by DAVID B. COE
Shanstead shook his head violently. “This is madness!”
“I’ll take that as a vote against suing for peace, Lord Shanstead.”
“I must agree with the thane, my liege,” said the duke of Labruinn. “I’m not questioning the gleaner’s loyalty, but I can’t abide making peace with the invaders.”
“I understand, Caius. Lord Tremain, what about you?”
“The Qirsi are the real threat, my liege. We should end this war.”
“Lord Kentigern?”
Aindreas pressed his lips in a thin line, looking first at the Qirsi, and then at Tavis and his father. Emotions chased one another across his broad face—rage, hatred, deepest sorrow, and something else Diani couldn’t quite name. At last he closed his eyes. “Join with the empire’s men. Defeating the Qirsi is everything.”
The king eyed him for some time, nodding slowly. “That can’t have been easy, Lord Kentigern. You have my thanks.”
Aindreas looked away without a response.
“Swordmaster,” the king said to a tall, bald man, “your lord is dead, and his son as well. You speak for the House of Heneagh now. What say you?”
The man shuffled his feet, clearly discomfited by the question.
“It’s all right, Rab. Your duke would want you to speak your mind.”
“They invaded our land, Your Majesty. How could they ever be our allies?”
The king frowned. “Of course, swordmaster. I understand.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Kearney sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. “Damn.”
Caius gave a small shrug. “Your vote tips the balance, Your Majesty.”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”
“But it has,” the queen said. “I feel quite certain that my nobles would also be divided, but I believe we must make peace with the empire’s men, and so that’s what we’ll do. I admire you for asking your nobles, Your Majesty, but this is a king’s decision, and I suggest you treat it as such.”
Kearney straightened, and for just a moment, Diani thought he would grow angry. Instead he grinned. “I’ve long heard it said that Sanbiri steel was the strongest in the Forelands. It seems Sanbiri queens and Sanbiri swords are forged in the same fires.”
Diani had to smile, though she wasn’t certain how she felt about all this. Her land hadn’t been invaded, and so her hatred of the empire didn’t match that of Marston and the others. Still, she had little desire to ally herself with the emperor, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust this Qirsi, even though he had taken a great risk by revealing himself as a Weaver.
“Gershon,” the king said, turning to his master of arms, “prepare a flag of truce. I’ll ride forward with Her Majesty, if she’ll be so kind as to join me.” He paused, looking to Olesya, who nodded her assent. “Grinsa, I’d like you with me as well.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Is there anyone else you care to bring, Your Highness?” Gershon asked.
“No. I daresay the three of us can handle this.”
“You’ll need guards, Your Majesty.”
“We’ll have a Weaver with us, Gershon. I’m sure we’ll be safe.”
The swordmaster didn’t look pleased, but neither did he argue the point.
“It’s decided then,” Kearney said. “The rest of you ready your armies, just in case this doesn’t work.”
Diani looked to the queen, who gave a small reassuring smile before walking off with Kearney and the gleaner. The duchess had no army here, and was at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, she saw Abeni and the other Sanbiri ministers hurrying off by themselves. She would have liked to follow, but before she could, she heard someone calling to her.
Marston of Shanstead was walking toward her, his expression grim. “May I have a word please, my lady?”
Masking her impatience, she made herself smile. “Of course, Lord Shanstead. How may I help you?”
He looked around quickly, as if to be certain that no one else could hear. “I sense, my lady, that you and I are of one mind when it comes to trusting these Qirsi. Am I right?”
Diani hesitated. “I’ll grant that I have cause to hate the conspiracy—more than most. And I’ll grant as well, that I trust few of them anymore.”
“Do you trust this Weaver in whom my king places so much faith?”
“He risked a great deal by revealing himself, my lord. You must admit that.”
“Perhaps. If his powers are as great as he claims, he might have risked less than you think. Even if we wished to put him to death, who among us could carry out the sentence?”
