Seeds of Betrayal wotf-2

by DAVID B. COE

  On their fourth night out of the forest, they came within sight of Mertesse. Even from a full league away, they could see torches burning atop the great stone walls and towers of the castle. Tavis wanted to try to reach the nearest entrance to the city before the ringing of the gate-closing bells. Grinsa agreed that they had time enough to make it, but he argued against trying.

  “We’ll be far more noticeable among the few who enter the city at night. We should wait for morning and enter with the shepherds, just as we did in Solkara.”

  Tavis looked unhappy, but he let the matter drop, something he wouldn’t have done a few turns before.

  They continued on until they were less than half a league from the castle before stopping for the night. There were no buildings nearby, but with thin high clouds covering the sky, the night didn’t grow too cold. They slept in the open, rising with first light to complete their journey to the city walls. When the gates opened to the pealing of the city bells, Tavis and Grinsa were among the first to enter the city. They crossed through the gate in the company of several merchants, their hoods over their heads and their eyes fixed on the ground. None of the guards seemed to notice them. Apparently, word of their escape from Solkara had not spread beyond the forest.

  Once in the city, they made their way to the marketplace, which was already filling quickly with peddlers and their customers.

  “What now?” Tavis asked, his voice low.

  “I need to go to the castle and see if I can learn where Shurik is. The duke and his company should have returned from Solkara several days ago. I want to know if the traitor was with them.”

  “And if he wasn’t?”

  “I’d rather not think about it. I expect that he was, in which case it becomes a matter of waiting for him to emerge from the castle.”

  “If he thinks you’ve followed him here, he’s not likely to come out any time soon.”

  The gleaner nodded. “I know. Let’s find out first if he’s in Mertesse. Then I’ll worry about the rest.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Remain in the marketplace. We’ll find an inn later.”

  “All right.”

  “And stay out of trouble, Tavis,” he added. “We’re too close to Shurik to muck things up now.”

  The young lord opened his arms wide. “Why do you always think I’m going to find trouble?”

  Grinsa frowned and started to walk away without responding. The answer seemed as plain as the scars on Tavis’s face.

  The journey back from Solkara had left her weary and weak. Even after five days resting in her chamber in Castle Mertesse, Yaella found that she wanted nothing more than to sleep, or to huddle in the great chair beside her hearth. She ate little-the mere thought of food or, even worse, wine, left her queasy-and she had only left her chamber twice, once to speak with the duke, and a second time to satisfy the castle surgeon, who urged her to walk the corridors in order to regain her strength.

  She couldn’t help but notice that Rowan, who had been poisoned as well, appeared to have made a full recovery already. Shurik assured her that this was simply a matter of his being Eandi.

  “There’s no question that they’re physically stronger than we are,” he told her, soon after their return to Mertesse. “The duke especially. He may be a dullard, but he’s built like his father. Of course he’s mended faster than you have.”

  Yaella feared that there was more to it than that, however. Except for the Night of Two Moons nine evenings before, when the god’s gift of magic seemed to bolster her physical strength, she hadn’t felt whole since first leaving Mertesse nearly a turn before. She wasn’t a young woman anymore-at thirty-one the minister was only four years younger than her mother had been when she died. True, her father lived to be almost forty, but even if that proved to be her fate also, she was approaching the final years of her life. What if she never recovered fully from the poisoning? What if her near encounter with the Deceiver marked the beginning of a slow decline toward death? Notwithstanding what Shurik had told her, she didn’t feel ill anymore. She felt tired. She felt old.

  Shurik spent much of his time with her, encouraging her to eat and offering to make tea for her and fetch her something more from the kitchens. Though grateful for his company at times, now and again she would have liked to tell him to leave her. She understood, though, that he needed to care for her in order to keep his mind from his own troubles. He slept poorly at night, twitching like a sleeping cat and crying out at the demons that haunted his dreams. His face, always thin and pale, had a pinched, unhealthful look that worried her.

  Having felt the power of the Weaver, having faced him in his wrath and awakened to find her heart pounding, tears on her cheeks, Yaella could hardly fault Shurik for his fear of the man. On the other hand, she didn’t know what to make of his worries about this second man, whom he also believed to be a Weaver. She couldn’t deny that it was strange for a Revel gleaner to conceal the fact that he possessed other powers. Yet neither could she say that this alone meant he was a Weaver. Weaving magic had not been bred out of her people, as some of the Eandi seemed to believe, but Weavers were rare and she remained skeptical that Shurik had managed to make enemies of two of them.

  As a younger man Shurik had never allowed his fears to overmaster his good sense. But like her, he was growing older. Add to that his recent exile from Kentigern and his harsh treatment at the hands of the Weaver, and Yaella could see how he might imagine dangers at every turn. She didn’t dare say any of this to him, of course. She listened as he ranted on about the ill will of the gods and how they had cursed him with bad fortune, and she tried to put his fears to rest.

