Seeds of Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-nine

Great Forest of Aneira

With all that had happened in Aneira over the past few turns, Grinsa should have expected that a thick mist and strong wind would not be enough to keep the soldiers of Solkara from pursuing them. “That man is an Eibitharian lord, come to kill our queen!” Shurik had said, pointing an accusing finger at Tavis and calling for the royal guard. At any time, such a claim would have drawn the attention of soldiers and city folk alike, but with the king dead and Grigor’s hanging still fresh in the minds of every man and woman in the realm, Shunk’s words seemed to awaken all of the Solkaran countryside.

Just an hour after their escape through the south gate of Solkara City, Grinsa and the boy crouched in the shadows of the Great Forest and watched as guards poured from the castle, fanning out in every direction.

“Is that all for us?” Tavis whispered, face grim and eyes wide.

“I’m afraid so. By now Shurik has probably told them who it was he saw. Tavis of Curgh, who murdered Lady Brienne and came to Solkara to do the same to the new queen. He may even have told them that I’m a Weaver.”

“They’ll kill us both.”

The gleaner nodded. “If we give them the chance, yes, I expect they will.”

A few moments later, they were on their way again, running through the wood like hunted elk. Grinsa wanted desperately to go north toward Mertesse, where he suspected Shurik would be headed. But with the soldiers following, he didn’t dare give away their true intentions so soon.

Instead, he led Tavis to the south and east, toward the Rassor River and the shores of the Scabbard, hoping their pursuers would believe they had a ship awaiting them in one of the inlet’s many hidden coves.

For several days they continued in this direction, sleeping in what natural shelter they could find in the forest, and eating Osya’s root and what remained of the harvest berries growing along the forest road. They built no fires, and they wasted no time hunting for more substantial fare. Most of the guards sent after them were on foot, and though Grinsa sensed that they were still following, he and Tavis saw no sign of them. On two occasions, however, smaller parties of mounted soldiers nearly found them. Once, two days out from Solkara, they managed to avoid the soldiers by concealing themselves in a dense and uncomfortable copse of holly until the men had passed. The second time, caught in a portion of the wood that was relatively open, Grinsa had no choice but to raise a mist. He coaxed strands of fog from the earth as slowly as he dared, hoping the soldiers would take it for a natural mist rather than an act of magic, but judging from the way the men drew their swords, peering through the fine grey cloud and bare tree limbs, he felt certain that he hadn’t fooled them. After a time, Grinsa summoned his power a second time, snapping a large limb from a nearby oak so that it crashed loudly to the ground. To their credit, the horsemen didn’t flee, though several of their mounts reared, whinnying nervously. But they did retreat at last, allowing Tavis and Grinsa to hurry away from this section of the wood.

The next morning, the two fugitives turned north and west, away from the Rassor, and toward the center of the forest. Almost immediately, they encountered a large group of soldiers on foot, and only barely managed to evade them. Once again, however, they were forced to turn southward, at least until Grinsa convinced himself that they had put some distance between themselves and the Solkarans.

Two nights later, trudging among the trees by the dim light of the moons, they caught a glimpse of a fire burning a short distance ahead. It was too small to warm more than one man, so Grinsa and Tavis approached, feeling sure that they were not putting themselves in danger. As they drew nearer, Grinsa heard a horse snort, and saw a small trader’s cart. A moment later, he saw the trader himself, a diminutive white-haired Eandi with a long nose and sullen face.

“A peddler,” he said to Tavis, keeping his voice low. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to buy a warm meal and a night’s sleep beside a fire.”

The gleaner began to sing an old Sanbiri melody his father had taught him as a child. He had a poor singing voice, but he hoped to alert the peddler to their presence in the wood so that their appearance wouldn’t startle him.

As it happened, the sound of his voice had the opposite effect on the man. Instantly, he was on his feet, dagger held before him as he stared into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Friends,” Grinsa answered, smiling as he and Tavis stepped into the firelight.

