He took a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the flames dancing before him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he began slowly to take control of his thoughts once more. It was a long journey, and a difficult one, but he had spent years training his mind to retain its focus, to overcome his passions and the distractions foisted upon him by others. He was a Weaver. To do less would have been to risk discovery and execution.

Eventually, he was able to look away from the flames, and to think once more of the tasks that awaited him that night.

Pronjed would be sleeping by now, and if a residue of anger remained from his conversation with the woman, so be it. The Solkaran minister had earned Dusaan’s fury as few ever had before.

The Weaver closed his eyes again, and sent his mind soaring eastward once more. He hadn’t as far to travel this time and before long he sensed the Great Forest beneath him. He allowed his thoughts to spiral downward to Castle Solkara, where he found the king’s archminister asleep.

Taking hold of the man’s mind, he again called forth the image of the moor, this time placing himself atop a steep, unforgiving rise and leaving Pronjed a good distance from the base of the mount. He even raised a wind to blow down the slope, slowing the minister further. Let the man walk and climb. Let him enfeeble himself so that he might know how he had displeased the Weaver. And let him tremble with that knowledge as he dragged himself up the rocky slope.

The Weaver had a long wait, and though it was of his own making, he had little patience for the delay. He had to resist the urge to shorten Pronjed’s climb, reminding himself again and again that he was punishing the man. When at last the minister reached the top of the rise, appearing in the distance as a small, slow-moving figure, Dusaan started toward him, his long strides covering the ground between them far faster than Pronjed could have on his own.

As they drew nearer to each other, Dusaan saw that the minister had indeed suffered in his ascent. Pronjed’s bony face was flushed to a deep scarlet, and the sweat on his brow and cheeks shone in the Weaver’s light. Still, though breathless, he wore a small grin on his thin lips, looking anything but contrite.

“Weaver,” he said, stopping before Dusaan and bowing. He looked up, eagerness in his pale eyes. “You’ve heard?”

“What happened?” the Weaver demanded, his voice like a frigid mountain wind.

The grin vanished. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? I want to know why your king is dead!”

“But surely you’re pleased. I’d have thought-”

“Tell me what happened!”

Pronjed licked his lips, the avid gleam in his eyes replaced now by something far more satisfying.

“There was a visitor. One of the dukes, one of Chago’s allies. He gave the king a dagger the night of his arrival-”

“So you sought to make it a murder?”

“No, Weaver,” the minister said, beginning to sound desperate. “A suicide. The king had seen the surgeon earlier in the day, and had learned that he was sterile. Carden was so galled by this that he had the surgeon garroted. So I saw an opportunity to-”

“You convinced the others that he was dying,” Dusaan said, nodding. He could see the logic of what the minister had done, although he still wasn’t ready to forgive the man’s presumption. “And they believe it?” he asked.

“The queen believes it. What choice do the others have?”

“They can be suspicious. The king would have had to believe that Qirsi magic would fail to heal him. He would have had to believe beyond doubt that his line would continue to rule Aneira. And he would have had to believe that his death would spare his family suffering and humiliation. Failing any one of these, his suicide threatens to draw the attention of those who oppose us. All it takes is one doubter, one person with the persistence and courage to challenge you and the queen.”

“That may be true elsewhere,” the minister said. “But not here, not in Aneira. Those who knew Carden well enough to pose any threat to us, would realize that he was too vain and too callow to be stayed by the considerations of which you speak.” He paused, seeming to realize abruptly that his tone had grown too familiar. “Though of course, for any proper king, you’d be entirely correct, Weaver. It was only Carden’s vast shortcomings as a leader that allowed me to think I could do this.”

“So you think I should be pleased,” Dusaan said, “that I should be praising you for your bold actions.”

The minister couldn’t see his face and he appeared uncertain as to what response the Weaver expected.

“Well, I… I think that… No one has raised questions regarding the king’s death. And already there is talk of the coming struggle for the throne.”

“You assume that because I hoped for civil war in Eibithar, I want it in Aneira as well?”

Pronjed swallowed, his eyes widening. Clearly he had. “You had the duke of Bistari killed,” he said quickly. “You made it look as though Carden had ordered the assassination. Didn’t you wish to sow dissent among the other houses?”

“Dissent is one thing, you fool! Open conflict is another! If you’re too dull to know the difference, I may have to reconsider the faith I’ve placed in you.”

Pronjed opened his mouth to speak, but Dusaan stopped him, clutching his throat with the same power he had used to silence the woman.

“Did it never occur to you that I might want the king alive, that indeed I might need him? Do you believe that I tell you everything? Do you presume to think that you understand all that I have in mind for the Forelands? Or is it that you think you know better than I what our movement should do next?”

The archminister shook his head, trying to speak, as a look of panic crept into his eyes.

He tightened his grip on he man’s neck. “Don’t you think that if I had wanted Carden dead I would have commanded you to kill him long ago? Have you decided that you don’t need me telling you what to do anymore? Is that it? You long to rule the Forelands yourself and so you’ve taken it upon yourself to make such decisions.”

The minister’s eyes began to bulge from his head, and he clawed at his throat like a beast trying to free itself of chains.

“The movement is mine, Pronjed. Never forget that. Only I have the power to speak with all of you any time I wish. Only I have the ability to combine our magics and make the Qirsi the most powerful force in the Forelands. The Qirsi of the seven realms need a Weaver to lead them. Any one of the rest of you can be replaced.”

He thought of the woman then, and her child, wondering if this last applied to her as well. Surely it should have, but he couldn’t say for certain that it did, and this disturbed him.

Pronjed dropped to his knees, his face turning a dull blue.

“Your actions have greatly complicated my plans,” the Weaver said. “You’ve cost me a good deal of time and an even greater amount of gold. Only time will tell if the damage you’ve done will prove even more severe, but for now this is enough. I could let you die, and it wouldn’t matter at all. It would satisfy my anger, and Qirsar knows it would be justified. I want you to know that so that later you can thank me for the gift of your life. Do you understand?”

The man managed a nod.

Dusaan smiled, letting him struggle a moment longer before finally releasing him.

The minister fell forward with a loud gasp and lay panting on the ground, his eyes closed as his color slowly returned to its usual shade of white. The Weaver let him lie there for a time before ordering him to his feet again.

“So now that it’s done, who is to be the next king?”

“That remains to be seen, Weaver,” the man said, his voice ragged. “The queen hopes to place the king’s daughter on the throne, but fears giving Carden’s eldest brother the power of a regent. I’ve encouraged her and promised my aid in guarding her child against the brother’s ambitions.”