Weavers of War: Book Five of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  Or so she wanted to believe.

  Her wounds had healed. The bones in her ribs and leg no longer ached as she walked, and her hands, shattered by Sanbira’s archminister, hadn’t hurt for several days now. She had slept better over the past several nights than she had in more than a year. What a joy it was to lay down at night without dreading her dreams. A part of her, she realized now, had never truly believed that the Weaver could be defeated, or that she would ever be free of him. Their victory on the Moorlands had come at a great price, but it seemed to her miraculous nevertheless.

  So why did she remain so unhappy?

  Late on this day, the ninth of the waxing, she found herself in the gardens once more, strolling past brilliant, fragrant blooms of rose and sweet violet. The sun angled sharply across the courtyard, casting long, dark shadows that cooled the air. Her thoughts had turned again to Fotir, as they often did these days. They had hardly spoken to one another since reaching Curgh. The first minister was occupied with Curgh’s young duke and its grieving duchess. They needed him far more than did Keziah, and it was only right that he should be more concerned with them than with anything, or anyone, else. She couldn’t help but remember, however, how their conversation ended the night before the war with Dusaan. She could still feel the warmth of his hand holding hers. And she could still hear his question, so deserving of an answer, so difficult to address.

  What about the king?

  Indeed.

  She heard footsteps on the stone path behind her and she turned, half expecting to see the minister. Instead it was Gershon Trasker.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all, swordmaster. Is there something you need?”

  “I just thought you should know: the king has decided that we’re to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Why did that make her so afraid? “All right. Thank you.”

  She thought he would go, but he didn’t. He glanced about, looking at the flowers as he might a collection of daggers or battle shields. Keziah couldn’t remember ever seeing Gershon in the gardens of Audun’s Castle, or Glyndwr for that matter.

  “Have your injuries healed?” he finally asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. And my men are treating you better?”

  Keziah had to smile. “Yes, they are. Thank you for that, as well.”

  “It’s the least you deserve, given all that you’ve done for us.”

  “I did it for myself, swordmaster. You speak as though I did the Eandi a favor. That wasn’t it at all. I was trying to protect my king, my realm, and my people. I was trying to save myself.” She looked away. “Besides,” she went on, trying to soften what she had said, “I’m not certain that what I did mattered in the end.”

  “Of course it did.”

  “The Weaver very nearly defeated us, despite my efforts. And I had little to do with our victory. That was Grinsa, and a woman in the Weaver’s army who turned against him at the end. We don’t even know her name.”

  “You showed courage and loyalty. You helped us kill the three traitors from Sanbira. They might well have tipped the balance in the Weaver’s favor before the end.”

  There was no point in arguing the matter. Gershon was showing her as much kindness as he ever had. Best just to accept his praise and be grateful.

  “Again, swordmaster, thank you. Had it not been for you, I never would have made it through these past several turns.”

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed, as he always did when she paid him compliments. “Well, maybe you’ll show your gratitude by not making yourself such a nuisance all the time.”

  Keziah laughed, though abruptly her chest was aching. She stepped quickly to where he stood, kissed his cheek, and ran from the gardens, knowing at last what she had to do.

  By the time she reached the king’s chamber, her heart was pounding, her courage failing her. Resisting an urge to flee, she knocked on his door.

  “Enter!” came the reply.

  She pushed the door open and walked in. To her relief, he was alone, save for a young servant.

  Kearney was sitting at a small writing table, but seeing her, he quickly stood. “Ke—” He glanced at the boy. “Archminister.”

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Majesty.” She realized that she was wringing her hands, and she allowed them to fall to her sides.

  “Not at all. Is something troubling you?”

  She hesitated, her eyes welling.

  “Please leave us,” he said to the servant.

  The boy let himself out of the chamber.

  He crossed to where she was standing and took her hands. “Now, what’s happened?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but began to cry instead.

  “What is it, Kez?”

  She was trembling, her legs shaking so badly that she had to tighten her grip on his hands just to keep from collapsing to the floor.

  “Kez?” he said, sounding truly afraid.

  “I can’t go back with you,” she blurted out.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  He released her hands and took a step back. “Do what?” he asked.

  But he already knew. She read it in those grey eyes. Strangely, seeing such hurt in them now emboldened her, convincing her that she was doing the right thing. Finally. She wiped her tears away.

  “There was a time when I loved you more than anything in the world,” she told him. “In a way, I always will love you. But we can never be together again, and so long as I remain in your court, I’ll never be able to love another.”

  “All the more reason to keep you as my archminister.” He smiled halfheartedly, then looked away, shaking his head. “That was meant as a joke. I suppose it wasn’t very funny.”

  “I’d ask you to release me from your service, Your Majesty. I think it’s best for both of us.”

  “Do you love another, Kez?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  He frowned. “You’re not certain?”

