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

by David B. Coe

  “You intend to claim the throne for yourself and your sons.”

  “Actually, I don’t. I’m not certain who will be chosen as the next king. But I know it won’t be you or your brother.”

  “And what about Kalyi? Are you willing to deny her the throne as well? Where is the justice in that, Tebeo? She’s but a child. She had nothing to do with this.”

  The duke shook his head, disbelief and disgust mingling on his round features. “You bastard. You wage war on my house in her name, using your power as regent to tear apart our realm. And you have the gall to blame me for the end of your damned supremacy?”

  “You’re the one who defied me, Tebeo. You’re a traitor, and before this is over, I’ll do everything in my power to see that you hang for your betrayal.”

  The duke smiled, the cruelest, most terrible smile Evanthya had ever seen on his lips. “You’d need the council behind you to do that, Lord Rembrere, and I already have five votes out of nine. Six if you count the new duke of Bistari—surely you can’t think that he’ll vote with you on anything of substance.” He shook his head again. “No, if one of us is going to hang, it will be you. The second Renbrere to hang in less than a year. Poor Henthas is going to be rather lonely.”

  The regent had paled, though he stood just as tall, his eyes narrowed. “You’re weakening us. You know that, don’t you? We have an opportunity to destroy Eibithar, to make our kingdom stronger than it’s ever been. And you’re choosing this moment to end the supremacy. It almost seems that you want us to fail, Tebeo. That won’t be lost on the others.”

  “You weakened us, Numar, not I. You entered into this foolish alliance with the empire—”

  “The alliance is the source of our strength!”

  “The alliance is a mistake! Eibithar isn’t our enemy, at least not the one that matters! Neither is Caerisse, nor Sanbira, nor Wethyrn! The Qirsi renegades are the real threat, and anything that distracts us from fighting them puts all the realm at risk. A wiser leader would have realized this. But you’re besotted with the idea of making war on the Eibitharians. And in pursuit of this folly, you’ve divided our army and set house against house.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this!” The regent turned his head to the side. Evanthya had the feeling that he would have turned his back on them were it not for his shackles. “Leave me! Leave me at once!”

  Evanthya thought that her duke would refuse, that he would continue to berate the man. That was what she would have done. But Tebeo merely stared at the regent for a few moments, watching as Numar’s jaw clenched and his chest rose and fell. Then he turned and stepped to the door, gesturing for the first minister to do the same. The guard opened the door, allowing them back into the corridor before closing it again and turning the latch key.

  Evanthya looked at her duke, who was gazing at the chamber door, as if he could see Numar through the iron. “My lord, do you think he can convince—?”

  Tebeo raised a hand, stopping her. He entered the stairwell and the minister followed. Neither of them spoke until they had gone down to the lower corridor.

  Grestos, the duke of Rassor, was in the largest of the chambers here, but Tebeo stopped just outside the stairway and faced her. “Now,” he said in a low voice, “what were you going to ask?”

  “I was just wondering if you thought there was a chance Numar could convince the other dukes that you betrayed the realm.”

  “No, I don’t. Oh, Mertesse and Rassor will go to their graves believing that I did, but the others know better. This is precisely why Brall and I went to such great lengths to build an alliance prior to opposing Numar’s war. Noltierre, Tounstrel, Kett, Orvinti—they were all with us. And though Silbron wasn’t, no duke of Bistari would ever side with a Solkaran in such a dispute.”

  “Then what will happen to the regent? Do you really expect that he’ll be hanged?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his face, as if considering the matter. But he said nothing, and after several moments he turned on his heel and strode to the duke of Rassor’s door.

  Unlike Numar, Grestos was sitting on the stone floor, his back against the wall. One leg was folded beneath him, but the other was stretched out straight, a heavy bandage wrapped around the thigh.

  “Lord Rassor,” Tebeo said. “I trust your wound is healing well.”

  Grestos glowered at him from beneath a shock of white hair, his eyes blue and shockingly pale in a tanned, leathery face. “What do you want, Dantrielle? Have you come to put my nose in it?”

