Seeds of Betrayal: Book 2 of the Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy

by DAVID B. COE

  “I take it you’re riding back here so that your duke doesn’t have to be near me,” he said, smiling thinly, his voice low.

  She would have liked to deny it, to soften the blow. But she wouldn’t have fooled him, and he probably was just as happy to ride with her behind the others.

  “That’s about right.”

  “Was he angry with me for coming?”

  “Very. But I told him that your passion for me had clouded your mind.”

  Shurik glanced at her, grinning. “Did you really?”

  “I might have said ‘affections’ rather than ‘passion,’ but otherwise, yes, that’s what I said.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  She smiled. “Very little.”

  “Well, that must have been a welcome change.”

  Yaella laughed, drawing scowls from the soldiers riding a few fourspans ahead of her.

  The company reached the north city gate and passed through, the Solkaran guards there raising their swords in honor of the duke.

  When they were through the gate, and on the road running alongside the river, Shurik asked, “So has he demanded that I leave the castle?”

  “No. I think he might have had it been his decision to grant you asylum. But because his father promised to protect you, he feels compelled to honor that pledge.” She looked away, following the flight of a raven that soared overhead. “Would it matter if he had made you leave? I seem to remember you telling me when you first came to Solkara, that our…friend has instructed you to go elsewhere.”

  “Our friend told me to find Grinsa,” Shurik said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Since then, Grinsa has found me.”

  Yaella faced him once more. He was staring straight ahead, his expression bleak and his jaw tightening. He had told her briefly of his encounter with the gleaner, but with his visits to the castle so short and secretive, they had yet to speak of it at length. She knew that Lord Tavis of Curgh had been with the gleaner, and that they had escaped through the south gate of the city wall, but that was all.

  “You don’t have to tell our friend that,” she said softly, watching the soldiers riding in front of them for some sign that they could hear her. “Simply tell him that you found Grinsa, just as he asked.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Shurik said. “I have no idea where he’s gone. Finding him means nothing.”

  “Surely he didn’t think you could keep Grinsa here against his will, not if this man really is what we suspect.”

  Shurik looked over at her. “He is that. He used mists and winds to escape the guards, and he shattered their blades. He may even have whispered to my mount, trying to make the beast throw me. This from a man who claimed to be a gleaner and nothing more. He must be a Weaver.”

  “All the more reason for our friend to forgive you. You couldn’t hope to stop him.”

  “I shouldn’t have let him see me at all. That’s what he’ll say. Grinsa escaped because I feared for my life and so called for the Solkaran guards.” He shook his head, a haunted look in his pale eyes. “I’ve failed him again. Last time he almost killed me. He won’t hesitate this time.”

  Yaella felt herself begin to tremble. Just after the failed siege in Kentigern, when Shurik came to Mertesse, he dreamed of the Weaver. She and Shurik were in her bed at the time, and she awoke to find him thrashing wildly, clawing at his eyes as if he were in agony. She had been unable to wake him, and so had just sat beside him, helpless and horrified as he endured the Weaver’s wrath.

  “You said yourself that he needs you,” she said, trying to convince them both. “You told me that he’s finally realized how valuable you are. You’re still the one person in the…among us who knows what this man is and can recognize him.”

  “Actually, I doubt that. I know that our friend turned to me, but I can’t imagine I’m the only one who knows Grinsa. If he wishes to kill me, there’s really nothing to stop him.”

  “What if you can find Grinsa again? I want you to come back with me to Mertesse, but maybe you’d be better off searching for the gleaner. If you can find him, our friend will never need to know what happened here.”

  “I already know where Grinsa’s going to be,” Shurik said. “He’ll be coming to Mertesse. He has to now. I recognized him, and I know what he did to escape. I know that he’s a Weaver, and he must realize that. He has no choice but to kill me.”

