Weavers of War

Chapter Two

Dantrielle, Aneira

Not long ago-only a few days by his reckoning, though it was hard to keep track in this prison cell-Pronjed jal Drenthe had been archminister of Aneira, the most powerful Qirsi in all the realm. Now, with the failure of Numar of Renbrere’s siege at Castle Dantrielle and the collapse of the Solkaran Supremacy, which Pronjed had served, he was but a prisoner of Dantrielle’s duke, his ministerial robes tattered and soiled, his hair matted, his skin itching with vermin and sweat. For another man, this might have been a humiliation, cause to despair in his dark, lonely chamber. But not for Pronjed. He was a powerful sorcerer, a man with resources beyond the imaginings of the foolish Eandi who guarded him day and night. He possessed shaping power with which to shatter the iron door to his cell. He wielded mind-bending magic with which he could turn Dantrielle’s guards to his purposes. He could raise mists and winds, which would allow him to elude his captors once he was free of the tower. Even the silk bonds holding his wrists and ankles wouldn’t be enough to stop him, though they presented something of a challenge. He had been planning his escape almost since the moment of his capture. He knew just how he would win his freedom. Despite what the Eandi might have thought, this prison of theirs couldn’t hold him.

And yet here he remained. Pronjed had thought to escape several nights before, in the tumult just after the breaking of Numar’s siege, when Tebeo, duke of Dantrielle, was still occupied with removing dead soldiers from the wards of his castle and determining, with the aid of his allies, how best to proceed now that the Supremacy had been toppled.

But somehow one of his own people, Evanthya ja Yispar, Dantrielle’s first minister, had divined his mind. Not only did she know of his intent to escape; she had guessed as well that he planned to head north from Dantrielle to meet the Weaver in Eibithar, on the battle plain near Galdasten. She claimed that she would do nothing to hinder him, that all she wanted was to follow, so that she might find her lover, Fetnalla ja Prandt, Orvinti’s first minister, who had betrayed and killed her duke. But Pronjed had been so badly shaken by their conversation that he now found himself afraid to make the attempt. He had sensed no deception on Evanthya’s part-it truly seemed she wished only to find her love. But what if he was mistaken? What if he allowed himself to be followed, only to find that the minister had found some way to thwart the Weaver’s plans? He thought this unlikely, but he would have been a fool to dismiss the idea entirely.

The Weaver expected him to join the Qirsi army; Pronjed desired this, as well. He expected his service to the movement to be rewarded with power and wealth. The Weaver had often spoken to him of creating a new class of Qirsi nobility, and the archminister had every intention of claiming his place among them. The previous night he had resolved at last to escape his chamber, notwithstanding the risk of being followed by the first minister. Although still unwilling to trust that she meant no harm to the movement, he was confident he could kill her should the need arise.

And yet, even after the midnight bells tolled in the city he couldn’t bring himself to try. Fear held him in the chamber; fear as unyielding as that iron door, as immune to his power as the silk bonds. How had Evanthya known so much about him and his intentions? She was but one woman-what danger could she pose to a movement as vast as theirs? Though blessed with a keen mind and more courage than he would have expected from one with such a slight frame and reserved manner, she would have been no match for Pronjed in a battle of magic. Yet, several hours later, when the dawn bells rang and the sky began to brighten, the dark of night giving way to the soft grey light of early morning, Pronjed still sat in his prison.

He had made the mistake of angering the Weaver once-when he killed Carden the Third, Aneira’s king, assuming incorrectly that the Weaver would be pleased. He could still feel the way the bone in his hand had shattered, the pain so severe he could barely remain conscious. The Weaver, who could be so generous with his gold, was no less stingy with his punishment when the occasion demanded. That memory, as much as anything, kept Pronjed in his chamber, grappling with his uncertainty.

Nothing in his past, however, could have prepared him for the conversation he had later that same morning. The last peals of the midmorning bells were still echoing through the castle when he heard a light footfall in the corridor outside his chamber and then a woman’s voice he recognized immediately.

