Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  “You need to ask, my lord?” Fotir answered.

  “The conspiracy.”

  “Yes, my lord. Many of us believe that this war—”

  “Yes, I know. You think the Qirsi have, through treachery and deception, led us to this conflict so that we’ll weaken ourselves.” Labruinn looked at Grinsa again. “I just wonder if keeping the Aneirans alive is intended to strengthen us, or weaken us.”

  “Why would I want to weaken us, my lord?”

  “He’s not questioning your motives, First Minister,” Grinsa said. “He’s questioning mine.”

  “I don’t know you, sir,” the duke said. “I have no reason to question the first minister’s loyalty, but in these times all strange Qirsi are suspect. And for many turns I’ve been hearing of odd behavior on the part of the archminister.”

  Gershon started to say something, but a glance from Keziah silenced him.

  “I know this man,” Aindreas said, murder in his voice. “I know all three of them.”

  “This is Grinsa jal Arriet, Lord Labruinn,” Fotir said, with the merest of glances toward Aindreas. “And I assure you, he’s no stranger to me. If it wasn’t for Grinsa, Lord Tavis might still be a prisoner in Kentigern’s dungeon. He has as much reason to hate the conspiracy as any man in the Forelands. For that matter, so does the archminister, and I have every reason to believe that she serves our king loyally and always has.”

  “I’d like to believe you,” Caius said. “But I’m afraid even your word on the matter isn’t enough.”

  “Nor should it be,” Aindreas said. “The Qirsi can’t be trusted.”

  Grinsa met the duke’s glare, their eyes locking. “Last I heard, my lord, you were saying much the same thing about all men of Curgh and Glyndwr. Yet here you are fighting in the service of the king. Isn’t it possible that you’re as wrong about me as you were about them?”

  Aindreas pulled his sword free. “You white-hair bastard!”

  “That’s enough from both of you,” Gershon said, eyeing one of them and then the other. “It doesn’t matter now. The Aneirans have surrendered.” He faced his captain again. “Collect their weapons, see to their wounds, and prepare them for review by the king. I don’t want them mistreated, but neither will I tolerate any resistance on their part.” He cast a look at Keziah as he said this last, but she offered no response. As the king’s men began to herd the Solkarans into a tight cluster, Gershon regarded Caius and Lathrop. “Take your armies forward to the king,” he said. “I don’t know how his soldiers are faring, but I’m certain he’ll welcome your aid.”

  “There’s no need,” Fotir said. “The empire’s men have broken off their attack. At least for the moment.”

  They all turned to look northward. Indeed, it did seem that Braedon’s warriors were in retreat.

  “Then perhaps we should find His Majesty, and ask him how he wants us to proceed.”

  The others agreed and after leaving their captains with instructions to make camp and watch over the prisoners, Gershon, the dukes, and the three Qirsi rode to the front lines. They found Kearney with Javan of Curgh, Marston of Shanstead, and Rab Avkar, Heneagh’s swordmaster. The queen of Sanbira was there as well, with four of her nobles, including a dark-haired young woman who the night before had eyed Grinsa and the other Qirsi with manifest distrust.

  Reaching the king, Gershon dismounted and dropped to one knee, as did all the others, including Aindreas.

  Kearney, limping slightly, strode to his swordsmaster, ordered Gershon to rise, and gathered him in a fierce embrace. “Well met, Gershon! Well met!” he said. “All this time I’ve felt like I’ve been fighting with one hand.” He released the man and looked him up and down. “I take it you’re well.”

  Trasker was grinning. “I am, Your Majesty. Thank you. And you?”

  “Well enough.” He looked past Gershon to the dukes. “Lord Tremain, Lord Labruinn, I’m deeply grateful to both of you. I’ve no doubt that your counsel and your men were of tremendous value to the swordmaster. I believe it’s time the people of this realm stopped referring to the ‘minor houses.’ As far as I can tell, there’s no such thing.”

  Lathrop and Caius bowed.