  On this morning, to her surprise and relief, he appeared to have forgotten both Weavers, at least for the moment. He wasn’t even urging her to eat, though that would soon change if she didn’t climb out of her chair and return to the breakfast he had brought her, which sat untouched on the bed. He merely sat near the hearth, staring at the patterned tapestry that hung on the wall. When he finally spoke, however, it became clear to her that the Weavers were anything but forgotten.

  “It’s possible that they caught him,” he said abruptly, as if they had been talking all this time.

  “Who?” she asked, knowing well who he meant.

  “Grinsa, of course. The Solkarans might have him already, and the boy as well. That may be why word of their escape never reached the guards here in Mertesse.”

  “I’ve told you, Shurik. Solkaran guards would have ceased their search at the northern fringe of the Great Forest whether they had him or not. That’s where Solkaran lands end and those of Mertesse begin.”

  “But surely soldiers of the royal house can ride where they please.”

  “Yes. But with Numar new to his power and fears running high throughout Aneira, they aren’t about to stray too far from the royal city in pursuit of two men.” She closed her eyes briefly, angry with herself for arguing the point. Better to let him believe that Grinsa was no longer a threat. “He may very well have been captured. I certainly hope that he was. But it’s just one possible explanation. They may simply have decided that the gleaner and the Curgh boy weren’t worth so much effort.”

  Perhaps he sensed more in her tone than she meant to convey. He stared at her a moment, a pained expression in his eyes. Then looking down, he asked, “Is that what you think?”

  “No.”

  But he heard the hesitancy in her answer and his face colored.

  “He’s a Weaver, Yaella. I’m certain of it. I know it seems odd that I would have drawn the attention of two of them, but I have.” He smiled grimly, the wounded look in his eyes remaining. “It seems I’m more important than either of us ever realized.”

  “I’ve never doubted that you’re important, Shurik. You should know that. But I know that my own fear of the Weaver has made me wary of every new Qirsi I meet. You first encountered this man just after you weakened the gates at Kentigern, and you immediately though
t that he knew somehow you had betrayed Aindreas. Isn’t it possible that you allowed your fear of being discovered to color your impression of the man?”

  Shurik stood, his lips pressed thin, his cheeks reddening further. “No,” he said, his voice icy with rage. “It’s not. And you should know better.”

  He stalked to the door.

  “Shurik, please. I’m sor-”

  The door slammed behind him before she could finish her apology.

  A small part of her was glad to see him go, and she wondered if on some level she had meant to make him angry. She knew she should find him and apologize. If he was right, and this Grinsa was a Weaver, the Solkarans would have little chance of capturing him and even less of preventing his escape. She might have been tiring of Shurik’s company, but she knew that he was safer with her than alone. Still, Yaella continued to sit before the fire, watching the flames dance and enjoying her solitude.

  After some time, she stood, walked slowly to the bed, and made herself eat. Then she left her room in search of Shurik. She checked his quarters first, but the door was unlocked and the room empty. After that she walked to the kitchens and the great hall, but none of the servants in either place had seen him. An uneasy feeling came over her and she walked quickly through the corridors and out into the castle courtyard. Nothing. Almost running now, she stepped into the outer ward, circling it twice. He wasn’t there either.

  As she passed the city gate a second time, she thought she glimpsed a shock of white hair at the sally port. Rushing to the gate, she stared down the lane leading to the city, but she saw no sign of him.

  “Who was that you were speaking to?” she asked the nearest of the guards.

  The man stared at her blankly. “I wasn’t speaking to anyone, First Minister.”

  “I thought I saw a Qirsi here. I was wondering if it was the…” She faltered. Since Shurik first arrived in Mertesse, a traitor from Kentigern seeking asylum in Aneira, she had not known what to call him when speaking with others. He wasn’t a minister any longer, and she refused to call him “the traitor” as she knew most of the guards did. “I thought it might be my friend, Shurik. The Qirsi from Kentigern.”

  “I swear, First Minister. There was no one.”

  She turned toward a second guard, who stood a short distance from the gate. “Did you see him?”

  “No, First Minister.” He gestured toward the first guard. “Like he says, there wasn’t anyone here. We would have noticed a whi-” He nearly choked on the word, his face turning crimson. “We would have noticed a Qirsi,” he said a moment later.

  Yaella gazed toward the city again, but still saw no one. She was so certain that she had seen the white hair of a Qirsi, but then again, she hadn’t been well recently.

  “My apologies,” she murmured, walking back toward the inner gates. “I must have been mistaken.”

  She finally found Shurik some time later, standing alone at the top of the granary tower on the far side of the castle. The wind blew hard so high up, and Yaella shivered as she stopped next to him, looking out over the city walls toward the Great Forest.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, glancing at him, trying to read his expression. “You’ve never given me cause to question your word or your judgment, and I shouldn’t start doubting you now.”

  “But you have. You think I’m wrong about Grinsa.”

  “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never even seen him, so who am I to say you’re wrong?” She shrugged. “Maybe I just find the idea of facing two Weavers so frightening that I don’t want to believe it.”

  He gave a wry smile. “I can understand that.”

