He was Eandi; a big, heavy brute of a man with a scarred face and only one good eye. His hair was the color of storm clouds and unkempt. His clothing was tattered and travel-stained. His mount, on the other hand, was an impressive beast. It might even have been a Fal'Borna horse.

The other riders parted when U'Selle and S'Doryn reached them, allowing the two of them to face the man.

"Who are you?" the man demanded. "I've asked them but they won't tell me.

U'Selle raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps that's because you're an Eandi on Fal'Borna land, and that's a question for us to ask you."

The man scowled at her.

"I'm a merchant. I'm headed back into Stelpana."

"A merchant?" she repeated doubtfully. "Where are your wares, merchant?"

The man licked his lips, his one good eye darting from face to face, as if seeking a friend, or searching for a weakness in their circle.

"I lost them," he said at last. "I… had a dispute with one of your a'laqs. He took my wares and my cart."

"But he gave you a horse?" S'Doryn asked. He sounded skeptical, too. "What's your name?" U'Selle asked the man.

He didn't answer. After a moment's hesitation he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a burnt piece of cloth or parchment.

"Don't come near me!" the man said with such menace that U'Selle nearly laughed out loud. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me no other choice."

"You'll hurt us with that?" S'Doryn asked.

"Yes. You can laugh all you like. But I can destroy you all with this. I'm nearly home. I just need to get across the wash. And you're going to let me, because if you don't you'll all die."

Several of the men were chuckling now, but T'Noth wasn't, and neither was U'Selle. Looking more closely at the thing in the man's hand, she saw that it wasn't parchment after all. And it appeared too stiff to be cloth. An instant later it hit her like a fist.

"What is that you're holding?" she asked in a hard voice. But she knew.

"You know of the plague," the man said, looking her in the eye, his back straight. "The one conjured by the Mettai."

"We know of it," U'Selle said.

"This is a piece of cursed basket. It still carries that Mettai magic, and if you come near me you'll be sickened. All of you will be. I've seen what this plague can do, and trust me, you want no part of it."

S'Doryn glared at the man, murder in his pale eyes. "We've seen what it can do, too, you bastard. You dare to use that plague as a weapon?"

"I will if I must. It's up to you. Let me go, and you'll be spared. Try to stop me, and you'll die a terrible death."

"No," U'Selle said.

The man stared at her. "What do you mean, no?"

She smiled harshly. "I mean no, you won't be making any of us sick. Not with that."

"You think you can stop me?"

"I know we can," she said. "Apparently you haven't heard that there's a second Mettai spell. Its spread across the plain nearly as quickly as that first one did. It makes us immune to the plague."

The man's hand holding the scrap of basket dropped a bit, but then he raised it again. "I don't believe you. There is no such spell."

"There is," she said. "It was conjured by two Mettai on the Central Plain. It saved the lives of men who had been sick with the plague and it made them immune. One of those men walked in my dreams as Weavers can and passed the spell on to me. I've passed it on to all the people in my village. So that basket you hold is no more dangerous to me than a blade of grass."

And to make the point, she glanced at the scrap of basket and used her magic to make it burst into flame. The merchant let out a small cry and dropped it. It fell to the ground and continued to burn, as the merchant watched helplessly.

"This man who came to you," he said, his voice barely audible. "Tell me about him."

"He was a Forelander, living now in-"

"E'Menua's sept," the man finished for her.

"You know him."

The merchant nodded. "I thought he was dead."

"You were wrong," U'Selle said. "Now, merchant, tell me your name, so that when other a'laqs ask me, I'll be able to tell them who it was we killed."

The man sighed, seeming more weary than scared. "My name is Torgan Plye."

U'Selle's eyes widened. "You're Torgan Plye?"

He nodded.

"You're the one who spread the plague in the first place."

"Actually," he said, "I wasn't. At least not intentionally." A bitter smile flitted across his homely face. "I don't suppose that matters much, does it?"

"No," U'Selle said coldly. "You were declared an enemy of the Fal'Borna a long time ago. And today you threatened to kill us with a plague that has already devastated our land. You've earned this death. Get down off your horse."

The merchant dismounted and looked around the circle, shaking his head slowly. "I knew you white-hair bastards would be the death of me. This morning I started thinking that I might actually make it to the wash, but even then I knew. One way or another, you were going to find a way to kill me."

"It seems you were right," U'Selle said evenly. "Do you have anything else you wish to say?"

He frowned. "I hope you all rot."

U'Selle nodded once. "And I hope that Bian is as merciful as you deserve, Torgan Plye."

She reached for her shaping magic and snapped the man's neck. He collapsed to the ground and was still, his one good eye still open, staring up into the sky.

"Leave him for the dogs and crows," U'Selle said loudly. "It's time we were headed home."

The others stared at the man's body for a moment or two before slowly riding back to the camp. Only T'Noth, S'Doryn, T'Kaar, and U'Selle remained.

"I wonder if the spell would have worked," T'Noth said.

U'Selle looked at him. "You mean the one that made us immune?" The young man nodded.

"I believe it would have," she said. "But I'm just as glad that we didn't have to find out." U'Selle turned to S'Doryn. "The Forelander told me that the old Mettai witch was killed by the two men who made this new spell. And now Torgan's dead, too. When we return to Lowna, you can tell Jynna that all this is finally over."

S'Doryn smiled sadly. "I could tell her that," he said. "And I will if she asks. But usually she doesn't like to talk about it, and I can hardly blame her."

U'Selle reached out and patted his shoulder. "I think she and Vettala are lucky to have you."

"Funny," the man said. "N'Tevva and I feel that way about them."

The four of them wheeled their horses away from the broken body of the Eandi merchant and returned to their camp. Within the hour, they were riding back to their home by the Companion Lakes.

Epilogue

Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle left the sept only a few days after the departure of the two Mettai. L'Norr and D'Pera spoke to them at length in the days before, trying to convince them to stay, but both Grinsa and Cresenne had long since made up their minds to leave the Central Plain.

They rode north and west on the horses they had first purchased in Yorl, their very first day in the Southlands. They skirted the Fallow Downs, wishing to avoid the J'Balanar, and entered the Berylline Forest. There they encountered the woodland clans-the A'Vahl and the M'Saaren. They had heard other Southlands Qirsi speak of both peoples, and had been prepared to find that the A'Vahl were difficult and arrogant. After the Fal'Borna, they seemed anything but.

They found an A'Vahl settlement along the eastern banks of the river named for the clan. They were welcomed there, of course, because Grinsa was a Weaver, and even among the less warlike clans of the Southlands, Weavers were sought after. They stayed among the A'Vahl for nearly half a turn, learning the ways of the clan, and enjoying their wonderful food, which included a dazzling array of roots and greens, fruits and nuts, and some of the finest venison either Grinsa or Cresenne had ever tasted. They were shown how the A'Vahl shaped wood into bowls and furniture and musical instruments that they traded with peddlers from throughout the land. To his surprise, Grinsa discovered that he had a certain talent for woodwork, just as Cresenne had found during their turns with the Fal'Borna that she had a penchant for tanning.