Weavers of War

maddeningly slow, and he longed to kick at the flanks of his mount and thunder southward across the Moorlands until he found the king.

We’re coming! he would say. Keep the empire at bay for another few days and the men of Galdasten will join your battle!

And Kearney, in his desperate gratitude for this last spar of hope where none had been expected, would praise the duke as a hero and his house as the greatest in all the realm.

Instead, Renald rode at the head of his company, flanked by Ewan Traylee and Pillad jal Krenaar, his first minister, forced to discuss the weather and fighting to keep thoughts of his wife from darkening his mood. Their minds are no more nimble than yours, she had once said of his swordmaster and minister. And once more, having suffered their companionship for these last several days, he could only marvel at her acumen.

With every hour that Galdasten’s army squandered on this toilsome march, with every battle the king waged in Renald’s absence, the duke knew that Kearney and his allies would grow more convinced that Renald wasn’t coming and that his house was in rebellion. If they were defeated by Braedon’s army, Galdasten, no doubt along with Aindreas’s house, would bear much of the blame. History would remember Renald as the leader of a house of traitors. Nearly as troubling was the thought that Kearney might succeed in defeating the invaders without Galdasten’s help. Renald would still be labeled a traitor, but as one whose betrayal had little significance.

Clearly they had need of haste. Yet his swordmaster did nothing to increase their pace, and the first minister seemed content to stroll along beside them, chatting amiably about anything other than the war.

“It’s a cooler day by far than I would have expected so late in Adriel’s waxing,” he was saying now. “We’ve been fortunate.”

“Yes, and what of it?” the duke demanded irritably. “Perhaps you care to comment on the health of the farmers’ crops as we amble past the fields.”

Pillad and Ewan exchanged a look.

“My lord, I believe the first minister’s point was that, because of the cooler weather, we can probably keep the men marching without a rest clear through to sundown, allowing us to cover more distance today.”

Renald looked at the Qirsi, who nodded. “That would be … helpful,” he said, trying not to sound too contrite.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you have any idea how far we are from the battle plain?”

“No, my lord,” Ewan answered. “But it can’t be too far now. The king marched from Audun’s Castle some time ago. I expect his army met the enemy well north of Domnall, in which case it should only be another day or two.”

“Two days,” the duke said, exhaling. “I begrudge the time, swordmaster.”

Ewan lowered his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

Renald knew what the man was thinking. If he was in such a hurry to fight, why had he waited so long before leaving Galdasten? Why had he suffered the presence of the empire’s soldiers in his city for so many days? In truth, the duke had no answer for him other than the obvious. It had been a grave mistake, born of his ambition, and Elspeth’s uncanny ability to gauge his darkest desires. He should have been able to admit this to them. Whatever their limitations, both Ewan and Pillad had ridden with him to war, risking their lives. They deserved far more from him than he seemed capable of offering, and so too did his men.

“Tomorrow is the Night of Two Moons, my lord,” the first minister said. “There’ll be ample light to march even past dusk. We can rest at twilight before continuing on for a few more hours.”

Ewan frowned. “Certainly we can take advantage of the moons’ light to march the men another league or so. But I don’t want to push them too hard. They need some rest along the way, or they won’t be fit to fight.”

Renald almost told the swordmaster that he coddled the men too much. But it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he had marched any distance at all. Since he was a boy accompanying his father on hunts or visits to another of Eibithar’s great houses, he had ridden while common soldiers remained on foot. Perhaps in this instance Ewan knew better than he did what was best for Galdasten’s army.

“I agree,” he said. “We’ll rest at sundown, continue southward for another league, then stop for the night.”

Ewan nodded. “Very good, my lord. I’ll inform the captains.”

Before Renald could object, the swordmaster was riding back along the edge of the column leaving the duke with Pillad.

He had tried to spend as little time as possible alone with the Qirsi. In spite of his decision to let the minister ride with him to this war, he still had doubts about the man’s loyalty. And even before he began to suspect that Pillad was a traitor, even before he had heard of the conspiracy, Renald had never felt entirely comfortable around white-hairs. He found them strange in both appearance and manner. Pillad was no exception to this.

“Shall I leave you, my lord?”

Whatever his faults, Pillad was observant.

“Perhaps so, First Minister. We’ll speak again later.”

The Qirsi smiled thinly. “Of course.”

He slowed his mount, allowing the duke to pull ahead of him a short distance. They rode this way for several moments, and though Renald was relieved to be rid of the man, he could feel the minister watching him from behind, as if Pillad’s eyes could cast heat upon his back. If the Qirsi did wish him ill, wasn’t it safer to ride alongside the man, instead of in front of him, vulnerable and unguarded? After considering this briefly, he slowed his mount in turn, so that the minister pulled abreast of him.

“My lord?” Pillad asked mildly.

Faced now with having to make conversation with the man, Renald wasn’t certain what to say. If only he’d just remained in front of him.

“I was wondering, First Minister, if you feel the swordmaster is too easy on the men.”

It was the first thing that came to mind, and immediately he regretted saying it.

Pillad’s brow creased, and he tipped his head to the side, as if pondering the question. “I’m not certain I know what you mean, my lord.”

“Well, no matter.”

“If you refer to his concerns about tiring them, I suppose I do think it odd. He certainly trains them hard enough. Yet he seems reluctant to put that training to the test when it comes time for war.” His yellow eyes were so wide that he looked like some great pale owl. “Please don’t misunderstand, my lord. I have great respect for the swordmaster. But other armies have had to march longer distances over shorter spans of time, and they’ve fought effectively.”

Despite himself, Renald was swayed by this. “I’ve thought much the same thing,” he said, feeling that by admitting even this much, he was betraying Ewan’s trust. “I would like to cover more ground before we stop for the night.”

“Of course, my lord. I know how eager you are to join the king. Still, it’s probably best to be prudent under these circumstances.”

“Perhaps so.”

Pillad looked back over his shoulder, no doubt to see if Ewan was returning. “It might also behoove you to give some consideration to the swordmaster’s command, my lord.”

“His command?”

“Yes. If he’s told the men that they’ll only cover a certain distance in a given day, then any deviation from that plan could undermine his authority. It may even convince the men that you’ve lost faith in him.”

“So now you believe that we should keep to the swordmaster’s pace?” Renald shook his head. “I’m afraid you have me a bit confused, First Minister. One moment you seem to agree with me that Ewan is being too easy on the men, and the next you tell me that we’d be best off doing as he counsels. It almost seems that you’re trying to confuse me.”

The duke said this without giving it much thought, but almost as soon as the words crossed his lips, he found himself wondering if this was precisely what the first minister had meant to do. Mightn’t a traitor to the court have reason to do so?

Pillad replied with an easy laugh, though Renald thought he saw something else flash in those ghostly eyes.