by DAVID B. COE
“A most interesting visit.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Did you learn anything of value from the first minister?”
“Very little.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
Pronjed glanced at the regent, who was gazing at the road ahead.
“Of course, my lord. I serve House Solkara, and though your brother may be called duke, only a fool would fail to see that you lead us.”
A grin flashed across the regent’s face and was gone. “An interesting choice of words, Archminister.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell me about the woman.”
Pronjed shrugged. “She’s protective of her duke and wary of Dantrielle’s rivals.”
Numar laughed. “Solkara and Dantrielle are hardly rivals. The Solkaran Supremacy is well over four centuries old. We haven’t truly been rivals since the earliest days of the kingdom.”
“Perhaps not to the Solkaran mind, my lord. But with all that’s happened in the royal city over the past few turns, some of the other houses perceive weakness in the throne.”
“You can’t honestly think that Dantrielle has designs on the crown. He’d be a fool to challenge us.”
It had to be done carefully. There were soldiers all around them and though they rode at a respectful distance, they would notice anything unusual.
“And yet, I believe that in questioning the wisdom of the coming war, Tebeo has, in effect, declared his intention to defy you.” As he spoke the words, Pronjed reached out with his magic to touch the regent’s mind. He didn’t push hard, as he had when he forced Carden to plunge the dagger into his own chest. Rather, this touch was as light and gentle as a warm breeze in the growing turns. It was so soft that Numar never realized what had happened. He simply heard Pronjed’s words and believed them as if he himself had spoken them.
“I fear you’re right,” he said, nodding sagely.
Pronjed nearly laughed aloud. He had convinced Evanthya to oppose the war, and to counsel her duke to do the same. He hadn’t even drawn upon his magic for that. He had wounded her pride and then made her believe that he wanted Dantrielle to support the war. She would do all she could to oppose him.
And now, with what he had just done to Numar, he had ensured that Tebeo’s reluctance to send his men into battle would be seen as treason in Solkara. He still had to win back the Weaver’s trust, but if all in Aneira went as he thought it would, that would prove easy enough. He had long been one of the Weaver’s most valued chancellors and in time he would be again. In the end, the Weaver would see fit to give him charge of whatever realm he wanted.
Chapter
Six
Curtell, Braedon
“It is the wrong decision!” the older Qirsi said again, gesturing sharply for emphasis. “You know this is so, High Chancellor. You have to tell the emperor he’s made a terrible mistake!”
Dusaan shook his head, his frustration mounting by the moment. Didn’t the man know that it wouldn’t matter what he said to the emperor? Didn’t he understand how this emperor’s mind worked?
“I’ve spoken to him, Chancellor,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’ve told him several times that his decision is likely to disturb several of the southern lords.”
“Then tell him again!”
That nearly ended the discussion. True, none of them knew that he was a Weaver, that he led a great movement. But still, even in his capacity as high chancellor of the Braedon Empire, Dusaan could only tolerate so much. Before he could say anything, however, one of the young ministers broke in, and the debate began anew.
For much of the morning Dusaan had watched and listened as the same arguments chased one another around his ministerial chamber again and again. Only a turn before, his suspicions of the Qirsi growing, Emperor Harel the Fourth had decided to reclaim from his ministers and chancellors responsibility for mediating disputes among his nobles. At the time, fearing that the emperor would take from him responsibility for the treasury, Dusaan had welcomed the decision. The high chancellor depended upon the Braedon treasury for funds to pay the cost of running his conspiracy. Had the emperor forced him to relinquish control of the fee accountings, it might have dealt the movement a crippling blow. The mediation of disputes, on the other hand, had seemed a harmless enough duty to hand back to the Eandi fool. Little had he known.
“The lords of Grensyn, have always laid claim to the moors west of the Grensyn River,” the old chancellor said. “Indeed, all the southern lordships, from Finkirk across to Muelry have traditionally controlled the lands to their west. All, that is, except the coastal houses. Muelry’s new claims fly in the face of eight centuries of practice.”
