Weavers of War wotf-5

by DAVID B. COE

  “I’ve heard all of this before, Lord Curgh. And I’ve always wondered how he knew to find you in Kentigern in the first place. As I understand it, he was a mere Revel gleaner before he ‘saved’ you.”

  “He knew because he gleaned for me.”

  “How convenient. It seems to me that this man contrived your rescue, just as the Qirsi have been contriving wars and murders for the past several years.”

  “You’re wrong, Marston.”

  This man Diani knew, not only because she had overheard his conversation with the king the day before, but also by reputation. Aindreas of Kentigern was the largest man she had ever seen. Tall, broad-some might have called him fat, as well. But she thought the name by which he was known in Sanbira-the Tor atop the Tor-fit him best. He was a mountain; solid, immovable, enormous.

  All were looking at him now, and from the reddening of his face, it seemed that he regretted speaking at all.

  “You agree with the Qirsi, Lord Kentigern?” Marston asked, as if unable to believe what he was hearing.

  “I’m not saying that. I don’t know what we should do about the invaders. But I do know that Tavis’s escape was not contrived by the conspiracy. If they were responsible for my daughter’s … for what happened to her, then the last thing they wanted was for Tavis to be free, trying to prove his innocence.”

  “This is quite a change for you, Lord Kentigern.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Would you care to explain how you’ve come to feel this way?”

  The duke faltered, his gaze darting from face to face. “No, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t. At least not just now.”

  Kearney narrowed his eyes. “Very well.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the queen said, “but I’m interested in hearing more of what this gleaner has to say. You tell us, sir, that an army of Qirsi approaches, led by a Weaver. Yet you tell me that you haven’t gleaned this. How then do you know?”

  The gleaner took a long breath, then glanced at the king, who nodded, as if to encourage him. “I know, Your Highness, because I spoke with him last night.”

  “What? He’s that close?”

  “No, Your Highness. He and his army are still two days away on horseback.”

  “Then how-?”

  A gasp stopped her. Turning toward the sound, Diani saw that Abeni was gaping at the man, her mouth open, her cheeks as pale as Panya, the Qirsi moon. “You…,” she whispered. “You’re one, too!”

  “What is this nonsense, Archminister?” Olesya asked, sounding petulant as a child. “He is what?”

  “A Weaver, Your Highness. I’m a Weaver.”

  Silence.

  Soldiers laughed in the distance. Horses whinnied, and a soft wind rustled the grasses of the moor. But no one in their circle spoke. They stared at him, some with open curiosity, others with distaste, all with some measure of fear.

  “You realize,” Marston finally said, “that by admitting as much, you give us little choice but to execute you.”

  “I’ll grant, Lord Shanstead, that were you to follow the ancient laws, putting me to death would be your only course. But to say that you have no choice simply isn’t true.”

  “The law is clear.”

  “The law is asinine,” Tavis said, “as are those who would follow it blindly! Don’t you understand the gift we’ve been given? We’re about to go to war with a Weaver, and we have among us the one man in all the Forelands who can defeat him.” He gave the thane a look of utter contempt. “And all you can think to do is call for his head.”

  “A Weaver,” Aindreas muttered, eyeing the Qirsi. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “You spoke to this other Weaver last night,” Marston said, defiant as ever. “Why? And for that matter, how?”

  “I entered his dreams. A Weaver can do that with other Qirsi. I tried to kill him by using his own magic against him, but I failed.” He looked at the rest of them. “This other Weaver is coming, and he has far more Qirsi on his side than I do. That’s why it’s so important that we have as large an Eandi army as possible. Now I’m asking all of you to put your hatred aside and make peace with the empire’s men before it’s too late.”

  “You’ve known of this Weaver for some time, haven’t you? How else would you have known to seek him out this way?”

  “You’re right, Lord Shanstead. I’ve known about him for several turns.”

  “And why haven’t you told anyone?”