  “Thank you, my liege,” Tremain said. “We did only what any man of the realm would have done for his king.” As soon as he spoke the words, Lathrop paled, casting a furtive look at Aindreas.

  “What do you think of that, Lord Kentigern?” Kearney asked.

  Aindreas glowered at the king, but after a moment he nodded, as if compelled to do so by some unseen hand. “I’m sure my lord duke is correct, my liege.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  Neither man had moved, though it seemed that both had weapons drawn.

  “I’m here to defend Eibithar, and to strike back at the men who attacked Kentigern.”

  “No other reason?”

  “None that I can think of, my liege.”

  “I see.” The king held Aindreas’s gaze for another moment, then turned to Keziah, as if dismissing the duke. “How did you end up with Gershon and the others, Archminister? I thought you were behind our lines. When you weren’t there, I…” His face colored briefly. “I grew concerned.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Grinsa suggested that the three of us ride back to stop the Aneirans’ advance. We didn’t know at the time that the swordmaster was pursuing them.”

  “What?” Javan asked. He had been watching Aindreas all this time, as a seaman might watch an approaching storm. But now he stared at Keziah, a slight frown on his lean face. “The three of you thought you could stand against a thousand Solkaran soldiers? Are you truly that powerful, or just that foolish?”

  “All three of us have mists and winds, my lord,” she said, giving no indication that his question discomfited her. “We were afraid that Aneira’s archers would attack the king’s army from behind. We merely wished to protect His Majesty.”

  “Every time I turn around you seem to grow more powerful,” Javan said, looking directly at Grinsa. “I find myself wondering if your magic knows any bounds at all.”

  Aindreas was staring at Grinsa as well. “I thought you were just a gleaner.”

  “Grinsa’s a bit more than he seems, my lord,” Fotir said. “But there can be no question of his loyalty to the realm.”

  “More than you seem, eh?” Aindreas asked, his eyes narrowing. “Is that how you got the boy out?”

  “What boy?” Javan demanded, though clearly he knew.

  “Yours, of course. This man put a hole in the wall of my castle that I could have walked through.”

  Grinsa opened his mouth to deny it, but before he could Fotir said, “No, Lord Kentigern, that was me.”

  “But you said that you couldn’t have done such a thing. Shurik told me much the same.”

  “Normally I couldn’t have. But that night called for extraordinary measures, and somehow Qirsar gave me the power to win Lord Tavis’s freedom.”

  In strictest terms it wasn’t a lie. Fotir had used his power on the wall, though without Grinsa weaving the minister’s magic with his own, augmenting and controlling it, he never would have succeeded. As for Grinsa’s presence there being an act of the god, the gleaner couldn’t say that he believed this, but neither could he say with complete certainty that it wasn’t so. In any case, Fotir’s confession appeared to satisfy the duke and lay the matter to rest. Or so he thought.

  “It seems that our Qirsi friends are full of surprises,” said Marston of Shanstead, whose distrust of all Qirsi had nearly led the king to banish Cresenne and Keziah from Audun’s Castle.

  Grinsa saw the dark-haired duchess nod slightly, her eyes fixed on Marston.

  “You wish to say something more, Lord Shanstead?” Kearney asked, his voice hardening.

  “Nothing I haven’t said to you before, my liege.”

  “Fine then. I’ve heard it once, I needn’t hear it again.”

  The thane lowered his eyes. “Yes, my liege.”

/>   The queen of Sanbira cleared her throat. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, we should continue this conversation later. Braedon’s men have retreated for now, but I daresay they could renew their assault at any moment.”

  Kearney nodded. “You’re right, of course, Your Highness.” He looked at Gershon. “I want the soldiers who’ve just arrived added to our lines as quickly as possible. Swordmaster, you’re to assume command of the King’s Guard—take the men who have been under your authority and combine them with those I took north from the City of Kings.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Lord Tremain, I’d like your men to join with the Curgh army. Lord Curgh, with Gershon’s men joining my own, the King’s Guard will take the center. I want you and Lathrop on the eastern flank.”

