Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

The duke stood and walked back to his open window. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like,” he said, gazing out at the castle ward. He said nothing for a long time, until Evanthya began to wonder if he was waiting for her to say more. At last, however, he faced her again. “If it were simply a matter of giving you leave to go, I’d do so in an instant, despite my fears for your safety. But you’re asking me to allow Pronjed to escape, and that I can’t do. We suspect him of the foulest crimes against the realm, and I fear he remains a threat to all of us.”

  “I can’t find her alone, my lord.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s going to escape whether I follow him or not! It’s simply a matter of how much damage he does to your castle and how many men he manages to maim and kill in the process!”

  “Don’t you believe I can stop him?”

  “Not if he’s determined to win his freedom, no.”

  Tebeo let out a short harsh laugh. “Evanthya, I command an entire army. He may be powerful, but he’s only one man.”

  “Then why is it so important that you keep him here?”

  The duke hesitated, then smiled wryly and shook his head. “You’re playing games with me, now.”

  “I assure you, my lord, this is no game. He can lead me to Fetnalla, and she, in turn, can lead me to the conspiracy. There’s far more to be gained by letting him go. If I can find Fetnalla, if I can turn her from this dark path she’s on, perhaps she and I together can strike a blow against the renegades. Wouldn’t that be worth something?”

  “It would, were it possible. But I don’t believe it is. I’m sorry, Evanthya, but I believe that Fetnalla has gone too far to turn back. And as you’ve told me yourself, the archminister is a threat to us all. I can’t let him escape, and I’ll look upon any attempt on your part to help him do so … as a most serious offense.”

  He had been going to say, “as an act of treason.” She was certain of it. It was a measure of how much he cared for her that he didn’t.

  The duke crossed to his door, pulled it open, and beckoned to one of the guards. “Have the master of arms sent to me immediately,” he said.

  “What are you going to do, my lord?” Evanthya asked, as Tebeo closed the door again.

  “I’m going to double the guard in the corridor outside his chamber, and place extra guards in every corridor that offers access to the prison tower.”

  The minister shook her head. “All you’re doing is placing more men in danger, my lord. A shaper can shatter bone with a thought. A Qirsi with delusion magic can make a man do nearly anything—it’s quite possible that Pronjed made the king kill himself.”

  “So what can I do?”

  “That’s my point. I’m not certain you can do anything without putting more lives at risk. This is one instance in which your army can’t help you. If he was in a courtyard surrounded by one hundred archers, you might be able to stop him, though his power of mists and winds would make it difficult. But he’s in a prison tower, where the corridors are narrow, and only a few men can stand against him at any given time.”

  “Surely four men outside his door will make his escape more difficult than would two.”

  “A bit. But in the end you’d merely have to build four pyres rather than two.”

  Tebeo rubbed a hand over his face, looking forlorn. “How does one fight such an enemy?”

  No doubt this was a question Eandi lords were asking themselves throughout the Forelands.

  “You fight them just as you would any cunning, powerful foe: by forging alliances, by using tactics that you’ve never thought to employ before, and by choosing your battles carefully.”

  He eyed her for several moments. “What do you suggest?”

  “You know what I want you to do, my lord. Let him go. Remove one of the guards from the corridor outside his chamber.”

  “What?”

  “If only one man is there, Pronjed can use his mind-bending magic on the man. He can free himself from the chamber without harming anyone. Indeed, if we plan this well, he can escape without hurting a single man.”

  “Did you speak to him of this as well?”

  Evanthya felt her face coloring once again. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me. I was—”

  “No. It’s all right. We’re living in extraordinary times. My loyal minister is conspiring with a Qirsi renegade to effect his escape in a way that saves Eandi lives. I suppose it’s funny, in a way.”

  “It’s a bitter jest, my lord. You should know that I hate this man. I do this for Fetnalla, and because I believe that I can help those who are fighting the conspiracy.”

  A lengthy pause, and then, “You’d be the only one of us.”