  “For what it’s worth, just now, when I thought you had left the castle, I was very worried.” She briefly considered telling him what she had seen at the city gate, but that would have served only to make him more afraid, and for no reason at all. The guards wouldn’t have lied to her. Certainly she had imagined it.

  “I’m not about to leave the castle, Yaella. This is the only place I feel safe. At some point, the Weaver may order me to search for Grinsa again, but until then I’m staying here.”

  She hooked her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “Good.”

  Shurik pressed his lips gently against the top of her head. Then he regarded her oddly, as if noticing her for the first time. “You’re out of your quarters,” he said, grinning. “Outside the castle corridors even. I can hardly believe it.”

  “I told you, I was worried.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. A bit cold.”

  “Shall I escort you back to your chamber, First Minister?”

  Yaella smiled. “Soon. I like it up here.”

  They stood there a while longer, watching thin, grey clouds glide over nearby farms and the bare trees of the Aneiran wood. Occasionally the sun broke through, casting stark shadows on the brown fields before vanishing again behind the grey. At last, as the clouds began to thicken and the wind increased, they retreated into the closest tower and descended a winding stairway to the corridors near Yaella’s room.

  “I have to ask you something,” Shurik said, as they approached her door. “But I’m afraid you’ll think me foolish again.”

  A pair of guards turned the corner in front of them and walked past. Neither of the Qirsi spoke until the men reached the far end of the hallway and turned out of sight.

  “I don’t think you’re foolish, Shurik, and whatever else I may think or Grinsa, I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s a threat to you. Just ask me.‘

  “All right. I know that the Solkarans pursued him and the boy. For all I know the two of them are a hundred leagues from here. But still I’d like you to ask the duke to alert his guards. I want the men looking for them, just in case Grinsa comes to the castle.”

  Yaella felt a strange tightness in her chest and once again she saw in her mind that head of white hair. You imagined it. You’re as unnerved as Shurik.

  “Of course,” she said. “I need to rest right now. But I’ll speak with him later today.”

  They stopped in front of her door, and Shurik turned to face her, looking anxious. “Do you think he’ll do it? We both know how he feels about me.”

  “Regardless of his feelings for you, Rowan is smart enough to recognize a threat to his castle. If I tell him there are agents of Eibithar in the kingdom who wish you harm, he’ll double the guard at every gate. I promise.”

  He nodded, even smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “I’ll leave you now. Rest.”

  Yaella nodded. But as she lingered in the doorway, watching him walk away, she couldn’t help thinking that the Qirsi man she had seen at the gate had looked a good deal taller than Shurik.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Tavis had circled once through the marketplace, stopping at the carts of a few peddlers to look at blades or travel sacks-his was badly frayed-before moving on again. Granted, they were well into the snows now, and in a kingdom like Aneira, which stretched southward all the way to the Border Range, the northern cities were bound to have a more difficult time attracting merchants during the colder turns. Still, the young lord could not keep himself from measuring this marketplace against the one in Curgh, and he noted with satisfaction that it fared poorly in the comparison.

  Seeing no sign of Grinsa, Tavis had resigned himself to a second pass through the markets when he saw a knot of people forming in the distance. Curious, he started in that direction. Before he reached the growing throng, however, he heard the gleaner calling his name, or rather, Xaver’s.

  He stopped, turning to see Grinsa striding toward him.

  “Where are you going?” the Qirsi asked as he drew near.

  Tavis nodded toward the crowd, but said nothing. There were too many people close by and though he had been working to perfect his Aneiran accent, it remained less than convincing.

  Halting just in front of him, Grinsa gave a quick glance toward the mass of people, hi
s brow wrinkling for just a moment. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Tavis said quietly. “I thought I’d take a look.”

  “Another time perhaps. We need to find a room and talk.” Grinsa faced him again, an avid look in his fire yellow eyes. “He’s here, in the castle.”

  “All right, we’ll go shortly. But I want to see what’s happening over there.”

  Grinsa frowned. “Excuse me!” he called to a man hurrying past them. “What is it you’re all rushing to see?”

  The man looked at them over his shoulder, barely slowing down. “The musicians, of course.”

  “Musicians?”

  The stranger gave an exasperated sigh and stopped, though clearly he would have preferred to leave it to someone else to answer their questions. “The ones from the Swallow’s Nest.” When neither Tavis nor Grinsa gave any sign that they understood, he went on, his tone growing more impatient by the moment. “They’ve played in the marketplace the past several days. I guess they hope to draw people to the tavern.” He started away again. “They’re better than any festival players I’ve ever heard.”

  “Thank you,” Grinsa called after him. “There,” he said, turning to Tavis again. “It’s just musicians. Seems you’ll be able to hear them tomorrow if you like. For now, we need to talk.”

  Reluctantly, Tavis followed the gleaner away from the crowd and toward one of the many narrow lanes leading off the marketplace. It took them some time to find an inn that would rent them a room, and more time still to haggle over the price. By the time they began to climb the steps to their room in yet another Qirsi inn, it was well past midday. Once they were alone, Grinsa told Tavis all that he had learned from the guards at Mertesse Castle.