The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 15

F'Ghara made good on his promise to feed Besh and Sirj and to sell them as much food as they needed for the next stage of their journey.

Even more, for that one night, as Besh recovered from his wounds and tried to make peace with the fact that he had killed Lici, he and Sirj were treated as esteemed guests in F'Ghara's sept. The irony was that while the Fal'Borna were honoring them, Besh was nearly overwhelmed with shame and grief.

He knew he'd had no choice. Lici had been torturing him; she'd made it clear that she had every intention of killing him before the day was out; and she'd been speaking of doing to her own people-Besh's people-what she had done already to the Y'Qatt. Killing her had been an act of desperation and of necessity. There wasn't a person in the sept who would have considered it murder, nor would any of the people he'd left behind in his own village of Kirayde. Sirj had said nothing to indicate that he found fault with what he'd done. It seemed that Besh himself was the only person who objected.

He'd never killed before. He hoped never to kill again. But he could hardly claim that he hadn't meant to do it, or even that he'd meant her no harm. He'd threatened to kill her; he'd as much as promised Pyav, Kirayde's village eldest, that he would do so if he couldn't stop her any other way. All of which begged the question, if her death hadn't been murder, what in Bian's name had it been?

These questions plagued him that first night when, as guests of the a'laq, he and Sirj ate and took their rest among the Fal'Borna. Besh lay awake for hours that night. Ema's voice in his mind assured him that he'd had no choice, that he'd done what was necessary. He didn't hear Sylpa's voice, which had become nearly as familiar to his thoughts as that of his dead wife, nor did he expect that he ever would again. She had been like a mother to Lici. Was it so surprising that she should forsake him now?

When at last he did sleep, he was haunted by dreams of Lici. In one, she appeared to him as a young girl, newly orphaned by the pestilence that had ravaged her village. She looked emaciated and she was crying, her face burned by the sun, her limbs scored by brambles and covered with insect bites. He went to her, intending to comfort her. But when he drew near, she reached out with a talon-like hand and took hold of his throat. Then she cut the hack of the hand that held him, wiped dirt on the wound, and began to chant the words a spell.

"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, plague to old man!"

Instantly Besh felt the pestilence flowing through her hand into his throat, the fever spreading through his body, his stomach souring until he gagged.

He woke up, sweating and breathless, addled, not quite certain of where he was. After a few moments though, he recognized the sound of Sirj's muffled breathing, and realized that the faint reddish glow came from the coals of the fire that had warmed their shelter.

He lay back, and immediately fell back into the dream. Lici had been transformed into the old woman he'd killed earlier that day, but otherwise nothing had changed. She had her hand wrapped around his neck, her bloodied nails digging into his flesh, her hot, sour breath on his face.

"I'm not finished with you," she said coldly. "I'll never be finished with you.”

Again she started to chant a curse, and again he awoke. The glow of the coals had grown faint, and Sirj was snoring loudly. Besh tried to rouse himself, but soon found himself in the dream again. On and on this went. Sometimes he encountered Lici as the old, crazed Mettai witch, other times as the pretty young girl he'd known in his youth. But always she was strangling the life out of him; always she had the words of a curse on her lips.

When, mercifully, morning came and Sirj woke him, he felt wearier than he had when he first had lain down for the night, and he despaired of ever sleeping again.

Under F'Ghara's direction, the Fal'Borna sold them a good deal of food, including lots of dried rilda meat, which might have been the best smoked meat Besh had ever tasted. He had expected that they would have to pay dearly for the food-the Fal'Borna were known as stubborn negotiators. But F'Ghara charged them about what Besh might have expected to pay in the Kirayde marketplace. When they thanked the a'laq, he nodded, looking grave, and then drew the two of them aside, so that the others in his sept wouldn't hear.

"Where will you go from here?" he asked.

"With your leave, A'Laq," Besh said, "we'd continue west, farther into Fal'Borna lands. We know the name of the merchant who has the woman's baskets. We want to find him and keep him from doing more damage."

