David Coe: Weavers of War

“My lord?”

He came and sat beside her, a kindly look on his face. “What were you doing in the prison tower just now?” he asked, his voice so gentle it made her chest ache.

She tried to answer, to say anything at all, but instead she began to cry.

“There are only two men in the tower right now,” he said. “Numar and the archminister. And I doubt that you have much to say to the regent. That leaves Pronjed.”

When she didn’t answer, he took a long breath.

“After all we’ve been through these past few turns, I’ll never again question your loyalty. I think you know that.”

Evanthya nodded, tears coursing down her face.

“Still, I need to know what you and he discussed. As much as I trust you, I fear the archminister. You’ve told me yourself how dangerous he is. If my castle is in peril-”

“It’s not, my lord.”

In the next moment she thought of the last words Pronjed had spoken to her and the danger his escape might pose to Tebeo’s guards, and she regretted offering even this meager assurance.

“You’re certain of this?”

She lowered her gaze again. “Not for certain, no.”

“You must tell me, Evanthya. You know you must.”

A thousand denials leaped to mind, all of them lies. How different would she be from Fetnalla if she resorted to any of them?

“He means to escape, my lord.”

“Escape? How?”

“He has mind-bending magic, mists and winds, and shaping power. It should be a fairly simple matter.”

“Then why hasn’t he done so already?”

“Because several days ago I informed him of my intention to follow him, and he fears a trap.”

The duke expressed no surprise. His expression didn’t even change, save for a momentary closing of the eyes.

“In other words, you meant to let him go, though surely his escape would strengthen the conspiracy.”

“He can lead me to her, my lord.”

“That hardly justifies it.”

“We’d merely be exchanging one traitor for another. Pronjed might join them, but Fetnalla won’t.”

His eyebrows went up. “You believe you can turn her from the renegades?”

“I have to try. If that doesn’t work, I’ll find some other way to keep her from joining them. In any case, she won’t be fighting alongside her Weaver.”

Tebeo frowned. “I hate to have to say this, Evanthya, but Fetnalla is dangerous, too. She used magic to kill Brall, and as you’ve often told me, yours are not the powers of a warrior. You’re still thinking of her as your love, but she’s your enemy now. You may not be strong enough to defeat her.”

“I’m not without advantages of my own, my lord,” Evanthya said. “She may be formidable, but so am I, in my own way.” The minister was surprised at herself. Pride had always been Fetnalla’s failing.

Tebeo smiled, as might an indulgent parent. “You needn’t try to convince me of your worth, First Minister. I saw you fight for this castle. I stood and did battle with my back to yours, and never did I fear that a killing blow would come from behind.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I fear losing you, not only because I value your counsel, but also because I count you as a friend.”

“Then think for a moment as my friend, rather than as my duke. Do you honestly believe that I can simply remain here while Fetnalla fights beside the Weaver? After what she’s done, how can I not go after her?”

He shook his head. “This wasn’t your fault, Evanthya. You couldn’t have known-”

“But I should have! There’s no one in the world who knows her as I do. She was acting so strangely the last time we were together.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “It should have been obvious.”

“You ask too much of yourself.”

“The person I love most in this world has revealed herself as a traitor and murderer. How can I not blame myself?”

The duke winced, seeming to cast about for something to say.

“You want to tell me that you can’t answer, that the duchess would never do anything of the sort. And of course you’re right. But until just a short time ago, I had no reason to think otherwise about Fetnalla.”

The duke stood and walked back to his open window. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like,” he said, gazing out at the castle ward. He said nothing for a long time, until Evanthya began to wonder if he was waiting for her to say more. At last, however, he faced her again. “If it were simply a matter of giving you leave to go, I’d do so in an instant, despite my fears for your safety. But you’re asking me to allow Pronjed to escape, and that I can’t do. We suspect him of the foulest crimes against the realm, and I fear he remains a threat to all of us.”

“I can’t find her alone, my lord.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s going to escape whether I follow him or not! It’s simply a matter of how much damage he does to your castle and how many men he manages to maim and kill in the process!”

“Don’t you believe I can stop him?”

“Not if he’s determined to win his freedom, no.”

Tebeo let out a short harsh laugh. “Evanthya, I command an entire army. He may be powerful, but he’s only one man.”

“Then why is it so important that you keep him here?”

The duke hesitated, then smiled wryly and shook his head. “You’re playing games with me, now.”

“I assure you, my lord, this is no game. He can lead me to Fetnalla, and she, in turn, can lead me to the conspiracy. There’s far more to be gained by letting him go. If I can find Fetnalla, if I can turn her from this dark path she’s on, perhaps she and I together can strike a blow against the renegades. Wouldn’t that be worth something?”

“It would, were it possible. But I don’t believe it is. I’m sorry, Evanthya, but I believe that Fetnalla has gone too far to turn back. And as you’ve told me yourself, the archminister is a threat to us all. I can’t let him escape, and I’ll look upon any attempt on your part to help him do so … as a most serious offense.”

He had been going to say, “as an act of treason.” She was certain of it. It was a measure of how much he cared for her that he didn’t.

The duke crossed to his door, pulled it open, and beckoned to one of the guards. “Have the master of arms sent to me immediately,” he said.

“What are you going to do, my lord?” Evanthya asked, as Tebeo closed the door again.

“I’m going to double the guard in the corridor outside his chamber, and place extra guards in every corridor that offers access to the prison tower.”

The minister shook her head. “All you’re doing is placing more men in danger, my lord. A shaper can shatter bone with a thought. A Qirsi with delusion magic can make a man do nearly anything-it’s quite possible that Pronjed made the king kill himself.”

“So what can I do?”

“That’s my point. I’m not certain you can do anything without putting more lives at risk. This is one instance in which your army can’t help you. If he was in a courtyard surrounded by one hundred archers, you might be able to stop him, though his power of mists and winds would make it difficult. But he’s in a prison tower, where the corridors are narrow, and only a few men can stand against him at any given time.”

“Surely four men outside his door will make his escape more difficult than would two.”

“A bit. But in the end you’d merely have to build four pyres rather than two.”

Tebeo rubbed a hand over his face, looking forlorn. “How does one fight such an enemy?”

No doubt this was a question Eandi lords were asking themselves throughout the Forelands.

“You fight them just as you would any cunning, powerful foe: by forging alliances, by using tactics that you’ve never thought to employ before, and by choosing your battles carefully.”