  “It’s possible that I do, yes. But that’s not the reason I want to leave your court, at least not entirely. I see the way you look at me. It’s only a matter of time before others notice as well.”

  “I look at you that way because I love you.”

  “I know. And that’s why I have to leave you.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask Lord Curgh if I might serve in his court.”

  Comprehension lit his face, and for a moment she feared that he would grow angry. But he merely smiled. “I hope you’ll be very happy here. If Tavis is as wise as I think he is, he’ll soon find himself being served by the two finest ministers in Eibithar.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  He stepped forward and put his arms around her, kissing her brow. “I’ll miss you, Kez,” he whispered.

  “And I you.”

  He held her a moment longer, then stepped back. “I hereby release you from service in the court of Audun’s Castle. May you find happiness on whatever path you choose.”

  She smiled, tears on her cheeks once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said softly, and left him.

  She hurried through the castle corridors, nearly breaking into a run. Coming at last to Tavis’s presence chamber, she knocked and let herself in at the duke’s summons.

  Fotir was with him. Of course.

  “Archminister,” Tavis said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, my lord, I no longer go by that title.”

  The two men shared a glance.

  “What do you mean?” the young duke asked.

  “I’ve left the king’s court. I asked him to release me from his service, and he kindly granted my request.”

  Fotir shook his head. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was wondering, my lord,” she went on, ignoring him for the moment, “if you might have use for another minister in your court.”

/>   Tavis’s eyes widened. “My court?”

  “Yes.”

  “I … I have first and second ministers already. Curgh’s wealth is substantial, but I can hardly afford—”

  “You wouldn’t have to pay me much.”

  Fotir was smiling now, regarding her with astonishment. “Why are you doing this?”

  Their eyes met, and Keziah realized she was grinning stupidly. “Why do you think?”

  Tavis looked from Fotir to Keziah and then back again, amusement and puzzlement on his scarred face. “What do you think of all this, First Minister?” he asked. “After what I said today about not collecting ministers as if they were Sanbiri swords, can I really add another to my court?”

  The minister didn’t take his eyes off of her, but he began to laugh. “I’m not certain that I can offer an objective opinion on this, my lord.”

  “Then don’t.”

  At that, Fotir turned to the young duke, gratitude written on his features. He really was quite handsome. “Yes, my lord, I think you can.”

  “Very well.” Tavis faced Keziah once more. “Welcome to the Curgh court, Minister.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I suppose this means that you won’t be riding south with your brother.”

  “My brother?” she said.

  “Yes. He’s leaving with the king tomorrow.”

  It made sense. No doubt Grinsa was eager to return to Cresenne and Bryntelle. But there was something in the duke’s tone …

  “You haven’t spoken to him,” Tavis said.

  “No, my lord.”

  “I think you should. He’s in his chamber, I believe, preparing for his journey.”

  Keziah started to leave the chamber, then faltered, meeting Fotir’s gaze.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  She nodded and went in search of her brother. There was a knot in her stomach, though she wasn’t sure why. Reaching his chamber, she found the door ajar. She knocked once before stepping inside.

  Grinsa was bent over his travel sack, but he straightened at the sight of her. His face was pale, his expression grim. Keziah shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’re leaving,” she said.

  “Yes. I’m riding south with you and the king.”

  “I’m not going south.”

  He frowned. “You’re not?”

  “I’m no longer archminister.”

  “What?”

  “It was my choice. I can’t serve Kearney anymore. It’s just too difficult.”

  “Where will you go?”

  A small smile touched her lips. “I’m staying here in Curgh.”

  “Oh, Kezi,” he said, taking her in his arms. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” He looked down at her. “Fotir’s a good man.”

  “Who said anything about Fotir?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not fair,” she said. “How is it that I can never surprise you?”

  “You have surprised me, again and again. You surprised me when you risked your life to deceive the Weaver, and again when you suggested that we strike at him through your dreams the night before the battle. And you surprised me just now. A year ago you wouldn’t have been able to make such a choice.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Just because I’m no longer archminister doesn’t mean that I can’t visit Audun’s Castle.”

  “I won’t be staying in Audun’s Castle.”

  Keziah shivered again. “Tell me,” she said, not wanting to hear.

  “It’s nothing you don’t already know. Cresenne is a prisoner of the realm, and I’m a Weaver. We have no future here—certainly Bryntelle doesn’t.”

  “But the war is over. Surely you have nothing more to prove to Kearney and the rest. And Cresenne has suffered enough for what she did.”

  “There are many who would disagree with you. I love her, but if I didn’t, I’m not sure that I’d want to see her go free. As for me, the law is quite clear on what’s to be done with Weavers.”

  “Kearney can change the law! I’ll talk to him!” She was shaking once more. She had finally found the strength to live without Kearney. But how could she ever live without Grinsa?

