David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“You’ve much skill as a healer,” the master healer said, looking approvingly at Cresenne’s hand and face. “Is it your profession?”

Grinsa shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a weary hand. “No, though it seems I’ve done quite a bit of it in the past few turns.”

“Well, if you grow tired of whatever it is you do now, come and speak with me. I can always use men with such talent.”

“My thanks, sir.”

“A word please, gleaner.”

Grinsa opened his eyes once more. Kearney and Keziah had remained with him throughout the night, helping when they could and watching as he worked his magic. Now, however, the king fixed him with an icy glare.

“Your Majesty?”

“In my chambers.” He glanced at Keziah. “I’d like you there as well, Archminister.”

Keziah and Grinsa shared a quick glance. Keziah, with Grinsa’s approval, gave Bryntelle to one of the older serving woman, who grinned at the babe and began to coo at her. Then the two Qirsi followed the king from Cresenne’s quarters, through the dark corridors, and finally into his presence chamber.

“What happened to her?” the king demanded, as Keziah closed the door. “She was attacked in my castle. I want to know who is responsible.”

“She was attacked,” Grinsa said slowly, “but not as you think.”

“Damn you, gleaner! I don’t want riddles! Answer me: who did this?”

“When Cresenne confessed her crimes against the land, she spoke to you of a Weaver who leads the Qirsi conspiracy.”

Kearney’s eyes widened. “He did this? He’s here?”

“No, he’s not here. But he is the one who hurt Cresenne.”

“How is that possible?”

Grinsa took a breath. He knew where this conversation would lead, but there seemed nothing he could do about that now. The king had been more than merciful in his dealings with Cresenne, as well as with Tavis and Grinsa. He deserved honest answers.

“Do you know what a Weaver does, Your Majesty?”

“A Weaver has the ability to bind together the powers of many Qirsi, to wield their magic as a single weapon.”

Grinsa nodded. It was more than most Eandi understood. “Yes. And in order to do that, a Weaver must have the ability to read the thoughts of others, to. . enter their minds and communicate with them without speaking. We Qirsi wield and control our magic with thought, and so a Weaver must have access to the thoughts of those whose power he seeks to weave. With training, a Weaver can even enter the thoughts of others from a great distance. This is most readily accomplished when the Qirsi is sleeping.”

“He enters their dreams.”

“Precisely.”

It took Kearney a moment. “You mean to say the Weaver has been communicating with her all this time?”

“Not necessarily. But he has had the ability to do so.”

The king shook his head. “Demons and fire!” he muttered. “How does one fight such an enemy?” He stared at Grinsa again. “Entering her dreams is one thing. But that doesn’t explain her injuries.”

“I assure you, Your Majesty, it does. To be honest, I don’t know how he did this. Since he’s probably communicating with Cresenne from a great distance, I would have thought that he could only attack her with those powers she possesses, bending her mind so that she would wield her magic against herself. But Cresenne has only gleaning, fire, and healing magic. She would have needed shaping power to do such things to herself.”

“Maybe not,” Keziah said. “Healing might do it.”

Grinsa narrowed his eyes. “Healing?”

“A healer has the power to shape flesh and bone, to make the body mend itself. Perhaps the Weaver found a way to corrupt that power, to make it wound rather than heal.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

His sister smiled. “Of course not. That’s not how your mind works.”

“You seem to know a good deal about Weavers, gleaner,” the king said, drawing their gazes again. “Why is that?”

Keziah cast a quick look at Grinsa. “Your Majesty-”

Kearney raised a single finger, silencing her. “I watched you in the prison tower. You spoke to Cresenne once or twice before she awoke, but mostly you sat silently, holding her. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it occurs to me that you could have been communicating with her all that time, sharing her thoughts.” He had been pacing the floor of his chamber and now he stopped in front of Grinsa. “I also noticed that you put her to sleep with a word, or rather, with a thought.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“So I’ll ask you again. How is it that you know so much about Weavers?”

He could count on one hand the number of people who knew the extent of his powers. Keziah; Tavis; Fotir jal Salene, Curgh’s first minister, who helped Grinsa free Tavis from the dungeon of Kentigern Castle; and now Cresenne, as well. Shurik jal Marcine had known, but Grinsa had seen to it that the traitorous minister died in Mertesse, though at great cost to Tavis. Others had known once-his wife, and the Qirsi master who trained him in the use of his magic-but they, too, were dead now. His parents never knew. He had gone to great lengths to guard his secret, to avoid endangering his own life and Keziah’s. And now he found that he had little choice but to reveal the truth to Eibithar’s king, the one man in all the realm who had the authority to put him to death, as all known Weavers in the Forelands had been put to death over the past nine hundred years.

“It’s just as you suspect, Your Majesty,” he said, his eyes meeting those of the king. “I know of Weavers because I am one myself.”

“Oh, Grinsa,” Keziah said, her voice breaking.

Kearney glared at her. “I take it you’ve known all along.”

“She has, Your Majesty. Keziah is my sister.”

He blinked, looked at the minister. “Your sister?”

“She said nothing to you about my powers because I asked her not to, and because under Eandi law, not only are all Weavers to be put to death but their families as well.”

Kearney’s eyes never strayed from Keziah’s face. “Damn,” he whispered.

“You have a choice to make, Your Majesty. If you follow Eandi law, you must have me executed along with your archminister, Cresenne, and our child. If you listen to your heart, however, I think you’ll realize how cruel and arbitrary your laws are on this matter.”

“My heart has nothing to do with it. You’ve just told me of a man who can walk in the dreams of others, who can reach out across the land and use healing power to tear gashes in a woman’s face, who can turn an army of Qirsi into a weapon so powerful I can scarcely comprehend it.” He shook his head and stepped behind his writing table, as if eager to place something substantial between the gleaner and himself. “If you wish to convince me that Weavers are not to be feared, you’ve failed. If anything, I have more sympathy now for the practices begun by our forebears.”

“You can’t mean that,” Keziah said, looking appalled.

“I do.”

“Grinsa is nothing like the Weaver who did this to Cresenne. The Weaver is driven by spite and envy and hatred. He despises the Eandi with a passion that borders on frenzy. Grinsa could never be like that.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “How is it that you know so much about this other Weaver?”

Grinsa wondered if his sister would tell Kearney of her efforts to learn about the conspiracy, about her dreams of the Weaver. This, it seemed, was a day for revealing hard truths, and though she had not borne her secret for as long as Grinsa had borne his, hers was no less burdensome. She appeared to consider this, but only for an instant. Then her expression hardened, and she stared back at her king.