Weavers of War wotf-5

by DAVID B. COE

“I believe what the minister means, my lord, is that while we treat our lords with deference, we in turn are often treated with somewhat less respect.”

  “Demons and fire, woman! We’re nobles! Do you expect us to bow to you?”

  “We don’t have to bow to them to show them courtesy, Lord Labruinn,” Tavis said. “But in the past, nobles in the Eibitharian courts have spoken of collecting Qirsi ministers as one might horses or fine swords.” He glanced at the duchess of Curlinte. “Nor was that practice unique to our realm. It’s time we began to see the Qirsi as something more than chattel.”

  “That seems a small step,” Lathrop said. “From what I understand, the Weaver was speaking of creating a new nobility of Qirsi lords and dukes. If that’s what the Qirsi in Eibithar truly want, we’re doomed.”

  “That’s not what we want,” Xivled said.

  Marston eyed him briefly, then looked down at his hands. “Perhaps you don’t, but some might.”

  “There!” the minister said, pointing at his thane. “That’s what I object to. The suspicion. You assume the worst about us, though you have no cause.”

  “No cause? Xiv, consider what’s just happened throughout the Forelands! How can you say that I have no cause?”

  Tavis cast a quick look at Grinsa, only to find that the gleaner was already watching him. After a moment, Tavis gave a small shake of his head. This was going poorly.

  “Ambition and treachery can be found in any heart, my lord,” Xivled said. “Eandi or Qirsi.”

  Marston looked like he wanted to say more, but he wisely chose to remain silent.

  “You’re awfully quiet, gleaner,” Gershon Trasker said after a time. “You had much to say in the days before the war. What say you now?”

  Grinsa shrugged, the deformity of his shoulder making the movement appear awkward and strange. “There’s little I can say, swordmaster. You’re all speaking of trusting one another, of taking the first tentative steps down a long, difficult path. I’m a Weaver. There’s no place for me in your society, at least not for now. In a sense, this discussion has nothing to do with me.”

  Fotir turned to face him, his brow furrowed. “Surely you can offer us some counsel. How are we to overcome these divisions?”

  “Truly, I don’t know. The only advice I can give you is to be patient. As Lord Tremain has said, this question is old as the seven realms. It won’t be answered in a day, or a year, or even ten years. And in the meantime, you must guard against falling back into old conflicts, into fear and mistrust. Patience, and tolerance-they will see you through.”

  “It seems you had counsel for us after all, gleaner,” the king said, smiling. “You have our thanks, once again, as well as my promise that we’ll heed your words.” He reached for a flask of pale wine and filled his goblet. “Come friends. Let us eat, and enjoy one last day of Lord Curgh’s hospitality. It’s important that we speak of these matters, but there comes a time when we must simply live and do the best we can.”

  Slowly, the others filled their cups. When they had, Kearney raised his goblet. “To Eibithar,” he said. “Long may she know peace.”

  “To Eibithar,” the others answered.

  Their small feast lasted much of the morning. Soon after the ringing of the midday bells, the nobles and their ministers began to say their farewells and leave the hall. Most, it seemed, intended to leave Curgh the following morning. Marston and Lady Curlinte were among the last to leave, and though Tavis hadn’t known what Xivled would do, in the end the minister followed his lord from the great chamber. Soon, all had left the hall save for Tavis, Grinsa, and Kearney. They sat together in silence for some time, until at last the king cleared his throat. “I think it’s time I was returning to the City of Kings,” he said. “I’m grateful to you for your courtesy, Tavis, but I have a family as well, and I’m eager to see them.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

  “If you’d like, I can leave a small contingent of soldiers, at least until you’ve had some time to rebuild your army.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Curgh has protected her own walls for centuries, and she can do so now.”

  The king nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll be riding in the morning.”

  Grinsa, who had been staring at his wine, looked up at the king. “If I may, Your Majesty, I’d like permission to ride with you.”

  “You’re leaving, too?” Tavis said, though of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “It’s been too long since I saw my daughter, Tavis. You didn’t really think I’d remain here forever, did you?”

  “No, but…” He shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re welcome to ride with me, gleaner. But what will you do once you reach the City of Kings?”

  “That depends in large part on you, Your Majesty. Cresenne remains a prisoner in Audun’s Castle. And it’s now common knowledge that I’m a Weaver.”

  Tavis had wanted to say something during their discussion, but the time hadn’t been right. Now, though, he didn’t hesitate. “After all that Grinsa’s done, it shouldn’t matter that he’s a Weaver!”

  “But you know it does, Tavis,” the king said. “Even before we left the Moorlands, nobles were speaking to me of having him imprisoned or even put to death. Throughout Eibithar, people are more frightened of Weavers than they’ve been in centuries. I can’t simply ignore the laws of the realm.”

  “Even if those laws are unjust?”

