David Coe - Weavers of War

They waited a long time, and still the narrow windows remained dark. Dusaan began to fear that something might have gone wrong. Perhaps Nitara and the others had encountered more guards than they could handle. Perhaps Harel had managed somehow to win his freedom. Still they waited, and still they saw no sign of Nitara and her company.

“Weaver,” Gorlan began.

Dusaan shook his head. “Not yet. Give her a few moments more.”

The minister nodded and fell silent.

They had to wait a bit longer, but at last their patience was rewarded. A bright flame appeared in the highest window of the prison tower, and a moment later windows in the other chambers began to glow softly as well.

At the same time, however, shouts went up from the guard house in the upper courtyard. Soldiers began gathering in a tight knot near the building, many of them bearing torches.

“Let’s go,” Dusaan said. He and his three companions left the tower and strode to where the men stood.

“Where’s your captain?” Dusaan demanded as they drew near the soldiers.

A man stepped forward, his sword drawn. “I’m the day captain, High Chancellor.” He raised his weapon. “I’d suggest you stop right there.”

“Gorlan?”

The minister grinned. An instant later there was a sound like the chiming of a bell and the soldier’s blade splintered like glass.

Other men came forward, weapons readied.

“Call them back, Captain, or the same magic that shattered your blade will break their necks.”

“Stand your ground, men.”

The soldiers halted, though they kept their swords up.

“What is this, High Chancellor?”

Dusaan held up the parchment. “The emperor has surrendered this palace and this realm to me. From now on, I am your sovereign.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look for yourself.” He handed the parchment to the captain and waited while he read it.

“You made him sign this. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Such documents are often coerced. That doesn’t make it any less valid.” He held out his hand for the parchment, ready to use mind-bending power if the man refused to return it to him. But the captain handed it back without a fight.

“It means nothing to me, or to my men. You’ll have to defeat the emperor’s army to take Braedon.”

“I’m prepared to do just that. I assure you, Captain, my powers, and those of my friends here, are more than enough to destroy your army. And if you’re not convinced, I suggest that you look up at the prison tower.”

The captain turned toward the tower, as did Dusaan. Clearly Nitara had anticipated this, for Harel was already standing there, peering out through the narrow window.

“Demons and fire,” the captain muttered.

“I’ll kill him if I have to, though I’d rather not.”

“What do you want us to do?” he asked, still gazing up at the emperor.

“Surrender your weapons and leave the palace. If you and your men do that, all of you will be spared. The emperor, too. If you choose to fight, you’ll die.”

“There’s only four of ’em, Captain,” said one of the men. “How much can four Qirsi do?”

“I need to talk to my men,” the captain said.

Dusaan nodded. “Of course.”

The captain led his men a short distance off, and began talking to them in low tones.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Rov asked.

“They’ll attack. Rov, Gorlan, we’ll strike first with shaping power. Just reach for your magic and let me do the rest. After that we’ll try fire. Rov, you’ll be doing both, so you’re likely to tire first. Give me what you can, and I’ll draw the rest from B’Serre.”

“Yes, Weaver.”

Dusaan saw two men slip away from the captain’s group and run back toward the guard house. There would be more men coming.

“Be watchful,” he said. “They’ll try to flank us.”

“Are you certain that we can do this?” Gorlan asked.

“You’ve never fought beside a Weaver before. Savor this moment. We’re about to win the first battle in a glorious war.”

The assault began abruptly. The captain shouted something-Dusaan couldn’t make out the words-and perhaps two hundred men charged toward them, battle cries echoing off the palace walls, swords and battle hammers glittering in the sun.

Dusaan reached for his magic and then for that of Gorlan and Rov. Both were young and powerful, just the sort of warriors who would help him to destroy all the armies of the Eandi courts. He didn’t bother to aim the blow; he didn’t care whether he cleaved steel or bone. He merely struck at the soldiers, his power slicing through the cluster of Eandi like an invisible scythe. Steel shattered in sweet ringing tones, bones fractured in rapid succession so that the sound resembled the snapping of a great fire. Men screamed in pain, dropping to the ground, writhing pathetically.

A second wave of attackers, at least a hundred strong, rushed from the towers to their left and right.

“B’Serre! Rov!” Dusaan called, his voice carrying over the war cries.

Again they offered their power to him, willingly, even eagerly. No doubt they had never felt so strong, had never realized that they could be such fearsome warriors. Rov, who had already given her shaping power, showed no sign of weariness. She would serve the movement well.

The fire Dusaan conjured radiated out in all directions, a glowing yellow ring of power, rampant, indiscriminate, deadly. It hit the soldiers like an ocean wave, knocking them backward, hammering some of them to the ground. And every man it touched was consumed by the flames-clothing, skin, hair. The shrieks of Eandi warriors filled the courtyard; the stench of their charred flesh made the Weaver’s eyes water.

There would be archers on the ramparts soon. Dusaan was certain of it. And they would be harder to kill.

“Hear me!” he called over the death cries and the groans of the wounded. “I can kill all of you if I have to. And your emperor, too. Or you can surrender to me as he has and spare yourselves. This is your last chance to live. Lay down your weapons before me and you may leave the palace today as free men. Continue to resist, and you’ll die as these men have.”

For a long time nothing happened. Dusaan eyed the ramparts watching for the archers. He could shatter the arrows if he had to, but that demanded a more precise use of shaping power, and he wasn’t certain how much more his companions could give him.

After several moments, however, soldiers began to emerge from the towers and guard house. They held their weapons low, swords pointing toward the ground, bows hanging from their hands. And one by one, they laid the weapons at Dusaan’s feet, eyeing him with unconcealed hatred, but with fear as well. Swords, hammers, bows and arrows, daggers, and pikes lay in a pile before him. And a column of men filed toward the palace gate and the freedom he had promised them.

The first battle was his, and with it the Imperial Palace.

He looked up at the tower. Harel was no longer by the window, but Nitara was there, gazing down at him. He could imagine her expression, the look of adoration in her eyes. Just this once, he didn’t mind.

The Moorlands, Eibithar

The skirmish had begun without warning, just like the others. One moment all had been quiet; the next the silence was riven by war cries and the clash of steel on steel, the rhythmic shouts of army commanders and the whistle of arrows soaring high into the hazy sky before beginning their deadly descent. Once again, the encounter was initiated by the Braedon army, which seemed capable of striking at any given moment, anywhere on the battle plain.