Weavers of War (7 page)

There were other peculiarities as well. Several turns before, it seemed, Nitara and Kayiv had left the palace together with some frequency, often returning later bearing some new trinket for the woman. And two other Qirsi, healers both, spent a good deal of time down at the wharves along the riverbank. Again, however, Stavel didn’t know what any of this meant. His was not the mind of a conspirator; he had no talent for connivance. He learned what he could, having no sense of what to do with the knowledge he gathered. Knowing nothing for certain, he couldn’t very well take any of this to the emperor. Nor could he ask anyone else what they thought of all he had learned, not without revealing himself as Harel’s spy.

For the first time in all his years in Curtell, Stavel had truly been taken into the emperor’s confidence. And he had never felt so isolated.

Attending the daily discussions with Dusaan and the emperor’s other advisors proved to be both the easiest and most difficult part of his work on Harel’s behalf. Whenever he spoke with the guards, the chancellor spent every moment terrified that he would be discovered by another of the emperor’s advisors. He had no such fears during the gatherings of chancellors and ministers. Even if Dusaan learned later that someone had reported to the emperor on the substance of their discussion, the high chancellor would have no way of knowing which of them was the informer. On the other hand, Stavel could not help feeling that he had betrayed all of his fellow Qirsi, and at no time was his guilt more pronounced than during these deliberations. As far as Stavel was concerned, they couldn’t end quickly enough.

Midway through Elined’s waning, just over half a turn after the tragedy in Nitara’s chamber, Stavel began to hear rumors of a contentious exchange between Dusaan and the emperor. According to some, guards mostly, the emperor had the high chancellor disarmed and hooded before allowing Dusaan into the imperial chamber. Others said that it had gone far beyond that. The high chancellor, it was whispered, had been bound hand and foot before being granted entry. Once inside, it seemed that Dusaan had argued with the emperor, complaining about the treatment of palace Qirsi since Kayiv’s death. Exactly what the two men said remained vague in these tales, and Stavel might have been skeptical about the whole affair had it not been for a notable change in Dusaan’s demeanor soon after the day in question.

Thinking about it later, Stavel realized that the first signs of change in Dusaan’s behavior began to manifest themselves the morning after this alleged argument. The high chancellor appeared distracted during the ministerial discussion, which itself was unusual. But more to the point, Dusaan didn’t seem bored, as he often did. Rather, he was seething, as if whatever occupied his mind so infuriated him that it was all the high chancellor could do simply to sit still. He ended their discussion abruptly, long before a debate over how best to respond to an outbreak of pestilence near Pinthrel had run its course.

The following morning was no better, and as the days went by, Dusaan’s mood grew ever darker, until Stavel began to wonder if he might harm himself or someone else.

Only on this very morning, however, the sixth of the new waxing, did he understand just how gravely matters stood, and just how badly he had miscalculated.

He was on his way to Dusaan’s chambers when a guard stopped him. It was one of the men who, on several occasions, had given him information about other Qirsi. A young man, no more than a year or two past his Fating, he was, nevertheless, uncommonly tall and broad in the shoulders. When he was fully grown, he would be massive. All of which made the wide-eyed, somewhat frightened expression on his face that much more comical.

“Pardon me, Chancellor,” the man said, seeming unsure of himself, “but I know tha’ ye’ve been askin’ ’bout th’ high chanc’lor.”

Stavel looked back over his shoulder, as if expecting to see Dusaan himself enter the corridor at any moment. Suddenly his hands were sweating.

“Yes,” he said in a hushed voice, wishing he were elsewhere. “What about him?”

“Well, ’e left th’ palace las’ night. First time any o’ us ca’ remember. ’E weren’t gone long. Less than ’n hour, I’d say. Bu’ when ’e come back, ’e had a large bundle under ’is arm.”

“How large?”

“Long like, no’ too fat mind ye. Put me ’n mind o’ a sword, wrapped in cloth.”

Stavel could think of no explanation for this. He couldn’t imagine that a man in Dusaan’s position would need to purchase a weapon in the city marketplace. Most Qirsi serving in the court of a noble, particularly that of a sovereign, already had a sword. Stavel did. It was old, and for all he knew rusted at this point. He hadn’t so much as looked at in several years. But it was there in the back of his wardrobe, sheathed and ready should ever he need it. No doubt Dusaan had one as well. So what could he have been carrying?

