Glasswrights' Journeyman (39 page)

There was nothing else that Rani could do. Surely Mair and Farso would understand. Rani would be foolish to leave the spiderguild with Moren's business undone, now that she was so close.
Now that Hal had the spiders.
She drew herself up, summoning all the regal bearing she had learned in the Morenian palace. “Take care that they are not.”

Rani forbade herself to look back as she entered the spiderguild's walled compound. She could not measure the betrayal that she was certain to find in Mair's eyes, the impotent rage in Farsobalinti's. Instead, she wiped away the trickle of blood from her throat and followed Tovin into the heart of the spiderguild. Crestman fell in beside her.

She told herself to remember the paths that they trod, so that she could retrace her way to the gate. The task was not easy. The streets met at odd angles, spinning Rani about, upsetting her sense of direction. The guards made abrupt turns – first right, then left, then left and right again.

The spiderguild's stronghold was at the highest point inside the enclosure, and every street was steeper than the one before. As Rani climbed, she could make out the ring of turreted walls that surrounded the guild, the ominous stone towers that loomed a mere forty paces apart. Guards stood at attention in each tower, and other soldiers passed on the thick ramparts above the grassy plain.

Before Rani realized how far she had climbed, the group emerged into a vast central courtyard. Despite her best intentions, despite her vow to remain aloof and unimpressed, Rani could not help but gasp in surprise at the building that occupied the center of the spiderguild's maze.

The courtyard was paved with glittering stone – pure white marble pieced together in a vast, unbuckled expanse. The marble was overlaid by an intricate web of darkest black, of stone fitted so closely that it looked as if it had grown there organically. The black pathways spun across the courtyard, completely irregular but perfectly balanced. Gazing across the expanse, Rani recognized the pattern of a spiderweb. Seeing the design, she suddenly understood the twists and turns she had taken to arrive in the courtyard. The streets, too, were patterned after a spiderweb. The guild embraced its treasured octolaris in the very core of its construction.

Tovin smiled at Rani, like a parent who finds his toddler enjoying some bauble. She drew herself up straight. She was not going to gawk like some provincial fool. After all, she was on an embassy from the king of all Morenia. She arrived as the representative of the glasswrights' guild. She would not be dumbfounded by the workings of a clutch of weavers. Mere weavers, that's all the spiderguild contained. Farmers. Harvesters. Spinners. Nothing worth fearing.

So Rani tried to convince herself as she crossed the spider courtyard, with Crestman silent beside her. If only Mair were with her! Mair would not be swayed by the courtyard's stunning appearance. She would make some wry statement, some offhand challenge. She would not be cowed. It took all of Rani's will to walk normally, to stride forward without adjusting her gait to tread only on the black stones, or only on the white.

In the center of the courtyard, nestled like a spider in the middle of a web, sat the most curious building Rani had ever seen. It was large – as large as the house of the Thousand Gods back in Moren. A hulking tower rose at each corner, and Rani could decipher the shadowy shapes of bells inside the campaniles. The building's facade formed a massive rectangle, a sheet of marble that towered above the webbed plaza. In the center was a vast window, a field of stained glass that immediately drew Rani's attention. She could make out intricate leadwork, see an expert's hand in the design, although she could not translate the image from the outside, without the brilliance of sunlight streaming through.

The entire facade was a masterpiece of architectural misdirection. Eight ranks of pillars cut across the rectangular stone face. Like everything else under the spiderguild's control, however, the columns reflected the pattern of the city, of the plaza, of the octolaris themselves. The pillars tumbled across the facade as if they radiated from the central stained-glass window. The web spread out in chaotic precision, balanced, harmonious, and not at all predictable. The entire illusion was assisted by intricate stone carving, by sprawling capitals that added to the impression that the building spun out from its center.

Rani swiped once more at the nick on her throat as the guards marched the outlanders across the courtyard and up the steps. Her fingers stung the wound, but they came away dry.

She glanced at Crestman and saw that he, too, was intimidated by the guildhall. His face had paled, and his scar stood out like a dead patch. She caught the rapid flicker of his eyes about the courtyard, and she understood that he was looking for members of his Little Army. Even in the heart of the enemy camp, he was searching for his men.

