Shapers of Darkness

Chapter Fifteen

Curtell, Braedon, Elined’s Moon waning

It had been more than half a turn since Kayiv’s death, since Nitara had killed him. In the days since, those who lived in the palace of Emperor Harel the Fourth had spoken of little else. Whispered conjecture about their love affair and Kayiv’s ties to the shadowy Qirsi conspiracy drifted among the corridors and bedchambers of the great palace like smoke from a distant fire. And just as the smell of a fire will linger long after the last flame is extinguished, the subtle scent of fear that accompanied these whispers clung to every bed linen, every tapestry, every shred of clothing until the palace reeked of it.

Yet in all this time, and in all these conversations, no one had attempted to cast any doubt on her story. He tried to force himself on me, she had said that day. He loved me still and couldn’t bear the thought that I no longer loved him. For how could I love any man who had betrayed the realm? Knife wounds on her shoulder and breast and hand, a bloodied lip, her clothes torn and stained with the minister’s blood, she had looked every bit the victim of frustrated passion and rage. None of them thought to question her. Certainly it never occurred to any of them that she would wound herself, that she would draw Kayiv to her with the promise of a kiss, only to drive a hidden dagger into his chest.

Yet she had done all of that and more. Such was the power of her love for the Weaver. And though she knew that they couldn’t be together yet, that Dusaan’s heart and brilliant mind were intent on his plans for the coming war, she knew as well that someday she would be his queen. He had all but said it in the days following the minister’s death. She had only to wait. She had killed for him, and she would be rewarded.

Were it not for her memory of Kayiv’s last words to her, murmured as his life’s blood flowed over her clothes and his breath against her face slackened, she would have been content merely to wait for their victory.

“I loved you so.”

She could hear the words in the keening of the winds that blew down from the Crying Hills, as they always did during the growing turns. She could hear them in the distant rumble of thunder from yet another storm and in the steady rhythm of the rain on the palace roof. They haunted her dreams and seemed to wake her in the morning, like the whispered greeting of a lover.

“I loved you so.”

Nitara still wasn’t certain why Kayiv had risked so much in the days before his death. Surely he must have known that Dusaan would punish him for his betrayal. She could only guess that perhaps he had thought to win back her love by destroying the high chancellor. If so, he had misjudged her and the depth of her feelings for the Weaver. Without having shared her bed, Dusaan already was more to her than Kayiv had ever been. He was her hope, her dream, her promise of a day when Qirsi would rule the Forelands. No matter what Kayiv might have been to her-no matter what he had desired to be to her again-he could never be all that.

And yet, this very morning she had awakened to the minister’s voice again, and without thinking had answered, “I love another now,” as if he were still alive, as if she could wound him with the words. “I love the high chancellor.”

She nearly laughed at her own foolishness, though her hands trembled as she dressed and her stomach felt too sour to eat any breakfast. Making her way to the high chancellor’s chamber for the daily discussion among all of Harel’s Qirsi advisors she walked swiftly, as if pursued by Kayiv’s wraith. Seeing the Weaver would make her feel better. It always did.

“I loved you so.”

She nearly ran the rest of the way, listening to the slap of her feet on the stone floor-anything to drown out the minister’s voice. Breathing a sigh of relief when she finally reached Dusaan’s ministerial chambers, she took her usual place near the high chancellor and waited for the discussion to begin. Yet, even after Dusaan started speaking, she thought she could hear Kayiv, his voice as soft as a planting breeze.

Nitara tried to occupy her mind with thoughts of Dusaan, of what it would be like to have him love her, to feel him inside her, aflame with desire, wild and rampant. But when she closed her eyes briefly, trying to hold in her thoughts the image of the Weaver above her, moving with her in a cresting rhythm, she found not Dusaan’s face, but Kayiv’s, the familiar gentle smile on his lips.

She opened her eyes abruptly, shaking herself, as a cat emerges from a dream. The high chancellor eyed her for just an instant, a frown on his lean, square face. She made herself watch him, drinking him in as she would a dazzling sunrise: his broad shoulders and powerful chest, his glorious mane of white hair, his high cheekbones and gleaming golden eyes. If the gods themselves had ordained that a Qirsi should rule the Forelands-and who was to say that they hadn’t? — they would have chosen a man who looked thus to be the first sorcerer king.

