by DAVID B. COE
Sweating and out of breath, too relieved by the end of combat to care how her army had fared, Diani thanked the woman for protecting her.
“You fight magnificently,” she said. “I wish I wielded a blade as you do.”
Naditia had given an embarrassed smile and ducked her head, swiping at the hair that clung to her damp brow. “My father taught me.”
“You almost seem to enjoy it.”
The tall woman shrugged. “I do. As long as I’m fighting, I don’t have to say anything.”
Struggling to get to her feet on this cool, dark morning, gasping at the pain of every movement, Diani wondered if Macharzo’s duchess was actually looking forward to another day of battle. Ean knew that Diani was not. She stood for a moment, stretching her back, then walked stiffly to where the queen and her master of arms were eating a small breakfast. Both were already dressed for battle. Abeni, the queen’s archminister, lurked nearby, ghostly pale in the dim light.
“Good morning, Lady Curlinte,” Olesya called as she approached. “Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you, Your Highness.”
“You should have something, Diani. If the fighting begins again, there’s no telling when you’ll have a chance to eat.”
Reluctantly, Diani took some bread and a piece of hard cheese, thanking the queen and, as an afterthought, Ohan as well. “Do you expect the fighting to begin soon?” she asked between bites.
“I don’t know. We’re awaiting word from Eibithar’s king.”
“If the Braedony army chooses not to attack,” the swordmaster added, “I expect that Kearney won’t force the matter.” From his tone, it seemed that Ohan thought this a mistake on the king’s part.
Diani felt differently. “Then let’s hope the enemy thinks better of it,” she said.
Olesya nodded. “Indeed.”
They continued to eat, saying little, as the sky slowly brightened. Gazing northward, Diani saw no sign that the empire’s men were readying themselves for battle. There was some movement in the Braedony camp, but nothing threatening. One by one, the other nobles joined them, Naditia first, the dukes of Norinde and Brugaosa soon after. Their Qirsi came with them, joining the archminister a short distance off and speaking in hushed tones among themselves.
“I still think we should take the battle to them,” Ohan said at last, his eyes fixed on the enemy lines.
Alao glanced at the master of arms. “I tend to agree. With the men who joined Kearney’s force yesterday, we have enough to overwhelm Braedon’s force. Let’s attack and be done with it.”
“It’s not our decision to make, Lord Norinde,” the queen said.
“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but I must say I find that troubling as well. It’s bad enough that we’ve allowed ourselves to be entangled in Eibithar’s conflict with the empire. But for us to submit to the king’s authority seems to me foolhardy and dangerous.”
“Yes, Lord Norinde,” Olesya said, sounding weary. “I’m quite aware that were you sovereign, matters would be very different. But you’re not, and I have made my decision. Kearney appealed to us for aid and we chose to grant it. You disagreed at the time, and you’ve made it clear that you still think our course an unwise one. Repeating your opinion will accomplish nothing, save to annoy me further.”
Alao’s face turned crimson, and there was rage in his eyes. But he nodded once, and said simply, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I’ll raise the matter of the battle with Kearney when I can. In truth, I don’t relish the idea of waiting for another assault either.”
A few moments later an Eibitharian soldier approached, resplendent in purple and gold. He bowed to the queen and told her that his king requested a word with her at her convenience.
“Did he want me alone?” Olesya asked.
“No, Your Highness. He asks that you bring your nobles and ministers.”
“My ministers?”
“Yes, Your Highness. He made a point of that.”
“Very well,” the queen said, frowning slightly. “Tell him we’ll be along shortly.”
The man bowed a second time and left them.
“Now he’s summoning us, as if we served in his court.”
“Oh, Alao, do be quiet! He did nothing of the sort.” She looked at Diani. “It is strange, though, that he’s asked us to bring the Qirsi.”