  “Then don’t come back with me.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” he said, his voice rising. The soldiers glanced back at them once more. “It doesn’t matter,” Shurik repeated, more quietly this time. “Don’t you see, Yaella? If one of them doesn’t kill me the other one will. Either our friend will punish me for failing, or Grinsa will kill me to guard his secret. Either way I’m dead. For all I know, there are only two Weavers in all the Forelands, and I’ve managed to make enemies of both of them.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say. If Shurik was right, there was no place he could hide. Not even the walls of Mertesse could protect him from men who walked in his dreams.

  “I shouldn’t return to Mertesse,” he said, the words so soft that she had to lean closer in her saddle to hear him. “I should go as far from you as possible. Just because I’m going to die doesn’t mean you have to as well.”

  Yaella shook her head. “I think you’re wrong. You don’t know that our friend intends to kill you, and in spite of everything, you can’t be certain that Grinsa is a Weaver. You’re safest in the castle. It will be hardest for Grinsa to reach you there. Our friend can find you anywhere, but not the gleaner.”

  “What about you?”

  “Grinsa doesn’t know anything about me, and the other can’t afford to rid himself of both of us. Don’t worry about me. It’s most important that we keep you safe, and we can do that best in Mertesse.” She gave a grim smile. “I’m Qirsi, just like you are. We may not be Weavers, but perhaps together we can keep each other safe.”

  She reached out her hand and he took it for a moment, squeezing it gently and returning her smile. A moment later, though, he let her hand drop, his expression turning grave again.

  “I don’t know how this happened, Yaella. These men are leading us all, Qirsi and Eandi alike, toward a war unlike any ever seen in the Forelands. A war between Weavers. And somehow I’ve managed to put myself between them.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Curtell, Braedon

  All color drained from the emperor’s face as he read the message, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he feared he might cry out at the tidings from Aneira.

  “Ean save us all!” he breathed. He looked up at Dusaan for a moment, horror in his small green eyes. “They’re animals, High Chancellor! We’ve allied ourselves with brutes and demons!”

  Dusaan would have liked to rip the parchment from the man’s fat fingers so that he might read it himself. But there was nothing for him to do but wait while the emperor read the message a second time and fretted like a spoiled child.

  “Perhaps if Your Eminence allowed me to read the message…” he suggested when he could stand it no longer.

  “What?” Harel said looking up. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  He held out the scroll to Dusaan. After the chancellor took it from him he slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. One would have thought the very act of reading the message had overwhelmed him.

  Dusaan read of the poisoning and Grigor’s execution without reaction. The deaths of the two dukes didn’t trouble him, nor did the loss of three Qirsi ministers. By serving Eandi nobles, they had betrayed their people. Their lives meant as little to him as the lives of the Eandi. That is, until he realized that one of the dead Qirsi was the first minister of Bistari, one of those who served him. He had lost too many of his underlings recently—he could ill afford to lose another.

  “Demons and fire,” he muttered.

  Harel nodded. “I know.”

  At least the queen had survived, and her daughter as well. Ha
d Grigor succeeded in killing off all the leaders of House Solkara, it would have so weakened the Supremacy that civil war might have become inevitable. As it was, the selection of the girl as Carden’s successor, and Numar of Renbrere as regent, promised to bring some stability to the kingdom. He couldn’t know if Pronjed had any involvement in these events, but somehow, through skill or plain dumb luck, the archminister had managed to keep Aneira from descending into civil war. A good thing; with so many Qirsi dying, Dusaan would have hated to have to kill another.

  He handed the scroll back to the emperor, keeping his expression grim.

  “Do we really wish to ally ourselves with such people, High Chancellor?”

  “These tidings are disturbing, Your Eminence. They are proof once more of why Braedon is destined to rule all the Forelands. Such depravity and wickedness on the part of the six can only lead to their decline and our glory.”

  “Indeed,” the emperor said, brightening. “Well said, High Chancellor.”

  “Awful as these events may seem, however,” Dusaan went on, keeping his tone light, “they should not change our plans substantially.”

