Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Seventeen

Galdasten, Eibithar

It was always the same dream. He was in Audun’s Castle in the City of Kings, standing at the front of the fortress’s magnificent great hall, with the Oaken Throne just behind him. All the dukes, thanes, earls, and barons of Eibithar sat before him, along with the queen of Sanbira, the king of Caerisse, the archduke of Wethyrn, and many nobles he didn’t recognize. All had come, he knew, for his investiture. Renald of Galdasten, the first king of Eibithar to come from the house of eagles in nearly a century. Above them all flew the pennons of all the houses of the realm, led by the bronze, black, and yellow of Galdasten, and beside him, seated in a smaller version of his own great throne, sat Elspeth, looking resplendent in a red velvet gown. His three boys stood beside her, all of them dressed as young soldiers, in the colors of their house with golden hilted swords on their belts.

A prelate he didn’t recognize stood with him, holding the jeweled golden circlet that was to go on Renald’s brow. But before the man could give him the crown, the ceremony was interrupted by a disturbance at the rear of the hall. Everyone stood, so that Renald, standing farthest from the noise, could not see. A woman screamed, then several more, and in a moment the hall was in turmoil. The would-be king strained to get a glimpse of what was causing such panic, but though the tumult seemed to be drawing nearer, he still could see nothing.

Beside him, Elspeth stood, calmly bowed to him, and walked away, leading their sons out of the hall through a small door that had escaped Renald’s notice until then. He called to her, even took a step as if to follow. But before he could, the horde before him finally parted revealing a horror beyond his imagining. A man was striding toward him, a Qirsi. The stranger’s face was flushed and bathed in sweat, and his limbs were covered with swollen red welts-bites from vermin. The front of his shirt was stained with vomit and blood and in each hand he held a mouse. Renald wanted desperately to flee, to follow his wife through the doorway, but his feet would not move. And as the man stopped before him, laughing so that his foul, hot breath blasted the duke’s face, he held out the rodents he carried, crushing their fur against Renald’s face.

Always he woke then, gasping for air, his bedding damp with his own sweat, his stomach knotted like wet rope. He had never spoken of the dream with anyone. He hardly needed to. No one who knew the recent history of the house of Galdasten could have any doubt as to whence this vision had come. It had been but eight years since the madman brought the pestilence to Kell’s Feast, killing the old duke and his family, and so many other men and women of the dukedom that it almost defied comprehension.

Before that growing season, Renald had long lamented the cruelty of his fate. He was far more clever than his older cousin. Indeed, he thought himself the most intelligent and most capable among all the grandchildren of Wistel the Eleventh. But while Kell, as the eldest son of Wistel the Twelfth, could lay claim to the house and its lofty position in the Order of Ascension, Renald, the eldest son of the second brother, was relegated to the small castle in Lynde and a thaneship that led nowhere. In the wake of the tragedy, however, if it could be called that, he began to see that the gods had far greater plans for him and his line than he had ever imagined. It was almost enough to turn him from Ean’s Path, back to the Old Faith.

Yet the vision continued to haunt his dreams, as if warning him against taking too much pleasure in his good fortune. This was the fourth night in Osya’s waxing alone that he had been tormented by the dream, and he had begun to suffer for lack of sleep.

For several years he had just accepted the dream as a burden he had to bear as leader of his house, the cost of his dukedom, as it were. It had never occurred to him to question it beyond that. But as word of the Qirsi conspiracy spread through the Forelands, and, in particular, after the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern and the subsequent defection of Aindreas’s first minister, Renald had started to consider the dream anew. The commoner who brought the pestilence to Galdasten had been Eandi, not Qirsi. No one in Eibithar had ever suggested that the incident had been anything more than an act of insanity and grief-the man in question, it seemed, had lost his child to the pestilence five years before, and his wife to some other illness a few years after that. This was no mask for an assassination plot; it was not an attempt to disrupt the Order of Ascension, as Brienne’s murder might have been. It was just what it seemed: the desperate, foolish act of a crazed man.

