Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-one

Tobbar stared off to one side, his face burning with rage and humiliation and grief. If what his son and the boy’s Qirsi were telling him was true, he had been a fool for more years than he cared to count. Worse, it was possible that through carelessness, and his blind willingness to trust, he had allowed Filib the Younger’s death.

“I don’t believe any of this,” he said, his voice low. Or at least I don’t want to.

“You think Xiv would lie about such a thing?”

“He’s Qirsi, too. Who’s to say that he’s not the traitor here?”

“Father!”

The duke looked up at the young Qirsi, who stood near the hearth, silent and withdrawn, his gaze lowered. Tobbar knew that he should apologize to the man, but he couldn’t. “What gave you the right to speak with my minister in the first place?” he demanded instead. “In my castle, no less.”

“I asked him to, Father,” Marston said, forcing Tobbar to look his way. “If you want to rail at someone, rail at me. Xiv did this on my behalf.”

“Then you answer me. What gave you the right?”

Marston straightened, taking a breath. “I had no right. I feel that what we’ve learned justifies how we learned it, but you’re right. It wasn’t my place to send Xiv to your first minister without your approval. Forgive me.”

Damn the boy. Perhaps he knew more of statecraft than Tobbar realized. With his apology he forced Tobbar to look beyond the transgression to what their actions had revealed. Enid was a traitor, a part of this conspiracy that seemed to be everywhere. Ean Jtnew how long she had been lying to him, and what other things she had done to weaken Thorald.

“This isn’t a night for such things,” he said, sounding, he knew, like a peevish child. “Pitch Night in Bohdan’s Turn is a night for reflection and prayer, not for… for this.”

“Is there ever a good time for this? Will you be any more willing to speak with her tomorrow than you are tonight?”

Tobbar looked away once more. “Tell me again what she said.”

Xivled cleared his throat. “She told me that I would be contacted, that they’d probably give me gold first and that I might be instructed to carry out some task.”

“She didn’t say who would contact you?”

“No, and she warned me against asking too many questions.”

“Did she give you any sense at all of who her superiors were?”

“None at all. At one point she started to say something more, but she stopped herself and wouldn’t reveal anything when I pressed her on the matter.”

Tobbar nodded, still not looking at either of them. She betrayed me. Try as he might, he could think of no reason why Xivled would he about this. If he wished to be Thorald’s first minister he had only to wait. Certainly, if he belonged to the conspiracy himself, he gained nothing by drawing attention to the alleged treason of another Qirsi. Nor did he appear to be lying. Tobbar couldn’t sense such things, of course; none of the Eandi could, which was why so many of their nobles were dying. He had only his instincts, and though his faith in them had been badly shaken, he wasn’t ready to abandon them entirely.

“What would you have me do?” he asked at last, making himself meet Marston’s gaze.

“Simply speak with her, Father. I’m not asking you to accept what we’re telling you on faith.”

“Of course you are. You want me to summon my first minister to this chamber so that I can accuse her of betraying our house.”

Marston’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. How could he?

“That is what you want me to do, isn’t it? Confront her with what your minister has told us, and ask her to defend herself?”

“Yes,” Marston said. “That’s what I want you to do.”

“And what if Xivled is wrong? Enid has served me-has served this house-for nearly seven years. How do I repair the damage I’m about to do to my friendship with this woman? How do I justify accusing her of this?‘

“If she truly is your friend, Father, she’ll understand. Surely she’s heard of the conspiracy just as you have. She can hardly blame you for asking where her loyalties lie?”

“Would you be so understanding?” the duke asked, looking past his son to the Qirsi.

“This isn’t worth discussing,” Marston said before his minister could reply. “Xiv isn’t wrong, and bruising Enid’s pride should be the least of your concerns.” He stepped to Tobbar’s chair and knelt before the duke, forcing Tobbar to look him in the eye. “She betrayed us, Father. All of us. I have no doubt that she had Filib killed. We need to know what else she’s done. We need to know if there are others in the castle who have helped her. And then we need to imprison her and plan for her execution.”