“We’ve been over this, Stavel,” Dusaan said, his eyes closed.
“Yes, we have. But someone needs to explain all this to the emperor.”
“Why?” Nitara. Among all the Qirsi serving in Harel’s palace the Weaver thought her and one other the most likely to join his movement.
The older man blinked, and in spite of his annoyance, Dusaan had to stifle a chuckle. “What?” Stavel asked.
The woman shrugged. “Why does this need to be explained to the emperor? Yes, it’s been done this way for hundreds of years. But people in Muelry are starving. It’s been common knowledge for years that the land between the Rimerock and Muelry Rivers is poor land for farming. The land between the Rimerock and Rawsyn’s Wash isn’t much better.” She glanced around the room as if to see who was listening to her. They all were. “It must be something in the waters of the Rimerock.” She faced Stavel again. “In any case, Grensyn Moor has far better land, and it’s more than broad enough to accommodate some of Muelry’s people.”
“That’s not the point!”
“But it should be.” Kayiv. The other one Dusaan hoped to turn. “Should we continue to let the people of Muelry suffer, just because a group of Eandi lords decided eight hundred years ago that the entire moor belonged to Grensyn?”
It was a sound argument, yet one that also struck Dusaan as quite illuminating. More than any other Qirsi he had ever met, Kayiv reminded the Weaver of himself as a younger man. Proud, keenly intelligent, willing—some might say even eager—to challenge custom, and fiercely devoted to the Qirsi people. When the time came, he would be a valuable member of the movement. Yet, Dusaan’s aim in leading this cause had always been the betterment of his own people. It had never occurred to him that centuries of Eandi rule had taken their toll on Eandi commoners as well, that the destruction of the Eandi courts and the establishment of a Qirsi nobility might be hailed by Ean’s children as well as by Qirsar’s.
The young man’s reasoning in this discussion, like Dusaan’s own, seemed odd for another reason as well. It placed them both in the position of supporting the emperor. Dusaan would have little choice but to take Harel’s part no matter his personal opinion on the matter. As high chancellor, this was his duty. But he found himself forced to admit that Harel’s decision in this one instance was absolutely correct. The mere notion of it made him uncomfortable.
“Surely, High Chancellor,” the older Qirsi began once again, “you see the importance of preserving custom in matters pertaining to the lordships. If we can take part of the moor from Grensyn, then what’s to stop Pinthrel from laying claim to the rest of Braedon Wood, or Refte from challenging Oerdd’s claim to the northern half of the hills?” He opened his hands, as if in supplication. “This path leads to turmoil. You must not be blind to this.”
Dusaan had to smile at the old man’s fear. Some Qirsi, he knew, were sorely ill prepared for the changes that were coming to the Forelands.
“I assure you, Chancellor, the emperor’s decision will do no such thing. It may anger a few of the lords, but it will not lead to the downfall of the empire.” Several of the ministers laughed at this, though Stavel only appeared to grow more distraught. “Circumstances in the south are especially difficult right now,” Dusaan went on, trying to
sound reasonable. “Muelry is still recovering from the pestilence that struck there during the last growing. And as Nitara has pointed out, her lands are poorly suited to growing anything more than grasses and thistle. Pinthral and Refte have no need of more land, and would not be granted such if they requested it.”
Stavel started to protest, but Dusaan raised his hand, silencing him. “The matter is decided. The emperor has spoken, and I believe that a majority of those in this chamber agree with his solution.” This might have been a stretch, but none of the others would question him, not on this. “Word of the emperor’s decision will be sent south in the morning.” He glanced around the chamber. The older chancellor and his small group of allies appeared disheartened, but Nitara, Kayiv, and several of the younger ministers looked far more pleased than they usually did at these discussions. “Is there anything else?”
He knew there would be—he had heard several of the ministers speaking of it in the corridor earlier that day—but it was not for him to broach the subject.
