Weavers of War

destroyed; what Eibithar’s fleet had fought for days to do, to no avail, these Qirsi accomplished in the span of a few heartbeats.

Yet that was nothing compared with what they did next. It started as a faint golden glimmering along the surface of the bay, but it quickly built into a curling wall of flame that rose from the brine like Eilidh herself, indomitable, insatiable, merciless. Higher and higher it grew, racing toward the Wethy fleet. Elspeth heard herself cry out, was aware of the guards turning to look at her. But she couldn’t bring herself to look away as that wall of flame fell upon the vessels, in an eruption of fire and steam and charred fragments of wood.

“Demons and fire!” one of the man muttered. “What in Ean’s name was that?”

“It’s a Qirsi army,” Elspeth said, knowing as she spoke that it was true, that for all the dire warnings she had heard of a coming war with the renegades, she had not believed it until now. She faced the man. “Go find your captain! Have him place all his archers on the battlements and all his swordsmen at the north gate!” She glanced out at the bay again. The ship was already turning southward, toward the port. “Quickly! They’ll make land soon!”

Never before had she given a command to one of Renald’s men, but this soldier responded as if the order had come from the duke himself. He and his comrade bowed to her and strode, swords jangling, toward the arched entrance to the nearest tower.

Elspeth turned back to the bay, and saw that the Qirsi ship was speeding toward the city piers, driven once more by its phantom wind. She shook her head, terror gripping her heart. There wasn’t nearly enough time. They would be at the docks in mere moments. She crossed to the inner side of the wall and looked down on the ward in time to see the two soldiers emerge from the tower and run toward the armory.

“Hurry!” she shouted. The men didn’t even look up at her. They’re doing the best they can, a voice told her. Renald’s, naturally. Besides, what good will swords and arrows do against such magic? That question, for which she had no answer at all, forced her into motion.

The boys would be in the cloister for their devotions. All three of them had swords, and wore them proudly on their belts, but she didn’t want them fighting. Once more she saw in her mind that hideous wall of flame and she shuddered. She had ordered Galdasten’s warriors to their deaths, but she wouldn’t have her sons fighting a hopeless battle, not if there might still be some way to save them.

Men in the courtyard were shouting to one another and to the soldiers on the ramparts even before she entered the winding stairway, and before she reached the second level of the castle, where the cloister was, she heard soldiers entering the tower from the ward to make their way up to the top of the wall. Elspeth managed to leave the stairway before any of the men saw her. She ran through the corridor to the cloister.

The prelate had his back to the entrance as she entered the shrine, but he whirled on her, drawing a blade. Elspeth had to smile, despite her fear. The man was new to Galdasten-the old prelate had died during the previous harvest and this young man, Coulson Fendsar, who had once been an adherent in this very cloister, was elevated to the prelacy. He still seemed a bit unsure of himself at times, but the boys liked him a good deal and Elspeth thought his approach to the devotions refreshing if a bit unconventional. More to the point, she could hardly imagine the old prelate raising a weapon at all, much less putting himself between her children and armed invaders.

Seeing her, the prelate let out a long breath and lowered his sword. “My lady. I heard voices in the ward and feared the worst.”

“And with good reason, Father Prelate.”

“Have the empire’s men returned?”

She looked past him, saw her sons watching, the youngest, Rory, looking pale and frightened, as if he had just awakened from a terrible dream.

“No,” she said, lowering her voice. “A ship bearing a Qirsi army has just destroyed the fleets of Braedon and Wethyrn. They sail toward our piers even as we speak.”

“Ean save us all!”

“I don’t know that he can, Father.”

“Do you wish to take shelter here, my lady?” He straightened. “I’m not much with a blade, but I’d give my life in your defense.”

Again Elspeth smiled. “Thank you. I’ve come for my boys. I’m going to take them from the castle while there’s still time.”

Coulson nodded. “I understand, my lady. The duke would want no less. If I may be so bold, I’d suggest that you make your way to the Sanctuary of Amon. Most Qirsi still adhere to the Old Faith. Even these renegades may respect its walls.”

“Thank you, Father Prelate,” she said with surprise. “I hadn’t expected such … sound counsel to come from the cloister.”

A grin flashed across his youthful face and was gone. An instant later, he turned and beckoned to her sons. “Come, my lords,” he called. “Quickly now. You need to follow your mother.”

“What is it, Mother?” Renald the Younger asked. He was the image of his father, straight and thin as a blade, with unruly red hair and bright blue eyes. But he had Elspeth’s strength and nerve, and he looked eager for battle. “Braedon’s men again?”

“Not this time,” she said, ushering them all toward the doorway.

“Then who?”

“I bet it’s the Qirsi.”

She stopped for just an instant, staring at Adler, who had spoken. He was still a year shy of his Determining, but already he showed signs of being the cleverest of them all.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Who else would it be, if it’s not the empire?”

“I’m scared, Mother,” Rory said.

She put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “Hush, child. Everything will be all right. Just come with me and do as I say. Can you do that?”

He nodded solemnly.

She urged them forward once more, stopping on the threshold to look back at the prelate.

“Thank you, Father Prelate. Ean keep you safe.”

“And you, my lady.”

She tried to smile, but failed, certain in that moment that she would never again see the man alive.

A moment later, fear for her sons overmastered all other concerns, and she was again in the corridors, hurrying the boys along toward the nearest of the sally ports. Everywhere she looked soldiers ran toward gates or towers, many with bows and quivers filled with arrows, others with swords and gleaming shields.

“Where are you taking us?” Renald asked, a frown creasing his smooth brow.

“Away from here.”

He stopped. “No! In Father’s absence I lead our house! I can’t flee, like a child or a woman!”

Elspeth gritted her teeth. She hadn’t time for this.

“Your father would be very proud,” she said thickly. “But he’d also tell you that you can’t fight this enemy.”

“Why not?” the boy demanded, proud, stubborn, defiant. Hadn’t she nurtured these very qualities, trying to make him more like his grandfather, more like her?

“Because this army is Qirsi. They’ll destroy this castle, and they’ll kill all who defend it.”

“I’m not afraid of dying.”

But I’m afraid of losing you! She remembered what it was to be this young, though the memory seemed to grow dimmer with each passing day.

“I know how brave you are,” she said, forcing a smile. “How brave all three of you are. It makes me very proud. But the fact is that all of you are still boys. Even you, Renald,” she said, raising a hand to keep him silent. “You’ve another year until your Fating, which means that you can’t yet lead this house, not even in your father’s absence. That responsibility falls to me, and I’m commanding you to follow me.” The smile returned for just an instant. “I need you to protect me, as well as your brothers. Father would tell you that your first duty is to our family.”

He stared at her a moment longer, his mouth twisting as it always had when he was deep in thought. Surely the Qirsi ship had reached the port by now. She wanted to grab the boy’s arm and pull him along behind her as she