He stared at his son, wishing at that moment that he could abdicate. Regardless of whether or not Marston was right, he didn’t want to face this. He was dying. Why couldn’t the gods simply let him go? Why couldn’t all of this have happened a year from now, when he was dead, or too ill to care anymore?

He knew the answer, of course. It echoed in his mind like thunder in the highlands. Enid was your choice. You brought her to this house. Her betrayal is your failure. He could no more escape blame than she could.

At last he nodded, closing his eyes against a throbbing pain in his head. “Summon her.” He rubbed his temple, listening as Marston crossed the room to the door and instructed one of the guards to bring Enid to the chamber.

A moment later his son closed the door again then returned to Tobbar’s side.

“Are you all right?”

The duke opened his eyes. “No, I’m not all right. I’m old and I’m dying, and I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Marston recoiled as if Tobbar had struck him.

“I didn’t mean you,” the duke said quickly. “You know that.”

His son regarded him briefly, his lips pressed thin. Then he nodded, though Tobbar could see in his eyes that he was still hurt.

Marston stood once more and began pacing the room. Xivled remained by the hearth, and the duke sat motionless in his chair, gazing at his own hands, wondering how they had grown so thin. None of them spoke.

Finally the duke looked up at Marston’s minister. “I owe you an apology, Xivled. I shouldn’t have said what I did before. Your father served me for more than ten years and never did I have cause to question his loyalty or his courage. Our families have been tied to each other for too long. You deserve better than my suspicion.”

“Thank you, my lord. My father always spoke of you as a friend, and your son has always treated me as no less.”

They fell silent again, waiting for Enid. It seemed to take her hours to answer his summons. When at last the knock came at the door, Marston halted and looked toward the duke, as if suddenly unsure of himself.

“Enter,” the duke called.

The door swung open and the first minister walked in, appearing terribly frail. It struck Tobbar that this was a waste of all their time. He and his minister would both be dead before long. Why not let this pass?

But he knew better. Seeing her now, allowing himself to wonder if she had indeed betrayed him, the duke felt anger welling in his chest. In spite of everything he had said to Marston a few moments earlier, he wanted to know the truth. And if she had killed his nephew or paid others to do so, he wanted her dead.

“You called for me, my lord,” she said, glancing at each of the three men.

“Close the door, Enid.”

The minister hesitated, perhaps sensing from his tone that this was to be no ordinary conversation. She pushed the door closed and took her customary seat by his writing table.

“How may I serve, my lord?” she asked, a brittle smile on her lips.

“The thane’s minister was just telling me of a conversation he had with you in your chambers.”

“Yes. He asked me to tell him of your correspondence with the king. I thought it an odd request, since your son could just as easily have asked you, but I saw no reason to keep anything from him. Would you have preferred that I say nothing?”

“That’s not the conversation to which I was referring.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, my lord. It’s the only conversation we’ve had.”

She looked and sounded as calm as ever. Even searching for some sign that she was lying to him, Tobbar saw none.

“According to Xivled, you offered to put him in touch with the leaders of the Qirsi conspiracy. You even promised him gold.”

The minister laughed. “Did I offer as well to make him emperor of Braedon?” She looked over at Marston, as if expecting to hear him laugh with her. When he didn’t-when none of them did-she sobered, facing the duke again. “You’re not serious, my lord.”

“You deny it?”

She paled. “Of course I do. I know little more about the conspiracy than you do, my lord. I’ve certainly had no contact with anyone involved with it. And I have no gold to promise.”

“You’re lying!” Marston said, striding toward her.

“Be quiet, Marston!” Tobbar eyed her for several moments, trying to decide how to proceed. “So you’re telling me that the two of you spoke only of the messages I’ve exchanged with the king? There was nothing more?”