That task fell to Kayiv. Naturally.
“You’ve heard of the death of Lord Lachmas?” There seemed to be a gleam in the young Qirsi’s bright golden eyes.
“Yes, I have. A tragedy for all of Braedon. The emperor was rather distraught.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Dusaan held the man’s gaze until at last Kayiv looked away.
“If there’s something on your mind, Minister, you should speak and be done with it.”
“Isn’t it obvious, High Chancellor?” Nitara asked, answering for the young man. As he had before on several occasions, Dusaan found himself thinking that she and Kayiv might very well be lovers. “Nobles have been dying throughout the other realms over the past year, all of their deaths attributed to the Qirsi conspiracy. Now it seems that this conspiracy has finally reached Braedon.”
Actually it hadn’t. The Weaver had not ordered Lord Lachmas’s death and he had no reason to believe that any of his underlings in the movement had acted without his consent. Indeed, he had no underlings in Braedon. He needed to be able to walk in the dreams of those who served him, and his renown in Braedon would have made it too dangerous for him to do so. This was, until just a few days before, one of the great weaknesses in his plan. He could not afford to have Qirsi in the Braedon courts serving him, but the longer Braedon remained immune to the movement’s attacks, the more the realm’s lack of strife would draw the attention of others in the Forelands, Eandi and Qirsi. With Lord Lachmas’s death, that was no longer a concern.
As far as Dusaan could tell, the man had truly died as the result of a hunting accident. According to the message from Lachmas, a stray arrow, apparently from the bow of his younger son, struck the lord in the back. The arrow itself might not have killed him, but the fall from his mount snapped his neck. A tragic accident that aided Dusaan’s cause as much as any planned assassination could have. The emperor was terrified. He had ordered the doubling of the number of guards positioned at every gate in Curtell city, and had taken even more drastic precautions with the palace walls and barbicans. It seemed the emperor’s Qirsi were frightened as well, or at least curious.
“We have no evidence that the conspiracy had anything to do with this,” he said calmly. “The message the emperor received from Lachmas made it sound like an accident. Tragic to be sure, but completely innocent.”
Kayiv smirked. “Of course it did. Lachmas dies in a hunting accident. Filib of Thorald is killed by common road thieves. Carden of Aneira takes his own life. Grigor, his brother, is hanged for poisoning the queen and her dukes. And we’re just to accept that all of these deaths have nothing to do with the conspiracy, that Eandi nobles are dying in great number by sheer coincidence.” He shook his head. “I, for one, don’t believe it.”
“I see.” Dusaan glanced at the others. “And the rest of you?”
“It does seem odd,” Stavel said. Others nodded. “You say that the emperor was distraught. Was there more to it than that? Is it true that he trebled the palace guard?”
Dusaan hesitated, as they would expect. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s true.”
“Is there reason to believe that an attack on the emperor is imminent?”
The high chancellor had to smile. “There is no reason to believe that there has been any attack, or that any is forthcoming.”
“It wouldn’t matter if there was,” Kayiv said, and Dusaan thought he heard a hint of pride in the young man’s voice. “If the conspiracy decides that our emperor is next on their list of Eandi nobles to be killed, all the guards in Curtell won’t be able to stop them.”
Stavel eyed him warily. “You speak as would one of these renegades, Minister. You’d best take care you’re not branded a traitor.”
Kayiv glared at the man. “Branded by whom, Chancellor? Traitors come in many forms.”
“That’s enough! Both of you,” Dusaan added, glowering at Kayiv and Stavel in turn. He could foresee a day when having Harel’s ministers and chancellors questioning each others’ loyalty might serve his purposes, but that time had not yet come. The emperor was frightened enough already. Any whisperings among his Qirsi to the effect that one or more of them might be disloyal would convince the emperor that no white-hair could be trusted, not even Dusaan. “I will not have the Qirsi of this palace casting accusations at one another like quarrelsome children! For the last time, Lord Lachmas died as a result of a hunting accident, and until we have proof to the contrary, we shall not discuss the matter further. Those of you who can’t accept that should leave the palace at once.” He allowed his gaze to travel the chamber, as if waiting for any number of them to walk out of the room. “Good,” he said at last, lowering his voice. “The emperor is imagining Qirsi traitors in every corner. The last thing he needs right now is to have his most trusted advisors fueling his suspicions.”
