Weavers of War

Chapter Four

How could a single night take so long to pass? Even with all Dusaan had to do before dawn, it seemed to him that the moons took days to turn their broad arcs across the darkened sky. He had waited years to begin his war in earnest, he had dreamed of doing so since before his Fating. Patience had long been his greatest weapon. But on this final night, his anticipation got the better of him.

He barely touched his evening meal, which a servant brought to his chamber at twilight and removed several hours later. He paced, he sat by his window staring up at the stars, and he waited for the tolling of the midnight bells, his mind churning, his heart pounding so loudly that he thought everyone in the palace must hear it.

When at last he heard the bells, he wasted no time. Closing his eyes, he began to reach across the Scabbard and the Strait of Wantrae for his chancellors, his most trusted and most powerful servants. He found Jastanne ja Triln aboard her ship, the White Erne, just off the Galdasten shore, within sight of the warships of Braedon, Eibithar, and Wethyrn. As always, she was naked, her body offered to him as a gift. And, again as always, he sensed her ambition, her daring, and her keen intelligence.

Abeni ja Krenta, archminister in the court of Sanbira’s queen, proved more difficult to locate. He had expected to find her in Yserne, but she was riding with the queen and a force of nearly eight hundred men. They were two days out from Brugaosa, just across the border into Caerisse, and pushing hard toward northern Eibithar. Dusaan was pleased; he had feared that she might not reach the northern kingdom in time. Of all his servants, she might have been the most valuable. As brilliant as Jastanne and as passionate in her commitment to the movement, Abeni was somewhat older, and with that age came a wisdom and calm that the young merchant lacked.

Uestem jal Safhir, solid like the great boulders on Ayvencalde Moor, had proved himself intelligent as well, if somewhat unimaginative. He was already in Galdasten. And Pronjed jal Drenthe had managed to escape the prison tower of Dantrielle and was already making his way northward. As always, the archminister was eager to please and, after his questionable decision to kill Carden the Third, king of Aneira, frightened of incurring Dusaan’s wrath again.

There were others-men and women who served in courts or sailed ships or journeyed the realms with festivals. And on this night, Dusaan spoke with all of them, telling each the same thing.

The time has come. I will reveal myself within the day and will begin to fight the Eandi courts in earnest. Prepare yourselves and make your way to Galdasten as quickly as possible. I intend to form an army the likes of which has not been seen in the Forelands for nearly nine centuries.

The sky had already begun to brighten when he ended the last of these conversations. He hadn’t slept at all. He should have been too weary to stand. Instead, he felt invigorated. The sky over the Imperial Palace glowed indigo and the moons hung low to the west. What a glorious day to begin his reign.

He had a servant bring him his morning meal, and this time he ate, like a newly robed cleric breaking his fast. When he had finished, he sat by the window and dozed until the first of the ministers arrived for the day’s discussion. He watched them file into the chamber, singly and in pairs, their hair as white as bone, their eyes a dozen different shades of gold and yellow. He had heard it said among the Eandi that all Qirsi looked the same. Dusaan couldn’t have disagreed more. There was as much variety in the Qirsi face as in the Eandi, and far more beauty. Their skin was as pure as new snow, their features as fine as Sanbiri metalwork. He would challenge any man in the Forelands to show him an Eandi woman as beautiful as Jastanne, or Cresenne for that matter.

His mood darkened at the thought of Cresenne. Had she not betrayed him for Grinsa, she would have been one of those whose dreams he entered this past night. She could have had a hand in this momentous day, she could have been his queen and shared with him the glorious future he had conceived and would soon create. Instead, she would die an enemy of the new Qirsi court. A pity. But she had brought this fate upon herself.

“We’re all here, High Chancellor.”

He looked up to find Nitara standing before him, lovely in her own way, her face flushed with desire for him, and, just perhaps, her anticipation of what was about to happen in this chamber.

Dusaan gazed past her to find that all of them were watching him: Gorlan looking younger than the Weaver had ever seen him, a smile on his lips; Stavel looking old and scared, as well he should. The others appeared oblivious, some even bored. That wouldn’t last long.

He smiled at Nitara and gestured for her to sit. “Thank you, Minister.”

How many times had he envisioned the scene unfolding before him? For how long had he been composing what he was about to say? It seemed to Dusaan that his entire life had been leading to this very moment.

“Have you any further word from Pinthrel, High Chancellor?”

The Weaver glared at Stavel, causing the old man to shrink back into his chair.

