He hadn't been looking for the Eandi army. He didn't know for certain where they had crossed the Silverwater or which way they would head once they were in Fal'Borna land, though he could have guessed that they would march toward the Horn. He wasn't even entirely certain that the rumors of their approach were true. He had been trying to sleep in a shallow hollow when he heard them. At first he'd trembled with fear, convinced that a Fal'Borna army had come, and that they would find him at any moment. When he realized that he was hearing his own people rather than white-hairs, his relief was so profound that he nearly wept.
He didn't wish to let on just how scared and desperate for their protection he was. Nor did he want to give them cause to doubt his version of what happened to Jasha. So he silently thanked the gods for this singular stroke of good fortune and behaved as though he had been searching for the army.
And he ate. Dried meat, hard cheese, stale bread. It was hardly the meal he had imagined again and again over the past several nights, as he tried to ignore the ache in his hollow belly. But it was better than air and water. After he had eaten his fill-he remembered being able to eat more than this; where had his appetite gone?-he began to feel more like himself. He also sensed the kernel of an idea forming in his mind, one that took him far beyond a bit of protection and a meal or two. One that might well put him on the path to regaining the prosperity he had lost.
Since hearing that an army of Eandi warriors intended to attack the Fal'Borna, Torgan had wondered what their leaders could have been thinking. The Fal'Borna were savage warriors and skilled sorcerers. No one knew better than he how merciless they could be with their enemies. And no one with any knowledge of the Blood Wars could doubt that they were more than a match for whatever army the sovereignties sent across the Silverwater.
Or were they? He'd seen the devastation at S'Vralna. He knew what this plague had done to the mighty Fal'Borna. The leaders of the Eandi must have known this as well. They were counting on the fact that the white-hairs were weak, their numbers depleted, their cities ruined. The Fal'Borna were no longer the formidable enemy they once had been.
There was hope for this invasion. And though Torgan had been intent on reaching the wash and the safety of Eandi lands, he now saw that the opportunity for the armies of Stelpana was also an opportunity for him. If this army could retake the Horn, they would reestablish an Eandi presence on the plain for the first time in more than a hundred years. The new Eandi outposts would need goods; they would need trade. They would need a merchant with knowledge of the Qirsi to help them provision themselves. They would need him.
Yes, there were risks. But he'd overcome worse in the past several turns. He'd escaped the Fal'Borna who held him prisoner, and more to the point, he'd thrown off his own cowardice. He still feared death, but he also feared living out the rest of his days as a pauper. He'd made plenty of enemies during his more prosperous days; many of them would delight in seeing him broken and humiliated. Regaining his wealth in Tordjanne or Stelpana or any of the other Eandi realms wouldn't be easy.
But as the first merchant in a new Deraqor, he'd be in a position to make a fortune. And traveling with this army, he'd be safer than he would be trying to complete the journey to Stelpana on his own.
As the idea took form in his mind, he became conscious of the men around him. He watched the marshal and the captains who rode with him, trying to determine which of them was most likely to help him.
He also watched the Mettai woman who had as much as called him a liar. He entertained no hope of winning her support, but he wanted to know what he was up against. And it became clear to him almost immediately that she was no threat at all. She and her people walked in the van, alongside the captains and Stelpana's bowmen. But in all other ways the Mettai clearly were outcasts in this army,. They didn't trust the Eandi, and they knew that they themselves were mistrusted.
That left him with one obvious enemy.
"Excuse me," he said to one of the soldiers marching beside him. "Can you tell me who that woman is riding with the marshal?"
"Tha's Tirnya Onjaef," the man said, in a voice that told Torgan that she was a woman of some renown. "She's th' marshal's daughter."
That much he had gathered.
"And she's a captain in his army?"
The man nodded. "Didn' think much o' her a' first. Bu' she's bett'r 'n most. An' she's good with a sword, too. Nearly beat old Enly hisself in this year's tournament."
Torgan nodded. "I see. And Enly is?"
The soldier pointed at another of the captains, a trim, dark-haired man. "Enly tolm. He's-"
"Ah!" Torgan said. "The lord governor's son."
"Tha's right."
"What else can you tell me about the Onjaef girl?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Wha'chya wan' t' know?"
Torgan forced a smile. "Forgive me. I don't mean to seem disrespectful. I'm curious, that's all. It's not often that one encounters a woman like that leading an army to battle."
"She is a beauty, air' she?" the man agreed. "There's some wha' says tha' she an' Enly are a pair, if ya knows wha' I mean."
"Really?" Torgan said. "Is it true?"
The soldier shrugged. "Don' know. Don' really care. Long as they leads us right, th' rest don' matter t' me."
Torgan asked the man a few more questions, but though the soldier talked for the better part of an hour, he learned precious little about Tirnya Onjaef. They called her the Falcon, just as they had once called her father the Eagle. She had lost the Qalsyn battle tournament in the final match three years running. And each time she had been beaten by Enly. That did strike Torgan as useful information, though he wasn't yet certain how to use it.
After a while, he thanked the man and increased Trey's pace enough to pull ahead of him. He rode alone for the rest of the day, and when the army halted for the night and began to make camp, he did his best to stay out of everyone's way. He lingered near the marshal and at one point even caught the man's eye. But though the marshal nodded to him, he didn't approach or give Torgan any indication that he wished to resume their conversation.
"That was all right with Torgan. This was much like making a sale in the marketplace. He had something that the marshal might well want at some point. But if Torgan pushed too hard or seemed too anxious for the marshal to use it, he'd never close the deal. Better to wait for the man to come to him.
If he still had his wares and belongings with him he would have pulled out his flask of Qosantian whiskey and approached the captains. He'd never yet known a soldier to turn down a sip of the Qosantian brew, and over the years he'd found that it could loosen even the tightest of tongues. But he had nothing to offer these men or the marshal's daughter, and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get if he tried to inject himself into their conversation. None of them seemed to give a thought to approaching him.
He sat beside a small fire at the fringe of the camp, savoring the full feeling in his belly while Trey grazed nearby. He listened to the quiet hum of the campground, catching snatches of distant conversation and laughter, or verses of battle songs sung slightly out of tune. And he waited. He felt reasonably sure that he wouldn't have to wait long.
She didn't like the merchant. Not at all. She couldn't say why; she just …I didn't trust him. Even now, sitting with the other captains, she could feel his one eye on them, on her. He kept a respectful distance, but he intruded with his furtive glances. He made her skin crawl.
Most of all, she was repulsed by his suggestion that they use the plague to attack the Fal'Borna. And she was deeply disturbed by her father's willingness to consider the notion.
All along she had been the one who had pushed Jenoe-the invasion had been her idea, as had the alliance with the Mettai. But in the past several days her father had changed. The Jenoe she knew would never have allowed his men to kill enemy warriors as they slept. He would have rejected out of hand Torgan Plye's offer of help. Leading this army had changed him.