David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“Then tell him again!”

That nearly ended the discussion. True, none of them knew that he was a Weaver, that he led a great movement. But still, even in his capacity as high chancellor of the Braedon Empire, Dusaan could only tolerate so much. Before he could say anything, however, one of the young ministers broke in, and the debate began anew.

For much of the morning Dusaan had watched and listened as the same arguments chased one another around his ministerial chamber again and again. Only a turn before, his suspicions of the Qirsi growing, Emperor Harel the Fourth had decided to reclaim from his ministers and chancellors responsibility for mediating disputes among his nobles. At the time, fearing that the emperor would take from him responsibility for the treasury, Dusaan had welcomed the decision. The high chancellor depended upon the Braedon treasury for funds to pay the cost of running his conspiracy. Had the emperor forced him to relinquish control of the fee accountings, it might have dealt the movement a crippling blow. The mediation of disputes, on the other hand, had seemed a harmless enough duty to hand back to the Eandi fool. Little had he known.

“The lords of Grensyn, have always laid claim to the moors west of the Grensyn River,” the old chancellor said. “Indeed, all the southern lordships, from Finkirk across to Muelry have traditionally controlled the lands to their west. All, that is, except the coastal houses. Muelry’s new claims fly in the face of eight centuries of practice.”

“We’ve been over this, Stavel,” Dusaan said, his eyes closed.

“Yes, we have. But someone needs to explain all this to the emperor.”

“Why?” Nitara. Among all the Qirsi serving in Harel’s palace the Weaver thought her and one other the most likely to join his movement.

The older man blinked, and in spite of his annoyance, Dusaan had to stifle a chuckle. “What?” Stavel asked.

The woman shrugged. “Why does this need to be explained to the emperor? Yes, it’s been done this way for hundreds of years. But people in Muelry are starving. It’s been common knowledge for years that the land between the Rimerock and Muelry Rivers is poor land for farming. The land between the Rimerock and Rawsyn’s Wash isn’t much better.” She glanced around the room as if to see who was listening to her. They all were. “It must be something in the waters of the Rimerock.” She faced Stavel again. “In any case, Grensyn Moor has far better land, and it’s more than broad enough to accommodate some of Muelry’s people.”

“That’s not the point!”

“But it should be.” Kayiv. The other one Dusaan hoped to turn. “Should we continue to let the people of Muelry suffer, just because a group of Eandi lords decided eight hundred years ago that the entire moor belonged to Grensyn?”

It was a sound argument, yet one that also struck Dusaan as quite illuminating. More than any other Qirsi he had ever met, Kayiv reminded the Weaver of himself as a younger man. Proud, keenly intelligent, willing-some might say even eager-to challenge custom, and fiercely devoted to the Qirsi people. When the time came, he would be a valuable member of the movement. Yet, Dusaan’s aim in leading this cause had always been the betterment of his own people. It had never occurred to him that centuries of Eandi rule had taken their toll on Eandi commoners as well, that the destruction of the Eandi courts and the establishment of a Qirsi nobility might be hailed by Ean’s children as well as by Qirsar’s.

The young man’s reasoning in this discussion, like Dusaan’s own, seemed odd for another reason as well. It placed them both in the position of supporting the emperor. Dusaan would have little choice but to take Harel’s part no matter his personal opinion on the matter. As high chancellor, this was his duty. But he found himself forced to admit that Harel’s decision in this one instance was absolutely correct. The mere notion of it made him uncomfortable.

“Surely, High Chancellor,” the older Qirsi began once again, “you see the importance of preserving custom in matters pertaining to the lordships. If we can take part of the moor from Grensyn, then what’s to stop Pinthrel from laying claim to the rest of Braedon Wood, or Refte from challenging Oerdd’s claim to the northern half of the hills?” He opened his hands, as if in supplication. “This path leads to turmoil. You must not be blind to this.”

Dusaan had to smile at the old man’s fear. Some Qirsi, he knew, were sorely ill prepared for the changes that were coming to the Forelands.

“I assure you, Chancellor, the emperor’s decision will do no such thing. It may anger a few of the lords, but it will not lead to the downfall of the empire.” Several of the ministers laughed at this, though Stavel only appeared to grow more distraught. “Circumstances in the south are especially difficult right now,” Dusaan went on, trying to sound reasonable. “Muelry is still recovering from the pestilence that struck there during the last growing. And as Nitara has pointed out, her lands are poorly suited to growing anything more than grasses and thistle. Pinthral and Refte have no need of more land, and would not be granted such if they requested it.”

Stavel started to protest, but Dusaan raised his hand, silencing him. “The matter is decided. The emperor has spoken, and I believe that a majority of those in this chamber agree with his solution.” This might have been a stretch, but none of the others would question him, not on this. “Word of the emperor’s decision will be sent south in the morning.” He glanced around the chamber. The older chancellor and his small group of allies appeared disheartened, but Nitara, Kayiv, and several of the younger ministers looked far more pleased than they usually did at these discussions. “Is there anything else?”

He knew there would be-he had heard several of the ministers speaking of it in the corridor earlier that day-but it was not for him to broach the subject.

That task fell to Kayiv. Naturally.

“You’ve heard of the death of Lord Lachmas?” There seemed to be a gleam in the young Qirsi’s bright golden eyes.

“Yes, I have. A tragedy for all of Braedon. The emperor was rather distraught.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Dusaan held the man’s gaze until at last Kayiv looked away.

“If there’s something on your mind, Minister, you should speak and be done with it.”

“Isn’t it obvious, High Chancellor?” Nitara asked, answering for the young man. As he had before on several occasions, Dusaan found himself thinking that she and Kayiv might very well be lovers. “Nobles have been dying throughout the other realms over the past year, all of their deaths attributed to the Qirsi conspiracy. Now it seems that this conspiracy has finally reached Braedon.”

Actually it hadn’t. The Weaver had not ordered Lord Lachmas’s death and he had no reason to believe that any of his underlings in the movement had acted without his consent. Indeed, he had no underlings in Braedon. He needed to be able to walk in the dreams of those who served him, and his renown in Braedon would have made it too dangerous for him to do so. This was, until just a few days before, one of the great weaknesses in his plan. He could not afford to have Qirsi in the Braedon courts serving him, but the longer Braedon remained immune to the movement’s attacks, the more the realm’s lack of strife would draw the attention of others in the Forelands, Eandi and Qirsi. With Lord Lachmas’s death, that was no longer a concern.

As far as Dusaan could tell, the man had truly died as the result of a hunting accident. According to the message from Lachmas, a stray arrow, apparently from the bow of his younger son, struck the lord in the back. The arrow itself might not have killed him, but the fall from his mount snapped his neck. A tragic accident that aided Dusaan’s cause as much as any planned assassination could have. The emperor was terrified. He had ordered the doubling of the number of guards positioned at every gate in Curtell city, and had taken even more drastic precautions with the palace walls and barbicans. It seemed the emperor’s Qirsi were frightened as well, or at least curious.