Weavers of War by David B. Coe Page B

mists and tell me what’s happened to my gold!”
    Before the Weaver could respond, there came a knock at the door.
    “Enter!” Harel shouted.
    A guard stepped into the chamber to announce the master of arms, but the emperor cut him off and called for Uriad, who stepped past the man and knelt. The guard remained by the door, which Dusaan had expected. Four guards in all, the emperor, and Uriad.
    “You asked for this, Your Eminence?” said the master of arms, apparently referring to the fee accountings.
    “Yes. According to the high chancellor, some of my gold has been lost.”
    He sensed Uriad turning to face him. “Before or after I took control of the accounts?”
    “Before. The fault is mine, armsmaster, not yours.”
    “I’ve been trying to get him to tell me where the gold has gone, but he won’t answer me.”
    “It’s not that I won’t answer, but rather that I wanted Uriad to hear what I had to say.” He reached up and began to untie the cords that held his hood in place.
    “What are you doing?” Harel demanded.
    “I’m removing this damned hood.”
    “Don’t you dare!”
    Dusaan continued to work the knot loose.
    “Stop him!” the emperor said, his voice rising.
    The guards converged on him. The two who had been nearest the throne were closer, and so he struck at them first, hammering at them with his shaping power. He heard the muffled snapping of bone and the clattering of swords and mail as they fell to the floor. He didn’t even turn to kill the other two. His magic was as precise and lethal as a war hammer; it was as effortless to wield as an Uulranni blade.
    The two guards from the corridor burst into the chamber. Dusaan whirled and conjured a great killing flame that enveloped them like a mist. Within seconds he heard their blades fall to the floor.
    He sensed that Uriad was gathering himself for an assault.
    “Don’t do it, armsmaster,” Dusaan warned, turning once more toward Harel and his master of arms. “The emperor would be dead before you took your first step. And neither of you had better call for help. I’ll kill you for that as well.” Without even looking back he summoned a wind that blew the doors closed.
    “But you can’t see!” the emperor whispered.
    The Weaver laughed. “You’re a fool, Harel. You collect Qirsi the way other men collect fine blades or Sanbiri mounts, but you’ve never bothered to learn anything about us or our magic. I don’t need to see you to use my power against you. I can sense your every movement.” He pulled off the hood to find Harel staring at him as if the high chancellor had grown into some beast from a child’s darkest dream. Uriad stood near the emperor, his sword drawn, as if that might protect them. Just for amusement, Dusaan shattered the blade.
    “What is it you want?” Harel asked, his voice quavering.
    “It’s not a matter of what I want, Your Eminence. You’re the one who asked me what happened to your gold. I can tell you exactly what happened to every qinde, every silver that was diverted from your treasury. It has been given to the Qirsi movement.”
    It took Harel a moment. “The Qirsi movement? You mean the conspiracy?”
    “No, you fat fool, I mean the Qirsi movement. That’s what we call it. What I call it.”
    “So you’re a traitor.” Uriad sounded calm, as a warrior should. Perhaps Kayiv had prepared him for this before his death.
    “I’m more than that, armsmaster. I’m the traitor. I created what you call the conspiracy, and I’m its leader. And still, I’m even more than that. I’m the most powerful Qirsi either of you has ever known.” He smiled. “I’m a Weaver.”
    That morning, when he revealed his powers to the emperor’s other Qirsi, he had reveled in their awe. This, he had thought at the time, is how Qirsi across the Forelands will receive me. With wonder and reverence. But that was nothing compared with the fear he now sensed from both the emperor and his master of arms. While his