Weavers of War by David B. Coe

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.”
    “He was only doing what his sovereign asked him to do. Harel feared for his life and his court—with good reason it now seems—and he ordered Stavel to do this. Surely you can’t fault the chancellor for that.”
    “So you would have done the same thing?” Gorlan demanded.
    Bardyn glared at him briefly before looking away. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
    Stavel’s hand was trembling. Dusaan could feel him fighting to win back control of his mind and body.
    “Turn the sword on yourself,” he said.
    Another tear slid from Stavel’s eye as he turned the blade and held the tip against his own chest.
    The Weaver almost told the man to kill himself then. He intended to. He considered Stavel’s betrayal a crime against the Qirsi people, one for which the old man deserved to die. But looking at the others once more, he saw apprehension on their faces. Even Nitara seemed to be pleading silently for Stavel’s life, her pale eyes wide and brimming with tears. If this woman, who had willingly taken the life of her former lover, couldn’t bear to see the chancellor killed, how would the rest respond?
    “You understand that it would be nothing for me to take your life, that you’ve earned such a death with all you’ve done?”
    Stavel nodded.
    “And you understand as well, that if you dare go to the emperor with any of this, I will kill you, and Bardyn, too.”
    His eyes flicked toward his friend, then back to Dusaan’s face, the sword still pressed to his heart. “I understand.”
    “Good.” Dusaan took the blade from him and released his hold on the man’s mind. Stavel blinked once, his entire body appearing to sag. “You’re to leave the palace at once, Chancellor. I don’t ever want to see your face again. If I do, your life is forfeit.”
    Stavel started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. With one last glance at the others, he left the chamber.
    “If any of you still intend to oppose me, you should leave now as well. My patience for traitors runs thin.”
    There was a brief silence. Then Bardyn stood, crossed to the door, and pulled it open. Pausing on the threshold, he turned to stare back at Dusaan. “Stavel is right, you know. You’re all quite mad.”
    Dusaan raised the sword, so that it pointed directly at Bardyn’s chest. “Not a word to anyone, Chancellor. You’ll find that a Weaver’s reach is not limited by walls, or mountains, or even oceans. Defy me now, and I’ll find you, no matter how far you run.”
    The man blanched and pulled the door shut, his footsteps retreating quickly down the corridor.
    “Anyone else?” Dusaan asked.
    No one moved.
    “I’m pleased,” he said. “And I welcome you to the Qirsi movement. Before this day is done the Imperial Palace will be ours, and soon after, all of Braedon. From there, it won’t be long until we’ve conquered all the Eandi courts and created a new land ruled by the Qirsi people and defended by Qirsi magic.”
    “How will we take the palace, Weaver?” Nitara asked.
    The high chancellor allowed himself a smile. “Leave that to me.”
    *   *   *
    Dusaan left his chamber a short time later, instructing the other Qirsi to remain there and await his return. He wouldn’t need them for what he