Bonds of Vengeance (45 page)

The swordmaster looked puzzled. “Well, my lord. As always.”

“Would you trust them to prevail in a fight?”

“Against whom, my lord?”

“The army of another major house.”

“Excuse me, my lord,” Pillad broke in. “But are you expecting to go to war?”

“No, Minister, I’m not. But with Kentigern threatening rebellion, I feel that we should be prepared for the worst. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“I’d put our men up against any in the land, my lord,” Ewan said, a note of pride in his voice, his black beard bristling.

“Of course, Ewan,” the duke said. “Forgive the question.”

In his own way, the swordmaster was as limited in his capabilities as the minister. He was a fine swordsman, nearly a match for Hagan MarCullett in Curgh. But once more, measuring the men who served him against those serving Javan, Renald found that he suffered for the comparison. Ewan was not quite as skilled with a blade as Hagan, nor could he have prevailed against Curgh’s swordmaster in a battle of wits. His men loved him and would have followed him into battle against a host of demons and wraiths. But Kell’s swordmaster had succumbed to the pestilence with the old duke, and replacing him with as fine a soldier had proven difficult.

Once more the duke could hear his wife mocking them all.
I can hardly imagine Ewan or Pillad being of much help. Their minds are no more nimble than yours
. And though it galled him to think it, he had to concede that she was right about this as well.

Pillad pressed his fingertips together. “Have you given any more thought to the king’s message, my lord?”

“Yes, though I haven’t yet decided on any course of action.”

“You still believe he may be lying.”

“Possibly.” The duke narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“Actually it is. I’ve given the matter a good deal of thought, and I find it hard to imagine a member of the conspiracy admitting so much to any Eandi noble. I’d advise you to put little stock in that letter.”

Renald nodded, though he suddenly felt cold. Perhaps the duchess
was right about him after all. The one thing the duke and his wife agreed on was that Kearney wouldn’t have lied about such a thing. Yet here was the minister arguing that the king had done just that.

“It’s a fair point, Minister. I’ll consider it. For now, however, I’d like to speak with the swordmaster in private.”

It was clumsily done—Elspeth would have handled it far better. But Renald could barely keep his hands steady. He just wanted the man out of his chamber.

Pillad merely stared back at him, his face expressionless, his yellow eyes wide, so that he looked like a great owl. “My lord?”

“I wish to speak with Ewan of the men and of their training. I see no need to keep you here for a discussion that could consume the rest of the morning. I’ll call for you later.”

The minister glanced at Ewan, then stood and sketched a small bow. “Of course, my lord.”

Still he stood there, as if confused. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After another moment he walked to the door and slipped out of the room, saying nothing more.

“Damn,” the duke muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“You’ve lost faith in him.”

“It’s that apparent, is it?”

“I’m afraid so. Can you tell me why?”

“Something the duchess said about the dangers of trusting any Qirsi in these times. And then his suggestion that Kearney’s letter was a deception.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I agree with him.”

Renald felt his stomach heave.
Damn the woman!
“You do?”

“From what I’ve heard of these Qirsi traitors, it seems they’d rather die than betray their cause. You remember what happened in Thorald?”

Indeed he did, not merely because it had been only a few turns before but also because the tidings had left him badly shaken. Faced with accusations that she was a traitor, Tobbar’s first minister admitted as much, but then took her own life before the duke and his men could question her.

“But would the king lie about such a thing, knowing how easy it would be for one of us to challenge his word?”

Ewan shrugged. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so easy. He might have convinced a Qirsi loyal to his house to play the part of traitor.”

Renald sat forward. “Of course!” he whispered. It had never occurred
to him to consider this. He felt certain that it had never occurred to Elspeth either. He actually thought it unlikely that Kearney could be so devious, but that was beside the point. Here was the excuse he needed to continue supporting Aindreas.

“Do you think that’s what he’s done?” Ewan asked.

“Tell me, swordmaster, how many men would we need to pose a threat to the king?”

“Far more than we have, my lord.”

