Shapers of Darkness (18 page)

“Of course not, Weaver,” Pronjed said, flinching, as if expecting at any moment to feel his bones shatter or his skin set afire. “I understand what you want.”

The Weaver said nothing for several moments, until Pronjed began to wonder if the man was weighing whether or not to kill him.

“What of the girl?” the Weaver finally asked.

“The girl?”

“The queen, you dolt! Does Numar still intend to kill her, or will he leave that to his brother?”

“I . . . I believe he—the regent, that is—thinks her more valuable alive than dead. He thinks the dukes who remain loyal will be less likely to turn against him while he remains regent. If she dies, they’ll suspect him, and even if they don’t,
they’ll begin to see him as just another Solkaran despot. As long as he wages war in the name of the queen, the dukes will follow him. Or so he believes.”

“You disagree with him?”

Pronjed shrugged, feeling more confident on this terrain. “He speaks for the queen now—at least he claims to—and still Tebeo and his allies defy him.”

“And Henthas?”

The minister felt his uncertainty returning. Of all those in Castle Solkara whom he sought to turn to his will—Numar, Chofya, even Kalyi—Henthas, the brother of both the regent and the late King Carden the Third, had proven the most difficult to control. He was loyal to no one, nor did he seem to feel affection for any member of the royal family. Even ambition could not explain some of his actions. Once, briefly, the arch-minister had thought to make an ally of the duke. He soon came to realize that he could reach no accommodation with such a man. It seemed to Pronjed that Henthas was guided only by malice and a perverse desire to inflict pain wherever he could. No wonder he was known throughout the land as the Jackal. The duke would gladly have killed the girl had he thought that he could blame the crime on his brother, Numar, though to do so surely would have brought about the downfall of the Solkaran Supremacy.

Again, the minister considered a lie, though only for an instant. He couldn’t be expected to know everything. Or could he?

“To be honest, Weaver, I can’t say for certain what the duke’s intentions might be. He is a strange, twisted man, even for an Eandi noble. I don’t doubt that he could prove valuable before all is said and done, but right now, I wouldn’t know how to use him.”

“Then I’d suggest you study him further. You possess delusion magic. Use it on him.”

Of course a Weaver would know.

“I’ve been reluctant to do so, Weaver. I use the magic on Numar. And since the brothers speak with some frequency, despite their mutual mistrust, I thought it safest not to use my power on both of them.”

“I understand. But now I’m telling you that the time for caution has passed. Do I make myself clear?”

Pronjed’s hands began to shake and he cursed himself for his cowardice. “Yes, Weaver.”

“The hour we’ve been awaiting draws near, Archminister. You’re fortunate, in that I couldn’t hope to replace you at this late date. That, as much as anything, is why I don’t kill you where you stand.”

“What have I done, Weaver?” he asked, his voice quavering like that of a frightened boy.

A blow to the side of his head staggered him, and a second drove him to the hard ground.

“Don’t trifle with me, you fool! Did you really think you could deceive me?”

Before he could answer, Pronjed felt a fierce pain in his gut, as if he had been kicked. He retched, gasping for air and clutching his middle, his knees drawn up to his chest. The Weaver hadn’t moved.

It was some time before he could speak, the pain in his head and stomach receding slowly, like a fog. The Weaver merely stood there, his face in shadows. The archminister sensed that he was enjoying himself.

“How bad is it?” the man finally asked.

“Weaver?”

“Your rapport with the regent. You said before that you hadn’t spoken to him in a few days. The fact is, he no longer speaks to you at all, isn’t that right?”

Pronjed struggled to his feet, expecting at any moment to be knocked to the ground again. “He still speaks to me, but he tells me little of what we most need to know.”

“What have you learned with your delusion magic?”

The archminister took a breath. He wasn’t about to lie to the Weaver again, but he feared the man’s reaction to the truth nearly as much. “Nothing recently, Weaver. By design, or by mere dumb luck, he’s found a way to resist my power.”

“You were careless.”

