Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-four

Curtell, Braedon

All color drained from the emperor’s face as he read the message, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he feared he might cry out at the tidings from Aneira.

“Ean save us all!” he breathed. He looked up at Dusaan for a moment, horror in his small green eyes. “They’re animals, High Chancellor! We’ve allied ourselves with brutes and demons!”

Dusaan would have liked to rip the parchment from the man’s fat fingers so that he might read it himself. But there was nothing for him to do but wait while the emperor read the message a second time and fretted like a spoiled child.

“Perhaps if Your Eminence allowed me to read the message…” he suggested when he could stand it no longer.

“What?” Harel said looking up. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

He held out the scroll to Dusaan. After the chancellor took it from him he slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. One would have thought the very act of reading the message had overwhelmed him.

Dusaan read of the poisoning and Grigor’s execution without reaction. The deaths of the two dukes didn’t trouble him, nor did the loss of three Qirsi ministers. By serving Eandi nobles, they had betrayed their people. Their lives meant as little to him as the lives of the Eandi. That is, until he realized that one of the dead Qirsi was the first minister of Bistari, one of those who served him. He had lost too many of his underlings recently-he could ill afford to lose another.

“Demons and fire,” he muttered.

Harel nodded. “I know.”

At least the queen had survived, and her daughter as well. Had Gngor succeeded in killing off all the leaders of House Solkara, it would have so weakened the Supremacy that civil war might have become inevitable. As it was, the selection of the girl as Carden’s successor, and Numar of Renbrere as regent, promised to bring some stability to the kingdom. He couldn’t know if Pronjed had any involvement in these events, but somehow, through skill or plain dumb luck, the archminister had managed to keep Aneira from descending into civil war. A good thing; with so many Qirsi dying, Dusaan would have hated to have to kill another.

He handed the scroll back to the emperor, keeping his expression grim.

“Do we really wish to ally ourselves with such people, High Chancellor?”

“These tidings are disturbing, Your Eminence. They are proof once more of why Braedon is destined to rule all the Forelands. Such depravity and wickedness on the part of the six can only lead to their decline and our glory.”

“Indeed,” the emperor said, brightening. “Well said, High Chancellor.”

“Awful as these events may seem, however,” Dusaan went on, keeping his tone light, “they should not change our plans substantially.”

“No?”

“House Solkara still rules, and though Lord Renbrere may need some time to earn the trust of his dukes and the army, particularly after his brother’s crime, I have no doubt that he will welcome any overtures from the empire.”

Harel sat forward once more, obviously interested in what Dusaan was telling him. “What of this girl, and Carden’s wife?”

“They are nothing, Your Eminence. Numar rules Aneira, if not in name, then in fact. We need only win his trust to assure our success.”

“Then the invasion can go on as we planned.”

“In time, yes. Numar will not be ready for several turns. We thought half a year when we heard of Carden’s death, and that still seems right to me. Six or seven turns, perhaps a few more. But we need not wait much longer than that.”

The emperor nodded, but even as he did, his gaze fell to the scroll once more.

“Poisoning is a terrible thing,” he said, his voice low. “It’s a coward’s way.” He started to say something else, then stopped himself, glancing uncomfortably at the chancellor.

Dusaan knew what he was thinking. “Poison is the weapon of a Qirsi. The saying dated back to the early years of the empire, when memories of the Qirsi Wars and Carthach’s betrayal were still fresh, and even men who coveted Qirsi magic for their courts spoke of the sorcerer race with contempt.

“Dusaan,” the emperor said, sounding almost shy, as if what he was about to say frightened him, “have you heard the rumors of a Qirsi conspiracy?”

He had been expecting this for some time now and so had no trouble keeping his composure. In truth, he had thought the fat fool would raise these questions long ago, and he had wondered if answering them would make him uneasy. As it turned out, he had to struggle to keep from laughing at the man.

“Yes, Your Eminence, I’ve heard them.”

“Do you give them much credence?”

“I think it would be imprudent to do otherwise, Your Eminence. Don’t you?”

“Are you alarmed by what you’ve heard?”

Such blind, foolish trust. It was as if the emperor never even considered the possibility that Dusaan could be involved, much less the movement’s leader.