The old man shook his head and took a step back, fear in his dark eyes. “You’re not friends of mine, Qirsi. I know who you are.” He waved the blade at Tavis. “He’s the Eibitharian who tried to kill the queen.”

“I did not!” Tavis said.

Grinsa glared at him. “Be quiet!”

“You’d rather he thought that I tried to kill her?”

The gleaner shook his head and faced the man again. “Who told you this?” he asked.

“That’s not your concern, Qirsi! Now leave me, or I’ll be forced to use this blade!”

His hand was shaking so violently that Grinsa half expected him to drop the dagger and run. Certainly, he posed no threat to either the gleaner or the boy. Grinsa was more afraid that he would cry out for help, bringing any soldiers who might be nearby.

The Qirsi held up his hands to show that he had no weapon, and took another step toward the fire. “Come now, friend. We both know that you’re not going to hurt us with that blade. We mean you no harm. My companion doesn’t always know when to keep silent, but he spoke truly when he told you that we made no attempt on your queen, nor do we intend to.”

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes flicked to Tavis and he backed away again.

“You see the scars on the boy’s face?” Grinsa asked, beginning to circle the fire slowly. “We’re looking for the man who did that. Our search took us to Solkara. He is from Eibithar, but we’re not assassins, and we’re not your enemies.”

“Stay where you are!” the man said in a quavering voice.

But by now, Grinsa was close enough.

“Tell me where you heard that we tried to kill the queen,” he commanded again. This time, however, as he spoke the words, he reached out with his magic and touched the man’s mind lightly. He didn’t like to use mind-bending power. It was by far the most intrusive of all Qirsi powers and in many ways the most dangerous. If he used too heavy a hand, he could impair the man forever. But in this case he felt that he had little choice.

Immediately, the peddler lowered his blade. “It’s all over the wood,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “Everyone’s speaking of it.”

“You mean the soldiers?”

“The soldiers, village folk, everyone. Riders came from the castle to tell us. There isn’t a town between here and Kett that will welcome you.”

“Is there a bounty as well?”

“None that I’ve heard.”

Grinsa glanced at Tavis. “They probably feel that they don’t need one, that hatred of Eibithar will be incentive enough.”

“We need to get out of the wood,” Tavis said. “We’re not safe here.”

“We may not be safe anywhere in the kingdom.”

“What about Bistari?”

Grinsa weighed this briefly. It was possible that the people of Bistari hated the Solkarans even more than they did Aneira’s northern neighbor, but he wasn’t certain enough of this to chance turning back to the west.

He looked at the peddler again. He still held the man with his mind, though he was tiring quickly. Magic so precise demanded a good deal of effort.

“What should we do with him?”

“We’re not going to harm him,” Grinsa said quickly.

Tavis frowned. “I know that. You really think that’s what I meant?”

The Qirsi took a breath. “No. Forgive me.” He rubbed his brow. “I don’t know what we should do with him, but we need to decide quickly. I’m getting weary.”

“Can your magic make him forget all of this?”

“Not all of it, no. He’ll remember he met someone. I can alter the memory some, though if I try to change it too much I’ll… I’ll injure him.”

Tavis appeared to flinch, as if the very idea of it made his head hurt.

“What do you sell?” Grinsa asked the merchant.

“Lots of things. Mostly pipeweed and spices this time of year.”

“We’ll take some pipeweed and any food you have to spare.”

“I need my food.”

Grinsa touched his mind again, harder this time, though he hated to do so.

“I can spare a bit of food. Dried meat, maybe some cheese.”

“That will be fine.” It was nothing short of theft, and it made Grinsa sick to his stomach. But they needed something other than roots and berries if they were to keep ahead of Solkara’s soldiers.

The peddler pulled several pouches of dried meat from his cart, along with a small sack of Caerissan pipeweed and two large rounds of hard cheese.

“One will be enough,” Gnnsa said.

Tavis started to object, but the Qirsi silenced him with a stony look.

He gave the peddler ten qinde-far more than the food and pipeweed were worth, though that did little to assuage his guilt.

“Did the soldiers say where they thought we were going?” he asked the man.

