Weavers of War

“They won’t catch us unaware again, my liege.” Javan gave a thin smile. “The first battle went their way. But the dawn brings a new day, and it will be ours.”

The king’s smile was brittle and pained. “Of course, Lord Curgh. My thanks.”

They continued to speak of the day’s battle for some time, eating cold provisions just as did the men around them. Some of what they discussed would serve them in devising tactics for their next encounter with the empire’s forces, but much of it, Keziah could tell, was simply warriors exchanging tales of combat. She had little to add of course, but she remained with them, watching with pleasure how Kearney came alive when he spoke of wielding his blade and dancing his mount amidst a sea of enemy soldiers. Even Tavis, who usually seemed so withdrawn around anyone other than Grinsa and the MarCullet boy, offered a tale or two of his own and laughed with the others.

Grinsa said very little, though, like Keziah, he made no effort to excuse himself. After a time he moved so that he was beside her. Kearney eyed him as he did, but said nothing.

“Feeling left out?” Grinsa asked, his voice low, a small smile on his lips.

“A bit. I was wondering if I should ride to the North Wood, find something to kill, and then come back and tell all of you about it.”

He laughed. “You don’t have to go to such lengths. These are warrior tales. They don’t have to be accurate.”

“I heard that, gleaner,” Hagan MarCullet growled from nearby.

Her brother grinned at the man, then faced her again. “Earlier, when I asked if you were all right, you made it sound like you weren’t. I was wondering if there’s anything I can do.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I had just seen some things, and then hearing that Welfyl was dead…” She shrugged. “I’m better now.”

“But this day took its toll on you, didn’t it?”

“No more than it did on others.”

“Kezi-”

“I’m fine, Grinsa.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Keziah almost got up and walked away. She was tired, and though Kearney’s soldier-her shadow-would follow her wherever she went, at that moment she would have preferred his silent stares to Grinsa’s questions.

During the lengthy silence that ensued, Grinsa seemed to sense how angry she was. “I’m sorry, Kezi,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Forgiveness came grudgingly. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t need me taking care of you anymore. I shouldn’t even try.”

She couldn’t help herself. For years he had treated her as though they were still children, as though she still needed the protection of an older brother. “No, you shouldn’t. You may be the older one, the more powerful one, but that doesn’t mean that I’m helpless.”

“I know that. Truly I do. But the ones who really need my protection are beyond my reach. And so I try to protect you instead.”

The ones who really need … Cresenne and Bryntelle. Sometimes her own capacity for selfishness and stupidity took her breath away. He had meant well. His questions had done no harm, except perhaps to her pride. But she was so absorbed with her own concerns that all she could see was the meddling of an older brother. She gazed at him now, marveling at how little he had changed over the years. He seemed ageless, save for his eyes. They were medium yellow, like the sun early on a harvest morning, and they appeared to carry within them the cares of all the land. For all the youth she still saw in Kearney’s face, her king had aged considerably in the last year. Tavis of Curgh had grown to manhood, it seemed, almost before her eyes. And when she looked in a mirror, she saw time marking its progress with small lines around her own mouth and eyes. But Grinsa remained as she remembered, the man who had loved and protected her all her life, who had always borne burdens the likes of which she could scarcely comprehend.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes stinging. “I didn’t think…” She trailed off, not knowing what to say, realizing that what she had said, though incomplete, was as true as anything else she might have offered. “You told me that she won,” she said a few moments later. “She shouldn’t have anything to fear from him anymore.”

Grinsa just nodded. They both knew all too well that the Weaver wouldn’t give up so easily.

“I’ll trust you to watch out for yourself,” he said, staring at the fires burning throughout the camp. “But let me give one last caution. If he has eyes watching this war, keeping him apprised of its ebbs and flows-and I’m certain he does-he’ll know that the fighting began in earnest today. If I were you, I’d be prepared to dream of him tonight, and tell him why your king still lives.”

Keziah didn’t need to feel the familiar dread washing over her, like the waters of Amon’s Ocean during the snows, to tell her that he was right. She knew the Weaver better than he did. She should have thought of this hours ago. Despite all her claims that she didn’t need her brother caring for her anymore, she found herself struggling to keep up with the speed and clarity of his thinking. Yet, once she looked past her chagrin, she realized as well that she was ready for the Weaver, that she knew just what she would tell him. The time was fast approaching when her lies wouldn’t serve her anymore, when she’d either take control of her own magic and banish the Weaver from her mind, or she’d die, a victim of her dreams. But this was not that night.

“I’ll be ready for him,” she said.

Grinsa actually smiled. “I believe you will.”

Pride demanded that she not let him see just how much this pleased her, but she couldn’t keep the grin from springing to her lips, or the blood from rushing to her cheeks.

A short time later, Kearney stood, announcing that he intended to retire for the night. Though he said no more than this, all understood that he expected them to do the same. None among them doubted that the fighting would resume with first light. Grinsa smiled at her one last time before walking off toward the Curgh camp, and Keziah turned to follow her king.

“He loves you, you know,” she heard behind her before she could take a step.

Looking back, she saw Tavis standing nearby, his face in shadows. He looked taller than she remembered, and broader as well.

“Aside from the woman and his daughter, there’s no one who matters more to him than you do.”

It seemed a strange comment coming from this young noble whom she had long considered a spoiled court boy. She sensed though that he was trying to help, that he had taken note of the anger she directed at Grinsa.

“I know that,” she said. “But I’m grateful to you just the same.”

“Well, if you know it, you should show some gratitude. He’s sacrificed more than any of us and he deserves better than your anger and your jealousy.”

She felt her anger flare, and opened her mouth to lash out at the boy. But as she did, the breeze shifted slightly and a torch sputtered nearby. The light didn’t change much, but it was enough to illuminate the scars on his cheek and jaw. If this boy, who had suffered so much, could speak of Grinsa’s sacrifice, how could she not? Which of them was the spoiled child?

“You’re right,” she said at last, and walked away, gratified by the look of surprise on the young lord’s face.

It didn’t take her long to find her sleeping roll, or for her shadow to find her, lowering himself to the ground only a few strides from where she lay. She worried that he might hear her if she cried out in her sleep, but there was nothing to be done. If she tried to move away from him, he would only follow, positioning himself even closer to her than he was now.

Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, bracing herself for the coming encounter with the Weaver.

But sleep did not come easily this night. She found herself haunted by images of the battle and its aftermath, and troubled by her conversation with Grinsa and her brief exchange with the Curgh boy. Horror and fear, anger and remorse warred within her, making her toss and turn, keeping her mind racing until she wondered if she’d ever sleep again.

So it was that despite Grinsa’s warning and her meager preparations, she was unprepared for the dream when finally it began. One moment she was staring up at the stars over the battle plain, watching as Panya and Ilias climbed into the night, and the next, the sky had turned purest black and the familiar grasses and boulders of