Shapers of Darkness: Book Four of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by David B. Coe

  Soon. So very soon.

  He could see it coming together, like some great quilted blanket spread over the Forelands. Civil war in Aneira, suspicion and murder in Sanbira, a divided kingdom in Eibithar. And in Braedon, an emperor who was so eager for war that he gladly embraced an uncertain ally in the Aneirans and planned an invasion against the Eibitharians that was doomed to fail. The noble courts of the Eandi were destroying themselves. Ean’s children were strong of body, but their brawn was nothing next to the magical powers and subtlety of mind of Dusaan’s people. The high chancellor had only to wait a bit longer and they would be too weak to stand against him.

  Yes, they had a Weaver on their side as well. Grinsa jal Arriet. But he had weaknesses: a lover and a daughter he could not protect, and allies who so feared any Qirsi Weaver that they would sooner execute the man than allow him to wield his power on their behalf. Dusaan would have to deal cautiously with this other Weaver. He of all people knew better than to take him too lightly. But with care and a bit of good fortune, he might actually be able to use Grinsa to his advantage. There remained a good many Qirsi who had yet to pledge themselves to Dusaan’s cause, men and women who would be outraged to learn that a Weaver—a Weaver!—had chosen to protect the Eandi courts rather than side with his own people in their struggle for freedom.

  What kind of man cast his lot with nobles who would execute him and his child merely because of the magic he possessed? What kind of man betrayed his people even though he possessed power enough to lead them to victory? In choosing to fight with the Eandi, Grinsa made himself a traitor to all Qirsi, a modern-day Carthach to be vilified, to be used as a tool that would unite all people of the sorcerer race. Dusaan seemed a champion by comparison, a contrast that would serve him well when the time came.

  So very soon. All he needed was to wait a short time longer, with the patience of the youngest brother.

  Chapter

  Two

  City of Kings, Eibithar

  here can be no more question of their intent, Your Majesty,” Gershon Trasker said, watching the king closely. He had known Kearney for years, since before the man became Eibithar’s king, or even Glyndwr’s duke, and had long thought him a wise and strong leader. But Gershon’s father used to say that there was no greater test of a king’s mettle than war. The swordmaster found himself wondering how Kearney would respond to these latest tidings from the north coast and the banks of the Tarbin River.

  “You believe they mean to attack as one, the empire from the sea, and Aneira across the river.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I do.”

  Kearney shifted his gaze. “Do you agree?”

  Half a year ago, perhaps as recently as three turns ago, a mere season, he would have asked this of Keziah ja Dafydd, for she was his archminister. More to the point, she had once been Kearney’s lover. Gershon had never thought to see the day when anyone would supplant her as the king’s most trusted advisor. But on this day, she sat in the far corner of Kearney’s presence chamber, alone and ignored. The king had spoken not to her, not to any of his Qirsi, but to Marston, thane of Shanstead, whom he had taken into his confidence in recent days.

  “I’m afraid I do, Your Majesty. The empire has always maintained a formidable presence in the waters north of Thorald, Galdasten, and Curgh, but their fleet has not menaced our shores so in my lifetime. This latest marshaling of their vessels only makes sense as the prelude to an attack.”

  “And the Aneirans?”

  The thane gave a slight shrug. “For several years now, House Solkara has been pursuing closer ties with the emperor, and I’m not sure that Harel is confident enough to contemplate war with Eibithar without support from the south. I agree with the swordmaster: the assault, when it begins, will come from both realms.”

  “How long do we have?” the king asked, looking at Gershon again.

  The swordmaster rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes falling to the messages that had arrived that morning. His knowledge of letters was not what it should have been; even Elric, his youngest child, had begun to write simple words under the watchful eyes of Sulwen and the castle tutors, and here he was, one of the king’s most trusted men, and he could barely read more than the boy. He had never let the king know how little he understood of the messages they discussed. He had his pride, and he had managed thus far to hide his ignorance. Just as he would now. For though he had little understanding of letters, he did know numbers, and in this matter, numbers meant more than the words beside them.

  “It’s hard to say, Your Majesty,” he answered after a few moments. “Judging from the number of Braedon ships in the waters around the islands at the top of the scabbard, I’d say that we don’t have much time at all. The emperor has already gathered a large force. He could order them into our waters tomorrow, and our fleet commanders would have about all they can handle.”

  “But?”

  “It’s these numbers from our scouts on the Tarbin, Your Majesty. If the Aneirans intend to engage enough of our army to help the empire with an invasion, they’ll need a few thousand more men. As it is . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “So you think they’re still moving men northward?”

  “Looking just at these numbers, I’d have to think so. But they have no more soldiers on the Tarbin than they did half a turn ago. I would have thought that they’d be bringing in more men, but thus far they haven’t.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Perhaps the regent needs his men elsewhere,” Keziah said.

  They all looked at her, the king with his lips pressed thin, a wary look in his eyes. The archminister seemed to quail at what she saw on his face, and for a moment Gershon thought that she might not say anything more.