  Evanthya frowned. “My lord?”

  “Men from Mertesse and Solkara marched north to fight the Eibitharians, but I doubt that they’ll join forces with the enemy to fight this Weaver and his renegades. And even if we had a king to lead us, I’m not certain that we could provision an army and send it north in time to take part in a war against the conspiracy. Be it through our own foolishness or the machinations of the traitors, Aneira has been effectively removed from this battle. You’d be the only one of us who could strike a blow.”

  She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Does that mean you’ll let me go, my lord?”

  He exhaled heavily, his whole frame seeming to sag with his surrender. “I must be mad,” he muttered.

  “My lord?”

  “I won’t try to stop you.”

  Her heart was pounding once more, with excitement, with fear, with the anticipation of war. “And the archminister?”

  “You say that if there’s only one guard up there, he won’t harm the man?”

  “He’d have no reason to.”

  “Save for his hatred of the Eandi.”

  She shrugged, then nodded, conceding the point.

  Before she could answer, there came a knock at the door. Tebeo stared at her a moment, before calling for whoever had come to enter. The door opened and Gabrys DinTavo, Tebeo’s master of arms, entered the chamber.

  Seeing Evanthya, the man hesitated and gave a small nod. Then he faced the duke and bowed.

  “You sent for me, my lord?”

  “Yes, armsmaster.” The duke returned to his writing table and sat, his face pale. “How many men do we currently have standing guard in the prison tower?”

  Gabrys cast a quick glance at Evanthya. “There are four, my lord, two each outside the chambers of the regent and archminister. Plus we have men in the ward outside the tower, and along the corridors that lead to it. That would be sixteen men in all, my lord.”

  “That strikes me as being quite a few.”

  “Yes, my lord. It would be for ordinary prisoners. But these men are far from ordinary. We’ve felt all along that one or both of them may try to escape.”

  “But wouldn’t we be well served to have some of these men working on the ramparts and battlements? The repairs are going slowly.”

  The master of arms looked at Evanthya once more, suspicion in his dark eyes.

  “Perhaps he should know, my lord,” she said, thinking again of the soldiers outside Pronjed’s chamber.

  Tebeo nodded. “Very well.”

  “Know what, my lord?”

  “We intend to allow the archminister to escape. I want only one guard positioned by his door, and I want the south corridor on the ground level cleared of men entirely.”

  To Gabrys’s credit, he offered no reaction, other than to say, “May I ask why, my lord?”

  “This was my idea, armsmaster,” Evanthya said. “I’m going to follow him when he leaves the castle. I believe Pronjed can lead me to … to the leaders of the Qirsi conspiracy.”

  Before becoming master of arms, Gabrys had seemed wary of her, as so many Eandi warriors are distrustful of all Qirsi. But after Tebeo named him as successor to Bausef DarLesta, who was killed during the recent siege, the new master of arms put aside his suspicions, appearing to r
ecognize that Evanthya had the duke’s trust. And Gabrys, of all people, understood how desperately she fought to save Castle Dantrielle. She sensed that he no longer doubted her loyalty.

  Still, she was not yet ready to reveal to him that she sought her beloved. And he was not ready to trust her on this matter.

  “With all respect, First Minister, this is madness. What’s to stop him from killing you once he’s free? For that matter, what’s to stop him from helping the regent escape and allowing the Solkarans to menace us once more?”

  She shook her head. “He has no interest in helping the regent, armsmaster. All he wants to do is go north to join his fellow renegades. As for killing me…” She looked away. “That’s my concern, not yours.”

  “My lord—”

  “I know what you’re going to say, Gabrys. I’ve already argued as you would. But Evanthya has convinced me that we risk more by trying to keep the archminister here. He means to escape, and given the powers he wields, we’ll have a difficult time stopping him.”

  “We can put him in the dungeon.”

  To her horror, Tebeo appeared to consider this.