So why was the diseased man in his vision a white-hair? Was this some strange trick of his mind born of his fears of the conspiracy, fears he was certain he shared with every Eandi noble in the land? He would have liked to think so, but the vision hadn’t changed at all since he first dreamed it during the harvest of 872, and he had known nothing of the conspiracy in his first years as duke. For all he knew, it hadn’t even existed then.

Once more, he found himself wondering if the dream might be a warning. But of what? He had ambitions for the throne-were the gods telling him to abandon them? Or were they merely telling him that only the conspiracy could keep him from Audun’s Castle, that the real threat to his desires came not from Javan and Kearney, but from the Qirsi?

In recent turns, he had settled on this interpretation, only to see the frequency of the visions increase. Again he found himself lying awake nights, questioning the meaning of this. He briefly considered making his way to the Sanctuary of Amon at the eastern end of the city to ask the priestess there what it might mean. But a duke in Eibithar didn’t reveal to anyone the terrors preying on his mind, nor did he turn to the sanctuaries in times of trouble. If the prelate couldn’t help him-and dreams were hardly the province of the cloisters-no man or woman of the gods could.

Instead, Renald endured his visions alone. Elspeth would have thought him a weak fool for allowing mere dreams to unman him, and there was no other person in the castle in whom the duke placed enough trust to confide such a thing. On this night, as on so many that had come before, the duke rose from his bed and threw on his clothes, though the eastern sky had yet to brighten. He knew that there was no sleeping after the vision came, and he thought it better to occupy his mind with other things rather than lie in bed seeing the Qirsi’s face time and again.

Two soldiers stood just outside his bedchamber, two who were often there when the duke emerged from the room in the darkness of night. They had the good sense not to comment on his inability to sleep, silently bowing to him instead, and falling in step behind him as he led them to his ducal chambers.

The room was cold when he stepped inside, and one of the guards hurried to the hearth to light a fire.

“Leave it,” the duke said.

“But, my lord-”

“Bring me some tea. That will be warmth enough.”

The man bowed again. “Yes, my lord.”

In a moment he was alone. The guards had left one of their torches, which cast great, shifting shadows on the chamber walls. Renald lit a lamp on his writing table and a second on the mantle above the hearth. Then he retrieved the missive from Kearney that had arrived two days before, and sat at the table.

The message was quite typical of the Glyndwr king-forthright but courteous, intelligently written and free of pretense. It seemed he had proof of Lord Tavis’s innocence in the murder of Aindreas’s daughter, and, perhaps more to the point, evidence as well of Qirsi involvement in the killing, which he now referred to as an assassination. Renald could only imagine how these tidings would be received in Kentigern.

The king went on to request that Renald make the journey to the City of Kings as soon as weather in the north permitted. With the snows giving way to the milder days and warmer winds of the planting, that time had already come. Still, the duke had made no plans to ride southward, nor did he expect to anytime soon.

He actually liked Kearney, and had been impressed with the king’s father the one time they had occasion to meet. Galdasten and Glyndwr had long been on good terms, and why shouldn’t they be? Renald’s house was ranked second among the five majors in the Order of Ascension; Glyndwr was fifth. They had never truly been rivals and with one on the north shore, buffeted by winds from Amon’s Ocean, and the other perched in the highlands, they had never had cause for any sort of land dispute. Renald even believed that Kearney might make a good king, given the chance to rule for several more years.

His opposition to the king had nothing to do with the man himself and everything to do with the future of his own house. Under the rules governing the Eibitharian throne, the death of Kell and his entire line in 872 removed Galdasten from the Order of Ascension for four generations. Renald had inherited the dukedom, but his house could not claim the throne until his grandson’s grandson had come of age. And even then, there was no guarantee that the crown would fall to Galdasten. If Kearney’s line continued to produce male heirs, Glyndrwr might still hold power, and if it did not, the crown would revert first to Thorald. Indeed, by the time a duke of Galdasten could ascend once more to the throne, any of the other four major houses might have established itself as the royal house.

