The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 13

In the days following her audience with His Lordship, Tirnya's mind was so filled with thoughts of taking back Deraqor and the Horn that she could barely sleep or eat. Her wounds continued to heal, and five days after meeting with Maisaak, she began to train with her men once more. She worked them hard-so hard that her lead riders seemed puzzled. Oliban went so far as to ask her if the men had angered her in some way. She assured him that they hadn't.

"I just want them ready," she said.

Oliban had given her an odd look. "Ready for what?"

"For anything. Look around you, Oliban. I'm not the only commander pushing her soldiers."

This much she knew was true. Her father wasn't as eager to fight the Fal'Borna as she was, but he was warming to the idea. To her surprise, Stri Balkett hadn't dismissed the notion out of hand.

"It could work," he said over dinner in the Onjaef house two nights after the audience. "But I'm not convinced the sovereign will allow it."

Jenoe also remained skeptical about their chances of convincing the sovereign. Still, both Stri and Tirnya's father were pushing their men harder than they had in years, just in case.

Aside from Stri, Tirnya and Jenoe had told no one about their conversation with the lord governor and lord heir. Even if Maisaak hadn't ordered them to keep the matter to themselves, they knew better than to discuss the invasion with anyone. If they were to succeed in this venture, they would have to take the white-hairs utterly by surprise.

Tirnya knew, though, that even surprise would not be enough to overcome Qirsi magic, and for days after their audience with Maisaak, she racked her brain, trying to develop a workable strategy for their attack. She wondered, if the lord governor had known how formless her plans were for this invasion, whether he would even have considered her proposal. She had, of course, never led an invasion before; neither had her father, though he did have far more battle experience than she. In the first several days after the audience, however, Tirnya was afraid to admit even to Jenoe how formless her plans were. Surely, she thought, with a little time she would come up with something. She avoided him, and she wasn't terribly subtle about it, though if Jenoe noticed he kept his thoughts to himself. Finally, after several days of trying to think of a way to defeat the white-hairs and coming up with nothing, of feeling overwhelmed and fearing that the audience had been a terrible mistake, she raised the matter over the evening meal at home.

"How does one plan something like this?" Tirnya asked abruptly as her father poured her a cup of dark wine. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Jenoe grinned. "I was wondering when you'd ask me."

She felt her face redden. "You knew? And you didn't say anything to me?"

"It seemed clear that you didn't want to talk to me about it, at least not yet.”

She stared at the roasted meat and boiled greens that sat in front of her. "I thought you'd think me foolish for having suggested an attack without having any strategy for one."

He shook his head and took a sip of wine. "If you, or any commander your age, had come up with a workable plan on your own I would have been very much surprised." He eyed her over the rim of his cup. "This isn't going to be easy."

"I know that."

Jenoe nodded. "Good."

"So," she said, relieved to be talking about it. "How do we begin?"

"You start with your soldiers," Jenoe answered, sounding so calm that it reassured her. "Always. How many? How do you get them where they need to be? How do you arm them and clothe them and feed them and shelter them?"

She nodded. It made perfect sense. "Right. Of course."

He raised an eyebrow. "So? How many?"

Tirnya ran a hand through her hair. "Well, you said the other day it would take every soldier under your command, and then some."

"Yes, I did. But I'm asking you what you think."

"I don't know, Father. We'll need far more men to take the city than they'll need to defend it."

"True. We'll probably need siege engines as well, and they'll need to be assembled quickly. The longer we take to build them, the more opportunities the white-hair shapers will have to destroy them."

"Will siege engines even work against sorcerers?"

Jenoe tipped his head to the side, considering this. "The sovereignties had some success with them during the Blood Wars, though mostly in the early years." A grim smile touched his face and was gone. "Later on, we were usually the ones defending against sieges rather than the other way around."

Tirnya thought about it briefly and then shook her head. "Siege engines won't work," she said. "They're too predictable, too slow, too much like what Eandi armies have done in the past. We need to try things that have never been done before. That's the only way we can win."