  “Please don’t,” Evanthya said, crying again, cursing herself for her weakness. “You have to understand, armsmaster. I need this man. No one else can help me find her.” She regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.

  “Her?” the master of arms repeated, his eyes narrowing.

  “It’s all right, Gabrys,” the duke said quietly. “She refers to Lord Orvinti’s first minister. She believes the archminister can lead us to her as well.”

  The man frowned. “Again, my lord, I must advise you not to do this.”

  “I know. I share your concern, Gabrys, but against my better judgment I’m going to do as Evanthya requests.”

  Gabrys was a soldier, and Evanthya had to give him credit for his discipline. Clearly he wished to argue the matter further, but he nodded once, not even glancing in the first minister’s direction, and said, “Is there anything else, my lord?”

  “No, armsmaster, thank you. See to the removal of the guards.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He let himself out of the chamber, closing the door quietly, and leaving Evanthya alone with her duke. Perhaps for the last time.

  “You’re certain about this?” Tebeo asked.

  Abruptly she was trembling. “I am, my lord.”

  Tebeo stood and walked to where she was sitting. Taking her hands in his, he made her stand as well, and then he gathered her in his arms.

  “You have served me as faithfully as any minister has ever served a noble,” he whispered. “And you’ve defended this house as bravely as any soldier who’s ever worn its colors. Whenever you return, you’ll still be first minister of Dantrielle, and so long as I live, no other person will ever bear that title.”

  Evanthya knew she should say something, but she couldn’t speak for her weeping and the aching in her throat. After several moments Tebeo released her, though he took hold of her hands again.

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  Evanthya nodded.

  “Do you need gold?”

  “I have some, my lord.”

  “You should have more.” He let go of her hands and returned to his writing table. Opening a small drawer, he produced a leather pouch that rang with the jingle of coins. Crossing back to her, he opened the purse and began to count out gold rounds. After a few seconds he put them back and handed her the entire pouch.

  “Just take them all. It’s not much, really. Fifty qinde perhaps. But it should help.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You should get food from the kitchens as well.”

  But Evanthya shook her head. “No one else should know that I’m leaving.”

  “Oh … of course.”

  They stood in silence, their eyes locked. Evanthya’s tears still flowed, and Tebeo seemed to be searching for something more to say. In the end, the first minister merely stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and fled the chamber.

  * * *

  Just a short while after the ringing of the midday bells, the archminister heard men speaking in the corridor outside his chamber. The soldiers there and whoever else had come kept their voices low, and though Pronjed strained to hear them, he could not. He hoped, though, that men had come with orders to replace the silk ties that still held him with iron shackles.

  After some time, however, the conversation in the corridor ceased and still no one entered his chamber.

  Had the first minister betrayed him? Had she tricked him into confessing his intentions only to turn to her duke and warn him of the danger? He didn’t think so—he wasn’t even certain that Evanthya was capable of such duplicity—but in truth, he couldn’t really be sure of anything anymore.

  Actually that wasn’t quite true. He knew, with the assurance of a condemned man, that if he didn’t join the Weaver in this war he would be killed, either in the dungeons of Dantrielle, or in his dreams by the Weaver himself. And so he resolved, despite his doubts, to carry through on his promise to escape this night.

  His decision did little to calm him. In fact, as the day wore on, marked by the tolling of first the prior’s bells and then the twilight bells, his apprehension only grew. Yes, he wielded deep magics. But if Evanthya had deceived him, even they might not be enough.

  As night settled over the city of Dantrielle, darkening the narrow window of his chamber, he again heard footsteps in the hallway outside his door. A few moments later, one of the guards unlocked his door and stepped into the cell, bearing Pronjed’s evening meal. The man placed it on the floor near the archminister, and straightened, clearly intending to leave again.

  Before he could, Pronjed reached out with his power and touched the man’s mind. Immediately the soldier’s face went slack.

  “Where is the other soldier?” Pronjed whispered.

  “There is no other,” the man said, his voice flat. “I’m here alone.”