Renald had sent letters to Aindreas lamenting the injustices Kentigern had suffered at the hands of Javan of Curgh and the king. He had written similar messages to Kearney, warning the king that Galdasten and its allies among the other houses of the realm would not allow Brienne’s killer and those who harbored him to go unpunished. And though he had thought Tavis guilty of the crime, he wouldn’t have done anything different had he not. Aindreas’s opposition to the king threatened not only to topple Glyndwr from the throne but also to put an end to the Rules of Ascension themselves. And that was just what the duke wanted.

The rules had been challenged before, and the houses had turned away from them a number of times, only to see the kingdom descend into turmoil and violence. Each time, the houses eventually returned to the rules, seeing in the stability of the Thorald Supremacy an imperfect solution, but one that was preferable to civil war.

But what if Renald could convince the other houses that this time the rules themselves were the source of their troubles? Aindreas had been trying to convince anyone who would listen that Javan and Kearney had conspired to steal the throne from him. From all that the duke had heard, however, he believed that Kentigern had agreed to the arrangement. True, the decision came in the difficult hours just after the end of a siege that nearly cost Aindreas his castle, but he had given his consent nevertheless. And Renald had been reminding other dukes of this ever since. The problem lay not with any deception perpetrated by the king but rather with the Rules of Ascension. They were too easily turned to the purposes of one or two determined dukes. They were archaic and unjust. Why should the act of a madman and the assassination of a young prince be enough to remove the two preeminent houses in Eibithar from consideration for the throne? Without the rules, Tobbar of Thorald might be king now, or perhaps Renald, if the duke of Thorald was too ill to serve. In either case, there would be no talk of rebellion and civil war. Eibithar would be able to face the Qirsi challenge united and strong.

This at least is what he had been saying to the other dukes. And they were listening. Eardley, Sussyn, Domnall, and Rennach. Minor houses all, and aside from Eardley, not even the strongest of the minors. But taken together, their armies included nearly four thousand men, and combined with the soldiers of Galdasten and Kentigern, they constituted a considerable fighting force. They were not powerful enough to defeat the royal army, particularly if it was supported by the armies of Glyndwr, Curgh, Labruinn, and Tremain, as seemed likely. But unlike Aindreas, Renald didn’t want a war.

The duke of Kentigern was so consumed by his grief and his need for vengeance that he would gladly have destroyed the kingdom so long as he managed to destroy Curgh and Glyndwr in the process. Everyone in the realm knew it. Certainly the other dukes did. Which was why even as he railed against the injustice of Kearney’s rule, Renald never spoke of taking the kingdom by force. His was the soothing voice, the antithesis to Aindreas’s cries for blood. No, he didn’t need a force capable of taking Audun’s Castle. He merely needed a credible army, large enough to convince a majority of the dukes that the danger of war was real, and that any peaceful settlement was preferable to the carnage such a conflict would bring.

It was a process he knew would take some time. Even those dukes who were with him still spoke of war, of the injustice done to Aindreas. Many of them believed that Thorald could be turned to their cause and that when Tobbar joined them, Kearney would be forced to surrender the throne. Renald had no such illusions. Tobbar would never be king, nor would Marston, his son. But if Kearney the Younger, the king’s boy, failed to produce an heir, Marston’s son or grandson could claim the throne as his own. Thorald remained the preeminent house in the land, and as such, its leaders had reason to preserve the Rules of Ascension. The lone hope for Renald and his allies was that Aindreas would lead them to the brink of war, before Kearney was forced to abdicate in order to keep the land whole.

Under any circumstances, his chances of succeeding would have been small. But Kearney’s message, versions of which he had no doubt sent to every duke in the realm, made matters that much more difficult. If the king managed to convince the other nobles that Aindreas had been wrong about Tavis, that Glyndwr’s offer of asylum had saved an innocent man rather than harboring a murderer, then support for the rebellion would crumble.