“All of you have heard rumors of the Qirsi movement, the so-called conspiracy that threatens the Eandi courts, that strikes fear into the hearts of nobles throughout the Forelands, that unmans Braedon’s emperor. For many turns now, we’ve denounced this movement, just as the emperor would expect. We’ve done so to keep ourselves from being branded as traitors, we’ve done so because as servants of an Eandi lord we could do no less.”

“High Chancellor,” Stavel said meekly, “what does this have to do with the pestilence and Pinth-?”

Dusaan pounded his fist on the writing table. “Will you be silent?” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself, trying to remember exactly where he’d been in his oration. “As I say, we’ve denounced this so-called conspiracy because that’s what was expected of us. But how many of us have wished for the freedom promised by this movement? How many of us have dreamed of a day when Qirsi ruled in the great cities of the Forelands? I know that I have.”

“What are you saying?”

It wasn’t Stavel this time, but rather one of the young ministers. He looked nearly as frightened as Stavel. Indeed, with the exception of Nitara and Gorlan, all of them appeared scared, like children caught in a sudden storm.

“I’m saying just what you think I am. I believe the time has come to put an end to Eandi rule in the Forelands. Our people have served inferior men for too long. We possess great powers. Qirsar has given us the gift of his magic. He has allowed us to glimpse the future, to heal flesh and shape matter, to turn the elements to our will. And yet we are expected to humble ourselves before Eandi nobles who possess neither our powers nor our wisdom. Why should this be?”

“Because they defeated us.” Stavel again, bolder this time. He was trembling-Dusaan could see his hands shaking-but he held his chin high, defiant and proud. The Weaver hadn’t known that he possessed such nerve. “We fought this war nine centuries ago, High Chancellor, and we were beaten back. The Eandi rule the Forelands because we weren’t strong enough to take it from them. We failed then, and this conspiracy will fail now.”

Not long ago, he would have responded to such words with rage. But he was too close now to care what this one man said, weak and inconsequential as he was. He merely shook his head, grinning fiercely. “No, Stavel, you’re wrong. We failed then because we defeated ourselves, through the treachery of a single man.” Even now, on the verge of undoing all that this traitor had wrought, Dusaan found it difficult to speak his name. “Carthach ruined us, he doomed our people to nine centuries of servitude and humiliation. But all that is about to end.”

“You can’t really think to defeat them. Their armies-”

“Their armies are already destroying one another. By the time we strike at them they will have so weakened themselves that our victory will be assured.”

“How long have you been with the conspiracy, High Chancellor?” Rov asked, her tone betraying little.

“I prefer to call it a movement, Minister. And I’ve been with it from the beginning. The movement is me, and I am the movement.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple. I lead the movement.”

The woman blinked, wide-eyed.

“I don’t believe you.” Stavel, of course.

“Don’t you, Chancellor? Look into your heart. You know that it’s true.” He smiled again. “But there’s more.” He looked around the chamber. “Who here knows what powers I possess?”

No one spoke.

With only the merest effort, he called forth a wind, allowing it to sweep through the chamber, then die away. He held forth his hand and conjured a flame. Then he held his other hand over the fire, wincing at the pain. Several of the Qirsi gasped, including Nitara. He let the fire go out and held up his burned hand so that all could see the wound. And then he healed it. He picked up a wine goblet from his writing table, balanced it in his palm, and shattered it with a thought.

“Mists and winds,” he said. “Fire, healing, shaping. Let me assure you that I have gleaning, language of beasts, and delusion as well.”

Stavel looked like he might be ill. “You’re a Weaver,” he whispered.

“Yes. Drawing on my own powers and melding them with the magic of those in this chamber, I could tear this palace to the ground, killing every Eandi within it. With the force that I have assembled throughout the Forelands, I can overcome the combined might of the seven realms.”

Gorlan stood and faced the others. “What he’s telling you is true. I’ve felt his power. It’s greater than I ever thought possible.”

“You’re involved in this, too?”

“We’re part of a great movement,” Dusaan said, ignoring Stavel. “We’re on the verge of changing the course of history. I would gladly welcome all of you to our cause, if you so choose. But you must decide now. You have spent your lives in the service of Eandi lords, men who did not deserve your devotion. Now I offer you the opportunity to join me in building a Qirsi empire. You need only swear your fealty to the movement.”

“And if we refuse?” asked one of the chancellors.

