"We're here, E'Menua," one of the men said, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Grinsa realized that he recognized this man. He was one of the a'laqs he had spoken to while spreading Besh's spell across the plain. The man was younger than E'Menua, probably closer in age to Grinsa. He was also taller than the a'laq, with a leaner build. His eyes were a soft yellow, and like so many of the warriors there, he wore his hair pulled back from his face. Grinsa didn't know the other man, but he sensed immediately that he was also a Weaver. He assumed that he was an a'laq as well. This second man looked to be closer in age to E'Menua, whom he also resembled in stature and build. He had pale eyes and a round face that might have been friendly had he smiled.
"These are all the men you brought with you?" E'Menua demanded.
The younger of the two men glanced past E'Menua to those who had arrived with him. "I brought no fewer than you did. H'Loryn's sept has always been smaller than ours. You know this."
"We need more warriors," E'Menua said, as if the man had been arguing to the contrary.
The man named O'Tal shrugged. "I agree. But I can't conjure them out of the air." His eyes flicked toward Grinsa for just an instant. "Can you, E'Menua?"
The a'laq scowled at him before turning to H'Loryn. "Have you heard anything from the others?"
The second Weaver shook his head. "Nothing new from the ones who rode forward. We're still waiting for J'Sor and his warriors."
E'Menua shook his head. "I don't think J'Sor will be coming. Not for a few more days."
"Why not?" O'Tal asked.
"The plague struck his sept."
Both men blanched, and murmurs rippled through the mass of warriors standing around them.
O'Tal glanced at Grinsa a second time. "You're certain of this?"
"Yes," E'Menua said.
O'Tal kept his gaze fixed on Grinsa. "You walked in my dreams, and you made me immune to the plague. At least you claimed to. Didn't you do the same for J'Sor?"
"No, A'Laq," Grinsa said. "I tried to reach as many septs as I could, but I began with septs near the Horn, to the south toward the Ofirean, and to the east. That's where I believe the danger was greatest. I hadn't yet gotten to those septs in the west."
"You know this man?" H'Loryn asked, looking from O'Tal to Grinsa. The young a'laq nodded. "He came to me a few nights ago. He told me that E'Menua had sent him to pass on a… some magic that would make us all immune to the plague."
H'Loryn's eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm sorry, A'Laq," Grinsa said, addressing the older man. "I didn't get to your sept, either. You must live in the west."
H'Loryn nodded. "Yes, I do." He gave a slight frown. "Who are you?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. I come from the Forelands and I now live in E'Menua's sept."
"The Forelands," the a'laq repeated. "Well, that explains your accent and your appearance. But why would you come here?"
"We have other matters to discuss," E'Menua broke in. "We need to make plans for what we'll do if other septs don't join us here. And I want to hear anything you can tell me about S'Bahn's men and the others who have ridden to the Horn to face the dark-eyes."
H'Loryn eyed Grinsa for another moment, but then faced E'Menua. "Yes, of course, E'Menua. You're right."
For once, Grinsa was grateful for E'Menua's impatience. He had no desire to explain his past to any of these men. And he, too, was curious about the men E'Menua had mentioned. S'Bahn, he remembered, was the father of B'Vril, the leader of the company he and Q'Daer had encountered while still journeying back to the sept with Besh and Sirj.
E'Menua instructed his a'jeis and their warriors to make camp beside the other two armies. As they carried out his orders, he began to ask questions of the two other a'laqs. How many warriors had ridden forward to meet the Eandi army? Which a'laqs were leading them? How many Weavers did they have?
He didn't appear particularly pleased with any of their answers, but O'Tal and H'Loryn gave every indication that they thought the Fal'Borna army formidable enough to take on the invaders.
"They hadn't found the dark-eyes yet?" E'Menua asked, still looking unhappy.
O'Tal shook his head. "Not the last time I spoke with P'Rhil. But that was two nights ago."
"We should reach for him again tonight," E'Menua said.
"I intend to," O'Tal told him.
The tension between the two men was palpable. Clearly E'Menua thought of himself as the leader of these Fal'Borna. It seemed just as clear that O'Tal saw himself the same way. In the Forelands, rival dukes would have taken the measure of one another based upon the power, influence, and wealth of their houses. From what Grinsa had learned of the Fal'Borna, it seemed that septs judged their rivals by how many Weavers they had. If that was the case here, Grinsa's presence by E'Menua's side couldn't have been welcomed by O'Tal or his warriors.
"Well," H'Loryn said, clearly desperate to ease what had become an uncomfortable situation, "I suppose that means we have nothing to do but wait."
O'Tal and E'Menua continued to eye each other, like combatants at the outset of a battle tournament.
"We spotted some rilda earlier today," said one of the other Weavers. "Stragglers that haven't gone south yet. We could have a hunt."
H'Loryn's face brightened. "Excellent!" he said. "We'll feast tonight to celebrate the coming together of three great armies." He looked hopefully at the other two a'laqs, neither of whom appeared to take much notice of him. "O'Tal?" the older man said, a plea in his voice.
"Yes, all right," O'Tal answered. He turned away from E'Menua, a brittle smile on his lips. "A hunt sounds like an excellent idea."
H'Loryn looked so relieved it was almost comical. "Good. We'll get started right away. You and your warriors will be joining us, won't you, E'Menua?"
The a'laq's smile could have curdled milk. "Of course we will."
"I'll stay behind and keep an eye on the camp," Grinsa said. "I don't think I'd be of much use on a hunt."
"Have you ever hunted rilda, Forelander?" O'Tal asked, though it seemed to Grinsa that he already knew the answer.
"No, I haven't."
"Then perhaps you should join us. A Fal'Borna can't truly be considered a warrior until he's hunted on the plain."
He heard the challenge in O'Tal's words, and his first reaction was to refuse. He wanted no part of the man's feud with E'Menua, and he had no interest in initiating a feud of his own. But seeing the way the other Fal'Borna were looking at him, including Q'Daer and L'Norr, Grinsa began to realize that there was more at stake here than O'Tal's challenge. Most of these men didn't know him; many of those from E'Menua's sept still didn't trust him. Yet they were about to go into battle with him. Reluctant as he was to be part of this war, he knew that he needed to have the trust of the men who would be fighting beside him, whose magic he would be wielding as a weapon.
"All right," Grinsa said, looking O'Tal in the eye. "But you'll have to show me what to do."
The young a'laq looked surprised. "Yes, of course."
Q'Daer caught Grinsa's eye and nodded, a rare smile on his face. E'Menua didn't look quite so pleased.
They gave him a spear and then a large group rode southward away from the camp. It had quickly become something more than a hunt. It was a rite of passage for Grinsa, and also a diversion for the young warriors. Grinsa felt himself growing nervous and excited. He hadn't done much hunting since he was a boy growing up on the Caerissan Steppe near Eardley in the Forelands, but he still remembered fondly the hunts of his childhood.
"How is it you wound up with E'Menua?"
He turned to find that O'Tal had pulled abreast of him on his dappled grey. "His was the first sept we found," Grinsa said, choosing his words with care.
The man's eyebrows went up. "We?"
"I came to the Southlands with my wife and my daughter."