  “We’ll try to change the laws, and perhaps over time we will. But as Grinsa himself has said, we’re just starting a long and difficult process. The people aren’t ready to have Weavers living among them, not so soon after this war.” Kearney looked at Grinsa. “As I’ve told you before, I have no desire to see you executed, nor do I wish Cresenne ill. But I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

  “I have an idea,” Grinsa said. “But it will demand some pliancy on your part, Your Majesty.”

  Kearney regarded him a moment, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

  Since arriving in Curgh, Keziah had managed to avoid them both. She walked in the city marketplace or wandered the castle wards and gardens. She attended the feasts, of course, as well as Tavis’s investiture and this day’s discussion. But she always kept to herself and she excused herself from the celebrations and feasts as quickly as she could. Anything to avoid being alone with Kearney or Fotir. Soon she would be leaving for Audun’s Castle, and none of this would matter anymore, but until then, she had no desire to speak with either of them.

  Or so she wanted to believe.

  Her wounds had healed. The bones in her ribs and leg no longer ached as she walked, and her hands, shattered by Sanbira’s archminister, hadn’t hurt for several days now. She had slept better over the past several nights than she had in more than a year. What a joy it was to lay down at night without dreading her dreams. A part of her, she realized now, had never truly believed that the Weaver could be defeated, or that she would ever be free of him. Their victory on the Moorlands had come at a great price, but it seemed to her miraculous nevertheless.

  So why did she remain so unhappy?

  Late on this day, the ninth of the waxing, she found herself in the gardens once more, strolling past brilliant, fragrant blooms of rose and sweet violet. The sun angled sharply across the courtyard, casting long, dark shadows that cooled the air. Her thoughts had turned again to Fotir, as they often did these days. They had hardly spoken to one another since reaching Curgh. The first minister was occupied with Curgh’s young duke and its grieving duchess. They needed him far more than did Keziah, and it was only right that he should be more concerned with them than with anything, or anyone, else. She couldn’t help but remember, however, how their conversation ended the night before the war with Dusaan. She could still feel the warmth of his hand holding hers. And she could still hear his question, so deserving of an answer, so difficult to address.

  What about the king?

 
; Indeed.

  She heard footsteps on the stone path behind her and she turned, half expecting to see the minister. Instead it was Gershon Trasker.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all, swordmaster. Is there something you need?”

  “I just thought you should know: the king has decided that we’re to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Why did that make her so afraid? “All right. Thank you.”

  She thought he would go, but he didn’t. He glanced about, looking at the flowers as he might a collection of daggers or battle shields. Keziah couldn’t remember ever seeing Gershon in the gardens of Audun’s Castle, or Glyndwr for that matter.

  “Have your injuries healed?” he finally asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. And my men are treating you better?”

  Keziah had to smile. “Yes, they are. Thank you for that, as well.”

  “It’s the least you deserve, given all that you’ve done for us.”

  “I did it for myself, swordmaster. You speak as though I did the Eandi a favor. That wasn’t it at all. I was trying to protect my king, my realm, and my people. I was trying to save myself.” She looked away. “Besides,” she went on, trying to soften what she had said, “I’m not certain that what I did mattered in the end.”

  “Of course it did.”

  “The Weaver very nearly defeated us, despite my efforts. And I had little to do with our victory. That was Grinsa, and a woman in the Weaver’s army who turned against him at the end. We don’t even know her name.”

  “You showed courage and loyalty. You helped us kill the three traitors from Sanbira. They might well have tipped the balance in the Weaver’s favor before the end.”

  There was no point in arguing the matter. Gershon was showing her as much kindness as he ever had. Best just to accept his praise and be grateful.

  “Again, swordmaster, thank you. Had it not been for you, I never would have made it through these past several turns.”

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed, as he always did when she paid him compliments. “Well, maybe you’ll show your gratitude by not making yourself such a nuisance all the time.”

  Keziah laughed, though abruptly her chest was aching. She stepped quickly to where he stood, kissed his cheek, and ran from the gardens, knowing at last what she had to do.

  By the time she reached the king’s chamber, her heart was pounding, her courage failing her. Resisting an urge to flee, she knocked on his door.

  “Enter!” came the reply.

  She pushed the door open and walked in. To her relief, he was alone, save for a young servant.

  Kearney was sitting at a small writing table, but seeing her, he quickly stood. “Ke-” He glanced at the boy. “Archminister.”

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Majesty.” She realized that she was wringing her hands, and she allowed them to fall to her sides.

  “Not at all. Is something troubling you?”

  She hesitated, her eyes welling.

  “Please leave us,” he said to the servant.

  The boy let himself out of the chamber.

  He crossed to where she was standing and took her hands. “Now, what’s happened?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but began to cry instead.

  “What is it, Kez?”

  She was trembling, her legs shaking so badly that she had to tighten her grip on his hands just to keep from collapsing to the floor.

  “Kez?” he said, sounding truly afraid.

  “I can’t go back with you,” she blurted out.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  He released her hands and took a step back. “Do what?” he asked.