“They said you were headed south, but that they expected you to turn north eventually, to return to Eibithar.”

Damn you, Shuri! “Very well,” he said, stepping closer to the trader and staring into his eyes. “I’m going to make you sleep now. When you awake, you’ll remember nothing of the boy. You sold food and pipeweed to a Qirsi man and woman. They paid you five qinde. Do you understand?”

The old man nodded.

Grinsa led him to a blanket that lay on the ground beside his fire. “Lie down.”

The man lowered himself to the ground and Grinsa found a second blanket to cover him.

“Sleep now,” the gleaner said.

Immediately the man’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

“It seems Aneira’s new leaders are eager to find us,” Tavis said, watching the man sleep.

“Yes. We might be better off heading east to the steppe.”

“The steppe? That will take us a hundred leagues out of our way. We won’t reach Mertesse for another turn.”

Grinsa knew he was right. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave Aneira either. Now that Tavis had finally agreed to go after Shurik, the Qirsi was anxious to reach Mertesse and question the traitorous minister. He wasn’t certain what he would do with Shurik after that-perhaps kill him, perhaps return him to Aindreas as a gesture of goodwill. That decision could wait-for now, he was consumed with merely finding the man. Already Tavis was beginning to talk once more of the need to search for the assassin, to avenge Brienne’s murder and clear his name. It wouldn’t be long before he began to chafe at the idea of going to Mertesse. Grinsa needed to get them there as quickly as possible. Every delay gnawed at him.

He also realized, however, that if they remained in Aneira, they would be taking a grave risk. Tavis needed to understand that. “At least in Caensse, we can travel without constantly fearing for our lives,” he said, eyeing the boy. “I don’t know if we can avoid Solkara’s soldiers forever.”

“Better to try than to go running to the steppe. For all we know, they’ll be expecting that. It’s far closer than the Tarbin; the Solkarans are probably watching the slope already.” He looked up at the gleaner. “Each day that I spend running means one more day in exile. I want to go home, Grinsa. I want to go back to Curgh. And at this point I’d rather fight off the entire Solkaran army than waste another turn seeking refuge on the steppe.”

“Actually, I feel the same way, but I wanted to give you the choice.”

They started north immediately, putting some distance between themselves and the peddler’s camp before stopping for the night. The next morning they resumed their journey, avoiding the forest roads and staying close to the thicker groves of the wood. This slowed their progress, but it kept them far from most of the soldiers, and it allowed them to elude those they did encounter. They followed a meandering course through the wood to further frustrate those pursuing them, but still they reached the southern banks of the Kett only a few days after leaving the peddler. The waters were slow here, though Grinsa couldn’t tell how deep the river might be. Not that it mattered. With the air this cold, they would have been fools to ford the waters, especially since he still feared attracting the soldiers’ attention with a fire. Yet, he was certain that the Aneirans would be watching all the bridges. In the end, they decided to gather fallen logs and lash them together into a small punt using willow boughs. It took them much of what remained of the day, but they were able to cross the river without freezing or alerting the Aneirans. Once they were across, Grinsa shattered the boat with a thought, rather than leave it for someone to find.

With the Kett behind them, the two travelers continued north, though they began to angle westward once more. At some point they would have to cross the farmlands between the Great Forest and Mertesse, but Grinsa wanted to make certain that they spent as little time as possible in the open.

For a court boy who had enjoyed a comfortable childhood and still desired the comforts of a noble’s life, Tavis was a surprisingly good travel companion. He rarely complained of being tired, and had no trouble matching the pace Grinsa set for him. When the gleaner complimented him on this, a few days after they had crossed the river, the boy smiled.

“You should save your praise for Hagan MarCullett.”

“Xaver’s father?”

“Yes. He’s my father’s swordmaster, and as many times as he’s had me run the towers of Curgh Castle, I ought to have the endurance of an Uulranni mount.”

They walked a short time in silence, before Tavis glanced at him again.