“Open the door and then leave us,” Evanthya told the two guards.

“We’re to remain in the corridor at all times, First Minister,” one of the men answered. “Duke’s orders.”

Silence. After several moments, she said, “Fine then. Let me into the chamber.”

“Yes, First Minister.”

It took the man but a moment to find the correct key. After he opened the door, Evanthya stepped past him into the chamber, then pulled the door shut behind her.

“One of us should be in there with you, First Minister.”

“It’s all right. I’ve a dagger with me. I’ll call for you when I’m ready to leave.”

She faced Pronjed, her cheeks flushed, her expression grim. Her yellow eyes were as bright as blooms in the castle gardens, and her fine white hair hung loose to her shoulders. Pronjed knew that she loved another, a woman at that, but he couldn’t help noting how attractive she was.

“You realize, of course, that your dagger will do you no good against me,” he said quietly, not bothering to stand. He held up his wrists so that she could see the silk ties. “There’s a reason I’m bound with these.”

“Yes, Archminister. You may remember, they were my idea in the first place. We both know that I won’t need the weapon at all. You have no intention of harming me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She had stepped closer to him and now she cast a quick glance at the door. “Because,” she whispered, “if you try to hurt me you’ll either be executed or thrown in the castle dungeon. You aren’t ready to die, and if you’re placed in the dungeon, you’ll have a much harder time escaping.”

Pronjed’s eyes flicked toward the door. Neither of the guards appeared to be listening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop it. Of course you do. And I want to know why you’ve yet to make the attempt.”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you tried to escape?”

Perhaps there was an opportunity here. “Because I have no intention of escaping. I never have.”

“You’re lying.”

“You seem terribly sure of yourself, First Minister, and yet, as you yourself point out, I’ve made no attempt to win my freedom. Isn’t it possible that you’ve been wrong about me, that in your haste to pursue Fetnalla, you’ve imagined a traitor where there is none?”

“No, it’s not,” she said. But Pronjed heard doubt in her words and pressed his advantage.

“I can imagine how hard it must have been for you, hearing of Lord Orvinti’s death, knowing that there could be little doubt but that Fetnalla was responsible.”

“Be quiet!”

“Still, just because the first minister proved false, doesn’t mean that I will as well. I’m sure that would be of great comfort to you, but it’s just not-”

“I told you to be quiet!” In a swirl of her ministerial robes and a blur of white and steel, she was on him, her forearm pressed against his chest so that he was forced back against the stone wall, her blade at his throat.

It was all Pronjed could do not to shatter the dagger instantly. He tried to reassure himself that she needed him too much to kill him, and that she couldn’t risk harming him in any way and thus raising the suspicions of her duke. But he was trembling, and the edge of her blade felt cold and dangerous against his neck.

“First Minister?” one of the guards called from the grated window in the iron door, sounding alarmed.

“Leave us alone!” she said.

The man looked at Pronjed briefly, a smirk on his lips. Then he turned away.

“Why don’t you shatter my blade, Archminister?” she said, her voice dropping once more. “Or do you intend to tell me now that you’re not really a shaper?”

“This is foolishness, Evanthya. As you’ve already made clear to me, I can’t afford to harm you. Nor are you going to hurt me. You still believe that I can lead you to Fetnalla. So put your dagger away, and let’s speak of this civilly.”

Evanthya glared at him another moment, her weapon still held to his throat. Finally, slowly, she released him and sheathed the blade. “All right,” she said. “Tell me why you’re still here, or I’ll go to the duke and convince him to put you in the dungeon.”

“Another empty threat. As I say, you need me, or at least you think you do.”

“I need you as an excuse to go after Fetnalla, Archminister. Nothing more. Tebeo won’t let me pursue her-he sees no sense in it so long after Brall’s murder. But if you escape, I can prevail upon him to let me follow you. He hasn’t enough men left to send soldiers after you, so he’ll send me.”