The guards returned to Renald’s chamber a short time later bearing a pot of tea and breakfast, but from that time until just after the ringing of the midmorning bells, the duke was alone with his thoughts and the damned letter from Kearney. Even as the pealing of the bells continued to echo through the castle, a knock came at his door. Ewan Traylee and Pillad jal Krenaar, his swordmaster and first minister. They met with the duke every morning at this time. But when he called for them to enter, it was Elspeth who opened the door, not the two men.

Renald stood. “Good morrow, my lady.” He stepped around the table, taking her hands in his and kissing her forehead.

She gave a quick smile, but did not return the kiss. “The guards tell me you were awake again before dawn.”

He dropped her hands. “The guards should know better than to speak of their duke without leave.”

“Even to his wife?”

“Even so, yes.” He walked back to the table and sat once more.

“What is it that wakes you?”

Renald shook his head, looked away.

“Is it another woman? I know you’ve had mistresses in the past.”

“No, Elspeth. There’s no other woman.” A lie, though strictly true for this past night.

“Then what?”

“It’s nothing I wish to tell you. I spent the balance of the night here, working. That’s all you need to know.”

The duchess stared at him for a long time, her dark eyes holding his. She remained beautiful, even after so many years, even after three childbirths. But it was an austere beauty, as inaccessible as the high peaks of the Border Range, or the ocean just before a storm. With her brown hair up, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and wide mouth, she looked more like a prioress than a duchess. She looked very much a queen.

“Of what do you dream, my lord?”

He felt his mouth twitch, saw her smile triumphantly.

“I dream of Kell’s death,” he admitted.

“And that’s what wakes you.”

“Yes.”

“It would wake me, too.”

It was as much a kindness as she was likely to show him, but he didn’t wish to speak of this with anyone, least of all with her. “I’m expecting the swordmaster and my minister,” he said. “We have a good deal to discuss.”

“Even now they stand in the corridor,” she said mildly. “They said they would wait until we were through.”

Damn you. “What do you want?”

“What word have you sent to the other houses?”

“Nothing yet. It’s too early. The message only came two days ago-”

“Three now.”

“All right, three. But that’s still not enough time to compose a response.”

“They’ll expect one. From you. Aindreas can’t say anything. I doubt he’ll even accept Kearney’s claims. He’d gone too far to turn back now. That leaves you to lead the others.”

Where? Where do I lead them now? “I know. That’s why my response must be crafted with care.”

“With care, yes. But swiftly as well. It will take some time for whatever message you send to reach the others. If you wait too long, they’ll think Kearney’s message has settled matters and this moment will pass.” She walked to where he sat and knelt beside him, placing her hand on the inside of his thigh. “Don’t you want to be king? Don’t you want to reclaim the glory that was once Galdasten’s?”

Her hand crept up his thigh and in spite of everything he felt himself becoming aroused. Cursing his weakness, he stood and stepped away from her. She only wanted the throne for him because she wished desperately to be queen, and because she had long nurtured ambitions for their sons.

“I daresay I want the throne nearly as much as you do, Elspeth. And I plan to do all I can to get it-”

“But you don’t know how.”

He glared at her. “Leave me.”

She smirked at him. After a moment she stood once more and walked to the door. She was nearly as tall as he and she moved with the grace of a Revel dancer.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to remain? I can hardly imagine Ewan or Pillad being of much help. Their minds are no more nimble than yours.”

He said nothing, and she reached for the door handle.

“What would you do?” he asked, signaling his surrender.

She faced him again. If she felt she had beaten him, she hid it well. “That’s why I married you, Renald. A lesser man would have allowed his pride to keep him from asking.”

He already regretted not letting her leave.

“I certainly wouldn’t deny the verity of Kearney’s claims,” she went on, after seeming to consider the question briefly. “All it takes is one duke curious enough to make the journey and you’re ruined. Rather, I’d insist that the tidings from Audun’s Castle have no bearing on your dispute with the Crown. In fact, they make it all the more urgent that Eibithar rid itself of this arcane method of choosing its kings. Regardless of who killed Brienne, we still have a king who rules simply because two men decided he should. The rules are too easily bent to the will of a few.” She paused, as if to weigh her own words. “That’s what I would say.”