“What about you?” the boy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always heard that Qirsi are weaker than the Eandi, yet you don’t get tired as one might expect. When we rest it’s usually for my benefit, not yours.”

Gnnsa shrugged. “I’m a Weaver.”

“So Weavers are stronger than other Qirsi-physically I mean?”

“Usually, yes.”

“Is that why my people are so afraid of your kind?”

The gleaner hesitated. Since the night he rescued Tavis from Kentigern’s dungeon, with the help of Fotir jal Salene, first minister of Curgh, he and Tavis had rarely spoken of Grinsa’s secret. When the boy asked him questions of this sort, he usually gave a terse answer, making it clear that this was not a topic he wished to discuss. Perhaps, though, the time had come to tell Tavis a bit more. They had been traveling together for nearly half a year now, and if the visions Grinsa had of the boy prior to Tavis’s Fating proved to be accurate, they would be together for some time to come.

“What do you know about Weavers, Tavis?”

“Not much really. I know that Weavers led the Qirsi invasion of the Forelands, and that after the army of the Southlands was defeated all the Weavers were executed.”

“But you don’t know why.”

“I’d guess it was because you’re stronger than the other Qirsi, not only physically, but also in terms of your magic.”

“You’re right, we are. But that’s not why we’re feared. That’s not why the Eandi have been executing Weavers for the last nine centuries.”

“Then why?”

“Have you noticed how many different types of magic I possess?”

“Now that you ask, you do seem to have a lot. You healed me in Kentigern’s dungeon, you shattered the guards’ swords in Solkara and raised a mist. I’ve seen you conjure fires, and you made the peddler answer your questions when he didn’t want to.”

“That’s five. I also made Shurik’s horse rear in Solkara.”

“Language of beasts.”

“Yes. And you forgot the fact that I’m a gleaner.”

“Seven,” Tavis said. “Is that all the Qirsi powers?”

“There’s one other. My people call it weaving and divining. It allows us to read the thoughts of other Qirsi, sometimes we can even enter their minds. Only Weavers have it.”

“So Weavers wield every kind of Qirsi magic.”

“Yes, but there’s even more to our powers than that. Because we possess all the magics, and because we can touch the thoughts of other Qirsi, we have the ability to combine the magic of one Qirsi with our own and with that of others.”

Tavis stopped walking. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said, though judging from what he heard in the boy’s voice, Grinsa guessed that he understood all too well.

“Weavers do just what our name implies. We weave together the magic of other Qirsi. A Weaver who leads an army of shapers, for instance, wields the power of all his soldiers as if it were his own. Fotir and I carved a hole in the wall of Kentigern Castle the night you escaped Aindreas’s prison. With an army of shapers and a bit of time, I could have reduced the entire castle to rubble. With an army of fire wielders, I could burn this forest to the ground in a matter of days.”

Tavis gaped at Grinsa, the expression on his scarred face a mix of awe and abject fear.

“How did the Eandi ever defeat you?” he whispered.

“The easy answer is that the Qirsi army was betrayed by one of its commanders, a man named Carthach. He told the Eandi how the magic of the Weavers worked.”

“Why do you say that’s the easy answer?”

The gleaner looked away, abruptly thinking of Cresenne, whose hatred of Carthach, and thus all Qirsi who lived in peace with the Eandi, had driven her to the conspiracy. The rifts that still divided his people and now threatened to plunge the Forelands into a maelstrom of murder and war could all be traced back to Carthach’s betrayal. Talking about Carthach with other Qirsi was difficult enough. Speaking of the traitor with an Eandi was humiliating, even now, even for Grinsa. He should have known that any discussion of his powers would lead here.

“That’s the easy answer, because it’s not really true. By all accounts, the Eandi were already beginning to turn the tide of the war before Carthach betrayed the Qirsi army.”

“But how could they?”

“Because our powers aren’t truly meant for war. Woven properly, we can destroy a castle or burn a forest, or even turn a stampede of wild horses.

