Shapers of Darkness: Book Four of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by David B. Coe

  He waited until Uestem had been gone for some time before standing and leaving the inn himself. Upon stepping into the street, however, Pillad froze. A pair of the duke’s soldiers stood a short distance off, watching him from the entrance to a narrow byway. His first thought was to duck back into the tavern, though he knew immediately that this would be folly. No doubt the men had come to the city for some reason that had nothing to do with him. If he acted on his guilt and panic he would only raise their suspicions. Instead, he gathered himself, then walked right over to them.

  Both men looked uncomfortable as he drew near. So much so that Pillad was forced to wonder if he had been mistaken a moment before. Perhaps these men were watching him and had just not expected to see him emerge from the inn so soon. He had lost Renald’s trust long ago. Would it be so unusual for an Eandi noble to have soldiers following his Qirsi?

  “Are you looking for me?” the first minister asked, stopping in front of the men.

  “First Minister?” one of the men said, glancing uneasily at his companion.

  “Well, you’re here. I thought perhaps the duke had sent you to fetch me. Is there news?”

  “No, First Minister.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “The duke asked us to keep an eye on you, First Minister,” the other man said. “I suspect he fears for your safety. With all this talk of conspiracies and such, I believe he thought a loyal minister would be in some danger. He wanted us to protect you. From a distance, of course, lest we embarrass you.”

  It had to be a lie, but it was a clever one nevertheless. “Well,” Pillad said with false brightness, “I’m most grateful to both of you. I’ll feel safer knowing that you’re with me.”

  The man bowed, and his companion hastened to do the same.

  “We’re honored to be of service, First Minister.”

  Abruptly, Pillad felt his face growing hot. What if Uestem was watching? What if there were others in the Weaver’s movement who could see him right now, standing with the duke’s men? Would they think that he had betrayed their movement to the duke? Or would they merely understand that Renald had sent these men to spy on him, as if he were some wayward child? Neither possibility appealed to him, though if they thought the latter the price would merely be humiliation. If they came to question his loyalty to the Qirsi cause they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

  The minister found himself scanning the street for other Qirsi, eager now to be away from these men.

  “If there’s nothing else,” he said, his voice tight, “I’ll be on my way back to the castle. I think I’ll be just fine, thank you. There’s no need for you to follow me.”

  “We have our orders, First Minister.”

  Damn you, Renald! “Fine, then.” He started away from them. “Do what you must.”

  He started back toward the fortress, walking quickly, aware of the soldiers falling in step a few paces behind him. After going but a short distance, he realized that his hands were hurting. Looking down at them, he saw that he had balled them into fists, his knuckles white as Panya, the skin pulled tight over bone. He couldn’t recall ever being this angry before.

  He had made his decision to join the conspiracy impetuously. True, Renald had excluded him from his daily audiences, making Pillad feel that he was no longer welcome in the court. But his had not been a calculated choice, nor had it been rooted in hatred of the duke. Indeed, the minister wasn’t certain that he could articulate fully why he had cast his lot with the renegade Qirsi. He wanted to be closer to Uestem. He wanted gold. He was hurt by Renald’s distrust.

  Until now, Pillad had not been driven by a desire to hurt the duke. But this encounter with Renald’s soldiers changed everything. He felt violated. He didn’t care that the duke’s suspicions were warranted. Renald had shamed him; the duke’s soldiers were shaming him still. They might have followed at a respectful distance, but no one who saw them would have doubted for even a moment that they were escorting the minister back to the castle.

