"My name is Q'Daer."
He dismounted and stooped to pick up the head of his spear, which looked to be made of bone. His companions did the same, and a moment later Grinsa dismounted as well. He cast a quick look Cresenne's way, indicating that she should, too. He took Bryntelle from her, and she climbed off of her mount. Only then, facing the four Fal'Borna, did she realize how short they were. They looked formidable on their mounts, but even this Weaver, Q'Daer, was nearly half a head shorter than Grinsa. Q'Daer brushed the dirt and grass off his spear tip and slipped it into a small pocket on the side of his pants.
"A Fal'Borna wastes nothing," he said. He extended both hands to
Grinsa. When Grinsa put his hands out, the man gripped Grinsa's wrists in such a way that Grinsa could do the same. "That is a proper Fal'Borna greeting."
"You honor us," Grinsa said.
"You're a Weaver," the man said, as if that explained everything. "A
Weaver with no clan-" He stopped himself and smiled thinly. "I'm getting ahead of myself. The a'laq will want to see you. We can talk after."
"The a'laq?"
"Every sept has an a'laq, a leader. Ours is named E'Menua, though you're to call him A'Laq."
Q'Daer returned to his horse and swung himself onto the animal's back. "Follow," he said.
The other Fal'Borna remounted and rode after the man, leaving Grinsa and Cresenne little choice but to do the same.
"That went better than I thought it would," Cresenne said, as she got back onto her mount. "Particularly after you broke their spears."
He nodded, handing Bryntelle up to her. "We're not safe yet. If this E'Menua doesn't like us we'll be lucky to get away. From what I hear, the Fal'Borna aren't gentle with those they consider their enemies."
They rode after the four men, following them to the middle of the settlement. Once again, people stared at them-it seemed to Cresenne that since reaching the Southlands, they had been the objects of endless curiosity. But at least here, she sensed none of the hostility that she had felt in Yorl and the other Eandi villages. Men and women, young and old-they all stared at them, but for the most part their expressions were mild, and even those who looked at them warily did so seemingly without hatred.
And in truth, Cresenne couldn't help staring back at them. She had never seen so many Qirsi in one place-there were hundreds of them, and not an Eandi face to be seen. Just white hair and pairs of pale eyes in more shades of yellow than she had ever known existed. Like the men who rode out to greet them, all of these Qirsi had light golden skin. They're beautiful, she thought to herself. They're the most beautiful people I've ever seen.
Grinsa seemed to notice as well. "In all my years of living with the Eandi," he said to her in a whisper, "I never felt as conscious of how white my skin is as I do right now."
She just nodded, and they rode on.
Q'Daer dismounted before a large circular structure. It was made of wood, and it had animal skins pulled taut all around it. Cresenne saw Grinsa look the building up and down, admiration in his eyes. At last, he nodded.
"Sturdy, secure against wind and rain, but light, and probably very easy to take down and carry."
"All our z'kals are made so," Q'Daer told him. "We move with the herds. We can't spare time to build heavier homes and dismantle them. And as I told you, the Fal'Borna waste nothing."
"Don't you get cold during the Snows?"
"Each z'kal has a fire circle within, and a vent at the top for smoke." He grinned. "And if it grows too cold, well, that's why Qirsar gave us women, isn't it?"
Grinsa smiled halfheartedly and glanced at Cresenne, who wasn't smiling at all.
"I'll tell the a'laq that you're here," the man said. He entered the shelter through a flap that was held in place by a series of hooks, also made of bone.
"What are we going to say to this a'laq?" Cresenne asked in a low voice, surveying the settlement. "I'm not ready to cast my lot with these people, but I'm not sure that we can tell him we'd like to speak with the other clans before deciding who we want to live with."
"I don't know. We don't even know for certain that we'll be asked to join their clan. Let's just wait and see."
Cresenne nodded, but she could feel her apprehension growing by the moment.
Before long, Q'Daer emerged from the shelter and nodded to Grinsa. "He'll see you now."
Both of them started forward, but the man held up a hand and shook his head. "Your concubine can wait out here."
Cresenne gaped at him. "His what?" she demanded, her voice rising so that others in the settlement turned to look at her.
Q'Daer glanced at her, his expression infuriatingly placid. Then he faced Grinsa again. "It would be best if she remained out here."
But Grinsa shook his head. "I'm sorry, Q'Daer. If the a'laq wants to see us together, so be it. But I won't go in alone." "The a'laq doesn't give audiences to concubines." "I'm not his concubine!"
"She's not my concubine!"
They said these simultaneously, shared a brief look, then faced the
Fal'Borna again.
"She's not a Weaver."
"No, she's not. But in the Forelands, that doesn't matter."
Q'Daer shook his head, clearly unnerved by all of this. Cresenne wasn't certain whether he was merely offended, or if he actually feared delivering these tidings to the a'laq. "It's not wise to defy an a'laq, Forelander," he said at last. "Particularly a man like E'Menua."
"Then perhaps it's best that we move on, without meeting him."
"No," the man said. He looked at them both, his lips pressed thin. Then he went back into the shelter.
"You knew about this concubine thing, didn't you?" Cresenne said quietly.
A small smile crept across Grinsa's face. "You said you didn't want to hear."
"Yes, I did. But I think you enjoyed that just a bit too much." He laughed.
Q'Daer emerged again just seconds later, appearing relieved. "He'll see you both," he said. He watched them expectantly, no doubt wondering why they weren't more pleased.
Wordlessly, they stepped past him and into the shelter.
It was warm within, and it smelled strongly of smoke and cooked meat and sweat. A fire burned low within a ring of stones in the center of the space, and on the far side of the fire, directly opposite the entrance, sat an old Qirsi man. He was dressed much as Q'Daer had been, down to the thin necklace and white stone. Like the other men they had seen, he wore his long white hair tied back from his face. Even sitting, he appeared powerful, with a broad chest and thick neck. His eyes were large and round, like those of a cat, and his face tapered to a thin, sharp chin, giving him the look of some preternaturally intelligent beast.
Cresenne and Grinsa stood just inside the entryway for several moments as the a'laq regarded them. The fire popped loudly and Bryntelle chattered as she stared at the flames, but otherwise no one made a sound. At last, the man motioned for them to sit.
"I don't usually allow the concubines of other men into my z'kal," he said in a gravelly voice, once they had settled themselves beside the stone circle.
Cresenne fully intended to fire back that she didn't usually tolerate being called a concubine, but Grinsa laid a hand on her arm and she managed to keep silent.
"Cresenne isn't my concubine, A'Laq. She's my wife." "She isn't a Weaver. She can't be your wife."
"Those are your customs, not ours."
He grinned at that, his face harsh in the dim glow of the fire. "You're in the Southlands now, Forelander. Our customs are your customs. Have the two of you been formally joined?"
Grinsa only hesitated for an instant, but it was enough. "In all ways that matter, Cresenne is my wife."