But as our power grows, it becomes more difficult to control, even for the most accomplished Weaver. The same shaping magic that can shatter a castle wall is nearly helpless to block a volley of arrows. Your people had begun to realize this and had changed their tactics.“ He started to walk again, as did Tavis. ”We would have been defeated eventually anyway. I believe Carthach did what he did to save Qirsi lives.“ He glanced at the young lord. ”I can say that even though I’m a Weaver, and even though since the time of Carthach’s betrayal my kind have been hunted and killed by the Eandi.“

“Are there other Weavers in the Forelands?”

“I would expect so,” Grinsa said. “I doubt Weavers were ever common, but neither do I think that they were as rare as they seem to be now. Certainly nine hundred years ago there were enough in the Southlands for the Qirsi to send eight with the invading army. They wouldn’t have done so had there not been at least that many in the army that remained to protect the Qirsi homeland. And I doubt that all the Weavers were used as generals.”

“Then what’s happened to them all?”

“What do you think?”

“Were they all killed?”

“Many of them were in the first century after the invasion failed. But one rarely hears of Weavers being killed anymore.”

“Then where are they?”

Grinsa smiled, though it felt forced. “There just where I’d still be if I hadn’t come to save you.”

Tavis’s eyes widened. “In the Revel?”

“In the Revel, in the festivals of Sanbira and Caerisse and Aneira, in Eandi courts. They could be anywhere, Tavis. They hide their powers, fearing for their lives and those of their fam-”

He halted suddenly in midstride, weathering a wave of nausea that nearly drove him to his knees. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have forgotten?

“What is it?” Tavis asked, his brow knitted with concern. “Are you ill?”

“How long has it been since we left Solkara?” Grinsa demanded, scouring his mind in his rush to count the days.

“What?”

“The day! What day is it?”

“I’m not certain. With all the walking we’ve done, I’ve lost count.”

Grinsa closed his eyes. “We fled the city on the last day of the waning.” he said more to himself than to the boy. “I haven’t noticed the moons the last few nights. Damn!”

“It’s been overcast,” Tavis said. “The moons have been hidden. But I believe we’re close to the Night of Two Moons. We may even be in the next waning already.”

Grinsa nodded, exhaling heavily. “I think so, too. Demons and fire!”

“What is it, Grinsa? Why are you suddenly so concerned with the day?”

“I think Shurik knows that I’m a Weaver. Indeed, after what I did to evade capture at the city gates, I’m certain of it. For years I’ve been claiming to be a gleaner and nothing more, and yet, in the space of just a few moments, I shattered swords and raised a mist and a wind. Shurik is certain to have noticed.”

“Yes. But surely you’ve thought of this before now.”

“Of course. Yet, somehow I managed to forget about Keziah. I should have warned her right away.”

Tavis still looked confused.

“In the past, it’s not only Weavers who have been killed, but also their families. Wives, children, parents, even siblings. Different types of Qirsi magic tend to run in a family. You have your father’s eyes and your mother’s features. My children may have my powers, and so might Keziah’s.”

“But you said nothing to Shurik about Keziah. How would he know that she’s your sister?”

“There aren’t that many Qirsi in the Forelands, Tavis. For every Qirsi in Eibithar, there are ten Eandi, maybe more. No one knows that Keziah is my sister because I haven’t given anyone cause to wonder if I have family. But our father was a minister in Eardley. Not a first minister, but a man of some importance. If Shurik believes me a Weaver, it will be a small matter for him to learn everything about my family.”

The boy appeared to consider this briefly. “So you need to get a message to the City of Kings,” he said at last.

Again the gleaner smiled. He had hidden this from Tavis during the warmer turns, when they fled Kentigern. But with all that he had told the young lord this day, there seemed little sense in preserving this last secret. “Actually, no. I need only wait until nightfall, and then I can speak with her.”

“How?” Tavis asked, sounding like he didn’t really want to know.

“I wouldn’t know how to explain it. It’s enough to say that the same power I use to wield her magic also gives me access to her dreams.”

The boy paled. “Please tell me this only works with Qirsi.”

Grinsa laughed and began to walk again. “It does. I promise.”

