Glasswrights' Journeyman (19 page)

Taking a deep breath, Mareka turned to Rani Trader, bracing herself for the inevitable rush of adulation that outsiders showed for the players. She was surprised, though, to see the merchant girl staring silently at the dais. Rani Trader did not look at Olric or Jerusha; she did not even spare a glance for the players. Instead, the merchant gazed at the glass panels that the jackhand had hung across the stage, eyeing them as if they held all the Horned Hind's secrets.

Mareka watched the merchant as the jackhand lifted down the Moon. The panel slipped a little in the man's hands, but he caught it well before it touched the floor. Rani Trader was half off her bench though, her hands thrusting forward as if she were a mother protecting a toddling child. The merchant girl scarcely breathed as the jackhand wrapped up the Moon in its spidersilk shroud. Her attention remained gripped by each of the other pieces.

Only when the last of the glass panels had been stowed away did Rani Trader sit back on the bench. She turned to Mareka and breathed, “That was wonderful! Who are these players?”

Mareka sniffed, shrugging to convey the notion that the show had been boring and ordinary. “They're a troop that roams through Liantine. My spiderguild sponsors them.” Rani Trader only nodded, drinking in the information like greenwine.

Crestman, though, bristled at the mention of the guild. That action was enough to remind Mareka of the poisoned slave girl, and
that
thought, inevitably, drew Mareka to the virulent octolaris, to the twenty-four hungry spiders that were isolated in her bed-chamber, dependent wholly on her to bring them their evening feast of markin grubs.

Mareka rose from the table, a host of lies flooding to her lips. She found that she needed none of them, however. Rani Trader continued to stare at the dais, clutching Crestman's arm and whispering to him of glasswork. The soldier looked disinterested, although he covered the merchant's fingers with his own. Even Mair, the Touched girl, was distracted, leaning toward her pale companion to share some secret.

Mareka was halfway to the doors of the Great Hall when she heard her name called. She turned to find Jerusha, clinging to her husband's arm like a markin grub on an apprentice's finger. Mareka's eyes narrowed to slits, but she forced a veil of courtesy over her words. “Congratulations, sister. The players certainly made a profit on your tale.”

Jerusha flashed a chilly smile and said, “The players did, and our guild as well. Our masters will certainly receive great praise for sponsoring such an entertaining troop. Tell me, Mareka. I've brought the house of Liantine to our spiderguild and added to our reputation throughout the land. What plans have you devised for redeeming yourself before our masters?”

Mareka looked down the hall to where King Halaravilli was speaking with Berylina. “I've made my plans, sister,” Mareka said to Jerusha. “Just you wait. The spiderguild will profit from me, and I'll join you at the Midwinter Grand Convocation. I'll be a journeyman yet.”

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

The sunshine was warm in the viewing stands, and a gentle breeze carried the fragrance of new grass across the Liantine tilting field. On another day, Rani might have been intrigued by the exhibition of horsemen's skill that King Teheboth had arranged as an afternoon diversion. Today, though, she was attempting to conduct a conversation with Hal, under cover of the tourney pageantry.

Rani checked to see that the attention of their host was taken up with preparations for the next round of mock combat before she whispered sharply, “Why did you bother to bring me here, if you won't listen to anything I say?”

“Won't listen?” Hal exclaimed, and then he lowered his voice. “Rani, you know I had no choice yesterday. The direct revelation of all the Thousand Gods would not have made Teheboth take you with us on his Spring Hunt. What was I supposed to do, forget the Little Army entirely? Pass up the opportunity to ask about their fate?”

“That is
precisely
what you should have done. You lost everything by moving too soon. You'll have no chance to raise the issue with him again.”

Rani was spared Hal's sputtered retort, because Teheboth's knights were ready to illustrate their jousting prowess. She forced her attention to the arena, watching as the two riders manipulated their horses to opposite ends of the cleared field. The horsemen had trouble settling their spirited mounts, and the frothy clouds had shifted in the sky by the time they couched their lances.

