by DAVID B. COE
“Yes, Weaver.”
“The hour of our victory approaches. Until then.” An instant later, she was awake, shivering in the darkness, though with excitement or fear or simply the cold, she couldn’t say. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have another take hold of her magic, to give herself over to a man so completely. Though she had never taken a husband, she had shared her bed with many, both men and women. She wondered if it would be anything like the act of love.
Since learning that the queen intended to ride to war, and listening as Olesya speculated as to whether this conflict was connected in some way with the conspiracy, Abeni had feared that the Eandi might yet find a way to thwart the Weaver’s plans. In the wake of her dream, however, she was reassured. The Weaver had spoken of the coming war with such confidence that she couldn’t help but take heart. There was a portent in this dawn she was witnessing, the promise of a new era in the singing of the larks and the earliest golden rays of sunlight. For the first time since leaving Yserne with the Sanbiri army, she was anxious to be riding. When at last the soldiers and nobles and other ministers began to stir, she rose, bundled her sleeping roll, and saddled her mount with the exuberance of a young warrior riding to her first battle.
Olesya, the queen, expected Abeni to ride with her, just as the dukes of Brugaosa and Norinde, and the duchess of Macharzo assumed that their ministers would ride with them and their armies. The nobles of Sanbira had long since lost faith in their Qirsi, their trust shaken by the attempts on the life of duchess Diani of Curlinte and the death of Kreazur jal Sylbe, her first minister-or, more precisely, his murder, for which Abeni was responsible. Eager as the archminister was to tell Craeffe and Filtem of her dream, she would have to await an opportunity, or create one. Diani herself had ridden with the queen as well, and seemed to have taken it upon herself to keep watch on the archminister. Whether she expected Abeni to make an attempt on Olesya’s life or to flee the war party at her first chance, the minister couldn’t say, but as their journey into Eibithar continued, she had found the woman’s constant presence increasingly bothersome. On this day, she no longer cared. Let Diani of Curlinte indulge her suspicions and her lust for vengeance. Abeni had nothing to fear from her, nor did the movement. The woman would be crushed with the rest of them, destroyed by the combined might of the Weaver and those who served him.
Abeni actually smiled at the duchess as they began to ride.
“Good day, my lady. I trust you slept well?”
Diani frowned, as if confused by Abeni’s courtesy. “Yes, thank you. And you?”
“Very well, thank you.” The lie came to her with such ease that she nearly laughed aloud.
Even the prospect of another lengthy ride was not enough to dampen her spirits. They had come a great distance already-the ride from Yserne to Brugaosa alone had been over forty leagues-and Abeni, who had spent little time riding before then, was in agony day and night, her muscles aching.
Once the duke of Norinde and the duchess of Macharzo reached Edamo’s castle with their warriors, the journey began in earnest. After fording Orlagh’s River into Caerisse, the Sanbiri army rode northwest, between the duchies of Aratamme and Valde. They then forded the headwaters of the Kett River and began the arduous climb into the Glyndwr Highlands, crossing into Eibithar in the midst of a violent storm. Throughout their travels, Olesya had assured the minister that she would grow accustomed to riding, that her body would soon learn to move with her mount, but Abeni’s discomfort only grew worse, until she wondered how she would ever make it all the way to Eibithar’s Moorlands.
Over the past few days, however, as they made their way through the highlands passing close to Glyndwr Castle and its sparkling jewel of a lake, her pain had finally begun to subside.
Hearing the cheer with which Abeni greeted Curlinte’s duchess, the queen slowed her mount, allowing the two of them to catch up with her. Her master of arms, Ohan Delrasto, slowed as well, though he didn’t look pleased. Abeni had noticed that he often seemed to resent those who intruded upon his time with the queen, and she wondered if the old warrior fancied himself a suitor for Olesya’s affections.
“You’re in a fine mood today, Archminister,” the queen said. “I take it you and your mount have reached an understanding.”
Abeni grinned. There were times when she did like Olesya. “I suppose you could say that, Your Highness. It may be more accurate to say that my horse has finally succeeded in training me.”
