"There are so many of them!" Jasha muttered. "Eight fours at least. Maybe ten. Do you think they sent out that many for us?"
Torgan concentrated on that face, saying nothing. He was so close to remembering.
"Torgan?"
He raised a hand, to keep the lad from saying more. It was right there, at the edge of his memory…
"E'Menua!" he whispered at last.
"What?"
Torgan closed his eyes. "Demons and fire," he said. "It's E'Menua's sept."
"Who's E'Menua?" Jasha asked.
He just shook his head.
"Talk to me, Torgan. They're getting close."
Any hope he might have had left was gone now. He could hardly bring himself to speak. "E'Menua is the a'laq of a large sept that often keeps to the central plains. I should have known these riders were his."
"You've had dealings with him before?"
"Some, none that was particularly unpleasant. But he has little affection for any Eandi, be they warriors or merchants, and he's said to be a fearsome warlord." Torgan looked at the lad. "You should have run when you had the chance."
Before Jasha could respond, one of the warriors just behind the two lead riders hurled a spear toward them so that it rose in a high arc and then plunged to earth, stabbing into the ground just in front of them, exactly between the two carts. Torgan's horse reared, as did Jasha's, and both merchants fought to control their beasts.
"Damn them!" Torgan muttered. This was part of what made the Fal'Borna so dangerous. They were as skilled with weapons as any Eandi army, and yet they also wielded Qirsi magic. They were said to be fearless in battle, and merciless as well. Torgan could only assume that he had but moments left to live.
The riders came to a halt just a few fourspans from where Torgan and Jasha waited for them, stirring the dust, so that a dun haze drifted over the merchants.
"Both of you, throw down your blades!" one of the leaders said, hefting a spear of his own.
The merchants exchanged puzzled looks. Forty Fal'Borna warriors were worried about their daggers?
"Our blades?" Jasha said.
"You heard me! Throw them down now, or we'll kill you both!" There could be no mistaking the man's tone: He meant what he said. Torgan glanced at his companion again and shrugged. He pulled his old dagger from his belt and tossed it on the ground by his cart. Jasha did the same.
One of the Fal'Borna ran forward and retrieved the blades. "Now, down off your cart, Torgan Plye!"
He wanted to ask what would happen to his wares, his cart, and his horse, but he was familiar enough with the Fal'Borna to know already. His beast would be well cared for; his possessions were forfeit. Slowly, he climbed down off the wagon and stood before the Qirsi, his feet planted, his arms hanging at his side. He should have been terrified, but a strange calm had come over him. He had feared that he might weep, or that his legs wouldn't support him and he'd wind up groveling in the dirt. He did neither.
"Who are you?" the Fal'Borna asked Jasha.
"My name is Jasha Ziffel. I'm a merchant. I come from Tordjanne."
"What business do you have with Torgan?"
Jasha shrugged. "He's my friend."
"Have a care, Eandi. Do you know what it means to declare yourself friend to one the Fal'Borna have named an enemy?"
"Yes," Jasha said. "I know."
The Qirsi eyed him briefly, looking impressed. At last he nodded. "Very well. Off your cart, then."
Jasha climbed down and stood beside Torgan.
"That was foolish," Torgan said under his breath, as several of the Fal'Borna dismounted and began to search the carts.
"It was the truth," Jasha whispered back.
"No, it wasn't. We're not friends, Jasha. You think…" He stopped, casting a furtive look at the Fal'Borna leaders, who, at least for the moment, were ignoring them. "You think the worst of me," he went on, dropping his voice even further. "You're with me precisely because we're not friends. You don't trust me enough to leave me. That's some friendship."
"Do you have others?"
"What?"
"Other friends. Do you have any?"
Torgan opened his mouth, closed it again. After some time, he shook his head.
"Then, I'd suggest you accept my offer of friendship and keep your mouth shut."
"Be silent!" one of the leaders said, glaring at them.
Torgan could hear them rummaging through his wares, and none too gently.
"If you tell me what you're looking for, I might be able to tell you," he said. "And that way you won't have to destroy my goods."
One of the leaders, the one Torgan had recognized from afar, walked over and stood just in front of him. He was a full head shorter than Torgan, but the look in his eyes could have brought snow on the hottest day of the Growing season.
"Do you know why we've been hunting you, Torgan Plye?" he asked, his voice a match for those pale eyes.
Torgan held the man's gaze for as long as he could-no more than a heartbeat or two-before looking away. "I have some idea," he whispered.
"Then you should understand that I'm eager for your blood. All of us are. We're just waiting for you to give us an excuse to spill it. Do I make myself clear?"
He nodded, not daring to speak.
The man stood before him a moment longer, then grinned coldly and spun away. Only then did Torgan begin to breathe again.
The Fal'Borna searched the two carts for what seemed an eternity. After some time, it occurred to the merchant to wonder if the Qirsi knew about the baskets, if they were, in fact, searching for some indication that he had encountered the Mettai woman. He didn't ask, seeing danger in the question regardless of what they knew. He remained silent, staring at the ground, waiting to die. At last, when it seemed that every item Torgan carried with him must have been broken or dented or ruined in some way, the warriors walked back to their leaders and announced that they had found nothing of significance. Torgan would have laughed aloud had he not been certain that the Qirsi would kill him where he stood.
"So, what now?" Jasha asked.
"Now, they kill us, you fool!" Torgan whispered.
But Jasha was looking at the two Fal'Borna leaders, who were approaching them.
"Now, we're going to take you back to our sept, where you'll face the judgment of our a'laq."
"You're not going to kill us?" Torgan said, without thinking.
"Not yet, Torgan Plye," the Fal'Borna said. "Not yet." He started to walk away. "The two of you will ride with us," he called to them over his shoulder. "Our warriors will see to it that your carts reach the sept."
Torgan felt someone push him from behind and glancing back, found himself face to face with a young Fal'Borna warrior.
"You're to follow the Weaver," the young man told him, his voice flat.
Torgan nodded and started walking slowly after the leader. Jasha did the same.
"We should be dead by now," the old merchant said quietly. Jasha glanced at him. "Are you complaining?"
"Of course not," Torgan said, scowling at him. "I just don't understand. You heard the leader. They think I killed all those people in S'Plaed's sept. To the Fal'Borna, that's more than enough to justify a summary execution."
"Maybe they're scared," Jasha whispered.
"Scared? You mean of me?"
"Of the pestilence. Of whatever killed the Y'Qatt. They may yet kill us, Torgan. But they're going to want to understand all of this first. That's our one hope."
It made sense, and after a moment Torgan nodded. "Then, should I tell them what I know, or would I be better off keeping it to myself?"
Jasha just shrugged. "I don't know. But choose well. Our lives are most certainly at stake."