Grinsa pushed aside the flap of rilda skin that covered the z'kal's entrance. Cresenne was right. D'Pera stood outside the shelter, her white hair gleaming in the light of the moons. Even in the dim light, he could see the apprehension etched in her face.
"What's happened, N'Qlae?"
"It's E'Menua. He was speaking with another a'laq, Weaver to Weaver. I'm not certain what happened, but he's… something's not right. He told me to get you."
That, of all things, caught him by surprise.
"He wants me to come?" Grinsa asked.
D'Pera nodded.
"Very well," Grinsa told her. "Give me just a moment."
He ducked back into the shelter and began to dress.
"What is it?" Cresenne asked, glancing at Bryntelle, who hadn't awakened.
"I'm not sure. Something's happened to E'Menua. He wants to speak with me."
Cresenne frowned. "I don't like the sound of that."
"Neither do I. But I don't think that D'Pera would have a hand in actually harming me. I'll be all right."
She nodded, though she appeared to shiver as well. Grinsa forced a smile, then left the shelter and followed D'Pera back to the a'laq's z'kal.
The n'qlae didn't say anything, but she walked quickly, a rilda skin pulled tight around her shoulders to ward off the chill night air. When they reached the shelter she shared with E'Menua, she pulled aside the flap covering the entrance and motioned Grinsa inside.
A fire burned brightly in the middle of the z'kal. The a'laq sat on the far side of it, wrapped in a blanket, his face damp with sweat, as if he had a fever. He even seemed to be trembling slightly.
"A'Laq?" Grinsa said, stepping closer to him.
"Sit down, Forelander," E'Menua said. His voice sounded strong. Grinsa lowered himself to the ground.
"I have been speaking with other a'laqs," E'Menua began. "We'll be joining some on the plain in the next few days. Others have already led their warriors toward the Horn to meet the dark-eye army." He picked up a skin that had been lying beside him and took a long drink. "One of the a'laqs I thought would be heading north hadn't met up with the others yet. So I reached for him. His name is J'Sor; his sept is west of here." He paused again, shaking his head.
"When I entered his dreams, it was… it was like stepping into a fire. I could see him-he was surrounded by flame. He seemed to be in agony. I'm not sure if he could hear me or see me."
"The plague," Grinsa said quietly.
E'Menua nodded. "It took me several moments to understand what was happening, but eventually I assumed as much."
"I've seen it," Grinsa told him. "I stepped into Q'Daer's dreams when he was sick. I remember it being just as you described."
"I tried to heal him," the a'laq said. "I tried everything I could think of to defeat his fever, but it was as if the flames eluded me. I could no more put them out than I could teach him to fly."
Grinsa nodded, smiling slightly.
The a'laq narrowed his eyes. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"
"Isn't that why you called me here?"
E'Menua lowered his gaze so that he was staring into the fire. "I should be dead, or at least dying."
"Yes, you should. So should this man, J'Sor. But both of you are going to live long enough to fight the Eandi, aren't you?"
"After a few moments it was as if the flames around him started to recede on their own. Nothing I did worked. I know that. But I healed him just the same."
"You didn't. Besh did. The same spell that kept you from getting ill purged the plague from J'Sor's body."
E'Menua looked up again, meeting his gaze. "I've already said that they're free to leave their z'kal," he said, with just a hint of his usual bluster. "They're guests in my sept. That's what I said today, before you questioned them about their magic."
"You need to do more than that," Grinsa said. "You know now that they've been telling the truth, and that I have as well."
The a'laq shook his head, growing more agitated by the moment. "Nothing has changed. These two men may have acted in good faith, but their people are marching against us. I can't have warriors riding to war questioning whether the men they're fighting are truly their enemies."
"You also can't have these men put to death. You put those lies in Besh's mouth, and unless you tell the truth, no one else will believe that they're innocent."
"I'm not going to execute them, Forelander. Whatever you may think of me, I'm not that cruel."
"And what if you don't survive the war, A'Laq? I believe that you won't put them to death now, knowing what you do. But unless you tell the truth about them, your successor might."
E'Menua stared back at him, frowning as if he hadn't anticipated this line of argument.
"Why did you call for me, A'Laq?" Grinsa asked. "I know that Besh and Sirj were telling the truth about their spell. So what happened to you tonight doesn't surprise me. You knew it wouldn't. And yet you summoned me here in the middle of the night. Why?"
"I'm not sure," E'Menua admitted. "I was… After seeing J'Sor that way, and then seeing the fires die out… I didn't know what to do."
"Have you told your wife about what happened?" Grinsa asked.
"Not yet."
"You should. And you should tell Q'Daer, too. You've named him as your successor-others heard you do so. He should know the truth."
E'Menua continued to stare at him, and for a moment Grinsa thought he would refuse. But then the a'laq nodded.
"Yes, all right. I'll tell them both. But for now I don't want the others to know. You understand?"
"Not entirely," Grinsa said. "But I'll honor your wishes."
The a'laq nodded. Grinsa stood, intending to leave. Before he could, E'Menua spoke his name.
"Did you have them put the spell on me?" the a'laq asked. "The Mettai, I mean. Is that why I'm immune now?"
"No," Grinsa said, shaking his head. "They didn't have to do anything. As I told you, the spell they created to fight the plague was as contagious as Lici's curse itself. Q'Daer passed it to you when he spoke to you in your dreams, before we returned to the sept."
He nearly added that he could have passed it to the a'laq as well, during their first confrontation after Grinsa's return, when they battled for control of E'Menua's magic. That contact would have been enough to make the a'laq immune to the Mettai plague. But he didn't believe that any good would come from mentioning that incident.
"Of course," the a'laq said, in a breathless whisper. "I should have remembered."
"Good night, A'Laq."
"Yes," E'Menua said. "I… thank you for… for coming so late." Grinsa nodded and left the z'kal. D'Pera stood alone in the darkness, gazing up at the moons. She turned at the sound of his footfalls. "Is he all right?" she asked.
"Yes, he is. He has things to tell you."
The n'qlae nodded, looking past him toward the shelter. "A Fal'Borna warrior does everything he can to protect his a'laq," she said, her voice low. "It's our way."
"I'll do what I can to keep him safe, N'Qlae."
She shifted her gaze, meeting his. "You and he-"
"I've sworn to fight for the Fal'Borna. I understand what that means."
He smiled faintly. "It's late, and I'd like to sleep a few more hours before we ride."
"Yes, all right," she said. "Good night, Forelander."
Grinsa stepped past her and walked back to his shelter, knowing that he had little hope of falling back asleep. He entered the z'kal as quietly as he could, undressed, and slipped under the blankets beside Cresenne.
"What was that all about?" she asked in a whisper, sounding very much awake.
He briefly related his conversation with E'Menua.