  But he already knew. She read it in those grey eyes. Strangely, seeing such hurt in them now emboldened her, convincing her that she was doing the right thing. Finally. She wiped her tears away.

  “There was a time when I loved you more than anything in the world,” she told him. “In a way, I always will love you. But we can never be together again, and so long as I remain in your court, I’ll never be able to love another.”

  “All the more reason to keep you as my archminister.” He smiled halfheartedly, then looked away, shaking his head. “That was meant as a joke. I suppose it wasn’t very funny.”

  “I’d ask you to release me from your service, Your Majesty. I think it’s best for both of us.”

  “Do you love another, Kez?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  He frowned. “You’re not certain?”

  “It’s possible that I do, yes. But that’s not the reason I want to leave your court, at least not entirely. I see the way you look at me. It’s only a matter of time before others notice as well.”

  “I look at you that way because I love you.”

  “I know. And that’s why I have to leave you.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask Lord Curgh if I might serve in his court.”

  Comprehension lit his face, and for a moment she feared that he would grow angry. But he merely smiled. “I hope you’ll be very happy here. If Tavis is as wise as I think he is, he’ll soon find himself being served by the two finest ministers in Eibithar.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  He stepped forward and put his arms around her, kissing her brow. “I’ll miss you, Kez,” he whispered.

  “And I you.”

  He held her a moment longer, then stepped back. “I hereby release you from service in the court of Audun’s Castle. May you find happiness on whatever path you choose.”

  She smiled, tears on her cheeks once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said softly, and left him.

  She hurried through the castle corridors, nearly breaking into a run. Coming at last to Tavis’s presence chamber, she knocked and let herself in at the duke’s summons.

  Fotir was with him. Of course.

  “Archminister,” Tavis said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, my lord, I no longer go by that title.”

  The two men shared a glance.

  “What do you mean?” the young duke asked.

  “I’ve left the king’s court. I asked him to release me from his service, and he kindly granted my request.”

  Fotir shook his head. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was wondering, my lord,” she went on, ignoring him for the moment, “if you might have use for another minister in your court.”

  Tavis’s eyes widened. “My court?”

  “Yes.”

  “I … I have first and second ministers already. Curgh’s wealth is substantial, but I can hardly afford-”

  “You wouldn’t have to pay me much.”

  Fotir was smiling now, regarding her with astonishment. “Why are you doing this?”

  Their eyes met, and Keziah realized she was grinning stupidly. “Why do you think?”

  Tavis looked from Fotir to Keziah and then back again, amusement and puzzlement on his scarred face. “What do you think of all this, First Minister?” he asked. “After what I said today about not collecting ministers as if they were Sanbiri swords, can I really add another to my court?”

  The minister didn’t take his eyes off of her, but he began to laugh. “I’m not certain that I can offer an objective opinion on this, my lord.”

  “Then don’t.”

  At that, Fotir turned to the young duke, gratitude written on his features. He really was quite handsome. “Yes, my lord, I think you can.”

  “Very well.” Tavis faced Keziah once more. “Welcome to the Curgh court, Minister.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I suppose this means that you won’t be riding south with your brother.”

  “My brother?” she said.

  “Yes. He’s leaving with the king tomorrow.”

  It made sense. No doubt Grinsa was eager to return to Cresenne and Br
yntelle. But there was something in the duke’s tone …

  “You haven’t spoken to him,” Tavis said.

  “No, my lord.”

  “I think you should. He’s in his chamber, I believe, preparing for his journey.”

  Keziah started to leave the chamber, then faltered, meeting Fotir’s gaze.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  She nodded and went in search of her brother. There was a knot in her stomach, though she wasn’t sure why. Reaching his chamber, she found the door ajar. She knocked once before stepping inside.

  Grinsa was bent over his travel sack, but he straightened at the sight of her. His face was pale, his expression grim. Keziah shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’re leaving,” she said.

  “Yes. I’m riding south with you and the king.”

  “I’m not going south.”

  He frowned. “You’re not?”

  “I’m no longer archminister.”

  “What?”

  “It was my choice. I can’t serve Kearney anymore. It’s just too difficult.”

  “Where will you go?”

  A small smile touched her lips. “I’m staying here in Curgh.”

  “Oh, Kezi,” he said, taking her in his arms. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” He looked down at her. “Fotir’s a good man.”

  “Who said anything about Fotir?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not fair,” she said. “How is it that I can never surprise you?”

  “You have surprised me, again and again. You surprised me when you risked your life to deceive the Weaver, and again when you suggested that we strike at him through your dreams the night before the battle. And you surprised me just now. A year ago you wouldn’t have been able to make such a choice.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Just because I’m no longer archminister doesn’t mean that I can’t visit Audun’s Castle.”

  “I won’t be staying in Audun’s Castle.”

  Keziah shivered again. “Tell me,” she said, not wanting to hear.

  “It’s nothing you don’t already know. Cresenne is a prisoner of the realm, and I’m a Weaver. We have no future here-certainly Bryntelle doesn’t.”