  “What do you mean?” the king demanded.

  “Ever since Carden’s death, we’ve heard talk of discontent among the other Aneiran houses with the Solkaran Supremacy. It’s even been said that some of the dukes are fomenting rebellion. What if it’s more than talk? What if the regent hasn’t sent more men northward because he’s afraid to leave himself too small a force to guard against those in his realm who might oppose him?”

  “It is possible,” Marston said quietly. “Some of the other houses may even have refused to send additional men to the royal house.”

  Kearney stared at Keziah a moment longer before sweeping the chamber with his gaze. All the dukes who had traveled to the City of Kings were present—Javan of Curgh, Welfyl of Heneagh, Lathrop of Tremain—and, a sign of how seriously the king took the latest missives from his scouts, so were their ministers. Some of the dukes had been in the royal city for over a turn now. Kearney had summoned them to Audun’s Castle after the Qirsi woman held in the prison tower of the great fortress confessed to being a traitor and the person responsible for arranging the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern.

  Yet this was the first time since the dukes had come to the castle that their Qirsi ministers had been included in any of the king’s discussions with his nobles. Gershon sensed that Marston wasn’t pleased to see them here. The thane seemed to be as distrustful of the white-hairs as Gershon once had been, and during his brief time here he had managed to convince the king to regard his Qirsi with suspicion as well.

  But this had become a council of war, and Kearney was wise enough to consider advice from all who might offer it. No doubt he wished that more of his dukes had answered his summons, even those who had joined Aindreas of Kentigern in his feud with Javan and his defiance of the king.

  “If all this is true,” he said now, regarding the other nobles, “if the Aneiran army has been weakened by dissent within the realm, what should we do?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do, Your Majesty,” Javan said, from his chair near the open window. “We must prepare for war as if the Aneirans had massed ten thousand men on the banks of the Tarbin.”

  Welfyl sat forward, his bony hands gripping the
arms of his chair. “But the regent’s weakness offers us an opportunity. We can send a larger force to the north coast to repel the emperor’s invasion.”

  Javan gave a wan smile. “We haven’t the men to do so, my friend. Aneira may be weakened by rifts among its houses, but so are we. If we had the armies of Galdasten and Kentigern, I’d agree with you. But we don’t.”

  “Surely the other houses will join us to fight an invasion.” Welfyl glanced at the others, looking old and frail. “Maybe not Aindreas, but I’ve known Renald of Galdasten since he was a boy. He may be ambitious, but he’s as loyal to this realm as any of us.”

  No one spoke up to agree with him. They just sat, silent and brooding, almost as if they were embarrassed.

  “Any invasion from the north will land near Galdasten. The cliffs are lowest there, the strand the broadest. You can’t doubt that he’ll guard his dukedom.”

  “He can guard Galdasten without fighting to repel the invasion,” Javan said. “If he seeks the throne, he need only keep his army strong and his city and castle whole.”

  “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” the old duke said, shaking his head. “Is this what we’ve become then? Are we no better than the Aneirans? Are we more concerned with our petty quarrels than with the defense of our realm?”

  “I assure you, Lord Heneagh,” the king said, his voice hardening, “the same message you received summoning you to Audun’s Castle was sent to every house in Eibithar. If some choose to place other concerns above the welfare of the realm, then so be it. But I have not.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Welfyl said. “Forgive me.”

  “You’re here, Lord Heneagh. You’ve pledged yourself to the defense of Eibithar. There’s nothing to forgive.”

  Welfyl lowered his eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s time all of you returned to your homes,” Kearney told them, looking and sounding every bit the warrior king. “Lord Heneagh is correct in saying that Galdasten is the most likely target of any seaborne invasion. No doubt the Braedon fleet will attempt to take Falcon Bay and control the mouth of Binthar’s Wash. That would give them a powerful foothold from which to wage a land war.” He turned to Javan. “Lord Curgh, once you’ve returned to your home, I want you to take your army north and east. Obviously we don’t know how much help you can expect from Galdasten, so you should take as many men as you can spare from the defense of Curgh. I’ll send five hundred men from the King’s Guard north with you, under your command.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Lord Shanstead, you shall have five hundred as well. I assume that you’ll be commanding the army of Thorald.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. You too should take them to Galdasten. And you should do the same with your men, Lord Heneagh. I’ll also send an additional two thousand men north. Perhaps we can outflank the Braedon army as it lands. I’ll send word to Eardley and Domnall instructing them to go north. If they’re with us, that should be enough.”

  And if they’re not? The question burned in every pair of eyes trained on the king, but no one in the chamber gave it voice. No doubt they all feared the answer.

  “What of the rest of us, Your Majesty?” the duke of Labruinn asked.

  “The armies of Labruinn and Tremain will march south to the Tarbin. So will the Glyndwr army, and fifteen hundred men from the King’s Guard. I’ll send word to the dukes of Sussyn and Rennach, but again, we should plan to fight this war without them.”

