They both stood and bowed to him.
“Yes, Weaver,” Nitara said.
Once they had left his chamber, Dusaan stood and began to pace. Now that his time had come, he was eager to act, to put an end to the Eandi courts and begin his reign as ruler of the Forelands. But once more, he had to wait until nightfall so that he might speak with those throughout the land who served him. One last time, the sun would set over the Western Sea with the Curtell Dynasty ruling Braedon. When morning came Dusaan would begin to reap the rewards for which he had waited so long. There was no one in all the Forelands who could stop him.
Chapter Four
How could a single night take so long to pass? Even with all Dusaan had to do before dawn, it seemed to him that the moons took days to turn their broad arcs across the darkened sky. He had waited years to begin his war in earnest, he had dreamed of doing so since before his Fating. Patience had long been his greatest weapon. But on this final night, his anticipation got the better of him.
He barely touched his evening meal, which a servant brought to his chamber at twilight and removed several hours later. He paced, he sat by his window staring up at the stars, and he waited for the tolling of the midnight bells, his mind churning, his heart pounding so loudly that he thought everyone in the palace must hear it.
When at last he heard the bells, he wasted no time. Closing his eyes, he began to reach across the Scabbard and the Strait of Wantrae for his chancellors, his most trusted and most powerful servants. He found Jastanne ja Triln aboard her ship, the White Erne, just off the Galdasten shore, within sight of the warships of Braedon, Eibithar, and Wethyrn. As always, she was naked, her body offered to him as a gift. And, again as always, he sensed her ambition, her daring, and her keen intelligence.
Abeni ja Krenta, archminister in the court of Sanbira’s queen, proved more difficult to locate. He had expected to find her in Yserne, but she was riding with the queen and a force of nearly eight hundred men. They were two days out from Brugaosa, just across the border into Caerisse, and pushing hard toward northern Eibithar. Dusaan was pleased; he had feared that she might not reach the northern kingdom in time. Of all his servants, she might have been the most valuable. As brilliant as Jastanne and as passionate in her commitment to the movement, Abeni was somewhat older, and with that age came a wisdom and calm that the young merchant lacked.
Uestem jal Safhir, solid like the great boulders on Ayvencalde Moor, had proved himself intelligent as well, if somewhat unimaginative. He was already in Galdasten. And Pronjed jal Drenthe had managed to escape the prison tower of Dantrielle and was already making his way northward. As always, the archminister was eager to please and, after his questionable decision to kill Carden the Third, king of Aneira, frightened of incurring Dusaan’s wrath again.
There were others-men and women who served in courts or sailed ships or journeyed the realms with festivals. And on this night, Dusaan spoke with all of them, telling each the same thing.
The time has come. I will reveal myself within the day and will begin to fight the Eandi courts in earnest. Prepare yourselves and make your way to Galdasten as quickly as possible. I intend to form an army the likes of which has not been seen in the Forelands for nearly nine centuries.
The sky had already begun to brighten when he ended the last of these conversations. He hadn’t slept at all. He should have been too weary to stand. Instead, he felt invigorated. The sky over the Imperial Palace glowed indigo and the moons hung low to the west. What a glorious day to begin his reign.
He had a servant bring him his morning meal, and this time he ate, like a newly robed cleric breaking his fast. When he had finished, he sat by the window and dozed until the first of the ministers arrived for the day’s discussion. He watched them file into the chamber, singly and in pairs, their hair as white as bone, their eyes a dozen different shades of gold and yellow. He had heard it said among the Eandi that all Qirsi looked the same. Dusaan couldn’t have disagreed more. There was as much variety in the Qirsi face as in the Eandi, and far more beauty. Their skin was as pure as new snow, their features as fine as Sanbiri metalwork. He would challenge any man in the Forelands to show him an Eandi woman as beautiful as Jastanne, or Cresenne for that matter.
His mood darkened at the thought of Cresenne. Had she not betrayed him for Grinsa, she would have been one of those whose dreams he entered this past night. She could have had a hand in this momentous day, she could have been his queen and shared with him the glorious future he had conceived and would soon create. Instead, she would die an enemy of the new Qirsi court. A pity. But she had brought this fate upon herself.
“We’re all here, High Chancellor.”
He looked up to find Nitara standing before him, lovely in her own way, her face flushed with desire for him, and, just perhaps, her anticipation of what was about to happen in this chamber.
Dusaan gazed past her to find that all of them were watching him: Gorlan looking younger than the Weaver had ever seen him, a smile on his lips; Stavel looking old and scared, as well he should. The others appeared oblivious, some even bored. That wouldn’t last long.
He smiled at Nitara and gestured for her to sit. “Thank you, Minister.”
How many times had he envisioned the scene unfolding before him? For how long had he been composing what he was about to say? It seemed to Dusaan that his entire life had been leading to this very moment.
“Have you any further word from Pinthrel, High Chancellor?”
The Weaver glared at Stavel, causing the old man to shrink back into his chair.
“All of you have heard rumors of the Qirsi movement, the so-called conspiracy that threatens the Eandi courts, that strikes fear into the hearts of nobles throughout the Forelands, that unmans Braedon’s emperor. For many turns now, we’ve denounced this movement, just as the emperor would expect. We’ve done so to keep ourselves from being branded as traitors, we’ve done so because as servants of an Eandi lord we could do no less.”
“High Chancellor,” Stavel said meekly, “what does this have to do with the pestilence and Pinth-?”
Dusaan pounded his fist on the writing table. “Will you be silent?” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself, trying to remember exactly where he’d been in his oration. “As I say, we’ve denounced this so-called conspiracy because that’s what was expected of us. But how many of us have wished for the freedom promised by this movement? How many of us have dreamed of a day when Qirsi ruled in the great cities of the Forelands? I know that I have.”
“What are you saying?”
It wasn’t Stavel this time, but rather one of the young ministers. He looked nearly as frightened as Stavel. Indeed, with the exception of Nitara and Gorlan, all of them appeared scared, like children caught in a sudden storm.
“I’m saying just what you think I am. I believe the time has come to put an end to Eandi rule in the Forelands. Our people have served inferior men for too long. We possess great powers. Qirsar has given us the gift of his magic. He has allowed us to glimpse the future, to heal flesh and shape matter, to turn the elements to our will. And yet we are expected to humble ourselves before Eandi nobles who possess neither our powers nor our wisdom. Why should this be?”
“Because they defeated us.” Stavel again, bolder this time. He was trembling-Dusaan could see his hands shaking-but he held his chin high, defiant and proud. The Weaver hadn’t known that he possessed such nerve. “We fought this war nine centuries ago, High Chancellor, and we were beaten back. The Eandi rule the Forelands because we weren’t strong enough to take it from them. We failed then, and this conspiracy will fail now.”