“As I said-”

“But if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll send you to the dungeon and then leave Dantrielle without his permission. I’ll forfeit my title and place in his court if I have to. As I’ve told you once before, all I want is to get Fetnalla back. I don’t care about anything else. I certainly don’t give a damn about you.”

A braver man might have been willing to test her resolve, to force her either to give up her position in Tebeo’s court or prove that her threats amounted to nothing. But Pronjed felt his nerve failing him at the mere suggestion of being sent to the castle dungeon.

“I haven’t made the attempt,” he said at last, “because I’ve been unable to decide whether you truly wish to find her, or have been hoping to lure me into a trap.”

That, of all things, seemed to leave her speechless. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. The archminister would have laughed had he not been trembling at the realization of what he had done. With that small admission he had, in effect, confirmed for her all that she had been assuming about him.

“Is that true?” she finally asked him, her voice so soft that he could barely hear her.

“It is.”

“Damn.” She raked a hand through her hair, closing her eyes briefly. “We’ve lost a good deal of time. There’s no telling where she is by now.”

“Perhaps then, it no longer makes sense for you to follow me.”

“I didn’t say that I was ready to give up.”

“And I didn’t say that I was ready to let you follow me.” She started to respond and Pronjed raised a hand, stopping her. “I know: you don’t need my permission, and I might not be able to prevent it. But I’m obligated to try. I’d be a fool not to.”

After a moment, she nodded. “So, when?”

Pronjed shook his head. He must have been an idiot. “Tonight,” he whispered. Seeing the doubtful look on her face, he added, “I swear it. I can’t afford to wait any longer either.”

She glanced toward the door. “Don’t hurt the men. You have delusion magic. Use it.”

He should have denied this, too. But like before he found himself helpless in the face of her certainty. He could argue the point for the rest of the day without convincing her. Instead, he shook his head. “I make you no promises in that regard. I’ll do whatever I have to. If you really want to ensure their safety, you’ll have these silk bonds removed. I can shatter manacles, but with these…” He shrugged.

“But your powers-”

“I can’t control two men at one time, which means that the second guard will have to be incapacitated somehow. It’s up to you, First Minister. If you truly care about these men, you’ll help me.”

Evanthya offered no reply, save to hold his gaze for a few moments more before straightening and crossing to the door.

“Guards!” she called.

One of the men was there immediately, unlocking the door and letting her out. An instant later he clanged the door shut again and threw the lock, the sound echoing in the chamber.

“Watch him closely,” he heard Evanthya say to Tebeo’s men. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to escape.”

Pronjed just gaped at the door. The silk at his wrists and ankles felt tighter than ever.

Evanthya was trembling as she descended the stairway of the prison tower. Tonight.

She had never known that she could be afraid of so many things at one time. The archminister, the Weaver, the castle guards, her duke and his reaction if he learned what she intended. And behind it all, the fear of her next encounter with Fetnalla. She no longer doubted that her beloved had betrayed the realm or that she had killed her duke, Brall of Orvinti. Nor did she have any illusions as to her own power to turn Fetnalla from the dark path she had chosen. Yet she had to try. She owed that much to herself, to both of them.

The two soldiers outside Pronjed’s chamber had regarded her strangely when she stepped back into the corridor, a testament to how deep suspicions of the Qirsi still ran in Aneira. All the men in Castle Dantrielle knew how she had fought against the soldiers of Solkara and Rassor during the recent siege. They had seen her doing battle, back to back with the duke, risking her life on Tebeo’s behalf. They had seen as well the mist and wind she raised to protect Dantrielle’s men from enemy archers when Numar’s invaders briefly took control of the castle ramparts. After all that, none could question her loyalty to Tebeo and his house.

