Seeds of Betrayal (84 page)

“I’m not even certain that I can defeat him,” Grinsa said, his voice dropping. “But I’m the only one who has any chance against him.” He looked up, meeting the boy’s angry stare. “If the Weaver finds a way to destroy me first, everything else is lost. He doesn’t know my face, at least I don’t think he does. Shurik did, and so Shurik had to die, even if that meant denying you your vengeance and your name.”

“So the fate of all the Forelands rests solely on your shoulders?” the boy asked.

“It depends on a great many people,” he began again. “I-”

Tavis sat up. “No! That’s not what you said. You’ve told me twice now that you’re the only one who has any chance of defeating the Weaver. You really believe that, don’t you?”

Grinsa clamped his mouth shut for a moment, struggling to keep his anger in check. He had no desire to yell at the boy a second time. “I suppose the armies of the seven realms could defeat a Qirsi army if they managed to put their differences aside and fight as one. But the loss of life on both sides would be great.”

“So you’re saving lives now.” Tavis laughed again, though he was shaking his head. “You’re keeping all the people of the Forelands from destroying themselves. I’ve never heard such rot! You’re one man, Grinsa! I don’t care what powers you wield, you’re just one man. And I refuse to accept that you’re any more important to this war than my father or the king!”

“I don’t give a damn what you choose to believe! Nor do I care if you forgive me for what I did in Mertesse! I had thought that you were man enough now to grasp the significance of all that’s happened to you over the past few turns, but obviously I was wrong! You were a spoiled fool of a boy the day I met you and you remain one to this day! This is not about you, or me. This is about fighting a war against a man whose powers you can’t possibly understand, whose resources seem boundless, and whose army is unlike any fighting force seen in the Forelands for nearly nine centuries!”

He lifted his hand, summoning a bright golden flame to his palm. A moment later he raised a wind that swept through the small chamber like a squall in the planting turns, making the window shutters rattle, and threatening to overturn the small wardrobe in the far corner, all without disturbing the flame. As the wind continued to blow, and the flame still burned steady and unflickering in his hand, he shattered the wood of a small chair by the bed, sending splinters in all directions.

The young lord stared at him as if he had transformed himself into some great beast from Bian’s realm.

“I’m but one man, Tavis,” he said calmly over the roar of the gale. “Yet if I chose to do so, I could tear this inn to the ground in a matter of moments. And I could do it any number of ways. I could summon a wind that would rip the building off its foundation. I could shatter the walls and beams with shaping power, or I could conjure a flame that would consume it before your eyes.” He let the wind in the chamber die away and extinguished the flame that had balanced on his palm. “A Weaver binds together the power of many Qirsi and wields it as a single weapon. Imagine what I could do with an army of one hundred Qirsi, or a thousand.

“The Weaver can do all that I can, perhaps more. And he
has
raised an army. He’s gathered to his cause some of the most powerful sorcerers in the Forelands-not Revel Qirsi, but ministers from the courts, who wield two, three, maybe even four different magics. Even Cresenne, who did come to him from the festivals, wields three.” He paused, groping for the right words. “When I say that I’m the only man who can defeat him, I’m not boasting, and I’m not trying to excuse my past actions. I’m merely stating what I know to be true. I’m a Weaver, and so I know what a Weaver is capable of doing and how he or she can be defeated. Kearney, your father, the other nobles, they’re good people most of them, and they’re formidable in their own way. But they’ve never faced an enemy like this one, and with all that’s happened in the past few turns, the courts are weaker than they’ve been in centuries. You may not believe this right now, Tavis, but I am your friend. That said, I cannot allow our friendship to keep me from doing what I must to defeat the Weaver. You have to understand that.”

For a long time Tavis kept silent, sitting motionless on his bed. Gnnsa saw something glisten on the boy’s face and realized he was crying.

“You threatened me,” the young lord finally said, his voice so low that the gleaner could barely hear him.

“What?”

Tavis looked at him, wiping his tears on his sleeve. “At the Swallow’s Nest. You said that you’d shatter my blade if you had to, and that you were tired enough that you might break my wrist also.”

