Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  Tavis’s father and Xaver MarCullet were given over to flame and vapor the first night after the battle, as stars burned brightly over the moor and slivers of moonlight shone weakly in the east. Tavis stood with Hagan MarCullet, his hand resting on the swordmaster’s stooped shoulder, his vision blurred with tears. He hadn’t cried so much in a single day since he was a child, and his throat and chest ached. Later that night, Aindreas of Kentigern was laid out on his own pyre, and Tavis watched that one burn as well, his emotions as roiled as a river in flood.

  The following morning, the last of Adriel’s turn, he penned a message to his mother, informing her that he would be returning to Curgh early in the new turn, accompanied by the king and a number of nobles. He had planned to tell her of the duke’s death upon reaching the castle, but she needed to know that Kearney was coming, and she would not have wanted to have the king there when she learned that her husband was dead. As it was, he needed only write of their plans to tell her all she needed to know. Had Javan been alive, he, and not Tavis, would have sent such a message.

  At first, Tavis had been reluctant to have the king accompany him back to Curgh. He liked Kearney a great deal, but even without accepting the king’s offer of asylum and a home in Glyndwr, he had lived under the protection of the Crown for too long. Kearney had argued, though, that now more than ever, Tavis needed his help.

  “You lead your house now, Lord Curgh. We must make it clear, to friend and foe alike, that I trust completely in your innocence and your ability to govern a major house.”

  His innocence. Tavis knew that some in the realm would die of old age still believing that he had killed Brienne, and he no longer cared to try to convince them otherwise. But he was wise enough to recognize the generosity of Kearney’s offer, and to know that he would have been a fool to refuse him.

  And had he not, Fotir, ever the first minister, would have prevailed upon him to accept anyway.

  “He puts himself at risk for you, my lord,” the Qirsi told him quietly. “There are many, including ministers in his own court, who would tell him that you’re not worth the cost of such a gesture.”

  “I know. I have no intention of refusing him. I just wish for a bit of peace.”

  Fotir had smiled at that. “I don’t doubt it, my lord. You’ll have it soon enough.”

  When at last they set out for Curgh, Tavis was accompanied by a host of soldiers, nobles, and ministers. Not only did Kearney ride with him, but so did Lathrop of Tremain, Caius of Labruinn, Marston of Shanstead, and their companies. Naturally, Grinsa rode with him, too, although not without some reluctance, for he was eager to return to the City of Kings and see Cresenne and his daughter. Tavis noticed as well that the duchess of Curlinte rode with Marston rather than setting out for Sanbira with her queen.

  Well before they reached Curgh, Tavis began to feel that he was home at last. He hadn’t seen the castle of his forebears in more than a year, since he set out with Xaver and his father for Kentigern. In the time since, he had sailed the waters of Kreanna to Wethyrn and had battled the assassin Cadel on the rocky shores of the Wethy Crown. Yet only now, still leagues south of the castle, but sensing the first hint of brine in the wind, did he find himself thinking of the high cliffs of Curgh and the frothing waters of Amon’s Ocean below.

  They came to the great walls of Curgh City late on the fourth day of their journey from the battle plain. The King’s Guard and the armies of Thorald and Tremain stopped at the gates and made camp in the shadow of the city. Kearney and the other nobles followed Tavis through the gates and into the streets of Curgh, where they were greeted by cheers from the city folk. For Tavis, it was a bittersweet homecoming. He had assumed since Kentigern that he would never hear his name shouted with such reverence by Curgh’s people. But he sensed as well the shock of those lining the streets at not seeing their duke in the king’s company. Upon entering the castle, he leaped from his horse and rushed to his mother’s outstretched arms. For several moments they held each other, heedless of the king and the protocol of royal visits, and they wept, grief for Javan mingling with joy at Tavis’s redemption.

  “If I could have saved him, I would have.”

  “I know that.”

  At last, Shonah released him, wiping the tears from her face and curtsying to the king.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, my lady. I hope that you’ll accept my condolences on the loss of your husband. He was a wise leader, a courageous warrior, and a good friend. The land grieves for him.”