  “No?”

  “House Solkara still rules, and though Lord Renbrere may need some time to earn the trust of his dukes and the army, particularly after his brother’s crime, I have no doubt that he will welcome any overtures from the empire.”

  Harel sat forward once more, obviously interested in what Dusaan was telling him. “What of this girl, and Carden’s wife?”

  “They are nothing, Your Eminence. Numar rules Aneira, if not in name, then in fact. We need only win his trust to assure our success.”

  “Then the invasion can go on as we planned.”

  “In time, yes. Numar will not be ready for several turns. We thought half a year when we heard of Carden’s death, and that still seems right to me. Six or seven turns, perhaps a few more. But we need not wait much longer than that.”

  The emperor nodded, but even as he did, his gaze fell to the scroll once more.

  “Poisoning is a terrible thing,” he said, his voice low. “It’s a coward’s way.” He started to say something else, then stopped himself, glancing uncomfortably at the chancellor.

  Dusaan knew what he was thinking. “Poison is the weapon of a Qirsi.” The saying dated back to the early years of the empire, when memories of the Qirsi Wars and Carthach’s betrayal were still fresh, and even men who coveted Qirsi magic for their courts spoke of the sorcerer race with contempt.

  “Dusaan,” the emperor said, sounding almost shy, as if what he was about to say frightened him, “have you heard the rumors of a Qirsi conspiracy?”

  He had been expecting this for some time now and so had no trouble keeping his composure. In truth, he had thought the fat fool would raise these questions long ago, and he had wondered if answering them would make him uneasy. As it turned out, he had to struggle to keep from laughing at the man.

  “Yes, Your Eminence, I’ve heard them.”

  “Do you give them much credence?”

  “I think it would be imprudent to do otherwise, Your Eminence. Don’t you?”

  “Are you alarmed by what you’ve heard?”

  Such blind, foolish trust. It was as if the emperor never even considered the possibility that Dusaan could be involved, much less the movement’s leader.

  “Alarmed?” The chancellor shook his head. “No. But I think it’s fair to say that I’m listening carefully to all that I hear of this conspiracy, lest there come a time when rumor gives way to reality.”

  “Yes, of course,” the emperor said, nodding so vigorously that the flesh under his chin shook. “No doubt that’s very wise.”

  Dusaan narrowed his eyes. “Are you wondering if the poisoning was the work of these Qirsi?”

  “It had crossed my mind. After all, it was poison….”

  And Ean forbid that an Eandi would be cowardly enough to put oleander in the queen’s wine. “Yes, Your Eminence, it was.”

  “Not that all Qirsi would do such a thing,” the emperor added. “Not that you would. But it does give one pause.”

  “Of course. If you’d like, I’ll ask the other chancellors and ministers what they’ve heard of this conspiracy and whether they think it may be responsible for recent events in Aneira.”

  “Yes, Dusaan, that would be fine.”

  The Weaver made a half turn toward the door, as if to go, hoping that would be the end of their conversation. But the emperor didn’t dismiss him.

  “Have you noticed, High Chancellor, that most of the killings attributed to the conspiracy have taken place elsewhere? The empire has largely been spared. It’s almost as if the weakness of the six invites such tragedies, while our strength keeps us safe.”

  Again, he had to keep from laughing. Braedon had been spared because Dusaan chose to spare it. The last thing he wanted was for the emperor to grow suspicious of his Qirsi before Dusaan had the chance to turn the empire’s army and fleet to his purposes. Eventually, he would command enough Qirsi warriors that he would no longer need the emperor’s soldiers, but that time had not yet come.

  “I hadn’t noticed, Your Eminence. But now that you bring it to my attention it seems clear that you’re correct. These Qirsi may believe they can weaken the other kingdoms, but they would not dare make an enemy of the empire.”