The queen laughed. “Well said! I’ve long believed that the first step in becoming a true rider is giving up the illusion of control. As my mother used to say, we may hold the reins, but the horse holds us.”
Diani frowned again. “I’ve been riding since I was a child, and I always have control over my mount.”
“My mother also used to speak of the arrogance of youth,” Olesya said, a conspiratorial tone in her voice.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“It seems I’m outnumbered,” the duchess said, raising an eyebrow.
They crested a small rise, and beheld a sight that took Abeni’s breath away. Ahead, less than half a league off, the earth seemed to fall away, as if Elined had carved a great hole in the surface of her world. They had reached the edge of the Caerissan Steppe. To the east, the waters of Binthar’s Wash churned and rumbled, glimmering like a river of sapphires, toward a great waterfall from which rose a fine white mist. Beyond the rim of the steppe and a thousand fourspans below them, the Moorlands stretched toward the horizon. Brilliant green, they were bounded on the east by the wash, which looked like little more than a thin blue ribbon, and on the west by the great Sussyn River. Farther to the east, so dark that it looked almost black, stood Eibithar’s North Wood, nearly as vast as the Moorlands and divided by yet another river, the Thorald, if she remembered correctly.
“What are these falls?” Diani asked in a hushed voice.
“Raven Falls, I believe,” the queen said. “I’d never go so far as to say that any realm was as beautiful as our own, but surely Eibithar comes closest.” She inhaled deeply, as if trying to breathe in the splendor. “We’ll rest here briefly before beginning the descent.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Abeni. “I’m afraid going down from the highlands will be no easier than the climb into them.”
A moment later they were joined by the dukes of Brugaosa and Norinde, the duchess of Macharzo, and their Qirsi.
Craeffe and Filtem still looked ill at ease atop their mounts, and Abeni took some solace in knowing that however much she would suffer on the way down from the highlands, they would suffer more. She shared their cause, but she had never liked either of the Qirsi, particularly Craeffe, who had long envied Abeni’s status as a chancellor in the Weaver’s movement. Fortunately, their mutual dislike made it far easier for them to spend time in each other’s company without drawing the attention of Olesya and her nobles. The real danger was not Diani or the queen-Abeni and her allies knew better than to say anything revealing in front of them. But the fourth Qirsi in their midst, Vanjad jal Qien, Brugaosa’s first minister, remained loyal to his lord and to the realm. As far as Abeni could tell, the man had never even considered whether his duke deserved such devotion. He was, in her mind, the worst kind of Qirsi traitor.
But he stood with them now, as the Eandi spoke among themselves, keeping Abeni from relating to Craeffe and Filtem what the Weaver had told her.
“I trust you slept well, cousin?” Abeni said, eyeing Craeffe.
The woman seemed as unprepared for her graciousness as Diani had been. “I suppose,” she said. And then as an afterthought, “You?”
“Actually, no. I had a dream that kept me awake for much of the night.”
Craeffe’s eyes widened, and she looked sharply at Filtem. After a moment, he gave a nod that was almost imperceptible.
“Minister,” he said, placing a hand lightly on Vanjad’s shoulder, “I wonder if I might have a word with you, in private.”
“Of course, cousi
n.”
The two men walked off a short distance, leaving Abeni alone with Craeffe, who would tell Filtem later all he needed to know.
Abeni and Macharzo’s minister gazed out at the distant Moorlands, the wind stirring their white hair. To anyone watching, they would have seemed to be discussing the terrain.
“The Weaver came to you?”
“Yes. Our conversation was brief, but quite illuminating.”
“Strange that he didn’t contact Filtem or me as well.”
Abeni smiled, as if the minister had said something amusing. “Actually, cousin, it’s not strange at all. This is precisely why he has chancellors in his movement. He told me knowing that I would, in turn, tell you.” She extended an arm, as if pointing at some feature of Eibithar’s landscape, and Craeffe nodded, though Abeni could see that the muscles in her jaw were bunched. “I’m surprised that after all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to this.”