It was more than strange; it was disturbing. In this instance, Diani agreed with the duke of Norinde. By asking the queen to bring her Qirsi, Kearney had overstepped propriety and whatever authority he held on this battle plain. More to the point, from what Diani had observed in her short time with the king of Eibithar, the man placed far too much faith in the white-hairs. It almost seemed that he had never heard of the conspiracy, that nothing had happened in the past year to shake his faith in the loyalty of his ministers. She wanted to speak against honoring Kearney’s request, but after hearing Olesya reprimand the duke, she didn’t dare.
“Yes, Your Highness, it is strange,” was all she said.
“Still, I’m sure he has his reasons.”
The queen beckoned to Abeni, who led the other Qirsi to where Olesya and her nobles stood.
“The king wishes to speak with us, Archminister. We’re to join him at his camp presently.”
“Very good, Your Highness,” the archminister said, with a smile that was clearly forced. “We’ll wait for you here.”
“Actually, Archminister, Kearney has asked that you and the ministers come with us.”
Abeni made no effort to conceal her surprise. “Did he say why?”
“No. Nor did I ask. I take it you have no objection.”
“None, Your Highness.” She glanced uncomfortably at the other ministers. “We’re ready when you are.”
Olesya nodded and led them all to the Eibitharian camp. Kearney was waiting for them outside his small tent. His nobles were already there, as were several Qirsi, including the tall, broad-shouldered man Diani had noticed two nights before. He was unlike any Qirsi she had ever seen. He had the body of an Eandi warrior, and though his skin and eyes were pale like those of other white-hairs, they did not make him appear frail or sickly. On the contrary. He was, perhaps, the most formidable man of either race she had ever seen. A young Eandi man stood near him, his dark blue eyes watchful. He might once have been handsome, but his face now was lined with scars that made him appear both sad and menacing.
Diani recognized some of the other Eibitharian nobles and was able to assign names to a few of the faces. When Marston of Shanstead caught her eye, she nodded to him and smiled. He nodded in return, but his expression remained grim.
“Your Highness,” Kearney said, bowing to her. “Thank you for honoring my invitation so quickly. It seems for now that the empire’s army is content to rest this day, but we must remain wary. I won’t keep you long.”
“Actually, Your Majesty, if I may interrupt, a few in my company have suggested that we take the battle to Braedon. They point out that we now outnumber the enemy by a sizable margin. Wouldn’t we be wise to end this threat as quickly as possible?”
The king’s eyes flicked toward the tall Qirsi. “Indeed we might, Your Highness. I’ve considered this as well, and have heard much the same thing from several of my dukes. But I’d ask your indulgence before we make this decision. There are … other factors at work here that bear consideration.”
“What other factors?” Alao demanded, drawing a scowl from the queen.
“I have good reason to believe that there’s more to this invasion than Harel’s lust for power and land. I fear that much of what’s happened in the Forelands in the past year, particularly here in Eibithar, has been contrived by others.”
Alao made a sour face. “You speak of the conspiracy.”
“Yes.”
“All the more reason to end this conflict quickly and decisively.”
“Not necessarily,” said the broad-shouldered Qirsi.
They all looked at him.
> “And who are you, sir?” the queen asked. “I saw you with the king yesterday, but I didn’t hear your name or title.”
The man bowed. “My name is Grinsa jal Arriet, Your Highness. I’m a gleaner in Eibithar’s Revel.”
“A gleaner? Hearing these dukes speak of you, I had the impression that you’re somewhat more than that.”
“I’m a gleaner by profession.”
“So am I to gather that you’ve had a vision of what’s to come, and this has convinced you that we shouldn’t attack?”
“It’s more than that. As we speak, a Qirsi army approaches from the north. They’re led by a man named Dusaan jal Kania—”
“Harel’s high chancellor?”
“Yes. But he’s far more than that. He’s a Weaver.”
Olesya raised a hand to her mouth. “A Weaver?”