“Alarmed?” The chancellor shook his head. “No. But I think it’s fair to say that I’m listening carefully to all that I hear of this conspiracy, lest there come a time when rumor gives way to reality.”

“Yes, of course,” the emperor said, nodding so vigorously that the flesh under his chin shook. “No doubt that’s very wise.”

Dusaan narrowed his eyes. “Are you wondering if the poisoning was the work of these Qirsi?”

“It had crossed my mind. After all, it was poison…”

And Ean forbid that an Eandi would be cowardly enough to put oleander in the queen’s wine. “Yes, Your Eminence, it was.”

“Not that all Qirsi would do such a thing,” the emperor added. “Not that you would. But it does give one pause.”

“Of course. If you’d like, I’ll ask the other chancellors and ministers what they’ve heard of this conspiracy and whether they think it may be responsible for recent events in Aneira.”

“Yes, Dusaan, that would be fine.”

The Weaver made a half turn toward the door, as if to go, hoping that would be the end of their conversation. But the emperor didn’t dismiss him.

“Have you noticed, High Chancellor, that most of the killings attributed to the conspiracy have taken place elsewhere? The empire has largely been spared. It’s almost as if the weakness of the six invites such tragedies, while our strength keeps us safe.”

Again, he had to keep from laughing. Braedon had been spared because Dusaan chose to spare it. The last thing he wanted was for the emperor to grow suspicious of his Qirsi before Dusaan had the chance to turn the empire’s army and fleet to his purposes. Eventually, he would command enough Qirsi warriors that he would no longer need the emperor’s soldiers, but that time had not yet come.

“I hadn’t noticed, Your Eminence. But now that you bring it to my attention it seems clear that you’re correct. These Qirsi may believe they can weaken the other kingdoms, but they would not dare make an enemy of the empire.”

Harel smiled, looking far too satisfied with himself. “Quite right, High Chancellor. But still, I feel the time has come to take some precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?” Dusaan asked, his stomach tightening.

“Well,” the emperor began, suddenly sounding a bit less sure, “I think we should stop bringing new ministers and chancellors into the palace. I’ve enough Qirsi advising me now.”

The Weaver felt himself relax. “That seems wise, Your Eminence.”

“I also think we should watch those Qirsi who already serve me a bit more closely. There may be some among them who wish to betray the empire.”

“Again, a most prudent decision.”

“And finally, I feel that I must make more decisions without consulting any Qirsi at all.” He glanced quickly at the chancellor, then looked down again, toying absently with the Imperial Scepter. “Even you, Dusaan. I realize that I’ve come to rely on you a great deal. Perhaps too much.”

He would have liked to slap the man, to leave a crimson imprint of his hand on the emperor’s fat face. It was bad enough that Dusaan should still be forced to serve such a man publicly, bowing to this overgrown child and lavishing him with undeserved praise. But to be reminded just now that his own fortunes and those of his movement were still subject to Harel’s whims and petty fears was almost too much for him to bear.

“As you wish, Your Eminence,” he managed to say, his voice sounding thick. “If you like I’ll leave the planning of the invasion in your hands.” He could hardly imagine the emperor agreeing to this-the very idea of leading this war seemed to terrify Harel. But Dusaan wouldn’t have minded if by some chance he did agree. The chancellor wanted Braedon at war with Eibithar. If the emperor led that war incompetently, all the better. The weaker the Eandi armies, the easier it would be for his Qirsi army to conquer them. Better Harel should take control of the invasion than the treasury. Dusaan needed access to Braedon’s gold in order to continue paying those who served him.

“The invasion?” the emperor asked, shifting uncomfortably in his throne. “You’ve worked so hard on it already. I’d hate to… to deny you the pleasure of seeing it to its completion.”

“Not at all, Your Eminence. This invasion promises to be the crowning achievement of your reign as emperor. The pleasure of completing it should be yours as should the glory that will follow from it.”

“The invasion,” Harel said again, as if considering it. He licked his lips. “I had in mind some of the more mundane matters that I leave to your discretion each day.”