Her father grinned. "Now you sound like a commander. What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing yet," Tirnya said. "But we'll come up with something. The two of us, together."

Jenoe nodded. "All right."

They traded ideas for the rest of that evening, coming up with little that might actually work against the Qirsi, but irritating Zira, who would have liked to enjoy what she referred to repeatedly as "a normal conversation."

The following day, as Tirnya made her way to the training grounds, she found her path blocked by Enly, whom she also had been avoiding, and who clearly had been waiting for her.

"We need to talk," he said, indicating that she should follow him so that they could speak in private.

Tirnya stayed just where she was. "Why?"

"You know perfectly well why."

She arched an eyebrow. "I see. So, you want me to come along so that you can tell me what a fool I am for wanting to…" She glanced around and lowered her voice slightly. "For wanting to do this."

Enly sighed. "Just come with me for a moment. Please."

Tirnya held up a hand and shook her head. "As much as I enjoy it when you tell me I'm reckless and stupid, I think I'll pass this time." She started to walk away.

"I don't care about this at all," he called after her. "I'd just as soon see your plans ruined, so if you think I won't speak of it openly, you're wrong."

She spun to face him. The road they were on wasn't crowded, but there were enough people around-most of them now staring at the two of them-to undermine any effort she and her father might make to keep the invasion plans secret. She strode back toward him, her fists clenched. She had half a mind to punch him right in the mouth.

"Are you mad?" she said, her teeth clenched, but her voice low.

"You're the mad one as far as I'm concerned."

She stopped just in front of him, glaring at him, wishing she had kept walking away. At last, feeling that she was surrendering, she indicated with an open hand that he should lead her wherever it was he wanted to go. He started down a narrow lane that led between two buildings and then into an open pasture where a couple of old plow horses grazed. When they reached the middle of the pasture, Enly turned to face her.

"You can't go through with these plans you're making," he said.

"Why can't I? Because it'll keep us from ever being together? Because it will bring my family and me more glory than any Tolm will ever know?"

"Because you'll fail," he told her, an earnest look on his handsome face. She knew in her heart that he was wrong about this, but there could be no denying that he cared about her. "Because you'll probably be killed. And you may well plunge all the Southlands back into war."

"I have no control over the other armies of the Southlands. I can only do what's best for Qalsyn and Stelpana, and, yes, for Deraqor as well."

"That's a load of dung," he said. "You know as well as I that a battle between the clans and the sovereignties anywhere in the land will bring war to every corner of the Southlands."

"Do you honestly believe that the peace between Eandi and Qirsi can last forever?" she asked, returning to the argument that had swayed her father days before.

"It's already lasted more than a century."

"Only because neither side has seen an opportunity to attack."

"And now we have that opportunity," Enly said derisively. "Is that it?"

"Yes, Enly," she said. "It's as simple as that. We have an opportunity. We can take it, or we can let it slip away. But if next time it's the white-hairs who see a chance to attack us, I guarantee you they'll take it, and we'll wonder why we let them."

"How very convenient for you. You declare the peace illusory, and then justify destroying it."

"It's not illusory," she said, glowering at him. "But it is temporary. Surely you must understand that. You said yourself that our attack on the Fal'Borna would spread war through all the land. If the peace is that fragile, it's just a matter of time before someone else does what we're considering. Or do you really believe that we and the white-hairs just suddenly stopped hating each other?"

"Of course not. But both sides did finally realize that the wars were destroying the land and benefiting no one. Finally, after centuries of combat and blood and suffering, they somehow managed to say 'enough.' One act of sanity in a thousand years of madness, and you want to destroy it."

He was calling her reckless, a fool, playing on doubts that lay so deep within her that she'd barely even acknowledged them. Worse, he was getting in the way of her greatest ambition, trying to keep the Onjaefs from reclaiming their rightful place among the great families of the sovereignties. So what she said next was meant to wound, though she regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.

"I think it's fortunate for all in Qalsyn that your father still rules. He, at least, is a man of vision, of courage. Berris would have been, too, had he lived. For all the years of rivalry between our houses, I've never known any Tolm except you to be a coward."

