Not long ago, he would have responded to such words with rage. But he was too close now to care what this one man said, weak and inconsequential as he was. He merely shook his head, grinning fiercely. “No, Stavel, you’re wrong. We failed then because we defeated ourselves, through the treachery of a single man.” Even now, on the verge of undoing all that this traitor had wrought, Dusaan found it difficult to speak his name. “Carthach ruined us, he doomed our people to nine centuries of servitude and humiliation. But all that is about to end.”
“You can’t really think to defeat them. Their armies-”
“Their armies are already destroying one another. By the time we strike at them they will have so weakened themselves that our victory will be assured.”
“How long have you been with the conspiracy, High Chancellor?” Rov asked, her tone betraying little.
“I prefer to call it a movement, Minister. And I’ve been with it from the beginning. The movement is me, and I am the movement.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. I lead the movement.”
The woman blinked, wide-eyed.
“I don’t believe you.” Stavel, of course.
“Don’t you, Chancellor? Look into your heart. You know that it’s true.” He smiled again. “But there’s more.” He looked around the chamber. “Who here knows what powers I possess?”
No one spoke.
With only the merest effort, he called forth a wind, allowing it to sweep through the chamber, then die away. He held forth his hand and conjured a flame. Then he held his other hand over the fire, wincing at the pain. Several of the Qirsi gasped, including Nitara. He let the fire go out and held up his burned hand so that all could see the wound. And then he healed it. He picked up a wine goblet from his writing table, balanced it in his palm, and shattered it with a thought.
“Mists and winds,” he said. “Fire, healing, shaping. Let me assure you that I have gleaning, language of beasts, and delusion as well.”
Stavel looked like he might be ill. “You’re a Weaver,” he whispered.
“Yes. Drawing on my own powers and melding them with the magic of those in this chamber, I could tear this palace to the ground, killing every Eandi within it. With the force that I have assembled throughout the Forelands, I can overcome the combined might of the seven realms.”
Gorlan stood and faced the others. “What he’s telling you is true. I’ve felt his power. It’s greater than I ever thought possible.”
“You’re involved in this, too?”
“We’re part of a great movement,” Dusaan said, ignoring Stavel. “We’re on the verge of changing the course of history. I would gladly welcome all of you to our cause, if you so choose. But you must decide now. You have spent your lives in the service of Eandi lords, men who did not deserve your devotion. Now I offer you the opportunity to join me in building a Qirsi empire. You need only swear your fealty to the movement.”
“And if we refuse?” asked one of the chancellors.
“I have revealed to you that I’m a Weaver, and I’ve declared myself at war with the Eandi courts, including that of the emperor. If you refuse, you declare yourself his ally. You’ll have until nightfall to leave the palace without fear of reprisal. After that, if you remain and you still refuse to pledge yourself to our cause, I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”
“Do you honestly believe that you can win our allegiance with threats?”
Again, the Weaver ignored the question, eyeing the others. Nitara had been right: all of the ministers were with him, and at least one of the older Qirsi.
“All of you who intend to join me, please stand.”
All six ministers and two of the chancellors stood, leaving only Stavel and two others sitting.
“You’re mad!” Stavel said. “All of you.” He pushed himself out of his chair and started for the door.
“Hold, Stavel.”
The old chancellor halted, his back to Dusaan. After a moment, he turned. His face was deathly pale, and there could be no mistaking the terror in his eyes. Yet, once more, he surprised the high chancellor with his bravery. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That depends. Where are you going?”
“To the emperor, of course. I must tell him of this.”
Brave indeed. “You know I can’t let you do that.”
“So it’s to be murder then.”
“I’d rather it not be.” Dusaan wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he actually meant what he said. Just the day before he wouldn’t have thought twice about killing this man. But Stavel had earned his respect this day. Dusaan was forced to admit that there was more to the man than he had ever imagined. “I know that we’ve had our differences over the years. I know that you were jealous of me when I first came to Curtell. I’ll even grant that you had reason to be. I was new to the palace, and I was very young to be made high chancellor. It couldn’t have been easy for you, being passed over when you had waited so long. But I’d be willing to put all of that aside if you’ll pledge your fealty to me now.”
“Never.”
“Surely you can’t think that the emperor deserves such loyalty. The man’s a fool. He cares nothing for the Qirsi who serve him. He can barely even remember our names.”
“None of that matters, Dusaan, and you know it. I swore an oath to serve the empire, and I will not go back on my word.”
“Even if it means turning against your own people?”
“You may be a Weaver, and you may lead a movement that stretches across all the Forelands, but that doesn’t mean that you speak for our people.” The old man took a long breath, drawing himself up so that he stood straighter than Dusaan had seen in many years. “So if you wish to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.”
Their eyes were locked, and the Weaver refused to look away, but he sensed that the others were watching him, wondering what he would do.
“Go ahead, Dusaan. Kill me. Show them what kind of leader you intend to be.”
It would have been easiest to break his neck. One simple push with his shaping power would do it, and it would be a relatively painless death for Stavel. But he needed to decide what point he wished to convey to the others-did he want them to think him merciful, or would it be more useful to make them fear his power? — and he had only an instant to make his choice.
Stavel turned again, reaching for the door handle.
“Stop, Stavel.” He pushed as he said the words, touching the old man’s mind with his magic. The chancellor hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle for an instant before dropping to his side. The others were watching in grave silence, but Dusaan didn’t think they understood quite what was happening.
The Weaver glanced about the chamber, trying to decide what to do with Stavel now that he controlled him. It took him but a moment to decide. “Retrieve my sword, Chancellor, and bring it to me.”
Stavel looked at him, despair in his yellow eyes, but he could only obey. He crossed the chamber, pulled the sword from its scabbard, and walked back to where the Weaver stood.
“Lay the point against my chest.”
Stavel lifted the blade so that its point rested on the high chancellor’s breastbone.
“No doubt he’d like to kill me,” Dusaan said so that the others could hear, all the while keeping a tight hold on Stavel’s mind. “But I control him. He’s helpless to do anything other than what I command.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Stavel whispered, a tear winding a crooked course down his face.
“Because you turned against me. Because you chose service to the Eandi over loyalty to your own people.”
“What are you going to do to him?” asked Bardyn, another of the old ones who had refused to join him.
“What would you suggest I do with him, Chancellor? He’s been spying on all of us for the emperor. He’s guilty of the worst kind of betrayal.”