Weavers of War

Chapter Fifteen

Diani awoke before dawn, roused from her slumber by the voices of soldiers around her, the ring of steel as swords were drawn, checked for notches, and resheathed, the impatient snorting and stomping of the horses, and the jangling of saddles being fastened. She sat up, winced at the pain. Every muscle in her body was screaming. Her back and legs were so stiff that she wondered how she would ever manage to stand, much less fight. The previous day’s battle had been her first, and though she had come through it unscathed save for a few small cuts and bruises, she knew already that she was no warrior. Her ability to avoid injury was due far more to her skill as a rider than to any prowess with the blade. She had inflicted no more wounds than she had sustained. Mostly she had sought to stay alive and to keep out of the way of Sanbira’s real soldiers.

Much to Diani’s surprise, Naditia was one of them. The duchess of Macharzo, so painfully shy during audiences with the queen and in private conversations alike, was a skilled and powerful fighter. She wielded her blade aggressively and with uncommon agility, and she was as fearless in battle as she was shy at court. It seemed to Diani that the woman had been born for combat. More than once during the course of the previous day, Naditia had saved Diani’s life. Yet after the fighting ended, she instantly became again an awkward, tongue-tied young duchess.

Sweating and out of breath, too relieved by the end of combat to care how her army had fared, Diani thanked the woman for protecting her.

“You fight magnificently,” she said. “I wish I wielded a blade as you do.”

Naditia had given an embarrassed smile and ducked her head, swiping at the hair that clung to her damp brow. “My father taught me.”

“You almost seem to enjoy it.”

The tall woman shrugged. “I do. As long as I’m fighting, I don’t have to say anything.”

Struggling to get to her feet on this cool, dark morning, gasping at the pain of every movement, Diani wondered if Macharzo’s duchess was actually looking forward to another day of battle. Ean knew that Diani was not. She stood for a moment, stretching her back, then walked stiffly to where the queen and her master of arms were eating a small breakfast. Both were already dressed for battle. Abeni, the queen’s archminister, lurked nearby, ghostly pale in the dim light.

“Good morning, Lady Curlinte,” Olesya called as she approached. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you, Your Highness.”

“You should have something, Diani. If the fighting begins again, there’s no telling when you’ll have a chance to eat.”

Reluctantly, Diani took some bread and a piece of hard cheese, thanking the queen and, as an afterthought, Ohan as well. “Do you expect the fighting to begin soon?” she asked between bites.

“I don’t know. We’re awaiting word from Eibithar’s king.”

“If the Braedony army chooses not to attack,” the swordmaster added, “I expect that Kearney won’t force the matter.” From his tone, it seemed that Ohan thought this a mistake on the king’s part.

Diani felt differently. “Then let’s hope the enemy thinks better of it,” she said.

Olesya nodded. “Indeed.”

They continued to eat, saying little, as the sky slowly brightened. Gazing northward, Diani saw no sign that the empire’s men were readying themselves for battle. There was some movement in the Braedony camp, but nothing threatening. One by one, the other nobles joined them, Naditia first, the dukes of Norinde and Brugaosa soon after. Their Qirsi came with them, joining the archminister a short distance off and speaking in hushed tones among themselves.

“I still think we should take the battle to them,” Ohan said at last, his eyes fixed on the enemy lines.

Alao glanced at the master of arms. “I tend to agree. With the men who joined Kearney’s force yesterday, we have enough to overwhelm Braedon’s force. Let’s attack and be done with it.”

“It’s not our decision to make, Lord Norinde,” the queen said.

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but I must say I find that troubling as well. It’s bad enough that we’ve allowed ourselves to be entangled in Eibithar’s conflict with the empire. But for us to submit to the king’s authority seems to me foolhardy and dangerous.”

“Yes, Lord Norinde,” Olesya said, sounding weary. “I’m quite aware that were you sovereign, matters would be very different. But you’re not, and I have made my decision. Kearney appealed to us for aid and we chose to grant it. You disagreed at the time, and you’ve made it clear that you still think our course an unwise one. Repeating your opinion will accomplish nothing, save to annoy me further.”

