by David B. Coe
“You were dreaming of the Weaver.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“For a long time?”
“A shade too long, it would seem.” He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, as if to will away his dizziness. “Do you have any idea of the time?”
“If I had to guess I’d say it was almost dawn.”
Grinsa nodded. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Now he knew why Keziah complained of their conversations disrupting her sleep.
“Can you heal yourself?” the boy asked. “Or do you want me to dress that for you?”
“I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“I know who he is.”
Tavis sat up. “What?”
“His name is Dusaan jal Kania. He’s the high chancellor of Braedon.”
“You’re certain?”
He nodded.
“That’s just what we’ve been hoping for!”
“I suppose it could be helpful.”
He could barely see the young lord, but he knew that Tavis was frowning. “We’ve been trying to find out something—anything—about this man since early in the snows. And now you know his name and his title. Why aren’t you pleased?”
“You mean aside from the fact that he nearly succeeded in killing me just now?” He winced at what he heard in his own voice. “I’m sorry, Tavis. I’m just not sure that it matters anymore. I don’t think he wanted me to see his face again or to learn his name. But once I had, he didn’t act overly concerned. He thinks he’s won already, and after tonight, I fear that he may be right.”
“As long as you’re still fighting him, he hasn’t won.”
“He beat me just now. I held my own for a time, but in the end he beat me. And he threatened Cresenne’s life again. I’m powerless to protect her. Do you know what that’s like?”
“No. I suppose I don’t. I mean, I’m powerless to do lots of things, but it must be strange for a Weaver to feel that way.”
In spite of everything, Grinsa gave a small laugh. “Yes, it is.”
“I don’t know what to say, Grinsa. We can still go back to the City of Kings. It’s a longer ride now, but we can do it. That way you can protect them both.”
The gleaner gazed southward, though he could see nothing for the darkness and the low clouds. He was sorely tempted to ready the horses immediately and ride back to Audun’s castle. “I can make the journey alone.” He faced Tavis again. “I know how anxious you are to join your father and Hagan and Xaver in the north.”
“All right,” the boy said. There could be no mistaking the hurt in his voice. “But think about it, gleaner. The Weaver may have threatened Cresenne hoping that you would do just this. You’ve said yourself that it won’t be long until he shows himself. He’s just waiting for the court armies to weaken themselves enough that he’ll have nothing to fear from them. What if this is part of his plan as well? What if he doesn’t want you there? He can defeat the armies, but he doesn’t want to face you as well. And what better way to ensure that he won’t have to than to threaten the woman you love.”
“I don’t think he fears me that much, not after this night.”
“You didn’t hurt him at all?”
“I couldn’t. He entered my dream. I couldn’t attack him; I could only hope to keep him from harming me. And I failed at that.”
“But you’re saying that he had nothing to fear from you.”
“Only that I might raise a fire and see his face.”
“And you did that.”
“Yes.”
Tavis opened his arms wide. “Then tonight proves nothing. It would be as if I had entered a battle tournament unarmed and then assumed because I lost that I was a poor swordsman.”
Again, Grinsa had to smile. It was crude analogy, but the boy raised a valid point.
“I can’t tell you what to do about Cresenne,” Tavis went on. “And if you feel that you have to be with her and Bryntelle, I’ll understand. But if the Weaver wasn’t afraid of you, he wouldn’t have entered your dreams, and he wouldn’t have said anything about Cresenne. If he merely wanted her dead, he’d kill her and gloat about it afterward. He’s trying to confuse you, to give you pause before you reach Galdasten. That’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”
He knew Tavis was right. The Weaver’s strength lay in his ability to sense the weakness in his opponent and turn it to his own advantage. He had done this time and again in his efforts to bring down the courts, and he had done it just now to Grinsa. The pain in his head, the gash on his temple—these were nothing. The true wound had been inflicted on Grinsa’s mind. Dusaan had struck at the gleaner’s courage, at his resolve, at the love he shared with Cresenne and their daughter. These were the flaws in his armor, the places where the Weaver could draw blood. A paradox, for they were also the sources of Grinsa’s strength.
He closed his eyes and again raised a hand to his temple, drawing upon his magic. After a moment, he felt the skin beginning to heal.
When the pain had subsided, he opened his eyes once more. The sky to the east was starting to brighten. One of the horses nickered and an owl called in the distance.
“I’m ready to ride when you are,” Grinsa said.
Tavis merely nodded, and together they broke camp.
Chapter
Seventeen
The Moorlands, near Domnall, Eibithar
he rode well back in the column, speaking to no one, her eyes fixed on the path before her, her face a mask of indifference. Keziah and Kearney had agreed that it made more sense for them to ride apart from one another, that if they spent too much time in each other’s company it might invite speculation among the soldiers that they had reconciled. More to the point, it might convince the other Qirsi riding with them of the same thing. And since Keziah couldn’t be certain that the others weren’t traitors allied with the Weaver and his conspiracy, she had to continue behaving as if she, too, was a renegade.
