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.
"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.