  Javan’s Qirsi cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Forgive me for asking, Your Majesty, but what if Lord Kentigern joins forces with the Aneirans?”

  The king glanced at Gershon. The two of them had discussed this possibility just an hour earlier, before the nobles and their ministers joined them in the chamber. At the time, neither of them had an answer, and the swordmaster had yet to think of anything. The king had sent men to Kentigern hoping to compel the duke to pay his ducal tithe and declare his loyalty to the Crown. They had heard nothing from the men since, and Gershon feared the worst.

  “I have no choice but to hope that Aindreas is not so consumed with hate for me that he’d do such a thing.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  It wasn’t much of a response, but no one in the chamber seemed inclined to challenge him on the matter.

  “What of our allies in the east and south, Your Majesty?” Javan asked.

  “I’ve already sent word to the king of Caerisse and the archduke of Wethyrn, asking them to consider joining us in any war against Aneira and Braedon. I’ll send new messages today, and include in them the information we’ve just received. And I’ll send word to Sanbira’s queen as well. She asked us to join in an alliance against the conspiracy. It seems that we need more than that now. But again, we must assume that we’re fighting this war alone. If we go into battle with one eye on the horizon, watching for allies who never come, we’re doomed to fail.”

  “Where will you be, Your Majesty?” Marston asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet. A king should be wherever his men are fighting and dying, but in this case that’s not possible.”

  “The greater challenge looms in the north, Your Majesty.” Javan. “You should be there.”

  Gershon wondered if one of the Southern dukes would disagree, but Lathrop nodded his agreement. “Lord Curgh is right, Your Majesty. Braedon is the more dangerous foe. If the emperor’s assault can be stopped, the battle with the Aneirans will go our way as well.”

  A mischievous grin crept across the king’s face, one that Gershon knew well, though he hadn’t seen it much since Kearney’s ascension to the throne. “With all my dukes urging me to ride toward the more dangerous foe, I have to wonder if you want me to survive this war.”

  Both Javan and Lathrop started to protest, but Kearney held up a hand, silencing them. “It was a joke, my friends, or at least an attempt at one.”

  “Your Majesty possesses a singular humor,” Javan remarked dryly.

  “So I’ve been told.” Kearney paused once more, looking from one face to the next. “I needn’t tell you that we fight for the very survival of the realm. If we were united, I wouldn’t fear at all, for I’ve seen the strength of Eibithar. But divided, against these foes, we must fight as we’ve never fought before. And we must remain watchful as well. I sense behind all of this the hand of the conspiracy. If the renegades truly seek to weaken the courts so that they can take the Forelands for themselves, then this war will give them as fine an opportunity as they’re likely to have.” He stood and drew his sword, holding the flat side of the blade to his forehead and bowing to the rest of them. “May the gods keep you safe, may Orlagh guide your blades, and may we next meet to celebrate our victory.”

  Everyone in the chamber stood and, led by Javan, the nobles pulled their swords free and saluted the king, much as he had done a moment before. “Ean guard our king!” they said in unison.

  Then, one by one, again led by the duke of Curgh, the nobles came forward, knelt for a moment before the king, and left the chamber. Each was followed in turn by his minister, after the Qirsi bowed to the king as well. If any of them were discomfited by the king’s words regarding the conspiracy, they showed no sign of it. Gershon cast a look toward Keziah, who stood now, though she was still alone. She met his gaze, but the swordmaster could read little from what he saw in her eyes.

  Marston was the last of the nobles to offer obeisance to the king, as was appropriate, since he was the lone thane among them. As he straightened and started toward the door, the king called to him.

  “Lord Shanstead, please stay for a moment. I wish a word with you.”

  “Should I go, Your Majesty?” Gershon asked.

  “No, swordmaster. Please remain.” He looked past Gershon toward Keziah. “You may go, Archminister.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” She bowed and left, as did Marston’s young minister.

  When they had gone, and
a servant had closed the door, Kearney returned to his throne and sat. “Gershon, I always thought that when I rode into battle, it would be with you at my side. I see now that this isn’t possible.”

  The swordmaster had expected this. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “As Javan and Lord Shanstead suggest, I’ll ride north to meet the threat from Braedon. I want you to lead the defense of the Tarbin. Take whichever of your captains you wish to have with you. I’ll make certain that the dukes understand that your orders carry the weight of the throne.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t fail you.”

  Kearney smiled. “I’ve never doubted that for a moment.”

  The swordmaster started to ask a question, then stopped himself.

  “What is it, Gershon?” When the swordmaster still hesitated, the king sat forward, his brow creasing. “Come now, swordmaster. This is no time for diffidence.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I was wondering, since you said that the Glyndwr army would be coming to the Tarbin, will Lord Glyndwr be leading them? And if so, shouldn’t he command the armies, and not I?”

  The king stared at him a moment, then sat back once more. “Kearney the Younger won’t be fighting in this war.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You think I coddle him.”

  “Not at all. He’s not even of Fating age, and the House of Glyndwr must have an heir. I believe you’re wise to keep him in the highlands.”