As the fighting around them subsided, Hagan and Javan approached the two boys, Hagan looking none too pleased, and the expression on the duke’s face making it clear to the young lord that he should expect no help from his father.
“I’ll take the blame,” Tavis whispered to his friend. “Just keep quiet and leave this to me.”
Xaver said nothing.
Tavis turned to look at him, and saw that the boy’s eyes were fixed elsewhere. Before he had the chance to ask Xaver what he was looking at, or even to turn and look himself, his friend bolted forward, shouting a warning.
Without thinking, Tavis ran after him, and so saw too late what his friend had spotted. One of the Braedony soldiers, a man whose right shoulder was a bloody mess, had crept back within striking distance of the king, his sword held low, but a dagger flashing in his good hand. Tavis heard Hagan behind him, calling to his son, but Xaver didn’t hesitate for even a moment.
Kearney seemed at last to have sensed his peril, but before he could raise his sword to defend himself, Xaver crashed into the Bradeony soldier, knocking the man to the ground and falling on top of him. They grappled for a moment, the soldier, despite his wound, quickly overpowering Xaver and raising his dirk to strike. By then, however, the king and several of his men had come to Xaver’s aid. They pulled the empire’s man off of him, the soldiers beating the invader with their fists until he crumpled to the ground.
The king offered a hand to Xaver, who stared up at him for a moment before taking it and allowing Kearney to pull him to his feet.
“I’m in your debt, Master MarCullet.”
“N-not at all, Your Majesty.”
The king smiled, glancing at Tavis and then Hagan, both of whom had stopped a short distance off.
“He’s quite a warrior, swordmaster. You should be very proud.”
Hagan bowed his head, his color rising. “You honor us, Your Majesty.”
“I thought you were fighting with your father’s army today, Lord Curgh.”
It was Tavis’s turn to feel his face redden. “Yes, Your Majesty. Xaver and I … we…”
“I asked them to convey a message to you, my liege,” Tavis’s father broke in. “The fighting must have started before they could return to the Curgh lines.”
“Indeed,” the king said, raising an eyebrow. “And what message was that?”
Javan allowed himself a small smile. “I’m afraid that in the excitement of the battle, I’ve forgotten.”
Kearney nodded. “I see. Well, it’s fortunate for me that they were here, no matter how that came to pass.”
“Fortunate for all of us, my liege.”
“Thank you, Javan. How goes the rest of the battle?”
The duke’s expression sobered instantly. “The enemy has been driven back, my liege. They lost a good many men. To be honest, I don’t see how they can continue this war.”
“And what of our losses?”
“Not nearly as bad as the empire’s, my liege, but still more than I would have hoped.”
“Damn.”
Before either man could say more, Grinsa joined them, looking grim.
“Your Majesty,” the gleaner said, dropping briefly to one knee. “I’m glad to see you’re unhurt. I feared the worst.”
“Thank you, gleaner.” Kearney narrowed his eyes, as if the full import of the gleaner’s presence there on the battlefield had finally reached him. “Was it magic that made my horse rear?”
“Yes, it was. I tried to stop him, but couldn’t act quickly enough.”
“Who was responsible?”
“One of your healers, Your Majesty. A man named Lenvyd jal Qosten.”
The king frowned, seeming to search his memory. “The name is vaguely familiar. An older man, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He was left behind when you marched from the City of Kings. He followed you here, later, though only after making an attempt on Cresenne’s life.”
“It seems the gods were with me today.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where is this man now? I want to speak with him.”
Grinsa looked away. “He’s dead.”
“Dead? You killed him?”
The gleaner’s mouth twitched, and he didn’t meet the king’s gaze. “Yes, I did.”
Kearney started to say something, then he glanced at the others standing with them and appeared to think better of it. In the end, he merely said, “We’ll speak of this again, gleaner.”
Grinsa inclined his head slightly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Kearney began to lead his men and the other nobles back toward the camp. Hagan put an arm around Xaver’s shoulder and steered him after the king, his anger seemingly overmastered by his relief, at least for the moment.
“You and I will speak a bit later, as well,” Javan told Tavis, sounding cross, and fixing him with an icy glare.
“Yes, Father.”
The duke turned and walked away, leaving Tavis alone with Grinsa.
“Sounds like we’re both in a bit of trouble,” the young lord said.
“I suppose.”
“Why did you kill that man, Grinsa?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He started away, but Tavis grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and face him.
“That’s too bad. I want an answer.”
Grinsa shrugged off his hand, just as Tavis would have had their roles been reversed. “You want…” the gleaner repeated, shaking his head. “What business is this of yours?”
“I’m your friend, Grinsa. It’s as much my business as everything else that’s happened in the past year. And if that’s not enough, it’s my business because I’m depending on you to defeat the Weaver. So is everyone else on this plain. I need to know if you’re able to do that, or if your feelings for Cresenne are going to get in the way.”
“How dare you!” The gleaner spun away again.
“You killed him for vengeance, didn’t you?” Tavis called after him. “You once accused me of pursuing Cadel just to get revenge, but you just did the same thing. Isn’t that so?”
The gleaner halted, his hands balled into fists. After a moment, he turned, and stalked back to where Tavis still stood, looking so angry that for a moment the boy thought Grinsa was going to hit him.
“This wasn’t the same,” he said. “The man was Qirsi. He had language of beasts. He was still a threat to the king and everyone else with a mount.”
“Cadel was still an assassin. Wasn’t he a threat?”
“The Weaver could have contacted this man. He could have learned a great deal from him.”
“How much more does the Weaver need to know, Grinsa? He knows where we are, how many men we have.”
Grinsa looked off to the side, his lips pressed thin. It was, Tavis realized, the first time he had ever seen the gleaner truly ashamed of something he had done.
“I don’t blame you for doing it,” the young lord said, as gently as he could. “I would have done the same thing.”
Grinsa’s eyes flicked in his direction for just a second.
“Of course, that might only make you feel worse.”
The gleaner smiled, shaking his head again. After a moment he began to laugh quietly. “Well, it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Tavis laughed in turn.
“The truth is, I’m not sure why I killed him,” Grinsa admitted, turning serious once more. “I did it without thinking. He told me that he had poisoned her, and I killed him. It wasn’t out of vengeance. It was just rage.”
The young lord nodded. “I understand. But it’s one thing to act on your rage with a healer. It’s quite another to do it with the Weaver.”
“I don’t need you telling me that. Truly, Tavis, I don’t.”
Tavis shrugged. “Then I won’t speak of it again.”
They returned to the camp, where they found the king speaking with Sanbira’s queen and the rest of the nobles. A few of the Qirsi were there as well, but not many.
“Gleaner,” Kearney called as they approached. “Have you seen the archminister?”
Grinsa faltered in midstride. “Demons and fire! Keziah!”