Harel frowned, then made a vague gesture with a meaty hand, his gemmed rings sparkling. “Rise.”
Dusaan stood. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”
“What was the matter with you?” He flinched away, pressing himself against the back of his throne. “It wasn’t something contagious was it?”
“No, Your Eminence. I had a difficult night and feared that I might be succumbing to a fever. But I’m well now. You needn’t be concerned.” Not that you cared a whit for me, you coward.
The emperor straightened. “Well, good. As I said, there are matters I’ve been waiting to discuss with you.”
It was almost comical. One might have thought that the high chancellor had been in his bedchamber for half the year. “I’m here now, Your Eminence. How can I be of service?”
“I hardly know where to begin.” He toyed with the jeweled scepter that lay across his lap. “This business in the south has only gotten worse.”
“The land dispute in Grensyn, Your Eminence?”
“Yes. The lord there was quite disturbed by the message we sent last turn. He’s refusing to abide by my decision.”
It was more than Dusaan could have expected. Manyus of Grensyn had never struck him as being particularly bold, nor had he ever seemed inclined to oppose any decree coming from Curtell. Granted, he and his people had long been at odds with the lordship of Muelry, with whom the emperor had ordered them to share the farming lands west of the Grensyn River. But to defy the emperor in this way invited a harsh response.
“Have you had word from the lord of Muelry, Your Eminence?”
Harel waved his hand again, as if dismissing the question. “Patrin sent the letter informing me of what Manyus had done. You know as well as I that the man is too weak minded and timid to act on his own. He begs me to intervene, no doubt hoping that I’ll send the imperial guard to take a corner of the plain and protect his farmers.”
Dusaan had to agree with Harel’s opinion of Patrin of Muelry, and also with his guess as to what the lord wanted him to do.
“Then you’ve heard nothing from Manyus directly?”
“Not yet, no.”
“It may be wisest to await his response before taking any action, Your Eminence. Grensyn may intend to comply, but only after making Muelry wait for a time.”
“It’s almost Amon’s turn,” the emperor said. “If he delays too long, the harvest will suffer.”
“Perhaps it would be appropriate to send a second message stating as much, and making it clear how displeased Your Eminence would be were he to doom Muelry’s crops to failure.”
Harel nodded. “Yes. A fine idea. See to it, won’t you, High Chancellor?”
“Of course, Your Eminence.” He continued to stand there, waiting. “Is there more, Your Eminence?”
“Yes, there’s more!” the emperor said, sounding like a peevish child. “We’ve had word from Lachmas as well. They still have no proof that the lord’s death was anything more than an accident.”
Actually this message had arrived the day before. Dusaan had brought it to the imperial hall and waited there as the emperor read it. But clearly Harel wished to impress upon Dusaan that he was to be by the emperor’s side at all times. The “matters” he claimed to have wanted to discuss with Dusaan were a pretense, nothing more.
“Yes, Your Eminence,” he said. “I recall from yesterday.”
“Well, what do you make of this?”
He had to answer with care. Lachmas’s death had frightened the emperor, and while Dusaan anticipated that Harel’s fear might prove useful at some point, he couldn’t risk having the man grow so afraid of the movement that he lost faith in all his Qirsi.
“They may well be correct, Your Eminence. Hunting mishaps are said to be quite common. In all likelihood, Lord Lachmas’s death was nothing more or less than a tragic accident.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“As would I, Your Eminence. But we should remain wary nevertheless. The leaders of this conspiracy have shown themselves to be cunning and dangerous. Just because the soldiers of Lachmas have found no evidence of a murder, we can’t assume that there was none.”
“If you wish to put my mind at ease, you’ve done a damned poor job of it.”
Good. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. Perhaps I should leave you.”
“No. Tell me of the fleet.”
Dusaan shrugged. “From all I hear, the ships are in place off Wantrae and Mistborne Islands. They await only your word to begin their assault. Eibithar’s fleet has been active as well, perhaps in response to our own maneuvers, but this could hardly be avoided.”
“Maybe we should begin the invasion earlier than planned.”
“If Your Eminence wishes it. But I believe we’ll fare better if we wait for the lords of Aneira to ready their army. Eibithar’s fleet is no match for our own. They can take whatever positions they wish off the north coast; they still won’t withstand our attack.” He paused, watching the emperor’s face. Harel didn’t look pleased. “Do you wish to alter our plans, Your Eminence?”
“No. I’d just like to get on with them.”
“Of course, Your Eminence. I believe, however, that your patience will be rewarded. There can be no question of the brilliance of the strategy you’ve devised.” Actually, Dusaan and the master of arms had done most of the planning for the war, but he knew that Harel would gladly take credit for it.
“Very well,” Harel said.
He heard weariness in the emperor’s voice, and once more he thought to excuse himself. “I’ll leave you now, Your Eminence. Again, you have my apologies for my failure to answer your earlier summons.”
“I expect the master of arms shortly,” Harel said, as if he hadn’t heard. “He’ll be reporting on the day’s training. I think you should remain for that. Afterwards you may join us for dinner.”
It was almost as if the emperor were punishing him for his absence that morning. All the Weaver wanted was to return to his chamber and await nightfall, so that he could be done with Cresenne and turn his attention fully to the gleaner.
“Tell me about the treasury.”
“What about it, Your Eminence?” trying to keep his tone light.
“We’ve a war to wage. My father always used to say that no weapon was more essential to a successful war than gold.”
“Quite true, Your Eminence. Your father was a great man.”
“I take it we have enough gold to wage and win this war.”
He should have known better, but he couldn’t resist giving voice to the first response that came to him. “You’ve enough gold in your treasury to fund two wars, Your Eminence.”
“Ean forbid it should come to that.”
Dusaan suppressed a smile. “Ean forbid.”
The master of arms arrived a few moments later, and as he and the emperor spoke of the training of soldiers and the poor fighting skills of the latest probationers, Dusaan had little choice but to stand and listen. Eventually, the three men walked to the palace’s great hall where they were joined by Harel’s wives for the evening meal. The emperor said little to Dusaan; once again the chancellor sensed that this was intended as punishment and nothing more.
The Weaver should have been able to endure the evening without effort, but knowing that Harel sought to teach him a lesson, he found himself suffering as if he were on a torture table. Every foolish statement the emperor made, every attempt at wisdom that came out as the trite truism of a child, every fawning compliment paid to the man by the master of arms grated on him until he thought he would shatter his teeth for the clenching of his jaw. The dinner lasted an eternity-it almost seemed that the emperor lingered over the meal, hoping to prolong Dusaan’s misery.
When at last it ended, the emperor returning to his sleeping chamber with the youngest of his wives, Dusaan nearly ran back to his own chamber. A freshly fed fire awaited him there, as did a basin filled with steaming water. He splashed his face repeatedly, as if to wash the ignominy of the evening from his skin, before settling into the large chair by his hearth. It was already well past the ringing of the gate closing bell. No doubt Cresenne was asleep.