“Even with the minor houses that support us? Even with Kentigern?”

“Kentigern is still recovering from the siege, and the armies of four minor houses don’t add up to much. Kearney has Glyndwr and Curgh, Tremain and Heneagh, as well as the royal army. Even if Thorald joined us it wouldn’t be enough.”

“I’m not asking you what we need to defeat the king. Only what we might need to convince him that a civil war would be too destructive to consider.”

“To what end, my lord?”

Renald briefly considered telling the swordmaster of his hope that Kearney might abdicate. In the end, however, he decided against it. In the light of day, the notion struck him as too farfetched to repeat. At least for now.

“I fear that the king might attempt to crush Kentigern’s rebellion before Aindreas can strike at him. Until we know for certain that Kearney is telling the truth about this Qirsi, I want to do all we can to prevent that.”

Ewan’s mouth twisted so that he looked, despite his beard and brawn, like a boy grappling with a question from his tutors. “I’m not even certain we’re strong enough to do that much. If the king is determined to destroy the threat now, there’s little we can do to stop him.”

“But he couldn’t do this without some cost,” the duke said, desperate now for any encouraging response.

“Indeed, my lord. He’d pay dearly for the effort. We can’t defeat him, but we can inflict heavy losses.”

“And he must know this. Isn’t that correct?”

“He should know it, my lord. If he doesn’t, Gershon Trasker will tell him as much.”

Renald rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, throwing open the shutters and staring out at the grey skies hanging over Galdasten. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Thank you, swordmaster.”

“But, my lord, you must realize that whatever losses the king suffers will be nothing compared to our own.”

“I know that, Ewan. Rest assured, I have no intention of leading our men to a slaughter. I merely need time, and so long as Kearney knows that he can’t defeat us without a bloodletting, I have it.”

“Time for what, my lord?”

A fine question. One to which Renald had no answer. He needed for something to happen, though he couldn’t even give a name to what that might be. He’d know it when it came, and he guessed that he wouldn’t have to wait too long for whatever it was. Events in the Forelands had become as changeable and difficult to predict as the planting weather on the shores of Amon’s Ocean. One couldn’t guess the direction of the winds from one hour to the next. But there could be little doubt that a storm would be blowing in soon.

Pillad hadn’t been sitting at his table for more than a few moments when he saw Uestem enter the tavern. He groaned inwardly and lowered his gaze, hoping that the merchant wouldn’t notice him, knowing how foolish that was. The man was here because he had seen Pillad come in. The minister was certain of it. And as much as he dreaded speaking with him, he was surprised to find himself trembling with anticipation.

“First Minister, I’m surprised to see you here so early in the day.”

Pillad looked up from his ale, frowned at the man, and looked away. “I’d like to be alone, thank you.”

“Then why come to a tavern?” He lowered himself into the seat across from Pillad, resting his hands lightly on the table. “Why come to this tavern in particular? How many times have we met here now? Three? Four?”

“Three.” The minister kept glancing toward the door, fearing that someone from the castle might enter the tavern at any moment. He had no cause to worry, of course. Only Qirsi came to this inn, and few were likely to do so before the ringing of the midday bells. Indeed, they were the only two people in the tavern aside from the barkeep and a pair of serving women. Besides, Uestem was known throughout Galdasten and the surrounding countryside as a successful and wellrespected merchant. No one would have thought it strange that so wealthy a man might know the first minister. Few would have guessed
that he was also a leader in the Qirsi conspiracy. But still Pillad watched the entrance. Anything to avoid looking this man in the eye.

“Three then. Nevertheless, you must have known I’d find you. I believe that’s why you came.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! I came here—”

“Yes, I know: to be alone.” He smiled. “Tell me, Minister, why is it that you’ve never had me imprisoned?”

“What?”

“You know I’m with the conspiracy—I’ve been trying to convince you to join us for more than a turn. Yet in all that time, even as you’ve refused, even as you’ve called me a traitor, you’ve never summoned the castle guard. Why?”

