by DAVID B. COE
He stopped before her, and she bowed to him as she would to a Qirsi king.
“Are they at war yet?” he asked, his voice cutting through the stillness like a noble’s blade.
“No, Weaver. But soon.” She sounded small and frightened to her own ears, like a child answering an angry parent.
“Why this delay? Aylyn is dead. The Curgh army marches on Kentigern.”
“Yes, but—”
“Has Kentigern led his men from the castle yet?”
“It’s been more than a day since they left, Weaver. My duke’s scouts saw them marching from the city just after the prior’s bells on the third day of the waning.”
“That was later than we agreed.”
Yaella faltered. She wanted to protect Shurik, but not in a way that would bring the full weight of the Weaver’s wrath down on her.
“Well?”
“I’m certain there’s a reason, Weaver. Aindreas can be a difficult man, and under these circumstances—”
It suddenly felt as though the Weaver had placed a hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking, though neither of them had moved. She felt fear rise in her chest like a moon tide, and she had to remind herself to breathe through her nose.
“Never speak to me of circumstances or difficulties or excuses of any sort. We are part of a great movement, one that will wipe the Eandi nobles from the Forelands and bring a Qirsi king to power. Our people have dreamed of such a day since they first set foot on this land. Nine centuries ago, one man’s betrayal condemned us all to thralldom and persecution. To this day, our people are forced to serve and entertain men of limited capacity, just as are you. To this day, Weavers live in constant fear of execution. All because of the traitor Carthach.
“We are closer to our dream right now than we have been at any time since the ancient wars. Yet, even today, the failure of just one man or woman can destroy our cause again. Circumstances are nothing. Difficulties don’t concern me. Each of us has a task to perform. Each of us carries in his or her hands the fate of our movement. That should be enough to ensure the success of all. And in case it’s not, you and your friend are being paid a great deal of gold to do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Do as I ask, and you’ll have power and riches for the rest of your days. Fail me again, and this hand you feel covering your mouth will be at your throat. Do you understand?”
Yaella nodded, still unable to speak.
“Good,” he said. “I expect you to make certain that Shurik understands as well.”
As abruptly as it had come, the hand was gone from her face. Yaella took a long breath, closing her eyes for just an instant. “Yes, Weaver,” she said. “I’ll tell him.”
“When will Mertesse march on Kentigern?”
“We can attack tomorrow night, Weaver. My duke is ready now.” She hesitated, fearful of angering him again.
“You may speak. Say what you will.”
“I think we would be wise to wait another day, until we’re certain that Kentigern is too far away to save his castle. A siege can take time. I know that you want this war to begin immediately, but if we strike too soon—”
“I agree. Have your duke wait another day.”
She nodded. Rouel was almost as impatient for this war as the Weaver, but Yaella felt certain that she could persuade him to wait.
“Is there anything else?”
Again she faltered, though only briefly. “I feel I must tell you that Kentigern Castle has resisted sieges for hundreds of years. Shurik has promised to weaken its defenses, and I’m sure he has. But still, the fortress is strong.”
“I don’t care if the castle falls. I want there to be war between Aneira and Eibithar. The rest is unimportant. If the siege succeeds, war becomes that much more likely, but even if it ultimately fails, it won’t matter, so long as it leads to war.”
“Yes, Weaver.”
“We’ll speak again soon,” the Weaver said.
Yaella wanted to ask him what he intended to do once the war had begun. She understood so little of his plan. Indeed, she barely grasped how his movement worked. She knew that the Weaver had his chancellors, Qirsi who spoke on his behalf, but it seemed that he ceded little of his authority to others working for him. She didn’t even know how he managed to pay her. All the gold she had earned had been left in her quarters, appearing as if by magic. Someone must have put it there, a castle servant perhaps, turned by the Weaver to his cause. But Yaella had never seen this person; she had no idea who it might be.
She did know that the Weaver expected his underlings to bring new Qirsi to the movement, and that he paid them handsomely for doing so. Shurik once told her that he had received two hundred qinde for convincing her to join the conspiracy. That, however, was the extent of her knowledge. She longed to know more, but she had learned long ago that questions angered the Weaver, and that the same magic he had used to silence her could be used to cause pain.
With the Weaver’s last words still echoing in her mind, she awoke, gasping for breath as one might rising to the water’s surface from the depths of a cold lake. Somehow she was sitting up in her bed, the golden sunlight of early morning making the walls of her chamber glow. She felt as though she hadn’t slept at all and she silently cursed the Weaver, wondering as she did if he could sense even this.
She swung herself out of bed and padded across the cold stone floor to her washbowl. The water had grown cold, but she rinsed her face anyway, shivering slightly as she reached for a cloth to dry herself.
No doubt the duke was already up, ordering his men about and overseeing the final preparations for the siege. He had a quartermaster, of course, as well as a master armsman. But he was the type of man who trusted no one to do what he believed he could do himself. Despite her assurances to the Weaver that she could convince Rouel to wait another day, Yaella was dreading this encounter.