She realized that he was glowering at her, and too late she remembered him cautioning her against gazing at him too intently during these audiences.

“Anything you do to draw attention to your feelings for me,” he had said, shortly after Kayiv died, “endangers all of our lives, endangers the movement itself.”

Nitara looked away, forcing herself to train her mind on what was being said.

“You have no idea why he’s summoned you?” Stavel was asking, looking frail and fearful, like an old dog.

Dusaan shook his head. “None. But he hasn’t wanted to speak with me in quite some time, so I’ll take the mere fact of his summons as a sign that perhaps matters are improving.”

“Improving for whom?”

The high chancellor stared at Gorlan, his eyes narrowed. When Kayiv tried to turn the other ministers to his purposes, hoping that they would go together to the emperor and reveal Dusaan’s lies, Gorlan had been the most eager. It seemed the minister didn’t fear the high chancellor as much as the others did. In fact, in his own way Gorlan was impressive as well. Like Dusaan, he was tall and broad, particularly for a Qirsi. His eyes were the color of old parchment, and he wore his white hair short. Nitara didn’t know what powers the minister possessed, but she had no doubt that he wielded at least three, and that one or more of them were among the deeper magics. He looked like a man who had tasted power and desired more.

“Did you have something you wanted to add to our discussion, Minister?” Dusaan asked, after eyeing Gorlan for some time.

Though he stood out among the other Qirsi in Harel’s palace, it seemed that Gorlan knew better than to challenge the high chancellor directly. Nitara sensed that he would have liked to say a great many things. But confronted with Dusaan’s icy glare, his resolve withered like leaves late in the harvest. Though everyone knew that she had killed Kayiv and appeared to believe that she had done so defending herself from his advances, all knew as well that Kayiv had been plotting against the high chancellor just prior to his death. Fear of Dusaan had never been so great.

“I merely wonder if the emperor intends to take us into his confidence again, High Chancellor.” Gorlan lowered his gaze. “It may be that he has some other purpose in mind.”

“I suppose that’s possible. We’ll know soon enough.” Dusaan hesitated, glancing at Nitara again. “Still, Minister, you raise an interesting point. It seems that recent events have given the emperor cause to doubt our loyalty, though in truth I can’t see why one man’s attempted assault on a fellow minister should do so. I won’t lie to you: I find myself offended by the emperor’s lack of confidence. I’ve served in his court for nine years, and I feel that I’ve earned his trust.”

“But the conspiracy,” Stavel said. “Surely you understand his fear. Nitara told us that Kayiv tried to turn her. And he tried to convince me, as well as some of the others, that you were a traitor to the empire.”

Dusaan smiled as if in sympathy. “I understand that the emperor is afraid, that many of us are. But what does it say about him-indeed, about all the Eandi-that their faith in us should be so easily shaken?”

“Is that a question you intend to ask Harel?” Gorlan’s face colored, as if he hadn’t intended to give voice to the thought.

But the high chancellor just grinned. “An interesting suggestion, Minister. Perhaps I will. My point is this, however. Loyalty and treachery are always spoken of with regard to the Qirsi. We hear of Qirsi traitors, or of ministers who remain loyal to the courts. But isn’t it also incumbent upon the Eandi to keep their faith with us? Doesn’t our service to the emperor entitle us to something? I know that I would never betray any of you, nor do I believe any of you would knowingly betray me. We share that, perhaps because of the color of our eyes and hair, the fact that all of us know what it is to wield magic.”

“So you’re saying that the emperor owes fealty to us, just as we do to him?”

“In essence, yes.”

Gorlan raised an eyebrow. “An interesting notion, High Chancellor. Do you truly believe that the emperor would agree? Do you think he’d even approve?”

“I don’t think he would agree. As to whether he would approve, I can’t say that I care. I have little fear that he’ll ever know I feel this way.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, as the other ministers and chancellors glanced furtively at one another.

