“I believe that’s everyone,” Grinsa said, as the rest of them fell silent. There were seventeen Qirsi in their small circle, and it seemed to Keziah that one or two of Kearney’s healers hadn’t joined them yet, or had chosen not to come at all. “I thank you for coming. I know how unusual this must seem to you. All your lives you’ve been told that Weavers were little more than legend, or else that we’re demons, the worst kind of Qirsi, men and women to be feared and shunned. Yet now you find that there are two Weavers in your world, that one of them intends to lead you to war against the other. In your position, I’d be a bit bewildered.”
It struck Keziah as an odd way to begin their discussion until she saw how his eyes moved from face to face. He wasn’t saying this for them. He was saying it for himself, gauging their responses, trying to determine which of the Qirsi before him were loyal, and which had pledged themselves to the Weaver’s movement. Abruptly, Keziah found herself glancing about as well, as if she could divine the thoughts of her companions.
“As most of you have heard by now, a Qirsi army rides this way, led by a Weaver. This Weaver commands two hundred men and women. It’s not a large force-it hasn’t been enough to impress our Eandi friends-but you and I know how powerful two hundred of our people can be, particularly when their powers are woven as one. I’ve convinced the king and queen that we’d be wise to create a Qirsi army of our own. Obviously we won’t be a match for the Weaver’s army, but perhaps with the Eandi warriors fighting beside us, we’ll be enough.”
“I take it,” Fotir said, “that the parley with Braedon’s men went poorly.”
“Yes. They weren’t ready to ally themselves with Eibithar or Sanbira, much less with a Weaver.”
“So am I to understand,” said Sanbira’s archminister, “that the Eandi have given you permission to form a separate army of Qirsi that will fight alongside the Eandi warriors?”
“Essentially, yes.” Grinsa continued to watch her, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t approve?”
“I neither approve nor disapprove. I’m just surprised. I didn’t think they trusted us enough to allow such a thing.”
Labruinn’s first minister gave her a quick glance. “They’re scared. Trust has nothing to do with it.”
Several others nodded their agreement.
“How can seventeen Qirsi hope to stand against an army of two hundred?” asked one of the healers, an older woman. “I mean no disrespect, gleaner, but even the most powerful Weaver can’t overcome those numbers.”
“It won’t be easy. As I said already, I’m hoping that the armies of Sanbira and Eibithar will give us an advantage, or at least lessen the Weaver’s advantages. The renegades fight alone, without archers or swordsmen. These thousands of warriors fighting beside us must count for something. And we may be a small force, but we have with us some of the most powerful Qirsi in the seven realms. Five of you are shapers, eight of you have mists and winds, and nine of you have fire magic. All are valuable powers in-”
“How can you know that?” Xivled asked.
Grinsa gave a small shrug. “A Weaver can sense the magics wielded by other Qirsi.”
“I’d never heard that,” the young man said, shaking his head, and sounding awed.
“There are a few of you who also have language of beasts, and since the Weaver’s army is mounted, that could be of great help to us.”
“They’ll have these powers as well,” the healer said. “And in far greater numbers.”
“Probably. But this is what we have. Let’s keep our attention fixed on that.”
The woman nodded, though her mouth twisted sourly.
“So do we answer to you now?”
The woman who asked this, another of the Sanbiri ministers, was slight, with a lean face and overlarge yellow eyes. There was a note of challenge in her voice, as if she were more interested in starting a fight with Grinsa than she was in hearing the answer to her question. Sanbira’s archminister gave her a dark look, but kept silent.
“You answer to your duke, as always, First Minister.”
“Actually I answer to a duchess, but I take your point.”
“When the fighting begins, however, you’ll report to me immediately. The king and queen have both instructed me to say that any order I give is to be considered a royal command.”
The minister raised an eyebrow. “They must be quite impressed with you.”
Grinsa smiled thinly. “They merely understand, Minister, that I represent their best hope of defeating the conspiracy. Now it may be that you see that as a reason to despise me. They don’t.”
What little color that woman had in her cheeks drained away, leaving her pale as a wraith. “I didn’t mean to imply-”
“You’ll have to forgive Craeffe, Weaver,” the archminister said, an easy smile on her lips. “She often speaks without thinking. I assure you, though. When the time comes to fight this war, she’ll be ready.”
“Thank you, Archminister. I’ve no doubt that this is true.” Grinsa smiled again; this time it appeared genuine. “And you weren’t here when I told the others to call me ‘gleaner’ or ‘Grinsa.’”
It was the archminister’s turn to blanch. “Of course,” she said, recovering quickly. “Thank you, gleaner.”
Grinsa’s eyes flicked toward Keziah for just an instant. She had noticed as well. Calling him “Weaver” had come to the woman quite naturally.
“There’s not much more for us to discuss just now. The last thing I’d like to do is draw upon your powers as I will when we go to battle.”
“Why?” Craeffe asked.
“It can be a bit disorienting the first time a Weaver takes hold of your magic. I want to make certain that all of you are ready when the time comes to battle the Weaver, and I don’t want my use of your power to come as a shock.” He regarded the woman briefly. “Of course, if you object I can draw upon the magic of the others, without troubling you.”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to understand.”
“Very well. Between fire and mists, I can try this with all of you. Why don’t we begin with a wind? If you have mists and winds, open your mind to me. Allow me to take hold of your magic.”
Keziah did as she was told, feeling Grinsa’s familiar touch on her mind. Within moments a great gale was whipping across the moor, flattening the grasses and keening like a great demon as it passed over the stones. After a time, Grinsa allowed the wind to subside, leaving the other Qirsi speechless and wide-eyed.
“Very good,” he said. “Shall we try it with fire now?”
Soon he had conjured a ball of flame that rose into the sky like a great yellow sun, then streaked downward to the grasses, crashing into the ground with a mighty roar and scorching black an enormous circle of earth.
By this time all of the healers and many of the ministers were gaping at Grinsa as if he were Qirsar himself, a god standing among mortals. Glancing back toward the armies, Keziah saw that the Eandi were watching them, no doubt impressed by what they had seen, and fearful as well.
“I expect the Weaver and his army will reach here in the next day or two,” Grinsa said. “Do what you can to ready yourself for battle. I’ll try not to tax any of you for too long, but we are outnumbered. All of us will be pushed beyond what we believe we can endure.” He bowed to them and started to walk off, sixteen pairs of eyes fixed on him as he went. Keziah thought to go after him. She was anxious to know what he had learned from their discussion and from touching their minds briefly to draw upon their power.
Before she could call to him, however, she heard a soft footfall just behind her.
“Excuse me, Archminister.”
Keziah turned to find herself face-to-face with Sanbira’s archminister. “Archminister. What can I do for you?”
“I thought we might speak privately for a moment. It occurs to me that we have a good deal in common, more even than is immediately apparent. I believe we have much to discuss.”