"Earth to fire!" she shouted suddenly, hurling the dirt at him.

Bright, angry flames burst from her hand, as if she were the goddess Eilidh herself. Besh froze, held fast by his terror, knowing he had no answer for this magic. At the last moment, he threw himself down and to the side. Much of Lici's fire passed over him, but not all. Seeing that his sleeve and trouser leg were ablaze, he batted at the flames, desperately trying to extinguish them, knowing that she might well be readying herself to cast yet another spell.

When at last the flames were out, he climbed warily to his feet. Lici was watching him still, her eyes bright and wide. Her fist was clenched again and fresh blood flowed from the back of her hand.

Realizing that he still held his own dirt, and that he was still in mid- spell, Besh wasted no time.

"Earth to swarm!" he cried out, throwing the dirt.

Immediately, Lici was beset by a host of yellow and black hornets. Just as he had hoped, she swatted at them, the dirt and her knife falling to the ground. She screamed and grabbed her blade again before scrambling to her feet and fleeing. Besh started after her, ducking past the hornets as he did.

As she ran, Lici tried to bend and scoop up some dirt, but she stumbled, righted herself, and ran on without managing to get any.

Besh didn't bother with more magic and so closed the distance between them. At last, he caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

She spun toward him, the knife flashing by his face, just narrowly missing his eye. Suddenly his cheek was burning with pain and he could feel blood flowing down over his jaw and neck.

Seeing what she had done, Lici stopped struggling to break free of his grip. She just gaped at him, her eyes wide again.

"You were speaking of the Y'Qatt, weren't you?" Besh demanded, breathing hard. "Before. When you spoke of the baskets, of finding a way. That's who you meant. The Y'Qatt."

She nodded.

He didn't attempt to stanch the flow of blood. Lici seemed transfixed by what she had done, and Besh wanted her to remain so.

"You put a spell on your baskets, one that would make them sick. Is that right?"

"I can't talk about this," she said, her eyes still riveted on the wound she had dealt him.

"Yes, you can. I know what they did to you. I've been… Sylpa told me."

Again she shifted her gaze, meeting his. "You've spoken to Sylpa?"

"She told me what happened. How the Y'Qatt wouldn't help you. How they even threatened to kill you if you wouldn't leave their village. That's why you did it, isn't it?"

Her expression hardened. "She said she wouldn't tell anyone! She promised!"

"She was concerned for you. She sent me to find you."

"She had no-" Lici looked past him, her eyes narrowing again, her grip on the knife tightening. "Who's that?"

Besh glanced back and saw Sirj a short distance off, watching them, his blade drawn as well.

"He's a friend." He faced her again. "Just as I am. Believe it or not, Lici, I am your friend. I want to help you. But you have to stop killing them."

Abruptly, she was crying, tears streaming down her face, her wails echoing through the wood.

"I didn't want this!" she screamed. "He said he was going to the Y'Qatt, but he lied to me! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied!"

"Who lied to you, Lici?"

"He's taking them to the Fal'Borna!"

And suddenly, finally, Besh understood. He grabbed both of her shoulders. She didn't fight him this time. Not at all.

"Do you mean to tell me that there's a peddler out there who's taking your baskets into Qirsi land?"

The word came out as soft as a dying breath. "Yes."

"Blood and bone."

"What is it?" Sirj asked, walking toward them.

Lici dropped to the ground, sobbing still, muttering once more. "She's been spreading the pestilence with her baskets. She puts a spell on them, and then probably sells them in the marketplace or trades them with merchants. That's how she's killing the Y'Qatt."

Sirj stared down at the woman, disgust and fear chasing one another across his face. "She's a demon," he whispered.

"It's worse than that. She says that now a peddler is taking her baskets into Fal'Borna land."

"Gods save us all! How many?"

"A good question." Besh squatted down beside the woman. "Lici, how many baskets does he have?"

She didn't answer. Besh wasn't even certain that she had heard him.

"Lici?" he said again. But then he shook his head and stood once more. "I'm not even certain it matters," he said quietly. "One is too many. Ten could kill thousands."

"So we have to find him."

Besh looked at him and nodded. "I agree."

"And what about her?"

What about her, indeed. Besh had told Pyav that he could kill her if that was the only way to stop her. But now, seeing her for what she was- crazed and pathetic-he no longer believed that he could bring himself to go so far. "I don't know."

Sirj eyed the cut on Besh's face. "She did that to you?"

"Yes."

The younger man nodded toward the tiny blades jutting from his shoulder and body. "And those?"

"You think I put them there myself?" Besh demanded.

Sirj ignored him. "Those wounds need to be cleaned and healed." "I'm not good at healing magic."

"I am."

Besh hesitated.

"You can't travel far with those wounds," Sirj said, his voice gentle, as if he were speaking to a child.

At last the old man nodded. They moved off a short distance and Besh sat on the ground, all the while keeping watch on Lici. Sirj turned his attention first to the witch's conjured blades. The one that remained in Besh's shoulder came free easily, but the other had struck between two ribs. As Sirj pulled it out Besh winced, inhaling sharply through his teeth.

"I'm sorry."

The old man just shook his head. He pulled his shirt off, and allowed Sirj to work his magic. Besh continued to watch the old woman, but she didn't move, or even look at them. It seemed she had spent all her power and passion in their brief battle. Besh knew just how she felt.

I'm too old for this, he told himself once again.

Very smart to think of this now, when you're leagues from your home. He could hear Ema's voice, see the look of amused disdain on her face. He let out a small laugh.

Sirj frowned. "What could possibly be funny?"

"It doesn't matter."

The young man shrugged, and a moment later he sat back on his heels. "There. I can do more later, once we've made camp for the night. But that should hold you for now."

Besh moved his shoulder, then dabbed at his cheek. "That's better. Thank you."

Sirj nodded, a small smile on his lean face. He stood and helped Besh to his feet. Besh pulled his shirt back on, but beyond that neither man moved. They just stood there, looking over at Lici.

"We're taking her with us, aren't we?" Sirj finally asked.

"I don't see another way," Besh said, his voice tight.

But Sirj just nodded again and Besh realized that the younger man hadn't meant the question as a rebuke.

"What's to keep her from slipping away while we sleep, or taking that blade to our throats?"

"We'll sleep in shifts," Besh said. "And we'll have her cart with us. She won't leave that behind."

"The Fal'Borna don't care much for our kind."

Besh nodded, knowing that this was true, knowing as well that there wasn't much they could do about it. It was quite likely that the merchant who had her baskets had no idea what his wares would do to the Qirsi who might buy them. What choice did Besh and Sirj have but to go after him?

"Nobody cares for the Mettai," Besh said, eyeing the old woman, noting the dark smear of blood on the back of her hand. "But we have to do this anyway."

Blood to earth, life to power. More than words. More, even, than a