Chapter Twenty-four
The morning dawned bright and clear, the eastern sky aglow with fiery shades of red and gold, the western sky gradually lightening from black, to indigo, and finally to azure. The air was utterly still and the moons still hung overhead, white and red, bone and blood, as if awaiting the coming battle.
Nitara was awake at first light, as were the Weaver’s other warriors. Jastanne returned to her side of the camp soon after the minister awoke, but she would not meet Nitara’s gaze. It was all the confirmation Nitara needed that the chancellor had spent the previous night in the Weaver’s arms.
She had expected to be enraged and aggrieved, to feel jealousy gnawing like wood ants at her mind. But on this day no such emotions could reach her. Today, she rode to war, a soldier in the Weaver’s army, a servant of his movement, an apostle of his vision. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would lament that he had chosen to love Jastanne rather than her. Or maybe their victory today would purge her of envy and resentment.
The vision of Kayiv that had darkened her sleep remained fresh in her mind, but even this memory could not distract Nitara from her purpose. Jastanne had chosen to make her a commander in the Weaver’s force, a decision to which Dusaan himself had assented. She intended to justify the faith they had shown in her. The Weaver’s army might yet be defeated-although she could not imagine how or by what force-but it would not be through any failure on her part.
In many respects hers was the most dangerous command of all. The other powers-fire, shaping, mists and winds-could all be wielded to good effect from afar. Language of beasts worked best at close distance. The other magics lent themselves naturally to the Weaver’s power; the greater the number being woven into a single force, the more devastating the magic. But language of beasts had to be wielded with precision and usually was most effective when used individually, one Qirsi whispering to one animal. That was why Nitara and the Qirsi under her command would be positioned close to the center, as far as possible from the Eandi archers. Bowmen would not be on horseback, and Nitara and her soldiers could do little to block the enemy’s arrows. They would be at the heart of this battle, facing down Eandi riders, doing all they could to evade the steel of Eibithar and Sanbira’s warriors.
It was a role she relished and as she called her soldiers to her, she saw the same eagerness on many of their faces. She saw fear as well, but this was to be expected.
“You know what the Weaver expects of us,” she said. Several of them nodded, but most of them merely stared at her, waiting.
“Ours is a unique mission in this war. We cannot depend upon the Weaver’s magic to bolster our own, nor can we watch this battle unfold from a safe distance. We may not wield the deepest magic in the Weaver’s army, but we will stand at the core of his force and keep the riders of the Eandi at bay.”
A murmur of agreement and more nods. A few of them smiled, the fierce, courageous smiles of warriors.
“It will be dangerous work,” she said, feeling more and more like a commander with every word she spoke. “Some of us may not live to see the end. No doubt that frightens many of you. I’d be scared as well, were it not for one simple truth: I’d rather die in the service of our Weaver, wielding my powers on his behalf, than live out the rest of my days in a world ruled by the Eandi.”
She expected more nods and mumbled assent. Instead, these last words were greeted by a deafening cheer that startled Nitara and made her horse whinny and rear.
The minister glanced about and saw that the other commanders were watching her. So was Jastanne, an amused grin on her pretty face.
“That’s all,” Nitara said, abruptly feeling self-conscious. “Go ready your mounts. We ride at my signal.”
The others turned away, their expressions grim but determined. Whatever fear she had seen in them before seemed to have vanished.
“What in Qirsar’s name did you say to them?”
Nitara turned. Jastanne was approaching, still grinning.
She shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I just told them that I’d rather die for the Weaver than grow old in a land ruled by the Eandi.”
The chancellor nodded. “I like that. Do you mind if I use it, too?”
“Not at all.”
Jastanne stopped in front of her, but then stared down at her feet, seemingly unsure of what she wanted to say. For the first time since the day they met, Nitara felt that she had the woman at a disadvantage, and though she had already resolved not to give in to her jealousy, she couldn’t help but be pleased. “Was there something you wanted, Chancellor?”
Jastanne nodded, meeting her gaze for a moment before looking off to the south. “Yes. I’ll be leading our half of the army into war, just as we planned, but once we reach the battle plain, I may have to leave you and the others for a time.”
“What?”
“The Weaver has asked me to see to a matter of some importance, and it may require that I relinquish command. Just for a short while. I want you to be ready to assume command in my place.”
Nitara gaped at her. “I’m … I’m not sure I can. Leading a part of this army is one thing, but leading all the Qirsi under your command is another entirely.”
“No, it’s not. There’s really very little difference.”
“Can’t the other chancellor-?”
“He has his own force to command, Nitara. Besides, as powerful as he is, he doesn’t possess both mists and language of beasts, as you do.” She smiled, though only for an instant. “For that matter, neither do I. No, you’re the logical choice.”
Nitara nodded, taking a breath. “All right.”
“Just follow the Weaver, as always. And allow your instincts to guide you.”
Another cheer went up from the far side of the camp. Both women turned toward the sound, and Nitara saw that several Qirsi were already on their mounts.
“You’ll be fine,” Jastanne said, facing her again.
“What is it the Weaver’s asked you to do?”
The chancellor hesitated. “He wants me to kill a woman who betrayed the movement. It shouldn’t take me long.”
“Very well,” Nitara said. “Qirsar guard you, Chancellor.”
“And you, Nitara.”
Jastanne started away.
“Did you and he-?” She stopped, ashamed of herself for blurting out anything at all.
The chancellor turned slowly, her brow knitted. “Nitara-”
“Forget that I said anything. Please. I’m happy for you. For both of you.”
“It was one night, Nitara. That’s all. Who knows what today is going to bring?” She turned again and walked away, leaving Nitara feeling alone and terribly young.
After a moment, the minister glanced about to see if any of the others were watching her, or had heard their exchange. No one appeared to be paying her any attention at all.
She strapped on her sword, saddled her mount, and swung herself onto the stallion’s back. Surveying the camp again, she saw the Weaver on his horse, sitting motionless, his hair gleaming in the early morning light, his eyes fixed on the southern sky. He said nothing, but all of them seemed to sense that he wanted them to gather around him. Within just a few moments a tight cluster of Qirsi had surrounded him, their gazes fixed on his regal face. Nitara wished that she could be next to him, but she made no effort to press forward. She merely waited for him to speak.
“This is the day we’ve been planning for,” he said at last, his voice even, but loud enough to be heard by all. “This is the day we fulfill our destiny. Nine centuries ago our people came to the Forelands as would-be conquerors. Like you, they were willing to die for their cause. Like you, they lent their power to a Weaver. They were the greatest army ever to ride on these moors, and they scattered Eandi armies before them in their march toward
