"So he knows that Besh and Sirj were telling the truth," she said when he was done, "but he refuses to admit as much to his people."
"That's basically right."
"And he felt compelled to tell you this in the middle of the night just before you're to follow him into battle."
"I think he was truly frightened by what happened. And I think he didn't know what to make of the fact that he was still alive. Even when he was using his magic to keep Besh from telling the truth, I don't think he believed that the Mettai spell could really work."
"I'm not sure that justifies any of what he's done," she said.
Grinsa was inclined to agree with her, but to his surprise and relief, he already felt himself getting sleepy. Sooner than he had expected, he fell back asleep.
Dawn came far too early, and before long Grinsa was dressed and outside the z'kal with Cresenne, who held a sleepy and fussy Bryntelle in her arms. He had expected that he would need to get his horse from the sept's paddock, but when he stepped out into the morning air, the bay was already saddled and waiting for him. Apparently preparing one's mount for war was one more thing the Fal'Borna didn't expect a Weaver to do for himself.
The other Weavers and their warriors were gathering at the eastern edge of the sept. Grinsa started in that direction, but after only a stride or two, he realized that Cresenne wasn't with him. He turned and saw that she still stood beside the shelter. Her eyes were dry, but she looked pale and sad in the grey light.
"You're not coming with me," he said.
Cresenne shook her head. "I don't want to say good-bye to you with everyone else there. And I don't want to be anywhere near E'Menua right now. I'm sorry."
He walked back to where she stood and kissed her. "I understand," he said. He kissed Bryntelle on the forehead, but she merely fussed at him. "She doesn't know what she's doing," Cresenne said.
"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.