“Just tell me what he said, and be done with it.”
Craeffe pointed at something else, and Abeni looked off in that direction, passing a hand casually through her hair.
“Very well.” The archminister related her conversation, repeating as best she could exactly what the Weaver had said about how they would know him on the battlefield, and how he would reach for their power. Speaking the words, she felt her excitement return in a rush; by the time she had finished, her hands were trembling, and her cheeks burned as if she were a love-struck girl.
For all her carefully rehearsed indifference, Craeffe could not entirely conceal her own astonishment at what she heard.
“How long did he say it would be?” she asked, breathless and grinning.
“He didn’t. He just said to look for him when we reached the Moorlands. For all we know, he’s already there.”
“I’ve been with the movement for some time now,” she whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this for even longer. But until now, I don’t think I ever really believed it would happen.” She looked at Abeni with a diffidence the archminister had never seen in her before. “Forgive me, Chancellor. I hope you understand.”
Abeni wasn’t certain what to say. It occurred to her that if the promise of seeing the Weaver could humble Craeffe ja Tref in this way, his powers must truly be great. But this she kept to herself. “I think I do understand, First Minister,” she said at last. “We’ve all been waiting so long. But we can’t allow our anticipation of what awaits us on the Moorlands to make us careless, not when we’re so close.”
Craeffe nodded. Were those tears glistening in her pale eyes?
“You’ll speak with Filtem?”
“Of course, Archminister.”
“What powers does he possess?”
“Gleaning, fire, and mists and winds,” she said. “And I have gleaning, fire, and shaping.”
Abeni nodded. “I have gleaning, shaping, and mists and winds. No wonder he’s so pleased that we’re together. Our powers blend quite well.”
Filtem and Vanjad were walking back in their direction, chatting amiably, though Filtem had an eye on Craeffe.
“Sorry to abandon you, cousins,” the minister said, grinning at them. “But occasionally the common interests of our dukes make it necessary for us to speak beyond the hearing of those who serve Sanbira’s matriarchs.”
It was a fine cover for what he had done. Norinde and Brugaosa were closely allied, in large part because the two dukes did not trust Olesya or her duchesses.
“You’re forgiven, cousin. At least this time.”
Vanjad gave an earnest look. “I assure you, Archminister, we spoke only of matters pertaining to our houses. We did not speak ill of the queen or those who serve her.”
“The thought never entered my mind, First Minister.”
A few moments later, the queen, her master of arms, and the nobles returned as well. Behind them, soldiers were climbing onto their mounts once more. Diani was regarding the ministers warily, as if she regretted going off with the queen and leaving the Qirsi to themselves.
Olesya swung herself onto her horse and glanced back at the ministers. “Are you ready to ride on, Archminister?”
“I am, Your Highness.”
The queen nodded and kicked at her mount.
Abeni gave a quick smile to Craeffe and the others. “See you at the bottom,” she said. She remounted and soon had pulled abreast of the queen and the duchess of Curlinte.
Diani refused to look at her, but Olesya glanced over, her dark eyes dancing.
“Judging from the way your fellow ministers looked, I gather that Qirsi don’t ride much.”
“Some do, Your Highness, but not many. Still you needn’t worry; I have no doubt that we’ll all manage the descent.”
“I should hope so. We’ll have need of you once we reach the Moorlands.”
Abeni had to smile. “We’ll be ready, Your Highness. You have my word on that.”
* * *
She knew the Qirsi was lying, that in fact everything the archminister said and did was a pretense intended to disguise her treachery. Diani was galled by every kind word that came from the woman’s mouth, every courtesy she extended to the queen or Sanbira’s other nobles. The duchess could almost see the blood staining her hands, the wraiths hovering at her shoulder, reminders of every murder committed in the name of the conspiracy. She looked at the woman, and she felt anew her grief over the garroting of her brother. She heard Abeni’s voice, obsequious and smooth, and she winced at the remembered pain of the arrows that had pierced her own flesh on the Curlinte headlands.