“Yes, Your Highness. A powerful one. He and his warriors have the power to destroy all the armies on this battle plain. If we continue this war—even if we prevail—we only assure Dusaan’s victory. We have to end this conflict now. The Weaver is our true enemy and we can only defeat him by joining forces with Braedon’s men and fighting as one.”
“This is too much!” said one of Kearney’s dukes, a stout man with yellow hair and dark eyes. “It was bad enough when you made us spare Numar’s men. But now you want us to make peace with Harel’s invaders? I won’t do it!” He turned to the king. “I beg you, Your Majesty! Don’t listen to this man!”
Diani had to agree, and she was pleased when others spoke against the Qirsi.
“Lord Labruinn is right, Your Majesty,” said Marston of Shanstead. “This is not some border skirmish we’re fighting. This conflict wasn’t caused by some minor land dispute. The empire invaded our realm and until its soldiers are driven from Eibithar, there can be no talk of peace.” He pointed a finger at the tall Qirsi. “This man speaks of the conspiracy as if he’s the first to bring its perils to our attention. He’s not, of course. All of us have suffered for its treachery, including our friends from Sanbira. And in Eibithar, no one has spoken against the Qirsi renegades more strongly than I. There has been no greater threat to our land in my lifetime. But to weaken ourselves in the cause of fighting the Qirsi threat makes no sense at all.” He faced the Qirsi. “I find myself questioning this man’s motives. If he truly cares about this realm, why does he speak only of accommodating our enemies?”
The young man with the scarred face stared at the thane, shaking his head. “Are you really that stupid?” he asked at last.
“Tavis!”
“I’m sorry, Father, but this has to stop!” He faced the thane again. “Grinsa is no traitor, Lord Shanstead. The king can tell you so, my father and his first minister can tell you so, I can tell you so. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead by now, or at best, still a prisoner in Kentigern. He’s saved my life time and again, and he has spent the last year fighting the conspiracy at every turn.”
“I’ve heard all of this before, Lord Curgh. And I’ve always wondered how he knew to find you in Kentigern in the first place. As I understand it, he was a mere Revel gleaner before he ‘saved’ you.”
“He knew because he gleaned for me.”
“How convenient. It seems to me that this man contrived your rescue, just as the Qirsi have been contriving wars and murders for the past several years.”
“You’re wrong, Marston.”
This man Diani knew, not only because she had overheard his conversation with the king the day before, but also by reputation. Aindreas of Kentigern was the largest man she had ever seen. Tall, broad—some might have called him fat, as well. But she thought the name by which he was known in Sanbira—the Tor atop the Tor—fit him best. He was a mountain; solid, immovable, enormous.
All were looking at him now, and from the reddening of his face, it seemed that he regretted speaking at all.
“You agree with the Qirsi, Lord Kentigern?” Marston asked, as if unable to believe what he was hearing.
“I’m not saying that. I don’t know what we should do about the invaders. But I do know that Tavis’s escape was not contrived by the conspiracy. If they were responsible for my daughter’s … for what happened to her, then the last thing they wanted was for Tavis to be free, trying to prove his innocence.”
“This is quite a change for you, Lord Kentigern.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Would you care to explain how you’ve come to feel this way?”
The duke faltered, his gaze darting from face to face. “No, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t. At least not just now.”
Kearney narrowed his eyes. “Very well.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the queen said, “but I’m interested in hearing more of what this gleaner has to say. You tell us, sir, that an army of Qirsi approaches, led by a Weaver. Yet you tell me that you haven’t gleaned this. How then do you know?”
The gleaner took a long breath, then glanced at the king, who nodded, as if to encourage him. “I know, Your Highness, because I spoke with him last night.”
“What? He’s that close?”
“No, Your Highness. He and his army are still two days away on horseback.”
“Then how—?”
A gasp stopped her. Turning toward the sound, Diani saw that Abeni was gaping at the man, her mouth open, her cheeks as pale as Panya, the Qirsi moon. “You…,” she whispered. “You’re one, too!”
