Glasswrights' Journeyman (3 page)

Nevertheless, the crown that Hal wore that night was fitting. It was woven of interlocking Js, the letter that stood for Jair, the founder of the royal family and the pilgrim who had first cemented the faith of the Thousand Gods in Morenia. It matched the heavy chain of office that hung about Hal's neck, the sole jewelry resting on his mourning velvet. Both crown and chain contained clusters of pearls and rubies in the loops formed by each J. Hal had worn them when he was invested with his religious title, with the office that ran parallel to his worldly crown. Hal was the Defender of the Faith; he had received that charge at the hands of the Holy Father within weeks of ascending to the throne of Morenia.

Most important, the crown and chain reminded all present that Morenia was a long-lived kingdom, a land that had seen its share of disasters, but which had survived all, with the house of Jair intact. Hal might be reduced to asking the church for money, but his kingdom would survive. Morenia would prevail.

As if remembering this strength, Hal managed a smile as he handed Rani into the room. “Holy Father, Father Dartulamino, you remember Rani Trader, our treasured sister?”

Sister. That was not how Rani would have asked to be presented. Nevertheless, she
thought as she collapsed into an automatic curtsey, “sister” was appropriate. Particularly since the
Holy Father had presided over the religious service five years before, the ceremony where Rani was
welcomed into the House of Jair, where she became the First Pilgrim for a year. Then, she had become
a member of the royal family, if only temporarily. She had been expected to spend a year living in
the palace, living as a member of the royal House of Jair. One year, five. … The Thousand Gods
worked in mysterious ways.

As Rani rose from her obeisance, she concentrated on the fourth person in the room, on Father Dartulamino. His had been the voice that she had heard from the outer chamber. Of course it had seemed familiar! Rani knew Dartulamino from other hallways, from other meetings.

Dartulamino was a member of the Fellowship of Jair.

Rani cast a hurried glance toward Hal, wanting to confirm the priest's secret identity. The Fellowship was a shadowy organization, and its members generally kept their daily lives hidden. In fact, in the three years since one of the Fellowship had come close to assassinating Hal, the cabal had drawn its ranks even closer. Glair, the leader of the cell that operated in Moren, had disavowed the crazed nobleman who had drawn steel against Hal; she claimed that the attacker had acted on his own, without approval or permission from the Fellowship.

After much debate with Rani and Mair, Hal had decided to accept Glair's explanation. To do otherwise would have required the king to challenge the Fellowship openly. Hal's reign was still too new for that sort of upset. Instead, Hal had attempted to embrace the Fellowship even
more
closely, to integrate himself into their workings more completely, so that he became invaluable to them.

Rani knew that Hal had taken on special missions in the past three years, that he had offered advice and the distinct advantage of royal secrecy to at least one information-gathering sojourn that the Fellowship had conducted in far-off Brianta, homeland of First Pilgrim Jair. Rani did not know the details, but she understood that Hal was maneuvering toward the heart of the Fellowship's cell in Morenia. He had worked hard to make himself indispensable, to make himself the rumored Royal Pilgrim.

The Royal Pilgrim. … Neither Rani nor Hal nor even Mair – with her long history in the Fellowship – knew precisely what the Royal Pilgrim was. Hal had heard about the Pilgrim from a madman, learning the Fellowship's aspirations from the rogue member intent on assassinating him. The Royal Pilgrim would unite the kingdoms – north and south, east and west. The Fellowship pinned its future on the figure. Hal and Rani might not know the details, but they understood one crucial fact: Hal must ingratiate himself even farther with the Fellowship if he were to claim true power in its ranks.

And while Rani had not been privy to all of Hal's maneuvers within the Fellowship, she had attended at least two secret meetings of that brotherhood where the sallow Dartulamino had spoken. The man was a priest; he had dedicated his life to the holiness and the sanctity of the Thousand Gods. Now, he was clothed in the simple green robes that all the priests wore in springtime, his unadorned surplice falling from his narrow shoulders like a curtain. His lips were chapped inside his sparse black beard, but they twisted into a passing smile. “Lady Rani, you honor us with your presence.” The priest turned toward his superior and raised his voice. “Father, do you remember Lady Rani?”

The Holy Father leaned forward, his skull-like head trembling on a neck that seemed too thin. Rani caught her breath; she remembered looking up at the Holy Father with all the awe of a child, with the certainty that he alone stood between her and the tricksy power of all the Thousand Gods.