“Yes,” Dusaan said. “There’s another measure of loyalty as well, isn’t there? How do we keep faith with each other? Would the emperor approve of all that’s said here? Of course not. But I believe that in times like these, we must be able to speak among ourselves with absolute candor, without worrying that one of us might run to the emperor like a tattling child to a parent. I would never reveal any of what you say to me in these discussions without your permission, and I expect the same courtesy.”

The words were velvet, but none of them could miss the steel lurking beneath. Yet the high chancellor wasn’t done.

“I don’t know how far the emperor’s distrust will take him. It may be that he hopes to begin our reconciliation today, or he may wish to inform me of his decision to banish all of us from his palace. I honestly don’t know. But you have my word that no matter his intentions, I won’t break faith with you. If we’re to leave Curtell, we’ll do so as one, and if we remain, we will all be stronger for having endured this ordeal together.”

“Do you really think it will come to that?” Stavel asked.

“I don’t know, Chancellor. I hope that it doesn’t, but I won’t try to mislead you with false assurances.”

The old Qirsi nodded, clearly unsettled by the entire conversation.

“And now if you’ll all excuse me, I’d like some time to prepare for my audience with the emperor. We’ll speak again, tomorrow.”

The other Qirsi rose from their seats and began to make their way toward the door, Stavel and many of the older chancellors looking as if they would have liked to ask more questions of Dusaan.

“Minister,” the high chancellor called to Gorlan. “I’d like you to remain here for a moment.” Then he turned to Nitara. “You as well, Minister.”

“Of course, High Chancellor.”

Once the rest had gone, Dusaan indicated the two chairs nearest his own with an open hand.

“Please sit.”

“I’m sorry if I angered you, High Chancellor,” Gorlan said, as if finally realizing just who it was he had thought to challenge a few moments before.

“Think nothing of it, Minister. I didn’t ask you to remain in order to wring an apology from you.”

“Then why?”

“Tell me what you think of the emperor.”

Gorlan’s brow creased with puzzlement. After a moment he shrugged. “I think him a fine leader. I’m honored to serve in his court, just as all of us are.”

Dusaan gave a small grin. “I see. And you, Nitara?” he asked, facing her.

She sensed what he wanted, and so answered accordingly. “I think him a fat fool who knows as little about statecraft as he does about the Qirsi. I serve him because he is, by dint of his birth, the most powerful and wealthy of Braedon’s Eandi. But I have little respect for him or his court.”

Gorlan just stared at her, as if unsure that he had heard her correctly.

“Our young friend here knows that she can speak her mind, that I betray no trust.”

“So you want to hear the same from me,” Gorlan said.

“I want to hear the truth from you.”

“All right. I find the emperor a difficult man to serve. His limitations are apparent enough to those who know him, and in the past turn he’s compounded these by treating his Qirsi with contempt.”

“Yet you were appalled when Kayiv told you that I had lied to the emperor about our counsel regarding the timing of the invasion.”

Gorlan looked at Nitara. “So much for trust.”

“There were several of you in that discussion, Minister. Any one of your companions could have told me that much.”

“Of course,” Gorlan said, though clearly he remained convinced that Nitara was the one who had.

“The point remains, however, that you were disturbed by the counsel I gave to Harel.”

“Your counsel had nothing to do with it, High Minister, nor did the fact that you lied to the man. What bothered me was your misrepresentation of the rest of us. If you believed that the emperor needed to start the invasion earlier than originally planned, you should have just advised him to do so, without mentioning the rest of us. That you didn’t do this tells me you were uncertain of the counsel you offered.”

Nitara glanced at the Weaver, expecting that he would be crimson with rage. Instead he was smiling, albeit with a hard look in his brilliant eyes.

“You don’t miss much, do you, Minister?”

“No, High Chancellor, I don’t.”

“What powers do you possess?”

Gorlan’s eyes narrowed. “Gleaning, mists and winds, and shaping. Why do you ask?”

Because he doesn’t wish you to know that he’s a Weaver. As a Weaver, Dusaan could discern the magics of all Qirsi near him. Apparently whatever he hoped to accomplish with this meeting did not include revealing his true powers to the minister.

“Why do you think?” Before Gorlan could answer, Dusaan turned to Nitara again. “Why do you think I asked, Minister?”

She hesitated. “I’m not certain, High Chancellor.”