  Tebeo smiled thinly, though Evanthya thought she first saw a brief flash of anger in his dark eyes. “Numar asked me much the same thing. It seems neither of you thinks very highly of me.”

  Grestos stared at the floor. “You’ve been to see Numar, too? Are you here to tell us when we’re to be executed?”

  “I told the regent what I’ll tell you. I’ve sent messages to the dukes who aren’t already here, informing them of Numar’s surrender and summoning them to a meeting of the Council of Dukes.”

  “You intend to bring an end to the supremacy.”

  “How can I do less?” Tebeo paused, wandering the chamber and eyeing the duke. “I made no mention of you in my messages,” he said at last.

  Grestos looked up again. “They’ll know soon enough that I fought alongside him.” But Evanthya thought she saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  “They don’t have to, Grestos. I can prevail upon the dukes who fought with me to say nothing of your involvement.”

  “Kett would never agree to that.”

  “He would if I ask it of him.”

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Most of the dukes are here already. We’re really only speaking of Rowan and Silbron.”

  “And Brall’s son. He won’t have known either.”

  “How would you keep Henthas quiet? He’ll speak against me just out of spite.”

  “Henthas is disgraced along with his house. No one will care what he has to say.”

  Rassor’s duke shook his head again. “All of this is meaningless. Enough of them know what I’ve done.”

  Evanthya watched her duke, unsure as to where he was going with all of this. She had never heard him utter a kind word about Grestos, nor did she think that his allies in this war would be willing to forgive Rassor for casting his lot with the Solkarans.

  “You’re right,” Tebeo said. “They do know, and chances are that the others will learn of it eventually. But knowing is one thing, voting in the council to execute you and censure your house is quite another.”

  Censure of a house was no small matter. As described in the laws governing Aneira’s Council of Dukes, censure included confiscation of lands, vast increases in royal fees, and suspension of council voting privileges. Even if Grestos was executed, his sons might be forced to pay for their father’s error for years to come.

  “What’s all this about, Tebeo? What is it you want from me?”

  “I want the Solkaran Supremacy ended, once and for all.”

  “You have that already. You’ve defeated Numar’s army—”

  “Only half of it.”

  “More than half, from what he told me. The point is, you’ve beaten him, and you already have enough votes in the council.”

  Tebeo halted in front of the man and squatted down to look him in the eye. “I want more than that. I want the vote to be so overwhelming as to give Henthas no hope of reclaiming the throne. If the council vote breaks six to three, he’ll consider that he might still have strength enough to strike at the new king. I want him isolated and weak.”

  “You should be talking to Rowan. Mertesse is far stronger than Rassor.”

  “Rowan’s house may be strong, but he’s not a bold man. He won’t stand alone with Henthas, knowing how the Jackal is hated throughout the realm. If you join with the rest of us in the council, Rowan will follow, and the Solkaran Supremacy will truly be broken.”

  Grestos grinned, though the look in his eyes rem
ained hard. “You covet the crown for yourself.”

  Tebeo straightened and stepped to the chamber’s narrow window. “Again, you echo the regent. The fact is, I don’t wish to be king.” Glancing back and seeing the doubt on Rassor’s face, Tebeo smiled. “I don’t claim that I’ve never wanted the crown, but I’m too old for it now. Besides, I don’t have a mind for politics, and I’m not warrior enough to lead the realm into battle.”

  “Then who?”

  For the first time since entering the chamber, Evanthya saw her duke hesitate, as if unsure of himself.

  “I’ll find out soon enough, Tebeo.”

  “First I want your word that you’ll side with us in the council.”

  Grestos shrugged. “What choice do I have?”

  “You could betray us. Pledge yourself-to us now and support Henthas when the time comes.”

  The man bristled. “I would never do such a thing! When a Rassor gives an oath, he honors it! That’s been true of every man who has ever ruled my house, and it’s true of me! You may consider me an enemy, Tebeo. I have no doubt that you dislike me. But I fought beside Numar because I had sworn to do so. You’re the one who withdrew your support from the supremacy, you and Kett and the others. I have always been true to my word, and I will be now.”

