Weavers of War (40 page)

“I suppose you could say that. But it is true.”

“What’s your name? Are you a minister?”

“I’m no minister. My name is Grinsa jal Arriet.” He glanced at Kearney, who gave a small nod. “I’m a Weaver as well,” the gleaner said, facing the man again. “That’s how I saw your high chancellor.”

“You’re a Weaver.”

“Yes.”

“Well, now I know this is trickery. How many Weavers do you want me to believe there are in the Forelands?”

Grinsa had done this once before, at a small inn on the Moors of Durril, when he tried to impress upon Tavis what it meant to face a Weaver. He drew upon his power of mists and winds, summoning a gale that made the truce flag snap like a harvest blaze, and raising a mist that hung heavy all around them, as if in defiance of his wind. He then raised a hand and called forth a brilliant golden flame. With a whisper to the horses of the four captains, he made the beasts rear and whinny. As an afterthought, he drew upon his shaping power as well. When the older captain heard the faint chiming of steel, his eyes grew wide. He grabbed for the hilt of his blade and pulled the weapon free of its sheath. Only half the sword emerged, the break clean and almost perfectly straight.

The man glared at him, rage and fear in his eyes. “Damn you!”

“Believe what you will, Captain,” Grinsa said, as he allowed his gale to die away. “You’ve just seen me use shaping magic, mists and winds, fire, language of beasts. In order to hold this flame in my palm, I have to use healing magic. I spent my years in Eibithar’s Revel as a gleaner. Who but a Weaver could wield all those magics? I swear that all the rest of what I’ve told you is also true. A Weaver is coming, and I intend to destroy him. But I need as many warriors with me as possible.”

“I won’t ally myself with any of you! If the emperor commands me to fight by your side, I will. Until then, you are the enemy.”

“Your emperor is dead, or imprisoned in his own palace. His was the first army the high chancellor destroyed. Don’t you understand? Your empire is at war, but not with us, not anymore.”

“Lies! The Qirsi can’t be trusted! That much you have right! Your Majesty, Your Highness, I know that we’re enemies, but if you have any sense at all, you’ll rid yourself of this white-hair and fight as Eandi are meant to fight.”

“We don’t wish to fight you at all, Captain,” the queen said. “I believe that Grinsa is telling the truth. We have to end this war and join forces.”

“The king can have his peace. If he surrenders the land we’ve won thus far, the fighting will end.”

Kearney bristled. “This isn’t a negotiation, Captain! I’m offering a truce that will save both of our armies, and quite possibly all of the Forelands!”

“And I’m telling you that there will be no truce!” The captain stared darkly at Grinsa. “You’ve allied yourself with a demon. I won’t make the same mistake.”

“Captain—”

“Enough! If this is all you have to offer, then this parley is done. Ride back to your army, Eibithar.” He glanced at his archers. “I can’t guarantee your safety much longer.”

Kearney started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut, wheeled his mount, and began to ride toward his army. After a moment, Olesya started back as well, leaving Grinsa alone with the four soldiers.

“When the Qirsi attack—and they will attack, I promise you that—have your archers aim their volleys at the high chancellor. If you can kill him, you have a chance against the others.”

The captain just stared at him. After a few moments, Grinsa turned his mount and followed the king and queen. Pulling abreast of them, he chanced a look at Kearney.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I thought they’d listen. I was wrong.”

“It’s not your fault, gleaner. Nor is it the captain’s. He’s just a soldier feeling his way through a war beyond his depth.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“We need another plan, Your Majesty,” said the queen. “Despite our best efforts, it seems we’ll be facing the Weaver and his army without any aid from the empire. We’d best make our preparations accordingly.”

Kearney nodded, looking at Grinsa. “Gleaner?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll begin right away. And I’ll need permission from both of you to form an army of my own, using your Qirsi.”

Chapter Sixteen

It was strange for Keziah, watching Grinsa assume so much responsibility for the coming war. He had always been the strong one, the older brother who protected her and guided her through difficult times—the deaths of their mother and father, the end of her first love affair so many years ago. And of course, he was the Weaver, bearing burdens she could never fully understand.