  The gleaner gave a thin smile. “I have, my lord. I just haven’t told you.”

  “I’ve known for some time now, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “I’ve also known that Grinsa is a Weaver. He kept these matters from the rest of you with my consent. If you wish to take issue with that, address your concerns to me, not the gleaner.”

  “Am I then to understand, Your Majesty, that you intend to follow this man’s counsel?”

  “He’s placed his life in our hands, Marston. He’s offered to wage war against the Weaver on our behalf. And if you had seen what the Weaver did to the woman this man loves, then you’d know, as I do, that he has as much reason as anyone to hate the conspiracy.” Again, he glanced at the others. “As much as I would like to see the empire’s army crushed, I’m inclined to do as the gleaner suggests. But I won’t impose my authority on the rest of you. I’ll leave it to my dukes to vote on the matter, and of course, Your Highness, you and your nobles must do as you see fit.”

  “How many Qirsi does this man command?” Olesya asked.

  “Two hundred, Your Highness. Perhaps a few more.”

  “Two hundred?” Aindreas said, incredulous.

  “Do you recall the wind we raised yesterday, Lord Kentigern?” the gleaner asked. “I wove that gale with the power of only two other Qirsi. Imagine what I could do with the shaping power of ten, or the fire magic of fifty. They may be few, but their power is greater than this army alone can withstand.”

  “That raises another matter,” Shanstead said. “If Weavers are so powerful, why haven’t you used your magic to help His Majesty win this war? Our realm has been in peril, yet you’ve done little to protect it. You could have ended this threat a long time ago.”

  Tavis shook his head again. “Not without revealing to all that he’s a Weaver. And not without destroying the Braedony army, which is just what he seeks to avoid.”

  “That’s Qirsi logic, Lord Curgh. I believe this man has you ensorcelled, and he wishes to do the same to the rest of us.”

  Before Tavis could answer, Kearney turned to the boy’s father. “Lord Curgh, what say you about all this? Surely you’ve formed an opinion of this man who’s been traveling the Forelands with your son.”

  “I have, Your Majesty. I trust him with Tavis’s life, and I trust him in this as well. We should make peace with the enemy and enlist their help against the Qirsi.”

  Shanstead shook his head violently. “This is madness!”

  “I’ll take that as a vote against suing for peace, Lord Shanstead.”

  “I must agree with the thane, my liege,” said the duke of Labruinn. “I’m not questioning the gleaner’s loyalty, but I can’t abide making peace with the invaders.”

  “I understand, Caius. Lord Tremain, what about you?”

  “The Qirsi are the real threat, my liege. We should end this war.”

  “Lord Kentigern?”

  Aindreas pressed his lips in a thin line, looking first at the Qirsi, and then at Tavis and his father. Emotions chased one another across his broad face-rage, hatred, deepest sorrow, and something else Diani couldn’t quite name. At last he closed his eyes. “Join with the empire’s men. Defeating the Qirsi is everything.”

  The king eyed him for some time, nodding slowly. “That can’t have been easy, Lord Kentigern. You have my thanks.”

  Aindreas looked away without a response.

  “Swordmaster,” the king said to a tall, bald man, “your lord is dead, and his son as well. You speak for the House of Heneagh n
ow. What say you?”

  The man shuffled his feet, clearly discomfited by the question.

  “It’s all right, Rab. Your duke would want you to speak your mind.”

  “They invaded our land, Your Majesty. How could they ever be our allies?”

  The king frowned. “Of course, swordmaster. I understand.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Kearney sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. “Damn.”

  Caius gave a small shrug. “Your vote tips the balance, Your Majesty.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

  “But it has,” the queen said. “I feel quite certain that my nobles would also be divided, but I believe we must make peace with the empire’s men, and so that’s what we’ll do. I admire you for asking your nobles, Your Majesty, but this is a king’s decision, and I suggest you treat it as such.”

