The captain’s eyes had narrowed, and he stared warily at the king and then at Grinsa. “Trickery. I don’t believe any of this.”
“It’s true, Captain,” the gleaner said. “I’ve seen it. And the Weaver is none other than your high chancellor.”
“What?”
“Dusaan jal Kania leads the conspiracy and rides at the head of this army of which His Majesty speaks.”
“I don’t know you, white-hair. Why should I trust you? Why should I trust any of you?”
“Because,” the king answered, “we have nothing to gain from ending this war. As I said: we outnumber you. We can drive you from our shores, or we can simply crush you. But we share a common enemy, you and I. And I need your help defeating him.”
Grinsa winced at what he heard in Kearney’s voice. He would have handled this more delicately, but he didn’t dare try to soften what the king had said.
“You and I both know it wouldn’t be as easy as all that to drive us off, Eibithar. But I want to hear more from the white-hair. You say you’ve seen the high chancellor leading this Qirsi army. How could you see any of that? It’s just sorcery, right?”
“I suppose you could say that. But it is true.”
“What’s your name? Are you a minister?”
“I’m no minister. My name is Grinsa jal Arriet.” He glanced at Kearney, who gave a small nod. “I’m a Weaver as well,” the gleaner said, facing the man again. “That’s how I saw your high chancellor.”
“You’re a Weaver.”
“Yes.”
“Well, now I know this is trickery. How many Weavers do you want me to believe there are in the Forelands?”
Grinsa had done this once before, at a small inn on the Moors of Durril, when he tried to impress upon Tavis what it meant to face a Weaver. He drew upon his power of mists and winds, summoning a gale that made the truce flag snap like a harvest blaze, and raising a mist that hung heavy all around them, as if in defiance of his wind. He then raised a hand and called forth a brilliant golden flame. With a whisper to the horses of the four captains, he made the beasts rear and whinny. As an afterthought, he drew upon his shaping power as well. When the older captain heard the faint chiming of steel, his eyes grew wide. He grabbed for the hilt of his blade and pulled the weapon free of its sheath. Only half the sword emerged, the break clean and almost perfectly straight.
The man glared at him, rage and fear in his eyes. “Damn you!”
“Believe what you will, Captain,” Grinsa said, as he allowed his gale to die away. “You’ve just seen me use shaping magic, mists and winds, fire, language of beasts. In order to hold this flame in my palm, I have to use healing magic. I spent my years in Eibithar’s Revel as a gleaner. Who but a Weaver could wield all those magics? I swear that all the rest of what I’ve told you is also true. A Weaver is coming, and I intend to destroy him. But I need as many warriors with me as possible.”
“I won’t ally myself with any of you! If the emperor commands me to fight by your side, I will. Until then, you are the enemy.”
“Your emperor is dead, or imprisoned in his own palace. His was the first army the high chancellor destroyed. Don’t you understand? Your empire is at war, but not with us, not anymore.”
“Lies! The Qirsi can’t be trusted! That much you have right! Your Majesty, Your Highness, I know that we’re enemies, but if you have any sense at all, you’ll rid yourself of this white-hair and fight as Eandi are meant to fight.”
“We don’t wish to fight you at all, Captain,” the queen said. “I believe that Grinsa is telling the truth. We have to end this war and join forces.”
“The king can have his peace. If he surrenders the land we’ve won thus far, the fighting will end.”
Kearney bristled. “This isn’t a negotiation, Captain! I’m offering a truce that will save both of our armies, and quite possibly all of the Forelands!”
“And I’m telling you that there will be no truce!” The captain stared darkly at Grinsa. “You’ve allied yourself with a demon. I won’t make the same mistake.”
“Captain-”
“Enough! If this is all you have to offer, then this parley is done. Ride back to your army, Eibithar.” He glanced at his archers. “I can’t guarantee your safety much longer.”
Kearney started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut, wheeled his mount, and began to ride toward his army. After a moment, Olesya started back as well, leaving Grinsa alone with the four soldiers.
“When the Qirsi attack-and they will attack, I promise you that-have your archers aim their volleys at the high chancellor. If you can kill him, you have a chance against the others.”
The captain just stared at him. After a few moments, Grinsa turned his mount and followed the king and queen. Pulling abreast of them, he chanced a look at Kearney.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I thought they’d listen. I was wrong.”
“It’s not your fault, gleaner. Nor is it the captain’s. He’s just a soldier feeling his way through a war beyond his depth.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“We need another plan, Your Majesty,” said the queen. “Despite our best efforts, it seems we’ll be facing the Weaver and his army without any aid from the empire. We’d best make our preparations accordingly.”
Kearney nodded, looking at Grinsa. “Gleaner?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll begin right away. And I’ll need permission from both of you to form an army of my own, using your Qirsi.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was strange for Keziah, watching Grinsa assume so much responsibility for the coming war. He had always been the strong one, the older brother who protected her and guided her through difficult times-the deaths of their mother and father, the end of her first love affair so many years ago. And of course, he was the Weaver, bearing burdens she could never fully understand.
Through all these long years, however, he had kept his strength and his hardships hidden, out of necessity to be sure, but also, she had always believed, by choice. His was a private life. The role of Revel gleaner suited him. He could travel the land, seeing all, prowling the edges of spectacle, his duties with the gleaning stone demanding an endless stream of intimate conversations. Keziah, on the other hand, had long enjoyed the company of many and her life’s path reflected that. She was the minister, the one who felt at ease attending court functions, speaking pleasantly of the weather or the harvest with Eibithar’s most powerful dukes and nobles from other realms.
Only now, having revealed to all that he was a Weaver, did Grinsa find himself at the center of weighty discussions among sovereigns, parleys of war, and today, a gathering of Qirsi. Keziah shouldn’t have been surprised to find that he appeared comfortable in his new role, or that he could match wits with any noble and any minister in the Forelands. Still, it was hard for her to accept the changes she saw in her brother. They seemed to her undeniable proof of how swiftly and profoundly the world itself was being transformed.
Soon after returning with Kearney and Sanbira’s queen from the parley with Braedon’s captains, Grinsa sent word to Keziah that she was to join him south of the soldiers’ camps. She thought that he wished to discuss something with her alone. Only when she found him speaking with several other ministers and a number of Kearney’s battlefield healers did she realize that her brother had summoned all the Qirsi in the Eibitharian and Sanbiri armies.
“Archminister,” he said crisply as she approached. “Thank you for coming.” Some secrets it seemed were not to be revealed, even under these extraordinary circumstances.
“Of course…” She frowned. “Forgive me, but I’m not certain what we should call you now.”
He smiled at that. “Gleaner is fine. It’s what I’m used to. Or you can call me by my name.”
“Thank you, gleaner.”
Fotir joined them, accompanied by Xivled jal Viste, Marston of Shanstead’s young minister, who had accused Keziah of being a traitor the first time they met. Several moments later the Sanbiri ministers arrived as well.