“I have revealed to you that I’m a Weaver, and I’ve declared myself at war with the Eandi courts, including that of the emperor. If you refuse, you declare yourself his ally. You’ll have until nightfall to leave the palace without fear of reprisal. After that, if you remain and you still refuse to pledge yourself to our cause, I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”

“Do you honestly believe that you can win our allegiance with threats?”

Again, the Weaver ignored the question, eyeing the others. Nitara had been right: all of the ministers were with him, and at least one of the older Qirsi.

“All of you who intend to join me, please stand.”

All six ministers and two of the chancellors stood, leaving only Stavel and two others sitting.

“You’re mad!” Stavel said. “All of you.” He pushed himself out of his chair and started for the door.

“Hold, Stavel.”

The old chancellor halted, his back to Dusaan. After a moment, he turned. His face was deathly pale, and there could be no mistaking the terror in his eyes. Yet, once more, he surprised the high chancellor with his bravery. “What are you going to do to me?”

“That depends. Where are you going?”

“To the emperor, of course. I must tell him of this.”

Brave indeed. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

“So it’s to be murder then.”

“I’d rather it not be.” Dusaan wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he actually meant what he said. Just the day before he wouldn’t have thought twice about killing this man. But Stavel had earned his respect this day. Dusaan was forced to admit that there was more to the man than he had ever imagined. “I know that we’ve had our differences over the years. I know that you were jealous of me when I first came to Curtell. I’ll even grant that you had reason to be. I was new to the palace, and I was very young to be made high chancellor. It couldn’t have been easy for you, being passed over when you had waited so long. But I’d be willing to put all of that aside if you’ll pledge your fealty to me now.”

“Never.”

“Surely you can’t think that the emperor deserves such loyalty. The man’s a fool. He cares nothing for the Qirsi who serve him. He can barely even remember our names.”

“None of that matters, Dusaan, and you know it. I swore an oath to serve the empire, and I will not go back on my word.”

“Even if it means turning against your own people?”

“You may be a Weaver, and you may lead a movement that stretches across all the Forelands, but that doesn’t mean that you speak for our people.” The old man took a long breath, drawing himself up so that he stood straighter than Dusaan had seen in many years. “So if you wish to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.”

Their eyes were locked, and the Weaver refused to look away, but he sensed that the others were watching him, wondering what he would do.

“Go ahead, Dusaan. Kill me. Show them what kind of leader you intend to be.”

It would have been easiest to break his neck. One simple push with his shaping power would do it, and it would be a relatively painless death for Stavel. But he needed to decide what point he wished to convey to the others-did he want them to think him merciful, or would it be more useful to make them fear his power? — and he had only an instant to make his choice.

Stavel turned again, reaching for the door handle.

“Stop, Stavel.” He pushed as he said the words, touching the old man’s mind with his magic. The chancellor hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle for an instant before dropping to his side. The others were watching in grave silence, but Dusaan didn’t think they understood quite what was happening.

The Weaver glanced about the chamber, trying to decide what to do with Stavel now that he controlled him. It took him but a moment to decide. “Retrieve my sword, Chancellor, and bring it to me.”

Stavel looked at him, despair in his yellow eyes, but he could only obey. He crossed the chamber, pulled the sword from its scabbard, and walked back to where the Weaver stood.

“Lay the point against my chest.”

Stavel lifted the blade so that its point rested on the high chancellor’s breastbone.

“No doubt he’d like to kill me,” Dusaan said so that the others could hear, all the while keeping a tight hold on Stavel’s mind. “But I control him. He’s helpless to do anything other than what I command.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Stavel whispered, a tear winding a crooked course down his face.

“Because you turned against me. Because you chose service to the Eandi over loyalty to your own people.”

“What are you going to do to him?” asked Bardyn, another of the old ones who had refused to join him.

“What would you suggest I do with him, Chancellor? He’s been spying on all of us for the emperor. He’s guilty of the worst kind of betrayal.”

“He was only doing what his sovereign asked him to do. Harel feared for his life and his court-with good reason it now seems-and he ordered Stavel to do this. Surely you can’t fault the chancellor for that.”

“So you would have done the same thing?” Gorlan demanded.

Bardyn glared at him briefly before looking away. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Stavel’s hand was trembling. Dusaan could feel him fighting to win back control of his mind and body.

“Turn the sword on yourself,” he said.

Another tear slid from Stavel’s eye as he turned the blade and held the tip against his own chest.