“It’s all right. I think you do know, and you can speak freely. I intend to.”

She nodded, her hands abruptly trembling. “I think you asked because you want to know what powers Minister Gorlan might bring to the movement.”

Gorlan looked from one of them to the other. “The movement?”

“Very good, Nitara.”

“The movement,” the minister said again, still trying to work it out. “You mean the conspiracy, don’t you?”

“A crude term. Certainly it wouldn’t have been my choice. Then again, it does sound somewhat menacing, which can be useful.”

“You’re both with the conspiracy. Kayiv was right.”

“Kayiv is dead.”

“And is that why?”

“Kayiv was a fool. His death was incidental. He failed to see beyond his dislike of me, to the greater meaning of the movement. He couldn’t grasp all that it would mean to our people to overthrow the Eandi courts and rule the Forelands. I don’t expect you to make the same mistake. I believe you have far greater vision than he ever did. I hope I’m not mistaken.”

“Are you asking me to join? Are you telling me that if I don’t, I’ll end up dead as well?”

“Let’s just concern ourselves with your first question. Yes, I’d like you to join. We’re on the verge of victory. The invasion has begun, there’s civil war in Aneira, the queen of Sanbira is riding north to Eibithar, and Kearney of Glyndwr rules a land divided against itself. All the major powers of the Forelands will soon be tearing each other apart. And when they’re through, the Qirsi will rise up and destroy what’s left of them.”

Gorlan gave a small, breathless laugh. “You don’t lack for confidence.”

“No, I don’t. When we’ve won, those Qirsi who fought with us will help to rule the seven realms. Those who remained tethered to their Eandi masters will be executed as traitors to their people. The choice I’m giving you is a gift, one that I may not be extending to all who serve in the palace. You have a chance not only to save your life, but also to share in the glories that await those of us who lead this struggle.”

“Why me? Surely there are others who have been here longer, who are more deserving.”

This time it was Dusaan’s turn to laugh. “In this case, Minister, the length of one’s service to the emperor is not necessarily proof of one’s worthiness. Still, you ask a valid question. I’ve chosen you-and in the short time that remains, I may well choose a few others-because I see in you qualities that will be of use to the movement in its final days of preparation, and to our people, as we assume authority over the people of the Forelands. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and when you do, you often make a good deal of sense. Also, your powers are considerable.”

Gorlan looked at Nitara, his pale eyes locking on hers. “Why did you join?”

Because I love this man. Because he is like a god living among mortals. “I saw in the movement a way to improve the lives of our people, to ensure that my children, and their children, would grow up knowing that they could find paths to greatness that didn’t lead through Eandi courts, or leave them subject to the whims of foolish Eandi nobles.”

“But you swore an oath to serve the emperor.” Immediately Gorlan held up a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t answer. I already know what you’ll say.”

“What?” Dusaan asked with interest.

“She’ll tell me that we have a greater duty to our own people, and that there are many types of betrayal. Those who would put their service to the Eandi above such a movement are guilty of the worst kind of treachery.”

The smile returned to the high chancellor’s face. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. The question is, do you truly believe that, or were you merely anticipating her response?”

“You’ll think me a fool for answering this way, but I don’t know.”

“As I say, I admire your willingness to speak your mind.” A smile flitted across the Weaver’s face and was gone. “Even when you don’t know your mind. You have two days to think on it. After that I’ll expect a reply, and believe me when I tell you that I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

The color drained from Gorlan’s face, but his expression didn’t change. “You don’t worry that I’ll go to the emperor with this?”

“No. I think you understand what will happen if you do. Our victory is close, Gorlan. Very close. And if I have to give myself away a bit sooner than I anticipated by killing you, then so be it.”

Gorlan looked at Nitara one last time, though she couldn’t say for certain what he was thinking. After a moment he stood, nodding to the high chancellor.

“Two days, then,” he said, and left.

A short time later, Dusaan made his way to the emperor’s hall, leaving Nitara in the corridor looking love-struck and just a bit sad. It was fortunate that he had this audience with Harel; much as he disliked the man, it served as a ready excuse to rid himself of the minister. Dusaan still thought her quite attractive-he had every intention of making her one of his queens when the time came-but he found her need of him stifling. She had killed for him, taking her blade to a man she once had loved, no less. There were few among his most trusted servants who could have done what she had. And she would be rewarded accordingly. But he remained convinced that her desire for him was as dangerous as it was bothersome, and that if he allowed her to lure him to her bed too soon, it might destroy all for which he had been working.