Renald nodded. Not surprisingly it made a good deal of sense. She was a brilliant woman. Had he loved her he might have taken pride in having made her his duchess.

“And Renald,” she added, lowering her voice and glancing toward the door. “If I were you, I wouldn’t speak of this with Pillad.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because he’s Qirsi, you fool. Didn’t Kearney’s message teach you anything? Brienne is dead because the Qirsi wished her dead. Eibithar is poised to fall into turmoil because the Qirsi wished it so. A noble who continues to trust his white-hairs with all matters of the realm risks a similar fate.”

“But Pillad-”

She raised a finger to her lips, silencing him. Her eyes flicked to the door once more. Then she walked back to where he sat.

“Please, Renald,” she said, her voice low. “Don’t tell me that you know him too well, that he’s served your house for too long, that he couldn’t possibly betray you.”

The duke just stared at her, groping for a response and feeling like a chastised child.

“He’s Qirsi,” she said, “and therefore he’s dangerous. You may be right about him, he may be as loyal as a hound. But you’ve come too far to take that chance.”

He nodded to her a second time, knowing that she was right, hating her for it.

“We’ll speak again later,” she told him. “After you’ve spoken with the others.”

She turned away from him, her gown swirling, and left the chamber, leaving the door open as she favored the two men in the corridor with a gentle smile.

“Good day, my lord,” Ewan said entering the chamber.

Pillad followed him in and bowed to Renald. “My lord.”

“Close the door,” the duke said sourly.

The Qirsi shut the door quietly and both men sat near the hearth. Renald eyed them both for several moments. Confronted now with the need to dismiss the Qirsi from his chamber, the duke wasn’t certain how to proceed. Living in a realm in which nobles gathered Qirsi ministers according to their status and rank, Renald should have been able to attract to his court the wisest and most powerful. Eandi leaders in the Forelands had been collecting Qirsi for centuries, for their magic to be sure-their ability to glean the future, to weave mists that could conceal an entire army, and to shatter swords or whisper dark words to the horses of enemy soldiers-but also because a powerful minister enhanced the reputation of the man he served. Javan of Curgh was a formidable man in his own right, but having Fotir jal Salene as his first minister served to make him seem that much more impressive.

Had he been in line for the throne, Renald might have lured such a Qirsi to his own court. Instead, he had Pillad. The man was a capable minister whose visions had proven to be of value once or twice over the years. But Pillad would have been the first to admit that the powers he possessed-gleaning, fire, and healing-were not among the deeper Qirsi magics. He would have been less likely to admit what brought him to Galdasten, though Renald knew. Under most circumstances, a Qirsi of his limited abilities could never have expected to serve the duke of a major house in one of the Forelands’ most powerful realms. But when Renald became duke, he was served by an aging woman whose powers were no more impressive than Pillad’s, and when she died, Pillad saw an opportunity to serve in a dukedom, despite his shortcomings. With Galdasten removed from the Order of Ascension, other Qirsi weren’t exactly flocking to Renald’s castle, and though one or two of the others who did come had a bit more to offer than this man, something in Pillad’s manner drew the duke’s attention.

He had little doubt that his minister remained loyal to the house and despite the soundness of Elspeth’s reasoning, Renald was loath to exclude him from the discussion.

But can you be certain?

“How goes the training of the men?” he asked Ewan, stalling.

The swordmaster looked puzzled. “Well, my lord. As always.”

“Would you trust them to prevail in a fight?”

“Against whom, my lord?”

“The army of another major house.”

“Excuse me, my lord,” Pillad broke in. “But are you expecting to go to war?”

“No, Minister, I’m not. But with Kentigern threatening rebellion, I feel that we should be prepared for the worst. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“I’d put our men up against any in the land, my lord,” Ewan said, a note of pride in his voice, his black beard bristling.

