“I’m not certain that I believe you. This is hardly the time for a Qirsi to tell lies, Stavel, particularly to another Qirsi.” Dusaan’s tone was light, but there could be no mistaking the warning in his words.
Stavel gave a small shrug, sensing that he was far out of his depth. “I heard that you had a new sword, that’s all.”
The smile returned. “Really? Where did you hear that?”
Too late, the chancellor realized that Dusaan had taken him just where he didn’t wish to go. His mouth had gone dry and that hand at his throat seemed to be tightening slowly. “I … I don’t recall. I must have heard the guards speaking of it.”
“How strange. The weapon’s been with a swordmaker in Curtell City for nearly four turns now. I only just retrieved it last night.”
“But how could-?” Stavel stopped himself, the blood draining from his cheeks. “How could the guards have known then?”
This time Dusaan grinned broadly. It almost seemed that he knew what Stavel had intended to say.
“Yes,” Stavel said, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. “That must be it.”
They sat in silence for a moment, their eyes locked. Dusaan appeared amused again, though there was a predatory look in those bright yellow eyes.
“Well, Chancellor,” he said, “I’m glad to know that you’re well. You can go.”
Stavel nearly jumped out of his chair, so eager was he to be away from the man. “Yes, High Chancellor. Thank you.” He hurried to the door, then forced himself to stop and bow to Dusaan. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Dusaan gave a small nod. “Until tomorrow.”
A moment later he was in the corridor. The air felt cooler, tasted sweeter. He felt as though he had escaped a dungeon. Except that he knew better. Through circumstance, or ill fortune, or just plain carelessness, he now found himself caught between the emperor and Dusaan. If he didn’t extricate himself quickly, he would be crushed, like an innocent trapped between advancing armies.
* * *
It had been the last remaining obstacle. After his humiliating encounter with the emperor-he could still smell the muslin hood, dampened by his breath and his sweat-he had determined that there was nothing more to be gained by waiting. Tihod jal Brossa, the Qirsi merchant who had arranged payments of gold to the Weaver’s servants, was dead. Even if Tihod still lived and his network of couriers remained at the movement’s disposal, Harel had taken the fee accountings from Dusaan, placing them under the authority of his master of arms. The high chancellor no longer had access to the emperor’s gold, which meant that he no longer had any reason to debase himself before the fat fool.
All that kept Dusaan from beginning immediately to set in motion the next part of his plan was his suspicion that Harel had one or more of his Qirsi working as spies within the palace. Until Dusaan had identified the emperor’s agent, or agents, he couldn’t risk revealing himself.
He had suspected Stavel jal Miraad from the start. From what Nitara told him just after Kayiv’s death, he knew that Stavel had worked with the young minister in his efforts to turn the other Qirsi against Dusaan. At first the high chancellor had been skeptical of this, not because he thought Stavel was loyal to him, but because he didn’t think the old man courageous enough to involve himself in matters of this sort. But when Gorlan jal Aviarre, who had wisely chosen to ally himself with Dusaan’s movement, confirmed all that Nitara had told him, the Weaver had no choice but to believe it.
Still, the emperor could not have known any of this, and while Dusaan saw the old chancellor as the natural choice to act as Harel’s spy, the emperor might have had someone else in mind. Though certain that he was being watched, that one of his fellow Qirsi had been asking questions about him, he couldn’t be sure which of them had betrayed him. Hence the sword.
It hadn’t really been with the cutler for four turns. Dusaan had taken his blade to the city only a few days before, departing the palace and returning through a sally port on the western side, taking great care not to be seen by any of the guards. It was a simple ruse, one that might not have ensnared someone more adept at court intrigue. That Dusaan’s trap worked so well was less a reflection of his own cunning than a testament to Stavel’s shortcomings as a spy.
What mattered was that Stavel was the emperor’s man. Dusaan was certain of that now. Which meant that the time to reveal himself was finally at hand. Through years of careful planning, of meticulously laying the foundation for his coming war, he had remained patient, knowing that eventually he would be rewarded. He would wait no longer. A new day was dawning, and with it a new age for the Forelands. The anticipation of his victory, after so very long, nearly overwhelmed him. He would have liked to go to Harel that very moment and show the fat fool just how powerful he was. But though everything was in place, he still needed to proceed with some caution. Harel might be a fool, easily turned to Dusaan’s purposes and far weaker than he thought himself, but he was not without his resources.
Only a few moments after Stavel left him, looking like a frightened rabbit, there came a knock at his door. Gorlan and Nitara.
“Enter,” he called.
They came in together, but quickly separated, Gorlan taking a seat near the window, Nitara sitting beside the high chancellor. It seemed that his hope of fostering a love affair between them, one that would make her forget her desire for him, had been in vain. A pity: her expressions of affection were becoming more and more distracting.
“What have you learned?” he asked, looking from one of them to the other.
“I believe all of the ministers will join with you,” Nitara answered, eyeing Gorlan as she spoke. “And perhaps one or two of the chancellors.”
“And the rest?”
“I’m not certain what they’ll do. They’ve served the emperor for so long they’ve forgotten what it is to be Qirsi.”
She said it to please him, he knew, because she thought it sounded like something he might say.
“What do you think?” Dusaan asked, looking past Nitara to Gorlan.
He had chosen to join the movement, just as the Weaver had known he would. The alternative had been death, or a desperate attempt to flee Curtell. Gorlan wasn’t the type to choose martyrdom, and he was too wise to think that he might actually escape. What impressed Dusaan, however, was the fervor with which he had embraced the Qirsi cause as his own. It was hard to tell if the minister had considered the possibility of joining the movement prior to that day when Dusaan offered him the opportunity to do so. But once presented with the choice, he committed himself fully to its success. Dusaan would have known if the man was feigning his enthusiasm-such was the power of a Weaver. It almost seemed that having opened his eyes at last to the suffering his people endured under Eandi rule of the Forelands, Gorlan could hardly stand to look upon what he saw. He was everything Dusaan had once hoped Kayiv would be, and more. Intelligent, passionate, but controlled, and above all, honest with his opinions and insights, even when he knew that they were at odds with what Dusaan wanted to hear.
“I’m a bit less certain about the ministers than is Nitara. B’Serre and Rov will probably pledge themselves to the movement. I don’t know about the others. And I have little sense of what the chancellors will do.”
“What do you think it would take to convince those who are less willing to join us?”
Gorlan shook his head. “I really don’t know.”
“Do you think telling them of the Weaver would help?”
“It might.”
“What if they were to learn that I was that Weaver?”
Dusaan heard Nitara give a small gasp, but he kept his eyes fixed on the other minister. Gorlan was staring at him, looking awed and just a bit frightened.
“You’re the Weaver?”
“I am.”
“I’m not certain that I believe you.” There was no disrespect in his tone. Just disbelief.
Dusaan smiled. He had concealed his powers for so long. He would enjoy proving to this man what he was. “Raise a wind,” he said.