“A fair question. But Weavers have been executed in the past, as have their families, as I understand it.”
He frowned, looking toward his army. “So you do trust him.”
“Even if I didn’t, my lord, what could we do about it? I won’t defy my queen, and I’d advise you not to defy Kearney. Under Sanbira’s laws, doing so during war is tantamount to treason. I’d guess that the laws of your land are similar.”
The thane nodded. “They are. Don’t worry, my lady, I have no intention of holding back my soldiers or any such thing. But if I can prove this Qirsi a traitor, I will.”
“And if you can, my lord, you’ll have my support.”
He smiled at that. “Thank you, my lady. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must see to my army.”
“Of course.”
Marston bowed to her and strode back to his men. Watching him go, Diani was surprised to find herself hoping that he’d fail. As much as she distrusted the white-hairs, she wanted this gleaner to prove himself an ally. She sensed that without him, they had little hope of defeating the renegades. Thinking this, she went in search of Abeni and the other Qirsi.
* * *
“He’s a Weaver!”
“Could he be our Weaver?”
“No. Our Weaver warned me about this man. He named him to me and told me that he was more than he claimed to be.”
“You never mentioned this to me!”
“No, Craeffe, I didn’t. There’s much I don’t tell you. You seem to forget with some frequency that I’m the Weaver’s chancellor, and you’re but one of his servants.”
“How dare—!”
Filtem laid a hand on Craeffe’s arm, silencing her. “What did the Weaver say we should do about this man, Archminister?”
She continued to glare at Craeffe a moment before responding. “He said we should do nothing. He’ll deal with the gleaner himself.”
“We may not have that luxury anymore,” Filtem said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve no doubt our Weaver knew of this man’s powers when he gave you that warning. But I’m equally sure our Weaver assumed the gleaner would keep his secret, and that this man’s fear of being discovered would keep him from harming our cause before the Weaver’s arrival. Clearly that’s no longer the case.”
“An interesting point. What do you suggest we do?”
“I wish I knew, Archminister.”
“You’re the chancellor,” Craeffe said, all bitterness and wounded pride. “Why don’t you think of something?”
“Craeffe—”
“It’s all right, Minister. She’s right. I will think of something.” Abeni glanced toward Brugaosa’s army. Vanjad, Edamo’s loyal minister, was returning. “We’ll talk more later.”
“Forgive me, Archminister,” Vanjad said, rejoining them. “My duke wished to know what I think of this Weaver in our midst.”
“Of course, Minister. What did you tell him?”
“Well, I don’t really know the man, but if he truly is a Weaver, and, if the threat we face is as grave as he says, we’re quite fortunate to have him on our side.” He glanced at the others, looking nervous and old. “Wouldn’t you agree? No doubt you’ve been speaking of him, as well.”
“Of course we agree, cousin,” Craeffe said. Her eyes flicked toward Abeni. “A Weaver. Who would have thought
it possible?”
The archminister frowned. “Indeed.” She needed to end this conversation now, before Craeffe said something foolish. “You should return to your dukes. I intend to seek out the master of arms. With the queen occupied, he may need my help.”
“Yes, of course,” Vanjad said, always so eager to serve. “Thank you, Archminister.”
Craeffe eyed her briefly, as if she wanted to say more. In the end, though, she and Filtem walked off together without a word.
Intending to return to the queen’s army, the archminister turned, then froze. The duchess of Curlinte stood nearby, staring at her. How long had she been watching? And how had Abeni been so careless as to not notice her sooner? After a moment she nodded to the woman and continued as if nothing unusual had happened. But she still felt the duchess’s eyes upon her, and she cursed her own stupidity.
Diani of Curlinte, though, was the least of her concerns. Filtem was right. Her Weaver might have known of Grinsa jal Arriet’s powers, but he couldn’t have anticipated that he would reveal himself so soon, or that the sovereigns of both Eibithar and Sanbira would be so willing to embrace him as an ally.
