Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  “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 t
he 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 occurred 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.

  Pillad’s brow creased, and he tipped his head to the side, as if pondering the question. “I’m not certain I know what you mean, my lord.”

  “Well, no matter.”

  “If you refer to his concerns about tiring them, I suppose I do think it odd. He certainly trains them hard enough. Yet he seems reluctant to put that training to the test when it comes time for war.” His yellow eyes were so wide that he looked like some great pale owl. “Please don’t misunderstand, my lord. I have great respect for the swordmaster. But other armies have had to march longer distances over shorter spans of time, and they’ve fought effectively.”

  Despite himself, Renald was swayed by this. “I’ve thought much the same thing,” he said, feeling that by admitting even this much, he was betraying Ewan’s trust. “I would like to cover more ground before we stop for the night.”

  “Of course, my lord. I know how eager you are to join the king. Still, it’s probably best to be prudent under these circumstances.”

  “Perhaps so.”

  Pillad looked back over his shoulder, no doubt to see if Ewan was returning. “It might also behoove you to give some consideration to the swordmaster’s command, my lord.”

  “His command?”

  “Yes. If he’s told the men that they’ll only cover a certain distance in a given day, then any deviation from that plan could undermine his authority. It may even convince the men that you’ve lost faith in him.”

  “So now you believe that we should keep to the swordmaster’s pace?” Renald shook his head. “I’m afraid you have me a bit confused, First Minister. One moment you seem to agree with me that Ewan is being too easy on the men, and the next you tell me that we’d be best off doing as he counsels. It almost seems that you’re trying to confuse me.”

  The duke said this without giving it much thought, but almost as soon as the words crossed his lips, he found himself wondering if this was precisely what the first minister had meant to do. Mightn’t a traitor to the court have reason to do so?

  Pillad replied with an easy laugh, though Renald thought he saw something else flash in those ghostly eyes. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “That wasn’t my intent. The fact is, I know little of military tactics and even less about leading an army. Sir Traylee is the expert on such matters, not I.”

  “Well, thank you, First Minister,” the duke said, eager now just to be away from the man. “I’ll give some thought to what you’ve said.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Before Pillad had finished saying this, Renald was already kicking at his horse’s flanks, putting as much distance as he dared between the Qirsi and himself. Yes, the man was behind him again, but Renald no longer cared. Just as long as he didn’t have to speak with him, or see the minister’s strange features. Or so he told himself. For some time after he pulled ahead of Pillad he found himself anticipating a sword thrust between the shoulder blades, flinching at every unexpected noise, and turning his head ever so slightly to try to see where the Qirsi was and what he was doing.

  When Ewan finally rejoined him, the duke nearly wept with relief.

  “I’ve spoken with the captains, my lord. They’re in agreement that we can try to march two more leagues after dusk. I knew that you would prefer this, so I told them that we would. I hope that was all right.”

  This was how a man serving in a noble court should speak to his duke, with the clarity and purpose of a soldier. White-hairs seemed always to be weaving mists with their words.

  “Yes, swordmaster. I’m pleased to hear that. Well done.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Shall I leave you?”

  “No!” Renald said, a bit too quickly. “I’d be grateful if you rode with me for a time.”

  “You honor me, my lord.”

  Over the next several hours, riding side by side, the two men said little. But Renald felt far safer with Ewan nearby. Let the minister make an attempt on his life. He’d die before he could raise a weapon or draw upon one of his powers. Thinking this, the duke tried to recall what magics Pillad possessed, but he could only remember healing and gleaning. There was a third, he knew. What was it?

  They stopped just as the sun disappeared below the western horizon, the sky above it aflame with orange and red. Most of the men sat beside a narrow stream that wound past the grasses and stones of the northern Moorlands on its way to Binthar’s Wash. The duke and swordmaster left their horses grazing on the moist grass, and walked among the men, offering words of encouragement. It had been Ewan’s idea—a way to raise the men’s spirits, he said—and it did seem to do his warriors some good.

  At one point, Renald looked up to see Pillad, still atop his mount, gazing northward, as if he could see the towers of Galdasten Castle from this distance. A moment later one of the soldiers said something to him, drawing his attention once more. And when he finally had the opportunity to look for Pillad again, he spotted the minister standing near the soldiers, watching the duke. When their eyes met, the Qirsi nodded and smiled, as if nothing were amiss. But once more Renald had t
he sense that the man was deceiving him.

  “I want you to send out scouts,” Renald told Ewan, as they returned to their horses.

  “We already have scouts ahead of us, my lord, watching for imperial soldiers or any sign of the King’s Guard.”

  “Fine. But I also want you to send men back to the north. I want to make certain that we’re not followed.”

  The swordmaster looked puzzled. “We left few of Braedon’s men alive in Galdasten, my lord, and fewer still alive and at large. Surely there weren’t enough of them to muster a force of any consequence.”

  “It’s not the empire I fear.”

  “My lord?”

  “Humor me, swordmaster. Send back two men. Tell them to watch the northern horizon.”

  “We have only a few spare mounts left, my lord.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ewan shrugged, then nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  They set out again a short time later, the column of men stretching behind Renald in the gathering gloom, so that the duke could barely see the last of his men. Panya, the white moon, appeared in the east soon after nightfall, huge and pale and just a night shy of full. Even low in the sky, her glow was enough to cast long faint shadows across the moors. As she rose, her light strengthened until the grasses and stones themselves seemed luminous. Some time later, red Ilias rose below her, adding his radiance to hers: the lovers, one night before the Night of Two Moons in the turn of Adriel, Goddess of Love. Once more Renald’s thoughts returned to Galdasten and Elspeth. Tomorrow would mark seventeen years since their joining, and tomorrow night seventeen years since the consummation of the their love. According to lore, lying together for the first time on Lovers’ Night ensured a lifetime of love and passion. So much for the moon legends.

  “My lord, listen!” Ewan said, abruptly reining his mount to a halt.

  Renald did the same, and heard it as well. Two faint voices calling, “My lord! My lord!”

  “What could it be?” the duke asked.

  “Scouts,” Ewan said, and kicked his horse to a gallop back toward the end of the column.

  Renald followed, cold panic sweeping over him like an ocean wave in the snows.