  Pillad had never thought of himself as a vengeful man, but he vowed now that he would strike back at Renald and his court. One way or another, he would see the duke dead. And the promise of that day would do more to compel his service to the movement than all the gold the Weaver could give him.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  Dantrielle, Aneira

  umors chased one another through the streets of Dantrielle like demons on the Night of Bian, whispering darkly to frightened peddlers, driving children back into the relative safety of their homes, leaving men and women to do little more than go about their lives in glum silence while casting wary glances at the great castle in whose shadow they dwelled. Many said that the Solkaran army already marched toward the city, a thousand strong, with swordsmen and archers in equal number. Others claimed that the host was closer to two thousand, for it included a horde of laborers who had been trained to build siege engines from the trees of the Great Forest. Still others were heard to say that all these men were led by the regent himself, Numar of Renbrere, who had labeled the duke and all his followers as traitors to the realm, and who had sworn that he would not rest until the city and castle had been reduced to rubble.

  Tebeo had heard all of these tales, and though his scouts in the north had yet to bring word of the Solkaran army’s latest movements, he knew with the certainty of a man facing his own doom that every one of them was true. He had dispatched his fastest riders three days before, on the fifth morning of the waxing, sending one each to Bistari, Orvinti, Kett, Tounstrel, and Noltierre. All carried messages pleading with his fellow dukes to send their armies to his aid.

  He had little hope that Silbron of Bistari would offer any reply at all; the young duke, Chago’s son, had already declared to Brall his intention to keep Bistari neutral in this struggle. Brall would have only just arrived back in Orvinti from his travels. Like Tebeo, he had spent a good deal of time away from his home, trying to convince the others to join their efforts. It would be a few days at least before he was ready to lead his army southward. But Tebeo hoped and expected that the others would respond swiftly and in force. If they didn’t, Dantrielle might not be able to endure the regent’s assault for more than half a turn.

  Standing atop the tallest of Castle Dantrielle’s eight towers with Evanthya and his master of arms, Tebeo tried to banish such thoughts from his mind. “The castle of his fathers might not have been as grand as Castle Solkara, nor as powerfully fortified, but still it was not without its defenses. Situated within sight of the confluence of the Rassor and Black Sand rivers, the castle could not easily be attacked from the west or south, or even directly from the north. Any army that attempted to ford the rivers so close to the castle walls would be within range of Tebeo’s archers. Numar’s assault would have to come from the northeast, and since the castle stood at that end of the city, its red stone walls would bear the brunt of the attack, which was as it should be. These walls were as thick as any in the realm, and the three portcullises that blocked the outer gate had been fashioned centuries ago of iron and the Great Forest’s hardiest oak.

  Tebeo tried to draw comfort from all of this, and from the banner that flew just above him bearing the red, black, and gold sigil of his house. The Flame in the Night, the fire that endured; a brilliant golden blaze burning above the red towers. The crest dated from the clan wars, when the castle had survived numerous sieges led by the rival families. But Dantrielle’s reputation had not been tested for hundreds of years, and neither had the castle walls.

  While Tebeo was staring at the banner rising and falling in the wind, Bausef DarLesta, the duke’s master of arms, was saying something about the towers and the positioning of Dantrielle’s archers. Tebeo had long since lost the thread of whatever point he was trying to make.

  “Forgive me, Bausef,” he said, interrupting, “but my mind must have wandered. I’m afraid you’ll have to begin again.”

  The master or arms was a capable soldi
er and, according to some, the finest swordsman in the realm. Certainly he looked the part. He towered over both Evanthya and Tebeo, his long, sinewy limbs making his every movement seem effortless and balanced. Like so many of the men who served under him in Dantrielle’s army, he had shaved his head, and with his thick black beard and mustache, his face had a severe look, more like that of a brigand than a swordsman in a noble’s court.

  He glanced at Evanthya now, frowning slightly at the duke’s admission.

  “I was saying, my lord, that you should resist the temptation to place all our bowmen on the northern and eastern towers.”

  “But isn’t that where the attack is most likely to come?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Bausef said, sounding increasingly impatient. “But as I was just saying, it wouldn’t surprise me if the regent tried to surprise us by sending part of his force to the south or west. Even if he keeps the Solkaran army together, he may try to have Rassor’s men flank us.”