King Halaravilli's reign had not been kind to the Holy Father. The old man was bent, as if his spine were collapsing upon itself, and his hands shook with uncontrolled palsy as he leaned heavily on an oaken walking stick. His gaze was cloudy, and his right eye watered, as if he were bothered by dust or new-mown hay. His voice quavered as he raised a trembling hand in blessing, “Lady Rani. First Pilgrim. But that was not your name then, was it?”

Rani blushed at the subterfuge she had played so long ago. “No, Holy Father. You knew me as Marita.”

“Blessed be Jair,” the Holy Father intoned, and Rani was not certain that he had heard her or that he had understood her words.

In any case, Dartulamino aped the Holy Father's sacred sign across his own chest, and then the younger man turned back to the king. “Aye, blessed be Jair, who watches over all Morenia,” the priest said. Rani thought she heard a warning behind those words, a message from the Fellowship. Before she could be certain, though, Hal gestured his guests over to the marquetry table that stood in the center of the room.

Ordinarily, Rani admired the inlaid wood, letting her fingers play across its impossibly smooth surface. Tonight, though, she found the beautiful work distracting, just as she found that she could not concentrate on the finest golden goblet or the carved ivory fork beside her trencher. She was present as a negotiator, as a merchant. She would have time to dwell on all the finery later. For now, she needed to devote her attention to the trade being conducted around her.

That work was not long in beginning. As the servants brought in steaming trays of fresh-roasted meats, Dartulamino nodded shrewdly. A footman served him a portion of pheasant prepared with fresh herbs, and the priest observed, “It's surprising to see the Defender's kitchens unaffected by the recent tragedy in Moren's streets.”

Defender. The title was perfectly appropriate, but it underscored Hal's submission, labeling the king a servant to the church. Not a good stance for beginning negotiations.

“Unaffected?” Hal sat back in his chair to let the footman place food on his own trencher. “Hardly, my lord. My kitchens, my palace, all of Moren suffers from the fire. I merely hoped to honor you and the Holy Father, and to provide you with a token of my pleasure that you could join us tonight.”

“One man's token –” Dartulamino began, but he was interrupted by the Holy Father staggering to his feet. “Father?” the priest asked solicitously, easing a supportive hand beneath the elderly prelate's arm.

“In the name of Jair, let us pray.”

Rani obediently bowed her head, watching Hal and Dartulamino follow suit. The footman, caught by surprise as he held a platter of new-dug carrots, tucked his elbows closer to his side, inclining his head. “In the name of all the Thousand Gods, let us offer up gratitude for the food placed before us this night.” The Holy Father's voice quaked less as he continued his speech. “In the name of Til, the god of goldsmiths, let us give thanks, for Til has guided us in the creation of things of beauty and things of worth, and Til has seen that the coffers of the church are never empty.”

Rani intoned, “In the name of Til,” thinking that it was a good sign that the Holy Father had mentioned the church treasury on his own. She swallowed hard and raised her head, prepared to settle down to business.

Before she could reach for her goblet, though, the Holy Father continued: “And let us
pray in the name of .”

“In the name of Kif,” Rani muttered. In the name of Kif, in the name of Win, in the name of Bur, on and on and on the Holy Father droned.

“And let us pray, first and last, always and longest, in the name of First God Ait Ait brought the world out of nothingness, breathing it into being, with the power of his lungs and his thoughts alone. Ait blessed all of creation, the earth and the sky, the darkness and the light, and each of the Thousand Gods. Ait blessed men and women, adults and children. He blessed each of the castes, welcoming the nobles and priests, the soldiers, the guildsmen, the merchants, the Touched. He blessed the seasons, the turning spring, the summer and autumn and winter. Blessed be First God Ait.”

“Blessed be First God Ait,” Rani echoed, and she thought that she detected a note of exasperation in the voices of Hal and Dartulamino, as well as the servant who continued to hold the carrots.

“Very well, then,” the Holy Father said after an expectant pause. “Don't stand on ceremony for an old man.” Rani swallowed several sharp retorts before she managed to reach for her goblet.

Dartulamino appeared to take refuge in his wine as well. After a sip, the young priest raised an appreciative eyebrow toward his host. “Defender, you honor us by serving Liantine red.”