For a long time they journeyed in silence. The gleaner sensed that Tavis was pondenng all he had learned about Weavers and Qirsi magic. At some point the questions would begin again, but for now Grinsa was content to say nothing.

His fears might well have been unfounded. What he had told Tavis was true: if it occurred to Shurik to search for Grinsa’s family, it wouldn’t take him long to find Kezi. But that seemed unlikely, at least for now. The traitor had been so frightened at seeing Grinsa in Solkara that he had called for Eandi guards to save him. This was not a man who would go out of his way to draw Grinsa’s wrath. Still, he owed it to his sister to warn her, and he should have done so days ago.

Late in the day, as the sun dipped low in the western sky, sending golden rays of light through the forest, like slender fingers of the goddess, Grinsa heard voices approaching from the north. Looking back at Tavis, he saw that the young lord already had his dagger in hand, and had slowed, dropping into a crouch. Quickly scanning the wood, the gleaner spied a thick cluster of smaller trees a short distance to the left. Drawing his own blade, Grinsa pointed toward the trees. Tavis nodded, and they made their way to the center of the copse, moving as quickly and quietly as they could. A few moments later, several soldiers came into view, all of them wearing the red and gold of Solkara. They made no effort to keep silent, and they walked in a loose formation, indicating to Grinsa that he and Tavis had strayed close to one of the forest roads.

When the men were well past them, the two travelers resumed their journey, angling slightly to the east again. Obviously they still needed to use caution while in the wood-there would be no fire again this night-but the fact that the men were headed southward, back toward Solkara, gave Grinsa some cause to believe that the worst of their troubles were over. It had been half a turn since they escaped the royal city. No doubt the Solkaran soldiers were beginning to lose interest in the hunt.

They stopped for the night just as darkness enveloped the wood, spreading their sleeping rolls on the forest floor before eating. Enough of the peddler’s food remained to provide them with an ample meal, but tomorrow they would be forced to eat roots and berries again, unless they managed to find another trader or chanced a cooking fire.

Tavis had said little since their conversation earlier that day, but finally, after their meal, he cleared his throat awkwardly. His question, though, when it came, surprised the gleaner.

“Why did you save me from Kentigern’s prison?”

Grinsa hesitated. “I’ve told you before. I saw in your gleaning that you had been imprisoned unjustly. I had to do something.”

“I remember you saying that, and I believed you at the time. But that was before I knew how much you risked coming for me. If you hadn’t done that, you’d still be a gleaner in the Revel. No one would know that you were anything more, and your sister wouldn’t be in any danger.”

“If I had done nothing, Mertesse would hold Kentigern Castle, and Aindreas and your father would be at war.”

“So you saw that in my gleaning as well?”

Grinsa started to answer, then stopped himself. Along with the nature of his magic, Tavis’s Fating had been one of the topics of conversation he had managed to avoid during their time together. Even now, he wasn’t certain that the young lord was ready for the truth. More to the point, though, it seemed to the gleaner that Tavis had earned the right to make that choice himself. Grinsa had realized some time ago, several turns before Bohdan’s Revel reached Curgh this past year, that his fate and Tavis’s were tied to each other. Now the two of them were bound by circumstance and need as well; only the gods could say how long they would remain together. But surely the time for secrets had passed.

“I had a vision of your fate long before your gleaning, Tavis. I saw the two of us journeying together throughout the land, and fighting side by side against the conspiracy.” He paused, straining to see the boy’s face in the shadows. The moons were not yet up, and he could only guess at Tavis’s reaction. After a moment, he went on. “What I showed you in the stone was your future, but not your fate.”

“You said the same thing to me once before, in the dungeon.”

“I remember.”

“You wouldn’t explain what you meant then, though I asked. Are you ready to now?”

“It’s very simple really-it should be clear. You weren’t fated to die in that prison, or even to spend very long there, though I’m certain it felt like an eternity at the time. It was your future, but you were destined to win your freedom, to join the fight against the conspiracy and search the land for Brienne’s killer.”