She dressed and made her way down to the north ward, where she knew she would find the duke. He was already dressed for battle, his black and gold cape stirring behind him as he strode among the wagons and men. Usually the commander of an Aneiran army would not have thought to carry so much to war, but with the enemy so close—Castle Mertesse stood just over a league from the south bank of the Tarbin, and Kentigern was even closer to the north bank—Rouel had decided that it made more sense to bring the materials they would need for the siege. Yaella had to admit that it made a great deal of sense. Rather than wasting valuable time gathering wood for the siege engines and the hurling arms, they would be able to begin their assault on the castle almost immediately. With much of Kentigern’s army gone, and the castle’s west gate weakened by Shurik’s magic, speed promised to be their greatest advantage. Anything that could further hasten their attack could only increase their chances for success.
Enormous carts holding long beams of hewn oak and ironwood lined the side of the ward, waiting for the teams of horses that were to pull them across the river and up the tor. In addition to the soldiers, Rouel intended to bring more than one hundred laborers and a dozen master carpenters. Because of this, the quartermaster and his men had been forced to load their carts with even more provisions than usual.
In all, this promised to be one of the largest undertakings attempted by Mertesse’s army since the Harvest War, nearly a century and half before. It was small wonder Rouel seemed so eager for it to begin.
Yaella fell in step just a stride or two behind the duke and joined him in looking over the carts and the men. They appeared nearly ready to go. Certainly nothing she saw would provide her with any justification for asking Rouel to delay their departure.
After a time, she realized that the duke hadn’t yet noticed her and she cleared her throat.
“Good day, my lord.”
He stopped and looked back at her. “First Minister! Good morning.” He tipped his head to the side. “Have you been here long?”
“Just a few moments, my lord.”
He nodded and resumed his walking,
gesturing for her to do the same. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It seems to me that your preparations are going quite well.”
“I agree. For centuries the men of Kentigern have boasted that their castle is unassailable. But I believe this siege will be their undoing.”
Yaella didn’t bother to point out that were it not for Shurik’s magic, they wouldn’t even be attempting this assault. There was no sense in angering the duke, particularly now.
“There’s something I wish to discuss with you, my lord.”
“You there!” Rouel shouted, stopping abruptly to watch two men who were practicing their swordplay. “Do that against one of Kentigern’s men and he’ll run you through! You have to raise your shield arm more,” he said, demonstrating the movement as he spoke. “Try it again.” He stood and watched them for several moments before nodding. “That’s better. Keep working on that.” He began to walk again, a frown wrinkling his brow. “I shouldn’t have to correct them on such elementary movements.”
They walked in silence for a few seconds before the duke looked at her again. “I’m sorry, First Minister. You were saying something.”
“Yes, my lord.” It was best just to say it and have it done. “I feel that we would be better off delaying our attack for another day.”
He stopped again, facing her. “Demons and fire, woman! Why would we do that?”
“To ensure our success, my lord.”
“Absurd!” He started forward again, shaking his head. “We march today! We’ve already waited longer than I had wished. I won’t put it off yet again!”
“If we attack tonight, my lord, the siege will fail. I’m certain of it.”
“How can you know that? Has your friend failed? Is that it?”
“Shurik has nothing to do with this, my lord. He marched with his duke two days ago, which means that he’s already seen to the weakening of Kentigern’s west gate. He’s done all he can on our behalf.”
“Then why delay at all? When we spoke with him, we agreed to begin the assault on the third night of the waning. I made it clear that we would need the moonlight. That night has come and gone, and still we tarry!”
“Yes, my lord. But at the time we assumed that Kentigern would leave the castle before he did.”
“So your friend did fail.”
The duke was walking so quickly that she could barely keep up with him. He seemed to have no destination in mind and at last the minister held out a hand, forcing him to halt.
“Please, my lord. Listen to me. Kentigern has lost his daughter. He’s waging a war of vengeance against Curgh. It was too much to hope that the timing of his departure from the castle would be precisely what we wanted. This delay is no one’s fault.”
“Of course it is! We paid the man a great deal of gold so that this siege would succeed, and now we find that he didn’t get his duke out of the castle soon enough.”
Yaella nearly laughed aloud. If anyone had suggested to Rouel that she could get him to do anything at a time of her choosing he would have been incensed. But, she knew, the Eandi were like this. They needed someone to blame when things didn’t go as they wished. It was part of what made serving them so trying.
She would have liked to let the matter drop, but she couldn’t allow Rouel to blame Shurik for this. She and Kentigern’s first minister had known each other for nearly twenty years, since beginning their apprenticeships with the same Qirsi master in Caerisse shortly after her Determining. Together they had learned to wield their magic; she was one of only a handful of people in all the Forelands who knew the full extent of his powers. He had even been her first lover and she his. She still remembered their first night together so clearly that she could make herself feel his lips on her skin. It had been the night of their Fatings, and though she had been with other men since, she always found herself returning to the comfort of Shurik’s arms, even to this day, despite the danger to both their lives. Now that Shurik had betrayed his duke, there was a chance that he would need to seek asylum in Aneira. If Rouel blamed the minister for this delay, he would never agree to offer Shurik his protection.
