Weavers of War

Chapter Twenty-eight

City of Kings, Eibithar, Morna’s Moon waning

The journey southward from Curgh to Audun’s Castle took nearly half a turn. Grinsa understood that most of the king’s men were on foot, but still he found their pace maddeningly slow. Every day he found himself wishing that he could simply kick his mount to a gallop and cover the distance as swiftly as the beast could manage. But he remained a free man solely because Kearney had chosen to ignore Eibithar’s laws regarding Weavers, and it would have been inappropriate for him to ride ahead of the king.

As it was, all that made the long ride bearable was Tavis’s presence by his side. He had urged the young duke not to accompany him to the City of Kings.

“You’ve only just become duke,” he had said the morning they left, when Tavis appeared in the castle’s lower ward, dressed in rider’s garb. “You should remain here with your mother and your people.”

To which the boy had calmly replied, “I don’t want to. And anyway,” he added, “You made a promise.”

Grinsa still believed that Tavis should have stayed behind, but he was glad to have the young noble with him. They rode together each day, saying little, merely enjoying each other’s company.

One morning, as they passed near the banks of the Sussyn, Tavis suddenly asked, “Can a Weaver enter the dreams of anyone, or only a Qirsi?”

“I believe only a Qirsi. When I enter someone’s dreams, I touch their magic, just the way I would if I was weaving their power with my own. I don’t know how I could do that with an Eandi.” He glanced at the boy, sensing that this was not the answer he had wanted. “Still, I’ve never tried to enter an Eandi’s dreams. I suppose it may be possible.”

Tavis nodded, but said nothing more.

It was the only time they even came close to speaking of Grinsa’s impending departure.

When at last the host came within sight of the royal city, just before dusk on the twelfth day of their journey, the gleaner’s impatience got the better of him.

“Your Majesty, may we have your permission to ride ahead? I’m … I’m quite eager to reach the castle.”

Kearney smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll ride with you.” He looked back at Gershon Trasker. “Swordmaster, I’d like you to remain with the men for the rest of their march. We three are going to ride on to the city.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

It was late in the waning, and though they pushed their mounts, the three riders still hadn’t reached the city walls when night fell. Grinsa raised a bright yellow flame to light their way, and some time before they came to the walls, they were joined by a large contingent of soldiers who had ridden forth at the sight of his fire. Recognizing their king, several of the men returned to the castle, shouting news of the king’s return. By the time Kearney, Tavis, and Grinsa rode through the south gate, bells were tolling throughout the city and thousands of people had lined the streets to cheer their sovereign. They regarded Tavis and Grinsa warily, but if they still thought the young noble a butcher, they kept it to themselves.

Grinsa, Tavis, and Kearney entered the castle, only to find that most of the soldiers who had remained behind when the king rode to war had gathered in the main courtyard to greet them. It promised to be a lengthy welcome.

“Your Majesty…”

Kearney grinned. “Go, gleaner. Tavis and I will find you later.”

He was off his horse almost before the king had finished speaking. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said with a quick bow.

A moment later he was running toward the chamber in which Cresenne had stayed before being moved to the prison tower. He could only assume that she had been returned to the same room after Kearney and the nobles left Audun’s Castle.

He needn’t have even wondered. She was waiting for him at the entrance to the corridor, Bryntelle in her arms, torchlight glittering in her pale eyes, starlight shimmering in her hair. He strode to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her long and deep.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek.

They kissed again, only to be interrupted by a loud squeal from Bryntelle.

“I think someone else would like a hug.”

Grinsa laughed. Had he ever been this happy? “Look at you!” he said to his daughter. “She’s so big!”

“She can sit up by herself now. And she’s making all kinds of sounds.”

The child was every bit as beautiful as Cresenne. Her mouth and nose were just like her mother’s. Her eyes were more like his in shape, and their color was a perfect blending of Grinsa’s and Cresenne’s.

“She’s exquisite.”

“Isn’t she?”

He glanced at Cresenne, kissed her again.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Grinsa nodded. Cresenne put Bryntelle in his arms, and, of course, the child immediately began to cry.

“She’s not used to you.”

“It’s all right,” he said, rocking Bryntelle gently. “She has plenty of time.”

He smiled down at the girl, gently stroking her cheek with a finger and whispering to her. Eventually her crying subsided and she grabbed hold of his finger with a tiny hand.

“I’ve spoken to the queen a few times recently,” Cresenne said at length.

“The queen? Really?” he said, his attention still fixed on Bryntelle.

“She’s been kind to me. She says that she can give us a bigger chamber, if Kearney will agree.”

He looked up. “That’s kind of her. But I have something else in mind, if you’re willing to leave the City of Kings.”

Cresenne regarded him skeptically. “Leave? I didn’t think Kearney would ever allow it.”

“He’ll let us go if we agree to leave Eibithar.”

“And you’d be willing to do that?”

He smiled. “I’ll go anywhere, as long as I’m with the two of you.”

Her face brightened. “All right. Where?”

“The Southlands.”

