Before he could finish loading his cart, however, he heard a horse approaching. An instant later he recognized the rattle of cart wheels. A peddler then.
He knew before the cart reached him that it was Jasha, and he stepped out into the open so that the lad would see him in the moonlight. Jasha steered his cart directly toward him, stopping when his horse was only a few fourspans from where Torgan was standing.
"Why did you do it?" the peddler demanded. His face looked white in Panya's glow.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The man leaped down from his cart and strode toward Torgan, his fists clenched. "I don't believe you! You brought this here! You did to the Fal'Borna exactly what you did to C'Bijor's Neck!" He halted just in front of Torgan. "Tell me why!"
"I didn't do anything."
"You're lying!" Jasha said, shoving him as he spoke. He stood a full head shorter than Torgan, and even pushing with what seemed to be all his might, he barely moved the merchant at all.
"Don't touch me again, Jasha."
"Or what? You'll make me sick, too?"
He shoved Torgan again, and this time the merchant hit him back, his fist catching the young man square in the jaw. Jasha staggered back a step, then fell onto his rear. For a moment he sat there in the firelight, looking dazed. Then he began to sob.
"It was awful," he said, tears glistening on his cheeks. "Everyone around me was getting sick-all the Qirsi at least. The pestilence. It had to be. The fever, and the… the…" He clamped his teeth shut and shook his head. "But then the magic started to come out of them," he went on a moment later. "They couldn't help themselves. They couldn't stop. Fire and winds and shaping." He shook his head again, swiping at his tears, though more slid down his face. "There was a healer, and his skin just opened, like he'd taken a knife to himself."
"You say it was only the Qirsi who got sick?"
Jasha lifted his gaze, looking as if he'd forgotten Torgan was even there. After a moment he nodded. "Only the Qirsi. But you knew this would happen, didn't you?" he said, his voice hardening again. "That's why you left so early."
"It's not true. I swear it."
"You saw it happen in the Neck, and you brought it here." "No."
"That's what the Fal'Borna think."
He'd been frightened already. How could he not be, watching a second village succumb to this strange, terrible illness? But at Jasha's mention of the Fal'Borna, Torgan felt himself go cold.
"They think I did this to them?" he asked, his voice falling to a whisper. Jasha's tears had ceased, at least for the moment. "You came to them from the Neck, and then you refused to remain in the village for more than a few hours. What are they supposed to think?"
"But I did nothing!"
"Didn't you?"
"No! It was…" He shook his head, uncertain of what he was going to say.
"It was what?"
"I think perhaps it was the baskets."
Jasha let out a harsh laugh. "The baskets? Do you think I'm a fool?"
Saying it out loud, Torgan could hear how crazed he sounded. He briefly considered trying to explain it all-the woman, and Y'Farl, and the odd bargain they struck. But he knew that Jasha wouldn't believe him, and if he truly had made himself an enemy of the Fal'Borna, he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible.
"No, Jasha, you're not a fool."
He extended his hand to the young man. Jasha eyed it a moment as if it were a dagger. But then he grasped it and allowed Torgan to pull him to his feet.
Torgan turned away and began to climb onto his cart. After a moment, though, he stopped and faced the peddler again.
"I didn't do this. I swear it to you." He wasn't certain why he cared, but when Jasha finally nodded, he knew a brief moment of relief.
He climbed into his seat and took up the reins. Jasha stood watching him. Beyond the young man, the sky was alive with fire and smoke.
"Where will you go?"
Torgan smiled grimly. "Are you asking for yourself, or for the Fal'Borna?"
"What did you mean when you said it was the baskets?"
The merchant shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Even if I could make you understand, you wouldn't believe me."
"You don't know that."
He hadn't the time for this, and yet someone should know, in case the Fal'Borna managed to hunt him down.
"I bought the baskets from a friend. Y'Farl. He lives…" He paused, staring at the sky above S'Plaed's sept. "He lived in C'Bijor's Neck. He had gotten them just moments before from a Mettai woman who sold them to him for far less than she should have. Y'Farl thought he'd made a fine deal for himself, but I watched the whole thing, and it seemed to me that she was anxious to be rid of them, and that she let him have them, knowing full well that he would have paid more."
Jasha just stared at him, as if waiting for more. When at last he realized there was no more, he scowled. "That's it? A Mettai woman makes a poor deal for herself, and you think that explains all this?" He gestured back toward the settlement.
He hadn't the time to explain further, and even if he had, it wouldn't have done any good.
"You're right," Torgan said. "It makes no sense. The baskets probably had nothing to do with this. But in that case, I don't have any other explanations. It wasn't my doing. Other than that, I know nothing." He flicked the reins, and his horse started forward. "Good-bye, Jasha," he called, without bothering to look back. "Gods keep you safe."
Torgan had gone a fair distance before he realized that Jasha was following him in his cart. He slowed, allowing the younger man to catch up.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
Jasha didn't answer at first, and when he finally said something, it wasn't at all what Torgan had expected.
"Do you think she used magic of some sort?"
Torgan narrowed his eyes. "You mean the Mettai woman?"
"Yes. Do you think she did something to the baskets? Put a spell on them or something?"
"I suppose that's possible. I hadn't really thought it through. Until tonight, I'd simply assumed that the pestilence had come to the Neck, and that I was lucky to be alive. Now…" He shrugged. Torgan had never been one to crave company as he steered his cart throughout the land. But on this of all nights, he was glad to have someone with whom he could speak of what had happened, of what was still happening.
He glanced back and saw narrow beams of yellow fire reaching to the sky.
"Why would she?" Jasha asked.
Torgan shook his head. "I know nothing about her, save that she makes fine baskets." He looked sharply at the younger man. "You bought one from me. Do you still have it?"
Jasha tried to smile, failed, then shook his head. "I sold it to a Fal'Borna woman. I got three sovereigns for it."
"You should be glad to be rid of it. Even if they had nothing to do with this, I'd be just as happy never to see the woman or her baskets again."
The younger man's eyes widened. "No," he said.
"No, what?"
"We have to find her."
"You can't be serious."
"Of course I am," Jasha said. And indeed, he did look to be in earnest. "We have to find her and demand to know what she did to the baskets."
"What are you talking about? I'm not searching for some Mettai woman who might have done nothing wrong except take too little money for her wares. I'm heading to the Ofirean. I'm going to roll my cart into the marketplace in Thamia, or better still, Siraam, and I'm going to stay there until the Snows have ended in the north."