A part of him had hoped that she might be drawn to Gorlan; in many ways the minister reminded Dusaan of Kayiv, and also of a younger incarnation of himself. It seemed that these hopes were in vain.

He couldn’t say for certain what he thought Gorlan would decide to do. Faced with such a choice, most men, including those who opposed the movement in their hearts, would join with him and thus save their lives. But the Weaver sensed that this minister was different. In a way this made him that much more eager to have the man as an ally, but it also made what he had done today far more dangerous. If Gorlan concluded that he could not bring himself to join the Qirsi cause, he would go to the emperor. Dusaan was sure of it. There was no greater threat to a movement such as his than a man who didn’t fear death.

Reaching the emperor’s door, he knocked once and waited for one of the guards within to open the door and announce him to Harel. Instead, the door opened, and two guards joined him in the corridor.

They bowed to him, appearing somewhat uncertain of themselves.

“What is this?” he asked. “I was summoned by the emperor.”

“Yes, High Chancellor, we know. But we-” The man stopped, frowning and glancing at his companion.

“By order of His Eminence, Harel the Fourth, Emperor, of Braedon, Holder of the Imperial Scepter, Bearer of the Crown of Curtell, we must ask you to remove any arms you may be carrying before entering the imperial hall.”

He nearly laughed aloud. As if he needed a dagger to kill the man. He took his blade from its sheath and handed it hilt-first to the guard.

The guard swallowed. “We must also ask that you wear this.” He held up a white muslin hood.

Dusaan felt rage surge through him, so suddenly and with such force that it was all he could do not to shatter the man’s skull with a thought.

“What possible reason could the emperor have for asking this of me?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“He knows that you have many powers, High Chancellor. He believes that you’ll be less capable of using them against him if you can’t see him.”

He would have liked to reveal himself then and there. Damned be his plans and his patience. He could kill them all in a matter of moments. With the help of just a few of the other Qirsi, he could control the entire palace within the hour. But he needed more time. Not much, but enough that he could not allow himself the luxury of venting his fury, at least not yet.

“I don’t get to see him-” He stopped himself, with a smirk and a shake of his head. “I don’t get to speak with him unless I wear this?”

“I’m afraid not, High Chancellor.”

“Very well.”

As they covered his head, tying the hood loosely at his throat, Dusaan vowed that he would avenge this humiliation, that whatever suffering he had originally intended for Harel would be trebled and more.

When the hood was in place, the two guards led him through the doors and into Harel’s hall. A Weaver had powers of perception that went far beyond sight and hearing, though Harel wouldn’t have known this, any more than he knew that Dusaan was a Weaver. It was the Eandis’ ignorance of Qirsi magic as much as anything that would bring their downfall. Even blind, Dusaan could sense the emperor and the other guards. There were eight of them in all. Two of Harel’s wives were there as well, eyeing the high chancellor with curiosity and, he thought, just a touch of amusement.

Laugh all you like, Eandi whores. In the end you’ll suffer as well. All of you will.

The guards led him to Harel’s throne, one on either side of him, as if he were a prisoner rather than high chancellor. Once there, the two men stepped back to the doorway, leaving Dusaan to kneel before the emperor.

“You may rise, High Chancellor,” Harel said, pushing himself from his throne and beginning to circle the chamber.

He hopes to make himself a more challenging target, Dusaan thought with some amusement. As if it would have mattered.

The Weaver stood, facing the throne, though he marked the emperor’s path with his mind. After a moment’s silence, he gestured at the hood. “You do me a disservice, Your Eminence.”

“Forgive me, High Chancellor,” Harel said, sounding anything but contrite. “But I feel safer knowing that you can’t see me. In light of recent events, you can’t blame me for taking certain precautions.”

“Have I given you cause to fear me?”

“The death of my minister-what was his name again?”

“Kayiv, Your Eminence.”