The a'laq regarded them both. "You have my permission to cross the clan lands. And you have my thanks as well. Your people…" He grimaced, shaking his head.

"The Mettai are hated by Qirsi and Eandi Besh said. "It's no great secret."

F'Ghara smiled. "Perhaps not. But it does seem undeserved. You've made a friend today, not only for yourselves, but for all the Mettai." He reached behind his neck and untied the necklace bearing the small white stone. "Take this," he said, handing it to Besh. "It's a token of my gratitude for killing that woman, and if you encounter other Fal'Borna it will serve as proof that I've named you both friends of my people."

"Thank you, A'Laq," Besh said, closing his hand over the necklace. F'Ghara placed one powerful hand on Besh's shoulder and the other on Sirj's. "Go in peace."

A few moments later, they steered Lici's cart out of the sept and started westward toward the Thraedes. Lici's few personal belongings were still in the cart-her clothes, several small blades that she might have used for making her baskets, some rope, and a small skin she'd used for water. Besh piled these things in a corner of the cart, and tried to ignore them as he rode beside Sirj in front. But he was aware of them constantly; he felt as though she were still there, watching them, silently accusing him. At last he told Sirj to stop.

"Why? Are you all right?"

"Just stop. Please."

Sirj tugged on the reins until the horse halted. Besh climbed down off the cart, grabbed her things, and threw them on the ground. Then he pulled his knife free, cut himself, and conjured a fire that quickly engulfed the pile he'd made. He watched it burn for a few moments before climbing back onto the cart.

"You can go now," he said.

"What about the horse and the cart?"

He looked sharply at Sirj, but the younger man was grinning. Besh smiled reluctantly.

"I suppose I can live with those," he said.

"Are you sure?" Sirj asked him, growing serious. "I'm certain the Fal'Borna would take them, particularly the horse."

"No, it's all right. And I don't feel much like walking to the Horn."

Sirj nodded and flicked the reins. "Good," he said, as the nag started forward again. "I don't either."

They traveled west for several days, covering more distance by far than they ever had with Lici. Besh still dreamed of the woman, though with each night that passed, the visions grew less disturbing, until Lici was little more than a distant, silent presence in dreams of other people and places. But she was always there, on the fringe of Besh's consciousness, and he wondered if she'd ever leave him.

During the waking hours he and Sirj talked but little, not because of any lingering discomfort between them, but simply because there seemed to be little to say. Sirj had some idea of what had happened between Besh and Lici that last terrible day, and it wouldn't take much imagination to piece together those details that hadn't been so apparent. Still, had Besh been in the younger man's position he would have been curious to know more, and he was grateful to Sirj for sparing him all the obvious questions.

Yet, he asked himself the same questions again and again. Could he have defeated Lici without killing her? Would he have wanted to? Had Lici, in some small way, been hoping that he would kill her? Was that why she had done and said all those things at the end? Even if she had been hoping to die, Besh knew better than to think that absolved him in some way. If anything, it made him wonder if he had been so transparent in wanting her dead that she'd seen fit to use him to achieve this dark end.

By their fourth morning out from F'Ghara's sept, Besh had grown weary of thinking about the old witch day and night. As they rode through yet another desolate stretch of plain, caught between the monotony of the grasses and another grey sky, it occurred to him that whatever else he might have accomplished by killing the woman, he certainly hadn't rid himself of her. For some reason, this thought struck him as funny and he chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?" Sirj asked him.

Besh shook his head. "It was nothing."

Sirj just shrugged.

"I've been thinking about Lici," Besh admitted, flexing his wounded hand, which still felt stiff and a bit sore. "Dreaming about her as well. And it just came to me that she's troubling me nearly as much now as she did when she was alive."

Sirj didn't laugh, nor did he say anything, at least at first. Besh could see, though, that he was considering what Besh had told him.

"You saved my life the other day," the younger man finally said. "And not just in the obvious way.

"What do you mean?"