Kearney had assigned a man to her, to keep her safe, but also to make it seem that he still doubted her motives. So she was never truly alone. The soldier rode just behind her, as silent and seemingly withdrawn as she. Kearney knew now of her efforts to join the conspiracy, of her hope that she might learn something of the Weaver that would aid the Eandi courts in their coming battle with the Qirsi movement. But of course he had not shared this with anyone, least of all her guard, who treated her as he might the defeated leader of an invading army, with a cold courtesy that did nothing to hide his contempt for her.
Within only a few days of their departure from Audun’s Castle, Keziah had found herself longing for the company of Gershon Trasker. A year ago she would never have imagined that she and Gershon might become friends, but as with so much else, the Weaver and his movement had changed their relationship, forcing them both to see beyond their mutual distrust. Even if the swordmaster had been here, rather than leading the balance of the king’s army to Kentigern to fight the Aneirans, he couldn’t have spent any more time in her company than could Kearney. But still, she would have drawn comfort just from his presence.
She had no cause to complain. The men around her were all on foot. Only she, the king and his other ministers, and a few of Kearney’s captains were on horseback. With the passing of a storm two nights before, the air had turned cool for so late in the planting; high clouds covered the sky over Eibithar’s Moorlands, and a soft wind blew across the grasses and hillocks. From all she had learned over the years about Eibithar’s history, she knew that armies marching to war often endured terrible hardships. Thus far, they had encountered none of these. Yet, as always seemed to happen to the archminister when she accompanied Kearney and his men, she found herself alone, isolated in a sea of Eandi warriors. She was ashamed of her self-pity, yet she could not help herself.
Late in the morning, just after the last soldiers of the king’s army had started up a gentle rise, the column halted abruptly.
Keziah looked up, hearing shouts in the distance and feeling her stomach tighten.
She glanced back at her guard. “What is it?”
He shrugged, looking as confused as she felt, his stony belligerence gone at least for the moment.
One of the captains was riding toward them, looking young and slightly afraid. Keziah wondered if Kearney missed Gershon as much as she did.
“What’s happening?” she asked as the man approached.
“His Majesty would like you to join him, Archminister. We’re nearing the gates of Domnall.”
Keziah nodded, kicking at the flanks of Greystar, her mount. Freed suddenly from the tedium of the soldiers’ slow pace, the horse practically leaped forward. The archminister sensed that the guard and captain were just behind her, but she didn’t look back. As she rode she felt Kearney’s men watching her, row after row of them, wary of her, wondering, no doubt, if she would raise her mists on their behalf when the battle was joined, or if, instead, she would betray them. She wanted to stop and yell at them all, to tell them that she remained loyal to Kearney and the realm, to tell them how much she had risked to learn what she could of the Weaver, to make them see how she suffered for the choices she had made. But she merely stared straight ahead, heedless of the burning of her cheeks.
Topping the rise, she found Kearney, utterly still atop his great bay. Following the line of his gaze, Keziah felt fear wrap its hand around her throat. Domnall Castle stood in the distance, her towers rising high above the moor and the low buildings and walls of Domnall City. A single flag flew above the castle’s ramparts, bearing the grey, purple, and white sigil of the house. There was no Eibitharian banner, as there should have been, though this was not what made Keziah tremble.
Outside the walls of the city, lining the road on which Kearney and his men were traveling, stood the army of Domnall, a thousand men strong. Before them, in the center of the road, a man waited on horseback, his black and silver hair stirring in the wind. Keziah couldn’t be certain from this distance, but she assumed that this was Seamus, duke of Domnall, who long ago had cast his lot with Aindreas of Kentigern in defiance of the Crown.
“Do you think he intends to fight?” Keziah asked.
The king didn’t even look at her. “I don’t know. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he intends to offer his sword and his men in defense of the realm.”
“Isn’t that possible?”
Kearney shook his head. “His men are lining the road. If he was offering his aid, they would be positioned in rows for my inspection. He has something else in mind.”
“He wouldn’t fight us, Your Majesty,” said the captain. “It would be folly even to make the attempt. We outnumber him by more than two to one, our men are better trained, and ours are the better arms. He’d be leading them to a slaughter.”
“I agree, Captain. But if he won’t fight us, and he won’t join us, why is he out here?”
Keziah shifted her gaze back to the lone flag, watching it rise and fall lazily in the wind. “You sent word to Seamus, didn’t you, Your Majesty?” She looked at Kearney again. “You ordered his army north, to Galdasten.”
“Yes. What of it?”
“The messenger would have arrived here days ago, and yet the duke and his army remain. And he’s not flying the colors of the realm.”
“You think he’s making a show of defying me.”
She could hear the pain in his voice. None of the others would have noticed—they didn’t know Kearney as she did—but it was there, unmistakable.
“There’s no Qirsi with them, Your Majesty,” the captain said after a brief silence. “There would be whether they were planning to fight us or join us. I think the archminister may be right.”
“I’ve never known Seamus to be so bold.” A sad smile touched the king’s lips, then vanished. “He must hate me a great deal.”
“They’re traitors,” the captain said. “Every one of them. We should kill them all.”
