Glasswrights' Journeyman (45 page)

Tovin. Tovin Player. Hal had not known the man when Rani returned from the spiderguild, but Hal had asked Farso, and Farso had demanded information from Mair. So, Tovin Player had taught Rani her glasswork. He had guided Rani to the spiderguild. He had accepted her sponsorship for his troop, when the spiderguild denounced the players. Even now, Hal knew the players were gathering their belongings, preparing to take ship for Morenia as soon as the wedding festivities were ended.

After Rani's request, Hal had Spoken with the players – quickly and without much concentration. A woman named Flarissa had come to him, and she had swung a pearl drop before his eyes, calming him and asking him questions. He had answered briefly, recalling the day that he first heard Berylina's name.

Nonsense. There was no power in the Speaking, no force to explain Rani's reverential tones when she discussed the players. The troop played games, dressing in their amusing costumes, standing on their makeshift stage. Entertainment, yes, but a power to change people's lives? Not at all. At least not when the questions he was asked concerned Berylina. If the players had asked him other things, delved into other secrets, closer to his heart. … Hal set aside the thought.

And, as Hal watched, Tovin Player covered Rani's fingers with his own. The intimacy sent a shudder down Hal's spine, a chill that set his jaw and made him think of angry commands. Before he could even summon up words, though, Hal's gaze slipped to the edge of the crowd, to a figure clad in white.

Mareka Octolaris. No, no longer
Octolaris
. As expected, the spiderguild had denounced its shamed apprentice. It had made formal demand for its spiders, for the twenty-three beasts that even now crowded along the walls of Hal's apartments in the palace. The spiderguild had raged, but Teheboth had stood fast. The right of embassy had held. So far. Perhaps Hal had only imagined the problems Mareka had threatened. Perhaps she had only been playing with him; she had never truly intended to back out of their arrangement and proffer up her spiders to Liantine.

Mareka stared at Hal across the field of grass, and she seemed the very model of decorum. The passion she had shown him, the heat of the octolaris nectar, might all have been a dream. Now, her hair fell demurely down her back, like a girl's. Her brilliant white gown hung straight. She had worn the spidersilk at Hal's first feast in Liantine; the cloth was shot through with delicate glints of color. Mareka's fingers were laced before her, serenely folded, as if she waited patiently for some long-expected announcement.

“My lord Halaravilli ben-Jair!” Teheboth's words boomed across the grassy field, forcing Hal's attention to the foot of the dais. “I bid you welcome in Liantine! Welcome to our court, and to a taste of our hospitality, beneath the sky, beneath the watchful eyes of the Horned Hind.”

The Morenians murmured as the priestess stepped forward. The woman did not speak, as a priest of the Thousand Gods would do under such circumstances. Instead, she inclined her head, with all the grace of a deer, of a noble beast caught on the edge of the forest. She raised her hands in a complicated gesture, as if she were summoning some elemental force to look upon the proceedings on the edge of the forest.

Hal crossed to the man who would become his father, and he spoke loudly enough that all could hear him. “My thanks, Teheboth Thunderspear. I am grateful for this opportunity to join you in the summer fields.” Hal extended his hand as they had agreed before, clasping Teheboth's forearm in the time-honored show of friendship and faith. Teheboth's eyes glinted above his beard.

“Please, my lord,” Teheboth said. “I bid you welcome and pray that you will partake of the hospitality of the house of Thunderspear. I fain would offer up a humble gift in recognition of the honor that you do my house today.”

Hal forced an easy smile across his face. He and Teheboth had discussed this presentation. He knew what was to come. Hal let himself be led to a majestic chair that stood just below the raised dais. The chair – a throne, really – was crafted of finest oak, smooth grained wood that had been carved and polished by an expert craftsman. The arms had been worked to resemble the trunks of mammoth trees, and the back of the chair was a medley of whorls. Branches broke out at the top of the chair, wild and unruly, shadowy limbs that mimicked the horns of a magnificent twenty-pointed stag.

Hal inclined his head to Teheboth and crossed to the chair. The seat was easily broad enough for two grown men. Teheboth had explained that it was called a marriage bench, that it was the first of many symbols of man and woman being joined together beneath the Horned Hind. As the ceremony progressed, Berylina would come to sit beside him, come to join him beneath the horns.