Grinsa hadn’t been certain how she would respond to this. He feared that she might be reluctant to go so far.

But there was wonder in her eyes as she said, “It’s perfect.”

They had surprisingly little to do in preparation for their journey. Cresenne had few belongings and all that Grinsa had brought with him from Curgh was already packed and ready. Cresenne still had a bit of gold, as did Grinsa, and Tavis had given the gleaner a good deal more, insisting that it was the least he could do to repay Grinsa for all he had done.

“I have an entire treasury at my disposal now,” Tavis had said, insisting that the gleaner accept his gift. “Let me do this for you.”

“I’ve been living off your gold for too long,” Grinsa told him.

“Fine then, after this I won’t give you any more.”

At last, Grinsa relented. “Very well. Thank you, Tavis. I’m in your debt.”

“Just keep your promise, and I’ll consider us even.”

Only two days after Grinsa’s arrival in the City of Kings, he and Cresenne were ready to leave. They had agreed that they would seek passage on a ship and brave the highlands of the Border Range only as a last resort. Grinsa couldn’t remember ever being this excited.

They had an audience with the king in the morning at which Kearney formally gave them permission to leave the castle and the realm.

“Go in peace,” the king said. “Both of you. I hope you find happiness in the Southlands.”

Grinsa bowed to him. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve called Eibithar my home all my life. Leaving it could never be easy. But I’m comforted knowing that I leave it under the authority of such a noble and fair-minded man.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make certain that your roles in our victory are never forgotten. Perhaps with time, my people will be ready to embrace a Weaver as both ally and neighbor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” But Grinsa doubted that he would see such a change in his lifetime.

Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle left the king, made their way out of the castle, and walked toward the city marketplace, where they were to meet Tavis.

“I can’t believe he’s making you do this,” Cresenne said, smiling slightly.

Grinsa grinned and shrugged. “I did promise. And really, it’s the least I can do for him.”

“You’re fortunate that the Revel’s still here. Normally you’d have to go all the way to Eardley this time of year.”

They made their way to the gleaning tent, where they found Tavis standing by the entrance with Trin. The old gleaner hadn’t changed much since Grinsa last saw him: he was still fat and bald, with round, pink cheeks and a sly smile.

“It’s good to see you, cousin,” he said, taking Grinsa’s hand in both of his. “I’m glad to know that all my efforts to get you and this lovely woman together weren’t for naught. It seems I know something about love after all.”

Cresenne laughed, but Grinsa remained serious.

“Cresenne tells me that you saved her life, and kept Bryntelle from being taken away. She also says that you did all this at no small cost to yourself.”

“Mere foolishness on my part,” Trin said. “I’ve spent a lifetime cultivating a reputation as a coward. I’d be most grateful if you didn’t speak of this again.”

Grinsa had to smile. “Very well. But you have my gratitude just the same.”

“And you mine.”

“What for?”

“I’ve heard a bit about your exploits since last we saw each other. I think all of us owe you a word of thanks. Don’t you?”

Grinsa gripped his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Trin.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want that getting around either.” He gestured toward Tavis. “I’ve been explaining to our young friend here that we don’t usually allow anyone-Eandi or Qirsi, noble or common-a second Fating. But he seems to feel that his previous encounter with the Qiran was not all it was supposed to be, and he told me that you would say much the same thing.”

“He’s right. I think he’s earned this second Fating. I’d be most grateful if you’d allow us a moment with the stone.”

“Very well.” Trin pushed the tent flap aside and motioned them inside. “The stone awaits.” He glanced at the duke. “May it prove kind.”

Grinsa cast a quick look at Cresenne. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“We’ll be fine,” she said.

Trin took her gently by the arm and began to lead her toward the marketplace. “I’ll take good care of them both,” he said over his shoulder.

Grinsa entered the tent, with Tavis following close behind. Inside, it was just as Grinsa remembered: overly warm and sparsely furnished. The Qiran, jagged and glowing, sat on a small table, the polished face of the stone turned toward a chair on the far side of the table where Tavis was to sit. Grinsa crossed to a second chair, nearer to the tent entrance.

It was strange being in the tent again. He felt like he had left this life behind centuries ago, yet the heat and the glow of the stone were all so very familiar.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked.

Tavis had already taken his seat by the Qiran.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just want you to be sure. Most people fear their Fatings. And your first one was rather unpleasant.”

“I’m not the same person I was then. And even if I was, how could this one possibly be worse?”

Grinsa tipped his head, conceding the point. But for several moments he merely sat, staring at the stone.

“Grinsa?”

“You’re right, Tavis. You’re not the same person. Since the day I met you, I’ve seen your promise, I’ve seen glimpses of the man you would become. There were times when that man seemed impossibly far away, but I never fully lost sight of him. Still, even sensing your potential, I never imagined that you could come so far in so short a time.”

“I suppose that’s testimony to how miserable a creature I was when first we met.”

“No, it’s not. I was-”

“I’m kidding, Grinsa. Thank you. If I’ve become the man you and Xaver and my father wanted me to be it’s only because the three of you never lost faith in that promise of which you speak. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be the brat whose future you gleaned the last time we were in this tent.”