Alao’s face turned crimson, and there was rage in his eyes. But he nodded once, and said simply, “Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ll raise the matter of the battle with Kearney when I can. In truth, I don’t relish the idea of waiting for another assault either.”

A few moments later an Eibitharian soldier approached, resplendent in purple and gold. He bowed to the queen and told her that his king requested a word with her at her convenience.

“Did he want me alone?” Olesya asked.

“No, Your Highness. He asks that you bring your nobles and ministers.”

“My ministers?”

“Yes, Your Highness. He made a point of that.”

“Very well,” the queen said, frowning slightly. “Tell him we’ll be along shortly.”

The man bowed a second time and left them.

“Now he’s summoning us, as if we served in his court.”

“Oh, Alao, do be quiet! He did nothing of the sort.” She looked at Diani. “It is strange, though, that he’s asked us to bring the Qirsi.”

It was more than strange; it was disturbing. In this instance, Diani agreed with the duke of Norinde. By asking the queen to bring her Qirsi, Kearney had overstepped propriety and whatever authority he held on this battle plain. More to the point, from what Diani had observed in her short time with the king of Eibithar, the man placed far too much faith in the white-hairs. It almost seemed that he had never heard of the conspiracy, that nothing had happened in the past year to shake his faith in the loyalty of his ministers. She wanted to speak against honoring Kearney’s request, but after hearing Olesya reprimand the duke, she didn’t dare.

“Yes, Your Highness, it is strange,” was all she said.

“Still, I’m sure he has his reasons.”

The queen beckoned to Abeni, who led the other Qirsi to where Olesya and her nobles stood.

“The king wishes to speak with us, Archminister. We’re to join him at his camp presently.”

“Very good, Your Highness,” the archminister said, with a smile that was clearly forced. “We’ll wait for you here.”

“Actually, Archminister, Kearney has asked that you and the ministers come with us.”

Abeni made no effort to conceal her surprise. “Did he say why?”

“No. Nor did I ask. I take it you have no objection.”

“None, Your Highness.” She glanced uncomfortably at the other ministers. “We’re ready when you are.”

Olesya nodded and led them all to the Eibitharian camp. Kearney was waiting for them outside his small tent. His nobles were already there, as were several Qirsi, including the tall, broad-shouldered man Diani had noticed two nights before. He was unlike any Qirsi she had ever seen. He had the body of an Eandi warrior, and though his skin and eyes were pale like those of other white-hairs, they did not make him appear frail or sickly. On the contrary. He was, perhaps, the most formidable man of either race she had ever seen. A young Eandi man stood near him, his dark blue eyes watchful. He might once have been handsome, but his face now was lined with scars that made him appear both sad and menacing.

Diani recognized some of the other Eibitharian nobles and was able to assign names to a few of the faces. When Marston of Shanstead caught her eye, she nodded to him and smiled. He nodded in return, but his expression remained grim.

“Your Highness,” Kearney said, bowing to her. “Thank you for honoring my invitation so quickly. It seems for now that the empire’s army is content to rest this day, but we must remain wary. I won’t keep you long.”

“Actually, Your Majesty, if I may interrupt, a few in my company have suggested that we take the battle to Braedon. They point out that we now outnumber the enemy by a sizable margin. Wouldn’t we be wise to end this threat as quickly as possible?”

The king’s eyes flicked toward the tall Qirsi. “Indeed we might, Your Highness. I’ve considered this as well, and have heard much the same thing from several of my dukes. But I’d ask your indulgence before we make this decision. There are … other factors at work here that bear consideration.”

“What other factors?” Alao demanded, drawing a scowl from the queen.

“I have good reason to believe that there’s more to this invasion than Harel’s lust for power and land. I fear that much of what’s happened in the Forelands in the past year, particularly here in Eibithar, has been contrived by others.”

Alao made a sour face. “You speak of the conspiracy.”

“Yes.”

“All the more reason to end this conflict quickly and decisively.”