Summoning all of her courage, Rani stepped proudly over the threshold, entering the spiderguild hall as if she were a regal ambassador rather than a mere glasswrights' apprentice.

A large room stretched behind the facade, four bare white walls and a high ceiling. Acting as if the guards did not monitor her every step, Rani moved across the chamber and then she turned around to face the entrance.

The stained glass window was a masterpiece. She could see evidence of Tovin's glass tools, of diamond knives that had let a master craftsman create long slivers of glass no wider than her thumb. The window depicted the feeding of spiders, a guildsman surrounded by four pairs of eight-legged beasts, each as big as his chest. Riberry trees wove about the edges of the round window, leaning in to offer clusters of yellow leaves, and minute markin grubs were sprinkled across the glasswork like the tiniest flaws in glass.

Rani swallowed hard. The spiderguild had a building finer than anything Hal could offer. They had glass treasures more delicate than any that she could fashion. She raised her chin defiantly. She
would
bargain with the guild. She
would
obtain the riberry trees. Her king depended on her. All of Morenia relied on her.

By now, the tangle of intricate hallways was familiar. As the guards marched her toward the heart of the guildhall, Rani gave up the dream of tracing her path, of deciphering the twists and turns. She knew now that she was walking a web, that she was edging closer and closer to a core, to a single room that would stand at the heart of all the great guild's power.

And she was not disappointed.

The guards arrived before a pair of doors, rich intarsia fashioned of many colors of wood. Rani was hardly surprised by the story depicted in the intricate inlay: massive octolaris sprawled across the doors, their bodies as long as her forearm, their bent legs nearly the length of Rani's body. Swirling around the spiders in careful detail were scores of riberry trees, their branches picked out in silver-grey, each individual leaf set in smooth-polished wood. Focusing on the masterwork, Rani could make out wooden markin grubs in the clusters of yellow at the end of every riberry branch.

Without warning, the doors swung inward. Rani retained just enough sense of drama that she paused on the threshold, resisting her guards' pressure to move forward. She raised her chin and looked about, taking in the room at the core of the guildhall, the man at the center of the room.

There were no windows along the walls – the chamber was too deep in the building for that. There were, though, artful screens set along the edges of the hall, with massive torches burning behind them. Mirrors were placed around the torches, collecting the flickering light and casting it back into the chamber. Rani did not waste time studying the intricate construction of those mirrored lanterns; she knew that they would be related to the instruments that had nearly blinded her at the gate, to the lamps employed by Tovin's players.

Instead, she noticed the slaves who tended the torches. The high-burning lamps made the room close and stuffy; the air was heavy. In an attempt to counter the stillness, slaves were positioned between the torches, slaves who waved heavy fans of silken streamers. Rani felt Crestman stiffen beside her as she took in the scene, and she realized that a dozen soldiers from the Little Army stood near.

The child closest to her was a slight boy; he could not have been more than eight or nine years old when he was shipped to Liantine. The child's scar covered half of his cheek, standing out in the flickering torchlight like a patch of diseased flesh. The boy caught his lip with his teeth as he struggled to manipulate his heavy silken fan. He refused to meet her eyes, refused to acknowledge any of the visitors. Instead, he stared ahead as if he were blind, as if he were no longer a child.

Of course, he wasn't. He was chattel. He was a slave. He belonged to the spiderguild now, as surely as he had belonged to Sin Hazar.

Something about the stalwart child fed the beginning of a plan in Rani's mind. Even as she ran over the possibilities, prodding, testing, she glanced at Crestman, wishing that she could warn him. There was no way, though. No way to assure him, to explain her true intention. He would have to have faith. By Cot, the god of soldiers, he would have to believe that she worked in his best interest.

Taking a deep breath, Rani dragged her attention from the child slave and forced herself to meet the guildmaster, the leader of all the Spiderguild.

He stood in the center of the room. The man was tall, taller than Tovin, and his head was shaved. Rani could make out the beginnings of deep wrinkles beside his eyes, the clear effect of years spent on the high windy plains. Although his body was well-muscled, there were deep pock marks on both of his arms, angry scars that spoke of a lifetime tending octolaris.