“Of course, Ewan,” the duke said. “Forgive the question.”

In his own way, the swordmaster was as limited in his capabilities as the minister. He was a fine swordsman, nearly a match for Hagan MarCullett in Curgh. But once more, measuring the men who served him against those serving Javan, Renald found that he suffered for the comparison. Ewan was not quite as skilled with a blade as Hagan, nor could he have prevailed against Curgh’s swordmaster in a battle of wits. His men loved him and would have followed him into battle against a host of demons and wraiths. But Kell’s swordmaster had succumbed to the pestilence with the old duke, and replacing him with as fine a soldier had proven difficult.

Once more the duke could hear his wife mocking them all. I can hardly imagine Ewan or Pillad being of much help. Their minds are no more nimble than yours. And though it galled him to think it, he had to concede that she was right about this as well.

Pillad pressed his fingertips together. “Have you given any more thought to the king’s message, my lord?”

“Yes, though I haven’t yet decided on any course of action.”

“You still believe he may be lying.”

“Possibly.” The duke narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“Actually it is. I’ve given the matter a good deal of thought, and I find it hard to imagine a member of the conspiracy admitting so much to any Eandi noble. I’d advise you to put little stock in that letter.”

Renald nodded, though he suddenly felt cold. Perhaps the duchess was right about him after all. The one thing the duke and his wife agreed on was that Kearney wouldn’t have lied about such a thing. Yet here was the minister arguing that the king had done just that.

“It’s a fair point, Minister. I’ll consider it. For now, however, I’d like to speak with the swordmaster in private.”

It was clumsily done-Elspeth would have handled it far better. But Renald could barely keep his hands steady. He just wanted the man out of his chamber.

Pillad merely stared back at him, his face expressionless, his yellow eyes wide, so that he looked like a great owl. “My lord?”

“I wish to speak with Ewan of the men and of their training. I see no need to keep you here for a discussion that could consume the rest of the morning. I’ll call for you later.”

The minister glanced at Ewan, then stood and sketched a small bow. “Of course, my lord.”

Still he stood there, as if confused. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After another moment he walked to the door and slipped out of the room, saying nothing more.

“Damn,” the duke muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“You’ve lost faith in him.”

“It’s that apparent, is it?”

“I’m afraid so. Can you tell me why?”

“Something the duchess said about the dangers of trusting any Qirsi in these times. And then his suggestion that Kearney’s letter was a deception.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I agree with him.”

Renald felt his stomach heave. Damn the woman! “You do?”

“From what I’ve heard of these Qirsi traitors, it seems they’d rather die than betray their cause. You remember what happened in Thorald?”

Indeed he did, not merely because it had been only a few turns before but also because the tidings had left him badly shaken. Faced with accusations that she was a traitor, Tobbar’s first minister admitted as much, but then took her own life before the duke and his men could question her.

“But would the king lie about such a thing, knowing how easy it would be for one of us to challenge his word?”

Ewan shrugged. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so easy. He might have convinced a Qirsi loyal to his house to play the part of traitor.”

Renald sat forward. “Of course!” he whispered. It had never occurred to him to consider this. He felt certain that it had never occurred to Elspeth either. He actually thought it unlikely that Kearney could be so devious, but that was beside the point. Here was the excuse he needed to continue supporting Aindreas.

“Do you think that’s what he’s done?” Ewan asked.

“Tell me, swordmaster, how many men would we need to pose a threat to the king?”

“Far more than we have, my lord.”

“Even with the minor houses that support us? Even with Kentigern?”

“Kentigern is still recovering from the siege, and the armies of four minor houses don’t add up to much. Kearney has Glyndwr and Curgh, Tremain and Heneagh, as well as the royal army. Even if Thorald joined us it wouldn’t be enough.”

“I’m not asking you what we need to defeat the king. Only what we might need to convince him that a civil war would be too destructive to consider.”

“To what end, my lord?”

Renald briefly considered telling the swordmaster of his hope that Kearney might abdicate. In the end, however, he decided against it. In the light of day, the notion struck him as too farfetched to repeat. At least for now.

