by DAVID B. COE
Returning to his quarters, Dusaan locked his door and pulled out the treasury accounting. He carried the volume to his writing table and lit a nearby oil lamp with a thought.
The past several turns had been difficult ones for him, the worst he had encountered since he first began bringing other Qirsi into his movement. First there was the failure in Kentigern during the growing turns when all his gold and hard work not only failed to bring war, but actually fostered an alliance between the houses of Curgh and Glyndwr in Eibithar. And now Pronjed’s rash decision to kill the king of Solkara had led to this poisoning and the death of Bistari’s first minister. By necessity, Dusaan had to rely on Qirsi who served in the Eandi courts. In order to win control of the Forelands, he had to defeat the Eandi nobles, and who better to help him with this than their most trusted advisors.
But while his ability to turn these men and women to his own purposes had been, thus far, his greatest strength, it had also revealed itself recently as his most dangerous vulnerability. He had come to Curtell to serve the emperor knowing already that he was a Weaver, and intending to use his influence and his powers to wrest control of the court from the Eandi. Most of those who had joined his movement, however, had once aspired to the positions they now held. They served him now, but once they had chosen to serve their Eandi nobles. They were, at root, just the sort of weak-minded traitors to the Qirsi people he most despised. He couldn’t succeed without them, yet as Shurik had shown in Kentigern, and Pronjed had made glaringly clear in Solkara, he might find eventually that he couldn’t succeed with them, either.
He couldn’t blame all of his troubles on others, he knew. His own carelessness had forced him to kill the high minister in the City of Kings. He still didn’t understand how he had managed to let the man see his face.
“Of course you do,” he murmured to himself, pausing over the accounting and rubbing his brow.
It was the woman. Cresenne. He had allowed himself to imagine her as his queen, though it should have been clear to him that she still loved this other man, the one who had fathered her child. Hearing Paegar speak of his love for Kearney’s archminister, Dusaan had been reminded of his own unrequited affections and his pain and rage at learning that she still longed for the gleaner. Before he understood fully what had happened, the light behind him had faded and Paegar had looked upon his face, he had seen the plains of his dreams for what they were, the moors near Ayvencalde. There had been nothing for Dusaan to do but kill the man.
Which meant that he needed someone new in the royal city of Eibithar.
Paegar had given him a name before he died. Keziah ja Dafydd. Another minister, another Qirsi who had pledged herself to the service of an Eandi noble. Still, the Weaver sensed that this one might be different, that she might be more. For one thing, she was a woman, and he had found over the years that among the ministers, the women served him far better than did the men. Enid in Thorald, Yaella in Mertesse, Abem in the court of Sanbira’s queen, in Yserne; all of them had proven their worth time and again. Even Cresenne, who had caused him so much anguish as of late, had been more valuable to him than the most powerful men he had turned. Keziah, he believed, would serve him just as well as the others.
But not only was she a woman, she was also, according to Paegar, the king’s lover. At least she had been before he took the throne. Theirs had been a forbidden love, which meant that it most likely had been a deep love as well. Even for a duke and his first minister, the risks of an affair between a Qirsi woman and Eandi man would have been too great for it to be anything less. Losing him had to have been a terrible blow, enough perhaps to leave her bitter and eager for vengeance. Such had been Paegar’s hope, and Dusaan found that he wanted to prove the man right, as a way of honoring him. He smiled at the thought. These were not sentiments he would usually have allowed himself, but in this instance they seemed justified.
Still, though she might hate her king now, enough perhaps to betray him without other incentive, the Weaver needed to be prepared to pay her. He had noticed that most of the women he turned did not have the same voracious appetite for gold that he observed in so many of the men. But neither did they refuse it when it was offered to them.