Gnnsa closed his eyes briefly, wondering how he could be so thoughtless. Time and again, he found he had to remind himself that for all the changes he had seen in the young lord over the past several turns, despite the scars on his face and his arrogant bearing, Tavis was still a boy, less than a year past his Fating.

“I didn’t mean it as a threat so much as a warning,” the gleaner said. “I wasn’t going to let you kill the man and if I couldn’t persuade you to lower your blade, I would have had to break it. I swear to you, Tavis, I have never had any desire to hurt you. I’ve always done only what I felt was necessary. That’s all.”

He looked over at the boy, trying to gauge his reaction. Tears continued to fall from the young lord’s dark eyes, but the expression on his face didn’t change.

“I know that it seemed we were searching for the singer a long time, Gnnsa went on. ”But it was only a few turns.“

“It was five.”

He conceded the point with a small shrug. “All right, five. But that’s still less than half a year. Now we know what he looks like. We know his name, or at least the name he uses. He’ll be easier to find a second time.”

“He knows we’re looking for him now. Even if we find him, I won’t be able to surprise him again.”

“Maybe not. But then we’ll find some other way. No matter what it takes, we will prove your innocence to all the nobles of Eibithar. I don’t know what will happen with the Order of Ascension-the fate of the Glyndwr line lies beyond my control. But we will restore your name, that I promise you. You were born a noble of the House of Curgh, and you’ll be a lord of that court again.”

Tavis took a long breath and nodded, though he still looked grim. At last he spoke. “If all that you say is true, you risked a good deal more than your life freeing me from Kentigern’s dungeon. You risked the future of the Forelands.”

Gnnsa was silent for a moment. “I suppose I did. I thought the risk was justified.”

“I’m grateful. But my point is that if you’re the only one who can stop this Weaver, then we have to do everything possible to keep you alive.”

“Don’t worry about me, Tavis. As I’ve already made clear, I wield many magics. I can take care of myself.”

The young lord looked away. “But it might be helpful if you had someone with you, watching your back. Someone who was good with a sword.”

Gnnsa suppressed a smile. A joke came to mind, something about the lord becoming a liege man, but he kept it to himself. He had worked too hard trying to repair their friendship, and he sensed that this was important to the boy, that Tavis needed to feel that he had a role to play in the coming war, just as did his father and the king and Gnnsa himself.

“Yes,” the gleaner said instead, keeping his expression solemn. “I think you’re right. I’d feel safer knowing such a person was nearby.”

Tavis nodded. “All right then.”

The gleaner watched him for a moment. “Does that mean you’re going to start talking to me again
^?
”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing now‘”

Gnnsa frowned. “On second thought, I think I enjoyed your silence.” He lay down again. “Sleep now. We’ve a long way to go and I’d like to cover at least three leagues tomorrow, notwithstanding the snow.”

“Where are we going, anyway
^?
”

Gnnsa glanced at him, a smile on his lips. “Don’t you know
^?
”

The boy shook his head. “I’ve been occupied with other things. I know we’re headed east, toward the steppe. I assumed you just wanted to get as far from Mertesse as possible.”

“I did. But I have it in mind to cross into Caerisse and then turn north.”

“North?”

“Yes. I thought it might do you some good to go home, to Eibithar.”

“It would,” Tavis said, smiling for the first time in days. Almost immediately, however, his expression sobered again. “But Aindreas still wants me dead. Except for Glyndwr, I’m not safe anywhere in the realm.”

Gnnsa summoned a small wind that extinguished the candle. “You haven’t been safe in Aneira either,” he said, closing his eyes. “And at least to the north you won’t have to rely on that awful accent.” He couldn’t be expected to keep all of his jokes to himself.

“Numar writes of overtures from the emperor of Braedon,” Tebeo said, pacing the chamber as he always did when unsettled. “It seems he intends to strengthen our ties to the empire.” Evanthya looked up from the parchment she was reading, which bore the Solkaran seal. “Does this surprise you, my lord?”

“I suppose not. Carden had already begun the process.”

“But it troubles you.”

