Cresenne could hear in the woman's voice that she wasn't telling her everything. "But?"
"You might think carefully about being so honest with others." "I've offended you."
"No, you've honored me. But others may not feel the same way."
Grinsa had warned her about this. He'd been trying to tell her since they set foot in the Southlands that life here would be complicated and difficult in ways she couldn't even anticipate. And of course he'd been right. No surprise there.
"I say this to caution you," F'Solya said. "I didn't mean to anger you."
"I'm not angry."
"I didn't mean to sadden you, either."
She didn't deny it.
F'Solya put down her work. "You were honest with me, and I'm grateful. I'm only trying to be as honest with you. I believe I understand what you were telling me about the Eandi. It's very different from anything I've ever felt toward the dark-eyes, but I understand. But other Fal'Borna won't. Some will think it strange. Others will be offended, and still others will tell you that you're a traitor to our people."
A traitor to our people. How many times had the Weaver called her that, and worse? Perhaps these two lands were more similar than she had imagined. Maybe these same problems could be found in any land shared by Eandi and Qirsi.
"I suppose I should thank you in turn, not only for being so honest with me, but also for offering the warning."
F'Solya smiled sadly. "I probably shouldn't have told you any of this."
"No, it's all right. If we're to remain here, I should know what people are saying about me."
"If I hear others saying it, I'll tell them they're wrong."
Cresenne almost told her not to. The thought of so many people speaking of her past unnerved her, perhaps because she remained uneasy with so much of what she had done, and of what had been done to her. But she and Grinsa were new here, and no matter what she or Grinsa or F'Solya said to anyone, they would continue for some time to be a topic of conversation. Best to let the stories run their course. F'Solya was offering a kindness, and an apology of sorts. She could hardly refuse.
"Thank you" was all she said.
Before they could say more, Cresenne heard voices behind her and then the hoofbeats of what sounded like a herd of horses. A frown crossed F'Solya's features.
"Now where are they off to?"
Turning to look as well, Cresenne saw several dozen riders heading northward away from the sept. Two men rode ahead of them, and all of them bore weapons.
"Who were they?" she asked.
F'Solya was still staring after them. "Warriors. My I'Joled was with them. The two at the head of the column are called Q'Daer and L'Norr. They're both Weavers."
She remembered Q'Daer from the first day they reached the sept, though she hadn't recognized him.
"Maybe they're hunting?" she offered.
A tight smile crossed her lips. "They're hunting all right, but not as you mean it. That was a war party."
Cresenne stared after the men, her stomach tightening again. She'd had too much of war in the last year. "Does that mean there are Eandi warriors nearby?"
"More likely the J'Balanar or maybe the Talm'Orast. Don't worry," she added, seeing the look on Cresenne's face. "That was a small partyE'Menua has hundreds of warriors in his sept. If we were in danger, he would have sent out a larger force."
She nodded, knowing that she should have been grateful for the woman's reassurances. But looking to the north again, watching as the riders vanished in a haze of brown dust, she couldn't help but wonder what new peril was about to enter her life.
Chapter 19
They were cutting southwestward, because that was really their only choice. Torgan would have given a good deal of gold to get to
Stelpana and the safety of Eandi land. But the Fal'Borna and the Y'Qatt had settlements all along the Silverwater, and he would have had to venture dangerously close to them in order to find a bridge across the wash. He also sensed that the Qirsi were watching the riverbank, knowing that the Eandi lands beyond its banks offered Torgan his best chance of escape. He knew enough of Qirsi magic and the power of Weavers to understand that their communication could be as instantaneous as thought. Torgan's only hope at this point lay to the west, and a small hope it was. He had the rivers to cross: the Thraedes and the K'Sand. And even if he managed to get across those, he'd still have to face the J'Balanar. There had been bad blood between the two Qirsi clans for centuries, but always, when faced with a common Eandi enemy, they had put aside their disputes and fought as allies. If the Fal'Borna were hunting him, and had alerted the other clans to what they believed him to have done, he was a dead man.
Jasha was with him still, his cart rattling alongside Torgan's own. The two men said little to one another, which was just how Torgan wanted it. In fact, he would have preferred that the young merchant simply leave him, abandon him to his fate, no matter what it might be. But Jasha remained convinced that they had to find the Mettai woman who had sold those cursed baskets to Y'Farl in C'Bijor's Neck, and though Torgan had tried to convince him of the futility of this search, the lad refused to be dissuaded. That was the other reason they were still in Fal'Borna land. Jasha wouldn't let them leave, and perhaps in some small way his arguments were beginning to sway Torgan. It was foolishness, he knew. And yet, how could he allow her to do to another village what she had done to the Neck, what he had helped her do to S'Plaed's sept?
Finding her wasn't worth his life, which was why they continued to head south and west, away from where they were most likely to find her. But given the chance to hand the woman over to the Fal'Borna he would have done so gladly, and not merely because it might well keep the Qirsi from killing him.
When they happened upon a sept, the two merchants kept their distance, at least long enough to find someplace where Torgan could wait, out of view, while Jasha returned to the settlement to trade his wares and, more to the point, to search for the Mettai woman. So far they had been fortunate-they had spotted the septs before they themselves had been seen. Their luck couldn't hold forever.
Torgan wondered at how quickly his life had been transformed. Only days ago, it seemed, he had been crossing the northern plains, smug in his certainty that no other merchant in the Southlands could be as comfortable as he. He could walk away from any sale; he didn't have to hurry from settlement to settlement as others did. He was known throughout the land for the quality of his goods. His was a life of ease. He would have laughed out loud had the irony not tasted so bitter. Ease? He could hardly sleep at night. Every sound in the darkness set his heart racing like a Naqbae stallion. A hundred times each day he thought he saw Fal'Borna riders in the shimmering heat, or heard war cries in the plaintive calls of a circling hawk. Yes, he was known and recognized. How many merchants of his size and race were missing their left eye? The Fal'Borna would know him-all the Qirsi would. It would make killing him that much easier. Never before had he known such fear, even in the days leading up to the loss of his eye, when he knew he was being hunted by the coinmonger's cutthroats.
"I see smoke ahead."
Torgan reined his horse to a halt, scanning the horizon. There, due south. He wouldn't have spotted the thin ribbons of smoke had he not been searching for them. The lad had keen eyes.
Jasha halted as well, stood up in the seat atop his cart, and looked around, no doubt searching for somewhere Torgan could hide while he investigated the sept. After a moment he frowned.
"There isn't much here," he said.
"Then we'll skirt the sept and continue on our way."
The young merchant's frown deepened. "What if she's there?"
"She's not, Jasha! She's probably forty leagues from here!"
Jasha continued to survey the plain, as if he might will a hollow or copse to form in that moment.