  Tebeo nodded, seeing the logic in this. The duke considered himself an accomplished statesman, and, though not prone to immodesty, believed that his intellect was as keen as that of any duke in the realm. But he had never been a strategic thinker and had not had cause to train himself in military tactics. For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing that he had.

  “Won’t he send Rassor’s army north, to the Tarbin?” he asked, hoping that he didn’t sound too foolish.

  “Most of it, yes. But with Solkara menacing Dantrielle, the duke of Rassor has nothing to fear from us or our allies. He can afford to leave only a small contingent of men guarding his castle. Even a few hundred of his soldiers attacking the city walls might prove devastating to our defenses.”

  “You’re right of course. Have two hundred archers positioned on the city walls overlooking the rivers. That should leave us enough to guard the castle, shouldn’t it?”

  “More than enough. Very good, my lord.”

  Tebeo turned and crossed the turret so that he could look down on the castle wards. The quartermaster was shouting commands to an army of laborers and soldiers who carried stores to the various towers. Other men gathered weapons—spare swords and shields, axes and pikes, quivers filled with newly made arrows and crossbow bolts. Dantrielle usually seemed a rather quiet castle, almost peaceful. For the last several days, though, it had teemed as if in frenzy, like a nest of ants uncovered by an inquisitive child.

  “The provisioning goes well?” Tebeo asked.

  This time it was Evanthya who answered. “Yes, my lord. We still have ample stores from the last harvest. The snows were hard, but the growing season was generous. We have food enough to feed the army and the city for two turns.”

  Two turns. He could hardly fathom fighting a war for two turns, much less withstanding a siege for so long. “That’s fine, First Minister,” he said. ‘Thank you.”

  “Shall we leave you, my lord?” Evanthya asked.

  He shrugged, unsure of whether he wished to be alone. “Is there anything else we need to discuss, Bausef?”

  “No, my lord. I have men preparing vats of pitch and lime. And we’ll have plenty of fire pots for the gates.” The armsmaster grinned. “We’ll be ready for them, my lord. I promise you that.”

  Tebeo nodded, struck by the avid gleam in the man’s dark eyes. Clearly, Bausef was looking forward to this battle. The duke felt only dread.

  “Thank you, Bausef. I have great faith in you and your men.”

  “They’re your men, my lord, and serve you, as do I. We’ll fight to the death to preserve this house.”

  Tebeo didn’t know what to say.

  “I have but one request, my lord.”

  “Anything,” he said, eager to give this man whatever he could.

  “The yellow and red of Aneira should be flying above Dantrielle’s banners on all eight towers. You know that the regent will be riding under the colors of the realm, claiming that he fights for Aneira. We have every right to make the same claim, and it will hearten the men to see both banners over our walls.”

  Tebeo felt privileged to be served by such a man. “See to it immediately, armsmaster.”

  Bausef bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  Tebeo watched the man go, shaking his head slightly. “Would that I could feel so sure of what we were about to do.”

  “You should,” Evanthya said.

  “We’re going to lose a lot of good men. We may lose the war.”

  “I don’t think so. The loss of life on both sides will be terrible. I’ve no illusions about that. But I believe the realm will suffer more if the regent prevails and this alliance with the empire continues.” Somehow she managed a smile, albeit a sad one. “You’re doing what needs to be done, my lord. Don’t doubt that.”

  “And if Brall and the others don’t arrive in time?”

  “You must have faith that they will.”

  He walked back to the outer wall, knowing that she was right, feeling unworthy of those who served him.

  “It would be better if they reached our walls before the Solkarans.”

  ‘They might not,” she said evenly. “In which case, our preparations will be tested.”

  He looked at her briefly. “You speak of these matters with such certainty, First Minister. Have you gleaned anything about this war?”

  “No, my lord. Nothing. If I had, I would have told you. Good or bad.”

  “Of course.”

  “We have men watching the roads and the rivers, my lord. You should take this opportunity to rest. Once the siege begins there will be precious little time for that.”