  Harel smiled, looking far too satisfied with himself. “Quite right, High Chancellor. But still, I feel the time has come to take some precautions.”

  “What kind of precautions?” Dusaan asked, his stomach tightening.

  “Well,” the emperor began, suddenly sounding a bit less sure, “I think we should stop bringing new ministers and chancellors into the palace. I’ve enough Qirsi advising me now.”

  The Weaver felt himself relax. “That seems wise, Your Eminence.”

  “I also think we should watch those Qirsi who already serve me a bit more closely. There may be some among them who wish to betray the empire.”

  “Again, a most prudent decision.”

  “And finally, I feel that I must make more decisions without consulting any Qirsi at all.” He glanced quickly at the chancellor, then looked down again, toying absently with the Imperial Scepter. “Even you, Dusaan. I realize that I’ve come to rely on you a great deal. Perhaps too much.”

  He would have liked to slap the man, to leave a crimson imprint of his hand on the emperor’s fat face. It was bad enough that Dusaan should still be forced to serve such a man publicly, bowing to this overgrown child and lavishing him with undeserved praise. But to be reminded just now that his own fortunes and those of his movement were still subject to Harel’s whims and petty fears was almost too much for him to bear.

  “As you wish, Your Eminence,” he managed to say, his voice sounding thick. “If you like I’ll leave the planning of the invasion in your hands.” He could hardly imagine the emperor agreeing to this—the very idea of leading this war seemed to terrify Harel. But Dusaan wouldn’t have minded if by some chance he did agree. The chancellor wanted Braedon at war with Eibithar. If the emperor led that war incompetently, all the better. The weaker the Eandi armies, the easier it would be for his Qirsi army to conquer them. Better Harel should take control of the invasion than the treasury. Dusaan needed access to Braedon’s gold in order to continue paying those who served him.

  “The invasion?” the emperor asked, shifting uncomfortably in his throne. “You’ve worked so hard on it already. I’d hate to…to deny you the pleasure of seeing it to its completion.”

  “Not at all, Your Eminence. This invasion promises to be the crowning achievement of your reign as emperor. The pleasure of completing it should be yours as should the glory that will follow from it.”

  “The invasion,” Harel said again, as if considering it. He licked his lips. “I had in mind some of the more mundane matters that I leave to your discretion each day.”

  “Well, of course, Your Eminence, if you wish to concern yourself with such trifles yo
u may. The empire is yours and I but serve. But it seems to me that the man who will soon lay claim to the entire northern half of the Forelands has better ways to pass his day than bothering with the collection of tithes, the enforcement of warrior quotas, and the mediation of inconsequential disputes among your lords.”

  The emperor perked up at that. “There! Mediating disputes among my lords. That’s just the sort of thing I mean. That, it seems to me, is the responsibility of an emperor, rather than his high chancellor. You understand, don’t you, Dusaan?”

  The Qirsi shrugged, feeling himself relax once more. “I suppose I do, Your Eminence. If you feel it necessary to handle these matters, I’m more than happy to defer to you. To be honest, I’ll be glad to be done with them. With all respect to the lords who serve you, they seem almost eager to quarrel with one another. They take offense like overly tender children and threaten war over the smallest, most desolate scraps of land.”

  “Yes, I suppose they do,” the emperor said, nodding sagely. “But you have to remember, Dusaan: they don’t know what it is to rule an empire. Their realms are small, and so even the merest threats to their power seem great. These matters must be handled with care lest they grow into civil conflict.” He nodded again, as if convincing himself. “I think it best that I mediate all future disputes among my lords.”

  “Of course. Your Eminence is most wise.” He hesitated, watching the emperor closely. He was eager to leave Harel’s chambers, but he needed to be certain that his control over the treasury remained safe. “Is there anything else, Your Eminence?”

  “No, Dusaan. You may go.”

  The chancellor bowed and started toward the door.

  “You will remember to speak with the others?” the emperor called to him, just as he reached for the door handle.