The duke gave her a quick look, a sour expression on his round face. “You don’t think it should?”

“I only wish to understand why it does, my lord.” Evanthya felt certain that she had finally put to rest Tebeo’s suspicions about her loyalty, but their conversations remained difficult. It almost seemed that because her eyes were yellow, he blamed her for the Qirsi conspiracy, even as he convinced himself that she was not party to it. “As you say, the late king started us down this path some time ago.”

“But it’s more dangerous now than it was when Carden was alive. The emperor wants Aneira as an ally in the event of a naval war with Eibithar. The Eibithanans must know this, in which case we invite an attack by tying ourselves to the empire. With all that’s happened in the past few turns, we can hardly afford a war on the Tarbin.”

“With all that’s happened we’re more vulnerable than ever,” Evanthya said. “Isn’t it just as likely that an alliance with Braedon will keep the Eibithanans from attacking?”

“I’d considered that, First Minister,” he said sharply. “I’m not simple.”

“Of course, my lord,” Evanthya said, looking away.

He stopped pacing and ran a hand over his beard. “Forgive me, Evanthya. You didn’t deserve that. An alliance with Braedon may well give the Eibitharians pause. I’m sure that’s what Numar thinks.” He returned to the chair behind his writing table and sat, rubbing his eyes with a meaty hand. “I’ve never taken the threat from Eibithar lightly, and I never would. But I think you’ll agree with me when I say that Aneira faces far greater dangers than King Kearney and his army. This is no time to go looking for a war. Rather, we should be trying to reach beyond old hostilities. If we’re arrayed against one another, we have no hope of defeating the conspiracy.”

Evanthya nodded, remembering that the gleaner’s friend, the Eandi boy she believed to be Tavis of Curgh, had said much the same thing in Solkara. “Is it possible that the emperor is reaching out to Numar for just that reason?”

Tebeo gave a sad smile. “Have you ever met the emperor, First Minister?”

“No, my lord.”

“I did once, at Carden’s investiture. I barely spoke to him, of course. We sat near each other at the banquet that night, but Carden was so busy flattering the man that he left the rest of us little opportunity to say anything at all. Still, that one night was enough for me to see that he is a singularly unimpressive man. He thinks of war and of wealth, and of little else. I doubt very much that he’s ready to lead an alliance against the conspiracy. More likely, he’ll continue to follow his petty ambitions, even if they lead all the Forelands to ruin.”

“Do you intend to speak with the regent then, my lord?”

“Perhaps, when the planting begins. Numar is still new to his power. I don’t want him mistaking such a conversation for a challenge to his authority. He may not be as ruthless as Carden and Grigor, but he’s still Tomaz’s son.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“You think I’m foolish to wait?”

“I wouldn’t presume to judge, my lord. I share your concerns about the conspiracy and about any possible conflict with Eibithar. But as long as the regent and the emperor aren’t making plans for war, I’m not certain that I see the harm in building on our friendship with Braedon.”

“As long as they’re not planning a war, neither do I. I’m just not certain I trust either of them to maintain the peace.”

There was a knock at the door, and a moment later the duchess stepped into the room. Seeing Evanthya, she faltered, looking uncertain.

“Forgive me. I thought the duke was alone.”

Evanthya stood and returned the parchment to Tebeo’s table. “I was just leaving, my lady.” She faced the duke and bowed. “My lord.”

“Thank you, First Minister. We’ll speak of this again.”

“Of course, my lord.”

She let herself out of Tebeo’s chamber and descended the stairs of the nearest tower to the castle’s upper ward. It had snowed the night before, though only briefly, and a fine white powder coated the grass, like flour on a warm loaf of bread. The sun burned brightly overhead, and already the snow on the battlements and towers of the castle was melting, darkening the stone walls beneath.

Evanthya crossed the ward quickly, pulling her robes tightly around her shoulders. Before she reached the tower leading up to her quarters, however, she heard a guard calling to her from the lower barbican. She stopped and turned, waiting as the man strode toward her.

“A peddler just came to the gate, First Minister,” the man said as he drew near. “He told me to give you this.”