Shapers of Darkness (28 page)

Sitting now in the tavern, waiting for the merchant to arrive, Pillad reflected with some amazement on how quickly his life had changed. Just a turn or two ago he had been a loyal minister in the House of Galdasten. Now he was part of a great movement that would soon sweep away the Eandi courts and bring a Qirsi ruler to the Forelands. Not long ago he had been alone, friendless. Now he had Uestem. At least, he wanted to believe that he did.

The merchant entered the tavern just as the twilight bells began to toll at the city gates. He stood in the doorway for several moments, scanning the tables for Pillad. Seeing the minister, he strode to the table and sat, his expression grave. He had a lean face and eyes the color of sand on the Galdasten strand. He wasn’t particularly tall or powerfully built, but he carried himself with an air of importance. Whether his carriage was rooted in the wealth he had accrued as a merchant, or in the authority he held within the Qirsi movement, Pillad couldn’t say. The minister knew only that he envied the man his confidence.

“I’m glad to see you’re here already,” Uestem said. “We haven’t much time.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

“Something is on the verge of happening. What can you tell me of your lord’s plans for the coming assault?”

Pillad grimaced. “Not a great deal. As I’ve told you before, he’s lost faith in me. He doesn’t tell me much anymore.”

“And as I’ve told you, it’s time you began to win back his trust. You’re of little use to us as an outcast in the duke’s court.”

He tried to smile. “Yes, but—”

“Tell me what you do know.”

Pillad felt his face fall. This wasn’t at all the way he had wanted their conversation to go. In fact, it bore almost no resemblance at all to any of their previous encounters, except perhaps the last one, when Uestem had seemed a bit hurried. Perhaps that was the case today, as well.

“Quickly, Pillad. Time runs short.”

“From what I observed today, I gather that he has no intention of opposing the emperor’s army. I believe he plans to keep his soldiers within the city walls to guard against a siege. No doubt he wants to see Kearney’s forces weakened before committing his men to the war.”

Uestem nodded. “Good. Did you counsel this approach?”

For just an instant he considered lying to the man. Anything to earn his praise. But he had already admitted having little influence with his duke. Even if he claimed credit for this the merchant wouldn’t believe him. More likely the question was a test of sorts.

“No, I didn’t. And if I had, he might have done the opposite.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s possible. It seems the gods are smiling on you, Minister. This is just what we had hoped your duke would do. You need only to keep him on this path.”

“I’ll try.”

Uestem stood, and Pillad cast about for something to say—anything at all—that might keep the merchant with him for another few moments.

“When will we meet again?” he asked, then cringed at what he heard in his own voice.

Uestem glanced about as if fearing that others had heard. “When those we serve command it,” he said in a low voice.

“Can’t we meet . . . ? Must it always be to speak of these matters?”

The merchant smiled, though Pillad could tell that it was forced. “I think it best that way.” He stepped away from the table. “Good day, Pillad.”

Pillad opened his mouth to bid the man farewell, but he couldn’t even bring himself to say that much. Not that long ago, the day he agreed to join the movement, the man had actually touched his hand. He still remembered the warmth of the merchant’s fingers. He could still see the way Uestem smiled at him that day. Had he imagined it all?

He shook his head. It had to be the coming invasion. These were dangerous times for all who would play a role in this war, particularly those who had taken up the Weaver’s cause. Uestem couldn’t afford to be seen with the duke’s first minister. Not with the men and women of the movement so close to realizing their dreams. Pillad saw that now. Once the Eandi courts had been destroyed and the Weaver had taken his place as sovereign of all the Forelands, things would be different.

He waited until Uestem had been gone for some time before standing and leaving the inn himself. Upon stepping into the street, however, Pillad froze. A pair of the duke’s soldiers stood a short distance off, watching him from the entrance to a narrow byway. His first thought was to duck back into the tavern, though he knew immediately that this would be folly. No doubt the men had come to the city for some reason that had nothing to do with him. If he acted on his guilt and panic he would only raise their suspicions. Instead, he gathered himself, then walked right over to them.

Both men looked uncomfortable as he drew near. So much so that Pillad was forced to wonder if he had been mistaken a moment before. Perhaps these men were watching him and had just not expected to see him emerge from the inn so soon. He had lost Renald’s trust long ago. Would it be so unusual for an Eandi noble to have soldiers following his Qirsi?

“Are you looking for me?” the first minister asked, stopping in front of the men.

“First Minister?” one of the men said, glancing uneasily at his companion.

“Well, you’re here. I thought perhaps the duke had sent you to fetch me. Is there news?”

“No, First Minister.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“The duke asked us to keep an eye on you, First Minister,” the other man said. “I suspect he fears for your safety. With all this talk of conspiracies and such, I believe he thought a loyal minister would be in some danger. He wanted us to protect you. From a distance, of course, lest we embarrass you.”

It had to be a lie, but it was a clever one nevertheless. “Well,” Pillad said with false brightness, “I’m most grateful to both of you. I’ll feel safer knowing that you’re with me.”

The man bowed, and his companion hastened to do the same.

“We’re honored to be of service, First Minister.”