King Teheboth turned to Princess Berylina, who stood beside him in the viewing stand, and he passed his daughter a length of emerald spidersilk. For a moment, Rani thought that the princess would refuse to accept it, but her father's stern glance proved more fearsome than taking the cloth. Berylina held the gauzy fabric between two fingers, letting it flutter in the breeze. Only when her father nodded did she release the signal.

Both riders leaped forward as the spidersilk left the princess's hand, and Rani's teeth jarred when the knights met in the center of the field. Neither succeeded in unseating the other, although they repeated the process three more times. On the fourth run, Rani was startled by a sharp crack, and she saw one of the knights throw down the splintered remains of his lance. He dismounted with a furious grimace, kneeling before his fellow with ritual, reluctant humility. The winner touched his intact lance to his opponent's breast, only turning to the viewing stand when the other man was pinned by the iron tip.

“Your Majesty,” proclaimed the proud knight, bowing toward Teheboth. “Your Highness.” He repeated his obeisance toward Princess Berylina. He inclined his head toward the knot of visiting Morenians but did not salute them directly.

Rani joined the viewers in applauding politely. Servants darted onto the playing field, gathering up the shattered bits of lance, and then four attendants began to drag out heavy quintains for another bellicose display. The figures were obviously difficult to set in place – their weighted arms kept whirling about, buffeting the unfortunate servants who were trying to add hoops for tilting riders to capture.

Rani took advantage of the distraction to turn back to Hal. “We have time here in Liantine, my lord. Time for you to gain Teheboth's trust. Yesterday was too soon to drag the Little Army into your discussions.”

“Too soon? Have you forgotten that I left a burned and dying city back in Morenia?”

“Do you think I could forget, my lord?” Rani snapped. “Do you truly think that I do not remember Moren?”

She would have been wiser to stay at home. At least in Moren, she could have guarded against the Fellowship's tricks. She could have watched over Dartulamino's consolidating power as the new Holy Father, measured out the meaning of the church ascending to such heights within the organization. That monitoring might have helped Hal, might have let him calculate an appropriate time to formally announce his own ambitions to the secret group.

By staying in Moren, she might have served her king without the pain that pounded in her chest, without the frustration.

When Hal did not reply, Rani forced her voice to a level tone, prying her attention from the future. Back to Liantine. Back to Moren. “Every day that we are gone, Your Majesty, I think about firelung. I think about starving children. I think about shipments of lumber arriving in Moren, and how we are to pay the waiting tradesmen. Why else do you think that I accompanied you across that Kel-cursed ocean?”

Before Hal could reply, King Teheboth called out, “Ho there! What secrets are you Morenians sharing? Are you placing wagers on my knightly contestants?”

Hal looked up guiltily. “Wagers? Nay, my lord.”

With unsuspecting irony, Teheboth said, “That leaves your purse full then. Full and ready to place a bet with me.”

“You have an unfair advantage, my lord.” Hal had recovered enough to lighten his tone. “You know your men. You know their skills.”

“Come judge them for yourself, then. Each man will take one pass through the course, and then we'll lay our bets. Come! Stand beside my Berylina, that you might judge who is the best.”

Hal stretched a smile over his teeth and edged past Rani. She resisted the urge to tangle her fingers in his cloak, to grip his arm and pull him close. She wanted to whisper a warning, to remind him that everything he said, everything he did was under scrutiny. He might think of the Little Army as a separate matter from Berylina, a separate matter from that spiderguild wench who had eyed him all too closely during last night's feast. They all were interwoven, though. They all were part of the tangled, twisting pattern that was Liantine.

She restrained herself. She said nothing and stepped aside so that Hal could watch the course unhindered. She crossed to Crestman. The Amanthian glanced at her quizzically, as if he wanted to know the words she had exchanged with their king. His expectation annoyed her, but she held her tongue, even when she felt him shift beside her. She was painfully aware of the sidelong glances that he stole, the way he moved his arm to feel her by his side. She focused on the knights below.

The riders on the field seemed well matched. One rode a spirited little mare, and he used her speed to dart beneath the figures, managing to capture six of the seven quintain rings. The other rider favored a far heavier horse, a battle steed that pounded powerfully around the course. That man also caught six rings, but he wrestled with his mount to make tight turns.