“None of that would have happened had you not freed me from the dungeon. Isn’t it just as possible that what you showed me in the stone was my true fate, and you altered it by coming to Kentigern?”

Grinsa smiled. Here lay the burden of the stone, not only for the gleaner, but also for the child who peered into its depths, hoping to glimpse a promise of glory or joy. He had tried to explain this to Tavis as well, just after the young lord first saw himself in that wretched prison, but Tavis had been beyond reason then, already falling into the black despair that would lead him to raise his blade against Xaver MarCullet.

“Our fate changes all the time, Tavis. Every choice we make, every path we choose to follow, turns us toward a different future. The stone, for all the wisdom we ascribe to it, can only show us our fate at a single moment. More than anything, it serves as a signpost, a marker indicating the direction our lives might take. If we find hope or pleasure in the vision it offers, we make choices that will take us in that direction. If not, then perhaps it can warn us away from decisions that lead to darkness. That’s what I hoped would happen when I showed you what I did. I intended your Fating as a warning, and I hoped that it would save you from the misery we both saw in that image. At the time, I had no idea how you would end up in that prison. I knew only that you were innocent, though you would doubt that yourself. Had I known that you were powerless to prevent what happened, I would never have done what I did. Certainly I never intended to cause you or Xaver such pain.”

He had long expected that when he and Tavis finally had this conversation, the boy would respond to his revelations with outrage. But once more, Tavis surprised him.

“You altered my Fating to guard your secret,” he said, his voice low. “If I had seen us fighting the conspiracy together, I would have known that you were more than a gleaner.”

“Yes.”

“And then you risked everything to save me.”

“After what I’d done, I felt that I had to.”

“A lesser man wouldn’t have.”

“A braver man would have shown you the Fating the stone intended.”

Even in the darkness, Grinsa could see the boy shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know that much about bravery. But I’m grateful to you just the same.”

For several moments neither of them spoke. Tavis lay down on his sleeping roll, wrapping himself in a blanket.

“How soon until you can… go to your sister?”

Grinsa looked to the east. White Panya was just appearing above the trees, her pale glow seeping through the wood like a sorcerer’s mist. Judging from how late she was rising and how far into her waning she appeared, he guessed that they had to be at least three nights past the Night of Two Moons. Perhaps four. Once again, he cursed himself for his carelessness.

“It will be a while yet, at least until Ilias is up.”

Tavis nodded, yawned.

“Sleep, Tavis,” Grinsa said, lying down also. “I intend to. I’ll wake later and reach for her then.”

Again the boy nodded. “Goodnight, gleaner.”

In truth, Grinsa didn’t expect to sleep at all, but it seemed the day’s journey had wearied him. He awoke some time later to the call of a nearby owl. He hadn’t slept long-Panya shone directly overhead and red Ilias hung low in the eastern sky-but he felt dazed from his slumber, as if he had drunk too much wine.

Sitting up and taking a drink of water from the skin that lay nearby, he rubbed a hand over his face and blinked his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Tavis stirred and turned over, but he didn’t wake.

Grinsa sat for several moments, listening to the owl, and to a second bird that hooted in reply from farther away. At last, he closed his eyes and, drawing upon his magic, sent his mind north and east, across the Moors of Durril and the edge of the steppe, which was covered with fresh snow, to Eibithar’s City of Kings. It took him only a few seconds to find her and touch her mind with his power.

He knew instantly that something was wrong. The plain looked as it always did when he went to her, the way it had when they were children living in Eardley. Except that the sky to the west was black, as if from a great storm, and a brilliant light shone at the center of the gloom. Grinsa thought he saw someone standing at the edge of the darkness, or more precisely, on the seam between the light he had brought to her dream and the storm he had found there. Keziah. It had to be. He started walking toward her.

The distance to her turned out to be greater than he had thought at first, but soon he could see her white hair twisting in the wind, and he recognized the sleeping gown she was wearing. Grinsa called to her several times, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t even turn to face him. His apprehension mounting by the moment, the gleaner hurried on until he was running toward her.

