"To train my men. If they're going to ride with the Onjaefs to Deraqor, they'll need to be prepared."
"You will not be riding to Deraqor!"
Enly's smile broadened. "Try and stop me."
"I can stop you!" Maisaak told him. "I can stop all of you from going anywhere! You heard Jenoe! He knows that he can't do a thing without permission from me, without men and weapons and horses from me, without provisions from me! If I decide they won't be going then… then they…"
Maisaak gave a small laugh and hung his head briefly before looking up at Enly, a bitter smile on his lips.
"You almost had me," the lord governor said. "I have to give you credit for being clever."
Enly shrugged and pushed the door closed again, doing what he could to mask his disappointment. "It was worth a try."
Maisaak shook his head, and laughed again. "Very clever, indeed."
"Are you going to let them go?" Enly asked.
His father eyed him briefly, the way a swordsman might regard a foe with whom he had done battle once, and might have to again. "I don't know. Was there any truth to what you were saying a moment ago? Would you consider riding with them?"
Once more Enly shrugged, averting his gaze. Talking to his father about Tinrya was never easy.
"Do you think they can lure the Mettai into an alliance?" Maisaak asked. "Because I'm not certain that I do. But it may be the most… audacious idea I've ever heard. She really is a remarkable girl, isn't she?"
"Is she?" Enly said. "I hadn't noticed."
Maisaak stared at him for an instant and then burst out laughing, a full-throated laugh of a kind Enly had only ever heard from him once or twice before.
After a few moments the lord governor's laughter subsided. He opened his mouth to say something, but appeared to think better of it. They stood in silence for a few moments. Finally Enly reached for the door handle again.
"I suppose I should go."
"You were right before," Maisaak said. "Not about all of it. But I do find it hard to accept the idea that Jenoe might succeed at this, that he might reclaim his ancestral home and that the Onjaefs might reclaim their place among Stelpana's great families."
"And I find it hard to accept the idea that Tirnya might leave here for good."
"We could work together, you and I. Perhaps, for once, our interests are similar enough to warrant… an alliance."
Enly shook his head. "I don't think so, Father. Not unless you're willing to help them and truly give them a chance to succeed."
Maisaak frowned. "One moment you want her to stay, the next you speak of her succeeding. I don't think you know your own mind."
"I don't want her to leave. But I don't want her to be hurt or disgraced either. And I don't think you want them to remain here as they've been. Which would leave us with two alternatives. Either I go with them, and do everything I can to make certain that they take back Deraqor. Or we let them go and do nothing to influence their fortunes one way or the other."
For a long time Maisaak said nothing. The stark light from the windows and the shadows of the chamber made the lines on his face appear deeper and darker than they usually did. Abruptly, perhaps for the first time, it occurred to Enly that his father was getting old.
"Contrary to what you said the other day," Maisaak finally told him, "I'm not indifferent to the loss of life. And no matter my feelings about Jenoe, I don't wish ill any of the men under his command." He looked at Enly and took a breath. "Do you want to go?"
The question came as something of a surprise, and he hesitated briefly. "That depends," he said. "If you intend to recommend to Ankyr that they be allowed to do this, then yes, I do." He narrowed his eyes. "You'd be willing to send me?"
"They'll have a better chance of succeeding with you there. And if Jenoe is to become a lord governor, I'd best do what I can to improve our rapport. The last thing I need is another enemy at the sovereign's table."
"You're convincing yourself," Enly said.
"Well, yes. As you remember, I wasn't very fond of the idea a few moments ago." He returned to his writing table and sat, looking weary. "I want to be rid of them. And while I'd enjoy seeing Jenoe bloodied and humiliated, if they fail, the sovereign will look upon it as my failure."
"Then don't let them do it."
"Perhaps if you go with them, she'll marry you," Maisaak said, as if he hadn't heard. "That might force Jenoe and me to put aside this feud of ours."
Enly shook his head. "No. If they retake Deraqor, she'll be the heir to a ruling house, just as I am. She could no more leave Deraqor to live here than I could leave Qalsyn to live the rest of my days in the Horn." He smiled, though his heart ached. "No, Father. One of us-you or me-will get his wish, and one of us won't. Either they'll remain here and I'll still have a chance to win her, or they'll leave and you'll be rid of Jenoe for good."
His father nodded slowly. At last, he looked at Enly again. "Train your men, and begin preparing to ride westward. I intend to send my message to the sovereign before day's end."
Chapter 15
FAL'BORNA LAND, THE CENTRAL PLAIN
F'Ghara made good on his promise to feed Besh and Sirj and to sell them as much food as they needed for the next stage of their journey.
Even more, for that one night, as Besh recovered from his wounds and tried to make peace with the fact that he had killed Lici, he and Sirj were treated as esteemed guests in F'Ghara's sept. The irony was that while the Fal'Borna were honoring them, Besh was nearly overwhelmed with shame and grief.
He knew he'd had no choice. Lici had been torturing him; she'd made it clear that she had every intention of killing him before the day was out; and she'd been speaking of doing to her own people-Besh's people-what she had done already to the Y'Qatt. Killing her had been an act of desperation and of necessity. There wasn't a person in the sept who would have considered it murder, nor would any of the people he'd left behind in his own village of Kirayde. Sirj had said nothing to indicate that he found fault with what he'd done. It seemed that Besh himself was the only person who objected.
He'd never killed before. He hoped never to kill again. But he could hardly claim that he hadn't meant to do it, or even that he'd meant her no harm. He'd threatened to kill her; he'd as much as promised Pyav, Kirayde's village eldest, that he would do so if he couldn't stop her any other way. All of which begged the question, if her death hadn't been murder, what in Bian's name had it been?
These questions plagued him that first night when, as guests of the a'laq, he and Sirj ate and took their rest among the Fal'Borna. Besh lay awake for hours that night. Ema's voice in his mind assured him that he'd had no choice, that he'd done what was necessary. He didn't hear Sylpa's voice, which had become nearly as familiar to his thoughts as that of his dead wife, nor did he expect that he ever would again. She had been like a mother to Lici. Was it so surprising that she should forsake him now?
When at last he did sleep, he was haunted by dreams of Lici. In one, she appeared to him as a young girl, newly orphaned by the pestilence that had ravaged her village. She looked emaciated and she was crying, her face burned by the sun, her limbs scored by brambles and covered with insect bites. He went to her, intending to comfort her. But when he drew near, she reached out with a talon-like hand and took hold of his throat. Then she cut the hack of the hand that held him, wiped dirt on the wound, and began to chant the words a spell.
"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, plague to old man!"
Instantly Besh felt the pestilence flowing through her hand into his throat, the fever spreading through his body, his stomach souring until he gagged.
He woke up, sweating and breathless, addled, not quite certain of where he was. After a few moments though, he recognized the sound of Sirj's muffled breathing, and realized that the faint reddish glow came from the coals of the fire that had warmed their shelter.