“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she said. “You wanted to meet with Shurik again. I was the one who suggested that we decide then to begin the assault on the third night. I should have allowed for more time.”
He didn’t respond at first, but she could tell from his expression that he preferred to find fault with Shurik. More than that, though, he looked deeply disappointed, like a small boy who has been told to wait for a sweet. He didn’t want to delay the siege, but he was too dependent on her counsel to dismiss the idea.
“Why do you think we should wait?” he finally asked, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
“Kentigern has been gone less than two full days, my lord. As soon as we begin the assault, as soon as Kentigern’s guards see us on the river plain, they’ll send a messenger after their duke. He’ll be on horseback, and he’ll be able to reach Aindreas in no more than a day. Kentigern’s army will be back before we can clear the castle of those men who remain. But if we wait, if we give Aindreas another day to march eastward, the messenger will have farther to ride, and the army will have farther to march. By the time they return, we’ll have the castle. Then the tor and the castle’s defenses become our allies.”
He recognized the logic of her argument. She could see it in the way he rubbed his jutting brow and clenched the muscles of his jaw.
“Our plan is sound, my lord. The damage Shurik has done to the gatehouse is not going to be discovered in the next day. This is the greatest opportunity any duke of your house has ever had to take Kentigern and hold it. We mustn’t allow impatience to undo all our planning. One day simply isn’t that important.”
They resumed their walking, the duke brooding in silence. But at last he gave a slight nod, the movement of his head almost imperceptible.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell the others. I actually believe the quartermaster will be glad to hear it. And this way I can go back to those men and show them how to fight without getting themselves killed.”
Yaella smiled, her relief genuine. “Yes, my lord. We will succeed. I’m certain of it.”
The duke nodded again before walking off. It would take him some time to get over his disappointment. It always did. But at least he had agreed. Perhaps if word of their siege’s success reached the Weaver soon enough, she wouldn’t have to dream of him again for some time.
The minister went to the master armsman and quartermaster to inform them of Rouel’s decision. Wyn Stridbar, the armsman, offered little by way of response, but as the duke had anticipated, the quartermaster looked profoundly relieved. After speaking with them, Yaella returned to her chamber. Perhaps because she was a woman, or perhaps due to Rouel’s tendency to oversee everything himself, the duke asked little of her as the castle prepared for this war. For the rest of that day and the morning of the next, she was able to keep to herself, only returning to the ward after the ringing of the midday bells on the fourth day of the waning.
Men were securing teams of horses to the carts bearing wood for the siege engines and tying down the last of the quartermaster’s provisions. Soldiers spoke quietly as they polished their swords or tested the tension of their bows. Few were practicing. It seemed the time for that had passed.
As he had been the day before, Rouel was dressed for war, and seeing that Yaella had put on her riding clothes as well, and strapped a sword to her belt, he approached her, smiling broadly.
“You look like a soldier, First Minister.”
She made herself smile in return. “Hardly, my lord.”
“I took the liberty of having your horse groomed and saddled. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, my lord. My thanks.”
He cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder toward the master armsman before facing her again. “I’ve been thinking that it might be wise to leave a bit
earlier in the day than we had first planned,” he said. “We want to be certain that we’re on the river plain just at nightfall, and this way we guard against unforeseen troubles along the way. The forest will keep the Eibitharians from marking our approach.”
Mertesse Forest was a narrow strip of woodland that lay between the castle and the river. Compared with Aneira’s Great Forest, which lay to the south, it was little more than a viscount’s garden. It didn’t even rival Kentigern Wood, which most Aneirans dismissed as an inconsequential grove. But it would provide cover for their advance.
The duke stood before her, looking once more like a child awaiting the judgment of a parent.
“I think it a fine idea, my lord,” she said, pretending not to notice how pleased he seemed by her reply. “It may allow our scouts to determine how many guards remain in Kentigern and how they’re stationed.”
“I agree,” the duke said, his blue eyes widening eagerly. “I’ll let the captains know.”
He hurried away and Yaella started toward her mount, nodding to the men as she passed among them. Most of the time soldiers had little use for Qirsi ministers. On a given day, she could walk every corridor in Castle Mertesse and draw little more than stares from the guards she encountered. From what Shurik had told her, Yaella gathered that he was treated much the same way in Kentigern.
But on this day the men of Mertesse greeted her as if she were one of their own. For this night, they knew, she would wield her magic on their behalf. The mists she called forth would conceal them from Kentigern’s archers and the fires she conjured would burn the gates and doors that guarded their enemy’s castle. Even if she never drew the sword she carried, she was, at least for a time, as much a warrior as each of them. In spite of everything, she had to admit to herself that she liked being treated this way.