The Weaver almost told the man to kill himself then. He intended to. He considered Stavel’s betrayal a crime against the Qirsi people, one for which the old man deserved to die. But looking at the others once more, he saw apprehension on their faces. Even Nitara seemed to be pleading silently for Stavel’s life, her pale eyes wide and brimming with tears. If this woman, who had willingly taken the life of her former lover, couldn’t bear to see the chancellor killed, how would the rest respond?

“You understand that it would be nothing for me to take your life, that you’ve earned such a death with all you’ve done?”

Stavel nodded.

“And you understand as well, that if you dare go to the emperor with any of this, I will kill you, and Bardyn, too.”

His eyes flicked toward his friend, then back to Dusaan’s face, the sword still pressed to his heart. “I understand.”

“Good.” Dusaan took the blade from him and released his hold on the man’s mind. Stavel blinked once, his entire body appearing to sag. “You’re to leave the palace at once, Chancellor. I don’t ever want to see your face again. If I do, your life is forfeit.”

Stavel started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. With one last glance at the others, he left the chamber.

“If any of you still intend to oppose me, you should leave now as well. My patience for traitors runs thin.”

There was a brief silence. Then Bardyn stood, crossed to the door, and pulled it open. Pausing on the threshold, he turned to stare back at Dusaan. “Stavel is right, you know. You’re all quite mad.”

Dusaan raised the sword, so that it pointed directly at Bardyn’s chest. “Not a word to anyone, Chancellor. You’ll find that a Weaver’s reach is not limited by walls, or mountains, or even oceans. Defy me now, and I’ll find you, no matter how far you run.”

The man blanched and pulled the door shut, his footsteps retreating quickly down the corridor.

“Anyone else?” Dusaan asked.

No one moved.

“I’m pleased,” he said. “And I welcome you to the Qirsi movement. Before this day is done the Imperial Palace will be ours, and soon after, all of Braedon. From there, it won’t be long until we’ve conquered all the Eandi courts and created a new land ruled by the Qirsi people and defended by Qirsi magic.”

“How will we take the palace, Weaver?” Nitara asked.

The high chancellor allowed himself a smile. “Leave that to me.”

* * *

Dusaan left his chamber a short time later, instructing the other Qirsi to remain there and await his return. He wouldn’t need them for what he intended to do next, nor did he wish for any aid. Harel was his. He had been anticipating this day for too long to share its pleasures with anyone else.

The guards at Harel’s door stopped him, of course.

“The emperor isn’t expecting you,” one of them said.

“I know that, but it’s rather urgent that I see him.”

The one who had spoken stepped into the imperial chamber, closing the door quietly behind him. After some time he reemerged, eyeing Dusaan with manifest distrust.

“What is it you want?”

“It’s a rather delicate matter, involving the fee accountings. I’d prefer not to say more than that.”

The man frowned, but went back into the chamber. When he returned to the corridor once more, he nodded to the other guard then faced the high chancellor. “You’ll have to remove your weapons.”

“Yes, I know. And I suppose I’ll have to wear that hood again as well.”

“I’m afraid so,” the man said, sounding more insolent than apologetic.

They took his dagger, tied the hood in place, and led him into the chamber. Dusaan sensed four guards in the chamber, two by the throne and two more by the door. Two of Harel’s wives sat in a far corner whispering to one another as a harpist played nearby. Harel was sitting on his throne as Dusaan entered, but he stood immediately and began to pace. The two guards who had accompanied the Weaver into the chamber withdrew, closing the door behind them.

“Well, High Chancellor?” Harel said, his voice tight. “What is it you want?”

“I thought your man explained that, Your Eminence.”

“Yes, yes, the fee accountings. What about them?”

The guards seemed content to remain where they were, no doubt believing that the hood rendered Dusaan powerless to harm the emperor. Within the muslin the Weaver smiled.

“I fear that some of your gold has been misused, Your Eminence.”

Harel stopped pacing. “What? How much?”

“Quite a lot actually. Several thousand qinde, at least.”

“Several thousand! How is this possible?”

“It’s difficult to say, Your Eminence. I found some notes that I had written down some time ago and I realized that the numbers on those notes were not consistent with what I remember being requested by the fleet commanders in the strait.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It would be easier to explain if we had the accountings here with us. Perhaps you can have the master of arms summoned.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.” Harel approached the guards at the door. “Have the master of arms brought here at once, and make certain that he brings the fee accountings.” Harel hesitated, then turned to Dusaan. “All of them?”

“No, Your Eminence. Only the current one.”

“The current fee accountings,” Harel repeated to the guard, as if the man couldn’t hear.

The soldier left them, and Harel resumed his pacing.