He could hear disgust in the Weaver’s voice, and he started to object. Then he thought better of it and lowered his gaze.

“Yes, Weaver. I must have been.”

“All the more reason to use magic on the brother. It may be that he knows more than you do by now.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“What you told me about the girl a moment ago, that the regent believes he’s safer with her alive—was that true?”

Pronjed nodded. “I believe it is. She’s become a shield for him. As opposition from the dukes increases, he has little choice but to hide behind her, and also behind the mother, Chofya, who remains well liked among the other nobles.”

“The mother,” the Weaver repeated. “Does she support this war?”

“I don’t know for certain. Since the girl was named queen and Numar was chosen as her regent, Chofya has kept to herself. I believe she still has faith in the regent, though I can’t imagine she has much enthusiasm for the alliance with Braedon. I’m certain only of one thing: she hates Henthas, and fears what he might do to the girl.”

“She still trusts you?”

“Yes, Weaver. I think she does.”

“Then perhaps your failure with the regent will be less costly than I first thought. Speak with her. Convince her that the war, if successful, will reflect well on her daughter and will improve the chances that her reign will be a long and prosperous one. It may be that she can convince Numar of what you could not.”

Pronjed struggled to keep his anger in check, knowing that another misstep might give the Weaver cause to kill him. “Yes, Weaver,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ll see to it right away.”

“I expect no less.”

An instant later the archminister awoke with a start. His sleeping shirt and hair were damp with sweat, and his head and gut still ached. It could have been worse, he knew, remembering the shattering of the bones in his hand.

Or had the Weaver in fact done all that he dared?

The Weaver himself had made clear that his war with the Eandi courts was approaching, that its imminence might have saved Pronjed’s life. Perhaps it even kept the man from inflicting
greater injuries on the archminister. Now was not the time for him to risk giving Pronjed visible injuries that would be difficult for the archminister to explain.

But what will he do to me once the war is over?

The only way to ensure his own safety was to do the Weaver’s bidding and prove himself invaluable to the movement. He rose and dressed, deciding that he would first seek out the queen mother. He knew better than to think that Chofya had much influence with the regent, but Pronjed’s rapport with the woman remained strong, and speaking with her seemed the easiest way to begin what promised to be a long, difficult day.

He found Chofya in the gardens, overseeing the first plantings of the season. The day was already growing warm and the first swifts to return to Solkara were darting overhead, black as pitch against a sapphire sky.

“Good morrow, Your Highness,” Pronjed said as he approached her.

She looked up, shading her dark eyes with a slender hand. She wore a simple brown dress and soft leather shoes, much like those of the workers around her. But with her exquisite features and long black hair, which she had tied back from her face, none would have confused her for a common laborer. She still looked every bit the queen.

“Hello, Archminister. Kalyi isn’t here. I believe she’s with one of her tutors.”

“Actually, Your Highness, I was looking for you.”

She frowned. “For me?”

“Yes. May I speak with you for a moment?”

She glanced briefly at the laborers, as if reluctant to leave them. Then she followed the archminister to a deserted corner of the garden.

“Has something happened?” she asked, as he halted by an empty flower bed and turned to face her once more.

“No, Your Highness. Not yet. But you must know that we may be on the brink of war.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, looking troubled. “There seems to be nothing I can do to prevent it.”

He gaped at her, no doubt looking like a fool. “Prevent it? Why would you want to do such a thing?”

She looked away, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter, Archminister. I’m no longer queen, and even when I was, my opinions on these matters meant nothing. I managed to have Kalyi placed on the throne. Beyond that, my responsibilities to the land have never amounted to much. And it’s probably just as well.”

Pronjed cursed himself for beginning this conversation so clumsily. He needed to enlist the queen as an ally, and already he had made her more reluctant even to discuss the matter. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. Please tell me why you object to this war.”

“I object to all wars, Archminister. I always have, though I kept my reservations to myself while Carden was alive.”

