"Another compromise," the a'laq said, contempt in his voice. "You talk like an Eandi."
"I talk like a man of the Forelands, as I always have." He looked at Besh again. "Will you agree to this? Will you answer my questions?"
Besh glanced at E'Menua. "Will he allow us to leave our shelter?" Grinsa looked at the a'laq, too, raising an eyebrow.
E'Menua nodded reluctantly. "I want to know what their kind can do," he said. "I want to know what they can conjure."
"I understand, A'Laq. I want to know those things, too."
Still the a'laq eyed him, finally shaking his head and saying, almost under his breath, "You're a most difficult man." He cast a dark look at Besh and Sirj and then stalked off.
"I'm still not sure we should help you," Sirj told Grinsa, once E'Menua was out of earshot. "I don't like the idea of working to defeat other Mettai."
"They deserve defeating," Besh said.
Sirj looked at him, clearly surprised.
"We have no business in this war. Our people haven't fought against the Qirsi since the earliest days of the Blood Wars. What kind of fool would choose to start fighting again now?" Besh could see that Sirj had no answer for him, so he turned to Grinsa. "What is it you want to know?"
"You conjured a fox," the Forelander said. "I'll never forget it. And I saw you conjure hornets as well. What other creatures can you summon in that way?"
Besh nodded. "A good question. I'm not sure I can answer. There were spells that our people did long ago, back in the days when we fought. Many of them have been lost to time, though tales of them remain."
"E'Menua fears that you can conjure creatures from myth and legend."
"Of course he does. No one wants to face a creyvnal in battle, much less a score of them."
Grinsa frowned. "A creyvnal?"
"A beast from the ancient stories. It has the body of a lion and the head of a wolf."
"Can you conjure such a thing?"
Besh smiled, but quickly grew serious again. "No, I can't, but you're asking if our people can. And that's a more difficult question."
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the ground. As a rule, his people were reluctant to speak with outsiders about their history, their magic, or their traditions. This was one of the many reasons he thought it so odd that Mettai had chosen to fight alongside the Eandi army. It wasn't just that his people valued peace; over the centuries they had also come to embrace their isolation.
There were stories of the early Blood Wars that had been passed down by generations of Mettai. These weren't the tales that parents told their children at bedtime, or that had been turned into songs sung around fires on cold nights during the Snows. These stories were told in hushed voices and were intended as warnings. Many people doubted that they were true, either because they couldn't believe that Mettai magic had once been so powerful, or because they didn't want to believe that Mettai men and women could be so evil.
Besh had been among those who thought the stories more fanciful than accurate. But he had also seen that the stories served a purpose. Magic had its place, these tales cautioned, but those who wielded it were responsible for its consequences. A Mettai did not conjure carelessly or without good reason. Blood and earth were not to be wasted on trifles, nor were they to be taken up in anger except as a last resort. These were the lessons passed on to children as they came into their power. And the tales of ancient evils gave weight to those lessons.
Now, though, he could see that there was a darker side to these stories. For those Mettai looking for glory or gold or land, the old tales might actually encourage them to march to war. Because it was told that once, centuries before, Mettai magic had been a mighty weapon. Qirsi had trembled at the mere thought of some Mettai spells. Eandi had come to see Besh's people as one of their greatest assets when they marched to battle. If it hadn't been for the Mettai, some of the tales said, the Blood Wars might have ended hundreds of years earlier; they might never have been fought at all.
It was so hard to credit. And yet, hadn't Lici found a way to kill hundreds with her magic? Back in the warm, hazy days of the late Planting, before Lici left Kirayde and began spreading her plague across the land, Besh had never imagined that Mettai magic could harm so many. He never thought that it would start another war. But it had. Was it such a stretch, then, to believe that these old stories were true? If Lici could conjure her pestilence, couldn't the ancient Mettai have created evil creatures and bound them to their service?
"There may have been spells that could do such things," Besh finally said. "But if they existed at all, most of them would have passed out of memory long ago."
"You don't even know if they were real?" Grinsa asked.
"No. I want to believe that they weren't. They were… they could do terrible things."
"What kind of things?"
"It was said that the Mettai of old could kill hundreds at a time with a single conjuring. They could send poison at their enemies. They could conjure animals, birds, even dragons."
"Dragons?" Grinsa repeated. "But surely…" He stopped himself.
Besh had some idea of what he was thinking. He'd asked about the creyvnal, and Besh had said, in essence, that he didn't know if the beast could be conjured. But if it was even possible, then so was a dragon, or any of the demons and beasts said to live in Bian's realm.
"You've never believed those tales," Sirj said.
"No," Besh said. "I haven't. But I never thought that a Mettai could conjure a killing plague, or, for that matter, that I could create a spell that would defeat such a plague."
"You say that these spells have been lost to time," Grinsa said. "But are you certain of that? Is it possible that some Mettai still remember them?"
Some Mettai. The Mettai who had joined with the army of Stelpana.
"I suppose it's possible," Besh said. "Like the Qirsi clans and the Eandi sovereignties, different Mettai villages have different traditions. We may well remember different things."
Grinsa frowned. "But the way your magic works, can't you simply come up with an incantation and summon that beast you mentioned before?"
"The creyvnal, you mean?"
"Yes. Couldn't any Mettai do that?"
Besh shook his head. "It's not that easy. Not nearly. The phrases have to be right, and they have to be spoken in the correct order, but that's the least of it. I can't create something that I can't picture in my mind. When I conjured that fox for you when we first met, I knew exactly what it would look like. I've seen hundreds of them. I have some idea of how a creyvnal should look; at least, I think I do. I've heard the legends. I can imagine a wolf's head on a lion's body. But that's not the same as knowing how the creature would move and sound."
"What about the blood wolves?" Sirj asked. "Or one of the other battle creatures?"
Grinsa looked from one of them to the other. "Blood wolves?"
Besh glanced at Sirj, wishing the younger man hadn't mentioned battle creatures.
"There are stories-the same ones that speak of the poisoning spells. They tell of creatures conjured by the Mettai during the early years of the Blood Wars. Great wolves, unnaturally quick and canny. Other beasts as well. Snakes, falcons, wild cats. Blood creatures, they were called." He took a breath and exhaled through his teeth. "These creatures might be easier to conjure than that poisoning spell. I might even be able to do it. I haven't seen them, but I've seen wild wolves. I know how they behave. I could create something like them, but bigger, stronger, smarter. They might not be exactly like the blood wolves of old, but they'd be close enough."
"Do you think these Mettai who have joined the Eandi army would use them?" Grinsa asked.
Besh nodded. "I think that once this war begins, and the full power of Fal'Borna magic is unleashed against this army, they'll use every spell they can think of. Wolves might well be the least of it."