Sirj didn't look at him, but Besh could see the muscles in the man's jaw bunching. "When I was riding to the sept to speak with the Fal'Borna, I wished that you'd gone instead of me. I assumed I'd make a mess of talking to them." He laughed. "Actually, I did make a mess of it."

"It seemed to me that you did just fine," Besh said. Even as he said the words though, he realized that he'd heard little about Sirj's encounter with the white-hairs.

"No, I didn't." He described for Besh his conversation with the warriors and his offer to submit to the a'laq's mind-bending magic. "They learned about Lici. They were ready to kill all three of us."

"I doubt I would have done any better."

"Yes, you would have," Sirj said. Then he shook his head. "That's not important, though. But I think that if you'd left me with Lici, I'd be dead now, and she'd have escaped."

Besh frowned. "I don't think-"

"Please." Sirj's smile was pained. "I know myself pretty well. I'm not being modest, or paying you idle compliments. I have my strengths, but using magic as you did isn't one of them." He glanced at Besh, looking almost shy. "Elica told me that you vowed to keep me safe, and I just wanted to say that you've done that and more." He shrugged again. "Anyway, I don't know what you're thinking about Lici, or what thoughts are troubling your sleep, but I wanted you to know that."

"Thank you," Besh said.

They rode in silence for a short while, the cart bouncing along through the grass, the wheels squeaking occasionally.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" Besh finally asked.

Sirj shook his head.

"I never had, either. I know I made the blood oath to Pyav, and I threatened Lici, but I never really thought I would. That's why I'm having these dreams, I think. I'd never killed a person, and I'm not entirely sure that I had to kill Lici."

"You think you had a choice?" Sirj asked, sounding incredulous.

"There might have been-"

"No," the younger man said. "Don't even say it. I saw you, Besh. You were bleeding all over. Your hand.." He shook his head, swallowing. "I don't know how you managed to fight her in that condition, but you were lucky to survive at all. If you hadn't killed her when you did, you would have died."

Besh shook his head slowly. "We could have learned more from her. She told me that there was no way to defeat her plague, but I have to believe there is, and that we might have learned something from her, given the time. Just as we finally learned about that merchant who bought her baskets."

"You're assuming that what she told us was true," Sirj said. "We don't even know that anymore."

Besh had never even considered this, and the idea of it hit him like a fist. "If she lied to us…" Abruptly he found himself blinking back tears. "That would mean we had nothing, that it was all for nothing."

"We stopped her," Sirj said. "Or, rather, you did. That's hardly nothing."

Besh started to argue the point, but at that moment, Sirj suddenly stood up from his seat in the cart, balancing precariously as the wagon continued to rock and shudder.

"Do you see that?" the younger man asked, pointing to the southwest.

Besh scanned the horizon, and half stood himself before being thrown back onto his seat by the motion of the cart. "I don't see anything," he said. But he knew better than to think this meant much. Sirj's eyes were keener by far than his own. "What is it?"

"Riders, I think."

Hope blossomed in his heart. "A merchant?"

Sirj shook his head, looking grim. "No cart. Just riders. White-hairs, I think."

"The Fal'Borna."

"They'd have to be, out here," Sirj said.

"The a'laq named us a friend of the Fal'Borna."

Sirj was already turning the cart northward, as if hoping to avoid the strangers. "Yes, he did. But I'd just as soon not put too much faith in the hospitality of the Fal'Borna."

Besh could hardly argue.

Sirj pushed Lici's old horse harder than Besh would have, always steering to the north, his eyes constantly flicking in the direction of the riders. "Are they coming this way?" Besh asked after a time.

For several moments Sirj didn't answer. Finally, though, he exhaled through his teeth and whispered, "Damn." He glanced at Besh. "I didn't turn soon enough. I'm sorry."

"It was going to happen eventually."

"We can't outrun them," Sirj said, sounding desperate.

"We don't have to. We've done nothing wrong."

The younger man took a long breath. "Right," he said.

Still he drove the nag on, until Besh finally laid a hand gently on his arm. "You'll kill the beast," he said. "Let her rest."