Only when Hal was settled did he realize that his slippered feet rested on spidersilk. The oaken throne had been set atop a woven tapestry, a magnificent length of cloth that was even now being ground into the earth. If the occasion had been less solemn, Hal might have smiled at the outrageous symbolism. Teheboth was determined to make his point, determined to carve the once-powerful spiderguild out of the affairs of his court.

The king of Liantine waited until his guest was settled, standing patiently until Hal felt the wood behind his spine. He knew the image he presented; he knew that the horns would seem to grow from his own crowned head. Defiantly, Hal sought out the Holy Father's gaze on the edge of the crowd, nodding slightly as the sallow priest grimaced and glanced away.

“Halaravilli ben-Jair, you came to us on an auspicious day. You arrived in Liantine on the day of the Spring Hunt, on the day each year when the Horned Hind offers up her life for the betterment of all her most true worshipers. You rode out with my men on that hunt, and you stood beside the Hind as she died her yearly death. The Hind spoke to me as she fell beneath my spear; she told me to mark you as one of hers, to gather you into the house of Thunderspear. And so I made the mark of the Horned Hind upon your brow, and I welcomed you into my court.”

Hal's expression did not change, but he could see the consternation among his followers. Puladarati, Dartulamino, all the others – they had not been present for the hunt. They had no idea what bloody symbol Teheboth had made. Ah well. … As Hal had said to Father Dartulamino, there would be time enough to make all right with the Thousand Gods. Time enough when he and his bride were on the far side of the ocean.

“And now, Halaravilli ben-Jair, I come to do the Horned Hind's bidding once again. I come to see you joined to the house of Thunderspear – joined in more than word, in more than deed. I come to see you sit before me as my son, as the last of the male children of my house. For you, Halaravilli ben-Jair, will take from me my daughter. You will be joined with Berylina Thunderspear, with the last of my children, with the most delicate of all the gifts in my house. And for this, Halaravilli ben-Jair, I bid you thanks. I bid you thanks, and gratitude, and the long devotion of my land and all my people.”

Hal wanted to say something. He wanted to acknowledge the generous words. He felt awkward, sitting upon his throne-like chair, looking up at the man who was bestowing such alleged riches upon him. And yet, he had been told the formula. He had been told to sit, and to wait. To wait for Berylina to come to him.

Teheboth raised one great hand, gesturing toward a pavilion on the far side of the crowd, as distant from the one that Hal had used as was possible in the festival space. “And so, Halaravilli ben-Jair, I call to my daughter Berylina. I bid her come out from the tent of her father, to come to the side of her husband.”

Teheboth paused. There was no motion at the distant pavilion. Even though they were too far away to hear the king's words, a servant should have been appointed to watch for the royal gesture. Hal imagined the chaos inside that tent, the nurses who were even now struggling to collect their charge. He pictured Berylina's unruly hair, her roaming eye, her rabbity teeth chewing away at her lower lip. He regretted the panic that he was certain she felt, but he knew that the time had come. Berylina was to become a queen without delay.

Teheboth raised his voice and continued. “I call to my daughter Berylina, that she might witness the traditions of our people, the presentation of the gifts to the groom, and the granting of boons.” Again, Teheboth paused, but there was still no motion at the distant pavilion.

Disconcerted, Teheboth sought out Lord Shalindor, his chamberlain. The white-haired man hovered at the very edge of the Liantine crowd, looking as if he had smelled some foul odor amid the guests. Shalindor made the slightest of shrugs, and then he waved his hand by his side, gesturing to a velvet-covered wain beside him. Continue, the man seemed to say. Move on with the ceremony and let Berylina's nurses work their magic.

Teheboth frowned, but he turned to Hal and bowed deeply. “But let me make the first offering, the first gift to the groom. It is only appropriate that this presentation be made without the presence of the bride, for no woman should know the true price her father places upon her.”

Teheboth glared at his courtiers, and obedient laughter went up. Teheboth ignored them. “Halaravilli ben-Jair, I present to you the dowry for Princess Berylina. No father has loved his daughter more than I have loved mine. I pray in the name of the Horned Hind that this sorry symbol of my honor and respect for Berylina can see her kept well and sound in Morenia.”