She knew from the hurt look in his pale grey eyes that her barb had found its mark, and in that instant she nearly apologized. Then it was too late. He'd hidden the pain behind a brittle smile. "My father," he said, his voice flat.

"Yes, your father. He thinks this a fine idea. He understands why we want to make the attempt."

"You're right, he does. Don't you find that odd? Doesn't it give you pause to find that he should be so eager for the Onjaefs to reclaim the glory of their past?"

Tirnya hesitated. "Not really. He probably likes the idea of it. Once we take back Deraqor we won't be here in his city. He won't have to compete with my father anymore."

"That's right," Enly said. "Think about what that means for a moment. He doesn't think this is a good idea; he doesn't even think you're likely to succeed. He sees this as a way to get rid of both you and your father, pure and simple. He told me so himself. 'If they succeed, Jenoe can spend the rest of his days defending Deraqor from Fal'Borna attacks; and if they fail, they'll return here disgraced and broken.' Those might not be his exact words, but they're close enough."

She opened her mouth, closed it again, not knowing how to respond. Enly could have been making this up, but she didn't think so. The truth was, that sounded just like Maisaak. After a few moments, though, she realized that it didn't matter to her what His Lordship thought, just as long as he gave them enough men to make the attempt.

"We're not going to fail," she finally said.

He shook his head impatiently. "You're not listening," he told her, his voice rising. "There is no victory here. Even if you take back the city, you're dooming yourselves and your children and their children after them to lifetimes of warfare. The Qirsi won't give up. You might beat them this time, assuming that the plague we've been hearing about is real. But they'll just turn around immediately and lay siege to Deraqor themselves."

"Then we'll fight them off."

He stared at her, disbelief plain on his face. "You really are mad. You and my father both. He'd send ten thousand men to die just so that he could be rid of your father, and you'd plunge all the land into war just so that you might reclaim for your family a city you've never even seen."

She straightened. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Have you spoken of this to your men yet? Do Oliban and Qagan and Crow know what you have in mind?"

"Of course not. You heard your father. He told us not to mention our plans to anyone."

"What do you think they'd say if they knew?"

She leveled a finger at his heart as if it were a dagger. "Don't you dare say a word to them, Enly. If you want to spread word of this invasion through taverns and inns be my guest. But they're my men, and you'd better not-"

"I didn't mean it as a threat," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm asking you what they would say if they knew."

She looked away. "I have no idea."

"Don't you?"

"Clearly you think you do," she said, her anger flaring once more. "Are you so arrogant that you'd presume to know my soldiers better than I know them myself?"

"I know men," he said. "I know my own soldiers. Like yours they're loyal, good men, who would follow their commander wherever I told them to go. But they don't want to die in a useless, futile quest, nor do they wish to be remembered as the army that led the Southlands down the path to its own destruction."

She pushed past him, starting back toward the main road. "I'm not listening to any more of this!"

"You're throwing their lives away!" he called after her. "You're throwing your own life away! Can't you see that?"

Tirnya stopped, turning to face him again. "You must really think me an idiot."

"What?" he said.

"You just assume I'm going to fail, that I'm leading my soldiers to their deaths. Do you really think I'm that poor a commander?"

He shook his head. "That's not-"

"You wouldn't be saying these things to a man. You'd never question Stri's abilities as a leader or tell him he was leading his soldiers to their deaths. But because I'm a woman, you think you can speak to me as if I'm simple."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it, Enly?" she demanded. "You mean to tell me that you'd be having this conversation with anyone but me?"

He took a breath and walked to where she stood, stopping just in front of her.

"You're right," he told her, his voice low. "There's no one else I'd say these things to. I wouldn't tell Stri or your father, or even my father, not to lead this invasion of yours. Because as much as I respect them-again, even my father-as much as I might believe that they were endangering the land by doing this, I'd know that I could live with the consequences of their failure. I could bear to see them carried home on a bier. But not you."