"But the Fal'Borna-"

"We're not trusting in the… what was it you said? The hospitality of the Fal'Borna? But we can have some faith in ourselves, I think." Besh raised his eyebrows. "We've earned that, haven't we?"

Sirj smiled, though he looked nervous. "Yes, I suppose we have."

Reluctantly, he slowed the cart until they halted. Besh could now see the riders approaching, though he couldn't make out what they looked like. There appeared to be four of them, and as they drew nearer he saw that the two in front were definitely Qirsi. But the other two…

"What would two Eandi be doing out here, riding with white-hairs?" Sirj asked, speaking as much to himself as to Besh.

"Do they look like marauders?" Besh asked, suddenly fearful. "I may have just killed us by telling you to stop."

Sirj said nothing, but he pulled free his knife. Besh did the same. With all that had happened in the past few turns, and especially in the last several days, Besh didn't need anyone to tell him how potent Mettai magic could be. If these were marauders, thinking they had stumbled upon some easy prey in the form of Eandi merchants, they were in for a surprise.

Sirj went so far as to jump down from the cart, grab a handful of earth and cut the back of his hand. Besh, after just a moment's hesitation, did the same.

To his great surprise, though, the riders halted a short distance from them, the Eandi still remaining behind the two white-hairs.

"Drop your knives!" one of the Qirsi called to them. He was a young man, powerfully built with golden skin like that of the Fal'Borna. "And drop the dirt you're holding, too!"

"And leave ourselves defenseless against your magic?" Besh answered. "You must think we're fools!"

The white nag reared suddenly, kicking out violently and straining against her harness.

"That was language of beasts, Mettai," the young Qirsi said. "I also have shaping and fire. You're already defenseless against our magic. Now drop the dirt and blade!"

"If we're defenseless already, then it shouldn't matter to you that we hold on to them."

The Fal'Borna glared at him for several moments. Besh could see frustration written on his face. His companion said something to him that Besh couldn't hear, but the younger man didn't appear to pay any attention.

"I can shatter your blades, you know!" he said. "But at this distance, I might shatter your hands instead. Or your arms. Or maybe even your necks."

"Yes, well perhaps you'd like to see what Mettai magic can do!" Sirj shouted back at him.

Again the other Qirsi said something, and this time the Fal'Borna looked at him, though he didn't respond otherwise.

"They have seen what it can do," Besh whispered, knowing as he spoke the words that it was true. "They know about Lici."

"How can you tell?" Sirj asked.

Before Besh could answer, he felt a strange sensation in his hand. He knew instantly that it was magic-white-hair magic-and he actually cried out, thinking that they were under attack.

A moment later, though, another realization came to him. This wasn't shaping magic, or fire, or any of the other Qirsi magics that he'd learned to fear over the course of his life. This was healing. One of the white-hairs was healing the cut he'd made in the back of his hand.

"What is it?" Sirj asked him, his eyes wide with alarm.

Besh shook his head. "It's… it's all right. I'm all right."

The other white-hair said something to his mount and rode forward a short distance, his pale eyes fixed on Besh. He appeared older than the Fal'Borna. He clearly belonged to another clan. His skin was ghostly white. But unlike so many of the white-hairs Besh had met over the years, this man didn't look sickly or frail. He was as powerfully built as any Fal'Borna, and a good deal taller. He also had a kind face. He smiled now as he stopped in front of Besh.

"You did that," Besh said.

"Yes. I didn't mean to startle you, but it seemed the best way to get your attention, and to deny you access to your magic, at least for the moment." He had a strange accent, one that Besh had never heard before. "What did he do?" Sirj demanded. "What's going on?"

Besh raised a hand, signaling to Sirj that he should keep quiet for a moment.

"What clan are you from?" he asked the stranger. "I've never heard that accent before, and I thought I'd met Qirsi from every clan in the Southlands."

"I'm not from any clan that you know. I'm from the Forelands. My name is Grinsa jal Arriet."

The Forelands! It certainly explained the accent. And for some reason listening to the man speak and hearing where he was from put Besh's mind at ease. That, and the fact that the stranger had chosen to prove his might by healing him rather than attacking him.

