by DAVID B. COE
Nitara had to grin. “Watch what you say. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
They stood in silence for some time, the smiles lingering on their faces. Nitara stared at the ground, uncertain of what to say next. She had few friends to speak of. Kayiv had been a friend once, before he began to share her bed. Before she killed him. She would never have been so bold as to call the Weaver a friend, but other than Dusaan, she had spoken to few people in the past several turns. She wasn’t quite certain how to behave around this woman who had gone out of her way to declare her friendship. She knew only that she didn’t want to do anything to drive B’Serre away.
“Gorlan’s probably right, you know,” the minister said at length, drawing Nitara’s gaze. “You shouldn’t anger her again. I don’t think you want her as an enemy.”
Nitara gave a small laugh. “It might be too late for that.” When B’Serre didn’t respond, she grew serious again. “I know. I’ll be careful.”
A short time later, the chancellors called for the army to ride on, and soon they were thundering across the moor again, their shadows stretching eastward in the dying light of the sun. When they stopped for the night, Nitara followed Jastanne to the eastern side of the camp. Most of the others who had ridden with her from Curtell, including B’Serre, Gorlan, and Rov, went to the other side, further darkening her mood.
Once the army had been divided, the chancellors began to divide it a second time between those who possessed the two magics each would command. A few on Jastanne’s side had both language of beasts and mists and winds. As before, she instructed them to follow the deeper magic. When Nitara started toward the group with mists, however, the chancellor stopped her.
“You have both?” she asked.
“Yes, Chancellor.”
Jastanne considered this. “Stay with those who have language of beasts.”
Nitara felt her face color. She knew that this was Jastanne’s revenge, that the chancellor was looking for some way to humiliate her for what Nitara had done earlier. But the minister refused to let herself grow angry. She merely bowed and murmured, “Yes, Chancellor.”
“You think I’m punishing you.”
“If you are, I’m sure you feel you have reason.”
Jastanne grinned-it seemed she responded to everything with a smile. “You’re controlling your temper, I’ll give you that much. But you have much to learn about me. I want you to remain with the other group because I need to choose a commander from among those with language of beasts. And I choose you.”
Nitara opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Why?”
“Because I trust you. I know that you’ll give your life for the Weaver’s cause. And I sense that you’re clever enough to lead them.”
“But I’ve never-”
“None of us has, Minister. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, Chancellor.” She had no idea what else to say.
“Your task, and that of your unit, will be to get as close to the mounted soldiers and nobles as possible. It promises to be dangerous work. The Weaver has also told me that he’s least likely to weave those with language of beasts. In most cases, it’ll be easier to unnerve their mounts one by one.”
“Of course.”
“That said, if you face a larger force on horseback, the Weaver may have to weave your powers with his own. You’ll need to be prepared for that.”
“I’ll make certain that we are, Chancellor.”
“I don’t doubt that you will.”
Nitara had never before thought of herself as a commander, and after the chancellor walked away, she knew a moment of panic. What if the others wouldn’t follow her? What if she made some terrible blunder and all of them were killed? She nearly ran after Jastanne to ask her what to do next, but she immediately thought better of it. The chancellor had given her a gift, in spite of how Nitara had treated her earlier in the day. No doubt it wouldn’t take much to make the woman reconsider her decision.
Taking a breath, Nitara turned to face the Qirsi standing near her. They were already watching her. A few she recognized, but most were strangers.
“My name is Nitara ja Plin,” she said. “I was a minister in the court of the emperor of Braedon until the Weaver revealed himself.” She hesitated. Their expressions hadn’t changed, and she wondered if she were going about this the wrong way. “The chancellor has asked me to command this unit of the army.” Still no response. She repeated for them what Jastanne had just told her, about how they would need to get close to the mounted Eandi, and how the Weaver would likely leave them to use their powers individually.
“Do you have questions?” she asked after another silence.
Nothing.
“Perhaps I’ll take some time to speak to each of you, learn your names and where you’re from.”
Were they simple? Had they understood any of what she told them? Or did they merely resent taking orders from a young minister?
“In the meantime, make camp. Start finding wood for fires and preparing your suppers.”
That set them in motion. Given something to do, they seemed to rouse themselves from a stupor. Perhaps there was a lesson there-to succeed as a commander, one first had to give commands.
Once the fires were burning, the smell of roasting fowl and boar hanging in the still air, Nitara began to make her way through the camp. Her conversations with the Qirsi in her unit quickly convinced her that they did not in fact resent her authority. None of them had ever been warriors before, and none aspired to command. Many of them had long sympathized with the Weaver’s cause, but didn’t know how to go about joining the movement until Dusaan captured their cities. Others had joined when they did because they feared what might happen to them if they didn’t. All of them, it seemed, merely wanted someone to tell them what to do.
By the time she had spoken with all the soldiers under her command and returned to where her horse stood, chewing noisily on the moorland grasses, Nitara was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to eat something and sleep. Before she could even take a bite of the cold fowl left for her by one of the soldiers, however, she heard someone calling for her. It wasn’t until she turned and realized the man approaching her was a stranger that it occurred to her that he had been addressing her as “Commander.”
