David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“You’ve heard?” Craeffe asked quietly, once the door was closed and locked.

“Yes.” Abeni didn’t particularly like the woman, but she knew that the Weaver expected them to work together.

Craeffe gave a cadaverous grin. “Filtem, too.” Abeni had wondered before if she and Norinde’s first minister might be lovers; seeing how pleased Craeffe looked now, she felt certain of it.

“I know.” Abeni could see that the minister expected her to say more, but she could think of nothing to add. There was a queer feeling in her chest-not apprehension, but not eagerness either. She had no name for it.

“This must be it, what we’ve been waiting for.”

Abeni nodded. “I’ve had the same thought. If so, we’re most fortunate to have all three of us together. It almost seems that the gods are smiling on us.”

Craeffe’s grin widened. “Did you ever doubt that they would?”

Yes , a voice within her replied. Even now I do . But Abeni merely made herself smile.

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

She was always probing, looking for weaknesses she could exploit. Abeni was one of the Weaver’s chancellors and Craeffe wished to be. She was nothing if not a creature of her ambitions.

“It’s nothing, Craeffe. Go back to your duchess.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Abeni turned away. Regardless of her motives, Craeffe was with her in this movement. She needed to know. “Edamo believes that the movement is behind this war, and he’s convinced Olesya of this. They’ll be watching us.”

Craeffe laughed. “Of course they will. But Edamo is just guessing. He knows nothing for certain.”

“He’s right.”

“Of course he is. It changes nothing. Even forewarned, they’re not clever enough to defeat the Weaver.” A pause, and then, her voice solicitous and low, “I’m surprised to hear you so filled with doubts, Archminister. Perhaps you question the Weaver’s wisdom, or his power?”

Abeni faced her again, a smile fixed on her lips. “Not at all, Craeffe. I just fear that some of his servants may not be worthy of him.”

Unruffled, Craeffe raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, cousin. I’m certain that you’ll do the best that you can.” She turned on her heel and pulled the door open, not bothering to look at Abeni again. “See you in Brugaosa, Archminister.”

Galdasten, Eibithar

From the tower atop Renald’s castle, it seemed a dance of sorts, the slow circling of partners at the outset of some court fourstep. Until the first Braedon ship rammed its prow into the hull of the lead vessel in Eibithar’s fleet. After that, there could be no mistaking what was taking shape on the waters of Falcon Bay. For the first time in over a century and a half, Eibithar was at war with the Braedon empire.

Renald was soaked to the skin. A hard rain sliced across the castle ramparts, driven by a cold wind. It should have been warmer-nearly half of Elined’s Turn was gone-but it felt more like the harvest than it did the final days of the planting season. Elspeth would have thought him a fool for standing up here in the rain, watching a battle whose outcome had long since been decided. She would have called him weak and worse had she known how he quailed at the very thought of what was happening aboard those ships. As a child, he had heard seamen at the Galdasten quays recounting tales, passed down to them from their grandfathers, of the previous naval wars with Braedon. The Empire Wars, they were called. Braedon had prevailed in those conflicts as well, gaining sovereignty over Enwyl Island in the Gulf of Kreanna. And it had taken the shipbuilders of Galdasten and Thorald more than ten years to rebuild the Eibitharian fleet.

But it wasn’t the rammings that stood out in Renald’s memory, the descriptions of rending wood and the ghostlike groan of a hull taking on too much water. No, it was the combat that followed the collisions. The boardings and bloody sword battles as the warriors aboard those ships clashed, fighting for control of the vessel that remained seaworthy.

He could still hear the voice of one old sailor-a grizzled old man with leathery brown skin and a misshapen stump where his left arm should have been-asking his companions how many soldiers had been swallowed by the dark waters of the bay during that last war, and laughing at what he saw on Renald’s face. Even as a foolish child, easily impressed and more easily frightened, Renald had known that this man could not have fought in the Empire Wars, and later he had come to wonder how much of what those men told him that day had been true, and how much of it had been the blustering yarns of old sailors eager to scare a court boy. Still, watching this new battle in the cold Galdasten rain, Renald thought he could see bodies falling over the sides of the Eibitharian vessel, lost forever to Amon’s waters.

The fleets of the two realms had been arrayed against each other for several days, their commanders waiting far longer than Renald had ever guessed they would to begin the war. It almost seemed that both sides were awaiting some sign that they should attack. That sign had finally come this morning, and much to the duke’s surprise, it had been the Eibitharian fleet that made the first move. Renald couldn’t be certain, but he thought it likely that the rain and wind prompted the attack. On open waters, in calm weather, Eibithar’s ships had little chance against Braedon’s larger fleet and more skilled seamen. Perhaps the captains of Eibithar’s vessels thought that this storm would mitigate the empire’s advantages somewhat.

Already it seemed clear to the duke that they had been tragically mistaken. In the span of only a few heartbeats, two more of Eibithar’s ships were rammed, and now he was certain that he could see soldiers dressed in the gold and red of Braedon swarming onto the stricken vessels. It would be a slaughter.

“My lord!”

Renald started so violently that he nearly lost his balance. He hadn’t heard Ewan Traylee’s approach for the rain and the keening wind. “What is it, swordmaster?”

“Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but the duchess is asking after you, and no one knew where you were.”

“Well as you can see, I’m right here,” he said, staring out at the ships again. “And I’ve no desire to speak with the duchess just now.” It wasn’t a tone he would usually have taken with Ewan. Damn this rain. Damn the empire.

“Yes, my lord.” The swordmaster looked out at the bay as well. An instant later, his voice rising again, he said, “They’ve begun!”

“Yes. Just a short time ago.”

“It’s going poorly.”

Renald glanced at the man. Rain plastered his black hair to his brow, and ran down his broad face before being lost in his beard. “Did you doubt that it would?”

“Not really, my lord. But I had hoped. .” He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the battle.

“Is all ready for a siege?”

“Yes, my lord. We can withstand whatever the emperor’s soldiers throw at us.”

“Very good, Ewan.”

They stood in silence for several moments watching the ships dance. For a time it seemed that Eibithar’s vessels might actually be gaining the upper hand. No more Eibitharian ships had been rammed, and in fact they managed to incapacitate two Braedon ships in quick succession. But their success was short-lived, and it soon became clear that the empire’s vessels were simply too swift. What had started as a battle was fast turning into a pursuit. Eibithar’s ships were no longer looking for openings to attack, but were instead doing all they could to avoid being shattered and boarded.

“Do you think the king sent word to Wethyrn?” Ewan asked after some time.