  Kearney straightened, and for just a moment, Diani thought he would grow angry. Instead he grinned. “I’ve long heard it said that Sanbiri steel was the strongest in the Forelands. It seems Sanbiri queens and Sanbiri swords are forged in the same fires.”

  Diani had to smile, though she wasn’t certain how she felt about all this. Her land hadn’t been invaded, and so her hatred of the empire didn’t match that of Marston and the others. Still, she had little desire to ally herself with the emperor, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust this Qirsi, even though he had taken a great risk by revealing himself as a Weaver.

  “Gershon,” the king said, turning to his master of arms, “prepare a flag of truce. I’ll ride forward with Her Majesty, if she’ll be so kind as to join me.” He paused, looking to Olesya, who nodded her assent. “Grinsa, I’d like you with me as well.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Is there anyone else you care to bring, Your Highness?” Gershon asked.

  “No. I daresay the three of us can handle this.”

  “You’ll need guards, Your Majesty.”

  “We’ll have a Weaver with us, Gershon. I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

  The swordmaster didn’t look pleased, but neither did he argue the point.

  “It’s decided then,” Kearney said. “The rest of you ready your armies, just in case this doesn’t work.”

  Diani looked to the queen, who gave a small reassuring smile before walking off with Kearney and the gleaner. The duchess had no army here, and was at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, she saw Abeni and the other Sanbiri ministers hurrying off by themselves. She would have liked to follow, but before she could, she heard someone calling to her.

  Marston of Shanstead was walking toward her, his expression grim. “May I have a word please, my lady?”

  Masking her impatience, she made herself smile. “Of course, Lord Shanstead. How may I help you?”

  He looked around quickly, as if to be certain that no one else could hear. “I sense, my lady, that you and I are of one mind when it comes to trusting these Qirsi. Am I right?”

  Diani hesitated. “I’ll grant that I have cause to hate the conspiracy-more than most. And I’ll grant as well, that I trust few of them anymore.”

  “Do you trust this Weaver in whom my king places so much faith?”

  “He risked a great deal by revealing himself, my lord. You must admit that.”

  “Perhaps. If his powers are as great as he claims, he might have risked less than you think. Even if we wished to put him to death, who among us could carry out the sentence?”

  “A fair question. But Weavers have been executed in the past, as have their families, as I understand it.”

  He frowned, looking toward his army. “So you do trust him.”

  “Even if I didn’t, my lord, what could we do about it? I won’t defy my queen, and I’d advise you not to defy Kearney. Under Sanbira’s laws, doing so during war is tantamount to treason. I’d guess that the laws of your land are similar.”

  The thane nodded. “They are. Don’t worry, my lady, I have no intention of holding back my soldiers or any such thing. But if I can prove this Qirsi a traitor, I will.”

  “And if you can, my lord, you’ll have my support.”

  He smiled at that. “Thank you, my lady. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must see to my army.”

  “Of course.”

  Marston bowed to her and strode back to his men. Watching him go, Diani was surprised to find herself hoping that he’d fail. As much as she distrusted the white-hairs, she wanted this gleaner to prove himself an ally. She sensed that without him, they had little hope of defeating the renegades. Thinking this, she went in search of Abeni and the other Qirsi.

  * * *

  “He’s a Weaver!”

  “Could he be our Weaver?”

  “No. Our Weaver warned me about this man. He named him to me and told me that he was more than he claimed to be.”

  “You never mentioned this to me!”

  “No, Craeffe, I didn’t. There’s much I don’t tell you. You seem to forget with some frequency that I’m the Weaver’s chancellor, and you’re but one of his servants.”

  “How dare-!”

  Filtem laid a hand on Craeffe’s arm, silencing her. “What did the Weaver say we should do about this man, Archminister?”

  She continued to glare at Craeffe a moment before responding. “He said we should do nothing. He’ll deal with the gleaner himself.”