“I’m not so sure of that.”

“I am. And I’m grateful to you.”

Grinsa smiled. “Whenever you’re ready, my lord.”

Tavis took a breath. “On this, the day of my Fating, I beseech you, Qirsar, lay your hands upon this stone. Let my life unfold before my eyes. Let the mysteries of time be revealed in the light of the Qiran. Show me my fate.”

Even as Grinsa began to blend his magic with the power of the stone, he watched Tavis’s face, the shifting light of the Qiran making his scars darken, then fade, then darken again. He didn’t have to look within the stone to know what the young duke was seeing, for he had dreamed Tavis’s fate the previous night. It appeared to be, for all that had come before, a rather ordinary life: a long reign as Curgh’s duke, marriage to an attractive dark-haired woman the gleaner didn’t recognize, several children, including two sons. He saw nothing to make him believe that Tavis would ever be king, but he sensed that Tavis had abandoned that dream long ago.

When it was over, and the bright glimmering of the stone had given way to a softer, plainer glow, Tavis sat back in his chair, looking profoundly relieved.

“You saw?”

Grinsa nodded. “Yes.”

“There was nothing bad, at least not that I could see.”

“I’ve told you before, Tavis, the stone shows us our fate at any particular moment. Just because you saw no tragedy today doesn’t mean that your life won’t be marked with some loss.”

“I know.”

“That said, I think you’ve earned a bit of happiness, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure it works that way. Look at Hagan.”

Grinsa shrugged, then nodded. “You may be right. But I still think you’re due for good fortune.”

“Perhaps I am.”

They stood and stepped out of the tent. A cool breeze touched Grinsa’s face and stirred the boy’s hair. Trin and Cresenne were nowhere to be seen, and Grinsa suggested that they walk through the marketplace and try to find them.

“You should go ahead,” Tavis said. “It’s time I was on my way back to Curgh.”

Grinsa nodded, surprised to feel his throat tightening.

“Tavis, I-”

Before he could finish, Tavis had rushed forward and wrapped the gleaner in a hard embrace.

“I love you, Grinsa,” he whispered. Then he pulled away quickly and started striding back toward Audun’s Castle. After a few steps he broke into a run, disappearing amid the crowds of people enjoying the Revel.

“And I love you,” the gleaner said softly.

Wiping a tear from his cheek, Grinsa walked into the marketplace. He soon found Cresenne and Bryntelle, but Trin wasn’t with them anymore.

“He’s haggling with a merchant over a Caerissan ring,” Cresenne explained. “He said to tell you that you should take good care of us and stay out of trouble.”

The gleaner grinned and kissed her. “Sound advice.”

“Where’s Tavis?”

“He’s gone back to the castle. I think he’s eager to be returning home.”

“So are we ready to go?”

Grinsa looked around the market and then gazed up at the castle walls looming in the distance. “I am if you are.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

They led the mounts given to them by the king to the city’s east gate, intending to make their way to the port of Rennach. Bryntelle was chattering excitedly as Grinsa handed her up to Cresenne, her eyes wide, a toothless smile on her lovely face. He climbed onto his horse and they started riding to the east along the base of the Caerissan Steppe, toward Raven Falls.

“I think she’s even happier to be out of the castle than I am,” Cresenne said, gazing at their daughter, a bright smile on her lips.

“It seems so.”

“Are you all right?”

Grinsa smiled, as well. “Yes, fine.”

“Did Tavis’s Fating go well?”

“You know that I can’t answer that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Not this again.”

Grinsa began to laugh.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

He leaned toward her and kissed her lightly on the lips. “No, I’m not.”

“Fine,” she said airily. “I did my share of gleanings, you know. I just won’t tell you about them. I’ll only speak of them to Bryntelle.”

Grinsa suppressed a smile. “That’s fair.”

They rode in silence for a few moments.

“What possible difference would it make if you were to tell me?”

The gleaner laughed again. “It was a good Fating,” he said at last. “Tavis is going to be just fine.” He looked at her. “Truly.”

Cresenne nodded, looking relieved as she faced forward again. “I’m glad,” she murmured.

He reached out a hand and she took it briefly, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

Grinsa knew that he had spoken true. Tavis would be fine, and so would Kezi. Even without him. For so long he had carried the world’s cares in his heart, its burdens on his shoulders. Relinquishing them had proven harder than he had expected. But riding eastward toward the sea and an unknown future, he at last felt that great weight lifting, floating free, leaving him feeling that he might rise off his mount and fly with the swifts and swallows darting overhead.

“Grinsa, what is it?”

He glanced at her, smiling, and shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just…” She was so lovely, as was the girl she held in her arms. His family. How long had he wished for this, fearing even to believe in the possibility? “I’m ready to go home.”

Cresenne frowned. “Home? What do you mean?”

“I’m not certain yet. But we’ll know it when we find it.” And this he also knew to be true, for he was a Weaver.