David Coe - Weavers of War

He smiled at Nitara and gestured for her to sit. “Thank you, Minister.”

How many times had he envisioned the scene unfolding before him? For how long had he been composing what he was about to say? It seemed to Dusaan that his entire life had been leading to this very moment.

“Have you any further word from Pinthrel, High Chancellor?”

The Weaver glared at Stavel, causing the old man to shrink back into his chair.

“All of you have heard rumors of the Qirsi movement, the so-called conspiracy that threatens the Eandi courts, that strikes fear into the hearts of nobles throughout the Forelands, that unmans Braedon’s emperor. For many turns now, we’ve denounced this movement, just as the emperor would expect. We’ve done so to keep ourselves from being branded as traitors, we’ve done so because as servants of an Eandi lord we could do no less.”

“High Chancellor,” Stavel said meekly, “what does this have to do with the pestilence and Pinth-?”

Dusaan pounded his fist on the writing table. “Will you be silent?” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself, trying to remember exactly where he’d been in his oration. “As I say, we’ve denounced this so-called conspiracy because that’s what was expected of us. But how many of us have wished for the freedom promised by this movement? How many of us have dreamed of a day when Qirsi ruled in the great cities of the Forelands? I know that I have.”

“What are you saying?”

It wasn’t Stavel this time, but rather one of the young ministers. He looked nearly as frightened as Stavel. Indeed, with the exception of Nitara and Gorlan, all of them appeared scared, like children caught in a sudden storm.

“I’m saying just what you think I am. I believe the time has come to put an end to Eandi rule in the Forelands. Our people have served inferior men for too long. We possess great powers. Qirsar has given us the gift of his magic. He has allowed us to glimpse the future, to heal flesh and shape matter, to turn the elements to our will. And yet we are expected to humble ourselves before Eandi nobles who possess neither our powers nor our wisdom. Why should this be?”

“Because they defeated us.” Stavel again, bolder this time. He was trembling-Dusaan could see his hands shaking-but he held his chin high, defiant and proud. The Weaver hadn’t known that he possessed such nerve. “We fought this war nine centuries ago, High Chancellor, and we were beaten back. The Eandi rule the Forelands because we weren’t strong enough to take it from them. We failed then, and this conspiracy will fail now.”

Not long ago, he would have responded to such words with rage. But he was too close now to care what this one man said, weak and inconsequential as he was. He merely shook his head, grinning fiercely. “No, Stavel, you’re wrong. We failed then because we defeated ourselves, through the treachery of a single man.” Even now, on the verge of undoing all that this traitor had wrought, Dusaan found it difficult to speak his name. “Carthach ruined us, he doomed our people to nine centuries of servitude and humiliation. But all that is about to end.”

“You can’t really think to defeat them. Their armies-”

“Their armies are already destroying one another. By the time we strike at them they will have so weakened themselves that our victory will be assured.”

“How long have you been with the conspiracy, High Chancellor?” Rov asked, her tone betraying little.

“I prefer to call it a movement, Minister. And I’ve been with it from the beginning. The movement is me, and I am the movement.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple. I lead the movement.”

The woman blinked, wide-eyed.

“I don’t believe you.” Stavel, of course.

“Don’t you, Chancellor? Look into your heart. You know that it’s true.” He smiled again. “But there’s more.” He looked around the chamber. “Who here knows what powers I possess?”

No one spoke.

With only the merest effort, he called forth a wind, allowing it to sweep through the chamber, then die away. He held forth his hand and conjured a flame. Then he held his other hand over the fire, wincing at the pain. Several of the Qirsi gasped, including Nitara. He let the fire go out and held up his burned hand so that all could see the wound. And then he healed it. He picked up a wine goblet from his writing table, balanced it in his palm, and shattered it with a thought.

“Mists and winds,” he said. “Fire, healing, shaping. Let me assure you that I have gleaning, language of beasts, and delusion as well.”

Stavel looked like he might be ill. “You’re a Weaver,” he whispered.

“Yes. Drawing on my own powers and melding them with the magic of those in this chamber, I could tear this palace to the ground, killing every Eandi within it. With the force that I have assembled throughout the Forelands, I can overcome the combined might of the seven realms.”

Gorlan stood and faced the others. “What he’s telling you is true. I’ve felt his power. It’s greater than I ever thought possible.”

“You’re involved in this, too?”

“We’re part of a great movement,” Dusaan said, ignoring Stavel. “We’re on the verge of changing the course of history. I would gladly welcome all of you to our cause, if you so choose. But you must decide now. You have spent your lives in the service of Eandi lords, men who did not deserve your devotion. Now I offer you the opportunity to join me in building a Qirsi empire. You need only swear your fealty to the movement.”

“And if we refuse?” asked one of the chancellors.

“I have revealed to you that I’m a Weaver, and I’ve declared myself at war with the Eandi courts, including that of the emperor. If you refuse, you declare yourself his ally. You’ll have until nightfall to leave the palace without fear of reprisal. After that, if you remain and you still refuse to pledge yourself to our cause, I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”

“Do you honestly believe that you can win our allegiance with threats?”

Again, the Weaver ignored the question, eyeing the others. Nitara had been right: all of the ministers were with him, and at least one of the older Qirsi.

“All of you who intend to join me, please stand.”

All six ministers and two of the chancellors stood, leaving only Stavel and two others sitting.

“You’re mad!” Stavel said. “All of you.” He pushed himself out of his chair and started for the door.

“Hold, Stavel.”

The old chancellor halted, his back to Dusaan. After a moment, he turned. His face was deathly pale, and there could be no mistaking the terror in his eyes. Yet, once more, he surprised the high chancellor with his bravery. “What are you going to do to me?”

“That depends. Where are you going?”

“To the emperor, of course. I must tell him of this.”

Brave indeed. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

“So it’s to be murder then.”

“I’d rather it not be.” Dusaan wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he actually meant what he said. Just the day before he wouldn’t have thought twice about killing this man. But Stavel had earned his respect this day. Dusaan was forced to admit that there was more to the man than he had ever imagined. “I know that we’ve had our differences over the years. I know that you were jealous of me when I first came to Curtell. I’ll even grant that you had reason to be. I was new to the palace, and I was very young to be made high chancellor. It couldn’t have been easy for you, being passed over when you had waited so long. But I’d be willing to put all of that aside if you’ll pledge your fealty to me now.”