by DAVID B. COE
The man swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
Aindreas walked swiftly to the north gate and through the outer ward, reaching the city gate several steps ahead of the guard, who was panting with the effort of keeping up with him.
Qerle stood alone by the wicket gate, flanked by soldiers and looking like a boy beside them.
The duke stopped a short distance from the Qirsi and regarded him cautiously.
“He’s alone?” he asked the guards.
“Yes, my lord.”
Aindreas frowned. He’d expected that Qerle would have at least one other Qirsi with him, though he now realized that he’d been foolish to think so. Why would they reveal more than they had to? Qerle was to be a messenger between the conspiracy and Kentigern. It made perfect sense, but the duke couldn’t help but feel that he was in the weaker position. He had revealed himself to them, only to be denied a similar gesture on their part.
“Very well,” he finally said. “Come with me, Qerle.”
He turned and started back toward his chambers, sensing that the Qirsi was following.
“Shall we accompany you, my lord?” a soldier asked.
Aindreas didn’t even turn. “If I’d wanted you to, I would have commanded it.”
The duke and the Qirsi passed through the inner gate in silence and entered the nearest tower to escape the cold.
“I was in the middle of my supper. Are you hungry?”
“No.”
The duke glanced at him. Qerle was staring straight ahead, his expression grim, his lips pressed thin. Aindreas saw no physical sign that the Qirsi had harmed him, but he sensed that the past several days had left their mark on the man.
They entered his chambers, and Aindreas ordered his servants to leave. Returning to his seat at the large table, the duke drained his goblet of wine.
“You’re certain?” he asked, refilling the cup and breaking off a piece of bread.
“I have no desire to stay here any longer than I must.”
“Fine. Then tell me what happened. What did they say?”
A bitter smile flitted across the Qirsi’s face and was gone. “They didn’t believe me at first. They threatened to kill me as a traitor, and when I insisted that I was telling them the truth, they sent me away. That night, after the gate closing, two of them came to my home.”
The duke was reaching for his wine again, and now he stopped, his hand poised over the table. “Your home? My men told me nothing of this.”
Qerle laughed, though harshly. “Your men probably didn’t know. The movement has escaped the notice of Eandi nobles for years. It shouldn’t surprise you that they can avoid detection by a few of your soldiers.”
Aindreas rubbed a hand across his mouth, his brow furrowing. After a moment, though, he nodded, gesturing for the man to continue.
“One of the Qirsi was a shaper, and he threatened to shatter the bones in my daughter’s hands unless I told them what really happened. Only then, when I still didn’t change my story, did they finally believe me.”
The duke searched for something to say, but in the end could only manage a quiet “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s nothing you haven’t done. Somehow my children have been dragged into the middle of this foolishness. I can hardly blame the movement for that when your soldiers stand in the street outside my home.”
He would have liked to strike this impertinent sorcerer, but instead he grabbed his wine and took a long drink. “What did your leaders have to say once they understood that you were telling them the truth? Are they willing to work with me?”
“Not yet. They want to know more about this alliance you’re proposing. How do you intend to help us? Are you offering gold? Arms? If it comes to war, will you commit your army to the Qirsi side, or do you wish to maintain your deception until you’re certain that we’ll be victorious?”
“I can give you gold if you need it.”
“We don’t. But we need more than just your word. It’s one thing to say that you hate the king and that you want to see him destroyed. But it’s quite another to ask us to place faith in you as an ally. To be honest, those I serve don’t trust you. To them, you’re just another Eandi noble. Perhaps you re a bit more farsighted than the rest. You’re clever enough to realize that if you don’t make peace with us now, you’ll die at our hands when we take the Forelands. But otherwise, there’s little difference between you and Kearney or the lords of Thorald and Galdasten.” Qerle grinned. “Or even Curgh.”
Aindreas sensed that this was leading somewhere, and once again he fought to keep his anger in check. “What is it they want from me?”
“Nothing yet. Or at least next to nothing. I’ve been told to get a written pledge from you, of your support for our movement. It’s to be penned in your own hand and sealed with the sigil of your house. Give it to me tonight, and I’ll return tomorrow with an answer for you.”
“This is a waste of time!”
“Those I serve disagree. You wish to do everything in secret, which means you make no promises to us. My leaders believe that I’m telling the truth, but they fear that you’re lying to me, and thus to them as well. With this pledge, you tie yourself to us. If you fail us, it will find its way to the court of your king, where it will be evidence of your treason and grounds for your execution.”
“You ask too much of me. What’s to stop you from taking this to the king right away and having me hanged?”
“The movement doesn’t want that, and you know it. Kearney is weaker with you alive and leading the dukes who would oppose him. If you were to be exposed as a traitor, it would unite the other houses and strengthen the crown.” Qerle shook his head. “No, this would be a last resort and nothing more, a way of ensuring your good faith.”
Aindreas could hardly fault the man’s logic. Without meaning to, he realized abruptly, he had already been aiding the conspiracy. Perhaps this shouldn’t have bothered him in light of what he was contemplating. For a number of reasons, however, many of them obvious, and one far less apparent, he found the very idea of it unsettling.
