David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“But would the king lie about such a thing, knowing how easy it would be for one of us to challenge his word?”

Ewan shrugged. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so easy. He might have convinced a Qirsi loyal to his house to play the part of traitor.”

Renald sat forward. “Of course!” he whispered. It had never occurred to him to consider this. He felt certain that it had never occurred to Elspeth either. He actually thought it unlikely that Kearney could be so devious, but that was beside the point. Here was the excuse he needed to continue supporting Aindreas.

“Do you think that’s what he’s done?” Ewan asked.

“Tell me, swordmaster, how many men would we need to pose a threat to the king?”

“Far more than we have, my lord.”

“Even with the minor houses that support us? Even with Kentigern?”

“Kentigern is still recovering from the siege, and the armies of four minor houses don’t add up to much. Kearney has Glyndwr and Curgh, Tremain and Heneagh, as well as the royal army. Even if Thorald joined us it wouldn’t be enough.”

“I’m not asking you what we need to defeat the king. Only what we might need to convince him that a civil war would be too destructive to consider.”

“To what end, my lord?”

Renald briefly considered telling the swordmaster of his hope that Kearney might abdicate. In the end, however, he decided against it. In the light of day, the notion struck him as too farfetched to repeat. At least for now.

“I fear that the king might attempt to crush Kentigern’s rebellion before Aindreas can strike at him. Until we know for certain that Kearney is telling the truth about this Qirsi, I want to do all we can to prevent that.”

Ewan’s mouth twisted so that he looked, despite his beard and brawn, like a boy grappling with a question from his tutors. “I’m not even certain we’re strong enough to do that much. If the king is determined to destroy the threat now, there’s little we can do to stop him.”

“But he couldn’t do this without some cost,” the duke said, desperate now for any encouraging response.

“Indeed, my lord. He’d pay dearly for the effort. We can’t defeat him, but we can inflict heavy losses.”

“And he must know this. Isn’t that correct?”

“He should know it, my lord. If he doesn’t, Gershon Trasker will tell him as much.”

Renald rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, throwing open the shutters and staring out at the grey skies hanging over Galdasten. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Thank you, swordmaster.”

“But, my lord, you must realize that whatever losses the king suffers will be nothing compared to our own.”

“I know that, Ewan. Rest assured, I have no intention of leading our men to a slaughter. I merely need time, and so long as Kearney knows that he can’t defeat us without a bloodletting, I have it.”

“Time for what, my lord?”

A fine question. One to which Renald had no answer. He needed for something to happen, though he couldn’t even give a name to what that might be. He’d know it when it came, and he guessed that he wouldn’t have to wait too long for whatever it was. Events in the Forelands had become as changeable and difficult to predict as the planting weather on the shores of Amon’s Ocean. One couldn’t guess the direction of the winds from one hour to the next. But there could be little doubt that a storm would be blowing in soon.

Pillad hadn’t been sitting at his table for more than a few moments when he saw Uestem enter the tavern. He groaned inwardly and lowered his gaze, hoping that the merchant wouldn’t notice him, knowing how foolish that was. The man was here because he had seen Pillad come in. The minister was certain of it. And as much as he dreaded speaking with him, he was surprised to find himself trembling with anticipation.

“First Minister, I’m surprised to see you here so early in the day.”

Pillad looked up from his ale, frowned at the man, and looked away. “I’d like to be alone, thank you.”

“Then why come to a tavern?” He lowered himself into the seat across from Pillad, resting his hands lightly on the table. “Why come to this tavern in particular? How many times have we met here now? Three? Four?”

“Three.” The minister kept glancing toward the door, fearing that someone from the castle might enter the tavern at any moment. He had no cause to worry, of course. Only Qirsi came to this inn, and few were likely to do so before the ringing of the midday bells. Indeed, they were the only two people in the tavern aside from the barkeep and a pair of serving women. Besides, Uestem was known throughout Galdasten and the surrounding countryside as a successful and wellrespected merchant. No one would have thought it strange that so wealthy a man might know the first minister. Few would have guessed that he was also a leader in the Qirsi conspiracy. But still Pillad watched the entrance. Anything to avoid looking this man in the eye.

“Three then. Nevertheless, you must have known I’d find you. I believe that’s why you came.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! I came here-”

“Yes, I know: to be alone.” He smiled. “Tell me, Minister, why is it that you’ve never had me imprisoned?”

“What?”

“You know I’m with the conspiracy-I’ve been trying to convince you to join us for more than a turn. Yet in all that time, even as you’ve refused, even as you’ve called me a traitor, you’ve never summoned the castle guard. Why?”

Pillad’s heart was beating so hard that it hurt. He knew the answer, just as Uestem did. There was so much about himself that he had kept hidden away, that he had been afraid to admit, even to himself. Yet speaking with this man, he felt that all of it was laid bare for the world to see.

“Never mind that for now,” the merchant said. “Tell me this: what drove you from the castle today?”

Pillad shook his head, eyes on the door again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. I think your duke drove you here.”

The minister met the man’s gaze. “If I didn’t know better, Uestem, I’d say that you had a spy in the duke’s castle.”

The merchant grinned. “Who’s to say I don’t?” He leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”

“You’re the one with the spies. You tell me.”

“All right,” he said. He appeared to consider the matter for several moments, his brow furrowing. “I’d imagine you went to your duke’s chambers as you do each morning, to speak with him of Kentigern and the king and whatever else concerns those of you living in the courts. The Eandi may not always know what to do with the authority they wield, but they do seem to enjoy talking about it. In any case, this morning something was different. Your duke seemed more distant than usual, more wary of you. And before you could even get comfortable in his spacious chambers, he asked you to leave. He didn’t tell you why, he certainly didn’t say that he had lost faith in you, but you knew. And so you came here.” He sat back again. “Is that about right?”

Perhaps he really did have a spy. “It’s close enough,” the minister conceded. He sipped his ale, lowering his gaze once more. He felt humiliated, though Uestem was merely watching him, a look of sympathy on his lean face.

“The same thing is happening all over the Forelands, Minister. The Eandi speak of the faithlessness of the Qirsi, but they’re the ones who reward years of loyal service with suspicion and contempt.”

“Perhaps. But they do so because of your movement. They’re frightened, and rightly so.”

The man smiled again. “That’s the first time in any of our conversations that you’ve referred to it as a movement rather than as a conspiracy.”