Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
Page 68
Because of who and what he was, she had resisted the urge to lie, knowing it would only bring her pain. “Yes,” she said. “He admitted that he had mists and winds, though he claimed his power was limited.”
“Anything else?”
“No.” Then, without thinking, she asked, “Why does this matter? I told you, he’s dead.”
He was silent for so long that Cresenne feared she had offended him.
But he didn’t hurt her. “You still love him.” A statement. A Weaver would know.
“Yes.”
“Yet you sent a man to kill him.”
“Yes.”
“This was before you knew, before you fully understood what you were doing?”
The question shocked her, made her shiver, even in her dream. Again she had to remind herself that he was a Weaver, that no secret lay beyond his reach.
“Yes,” she said. “It was before. It would have been harder had I known.”
“Of course it would have,” he said. “Still, I’m pleased. Qirsar was with me the night I chose you to be my chancellor. If others in this movement are like you, we cannot fail.”
When he finally left her, and she awoke to a room still dark with night, Cresenne was so shaken by the dream that it was all she could do to keep from being ill. But as her fear subsided and she was able to look back over their conversation, she began to wonder why the Weaver would be so interested in Grinsa. It was her first inkling that the gleaner might still be alive. But more than that, it forced her to consider that his powers might go beyond gleaning, beyond even the small mist he had conjured for her in the bed they shared.
As the days passed she had tried to put the matter out of her mind. It was dangerous to show too much interest in the affairs of the Weaver. Everyone in the movement knew that. Besides, Grinsa was dead.
Still, the questions stayed with her. What if he wasn’t dead? What if the Weaver asked so many questions because he saw in Grinsa a potential rival? It made no sense, really. Who would a Weaver view as a rival except another Weaver? Which, she had realized at the time, brought her to the heart of the matter. Leaving the Revel to come south had been dangerous. The Weaver had not ordered her into Aneira, and he might be displeased. But she had to know if Grinsa was alive. Even the Weaver would understand that.
Her meeting with Cadel only served to make her more certain of what she already knew. For now it seemed that Grinsa had survived his encounter with Jedrek. Once more, still eyeing the assassin’s gold, Cresenne found herself thinking about that night at the inn in Curgh, when his tiny mist spun in her hand. She had never seen anyone do such a thing. Grinsa claimed that he could only conjure a small mist, but she felt certain that few Qirsi possessed the power necessary to create and control such a perfect little cloud.
All along, there had been more to him than she could put into words, more than she had ever dreamed she would find in a mere Revel gleaner. How else had he managed to make her love him so? He was a Weaver. It explained so much.
It also changed everything. Grinsa was far more than an inconvenience, a problem to be addressed and forgotten. He was a threat to the entire movement.
Or was he? For the first time, sitting in that sunny courtyard in Noltierre, Cresenne considered an enticing possibility. For so long she had assumed that only the Weaver she knew, the one who had darkened the sky in her dreams, could bring Qirsi rule to the Forelands. But what if there was another way? What if Grinsa, who had loved her and might love her still, and whose child she carried, could be convinced to embrace this cause? True, he opposed them now. But this new life growing inside her might be enough to turn him. Though there was no way to be certain, it was possible that their son or daughter would be a Weaver as well. If the child grew up under Eandi rule, he or she would live a life of fear and forced deception, just as had Grinsa, and so many Weavers before him.
But if the movement were to succeed, bringing Qirsi rule to the Forelands, all that would be altered. Weavers would be revered rather than persecuted. Instead of concealing their power, they would rejoice in it. Instead of pretending to be mere gleaners, they would aspire to be kings and queens.
What kind of father—what kind of Qirsi—would not want to create such a world for his child?
The problem was the assassin. Grinsa had defeated Jedrek, but Cadel was a far more dangerous man. One could tell simply from looking at him. If she could have lied to him this day, rather than revealing Grinsa’s name, she would have. But to do so would have been to risk her own life and that of her child. She had no choice but to send the assassin after him, again. It would have been harder had I known, she had told the Weaver. It was.
She had to trust that Grinsa could protect himself. She had to believe that the gods would watch over her baby’s father.
Above all, she had to hope that the Weaver wouldn’t find Grinsa before she did.
Though writing a book may seem to be a solitary endeavor, it would be impossible for an author to survive this process alone. I am fortunate to be surrounded by extraordinary people who make it possible for me to live the dream of my youth.
Many thanks to my agent, Lucienne Diver; my publisher, Tom Doherty; the terrific people at Tor Books, in particular Jenifer Hunt and Peter Lutjen; Carol Russo and her staff; my marvelous editor and good friend, Jim Frenkel; and Jim’s staff, in particular Tracy Berg and Jesse Vogel. I also want to thank my siblings, Bill, Liz, and Jim, who continue to offer their support and love, even as they wonder how someone who started out so normal could end up writing fantasy.
Finally, my deepest thanks go to my wife, Nancy Berner, and our daughters, Alex and Erin. Without their love and support, I would never accomplish anything, and without the music of their laughter floating up to my office in the afternoons, I’d never know when to stop working.
A number of years ago, Nancy told me that just once she’d like to read one of my books fresh, like any other reader would, without having read a draft or served as a sounding board for plot ideas. Here it is, Love. Enjoy.
—D.B.C.
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
TOR BOOKS BY DAVID B. COE
THE LONTOBYN CHRONICLE
Children of Amarid
The Outlanders
Eagle-Sage
WINDS OF THE FORELANDS
Rules of Ascension
About the Author
David B. Coe grew up just outside of New York City, the youngest of four children. He attended Brown University as an undergraduate and later received a Ph.D. in history from Stanford. He briefly considered a career as an academic, but wisely thought better of it.
David has published three other novels and is the 1999 recipient of the William L. Crawford Memorial Fantasy Award. He lives in Tennessee with his wife, Nancy J. Berner, their daughters, Alex and Erin, and of course, Buddy, the wonder dog. Rules of Ascension is the first volume of Winds of the Forelands. David is currently working on volume two, Seeds of Betrayal.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
RULES OF ASCENSION
Copyright © 2002 by David B. Coe
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by James Frenkel
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Design by Heidi Eriksen
Maps by Ellisa Mitchell
eISBN 9781429911030
First eBook Edition : January 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coe, David B.
Rules of ascension / David B. Coe.—1st ed.
p. cm - (Book one of Winds of the Forelands)
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.�
�
I. Title.
PS3553.O343 R85 2002
813’.54—dc21
2001057485
First Edition: March 2002