  “You honor us, Your Majesty.”

  “You do us the honor, my lady, by making us guests in your home at such a time.”

  The duchess curtsied again, then turned to Hagan, who had yet to dismount. She favored him with a smile, then faltered searching the ranks of Curgh’s army. After a moment, she spun toward Tavis.

  “Xaver?” she whispered.

  Tavis swallowed and shook his head.

  “Oh, Hagan.” She walked to the swordmaster and took his hand, her face streaked with tears once more. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  The swordmaster nodded but said nothing. He remained on his horse, looking straight ahead, his jaw quivering, as if it was all he could do to keep from bawling like a child. Shonah brushed the swordmaster’s hand with her lips, then faced Kearney and the other nobles once more.

  “Please make yourselves welcome. Quarters have been arranged for you and your ministers and there will be a feast tonight to celebrate your victory over the enemies of our realm.”

  The king and his company dismounted and followed Shonah into the castle. Tavis hesitated, eyeing Hagan, wondering if he should remain with him.

  “Leave him,” the gleaner said softly. “He’ll join us when he’s ready.”

  Tavis knew he was right. He cast one more look at the swordmaster before leaving the ward with Grinsa.

  The next few days seemed a blur of feasts and ceremony. Tavis’s investiture was a modest affair, as ducal ordinations tended to be. It had been several centuries since dukes of Curgh wore any sort of crown, and never had they held scepters or other tokens of their title. But Tavis did take his father’s sword as his own, and after a brief ceremony in the castle’s lower ward at which he swore fealty to the Crown, he hosted yet another banquet, this one open to the people of Curgh City.

  The following morning, a rider arrived from Heneagh bearing a message of sympathy to Shonah and congratulations to the new duke. Later in the day, similar missives arrived from Domnall and Sussyn, two houses that had supported Aindreas of Kentigern in his feud with the king.

  “Perhaps this will bring the other houses back to the fold, Your Majesty,” Tavis said, showing the messages to Kearney in his father’s old presence chamber.

  “We can hope so,” the king said, sounding skeptical. “I expect it will take some time for Galdasten and Kentigern to sort through all that’s happened in the past year. Aindreas’s boy is still several years shy of his Fating, and Renald’s sons were killed by the Qirsi. Both houses have a good deal to sort through. I don’t imagine they’ll be ready to reconcile with your house or the throne any time soon.” He smiled thinly. “And Elam has always been a stubborn fool, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be sitting atop my ramparts waiting for messengers from Eardley.”

  Tavis grinned. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “How is Hagan?” the king asked, his smile fading.

  The young duke shrugged, then shook his head. “Not well. The Hagan of old would be scouring the countryside for probationers to replace the men we lost on the moor, and he’d be working those soldiers who remain day and night. Instead he walks the castle corridors or locks himself away in his chamber. He won’t even speak with my mother.”

  “It’s bound to take some time.”

  “I suppose. At least when he lost Daria, he still had Xaver to care for. But now … He speaks of returning to MarCullet and the home of his youth. He’s still an earl, you
know.”

  Kearney raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”

  “I never thought of him as the kind of man who could live a noble’s life, but maybe that’s what he needs, at least for a while. Mother thinks so.”

  “Your mother may well be right. Perhaps Hagan can find peace in the home of his forebears.”

  “I hope so, Your Majesty.”

  One final matter remained before Kearney and the other dukes left Curgh for their homes, one about which Tavis knew little until Grinsa explained it to him the following morning. It seemed that Kearney had agreed to a conclave of sorts between the nobles and their Qirsi, an opportunity for men and women of both races to speak of recent events and all that lay behind them.

  “He agreed to it just after the battle with Dusaan,” Grinsa told him, as they walked through the castle ward. “It was Keziah’s idea, but I think that one of the renegades goaded the king into agreeing to it. I can’t believe he’s eager to hear what Keziah and the others have to say.”

