Shapers of Darkness (64 page)

Pronjed still wasn’t certain how he would reach the Moorlands in time to join the Weaver’s battle. His horse had been taken by Tebeo’s men, and though he would do what was necessary to win his own freedom, he didn’t know if he could risk a visit to the stables before he fled the castle. But the Weaver wouldn’t tolerate excuses, and Pronjed, spurred on by the promise of wealth and power should the Weaver’s plan succeed, had worked too hard on behalf of the movement to be absent at its culmination. Somehow, he would make his way to Eibithar and fight alongside the Weaver. He would share in the Qirsi victory, and when the Weaver swept away the Eandi
courts and began to reward his most faithful servants, Pronjed would be among the new nobility.

Not long after the ringing of the prior’s bell, he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to his corridor. He assumed at first that this was merely a guard bringing what passed for his evening meal a bit earlier than usual. Only when he heard a woman speaking in hushed tones did he understand that the duke had come, and with him his lovely first minister.

Pronjed stood and faced the door, holding himself as proudly as he could under the circumstances. He would not allow them to think that he had been broken, no matter how much it might aid his escape.

He heard Tebeo order the guards to open the door. A moment later the lock turned loudly and the door swung open.

Tebeo had never looked like the duke of a major house. He was fat and short, with a face that was far too pleasant to be imposing. Still, the minister knew that he possessed a keen mind, and in the past half turn, as he withstood Numar’s assault, he had more than proved his mettle.

His first minister was the perfect complement to the duke. Pale where he was dark, lithe where he was round, reserved where he was affable. Yet Pronjed also knew her to be formidable in her own way. He had clashed with the woman on more than one occasion and had no doubts as to her loyalty to the duke and the realm.

“Archminister,” the duke said, eyeing him, a tight smile on his face.

He’s afraid. She’s warned him against you
. “My lord Dantrielle. To what do I owe this courtesy?”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” Tebeo answered, surprising Pronjed with his candor. “I have certain questions, and I know better than to expect honest answers from the regent.”

“You expect that I’ll be more forthcoming?”

“I hope that you will.”

“And what can I expect in return?”

“Clemency. Perhaps, eventually, your release from this prison.”

Pronjed glanced at the first minister, who was watching him with obvious interest. “I’ll tell you what I can, my lord.”

Tebeo began to pace in front of him, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “How many men did Numar send north to the Tarbin?”

“About a thousand. He expected the army of Mertesse to make up the rest of the force. The rest of his men he divided between guarding Solkara and attacking you.”

“Has he been in contact with the duke of Bistari?”

“Bistari?” Pronjed said, with a small breathless laugh. “Surely you jest, my lord.”

“No, but never mind the question.”

The archminister narrowed his eyes, wondering why Tebeo would ask about Bistari’s young duke. Had they been alone, he would have used mind-bending magic to force the duke to explain himself, but with Evanthya watching, he didn’t dare.

Tebeo paced in silence for a moment. Then, “Tell me, Arch-minister, what do you know of the Qirsi conspiracy?”

“Not much, my lord. Probably no more than you do. I know what it’s reputed to have done. The murders in Eibithar, the assassination of Lord Bistari. There are rumors of an attempt on the life of Curlinte’s duchess in Sanbira, though of course we can’t be certain if this is true.”

“What about the death of our own king?”

Perhaps he should have been prepared for this. But Pronjed couldn’t entirely keep his voice from catching as he said, “My lord?”

“The duke of Orvinti and his first minister have wondered if Carden might have been murdered.”

“His Majesty took his own life, my lord. I saw his body, and I can tell you that the evidence of this was unmistakable.”

“We’d heard as much,” Evanthya said. “Fetnalla wondered if someone might have used mind-bending magic to make the king kill himself.”

Pronjed glanced at Tebeo’s first minister. “This is the first time I’ve heard anyone suggest such a thing.”

“Do you possess this magic, Archminister?”

Pronjed held Evanthya’s gaze for another moment before forcing himself to face the duke again. “No, my lord, I don’t.” He could have used his power to make the lie more convincing;
delusion worked on Eandi and Qirsi alike. But Evanthya would have been expecting this, and delusion magic, when used against a Qirsi, only worked on the unsuspecting.

“You heard of Lord Orvinti’s death?”

“I’ve heard rumors of it, my lord.” Again he chanced a look at the first minister, but suddenly she was avoiding his gaze. It seemed the rumors were true: Fetnalla had killed Brall.

“Lord Orvinti’s first minister vanished after Brall was killed. I’m wondering if you have any idea of where she might have gone.”

She went north, just as I will
. “No, my lord, none.”

Tebeo nodded again. “I thought as much.” He looked as if he might say more, but instead he stopped his pacing and glanced quickly about the chamber. “I take it you’re comfortable enough, Archminister. You’re being fed, you have enough blankets for the nights?”

Pronjed gave a thin smile. “Of course, my lord. For a prison, this is quite comfortable.” He held up his hands, showing Tebeo the silk cords wrapped around his wrists. “That said, I’d have freer movement with normal manacles.”

“Those were my idea,” Evanthya said. “I seem to remember that you have shaping power. In which case, chains wouldn’t do much good, would they?”

“No, I don’t suppose they would.”

“We’ll speak again, Archminister,” Tebeo said, as one of the guards unlocked the door. He stepped into the corridor and paused, as if waiting for Evanthya.

