"So be it," he muttered to himself. "He can have her and good riddance." Brave words. Would that it were so easy.
He'd as much as pushed Gries into her arms, and for the life of him he couldn't imagine why he'd done it. Except that he'd had no choice. He couldn't have claimed that she was his, because Tirnya would have been quick to announce to the entire world that she wasn't. He could almost hear his father laughing at him, mocking him for wasting his thoughts on a girl who hadn't shared his bed for more than a year. Maisaak would have told him that the sick feeling in his gut was exactly what he deserved for allowing himself to become infatuated with an Onjaef.
Enly couldn't help thinking that he had put the idea of Gries in Tirnya's head the very day Qalsyn's army met up with the soldiers of Fairlea. He'd gone on and on about how much he hated the man; he'd warned her away from him.
Tirnya looked for ways to infuriate him; he should have realized that nothing could have made Gries more attractive to her.
"Idiot!" he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. He threw off his damp blankets, knelt, and rolled up the blankets and his sleeping roll. Then he stood and carried them to where he'd left Nallaj, his bay. Most of his men were already awake and they called greetings to him as he walked past.
When he reached the horses, Tirnya was there. Naturally.
He faltered at the sight of her, but recovered quickly, walking past her to recover his saddle.
He said nothing to her as he saddled his horse. She didn't speak either, and he preferred it that way. For about a minute.
He glanced at her a couple of times as he tied his sleeping roll in place. She appeared to be ignoring him.
"Good morning," he finally said.
She looked up, her expression mild. "Good morning." Her hair was tied back and a few wisps fell over her face. She looked beautiful, as always. Great.
"Late night?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Not particularly." Then, as an afterthought, "You?"
He let out a short, harsh laugh. "Hardly."
Tirnya frowned and gave him an odd look before turning her attention back to her saddle.
Enly cast about for something else to say, something that might help him figure out just what had happened between her and Gries the night before. But nothing came to him, and he decided he'd be best off walking away in silence.
"Damn!" she said, still struggling with her saddle.
"What's the matter?"
"I can't get the cinch to fasten."
He walked over to where she was standing and squatted down to examine the buckle and leather.
"There's your problem," he said after a moment, pointing to a twist in the leather just at the point where it passed through the metal buckle. He struggled with it for several moments before finally untwisting the strap. He stood. "It should be all right now."
"Thanks," she said, barely meeting his gaze.
"I thought I'd find the two of you together."
Enly and Tirnya turned at the same time.
The merchant, Torgan Plye, was there, a smile on his face, his one good eye gazing at the two of them.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, in a tone that gave the lie to his words.
Enly and Tirnya had grown up together. Even as children, raised by fathers who hated each other, they had seen each other in the Qalsyn marketplace and in the boxes at the Harvest Tournament. And in all these years, he'd never known her to be afraid of anything or anyone. It was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her. But at the sight of this hulking merchant, with his scarred face and unctuous smile, she edged closer to him. At any other time, he would have enjoyed this, but he had to admit that the man made him uncomfortable, too.
"What do you want?" Enly asked him, making no effort to sound welcoming.
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain," Torgan said. "I merely wish to have a word with you and Captain Onjaef."
Tirnya eyed him warily. "About what?"
"You made it quite plain to your father and to me that you didn't want me riding with your army," Torgan said. "I think I can even understand why. This plague is.." He shook his head. "It's a nasty business. I know that. I can see why you wouldn't want to use it, even against an enemy as dangerous as the Fal'Borna."
"But you're going to try to convince us to use it anyway, aren't you?" Enly said.
Torgan regarded him with an amused expression. "Yes," he said, chuckling. "Yes, I am."
Tirnya turned her back on him to adjust her saddle. "You're wasting your breath."
"You haven't given me a chance to waste anything, Captain. At least hear me out before you dismiss what I have to say."
Tirnya faced him again. "Why should I? What you're talking about is cruel and evil and… and unworthy of a soldier of Stelpana."
The merchant gazed back at her placidly. "Tell me, Captain, how do you intend to take back D'Raqor?" He said the name with a Fal'Borna inflection, seeming to know how much this would bother her. "Defeating septs is one thing, but taking a fortified city from the Fal'Borna is quite another."
"We'll lay siege to it, as armies do. We may draw upon the magic of the Mettai who march with us, but that's different."
"I agree," Torgan said. "It is different. And do you intend to take S'Vralna the same way?"
"Yes, of course."
The man nodded. "I see."
"Is there a point to this?" Tirnya asked.
"What would you say if I told you that S'Vralna is already in ruins, that taking it back will be as simple as marching through the city gates and claiming it for Stelpana?"
Tirnya gaped at him, her face pallid in the grey morning light. "Silvralna's in ruins? You've seen it?"
"Yes. I was there. Most of the white-hairs who lived there are dead. The vast majority of those who survived are children." A small smile crossed his lips and was gone. "The second largest city on the Horn, and you'll reclaim it without losing a single man. Surely you see the value of that."
"But you say that the city is ruined."
Torgan inclined his head, conceding the point. "The damage was extensive.
"I don't want that to happen to Deraqor."
"A siege will damage the city, too. And if you lay siege to D'Raqor but hold back in your attacks for fear of harming her, you'll never stand a chance."
Tirnya made no answer. She just stared at him for a moment longer before turning back to her mount.
Torgan faced Enly. "You know I'm right. Both of you do. You may not like the thought of using this plague as a weapon, but the fact of the matter is you already have. You wouldn't be out here, marching on the Horn, if the plague hadn't ravaged the land. Isn't that so?"
Enly couldn't deny it. This invasion had been Tirnya's idea, and as the merchant surmised, she had seen in the plague and its spread across the plain all the justification she needed. So had Jenoe, and Enly's father, the lord governor.
"Well, think about it," Torgan said, when neither of them answered. "I'm not so foolish as to believe that soldiers like you will put much stock in what a merchant has to say about warfare. But you have to decide whether you truly wish to win this war. You may not like my methods, but I can assure you of victory. I don't think even your Mettai allies can do that."
He smiled faintly, nodded to Enly, and walked away.
Tirnya glanced back and, seeing that Torgan had left them, exhaled slowly. "I don't like him," she said with quiet intensity.
"You hide it well."
She gave Enly a sour look. "I suppose you like him."
"Actually I don't. And before you even suggest it, I don't agree with him about using the plague, either."
"Really?"
"Really. But he raises a good point. We're already taking advantage of the plague. How much worse would it be to use it as he suggests?"