"Yes, you're right," she said, smiling. "I'm terribly sorry."

He smiled in return, though clearly it was forced. "That's all right. I believe I owe you fifty-seven sovereigns."

"Fifty-seven. That's right."

He hesitated, and immediately Lici knew why. Perhaps there was a way to do this without delaying him any further. Merchants commonly carried great sums of gold, and with road brigands quite common throughout the Southlands, they generally had several secret caches hidden within their carts. Clearly Brint was no exception to this. He would have to retrieve her payment from one of these, but he would be reluctant to reveal the location of even one of his caches, even to her.

"Perhaps you could leave me alone for just a moment?" he asked.

"And risk having you drive off with my baskets?" She shook her head. "I'm old, but I'm not a fool."

"No, of course not! I merely… I need to get you your gold. That's all.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I'm going to wait right here while you do."

The merchant made a sour face, but after a moment he nodded. He dropped to the ground and crawled under the cart.

Lici bent down too, placing her hands on the ground as if to brace herself. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some gold," he said impatiently. "Please, can I have a moment of privacy?"

"Yes, of course." Lici stood, and as she did, she grabbed a handful of dirt.

She quickly pulled her knife free, cut the back of her hand, and began the familiar chant, keeping her voice to the barest whisper. At the same time, she caught some blood on the flat of her blade and let it trickle into the earth she held in her hand.

Her spell was more complicated than most-just as it was more powerful than most. But still, she had long since committed the words to memory.

"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, magic to dust, dust to curse, curse to pestilence, pestilence to baskets, baskets to magic."

Saying this last, she threw her hands toward the opening to the merchant's cart. Dust flew from her fingers, dust that had been blood and dirt. It glittered briefly in the failing sunlight, before settling on the baskets. It coated them like light snowfall for just an instant, then vanished, as if absorbed into the osiers.

"I'm sorry?" Brint called to her. "Did you say something?"

"No, nothing." She licked her blade and sheathed it, then licked the back of her hand.

A few moments later, he crawled back out from beneath the cart, a small leather pouch in one hand, the back of his shirt and trousers stained and covered with dead leaves and twigs.

"Here you are," he said, handing the pouch to her. "Fifty-seven sovereigns. You'll want to count it I'm sure."

Lici didn't care to really, but neither did she wish to raise his suspicions. She stepped to her cart and poured the coins out onto the bare wood, making a quick count. Satisfied, she returned the coins to the pouch and faced him again.

"Thank you, sir. I hope the baskets bring you all the profit you seek." "I'm sure they will. The plains people always pay well for Mettai baskets."

Lici blinked. "The plains people? I thought you were heading toward the lakes."

"No, the plains."

"But there are no Y'Qatt on the plains."

"Well, there are a few. But I'm not sure I need to go looking for the Y'Qatt. Not anymore."

"But you said you were! You said you were looking for Y'Qatt and Mettai!"

He smiled, though he was looking at her strangely. "Well, I found a Mettai, didn't I? Those baskets are quite beautiful. I'm sure they'll fetch a good price in the septs of the Fal'Borna. And as for the Y'Qatt…" He shrugged. "We're well into the Harvest now. I need to be heading west and then south, back to Tordjanne. I don't want to be abroad when the Snows come."

"No! You don't understand! You have to find the Y'Qatt! Those baskets-" She stopped herself, grabbing handfuls of her silver hair. "The Y'Qatt will buy those baskets," she went on a moment later, trying desperately to sound reasonable. "They love Mettai baskets."

"I believe you," Brint said. "But I'm sure they'll sell on the plains, too. Or in Tordjanne."

"No! You can't sell them on the plains! Not to the Qirsi!"

The merchant took a step back, frowning once more. "Why not?"

She opened her mouth, swallowed. "I hate them," she said. It was the only thing that came to mind. "I don't want my baskets going to the white-hairs. The Y'Qatt-they're all right. But not the rest! You can't let the rest have them!"

"I'm sorry, but they're not your baskets anymore." He turned away and started toward the front of his cart.

Lici hurried after the man, grabbing him by the arm. "I want them back then!" She held out the pouch of coins to him. "Here! Your gold! I don't want it anymore! Just give me my baskets back!"

He pulled his arm loose and walked briskly to his horse. Lici followed and tried to push the pouch into his hand.

"Get away from me!" he said, shoving her away with one hand. She stumbled back, but quickly righted herself.

"I'll give you more gold! I have twenty sovereigns! You can have them, too!"

He scrambled up into his seat and took hold of the reins.

"All of it! I'll give you all my gold! Everything I have! Just don't take those baskets to the plains! I'm begging you!"

Brint didn't answer. Lici rushed forward and grabbed his leg, digging her fingers into his calf. "You can't go!"

"You're hurting me!" he shouted, kicking at her, trying to free himself from her grasp. His foot caught her in the chin, but still she held fast to him. He kicked her again, harder this time. She let go and fell to the ground, addled for the moment.

"I… I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. But you… What was I supposed to do?"

She shook her head, sobbing now. "Please!" she said. "Don't go! You're doing something terrible!"

He stared down at her, looking confused and scared. "I'm just a merchant. I sell and I buy. How much harm can come of that?"

"Death!" she said, her voice rising. "Death of thousands! And ruin! Entire villages destroyed!"

"You're mad!" He snapped the reins and his cart started forward.

Lici pulled her knife free and clawed at the ground, picking up a handful of dark earth. She cut a deep gash across the back of her hand and let the blood drip into the dirt she held. "Blood!" she shouted, raising her hand over her head. "Earth and power! Power to fire!" She lowered her hand and stared at the mud she held. That wasn't right. What were the words? She knew how to do this. She had just done it. "Earth to magic," she began again, raising her hand once more. "Magic to fire. Fire to… to that man." Her hand dropped to her side, and once more she began to cry. "Death!" she shouted after the merchant. "Death and ruin! I've seen it! You'll see it, too! Mark my word, you'll see it, too!"

But Brint didn't stop. Lici sat on the ground watching him drive his cart away from the village, her baskets in his cart, her curse following him like a storm cloud. How many would die? Who could say? It would carve through the Fal'Borna septs like a Mettai blade through flesh; it might even reach the J'Balanar. Her magic couldn't tell one Qirsi from another. It could kill any of them, all of them. All except the Y'Qatt, who lived to the north, near the lakes.

"You're a fool!" she shouted after the man, though he had turned a corner on the road and she couldn't see him anymore. "You don't know what you're doing!" Then she raised her face to the sky and screamed until her throat was raw and her voice was gone.

ventually she must have passed out, for she found herself lying sprawled on the ground some time later. The sun had set, and only a faint sheen of daylight clung to the western sky.

She sat up and looked around her. Darkness oozed from the abandoned houses and empty lanes, like blood from some ancient wound. An owl called from far off and some creature-a fox perhaps, or a wildcat- growled low and harsh from the brush beyond her old house.