“So fire and language of beasts will take the center?” one of Uestem’s commanders asked. It took Jastanne a moment to remember her name: Rov.
“Yes. Neither magic offers much in the way of defense, and language of beasts, at least, is better suited to close fighting.”
“He was wise to divide us so,” Yedeg said, as if glimpsing the Weaver’s purpose for the first time.
“Did you have any doubt as to his wisdom, Commander?”
Yedeg’s face colored. “No, Chancellor, of course not. I just … It took me some time to grasp the intricacies of his plan.”
“He’s as brilliant as he is powerful, Commander. That’s why we’re destined to prevail.”
“Yes, Chancellor.”
“You’re not to use your magic on your own,” she went on, speaking to all of them again, “unless it’s the only way to save your life or that of one of your fellow warriors. You must make certain that those under your command understand this. The Weaver will be wielding power from over two hundred of us, and if all of us are using magic on our own, particularly if we’re using powers other than those to which we’ve been assigned, it will only make matters more difficult for him. Discipline and precision will win this war. The one exception is those with language of beasts. They may have to use their power individually. It’s simply the nature of the magic and I’ve explained as much to Nitara.”
As if responding to the mention of her name, Nitara came into view, striding back toward the fire. The chancellors and commanders had heard the Weaver call out a short time before, and the minister had gone to see whether he had been summoning one of them. As the woman drew nearer, Jastanne saw that her cheeks were ashen, her eyes wide with fright. This in itself was not cause for concern-the minister was young, and, of course, she remained quite taken with the Weaver, though as far as Jastanne could see, he had done nothing to encourage her in this regard. Still something in the woman’s manner troubled her.
“Commander? Is everything all right?”
Nitara met her gaze for a moment, then glanced nervously at the others. “I’m not certain.”
Jastanne cast a quick look at Uestem, who nodded to her.
“Why don’t you and I speak in private,” she said, standing and taking Nitara gently by the arm. They walked a short distance, until they were beyond the hearing of anyone in the Qirsi camp. “Now,” the chancellor said, “why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“I think the Weaver was hurt.”
“Hurt?” Jastanne frowned at the very notion. “By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“What makes you think-?”
“There was blood on his face, and I think on his clothes also, but I couldn’t see very well. He refused to look at me.”
Jastanne just stared at her. Surely the woman had to be mistaken. “Blood? Are you certain?”
“Yes, at least about the blood on his face.”
“There must be some explanation.”
“I tried to help him, but he sent me away.”
Of course he would. “As I say, there must be a reason for all this, and he probably didn’t want to alarm the rest of us.” She paused a moment, wondering what to do. “Whatever the truth of this, Nitara, we can’t risk allowing word of it to spread through the camp. Don’t mention what you saw to the others, not even your closest friends. I won’t say a word either. Agreed?”
The woman nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll speak to him,” she said, making herself smile. “As I say, I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
Usually, Nitara would have bristled at the notion of Jastanne speaking with the Weaver in private. She had been slow to overcome her jealousy of the chancellor. But now she merely nodded.
They returned to where Uestem and the other commanders were sitting. Uestem looked up expectantly as they approached, but Jastanne shook her head, as if to say that there was nothing of substance to Nitara’s concerns. She and the merchant had told the commanders all they needed to know for the next day’s battle, so they dismissed them and watched them walk off.
Only then did Uestem ask about Nitara. “What was troubling the woman?”
“It was nothing.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
Jastanne smiled thinly. “Very well. I don’t know what to make of it, but I intend to handle it on my own.”
He opened his hands and shrugged. “That’s all you had to say.”
She laughed. She still wasn’t certain that she trusted the merchant, but she had begun to like him. “Good night, Uestem.”
He nodded and walked away.
Jastanne took a breath, then walked toward the south edge of the camp, where the Weaver usually ate his meals and slept in solitude. Chances were he would send her away, just as he had the commander. But if he really was wounded and their cause was threatened, someone needed to know. Best it be her.
When she reached his small fire, however, he was nowhere to be seen. For the first time, Jastanne found herself growing truly apprehensive.
“Weaver?” she called, pitching her voice to carry, but keeping it low enough that she wouldn’t draw the attention of the other Qirsi.
“Who is that?” he answered from the shadows.
“Your chancellor, Jastanne.”
He stepped into the firelight, and Jastanne’s breath caught at the sight of him. He was shirtless, his broad chest and shoulders gleaming like polished marble. His face appeared clean and unmarked, his golden eyes shining.
“Forgive me, Weaver. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was … I’ll leave you.”
“You came because of Nitara, because of what she saw.”
“She told me there was blood.”
He inhaled, straightening. “There was. But I’m fine. You’ve no cause for concern.”
She heard no anger in his tone, yet she felt compelled to apologize once more for her presence there, the doubts that it implied.
“I’m sorry.” She thought to say more, then decided against it, turning to go.
“Wait,” he said.
Jastanne faced him once more, gazing at his body, his hair, his eyes, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel him touching her.
“I won’t speak of this with anyone, Weaver. Neither will Nitara-I’ve sworn her to silence.”
“Good. But that’s not why I stopped you.”
She felt her pulse quicken.
“We ride to war with the dawn. Tomorrow we’ll remake the world. I don’t know yet who I’ll choose to be my queen, but I do know that of all who serve me, none has done more for this cause than you.”
Her skin seemed to burn with the anticipation of his caress. Her throat ached with desire of him. But she managed to say, “You honor me, Weaver.”
“This is not a night for either of us to be alone.”
He held out a hand to her then, and when she took it, he pulled her to him, taking her in his arms and lifting her off the ground to kiss her, long and deep.
After that, Jastanne lost all sense of time, surrendering utterly to his touch and the cadence of their movements in the cool grasses and the soft glow of the fire. His hunger seemed a match for hers, their passion bringing them together again and again, until at last they lay together beneath the star-filled sky, sated and exhausted.
Jastanne felt herself drifting toward slumber, happier than she had been in many years. She felt him beside her, restless and alert, and knew that he wasn’t ready for sleep. But she couldn’t help herself.
Just as she was about to give in to her weariness, he sat up.
