"I know."
They stood for a moment, their eyes locked.
Grinsa brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. "I don't know what to say."
"Just come back."
"This is the last time-"
She held a finger to his lips, stopping him. "Don't," she said. She kissed him softly. "The one thing I've learned this past year is that we can't know what's going to happen. Just come back to me."
"All right. I love you."
That brought a smile to her lips. "We love you, too."
He turned and left them there, his chest aching.
When he reached the warriors and Weavers, he saw that he was the last to arrive. E'Menua was already sitting his horse, marking Grinsa's approach. L'Norr and Q'Daer were on either side of him, stony-faced. Most of the other Fal'Borna riders turned to look at Grinsa, some of them looking resentful, others merely curious. Grinsa expected the a'laq to comment on his late arrival, but E'Menua merely nodded once and, without a word, turned his mount and led his warriors away from the sept.
Several women and children had come to see the army off, but they didn't cry or cheer, or do any of the other things Eandi families in the Forelands might have done as their husbands or fathers marched to war. They stared after the men and then, one family at a time, turned and walked back into the sept, seemingly intent on their normal chores.
As the sun appeared on the eastern horizon, huge and golden, the men struck out northward. Grinsa would have liked to ride alone, at the back of the company, but before long Q'Daer dropped back to join him.
"You should be riding with the a'laq," said the young Weaver in a low voice.
Grinsa had expected this. He just nodded, and followed wordlessly as Q'Daer led him forward.
Theirs was a small company, especially compared to the armies Grinsa had seen during the war against the renegade Weaver in the Forelands. There were perhaps a hundred fifty Fal'Borna riders. No more. Some looked barely old enough to wield magic; others appeared too old for the rigors of battle. But all of them carried spears as well as the blades on their belts, and he sensed that all of them wielded at least one magic that would serve them well in this war: shaping, language of beasts, mists and winds, fire, and even healing.
Upon reaching the front of the company, Grinsa took a position beside Q'Daer, as far from the a'laq as he could manage.
Again, E'Menua said nothing to him, and that was all right with Grinsa. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone.
The Fal'Borna were skilled horsemen, and their mounts were as impressive as any Grinsa had seen. They rode at a good pace, and when they stopped to rest at midday, he estimated that the company had covered nearly three leagues.
While some of the men ate a small meal or drank from waterskins, Grinsa stood off on his own, scanning the eastern horizon. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. He hadn't heard anything to indicate that the Eandi army had made its way this far into Fal'Borna land, but he felt tense. The last time he'd ridden to war, he had nearly died. His disfigured shoulder throbbed with the memory.
"What are you looking for?" asked a familiar voice.
He glanced to the side. Q'Daer and L'Norr had joined him. He shrugged, facing forward again.
"I don't know," he said. "Does the a'laq have any idea how far the Eandi are from here?"
"Leagues, Forelander," Q'Daer said. "Relax. Eat something. Fal'Borna riders have been sent forward to meet the dark-eyes. We might not get to fight at all."
Grinsa nodded, remembering that E'Menua had mentioned this the night before. He looked at Q'Daer again. "You sound disappointed."
"It couldn't be helped. We got sick and so we were late returning to the sept with the Mettai. But I would have liked to be part of that first assault." Grinsa couldn't help thinking that Q'Daer sounded terribly young, like someone who had never actually seen war. But he kept this to himself.
"So we'll be meeting others?" he asked after a few moments, more to keep the conversation moving than anything else.
"Yes," Q'Daer told him. "There are at least seven a'laqs coming to join us. We'll meet them at F'Qira's Rill, to the west of S'Vralna. Even if the dark-eyes defeat the first army, they won't get past us."
Grinsa nodded but said nothing, drawing a frown from the young Weaver.
"You don't approve of that plan?" Q'Daer asked.
"It's not my place to approve or disapprove. I just hope that it won't come to that. I'd rather not fight at all."
"The dark-eyes started this war!" the man said, his voice rising. "You can't think that we should do nothing, that we should simply lay down our blades and give them the plain!"
Grinsa sighed, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. "I never said that, Q'Daer. All I said was that I don't want to fight. I fought in a war before leaving the Forelands. A series of wars, really. Thousands died. I have no interest in being part of more carnage. And if you had any idea of what war is really like, you'd feel the same way."
He knew that he should have kept that last part to himself, but at that moment he couldn't help himself. Before the young Weaver could answer, Grinsa turned and led his horse away. He'd been apart from Cresenne and Bryntelle for less than half a day, and already he missed them both. For a moment he had to resist an urge to leap onto his horse, ride back to the sept, and carry them both away, leaving behind the Fal'Borna and their war.
Instead, when E'Menua called for the riders to resume their journey a few moments later, he swung himself onto his mount and took his place with the other Weavers, assiduously avoiding Q'Daer's gaze.
For the rest of that day and all through the next, E'Menua's warriors maintained their swift pace across the plain. They saw no sign of the Eandi, or, for that matter, of any other Fal'Borna riders. The skies remained clear, but a cold wind blew out of the north, and clouds darkened the northern horizon.
Grinsa kept to himself. Warriors brought him food and drink, as they did for the other Weavers, but none of them said more to him than courtesy required. Q'Daer and L'Norr ignored him, and though Grinsa noticed E'Menua watching him on more than one occasion, the a'laq left him alone, too. For his part, Grinsa made no effort to speak with any of them.
Late in the morning of their third day on the plain, as they rode on that same northerly line, Grinsa spotted thin plumes of smoke rising from the grasses ahead of them. He glanced at the a'laq and his Weavers, but though all of them appeared to have spotted the smoke, none of them seemed alarmed.
At least not at first.
As they drew nearer to the source of those plumes, Grinsa saw what appeared to be a large camp of warriors and horses. They were spread over a broad area, but the camp looked sparse.
"There should be more of them," E'Menua said in a tight voice. "How can there be so few?"
No one had to say a word. They all knew the answer.
They rode on and soon entered the camp, drawing the stares of nearly every man there. Looking from face to face, Grinsa sensed with his magic that several of the Fal'Borna who had gathered on the plain were Weavers. But in all, even with E'Menua's warriors, there couldn't have been more than four hundred Fal'Borna in the camp.
When the renegade Weaver in the Forelands had faced the combined might of the Eandi courts, he had commanded an army smaller than this one, and he had been only one Weaver. Still he had nearly prevailed. But Grinsa thought it likely that the Eandi of the Southlands were better prepared to fight against Qirsi magic than his Eandi allies in the Forelands had been. And he had no idea what the presence of the Mettai might mean when it came time to do battle.
Clearly, though, E'Menua was dismayed by what he saw.
"Where is H'Loryn?" he said, dismounting and scanning the camp. "And O'Tal. I want to speak with him, too."
After a moment two men emerged from the crowd that had begun to gather around the a'laq and his Weavers. Many of the Fal'Borna had been eyeing Grinsa warily, noting, no doubt, that he looked nothing like them. They parted to let the two men E'Menua had summoned step forward, but they didn't take their eyes off of the Forelander.