David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“The time is at hand, Pronjed,” the man had said to him, looming in his dreams like a god, or a demon, black as pitch against the brilliant white sun that was always at his back. “All for which we have worked is about to come to fruition. All past failures will be forgiven. Even the breaking of your siege will soon mean nothing. Meet me on the Eibithar Moorlands, give your power to me to wield as a weapon, and I shall give in return the future of which we’ve spoken so many times.”

There had been nothing for him to say, except, “Yes, Weaver.”

He had, of course, been planning to escape even before the Weaver came to him. At first he intended to shatter the walls of his prison the night he was captured, but Dantrielle’s duke, uncertain as to what powers he possessed, had posted eight archers in the corridor outside his chamber, too many even for a man of Pronjed’s considerable powers to defeat. Over the past several days, however, as the archminister gave no indication that he was a threat to the castle or its duke, the number of guards outside his chamber had been reduced. This morning, the last of the archers had been removed. He had only to wait until nightfall.

Pronjed still wasn’t certain how he would reach the Moorlands in time to join the Weaver’s battle. His horse had been taken by Tebeo’s men, and though he would do what was necessary to win his own freedom, he didn’t know if he could risk a visit to the stables before he fled the castle. But the Weaver wouldn’t tolerate excuses, and Pronjed, spurred on by the promise of wealth and power should the Weaver’s plan succeed, had worked too hard on behalf of the movement to be absent at its culmination. Somehow, he would make his way to Eibithar and fight alongside the Weaver. He would share in the Qirsi victory, and when the Weaver swept away the Eandi courts and began to reward his most faithful servants, Pronjed would be among the new nobility.

Not long after the ringing of the prior’s bell, he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to his corridor. He assumed at first that this was merely a guard bringing what passed for his evening meal a bit earlier than usual. Only when he heard a woman speaking in hushed tones did he understand that the duke had come, and with him his lovely first minister.

Pronjed stood and faced the door, holding himself as proudly as he could under the circumstances. He would not allow them to think that he had been broken, no matter how much it might aid his escape.

He heard Tebeo order the guards to open the door. A moment later the lock turned loudly and the door swung open.

Tebeo had never looked like the duke of a major house. He was fat and short, with a face that was far too pleasant to be imposing. Still, the minister knew that he possessed a keen mind, and in the past half turn, as he withstood Numar’s assault, he had more than proved his mettle.

His first minister was the perfect complement to the duke. Pale where he was dark, lithe where he was round, reserved where he was affable. Yet Pronjed also knew her to be formidable in her own way. He had clashed with the woman on more than one occasion and had no doubts as to her loyalty to the duke and the realm.

“Archminister,” the duke said, eyeing him, a tight smile on his face.

He’s afraid. She’s warned him against you . “My lord Dantrielle. To what do I owe this courtesy?”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” Tebeo answered, surprising Pronjed with his candor. “I have certain questions, and I know better than to expect honest answers from the regent.”

“You expect that I’ll be more forthcoming?”

“I hope that you will.”

“And what can I expect in return?”

“Clemency. Perhaps, eventually, your release from this prison.”

Pronjed glanced at the first minister, who was watching him with obvious interest. “I’ll tell you what I can, my lord.”

Tebeo began to pace in front of him, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “How many men did Numar send north to the Tarbin?”

“About a thousand. He expected the army of Mertesse to make up the rest of the force. The rest of his men he divided between guarding Solkara and attacking you.”

“Has he been in contact with the duke of Bistari?”

“Bistari?” Pronjed said, with a small breathless laugh. “Surely you jest, my lord.”

“No, but never mind the question.”

The archminister narrowed his eyes, wondering why Tebeo would ask about Bistari’s young duke. Had they been alone, he would have used mind-bending magic to force the duke to explain himself, but with Evanthya watching, he didn’t dare.

Tebeo paced in silence for a moment. Then, “Tell me, Arch-minister, what do you know of the Qirsi conspiracy?”

“Not much, my lord. Probably no more than you do. I know what it’s reputed to have done. The murders in Eibithar, the assassination of Lord Bistari. There are rumors of an attempt on the life of Curlinte’s duchess in Sanbira, though of course we can’t be certain if this is true.”

“What about the death of our own king?”

Perhaps he should have been prepared for this. But Pronjed couldn’t entirely keep his voice from catching as he said, “My lord?”

“The duke of Orvinti and his first minister have wondered if Carden might have been murdered.”

“His Majesty took his own life, my lord. I saw his body, and I can tell you that the evidence of this was unmistakable.”

“We’d heard as much,” Evanthya said. “Fetnalla wondered if someone might have used mind-bending magic to make the king kill himself.”

Pronjed glanced at Tebeo’s first minister. “This is the first time I’ve heard anyone suggest such a thing.”

“Do you possess this magic, Archminister?”

Pronjed held Evanthya’s gaze for another moment before forcing himself to face the duke again. “No, my lord, I don’t.” He could have used his power to make the lie more convincing; delusion worked on Eandi and Qirsi alike. But Evanthya would have been expecting this, and delusion magic, when used against a Qirsi, only worked on the unsuspecting.

“You heard of Lord Orvinti’s death?”

“I’ve heard rumors of it, my lord.” Again he chanced a look at the first minister, but suddenly she was avoiding his gaze. It seemed the rumors were true: Fetnalla had killed Brall.

“Lord Orvinti’s first minister vanished after Brall was killed. I’m wondering if you have any idea of where she might have gone.”

She went north, just as I will . “No, my lord, none.”

Tebeo nodded again. “I thought as much.” He looked as if he might say more, but instead he stopped his pacing and glanced quickly about the chamber. “I take it you’re comfortable enough, Archminister. You’re being fed, you have enough blankets for the nights?”

Pronjed gave a thin smile. “Of course, my lord. For a prison, this is quite comfortable.” He held up his hands, showing Tebeo the silk cords wrapped around his wrists. “That said, I’d have freer movement with normal manacles.”

“Those were my idea,” Evanthya said. “I seem to remember that you have shaping power. In which case, chains wouldn’t do much good, would they?”

“No, I don’t suppose they would.”

“We’ll speak again, Archminister,” Tebeo said, as one of the guards unlocked the door. He stepped into the corridor and paused, as if waiting for Evanthya.

“I’ll be along in a moment, my lord,” she said, stepping closer to Tebeo and lowering her voice. “I have a few more questions to ask the archminister, and I suspect he’ll be more forthcoming if he and I are alone.”

Tebeo frowned, but after a moment he nodded and left the corridor. The guard closed the door once more.