Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  He had come to believe that this was why the emperor had approached him, of all people. Still, he thought it strange. Was it possible that Harel had so little contact with his advisors that this one encounter had made Stavel his most trusted Qirsi? It seemed impossible, yet the chancellor could think of no other explanation for what had happened that night near the end of Elined’s waxing.

  Kayiv had been dead but two days, and for the first time in memory, the emperor’s court no longer felt like a haven from the violence that seemed to have gripped every other court in the Forelands. Stavel had just retired for the night, when there came a knock at his door. Surprised—he so rarely had visitors at any time of day—and just a bit frightened, he lit the candle by his bed with a thought, crossed to the door, and opened it cautiously.

  Two of Harel’s guards stood in the corridor, resplendent in their uniforms of gold and red.

  “Th’ emperor wants a word with ye, Chanc’lor,” one of them said, with the icy courtesy that such men always seemed to reserve for the palace’s higher-ranking Qirsi.

  His apprehension growing by the moment, Stavel quickly changed back into his ministerial robes and followed the men through the palace corridors to the imperial chamber.

  He found Harel there, pacing the stone floors, gripping his jeweled scepter with both hands. He halted when the guard announced Stavel, and regarded the chancellor for just a moment before dismissing the guards. One of his wives reclined in a nest of lush pillows near the hearth, and he ordered her from the chamber as well.

  “Sit down, Stavel,” he said, stepping to his marble throne.

  The chancellor did as he was told, but the emperor remained standing. After a moment he resumed his pacing.

  “Terrible,” he said, “this business with Kayiv.” He shook his head, a frown on his fleshy face.

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  The chancellor’s heart was pounding. Did the emperor know of Dusaan’s lie, of the discussions Stavel had with Kayiv as they tried to decide whether to bring it to Harel’s attention? Or worse, having heard that Kayiv was a traitor, that he tried to turn Nitara to his cause before forcing himself on her, did the emperor suspect that Stavel was a traitor as well? “Not very well, Your Eminence,” he said at last, his voice unsteady.

  “Do you believe he was a traitor?”

  “I believe what Nitara has told us of their encounter, so, yes, I suppose I do.”

  The emperor stopped by one of his windows, turning to face Stavel. “Do you believe the woman might be a traitor, too?”

  “I don’t think so, Your Eminence.”

  “Are you a traitor, Stavel?”

  His eyes widened. “No, Your Eminence! I swear I’m not!”

  Harel nodded. “I believe you. Indeed, that’s why I’ve summoned you here.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “I’m convinced that there are other traitors in my palace. I’ve heard a great deal about this conspiracy—how it works, how its leaders entice others to join—and I find it very hard to believe that Kayiv was alone. I think this woman might have been a part of it. She shared his bed for a long time before all this ugliness. Perhaps there was more to their relations than mere lust.” He began to wander the room again. “And I suspect others may be involved as well. I want you to find out.”

  “Me, Your Eminence?”

  “Does that surprise you, Stavel?”

  “Actually, it does, Your Eminence. I would have thought that you would entrust the high chancellor with such a task.”

  The emperor gave a small smile. “Who’s to say how many people I intend to enlist in this effort? Given the nature of this conspiracy, wouldn’t I be foolish to place my faith in only one person?”

  Stavel hadn’t thought of this, and he found himself impressed with the workings of the emperor’s mind. “I see. Your Eminence is most wise.”

  “I want you to learn what you can about your fellow Qirsi, the high chancellor included.”

  Stavel felt himself blanch. “The high chancellor, Your Eminence?”

  “That frightens you, doesn’t it?” the emperor asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

  “The high chancellor is a … a formidable man, Your Eminence. He’s the most powerful Qirsi in your palace. Should he decide that one of us is no longer fit to serve you, he can have us banished from your court.”

  “Only with my consent, Stavel. Never forget that. Dusaan serves in this court at my pleasure, and should he try to have you banished, as you say, I won’t allow it to happen.”