“Yes. Kayiv’s death has given all of us cause to fear. It’s one thing for a man to attack a woman as he did. But my guards tell me that she claimed he was a traitor. They say he tried to turn her against me.”

It had been Dusaan’s idea for Nitara to say these things. He had thought to deflect questions about the circumstances of Kayiv’s death by making a traitor of the man. He had also wanted to raise just the sort of fears Harel was expressing now, believing that the emperor, by his behavior, might drive a few more of the palace Qirsi to Dusaan’s cause. He still thought that this might work, but at the very moment he couldn’t help but wonder if he had pushed Harel too far.

“I heard that as well, Your Eminence. But to assume that every Qirsi in your palace is a traitor-”

“Is only prudent.” Harel halted near one of the windows. “Any one of you might be a part of this conspiracy so I have no choice but to assume that all of you are. If this displeases you, Dusaan, I’d suggest that you learn as quickly as possible who the traitors are and bring them to me.” He resumed his pacing. “If I were you, I’d begin with that woman he attacked. She was quick to accuse him once he was dead, but I find it hard to believe that a bed was all they shared.”

It was surprisingly clever of the man, trying to pit Qirsi against Qirsi in this matter. “Of course, Your Eminence. I’ve been searching for other traitors since the day of Kayiv’s death, beginning of course with the woman. But I’ve found no evidence that any of the others have betrayed you.”

“Then I’d suggest that you look harder.”

“You ask this of me, Your Eminence, and yet you treat me as if I had betrayed you. Does this mean that you have others looking for evidence that I’m with the conspiracy?”

For some time the emperor said nothing, although the Weaver sensed that he had stopped walking again. “I have to check on everyone, Dusaan. Surely you understand that.”

Of course I do, you fat fool. But who have you asked to find evidence of my betrayal? If it was merely the palace guards, Dusaan didn’t care. They would find nothing, and they would soon be dead or in the palace dungeon. But what if he had found a minister or chancellor to do his spying? What if he had already managed to divide the palace Qirsi?

“Of course I understand, Your Eminence. But I also know that the precautions you’ve taken today-disarming me, hooding me-are a humiliation. I’ve served you well for nine years. Don’t I deserve better than this?”

“Perhaps. But I expect that today’s experience will convince you of how seriously I take this matter, and maybe it will encourage you to find the traitors more quickly.”

The high chancellor had to smile. Again, the man had surprised him with his cunning. Could there be more to the emperor than he had realized?

“Is this why you called me here today, Your Eminence? To impress upon me how eager you are to find the renegades?”

“In part, yes. I also wish to ask you about the fee accountings.”

For the first time, Dusaan knew a moment of fear. Harel had long entrusted him with the fee accountings for all the realm, and Dusaan had used Braedon’s treasury to pay those he turned to his cause. A friend of his, a Qirsi merchant named Tihod jal Brossa, had created a network of couriers who delivered the gold to those who had earned payment through their efforts on behalf of the movement. Without access to Harel’s coffers, he would never have gotten this close to the realization of his ambitions. At this point, with success so near, his need for the emperor’s gold was not as great as once it had been, but nevertheless, he was loath to lose access to the accountings. And the mere thought of it raised a deeper fear, one that he had managed to keep from his mind so far this day.

“What about them, Your Eminence?” His voice remained even, though he felt sweat running down his temples.

“I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be best to let Uriad have control of them until the war is over. Most of the gold we pay out right now goes to the fleet and army anyway, and it seems to make sense that the master of arms should oversee the accountings. That way he can send gold where it’s needed without having to bother you.”

Dusaan should have expected it. On some level he had. None of what he had done with Harel’s gold could ever be traced; he had made certain of that from the very beginning. But once more his rage threatened to overwhelm him. That he should have to debase himself before this man was bad enough. That Dusaan’s movement should suffer for Harel’s fear and mistrust, however justified they might be, was nearly intolerable.

“As you wish, of course, Your Eminence. But let’s not weave mists with our words. You wish to give Uriad control of the fee accountings because you no longer trust me with them. Isn’t that so?”

He sensed the emperor’s discomfort and knew that he was right.

“Until I know for certain that you can be trusted, wouldn’t I be a fool to allow you such open access to my treasury?”