“I fear that the king might attempt to crush Kentigern’s rebellion before Aindreas can strike at him. Until we know for certain that Kearney is telling the truth about this Qirsi, I want to do all we can to prevent that.”

Ewan’s mouth twisted so that he looked, despite his beard and brawn, like a boy grappling with a question from his tutors. “I’m not even certain we’re strong enough to do that much. If the king is determined to destroy the threat now, there’s little we can do to stop him.”

“But he couldn’t do this without some cost,” the duke said, desperate now for any encouraging response.

“Indeed, my lord. He’d pay dearly for the effort. We can’t defeat him, but we can inflict heavy losses.”

“And he must know this. Isn’t that correct?”

“He should know it, my lord. If he doesn’t, Gershon Trasker will tell him as much.”

Renald rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, throwing open the shutters and staring out at the grey skies hanging over Galdasten. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Thank you, swordmaster.”

“But, my lord, you must realize that whatever losses the king suffers will be nothing compared to our own.”

“I know that, Ewan. Rest assured, I have no intention of leading our men to a slaughter. I merely need time, and so long as Kearney knows that he can’t defeat us without a bloodletting, I have it.”

“Time for what, my lord?”

A fine question. One to which Renald had no answer. He needed for something to happen, though he couldn’t even give a name to what that might be. He’d know it when it came, and he guessed that he wouldn’t have to wait too long for whatever it was. Events in the Forelands had become as changeable and difficult to predict as the planting weather on the shores of Amon’s Ocean. One couldn’t guess the direction of the winds from one hour to the next. But there could be little doubt that a storm would be blowing in soon.

Pillad hadn’t been sitting at his table for more than a few moments when he saw Uestem enter the tavern. He groaned inwardly and lowered his gaze, hoping that the merchant wouldn’t notice him, knowing how foolish that was. The man was here because he had seen Pillad come in. The minister was certain of it. And as much as he dreaded speaking with him, he was surprised to find himself trembling with anticipation.

“First Minister, I’m surprised to see you here so early in the day.”

Pillad looked up from his ale, frowned at the man, and looked away. “I’d like to be alone, thank you.”

“Then why come to a tavern?” He lowered himself into the seat across from Pillad, resting his hands lightly on the table. “Why come to this tavern in particular? How many times have we met here now? Three? Four?”

“Three.” The minister kept glancing toward the door, fearing that someone from the castle might enter the tavern at any moment. He had no cause to worry, of course. Only Qirsi came to this inn, and few were likely to do so before the ringing of the midday bells. Indeed, they were the only two people in the tavern aside from the barkeep and a pair of serving women. Besides, Uestem was known throughout Galdasten and the surrounding countryside as a successful and wellrespected merchant. No one would have thought it strange that so wealthy a man might know the first minister. Few would have guessed that he was also a leader in the Qirsi conspiracy. But still Pillad watched the entrance. Anything to avoid looking this man in the eye.

“Three then. Nevertheless, you must have known I’d find you. I believe that’s why you came.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! I came here-”

“Yes, I know: to be alone.” He smiled. “Tell me, Minister, why is it that you’ve never had me imprisoned?”

“What?”

“You know I’m with the conspiracy-I’ve been trying to convince you to join us for more than a turn. Yet in all that time, even as you’ve refused, even as you’ve called me a traitor, you’ve never summoned the castle guard. Why?”

Pillad’s heart was beating so hard that it hurt. He knew the answer, just as Uestem did. There was so much about himself that he had kept hidden away, that he had been afraid to admit, even to himself. Yet speaking with this man, he felt that all of it was laid bare for the world to see.

“Never mind that for now,” the merchant said. “Tell me this: what drove you from the castle today?”

Pillad shook his head, eyes on the door again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. I think your duke drove you here.”

The minister met the man’s gaze. “If I didn’t know better, Uestem, I’d say that you had a spy in the duke’s castle.”