  “What was your impression of Brall and Fetnalla during their recent visit?” he asked, ignoring her counsel for the moment, though he knew it was wise.

  She looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “My lord?”

  “I know I’m putting you in a difficult spot, Evanthya. No doubt your love for the first minister colors your perceptions of the duke. He’s been distrustful of her for some time now, too much so in my view. But this tension between them is about to become far more dangerous than it’s ever been. Before it pained us both, but now, with this war, it threatens our very lives.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I actually had the impression that their rapport had improved in the interval between this most recent visit and our previous stay in Orvinti. Did you, as well?”

  Evanthya shrugged. “Fetnalla still spoke of the duke’s suspicions, and she seemed as angry with him as ever. They were in agreement when it came to standing firm against the regent, but I’m not certain that they had reconciled beyond that.”

  She started to say more, then appeared to reconsider.

  “Out with it, First Minister. Please. This is no time for secrets between us.”

  A gust of wind made her white hair dance about her face, and she brushed it back from her brow. “Fetnalla’s resentment runs deep, my lord. She knows that Lord Orvinti was having her watched. She looks for reasons to defy him. Even if the duke were to try to bridge the rift between them, I’m not sure that Fetnalla would welcome his overtures.”

  “Do you think she’d betray him?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it possible half a year ago. But now . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know, my lord.”

  “This isn’t what I wanted to hear, Evanthya.”

  The minister actually grinned. “When have I ever told you anything simply because I thought you wanted to hear it?”

  He tipped his head, acknowledging the point. “Very well. Thank you for your honesty. As I said before, I know that it couldn’t have been an easy question to answer.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He started to walk away, then paused. “What about us?” he asked. “We’ve had some difficult conversations in recent turns. Should I be concerned about our rapport.”

  “I can’t speak for you, my lord, but for my part, there’s no other duke in the realm I’d rather serve.”

  Tebeo
raised an eyebrow. “Given the other dukes in the realm, I’m not certain how to take that.”

  Evanthya laughed.

  “Thank you, First Minister.”

  “My lord, wait,” she said, as he turned to leave.

  Tebeo faced her again. Her cheeks had reddened, and it almost seemed to the duke that she wished she had let him go.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, my lord.”

  “Oh?”

  “I hadn’t intended to, but with the regent’s army marching on Dantrielle . . .”

  I might not have another opportunity. The words hung between them like a storm cloud. “You’re scaring me, First Minister.”

  “Forgive me, my lord. That’s not my intent.” She lowered her gaze, swallowed. “Several turns ago, before King Carden’s death, Fetnalla and I decided the time had come for us to oppose the conspiracy, to do something more than listen for rumors and watch other Qirsi for signs of treachery. I . . . I went to the city, to the Red Boar, and I hired a blade to kill a man in the north whom we suspected was a traitor.”

  “Demons and fire, Evanthya!”

  “I know how it sounds, my lord. But we honestly believed that we were doing the right thing.”

  “An assassin? You’re a minister in a noble house! My house!”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Under Aneiran law, you could be executed for this!”

  “I know that, my lord. And if you choose to imprison me, I’ll understand. But as you said just a moment ago, there shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”

  Tebeo passed a hand over his brow, shaking his head. “An assassin,” he said again.

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “Did the man you hired know who you were?”

  “I believe he reasoned it out, yes.”

  “Damn.”

  “But I think he also knew that I was acting on my own rather than as an agent of House Dantrielle.”

  He nodded. “I suppose that’s something.” He regarded her for several moments, noting as he had so many times before how young she looked. In point of fact, she was young. For all their power, her people lived shorter lives than did the Eandi, which meant that they sometimes shouldered burdens at a more tender age than was appropriate. “I’m disappointed in you, Evanthya. I’ve no doubt that you and Fetnalla were doing what you thought was best, but I have to question your methods.”