Weavers of War wotf-5

by DAVID B. COE

  “Thank you. We will.”

  The two of them strolled off, leaving Diani alone with her embarrassment. After standing there for several moments, she decided that she would seek out the duchess of Macharzo as Olesya had suggested. She and Naditia had never been close, but if Diani had been forced to spend the entire day with the dukes of Norinde and Brugaosa, she would have been grateful for any companionship at all. She had just started walking in Naditia’s direction, however, when she saw Abeni speaking with one of the other Qirsi. As she drew nearer to them, she realized that it was Macharzo’s first minister. It was perfect-just the excuse she needed to intrude.

  She walked to where they stood, noting that they fell silent at her approach.

  “Forgive the interruption, Archminister, but I was wondering if the first minister could tell me where I might find her duchess.”

  “You’re not interrupting at all, my lady,” Abeni said pleasantly.

  But the other woman regarded her cautiously, overlarge yellow eyes staring out from a small, thin face, so that she looked more like a waif than a minister.

  “I believe she’s down beside the river, my lady,” the first minister said at last. “That’s where I saw her last.”

  “Thank you.” Diani faced Abeni again, scouring her mind for anything that she might say to prolong their conversation and learn what the two women had been discussing.

  “Is there anything else, my lady?” the archminister asked, eyeing Diani as if she thought the duchess simple.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’ve been wondering if you’ve given any more thought to the questions my father and I asked you while we were still in Yserne.”

  She sensed the woman’s annoyance. “You mean about traitors in the queen’s court?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m afraid, my lady, that I have little more to tell you than I did the last time we spoke of this. After Kreazur’s death, I tried to think of who in Yserne might have been working with him, but I hadn’t cause to suspect any of the Qirsi in our court. That hasn’t changed.”

  “A pity.” She glanced at the other woman. “And you, First Minister?”

  “My lady?”

  “Well, surely you’ve heard of the attacks on me, and the death of my first minister.”

  The minister nodded, her expression revealing little. “Yes, I did, my lady. I was horrified, as was all of Macharzo.”

  “I’m sure. And since then, has anything happened to make you question the loyalty of the Qirsi in your duchess’s castle?”

  “No, my lady. But then, that’s not my way.”

  Diani narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  The woman faltered. “Nothing, my lady,” she said, shaking her head. “Forgive me. I should have simply answered your question and left it at that.”

  “But you didn’t. And I want to know what you meant.”

  The minister glanced at Abeni, but the archminister was staring at the ground, her lips pursed. “It just seems to me that you’ve allowed the treachery of one minister to color your perceptions of all Qirsi. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Diani knew that she should have been enraged. This might not have been her own Qirsi speaking to her so, but the woman was just a minister and Diani was a duchess. Instead she felt like crying. The criticism stung too much for her to respond at all. Hadn’t her father said the same thing to her before she left Yserne with Olesya’s army? Hadn’t the queen herself done so as well? Here she had thought to trick these women into revealing something of themselves, and all she had done was give them cause to hate her and question her motives.

  “Yes, well, you shouldn’t presume to judge me, First Minister. If the attempt had been made on your life, you might feel differently.”

  She knew that this made little sense, but she didn’t care. She only wished to be away from them, and without another word, she stalked off toward the river, her face flushed with shame. Diani no longer felt much like speaking with Naditia, but she had asked the minister where to look for the duchess, and she couldn’t very well walk in the opposite direction.

  She found Naditia sitting on a large stone by the water’s edge, staring up at the rim of the steppe, a large hand raised to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. Seeing Diani approach, she stood, looking uncomfortable, as though she wished to be alone.

  “Forgive the intrusion, Lady Macharzo.”

  “Not at all. Has something happened?”

  “No. The queen told me you might like some company after spending the day with the dukes.”

  Naditia smiled at that. She was a large woman, built more like a man, and a powerful one at that. Her features were blunt, her yellow hair cropped short. It was said that she favored her father, and that this was unfortunate, for her mother, the old duchess of Macharzo, had been quite beautiful. But her smile softened her face, even made her pretty, in a coarse way.

  “If I’m disturbing you, I’ll go.”

  Naditia sat again, shaking her head. “It’s all right.”

  Diani found a stone on which to sit, and gazed up at the steppe. Much of the cliff face was shrouded in shadow, but she could make out the rocky crags and gnarled old trees that lined the top. Swifts darted along the edge of the bluff, chasing one another in tight circles and veering so suddenly that it took her breath away just to watch them.

  “The dukes weren’t that bad,” the duchess said after a long silence, her eyes still fixed on the ridge. “They mostly just talked to each other and ignored me.”

  Others might have been offended by this, but Naditia, Diani knew, was so painfully shy that she probably was grateful.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. But I’m certain that if you wanted to ride with the queen tomorrow, she’d be pleased to have you join us. I know I would.”

  The woman smiled again, glancing at Diani just for an instant, then shaking her head. “Thanks, but I should ride with my warriors.”

  It was custom for the army of a lesser house to ride or march behind that of the queen. Because Macharzo was considered a weaker house than either Brugaosa or Norinde, Naditia’s warriors rode last in the column.