“I see your point, Your Eminence.”

“Good. When all this unpleasantness is over, I’m certain that everything will go back to the way it was before.”

“I hope you’re right, Your Eminence.”

“You disagree?”

He regretted his choice of words. No doubt it would have been safer to let the conversation end with the emperor’s false hope. But he had spoken and now had little choice but to respond.

“I think that when you make clear your mistrust, you risk driving away those who have served you loyally. I won’t lie to you, Your Eminence. There are many among your ministers and chancellors who are offended by the treatment they’ve received over the past turn.”

“And are you as well?”

Dusaan could hear indignation in the emperor’s voice, and he knew that he had angered him. Not that he cared anymore. If Harel was intent on taking the fee accountings from him, there was nothing more to be gained by flattering the man or humbling himself. He wasn’t about to give the emperor grounds to banish him from the court, but he saw no need to continue offering obeisance at every turn.

“Yes, Your Eminence, I suppose I am.”

“Well, that’s too bad! I would have thought that you would understand, High Chancellor! You of all people know what kind of man I am! I would never do these things unless I believed the danger was real. And if you can’t understand that, then perhaps I don’t know you as I thought I did.” Dusaan heard the scrape of a shoe on stone, and he could almost see Harel turning his back to the high chancellor in pique. “You can go, High Chancellor. Send word to me when you’ve found the traitors. Until then, I don’t expect to hear from you.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” He bowed, though he knew that Harel couldn’t see. The guards could, and they would be all too quick to say something if he failed to show the proper respect.

Once more, two men took hold of his arms. They turned him and led him back into the corridor. Once there, they removed the hood from his head.

His face and neck sticky with sweat, Dusaan held out his hand. “My dagger.”

“Yes, High Chancellor.”

He heard the change in their voices. They had seen how Harel treated him, they had tied a hood over his head. There had been deference in their greeting when he reached the chamber a short time before. It was gone now. Damn the man to Bian’s fires.

He sheathed his weapon, then turned smartly on his heel and walked away, saying nothing more to the soldiers.

Nitara was waiting for him in the corridor near his chambers. He sensed her there before she stepped from the shadows, diffident and alluring.

“Can I speak with you, High Chancellor?”

He nodded, though he would have preferred to be alone. She followed him into his chambers, stepping to his window as he closed the door.

“What is it you want? I’ve told you before, it’s dangerous for us to be seen together too often.”

“I wanted to make certain that I hadn’t angered you today.”

“When?”

“During our conversation with Gorlan. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to say, how honest you wanted me to be.”

He forced a smile. He was growing increasingly impatient with her weakness, yet he knew that he needed her, particularly now that his source of gold was gone, at least temporarily. He couldn’t afford to lose any of his servants just now. “You did just fine. I want him to join our cause and I believe he will, thanks in part to what you said. I’m. . I’m pleased.”

She lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Weaver,” she whispered.

“Now, go. I have matters to which I must attend.”

“Yes, of course.” But still she made no movement toward the door.

“Is there something else?”

Clearly there was. He felt her confusion, the turmoil within her heart. He had no time for this.

“No, Weaver,” she said at last. She made a vain attempt at a smile and crossed to the door, hesitating once more as she gripped the handle.

She had been this way since killing Kayiv. It almost seemed that she had still harbored some affection for the man after all. He found himself thinking of Cresenne, of how her seduction of Grinsa jal Arriet had turned to love, rendering her useless to his movement, and then leading her to betray the cause entirely. Brilliant and strong as she was, she had also been terribly young to bear the burdens he had placed upon her. Much like Nitara. Too late, he had come to understand that matters of the heart were more difficult for the younger ones. He would have to take care that this one didn’t turn on him as well.

Matters of the heart. He walked to where she still stood, taking her hands in his and forcing her to meet his gaze.

“You’ve served me well these past several turns. You’ve done more in so short a time than many have done for me over the course of years. And I’m grateful.”

He could feel her trembling as she whispered, “I could do so much more.”

“Soon. We can’t allow ourselves to be distracted now, when we’re so close. But those things that would be distractions before victory will become rewards after. Do you understand?”

She managed a smile. “Yes, Weaver.”