“Well, of course, Your Eminence, if you wish to concern yourself with such trifles you may. The empire is yours and I but serve. But it seems to me that the man who will soon lay claim to the entire northern half of the Forelands has better ways to pass his day than bothering with the collection of tithes, the enforcement of warrior quotas, and the mediation of inconsequential disputes among your lords.”

The emperor perked up at that. “There! Mediating disputes among my lords. That’s just the sort of thing I mean. That, it seems to me, is the responsibility of an emperor, rather than his high chancellor. You understand, don’t you, Dusaan?”

The Qirsi shrugged, feeling himself relax once more. “I suppose I do, Your Eminence. If you feel it necessary to handle these matters, I’m more than happy to defer to you. To be honest, I’ll be glad to be done with them. With all respect to the lords who serve you, they seem almost eager to quarrel with one another. They take offense like overly tender children and threaten war over the smallest, most desolate scraps of land.”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” the emperor said, nodding sagely. “But you have to remember, Dusaan: they don’t know what it is to rule an empire. Their realms are small, and so even the merest threats to their power seem great. These matters must be handled with care lest they grow into civil conflict.” He nodded again, as if convincing himself. “I think it best that I mediate all future disputes among my lords.”

“Of course. Your Eminence is most wise.” He hesitated, watching the emperor closely. He was eager to leave Harel’s chambers, but he needed to be certain that his control over the treasury remained safe. “Is there anything else, Your Eminence?”

“No, Dusaan. You may go.”

The chancellor bowed and started toward the door.

“You will remember to speak with the others?” the emperor called to him, just as he reached for the door handle.

Dusaan halted, but didn’t turn. “The others, Your Eminence?” he asked, struggling to keep his impatience from seeping into his voice.

“The other Qirsi. You said you’d speak to them about the conspiracy.”

He faced Harel. “Of course. Forgive me, Your Eminence. I had forgotten. I’ll summon them to my quarters immediately.”

The emperor frowned. “Are you all right, Dusaan?”

“I’m fine, Your Eminence.”

“It’s not like you to forget such things.”

“I’ve a good deal on my mind. And I think I find the very idea of the conspiracy so disturbing that I didn’t want to remember this particular task.” He forced a smile. “But I’ll see to it right away.”

“Very good, Dusaan. Thank you.”

The Qirsi bowed again, let himself out of the chamber, and walked quickly back toward his quarters.

There were certain risks in speaking of the conspiracy with the other Qirsi. Skilled as he was at masking his true feelings, he would be hard-pressed to endure the righteous denunciations of his movement that he expected from Harel’s fawning underchancellors and ministers. But rather than dreading this discussion, he was actually looking forward to it. At some point, sooner rather than later, he would have to begin gathering allies from within the emperor’s circle of advisors. As the time for the uprising neared, his need to remain anonymous would give way to a greater need to build his army of sorcerers. While he had nothing but contempt for several of Harel’s advisors, he saw promise in some of them, and recognized that several others wielded powers that would be of use to him in the coming war.

Not that he intended to begin today to lure some of them into the movement. Rather, he hoped to learn from what he saw in their responses who among them were most likely to be receptive to his overtures when the time came. He had little doubt that all of them had heard talk of the conspiracy, and he felt certain that at least a few of them-perhaps more- harbored sympathies for his cause. He had only to watch and listen.

He passed one of the emperor’s pages in the palace corridor-a Qirsi child, probably the son of one of the other Qirsi advisors. He stopped the boy with an outstretched hand.

“Y-yes, High Chancellor?” the lad said, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Dusaan reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver piece. It was only one qinde-an imperial at that-but to the boy it would be a treasure. “Summon the other chancellors and ministers for me, boy. Tell them to meet me in my chambers at the ringing of the prior’s bells.”

The boy stared at the coin and nodded. “Yes, High Chancellor.”

Dusaan handed him the silver and walked on. Normally he would have entrusted only a guard with such a task, but he had no doubt that the boy would do as he was told. His fear of the high chancellor made that certain. And by paying him, Dusaan made a friend, one who might be of use to him later. “A well-placed coin,” it was said in the Braedon courts, “pays for itself tenfold.” In light of the success he had enjoyed in turning Qirsi all across the Forelands to his cause, the Weaver could hardly argue the point.