Or so she had thought. For some still did, and these few would see a dark purpose in her whispered conversation with the archminister. And would they be wrong? Hadn’t she been plotting the traitor’s escape, ignoring the fact that he may well have been responsible for the death of Aneira’s king? She had used her own gold to buy the murder of a Qirsi traitor in Mertesse. Wasn’t she then an enemy of the conspiracy? Did sharing a bed with a traitor and wishing desperately to lie with her again negate all that she had done before?

These questions plagued her as she made her way across the castle’s upper ward. Evanthya didn’t even notice the two soldiers standing in her path until she had nearly walked into them.

“Pardon me,” she said, flustered and feeling slightly dazed. “I didn’t see you.”

“Actually, First Minister, we was waitin’ for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. The duke wants a word right away.”

The minister looked up at the window of Tebeo’s ducal chamber and saw that he was watching her, his round face lit by the morning sun.

She nodded, swallowing. “Of course.”

The two men fell in step on either side of her and in silence the three of them entered the nearest of the castle towers, climbed the stairway, and walked to Tebeo’s chamber. One of the guards knocked, and at the duke’s summons, he pushed open the door and motioned for Evanthya to enter. She nodded at the two men, trying with little success to smile, and stepped into the chamber. Neither man entered with her and an instant later she heard the door close.

Tebeo was still at the window, his back to her. “Please sit, First Minister.”

Evanthya took her usual seat near the duke’s writing table. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a wonder Tebeo didn’t notice.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, my lord.”

“Wine perhaps?”

She smiled, despite her fright. “I’m fine, my lord.”

He turned at that. “Are you?”

Evanthya shivered. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been impressed with your strength this past half turn since the breaking of the siege. You’ve done all that I’ve asked of you; as always your service to House Dantrielle has been exemplary.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I can only imagine how difficult it’s been for you.”

She felt the blood rush to her face and looked away. There would have been no sense in denying it. “Yes, my lord.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit surprised that you’re still here.”

Evanthya could only stare at him.

“I have some idea of how much you love her, and I know as well that you hate the conspiracy, that you’ve risked a great deal to strike at its leaders.”

Not long ago, Evanthya had told him of hiring the assassin to kill Shurik jal Marcine, and though he hadn’t approved, neither had he punished her, which would have been well within his prerogative as her sovereign.

“Had it been me,” he went on, “I would have gone after her already. That you haven’t speaks well of your devotion to me and this house.”

“You honor me, my lord,” she managed to say.

“I’m merely being honest. And I’d ask the same of you.”

“My lord?”

He came and sat beside her, a kindly look on his face. “What were you doing in the prison tower just now?” he asked, his voice so gentle it made her chest ache.

She tried to answer, to say anything at all, but instead she began to cry.

“There are only two men in the tower right now,” he said. “Numar and the archminister. And I doubt that you have much to say to the regent. That leaves Pronjed.”

When she didn’t answer, he took a long breath.

“After all we’ve been through these past few turns, I’ll never again question your loyalty. I think you know that.”

Evanthya nodded, tears coursing down her face.

“Still, I need to know what you and he discussed. As much as I trust you, I fear the archminister. You’ve told me yourself how dangerous he is. If my castle is in peril-”

“It’s not, my lord.”

In the next moment she thought of the last words Pronjed had spoken to her and the danger his escape might pose to Tebeo’s guards, and she regretted offering even this meager assurance.

“You’re certain of this?”

She lowered her gaze again. “Not for certain, no.”

“You must tell me, Evanthya. You know you must.”

A thousand denials leaped to mind, all of them lies. How different would she be from Fetnalla if she resorted to any of them?

“He means to escape, my lord.”

“Escape? How?”

“He has mind-bending magic, mists and winds, and shaping power. It should be a fairly simple matter.”

“Then why hasn’t he done so already?”

“Because several days ago I informed him of my intention to follow him, and he fears a trap.”

The duke expressed no surprise. His expression didn’t even change, save for a momentary closing of the eyes.

