“We don’t have to, Craeffe. It will be nightfall soon, and the Weaver should be near. Once it’s dark, we’ll strike out westward until we’re clear of the camps. Then we’ll turn toward the north and find the Weaver’s army.”
“They’ll be looking for us, for her. We’ll be killed before we ever get near the Weaver.”
“What was it the Weaver told you to do?” Abeni asked her again, bringing her face close to Keziah’s.
She closed her eyes and looked away, bracing herself for what she knew would come. Even so, when the bone in her thumb broke, she collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain and cradling her hand.
“It’s a simple question, Keziah,” the archminister said, standing over her. “Surely it can’t be worth all this. Besides, I think I know. He wanted you to kill the king, didn’t he? That was why that other man was doing it, and you were watching, looking so horrified it was almost amusing.” Abeni kicked Keziah’s hand. The bones within her discolored flesh felt as if they were aflame. “Am I right?”
Keziah merely whimpered, unable to say more.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere. Just kill her already. We can claim that she was a traitor to her realm, that we saw her flee after the king fell.”
“Her brother won’t believe that. Besides, we really have no choice but to keep her alive. If I’m not mistaken, she’s already told Grinsa that we’re with the movement. Haven’t you, Keziah?”
At that, Keziah opened her eyes, glaring up at the woman. “Yes, I did. He knows about all three of you, and he’ll never give you the opportunity to get away. You’re going to die on this plain, Abeni. You might as well kill me, too. That’s the best you can hope for.”
Abeni’s brow creased, and she crouched down beside her. “Why are you so anxious for me to kill you? Is it fear of the Weaver? Is it that you know what he’ll do to you when next you sleep?”
She looked away again.
“Yes,” Abeni said, standing once more. “I thought so. You’re right to be afraid. The pain in your hand will be nothing next to his punishment.” She turned back to Craeffe. “The gleaner knows that we’re with the movement. Keziah here is our only hope of getting away alive. If we kill her, Grinsa won’t hesitate to kill us. But so long as she lives, he’ll try to find some way to save her. Won’t he, Keziah?”
Before she could think of a response, the other Qirsi stepped into their small shelter.
“What is it, Filtem?”
“Someone’s coming. A Qirsi. I couldn’t make out his face.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Be silent, both of you.” An instant later Abeni was beside her again, hurriedly binding her hands and tying a gag over her mouth. “Not a sound,” she whispered, her mouth almost touching Keziah’s ear. She pulled her dagger free and held the hilt of it just over Keziah’s hand, as if ready to strike her. “You’ll suffer mightily for any noise you make, and whoever he is will die if he comes near us.”
Keziah eyed the woman, wishing she could kill her, cursing Qirsar for giving her magics that could not avail her in such times. But in the end she just nodded, drawing a dark smile from the archminister.
She strained to hear, desperate for any sign that someone had come to rescue her, but she heard nothing, save the breathing of the three traitors. At one point, she thought she heard a light footfall just beyond the stones that surrounded them, and she knew a moment of hope that almost made her forget her anguish. But no one entered the circle, and after hearing nothing more, she felt her despair return, and with it the brutal pulsing in her hand.
Abeni made a small motion, catching Filtem’s eye. She pointed at him, then gestured toward the narrow entrance to the circle and pulled her dagger free.
Filtem appeared to understand. Drawing his own blade, he crept to the entrance and slipped out, as silent and graceful as a cat.
This time she definitely heard something, or someone. It sounded like a brief struggle, just beyond the stones, and then a quick, sharp intake of breath. A moment later, a thick mist began to seep into the circle. It built quickly, until Keziah could see nothing of her captors or the boulders surrounding them. She heard footsteps within the circle, though they seemed unsteady. One of the women shouted something and there was a dry cracking sound followed by the thud of a body falling to the ground.
A sudden wind swept through the stones, clearing away the mist. And there, in the center of the circle, lay Filtem, a dagger jutting from his chest, his eyes open but sightless, his legs bent at improbable angles.
“Filtem!” Craeffe shrieked, flying to his side and cradling his head in her lap.
“Damn,” Abeni muttered.
Craeffe glowered at the archminister, her face streaked with tears. “You fool! Look what you’ve gotten us into!”
“Shut up and let me think.”
“What’s there to think about? The gleaner’s out there! We’re dead!”
“Don’t be an idiot. If it was Grinsa, he wouldn’t be playing these games. He’d simply take hold of our magic and destroy us.” Abeni shook her head. “No, it’s someone else.” After a moment’s consideration she roughly pulled Keziah to her feet and held her dagger to the woman’s throat.
“Show yourself,” she called out, “or the archminister dies!”
There was no response.
With her free hand, Abeni pulled off Keziah’s gag. “Tell him,” she commanded.
“She’s a shaper!” Keziah shouted immediately. “And she has mists-” Agony. A terrible pain in her ear and hot blood running down the side of her head and neck.
Abeni pressed the bloodied blade against her throat again. “Damn you! I should kill you now!”
“You can’t, and you know it.”
White-hot pain exploded in her other hand.
“Get up, Craeffe. I need your help.”
The other woman gazed down at Filtem for another moment, crying still.
“He’s dead, Craeffe. There’s nothing more you can do for him. But we can still save ourselves.”
“How?”
“We’ve still got the advantage. That’s but one man out there. If there were two they’d have attacked by now.”
Craeffe climbed to her feet, wiping the tears from her face. “What do you suggest?”
“We need to remain together. I should never have sent Filtem out there alone-that was my mistake. But as long as we stay together and keep the archminister with us, there’s nothing he can do. We’re both shapers, after all.”
As Abeni spoke, she relaxed her grip on Keziah slightly. Not much-the woman probably didn’t even notice that she had done so. But Keziah did, and now she did the only thing she could. Moving as quickly as she ever had, she stamped her foot on Abeni’s and at the same time threw back her elbow, catching the woman full in the breast.
Abeni gasped, then cursed, but Keziah had already flung herself away from the woman, falling to the ground and rolling until she reached the edge of the ring.
The pain in her hands was nearly more than she could bear, but she managed to shout out, “I’m free!”
Immediately, mist began to fill the circle again, driven by a strong wind. There were footsteps, the sudden rustling of cloth, and then that awful, familiar sound of snapping bone. A moment later a second body fell to the earth.
Keziah felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach.
Yet another wind whipped through the circle, and when the mist had cleared, Keziah nearly cried out with joy.
Craeffe was lying on the grass, utterly motionless. And standing over her was Fotir jal Salene, his brilliant yellow eyes fixed on Abeni.
“It seems you and I wield the same powers, Archminister,” he said to her. He glanced at Keziah for just an instant. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough.”
He nodded, facing the traitor again.