“Not necessarily,” said the broad-shouldered Qirsi.

They all looked at him.

“And who are you, sir?” the queen asked. “I saw you with the king yesterday, but I didn’t hear your name or title.”

The man bowed. “My name is Grinsa jal Arriet, Your Highness. I’m a gleaner in Eibithar’s Revel.”

“A gleaner? Hearing these dukes speak of you, I had the impression that you’re somewhat more than that.”

“I’m a gleaner by profession.”

“So am I to gather that you’ve had a vision of what’s to come, and this has convinced you that we shouldn’t attack?”

“It’s more than that. As we speak, a Qirsi army approaches from the north. They’re led by a man named Dusaan jal Kania-”

“Harel’s high chancellor?”

“Yes. But he’s far more than that. He’s a Weaver.”

Olesya raised a hand to her mouth. “A Weaver?”

“Yes, Your Highness. A powerful one. He and his warriors have the power to destroy all the armies on this battle plain. If we continue this war-even if we prevail-we only assure Dusaan’s victory. We have to end this conflict now. The Weaver is our true enemy and we can only defeat him by joining forces with Braedon’s men and fighting as one.”

“This is too much!” said one of Kearney’s dukes, a stout man with yellow hair and dark eyes. “It was bad enough when you made us spare Numar’s men. But now you want us to make peace with Harel’s invaders? I won’t do it!” He turned to the king. “I beg you, Your Majesty! Don’t listen to this man!”

Diani had to agree, and she was pleased when others spoke against the Qirsi.

“Lord Labruinn is right, Your Majesty,” said Marston of Shanstead. “This is not some border skirmish we’re fighting. This conflict wasn’t caused by some minor land dispute. The empire invaded our realm and until its soldiers are driven from Eibithar, there can be no talk of peace.” He pointed a finger at the tall Qirsi. “This man speaks of the conspiracy as if he’s the first to bring its perils to our attention. He’s not, of course. All of us have suffered for its treachery, including our friends from Sanbira. And in Eibithar, no one has spoken against the Qirsi renegades more strongly than I. There has been no greater threat to our land in my lifetime. But to weaken ourselves in the cause of fighting the Qirsi threat makes no sense at all.” He faced the Qirsi. “I find myself questioning this man’s motives. If he truly cares about this realm, why does he speak only of accommodating our enemies?”

The young man with the scarred face stared at the thane, shaking his head. “Are you really that stupid?” he asked at last.

“Tavis!”

“I’m sorry, Father, but this has to stop!” He faced the thane again. “Grinsa is no traitor, Lord Shanstead. The king can tell you so, my father and his first minister can tell you so, I can tell you so. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead by now, or at best, still a prisoner in Kentigern. He’s saved my life time and again, and he has spent the last year fighting the conspiracy at every turn.”

“I’ve heard all of this before, Lord Curgh. And I’ve always wondered how he knew to find you in Kentigern in the first place. As I understand it, he was a mere Revel gleaner before he ‘saved’ you.”

“He knew because he gleaned for me.”

“How convenient. It seems to me that this man contrived your rescue, just as the Qirsi have been contriving wars and murders for the past several years.”

“You’re wrong, Marston.”

This man Diani knew, not only because she had overheard his conversation with the king the day before, but also by reputation. Aindreas of Kentigern was the largest man she had ever seen. Tall, broad-some might have called him fat, as well. But she thought the name by which he was known in Sanbira-the Tor atop the Tor-fit him best. He was a mountain; solid, immovable, enormous.

All were looking at him now, and from the reddening of his face, it seemed that he regretted speaking at all.

“You agree with the Qirsi, Lord Kentigern?” Marston asked, as if unable to believe what he was hearing.

“I’m not saying that. I don’t know what we should do about the invaders. But I do know that Tavis’s escape was not contrived by the conspiracy. If they were responsible for my daughter’s … for what happened to her, then the last thing they wanted was for Tavis to be free, trying to prove his innocence.”

“This is quite a change for you, Lord Kentigern.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Would you care to explain how you’ve come to feel this way?”