He held her gaze for a moment longer. Tirnya tried to think of something clever and biting to say in return, but she had no answer for what she saw in those pale eyes.

Then, without another word, Enly walked away.

She watched him go, saw him turn back toward the city marketplace at the end of the narrow lane. Only then did she follow him out of the alley, turning in the opposite direction when she reached the main road.

Damn him! she thought as she walked. Who was he to speak to her so? Whatever there had been between them ended long ago. Hadn't she made that clear again and again? And still he spoke as if he had some claim on her. If ever she had loved him-and she wasn't certain that she had-she didn't anymore. And next to her desire to take back Deraqor and its surrounding lands, the one true home the Onjaef family had ever known, her feelings for Enly Tolm were nothing.

Tirnya was still in a rage when she reached the training grounds, but she did her best to mask her anger as her soldiers greeted her. Oliban and the other lead riders had already arranged the men in training groups and were awaiting her first instructions.

Seeing them now, though, she realized that Enly had made at least one valid point. These soldiers would be going with her to Deraqor, risking their lives, so that she and her father could realize their dream of taking back the city. It would be up to her lead riders, as well as Stri's and those of Jenoe's other captains, to carry out whatever plan she and her father decided on. Didn't she owe it to them to reveal at least some of what they were planning?

"Is there somethin' wrong, Captain?" Crow asked, watching her closely as she pondered all of this.

"No," she said, shaking her head and making her decision. "But I would like a word with the eight of you."

She turned to walk off a short distance, though not before she saw her lead riders exchange glances. She heard Oliban shout to the men that they should relax. A moment later her lead riders joined her.

"I wasn't entirely honest with you the other day," she began, speaking to Oliban. "I haven't been training the men harder because I'm angry with any of you, but there is some purpose behind it."

The men waited, saying nothing, but eyeing her keenly. Now that she had them there she wasn't entirely certain how to tell them. She couldn't bring herself just to come out and admit that she and Jenoe intended to attack the Fal'Borna, and once more she found herself thinking of Enly and all that he had said.

"Captain?" Oliban finally said, the frown on his face mirrored on the faces of his fellow riders.

"How many of you have heard about the plague currently striking at the Fal'Borna?"

Oliban glanced at the others once more. "We all 'aye, Captain."

"So you know that it seems to strike only at white-hairs; not at our kind."

"Hadn' heard tha'," Crow said

"Well, it's true. It strikes at their magic and it leaves their cities in ruins. Most recently it struck at S'Vralna."

She took a breath before continuing. "The marshal and I have been to see His Lordship. We believe-all of us do-that this white-hair plague presents us with an opportunity. We've already begun to form a plan to take back Deraqor and the lands around the Horn."

Silence. None of the men so much as moved.

At last, Crow narrowed his dark eyes. "Ya mean t' say tha' ya're considerin' an attack on th' Fal'Borna?"

"That's right."

Tirnya sensed Crow's incredulity, but to the man's credit he merely nodded at this. "When?" he asked a few moments later.

"We don't know yet. Soon, but not before our strategy is ready."

"Can ya tell us wha' tha' strategy is?" Qagan asked.

She shook her head. "Not yet. My father and I have been working on it for days," she added quickly, ashamed of herself for misleading them, but even more ashamed to admit how little they'd come up with thus far. "But we don't want to reveal any of it until we can reveal all of it."

Qagan nodded. "Tha' makes sense."

If anything, this made her feel worse.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more," she said. "But I thought I should at least prepare you, let you know… what we've been talking about and why we've been training so hard in recent days."

They nodded, and after a moment Oliban said, "Yes, Captain." He sounded subdued, though.

"How can we help, Captain?" Dyn asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least daunted by what she had said. He and a few of the others, including Crow, were from families that had come to Qalsyn from Deraqor with the Onjaefs. It might take them time, but they'd come to support this idea soon enough.

"I'm not sure you can right now," she said. "You must not mention this to anyone else, not even your men. Not yet at least. The fewer people who know what we have in mind, the better our chances of catching the white-hairs unaware."

