off again in search of H'Shem and the other horsemen.

Cresenne could not have been more surprised. She'd told Grinsa that they'd have to play along with the Fal'Borna for a time; that they'd need to do everything possible to become part of the sept. So when the women of the village made it clear to her that they expected her to join them in their daily labors, she could hardly object. True, she'd been resistant at first, particularly when it became clear that they expected her to leave Bryntelle in the care of several girls who couldn't have been much past their Determining age. But the other mothers trusted these girls, seemingly without hesitation, so Cresenne forced herself to do the same. And at the end of that first day Bryntelle had been just fine. Better than fine, Cresenne had to admit. She'd never seen her child in such a good mood, and it occurred to her that Bryntelle had spent precious little time in the company of children her own age, or of any other age for that matter. No wonder she seemed so happy.

But it was Cresenne's own experience that came as such a shock to her. On this, her fifth day as a Fal'Borna laborer, she had come to the undeniable conclusion that she was a skilled tanner of rilda skins. It wasn't just her opinion, either. Several of the women commented on her work, on the grace and ease with which she spread the tanning agent-a foul mixture of animal fat and ground organs-over the skins as she prepared them for smoking, on the evenness of the color she drew from the hide, and on the suppleness of her first few finished pieces. For the first time since their arrival in E'Menua's sept, Cresenne felt that she had been noticed for something other than being Grinsa's concubine or wife, or whatever she was.

What made all of this even more surprising was that she enjoyed the work. She'd spent her early days with her mother, roaming the kingdom of Wethyrn in the Forelands with the Crown Fair. Her mother had been a gleaner with the fair, following it from town to town, telling children of Determining and Fating ages what their futures would bring. Eventually, when she came into her power, Cresenne began to glean as well. Later, when the Weaver found her and drew her into his conspiracy, she continued to glean, though with a dark purpose. And after she turned against the Weaver's movement, she occupied herself day and night simply with staying alive, with keeping the Weaver from entering her dreams so that he might kill her as she slept, and fighting off the assassins he sent for her. But never before had she worked with her hands in this way. It was ironic, really. In the Forelands, where Qirsi magic was poorly understood and even feared, she had been almost solely a creature of magic. Only now, living in a land where Qirsi power was accepted to the point of being taken for granted, was she learning to make her way in the world without magic.

She had also, quite unexpectedly, made a friend of her own. The woman's name was F'Solya, and she was the mother of twin boys just a few turns older than Bryntelle. Like the other Fal'Borna women Cresenne had met, F'Solya seemed sturdy, and not merely in appearance. Yes, she had the short stout legs and powerful upper body that the others had. The beauty of the Fal'Borna was nothing like the soft grace and willowy frailty of so many Foreland Qirsi. Rather, these people were as strong and wild as the rilda they hunted. They even looked a bit like the rilda, with their light brown skin and the pale manes of fine hair that cascaded over their shoulders and backs.

But quite beyond her powerful build, beautiful round face, and widely spaced golden eyes, F'Solya struck Cresenne as… well, solid. There was nothing shy about her. Her questions were direct and honest. When she spoke to Cresenne, she looked her in the eye, and her earthy humor seemed always to lurk just below all that she said. In some ways, she reminded Cresenne of her mother, or rather, her mother as she might have been as a young woman. They met the first morning Cresenne started tanning, and by the end of that day she felt that she had known F'Solya for years.

On Cresenne's second day, and in the days since, F'Solya had sought her out, and made a point of sitting beside her. On this morning, the woman was in high spirits, a broad smile exposing large, straight teeth.

"Here early, eh?" she asked as she sat. "If I didn't know better I'd say that you actually like tanning."

Cresenne grinned. "I do."

"You'll tire of it after a time. Everyone does. I certainly did."

"Why don't you do something else then? It seems there are plenty of other chores to be done. They told me I could grind grain into meal, or gather roots, or…"

F'Solya was nodding. "Tired of those, too." She smiled, and started working on a hide. She might have claimed to dislike the labor, but the woman was a skilled tanner-Cresenne had learned much in five days, just from watching F'Solya work. "How's your little one today?" she asked after a time, as she went on with her work.

"She's well, thank you. How are your boys?"

"They're trouble, as boys always are. One of them would have been plenty, but two?" She shook her head. "The gods are testing me. No doubt about it."

They fell into another silence, until at last F'Solya looked up from her work, a small frown on her face.

"They're saying things about you. You and your man both."

Cresenne felt her stomach knotting. She thought of F'Solya as her friend, but really they'd known each other for only a few days. It wouldn't take much to drive the woman away. "What things?" she said, her eyes fixed on the hide she was holding.