  Even then, sitting in the emperor’s chamber, surrounded by the trappings of imperial power, Stavel could not help but wonder if this man, or anyone else for that matter, could protect him from the high chancellor.

  Their discussion ended a few moments later and Stavel returned to his chamber, accompanied once more by the two guards. He hadn’t spoken with the emperor since, though he had tried to find out what he could about his fellow Qirsi. He began to take his meals in the kitchens and halls rather than in his private chambers, allowing himself to overhear conversations to which, only a short time before, he would have been too well mannered to listen. He spoke with guards—casually, he hoped—about the comings and goings of the palace Qirsi, not only the ministers and chancellors, but also the healers and fire conjurers. He even dared ask about Dusaan, though to a man they denied having seen him leave the palace even once during the past several turns. This struck Stavel as odd, indeed nearly as much so as if they had told him that the high chancellor left the palace frequently, but he had no idea what to make of it.

  There were other peculiarities as well. Several turns before, it seemed, Nitara and Kayiv had left the palace together with some frequency, often returning later bearing some new trinket for the woman. And two other Qirsi, healers both, spent a good deal of time down at the wharves along the riverbank. Again, however, Stavel didn’t know what any of this meant. His was not the mind of a conspirator; he had no talent for connivance. He learned what he could, having no sense of what to do with the knowledge he gathered. Knowing nothing for certain, he couldn’t very well take any of this to the emperor. Nor could he ask anyone else what they thought of all he had learned, not without revealing himself as Harel’s spy.

  For the first time in all his years in Curtell, Stavel had truly been taken into the emperor’s confidence. And he had never felt so isolated.

  Attending the daily discussions with Dusaan and the emperor’s other advisors proved to be both the easiest and most difficult part of his work on Harel’s behalf. Whenever he spoke with the guards, the chancellor spent every moment terrified that he would be discovered by another of the emperor’s advisors. He had no such fears during the gatherings of chancellors and ministers. Even if Dusaan learned later that someone had reported to the emperor on the substance of their discussion, the high chancellor would have no way of knowing which of them was the informer. On the other hand, Stavel could not help feeling that he had betrayed all of his fellow Qirsi, and at no time was his guilt more pronounced than during these deliberations. As far as Stavel was concerned, they couldn’t end quickly enough.

  Midway through Elined’s waning, just over half a turn after the tragedy in Nitara’s chamber, Stavel began to hear rumors of a contentious exchange between Dusaan and the emperor. According to some, guards mostly, the emperor had the high chancellor disarmed and hooded before allowing Dusaan into the imperial chamber. Others said that it had gone far beyond that. The high chancellor, it was whispered, had been bound hand and foot before being granted entry. Once inside, it seemed that Dusaan had argued with the emperor, complaining about the treatment of palace Qirsi since Kayiv’s death. Exactly what the two men said remained vague in these tales, and Stavel might have been skeptical about the whole affair had it not been for a notable change in Dusaan’s demeanor soon after the day in question.

  Thinking about it later, Stavel realized tha
t the first signs of change in Dusaan’s behavior began to manifest themselves the morning after this alleged argument. The high chancellor appeared distracted during the ministerial discussion, which itself was unusual. But more to the point, Dusaan didn’t seem bored, as he often did. Rather, he was seething, as if whatever occupied his mind so infuriated him that it was all the high chancellor could do simply to sit still. He ended their discussion abruptly, long before a debate over how best to respond to an outbreak of pestilence near Pinthrel had run its course.

  The following morning was no better, and as the days went by, Dusaan’s mood grew ever darker, until Stavel began to wonder if he might harm himself or someone else.

  Only on this very morning, however, the sixth of the new waxing, did he understand just how gravely matters stood, and just how badly he had miscalculated.

