Weavers of War (10 page)

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.”