  “I don’t imagine. I’m not sure that I am, either.”

  The nobles and their Qirsi met in the castle’s great hall, where Tavis’s father had welcomed so many dukes and thanes, honoring them with feasts. Fotir was there, of course, having made all the arrangements for the discussion with the approval of Tavis’s mother. Sitting with him were Keziah, Xivled jal Viste, and the ministers of the dukes of Labruinn and Tremain. They sat on one side of the great table, across from Marston, Caius, Lathrop, Diani of Curlinte, and Gershon Trasker. Tavis and Grinsa entered the hall in silence, taking their places on either side of the table. On this day, Tavis gave up pride of place to the king, allowing him to preside, as was proper. Servants had put out cheeses, breads, fruits, and flasks of wine, but no one ate or so much as filled a goblet. None of them even spoke.

  “I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to where to begin,” Kearney finally said, looking around the table.

  “Perhaps the archminister would like to tell us why we’re here,” Marston said.

  Xivled bristled, and it occurred to Tavis that he hadn’t seen the thane and his minister together since they arrived in Curgh.

  “All I meant was that we’re here at her request,” Marston went on, casting a quick look at his minister. “I’d like to know what she hopes to accomplish with this discussion for which she was so eager.”

  “That’s a fair question, my lord,” Keziah said.

  Xivled shook his head, glaring at the thane. “I think you’re too generous, Archminister. It should be obvious to all why this meeting was necessary.”

  “What’s obvious to the Qirsi at this table might still be a mystery to the rest of us,” Kearney said. “Please, Minister, tell us why you think we’re here.”

  “To put an end to the mistrust,” Xivled said, as if the rest of them were simple. “To begin to repair the damage that’s been done by this war and the conspiracy.”

  “You can’t think to do that in one day, lad,” Lathrop said, his tone gentle. “These conflicts are as old as the kingdom itself.”

  “I know that, my lord. But we have to begin somewhere.”

  “And where would that be?” Caius demanded, sounding far more belligerent than had the duke of Tremain. “What is it you’re asking of us?”

  “You might begin, my lord, by not treating every Qirsi you meet with such disdain.”

  “I don’t believe I do, Minister.”

  Xivled started to respond, but Keziah silenced him with a sharp glance.

  “I believe what the minister means, my lord, is that while we treat our lords with deference, we in turn are often treated with somewhat less respect.”

  “Demons and fire, woman! We’re nobles! Do you expect us to bow to you?”

  “We don’t have to bow to them to show them courtesy, Lord Labruinn,” Tavis said. “But in the past, nobles in the Eibitharian courts have spoken of collecting Qirsi ministers as one might horses or fine swords.” He glanced at the duchess of Curlinte. “Nor was that practice unique to our realm. It’s time we began to see the Qirsi as something more than chattel.”

  “That seems a small step,” Lathrop said. “From what I understand, the Weaver was speaking of creating a new nobility of Qirsi lords and dukes. If that’s what the Qirsi in Eibithar truly want, we’re doomed.”

  “That’s not what we want,” Xivled said.

  Marston eyed him briefly, then looked down at his hands. “Perhaps you don’t, but some might.”

  “There!” the minister said, pointing at his thane. “That’s what I object to. The suspicion. You assume the worst about us, though you have no cause.”

  “No cause? Xiv, consider what’s just happened throughout the Forelands! How can you say that I have no cause?”

  Tavis cast a quick look at Grinsa, only to find that the gleaner was already watching him. After a moment, Tavis gave a small shake of his head. This was going poorly.

  “Ambition and treachery can be found in any heart, my lord,” Xivled said. “Eandi or Qirsi.”

  Marston looked like he wanted to say more, but he wisely chose to remain silent.

  “You’re awfully quiet, gleaner,” Gershon Trasker said after a time. “You had much to say in the days before the war. What say you now?”