  He was on his way to Dusaan’s chambers when a guard stopped him. It was one of the men who, on several occasions, had given him information about other Qirsi. A young man, no more than a year or two past his Fating, he was, nevertheless, uncommonly tall and broad in the shoulders. When he was fully grown, he would be massive. All of which made the wide-eyed, somewhat frightened expression on his face that much more comical.

  “Pardon me, Chancellor,” the man said, seeming unsure of himself, “but I know tha’ ye’ve been askin’ ’bout th’ high chanc’lor.”

  Stavel looked back over his shoulder, as if expecting to see Dusaan himself enter the corridor at any moment. Suddenly his hands were sweating.

  “Yes,” he said in a hushed voice, wishing he were elsewhere. “What about him?”

  “Well, ’e left th’ palace las’ night. First time any o’ us ca’ remember. ’E weren’t gone long. Less than ’n hour, I’d say. Bu’ when ’e come back, ’e had a large bundle under ’is arm.”

  “How large?”

  “Long like, no’ too fat mind ye. Put me ’n mind o’ a sword, wrapped in cloth.”

  Stavel could think of no explanation for this. He couldn’t imagine that a man in Dusaan’s position would need to purchase a weapon in the city marketplace. Most Qirsi serving in the court of a noble, particularly that of a sovereign, already had a sword. Stavel did. It was old, and for all he knew rusted at this point. He hadn’t so much as looked at in several years. But it was there in the back of his wardrobe, sheathed and ready should ever he need it. No doubt Dusaan had one as well. So what could he have been carrying?

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  The man shook his head. “No, Chanc’lor. I think ’e wen’ right t’ ’is chamber. None o’ us saw ’im th’ res’ o’ th’ night.”

  Stavel fumbled in the pocket of his robe, pulling free a five-qinde piece and offering it to the man.

  “No, Chanc’lor,” he said, shaking his head a second time. “I’s jes’ doin’ my job.”

  “Well, thank you,” Stavel said. “I’m grateful.”

  The man nodded and left him, the click of his boots echoing loudly off the vaulted ceiling of the corridor. The chancellor stood there for several moments considering why Dusaan might need a sword. Could it be that he’d never had one? He came to the court of the emperor as a young man, and he’d never actually needed one during his tenure as high chancellor. It was possible, no matter how unlikely. At last, Stavel shook his head, as if rousing himself from a dream, and hurried on to Dusaan’s chamber.

  He was the last to arrive, which was unusual, and his tardiness did not go unnoticed. Dusaan arched an eyebrow at him, and several of the older chancellors regarded him with open curiosity as he took a seat near the window.

  The discussion began unremarkably and soon the older chancellors were immersed in yet another argument over how best to keep the pestilence from spreading beyond Pinthrel. Stavel, who usually would have been debating the matter with the rest of them, found it difficult to keep his mind fixed on what they were saying. Instead, his gaze wandered the chamber, and within moments he had spotted a sword—the sword?—sheathed on a belt that hung over a chair in the far corner. The hilt was gold, but rather plain, as was the leather scabbard. Still, once Stavel saw the weapon, his eyes kept returning to it, as if of their own volition. It might very well have been a new blade, though the sheath seemed worn and scuffed along its edges. But if it wasn’t a new sword, why would the high chancellor have gone to the city to get it?

  “Chancellor?”

  Dusaan’s voice cut through his thoughts, forcing him to look away from the weapon. The high chancellor was staring at him, frowning slightly, though there was amusement in his golden eyes, and something else as well, though Stavel couldn’t say for certain what it was. He seemed in a lighter mood this day, but that only served to give Stavel a somewhat queasy feeling.

  “Yes, High Chancellor?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “It seems your mind is elsewhere.” Dusaan turned, glancing in the direction of the sword before looking Stavel in the eye once more. “Is something troubling you?”

  “No, High Chancellor. Forgive me. I was … merely thinking of something else. I’ll do my best to keep my mind on the matters at hand.”