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

The man shook his head. “No, Chanc’lor. I think ’e wen’ right t’ ’is chamber. None o’ us saw ’im th’ res’ o’ th’ night.”

Stavel fumbled in the pocket of his robe, pulling free a five-qinde piece and offering it to the man.

“No, Chanc’lor,” he said, shaking his head a second time. “I’s jes’ doin’ my job.”

“Well, thank you,” Stavel said. “I’m grateful.”

The man nodded and left him, the click of his boots echoing loudly off the vaulted ceiling of the corridor. The chancellor stood there for several moments considering why Dusaan might need a sword. Could it be that he’d never had one? He came to the court of the emperor as a young man, and he’d never actually needed one during his tenure as high chancellor. It was possible, no matter how unlikely. At last, Stavel shook his head, as if rousing himself from a dream, and hurried on to Dusaan’s chamber.

He was the last to arrive, which was unusual, and his tardiness did not go unnoticed. Dusaan arched an eyebrow at him, and several of the older chancellors regarded him with open curiosity as he took a seat near the window.

The discussion began unremarkably and soon the older chancellors were immersed in yet another argument over how best to keep the pestilence from spreading beyond Pinthrel. Stavel, who usually would have been debating the matter with the rest of them, found it difficult to keep his mind fixed on what they were saying. Instead, his gaze wandered the chamber, and within moments he had spotted a sword—the sword?—sheathed on a belt that hung over a chair in the far corner. The hilt was gold, but rather plain, as was the leather scabbard. Still, once Stavel saw the weapon, his eyes kept returning to it, as if of their own volition. It might very well have been a new blade, though the sheath seemed worn and scuffed along its edges. But if it wasn’t a new sword, why would the high chancellor have gone to the city to get it?

“Chancellor?”

Dusaan’s voice cut through his thoughts, forcing him to look away from the weapon. The high chancellor was staring at him, frowning slightly, though there was amusement in his golden eyes, and something else as well, though Stavel couldn’t say for certain what it was. He seemed in a lighter mood this day, but that only served to give Stavel a somewhat queasy feeling.

“Yes, High Chancellor?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“It seems your mind is elsewhere.” Dusaan turned, glancing in the direction of the sword before looking Stavel in the eye once more. “Is something troubling you?”

“No, High Chancellor. Forgive me. I was … merely thinking of something else. I’ll do my best to keep my mind on the matters at hand.”

“Of course, Chancellor. We were just saying that with Braedon at war, and so many of the emperor’s men committed elsewhere, we would be better off leaving it to the army of Pinthrel to cope with the situation there. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed, I would.”

“Good.” Dusaan turned his attention back to the others, a brittle smile on his lips. “The emperor has also asked me to discuss with the rest of you his plans for the Emperor’s Day celebration, which, as you all know, comes at the beginning of the next turn.” Stavel and the others knew that Dusaan was putting a good face on bad circumstance. He hadn’t spoken with the emperor since their last confrontation. Harel sent messages to the high chancellor instructing him to raise certain matters with the other Qirsi, and Dusaan sent back reports of their discussions in written form. No one dared correct Dusaan on this point.

The Emperor’s Day festivities tended to be much the same from year to year. Planning for the affair usually fell to Harel’s wives and their courtiers, but the emperor always made a show of involving his Qirsi and Eandi advisors in the preparations. Clearly Dusaan had little patience for the task this year, but he dutifully led the discussion. For his part, Stavel forced himself to attend to the conversation, though he continually fought an urge to gaze once more at the sword.

When at last Dusaan ended their discussion, the midday bells were tolling in the city. The ministers and chancellors began to leave, Stavel with them.

“Wait a moment, won’t you, Chancellor?” Dusaan called.

Stavel turned, hoping that he would find the high chancellor looking at one of the others. Would that it had been so.

“Of course, High Chancellor,” he said, his hands starting to shake.

When the other Qirsi had all gone, Dusaan gestured at the chair next to his. “Please sit.”

Stavel lowered himself into the chair, feeling as though the tip of that damned sword were pressed against his back.

“I wanted to make certain that you were all right, Stavel. I’ve never seen you so distracted.”