Pillad’s heart was beating so hard that it hurt. He knew the answer, just as Uestem did. There was so much about himself that he had kept hidden away, that he had been afraid to admit, even to himself. Yet speaking with this man, he felt that all of it was laid bare for the world to see.

“Never mind that for now,” the merchant said. “Tell me this: what drove you from the castle today?”

Pillad shook his head, eyes on the door again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. I think your duke drove you here.”

The minister met the man’s gaze. “If I didn’t know better, Uestem, I’d say that you had a spy in the duke’s castle.”

The merchant grinned. “Who’s to say I don’t?” He leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”

“You’re the one with the spies. You tell me.”

“All right,” he said. He appeared to consider the matter for several moments, his brow furrowing. “I’d imagine you went to your duke’s chambers as you do each morning, to speak with him of Kentigern and the king and whatever else concerns those of you living in the courts. The Eandi may not always know what to do with the authority they wield, but they do seem to enjoy talking about it. In any case, this morning something was different. Your duke seemed more distant than usual, more wary of you. And before you could even get comfortable in his spacious chambers, he asked you to leave. He didn’t tell you why, he certainly didn’t say that he had lost faith in you, but you knew. And so you came here.” He sat back again. “Is that about right?”

Perhaps he really did have a spy. “It’s close enough,” the minister conceded. He sipped his ale, lowering his gaze once more. He felt humiliated,
though Uestem was merely watching him, a look of sympathy on his lean face.

“The same thing is happening all over the Forelands, Minister. The Eandi speak of the faithlessness of the Qirsi, but they’re the ones who reward years of loyal service with suspicion and contempt.”

“Perhaps. But they do so because of your movement. They’re frightened, and rightly so.”

The man smiled again. “That’s the first time in any of our conversations that you’ve referred to it as a movement rather than as a conspiracy.”

Pillad felt his cheeks redden. “Don’t think too much of it.”

“Minister, why do you still resist? Your duke has lost faith in you. How long do you think it will be before he banishes you from the castle entirely?’

“It won’t come to that.”

“Can you be certain? I’m sure you never thought it would come to this.” He paused watching Pillad, his light eyes fixed on the minister’s face. “Actually, you’re probably right. It won’t come to that, though not for the reason you think. He won’t send you from the castle because he won’t have time. Renald isn’t a bold man. It would take him several turns, maybe close to a year before he could muster the nerve to send you away. My allies and I will have already struck at the Eandi courts by then. For all we know, Renald will be dead before the end of the growing turns, as will any Qirsi who still serve him.”

Pillad looked up at that.

“Is he worth dying for, Minister? After what he’s done to you today, can you honestly say that you’re still willing to give your life for this man and his house?”

Was it possible that he had come here knowing that Uestem would find him? Had he intended to pledge himself to the movement all along? Listening to the merchant speak, grappling with this last question he had asked, Pillad couldn’t help but wonder. For abruptly, the answer seemed all too plain.

“No, I can’t.”

Uestem smiled, his expression free of irony. “You mean that? You’re ready to join us?”

“What would be expected of me?”

“I don’t know yet. To be honest, I haven’t been confident enough in my ability to persuade you to inquire. But I will now.”

“Yes, do.” He drained his ale and placed it on the table a bit too
sharply. The noise startled him. “So what will happen now?”

“Someone will contact you in the next few days. You’ll—”

“Someone? You mean it won’t be you?”

The man placed his hand on Pillad’s. His skin felt warm and smooth. “It will be all right. Much of what you do in service to the movement will be through me. But not all.”

The minister nodded.

“You’ll be given a bit of gold—I don’t know how much—and you’ll be asked to perform some task on our behalf. When you’ve completed it, you’ll be contacted again. What happens after that will depend upon many things, so I can’t tell you much more.”

The minister pulled his hand away and stood. “I should return to the castle. I’ll be missed before long.”

“You’ll be missed here.”

Pillad felt his face grow hot again, but he smiled. He started to walk away, but then halted, facing the merchant again. “What would you have done if I had refused you again?”