“In other words, you meant to let him go, though surely his escape would strengthen the conspiracy.”

“He can lead me to her, my lord.”

“That hardly justifies it.”

“We’d merely be exchanging one traitor for another. Pronjed might join them, but Fetnalla won’t.”

His eyebrows went up. “You believe you can turn her from the renegades?”

“I have to try. If that doesn’t work, I’ll find some other way to keep her from joining them. In any case, she won’t be fighting alongside her Weaver.”

Tebeo frowned. “I hate to have to say this, Evanthya, but Fetnalla is dangerous, too. She used magic to kill Brall, and as you’ve often told me, yours are not the powers of a warrior. You’re still thinking of her as your love, but she’s your enemy now. You may not be strong enough to defeat her.”

“I’m not without advantages of my own, my lord,” Evanthya said. “She may be formidable, but so am I, in my own way.” The minister was surprised at herself. Pride had always been Fetnalla’s failing.

Tebeo smiled, as might an indulgent parent. “You needn’t try to convince me of your worth, First Minister. I saw you fight for this castle. I stood and did battle with my back to yours, and never did I fear that a killing blow would come from behind.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I fear losing you, not only because I value your counsel, but also because I count you as a friend.”

“Then think for a moment as my friend, rather than as my duke. Do you honestly believe that I can simply remain here while Fetnalla fights beside the Weaver? After what she’s done, how can I not go after her?”

He shook his head. “This wasn’t your fault, Evanthya. You couldn’t have known-”

“But I should have! There’s no one in the world who knows her as I do. She was acting so strangely the last time we were together.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “It should have been obvious.”

“You ask too much of yourself.”

“The person I love most in this world has revealed herself as a traitor and murderer. How can I not blame myself?”

The duke winced, seeming to cast about for something to say.

“You want to tell me that you can’t answer, that the duchess would never do anything of the sort. And of course you’re right. But until just a short time ago, I had no reason to think otherwise about Fetnalla.”

The duke stood and walked back to his open window. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like,” he said, gazing out at the castle ward. He said nothing for a long time, until Evanthya began to wonder if he was waiting for her to say more. At last, however, he faced her again. “If it were simply a matter of giving you leave to go, I’d do so in an instant, despite my fears for your safety. But you’re asking me to allow Pronjed to escape, and that I can’t do. We suspect him of the foulest crimes against the realm, and I fear he remains a threat to all of us.”

“I can’t find her alone, my lord.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s going to escape whether I follow him or not! It’s simply a matter of how much damage he does to your castle and how many men he manages to maim and kill in the process!”

“Don’t you believe I can stop him?”

“Not if he’s determined to win his freedom, no.”

Tebeo let out a short harsh laugh. “Evanthya, I command an entire army. He may be powerful, but he’s only one man.”

“Then why is it so important that you keep him here?”

The duke hesitated, then smiled wryly and shook his head. “You’re playing games with me, now.”

“I assure you, my lord, this is no game. He can lead me to Fetnalla, and she, in turn, can lead me to the conspiracy. There’s far more to be gained by letting him go. If I can find Fetnalla, if I can turn her from this dark path she’s on, perhaps she and I together can strike a blow against the renegades. Wouldn’t that be worth something?”

“It would, were it possible. But I don’t believe it is. I’m sorry, Evanthya, but I believe that Fetnalla has gone too far to turn back. And as you’ve told me yourself, the archminister is a threat to us all. I can’t let him escape, and I’ll look upon any attempt on your part to help him do so … as a most serious offense.”

He had been going to say, “as an act of treason.” She was certain of it. It was a measure of how much he cared for her that he didn’t.

The duke crossed to his door, pulled it open, and beckoned to one of the guards. “Have the master of arms sent to me immediately,” he said.

“What are you going to do, my lord?” Evanthya asked, as Tebeo closed the door again.

“I’m going to double the guard in the corridor outside his chamber, and place extra guards in every corridor that offers access to the prison tower.”