Returning to his quarters, Dusaan locked his door and pulled out the treasury accounting. He carried the volume to his writing table and lit a nearby oil lamp with a thought.

The past several turns had been difficult ones for him, the worst he had encountered since he first began bringing other Qirsi into his movement. First there was the failure in Kentigern during the growing turns when all his gold and hard work not only failed to bring war, but actually fostered an alliance between the houses of Curgh and Glyndwr in Eibithar. And now Pronjed’s rash decision to kill the king of Solkara had led to this poisoning and the death of Bistari’s first minister. By necessity, Dusaan had to rely on Qirsi who served in the Eandi courts. In order to win control of the Forelands, he had to defeat the Eandi nobles, and who better to help him with this than their most trusted advisors.

But while his ability to turn these men and women to his own purposes had been, thus far, his greatest strength, it had also revealed itself recently as his most dangerous vulnerability. He had come to Curtell to serve the emperor knowing already that he was a Weaver, and intending to use his influence and his powers to wrest control of the court from the Eandi. Most of those who had joined his movement, however, had once aspired to the positions they now held. They served him now, but once they had chosen to serve their Eandi nobles. They were, at root, just the sort of weak-minded traitors to the Qirsi people he most despised. He couldn’t succeed without them, yet as Shurik had shown in Kentigern, and Pronjed had made glaringly clear in Solkara, he might find eventually that he couldn’t succeed with them, either.

He couldn’t blame all of his troubles on others, he knew. His own carelessness had forced him to kill the high minister in the City of Kings. He still didn’t understand how he had managed to let the man see his face.

“Of course you do,” he murmured to himself, pausing over the accounting and rubbing his brow.

It was the woman. Cresenne. He had allowed himself to imagine her as his queen, though it should have been clear to him that she still loved this other man, the one who had fathered her child. Hearing Paegar speak of his love for Kearney’s archminister, Dusaan had been reminded of his own unrequited affections and his pain and rage at learning that she still longed for the gleaner. Before he understood fully what had happened, the light behind him had faded and Paegar had looked upon his face, he had seen the plains of his dreams for what they were, the moors near Ayvencalde. There had been nothing for Dusaan to do but kill the man.

Which meant that he needed someone new in the royal city of Eibithar.

Paegar had given him a name before he died. Keziah ja Dafydd. Another minister, another Qirsi who had pledged herself to the service of an Eandi noble. Still, the Weaver sensed that this one might be different, that she might be more. For one thing, she was a woman, and he had found over the years that among the ministers, the women served him far better than did the men. Enid in Thorald, Yaella in Mertesse, Abem in the court of Sanbira’s queen, in Yserne; all of them had proven their worth time and again. Even Cresenne, who had caused him so much anguish as of late, had been more valuable to him than the most powerful men he had turned. Keziah, he believed, would serve him just as well as the others.

But not only was she a woman, she was also, according to Paegar, the king’s lover. At least she had been before he took the throne. Theirs had been a forbidden love, which meant that it most likely had been a deep love as well. Even for a duke and his first minister, the risks of an affair between a Qirsi woman and Eandi man would have been too great for it to be anything less. Losing him had to have been a terrible blow, enough perhaps to leave her bitter and eager for vengeance. Such had been Paegar’s hope, and Dusaan found that he wanted to prove the man right, as a way of honoring him. He smiled at the thought. These were not sentiments he would usually have allowed himself, but in this instance they seemed justified.

Still, though she might hate her king now, enough perhaps to betray him without other incentive, the Weaver needed to be prepared to pay her. He had noticed that most of the women he turned did not have the same voracious appetite for gold that he observed in so many of the men. But neither did they refuse it when it was offered to them.

Finding gold in Braedon’s treasury had never been a problem for him. The challenge lay in turning the gold to his own purposes without raising the suspicions of the emperor or his other Qirsi. Fortunately, an empire as vast as Braedon had no shortage of expenses. By adding a few extra qinde to the allocation for the Braedon garrison on Enwyl Island, in the Gulf of Kreanna, for instance, or increasing slightly the allowance for the naval presence near Mistborne Island, at the top of the Scabbard, he could make the accounting look reasonable while creating a pool of gold which he could use without drawing attention to his activities. He never sent the garrisons or naval forces less than they needed, so no one ever complained. And since requests for gold came directly to him, no one else ever noticed the discrepancies.