"I'm called Besh," he said. "This is Sirj; he's my daughter's husband." The two men exchanged nods.

"I need to ask you what you're carrying in your cart, Besh. It's important that you answer me honestly. Lives may be at stake."

Besh glanced at Sirj, an eyebrow raised. After a brief hesitation, Sirj nodded.

"We're carrying no baskets," Besh said, facing the Forelander again. "In fact, we're looking for a merchant who might have them."

The Fal'Borna kicked at the flanks of his mount, and in a moment was just beside Grinsa. "You know of the witch who made them?"

Besh took a breath, suddenly ashamed, though he knew he had no reason to be. "She was from our village."

The Forelander's eyes narrowed. "You speak of her as if she's dead."

"She is," Besh said. "I killed her."

The reaction to this from the two Qirsi, indeed, from all four of the strangers, was not at all what Besh had expected. Grinsa winced. The two Eandi, a large, heavy man with one good eye, and a slight man with a youthful face, both responded much the same way. The Fal'Borna, on the other hand, merely frowned.

"How long ago?" Grinsa finally asked in a thick voice.

"Just a few days. She attacked me, and she threatened to do to my people what she had done to the Y'Qatt."

"It's not just the Y'Qatt," the Fal'Borna said, glowering at him.

"Forgive me. I know that. But she intended it for the Y'Qatt. It was to be retribution for an old injury they did her."

The younger of the two Eandi steered his mount closer to those of the Qirsi. "You say you're looking for a merchant. Did the woman tell you his name?"

Sirj glanced Besh's way and shook his head.

"I'll answer your questions in good time," Besh said, understanding immediately. "But first I want to know what you intend to do to us." He nodded at his hand. "You've shown me what your magic can do; you know what Mettai magic is capable of. I don't want to fight you, and I'm not sure that we can prevail if you force the matter. But I'm not going to tell you all we know so that you can turn around and kill us." His gaze flicked toward the younger Qirsi. "I know how the Fal'Borna deal with those they consider enemies. I know as well that the last a'laq we encountered named us friends of the Fal'Borna after I killed Lici. But I don't expect you to take my word on that." He pulled from his pocket the necklace F'Ghara had given him and held it up for the Qirsi to see. "He gave us this."

The Fal'Borna glanced at the stone and nodded. "What was the a'laq's name?" he asked.

"F'Ghara."

The man looked at Grinsa. "I know him. He leads a small sept. He has few Weavers, if he has any at all."

"But if he's named them as friends of your people…?" Grinsa asked. "Then we have no choice but to honor his decision."

Grinsa looked at Besh again and opened his hands. "There's your answer."

Still Besh hesitated.

The Forelander smiled. "I haven't been among the Fal'Borna for long, and I don't pretend to understand all their customs. But I can tell you that they take naming someone a friend or enemy quite seriously. If this a'laq has declared his friendship, you're safe on the plain."

Besh considered this for several moments. "Very well." He looked at the Young Eandi. "To answer your question, the merchant's name was Brint HedFarren. At least that's what Lici told me."

The Eandi nodded grimly. "That's the right name. I've met HedFarren.

He doesn't have the baskets anymore. He sold them to other merchants." The elation Besh felt upon learning that Lici hadn't lied to him vanished as quickly as it had come. "Damn. How many other merchants?"

"Several."

"We were about to turn toward the Horn to look for some of them when we saw you," Grinsa said. "You're welcome to travel with us if you'd like."

"They should go to the Ofirean," the Fal'Borna said with quiet intensity. "Some of the merchants are headed there."

The two Qirsi eyed each other, but said nothing.

"We're far from our home already," Sirj finally told them. "We can go as far as the Horn, but we're not going all the way down to the sea. That's too much to ask of…" He broke off, his face reddening.

Besh grinned. "What he was going to say, before he thought better of it, is that it's too much to ask of an old man like me." Glancing at Sirj he saw that the man's cheeks were still red, but a small grin was playing at the corners of his mouth. "As much as I'm loath to admit it," he went on, "he's right."