Abruptly, Pillad felt his face growing hot. What if Uestem was watching? What if there were others in the Weaver’s movement who could see him right now, standing with the duke’s men? Would they think that he had betrayed their movement to the duke? Or would they merely understand that Renald had sent these men to spy on him, as if he were some wayward child? Neither possibility appealed to him, though if they thought the latter the price would merely be humiliation. If they came to question his loyalty to the Qirsi cause they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

The minister found himself scanning the street for other Qirsi, eager now to be away from these men.

“If there’s nothing else,” he said, his voice tight, “I’ll be on my way back to the castle. I think I’ll be just fine, thank you. There’s no need for you to follow me.”

“We have our orders, First Minister.”

Damn you, Renald!
“Fine, then.” He started away from them. “Do what you must.”

He started back toward the fortress, walking quickly, aware of the soldiers falling in step a few paces behind him. After going but a short distance, he realized that his hands were hurting. Looking down at them, he saw that he had balled them into fists, his knuckles white as Panya, the skin pulled tight over bone. He couldn’t recall ever being this angry before.

He had made his decision to join the conspiracy impetuously.
True, Renald had excluded him from his daily audiences, making Pillad feel that he was no longer welcome in the court. But his had not been a calculated choice, nor had it been rooted in hatred of the duke. Indeed, the minister wasn’t certain that he could articulate fully why he had cast his lot with the renegade Qirsi. He wanted to be closer to Uestem. He wanted gold. He was hurt by Renald’s distrust.

Until now, Pillad had not been driven by a desire to hurt the duke. But this encounter with Renald’s soldiers changed everything. He felt violated. He didn’t care that the duke’s suspicions were warranted. Renald had shamed him; the duke’s soldiers were shaming him still. They might have followed at a respectful distance, but no one who saw them would have doubted for even a moment that they were escorting the minister back to the castle.

Pillad had never thought of himself as a vengeful man, but he vowed now that he would strike back at Renald and his court. One way or another, he would see the duke dead. And the promise of that day would do more to compel his service to the movement than all the gold the Weaver could give him.

Chapter
Eleven

Dantrielle, Aneira

umors chased one another through the streets of Dantrielle like demons on the Night of Bian, whispering darkly to frightened peddlers, driving children back into the relative safety of their homes, leaving men and women to do little more than go about their lives in glum silence while casting wary glances at the great castle in whose shadow they dwelled. Many said that the
Solkaran army already marched toward the city, a thousand strong, with swordsmen and archers in equal number. Others claimed that the host was closer to two thousand, for it included a horde of laborers who had been trained to build siege engines from the trees of the Great Forest. Still others were heard to say that all these men were led by the regent himself, Numar of Renbrere, who had labeled the duke and all his followers as traitors to the realm, and who had sworn that he would not rest until the city and castle had been reduced to rubble.

Tebeo had heard all of these tales, and though his scouts in the north had yet to bring word of the Solkaran army’s latest movements, he knew with the certainty of a man facing his own doom that every one of them was true. He had dispatched his fastest riders three days before, on the fifth morning of the waxing, sending one each to Bistari, Orvinti, Kett, Tounstrel, and Noltierre. All carried messages pleading with his fellow dukes to send their armies to his aid.

He had little hope that Silbron of Bistari would offer any reply at all; the young duke, Chago’s son, had already declared to Brall his intention to keep Bistari neutral in this struggle. Brall would have only just arrived back in Orvinti from his travels. Like Tebeo, he had spent a good deal of time away from his home, trying to convince the others to join their efforts. It would be a few days at least before he was ready to lead his army southward. But Tebeo hoped and expected that the others would respond swiftly and in force. If they didn’t, Dantrielle might not be able to endure the regent’s assault for more than half a turn.

Standing atop the tallest of Castle Dantrielle’s eight towers with Evanthya and his master of arms, Tebeo tried to banish such thoughts from his mind. “The castle of his fathers might not have been as grand as Castle Solkara, nor as powerfully fortified, but still it was not without its defenses. Situated within sight of the confluence of the Rassor and Black Sand rivers, the castle could not easily be attacked from the west or south, or even directly from the north. Any army that attempted to ford the rivers so close to the castle walls would be
within range of Tebeo’s archers. Numar’s assault would have to come from the northeast, and since the castle stood at that end of the city, its red stone walls would bear the brunt of the attack, which was as it should be. These walls were as thick as any in the realm, and the three portcullises that blocked the outer gate had been fashioned centuries ago of iron and the Great Forest’s hardiest oak.

Tebeo tried to draw comfort from all of this, and from the banner that flew just above him bearing the red, black, and gold sigil of his house. The Flame in the Night, the fire that endured; a brilliant golden blaze burning above the red towers. The crest dated from the clan wars, when the castle had survived numerous sieges led by the rival families. But Dantrielle’s reputation had not been tested for hundreds of years, and neither had the castle walls.

While Tebeo was staring at the banner rising and falling in the wind, Bausef DarLesta, the duke’s master of arms, was saying something about the towers and the positioning of Dantrielle’s archers. Tebeo had long since lost the thread of whatever point he was trying to make.

“Forgive me, Bausef,” he said, interrupting, “but my mind must have wandered. I’m afraid you’ll have to begin again.”