About his neck, he wore an elaborate weaving, an embroidered, knotted design made entirely of spidersilk. The strange neckpiece cascaded down his bare chest, rising and falling with his deep breath. The guildmaster viewed the newcomers without moving, both fists planted on his hips. The stance made his scarred arms stand out like chiseled stone.

Tovin stepped forward, folding his lanky body into a bow. “My lord Anigo. Many thanks for agreeing to see us on short notice.”

“Tovin Player.” The spiderguild master's tone was flat, featureless. He shifted his hands, and Rani could see rings on each of his fingers – heavy, golden bands that flashed with inlaid stones. The ostentatious display did not bode well for her plan. She resisted the urge to glance at Crestman.

Tovin straightened and cleared his throat. The sound was a small one, nothing remarkable in another man, but it sent a shiver down Rani's spine. Tovin was nervous. The man who had Spoken with her, the player who was accustomed to standing before endless audiences,
Tovin
was afraid. That realization made Rani more than a little unsure herself, and she scarcely heard the player say, “I beg your indulgence, Lord Anigo, as I present to you two visitors to Liantine. Ranita Glasswright has traveled from distant Morenia to learn about your guild. Crestman is a soldier who accompanies her.”

Rani scarcely had time to brace herself before Anigo pinned her with his eyes. She saw the shrewd intelligence behind that gaze, the measured thoughts. She recognized the power immediately – it was the same force that she had seen in her own guildmistress, in Salina, before the guild had been destroyed.

Rani took a single step forward. She had no time to be intimidated, no time to slowly build trust and companionship with the guildmaster. One day. That was all she had. After that, King Teheboth's messenger would arrive, and Anigo would know that Hal had obtained the octolaris. One day for Rani to negotiate for riberry trees. She might as well begin.

“Greetings, guildmaster.” Her voice shook, and she swallowed hard, drawing herself up to her full height. She took another step forward, distancing herself further from her companions. Neither Tovin nor Crestman would be pleased with what she was about to say.

“Ranita Glasswright.” Anigo nodded as he looked at her, appraising her as if she were horseflesh he debated purchasing. “Your guild was destroyed, though, no? Your guildhall was torn down, and all the glasswrights maimed or killed.”

“Those were mistakes, Guildmaster!” The pricked place on Rani's throat smarted as her face flushed with anger. “The glasswrights are rebuilding. We are supported by King Halaravilli!”

Tovin caught his breath at her defiant tone, but she did not spare the player a glance. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted two of the slave boys cringing, drawing back between their torches as if they feared Anigo's physical reprisal. The slaves' reaction made Crestman tense, and Rani knew that she would not have long to work her bargaining. She took another step closer to Anigo.

“King Halaravilli has sent me as his ambassador. He demands that you return the people of his kingdom, the children of the Little Army that you have purchased as slaves.”

Anigo threw back his head and laughed, making the elaborate neckpiece sway across his chest. He gestured to the children who lined the room. “And what will your king pay?”

“He'll deliver his payments with soldiers and engines of war, guildmaster.” Tovin gasped and grabbed at her arm. She knew the player must be furious; he had not anticipated any such challenge to his patron. She pulled away and said to Anigo, “Even now, my lord, King Halaravilli prepares to wed Princess Berylina. As soon as he has taken his bride, he will send for his soldiers, for his soldiers and Lord Davin.”

Anigo's eyes narrowed, and Rani pounced on his recognition. “Aye, my lord. You know Lord Davin's name? He's the man who engineered the undermining of the Swancastle. He's the man who brought down the kingdom of Amanthia, with his devices and his tools. Your guildhall here will provide him with a fine summer diversion.”

“Ranita!” warned Tovin, but Rani only stepped closer to the guildmaster.

Anigo glared at her. “You forget yourself, glasswright. My guildhall is a city unto itself. Your king can lay his siege. He can camp out on the plains for months. We have our gardens, and we have the Great Well – we'll outlast any mischief your king might work.”