Finding gold in Braedon’s treasury had never been a problem for him. The challenge lay in turning the gold to his own purposes without raising the suspicions of the emperor or his other Qirsi. Fortunately, an empire as vast as Braedon had no shortage of expenses. By adding a few extra qinde to the allocation for the Braedon garrison on Enwyl Island, in the Gulf of Kreanna, for instance, or increasing slightly the allowance for the naval presence near Mistborne Island, at the top of the Scabbard, he could make the accounting look reasonable while creating a pool of gold which he could use without drawing attention to his activities. He never sent the garrisons or naval forces less than they needed, so no one ever complained. And since requests for gold came directly to him, no one else ever noticed the discrepancies.
Dusaan sent this extra gold to a sea merchant who frequented the ports of Ayvencalde, Bishenhurst, and Finkirk. For centuries, the empire had used merchants as spies to keep watch on the other six kingdoms of the Forelands. None of the emperor’s couriers would have thought twice about delivering gold to this man. That he was Qirsi would have seemed to them a curiosity and nothing more.
His name was Tihod jal Brossa and he was the one man in the world whom Dusaan considered a true friend. They had grown up together in valley of the Rimerock River near Muelry. Their fathers, unlike most of the Qirsi in Braedon, had refused to work in the Eandi courts or in Braedon’s Carnival. Instead, Tihod’s father farmed and Dusaan’s father served the nearby villages as a healer. Neither man ever grew wealthy. Indeed, there were many times when Dusaan’s mother pleaded with her husband to seek a position in one of Muelry’s lesser courts. But throughout their lives, both men maintained a stubborn pride in their ancestry and in their powers as well, limited though they were. They instilled this same pride in their sons, telling them tales of the ancient Qirsi warriors at bedtime, and taking it upon themselves to begin training the boys in the ways of magic well before their Determinings. While so many Qirsi children grew up ashamed of their white hair and yellow eyes and slight builds, Dusaan and Tihod saw these as signs of dignity. The rest of the children, Qirsi and Eandi, called them arrogant, but the boys didn’t care. They were inseparable, like brothers; they had no need for other friends.
When their formal training began, and Dusaan learned from his Qirsi master that he was a Weaver, he told Tihod, but no one else, not even his father. To this day, his friend remained the only one who knew.
Generally he sent Tihod between one thousand and two thousand qinde at a time, placing a reserve of gold in the merchant’s hands to speed payments when necessary. These were imperial qinde, which were accepted throughout the Forelands but were held to have less value than the qinde used in the six kingdoms. One thousand imperial was worth about seven hundred qinde in the six. Tihod exchanged the gold pieces at a rate somewhat more favorable to himself, usually sending five hundred qinde on to those who served Dusaan for every one thousand imperial he received from the Weaver. It was a steep price Dusaan was paying, but since he was using the emperor’s gold, he gave it little thought. In return for all this gold, Tihod delivered the payments to ports throughout the Forelands, making certain that they found their way into the right hands. He had even created a web of couriers who carried the gold from the ports to the inland cites, where it could be left in specified places for Dusaan’s most trusted servants-his chancellors, as he called them. Dusaan didn’t know any of these couriers by name, nor did Tihod know the names of those who served the movement. The Weaver told Tihod how much gold to send and where to have his couriers hide it. He then told his underlings where to find the payments. In all other respects Tihod’s web and Dusaan’s movement remained utterly separate from one another.
In this way, the Weaver could pay his underlings in common currency rather th
an in imperial coin, making it far less likely that any of them might trace the gold back to Braedon and thus learn his true identity. At the same time, his friend made enough gold through these transactions to ensure that he would do nothing to upset Dusaan’s plans. The Weaver trusted Tihod, but he found it comforting to know that the merchant had other incentives beyond their friendship to keep his secret. A Weaver could never be too careful.
It took Dusaan but a short while to allocate enough gold to make his first payment to the archminister of Eibithar. He had decided to give her one hundred qinde, or rather to have Tihod give it to her out of his reserve. Dusaan wanted this done quickly. One hundred, he hoped, would be enough to lure her into the movement, but not so much as to seem that he was trying to buy her loyalty. He needed to impress upon her that this was more than merely a way to grow rich. The movement offered her a chance to bring glory to her people, to redeem the Qirsi from Carthach’s betrayal. And perhaps, if Paegar proved to be right about this, the Weaver might also convince her that by joining his movement she could strike back at the Eandi king who had spurned her when he placed the jeweled crown on his brow.