  “I understand,” Diani said. “But I couldn’t do it. I’d rather ride alone than with Edamo and Alao.”

  “If I was in your position I’d feel the same.”

  “I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

  Naditia looked panicked, as if she wished she hadn’t spoken. Why did everyone around her seem so afraid of making her angry?

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I just was … I meant that with your brother … and then the attempt on your life. It’s no secret that Curlinte and Brugaosa have been enemies for a long time.”

  “It’s all right. My father hates Edamo a lot more than I do. I actually believe that the conspiracy was behind both the attack on me and the murder of my brother.” She gave a small smile. “Still, I know what you mean. Edamo and I will never be friends.”

  Naditia nodded, her relief palpable.

  “Have you seen any evidence of the conspiracy in Macharzo?” Diani asked, thinking once more of her strange conversation with Naditia’s first minister.

  “None at all. That doesn’t mean it’s not there, of course. Only that its members have been careful.”

  “Do you trust your minister?”

  “Craeffe?” She shrugged, a frown creasing her forehead. “I used to. I’m not certain anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s changed in recent turns, grown quieter, more sullen. But I’m sure I’ve changed, too. She may sense that I have doubts about her, and probably she resents it.”

  “I often see her speaking with the archminister.”

  Naditia stared at her, nodding. “I’ve noticed that, too. And she spends a good deal of time with Alao’s first minister. I believe they’re lovers.” She blushed and looked away. “Though that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Maybe it does.” Diani paused. “Some time ago, not long
after my first minister was killed, the queen asked me to keep watch on the archminister. I haven’t been able to prove anything yet, but I don’t trust her. If you’d be willing to keep an eye on her as well, along with your own minister and Alao’s, I’d be grateful.”

  “Of course.”

  Diani smiled. “Thank you.”

  They spoke for a while longer. It turned out that Naditia remembered Diani’s mother quite vividly. Once, while visiting Yserne with her own mother, she had entered a chamber uninvited only to find Dalvia and the queen having a private conversation. The queen had said little, but Diani’s mother spoke to her quite sternly before sending the girl on her way. The incident had left enough of an impression that even after becoming Macharzo’s duchess, Naditia had still been intimidated by Dalvia.

  “That sounds like mother,” Diani said, laughing at the story. “She was very kind, really, but she could seem terribly cross when she wanted to.”

  “That’s a fine skill for a noble to have. I know, because I don’t.”

  Diani grinned, realizing that she liked this woman far more than she had imagined she would.

  A moment later, they heard voices calling out from west of the river. Scrambling up the riverbank with Naditia at her side, Diani saw that the archers had returned, carrying four stags, several does, and a good number of partridges.

  “It seems we’re going to eat well tonight.”

  Naditia nodded, and together they walked back to the camp.

  * * *

  “You’re a fool!” Abeni said under her breath, as she watched the duchess walk away. “You couldn’t just leave it, could you? You should have just answered her question and let it be. But no. You had to say more. ‘That’s not my way.’ Demons and fire, Craeffe! What were you thinking?”

  “Calm yourself, cousin,” the minister said, though without her usual composure. “She’s just a dull-witted girl, barely old enough to rule her house.”

  “And you’re an idiot. That dull-witted girl has managed to convince the queen that Kreazur’s death was more than it seemed.”

  “That would seem to be your fault, wouldn’t it?”

  “She has Olesya’s ear, and she’s just gone to speak with your duchess. If we give her cause to question our loyalty-as you just did-she’ll destroy us.”

  Craeffe gave a small breathless laugh. “Now I know that you’re fretting for no reason. My duchess is no more a threat to this movement than my horse. Even if she learned something of our movement, she’d be too afraid to voice her suspicions. If her mother was still alive, perhaps I’d share your fears. But the daughter is nothing.”

  “I hope you’re right. As it is, the Weaver won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

  Craeffe blanched. “There really isn’t any need to mention it to him, is there, Chancellor?”

  “That depends on you, Minister.”

  Craeffe lowered her eyes. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply that you had made a mistake with Kreazur.”

  “Yes, you did. But I’ll take that as an apology and assume that you won’t speak of it again.”

  “I won’t, Chancellor,” the woman said through clenched teeth. “You have my word.”

  Abeni grinned, knowing that she was enjoying herself far too much.

  A short time later, the soldiers returned with food for the evening meal. Gradually the nobles returned as well. Diani and Naditia gave no indication that they had gleaned anything from Craeffe’s insolence, but they did seem to have forged a bond at the river, and once more Abeni found herself cursing the minister’s recklessness.

  The balance of the evening passed without incident, as did the next several days. Now that the army had reached the moors of Eibithar, Olesya pushed them harder than ever. They covered nearly ten leagues each day, riding due north toward Galdasten, where the empire’s army was said to have made land. On the third day after their descent from the steppe, as they drew nearer to the central moorlands, they began to see columns of smoke rising into the sky far off toward the horizon. Sensing that they were near the warring armies, Olesya began to send out scouting parties, several at a time ranging to the east and west as well as to the north.