Kayiv gave a small mirthless laugh. “He hasn’t trusted us for some time now. Lachmas’s death is probably just the excuse he’s been looking for to have us all hanged.”
For all the promise the Weaver saw in this young man, he also found him thoroughly exasperating, in no small part because of comments like these. The minister seemed to assume that Dusaan was just another fawning Qirsi advisor who had turned his back on their people to devote himself to the Eandi courts. Well, the time had come to banish that notion from his mind.
“This discussion is over,” he said. “We’ll meet again tomorrow.”
He watched as the underministers stood and began to leave his chamber, some of them whispering among themselves, but most of them silent and withdrawn.
Dusaan did not usually allow himself to grow anxious about anything—in his position, how could he? But waiting for the ministers to go, he felt his pulse racing like that of a war stallion driven beyond endurance. There was a risk here. Not much of one, to be sure. He had studied these two for some time, and he felt fairly confident of how they would respond. But there was danger nonetheless, far more than he had ever entertained before.
“Minister, would you stay a moment?” he called, just as Kayiv reached the door. His voice sounded even, calm.
The woman remained as well. They had to be lovers. Normally he would not have tolerated her presence, but in this case he had expected it, even hoped for it. The promise that had drawn him to the one could be found in both.
He wouldn’t tell all. Not even his most trusted servants knew that much. But all wouldn’t be necessary.
“Close the door.”
Kayiv and Nitara exchanged a look. Then he pushed the door closed and they returned to their seats. They made a fine pair, he slender and muscular for a Qirsi, she lean as well, but with a round, attractive face, and full lips. Just the kind of young nobility that the Weaver would need to lead the Forelands when the Eandi courts finally fell.
“You need to learn when to speak your mind and when to remain silent,” the Weaver said, taking a seat near theirs. “You’ve nearly got old Stavel convinced that y
ou’re a traitor.”
Kayiv looked away. “We’re all Qirsi here,” he said, a bitter note in his voice. “We should be able to say what we wish without worrying that others will go running to the emperor spouting tales of the conspiracy.”
“Come now. You can’t really be that simple.”
The younger man glared at him, but Dusaan was watching Nitara. All this time he had been planning to turn Kayiv, with the hope that the woman would follow. But it suddenly occurred to him that she was the more reasonable of the two, the one who could control the other.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, clearly understanding already.
“Just what you think I do. To say that we’re all Qirsi is to ignore the lessons of our people’s history. No doubt the Weavers who led the Qirsi invasion nine centuries ago thought much as Kayiv does, just before Carthach betrayed them to the armies of the north.”
She sat forward, light yellow eyes wide and eager. “Lachmas was killed by the conspiracy, wasn’t he?”
Dusaan smiled. He wasn’t ready to answer her just yet. “Why would the conspiracy want him dead?”
Kayiv shrugged. “Because he’s Eandi.”
“You think that’s reason enough?”
Nitara shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t be. They have to see some gain in it, some way in which it would weaken the empire.”
“Good,” Dusaan said, nodding. “Can you think of any?”
She sat still for several moments, her eyes trained on the floor, as if she were looking for answers in the patterned carpet. “Lachmas and Curtell were rivals in the earliest days of the empire,” she said at last. “But for the past several centuries, the lords of Lachmas have been among Curtell’s more reliable allies.” She looked up. “Is it possible that they wanted to make it seem the act of one of the other houses, say Qestryd or Hanyck? Houses that have been more vocal in their dissatisfaction with the Curtell Dynasty.”