He returned the volume containing the accounts to the shelves and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had not slept well since killing Paegar, and because he spent many of his nights entering the dreams of others, he found that he was constantly weary. Tonight he would have to speak with Tihod, but, he hoped, no one else. He heard bells ringing in the city, and it took him a moment to remember that the tolling would soon bring Harel’s other advisors to his chambers. He was in no mood for this meeting.
The first knock came at his door just a few moments later, and over the next several minutes the emperor’s Qirsi entered his chamber in a steady stream, bowing to the high chancellor and taking seats around his hearth. As always, the young ministers reached his chamber first, eager to serve and afraid to offend by arriving late. Watching the Qirsi as they came in, young and old, men and women, ministers and chancellors, Dusaan could not help but feel that his search for allies would be largely a waste of time. Yes, a few of them showed promise, particularly some of the younger ones. But so many more of them struck him as foolish and weak, and far too old to be of much use to the movement.
The last of them finally reached his quarters and Dusaan had this man close his door.
“Is it true that there’s been a poisoning?” one of them asked, a young minister named Kayiv. Of all the Qirsi in Harel’s palace, he was the one Dusaan thought most likely to join the movement. He possessed three magics-gleaning, shaping, and language of beasts-making him one of the more powerful of the emperor’s advisors.
“Yes,” Dusaan said. “Though not here. It happened in Solkara during the last waning.”
“How bad was it?” one of the older fools asked.
Dusaan described briefly what had happened, telling them of the few who had died, and of Grigor’s subsequent execution.
Kayiv eyed him, looking vaguely amused. “Is this why you’ve summoned us? Has all this convinced the emperor to further delay his invasion?”
Dusaan shook his head. “We don’t think that will be necessary. After Carden’s death we thought we’d have to wait half a year. That, we believed, would give the new Aneiran king time enough to prepare, provided there was no civil war.” Just speaking of it rekindled Dusaan’s anger at Pronjed. The man was lucky events unfolded as they did, though the Weaver still would have liked to kill him for his stupidity. “With Numar of Renbrere taking the regency,” he went on, “civil war has been averted. A half year still seems about right.”
Another chancellor shook his head. “Do we really wish to ally ourselves with these people?”
“The emperor has asked the same question.”
“What they do to each other seems of little consequence,” Kayiv said. “We need them for their swords and their ships. We don’t have to dine with them.”
A few of the others laughed, as did Dusaan. He could work with this man.
“Well put.”
The older chancellor shook his head. “I don’t think this is a question we can just laugh away. The empire has avoided formal alliances for centuries. Abandoning that course now strikes me as dangerous, particularly if it means casting our lot with the Aneirans.”
“The emperor feels otherwise. Despite their recent troubles, the Eibithanans are stronger now than they’ve ever been.” Again Dusaan felt his rage returning. Too many of his underlings had failed him. “We may be able to defeat them on our own, but an alliance with Aneira ensures our success. That outweighs all other concerns.”
The older Qirsi nodded, unwilling to challenge Dusaan again. They might not know that he was a Weaver, but the other Qirsi in the palace still deferred to him. He had the emperor’s ear and as high chancellor was, after Harel, the most powerful and most feared man in all of Braedon.
Kayiv sat forward, as if preparing to stand. “Is there anything else, High Chancellor?”
“Actually, there is. The emperor wanted me to ask all of you what you had heard of the so-called Qirsi conspiracy.”
The minister sat back again, his eyebrows going up. The others just stared at Dusaan, as if too frightened to speak.
“How did you answer him?” a woman asked at last.
It was a clever response, and Dusaan had to smile. Her name was Nitara, and she was another of the young ministers who had impressed him. He often saw her with Kayiv-they were sitting together now-and he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that they were lovers.