“Excellent.” He kissed one of her hands, then the other, never taking his eyes off of hers. Her smile deepened and her cheeks shaded to scarlet. “Now go,” he said again.

One might have thought that he had commanded her to remove her clothes, so eager was she to obey.

“Yes, Weaver,” she said, pulling her hands free and hurrying from his chamber. Once in the corridor, she looked back at him one last time.

“We’ll speak again shortly,” he assured her, and closed his door.

He listened for the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hallway. Only when he was certain that she had gone did he pull out the fee accountings and begin to pore over them, making certain that there were no entries that would raise the suspicions of Harel’s master of arms. It took him the rest of the day to examine all the volumes-there were fourteen in all, and he didn’t close the last of them until well after the ringing of the twilight bells-but he was satisfied that they would reveal nothing of his movement to Uriad. A servant came to his door with supper, and the high chancellor ordered the boy to fetch the palace guards.

When the soldiers arrived, he had them remove the volumes from his chamber. They were of no use to him now; they were but reminders of Harel’s continued power over him. He didn’t want to have to look at them anymore.

“Take them to the master of arms,” he commanded. “He’s in charge of the fees from now on.”

The two soldiers began to carry the volumes off, though they could only carry a few of them at one time. “We’ll be back for the rest,” one of the men said, straining under the weight of three volumes.

“Yes, fine. Bring two more men with you when you return. I don’t want this taking all night.”

“Yes, High Chancellor.”

The soldiers returned a short time later with two more men, and together they removed what remained of the accountings. Dusaan stood near the window the entire time, staring out at the emerging stars and ignoring the guards. Long after they had gone, he remained there. His meal sat undisturbed on his writing table until some time later, when the servant returned and took it away.

Tihod needed to be informed that there would be no more gold, at least from this source. No doubt some gold remained in the merchant’s network, converted from imperial qinde to common currency so that it couldn’t be traced back to Dusaan, but not yet disbursed to the Weaver’s various underlings. Dusaan needed to know how much was left.

But first he needed to know that Tihod was still alive. He hadn’t spoken to his friend in nearly a turn, since the latter half of Amon’s waning. At that time Tihod had been on the Wethy Crown, tracking Grinsa, the Weaver who threatened all that Dusaan hoped to accomplish with his movement. Tihod had spoken of killing the man, or at least making the attempt, and though Dusaan had tried to dissuade him, though he had warned the merchant of how dangerous it was for any ordinary Qirsi to pit his powers against those of a Weaver, he had little doubt that Tihod had made the attempt anyway.

As a merchant, and a successful one, Tihod was often a difficult man to find. He conducted business all along the shores of the Forelands, from the Bay of Zahid, in Uulrann, to Sanbira’s southern coast and the Sea of Stars. There had been times in the past when Dusaan had reached for Tihod, intending to speak to the man through his dreams, only to discover that the merchant’s ship wasn’t where he had thought it would be. Since he couldn’t cast his mind over all the realms of the Forelands in search of a single man without exhausting even his considerable powers, they often went half a turn or more without speaking.

And perhaps that was the case this time as well. It might have been that Tihod had been forced by business matters to cut short his pursuit of Grinsa, return to his ship, and set sail for another port.

But Dusaan didn’t think so. Though he made himself search for the merchant once more, casting his mind eastward over the Strait of Wantrae and along the shores of Eibithar and Wethyrn and Sanbira, he knew that he would fail. If Tihod still lived, the Weaver would have found him by now. Dusaan didn’t want to give up what little hope he still grasped, but reason demanded that he do so. Tihod was dead. Grinsa had killed him. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

First this other Weaver had saved Tavis of Curgh from the dungeons of Kentigern, allowing Eibithar to avert a civil war Dusaan had worked for years to ignite. Then Grinsa had taken Cresenne from him, making her fall in love, turning her against the movement. And now he had killed Tihod, Dusaan’s most trusted friend, and the only man in the movement he could never replace.

He opened his eyes, breaking off his search for Tihod. “Enough,” he said to the darkness in his chamber.

Time after time the gleaner had thwarted him, and Dusaan had allowed it to happen, fearing that he might reveal too much of himself. But the time had come to put an end to this foolishness. Enough, indeed.