Dusaan sent this extra gold to a sea merchant who frequented the ports of Ayvencalde, Bishenhurst, and Finkirk. For centuries, the empire had used merchants as spies to keep watch on the other six kingdoms of the Forelands. None of the emperor’s couriers would have thought twice about delivering gold to this man. That he was Qirsi would have seemed to them a curiosity and nothing more.

His name was Tihod jal Brossa and he was the one man in the world whom Dusaan considered a true friend. They had grown up together in valley of the Rimerock River near Muelry. Their fathers, unlike most of the Qirsi in Braedon, had refused to work in the Eandi courts or in Braedon’s Carnival. Instead, Tihod’s father farmed and Dusaan’s father served the nearby villages as a healer. Neither man ever grew wealthy. Indeed, there were many times when Dusaan’s mother pleaded with her husband to seek a position in one of Muelry’s lesser courts. But throughout their lives, both men maintained a stubborn pride in their ancestry and in their powers as well, limited though they were. They instilled this same pride in their sons, telling them tales of the ancient Qirsi warriors at bedtime, and taking it upon themselves to begin training the boys in the ways of magic well before their Determinings. While so many Qirsi children grew up ashamed of their white hair and yellow eyes and slight builds, Dusaan and Tihod saw these as signs of dignity. The rest of the children, Qirsi and Eandi, called them arrogant, but the boys didn’t care. They were inseparable, like brothers; they had no need for other friends.

When their formal training began, and Dusaan learned from his Qirsi master that he was a Weaver, he told Tihod, but no one else, not even his father. To this day, his friend remained the only one who knew.

Generally he sent Tihod between one thousand and two thousand qinde at a time, placing a reserve of gold in the merchant’s hands to speed payments when necessary. These were imperial qinde, which were accepted throughout the Forelands but were held to have less value than the qinde used in the six kingdoms. One thousand imperial was worth about seven hundred qinde in the six. Tihod exchanged the gold pieces at a rate somewhat more favorable to himself, usually sending five hundred qinde on to those who served Dusaan for every one thousand imperial he received from the Weaver. It was a steep price Dusaan was paying, but since he was using the emperor’s gold, he gave it little thought. In return for all this gold, Tihod delivered the payments to ports throughout the Forelands, making certain that they found their way into the right hands. He had even created a web of couriers who carried the gold from the ports to the inland cites, where it could be left in specified places for Dusaan’s most trusted servants-his chancellors, as he called them. Dusaan didn’t know any of these couriers by name, nor did Tihod know the names of those who served the movement. The Weaver told Tihod how much gold to send and where to have his couriers hide it. He then told his underlings where to find the payments. In all other respects Tihod’s web and Dusaan’s movement remained utterly separate from one another.

In this way, the Weaver could pay his underlings in common currency rather than in imperial coin, making it far less likely that any of them might trace the gold back to Braedon and thus learn his true identity. At the same time, his friend made enough gold through these transactions to ensure that he would do nothing to upset Dusaan’s plans. The Weaver trusted Tihod, but he found it comforting to know that the merchant had other incentives beyond their friendship to keep his secret. A Weaver could never be too careful.

It took Dusaan but a short while to allocate enough gold to make his first payment to the archminister of Eibithar. He had decided to give her one hundred qinde, or rather to have Tihod give it to her out of his reserve. Dusaan wanted this done quickly. One hundred, he hoped, would be enough to lure her into the movement, but not so much as to seem that he was trying to buy her loyalty. He needed to impress upon her that this was more than merely a way to grow rich. The movement offered her a chance to bring glory to her people, to redeem the Qirsi from Carthach’s betrayal. And perhaps, if Paegar proved to be right about this, the Weaver might also convince her that by joining his movement she could strike back at the Eandi king who had spurned her when he placed the jeweled crown on his brow.