  He touched her cheek, looking at her with so much love. “I don’t want you to talk to him.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Something I’ve always dreamed of doing. We’re going to the Southlands.”

  “The Southlands?” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “How?”

  “I don’t know yet. I expect we can find a merchant ship to take us. There are still a few Qirsi ships that sail beyond Sanbira on the Sea of Stars. Or maybe we’ll cross the Border Range. We’ve still several turns before the snows.”

  “Does Cresenne know?”

  “Not yet. But aside from Bryntelle and me, there’s nothing holding her here.”

  “The Southlands,” she said again. Keziah had never thought that anyplace could sound so far away. She pressed her face against his chest, muffling her sobs. “I’ll never see you again.”

  “You don’t know that. And besides, I’m a Weaver. I can always find my way into your dreams.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “I know.”

  “What will I do without you?”

  “You’ll live a long, happy life. You’ll serve a young duke who may yet prove himself one of the great leaders this land has ever known. You’ll love a fine minister who will be devoted to you. And you’ll find that you’re stronger and more capable than you know.”

  She smiled at him through her tears. “You gleaned all that?”

  “I didn’t have to glean it. I know it in my heart.”

  He kissed her forehead again, and Keziah held on to him as if she never intended to let go.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  City of Kings, Eibithar, Morna’s Moon waning

  The journey southward from Curgh to Audun’s Castle took nearly half a turn. Grinsa understood that most of the king’s men were on foot, but still he found their pace maddeningly slow. Every day he found himself wishing that he could simply kick his mount to a gallop and cover the distance as swiftly as the beast could manage. But he remained a free man solely because Kearney had chosen to ignore Eibithar’s laws regarding Weavers, and it would have been inappropriate for him to ride ahead of the king.

  As it was, all that made the long ride bearable was Tavis’s presence by his side. He had urged the young duke not to accompany him to the City of Kings.

  “You’ve only just become duke,” he had said the morning they left, when Tavis appeared in the castle’s lower ward, dressed in rider’s garb. “You should remain here with your mother and your people.”

  To which the boy had calmly replied, “I don’t want to. And anyway,” he added, “You made a promise.”

  Grinsa still believed that Tavis should have stayed behind, but he was glad to have the young noble with him. They rode together each day, saying little, merely enjoying each other’s company.

  One morning, as they passed near the banks of the Sussyn, Tavis suddenly asked, “Can a Weaver enter the dreams of anyone, or only a Qirsi?”

  “I believe only a Qirsi. When I enter someone’s dreams, I touch their magic, just the way I would if I was weaving their power with my own. I don’t know how I could do that with an Eandi.” He glanced at the boy, sensing that this was not the answer he had wanted. “Still, I’ve never tried to enter an Eandi’s dreams. I suppose it may be possible.”

  Tavis nodded, but said nothing more.

  It was the only time they even came close to speaking of Grinsa’s impending departure.

  When at last the host came within sight of the royal city, just before dusk on the twelfth day of their journey, the gleaner’s impatience got the better of him.

  “Yo
ur Majesty, may we have your permission to ride ahead? I’m … I’m quite eager to reach the castle.”

  Kearney smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll ride with you.” He looked back at Gershon Trasker. “Swordmaster, I’d like you to remain with the men for the rest of their march. We three are going to ride on to the city.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  It was late in the waning, and though they pushed their mounts, the three riders still hadn’t reached the city walls when night fell. Grinsa raised a bright yellow flame to light their way, and some time before they came to the walls, they were joined by a large contingent of soldiers who had ridden forth at the sight of his fire. Recognizing their king, several of the men returned to the castle, shouting news of the king’s return. By the time Kearney, Tavis, and Grinsa rode through the south gate, bells were tolling throughout the city and thousands of people had lined the streets to cheer their sovereign. They regarded Tavis and Grinsa warily, but if they still thought the young noble a butcher, they kept it to themselves.

  Grinsa, Tavis, and Kearney entered the castle, only to find that most of the soldiers who had remained behind when the king rode to war had gathered in the main courtyard to greet them. It promised to be a lengthy welcome.

  “Your Majesty…”

  Kearney grinned. “Go, gleaner. Tavis and I will find you later.”

  He was off his horse almost before the king had finished speaking. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said with a quick bow.

  A moment later he was running toward the chamber in which Cresenne had stayed before being moved to the prison tower. He could only assume that she had been returned to the same room after Kearney and the nobles left Audun’s Castle.

  He needn’t have even wondered. She was waiting for him at the entrance to the corridor, Bryntelle in her arms, torchlight glittering in her pale eyes, starlight shimmering in her hair. He strode to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her long and deep.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek.

  They kissed again, only to be interrupted by a loud squeal from Bryntelle.

  “I think someone else would like a hug.”