For a long time the emperor merely walked, saying nothing, though Dusaan sensed his impatience mounting. The high chancellor would have liked for Harel’s wives to leave. The harpist, too. He had no desire to harm them, but neither could he have them running through the palace raising the alarm.

“How could this have happened?” Harel finally demanded, sounding like a petulant boy. “Where could the gold have gone if not to the fleet?”

“Your Eminence, it might be best if we discuss this matter in private.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Dusaan heard him snap his fingers. An instant later the music stopped, as did the whispers and soft laughter. “Leave us. I’ll call for you again later.”

The two wives rose and walked quickly from the chamber, followed closely by the harpist.

“Now, Dusaan, can you tell me where this gold might have gone?”

“Actually, Your Eminence, I believe so.”

He sensed the emperor’s surprise. “You can? Where?”

“I think it will be easier to explain when the master of arms arrives with the fee accountings.”

“Damn you, Dusaan! Stop weaving mists and tell me what’s happened to my gold!”

Before the Weaver could respond, there came a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Harel shouted.

A guard stepped into the chamber to announce the master of arms, but the emperor cut him off and called for Uriad, who stepped past the man and knelt. The guard remained by the door, which Dusaan had expected. Four guards in all, the emperor, and Uriad.

“You asked for this, Your Eminence?” said the master of arms, apparently referring to the fee accountings.

“Yes. According to the high chancellor, some of my gold has been lost.”

He sensed Uriad turning to face him. “Before or after I took control of the accounts?”

“Before. The fault is mine, armsmaster, not yours.”

“I’ve been trying to get him to tell me where the gold has gone, but he won’t answer me.”

“It’s not that I won’t answer, but rather that I wanted Uriad to hear what I had to say.” He reached up and began to untie the cords that held his hood in place.

“What are you doing?” Harel demanded.

“I’m removing this damned hood.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Dusaan continued to work the knot loose.

“Stop him!” the emperor said, his voice rising.

The guards converged on him. The two who had been nearest the throne were closer, and so he struck at them first, hammering at them with his shaping power. He heard the muffled snapping of bone and the clattering of swords and mail as they fell to the floor. He didn’t even turn to kill the other two. His magic was as precise and lethal as a war hammer; it was as effortless to wield as an Uulranni blade.

The two guards from the corridor burst into the chamber. Dusaan whirled and conjured a great killing flame that enveloped them like a mist. Within seconds he heard their blades fall to the floor.

He sensed that Uriad was gathering himself for an assault.

“Don’t do it, armsmaster,” Dusaan warned, turning once more toward Harel and his master of arms. “The emperor would be dead before you took your first step. And neither of you had better call for help. I’ll kill you for that as well.” Without even looking back he summoned a wind that blew the doors closed.

“But you can’t see!” the emperor whispered.

The Weaver laughed. “You’re a fool, Harel. You collect Qirsi the way other men collect fine blades or Sanbiri mounts, but you’ve never bothered to learn anything about us or our magic. I don’t need to see you to use my power against you. I can sense your every movement.” He pulled off the hood to find Harel staring at him as if the high chancellor had grown into some beast from a child’s darkest dream. Uriad stood near the emperor, his sword drawn, as if that might protect them. Just for amusement, Dusaan shattered the blade.

“What is it you want?” Harel asked, his voice quavering.

“It’s not a matter of what I want, Your Eminence. You’re the one who asked me what happened to your gold. I can tell you exactly what happened to every qinde, every silver that was diverted from your treasury. It has been given to the Qirsi movement.”

It took Harel a moment. “The Qirsi movement? You mean the conspiracy?”

“No, you fat fool, I mean the Qirsi movement. That’s what we call it. What I call it.”

“So you’re a traitor.” Uriad sounded calm, as a warrior should. Perhaps Kayiv had prepared him for this before his death.

“I’m more than that, armsmaster. I’m the traitor. I created what you call the conspiracy, and I’m its leader. And still, I’m even more than that. I’m the most powerful Qirsi either of you has ever known.” He smiled. “I’m a Weaver.”

That morning, when he revealed his powers to the emperor’s other Qirsi, he had reveled in their awe. This, he had thought at the time, is how Qirsi across the Forelands will receive me. With wonder and reverence. But that was nothing compared with the fear he now sensed from both the emperor and his master of arms. While his own people would exalt him, the Eandi would tremble before him. His people would see in him the embodiment of a glorious future; the Eandi would see in his powers the promise of their own doom. Harel’s terror strengthened Dusaan, until he felt that he was invincible, that entire armies were not enough to quell his power.

