Together, they walked past one destroyed z'kal after another, eyeing the bones and corpses, stepping over shattered bowls, broken spears, and all other manner of debris. It looked far more like the scene of a fierce battle than it did the detritus of an outbreak of pestilence.
Fractured bones lay scattered among many of the skeletons-Grinsa couldn't he certain whether they had been shattered before or after death. Dead horses lay in what had been the paddock; several living beasts grazed near them. But Grinsa saw no evidence that any people had survived.
"Even after the a'laq told us about S'Plaed's sept, I didn't believe it," Q'Daer said, his words barely carrying over the wind. "I knew he wasn't lying, but I didn't imagine it could be like this."
"Is there any chance that this wasn't the pestilence, or whatever the Mettai woman is spreading?"
Q'Daer cast a sharp look his way, narrowing his eyes. "What else could it be?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. A battle?"
"No." The man shook his head. "No, I've seen battles. They don't look like this. Nothing has ever looked like this."
Grinsa had to agree. "I'd like to find proof."
"What do you mean? What proof?"
"A basket, I suppose. Just to see one; just to be certain."
He expected that the Fal'Borna would argue, but Q'Daer merely nodded. "All right."
They continued forward, carefully stepping through the ruins, scanning the remains of the z'kals. Occasionally, Grinsa glanced back to check on the Eandi, but neither of the merchants had made any attempt to get away. Jasha seemed intent on all that he saw around him. Even from a distance, he looked pale and very young, a pained expression on his face. Torgan was harder to read. At one point he looked up and saw that Grinsa was watching him. For several moments he stared back at the gleaner with his one good eye. Then he looked away.
"How long ago do you think they died?" Q'Daer asked.
"I don't know. Nothing's smoking. There aren't many crows or vultures left here. I'd say it's been several days, at least."
"I was thinking the same thing." He nodded toward the Eandi. "They could have done this."
"I don't think so, Q'Daer. It's been at least half a turn since they could have been this far from E'Menua's sept."
"We just agreed that this happened several days ago."
"Several days, yes. But I don't think it's been half a turn."
"You don't know that. Neither of us does. You may not want to believe that these two were responsible, but it is possible."
Before Grinsa could argue the point further, he heard Jasha call out. Both he and the Fal'Borna turned to see the young merchant gesturing frantically for them to join him. They hurried toward him, slowing as they drew near.
"What is it?" Grinsa asked.
"Part of a basket." Jasha pointed at the ground a few fourspans from where he stood.
Grinsa spotted it immediately. He felt his blood run cold, and yet he also was fascinated, unable to look away as if he had just spotted a venomous snake. It sat in a pile of blackened rubble beside yet another ruined shelter. Most of it was burned to ash, and much of the rest of it was charred. But a small bit, perhaps as large as the palm of Grinsa's hand, remained unmarked. And even Grinsa, who knew nothing of basketry, could see that when whole, this basket had been beautiful. Its osiers were straight and tightly woven, and they had been dyed brilliant shades of green, gold, and blue.
"Is that her work?" Q'Daer asked. He turned to Torgan. "Does that look like one of the baskets you sold?"
"I was never here!" the merchant said. He stood a short distance off, staring sullenly at the three of them. Grinsa wasn't even certain he could see the basket from where he was.
"I haven't time for your games, dark-eye," the Fal'Borna said. "I'm asking you if this is one of the Mettai woman's baskets."
"I know just what you're doing, and I'm not going to let you!"
"What are you talking about, Torgan?" Grinsa asked.
"He wants me to answer so that he can claim I admitted it all! And I won't do it! I've never been here, and you won't get me to say otherwise!"
Grinsa raised his hands, trying to placate the man. "He's not saying you were here, Torgan."
"Yes, he was! He asked if I sold that basket!"
Q'Daer shook his head and turned to face Jasha. "You saw the baskets, too, didn't you?"
The young merchant hesitated, his eyes flicking in Torgan's direction, as if he feared how the man would respond to his answer. "Yes," he finally said. "Briefly. I only had one; I bought it from Torgan, and I sold it that same day. But I saw others."
"And this one?" Q'Daer asked.
Again he glanced Torgan's way. "It's hard to say from such a small piece, but it looks to be the right quality." He squatted down and pointed at the basket. "See how tight the weave is? How vivid the colors are? That's good work. The Mettai baskets looked like that."
Neither of the Qirsi stepped any closer to the basket, but both nodded. It began to rain lightly. Grinsa, glancing westward, saw that the sky had darkened.
"If there's one here," Jasha went on, "chances are there are more. If I see one that's still whole I may be able to give you a better answer."
"All right," Grinsa said, checking the skies again. "Look around a bit more. But I want to be moving again soon."
"It's not like I don't care," Torgan said.
All of them looked at the man.
He shifted his weight to the other foot, clearly uncomfortable under their gazes. "I mean, I didn't want any of this to happen. I'm sorry that… I'm sorry they're dead. All these people, I mean."
For several moments, none of them offered any response, until finally Grinsa decided that someone had to say something.
"We all are, Torgan."
"Right. Of course. It's just… I really had nothing to do with this. We were never here, were we, Jasha?"
Grinsa just shook his head and started to walk away. He sensed that Q'Daer was just behind him.
"What?" Torgan demanded, his voice rising. "I said I was sorry! But there's nothing we can do to help them anymore! And I'm fighting for my life!"
"Stop it, Torgan," Jasha said.
"They want us dead! You think they're trying to help us, but they're not! The Fal'Borna see this and they have to blame someone. They want to blame me; they want to blame both of us. You watch. You'll help them find those baskets and then they'll turn around and cut your throat!"
"Damn it, Torgan!" Jasha shouted.
The two Qirsi halted and turned to stare back at the men. Jasha stood just in front of the older merchant. Torgan was the bigger man by far; nearly a full head taller. But Jasha had his fists clenched, and despite their size difference Grinsa wondered if they'd come to blows.
A moment later, though, Jasha seemed to realize that Grinsa and Q'Daer were watching. He opened his hands slowly and shook his head. Then he turned away from the man.
"Just shut up, all right?" he said over his shoulder.
Torgan glowered at the man's back and opened his mouth, as if to say more. Then he appeared to think better of it.
Convinced that the two Eandi were content simply to avoid each other for a time, Grinsa turned and started walking again.
"Do you still think he's worth saving?" Q'Daer asked.
Grinsa gave a small, rueful laugh. "I don't think this is the time to ask me.
The Fal'Borna stopped and held out a hand, forcing Grinsa to halt as well. "You're wrong, Forelander. This is the perfect time to ask." He gestured in Torgan's direction. "What you just heard; that's his truest self. And I'm asking you, is that man worth saving? Is he worth leaving your family for? Is he worth this rain and wind?"
The rain started falling harder, darkening Grinsa's cloak and breeches. It almost seemed that the gods themselves were asking the question.
"He doesn't deserve to die," Grinsa said.