Weavers of War

might a child half his age, but she knew how important it was that Renald accept this for himself.

“All right,” he said at last, reluctantly sheathing his sword.

“Come on then. We haven’t much time.”

They continued on to the sally port at the southern end of the fortress. The south gate road wasn’t the quickest way to the sanctuary, but it kept them a good distance from the pier and, Elspeth hoped, offered them their best chance of eluding the Qirsi.

By the time they were outside, however, the duchess could hear screams coming from the city, and before they were off Galdasten Tor, she could see the first of the white-hairs advancing on the castle. It occurred to her that she should have had them all change into plainer clothes, but by then it was too late.

“Hold, Duchess!” came a man’s voice.

The distance was great, but Elspeth didn’t know how far Qirsi magic could reach. She resisted an urge to look back at the white-hairs.

“Just keep moving,” she told the boys, her voice low and taut.

“Not another step, my lady!” the man called again, closer this time, the tone harder.

Still she didn’t slow.

Suddenly, a stone just beside the road exploded in a cloud of white dust, the report making her jump.

“Another step, and I do the same to one of you.”

Elspeth stopped, holding out a hand so that her sons would do the same. Turning slowly, she saw a tall Qirsi approaching her, followed by a company of perhaps two dozen sorcerers. But it was the leader who drew her eye. She had never seen a Qirsi like this one-comparing him in her mind with Pillad, her husband’s unremarkable first minister, she found it hard to believe that they were of the same race. This man was powerfully built and had an elegant bearing. He was even handsome in a chilling way, with his unruly white hair, brilliant golden eyes, and square face. He had the look of a noble-she could see why these others followed him.

Before she could stop the boy, Renald pulled his sword free and stepped in front of her.

“Get back, white-hair,” he said. Elspeth could see his hand trembling.

A sharp, ringing note echoed off the tor, and shards of steel fell to the ground, clattering off the stone road.

“I could do the same to your skull, whelp,” the man said. He gestured at the Qirsi standing with him. “So could any of my warriors. You may think yourself brave, but in this case you’d be wise to let fear stay your hand.”

Her son’s face shaded to crimson and Elspeth worried that he might say something rash. But he merely stared at the useless hilt of his sword.

“Your husband rode south with his army?” the man asked.

Elspeth regarded him for several moments. She wasn’t about to do anything foolish, but neither was she ready to just give him whatever information he wanted. “Who are you?”

The man grinned, though the look in his eyes remained deadly serious. “Very well. My name is Dusaan jal Kania.”

She narrowed her eyes. The name sounded familiar.

“Until recently, I was high chancellor to the emperor of Braedon.” His smile broadened at what he saw on her face. “This surprises you. Perhaps you think that a man in my position would have too little to gain and too much to lose from a movement such as ours.”

Elspeth opened her mouth, closed it again, shook her head. “I don’t know what I thought,” she admitted.

“It may also surprise you to learn that I’m a Weaver.”

“Gods save us all!”

“Indeed. Now I’m going to ask you again, and I won’t be so patient this time if you refuse to answer. Has the duke ridden south with his army?”

She hesitated, pressing her lips together. Then she nodded, feeling as she did that she was betraying her husband, wondering that she should care.

“And the first minister with him?”

“Yes, he-” She stared at him. “Pillad’s a traitor, isn’t he? He’s part of your conspiracy.”

The predatory smile returned. “As you might imagine, we don’t think of ourselves as traitors. But yes, he serves our movement.”

“I warned him,” she said, her voice low. “But the fool just wouldn’t listen.” The duchess nearly asked the man what orders he had given Pillad, but she wasn’t certain that she wanted to hear his answer, at least not in front of her children. Just a short time ago she had wished for Renald’s death. Faced now with the realization that he most likely would be killed, she found herself grieving for him, her eyes stinging with tears she had never believed she would shed.

“I see you understand,” he said.

“Understand what?” Renald the Younger demanded. He glared at her. “Mother?”

She ignored him, keeping her eyes on the Weaver. “What is it you want of us?”

“You’re to accompany us back to the castle and convince your soldiers to surrender the castle.”

Renald shook his head fiercely. “Never!”

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll take it anyway, hundreds of men will die, and the fortress of your forebears will be destroyed.”

“You could do that?” But already she knew the answer. She had seen what this man and his army had done to the fleets in Falcon Bay.

“Weaving the magic of these other shapers, I can lay waste to the entire city.”

How could Kearney possibly prevail against this man? How could any sovereign? In that moment, Elspeth understood that she was looking upon the future of the Forelands.

“Very well. I’ll do as you command. In return, I ask that you spare my life and those of my sons.”

“Mother! You can’t do this!”

She looked at the boy. “Be quiet, Renald. Only a fool would doom so many men to their deaths simply out of pride and obstinacy. It’s time you learned what it means to lead a great house.”

The irony hit her as soon as she spoke the words. If this Qirsi standing before them truly intended to rule the seven realms, all Eandi nobility would be overthrown. Her sons would never rule in any court. Not even in Prindyr or Lynde, much less in Galdasten or the City of Kings. If the Weaver was thinking the same thing, he had the good grace to keep it to himself.

“Well?” she asked, eyeing the Qirsi once more.

“I make no promises, my lady, except to say that so long as you cooperate with us, you’ll not be harmed.”

She couldn’t be certain whether he meant only her or the boys as well, and she had the sense that his ambiguity was intentional. Fear for her sons seized her, and for a moment she couldn’t even bring herself to draw breath.

“Lead the way, my lady,” the Weaver said, his square face as placid as a morning tide. With a slender hand, he indicated the road back to the castle.

Run! she wanted to yell to her children. Make your way to the sanctuary and don’t look back! But she had little hope that they could escape the Qirsi, and every expectation that the Weaver would punish them all for making the attempt. So she turned, defeated and helpless, and meekly led them back toward the castle gate. The duke wouldn’t have recognized her; her sons wouldn’t so much as glance at her.

She kept her eyes fixed on the ramparts as she walked up the road, half hoping that Galdasten’s archers would loose their arrows despite her presence at the head of the Weaver’s army. Instead, they lowered their bows and called for the gate guards to open the portcullises. Just as the Weaver had known they would.

For all her talk of Renald’s cowardice, his weakness and poor leadership, Elspeth couldn’t imagine him giving up his castle without a single weapon being drawn. What have I become?

Within moments, they stood in the center of the lower ward, surrounded by men who even now looked to her for leadership. The archers still carried their bows, and the swordsmen held their blades ready. Elspeth could see murder in their eyes. She could still save Galdasten, if she were willing to sacrifice herself and her boys.