“How can you know that?” Xivled asked.
Grinsa gave a small shrug. “A Weaver can sense the magics wielded by other Qirsi.”
“I’d never heard that,” the young man said, shaking his head, and sounding awed.
“There are a few of you who also have language of beasts, and since the Weaver’s army is mounted, that could be of great help to us.”
“They’ll have these powers as well,” the healer said. “And in far greater numbers.”
“Probably. But this is what we have. Let’s keep our attention fixed on that.”
The woman nodded, though her mouth twisted sourly.
“So do we answer to you now?”
The woman who asked this, another of the Sanbiri ministers, was slight, with a lean face and overlarge yellow eyes. There was a note of challenge in her voice, as if she were more interested in starting a fight with Grinsa than she was in hearing the answer to her question. Sanbira’s archminister gave her a dark look, but kept silent.
“You answer to your duke, as always, First Minister.”
“Actually I answer to a duchess, but I take your point.”
“When the fighting begins, however, you’ll report to me immediately. The king and queen have both instructed me to say that any order I give is to be considered a royal command.”
The minister raised an eyebrow. “They must be quite impressed with you.”
Grinsa smiled thinly. “They merely understand, Minister, that I represent their best hope of defeating the conspiracy. Now it may be that you see that as a reason to despise me. They don’t.”
What little color that woman had in her cheeks drained away, leaving her pale as a wraith. “I didn’t mean to imply-”
“You’ll have to forgive Craeffe, Weaver,” the archminister said, an easy smile on her lips. “She often speaks without thinking. I assure you, though. When the time comes to fight this war, she’ll be ready.”
“Thank you, Archminister. I’ve no doubt that this is true.” Grinsa smiled again; this time it appeared genuine. “And you weren’t here when I told the others to call me ‘gleaner’ or ‘Grinsa.’”
It was the archminister’s turn to blanch. “Of course,” she said, recovering quickly. “Thank you, gleaner.”
Grinsa’s eyes flicked toward Keziah for just an instant. She had noticed as well. Calling him “Weaver” had come to the woman quite naturally.
“There’s not much more for us to discuss just now. The last thing I’d like to do is draw upon your powers as I will when we go to battle.”
“Why?” Craeffe asked.
“It can be a bit disorienting the first time a Weaver takes hold of your magic. I want to make certain that all of you are ready when the time comes to battle the Weaver, and I don’t want my use of your power to come as a shock.” He regarded the woman briefly. “Of course, if you object I can draw upon the magic of the others, without troubling you.”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to understand.”
“Very well. Between fire and mists, I can try this with all of you. Why don’t we begin with a wind? If you have mists and winds, open your mind to me. Allow me to take hold of your magic.”
Keziah did as she was told, feeling Grinsa’s familiar touch on her mind. Within moments a great gale was whipping across the moor, flattening the grasses and keening like a great demon as it passed over the stones. After a time, Grinsa allowed the wind to subside, leaving the other Qirsi speechless and wide-eyed.
“Very good,” he said. “Shall we try it with fire now?”
Soon he had conjured a ball of flame that rose into the sky like a great yellow sun, then streaked downward to the grasses, crashing into the ground with a mighty roar and scorching black an enormous circle of earth.
By this time all of the healers and many of the ministers were gaping at Grinsa as if he were Qirsar himself, a god standing among mortals. Glancing back toward the armies, Keziah saw that the Eandi were watching them, no doubt impressed by what they had seen, and fearful as well.
“I expect the Weaver and his army will reach here in the next day or two,” Grinsa said. “Do what you can to ready yourself for battle. I’ll try not to tax any of you for too long, but we are outnumbered. All of us will be pushed beyond what we believe we can endure.” He bowed to them and started to walk off, sixteen pairs of eyes fixed on him as he went. Keziah thought to go after him. She was anxious to know what he had learned from their discussion and from touching their minds briefly to draw upon their power.
Before she could call to him, however, she heard a soft footfall just behind her.
“Excuse me, Archminister.”
Keziah turned to find herself face-to-face with Sanbira’s archminister. “Archminister. What can I do for you?”
“I thought we might speak privately for a moment. It occurs to me that we have a good deal in common, more even than is immediately apparent. I believe we have much to discuss.”
Puzzled, Keziah made herself smile. “Of course. Shall we walk?”
“That would be fine.”
They started southward, separating themselves from the other Qirsi and increasing their distance from the Eandi camps. For a time neither of them spoke, and Keziah found herself stealing quick glances at the woman. She was uncommonly pretty, with a lean, oval face, medium yellow eyes, and long silken white hair which she wore pulled back from her face. Like Keziah, she was petite, even for a Qirsi woman, though there was a strength to her that seemed to belie her size.
“Would it be all right if I called you Keziah?” the woman asked at last, a disarming smile on her lips.
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you. My name is Abeni.”
Keziah nodded, uncertain of what the woman expected her to say.
“You seem to know this gleaner rather well.”
She felt her stomach tightening. “What makes you say that?”
“You and he raised that wind yesterday to fight off the Aneirans. It seems you knew already that he was a Weaver.”
Again, she wasn’t certain how to respond. Her first impulse was to deny that she knew anything about Grinsa, but something stopped her. Instinct, perhaps, or her suspicions about the archminister. Somehow she knew that it would be dangerous to lie to the woman. “The gleaner and I met in the City of Kings and rode to war together. I don’t know him well, but he knew that I had mists and winds, and that the first minister of Curgh did also. I assume that’s why he chose us when he decided to oppose the Solkarans.”
“I see,” the woman said, a note of skepticism in her voice. “I fear I’ve gone about this the wrong way. I’ve put you on the defensive. Forgive me.” She halted, holding out a hand so that Keziah would stop as well. “I know that you’re with the conspiracy.”
“Don’t be-”
Abeni raised a finger, silencing her. “I know it because the Weaver told me. Our Weaver.” A smile spread across her face. “Don’t you see? We’re allies in this war. And there are others who are also with us. Three of the four ministers who rode from Sanbira with the queen are loyal to the movement.”
Keziah’s mind was racing, trying to keep up with all of this. True, she had been suspicious of the woman. But she had never expected Abeni to approach her this way. Nor had she thought it possible that so many in Grinsa’s army could be traitors. Three of the four.… Had her brother sensed this? “Did the Weaver instruct you to approach me?” she asked at last, stalling, though for what purpose she couldn’t say.
“No. He told me you served his cause, but he said that I wasn’t to approach you unless it was absolutely necessary. When the gleaner revealed himself as a Weaver, I decided that I had no other choice.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You don’t believe me.”
Keziah licked her lips, which had gone dry. “I’m not sure what to believe.”
“I understand. I assure you, this is no trick. I’m one of his chancellors. The others who serve him are the first ministers of Norinde and Macharzo.”
Keziah nodded. “All right.”
“Now I need to ask you again: how well do you know this gleaner? Does he trust you?”
