"And the magic that's on it now would still work?" Torgan asked.
"It should. We'd do nothing to weaken it. We'd just make it possible to reach more of the Fal'Borna than it could otherwise."
Gries nodded. "That's exactly what we want. How near to them would you have to be for this magic to work?"
The eldest shrugged. "As near as we've been when we used these other magics."
Gries nodded. "And how long does it take for the plague to kill them?" he asked Torgan.
"I don't know, exactly. It takes several hours before they show signs of being ill. And then they lose control over their magic. As I've already told you, that's what kills them ultimately."
"We'd need to be far away by then," the captain said, as much to himself as to the rest of them. "If we're still close by, they might unleash their power on us."
"We can attack and then retreat," Torgan said. "Let them believe that their magic drove us off, or that we didn't like the way the battle was going."
Gries frowned at him, almost as if he resented the merchant's attempt to come up with a strategy for battle. "Thank you, Torgan. The marshal and I will work out the details."
Torgan made no effort to conceal his surprise. "So you've spoken to him about all of this?"
The captain's cheeks appeared to redden, though it was hard to tell in the firelight. "Not yet, no," he said. "But I will." He faced the Mettai woman again. "Thank you, Eldest. We'll speak of this again soon. I'd imagine we'll save Torgan's scrap of basket for D'Raqor. But it's possible that Marshal Jenoe will have different ideas."
"All right," she said. She looked once more at the green flame burning in the palm of Torgan's hand before starting back toward the Mettai camp. Her son followed.
"Wait!" Torgan said, stopping her. "Are you just going to leave it looking like this?"
"It won't harm you," the woman said.
"No. But it… I don't want everyone to know I have it. And…" He licked his lips. "I don't like the way it looks."
The eldest regarded him with disdain, but after a moment she walked back to where he stood, picked up more dirt, cut her hand again, and mixed the earth with her blood.
"Blood to earth," she said with obvious impatience. "Earth to power, power to thought, magic concealed."
Once more, she threw the mud over his hand, this time turning away even as it became that same delicate mist and settled over the scrap of cursed basket. Torgan felt it cold on his hand and saw with relief that the green fire died away instantly.
He looked up, intending to thank the woman, but she and her son were already gone.
"They're strange, even for Mettai," Gries said.
Torgan had to agree, but he was concerned with other matters. "You're sure the marshal will agree to this?" he asked.
"I'm not certain of anything," Gries told him. "But we have a chance to take D'Raqor-the prize that he and his daughter want most of all-without losing a single man. He'd be mad not to do this."
"What about Tirnya? And Enly?"
Gries shook his head. "Enly doesn't matter. This is Jenoe's decision. And I'll make sure he gets it right. As for Tirnya, she'll be so glad to have D'Raqor that she won't care how we won it."
Torgan wasn't so sure.
Have you stopped to think what the curse might do with this bit of magic you're contemplating?" Mander asked from behind her as they walked back to where the other Mettai were sleeping.
Fayonne didn't look at him. She wished she hadn't asked her son to come with her to speak with Captain Ballidyne and the merchant. Yes, the curse was real. It still haunted them, even out here. She was willing to concede that much. But what did he expect her to do? Abandon magic completely?
"Did you even mention to them that it might not work? Or worse, that it might kill their own men?"
"It's a white-hair plague," Fayonne said, her voice toneless. "It won't kill the soldiers, or us."
"You don't know that. You don't know what the curse will do to it. It could make all of-"
"That's enough!" she said, whirling on him. He halted and staggered back away from her, his eyes wide.
"None of our magic is immune to the curse!" she said. "We both know that! So any spell we use will carry consequences. Eagles, wolves, poison-all of them are threats to us. This spell isn't, at least not the same way. It could deliver D'Raqor to the marshal and end the war. Will the curse do something to the spell? Of course it will. But that's a risk I'll take."
Mander nodded, looking frightened of her.
Fayonne made herself smile. "It's good that you worry about these things," she said. "You'll lead our people well when I'm gone. But you can't always let your concern for others get in the way of what has to be done. Sometimes we have to come first. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mama."
She turned and started walking again. Mander fell in beside her. "Who would have made a spell like that?" he asked after some time.
"I don't know," Fayonne said. "I've been wondering the same thing." That flame had been as evil looking as anything Fayonne had ever seen in a conjuring. It seemed to emit pure malice. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that another Mettai village had declared war against the white-hairs just as hers had done.
"The merchant said it was an old woman," she said eventually. "He was right about the rest, so I'll trust his word on this, too. But I wouldn't have thought there were more than a handful of Mettai who could have conjured such a plague. I wonder why she did it."
Mander said nothing. Fayonne sensed that he was still hurt by her outburst, but she could think of nothing to say that might make him feel better. And she had more pressing concerns.
"The captain wants us to keep this quiet for now," she said. "He hasn't spoken of it with Marshal Onjaef, and he's not certain that the marshal or his captains are ready to go so far."
"All right," Mander said softly.
"He'll have to decide soon," she told him. "We're close to S'Vralna and it won't be long before we reach D'Raqor. He'll make up his mind in the next day or two. I'm sure of it."
Mander might have nodded; she wasn't certain.
They walked the rest of the way in silence and before long had unrolled their blankets and were settling down to sleep. Fayonne felt exhausted, as she did after every march. She was too old to be out here on the plain with the Snows coming on. But on this night sleep didn't come easily. A north wind was rising, and the air smelled like snow. She lay awake for a long time trying to think of ways the curse might make the spell she was contemplating go wrong. But none of the possibilities she considered seemed too terrible, and this actually frightened her. The truth was, the curse never affected magic the way she and her people anticipated. It was almost always worse.
She fell at last into a deep slumber, and though she knew that she dreamed of terrible, bloody battles, she could remember nothing specific when she woke to the first faint glimmerings of dawn.
The Eandi soldiers had started to stir, and even at a distance Fayonne sensed both their excitement and their trepidation. She well understood what they must have been thinking. The armies had reached the Thraedes. Beyond it lay the Horn; to the south lay Sivralna. This war was about to begin in earnest.
It was a chill morning, and that north wind had grown stronger. A light snow fell upon them, clinging to the grass and dampening Fayonne's hair. The eldest wasn't certain where Jenoe intended to lead them from here, but she didn't relish the idea of braving those swirling waters. She folded away her blankets and walked to the Eandi camp. She sensed that Mander was watching her, perhaps waiting for her to ask him to join her. She didn't.