The duke faltered, his gaze darting from face to face. “No, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t. At least not just now.”

Kearney narrowed his eyes. “Very well.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the queen said, “but I’m interested in hearing more of what this gleaner has to say. You tell us, sir, that an army of Qirsi approaches, led by a Weaver. Yet you tell me that you haven’t gleaned this. How then do you know?”

The gleaner took a long breath, then glanced at the king, who nodded, as if to encourage him. “I know, Your Highness, because I spoke with him last night.”

“What? He’s that close?”

“No, Your Highness. He and his army are still two days away on horseback.”

“Then how-?”

A gasp stopped her. Turning toward the sound, Diani saw that Abeni was gaping at the man, her mouth open, her cheeks as pale as Panya, the Qirsi moon. “You…,” she whispered. “You’re one, too!”

“What is this nonsense, Archminister?” Olesya asked, sounding petulant as a child. “He is what?”

“A Weaver, Your Highness. I’m a Weaver.”

Silence.

Soldiers laughed in the distance. Horses whinnied, and a soft wind rustled the grasses of the moor. But no one in their circle spoke. They stared at him, some with open curiosity, others with distaste, all with some measure of fear.

“You realize,” Marston finally said, “that by admitting as much, you give us little choice but to execute you.”

“I’ll grant, Lord Shanstead, that were you to follow the ancient laws, putting me to death would be your only course. But to say that you have no choice simply isn’t true.”

“The law is clear.”

“The law is asinine,” Tavis said, “as are those who would follow it blindly! Don’t you understand the gift we’ve been given? We’re about to go to war with a Weaver, and we have among us the one man in all the Forelands who can defeat him.” He gave the thane a look of utter contempt. “And all you can think to do is call for his head.”

“A Weaver,” Aindreas muttered, eyeing the Qirsi. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You spoke to this other Weaver last night,” Marston said, defiant as ever. “Why? And for that matter, how?”

“I entered his dreams. A Weaver can do that with other Qirsi. I tried to kill him by using his own magic against him, but I failed.” He looked at the rest of them. “This other Weaver is coming, and he has far more Qirsi on his side than I do. That’s why it’s so important that we have as large an Eandi army as possible. Now I’m asking all of you to put your hatred aside and make peace with the empire’s men before it’s too late.”

“You’ve known of this Weaver for some time, haven’t you? How else would you have known to seek him out this way?”

“You’re right, Lord Shanstead. I’ve known about him for several turns.”

“And why haven’t you told anyone?”

The gleaner gave a thin smile. “I have, my lord. I just haven’t told you.”

“I’ve known for some time now, Lord Shanstead,” the king said. “I’ve also known that Grinsa is a Weaver. He kept these matters from the rest of you with my consent. If you wish to take issue with that, address your concerns to me, not the gleaner.”

“Am I then to understand, Your Majesty, that you intend to follow this man’s counsel?”

“He’s placed his life in our hands, Marston. He’s offered to wage war against the Weaver on our behalf. And if you had seen what the Weaver did to the woman this man loves, then you’d know, as I do, that he has as much reason as anyone to hate the conspiracy.” Again, he glanced at the others. “As much as I would like to see the empire’s army crushed, I’m inclined to do as the gleaner suggests. But I won’t impose my authority on the rest of you. I’ll leave it to my dukes to vote on the matter, and of course, Your Highness, you and your nobles must do as you see fit.”

“How many Qirsi does this man command?” Olesya asked.

“Two hundred, Your Highness. Perhaps a few more.”

“Two hundred?” Aindreas said, incredulous.

“Do you recall the wind we raised yesterday, Lord Kentigern?” the gleaner asked. “I wove that gale with the power of only two other Qirsi. Imagine what I could do with the shaping power of ten, or the fire magic of fifty. They may be few, but their power is greater than this army alone can withstand.”

“That raises another matter,” Shanstead said. “If Weavers are so powerful, why haven’t you used your magic to help His Majesty win this war? Our realm has been in peril, yet you’ve done little to protect it. You could have ended this threat a long time ago.”