Enid glanced at Xivled, looking uncomfortable. “That’s not entirely the case. I’m reluctant to say anything that might harm the reputation of another Qirsi, but your son’s minister spoke of the thane in terms that can best be described as insulting. He questioned Lord Shanstead’s judgment and intelligence, and expressed great bitterness at the treatment he had received from the thane.” She turned in her chair to look at Marston. “Were I in your position, my lord, I would be reluctant to place much faith in this man. I believe in time he will betray you.”

“As you’ve betrayed my father?”

“I’ve done no such thing, Lord Shanstead. If this minister of yours has told you otherwise, he’s a liar.”

“I know him too well to believe that,” Marston said.

“Apparently the years you’ve spent together mean little to him, my lord. He’s yet to deny that he said those things about you.”

Marston grinned darkly. “I don’t expect him to deny it. I told him to speak to you so, knowing that you’d reply by asking him to join the conspiracy.”

Enid glared at him for a moment before looking at Tobbar again. “You knew about this?”

“No,” the duke said. “They did this on their own, and I’ve already chided them for it. But what Xivled told me about your conversation disturbed me greatly. I was hoping you could explain.”

“So you believe I’ve betrayed you. You’re willing to take this man’s word over mine, though I’ve served you well for all these years.”

‘ ’This man,‘ as you put it, is the son of my former first minister, the Qirsi you replaced. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.“ Tobbar exhaled heavily. ”But still, I don’t know who to believe. One of you must be lying, and so one of you must be a traitor. So what is your counsel, First Minister? How am I to decide?“

For the first time, he saw her falter, as if she thought the question itself a trap. In truth, Tobbar hadn’t intended it as such, though he realized now that it placed her in an awkward position. If she had betrayed him, she could only offer more denials and accusations.

“It is a difficult matter, my lord,” she said slowly. “You must consider all that you know of both of us. You may have known the minister’s father, but do you know him? Do you know all that you should about his feelings for your son? For while he may hold you in esteem, his opinion of the thane may be more difficult to fathom.”

“To be honest, Enid, I can’t claim to know either of you, at least not as you suggest. The Qirsi may have magic that allows them to see into a person’s heart and mind, but I’m just an Eandi noble.”

“Perhaps the minister will allow us to search her chambers,” Marston suggested.

“To what end?” Tobbar asked, facing his son. “What would we be searching for?”

“Gold,” Xivled said.

They all looked at the younger minister.

“If she’s allied with the conspiracy, they’ll be paying her. From what I’ve heard, the leaders of this movement have a good deal of gold and pay their underlings quite well.”

“Where does this wealth come from?” the duke asked.

Xivled shook his head. “I don’t know, my lord.”

Tobbar eyed Enid for several moments. “What do you think of that, First Minister. May we search your chambers?”

“Who will search his?” she demanded, pointing at Marston’s minister.

“I will,” Marston said. “As soon as we return to Shanstead. You have my word.”

“Well, Enid?”

“This is foolishness,” she said, refusing to look at the duke. “I’ve told you already, I have nothing to do with this conspiracy. If there had ever been gold lying around in my chamber, I’d have spent it long ago.”

Marston opened his hands. “Then you have nothing to fear from letting us examine your quarters.”

She sat motionless in her chair, her eyes trained on the floor, wide and wild, like those of a treed wildcat.

And in that instant, Tobbar knew. Marston had been right all along. Enid had betrayed him for the Qirsi conspiracy. Somewhere in her chambers lay a pouch of gold that would prove beyond doubt that she was a traitor, an enemy of every Eandi in the Forelands. A part of him wanted to strike her; a part of him wanted to weep as he hadn’t since Liene’s death. Until just then, he hadn’t realized how much he valued Enid’s friendship-or rather, the illusion of friendship she had offered him all these years.

Which might have been why he deigned to give her one last chance at redemption.