  Pronjed gaped at him. “What?”

  “I’m here alone.”

  “Since when?”

  “Earlier today. The duke says you’re not a threat anymore and we need only one man to guard you.”

  He eyed the man closely, searching for some sign that he was lying, that he had found some way to resist Pronjed’s mind-bending magic. During the last days in Solkara, as Numar planned for his siege, Pronjed had found himself unable to turn the regent or Numar’s brother, Henthas, to his purposes. He had assumed at the time that the two men had learned of his abilities and were warding themselves. But what if his power was simply failing?

  “Hit your head against the wall,” Pronjed said, pushing with his magic again.

  The man stepped to the wall, and pounded his forehead against the stone. His powers were working just fine.

  “What else has the duke done?”

  “He’s moved men out of some of the corridors leading to the tower.”

  “Which corridors?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pushed harder with his magic until the man winced and held a hand to his temple. “I don’t know,” he said again, whining slightly, like a hurt child.

  It would have been useful information, but Pronjed could hardly complain. Evanthya had done more for him than he had dared hope. It was time for him to do his part.

  “Come here and untie my wrists.”

  The man complied instantly. In just a few moments his hands were free, and he had removed the bonds from his ankles.

  “Now, tell me where I can find the nearest sally port.”

  The man’s directions were a bit muddled, and Pronjed had to tell him to repeat several parts, but Castle Dantrielle was somewhat similar in design to Castle Solkara, where he had served for so many years. He’d have little trouble finding the hidden doorway.

  “Give me your sword and dagger.”

  The soldier appeared so docile as he handed Pronjed the weapons that the archminister nearly laug
hed aloud. “The mighty warriors of the Eandi,” he said, regarding the man with contempt. “Our Weaver has nothing to fear from any of you.”

  The man simply stood there, slack-jawed and helpless. Pronjed would have liked to strike at him with the blade. Let Tebeo and his noble friends think on that. But he had struck a bargain of sorts with Evanthya, and she had kept up her end of it.

  “Lie down and go to sleep,” he said.

  And as the man stretched out on the stone floor, Pronjed slipped from the chamber to begin his long journey toward freedom and the triumph of his people.

  Chapter Three

  Curtell, Braedon

  Somehow his life had become a waking vision of terror. Somehow he had allowed himself to be drawn into matters that were far weightier, far more dangerous, than any with which he had the capacity or desire to cope. Once, as a much younger man, he had hoped to wield influence within the emperor’s court, to make himself high chancellor and act as the leader of the imperial Qirsi. Not anymore, not since Dusaan jal Kania’s arrival in the court nine years ago. Stavel was too old now. He had none of the high chancellor’s ambition. His powers had faded, like muscle that is allowed to grow flaccid with years of neglect, and though he was loath to admit it, he lacked Dusaan’s intelligence as well. He always had. He had been clever enough to get by in the Imperial Palace, and even as old age had robbed him of his magic and his physical strength, his mind had remained nimble. But he had never been as brilliant as the high chancellor. Fortunately, he had never been fool enough to make an enemy of the man.

  Until now.

  It was all the fault of Kayiv jal Yivanne. If the young minister hadn’t come to him a turn or so before, accusing the high chancellor of lying to the emperor, and trying to foment rebellion among the chancellors and underministers, perhaps none of this would have happened. If Kayiv hadn’t tried to force himself on Nitara ja Plin, who, it seemed, had once been his lover, and who was forced to kill the man to protect herself, the emperor wouldn’t have grown so suspicious of all his Qirsi.

  Stavel still couldn’t say for certain why Harel the Fourth had singled him out in this way. In all the years Stavel had served the imperial court, he and the emperor had barely even spoken, except—and here was an irony—on the day Dusaan told Harel the very lie over which Kayiv eventually became so agitated. Stavel had suggested a possible solution to a dispute in the south, and Harel, happening upon him in the gardens, had complimented him on his inspiration.