As he suspected, a short time later he heard the man call out in a low voice, "I know you're there, Forelander."
Slowly, Grinsa stepped out from behind the shelter.
"You're too late, you know," E'Menua told him. "You'll never get him to help you."
"Why did you do it?" Grinsa asked him. "Why do you hate those men so? They've risked their lives to save ours, and yet you remain determined to put them to death."
"Ask Q'Daer. He can explain it to you."
E'Menua smiled again and started to walk past him.
Grinsa reached out and grabbed the a'laq's arm, forcing him to stop. "I'm asking you."
The a'laq wrenched his arm free and glowered at him. "You'd better watch yourself, Forelander. You keep pushing me, as if I'm no one of consequence. You seem to think that I'm powerless to defend myself. You're wrong. And if you're not careful, you'll feel the full weight of my wrath. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want that."
He stalked off, leaving Grinsa to rail at himself for his foolishness. Cresenne had warned him about this, and yet he'd been unable to keep himself from provoking the man. He had already come to the realization that he had little chance of winning Q'Daer over to his side in this conflict. E'Menua held the lives of the two Mettai in his hand, and Grinsa was giving him every reason to kill the men, if for no other reason than to spite him.
Still angry with himself, Grinsa started walking toward Q'Daer, who was making his way back to the sept. Seeing him approach, the young Weaver halted. Grinsa had expected that Q'Daer would try to avoid him, but the Fal'Borna made no attempt to wave him away. He wasn't even scowling. Rather than take comfort in this, Grinsa swore silently. You're too late, you know. What had E'Menua said to the young Weaver?
"You're wasting your time," Q'Daer said.
Grinsa opened his hands and forced a smile. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"You don't need to. I know why you're here, and there's nothing you can say that will make me turn against the a'laq."
"Can I ask you why?"
At that, Q'Daer frowned. "You wouldn't understand. You're not Fal'Borna."
"No, I'm not. But your reasons must be quite compelling. These men saved our lives. They cast a spell to protect all Qirsi from Lici's plague. The only way the a'laq could convince his own people to turn against them was to use magic to make Besh lie. Surely if what the a'laq told you can convince a Fal'Borna to betray a friend, it should be enough to sway a man as simple as-"
"That's enough!"
The familiar scowl was back on Q'Daer's face, and for some reason Grinsa found this reassuring.
He kept silent, waiting for the Fal'Borna to say more, knowing that if he waited long enough the man would feel compelled to explain himself.
"We're about to ride to war," Q'Daer told him at last. "That may not mean much in the Forelands, but here it does. The Mettai are allied with our enemies. And our warriors have to be clear about that as they ride into battle."
He drew himself up, as if readying himself for Grinsa's retort.
But Grinsa nodded. It was more than merely clever. It actually made sense. He'd known soldiers back in the Forelands-a man named Gershon Trasker came to mind immediately-who would have seen the value in seeking such clarity for the men under their command.
"So accepting that Besh and Sirj are friends might weaken the resolve of our warriors if they face a Mettai army. Is that right?"
Q'Daer made no effort to mask his surprise. "Yes. That's exactly right."
"Did E'Menua admit that he'd forced Besh to say those things?"
The Fal'Borna didn't answer.
"Never mind," Grinsa said. "It doesn't really matter if he did. You and I both know the truth. The n'qlae does, too." He smiled bitterly. "And it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, does it?"
Grinsa didn't expect a response to this, either, but after a moment the young Weaver shook his head.
"No, it doesn't."
"Does he intend to execute them?"
"I would imagine."
"Do you know when?"
"No."
Grinsa continued to eye him.
"Truly, Forelander, I don't know. He didn't say much about this. He told me… why it would be dangerous to let these Mettai live. But he said nothing about their executions."
"Do you think it would be possible to convince the a'laq to spare them?" Q'Daer exhaled loudly. "I thought you understood. I don't want their lives spared!"
"I do understand, Q'Daer. But you have to understand that in my mind this is wrong. You're not talking about executing enemies of the Fal'Borna."
The man started to say something, but Grinsa raised a hand, silencing him.
"E'Menua can force Besh to say that he started the very first Blood War, but that doesn't make it true. And you and the a'laq can convince yourselves that you're justified in killing them, but that doesn't change the fact that this is murder, plain and simple."
Q'Daer regarded him with contempt. "For just a moment, I thought that perhaps you were finally starting to think like a Fal'Borna. I should have known better."
"No, Q'Daer, I am starting to think like a Fal'Borna. But I'm still a Forelander in my heart."
The young Weaver shook his head and started away from him.
"Wait," Grinsa said. "I'm not fool enough to think that I can change E'Menua's mind about Besh and Sirj. Not yet at least. But do you think that he would allow them to live as prisoners if he thought that he could learn something from them about Mettai magic?"
When the man didn't answer, Grinsa went on. "Think about it, Q'Daer. They'd be prisoners. That would be clear to your warriors. But we wouldn't be killing innocent men, men who saved your life and mine. Wouldn't you prefer that?"
Q'Daer faced him again. "I won't speak on their behalf."
"I'm not asking you to," Grinsa said. "I'm simply asking you if you think it's possible that E'Menua would agree to it."
"I don't."
"No, of course not," Grinsa said, shaking his head. He could only hope that Cresenne had more success with D'Pera. He looked the young Weaver in the eye. "You may not believe this now, but if Besh and Sirj are executed, their wraiths will hover at your shoulder for the rest of your days. You'll carry them with you to Bian's realm."
He didn't wait for Q'Daer to say more. Instead, he turned and hurried back to his shelter.
Cresenne was already there, gathering firewood from a sizable pile that had been left for them beside the z'kal. Bryntelle sat nearby, amusing herself by scraping the dirt with a small stick.
Cresenne looked up at his approach and smiled weakly. "There's food, too. That's something at least."
Grinsa felt himself sag. "Your conversation with the n'qlae didn't go well?"
She straightened. "Not really," she said, lowering her voice. "She's not happy with what E'Menua did, but he's her husband and the a'laq. She's not going to do anything to humiliate him."
He nodded, knowing that he should have expected this. "Maybe she doesn't have to." He asked Cresenne much the same question he'd asked Q 'Daer.
"Prisoners?" she said, frowning. "Besh and Sirj won't like that idea at all."
"I don't like it, either," Grinsa told her. "But at least they'd be alive. We'd still have a chance to save them."
"A chance, yes," she said. "But do you know how we'd do it?"
"I have an idea," he said, lowering his voice. "It's something I urged E'Menua to do as soon as we arrived back in the sept, but he ignored me. Maybe it's time I did it myself."
She looked puzzled, and even after he explained to her what he had in mind, she still looked doubtful.
"You'd be taking a great risk…" She shook her head. "There's so much that could go wrong."