"0' course," Dyn said, clearly expecting more.

"And the training of the men must be kept at the level we've established in the last few days."

"We'll see t' it," Oliban said crisply. He seemed to have recovered from his initial shock.

She nodded, forced a smile. "Very good."

They stood there a few seconds more, the eight men still watching her as if waiting for her to say more. When they realized that she had nothing else to tell them, they shared looks again.

"Well, then," Oliban said. "We'll get back t' th' men."

"Thank you," Tirnya said.

The lead riders started to walk away. After only a few strides, however, Oliban paused, turned, and walked back to where she stood.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said, sounding unsure of himself. "I was born an' raised here in Qalsyn. I've never seen Deraqor or th' Horn."

She smiled nervously. "Neither have I."

"No, o' course not. But I realize it's yar homeland, th' city o' yar family. There's lots o' families here tha' can trace their lines back there. Bu' no' mine."

"I know," Tirnya said.

"Is tha'.." He frowned and shook his head. "I'm tryin' t' understand. This is a… a huge undertakin'. We'd be riskin' a great deal."

"Are you trying to ask me why we're doing this?" she said.

He stared down at his feet. "In a sense, I suppose I am. It's been over a hundred years since yar family… since th' Onjaefs and the others were driven from Deraqor. As ya say, ya've never even seen th' city. Do ya… do ya hate Qalsyn tha' much?"

Tirnya winced at the question. "No," she said quickly. "This is the only home I've ever known. How could I hate it?"

"But then-"

"You have to understand, Oliban. My family was once like the Tolms. We ruled Deraqor. My father would be lord governor for all the lands between the Thraedes and the K'Sand were it not for the white-hairs. But instead of being one of the leading families of Stelpana, we're a family in exile. We live with the constant shame of having lost our ancestral home."

"I don' think anyone in Qalsyn thinks of ya or th' marshal tha' way," he said.

Her first thought was that Maisaak certainly did. She kept this to herself, though, saying instead, "I appreciate that. But in a way it doesn't matter how others think of us. This is how we think of ourselves. The loss of Deraqor is a stain on our family's past, and now we have an opportunity to win it back, for ourselves, for Stelpana, for all the sovereignties. My feelings about Qalsyn are beside the point. This is about redeeming my ancestors and also about giving something wondrous to my children and my grandchildren."

Oliban appeared to consider this for some time. "From all tha' I've heard," he finally said, "Deraqor was a glorious city."

Tirnya smiled. "I've heard that, too. I can't wait to see it." She started walking back toward the soldiers and the other riders. "Come on," she said, gesturing for him to walk with her. "We have work to do."

He followed, though reluctantly, his eyes still fixed on the ground, his brow creased in thought. "If ya succeed," he said after a few moments, his voice lower now, as they approached the men, "will ya expect all o' us t' stay with ya in Deraqor?"

Tirnya stopped, taken aback by the question. Her distress must have shown on her face.

"Don' get me wrong, Captain. Servin' under ya has been an honor, and I'll do all I can t' help ya win back those Onjaef lands. But then…" He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "As I told ya before. Qalsyn's th' only home I've ever known. I wouldn' want t' leave it forever."

"No, of course you wouldn't," Tirnya said, finding her voice again. "That's a long way off still, but I'm sure we'll work out something." She tried to smile. "If this works, His Lordship will need new captains. I can't think of anyone better suited to taking my place than you."

Oliban smiled at that. "Thank ya, Captain."

She nodded, then turned and walked on.

Tirnya and her soldiers spent the rest of the morning training. After the ringing of the midday bells, they resumed their patrols along the lanes outside the city walls. With her company's victory over the brigands, the attacks on merchants and travelers had fallen off greatly, but even in the best of times, road thieves remained a problem. On this day, her soldiers captured three men they spotted loitering along one of the side paths and then chased into the forest. There wouldn't he any reward this time, but as they returned to the city her men were in high spirits anyway. They were gaining a reputation as the best company in Qalsyn; this day's success would only enhance their status.