  “Then you’ll oppose Henthas?”

  “I’ve never liked the man. I certainly have no desire to see him as king or regent.”

  “And if we choose to spare Numar’s life?”

  “I’ll oppose him as well. I swear it.”

  Evanthya sensed no deception in his words. She couldn’t be certain of course—her powers didn’t run that deep—but she believed that he would honor his oath. Tebeo seemed to think so as well, judging from the look of relief on his face.

  “Thank you, Grestos. In return, I’ll make certain that your life is spared and your house is subject to no formal punishment.”

  “Does that mean that I can leave your prison?”

  “I’ll need to inform the others first, particularly Ansis, but yes, I’ll release you.”

  Grestos raised an eyebrow. “Will I have to wait until Kett agrees to this? If so, I could be in here for years.”

  “I didn’t say he had to approve. I just want to tell him first.”

  Rassor seemed skeptical.

  “You’ll be free within a day. I promise.”

  Grestos still didn’t appear convinced, but he nodded. “So, who will be your new king?”

  “I can’t be sure, of course. Not until I’ve discussed it with the rest of the council. But I expect it will be Silbron.”

  “The boy?”

  “He’s nearly a’year past his Fating and Brall told me that losing his father has tempered him, made him mature beyond his years. He’s young still, but Silbron is no boy. And he has Ria with him. The duchess is every bit as clever as Chago was, and knows a good deal about Aneira’s other houses.”

  “All that may be true, but I have to wonder if the other houses will follow such a young king.”

  “He’s a thoughtful man, and he commands the strongest army in Aneira. Indeed, he’s that much stronger for having kept his house out of this war.”

  “Won’t that make him suspect in the eyes of Kett and the rest?”

  “I doubt it. He’s a Bistari. No one doubts that he hates the Solkarans. And by remaining neutral, he’s made himself more acceptable to Mertesse.”

  Grestos gave a small shrug. “Very well, Tebeo. I’ve given you my word. If Silbron’s your choice then so be it. He’ll have my vote in the council.”

  Tebeo nodded and crossed to the door. “Thank you, Lord Rassor.”

  “I think you’re mistaken about one thing, though,” Grestos said, drawing Tebeo’s gaze once more. “You have more skill with politics than you think. If you can truly manage to convince Kett to agree to all this, you’d make a fine king indeed.”

  Tebeo grinned and left the chamber, with Evanthya following close behind. This time, she knew enough to say nothing until they were in the stairway, and even then she kept her voice to a whisper.

  “Silbron, my lord? Are you certain?”

  “There is no one else, First Minister. If Brall still lived, he’d be my first choice. But his death leaves Silbron and me, and having led the rebellion against House Solkara, I can’t take the throne for Dantrielle without making it seem that all I’ve done was driven by ambition. That’s not how I wish to be remembered.”

  Evanthya had to smile. This was why she continued to serve her duke. Any Qirsi who dared say that all Eandi nobles were alike had only to listen to Tebeo of Dantrielle to be proven wrong. “Yes, my lord,” she said.

  The sound of tolling bells reached them in the stairway, echoing softly.

  “Is that the prior’s bell already?” the duke asked.

  “It is, my lord.” Perhaps he would postpone his conversation with Pronjed until the next day. Perhaps, given a bit more time, he would think better of speaking with the archminister at all. Would that he were so easily dissuaded.

  “We’d better hurry then,” her duke said. “I dine with the other dukes this evening, and first I want to meet with Numar’s minister.”

  The prison was nothing. Stone and iron. He could shatter both with a mere thought, and would when the time came. They had bound his wrists and ankles with silk, fearing that he would shatter iron manacles, but he would find a way to free himself from these bonds as well. Nor did he concern himself with the guards who stood beyond the chamber door. With his mind-bending magic he could turn the Eandi brutes to his purposes whenever he chose. For those who proved less pliable, he still had his shaping power, which worked just as well on bone as it did on rock and steel. The army that awaited him beyond the tower presented a somewhat more formidable challenge, but Pronjed felt certain that he could find his way past a thousand men if he had to.