“A Weaver,” the emperor repeated, as if he had never heard the word before.

“By law, Weavers are to be executed.”

Dusaan regarded the master of arms, noting the fighter’s stance, the way his hand wandered toward the hilt of his dagger. “I respect you, Uriad. I want you to know that. I have nothing but contempt for our emperor here, for most Eandi really, particularly those one finds in the courts. But I’ve always thought that you were an uncommonly thoughtful man for one of your race.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve always thought you an arrogant bastard, who was more smug than he was intelligent.”

Dusaan blinked. After a moment, he tried to laugh away the remark, but he felt as though he’d been slapped. And perhaps sensing that he had caught the Weaver off guard, Uriad chose that moment to launch himself forward, his dagger in hand, his arm cocked to strike at Dusaan’s heart. Recovering quickly, the Weaver battered the man with his shaping power, fracturing not only the blade, but also Uriad’s wrist and forearm.

The master of arms staggered back, clutching his arm to his belly and gritting his teeth against the pain.

“You’re a fool, Uriad. You could have escaped with a quick, painless death.”

The man glared at him. Then he opened his mouth, taking a breath as if he intended to shout for help. Dusaan never gave him the chance. He lashed out with his foot, catching Uriad full in the face. The master of arms sprawled backward onto the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. And as he lay there, Dusaan reached once more for his shaping power, applying pressure slowly to the man’s head. Uriad clawed at his temple with his good hand, a moan escaping him. Still pushing with his magic, Dusaan stepped forward and put his foot on the armsmaster’s throat to keep him from screaming. Uriad’s mouth was stretched open in a silent wail, his eyes were squeezed shut, his fist was closed tight around a handful of hair. After a time Uriad began to flail with his feet.

“Stop it!” the emperor cried. “Let him go.”

Dusaan eyed him briefly. “No. But I will end his pain.” With a final push, he crushed the man’s skull. Uriad’s struggles ceased abruptly, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his ear and staining the floor.

The Weaver removed his foot from Uriad’s neck and strode toward the emperor. “Now it’s your turn, Your Eminence.”

Harel dropped to his knees, tears streaking his face. “No, please! I beg you!”

Dusaan grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of killing you?”

“Why? Haven’t I always treated you well? Haven’t I paid you more than any noble in the Forelands pays his Qirsi?”

The Weaver slapped him, leaving a bright imprint of his hand on Harel’s corpulent face. “You don’t understand, do you? I don’t aspire to being the wealthiest minister in the land, nor am I willing to have myself hooded, like some sort of common brigand, so that I can continue to earn your gold. I intend to rule the Forelands myself.”

“You what?”

“Before the snows return to Braedon, every Eandi noble in the land will bow before me, or they’ll suffer the same fate as poor Uriad.”

“You can’t be serious!”

He slapped Harel a second time. “Do you think I jest?”

“What is it you want from me?”

“Your empire, Harel. Isn’t that clear? You’ve given me everything else I could want. A position of authority from which to make my preparations, gold for my movement, an invasion that is destined to weaken the fleets and armies of Braedon, Eibithar, Aneira, Wethyrn, and Sanbira. You’ve been most helpful, Your Eminence, but I’m afraid you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

“No, I haven’t! I can give you more! I can keep my soldiers from harming you.”

Dusaan laughed, and Harel’s face fell. “Do you have any idea what a Weaver does, Harel? I can bind together the power of other Qirsi. I’m but one man, and I’ve killed seven of your warriors. Think what I can do with the other ministers and chancellors by my side. I have nothing to fear from your army.”

“The others?”

“Yes. They’ve all joined with me. Well, not all. Stavel and Bardyn have fled the palace, but the rest have pledged themselves to my cause. I suppose that’s one more thing you’ve given me, Your Eminence. Before you began to treat all of us like we were traitors, a good number of them might have refused to join me. In essence, you’ve made my movement stronger.”

“I’ll abdicate to you! I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign! I’ll tell my men to fight on your behalf! You’d command an army of both Eandi and Qirsi!”

He had been ready to kill the emperor. Indeed, he had been eager for Harel’s blood. But for the second time that day he was forced to wonder if he might be better served by showing mercy. He doubted that the emperor’s men would willingly fight on behalf of the Qirsi movement. On the other hand, he was certain that they would lay down their arms if they thought that it would save the emperor’s life. Wouldn’t it be better to win the surrender of the emperor’s men peacefully, than to risk a battle that might cost the lives of his new adherents?