  Early the following morning, just after they had set out from camp, the western party returned, bearing news of a great army marching from the southwest.

  “Is it Kentigern?” Olesya asked the lead rider as he steered his mount next to hers.

  “No, Your Highness. They’re burning crops and homes as they go. This is an invading army.”

  “What colors do they fly?”

  “Gold and red, Your Highness.”

  The queen cast a dark look at Ohan and Diani.

  “What would the empire be doing down here?” the duchess asked.

  “It’s not the empire. Think, Diani. Braedon isn’t the only realm that flies banners of gold and red.”

  Diani’s eyes widened. “Solkara! It’s the Aneirans.”

  Olesya nodded. “Yes.” She faced the rider again. “How many are they?”

  “More than a thousand, Your Highness. But they’re on foot.”

  “We can stop them,” Ohan said. “Keeping to our mounts and using our bowmen wisely, we can defeat an army that size.”

  “No!” Abeni bit her tongue, furious with herself for speaking so rashly. Both Olesya and Diani were staring at her as if she had just told them of the Weaver.

  “You have something to say, Archminister?” the queen demanded. Abeni could hear the distrust in her voice.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was merely going to suggest that we might be better off joining with Kearney’s army first. We’re on horseback. Aneira’s men aren’t. We’ll reach Eibithar’s army well before they do, and we can warn the king of Aneira’s approach. That way, Kearney won’t be caught unawares, and we won’t have to risk fighting a larger army.”

  The master of arms appeared to weigh this. “Actually, she makes a good point.”

  The duchess continued to glare at her as if she hadn’t heard.

  “Did they see you?” the queen asked her scout.

  “I don’t believe so, Your Highness, but I can’t be certain.”

  “All right. Go tell the dukes and Lady Macharzo what you’ve seen. Tell them we’ll continue to ride through the day and well into the night. By the time the sun sets we’ll be far enough from the Aneirans to light torches. Except for brief rests, we won’t stop again until we find Kearney and his army.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Once you’ve delivered that message, I want you and your party to ride west again. Keep pace with us, and watch the Aneirans for as long as you can. If they change direction or do anything unexpected, return here immediately and inform me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed to her as best he could atop his mount before riding off toward the other nobles.

  Abeni gazed straight ahead, revealing nothing with her expression, but inside she was smiling with relief. The Weaver wanted both armies at the battle on the Moorlands. And he would have them.

  The queen, with Ohan at her side, had pulled ahead of the archminister again. It took Abeni a moment to realize that the duchess wasn’t with them.

  “You’re one of them.”

  The archminister started at the sound of Diani’s voice. Somehow the woman was right beside her, hatred in her black eyes.

  “That’s why you didn’t want us to attack. I’m sure of it now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” But Abeni could hear the flutter in her own voice.

  “Yes, you do. You got your way this time. I commend you for that. Somehow you convinced the master of arms that you had the army’s interests at heart. But I’ll be watching you as never before. And at the first move you make against the queen, I’ll kill you.”

  She kicked at her mount and rode ahead of Abeni, her back straight, her dark hair dancing in the wind.

  Despite the pounding of her heart, Abeni nearly laughed a
loud. At the first move … By then it would be too late.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Moors of Durril, Aneira

  “You know that she pursues you, even as we speak.”

  “Yes, Weaver.”

  “And you know what you must do?”

  Terror and grief warred within Fetnalla’s heart, threatening to rend it in two. She wanted to hide her feelings from the Weaver, but despair overwhelmed her; even if she had the wherewithal to try, he would have seen through her deception.

  She hadn’t needed the Weaver to tell her that Evanthya was following her; she’d known for days. She hadn’t yet seen any sign of her beloved, but Fetnalla felt her presence in other ways: the tingling of her skin as she slept at night, dreaming of the unmistakably tender touch of Evanthya’s lips and slender hands on her back and her breasts; the hint of the woman’s voice in the cry of a falcon circling overhead; the elusive scent of her hair and skin riding the warm wind. Illusions, of course, brought on by her longing for Evanthya, and by her loneliness. When these sensations persisted, Fetnalla tried to tell herself that her fear of being caught and her guilt at all she had done were getting the best of her. But the feeling that she was being trailed remained with her, growing stronger with each passing day. And the more she considered the matter, the more certain she became that in fact Evanthya was following her. It made sense. Evanthya would never just let her go, particularly after Fetnalla killed Brall, duke of Orvinti, and revealed herself as a traitor to the realm.

  The truth was, Fetnalla would have been devastated if Evanthya had not come after her. For her part, had their roles been reversed, Fetnalla would have followed her love to the farthest reaches of northern Eibithar and across Amon’s Ocean. She had fled not only to save her own life and find the conspiracy, but also to shield Dantrielle’s minister from harm. All of which made answering the Weaver’s question all the more difficult. Fetnalla knew what he expected of her, but the very idea of it made her tremble like a palsied child. She couldn’t even bring herself to speak of it.

  “Do you still think she can be turned?” he asked her, his voice as close to gentle as she had ever heard it.