  Grinsa shrugged, the deformity of his shoulder making the movement appear awkward and strange. “There’s little I can say, swordmaster. You’re all speaking of trusting one another, of taking the first tentative steps down a long, difficult path. I’m a Weaver. There’s no place for me in your society, at least not for now. In a sense, this discussion has nothing to do with me.”

  Fotir turned to face him, his brow furrowed. “Surely you can offer us some counsel. How are we to overcome these divisions?”

  “Truly, I don’t know. The only advice I can give you is to be patient. As Lord Tremain has said, this question is old as the seven realms. It won’t be answered in a day, or a year, or even ten years. And in the meantime, you must guard against falling back into old conflicts, into fear and mistrust. Patience, and tolerance—they will see you through.”

  “It seems you had counsel for us after all, gleaner,” the king said, smiling. “You have our thanks, once again, as well as my promise that we’ll heed your words.” He reached for a flask of pale wine and filled his goblet. “Come friends. Let us eat, and enjoy one last day of Lord Curgh’s hospitality. It’s important that we speak of these matters, but there comes a time when we must simply live and do the best we can.”

  Slowly, the others filled their cups. When they had, Kearney raised his goblet. “To Eibithar,” he said. “Long may she know peace.”

  “To Eibithar,” the others answered.

  Their small feast lasted much of the morning. Soon after the ringing of the midday bells, the nobles and their ministers began to say their farewells and leave the hall. Most, it seemed, intended to leave Curgh the following morning. Marston and Lady Curlinte were among the last to leave, and though Tavis hadn’t known what Xivled would do, in the end the minister followed his lord from the great chamber. Soon, all had left the hall save for Tavis, Grinsa, and Kearney. They sat together in silence for some time, until at last the king cleared his throat. “I think it’s time I was returning to the City of Kings,” he said. “I’m grateful to you for your courtesy, Tavis, but I have a family as well, and I’m eager to see them.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

  “If you’d like, I can leave a small contingent of soldiers, at least until you’ve had some time to rebuild your army.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Curgh has protected her own walls for centuries, and she can do so now.”

  The king nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll be riding in the morning.”

  Grinsa, who had been staring at his wine, looked up at the king. “If I may, Your Majesty, I’d like permission to ride with you.”

  “You’re leaving, too?” Tavis said, though of course, he shouldn’t hav
e been surprised.

  “It’s been too long since I saw my daughter, Tavis. You didn’t really think I’d remain here forever, did you?”

  “No, but…” He shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re welcome to ride with me, gleaner. But what will you do once you reach the City of Kings?”

  “That depends in large part on you, Your Majesty. Cresenne remains a prisoner in Audun’s Castle. And it’s now common knowledge that I’m a Weaver.”

  Tavis had wanted to say something during their discussion, but the time hadn’t been right. Now, though, he didn’t hesitate. “After all that Grinsa’s done, it shouldn’t matter that he’s a Weaver!”

  “But you know it does, Tavis,” the king said. “Even before we left the Moorlands, nobles were speaking to me of having him imprisoned or even put to death. Throughout Eibithar, people are more frightened of Weavers than they’ve been in centuries. I can’t simply ignore the laws of the realm.”

  “Even if those laws are unjust?”

  “We’ll try to change the laws, and perhaps over time we will. But as Grinsa himself has said, we’re just starting a long and difficult process. The people aren’t ready to have Weavers living among them, not so soon after this war.” Kearney looked at Grinsa. “As I’ve told you before, I have no desire to see you executed, nor do I wish Cresenne ill. But I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

  “I have an idea,” Grinsa said. “But it will demand some pliancy on your part, Your Majesty.”

  Kearney regarded him a moment, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  Since arriving in Curgh, Keziah had managed to avoid them both. She walked in the city marketplace or wandered the castle wards and gardens. She attended the feasts, of course, as well as Tavis’s investiture and this day’s discussion. But she always kept to herself and she excused herself from the celebrations and feasts as quickly as she could. Anything to avoid being alone with Kearney or Fotir. Soon she would be leaving for Audun’s Castle, and none of this would matter anymore, but until then, she had no desire to speak with either of them.