Through all these long years, however, he had kept his strength and his hardships hidden, out of necessity to be sure, but also, she had always believed, by choice. His was a private life. The role of Revel gleaner suited him. He could travel the land, seeing all, prowling the edges of spectacle, his duties with the gleaning stone demanding an endless stream of intimate conversations. Keziah, on the other hand, had long enjoyed the company of many and her life’s path reflected that. She was the minister, the one who felt at ease attending court functions, speaking pleasantly of the weather or the harvest with Eibithar’s most powerful dukes and nobles from other realms.

Only now, having revealed to all that he was a Weaver, did Grinsa find himself at the center of weighty discussions among sovereigns, parleys of war, and today, a gathering of Qirsi. Keziah shouldn’t have been surprised to find that he appeared comfortable in his new role, or that he could match wits with any noble and any minister in the Forelands. Still, it was hard for her to accept the changes she saw in her brother. They seemed to her undeniable proof of how swiftly and profoundly the world itself was being transformed.

Soon after returning with Kearney and Sanbira’s queen from the parley with Braedon’s captains, Grinsa sent word to Keziah that she was to join him south of the soldiers’ camps. She thought that he wished to discuss something with her alone. Only when she found him speaking with several other ministers and a number of Kearney’s battlefield healers did she realize that her brother had summoned all the Qirsi in the Eibitharian and Sanbiri armies.

“Archminister,” he said crisply as she approached. “Thank you for coming.” Some secrets it seemed were not to be revealed, even under these extraordinary circumstances.

“Of course…” She frowned. “Forgive me, but I’m not certain what we should call you now.”

He smiled at that. “Gleaner is fine. It’s what I’m used to. Or you can call me by my name.”

“Thank you, gleaner.”

Fotir joined them, accompanied by Xivled jal Viste, Marston of Shanstead’s young minister, who had accused Keziah of being a traitor the first time they met. Several moments later the Sanbiri ministers arrived as well.

“I believe that’s everyone,” Grinsa said, as the rest of them fell silent. There were seventeen Qirsi in their small circle, and it seemed to Keziah that one or two of Kearney’s healers hadn’t joined them yet, or had chosen not to come at all. “I thank you for coming. I know how unusual this must seem to you. All your lives you’ve been told that Weavers were little more than legend, or else that we’re demons, the worst kind of Qirsi, men and women to be feared and shunned. Yet now you find that there are two Weavers in your world, that one of them intends to lead you to war against the other. In your position, I’d be a bit bewildered.”

It struck Keziah as an odd way to begin their discussion until she saw how his eyes moved from face to face. He wasn’t saying this for them. He was saying it for himself, gauging their responses, trying to determine which of the Qirsi before him were loyal, and which had pledged themselves to the Weaver’s movement. Abruptly, Keziah found herself glancing about as well, as if she could divine the thoughts of her companions.

“As most of you have heard by now, a Qirsi army rides this way, led by a Weaver. This Weaver commands two hundred men and women. It’s not a large force—it hasn’t been enough to impress our Eandi friends—but you and I know how powerful two hundred of our people can be, particularly when their powers are woven as one. I’ve convinced the king and queen that we’d be wise to create a Qirsi army of our own. Obviously we won’t be a match for the Weaver’s army, but perhaps with the Eandi warriors fighting beside us, we’ll be enough.”

“I take it,” Fotir said, “that the parley with Braedon’s men went poorly.”

“Yes. They weren’t ready to ally themselves with Eibithar or Sanbira, much less with a Weaver.”

“So am I to understand,” said Sanbira’s archminister, “that the Eandi have given you permission to form a separate army of Qirsi that will fight alongside the Eandi warriors?”

“Essentially, yes.” Grinsa continued to watch her, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t approve?”

“I neither approve nor disapprove. I’m just surprised. I didn’t think they trusted us enough to allow such a thing.”

Labruinn’s first minister gave her a quick glance. “They’re scared. Trust has nothing to do with it.”

Several others nodded their agreement.

“How can seventeen Qirsi hope to stand against an army of two hundred?” asked one of the healers, an older woman. “I mean no disrespect, gleaner, but even the most powerful Weaver can’t overcome those numbers.”