“I told him that I had heard rumors of the conspiracy and that I thought it wise to take these stories seriously, lest they prove to be true.”
“That’s all?”
“He didn’t ask for more, and I felt it prudent not to alarm him unnecessarily. As it is, the emperor has decided not to bring any more Qirsi to the palace.”
“He thinks Qirsi were behind the poisoning.” Kayiv. He looked as angry as Dusaan had felt while speaking to Harel. This was definitely a man who could be turned to the Weaver’s cause. It almost seemed to Dusaan that he was looking for an excuse to betray the emperor.
“He thinks it’s possible,” Dusaan said. “Like so many, he sees poison as a Qirsi weapon.”
The younger man opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking away. The chancellor sensed his fury.
“Do you think the conspiracy was behind it?” Nitara asked.
“No, I don’t. Grigor hanged for the crime. I trust that Aneira’s queen knew what she was doing when she ordered his execution.”
“Did you say so to the emperor?”
He considered this for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Perhaps I should have. Qirsar knows I wanted to. But there are times when we must allow the Eandi their prejudices, foolish though they may be. The emperor fears the conspiracy. He might even fear us, at least more than he once did. To argue the point would have been to alarm him further. I didn’t wish to give him cause to question my loyalty or that of his other Qirsi. A good chancellor is one who recognizes both the strengths and flaws of the noble he serves and tempers his remarks accordingly. It’s hard to dissuade our emperor from his beliefs once he’s made up his mind, no matter how wrong he may be, and it can do more harm than good to try.”
He had never spoken so of Harel in front of the other Qirsi, nor had he ever before suggested that he was less than candid in his conversations with the emperor. Some of the older chancellors frowned in response to his admission, but most of the Qirsi offered little by way of reaction. Maybe he had given them too little credit over the years. Wouldn’t it have been ironic if all this time they had thought of him as the weak one, the Qirsi who demeaned himself by his unquestioning service to the Eandi?
Kayiv faced him again. “You said before that the emperor doesn’t intend to bring any more Qirsi to the palace. Does that mean he doesn’t trust us? Did he send you here to ask about the conspiracy as a way of testing our loyalty?”
“He�
��s Eandi, Minister. I think it likely that he’s never trusted us entirely. But I believe he sent me here to do just what I said, to find out what you’ve heard about the conspiracy. I doubt there was more to it than that.” He’s not clever enough to thinks that way. He wanted to say it. Faced now with the possibility that they thought him just another fawning chancellor, Dusaan was tempted to tell them what he really thought of Harel.
A lengthy silence ensued, broken at last by Nitara.
“Well, I’ve heard little of the conspiracy beyond that it seems to be real enough. Some of the peddlers I’ve talked to in the marketplace believe that it might have been behind the murders in Kentigern and Bistari, but they have no proof of this.”
One of the others spoke up as well, noting, as the emperor had, that the movement had been far more active in the six than it had been here in the empire. For some time, Dusaan simply listened as rumor chased rumor around the chamber. Many of the tales were laughable. One minister had heard that the conspiracy was, in fact, a continuation of the original Qirsi invasion that began nine centuries before. It had gone unnoticed in the intervening centuries, but had been behind the early civil wars in Eibithar, Amnalla’s Rebellion in Aneira, and Valde’s Rebellion in Caerisse, all of which dated back nearly six hundred years.
Other rumors, however, proved disturbingly accurate. According to several of the chancellors, there was talk among the merchants that Filib of Thorald had not been killed by thieves, but instead was the victim of an assassination by the conspiracy. And Kayiv offered his own opinion that the king of Aneira had died at the hands of a Qirsi.
“Well,” Dusaan said, when the discussion had run its course. “I’m not certain how much of this to believe, but I’ll leave that for the emperor to decide. I have no doubt that he’ll be grateful to all of you for your counsel on this matter.”
“Do you really think so?” Kayiv asked. “Or do you think it will just scare him anew, and make him trust us even less?”