Abeni ja Krenta, archminister to the queen of Sanbira, was a traitor. Diani wanted to shout this at the top of her voice, she wanted to brand the woman as such with hot irons. But she hadn’t the proof.
Ean knew that it wasn’t for lack of trying-she and her father had searched Castle Yserne time and again for any sign that the archminister had joined cause with the renegades, and Diani had hardly allowed the woman out of her sight since they left the royal city. Thus far, she had found nothing. She would have liked to listen to Abeni’s conversation with Macharzo’s first minister that morning, as they stood at the edge of the steppe. For that matter, she would also have been interested to know what the first ministers of Norinde and Brugaosa discussed as they walked off on their own. As far as the duchess was concerned, they were all traitors until they proved their fealty. Her father would have scoffed at her suspicions, seeing in them the rash prejudice of a child. Olesya would have felt the same way. So, Diani didn’t speak to anyone of her suspicions. She needed evidence, and though Abeni had been uncommonly clever thus far, Diani remained convinced that she could not conceal her treachery much longer.
The ride down the face of the Caerissan Steppe consumed much of the day. The distance wasn’t great, but the steepness of the path at times forced the riders to dismount and lead their horses on foot. With Raven Falls thundering nearby, filling the air with a fine, cool mist and the soft, sweet scent of lush ferns and mosses, the day never grew too hot. But even for an experienced rider like Diani, the descent was exhausting.
When at last they reached the base of the slope, her back and legs were aching, and her riding clothes were soaked with sweat. At the bottom of the steppe they turned eastward, riding to the banks of Binthar’s Wash. There they made camp, though nightfall was still some time off. This close to the bottom of Raven Falls, the river churned and frothed like some great beast, its wild waters reflecting the brilliant golden light of the late-day sun. Diani could see the famed walls of Eibithar’s City of Kings in the distance, also bathed in the sun’s glow, and she wondered briefly if they would stop there before continuing on to the Moorlands. It made no sense to do so, she knew, but she had always dreamed of seeing Audun’s Castle.
After unsaddling her horse, she returned to where the queen was speaking with her master of arms. Diani had long since decided that even if she couldn’t convince Olesya that her archminister was a traitor, she could do everything in he
r power to make certain that the queen came to no harm. She rarely let Olesya out of her sight and had privately vowed that she would give her own life before she allowed the conspiracy to strike at Sanbira’s queen.
Diani nodded once to Ohan before facing the queen. “The soldiers are making camp, Your Highness. The captains tell me that we have ample stores to see us through the rest of the journey, but a few of the archers have gone back up the slope to hunt for supper. I didn’t see anything wrong with this, so I told them to carry on.”
Olesya gave an indulgent smile, reminding Diani of her own mother. “That’s fine, Lady Curlinte. Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?”
“No, thank you. The master of arms and I are going to walk back to the base of the falls. I’ve never been so close to them, and have heard about them all my life.”
“Of course, Your Highness. That sounds very nice.” Diani continued to stand there, waiting for the queen to lead the way.
“Actually, we intended to go alone.”
The duchess blinked, then glanced at the master of arms. Ohan was blushing to the tips of his ears, his dark eyes fixed on the ground. He was tall and lean, with the shoulders and chest of a warrior, but at that moment he resembled nothing so much as a shy boy. Quite suddenly Diani understood that Ohan and the queen were in love, or close to it. The young duchess, her own cheeks growing hot, stared at the queen, who gazed back at her placidly.
“But, Your Highness, it could be dangerous.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was warning Olesya against, but still she forged on. “I believe it would be best if I accompanied you-”
“Diani, think for a moment. Don’t you think that Ohan is capable of protecting me? He is, after all, the finest swordsman in the land.”
“With the possible exception of your father,” the master of arms added hastily.
“Of course, but-”
“Rest, Diani. Go find Naditia. She’s been riding with Edamo and Alao all day. I’m sure she’d be grateful for your company.”
The duchess looked away, feeling foolish. “Yes, Your Highness. Enjoy your walk.”