Don’t approach her unless you absolutely must, the Weaver had told her. The risks are far too great.
What choice did Abeni have now? The time had come to forge an alliance of her own, with Kearney’s archminister.
* * *
“It’s about time,” Kearney mumbled, when at last they saw the four Braedony captains riding out to join them.
By the gleaner’s reckoning they had been waiting on horseback for the better part of an hour, watching for some sign that the empire’s army would respond to their flag of truce. They heard a few jeers as they sat, and they noticed the Braedony archers positioning themselves to the west, where the slow winds blowing that morning would be of most aid should it come to an attack.
“You can protect us, can’t you, gleaner?” Kearney asked at the time, eyeing the bowmen.
“I certainly hope so, Your Majesty,” Grinsa said drily.
Kearney had given him a sharp look. Olesya laughed aloud.
Now, watching the captains approach, the king shook his head. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered.
“We don’t know that yet, Your Majesty.”
“Actually, gleaner, we do. These men are soldiers—battle commanders. There’s no one here from the court. Either they’re dead, or Harel never sent anyone. These captains haven’t the authority to do what we ask.”
Grinsa glanced at the king. “So, what do we do?”
“We talk. We try anyway. We’ve offered the flag. There’s no sense in turning back now. But stay alert. This could end badly.”
The captains reined to a halt a short distance away. It took Grinsa but a moment to understand that the gap they had left would be enough to ensure their safety should the archers loose their arrows.
One of the captains, a bald man, clearly several years older than the other three, raised a hand in greeting. “Your Majesty, Your Highness. What is it you want?”
“To discuss terms of peace, Captain. Isn’t that clear?”
“So you’re ready to surrender?”
Kearney laughed, though his eyes were hard as emeralds. “With the men who arrived yesterday, we have the larger force by far. Why would we surrender to you?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty. But you fly the truce flag, you call us out here to discuss peace. Surely you don’t expect us to surrender.”
“I don’t seek surrender on either side, Captain. I wish for a truce. Indeed, I wish to forge an alliance.”
The man’s eyebrows went up. “An alliance?” He cast a quick look at the other men, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “An alliance against whom, Your Majesty?”
“Has word of the Qirsi conspiracy reached Braedon?”
“Of course it has. You’re not speaking of Uulrann, Your Majesty. We are the Braedon empire.”
“Then you understand the danger posed by these renegades.”
“Yes. But I don’t see what any of this has to do with the war we’re fighting.”
“Even as we speak, Captain, a Qirsi army rides toward us, led by a Weaver and composed of enough sorcerers to destroy either of our armies. But if we unite, if we fight the traitors together, we may yet prevail.”
The captain’s eyes had narrowed, and he stared warily at the king and then at Grinsa. “Trickery. I don’t believe any of this.”
“It’s true, Captain,” the gleaner said. “I’ve seen it. And the Weaver is none other than your high chancellor.”
“What?”
“Dusaan jal Kania leads the conspiracy and rides at the head of this army of which His Majesty speaks.”
“I don’t know you, white-hair. Why should I trust you? Why should I trust any of you?”
“Because,” the king answered, “we have nothing to gain from ending this war. As I said: we outnumber you. We can drive you from our shores, or we can simply crush you. But we share a common enemy, you and I. And I need your help defeating him.”
Grinsa winced at what he heard in Kearney’s voice. He would have handled this more delicately, but he didn’t dare try to soften what the king had said.
“You and I both know it wouldn’t be as easy as all that to drive us off, Eibithar. But I want to hear more from the white-hair. You say you’ve seen the high chancellor leading this Qirsi army. How could you see any of that? It’s just sorcery, right?”
“I suppose you could say that. But it is true.”
“What’s your name? Are you a minister?”
