Colum’s eyes widened. The other boy was staring at Tavis as if the young lord were a wraith or a demon, anything but what he was: a young man, falsely accused, who had fought with all his wits and strength to regain his reputation. Grinsa wasn’t certain what Tavis hoped to accomplish by scaring the lads, but he waited and watched.
In the next moment, Colum looked at the gleaner. “Is he telling the truth?”
“Yes. This is Tavis of Curgh. As you can see he’s neither dead nor a prisoner.”
“Whatever else you might think I am,” Tavis said, drawing the boy’s gaze once more, “I’m also a noble of the House of Curgh. And when a noble asks you a question, he expects an answer. Now, one last time, why were you fighting?”
Colum didn’t appear entirely convinced, but he did seem to sense that there was more risk in evading the question than in answering it.
“Innis called me a coward,” the boy said.
Tavis turned to the other boy. “You’re Innis?”
The child swallowed, then nodded.
“Why did you call Colum a coward?”
Innis looked away. “Because he called me a traitor.”
“And why did he call you that?”
The second boy said nothing, his gaze still averted.
“Because his father refuses to fight for the king,” Colum said. “My father followed King Kearney to war, but Innis’s father won’t go. He says Kearney isn’t the true king and so he refuses to fight. Doesn’t that make him a traitor?”
“Does not!” Innis launched himself at Colum, fists and feet flailing.
Tavis pushed him back so forcefully that Innis stumbled and fell, landing on his rear.
Colum gave a small laugh, but Grinsa was watching Tavis, whose face seemed to have turned to stone.
“Go home, Colum,” the young lord said, his voice flat.
“But I didn’t-”
“Go. You and Innis were friends this morning; you’ll be friends tomorrow. Go home and clean yourself up. If your father’s gone to war, then your mother has that much more need of you.”
The boy lingered a moment longer, eyeing Innis, who still sat in the road. Then he started away. After only a few steps, however, he turned to look at Tavis again. “Are you really Tavis of Curgh?”
“Yes, I am. In another few days I hope to be fighting beside your father in the king’s army. It will be my honor to call him a comrade.”
Colum just stared, as if he didn’t know how to reply. At last he turned and ran, no doubt to tell his mother of his encounter with the strange, scarred man.
Tavis turned to the other boy. “Get up.”
He took a step toward the boy and Innis scrabbled away on his hands and feet, never taking his eyes off Tavis’s face.
“I said, get up.” Tavis drew his blade.
Grinsa started to say something, then stopped himself. A year ago he would have truly feared for the lad’s safety, but not anymore. Whatever Tavis had in mind, the gleaner was certain that he wouldn’t actually harm Innis.
“My father’s not a traitor! And neither am I! I don’t care what you and Colum say!”
“All I said was, get up.”
The boy stood slowly. His whole body seemed to be trembling.
“Do you know why men like your father question the king’s authority?”
Innis shook his head. Watching him, Grinsa wasn’t even sure that the boy understood the question.
“Because when I was imprisoned for the murder of Lady Brienne, Kearney believed me innocent. Few others did, but that didn’t stop him from-” He stopped himself, smiled briefly. “From helping me. That’s all. That’s what all this is about. I didn’t kill her, and I’ve just come from Wethyrn, where I killed the man who did.” He held up his sword. “With this blade. That’s the truth. I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you understand?”
Innis hesitated, then shook his head.
“Do you believe that I’m telling you the truth?”
“I think so.”
“Well, perhaps that’s a start. You should go home, too, Innis. Don’t call your friend a coward anymore. And make certain that you clean up that scrape on your face. You don’t want to end up with scars like these.”
He grinned. Innis didn’t.
“Tell your father what I told you, as much of it as you can remember. Maybe that will do some good.” He glanced at Grinsa, who offered a sympathetic smile. “Go on,” he said, facing the boy again and sheathing his steel.
Innis cast a quick look at the gleaner before he, too, ran off.
“I guess I didn’t handle that so well.”
“Actually, I thought you did fine.”
“They both probably think I’m mad.”
“Colum doesn’t. He believes you, and from now on, when he thinks of his father, he’ll picture the two of you fighting together. There’s no harm in that.”
Tavis swung himself back onto his mount. “How many men like Innis’s father do you think there are in Eibithar?”
“Probably quite a few.” They began to ride. “The Rules of Ascension are often revered in Eibithar as a great source of harmony for the realm. Because power is shared, and because the rules provide for almost every contingency when it comes to choosing a new sovereign, most assume that they’ve prevented civil wars.”
“You don’t think they have?”
“I don’t know-no one does really. But I do believe that they’ve engendered a great deal of resentment among the major houses. In Aneira, at least until recently, House Solkara has held power, and no one has doubted for even a moment that when one king dies, another will rise from the royal house to replace him. The same can be said of House Yserne and the queens of Sanbira, or of House Enharfe in Caerisse. Here, it’s not nearly so simple. There’s the expectation that the major houses will share power, and when it doesn’t turn out that way, those houses that fail to place a king on the Oaken Throne grow bitter and envious.”
“But Glyndwr hasn’t claimed a king since the Grand Venture. Surely the other majors can’t begrudge the House of Wolves one king in four hundred years.”
“They can if it keeps one of their own from wearing the crown. Renald doesn’t care that it’s Kearney of Glyndwr living in Audun’s Castle rather than a Thorald or a Curgh. He knows only that Galdasten has been passed over, and that under the rules his house will have no claim to the throne for another four generations.”
“These are Sussyn lands, Grinsa. Or perhaps Domnall’s, this far north. It hardly matters-both are minor houses. They have no part in this quarrel. Why should Innis’s father hate the king so?”
“I can’t say for certain. It may be that he blames you, that he still believes that you killed Brienne and so feels justified in hating this king who protected you. Perhaps he wants no part of this war, and is using Kearney as an excuse not to fight. Or maybe he bears a grudge toward Kearney himself for some reason. But the odd thing is, if your father had ascended to the throne a year ago, as he was supposed to, it’s quite likely that Innis’s father would be following his commands without question.”
“The conspiracy,” Tavis said, a pained look on his face.
“Yes. As I’ve told you before, they knew the realm’s weaknesses better than we did ourselves.” Grinsa glanced up at the sun, marking its progress toward the western horizon. Storm clouds loomed in the distance, and the gleaner doubted that the fine weather they had enjoyed since leaving Glyndwr would last the night. “Don’t be too angry with Innis and his father. They’re victims of the Weaver as well, though they don’t know it.”
The young lord frowned. “I suppose. But I can’t help feeling that all of us have made it far too easy for renegades to succeed.”
They continued northward, riding well past sundown, eating a light meal in the saddle, and stopping only long enough for their mounts to drink from the wash and eat some of the sweet grasses growing on the Moorlands. As darkness fell, they saw torches burning in distant fields. Tavis pointed them out with some alarm, and for a moment Grinsa wondered if this was some new mischief of the Weaver or his servants.