They rode in silence for a short while, the cart bouncing along through the grass, the wheels squeaking occasionally.
"Have you ever killed anyone?" Besh finally asked.
Sirj shook his head.
"I never had, either. I know I made the blood oath to Pyav, and I threatened Lici, but I never really thought I would. That's why I'm having these dreams, I think. I'd never killed a person, and I'm not entirely sure that I had to kill Lici."
"You think you had a choice?" Sirj asked, sounding incredulous.
"There might have been-"
"No," the younger man said. "Don't even say it. I saw you, Besh. You were bleeding all over. Your hand.." He shook his head, swallowing. "I don't know how you managed to fight her in that condition, but you were lucky to survive at all. If you hadn't killed her when you did, you would have died."
Besh shook his head slowly. "We could have learned more from her. She told me that there was no way to defeat her plague, but I have to believe there is, and that we might have learned something from her, given the time. Just as we finally learned about that merchant who bought her baskets."
"You're assuming that what she told us was true," Sirj said. "We don't even know that anymore."
Besh had never even considered this, and the idea of it hit him like a fist. "If she lied to us…" Abruptly he found himself blinking back tears. "That would mean we had nothing, that it was all for nothing."
"We stopped her," Sirj said. "Or, rather, you did. That's hardly nothing."
Besh started to argue the point, but at that moment, Sirj suddenly stood up from his seat in the cart, balancing precariously as the wagon continued to rock and shudder.
"Do you see that?" the younger man asked, pointing to the southwest.
Besh scanned the horizon, and half stood himself before being thrown back onto his seat by the motion of the cart. "I don't see anything," he said. But he knew better than to think this meant much. Sirj's eyes were keener by far than his own. "What is it?"
"Riders, I think."
Hope blossomed in his heart. "A merchant?"
Sirj shook his head, looking grim. "No cart. Just riders. White-hairs, I think."
"The Fal'Borna."
"They'd have to be, out here," Sirj said.
"The a'laq named us a friend of the Fal'Borna."
Sirj was already turning the cart northward, as if hoping to avoid the strangers. "Yes, he did. But I'd just as soon not put too much faith in the hospitality of the Fal'Borna."
Besh could hardly argue.
Sirj pushed Lici's old horse harder than Besh would have, always steering to the north, his eyes constantly flicking in the direction of the riders. "Are they coming this way?" Besh asked after a time.
For several moments Sirj didn't answer. Finally, though, he exhaled through his teeth and whispered, "Damn." He glanced at Besh. "I didn't turn soon enough. I'm sorry."
"It was going to happen eventually."
"We can't outrun them," Sirj said, sounding desperate.
"We don't have to. We've done nothing wrong."
The younger man took a long breath. "Right," he said.
Still he drove the nag on, until Besh finally laid a hand gently on his arm. "You'll kill the beast," he said. "Let her rest."
"But the Fal'Borna-"
"We're not trusting in the… what was it you said? The hospitality of the Fal'Borna? But we can have some faith in ourselves, I think." Besh raised his eyebrows. "We've earned that, haven't we?"
Sirj smiled, though he looked nervous. "Yes, I suppose we have."
Reluctantly, he slowed the cart until they halted. Besh could now see the riders approaching, though he couldn't make out what they looked like. There appeared to be four of them, and as they drew nearer he saw that the two in front were definitely Qirsi. But the other two…
"What would two Eandi be doing out here, riding with white-hairs?" Sirj asked, speaking as much to himself as to Besh.
"Do they look like marauders?" Besh asked, suddenly fearful. "I may have just killed us by telling you to stop."
Sirj said nothing, but he pulled free his knife. Besh did the same. With all that had happened in the past few turns, and especially in the last several days, Besh didn't need anyone to tell him how potent Mettai magic could be. If these were marauders, thinking they had stumbled upon some easy prey in the form of Eandi merchants, they were in for a surprise.
Sirj went so far as to jump down from the cart, grab a handful of earth and cut the back of his hand. Besh, after just a moment's hesitation, did the same.
To his great surprise, though, the riders halted a short distance from them, the Eandi still remaining behind the two white-hairs.
"Drop your knives!" one of the Qirsi called to them. He was a young man, powerfully built with golden skin like that of the Fal'Borna. "And drop the dirt you're holding, too!"
"And leave ourselves defenseless against your magic?" Besh answered. "You must think we're fools!"
The white nag reared suddenly, kicking out violently and straining against her harness.
"That was language of beasts, Mettai," the young Qirsi said. "I also have shaping and fire. You're already defenseless against our magic. Now drop the dirt and blade!"
"If we're defenseless already, then it shouldn't matter to you that we hold on to them."
The Fal'Borna glared at him for several moments. Besh could see frustration written on his face. His companion said something to him that Besh couldn't hear, but the younger man didn't appear to pay any attention.
"I can shatter your blades, you know!" he said. "But at this distance, I might shatter your hands instead. Or your arms. Or maybe even your necks."
"Yes, well perhaps you'd like to see what Mettai magic can do!" Sirj shouted back at him.
Again the other Qirsi said something, and this time the Fal'Borna looked at him, though he didn't respond otherwise.
"They have seen what it can do," Besh whispered, knowing as he spoke the words that it was true. "They know about Lici."
"How can you tell?" Sirj asked.
Before Besh could answer, he felt a strange sensation in his hand. He knew instantly that it was magic-white-hair magic-and he actually cried out, thinking that they were under attack.
A moment later, though, another realization came to him. This wasn't shaping magic, or fire, or any of the other Qirsi magics that he'd learned to fear over the course of his life. This was healing. One of the white-hairs was healing the cut he'd made in the back of his hand.
"What is it?" Sirj asked him, his eyes wide with alarm.
Besh shook his head. "It's… it's all right. I'm all right."
The other white-hair said something to his mount and rode forward a short distance, his pale eyes fixed on Besh. He appeared older than the Fal'Borna. He clearly belonged to another clan. His skin was ghostly white. But unlike so many of the white-hairs Besh had met over the years, this man didn't look sickly or frail. He was as powerfully built as any Fal'Borna, and a good deal taller. He also had a kind face. He smiled now as he stopped in front of Besh.
"You did that," Besh said.
"Yes. I didn't mean to startle you, but it seemed the best way to get your attention, and to deny you access to your magic, at least for the moment." He had a strange accent, one that Besh had never heard before. "What did he do?" Sirj demanded. "What's going on?"
Besh raised a hand, signaling to Sirj that he should keep quiet for a moment.
"What clan are you from?" he asked the stranger. "I've never heard that accent before, and I thought I'd met Qirsi from every clan in the Southlands."
"I'm not from any clan that you know. I'm from the Forelands. My name is Grinsa jal Arriet."
The Forelands! It certainly explained the accent. And for some reason listening to the man speak and hearing where he was from put Besh's mind at ease. That, and the fact that the stranger had chosen to prove his might by healing him rather than attacking him.