"You're right," he said. "I am a Weaver. Is that a problem?"
"Tha' depends on you. Weavers have been known t' stir up trouble now an' again. From what I hear, that's even been true in th' Forelands recently. I don't know how my kind deal with yar kind in th' North, but here, we know how to handle Weavers. Ya remember that."
"I will," Grinsa said, still refusing to break eye contact with the man.
"Can we go now?"
The guard indicated Cresenne with an open hand. "Is she a Weaver, too?"
"Why don't you ask her?"
His expression soured, but he turned to Cresenne, and said, "Are ya?"
"No, I'm not."
At that, a smile flickered in the man's eyes ever so briefly. "All right," he said. "Ya're free t' go." He and his comrade stepped out of the way, allowing them to enter the city.
Only when they were some distance from the gate did Grinsa realize that his fists were clenched, the skin stretched so tightly over his knuckles that it hurt. He flexed his hands and shook his head slowly.
"For all the foolish Eandi I encountered in the Forelands," Cresenne said, "I've never in my life felt as hated as that man just made me feel."
Grinsa looked around, enduring the stares as best he could. "It can't all be like this."
"No. Only half of it."
They found the farrier's shop and stepped inside. At first they saw no one and Grinsa called out a tentative "Hello." Almost immediately a young man emerged from the back. He was tall and lanky, with red hair and bright blue eyes. Seeing the Qirsi, he stopped, his eyes narrowing. "What d' ya want?"
"We're here to see Dren Meigen. We were sent by the captain of the Fortune Seeker."
"Pa!" the young man called, his eyes never leaving the two of them, as if he expected them to attack him at any moment.
A second man stepped into the shop, and Grinsa knew immediately that this was the young man's father. He was the image of the other- same color hair and eyes, same square handsome face. But where the son was merely tall, this man was positively hulking. He stood even taller than his son, and he was broader in the chest and shoulders than the guards at the gate had been. He kept his shoulders somewhat stooped, as if he feared that he might not fit in the shop if he straightened to his full height. Grinsa had never seen a bigger man.
He looked Grinsa over, then placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's all right," he muttered to the boy. "Ya're th' ones Rois sent?" "Yes. We're grateful to you for selling us the horses."
"I'm doin' it fer Rois."
"Of course."
The man gestured over his shoulder. "I got 'em out back." With that he turned and stepped out of the shop, trailed closely by his son. Grinsa and Cresenne had little choice but to follow.
They walked through a musty storeroom, and pushed open a door that let them out into a small paddock. The bay and dun were tied at the far end of a plot of wispy grass, but the man and son stood nearer to the door beside a white nag and an old chestnut plow horse.
"Here ya go," the farrier said.
Grinsa shook his head. "Those aren't the horses Captain Dungar described for us."
The man raised an eyebrow, but he didn't look surprised. "No?" He wasn't much of a liar. Probably a man of his size didn't have to be. Who among the Eandi would ever challenge him?
"He said he'd arranged for us to buy the dun and bay over there." "That right? At what price?"
"I think you know the price, sir."
"Surely no' th' twelve sovereigns we talked about fer these two." Cresenne glared at him. "You bastard!"
Grinsa put a hand on her back. "How much?" he asked.
The farrier eyed Cresenne briefly, an eyebrow raised and a small smile on his lips. Then he turned to Grinsa. "I'll give 'em t' ya fer twenty."
He felt Cresenne gathering herself to say something more, but he pressed hard against her back and she kept silent.
"No," Grinsa said. "We'll pay twelve, as you agreed. And we'll take the dun and bay. Again, as you agreed."
"I didn' agree t' any such thing."
"Are you saying that Captain Dungar lied to us?"
"No, white-hair. I'm sayin' tha' ya're lyin' now. Rois knows I'd never agree t' sell such fine beasts, at tha' price, t' th' likes o' ya." He grinned. "And so does every man in Yorl."
Grinsa nodded slowly. This much he'd known already. He had no legal recourse. Dren had signed no papers, and no one in this city would take the word of a Qirsi against that of the farrier, even if they knew the man to be a liar and a cheat. The Fortune Seeker might still be at the pier, but even the captain might not be able to help him. Yes, he was Eandi, but he was also a Forelander, which probably made him suspect in the eyes of the people of Yorl.
"Come on, Grinsa," Cresenne said, still staring at the man, her eyes blazing like siege fires. "We'll get horses elsewhere."
But Grinsa didn't move. "I'm not leaving without the horses we were promised."
"That's fine," Dren said. "Twenty sovereigns an' they's yars."
"So, you admit that the bay and dun were the ones you discussed with the captain."
It took Dren a moment. Then his face reddened. "I joost knew ya was talkin' 'bout them uns."
"You're a liar, Dren. And what's more, you're a bad one."
The man's face turned to stone, and he picked up a large hammer from the railing beside him. "I've knocked men cold fer less 'an that, white-hair."
He'd meant to provoke him, and had hoped that the farrier would take up a weapon. Reaching for his magic, Grinsa shattered the hammer's head, so that fragments of iron fell to the ground all around the farrier's feet.
"But not a Weaver," Grinsa said evenly.
The farrier stared at the useless piece of wood he still held in his hands.
"I shouldn't have to tell you what other powers I possess," Grinsa said. He drew upon another of his magics, and a moment later the plow horse, which was not tied to anything, began walking toward the farrier's son. At first, not understanding what was happening, the young man ordered the beast to halt. When it didn't, he tried to shove it away. That didn't work either, and slowly, the old horse forced the boy backward toward where the dun and bay were tied.
"Pa?" he said, sounding frightened, his eyes darting back and forth between his father and the advancing plow horse.
"Call him off!" Dren said.
"Tell your boy to untie those horses."
Dren took a menacing step toward Grinsa, but before the Qirsi could do anything, a bright yellow flame burst from the ground just in front of the farrier, stopping him in midstride and forcing him back.
"I'm not a Weaver," Cresenne said evenly. "But I've got a bit of power as well."
"Tell him to untie the horses," Grinsa said again.
The man licked his lips. "This is thiev'ry," he said. "Ya white-hair demons is robbin' me o' what ain' yars."
Grinsa glanced at Cresenne and nodded once. Immediately, her conjured fire died away, and Grinsa grabbed the man's throat in his hand. Dren wrapped his powerful hands around Grinsa's wrists.
"Let go of me," the Qirsi said, "or I'll shatter every bone in your body just the way I did your hammer. Do you understand?"
The farrier glowered at him, but after a moment he nodded and dropped his hands to his side.
"Have you ever heard of mind-bending magic, Dren?"
The man shook his head.
"It may have a different name here. I'm really not sure, nor do I care. It's a power that allows me to make you do whatever I want you to do, say whatever I want you to say. I can force you to tell the truth and admit exactly what you and Rois agreed to earlier today. The problem with mind-bending magic is that it's not that precise. It can hurt if it's used too roughly, and sometimes the damage can't be undone. Now, I'm usually pretty good with my magic, but you've angered me and, well, who knows what might happen if I try it on you when I'm angry?"