Tavis shook his head again. “Not without revealing to all that he’s a Weaver. And not without destroying the Braedony army, which is just what he seeks to avoid.”

“That’s Qirsi logic, Lord Curgh. I believe this man has you ensorcelled, and he wishes to do the same to the rest of us.”

Before Tavis could answer, Kearney turned to the boy’s father. “Lord Curgh, what say you about all this? Surely you’ve formed an opinion of this man who’s been traveling the Forelands with your son.”

“I have, Your Majesty. I trust him with Tavis’s life, and I trust him in this as well. We should make peace with the enemy and enlist their help against the Qirsi.”

Shanstead shook his head violently. “This is madness!”

“I’ll take that as a vote against suing for peace, Lord Shanstead.”

“I must agree with the thane, my liege,” said the duke of Labruinn. “I’m not questioning the gleaner’s loyalty, but I can’t abide making peace with the invaders.”

“I understand, Caius. Lord Tremain, what about you?”

“The Qirsi are the real threat, my liege. We should end this war.”

“Lord Kentigern?”

Aindreas pressed his lips in a thin line, looking first at the Qirsi, and then at Tavis and his father. Emotions chased one another across his broad face-rage, hatred, deepest sorrow, and something else Diani couldn’t quite name. At last he closed his eyes. “Join with the empire’s men. Defeating the Qirsi is everything.”

The king eyed him for some time, nodding slowly. “That can’t have been easy, Lord Kentigern. You have my thanks.”

Aindreas looked away without a response.

“Swordmaster,” the king said to a tall, bald man, “your lord is dead, and his son as well. You speak for the House of Heneagh now. What say you?”

The man shuffled his feet, clearly discomfited by the question.

“It’s all right, Rab. Your duke would want you to speak your mind.”

“They invaded our land, Your Majesty. How could they ever be our allies?”

The king frowned. “Of course, swordmaster. I understand.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Kearney sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. “Damn.”

Caius gave a small shrug. “Your vote tips the balance, Your Majesty.”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

“But it has,” the queen said. “I feel quite certain that my nobles would also be divided, but I believe we must make peace with the empire’s men, and so that’s what we’ll do. I admire you for asking your nobles, Your Majesty, but this is a king’s decision, and I suggest you treat it as such.”

Kearney straightened, and for just a moment, Diani thought he would grow angry. Instead he grinned. “I’ve long heard it said that Sanbiri steel was the strongest in the Forelands. It seems Sanbiri queens and Sanbiri swords are forged in the same fires.”

Diani had to smile, though she wasn’t certain how she felt about all this. Her land hadn’t been invaded, and so her hatred of the empire didn’t match that of Marston and the others. Still, she had little desire to ally herself with the emperor, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust this Qirsi, even though he had taken a great risk by revealing himself as a Weaver.

“Gershon,” the king said, turning to his master of arms, “prepare a flag of truce. I’ll ride forward with Her Majesty, if she’ll be so kind as to join me.” He paused, looking to Olesya, who nodded her assent. “Grinsa, I’d like you with me as well.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Is there anyone else you care to bring, Your Highness?” Gershon asked.

“No. I daresay the three of us can handle this.”

“You’ll need guards, Your Majesty.”

“We’ll have a Weaver with us, Gershon. I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

The swordmaster didn’t look pleased, but neither did he argue the point.

“It’s decided then,” Kearney said. “The rest of you ready your armies, just in case this doesn’t work.”

Diani looked to the queen, who gave a small reassuring smile before walking off with Kearney and the gleaner. The duchess had no army here, and was at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, she saw Abeni and the other Sanbiri ministers hurrying off by themselves. She would have liked to follow, but before she could, she heard someone calling to her.

Marston of Shanstead was walking toward her, his expression grim. “May I have a word please, my lady?”

Masking her impatience, she made herself smile. “Of course, Lord Shanstead. How may I help you?”

He looked around quickly, as if to be certain that no one else could hear. “I sense, my lady, that you and I are of one mind when it comes to trusting these Qirsi. Am I right?”