“All right, Harel. I accept your offer. I’ll spare your life, and in return you’ll surrender the empire to me. If you renege on this arrangement, or if you try to turn even one of your men against me, you’ll suffer a fate far worse than that of your master of arms. Do I make myself clear?”

The emperor nodded, dread filling his small green eyes.

Dusaan smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” He crossed to the emperor’s writing table and quickly drafted a statement of surrender. “Come here, Harel,” he said when he had finished. “I want you to sign and seal this.”

The emperor joined him at the table and read the statement, tight-lipped and pale. His hand trembled as he penned his name, dripped a small puddle of red wax below, and pressed his seal into it.

Dusaan started toward the door. “Now follow me.”

“Why? You said you’d spare me! You gave me your word!”

“Calm yourself, Harel. I’m not going to kill you. But I am going to place you in the prison tower.”

“No! I want to stay here!”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. You’re not a brave man, but you just might be fool enough to try to escape through those glazed windows of which you’re so proud.”

“I swear, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you. Now come along.”

Harel crossed his arms over his chest, managing to look Dusaan in the eye. “No.”

He didn’t have time for this. With a quick thought, he snapped the bone in Harel’s little finger. The emperor cried out, cradling his maimed hand with his whole one.

“Defy me again and the next thing I break will be your arm.”

Harel nodded, and when Dusaan opened the door and entered the corridor, the emperor followed closely.

They went first to Dusaan’s chamber, where the other Qirsi were waiting for him. They passed two guards, but at Dusaan’s instruction, the emperor said nothing to them. When they entered the chamber the other Qirsi stood, looking first at Harel and then at the Weaver, as if uncertain of what they should do.

“The emperor has surrendered Braedon to me.” He held up the rolled parchment. “I have his written word right here.” He paused, regarding the others. He could sense what powers they possessed simply by looking at them. He would need to face the soldiers next, and so he sought out those with shaping and fire magic. “I’ll take B’Serre, Gorlan, and Rov with me. Nitara, I want you and the rest to gather the emperor’s wives and servants and take them, along with Harel here, and put them in separate chambers in the prison tower. If they give you any trouble at all, kill them.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“I want the emperor in the highest chamber. When he’s there, place a flame in the window that faces into the courtyard. That will be our signal to begin. At some point I’ll also want you to put Harel in front of the window so his men can see him. Can you do all that?”

She nodded and smiled, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Good. Now go.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

Harel stared back at him as he was led away, but he said nothing. Dusaan worried that they might encounter guards along the way, but there were several in Nitara’s group who had fire magic, and one other who was a shaper. They would be able to meet any challenge that presented itself.

“The three of you come with me,” he said, returning to the corridor and going in the direction opposite that taken by the others. They walked to the nearest of the tower stairways and descended to the courtyard, remaining in the archway. There they could conceal themselves, while watching the windows of the prison tower.

They waited a long time, and still the narrow windows remained dark. Dusaan began to fear that something might have gone wrong. Perhaps Nitara and the others had encountered more guards than they could handle. Perhaps Harel had managed somehow to win his freedom. Still they waited, and still they saw no sign of Nitara and her company.

“Weaver,” Gorlan began.

Dusaan shook his head. “Not yet. Give her a few moments more.”

The minister nodded and fell silent.

They had to wait a bit longer, but at last their patience was rewarded. A bright flame appeared in the highest window of the prison tower, and a moment later windows in the other chambers began to glow softly as well.

At the same time, however, shouts went up from the guard house in the upper courtyard. Soldiers began gathering in a tight knot near the building, many of them bearing torches.

“Let’s go,” Dusaan said. He and his three companions left the tower and strode to where the men stood.

“Where’s your captain?” Dusaan demanded as they drew near the soldiers.

A man stepped forward, his sword drawn. “I’m the day captain, High Chancellor.” He raised his weapon. “I’d suggest you stop right there.”

“Gorlan?”

The minister grinned. An instant later there was a sound like the chiming of a bell and the soldier’s blade splintered like glass.

Other men came forward, weapons readied.

“Call them back, Captain, or the same magic that shattered your blade will break their necks.”

“Stand your ground, men.”

The soldiers halted, though they kept their swords up.

“What is this, High Chancellor?”

Dusaan held up the parchment. “The emperor has surrendered this palace and this realm to me. From now on, I am your sovereign.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look for yourself.” He handed the parchment to the captain and waited while he read it.