“If you tell me everything,” he said, his voice so gentle he might have been speaking to a lover, “I’ll spare your life. You can live out your last days in the prison tower. I promise you comfort, meals, warmth in the colder-”

Enid began to laugh, a chilling sound that made the duke shudder and flinch away.

“You offer me the comfort of an Eandi prison?” she asked. “And knowing what you do now, you expect me to accept?” The woman shook her head, a harsh grin frozen on her face. “You’re an even greater fool than I believed. I’d sooner endure the tortures of your pitiful dungeon than tell you anything. You might as well kill me here, Tobbar.”

“You could at least tell me why,” he said. “I never did anything to you but offer you my trust, my friendship, and the opportunity to serve this house.”

“ ‘The opportunity…’?” she repeated, laughing again. “Could you truly be such an ass? The only opportunity you ever gave me was the opportunity to strike a blow at the Eandi courts of this kingdom. I came to you a traitor, you fool. I have been true to my heart since the day I first set foot in this castle. I am grateful for your trust and your friendship, but only because they enabled me to serve my people so well for so long.”

Tobbar stared at her, groping for something to say. It almost seemed that she had transformed herself before his eyes from his minister to some demon from Bian’s realm. He no longer knew her. If she was to be believed, he never had.

Enid cast a withering glare at Xivled, her yellow eyes like ward fires in a besieged castle.

“You think you’ve struck a great blow against the movement, cousin. You’ve done nothing. I’m an old woman, a relic from a time when the movement sought to cripple Eibithar. We’ve already done that. You’re too late. This is a war, and the important battles are now being waged elsewhere. You may have beaten me, but there will be no spoils from this victory.”

“You’ll tell us what you know,” Marston said, standing over her. “We’ll at least learn what you’ve done and who you serve. We can start with Filib’s murder and your role in that. Then you can tell us about what happened in Kentigern earlier this year.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. “I won’t tell you anything.”

“In all your years in Thorald Castle, have you ever been in her dungeons? Have you ever seen what torture does to a prisoner?”

Enid smiled, allowing herself to look up at him once more. “As I said, Lord Shanstead, I’m an old woman. My body will fail long before my will. If I must die to serve my people, so be it. It will be a far more glorious death than I had any right to expect.”

Marston opened his mouth to say more, but Tobbar stopped him with a raised hand.

“I’ve heard enough,” he said, his voice flat. “Guards!” he called, the word echoing through the chamber like the meeting of swords.

The door opened, and two of Thorald’s soldiers entered the room.

“Yes, my lord? ‘ one of them said.

“Take the first minister to the dungeon.”

The two men exchanged a look. “My lord?”

“You heard me. She’s to be taken to the dungeon and placed in chains. I don’t want her hurt-at least not yet-but beware. She’s Qirsi, and therefore dangerous.” He racked his mind, trying to remember what powers she possessed. But he knew only that she was a gleaner, as were most of her people.

Looking as frightened as probationers facing their first battle, the two man walked to where Enid sat.

Enid eyed them both before gazing once more at the duke, the smile lingering on her face. “This is a useless, spiteful gesture, Tobbar. It doesn’t become you at all.”

“Perhaps not, Enid. But you leave me no choice. You don’t want to be imprisoned in the tower. Would you be willing to talk if I offered you a quick, painless death?”

She seemed to consider this, though only for an instant.

“No. Though you may not believe it, honor means a great deal to me. I have sworn to serve my people, and I’ll carry that oath to the Underrealm.”

“May you be thrown to the flames and demons there,” Marston said, refusing to look at her. “May the Deceiver torment you until the end of time.”

The first minister stood, glancing at the two guards. “You heard your duke,” she said. “Take me to the dungeon. I grow tired of this company.‘

The guards didn’t move, appearing uncertain of what to do, until Tobbar nodded to them. Each man took hold of one of the woman’s arms and led her away. She looked like a waif between them, tiny and harmless. One last deception among so many.

