David Coe - Weavers of War

As soon as he spoke the words, Pillad feared that he had gone too far. But Renald merely sighed, running a hand through his fiery hair.

“You’re right, of course. But the duchess-”

The door opened.

“What about me?” She stood in the doorway, wearing a gown of red that nearly matched the duke’s hair, her dark eyes flitting from Renald to Ewan to Pillad, and then back to the duke. She stepped into the chamber and closed the door. “Well? What were you saying about me, Renald?”

The duke stood. Pillad could see his hands trembling, but the duke still held himself straight. “I was saying that you still wish to wait before sending the army south. And I was going to add that I think you’re mistaken, and that I intend to strike at the emperor’s men come morning.”

“I knew it,” she said, her voice heavy with contempt. She turned to glare at Pillad. “I knew that you’d turn him against me at the first opportunity.”

Ewan stood as well. “Actually, my lady, I was the one who began this discussion. The first minister came in later and only added to what I had been saying all along.”

“Then you’re all fools. And my husband is the biggest fool of all, for listening to you.”

“Oh, Elspeth, be quiet.”

Her cheeks colored as if he had slapped her, but after only a moment, she smiled. Clearly it was forced, a mask for her rage and humiliation, but it seemed as natural on her features as any smile Pillad had ever seen there. “Fine, Renald. If you wish to strengthen Glyndwr’s hold on the throne, and destroy any hope we might have had of ending the Rules of Ascension, so be it. I’ll not have any more to do with you.”

The duke gave a curt nod. “Very well. As you pass the guards on your way out, please tell them that we’re not to be disturbed. We have preparations to make.”

She glowered at them all, the muscles in her jaw clenched. Then she whirled away from them, flung the door open, and stormed from the chamber, saying nothing to the soldiers as she strode past them.

For several seconds, none of the men spoke. They didn’t even move. Pillad and Ewan were both watching the duke, wondering whether he would go after her. But at last, he merely stepped to the door, closed it quietly, and turned to face them. He still appeared to be shaking, but he looked pleased with himself, as if he had just come through a sword fight unscathed.

“We have a great deal to discuss,” he said. “I want Braedon’s men out of my city, but I don’t wish to spend too much time driving them off, and we can’t afford to lose many men. Suggestions?”

Ewan was grinning now-it almost seemed that he, too, had won a battle of sorts. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “I’ve given this a good deal of thought.”

Pillad had no doubt that this was so.

* * *

Renald knew that he would pay a price for what he had done this day. One did not spurn Elspeth, lady of Prindyr, duchess of Galdasten, as he had done, without inviting her wrath. For a time, she would refuse to speak to him at all, and after that she would take to insults, small barbs cast at him in front of his soldiers, his advisors, noble guests of the castle. The affections she had shown him in recent days were now forfeit. She would not share his bed again for some time, if ever. She might even seek to turn their sons against him, telling the boys that his cowardice and folly had cost them their chance to sit on the Oaken Throne. Elspeth had always been a proud woman, and today Renald had dealt her pride a blow. She would be slow to forgive; she would never forget.

The duke, however, didn’t care. He would not go so far as to blame his wife for the humiliation of Galdasten’s people or the damage to the realm done by his own timidity. She had urged this course of action, but he was duke, and he had made the decision not to oppose Braedon’s invasion. She had preyed on his ambition, as well as on his fear of her, and he had allowed her to have her way. Ashamed as he was of what he had become, Renald would accept responsibility for it, not only in his own mind, but also when it came time to face Kearney. The hour was late, but at last he was ready to comport himself as befitted a duke.

And it pleased him to do so. Merely sitting in his presence chamber, speaking with Ewan and Pillad of military tactics, he felt more like the leader of a great house than he had in many turns. Yes, he feared death. He would be as scared riding to this war as any boy newly enlisted in the Galdasten army. But there was some satisfaction to be found in that fear. Even the most frightened soldier marching to war was less a coward than the man who did nothing while his realm burned. Renald would endure Elspeth’s contempt, he would explain to his sons that ambition and duty to one’s realm were not always compatible, that honor should mean more to a man than should power. He didn’t want the crown-not this way. As to the rest, he thought with some chagrin, he would have to get used once more to bedding serving girls and ladies of the court.

It became clear from the very start of their discussion that the swordmaster had spent days thinking of how they might break Braedon’s hold on Galdasten City. Ewan believed that under cover of a fierce assault from Galdasten’s archers, several large raiding parties could leave the castle by way of the sally ports and strike at the Braedony soldiers who were camped outside its gates. Once they were defeated-and the swordmaster didn’t believe that would take long-Renald could send the full force of his army into the city to drive the invaders back to their ships.

Ewan actually believed that the duke’s reluctance to act before now would work to their advantage.

“They’ve grown lax, my lord. They don’t expect you to do anything.”

The irony wasn’t lost on any of them.

“No doubt generations from now, my descendants will celebrate the brilliance of our strategy.”

Pillad grinned. “No doubt, my lord.”

“Prepare your soldiers, swordmaster.”

“My lord, I would suggest that we wait until dawn. If we do it in the middle of the day, Braedon’s men will have little trouble spotting the soldiers leaving the castle by way of the sally ports.”

“What about dusk? The light will be more favorable then.”

“Aye, my lord, dusk might be better for the initial assault. But if we wait until dawn-”

“I don’t want to wait another night. We’ll strike at dusk. Ready your men, swordmaster.”

Ewan frowned, but stood. “Yes, my lord. I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

“Very good. Keep me informed of your progress.”

Ewan bowed and hurried from the chamber, leaving Renald alone with his first minister. Renald had convinced himself that Pillad served him loyally, seeing Elspeth’s suspicions of the man as another of her ploys. The minister advocated going to war, and so she accused him of treason hoping that this would keep Renald from heeding his counsel. Yet, though certain of this, he couldn’t help but feel discomfited being alone with the Qirsi. He tried to tell himself that it had always been this way, that the white-hairs were strange, their powers unfathomable. Who among the Eandi enjoyed being around them? But he knew that there was more to his uneasiness. Try as he might to put the doubts out of his mind, he could not help but wonder if the man had betrayed him.

“Perhaps I should leave you, my lord.”

Could he read Renald’s mind? Did Qirsi magic run that deep?

“As you wish, First Minister,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We have much to do in the next few hours.”

“Yes, my lord.” He pushed himself out of his chair.

“Do any of the other Qirsi in the castle have mists and winds?”

“I’m not sure, my lord. I would doubt it. It’s one of the deeper magics and not terribly common.”