"You're wrong. We need to keep watch at night. Do you want the first shift or the second?"
"Neither," Grinsa said, shaking his head, knowing that he was only going to make the Fal'Borna angry. "If you want to stay awake all night you can, but I intend to sleep."
Q'Daer glowered at him.
"If it would make you feel better," Grinsa went on a moment later, sensing an opportunity, "I can speak with the Mettai. Afterwards, if they say anything that seems alarming, I'll keep watch with you."
"You're too trusting, Forelander. You may have had Eandi friends in the Forelands, but dark-eyes are different here."
Grinsa merely shrugged. Q'Daer waited, as if expecting Grinsa to say more. When he didn't, the young Weaver stalked off angrily.
He watched Q'Daer walk away and then started off himself in the opposite direction, intending to find the Mettai. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Torgan.
"They killed the witch," the man said, his scarred face livid in the pale pink glow of the rising moons.
"Yes," Grinsa said, exhaling, wanting no part of this conversation. "It seems they did."
"What does that mean for us?"
Grinsa shook his head. "I don't know, Torgan. It'll prove to E'Menua that the woman was real, and that you were telling the truth. On the other hand, the a'laq made it clear that he wanted us to kill the woman and bring glory to his sept. We didn't do that."
"So he might still execute us."
"He might. He might also refuse to let my family and me leave the sept. I just don't know. I'm sorry."
He tried to walk past the merchant, but Torgan blocked his way.
"You have to let us get away," he said, dropping his voice, and glancing around, as if afraid that Q'Daer might be nearby. "Maybe you needed us before to help you find the woman and her baskets. But she's dead, and now you have the Mettai to help you. Jasha and me-we can't do any more. Surely you see that."
"Torgan-"
"They'll kill us. That's what E'Menua wanted to do all along, and now there's nothing to stop him."
"I can't let you go, Torgan."
The man glared at him. "Why not?"
"Because if I do, E'Menua will never let us leave."
Grinsa half expected the merchant to hit him.
"You white-hair bastard! You'd trade my life for your freedom."
"Not if I don't have to, no. I'll do what I can to keep you and Jasha alive.
But if I let you go now, my wife and I have no chance at all. We'll go back to the sept-all of us. And we'll win our freedom together."
Once more Grinsa tried to walk past, and again Torgan stopped him, this time putting a hand to Grinsa's chest.
Grinsa glanced down at the man's hand before meeting his gaze again. "You want me to shatter that?" he demanded, his voice level.
Torgan blinked once. Then he dropped his hand to his side. "You're killing us," he said bitterly.
"Not if I can help it," Grinsa told him. "But let's be honest, Torgan. If our positions were reversed, you'd do exactly the same thing. Actually you'd do far less for me than I've done for you."
He didn't wait for a reply; he simply walked away. This time, Torgan didn't try to stop him. But Grinsa heard him mutter "White-hair bastard" under his breath.
Grinsa paused, but then walked on, knowing that nothing good would come of prolonging their confrontation.
It was late enough that he feared the Mettai might already have gone to sleep. But both men were sitting beside their cart in the light of the moons. They weren't speaking to each other, nor did they appear to be doing anything in particular. It almost seemed that they had been waiting for him to join them. As Grinsa approached, the older one whispered something to his companion that sounded like, "At last."
"May I join you?" Grinsa asked, pretending that he hadn't heard.
Besh nodded. "Please."
He sat in front of them, eyeing them both.
"It seems that all in your company bring their troubles to you," Besh said. "How is it that a Forelander has won the trust not only of two Eandi merchants, but also a Fal'Borna warrior?"
Grinsa laughed. "Is that what you think is going on?"
"Isn't it?" the old man asked. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, leading Grinsa to wonder if the Mettai was mocking him. The man's tone, though, was gentle, and he didn't strike Grinsa as the type of person who would go out of his way to make an enemy of a stranger. He had a kind look to him, a smile that appeared open and sincere. His face was round and friendly, with deep creases in the skin around his mouth and a web of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He had a dark complexion and eyes that looked black in the dim light. His white hair was cut short. Like the younger man, he wasn't particularly tall or broad, but he was lean despite his years, and there was a quiet strength to him.
"The truth is I don't think any of them trust me. But they trust one another even less."
"Sounds like we've joined a fun group," the young Mettai said quietly. Grinsa's laughter seemed to surprise him. He smiled briefly, but looked uncomfortable.
"You didn't answer my question," Besh said.
"Didn't I?"
"Not really. How is it that you're here, journeying with these men who don't trust you or each other?"
Grinsa smiled wearily and glanced up at the sky. A few stars shone brightly through the moonglow and small white clouds drifted past. It was as lovely a night as he'd seen in the Southlands. Abruptly his longing for Cresenne and Bryntelle was like a knife in his heart.
"It's a long tale to begin so late in the evening."
Besh said nothing. He just stared back at Grinsa, as if daring the gleaner not to explain himself.
"We were forced by circumstance to leave the Forelands," he said at last.
"We?" Besh asked.
Grinsa smiled, though once more he felt a twisting in his heart at the thought of Cresenne and Bryntelle. It had been too long since last he reached for Cresenne's thoughts and walked in her dreams, as a Weaver could. Tonight perhaps, later before he slept.
"Yes. My wife and our daughter made the journey with me."
"How old is your daughter?"
"Not even a year."
Besh's eyes widened. "She must be strong to have traveled so far at such a tender age."
"Yes, she is, like her mother."
Besh nodded approvingly before gesturing for Grinsa to continue.
Grinsa began to tell the Mettai about all that had befallen him and his family since their arrival in the Southlands, starting with their trek across the Eandi sovereignties. He described how they had come to be living among the Fal'Borna, explaining as best he could the bargain he had struck with E'Menua in order to save the lives of the Eandi merchants. At first he was reluctant to reveal all of this to men he barely knew, but as he continued to talk the words came easier. He sensed that Besh and Sirj merely wished to understand what he was doing out here on the plain, riding with Q'Daer and the merchants, and he felt relieved to be telling his tale to people who had no cause to judge him or doubt his word.
For a long time after he finished speaking, neither Besh nor Sirj said anything. He could tell, though, what they were thinking, and so he wasn't surprised when Besh finally gave voice to his thoughts.
"You've risked a great deal for men you barely know."
"I suppose," Grinsa said, shrugging. "From what I've heard of the Mettai, you're not well thought of by either the Eandi or the Qirsi. And yet the two of you have left your home and family in order to save strangers from the curse of a madwoman."
Besh grinned. "Only a fool would choose to justify himself by likening his actions to those of a bigger fool."
Grinsa laughed. "Well said." His smile faded slowly. "The Fal'Borna thought me foolish as well. Maybe I was. Torgan and Jasha meant nothing to me at the time, and I've since come to question whether Torgan was worth saving. But back in the Forelands I met a man who was falsely accused of a crime, and if I hadn't helped him prove his innocence he would have been executed and our land would have suffered greatly for the loss. I don't know if either of the merchants will someday justify whatever sacrifice I've made. But, like the rest of us, they deserve the chance to prove their worth."