She would have liked to strike out at all of them, to use her powers to destroy all of Thorald. Even having betrayed Tobbar, she had never hated him. He had never struck her as being worthy of such intense feeling. In the wake of this, however-having been ensnared by Marston’s whelp of a minister and humiliated by the duke before his guards-she found that she could hate him after all. This is a war, she had told them, and for the first time in years, almost since she arranged the murder of Filib the Younger near the woodland sanctuary where the boy’s father died several years earlier, she felt like a soldier in the service of the Weaver. She was ashamed- not of being a traitor, but rather of being foolish enough to let Tobbar find out-and she knew that before long she would be broken, but at least she was fighting again, striking at the Eandi for her people.

She had spoken the truth to the young Qirsi earlier that day: there was far more to be gained from serving the movement than merely gold pieces. Wealth might have been enough for the young; it had been for her. But though she was too old now to enjoy fully the gold given to her by the Weaver’s chancellors, she drew greater satisfaction than ever before at furthering their cause. If only she could have done more.

Her powers had never been great. She was a gleaner, and she possessed as well the magics of fire and language of beasts. Not many Qirsi wielded three magics, but only that last, language of beasts, was thought of by her people as one of the deeper powers. None of them was capable of shattering the walls of this castle, or killing its inhabitants. Even had she been a shaper, she was too old to do much damage before the Eandi killed her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had drawn upon her power. She still had gleaning dreams occasionally, visions that woke her from her sleep with their clarity and the certainty that they carried the weight of prophecy. But there was a great difference between gleaning in a dream and wielding magic as a weapon.

The two guards led her down the steps of the nearest tower into the cold air of Thorald’s north ward. Clouds raced overhead, like grey mounts charging across the moorlands. A few stars shone in the deep black of the night sky, but this was Pitch Night, the last of the year. Neither moon shone upon them. Torches from the ramparts lent a dim glow to the ward, and the dry snow crunching beneath their feet seemed to gather the starlight and torch fire so that it gleamed like a moonlit lake. A stiff wind carved across the ward, making Enid shudder. Apparently the guards thought she was trying to wrench herself out of their grasp, and they tightened their hold on her arms until she thought they would bruise her.

“The duke told you not to hurt me,” she said.

“He also said you were dangerous, Minister,” one of them said. Still, a moment later, they relaxed their grip once more.

They continued past the castle’s great hall, through the central ward, until the prison tower loomed above them, dark and ponderous, like some great black creature from the Underrealm.

Seeing the tower, shivering once more from the cold, or from fear, Enid felt herself waver. My body will fail long before my will, she had said. A boast. She would happily die if it meant protecting the movement and the Weaver. But standing before the castle prison, she no longer felt so certain that she could endure the duke’s torturers.

At the entrance to the tower, a soldier stopped them. In the dim light, it took her a moment to recognize the captain of the guard.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking briefly at the minister before facing the older of the two guards.

“The duke told us to put her in the dungeon.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “The dungeon? You’re sure he didn’t mean the tower?”

“He said the dungeon, all right. He wants her in chains. Seems she’s a traitor, and the duke wants to know something of her allies.”

The man exhaled, whistling through his teeth. “So it’s to be torture.”

“Can you torture a Qirsi?” the other guard asked.

The two men looked at him, the captain frowning.

“Well I’ve never heard of it,” the man said, sounding defensive. “I thought maybe a sorcerer could keep it from hurting or something.”

The captain eyed at her again. “No, you can torture them. Isn’t that right, Minister?”

She regarded him for a moment, then looked away. Her pulse was hammering at her temples, and her hands trembled. Of course a Qirsi could be tortured. They felt pain like the Eandi; they bled, their bones shattered, their skin burned. Even a healer couldn’t stave off pain forever. A shaper might shatter the manacles that held his wrists and ankles and neck, but no Qirsi as old and weak as she could fight off the Eandi forever. Except, perhaps, the Weaver, but he possessed powers that went far beyond those she had wielded in her youth. That was why they followed him; that was why she would die for him.