The minister shook her head. “All you’re doing is placing more men in danger, my lord. A shaper can shatter bone with a thought. A Qirsi with delusion magic can make a man do nearly anything-it’s quite possible that Pronjed made the king kill himself.”

“So what can I do?”

“That’s my point. I’m not certain you can do anything without putting more lives at risk. This is one instance in which your army can’t help you. If he was in a courtyard surrounded by one hundred archers, you might be able to stop him, though his power of mists and winds would make it difficult. But he’s in a prison tower, where the corridors are narrow, and only a few men can stand against him at any given time.”

“Surely four men outside his door will make his escape more difficult than would two.”

“A bit. But in the end you’d merely have to build four pyres rather than two.”

Tebeo rubbed a hand over his face, looking forlorn. “How does one fight such an enemy?”

No doubt this was a question Eandi lords were asking themselves throughout the Forelands.

“You fight them just as you would any cunning, powerful foe: by forging alliances, by using tactics that you’ve never thought to employ before, and by choosing your battles carefully.”

He eyed her for several moments. “What do you suggest?”

“You know what I want you to do, my lord. Let him go. Remove one of the guards from the corridor outside his chamber.”

“What?”

“If only one man is there, Pronjed can use his mind-bending magic on the man. He can free himself from the chamber without harming anyone. Indeed, if we plan this well, he can escape without hurting a single man.”

“Did you speak to him of this as well?”

Evanthya felt her face coloring once again. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me. I was-”

“No. It’s all right. We’re living in extraordinary times. My loyal minister is conspiring with a Qirsi renegade to effect his escape in a way that saves Eandi lives. I suppose it’s funny, in a way.”

“It’s a bitter jest, my lord. You should know that I hate this man. I do this for Fetnalla, and because I believe that I can help those who are fighting the conspiracy.”

A lengthy pause, and then, “You’d be the only one of us.”

Evanthya frowned. “My lord?”

“Men from Mertesse and Solkara marched north to fight the Eibitharians, but I doubt that they’ll join forces with the enemy to fight this Weaver and his renegades. And even if we had a king to lead us, I’m not certain that we could provision an army and send it north in time to take part in a war against the conspiracy. Be it through our own foolishness or the machinations of the traitors, Aneira has been effectively removed from this battle. You’d be the only one of us who could strike a blow.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Does that mean you’ll let me go, my lord?”

He exhaled heavily, his whole frame seeming to sag with his surrender. “I must be mad,” he muttered.

“My lord?”

“I won’t try to stop you.”

Her heart was pounding once more, with excitement, with fear, with the anticipation of war. “And the archminister?”

“You say that if there’s only one guard up there, he won’t harm the man?”

“He’d have no reason to.”

“Save for his hatred of the Eandi.”

She shrugged, then nodded, conceding the point.

Before she could answer, there came a knock at the door. Tebeo stared at her a moment, before calling for whoever had come to enter. The door opened and Gabrys DinTavo, Tebeo’s master of arms, entered the chamber.

Seeing Evanthya, the man hesitated and gave a small nod. Then he faced the duke and bowed.

“You sent for me, my lord?”

“Yes, armsmaster.” The duke returned to his writing table and sat, his face pale. “How many men do we currently have standing guard in the prison tower?”

Gabrys cast a quick glance at Evanthya. “There are four, my lord, two each outside the chambers of the regent and archminister. Plus we have men in the ward outside the tower, and along the corridors that lead to it. That would be sixteen men in all, my lord.”

“That strikes me as being quite a few.”

“Yes, my lord. It would be for ordinary prisoners. But these men are far from ordinary. We’ve felt all along that one or both of them may try to escape.”

“But wouldn’t we be well served to have some of these men working on the ramparts and battlements? The repairs are going slowly.”

The master of arms looked at Evanthya once more, suspicion in his dark eyes.

“Perhaps he should know, my lord,” she said, thinking again of the soldiers outside Pronjed’s chamber.