As he drew nearer, Grinsa began to hear voices, as if Kezi was speaking to someone else. He slowed, trying to make out what they were saying. Had he come to her in the middle of one of her own dreams? Such a thing had never happened before, but he couldn’t say for certain that it was impossible. Or was he the one dreaming? His mind had been fogged with sleep-perhaps he hadn’t really awakened at all and he was imagining all of this.

The gleaner shook his head. He could feel the magic flowing through his body and mind-this was no dream. And sensing Keziah’s thoughts as he approached her, he understood that though she slept, the vision before her was as real as any he had offered her in the past. She was terrified, not only of what she saw in the darkness, but also of Grinsa. He could almost hear her screaming for him to leave. But all he could do was step closer. He moved slowly now, as if stalking game, and he strained his ears to hear her conversation.

“… Others before you have fought me as well,” he heard a voice say. A man’s voice, deep and laden with power. “They suffered for their defiance. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Keziah answered, sounding desperate. “I don’t mean to defy you. But I’ve never had someone ask this of me before. I don’t know what to do.”

“Merely open yourself to me.”

“I’m afraid. You have to give me a bit of time.”

Something in her voice told Grinsa that she was speaking not to this other man, but to him.

“Kezi?” he whispered.

“There is no time. You received your gold, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Call me Weaver. I’m not some dull-witted Eandi noble, and I won’t be addressed as such.”

“Yes, Weaver. Forgive me.”

A Weaver! Abruptly it all made sense to him. Not just the strange appearance of the sky and plain, but also the man’s mention of gold. He had often wondered who he would find at the head of the conspiracy. A powerful minister perhaps, or a wealthy Qirsi merchant. That this person should also be a Weaver shouldn’t have surprised him. Who else could wield the power necessary to overthrow the courts of the Forelands? Who else could guide a movement that sprawled across so many kingdoms? What puzzled him, though, was the man’s presence in Kezi’s mind. Why would the leader of the conspiracy be speaking to her of gold?

“You have your payment,” the man was saying. “Now it is time for you to give yourself to me and this movement.”

“But-”

“Enough!” the Weaver roared.

An instant later, Keziah cried out, her hands flying to her face. Somehow Grinsa felt it, too. A great pressure on his eyes, as if the man was pressing his fingers into her skull.

“Give yourself to me!”

She whimpered, dropping to her knees.

“Kezil”

“What was that?” the Weaver demanded, the pressure on Grinsa’s eyes ending as suddenly as it had begun.

He wanted to remain there, to learn more about this man, and to repay him for the pain he had caused Keziah. He wanted to yell to her, to rouse her from her sleep. The conspiracy had to be stopped, but she risked too much by seeking out its leader alone.

All Grinsa could do, however, was leave her. As long as he remained he imperiled Keziah and himself. He heard them speaking again, but he didn’t wait to hear any more. He merely whispered, “I love you,” the words as soft as a planting breeze. Then, dread in his heart, he forced himself to leave her.

Opening his eyes, he felt the earth heave and spin. Even sitting, he nearly lost his balance.

“Are you all right?”

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then looked up at Tavis. “I will be,” he said, his voice ragged.

“I heard you call your sister’s name. You sounded scared.”

Grinsa nodded, feeling a tear on his cheek. “I am.”

The boy just stared at him, waiting.

“She was with another Weaver.”

“What?”

“I think he must lead the conspiracy.”

“Why would she be with such a man?”

Grinsa shrugged, though he knew the answer. She had always been too brave. He was the Weaver, the one who wielded unfathomable power. But Keziah had always been the warrior, fighting battles from which others shied. “She must think that she can learn something of him,” he said at last. “By joining his movement, she seeks the means to destroy it.”

For a long time, Tavis didn’t reply. Finally, staring up at the red moon, he said, “That’s either the most courageous thing I’ve ever heard, or the most foolhardy.”

Grinsa could only shake his head. The boy often made such statements. Utterly unfeeling, and so honest as to leave no room for argument.