David Coe - Weavers of War

The master of arms staggered back, clutching his arm to his belly and gritting his teeth against the pain.

“You’re a fool, Uriad. You could have escaped with a quick, painless death.”

The man glared at him. Then he opened his mouth, taking a breath as if he intended to shout for help. Dusaan never gave him the chance. He lashed out with his foot, catching Uriad full in the face. The master of arms sprawled backward onto the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. And as he lay there, Dusaan reached once more for his shaping power, applying pressure slowly to the man’s head. Uriad clawed at his temple with his good hand, a moan escaping him. Still pushing with his magic, Dusaan stepped forward and put his foot on the armsmaster’s throat to keep him from screaming. Uriad’s mouth was stretched open in a silent wail, his eyes were squeezed shut, his fist was closed tight around a handful of hair. After a time Uriad began to flail with his feet.

“Stop it!” the emperor cried. “Let him go.”

Dusaan eyed him briefly. “No. But I will end his pain.” With a final push, he crushed the man’s skull. Uriad’s struggles ceased abruptly, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his ear and staining the floor.

The Weaver removed his foot from Uriad’s neck and strode toward the emperor. “Now it’s your turn, Your Eminence.”

Harel dropped to his knees, tears streaking his face. “No, please! I beg you!”

Dusaan grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of killing you?”

“Why? Haven’t I always treated you well? Haven’t I paid you more than any noble in the Forelands pays his Qirsi?”

The Weaver slapped him, leaving a bright imprint of his hand on Harel’s corpulent face. “You don’t understand, do you? I don’t aspire to being the wealthiest minister in the land, nor am I willing to have myself hooded, like some sort of common brigand, so that I can continue to earn your gold. I intend to rule the Forelands myself.”

“You what?”

“Before the snows return to Braedon, every Eandi noble in the land will bow before me, or they’ll suffer the same fate as poor Uriad.”

“You can’t be serious!”

He slapped Harel a second time. “Do you think I jest?”

“What is it you want from me?”

“Your empire, Harel. Isn’t that clear? You’ve given me everything else I could want. A position of authority from which to make my preparations, gold for my movement, an invasion that is destined to weaken the fleets and armies of Braedon, Eibithar, Aneira, Wethyrn, and Sanbira. You’ve been most helpful, Your Eminence, but I’m afraid you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

“No, I haven’t! I can give you more! I can keep my soldiers from harming you.”

Dusaan laughed, and Harel’s face fell. “Do you have any idea what a Weaver does, Harel? I can bind together the power of other Qirsi. I’m but one man, and I’ve killed seven of your warriors. Think what I can do with the other ministers and chancellors by my side. I have nothing to fear from your army.”

“The others?”

“Yes. They’ve all joined with me. Well, not all. Stavel and Bardyn have fled the palace, but the rest have pledged themselves to my cause. I suppose that’s one more thing you’ve given me, Your Eminence. Before you began to treat all of us like we were traitors, a good number of them might have refused to join me. In essence, you’ve made my movement stronger.”

“I’ll abdicate to you! I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign! I’ll tell my men to fight on your behalf! You’d command an army of both Eandi and Qirsi!”

He had been ready to kill the emperor. Indeed, he had been eager for Harel’s blood. But for the second time that day he was forced to wonder if he might be better served by showing mercy. He doubted that the emperor’s men would willingly fight on behalf of the Qirsi movement. On the other hand, he was certain that they would lay down their arms if they thought that it would save the emperor’s life. Wouldn’t it be better to win the surrender of the emperor’s men peacefully, than to risk a battle that might cost the lives of his new adherents?

“All right, Harel. I accept your offer. I’ll spare your life, and in return you’ll surrender the empire to me. If you renege on this arrangement, or if you try to turn even one of your men against me, you’ll suffer a fate far worse than that of your master of arms. Do I make myself clear?”

The emperor nodded, dread filling his small green eyes.

Dusaan smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” He crossed to the emperor’s writing table and quickly drafted a statement of surrender. “Come here, Harel,” he said when he had finished. “I want you to sign and seal this.”

The emperor joined him at the table and read the statement, tight-lipped and pale. His hand trembled as he penned his name, dripped a small puddle of red wax below, and pressed his seal into it.

Dusaan started toward the door. “Now follow me.”

“Why? You said you’d spare me! You gave me your word!”

“Calm yourself, Harel. I’m not going to kill you. But I am going to place you in the prison tower.”

“No! I want to stay here!”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. You’re not a brave man, but you just might be fool enough to try to escape through those glazed windows of which you’re so proud.”

“I swear, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you. Now come along.”

Harel crossed his arms over his chest, managing to look Dusaan in the eye. “No.”

He didn’t have time for this. With a quick thought, he snapped the bone in Harel’s little finger. The emperor cried out, cradling his maimed hand with his whole one.

“Defy me again and the next thing I break will be your arm.”

Harel nodded, and when Dusaan opened the door and entered the corridor, the emperor followed closely.

They went first to Dusaan’s chamber, where the other Qirsi were waiting for him. They passed two guards, but at Dusaan’s instruction, the emperor said nothing to them. When they entered the chamber the other Qirsi stood, looking first at Harel and then at the Weaver, as if uncertain of what they should do.

“The emperor has surrendered Braedon to me.” He held up the rolled parchment. “I have his written word right here.” He paused, regarding the others. He could sense what powers they possessed simply by looking at them. He would need to face the soldiers next, and so he sought out those with shaping and fire magic. “I’ll take B’Serre, Gorlan, and Rov with me. Nitara, I want you and the rest to gather the emperor’s wives and servants and take them, along with Harel here, and put them in separate chambers in the prison tower. If they give you any trouble at all, kill them.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

“I want the emperor in the highest chamber. When he’s there, place a flame in the window that faces into the courtyard. That will be our signal to begin. At some point I’ll also want you to put Harel in front of the window so his men can see him. Can you do all that?”

She nodded and smiled, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Good. Now go.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

Harel stared back at him as he was led away, but he said nothing. Dusaan worried that they might encounter guards along the way, but there were several in Nitara’s group who had fire magic, and one other who was a shaper. They would be able to meet any challenge that presented itself.

“The three of you come with me,” he said, returning to the corridor and going in the direction opposite that taken by the others. They walked to the nearest of the tower stairways and descended to the courtyard, remaining in the archway. There they could conceal themselves, while watching the windows of the prison tower.