He returned the volume containing the accounts to the shelves and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had not slept well since killing Paegar, and because he spent many of his nights entering the dreams of others, he found that he was constantly weary. Tonight he would have to speak with Tihod, but, he hoped, no one else. He heard bells ringing in the city, and it took him a moment to remember that the tolling would soon bring Harel’s other advisors to his chambers. He was in no mood for this meeting.

The first knock came at his door just a few moments later, and over the next several minutes the emperor’s Qirsi entered his chamber in a steady stream, bowing to the high chancellor and taking seats around his hearth. As always, the young ministers reached his chamber first, eager to serve and afraid to offend by arriving late. Watching the Qirsi as they came in, young and old, men and women, ministers and chancellors, Dusaan could not help but feel that his search for allies would be largely a waste of time. Yes, a few of them showed promise, particularly some of the younger ones. But so many more of them struck him as foolish and weak, and far too old to be of much use to the movement.

The last of them finally reached his quarters and Dusaan had this man close his door.

“Is it true that there’s been a poisoning?” one of them asked, a young minister named Kayiv. Of all the Qirsi in Harel’s palace, he was the one Dusaan thought most likely to join the movement. He possessed three magics-gleaning, shaping, and language of beasts-making him one of the more powerful of the emperor’s advisors.

“Yes,” Dusaan said. “Though not here. It happened in Solkara during the last waning.”

“How bad was it?” one of the older fools asked.

Dusaan described briefly what had happened, telling them of the few who had died, and of Grigor’s subsequent execution.

Kayiv eyed him, looking vaguely amused. “Is this why you’ve summoned us? Has all this convinced the emperor to further delay his invasion?”

Dusaan shook his head. “We don’t think that will be necessary. After Carden’s death we thought we’d have to wait half a year. That, we believed, would give the new Aneiran king time enough to prepare, provided there was no civil war.” Just speaking of it rekindled Dusaan’s anger at Pronjed. The man was lucky events unfolded as they did, though the Weaver still would have liked to kill him for his stupidity. “With Numar of Renbrere taking the regency,” he went on, “civil war has been averted. A half year still seems about right.”

Another chancellor shook his head. “Do we really wish to ally ourselves with these people?”

“The emperor has asked the same question.”

“What they do to each other seems of little consequence,” Kayiv said. “We need them for their swords and their ships. We don’t have to dine with them.”

A few of the others laughed, as did Dusaan. He could work with this man.

“Well put.”

The older chancellor shook his head. “I don’t think this is a question we can just laugh away. The empire has avoided formal alliances for centuries. Abandoning that course now strikes me as dangerous, particularly if it means casting our lot with the Aneirans.”

“The emperor feels otherwise. Despite their recent troubles, the Eibithanans are stronger now than they’ve ever been.” Again Dusaan felt his rage returning. Too many of his underlings had failed him. “We may be able to defeat them on our own, but an alliance with Aneira ensures our success. That outweighs all other concerns.”

The older Qirsi nodded, unwilling to challenge Dusaan again. They might not know that he was a Weaver, but the other Qirsi in the palace still deferred to him. He had the emperor’s ear and as high chancellor was, after Harel, the most powerful and most feared man in all of Braedon.

Kayiv sat forward, as if preparing to stand. “Is there anything else, High Chancellor?”

“Actually, there is. The emperor wanted me to ask all of you what you had heard of the so-called Qirsi conspiracy.”

The minister sat back again, his eyebrows going up. The others just stared at Dusaan, as if too frightened to speak.

“How did you answer him?” a woman asked at last.

It was a clever response, and Dusaan had to smile. Her name was Nitara, and she was another of the young ministers who had impressed him. He often saw her with Kayiv-they were sitting together now-and he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that they were lovers.

“I told him that I had heard rumors of the conspiracy and that I thought it wise to take these stories seriously, lest they prove to be true.”

“That’s all?”

“He didn’t ask for more, and I felt it prudent not to alarm him unnecessarily. As it is, the emperor has decided not to bring any more Qirsi to the palace.”

“He thinks Qirsi were behind the poisoning.” Kayiv. He looked as angry as Dusaan had felt while speaking to Harel. This was definitely a man who could be turned to the Weaver’s cause. It almost seemed to Dusaan that he was looking for an excuse to betray the emperor.