  And he did have to. The Weaver had ordered him north, to Eibithar, where fighting between Kearney’s army and the soldiers of the empire had already begun, and where, quite soon, the Weaver intended to commence his own war.

  “The time is at hand, Pronjed,” the man had said to him, looming in his dreams like a god, or a demon, black as pitch against the brilliant white sun that was always at his back. “All for which we have worked is about to come to fruition. All past failures will be forgiven. Even the breaking of your siege will soon mean nothing. Meet me on the Eibithar Moorlands, give your power to me to wield as a weapon, and I shall give in return the future of which we’ve spoken so many times.”

  There had been nothing for him to say, except, “Yes, Weaver.”

  He had, of course, been planning to escape even before the Weaver came to him. At first he intended to shatter the walls of his prison the night he was captured, but Dantrielle’s duke, uncertain as to what powers he possessed, had posted eight archers in the corridor outside his chamber, too many even for a man of Pronjed’s considerable powers to defeat. Over the past several days, however, as the archminister gave no indication that he was a threat to the castle or its duke, the number of guards outside his chamber had been reduced. This morning, the last of the archers had been removed. He had only to wait until nightfall.

  Pronjed still wasn’t certain how he would reach the Moorlands in time to join the Weaver’s battle. His horse had been taken by Tebeo’s men, and though he would do what was necessary to win his own freedom, he didn’t know if he could risk a visit to the stables before he fled the castle. But the Weaver wouldn’t tolerate excuses, and Pronjed, spurred on by the promise of wealth and power should the Weaver’s plan succeed, had worked too hard on behalf of the movement to be absent at its culmination. Somehow, he would make his way to Eibithar and fight alongside the Weaver. He would share in the Qirsi victory, and when the Weaver swept away the Eandi courts and began to reward his most faithful servants, Pronjed would be among the new nobility.

  Not long after the ringing of the prior’s bell, he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to h
is corridor. He assumed at first that this was merely a guard bringing what passed for his evening meal a bit earlier than usual. Only when he heard a woman speaking in hushed tones did he understand that the duke had come, and with him his lovely first minister.

  Pronjed stood and faced the door, holding himself as proudly as he could under the circumstances. He would not allow them to think that he had been broken, no matter how much it might aid his escape.

  He heard Tebeo order the guards to open the door. A moment later the lock turned loudly and the door swung open.

  Tebeo had never looked like the duke of a major house. He was fat and short, with a face that was far too pleasant to be imposing. Still, the minister knew that he possessed a keen mind, and in the past half turn, as he withstood Numar’s assault, he had more than proved his mettle.

  His first minister was the perfect complement to the duke. Pale where he was dark, lithe where he was round, reserved where he was affable. Yet Pronjed also knew her to be formidable in her own way. He had clashed with the woman on more than one occasion and had no doubts as to her loyalty to the duke and the realm.

  “Archminister,” the duke said, eyeing him, a tight smile on his face.

  He’s afraid. She’s warned him against you. “My lord Dantrielle. To what do I owe this courtesy?”

  “Curiosity, I suppose,” Tebeo answered, surprising Pronjed with his candor. “I have certain questions, and I know better than to expect honest answers from the regent.”

  “You expect that I’ll be more forthcoming?”

  “I hope that you will.”

  “And what can I expect in return?”

  “Clemency. Perhaps, eventually, your release from this prison.”

  Pronjed glanced at the first minister, who was watching him with obvious interest. “I’ll tell you what I can, my lord.”

  Tebeo began to pace in front of him, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “How many men did Numar send north to the Tarbin?”

  “About a thousand. He expected the army of Mertesse to make up the rest of the force. The rest of his men he divided between guarding Solkara and attacking you.”