“Don’t you think it possible that a victory over Eibithar could strengthen the realm? Don’t you believe it would ensure a successful reign for your daughter?”

She shrugged. “I suppose it might.”

“And still you oppose it.”

Chofya eyed him briefly, seeming to search his face for some sign of what lurked behind his words. “You truly wish to know why I’m against it?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Very well. My husband viewed war as the solution to all problems. He never learned the art of statecraft or mastered the finer points of leadership. He ruled Aneira by threatening violence. And because of this, he was feared and hated throughout the land. Kalyi might not yet be queen, but her regency has begun. She’ll spend the next six years learning how to lead—all that she witnesses in this time will shape her, determining what sort of queen she’ll be. I don’t want her to rule as her father did. I don’t want her to turn to her army or her assassins every time she finds herself at odds with a duke or another realm.”

For a time, Pronjed said nothing, weighing what she had told him. Chofya, he realized, would never be his ally in this fight. At least not wittingly.

“You think me foolish,” she said at last, a thin smile on her lips.

“Not at all, Your Highness. On the contrary, I believe the queen is fortunate to have you nearby.”

“But still, you disagree with me.”

He acknowledged the point with a small nod. “I’m afraid I do. I hope that Kalyi will become the sort of leader you want her to be. But I believe that in this case, war is justified. We have an opportunity to weaken Eibithar, perhaps even destroy her. Isn’t it possible that by ridding ourselves of such a powerful enemy, we make it easier for the queen to rule with a gentle hand?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But even if we rid ourselves of the threat to the north, how long will it be before we face another from Sanbira or Uulrann, or even from Braedon? There will always be those who counsel war, Archminister, who see dangers in one realm or another. Better she should learn from the start that war is to be avoided, that other solutions are preferable.”

He forced a smile. “Of course, Your Highness. I understand.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“Think nothing of it.” He gestured toward the laborers working at the far end of the gardens, and together they walked in silence back to where she had been when he first found her.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Your Highness,” he said, bowing to her. “Please forgive the intrusion.” He started to walk away.

“How soon do you think the war will begin?” she asked, forcing him to face her once more.

“I’m not certain, though I expect we’ll be at war before the end of the growing turns.”

Chofya nodded, tight-lipped and grim.

Pronjed made his way back toward the nearest of the castle towers. Before he had gone far, however, he glanced up toward the top floor of the castle and saw Numar standing at his window, marking the archminister’s progress through the castle ward. Their eyes met for just a moment, before the regent shifted his gaze, but he didn’t close the shutters, nor did he step away from the window. And almost as soon as Pronjed looked away, he sensed the man’s eyes upon him again.

He continued on toward the presence chamber of the Solkaran duke, Henthas, the regent’s older brother. He didn’t relish the thought of relying on this man for anything, but he couldn’t do all that the Weaver expected without help.

Henthas offered only a sneer by way of welcome.

“What do you want?” he demanded, sounding every bit the Jackal.

“Just a word, my lord. It won’t take long.”
I’m no more eager to be here than you are to have me
.

“Very well. What is it?” From the tone of the duke’s voice one might have thought that Pronjed was keeping him from some crucial task, but as far as the minister could tell, the man had simply been sitting by his window, staring out at the ward and the soldiers training there.

The archminister glanced at the servants standing by the door, before again regarding Henthas.

The duke twisted his mouth as if annoyed, but a moment later he ordered the servants from the chamber.

“Now for the third time,” he said, once they were gone, “what do you want?”

“I want to know if you’ve spoken with your brother recently.”

“My lord.”

Pronjed blinked. “What?”

“ ‘I want to know if you’ve spoken with your brother recently,
my lord.’
I’m duke of Solkara, Archminister. You often seem to forget that.”

Pronjed gave a brittle smile. “How could I, my lord?”

Henthas said nothing, and cursing the man inwardly, the archminister surrendered the point.

“I was wondering if you had spoken with your brother recently, my lord.”

The duke smiled broadly. “Much better. As it happens we spoke yesterday. Why do you wish to know?”