“I’ll be along in a moment, my lord,” she said, stepping closer to Tebeo and lowering her voice. “I have a few more questions to ask the archminister, and I suspect he’ll be more forthcoming if he and I are alone.”

Tebeo frowned, but after a moment he nodded and left the corridor. The guard closed the door once more.

Evanthya crossed to where Pronjed stood. “You intend to escape, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. It’s just a matter of time. You’re a shaper, you have delusion magic. It should be relatively easy.”

He started to deny it again, but she raised a finger to his lips, stopping him.

“Don’t say anything. I don’t care if you get away. You have no reason to harm my duke or me, and every reason to head northward as quickly as possible.”

His heart was pounding. How could she know all of this?

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want Fetnalla. You must know that she and I were lovers.”

He’d had an inkling of this.

“I want to find her. She’s joined your conspiracy and she’s gone north to find the Weaver.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It sounded hollow, forced. For several turns now he had been lying to Numar and Henthas, Kalyi and Chofya. For years before that, he had lied to his king. He felt as comfortable with deception as he did with the truth. But somehow this woman had seen into his mind, as if she were a Weaver and he a simple festival Qirsi.

“I won’t help you escape, but neither will I alert my duke to the danger. In return, you’re to leave here directly without harming anyone.” She hesitated, her eyes locked on his. “And if by some chance you sense that you’re being followed, you’re to do nothing about it.”

“What’s to stop me from killing you once we’re away from Dantrielle?”

“Nothing, if you can catch me. But if you can’t, and I make it all the way north to your Weaver, I’ll make certain that he learns you allowed yourself to be followed. I can’t imagine he’d be pleased.”

“I can’t do this.”

“I just want her back, Pronjed. I don’t give a damn about the rest. Not anymore. I just want Fetnalla. And even if I did want to stop your conspiracy, I couldn’t. I’d be one Qirsi against an army, against a Weaver.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d almost said,
He’ll kill me
. But he stopped himself in time. What if this were a trick, an attempt on her part to make him admit that there was in fact a Weaver?

Except that she didn’t seem to be lying. Did she have delusion
magic as well? Was that how she had learned that he did?

“He’ll never know,” she whispered. “Just ride north, and don’t look back.”

She gazed up at him for another moment, her eyes as golden and bright as a setting sun. Then she turned away and left him.

Chapter
Twenty-five

Kentigern, Eibithar, Adriel’s Moon waxing

he smells of the siege had become as familiar to him as the scent of Ioanna’s perfume, as ordinary as the aroma of freshly baked bread rising from the kitchens. Burning tar and oil, boiled sweetwort and betony, gangrene and blood, sweat and fear. There were sounds as well-—death cries, the moaning of the wounded, the distant singing of the Aneiran soldiers—and, of course, so many horrors to see. But the smells were what stuck in Aindreas’s mind. Long after the siege ended, either with the fall of his castle or the defeat of his enemy, the duke would remember breathing in this air that blanketed Kentigern, redolent with the stench of war.

After the successes his men enjoyed during the first day or two of the siege, Aindreas had begun to think that he might break the siege with ease. And though he had known that his Qirsi allies would not be pleased by this, he had secretly rejoiced at the possibility, seeing in the Aneirans’ failure a setback for the conspiracy as well. If the armies of Mertesse and Solkara could not maintain their siege, they certainly couldn’t send any men northward to join the fighting near Galdasten. There was nothing he could do to atone for his crime. He had
allied himself with the renegade white-hairs; he was a traitor. But perhaps, merely by fighting to protect his house, he could thwart the Qirsi’s plans and thus undo some of what he had wrought.

But after losing so many men, and seeing their hurling arms burned beyond use, the Aneiran army rallied. Redoubling their assault on the gates and walls, they broke through the drawbridge at the Tarbin gate and turned their rams against the portcullises. During the second night of the siege, hours after the ringing of the midnight bells, a large group of Solkaran soldiers gained the top of the outer wall and held it into the morning before being overrun by Aindreas’s men. The did no lasting damage to the castle and Kentigern’s losses were not great, but the duke could see that his men were shaken by the incursion. Up until the previous year, Kentigern Castle had enjoyed a centuries-old reputation as one of the most unassailable fortresses in the Forelands. The near success of Mertesse’s siege the year before was a black mark on the castle’s history, but one that could be explained away by Shurik’s betrayal. Now, however, as the Aneirans began to exact a toll on the defenders, Aindreas sensed that doubt was growing in the minds of his men.

By the end of the eighth day, the Aneirans had managed to build four new hurling arms. As soon as all four were functioning, the men of Mertesse and Solkara began their assault on the castle battlements, heaving great stones, pots of burning oil, and dead animal carcasses at the walls. Aindreas sent out a raiding party, hoping to destroy these siege engines as he had the last, but the Aneirans were watching for this, and Kentigern’s men, suffering heavy losses, were driven back.

The following morning, the first of the Tarbin gate portcullises fell, and though three more remained, this further eroded the confidence of the duke’s men. His bowmen, using the archer chambers built into the walls of the gate, and the murder holes built into the ceiling, kept up a withering assault on the attackers. But the enemy’s rams still offered the Aneirans some protection, enough to allow them to begin their attack on the next portcullis.