The duke smiled. “My lord is too kind. May your journey home be swift and safe.”
Numar smiled, though it appeared forced, and began to leave the city. Pronjed bowed to the duke, murmuring a quick, “My lord.” Then, glancing at Evanthya, he nodded, and steered his mount through the gate.
For the balance of the morning the company from Solkara made its way through the Great Forest in silence, Pronjed riding just behind the regent. Around midday, however, as the sun finally burned through the dark clouds that had hung over the land for so long, Numar slowed his mount so that the archminister could ride beside him.
“A most interesting visit.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Did you learn anything of value from the first minister?”
“Very little.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
Pronjed glanced at the regent, who was gazing at the road ahead.
“Of course, my lord. I serve House Solkara, and though your brother may be called duke, only a fool would fail to see that you lead us.”
A grin flashed across the regent’s face and was gone. “An interesting choice of words, Archminister.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell me about the woman.”
Pronjed shrugged. “She’s protective of her duke and wary of Dantrielle’s rivals.”
Numar laughed. “Solkara and Dantrielle are hardly rivals. The Solkaran Supremacy is well over four centuries old. We haven’t truly been rivals since the earliest days of the kingdom.”
“Perhaps not to the Solkaran mind, my lord. But with all that’s happened in the royal city over the past few turns, some of the other houses perceive weakness in the throne.”
“You can’t honestly think that Dantrielle has designs on the crown. He’d be a fool to challenge us.”
It had to be done carefully. There were soldiers all around them and though they rode at a respectful distance, they would notice anything unusual.
“And yet, I believe that in questioning the wisdom of the coming war, Tebeo has, in effect, declared his intention to defy you.” As he spoke the words, Pronjed reached out with his magic to touch the regent’s mind. He didn’t push hard, as he had when he forced Carden to plunge the dagger into his own chest. Rather, this touch was as light and gentle as a warm breeze in the growing turns. It was so soft that Numar never realized what had happened. He simply heard Pronjed’s words and believed them as if he himself had spoken them.
“I fear you’re right,” he said, nodding sagely.
Pronjed nearly laughed aloud. He had convinced Evanthya to oppose the war, and to counsel her duke to do the same. He hadn’t even drawn upon his magic for that. He had wounded her pride and then made her believe that he wanted Dantrielle to support the war. She would do all she could to oppose him.
And now, with what he had just done to Numar, he had ensured that Tebeo’s reluctance to send his men into battle would be seen as treason in Solkara. He still had to win back the Weaver’s trust, but if all in Aneira went as he thought it would, that would prove easy enough. He had long been one of the Weaver’s most valued chancellors and in time he would be again. In the end, the Weaver would see fit to give him charge of whatever realm he wanted.
Chapter Six
Curtell, Braedon
“It is the wrong decision!” the older Qirsi said again, gesturing sharply for emphasis. “You know this is so, High Chancellor. You have to tell the emperor he’s made a terrible mistake!”
Dusaan shook his head, his frustration mounting by the moment. Didn’t the man know that it wouldn’t matter what he said to the emperor? Didn’t he understand how this emperor’s mind worked?
“I’ve spoken to him, Chancellor,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’ve told him several times that his decision is likely to disturb several of the southern lords.”
“Then tell him again!”
That nearly ended the discussion. True, none of them knew that he was a Weaver, that he led a great movement. But still, even in his capacity as high chancellor of the Braedon Empire, Dusaan could only tolerate so much. Before he could say anything, however, one of the young ministers broke in, and the debate began anew.
For much of the morning Dusaan had watched and listened as the same arguments chased one another around his ministerial chamber again and again. Only a turn before, his suspicions of the Qirsi growing, Emperor Harel the Fourth had decided to reclaim from his ministers and chancellors responsibility for mediating disputes among his nobles. At the time, fearing that the emperor would take from him responsibility for the treasury, Dusaan had welcomed the decision. The high chancellor depended upon the Braedon treasury for funds to pay the cost of running his conspiracy. Had the emperor forced him to relinquish control of the fee accountings, it might have dealt the movement a crippling blow. The mediation of disputes, on the other hand, had seemed a harmless enough duty to hand back to the Eandi fool. Little had he known.
“The lords of Grensyn, have always laid claim to the moors west of the Grensyn River,” the old chancellor said. “Indeed, all the southern lordships, from Finkirk across to Muelry have traditionally controlled the lands to their west. All, that is, except the coastal houses. Muelry’s new claims fly in the face of eight centuries of practice.”
“We’ve been over this, Stavel,” Dusaan said, his eyes closed.
“Yes, we have. But someone needs to explain all this to the emperor.”
“Why?” Nitara. Among all the Qirsi serving in Harel’s palace the Weaver thought her and one other the most likely to join his movement.
The older man blinked, and in spite of his annoyance, Dusaan had to stifle a chuckle. “What?” Stavel asked.
The woman shrugged. “Why does this need to be explained to the emperor? Yes, it’s been done this way for hundreds of years. But people in Muelry are starving. It’s been common knowledge for years that the land between the Rimerock and Muelry Rivers is poor land for farming. The land between the Rimerock and Rawsyn’s Wash isn’t much better.” She glanced around the room as if to see who was listening to her. They all were. “It must be something in the waters of the Rimerock.” She faced Stavel again. “In any case, Grensyn Moor has far better land, and it’s more than broad enough to accommodate some of Muelry’s people.”
“That’s not the point!”
“But it should be.” Kayiv. The other one Dusaan hoped to turn. “Should we continue to let the people of Muelry suffer, just because a group of Eandi lords decided eight hundred years ago that the entire moor belonged to Grensyn?”
It was a sound argument, yet one that also struck Dusaan as quite illuminating. More than any other Qirsi he had ever met, Kayiv reminded the Weaver of himself as a younger man. Proud, keenly intelligent, willing-some might say even eager-to challenge custom, and fiercely devoted to the Qirsi people. When the time came, he would be a valuable member of the movement. Yet, Dusaan’s aim in leading this cause had always been the betterment of his own people. It had never occurred to him that centuries of Eandi rule had taken their toll on Eandi commoners as well, that the destruction of the Eandi courts and the establishment of a Qirsi nobility might be hailed by Ean’s children as well as by Qirsar’s.
The young man’s reasoning in this discussion, like Dusaan’s own, seemed odd for another reason as well. It placed them both in the position of supporting the emperor. Dusaan would have little choice but to take Harel’s part no matter his personal opinion on the matter. As high chancellor, this was his duty. But he found himself forced to admit that Harel’s decision in this one instance was absolutely correct. The mere notion of it made him uncomfortable.
“Surely, High Chancellor,” the older Qirsi began once again, “you see the importance of preserving custom in matters pertaining to the lordships. If we can take part of the moor from Grensyn, then what’s to stop Pinthrel from laying claim to the rest of Braedon Wood, or Refte from challenging Oerdd’s claim to the northern half of the hills?” He opened his hands, as if in supplication. “This path leads to turmoil. You must not be blind to this.”