Grinsa nodded. His blood had run cold at the mention of it, fear for Cresenne and Bryntelle making him shudder. He'd lost Pheba, his first wife, to the pestilence. She was Eandi, and she might have survived, if only the other Qirsi in their village had been willing to heal her. But she was the Eandi wife of a Qirsi man, and the healers, seeing their marriage as an abomination, had let her die. He didn't mention this to the men sitting with him, but it did make him wonder if he'd been too quick to point out the differences between the Forelands and Southlands. Perhaps they weren't so dissimilar after all.
"I'd hoped we wouldn't have to worry about that here," Cresenne said quietly, staring at the fire.
Grinsa reached out and took Cresenne's hand. Her fingers were icy. "We'll be all right. We're headed south anyway. And both of us have healing magic, if it comes to that."
"You're trying to get across the Silverwater," R'Shev said. "Into Qirsi land."
"That's what we had in mind."
"That's a wise course. The Fal'Borna are hard as clans go, harder than most. But you'll be a good deal safer there than in Eandi land. And," the older man added, smiling kindly at Cresenne, "you'll be far from where the pestilence has struck."
"What about all of you?" Grinsa asked. "Where are you going next?"
"Oh, different places. Each of us goes his own way. I tend to move back and forth between the Silverwater and Ravens Wash, visiting the towns along both. I'll probably be in Bred's Landing tomorrow. I'm heading north, as it happens, though with the pestilence up that way, I'll turn back well before I get near the Companion Lakes. Others here are going in the opposite direction. At least a few of us find each other most nights. Sometimes we're only three or four. Other times we number as many as thirty."
"It sounds like a nice life," Cresenne said.
"We're Qirsi peddlers trading in Eandi lands. It's the only way to stay sane."
The wine came around again, and D'Chul began to play and sing. His voice was only ordinary, but he played wonderfully and the others sang along. Grinsa and Cresenne didn't know any of the songs, but they were happy just to listen. Bryntelle, who should have been asleep hours before, was wide awake, and seemed delighted by the music and laughter.
Eventually, people began to wander off to sleep. Many of them had small beds in their carts, and others had fashioned crude shelters from cloth and rope and wood. R'Shev told Grinsa and Cresenne that they could place their sleeping rolls under the tarpaulins by the fire, and after some time, Cresenne did.
Grinsa stayed up a while longer, speaking in low tones with R'Shev, learning what he could about the various clans, and the Eandi villages that lay between Bred's Landing and Fal'Borna land.
After a time, they fell silent. But just when Grinsa was ready to bid the man good night, R'Shev surprised him.
"You're a Weaver, aren't you, Grinsa?"
The Eandi guard he and Cresenne encountered in Yorl had divined this as well, so Grinsa wasn't completely unprepared. He did wonder, though, why the man was asking.
"I am."
"Is Cresenne?"
The guard had asked this, too.
"No, she's not. Why?"
"Forgive me," he said. "I don't mean to pry, but are the two of you joined, formally I mean?"
"As it happens, we're not." There hadn't really been time for a formal joining ceremony before they left the Forelands, and in truth, neither of them had seen a need for one. In all ways that mattered, they were husband and wife, their lives bound together not only by their love, but also by Bryntelle. In the Forelands, at least, formal joinings were usually reserved for nobility. But maybe that wasn't the case here. "What is it you're getting at, R'Shev?"
The man rubbed a hand over his narrow face. "It may not come to much. It will depend on which clan you settle with. But among some, Weavers are expected to marry other Weavers. It's a way of ensuring that more Weavers are born, and to some clans that's very important. There haven't been many wars fought among the clans in the last hundred years, but some of the rivalries remain, and, rightly or wrongly, Weavers are equated with power. The more a clan has, the better their prospects in battle with other Qirsi. And if ever the Blood Wars start up again, a clan with many Weavers will have the best chance of taking Eandi land. That's the thinking anyway."
"But I don't belong to any clan."
R'Shev smiled, though if anything, it made him look sad. "The clan you settle with may well see it differently." His brow furrowed. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. I hope I'm wrong. I hope it doesn't matter at all. But you should be prepared, just in case it does."
"Yes, of course," Grinsa said absently.
"I've troubled you."
He met the man's gaze. "As you said, I should be prepared."
R'Shev nodded. Standing, he stretched his back and began to walk off. "Good night, Grinsa."
"Good night, R'Shev. Thank you for everything. This could have been a miserable night for us. Instead it was the best we've had in the Southlands."
"I'm glad."
The man walked off, leaving Grinsa to brood on what the peddler had told him. After some time, he untied his sleeping roll, placed it beside Cresenne, and lay down. She stirred. He kissed her lightly on the lips and she smiled.
"What were you and R'Shev talking about?" she asked sleepily.
He hesitated, but only briefly. "Nothing we need to worry about right now," he said. He kissed her again. "You should sleep."
Chapter 12
By the time they awoke the next morning the rain had eased, but clouds still hung low over the plain, and the air remained chill. The peddlers rose early, some of them with first light, and in mere moments had taken down the tarpaulins and packed up their carts. R'Shev apologized to Grinsa and Cresenne for waking them and taking down the shelter he'd built around the fire ring, but he, too, worked quickly and efficiently. Grinsa offered to help, but the peddler shook his head and smiled.
"I've done this just about every morning for the past fourteen years. I'm better off working alone."
True to his word, the man had his cloths and poles packed away in no time at all and soon was bidding them farewell.
"I wish I was headed west," he said, taking Cresenne's hand in his own and looking from her to Grinsa. "And not only because I enjoy the company of a lovely woman."
Cresenne smiled, though she was surprised by how sad she felt to have to leave the old peddler. She and Grinsa had known him and the other peddlers for less than a day, but already they were their friends, the only ones they had in the Southlands.
"Thank you for everything," she said, stepping forward and kissing his cheek.
"Well, I don't think I did anything at all. But I'd gladly do nothing again if it earned me another kiss."
She grinned.
He glanced at Bryntelle, who was still asleep in Cresenne's arms. "Take care of the little one," he said. "You have enough food? I can sell you some if need be. At cost," he added.
One of the older women was walking by as he said this, and she paused. "Take him up on it, just for our sake. We've never seen the old goat sell anything at cost."
"Get away, nag!" he said, shooing her away as she laughed.
"I think we have enough," Grinsa said. "Thank you, though."
R'Shev's expression sobered. "Be certain. The Eandi of Stelpana grow more hostile to our kind as one moves west. There are some villages near the wash that even I won't venture into."
Grinsa and Cresenne exchanged a look, and after a moment she nodded.
"All right," Grinsa said. "It probably can't hurt to have a bit extra." R'Shev nodded. "That's right."