“I’d be a fool to agree to this,” he said, staring at the Qirsi.
Qerle gave a small shrug and stood. “Very well. If you decide otherwise, you know where to find me.”
He would have liked to let the Qirsi bastard go. A voice in his head- Ioanna’s, or perhaps Brienne’s-begged him to. This was a mistake, it seemed to say. Let it end here. But then he saw it all again, like some twisted dream haunting his sleep night after night. Brienne’s blood, Tavis’s blade, Kearney drawing his sword on the battle plain near Heneagh in defense of the boy. How could he surrender himself to this king?
Qerle was almost to the door when Aindreas called his name. He turned, a smirk on his pallid features. “My lord?” he said, and there could be no mistaking the irony in his tone.
Muttering a curse, the duke pulled a parchment scroll from a drawer and picked up his writing quill.
“What should it say?”
“That you pledge yourself to our cause and embrace the movement as an ally. Nothing elaborate. We want your meaning to be absolutely clear.”
He sat a moment, staring at the blank parchment, wondering if there was a way to word this that would protect him. It didn’t take him long to abandon the notion. No matter how carefully he chose his words, any document acceptable to the Qirsi would brand him as a traitor. His signature and the sigil made that certain. It almost didn’t matter what he wrote.
“I, Aindreas of Kentigem,” he finally wrote, “pledge myself to support the Qirsi movement and offer my allegiance to its leaders.”
He signed the scroll, and sealed it in silver-blue wax with the signet of his ancestors. Maybe, he thought, with a message that short, he could claim that he had signed it under duress. He nearly laughed aloud at his foolishness. Once he handed the scroll to Qerle he belonged to them.
“I need something in return before I give this to you,” he said, clutching the rol
led parchment in his hand.
“We have nothing to offer. You came to the movement, Kentigern. You tortured me and countless others, looking for someone who could win this alliance for you. You have it now. But your cruelty to our people makes us leery of you, and demands that we have some measure of protection.”
“And what of my protection?”
“I’ve already told you-”
“Yes, damn you, I heard!” The duke stood and began to pace his chamber. “I’m more valuable to you in power than in disgrace. Well, that’s not good enough. I need something more.”
“Like what?”
“A name.” He said the words as quickly as he formed the thought. But he knew immediately that he had found the answer, the measure of assurance he needed. “Give me the name of one of your leaders.”
“All right.”
“All right?” the duke repeated, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not going to argue with me, or tell me you need to speak with the men you serve?”
“They anticipated this.”
Aindreas stared at the Qirsi, feeling like a dolt. Qerle had been waiting all this time for him to suggest such an exchange, and it had taken the duke their entire conversation to think of it. “So you have a name for me?”
“I do. Enid ja Kovar, first minister to the duke of Thorald.”
Tobbar’s first minister! His surprise was fleeting, however. He had turned away a rider from Thorald midway through the waxing. In all likelihood these were the tidings he would have read in the horseman’s message.
“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Tobbar has already learned of her betrayal. For all I know, she’s dead by now.”
Qerle’s eyes widened for just an instant. “That’s the only name they gave me.”
Aindreas smiled, pleased to have the advantage at last. He returned the scroll to a drawer in his table. “Have them give you another,” he said. “Return here tomorrow, and you can have the pledge I just signed.”
What little color the Qirsi had in his face vanished. No doubt his superiors would not be pleased. He nodded and stood, stepping to the door.
“Qerle!” he called, stopping the man short of the door. “Tell them that if they try to deceive me again, there will be no alliance, and I’ll bring the full weight of my house down upon them. I found you by torturing every Qirsi in that tavern of yours. If I have to, I’ll destroy your movement by killing every white-hair in my realm. Make certain they understand that.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Qirsi said, his voice, at least for now, free of irony.
When the man had gone, Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing his brow with a cold hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Father.”
He looked up, seeing Bnenne before him. Again. She wore the sapphire gown, her golden hair falling to her waist like the waters of Panya’s Falls at sunset.
“I do it for you. I do it to punish those who killed you.”
“Are you certain, Father?”
“Who else would I do this for?”
She was so beautiful. More than anything he wanted to reach out and touch her face, her hair.
“I fear you do it for yourself. But I meant, are you certain they are the ones who killed me?”
“Don’t!” he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Poor Father.”
For a long time, he refused to look at her. When at last he opened his eyes again, she was gone.
Qerle returned the following day, again just after sundown. Aindreas had instructed his guards to admit the Qirsi to the castle, so when the knock came at his chamber door, he knew it was Qerle. To his surprise, however, the man was not alone. A young Qirsi woman accompanied him into the room. She was slight and barely as tall as Affery, Aindreas’s sole surviving daughter. She had bright golden eyes and wore her white hair loose to her shoulders.
“Who’s this?” the duke asked, standing, but remaining behind his desk.
“My name is fastanne ja Triln,” she said in a strong voice. “Qerle says you wanted to meet me.”
Aindreas frowned. “That’s not quite right. I told him I wanted the name of one of your movement’s leaders, as a way of ensuring that you won’t betray me.”