“Yes,” she said, with as much brightness in her voice as she could muster.
“The chancellors wish a word with us.”
Of course they did. She nodded. “Lead the way.”
She fell in step beside him, eyeing him briefly.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t recognize you.”
“There’s no reason you should. I was an underminister in the court of Ayvencalde and was never fortunate enough to travel to the imperial city. The chancellor chose me to lead those with mists and winds. I’m Yedeg jal Senkava.”
“Nitara ja Plin.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, surprising her.
“You do?”
“You’re obviously quite important to the Weaver. He trusted you with a great deal in Ayvencalde.”
“Yes,” she said, facing forward again, her jealousy returning in a rush. “He did there.”
“I also heard that you challenged one of the chancellors today.”
She felt her face grow hot. “People are speaking of that?”
“Oh, yes. It seems you were fortunate to end up on Jastanne’s side of the army.”
“Actually,” she said, somewhat sheepishly, “it was Jastanne I challenged.”
His eyebrows went up. “Really? Can I ask what your … dispute was about?”
She closed her eyes briefly. What a fool she had been. “I’d rather not say.”
“Of course. Forgive me.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, soon coming to a small fire on the southern edge of the Qirsi camp. Jastanne and Uestem were already there, along with Uestem’s two commanders, who turned out to be Gorlan and Rov. Both of the ministers nodded to Nitara as they
made room for her and Yedeg around the fire, but neither of them spoke.
“This won’t take long,” Uestem said, regarding each of them in turn. “It’s been a long day and all of us need to rest. But the Weaver wanted us to speak with you briefly, to make certain that all went smoothly with your units.”
Nitara’s eyes flicked toward Jastanne. The chancellor was already watching her, wearing that same inscrutable smile on her lips.
“Well?” Uestem asked, after a lengthy silence.
“Commander,” Jastanne said, still watching Nitara. “Why don’t you begin? Tell us about your first night of command.”
“It was fine,” she said, meeting the chancellor’s gaze. “I was a bit hesitant at first. I’ve never commanded warriors before, and I wasn’t certain that I was going about it in the right way.”
“What do you think is the right way?”
She shrugged. “I’m still not sure. Maybe there is no right way. When I finally gave them an order, they couldn’t carry it out fast enough. I think they were just waiting for someone to tell them what to do.”
“Very good,” Jastanne said, nodding. “What about the rest of you?”
Gorlan cleared his throat. “Actually, my experience was much the same as Nitara’s.”
The others turned toward him, including Jastanne, and Nitara exhaled, relieved just to have the chancellor looking elsewhere. She gathered from what the others said that they all had been somewhat unsure of themselves at first, a point that was not lost on the chancellors.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Uestem said, when Yedeg, the last of them, had finished speaking. “Command is, above all else, a matter of confidence, of believing in your ability to lead others. If you trust in yourself, those you command will trust you as well.”
“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Nitara said without thinking. In the next moment she winced. How often did she think she could contradict the chancellors before they turned on her?
But Uestem just grinned. “Yes, there is. But it’s a good place to begin.”
The others laughed.
“Get some sleep,” the chancellor said. “We ride at dawn. The Weaver wants to strike at Galdasten’s army before they can join with the rest of the Eandi forces. They’re two days ahead of us, perhaps more, although they are on foot. Still, we’ll probably have to ride through much of the night tomorrow, and perhaps the next as well. Whatever it takes, we’ll ride them down before they reach the others. We have enough horses to keep the animals fresh, and we’ve ample provisions from Galdasten. Make certain your units are prepared to push themselves and their mounts.”
“Yes, Chancellor,” the four of them said as one.
The others started away, but Jastanne called to Nitara, stopping her. Though the minister had been expecting this she felt herself growing tense once more. She still didn’t quite trust the woman.
“You did well,” Jastanne said.
“Thank you, Chancellor.”
“You don’t hesitate to speak your mind. I like that about you. It speaks well of your courage.”
“Some would say it casts doubt on my judgment.”
“There are times when you’d do best to keep your thoughts to yourself. But I’d rather a commander who thinks and questions, than one who just blindly follows my orders.”
Nitara narrowed her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me? After our first conversation, I expected you to do everything you could to make my life miserable.”
The chancellor grinned. “Maybe I should have. But I see much of myself in you-the good and the bad. Given the chance, I think we could be friends.” She turned to walk away. “Sleep, Commander. This war begins in earnest tomorrow.”
* * *
The army of Galdasten was up and moving before dawn, their swords and shields and shirts of mail catching the silver-grey light of early morning so that the entire column of soldiers seemed to gleam faintly, like stars partially obscured by a high haze. Renald had hoped that three days of marching would have taken them farther than it had, but his swordmaster assured him that they were making good progress. Still, he found their pace maddeningly slow, and he longed to kick at the flanks of his mount and thunder southward across the Moorlands until he found the king.