“I assure you, High Chancellor, I’m fine.”

“So you said before. Yet I find myself wondering what it is about my sword that would interest you so.”

Stavel felt as though there were a hand at his throat. The high chancellor hadn’t moved.

“Your sword, High Chancellor?” he asked, trying with little success to sound puzzled, or unconcerned, or anything else other than panicked.

“You’ve spent the better part of the morning staring at it.”

“Have I?”

Dusaan eyed him briefly, then rose, crossed the chamber, and retrieved the weapon from the chair on which it sat. Walking back toward Stavel, he pulled it from its sheath, appearing to examine the blade. The chancellor half expected Dusaan to run him through right there, but the man merely held out the sword to him, hilt first.

“There’s really nothing extraordinary about it,” the high chancellor said, as Stavel took it from him. “It’s a simple weapon. I’ve had it for years.”

Stavel looked up. “For years, you say?”

A strange smile alighted on the high chancellor’s lips and was gone. “Does that surprise you?”

“No, of course not. Why should it?”

“A good question, Stavel. Why?”

“As I said, it didn’t surprise me at all.”

“I’m not certain that I believe you. This is hardly the time for a Qirsi to tell lies, Stavel, particularly to another Qirsi.” Dusaan’s tone was light, but there could be no mistaking the warning in his words.

Stavel gave a small shrug, sensing that he was far out of his depth. “I heard that you had a new sword, that’s all.”

The smile returned. “Really? Where did you hear that?”

Too late, the chancellor realized that Dusaan had taken him just where he didn’t wish to go. His mouth had gone dry and that hand at his throat seemed to be tightening slowly. “I … I don’t recall. I must have heard the guards speaking of it.”

“How strange. The weapon’s been with a swordmaker in Curtell City for nearly four turns now. I only just retrieved it last night.”

“But how could—?” Stavel stopped himself, the blood draining from his cheeks. “How could the guards have known then?”

This time Dusaan grinned broadly. It almost seemed that he knew what Stavel had intended to say.
But how could you have taken it to the city when no one saw you leave the palace?
“I don’t know. I suppose the emperor’s men have ways of learning such things.”

“Yes,” Stavel said, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. “That must be it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, their eyes locked. Dusaan appeared amused again, though there was a predatory look in those bright yellow eyes.

“Well, Chancellor,” he said, “I’m glad to know that you’re well. You can go.”

Stavel nearly jumped out of his chair, so eager was he to be away from the man. “Yes, High Chancellor. Thank you.” He hurried to the door, then forced himself to stop and bow to Dusaan. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Dusaan gave a small nod. “Until tomorrow.”

A moment later he was in the corridor. The air felt cooler, tasted sweeter. He felt as though he had escaped a dungeon. Except that he knew better. Through circumstance, or ill fortune, or just plain carelessness, he now found himself caught between the emperor and Dusaan. If he didn’t extricate himself quickly, he would be crushed, like an innocent trapped between advancing armies.

*   *   *

It had been the last remaining obstacle. After his humiliating encounter with the emperor—he could still smell the muslin hood, dampened by his breath and his sweat—he had determined that there was nothing more to be gained by waiting. Tihod jal Brossa, the Qirsi merchant who had arranged payments of gold to the Weaver’s servants, was dead. Even if Tihod still lived and his network of couriers remained at the movement’s disposal, Harel had taken the fee accountings from Dusaan, placing them under the authority of his master of arms. The high chancellor no longer had access to the emperor’s gold, which meant that he no longer had any reason to debase himself before the fat fool.

All that kept Dusaan from beginning immediately to set in motion the next part of his plan was his suspicion that Harel had one or more of his Qirsi working as spies within the palace. Until Dusaan had identified the emperor’s agent, or agents, he couldn’t risk revealing himself.

He had suspected Stavel jal Miraad from the start. From what Nitara told him just after Kayiv’s death, he knew that Stavel had worked with the young minister in his efforts to turn the other Qirsi against Dusaan. At first the high chancellor had been skeptical of this, not because he thought Stavel was loyal to him, but because he didn’t think the old man courageous enough to involve himself in matters of this sort. But when Gorlan jal Aviarre, who had wisely chosen to ally himself with Dusaan’s movement, confirmed all that Nitara had told him, the Weaver had no choice but to believe it.