Hal watched seriously, fingering the gold-fringed pouch at his waist. When the exhibition was completed and servants darted out to restore the targets' rings, Teheboth said, “Well? What say you, my lord? What will you wager on a triple run?”

Rani suspected that Hal should place his money on the heavier horse. The little mare had completed the course once, but there was no knowing if she would have the energy for another three passes. Nevertheless, Rani's heart instinctively went out to the rider of the smaller beast.

Crestman scarcely breathed his own reply. “The battle mount.” Rani turned to question him, but the soldier's face remained impassive; he might never have spoken.

Hal found a different solution. He bowed to Berylina and said, “My lady? What say you?”

All eyes locked on the princess, who was clearly astonished to find herself the center of such attention. Her crossed eyes darted up to Hal's face and then away, casting unevenly across the playing field. She licked her chapped lips, calling unfortunate attention to the protruding tips of her white teeth. When no one else spoke, she managed to whisper, “My lord?”

“Come now.” Hal's voice was as soft and intimate as if they stood alone; Rani could scarce make out his cajoling words. “Your father has permitted me a single demonstration, but I must be protective of my coin. I'd rather have the knowledge of an expert in this court. Who shall I support, my lady? Who will win the triple round?”

Berylina stared out at the riders, her chin quivering. Hal edged closer, taking her plump hand between his own. “Come, my lady. Help a visitor to your father's court. Tell me how to play my wager. I trust you. I trust your knowledge.”

Berylina stared down at her trapped hand as if it belonged to another child. She swallowed hard, and then she raised her eyes to Hal's face. She stared at him intensely as she said, “The one that is blessed by Par, my lord.”

Hal's smile was quizzical. “By Par?” he asked. Berylina nodded, unable to summon further words. “By the god of the sun?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Those last three words proved too great a strain, and Berylina tugged her hand away from Hal, using it to hide her face. Hal appeared not to notice as he turned to King Teheboth. “Very well, then. My lady has spoken. I'll place my wager on the blond man.”

The little mare.

“On Charion,” Teheboth bellowed. “And will you hold our wagers, daughter?”

Rani thought that the princess would faint away from the attention. Nevertheless, she managed to find the strength to collect a gold coin from her father. When Hal offered his own stake, he took care to place the coin squarely in her palm, folding her fingers around it. “I hope the Thousand Gods have not misled us, my lady,” he said with a solemn nod. Berylina blushed the color of Hal's crimson tunic, but she did not pull her hand away.

Rani swallowed hard and turned her attention to the tilting field. Of course Hal needed to court the princess. He needed to please her. He needed to do all in his power to pry her from her shell of shyness. Of course, of course, of course.

Crestman shifted beside her, and Rani scarcely managed to keep from snapping at him. The figures on the field were oddly blurred. The spring breeze was stiffer than Rani had suspected – it must have whipped dirt from the arena into the corners of her eyes. She stealthily swept a hand across them, rubbing them dry. She dared not look, though, to see if Crestman saw her motion.

Whether Berylina had some special knowledge or Hal was lucky, Charion won the competition. The knight manipulated his little mare with daring, snatching twenty of the rings and ducking beneath the last quintain's heavy bag. The other rider managed only eighteen rings and was nearly tossed from his mount by the hearty buffet of a mis-struck figure.

Crestman snorted, muttering beneath his breath that the heavier horseman could have won, if he'd sat his horse with greater skill. Hal whooped in pleasure at his victory, his eyes shining with bright fire. Teheboth's automatic scowl turned to a calculating grin as he watched his daughter hand over both coins to the Morenian king. “Well done, my lord,” Teheboth said.

“Only through the grace of your daughter,” Hal replied courteously.

“Only through the grace of Par,” Berylina insisted, with enough force that both men looked at her in surprise.

Rani did not have a chance to talk to Hal again until the end of the riding displays, when the party climbed down from the viewing stand and began a leisurely walk back to the palace. The nobles were expected to refresh themselves in their chambers for the afternoon. Another feast and dancing would be held that night – the players would perform again. Rani looked forward to seeing the glass screens, to studying the fine workmanship.