“I’m no minister. My name is Grinsa jal Arriet.” He glanced at Kearney, who gave a small nod. “I’m a Weaver as well,” the gleaner said, facing the man again. “That’s how I saw your high chancellor.”
“You’re a Weaver.”
“Yes.”
“Well, now I know this is trickery. How many Weavers do you want me to believe there are in the Forelands?”
Grinsa had done this once before, at a small inn on the Moors of Durril, when he tried to impress upon Tavis what it meant to face a Weaver. He drew upon his power of mists and winds, summoning a gale that made the truce flag snap like a harvest blaze, and raising a mist that hung heavy all around them, as if in defiance of his wind. He then raised a hand and called forth a brilliant golden flame. With a whisper to the horses of the four captains, he made the beasts rear and whinny. As an afterthought, he drew upon his shaping power as well. When the older captain heard the faint chiming of steel, his eyes grew wide. He grabbed for the hilt of his blade and pulled the weapon free of its sheath. Only half the sword emerged, the break clean and almost perfectly straight.
The man glared at him, rage and fear in his eyes. “Damn you!”
“Believe what you will, Captain,” Grinsa said, as he allowed his gale to die away. “You’ve just seen me use shaping magic, mists and winds, fire, language of beasts. In order to hold this flame in my palm, I have to use healing magic. I spent my years in Eibithar’s Revel as a gleaner. Who but a Weaver could wield all those magics? I swear that all the rest of what I’ve told you is also true. A Weaver is coming, and I intend to destroy him. But I need as many warriors with me as possible.”
“I won’t ally myself with any of you! If the emperor commands me to fight by your side, I will. Until then, you are the enemy.”
“Your emperor is dead, or imprisoned in his own palace. His was the first army the high chancellor destroyed. Don’t you understand? Your empire is at war, but not with us, not anymore.”
“Lies! The Qirsi can’t be trusted! That much you have right! Your Majesty, Your Highness, I know that we’re enemies, but if you have any sense at all, you’ll rid yourself of this white-hair and fight as Eandi are meant to fight.”
“We don’t wish to fight you at all, Captain,” the queen said. “I believe that Grinsa is telling the truth. We have to end this war and join forces.”
“The king can have his pea
ce. If he surrenders the land we’ve won thus far, the fighting will end.”
Kearney bristled. “This isn’t a negotiation, Captain! I’m offering a truce that will save both of our armies, and quite possibly all of the Forelands!”
“And I’m telling you that there will be no truce!” The captain stared darkly at Grinsa. “You’ve allied yourself with a demon. I won’t make the same mistake.”
“Captain—”
“Enough! If this is all you have to offer, then this parley is done. Ride back to your army, Eibithar.” He glanced at his archers. “I can’t guarantee your safety much longer.”
Kearney started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut, wheeled his mount, and began to ride toward his army. After a moment, Olesya started back as well, leaving Grinsa alone with the four soldiers.
“When the Qirsi attack—and they will attack, I promise you that—have your archers aim their volleys at the high chancellor. If you can kill him, you have a chance against the others.”
The captain just stared at him. After a few moments, Grinsa turned his mount and followed the king and queen. Pulling abreast of them, he chanced a look at Kearney.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I thought they’d listen. I was wrong.”
“It’s not your fault, gleaner. Nor is it the captain’s. He’s just a soldier feeling his way through a war beyond his depth.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“We need another plan, Your Majesty,” said the queen. “Despite our best efforts, it seems we’ll be facing the Weaver and his army without any aid from the empire. We’d best make our preparations accordingly.”
Kearney nodded, looking at Grinsa. “Gleaner?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll begin right away. And I’ll need permission from both of you to form an army of my own, using your Qirsi.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was strange for Keziah, watching Grinsa assume so much responsibility for the coming war. He had always been the strong one, the older brother who protected her and guided her through difficult times—the deaths of their mother and father, the end of her first love affair so many years ago. And of course, he was the Weaver, bearing burdens she could never fully understand.