Tebeo nodded. “Very well.”

“Know what, my lord?”

“We intend to allow the archminister to escape. I want only one guard positioned by his door, and I want the south corridor on the ground level cleared of men entirely.”

To Gabrys’s credit, he offered no reaction, other than to say, “May I ask why, my lord?”

“This was my idea, armsmaster,” Evanthya said. “I’m going to follow him when he leaves the castle. I believe Pronjed can lead me to … to the leaders of the Qirsi conspiracy.”

Before becoming master of arms, Gabrys had seemed wary of her, as so many Eandi warriors are distrustful of all Qirsi. But after Tebeo named him as successor to Bausef DarLesta, who was killed during the recent siege, the new master of arms put aside his suspicions, appearing to recognize that Evanthya had the duke’s trust. And Gabrys, of all people, understood how desperately she fought to save Castle Dantrielle. She sensed that he no longer doubted her loyalty.

Still, she was not yet ready to reveal to him that she sought her beloved. And he was not ready to trust her on this matter.

“With all respect, First Minister, this is madness. What’s to stop him from killing you once he’s free? For that matter, what’s to stop him from helping the regent escape and allowing the Solkarans to menace us once more?”

She shook her head. “He has no interest in helping the regent, armsmaster. All he wants to do is go north to join his fellow renegades. As for killing me…” She looked away. “That’s my concern, not yours.”

“My lord-”

“I know what you’re going to say, Gabrys. I’ve already argued as you would. But Evanthya has convinced me that we risk more by trying to keep the archminister here. He means to escape, and given the powers he wields, we’ll have a difficult time stopping him.”

“We can put him in the dungeon.”

To her horror, Tebeo appeared to consider this.

“Please don’t,” Evanthya said, crying again, cursing herself for her weakness. “You have to understand, armsmaster. I need this man. No one else can help me find her.” She regretted the words as soon as they crossed her lips.

“Her?” the master of arms repeated, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s all right, Gabrys,” the duke said quietly. “She refers to Lord Orvinti’s first minister. She believes the archminister can lead us to her as well.”

The man frowned. “Again, my lord, I must advise you not to do this.”

“I know. I share your concern, Gabrys, but against my better judgment I’m going to do as Evanthya requests.”

Gabrys was a soldier, and Evanthya had to give him credit for his discipline. Clearly he wished to argue the matter further, but he nodded once, not even glancing in the first minister’s direction, and said, “Is there anything else, my lord?”

“No, armsmaster, thank you. See to the removal of the guards.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He let himself out of the chamber, closing the door quietly, and leaving Evanthya alone with her duke. Perhaps for the last time.

“You’re certain about this?” Tebeo asked.

Abruptly she was trembling. “I am, my lord.”

Tebeo stood and walked to where she was sitting. Taking her hands in his, he made her stand as well, and then he gathered her in his arms.

“You have served me as faithfully as any minister has ever served a noble,” he whispered. “And you’ve defended this house as bravely as any soldier who’s ever worn its colors. Whenever you return, you’ll still be first minister of Dantrielle, and so long as I live, no other person will ever bear that title.”

Evanthya knew she should say something, but she couldn’t speak for her weeping and the aching in her throat. After several moments Tebeo released her, though he took hold of her hands again.

“Do you have everything you need?”

Evanthya nodded.

“Do you need gold?”

“I have some, my lord.”

“You should have more.” He let go of her hands and returned to his writing table. Opening a small drawer, he produced a leather pouch that rang with the jingle of coins. Crossing back to her, he opened the purse and began to count out gold rounds. After a few seconds he put them back and handed her the entire pouch.

“Just take them all. It’s not much, really. Fifty qinde perhaps. But it should help.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“You should get food from the kitchens as well.”

But Evanthya shook her head. “No one else should know that I’m leaving.”

“Oh … of course.”