“He thinks it’s possible,” Dusaan said. “Like so many, he sees poison as a Qirsi weapon.”

The younger man opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking away. The chancellor sensed his fury.

“Do you think the conspiracy was behind it?” Nitara asked.

“No, I don’t. Grigor hanged for the crime. I trust that Aneira’s queen knew what she was doing when she ordered his execution.”

“Did you say so to the emperor?”

He considered this for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Perhaps I should have. Qirsar knows I wanted to. But there are times when we must allow the Eandi their prejudices, foolish though they may be. The emperor fears the conspiracy. He might even fear us, at least more than he once did. To argue the point would have been to alarm him further. I didn’t wish to give him cause to question my loyalty or that of his other Qirsi. A good chancellor is one who recognizes both the strengths and flaws of the noble he serves and tempers his remarks accordingly. It’s hard to dissuade our emperor from his beliefs once he’s made up his mind, no matter how wrong he may be, and it can do more harm than good to try.”

He had never spoken so of Harel in front of the other Qirsi, nor had he ever before suggested that he was less than candid in his conversations with the emperor. Some of the older chancellors frowned in response to his admission, but most of the Qirsi offered little by way of reaction. Maybe he had given them too little credit over the years. Wouldn’t it have been ironic if all this time they had thought of him as the weak one, the Qirsi who demeaned himself by his unquestioning service to the Eandi?

Kayiv faced him again. “You said before that the emperor doesn’t intend to bring any more Qirsi to the palace. Does that mean he doesn’t trust us? Did he send you here to ask about the conspiracy as a way of testing our loyalty?”

“He’s Eandi, Minister. I think it likely that he’s never trusted us entirely. But I believe he sent me here to do just what I said, to find out what you’ve heard about the conspiracy. I doubt there was more to it than that.” He’s not clever enough to thinks that way. He wanted to say it. Faced now with the possibility that they thought him just another fawning chancellor, Dusaan was tempted to tell them what he really thought of Harel.

A lengthy silence ensued, broken at last by Nitara.

“Well, I’ve heard little of the conspiracy beyond that it seems to be real enough. Some of the peddlers I’ve talked to in the marketplace believe that it might have been behind the murders in Kentigern and Bistari, but they have no proof of this.”

One of the others spoke up as well, noting, as the emperor had, that the movement had been far more active in the six than it had been here in the empire. For some time, Dusaan simply listened as rumor chased rumor around the chamber. Many of the tales were laughable. One minister had heard that the conspiracy was, in fact, a continuation of the original Qirsi invasion that began nine centuries before. It had gone unnoticed in the intervening centuries, but had been behind the early civil wars in Eibithar, Amnalla’s Rebellion in Aneira, and Valde’s Rebellion in Caerisse, all of which dated back nearly six hundred years.

Other rumors, however, proved disturbingly accurate. According to several of the chancellors, there was talk among the merchants that Filib of Thorald had not been killed by thieves, but instead was the victim of an assassination by the conspiracy. And Kayiv offered his own opinion that the king of Aneira had died at the hands of a Qirsi.

“Well,” Dusaan said, when the discussion had run its course. “I’m not certain how much of this to believe, but I’ll leave that for the emperor to decide. I have no doubt that he’ll be grateful to all of you for your counsel on this matter.”

“Do you really think so?” Kayiv asked. “Or do you think it will just scare him anew, and make him trust us even less?”

The young Qirsi sounded hurt, angry, bitter. If he hadn’t been susceptible to the Weaver’s overtures before, he certainly would be now. The same could probably be said of Nitara and a number of the others. Harel might have thought that he was protecting himself by suggesting this meeting, but all he had done was make it easier for Dusaan to win the loyalty of the palace Qirsi.

“To be honest, Minister, I don’t know how the emperor will respond. As I said before, he’s Eandi. It may be that he never trusted us. For now all we can do is serve the empire, as we’ve sworn to do. But there may come a time when our choices are clearer, and we have the opportunity to prove ourselves. When that time comes, I for one hope that the emperor will be watching.”

Kayiv grinned, a gleam in his bright yellow eyes. It almost seemed to the Weaver that the man understood him.