“This is the last that survived – our cellars were flooded by the storm that stopped the fire. I'm grateful for the opportunity to share it with you.” Hal inclined his head. Rani took a sip of her own wine, but the fine bouquet was lost on her. What was Hal thinking, admitting that the storm had caused such damage? If he intended to negotiate for a loan from the church, he should hardly start by admitting desperate need.

“Of course, we expect to purchase more stock, now that it is spring, and the sea passage is safe between here and Liantine,” Rani said. Hal glared at her, and she buried a tart reply beneath a bite of carrot. Dartulamino certainly did not miss the exchange; he studied her closely. Rani swallowed hard and forged ahead. “We intend to trade a great deal with Liantine in the coming year.”

Hal was clearly furious, but he did not have a chance to make additional bidding mistakes before the priest said, “That surprises me, lady, after the blow the gods have dealt fair Moren.”

“Was it the gods?” Hal finally asked. “It seems to me that we men and women made mistakes. I hear now that the fire may have been started by a smith's flame, left unattended as the breeze picked up.”

“And could that not be the work of Ith, Defender? Or of Pron?”

“Why would the god of blacksmiths rise up against all Moren? Or the god of wind?” Hal asked. “What could the entire city have done to have angered those righteous gods?”

“Prayer!” the Holy Father exclaimed, and Rani was not certain if he was responding to Hal's question or if he was replying to words that only he heard. “Prayer is the answer to all the people of Moren, to all Morenia, to all the world!”

“Aye, Holy Father. Prayer is always advantageous,” Hal replied courteously, pausing to see if the ancient priest would continue. The old man, though, returned to his roast fowl, forking a huge bite into his mouth and chewing with relish.

When it became apparent that the Holy Father was not going to comment further, Hal said, “We prayed, of course, after we toured the city, after we saw the damage done by the fire. It will take much to rebuild from this loss.”

“The church has offered up many prayers of gratitude that it was spared the flame.” Dartulamino made a holy sign across his chest, his hand standing out like a skeleton's claw against the green cloth.

Rani waited for Hal to continue. As much as she disliked making an opening bid in any transaction, she realized that she was likely to have no choice. After all, the priests
were
the ones who had everything to offer here. Hal had admitted as much. After swallowing a crust of bread, she said, “All of Moren is grateful that the church was spared. Otherwise, we could not turn to you in our need.”

Hal set his goblet on the table with a crash. Rani refused to meet his gaze, even when his hands rose from the table. She knew that he would be adjusting his crown, using the movement to remind her that he was her king, her sovereign and her overlord. He was the one who should be conducting the conversation.

Well, if he were so determined to run the negotiations, when was he planning to begin?

Rani saw the priest barely hide a smile as he said, “All of Morenia may turn to the church in need. That's why we exist, to offer succor in the name of all the Thousand Gods.”

Again, Hal did not take advantage of the opening, and Rani sighed, setting down her ivory fork. She eyed the priest steadily and said, “We are pleased to hear you say that, Father Dartulamino. Because we asked the Holy Father to supper so that we might negotiate a loan of the funds that we need to rebuild Moren.”

“Rani.” Hal merely spoke her name, but there was an entire argument behind his words.

She braced herself and met his gaze. “Your Majesty?”

“I am certain that the Holy Father did not intend to barter bars of gold over his pheasant.”

“I am certain, Your Majesty, that the Holy Father did not realize the straits of his flocks. He did not realize our need, our desire to help the faithful who would offer up their thanks eternal to Jair and all the Thousand Gods, if only they had a roof to shelter them and food on their tables and wine to drink.”

Hal's fury was clear; his jaw turned to stone. Rani knew that she had overstepped her bounds. She would have to argue with him later. She would explain so that Hal understood, so that he knew that she was right to begin the bargaining now. She turned back to Dartulamino, to the man who clearly would decide the church's role in the rebuilding of Morenia. “Surely, Your Grace, you have heard about the firelung in the camps. Two hundred children stricken, and more falling ill every day. Their parents are succumbing as well, good Morenians all, who need our help, our support. The Touched have been harmed the greatest of all, for it was they who maneuvered Davin's machinery into place, they who made the sacrifice that ultimately saved what is left of Moren. The Touched, of course, have the fewest resources to fall back on in times of trouble, the least food and shelter. We must help them if they are to survive.”