“What is this nonsense, Archminister?” Olesya asked, sounding petulant as a child. “He is what?”
“A Weaver, Your Highness. I’m a Weaver.”
Silence.
Soldiers laughed in the distance. Horses whinnied, and a soft wind rustled the grasses of the moor. But no one in their circle spoke. They stared at him, some with open curiosity, others with distaste, all with some measure of fear.
“You realize,” Marston finally said, “that by admitting as much, you give us little choice but to execute you.”
“I’ll grant, Lord Shanstead, that were you to follow the ancient laws, putting me to death would be your only course. But to say that you have no choice simply isn’t true.”
“The law is clear.”
“The law is asinine,” Tavis said, “as are those who would follow it blindly! Don’t you understand the gift we’ve been given? We’re about to go to war with a Weaver, and we have among us the one man in all the Forelands who can defeat him.” He gave the thane a look of utter contempt. “And all you can think to do is call for his head.”
“A Weaver,” Aindreas muttered, eyeing the Qirsi. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You spoke to this other Weaver last night,” Marston said, defiant as ever. “Why? And for that matter, how?”
“I entered his dreams. A Weaver can do that with other Qirsi. I tried to kill him by using his own magic against him, but I failed.” He looked at the rest of them. “This other Weaver is coming, and he has far more Qirsi on his side than I do. That’s why it’s so important that we have as large an Eandi army as possible. Now I’m asking all of you to put your hatred aside and make peace with the empire’s men before it’s too late.”
“You’ve known of this Weaver for some time, haven’t you? How else would you have known to seek him out this way?”
“You’re right, Lord Shanstead. I’ve known about him for several turns.”
“And why haven’t you told anyone?”
The gleaner gave a thin smile. “I have, my lord. I just haven’t told you.”
“I’ve known for some time now, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “I’ve also known that Grinsa is a Weaver. He kept these matters from the rest of you with my consent. If you wish to take issue with that, address your concerns to me, not the gleaner.”
“Am I then to understand, Your Majesty, that you intend to follow this man’s counsel?”
“He’s placed his life in our hands, Marston. He’s offered to wage war against the Weaver on our behalf. And if you had seen what the We
aver did to the woman this man loves, then you’d know, as I do, that he has as much reason as anyone to hate the conspiracy.” Again, he glanced at the others. “As much as I would like to see the empire’s army crushed, I’m inclined to do as the gleaner suggests. But I won’t impose my authority on the rest of you. I’ll leave it to my dukes to vote on the matter, and of course, Your Highness, you and your nobles must do as you see fit.”
“How many Qirsi does this man command?” Olesya asked.
“Two hundred, Your Highness. Perhaps a few more.”
“Two hundred?” Aindreas said, incredulous.
“Do you recall the wind we raised yesterday, Lord Kentigern?” the gleaner asked. “I wove that gale with the power of only two other Qirsi. Imagine what I could do with the shaping power of ten, or the fire magic of fifty. They may be few, but their power is greater than this army alone can withstand.”
“That raises another matter,” Shanstead said. “If Weavers are so powerful, why haven’t you used your magic to help His Majesty win this war? Our realm has been in peril, yet you’ve done little to protect it. You could have ended this threat a long time ago.”
Tavis shook his head again. “Not without revealing to all that he’s a Weaver. And not without destroying the Braedony army, which is just what he seeks to avoid.”
“That’s Qirsi logic, Lord Curgh. I believe this man has you ensorcelled, and he wishes to do the same to the rest of us.”
Before Tavis could answer, Kearney turned to the boy’s father. “Lord Curgh, what say you about all this? Surely you’ve formed an opinion of this man who’s been traveling the Forelands with your son.”
“I have, Your Majesty. I trust him with Tavis’s life, and I trust him in this as well. We should make peace with the enemy and enlist their help against the Qirsi.”