Tirnya tried to share in their good humor all the way back, but she was preoccupied with her conversation with the lead riders, and, she had to admit, her exchange with Enly as well. All of her men had seemed overawed by what she told them, though just as Enly had expected, not one of them expressed any reluctance to follow her. In a way, though, their faith in her and Enly's doubts led her to the same place: She needed to think of something-anything-that would work against the white-hairs. She had no intention of failing in this and giving Enly the chance to gloat. But more to the point, she refused to throw away the lives of the brave men under her command, the men who had saved her life and who would march into Fal'Borna lands risking their lives, simply because she and her father asked it of them.

Enly might well be right: His Lordship probably was expecting them to fail. Tirnya's own father had questioned the wisdom of taking on the Fal'Borna just as had Enly. Why were they all so afraid?

Yes, the Fal'Borna had won most of the battles late in the Blood Wars. They had pushed the sovereignties back across the Thraedes and the Central Plain, and finally across the Silverwater. But in her long history Stelpana had also fought battles against the Aeleans and the Tordjannis, winning some and losing others. No one in Qalsyn was afraid of them.

It all came down to magic, then. Yes, the Fal'Borna were said to be fearsome warriors, but it was their magic that made them such a formidable enemy. Obviously.

So, how could an Eandi army overcome Qirsi magic and prevail in a war? Surely it had happened. The Blood Wars had gone badly for the sovereignties at the end, but for a time the Eandi clans had more than held their own against the white-hairs. What changed? What had happened to turn the tide of the war so strongly against her people?

The question occupied her mind for the rest of the day and into the night, when their patrols finally ended. Rather than heading directly back to her home, Tirnya went to the Swift Water for an ale.

She should have known better. Enly was there, and he sought her out immediately.

"I've come to apologize," he said, stopping just in front of her and swaying slightly. His breath stank of whiskey, and he spoke with too much precision, as if trying to avoid slurring his words.

As angry as she had been with him earlier, she couldn't help but be amused. "Apology accepted," she said. "Now go home and get some sleep."

But he shook his head and stepped up to the bar, blocking her way. "Another whiskey for me." He glanced back at her. "And an ale for the lovely captain."

The barkeep grinned, then winked at her. A moment later Enly had both drinks in hand and was leading her to a table at the back of the tavern.

"Come here and sit," he said, beckoning to her with the hand that still held her cup, and sloshing ale onto the table. He stared down at the stain for just an instant. "Sorry 'bout that."

She took the cup from him and sat. "Why don't you just sit, before you hurt yourself?"

"Good idea." He lowered himself into his seat, sipping his whiskey as he did. "Now then," he said. "How can I help?"

"What?"

"Well, obviously talking you out of this didn't work. So, if I want you to live and bear my children, I'll have to find some way to keep you alive, won't I?" He raised his cup to her, as if toasting, and then took another sip.

She laughed. "You arrogant bastard! I thought you were a horse's ass when you're sober, but give you a few whiskeys…" She shook her head.

He blinked, clearly surprised by her response. "What did I say?"

Tirnya laughed again. "Never mind," she said sipping her ale. "You don't really want to help. This is just another feeble attempt to get me to change my mind."

He put down his cup and smacked the table with his open hand, the sound echoing loudly through the tavern. He started at the noise, glancing around self-consciously. "Not true," he said a moment later. "Not true at all."

"So now you think it's a good idea?"

"No," he said, frowning. "It's a terrible idea. Worst I've ever heard. But like I said, you'll never listen to reason, particularly if it comes from me. So, I want to help. I don't want you to die, Tirnya." He looked away briefly and took a long breath. "Yes, I'm drunk," he said, facing her again. "But I really… I care about you. Surely you've figured that out by now. I don't want to lose you. But if you're going to leave me, I at least want to know that you're safe and living happily in your precious Deraqor."

"Shhh!" she said sharply.

He looked around again, nodded, and took a quick drink. "Right. Sorry."

Tirnya ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head once more. No one appeared to have noticed what he said. And, for all his tortured logic and drunken nonsense, he had managed to touch her heart just a bit. "Fine," she said. "You want to help me? You can help me."