We’re coming! he would say. Keep the empire at bay for another few days and the men of Galdasten will join your battle!
And Kearney, in his desperate gratitude for this last spar of hope where none had been expected, would praise the duke as a hero and his house as the greatest in all the realm.
Instead, Renald rode at the head of his company, flanked by Ewan Traylee and Pillad jal Krenaar, his first minister, forced to discuss the weather and fighting to keep thoughts of his wife from darkening his mood. Their minds are no more nimble than yours, she had once said of his swordmaster and minister. And once more, having suffered their companionship for these last several days, he could only marvel at her acumen.
With every hour that Galdasten’s army squandered on this toilsome march, with every battle the king waged in Renald’s absence, the duke knew that Kearney and his allies would grow more convinced that Renald wasn’t coming and that his house was in rebellion. If they were defeated by Braedon’s army, Galdasten, no doubt along with Aindreas’s house, would bear much of the blame. History would remember Renald as the leader of a house of traitors. Nearly as troubling was the thought that Kearney might succeed in defeating the invaders without Galdasten’s help. Renald would still be labeled a traitor, but as one whose betrayal had little significance.
Clearly they had need of haste. Yet his swordmaster did nothing to increase their pace, and the first minister seemed content to stroll along beside them, chatting amiably about anything other than the war.
“It’s a cooler day by far than I would have expected so late in Adriel’s waxing,” he was saying now. “We’ve been fortunate.”
“Yes, and what of it?” the duke demanded irritably. “Perhaps you care to comment on the health of the farmers’ crops as we amble past the fields.”
Pillad and Ewan exchanged a look.
“My lord, I believe the first minister’s point was that, because of the cooler weather, we can probably keep the men marching without a rest clear through to sundown, allowing us to cover more distance today.”
Renald looked at the Qirsi, who nodded. “That would be … helpful,” he said, trying not to sound too contrite.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you have any idea how far we are from the battle plain?”
“No, my lord,” Ewan answered. “But it can’t be too far now. The king marched from Audun’s Castle some time ago. I expect his army met the enemy well north of Domnall, in which case it should only be another day or two.”
“Two days,” the duke said, exhaling. “I begrudge the time, swordmaster.”
Ewan lowered his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”
Renald knew what the man was thinking. If he was in such a hurry to fight, why had he waited so long before leaving Galdasten? Why had he suffered the presence of the empire’s soldiers in his city for so many days? In truth, the duke had no answer for him other than the obvious. It had been a grave mistake, born of his ambition, and Elspeth’s uncanny ability to gauge his darkest desires. He should have been able to admit this to them. Whatever their limitations, both Ewan and Pillad had ridden with him to war, risking their lives. They deserved far more from him than he seemed capable of offering, and so too did his men.
“Tomorrow is the Night of Two Moons, my lord,” the first minister said. “There’ll be ample light to march even past dusk. We can rest at twilight before continuing on for a few more hours.”
Ewan frowned. “Certainly we can take advantage of the moons’ light to march the men another league or so. But I don’t want to push them too hard. They need some rest along the way, or they won’t be fit to fight.”
Renald almost told the swordmaster that he coddled the men too much. But it occ
urred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he had marched any distance at all. Since he was a boy accompanying his father on hunts or visits to another of Eibithar’s great houses, he had ridden while common soldiers remained on foot. Perhaps in this instance Ewan knew better than he did what was best for Galdasten’s army.
“I agree,” he said. “We’ll rest at sundown, continue southward for another league, then stop for the night.”
Ewan nodded. “Very good, my lord. I’ll inform the captains.”
Before Renald could object, the swordmaster was riding back along the edge of the column leaving the duke with Pillad.
He had tried to spend as little time as possible alone with the Qirsi. In spite of his decision to let the minister ride with him to this war, he still had doubts about the man’s loyalty. And even before he began to suspect that Pillad was a traitor, even before he had heard of the conspiracy, Renald had never felt entirely comfortable around white-hairs. He found them strange in both appearance and manner. Pillad was no exception to this.
“Shall I leave you, my lord?”
Whatever his faults, Pillad was observant.
“Perhaps so, First Minister. We’ll speak again later.”
The Qirsi smiled thinly. “Of course.”
He slowed his mount, allowing the duke to pull ahead of him a short distance. They rode this way for several moments, and though Renald was relieved to be rid of the man, he could feel the minister watching him from behind, as if Pillad’s eyes could cast heat upon his back. If the Qirsi did wish him ill, wasn’t it safer to ride alongside the man, instead of in front of him, vulnerable and unguarded? After considering this briefly, he slowed his mount in turn, so that the minister pulled abreast of him.
“My lord?” Pillad asked mildly.
Faced now with having to make conversation with the man, Renald wasn’t certain what to say. If only he’d just remained in front of him.
“I was wondering, First Minister, if you feel the swordmaster is too easy on the men.”
It was the first thing that came to mind, and immediately he regretted saying it.