“It won’t be easy. As I said already, I’m hoping that the armies of Sanbira and Eibithar will give us an advantage, or at least lessen the Weaver’s advantages. The renegades fight alone, without archers or swordsmen. These thousands of warriors fighting beside us must count for something. And we may be a small force, but we have with us some of the most powerful Qirsi in the seven realms. Five of you are shapers, eight of you have mists and winds, and nine of you have fire magic. All are valuable powers in—”

“How can you know that?” Xivled asked.

Grinsa gave a small shrug. “A Weaver can sense the magics wielded by other Qirsi.”

“I’d never heard that,” the young man said, shaking his head, and sounding awed.

“There are a few of you who also have language of beasts, and since the Weaver’s army is mounted, that could be of great help to us.”

“They’ll have these powers as well,” the healer said. “And in far greater numbers.”

“Probably. But this is what we have. Let’s keep our attention fixed on that.”

The woman nodded, though her mouth twisted sourly.

“So do we answer to you now?”

The woman who asked this, another of the Sanbiri ministers, was slight, with a lean face and overlarge yellow eyes. There was a note of challenge in her voice, as if she were more interested in starting a fight with Grinsa than she was in hearing the answer to her question. Sanbira’s archminister gave her a dark look, but kept silent.

“You answer to your duke, as always, First Minister.”

“Actually I answer to a duchess, but I take your point.”

“When the fighting begins, however, you’ll report to me immediately. The king and queen have both instructed me to say that any order I give is to be considered a royal command.”

The minister raised an eyebrow. “They must be quite impressed with you.”

Grinsa smiled thinly. “They merely understand, Minister, that I represent their best hope of defeating the conspiracy. Now it may be that you see that as a reason to despise me. They don’t.”

What little color that woman had in her cheeks drained away, leaving her pale as a wraith. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You’ll have to forgive Craeffe, Weaver,” the archminister said, an easy smile on her lips. “She often speaks without thinking. I assure you, though. When the time comes to fight this war, she’ll be ready.”

“Thank you, Archminister. I’ve no doubt that this is true.” Grinsa smiled again; this time it appeared genuine. “And you weren’t here when I told the others to call me ‘gleaner’ or ‘Grinsa.’”

It was the archminister’s turn to blanch. “Of course,” she said, recovering quickly. “Thank you, gleaner.”

Grinsa’s eyes flicked toward Keziah for just an instant. She had noticed as well. Calling him “Weaver” had come to the woman quite naturally.

“There’s not much more for us to discuss just now. The last thing I’d like to do is draw upon your powers as I will when we go to battle.”

“Why?” Craeffe asked.

“It can be a bit disorienting the first time a Weaver takes hold of your magic. I want to make certain that all of you are ready when the time comes to battle the Weaver, and I don’t want my use of your power to come as a shock.” He regarded the woman briefly. “Of course, if you object I can draw upon the magic of the others, without troubling you.”

She shook her head. “I just wanted to understand.”

“Very well. Between fire and mists, I can try this with all of you. Why don’t we begin with a wind? If you have mists and winds, open your mind to me. Allow me to take hold of your magic.”

Keziah did as she was told, feeling Grinsa’s familiar touch on her mind. Within moments a great gale was whipping across the moor, flattening the grasses and keening like a great demon as it passed over the stones. After a time, Grinsa allowed the wind to subside, leaving the other Qirsi speechless and wide-eyed.

“Very good,” he said. “Shall we try it with fire now?”

Soon he had conjured a ball of flame that rose into the sky like a great yellow sun, then streaked downward to the grasses, crashing into the ground with a mighty roar and scorching black an enormous circle of earth.

By this time all of the healers and many of the ministers were gaping at Grinsa as if he were Qirsar himself, a god standing among mortals. Glancing back toward the armies, Keziah saw that the Eandi were watching them, no doubt impressed by what they had seen, and fearful as well.

“I expect the Weaver and his army will reach here in the next day or two,” Grinsa said. “Do what you can to ready yourself for battle. I’ll try not to tax any of you for too long, but we are outnumbered. All of us will be pushed beyond what we believe we can endure.” He bowed to them and started to walk off, sixteen pairs of eyes fixed on him as he went. Keziah thought to go after him. She was anxious to know what he had learned from their discussion and from touching their minds briefly to draw upon their power.