Shalindor waited until Teheboth nodded once again, and then the chamberlain issued his own tight flurry of gestured signals. A dozen burly soldiers stepped forward, each attired in the green-painted leathers of the Liantine court. The fighting men set their shoulders to the edge of the wain, and Hal watched the muddy wheels edge forward, gouging the spidersilk covering on the ground. The wagon creaked under its velvet-shrouded burden, coming at last to rest before the throne.

Shalindor stepped up then, moving to the front right corner of the cart. He nodded carefully, as if he were making one last precise measurement, and then he pulled away the velvet with a flourish.

Gold bars glinted beneath the noon sun – hundreds of them, stacked neatly on the platform. Hal wondered at the foolishness of dragging all that wealth out of the palace, of carting it across the field. Foolish, perhaps, but the gold bars were impressive. And, of course, they were safe. They were heavy, and the finest flower of all the Liantine and Morenian military stood ready to protect them.

Hal started to rise from his throne, but one quick glance from Teheboth reminded him of the expected procedure. Instead, he inclined his head graciously and slipped into the royal plural. “We thank you Teheboth Thunderspear. Brilliant as this gold is beneath the noonday sun, it is but a shadow of the honor and respect we hold for Princess Berylina. She will be welcome in Morenia for as long as we draw breath.” Hal paused a moment, hoping that he sounded like an eager groom. Then, he continued, “But as we understand your customs, each person who presents a gift to the groom is entitled to ask for a boon.”

Teheboth's eyes glinted. “Aye, Halaravilli ben-Jair.”

“Then what would you have of us, Teheboth Thunderspear? What bounty may we grant to you in gratitude for the fine gifts you make to us this day?”

“I ask this, Halaravilli ben-Jair: That you honor my daughter, and you respect her. That you keep her by your side for as long as you both shall live. And when you get children on her body, that you raise those children under the sign of the Horned Hind.”

Hal whirled to look at the priestess who stood behind him, but she had made no movement on the dais. She still stood directly behind his throne, clad in brown velvet, caught beneath her horned headdress. Hal turned back to Teheboth slowly. He had not expected this, had not expected to bind his
children
to the Liantine faith.

Dartulamino stepped forward, his face turning scarlet above his smooth, green robes. Other Morenians shifted on the grass, glancing from the silent priestess to their king to the spluttering Holy Father. Hal cast his eyes across to Berylina's pavilion. Illogically, he cursed her delay. It seemed that if she had been present, Teheboth would not have made such a demand, would not have cornered Hal so publicly.

Still, Berylina was thirteen years old. Hal would not be “getting heirs upon her
body” for two years at the least. Two years to begin the work, and nearly another one before he
would see the product of his efforts. What could change in three years? How many ways could he
reshape his promises by then?

Hal met Teheboth's gaze. “Aye, Teheboth Thunderspear. I grant you this boon. All the children I conceive with Princess Berylina shall be raised under the sign of the Horned Hind.”

There was an explosion of disbelief among the Morenians, and many nobles cried out to the Thousand Gods. Dartulamino threw back his shoulders, taking a step forward as if he would interrupt the proceedings. Hal glared at Puladarati, who made his own steps, clutching the Holy Father's arm as if he looked to give support, or take it. Dartulamino started to shake off the lion-maned retainer, started to snarl at the former regent, but Puladarati said something too soft for anyone to overhear. The Holy Father spat a reply, but Puladarati shook his head, gripping the priest's arm more tightly. Dartulamino glared up at the dais, nearly spitting at Hal's throne, but the priest allowed himself to be pulled back into the crowd.

Hal swallowed hard and looked back to Teheboth. The Liantine king was nodding slowly. “Very well, Halaravilli ben-Jair. I thank you for your most generous boon. Welcome, son, into the house of Thunderspear.”

Farsobalinti was next to approach the marriage bench, for he had spoken with Hal before the ceremony. They had agreed that Farso would be the first of the Morenian nobles, would pave the way for the show of support Hal required. The pale-haired lord knelt upon the spidersilk tapestry, inclining his head until his chin touched his chest. “Rise, Baron Farsobalinti,” Hal said. “Stand before me like a brother.”