“You made him sign this. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Such documents are often coerced. That doesn’t make it any less valid.” He held out his hand for the parchment, ready to use mind-bending power if the man refused to return it to him. But the captain handed it back without a fight.

“It means nothing to me, or to my men. You’ll have to defeat the emperor’s army to take Braedon.”

“I’m prepared to do just that. I assure you, Captain, my powers, and those of my friends here, are more than enough to destroy your army. And if you’re not convinced, I suggest that you look up at the prison tower.”

The captain turned toward the tower, as did Dusaan. Clearly Nitara had anticipated this, for Harel was already standing there, peering out through the narrow window.

“Demons and fire,” the captain muttered.

“I’ll kill him if I have to, though I’d rather not.”

“What do you want us to do?” he asked, still gazing up at the emperor.

“Surrender your weapons and leave the palace. If you and your men do that, all of you will be spared. The emperor, too. If you choose to fight, you’ll die.”

“There’s only four of ’em, Captain,” said one of the men. “How much can four Qirsi do?”

“I need to talk to my men,” the captain said.

Dusaan nodded. “Of course.”

The captain led his men a short distance off, and began talking to them in low tones.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Rov asked.

“They’ll attack. Rov, Gorlan, we’ll strike first with shaping power. Just reach for your magic and let me do the rest. After that we’ll try fire. Rov, you’ll be doing both, so you’re likely to tire first. Give me what you can, and I’ll draw the rest from B’Serre.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

Dusaan saw two men slip away from the captain’s group and run back toward the guard house. There would be more men coming.

“Be watchful,” he said. “They’ll try to flank us.”

“Are you certain that we can do this?” Gorlan asked.

“You’ve never fought beside a Weaver before. Savor this moment. We’re about to win the first battle in a glorious war.”

The assault began abruptly. The captain shouted something-Dusaan couldn’t make out the words-and perhaps two hundred men charged toward them, battle cries echoing off the palace walls, swords and battle hammers glittering in the sun.

Dusaan reached for his magic and then for that of Gorlan and Rov. Both were young and powerful, just the sort of warriors who would help him to destroy all the armies of the Eandi courts. He didn’t bother to aim the blow; he didn’t care whether he cleaved steel or bone. He merely struck at the soldiers, his power slicing through the cluster of Eandi like an invisible scythe. Steel shattered in sweet ringing tones, bones fractured in rapid succession so that the sound resembled the snapping of a great fire. Men screamed in pain, dropping to the ground, writhing pathetically.

A second wave of attackers, at least a hundred strong, rushed from the towers to their left and right.

“B’Serre! Rov!” Dusaan called, his voice carrying over the war cries.

Again they offered their power to him, willingly, even eagerly. No doubt they had never felt so strong, had never realized that they could be such fearsome warriors. Rov, who had already given her shaping power, showed no sign of weariness. She would serve the movement well.

The fire Dusaan conjured radiated out in all directions, a glowing yellow ring of power, rampant, indiscriminate, deadly. It hit the soldiers like an ocean wave, knocking them backward, hammering some of them to the ground. And every man it touched was consumed by the flames-clothing, skin, hair. The shrieks of Eandi warriors filled the courtyard; the stench of their charred flesh made the Weaver’s eyes water.

There would be archers on the ramparts soon. Dusaan was certain of it. And they would be harder to kill.

“Hear me!” he called over the death cries and the groans of the wounded. “I can kill all of you if I have to. And your emperor, too. Or you can surrender to me as he has and spare yourselves. This is your last chance to live. Lay down your weapons before me and you may leave the palace today as free men. Continue to resist, and you’ll die as these men have.”

For a long time nothing happened. Dusaan eyed the ramparts watching for the archers. He could shatter the arrows if he had to, but that demanded a more precise use of shaping power, and he wasn’t certain how much more his companions could give him.

After several moments, however, soldiers began to emerge from the towers and guard house. They held their weapons low, swords pointing toward the ground, bows hanging from their hands. And one by one, they laid the weapons at Dusaan’s feet, eyeing him with unconcealed hatred, but with fear as well. Swords, hammers, bows and arrows, daggers, and pikes lay in a pile before him. And a column of men filed toward the palace gate and the freedom he had promised them.

The first battle was his, and with it the Imperial Palace.

He looked up at the tower. Harel was no longer by the window, but Nitara was there, gazing down at him. He could imagine her expression, the look of adoration in her eyes. Just this once, he didn’t mind.