I'm not certain this is one of them."
"Are our lives at stake?"
Grinsa's eyebrows went up. "Our lives? No, I don't suppose they are."
Cresenne shrugged. "Then, it can wait."
Again, she expected him to get angry. Instead he laughed. "All right," he said. "But don't forget that I warned you."
"Fair enough."
They rode on, once more saying little. Every now and then, however, Grinsa would chuckle to himself, until at last Cresenne demanded to know what he found so funny.
He merely shook his head. "You don't want to know," he said, sounding as close to coy as she'd ever heard him.
Darkness fell before they reached a settlement. They passed another night under the stars and resumed their travels with first light of morning. By midday, they were several leagues into Fal'Borna land, and had yet to see any villages or towns.
"I'm beginning to think there aren't any villages here at all," Cresenne said at last, raising herself up out of her saddle and scanning the horizon.
"There aren't," Grinsa said mildly. "What?"
He looked at her, smiling slightly. "The Fal'Borna have established towns along the Silverwater and the other rivers in their territory-the Thraedes and the K'Sand-and also on the shores of the Ofirean Sea. But away from the water, they're nomads. They follow wild herds of what they call `rilda,' which I gather are like the highland antelope of the Forelands."
"So, we're not looking for a settlement. You've known this all along." "It didn't seem like the type of thing you'd want to hear about."
She gave him a sour look, though it was all she could do not to laugh. "Is there anything else I should know?" Before he could say anything she raised a hand and shook her head. "No, don't answer. I said that I didn't want to hear."
Perhaps two hours later, they came within sight of what looked to Cresenne to be a settlement of some sort. As they drew nearer, though, she realized that all the structures she saw were temporary, fashioned from animal skins, cloth, and wooden poles. Still, she could see a good many people-as many as she would have expected to see in a country village in the Forelands. A narrow stream wound past the shelters, and then by a large paddock in which grazed at least two hundred horses of various colors. Smoke rose from a dozen small fires and near the paddock children ran and laughed.
Cresenne and Grinsa had halted upon seeing the structures. Now Grinsa glanced at her.
"Are you ready to meet the Fal'Borna?"
For several days, she'd been looking forward to doing just that, but faced with the prospect of riding into this odd-looking village that stretched out before her, Cresenne realized that she was more than a bit intimidated.
"I think so," she said. "Are you?"
"As ready as I'm likely to be."
They looked toward the village again, and saw four riders coming toward them, their hair gleaming white in the sun, spears held ready.
"Seems we'd better be ready," Cresenne said. "If there's anything I really need to know, you should tell me right now."
She glanced at him. He was sitting straight-backed and tall atop his mount, his eyes alert, the muscles in his jaw bunched.
"No time now," he said, his voice low and tight. "Let me do the talking. They're a patriarchal clan-more so than most, at least here on the plain. Only speak to them if they ask you a question."
She nodded, feeling foolish for ever having been impatient with his precautions.
The Fal'Borna rode swiftly, and as they came closer Cresenne noted that all four of the riders were men, and all of them rode without saddles.
They stopped a short distance from where Cresenne and Grinsa waited. Cresenne wondered if they should dismount, or bow, or show in some other way that they meant the men and their people no harm. But Grinsa remained motionless in his saddle, and she thought it best to follow his example.
"You're on Fal'Borna land," one of the men said, his voice sharp. He was a young man, powerfully built, with a square face and skin that was almost golden, like the color of freshly baked bread. Cresenne couldn't help noting that he was remarkably handsome. Indeed, so were his companions. They were dressed in loose-fitting pants and shirts that appeared to have been made from animal skins. Their shoes were of dark leather. The man who had spoken wore a thin black necklace from which hung a single white stone. Otherwise the men were unadorned. "Who are you?" the man asked. "What clan?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. This is Cresenne ja Terba and our daughter, Bryntelle ja Grinsa. We're not from any clan of the South- lands. We've come from the Forelands."
The man showed no surprise at this last bit of information, but merely asked, "Why are you on Fal'Borna land, Forelander?"
"Our ship made land in Aelea. We had no choice but to cross Eandi land as quickly and directly as possible. That brought us here."
This seemed to satisfy the man, at least for the moment. "You ride proud animals," he said. "You got them from the Eandi?"
"Yes, we did."
He nodded, regarding the horses for another moment before looking at Grinsa again. "Are you bound to a clan, Forelander?"
"Not yet, no."
"But you intend to be?"
"Perhaps."
"You're a Weaver."
The guard in Yorl also had known that Grinsa was a Weaver, and though Cresenne understood that Weavers were far more common here than in the Forelands, it still took her by surprise to hear people speak of them so openly. Weavers were feared in the Forelands. Here it seemed they were openly revered.
"That's right."
He glanced at Cresenne. "And is she as well?"
Something in the way he asked this told Cresenne that he knew the answer already, but felt the need to ask, not for her sake, but for Grinsa's. An instant later she remembered the Eandi guard asking the same thing. Were Weavers here expected to be joined to each other?
"No, she's not."
Again, the man nodded. "The Qirsi of rival clans are not permitted to cross Fal'Borna land without leave from the Tesserate."
"I've already told you: We belong to no clan."
"But you also say that you might bind yourself to one."
"We might bind ourselves to the Fal'Borna," Grinsa said.
The man grinned, though not kindly. "That's not a decision for you to make. The Fal'Borna choose who we will and will not accept into our clan."
"Fine then," Grinsa said coldly. "Where will I find this Tesserate of whom you speak?"
"Thamia, on the north shore of the Ofirean. And the Tesserate isn't a person. It's a council. It could take several turns to gather all its members and the clanlord so that they can render a decision."
"What is it you want?" Grinsa asked.
"What makes you think I want anything?"
Grinsa didn't answer, at least not directly. But an instant later Cresenne heard the splintering of wood, four times in rapid succession. And as she watched, the heads of the men's spears fell to the ground. It wasn't what she would have done in his position, and she could only hope that he hadn't provoked the men.
Grinsa didn't appear concerned. He grinned, just as the Fal'Borna had done moments before. "As you say, friend: I'm a Weaver. And as such, I'm not someone to be trifled with."
The man's grin had vanished, but he didn't look particularly troubled by what Grinsa had done. He nodded once more. "Good, Forelander. Very good. A Fal'Borna Weaver would have gotten to it faster, but you're a stranger here, and I'll assume that you were trying to show some patience."
"He was testing you?" Cresenne asked, looking at Grinsa.
"He's a Weaver, too," Grinsa said, his eyes never leaving the man's face.
Another Weaver. At least she'd been right in assuming he knew without asking that she wasn't a Weaver. A Weaver could sense without asking what magics another Qirsi wielded.