  “Of course, my liege.”

  “Lord Labruinn, I want your force in the west, along with Thorald’s army and what’s left of the army from Heneagh.” He paused, looking at Aindreas. “Lord Kentigern, you and your men will go with Caius. For now you’ll be under his command.”

  “Very well.”

  “You and I have a good deal more to discuss. But I’m afraid that’ll have to wait.”

  Aindreas’s face reddened, but he merely nodded. “As you wish, my liege.”

  “Your Highness, I would ask you to keep your army where it’s been today, unless of course you have another idea.”

  “We are here at your request, Your Majesty,” Olesya said. “Use us as you will.”

  The king smiled and bowed. “My thanks. That’s all,” he said, looking at the others. “I hope the empire’s men will think twice before attacking again. They’ve seen how easily their Aneiran allies were defeated, and they know that we’ve added several thousand men to our defenses. Still, I agree with the queen that we must remain watchful. I want your armies positioned quickly. They’ve surprised us before and may well do so again.”

  Eibithar’s dukes and their ministers bowed to the king and began to move off, Grinsa following Fotir so that he might thank the first minister for helping him keep his secret a bit longer. Before he had gone far, however, Kearney called to him.

  “A word please, gleaner.”

  Keziah was beside the king, her face colorless, her lips pressed together in a taut line. Grinsa returned to where they stood.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  Kearney hesitated. “Walk with me.”

  They started away from the armies, skirting the portion of the moors where the battle with the Solkarans had been fought, and where bodies were now being piled. Glancing back, Grinsa noticed that Marston and the dark-haired duchess were watching them. They were too far away for the gleaner to see their expressions, but he could guess.

  “The first minister didn’t make that hole in Aindreas’s castle, did he?” the king asked, drawing Grinsa’s gaze.

  “Not alone, no. He couldn’t have without my help.”

  “So he’s the other.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “The day you told me you were a Weaver, you listed those who knew—Keziah, Tavis, Cresenne, and another you wouldn’t name. It was Fotir, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how much longer can our circle remain so small?”

  Grinsa shook his head. “Not much, I fear.”

  “Aindreas will call for your head. So will Shanstead. I don’t know about the others, but I can’t imagine they’ll be willing to embrace you as an ally.”

  “They have to!” Keziah said. “Who else among us can fight the Weaver?”

  “I don’t disagree with you, Kez. I’m just telling you what I know to be true.”

  “The question is, Your Majesty, what will you do? If you support me, the others may follow. Perhaps not Kentigern, nor even Shanstead, but the rest. Certainly Javan will. He knows what I’ve done for Tavis, and the boy will speak to him on my behalf. I sense that the queen might support me as well, though some of her nobles might speak against it. Ultimately, though, this is up to you.”

  Kearney looked back across the battle plain, then stared up at the crows and vultures circling overhead. “My father used to say that we don’t choose our allies so much as find them. The hardest part, he said, was recognizing them in time.” He met Grinsa’s gaze. “I’ll support you, gleaner. I haven’t much choice in the matter, and even if I did, you’ve proved your good faith time and again. I’d be a fool not to stand with you.”

  Grinsa bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Shall we speak to them now?”

  “Not yet. There’s something I want to do first. With your permission, I’d wait until morning.”

  “All right. May I ask what it is you intend to do?”

  “I’m going to try to enter the Weaver’s dreams.”

  “What?” Keziah whispered.

  “We need to know where he is, and, if possible, what he’s planning. This is the only way I can think of to learn both.”

  “Is there any danger to you?” the king asked.

  “No. I’ll be in his mind. The worst he can do is drive me out. But it may be that I can hurt him.”

  “Very well.” The king halted, as did Keziah and Grinsa. “I’ll be eager to hear how you fare.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “I should return to the armies.”

  “May I have a moment with Grinsa, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course.” He nodded to the gleaner, who bowed once more in return. Then he turned and started back toward the soldiers.

  “You think I’m wrong to try,” Grinsa said.