Diani hesitated. “I’ll grant that I have cause to hate the conspiracy-more than most. And I’ll grant as well, that I trust few of them anymore.”

“Do you trust this Weaver in whom my king places so much faith?”

“He risked a great deal by revealing himself, my lord. You must admit that.”

“Perhaps. If his powers are as great as he claims, he might have risked less than you think. Even if we wished to put him to death, who among us could carry out the sentence?”

“A fair question. But Weavers have been executed in the past, as have their families, as I understand it.”

He frowned, looking toward his army. “So you do trust him.”

“Even if I didn’t, my lord, what could we do about it? I won’t defy my queen, and I’d advise you not to defy Kearney. Under Sanbira’s laws, doing so during war is tantamount to treason. I’d guess that the laws of your land are similar.”

The thane nodded. “They are. Don’t worry, my lady, I have no intention of holding back my soldiers or any such thing. But if I can prove this Qirsi a traitor, I will.”

“And if you can, my lord, you’ll have my support.”

He smiled at that. “Thank you, my lady. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must see to my army.”

“Of course.”

Marston bowed to her and strode back to his men. Watching him go, Diani was surprised to find herself hoping that he’d fail. As much as she distrusted the white-hairs, she wanted this gleaner to prove himself an ally. She sensed that without him, they had little hope of defeating the renegades. Thinking this, she went in search of Abeni and the other Qirsi.

* * *

“He’s a Weaver!”

“Could he be our Weaver?”

“No. Our Weaver warned me about this man. He named him to me and told me that he was more than he claimed to be.”

“You never mentioned this to me!”

“No, Craeffe, I didn’t. There’s much I don’t tell you. You seem to forget with some frequency that I’m the Weaver’s chancellor, and you’re but one of his servants.”

“How dare-!”

Filtem laid a hand on Craeffe’s arm, silencing her. “What did the Weaver say we should do about this man, Archminister?”

She continued to glare at Craeffe a moment before responding. “He said we should do nothing. He’ll deal with the gleaner himself.”

“We may not have that luxury anymore,” Filtem said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve no doubt our Weaver knew of this man’s powers when he gave you that warning. But I’m equally sure our Weaver assumed the gleaner would keep his secret, and that this man’s fear of being discovered would keep him from harming our cause before the Weaver’s arrival. Clearly that’s no longer the case.”

“An interesting point. What do you suggest we do?”

“I wish I knew, Archminister.”

“You’re the chancellor,” Craeffe said, all bitterness and wounded pride. “Why don’t you think of something?”

“Craeffe-”

“It’s all right, Minister. She’s right. I will think of something.” Abeni glanced toward Brugaosa’s army. Vanjad, Edamo’s loyal minister, was returning. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Forgive me, Archminister,” Vanjad said, rejoining them. “My duke wished to know what I think of this Weaver in our midst.”

“Of course, Minister. What did you tell him?”

“Well, I don’t really know the man, but if he truly is a Weaver, and, if the threat we face is as grave as he says, we’re quite fortunate to have him on our side.” He glanced at the others, looking nervous and old. “Wouldn’t you agree? No doubt you’ve been speaking of him, as well.”

“Of course we agree, cousin,” Craeffe said. Her eyes flicked toward Abeni. “A Weaver. Who would have thought it possible?”

The archminister frowned. “Indeed.” She needed to end this conversation now, before Craeffe said something foolish. “You should return to your dukes. I intend to seek out the master of arms. With the queen occupied, he may need my help.”

“Yes, of course,” Vanjad said, always so eager to serve. “Thank you, Archminister.”

Craeffe eyed her briefly, as if she wanted to say more. In the end, though, she and Filtem walked off together without a word.

Intending to return to the queen’s army, the archminister turned, then froze. The duchess of Curlinte stood nearby, staring at her. How long had she been watching? And how had Abeni been so careless as to not notice her sooner? After a moment she nodded to the woman and continued as if nothing unusual had happened. But she still felt the duchess’s eyes upon her, and she cursed her own stupidity.