  “We may not have that luxury anymore,” Filtem said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve no doubt our Weaver knew of this man’s powers when he gave you that warning. But I’m equally sure our Weaver assumed the gleaner would keep his secret, and that this man’s fear of being discovered would keep him from harming our cause before the Weaver’s arrival. Clearly that’s no longer the case.”

  “An interesting point. What do you suggest we do?”

  “I wish I knew, Archminister.”

  “You’re the chancellor,” Craeffe said, all bitterness and wounded pride. “Why don’t you think of something?”

  “Craeffe-”

  “It’s all right, Minister. She’s right. I will think of something.” Abeni glanced toward Brugaosa’s army. Vanjad, Edamo’s loyal minister, was returning. “We’ll talk more later.”

  “Forgive me, Archminister,” Vanjad said, rejoining them. “My duke wished to know what I think of this Weaver in our midst.”

  “Of course, Minister. What did you tell him?”

  “Well, I don’t really know the man, but if he truly is a Weaver, and, if the threat we face is as grave as he says, we’re quite fortunate to have him on our side.” He glanced at the others, looking nervous and old. “Wouldn’t you agree? No doubt you’ve been speaking of him, as well.”

  “Of course we agree, cousin,” Craeffe said. Her eyes flicked toward Abeni. “A Weaver. Who would have thought it possible?”

  The archminister frowned. “Indeed.” She needed to end this conversation now, before Craeffe said something foolish. “You should return to your dukes. I intend to seek out the master of arms. With the queen occupied, he may need my help.”

  “Yes, of course,” Vanjad said, always so eager to serve. “Thank you, Archminister.”

  Craeffe eyed her briefly, as if she wanted to say more. In the end, though, she and Filtem walked off together without a word.

  Intending to return to the queen’s army, the archminister turned, then froze. The duchess of Curlinte stood nearby, staring at her. How long had she been watching? And how had Abeni been so careless as to not notice her sooner? After a moment she nodded to the woman and continued as if nothing unusual had happened. But she still felt the duchess’s eyes upon her, and she cursed her own stupidity.

  Diani of Curlinte, though, was the least of her concerns. Filtem was right. Her Weaver might have known of Grinsa jal Arriet’s powers, but he couldn’t have anticipated that he would reveal himself so soon, or that the sovereigns of both Eibithar and Sanbira would be so willing to embrace him as an al
ly.

  Don’t approach her unless you absolutely must, the Weaver had told her. The risks are far too great.

  What choice did Abeni have now? The time had come to forge an alliance of her own, with Kearney’s archminister.

  * * *

  “It’s about time,” Kearney mumbled, when at last they saw the four Braedony captains riding out to join them.

  By the gleaner’s reckoning they had been waiting on horseback for the better part of an hour, watching for some sign that the empire’s army would respond to their flag of truce. They heard a few jeers as they sat, and they noticed the Braedony archers positioning themselves to the west, where the slow winds blowing that morning would be of most aid should it come to an attack.

  “You can protect us, can’t you, gleaner?” Kearney asked at the time, eyeing the bowmen.

  “I certainly hope so, Your Majesty,” Grinsa said drily.

  Kearney had given him a sharp look. Olesya laughed aloud.

  Now, watching the captains approach, the king shook his head. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered.

  “We don’t know that yet, Your Majesty.”

  “Actually, gleaner, we do. These men are soldiers-battle commanders. There’s no one here from the court. Either they’re dead, or Harel never sent anyone. These captains haven’t the authority to do what we ask.”

  Grinsa glanced at the king. “So, what do we do?”

  “We talk. We try anyway. We’ve offered the flag. There’s no sense in turning back now. But stay alert. This could end badly.”

  The captains reined to a halt a short distance away. It took Grinsa but a moment to understand that the gap they had left would be enough to ensure their safety should the archers loose their arrows.

  One of the captains, a bald man, clearly several years older than the other three, raised a hand in greeting. “Your Majesty, Your Highness. What is it you want?”

  “To discuss terms of peace, Captain. Isn’t that clear?”