"No!" she said. "Never mind the difficulties of getting them to join us. I'm just asking you if you think it would help."
He seemed to weigh this for several moments before nodding. "All other considerations aside, I'd have to say that it would. Their magic might not be as potent as that of the Qirsi, but it's formidable in its own way."
"Not only that," Tirnya said, "but if we could approach them quietly and add them to our army without the white-hairs knowing it, their magic would come as a complete surprise to the Fal'Borna." She squatted down in front of him, looking into his dark eyes. "Imagine that, Father! Think of what it would be like for the Qirsi to find themselves confronted not only with a great army, but one that somehow could attack them with magic. By the time they recovered and figured out what was happening…" She stopped herself, afraid to say the words aloud. "Well, it would give us a tremendous advantage."
"It might at that," Jenoe said soberly. And she knew what was coming next. "But that brings us back to the point I was making earlier. It's fine to speculate about all of this. But I don't believe we can convince the Mettai to fight with us."
"As the man leading this army, what would you be willing to give them in order to have them wielding their magic on our behalf?"
Jenoe frowned. "What would I give them?"
"We're hoping to win back our homeland, to take back Deraqor. We have gold, we'll have land. What would you give the Mettai?"
"I really don't know," he said, shaking his head.
"Well, think about it," Tirnya told him. "We've been trying to come up with a plan that will give us a chance against the Qirsi. And we can't wait much longer. The Snows are coming, and the effects of this plague won't last forever. In my opinion, this is the best chance we have, and I intend to tell His Lordship as much as soon as he'll see me."
Jenoe regarded her for a long time, saying nothing. At last he shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Tirnya. I've been thinking…" He faltered and looked away. "I don't think this is such a good idea."
"Going to the Mettai, you mean?" she asked. But she had the feeling that he meant much more.
"No. I'm not sure about that either. But I mean this whole plan: attacking the Fal'Borna, trying to take back Deraqor."
His words struck at her heart. It was bad enough arguing with Enly and hearing the doubt in Oliban's voice. But to learn now that her own father doubted her! She wasn't usually given to tears, but for just an instant she thought that she might cry. A moment later she had managed to master her emotions. Jenoe gave no indication that he understood how much he had hurt her, and that was fine with Tirnya.
"There's nothing wrong with the idea," she said evenly. "The last time we spoke you were all for it. We can do this, Father. You know we can. The white-hairs are suffering; the Mettai might well be willing to join us. But really it's up to you. If you speak against the idea, Maisaak won't allow us to go forward."
"Then I should speak against it," he said quietly, staring at the fire.
"Just the other day you agreed that the Horn and Deraqor were worth fighting for. You were the one who arranged for us to see His Lordship."
His eyes flicked toward hers. "I was wrong."
"No, you weren't. Now, what happened?"
Jenoe shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"It was Mother, wasn't it?" Tirnya said, knowing as she spoke that it was true. "She talked you out of it."
"You'd talked me into it," he said, sounding sullen. "I've been caught between the two of you before, and I don't like it one bit. There are times when you're right, but this isn't one of them. I'm too old to be marching off to war so late in the year. And I have no desire to die in a hopeless battle, even if it is for Deraqor."
"It's not-" She stopped, shaking her head. Enly, her father, and now her mother as well. Her lead riders hadn't spoken against the idea of attacking the Fal'Borna, but they wouldn't have. They were good soldiers, all of them. They understood that it wasn't their place to gainsay their captain. It seemed clear from Oliban's questions, though, that he had his doubts, too.
It appeared that the only people who agreed with her were Stri and the lord governor, and having Maisaak on her side made her uncomfortable. What if Enly was right? What if Maisaak only encouraged her because he saw her idea as an easy way to rid himself of the Onjaefs? The truth was, until she'd thought of approaching the Mettai, Tirnya herself had harbored doubts as to their ability to defeat the Fal'Borna.
Still, she wasn't ready to give up her dream so easily.
"I have a compromise to offer," she said, pacing once more.
Her father looked up at her. "What kind of compromise?"
"I still think that this can work, that we have a chance to take back the Horn and Deraqor. You think I'm being reckless and that we're doomed to fai1."
Jenoe winced. "Tirnya-"
"It's all right, Father. I'm just about the only one who believes that we can succeed at this, so maybe I am being a bit reckless."
"What's your idea?"
"We lead an army westward to the Silverwater, and then we seek out the Mettai. If we can convince them to join us, we march on to Deraqor and fight for our family's lands. If we can't we return to Qalsyn."
He looked genuinely surprised. "You'd do this?"
"I'm not certain I have any choice."
"What if Maisaak won't agree?"
Tirnya shrugged. "Then there's really not very much we can do, is there?"
Jenoe gazed into the fire again. After a few moments, he began to nod slowly. "Very well. We'll seek an audience with His Lordship tomorrow."
"All right," Tirnya said, nodding in turn. It wasn't ideal; it wasn't as much as she had hoped. But it was something. Her dream was alive still. Considering all those who were arrayed against her, that was as much as she could have expected.
Every sound was too loud, as if some evil sorcerer from the west had made his ears five times their normal size. The least light stabbed into his eyes like sparkling shards of glass, and there was a taste in his mouth that had him wondering if he'd snacked on ashes from the floor of his hearth before stumbling into bed the night before. This last he didn't dwell on for long, because the very thought of eating anything-anything at all-nearly made him retch.
All Enly wanted to do was sleep. A day or two ought to have done it. But once more his father had summoned him to his chambers, and though Enly's memories of the night before could generously be called sketchy, he did recall something of his conversation with Tirnya. He could only assume that once more the Onjaefs had requested an audience with the lord governor, and once more, rather than face Jenoe and Tirnya alone, Maisaak had called for him. He might have found it amusing, but the mere thought of laughter served only to redouble the pain in his head.
The guards outside his father's chamber were, of course, unfailingly courteous, except for the fact that they kept yelling at him, and when they knocked on His Lordship's door they seemed to be using a smith's sledge.
They opened the door at his father's reply and gestured for him to enter.
"Thank you," he whispered as he stepped past them.
He thought he heard one of the men snicker at his back.
"You look awful," Maisaak said as Enly stumbled in.
Enly shaded his eyes with an open hand and searched the chamber for his father, who was by his writing table. "Thank you," he muttered. "Would you mind closing the shutters on those windows? It's blinding in here."
Maisaak actually laughed. "Sit down. I'll have the healer bring you a tonic."
Enly dropped himself into a chair that faced toward one of the walls and closed his eyes. "I take it that's a no."
His father didn't answer. Instead he stepped to the door, opened it, and spoke briefly with one of his guards.
"Late night, eh?" Maisaak asked a moment later.