The merchant grinned. “Who’s to say I don’t?” He leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”

“You’re the one with the spies. You tell me.”

“All right,” he said. He appeared to consider the matter for several moments, his brow furrowing. “I’d imagine you went to your duke’s chambers as you do each morning, to speak with him of Kentigern and the king and whatever else concerns those of you living in the courts. The Eandi may not always know what to do with the authority they wield, but they do seem to enjoy talking about it. In any case, this morning something was different. Your duke seemed more distant than usual, more wary of you. And before you could even get comfortable in his spacious chambers, he asked you to leave. He didn’t tell you why, he certainly didn’t say that he had lost faith in you, but you knew. And so you came here.” He sat back again. “Is that about right?”

Perhaps he really did have a spy. “It’s close enough,” the minister conceded. He sipped his ale, lowering his gaze once more. He felt humiliated, though Uestem was merely watching him, a look of sympathy on his lean face.

“The same thing is happening all over the Forelands, Minister. The Eandi speak of the faithlessness of the Qirsi, but they’re the ones who reward years of loyal service with suspicion and contempt.”

“Perhaps. But they do so because of your movement. They’re frightened, and rightly so.”

The man smiled again. “That’s the first time in any of our conversations that you’ve referred to it as a movement rather than as a conspiracy.”

Pillad felt his cheeks redden. “Don’t think too much of it.”

“Minister, why do you still resist? Your duke has lost faith in you. How long do you think it will be before he banishes you from the castle entirely?’

“It won’t come to that.”

“Can you be certain? I’m sure you never thought it would come to this.” He paused watching Pillad, his light eyes fixed on the minister’s face. “Actually, you’re probably right. It won’t come to that, though not for the reason you think. He won’t send you from the castle because he won’t have time. Renald isn’t a bold man. It would take him several turns, maybe close to a year before he could muster the nerve to send you away. My allies and I will have already struck at the Eandi courts by then. For all we know, Renald will be dead before the end of the growing turns, as will any Qirsi who still serve him.”

Pillad looked up at that.

“Is he worth dying for, Minister? After what he’s done to you today, can you honestly say that you’re still willing to give your life for this man and his house?”

Was it possible that he had come here knowing that Uestem would find him? Had he intended to pledge himself to the movement all along? Listening to the merchant speak, grappling with this last question he had asked, Pillad couldn’t help but wonder. For abruptly, the answer seemed all too plain.

“No, I can’t.”

Uestem smiled, his expression free of irony. “You mean that? You’re ready to join us?”

“What would be expected of me?”

“I don’t know yet. To be honest, I haven’t been confident enough in my ability to persuade you to inquire. But I will now.”

“Yes, do.” He drained his ale and placed it on the table a bit too sharply. The noise startled him. “So what will happen now?”

“Someone will contact you in the next few days. You’ll-”

“Someone? You mean it won’t be you?”

The man placed his hand on Pillad’s. His skin felt warm and smooth. “It will be all right. Much of what you do in service to the movement will be through me. But not all.”

The minister nodded.

“You’ll be given a bit of gold-I don’t know how much-and you’ll be asked to perform some task on our behalf. When you’ve completed it, you’ll be contacted again. What happens after that will depend upon many things, so I can’t tell you much more.”

The minister pulled his hand away and stood. “I should return to the castle. I’ll be missed before long.”

“You’ll be missed here.”

Pillad felt his face grow hot again, but he smiled. He started to walk away, but then halted, facing the merchant again. “What would you have done if I had refused you again?”

“I would have kept trying, for a while at least. Eventually, I would have had to kill you.”

As quickly as the smile had come to his lips he felt it flee, along with much of the blood from his face. “You jest.”

“No. I like you, Minister. Very much. But I serve a great cause. I’d gladly die for our people, and if I had to, I’d kill for them as well. I’m glad you’ve made that unnecessary.”

Pillad swallowed, nodded once more. He could still feel where the man had touched his hand, though it wasn’t merely warm anymore. Rather, it burned like an open wound.