He patted her arm. "There you go! Good girl. I knew you'd come around." He leaned closer. "How?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"I haven't any idea."

Enly scowled at her and she laughed.

"You enjoyed that," he said.

"Yes, I did."

He turned away and took another drink, looking hurt.

"I'm sorry, Enly. But I really don't…" She trailed off, thinking again of her conversations from earlier in the day. "What do you know about the Blood Wars?" she asked after a brief silence.

He gave a short high laugh. "What do I know about the wars? Everything. My father wanted both of us-" His smile faded. "Berris, I mean. Berris and me." He drained his cup. "Father wanted us to know everything about the wars," he went on, grim-faced now. "Like you, he didn't believe this peace could last, and he wanted us to be ready when the fighting started again." He looked at her. "Why?"

"There was a time when the sovereignties enjoyed some success, wasn't there?"

Enly shrugged. "I suppose you could say that. It wasn't the sovereignties back then. We were still fighting as clans. But if you mean the Eandi, yes, we won our share of victories early on."

This time she was the one who leaned closer. "How, Enly? How did we beat them?"

He smiled and nodded. "Ah, yes. That's the question, isn't it? If we knew that…" He opened his hands. "Anything would be possible."

"You don't know then?" she asked, sitting back and frowning.

"No one does. The secret's been lost to the ages."

She took a pull of ale. "Damn," she muttered.

"It could have been anything," he went on, paying little attention to her. "It might not have been anything the Eandi did. The Qirsi might have been weaker then, or their leaders might have been less clever. They might have had fewer Weavers. Or maybe our leaders were smarter." He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "Do you think that's it? Do you think we're just not as good as the people who came before us? Not the soldiers, but the captains and marshals and lords. I'd wager my father doesn't like that idea very much." He chuckled.

"No," Tirnya said, not liking it either. "I don't suppose he does." She sat staring at the table for several moments, while Enly tried to catch the eye of the barkeep so that he could order another whiskey. "What did it mean that we weren't fighting as the sovereignties?" She looked up again meeting his gaze. "I understand that the various nations hadn't been created yet. But I'm asking what that meant in terms of how we fought."

Enly's eyebrows went up. "I'm not really certain. I'd imagine that it meant we were more unified. We hadn't split off into separate armies yet." He shrugged. "Then again, some of the clan rivalries were pretty bitter, so that might not be the case. I don't know."

"Did all the clans fight in those early battles?"

"I think so. The old histories list the names. It's been a while since I read them, and even then there were some I didn't recognize. But they were there, fighting the white-hairs. I don't think our kind were ever so united as we were in the early years of the wars."

Tirnya nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Certainly that would help when it came to waging war. But could that kind of unity make enough difference to…?"

The realization came to her with such force that for several moments she could hardly breathe, much less speak.

"Tirnya?" Enly said, eyeing her with concern.

"Could it be that simple?" she whispered.

"Could what be that simple?"

"You just said that we fought not as sovereignties, but as clans, that our people had never been so united."

He nodded, his forehead furrowing in concentration. "Yes."

"And do you think it's likely that all of our people fought the white-hairs?"

"Well, that's-"

"All of them, Enly. All of them!"

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Think for a moment!" Tirnya said, her voice rising. She noticed that others in the tavern had started to look at her. She leaned closer to him, and when she spoke again it was in a whisper. "What is it that we fear most about the white-hairs?"

"Their magic, of course."

"Yes!" she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "What if you're right and we were more united than we've been at any time since? What if the Eandi of that time were so united that they were even willing to fight alongside the Mettai?"

He stared at her. "The Mettai," he said, the word coming out as softly as a breath.

Tirnya nodded. "The Mettai. What if we succeeded in those early days of the wars because like the white-hairs we didn't only carry weapons into battle, we carried magic as well?"

She didn't wait for his answer. She stood, drained her cup, and spun away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Enly called after her.

"Home," she said over her shoulder. "I need to speak with my father."