  “Of course, Chancellor. We were just saying that with Braedon at war, and so many of the emperor’s men committed elsewhere, we would be better off leaving it to the army of Pinthrel to cope with the situation there. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Indeed, I would.”

  “Good.” Dusaan turned his attention back to the others, a brittle smile on his lips. “The emperor has also asked me to discuss with the rest of you his plans for the Emperor’s Day celebration, which, as you all know, comes at the beginning of the next turn.” Stavel and the others knew that Dusaan was putting a good face on bad circumstance. He hadn’t spoken with the emperor since their last confrontation. Harel sent messages to the high chancellor instructing him to raise certain matters with the other Qirsi, and Dusaan sent back reports of their discussions in written form. No one dared correct Dusaan on this point.

  The Emperor’s Day festivities tended to be much the same from year to year. Planning for the affair usually fell to Harel’s wives and their courtiers, but the emperor always made a show of involving his Qirsi and Eandi advisors in the preparations. Clearly Dusaan had little patience for the task this year, but he dutifully led the discussion. For his part, Stavel forced himself to attend to the conversation, though he continually fought an urge to gaze once more at the sword.

  When at last Dusaan ended their discussion, the midday bells were tolling in the city. The ministers and chancellors began to leave, Stavel with them.

  “Wait a moment, won’t you, Chancellor?” Dusaan called.

  Stavel turned, hoping that he would find the high chancellor looking at one of the others. Would that it had been so.

  “Of course, High Chancellor,” he said, his hands starting to shake.

  When the other Qirsi had all gone, Dusaan gestured at the chair next to his. “Please sit.”

  Stavel lowered himself into the chair, feeling as though the tip of that damned sword were pressed against his back.

  “I wanted to make certain that you were all right, Stavel. I’ve never seen you so distracted.”

  “I assure you, High Chancellor, I’m fine.”

  “So you said before. Yet I find myself wondering what it is about my sword that would interest you so.”

  Stavel felt as though there were a hand at his throat. The high chancellor hadn’t moved.

  “Your sword, High Chancellor?” he asked, trying with little success to sound puzzled, or unconcerned, or anything else other than panicked.

  “You’ve spent the better part of the morning staring at it.”

  “Have I?”

  Dusaan eyed him briefly, then rose, crossed the chamber, and retrieved the weapon from the chair on which it sat. Walking back toward Stavel, he pulled it from its sheath, appearing to examine the blade. The chancellor half expected Dusaan
to run him through right there, but the man merely held out the sword to him, hilt first.

  “There’s really nothing extraordinary about it,” the high chancellor said, as Stavel took it from him. “It’s a simple weapon. I’ve had it for years.”

  Stavel looked up. “For years, you say?”

  A strange smile alighted on the high chancellor’s lips and was gone. “Does that surprise you?”

  “No, of course not. Why should it?”

  “A good question, Stavel. Why?”

  “As I said, it didn’t surprise me at all.”

  “I’m not certain that I believe you. This is hardly the time for a Qirsi to tell lies, Stavel, particularly to another Qirsi.” Dusaan’s tone was light, but there could be no mistaking the warning in his words.

  Stavel gave a small shrug, sensing that he was far out of his depth. “I heard that you had a new sword, that’s all.”

  The smile returned. “Really? Where did you hear that?”

  Too late, the chancellor realized that Dusaan had taken him just where he didn’t wish to go. His mouth had gone dry and that hand at his throat seemed to be tightening slowly. “I … I don’t recall. I must have heard the guards speaking of it.”

  “How strange. The weapon’s been with a swordmaker in Curtell City for nearly four turns now. I only just retrieved it last night.”

  “But how could—?” Stavel stopped himself, the blood draining from his cheeks. “How could the guards have known then?”

  This time Dusaan grinned broadly. It almost seemed that he knew what Stavel had intended to say. But how could you have taken it to the city when no one saw you leave the palace? “I don’t know. I suppose the emperor’s men have ways of learning such things.”

  “Yes,” Stavel said, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. “That must be it.”