They stood in silence, their eyes locked. Evanthya’s tears still flowed, and Tebeo seemed to be searching for something more to say. In the end, the first minister merely stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and fled the chamber.

Just a short while after the ringing of the midday bells, the archminister heard men speaking in the corridor outside his chamber. The soldiers there and whoever else had come kept their voices low, and though Pronjed strained to hear them, he could not. He hoped, though, that men had come with orders to replace the silk ties that still held him with iron shackles.

After some time, however, the conversation in the corridor ceased and still no one entered his chamber.

Had the first minister betrayed him? Had she tricked him into confessing his intentions only to turn to her duke and warn him of the danger? He didn’t think so-he wasn’t even certain that Evanthya was capable of such duplicity-but in truth, he couldn’t really be sure of anything anymore.

Actually that wasn’t quite true. He knew, with the assurance of a condemned man, that if he didn’t join the Weaver in this war he would be killed, either in the dungeons of Dantrielle, or in his dreams by the Weaver himself. And so he resolved, despite his doubts, to carry through on his promise to escape this night.

His decision did little to calm him. In fact, as the day wore on, marked by the tolling of first the prior’s bells and then the twilight bells, his apprehension only grew. Yes, he wielded deep magics. But if Evanthya had deceived him, even they might not be enough.

As night settled over the city of Dantrielle, darkening the narrow window of his chamber, he again heard footsteps in the hallway outside his door. A few moments later, one of the guards unlocked his door and stepped into the cell, bearing Pronjed’s evening meal. The man placed it on the floor near the archminister, and straightened, clearly intending to leave again.

Before he could, Pronjed reached out with his power and touched the man’s mind. Immediately the soldier’s face went slack.

“Where is the other soldier?” Pronjed whispered.

“There is no other,” the man said, his voice flat. “I’m here alone.”

Pronjed gaped at him. “What?”

“I’m here alone.”

“Since when?”

“Earlier today. The duke says you’re not a threat anymore and we need only one man to guard you.”

He eyed the man closely, searching for some sign that he was lying, that he had found some way to resist Pronjed’s mind-bending magic. During the last days in Solkara, as Numar planned for his siege, Pronjed had found himself unable to turn the regent or Numar’s brother, Henthas, to his purposes. He had assumed at the time that the two men had learned of his abilities and were warding themselves. But what if his power was simply failing?

“Hit your head against the wall,” Pronjed said, pushing with his magic again.

The man stepped to the wall, and pounded his forehead against the stone. His powers were working just fine.

“What else has the duke done?”

“He’s moved men out of some of the corridors leading to the tower.”

“Which corridors?”

“I don’t know.”

He pushed harder with his magic until the man winced and held a hand to his temple. “I don’t know,” he said again, whining slightly, like a hurt child.

It would have been useful information, but Pronjed could hardly complain. Evanthya had done more for him than he had dared hope. It was time for him to do his part.

“Come here and untie my wrists.”

The man complied instantly. In just a few moments his hands were free, and he had removed the bonds from his ankles.

“Now, tell me where I can find the nearest sally port.”

The man’s directions were a bit muddled, and Pronjed had to tell him to repeat several parts, but Castle Dantrielle was somewhat similar in design to Castle Solkara, where he had served for so many years. He’d have little trouble finding the hidden doorway.

“Give me your sword and dagger.”

The soldier appeared so docile as he handed Pronjed the weapons that the archminister nearly laughed aloud. “The mighty warriors of the Eandi,” he said, regarding the man with contempt. “Our Weaver has nothing to fear from any of you.”

The man simply stood there, slack-jawed and helpless. Pronjed would have liked to strike at him with the blade. Let Tebeo and his noble friends think on that. But he had struck a bargain of sorts with Evanthya, and she had kept up her end of it.

“Lie down and go to sleep,” he said.

And as the man stretched out on the stone floor, Pronjed slipped from the chamber to begin his long journey toward freedom and the triumph of his people.