Please, Qirsar, she prayed silently. Give me the strength to keep silent. Give me the courage to face their blades and torches.

The captain led the men to the dungeon door, searching his keys for the proper one. Finding it, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Stale, fetid air swirled up the dark stairs, hitting Enid like a gangrenous fist and making her gag. She tried to back away, but the men held her.

“It’s not too late to tell us what you know, Enid,” came a voice from behind them. “You don’t have to go down there.”

The guards turned, and the minister with them.

Marston stood in the tower doorway, the golden glimmer of the torches lighting his ruddy face and grey eyes.

“My father sent me to reason with you one last time. He’s prepared to offer you a choice: life in the tower, or a quick, easy death. All you need do is talk to us. Answer our questions about the conspiracy, and you need never set foot in that dungeon.”

It occurred to her then to lie to them. She had been lying for so long. A day more or less wouldn’t mean anything. She could give them plausible answers to their questions and be done with it.

But as quickly as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. It seemed there was more to her silence than devotion to the Weaver and his cause. Here at the end, with every path before her leading to the Deceiver, she found strength where she least expected it. Pride. To feign a confession, to give the Eandi fools any information at all, faulty or not, was to surrender. Enid couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even if it could have bought her freedom, rather than just a comfortable incarceration, the price would have been too high. She would sooner linger a year on the torturer’s rack than give in to them.

Instead, she chose to fight, like a good soldier faced with an insuperable foe. This is a war. Yes. She needed time, however. Just a bit.

“Your father believes I would betray my people, just to save myself from a foul smell?”

“My father is a good man. Indeed, he’s so generous in spirit, that it weakens him. He refuses to accept that others are not as honorable as he, even after they have proved themselves liars and cowards again and again.”

“I see,” she said, though she was barely listening to him. Rather, she was reaching for her power, despairing at how feeble her magic had grown with age and years of neglect. At first she thought there was nothing left, that she might have to face the dungeon after all. But at last, as Marston began to drone on again about her duty to the House of Thorald and his father, she sensed the magic still residing with her, like a shallow still pool. She remembered when it had flowed through her limbs and body like a torrent fed by the early rains, and she lamented the passing of her life, the withering of her body and mind.

Still, she reached into those still waters, carefully drawing forth what remained, like a child carrying the precious nectar of Bohdan’s fruit in cupped hands. She would have but one chance, she knew. If she failed the first time they would kill her before she could try again. So she devoted her mind fully to this last act, as if she were a young Qirsi new to her apprenticeship, using her powers for the very first time. She closed her eyes.

“What is she doing?” she heard Marston say, fear in his voice.

She would have liked to strike at the thane as well, but she was so weak. It would have to be enough to attack the two who held her.

With a sudden, hard push of her mind that tore a cry from her chest, she threw fire at the two guards.

Enid heard them cry out, felt them release her. Opening her eyes, feeling the ground pitch and roll as if from an earth tremor, she saw that their clothes and hair were ablaze. She was stronger than she realized. Once again she considered using her magic against Marston as well, but already he was drawing his sword. She hadn’t time. Instead she lunged for the nearer of the two guards, grabbing his dagger from his belt.

Other guards were coming at her. Marston had drawn back his weapon to strike. She sensed death closing on her from all sides, like an ocean fog. But still she had time enough to choose. Barely.

She turned, took a long step toward the stairs to the dungeon. Then a second and third. And then she leaped.

The fetor, the unseen fist, pounded at her senses, but she no longer cared. She felt herself falling through the blackness, knowing the impact with the foul stone floor would probably kill her. Still, she wanted to be certain. Slowly, as if she had an abundance of time, she placed the tip of the soldier’s blade against her chest.

“For my people!” she cried.

And struck.