Grinsa spoke to the Fal'Borna again, lowering his voice so that none of the rest of them could hear. Besh couldn't hear the Fal'Borna's response, either, but after a few more words from Grinsa it seemed that the two of them came to some sort of understanding.

"All right then," the Fal'Borna said brusquely to Besh and Sirj. "You can ride with us. Try to keep up."

He wheeled his horse away from them and started westward, giving the rest of them little choice but to follow. Grinsa remained where he was for a few moments, eyeing Besh and Sirj. But in the end, he rode ahead with the Fal'Borna.

Besh and Sirj started after them, as did the two Eandi. The younger one trailed behind the Qirsi, but the old one, with his scarred face and single dark eye, pulled abreast of the cart.

"You're fools to cast your lot with us," he said. "You should have gone your own way when you had the chance. You still can if you handle it right. Tell them you'll go to the Ofirean after all, and then, once we're far enough away, turn back home."

"We want to find those merchants," Besh said.

The man shook his head. "As I said, you're fools. But I suppose I should have expected no less from Mettai."

Besh sensed that Sirj was bristling. "How is it you came to be traveling with them, friend?" he asked quickly, hoping to keep the younger man from saying something they'd both regret.

"I'm their prisoner," the Eandi said. "I sold some of those crazy woman's baskets to a sept north of here, and the Fal'Borna hunted me down. Me and the lad there," he added, nodding toward the young Eandi. "Our one hope of winning our freedom was helping them kill the witch. But now you've done that for us, and I don't know what that means. Maybe they'll let us go; maybe they'll execute us. In either case, you should get away while you can. I don't care what the Forelander says: you can't trust the Fal'Borna."

He spurred his mount angrily and rode ahead of them.

"Do you believe him?" Sirj asked once the man was out of earshot. Besh considered this as he eyed their new companions. "Yes," he said. "I suppose I do."

"But he claims they're prisoners. What's to keep them…?" He trailed off. Besh could see him working it out. "Magic," he finally whispered. "Language of beasts, the threat of fire or shaping. That would be enough."

Besh nodded. "I should think so."

"Maybe he's right, then," Sirj said. "Maybe we should get away while we can."

"I think we're past that point already." Besh watched Grinsa briefly, noting that while he and the Fal'Borna rode together, they didn't speak. "Besides, I'm intrigued by the Forelander, by this entire company, actually. How did they all come to be journeying together? Even if we believe what the Eandi said, that doesn't explain why the Forelander is with them. It's all very odd."

"It's not our problem," Sirj said.

Besh shrugged. "No, it's not. But they seem intent on finding Lici's baskets, and that is our problem. If we're going to find a way to undo her curse, it might be helpful to have access to Qirsi magic, as well as our own."

Sirj regarded him briefly, then shook his head. "You have a better mind for these matters than I do. I hadn't thought of that."

"You would have soon enough."

Sirj smiled, and they rode on, following their new companions.

They rested a few times, seeking out the rills that flowed through this part of the plain, so that their horses could graze and drink, while they themselves ate a bit. The others said little during these respites, and Besh thought it best to follow their example. The two Eandi avoided one another, which surprised him, though their relationship seemed no more or less strained than that between the two Qirsi. The more Besh watched these four the more curious he grew.

Eventually, later in the day, his curiosity getting the better of him, he had Sirj steer their cart closer to the younger of the two Eandi.

"My pardon, friend," he called to the man. "I was wondering if I might ask you a question or two."

The young man eyed him briefly, then nodded.

"I'm Besh," he said, knowing that the man had already heard this, but wanting him to introduce himself. "This is Sirj."

"I remember. I'm Jasha Ziffel."

"It's nice to meet you, Jasha. I was curious as to how you came to be riding with the white-hairs."

Jasha pressed his lips thin, looking pale and very young. His eyes strayed to the other Eandi. "That's a difficult story."