“We can’t.” Kearney gave a short, harsh laugh. “Seamus knows we can’t. We haven’t the time to fight them, and we can’t weaken ourselves by trying. It’s a coward’s gesture.”
But Keziah could see from the expression on Kearney’s face that it stung nevertheless.
The captain faced him. “So what do we do?”
“We ride past them,” the king said. “Captain, I want you to make certain that the men don’t respond in any way to Domnall’s soldiers. They’re going to be taunted, they may be spat upon. They’re not to retaliate. Not at all. I want them looking straight ahead, I want them silent, and I want their weapons to remain at their sides. Do you understand?”
The man nodded, though he didn’t look at all pleased.
“They’re testing us. They want to see if we’re disciplined enough to prevail, not only against the empire, not only against the conspiracy, but also against Aindreas and his allies. If we lash out at them, even if it’s justified, we weaken ourselves, we weaken the realm.” He looked down at Domnall’s army once more. “Seamus wants to show that he’s not afraid to defy me. Let’s show him that we don’t care one way or another. Give the order, Captain. Return here when the men are ready.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The captain rode off, calling to the other commanders.
“He’s playing a dangerous game,” Kearney said, his voice so low that Keziah had to lean forward just to hear him. “This could get out of hand very quickly.”
“Might we be better off leaving the road, putting some distance between our soldiers and his?”
“Probably, but I think you know I can’t do that. Seamus is looking for any sign of weakness on my part. I’d be giving him just what he wants.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
He looked at her. “You think I’m wrong.”
“No. I’m sure you’re right. But I fear for us all. You shouldn’t have to consider such things when marching to defend the realm.”
The captain returned a short while later to inform the king that the men had been given their orders.
“Then, let’s march,” the king said.
Keziah hesitated, wondering if she should return to the rear of the column. “Where do you want me, Your Majesty?”
“I think you’d better stay with me, just in case.”
They started down the gentle slope, Kearney, his youthful face grim, leading the way.
Seamus remained in the center of the road, a smirk on his thin lips. As they drew nearer to Domnall’s army, Keziah could see that the duke’s men stood at attention, but with their swords sheathed.
The king seemed to notice this as well. “At least he has sense enough to keep weapons out of their hands,” Kearney murmured. A moment later, he added, his voice still low, “Archminister, I want you to follow my lead. Do what I do, and stay close at hand.”
Keziah nodded, her heart hammering at her chest and her mouth dry.
As the road leveled out and the king’s army drew ever nearer to Domnal’s men, the duke steered his horse off the road, though he halted just beside it, and close to the first of his men.
“At ease!” he called in a clear voice.
Immediately, Domnall’s soldiers relaxed their stances and started shouting insults at Kearney’s men, calling them cowards and butchers. Keziah glanced back at the soldiers and saw that though they continued to face forward, already the nearest of them were reddening.
“Stop looking back,” Kearney said quietly.
She obeyed, but gave a small shake of her head. “This isn’t going to work.”
“I know. Just follow me.”
As he reached Seamus, Kearney steered his mount off the road as well, so that he was positioned just beside the duke. Keziah did the same, taking her place on the other side of Seamus.
“Lord Domnall,” the king said, as his men began to file past. “How kind of you to greet my men. You honor us.”
Seamus frowned. “That wasn’t my intention.”
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Kearney’s sword was in his hand so swiftly that Keziah didn’t even see him reach for it. Apparently the duke didn’t either. He looked utterly shocked to find the tip of Kearney’s blade pressed against the side of his throat.
Immediately Kearney’s men halted and a hush fell over the duke’s army.
“Continue the march!” the king said, his voice pitched to carry. “Eyes straight ahead!”
After a moment, one of the captains barked a command and the king’s soldiers started forward again. Seamus’s men, however, kept their silence.
“What did you think to accomplish here, Seamus?” the king asked, speaking softly again. “Surely you didn’t think that I’d allow you to mock me and my men in this way.”
When the duke said nothing, Kearney pressed harder with his blade, until Keziah wondered how the skin on Seamus’s neck didn’t break.
“Well?”
“No matter what I’ll say, you’ll kill me as a traitor.”
“If I wanted you to hang, I’d already have cause enough to give the order. I ordered you to Galdasten. Under the laws of the land, your house is already in rebellion.”
Seamus said nothing, though the color fled his cheeks. It seemed he hadn’t considered this.
“I’m not going to have you executed.”
“Then you’ll imprison me in my own dungeon.”
“I won’t do anything to you, Seamus. I have more pressing matters to which to attend. To be honest, you’re not worth even this much trouble. But I want an answer. I want to understand this.”
The duke eyed him briefly, his mouth set in a thin line, his angular face ashen. “I can speak freely?” he finally said. “Without fear of punishment?”
“You have my word.”
“Your word. Very well, Your Majesty. I suppose I have little choice. If you mean to kill me, there’s little I can do to stop you, so I might as well speak my mind. I don’t believe you deserve to sit on the throne. I have nothing against Glyndwr, nor did I have any reason to distrust you, until you granted asylum to the Curgh boy. But I believe that you and Javan have contrived to take the throne from Aindreas.”