  “I think the risks are greater than you made them sound just now.”

  “He can’t hurt me, Kezi.”

  “Maybe not. But he can sense your thoughts, your fears. I know, because I’ve sensed his. Not enough to learn much, but I’m not a Weaver. You may give away as much as you learn. You could even reveal that I’m your sister.”

  “I won’t.”

  “But you could.”

  “At the first sign of danger, I’ll break contact with him. You have my word.”

  She looked like she might say more, but in the end she merely nodded and walked away, leaving Grinsa alone amid the grasses and stones.

  The truth was, Grinsa didn’t have to enter the Weaver’s dreams at all. He had only to reach for him. He could search the land for the man without actually entering his mind. That would tell him where Dusaan jal Kania and his army could be found. But Grinsa wanted this confrontation. Twice before they had met, once when he pulled Cresenne out of her dream of the man, thus saving her life, and again when the Weaver came to him, and nearly managed to turn Grinsa’s own magic against him. Eventually they would face each other in battle, probably on this very moor. It seemed as inevitable as the new day. They were tied to one another, their strange bond forged of hatred and the powers they shared; of the Weaver’s ambition and Grinsa’s need to avenge all that Dusaan had done to Cresenne and Keziah. But during their previous encounter, when Braedon’s high chancellor entered his dreams, Grinsa had found himself overmatched. Before their final battle, he needed to prove to himself that he could defeat this man, that his powers ran as deep as those of the renegade Weaver.

  After some time, as the sun finally began to dip toward the western horizon, Grinsa returned to the Curgh camp to look for Tavis. Before he reached the boy, though, he was accosted by Marston of Shanstead. The thane had two soldiers with him, as if he feared approaching a Qirsi unguarded. His grey eyes were watchful, scanning from side to side as he walked, and he rested a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  “I know what you have in mind to do,” Shanstead said without preamble, his voice low and tense. “And I’d advise you against it.”

  For just an instant, Grinsa wondered if the man really did know, if he had discovered Grinsa’s secret and learned of his intention to speak with the Weaver. In the next moment, he dismissed the idea. This man hated all Qirsi, save his own minister. No doubt he meant to accuse
Grinsa of some foul crime against the king.

  “What is it you think you know, my lord?”

  “I know that the archminister is a traitor, and I see the two of you plotting together. I know as well that you’ve lied about your powers in the past. Aindreas and Javan, who can barely agree on the time of day, concur on that much.” He took a step closer, tightening his grip on his weapon. “I’m watching you, gleaner. And your friend as well. If one of you should so much as look askance at the king, I’ll crush you both. Do you understand?”

  Shanstead, he realized in that moment, was precisely the sort of Eandi that drove Qirsi to the Weaver and his movement. This type of blind distrust and blustering animosity had done more to weaken the Forelands than had any white-haired traitor. Grinsa would have liked to shatter the man’s blade, or set his hair ablaze. Instead, he offered a thin smile. “I assure you, Lord Shanstead, the king has nothing to fear from his archminister or from me. What’s more, he knows this. It’s a pity you’re too much a fool to see it for yourself.”

  “How dare you speak to me so!”

  “I could say much the same thing, my lord.” And stepping around the man, Grinsa continued on toward the Curgh lines. He half expected Shanstead to follow, and a part of him wished the man would, so that he’d have an excuse to use his magic. But the thane merely stared after him as Grinsa wove his way through a maze of soldiers and past the wounded. When he found Tavis, his hands were still trembling with rage.

  “There you are,” the young lord said as Grinsa approached him. “I’ve been hearing all sorts of stories about you.” He had been smiling, but seeing the gleaner’s expression he grew serious. “What’s happened?”

  Grinsa shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well, Grinsa.”

  “Nothing of importance. Really.” Knowing the boy wouldn’t be satisfied by this, he gestured vaguely at the battle plain. “Shanstead just accused Keziah and me of plotting against the king.”

  “Shanstead’s an idiot.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you.”