“I’ve just given you my name.”
“You’re a leader of the Qirsi conspiracy?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his doubts. “You look like you’re barely old enough for a Fating.”
“I’m twenty-four years old, my Lord Duke. That may not be old for an Eandi, but I’ve lived more than half my life already. For the last four years I’ve served the Qirsi movement, and for the last two, I’ve been one of its leaders.”
“I’m not certain I believe you. The Qirsi have lied to me too many times.”
She gave a wan smile. “It was a mistake to have Qerle give you Enid’s name. My mistake. I apologize for that. I took a chance, thinking that you hadn’t heard yet of her death. I wanted to give up as little as possible to win your support. I won’t try such a thing again.”
“Do you live in Kentigern, Jastanne?”
“No. I come here frequently, but my home lies elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I’d rather not say. I’m a merchant, my lord. I spend little time at my home. I have a ship called the White Erne that sails the coast of the Forelands from Rawsyn Bay to the Bronze Inlet. If you need to find me, just look for the Erne.”
“You own a ship,” Aindreas said, shaking his head. “I find it hard to imagine so slight a woman braving the Narrows or steering a vessel through a storm in the Scabbard.”
“And I find it hard to imagine a man of your size climbing onto a horse, but I know you’ve done so.”
He tipped his head, conceding the point.
“I’ve come here at considerable risk to myself and my cause, Lord Kentigern. I won’t stay long. You told Qerle that you wish to ally yourself with our movement. I believe you said that you want us to help you drive Kearney of Glyndwr from the throne. Is that still your desire?”
Don’t do this! Tell her to go and be done with it!
The duke stood and began to pace behind his writing table.
“He gave asylum to Brienne’s killer!” he said, as if arguing with the voice in his mind. “How can I do nothing?”
Jastanne grinned. “I take it that means yes.”
He blinked, staring at the woman. “Can you offer me proof that you’re a leader of the conspiracy?”
“None that would satisfy you. We take great pains to leave as little evidence of our activities as possible. Usually we concern ourselves with proving that we’re not with the movement. You have my word, and that of Qerle here. But I have nothing more to give you.”
Aindreas weighed this a moment longer, then made his decision. Reaching into the table drawer, he retrieved the scroll he had placed there the night before.
“Here. My pledge to support your cause. As I told Qerle last night, if you betray me, I’ll spend my last breath destroying you and your friends. I swear it in the name of my dead daughter.”
She took the scroll from him and unrolled it. After a moment, she nodded and handed it to Qerle. “You needn’t worry, Lord Kentigern. We have no intention of betraying you. We may not like you any more than you like us, but we understand the value of having you as an ally.” She turned to Qerle. “Go now. You know where to take this?”
“Yes, ch-” His face colored and his eyes flicked toward the duke. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good. We’ll speak later.”
Qerle turned and hurried from the chamber, clutching the scroll as if it were made of gold. Propriety dictated that he await leave from Aindreas to go, but the duke made no effort to stop him.
“May I sit?” Jastanne asked, once the man was gone.
“Of course.”
She lowered herself into a chair and eyed his wine.
“Would you like some?” he asked, struggling with his impatience.
“Yes, please.”
> He crossed the room to get a second goblet, poured her wine, and returned to his seat.
“To allies,” she said, raising her cup.
He hesitated, then raised his goblet as well.
“Qerle said you expect your court to be spared when the movement takes the Forelands. Is that right?”
“It seems reasonable, doesn’t it? Now that we’re allies.”
The woman gave a thin smile. “That depends on what you bring to the alliance. You’ve offered only gold, and as Qerle already told you, that’s one thing we don’t need.”
“I can offer arms as well.”
She drank her entire cup of wine, then placed the goblet on her palm and held it before her. An instant later it shattered, shards of clay scattering on the floor like frightened vermin.
“What use would we have for your arms?”
The duke shuddered. Of course they would send him a shaper. “Then what is it you want of me?”
“Nothing that you haven’t contemplated already, Lord Kentigern. It’s known throughout the land that you hate your king, and that you’ve convinced other dukes to join you in opposing him. We ask only that you continue to foment rebellion.”
Aindreas began to feel vaguely uneasy, just as he had the night before when Qerle spoke of his opposition to the king. He picked up his goblet, then returned it to the table without taking a sip. “We can’t prevail in a civil war. Even with the support of the other houses, my army isn’t strong enough to defeat Kearney and his allies.”
“Leave that to us,” she said. “Those I serve want civil war in Eibithar. Once that war begins, we’ll do everything in our power to keep Kearney from defeating you.”
Aindreas gripped the edge of the table, as if to steady himself. “But how do I convince the others to start a hopeless war?” he asked dully, his stomach turning to stone.
“I’ll leave that to you.” She smiled and stood, brushing slivers of clay from her cloak and dress. “We’re allies, my lord. We have to learn to trust each other.” She sketched a small bow and turned toward the door. “From now on we’ll communicate solely through messages,” she said over her shoulder. “Address them to my ship and put your seal on the scroll. I’ll know they’re for me.”