Diani of Curlinte, though, was the least of her concerns. Filtem was right. Her Weaver might have known of Grinsa jal Arriet’s powers, but he couldn’t have anticipated that he would reveal himself so soon, or that the sovereigns of both Eibithar and Sanbira would be so willing to embrace him as an ally.

Don’t approach her unless you absolutely must, the Weaver had told her. The risks are far too great.

What choice did Abeni have now? The time had come to forge an alliance of her own, with Kearney’s archminister.

* * *

“It’s about time,” Kearney mumbled, when at last they saw the four Braedony captains riding out to join them.

By the gleaner’s reckoning they had been waiting on horseback for the better part of an hour, watching for some sign that the empire’s army would respond to their flag of truce. They heard a few jeers as they sat, and they noticed the Braedony archers positioning themselves to the west, where the slow winds blowing that morning would be of most aid should it come to an attack.

“You can protect us, can’t you, gleaner?” Kearney asked at the time, eyeing the bowmen.

“I certainly hope so, Your Majesty,” Grinsa said drily.

Kearney had given him a sharp look. Olesya laughed aloud.

Now, watching the captains approach, the king shook his head. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered.

“We don’t know that yet, Your Majesty.”

“Actually, gleaner, we do. These men are soldiers-battle commanders. There’s no one here from the court. Either they’re dead, or Harel never sent anyone. These captains haven’t the authority to do what we ask.”

Grinsa glanced at the king. “So, what do we do?”

“We talk. We try anyway. We’ve offered the flag. There’s no sense in turning back now. But stay alert. This could end badly.”

The captains reined to a halt a short distance away. It took Grinsa but a moment to understand that the gap they had left would be enough to ensure their safety should the archers loose their arrows.

One of the captains, a bald man, clearly several years older than the other three, raised a hand in greeting. “Your Majesty, Your Highness. What is it you want?”

“To discuss terms of peace, Captain. Isn’t that clear?”

“So you’re ready to surrender?”

Kearney laughed, though his eyes were hard as emeralds. “With the men who arrived yesterday, we have the larger force by far. Why would we surrender to you?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty. But you fly the truce flag, you call us out here to discuss peace. Surely you don’t expect us to surrender.”

“I don’t seek surrender on either side, Captain. I wish for a truce. Indeed, I wish to forge an alliance.”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “An alliance?” He cast a quick look at the other men, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “An alliance against whom, Your Majesty?”

“Has word of the Qirsi conspiracy reached Braedon?”

“Of course it has. You’re not speaking of Uulrann, Your Majesty. We are the Braedon empire.”

“Then you understand the danger posed by these renegades.”

“Yes. But I don’t see what any of this has to do with the war we’re fighting.”

“Even as we speak, Captain, a Qirsi army rides toward us, led by a Weaver and composed of enough sorcerers to destroy either of our armies. But if we unite, if we fight the traitors together, we may yet prevail.”

The captain’s eyes had narrowed, and he stared warily at the king and then at Grinsa. “Trickery. I don’t believe any of this.”

“It’s true, Captain,” the gleaner said. “I’ve seen it. And the Weaver is none other than your high chancellor.”

“What?”

“Dusaan jal Kania leads the conspiracy and rides at the head of this army of which His Majesty speaks.”

“I don’t know you, white-hair. Why should I trust you? Why should I trust any of you?”

“Because,” the king answered, “we have nothing to gain from ending this war. As I said: we outnumber you. We can drive you from our shores, or we can simply crush you. But we share a common enemy, you and I. And I need your help defeating him.”

Grinsa winced at what he heard in Kearney’s voice. He would have handled this more delicately, but he didn’t dare try to soften what the king had said.

“You and I both know it wouldn’t be as easy as all that to drive us off, Eibithar. But I want to hear more from the white-hair. You say you’ve seen the high chancellor leading this Qirsi army. How could you see any of that? It’s just sorcery, right?”

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

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

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

“You’re a Weaver.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

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

Kearney nodded, looking at Grinsa. “Gleaner?”

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