"Your companion-the other Eandi-he says that you're both prisoners of the Fal'Borna."

"That's true, as far as it goes."

Besh frowned. "As far as it goes?"

Jasha shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Torgan… that's his name. Torgan Plye. He's a merchant; both of us are, actually. In any case, Torgan managed to buy some of the baskets your witch made, and then he sold them to a Fal'Borna sept. I don't think he knew what he was doing, but the Fal'Borna blame him for what happened afterward. He fled, and I went with him. I'm still not certain why. I thought that together we might find the woman before she could kill again. But I also didn't entirely believe Torgan's story, and, just in case he was lying, I wanted to keep him from spreading any more of the disease."

"So you and he aren't actually friends," Sirj said.

A bitter smile touched his lips and then vanished. "Torgan doesn't have friends, at least not that I know of." He faced Besh again. "I suppose you'd say that we're prisoners. But they allowed me to leave the camp in order to get information from other merchants."

"And you returned."

Besh kept his voice even as he said this, but Jasha seemed to hear a challenge in the words. He straightened and nodded once.

"Yes, I did. I could have run away, but they would have killed Torgan-at least that's what they said. And I want to find these merchants. I wanted to find the witch, too. I'm… I'm glad to know that she's dead."

"What can you tell me about the Qirsi?" Besh asked, eager to change the subject.

The young merchant shrugged. "Not much, really."

"Do you know how Grinsa came to be living among the Fal'Borna?" Jasha shook his head. "No, though I gather that it wasn't by choice. He and Q'Daer-that's the Fal'Borna-they don't get along very well." That much Besh had gathered for himself.

He had other questions, but he didn't want to push Jasha too far. Building a friendship under these circumstances was, he decided, a bit like tending his garden back in Kirayde. Patience was the key. He'd established a bit of trust with the man, and no doubt Jasha would be able to tell him more in the days to come. Better then to let their rapport grow slowly.

"Thank you, Jasha," he said, smiling. "You've been most helpful."

The Eandi nodded, but he didn't ride off, nor did he return Besh's smile.

"Why did she do it?" he finally asked. "You knew the woman, right?"

Besh felt the color drain from his face. "Lici, you mean?"

"Was that her name? Lici? I thought I heard you say it before, but I wasn't certain."

"Yes," Besh said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Her name was Lici."

Jasha shook his head slowly. "It's a nice name. Friendly. I suppose names don't mean as much as we think they do." He shook his head again. "You said before that she wanted to avenge some old injury done her by the Y'Qatt. Can you tell me more?"

At first, Besh was reluctant to answer. It was a Mettai matter and all his life he'd been wary of Eandi and Qirsi alike. In the end, however, he decided that he owed Jasha the truth. The young merchant had been forthcoming with him; Besh could hardly refuse to answer his questions.

"As a young girl Lici lost her entire village to the pestilence. She tried to find Qirsi who could heal her family, but she found the Y'Qatt instead of the Fal'Borna and they refused to help her."

"The Y'Qatt wouldn't use magic to heal themselves much less strangers from another village."

"You and I know that," Besh said. "But Lici was a child at the time. She'd never even heard of the Y'Qatt."

"And now there are Y'Qatt children and Fal'Borna children who will grow up hating the Mettai." Jasha looked like he might weep. "We saw a village-a Fal'Borna sept-that had been destroyed by her plague. They'll hate her forever, and because of that they'll hate all of you. This is how wars begin. I don't know how the first of the Blood Wars started, and I'm sure it didn't involve a plague like this one. But that's beside the point. People on this plain will hate the Mettai for generations. Y'Qatt and Fal'Borna children will be taught that your magic is… evil."

Besh smiled sadly. "Aren't they taught that already?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," Besh said. "That's why Sirj and I are out here, looking for the baskets. That's why we went after Lici. You might even say that's the reason she's dead."

Jasha looked away again, his face coloring. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't have said all that. I know it's not your fault."

"No," Besh said. "It's not. But that's beside the point, too, isn't it?"

The young merchant met his gaze again and nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid it is.