Glasswrights' Journeyman (46 page)

“Like a brother I come to you,” Farso said, and a smile flirted about his lips despite the solemnity of the occasion. “I come to you, and I bear you a gift, in recognition of your marriage to Princess Berylina.” Farso gestured for two pages to step forward, and they dragged a box between them. “I hardly think my showing worthy, Your Majesty, before the princess's generous dowry, but still I would offer up to you a symbol of my happiness at your good fortune this day.” Farso nodded, and the boys opened the box, counted out ten bars of gold. They settled the riches on the corner of Teheboth's wain.

For just an instant, Hal wondered at Farso's resourcefulness. Certainly, they had spoken about Farso making up this offering, but Hal had never imagined that his friend would have the actual gold on hand. He had expected a certificate, a pledge, nothing more. He looked into Farso's eyes, smiling as he saw the pale blue depth of friendship. “We thank you, cherished Farsobalinti. And what boon would you request of the groom?”

“Only this, Your Majesty. That I might be decorated in the Order of the Octolaris by your own hand.”

A murmur went up from the assembled guests. What was this new Order of the Octolaris? What well-wrought play was being acted out before them?

Hal inclined his head and rose from the throne, ignoring Teheboth's sudden scowl. Hal had given in to nearly every one of the Liantine's demands about the service. Teheboth could damn well let Hal move from the marriage bench.

Hal looked over to his own retainers and saw that Davin had made his way to the front of the crowd. He held a velvet pouch in his age-spotted hands, and he lifted it slightly when he caught Hal's gaze. Hal nodded and waved the old man forward.

Davin did not bother with bowing as he approached his lord. Instead, he inclined his head and muttered under his breath. “One hundred brooches, and no more than a month to make them. No respect for an old man, no respect at all.”

Hal merely extended his hand, waiting for the velvet bag. Davin handed it over with a loud sigh, and then he melted back into the crowd. Hal made a show of holding up the velvet reticule, opening its strings slowly. He tipped it over when he knew that he had the attention of all the nobles on the field, Morenian and Liantine alike, and when Davin's handiwork spilled out, he held it up for all to see.

The brooch was fashioned on an iron base, with a clever clasp that promised to stay fastened. As Hal turned the piece about, he saw that Davin had chosen enamelwork to display the pride of the Order – crimson paint upon a golden background. An octolaris was splayed across the brooch, its eight legs curled around an image of the Morenian crown. Hal could not have asked for a finer symbol.

Swallowing hard, Hal turned back to Farso. He fastened the brooch on the other man's cloak, taking care to position it squarely over Farso's heart, and he whispered, “Thank you, brother.”

“Sire,” was Farso's only reply, and then the nobleman turned about, striding back to the ranks of the Morenians with his badge of honor flashing upon his breast.

As the assembly murmured and jostled for a better view of Davin's handiwork, Hal cast a look at Dartulamino. The Holy Father nodded once, clearly taking the measure of the ten bars of gold. The priest had been close enough to hear Davin's grumbling; he could count the gold that Hal might command from all his nobles, beyond Princess Berylina's dowry. Dartulamino's eyes narrowed to slits, but the man stayed silent.

Hal's attention was reclaimed by Teheboth. The man was clearly embarrassed, and he glanced toward his daughter's pavilion with more than a little exasperation.

“If you will excuse me, son.” The title was strange in Hal's ears, but he nodded to the Liantine king. “Princess Berylina should witness at least some of the gifts to the groom. With your indulgence, I will send one of my lords to bring her forth.”

“Of course, my lord. As you think best.”

Teheboth nodded to Shalindor. The chamberlain made his way through the crowd like a stork, looking neither left nor right as people let him pass. All eyes stayed on the white-haired man as he stalked across the field.

“Your Majesty.” Hal was surprised by the voice he knew so well, and he turned back to the gift-giving with a start of shame.

“Rani Trader.”

“I would offer up a gift, in honor of your wedding.”

She was braver than he was. She was looking at him, staring into his face. Her brow was smooth, unconcerned, and she collapsed into a graceful curtsey.

“Please!” he exclaimed, and he reached out hurriedly to raise her up. Her humility was more than he expected, before all the watchful eyes. As his hand closed around hers, he learned that she was not quite as composed as she had seemed. Her fingers trembled, like leaves in a breeze.

“Your Majesty,” she said, and she swallowed hard. “Sire, I would make you a gift of riberry trees. Five hundred and thirty riberry trees await you in King Teheboth's courtyard.”

A rumble rolled through the ranks of the wedding guests. Many of the Liantines had only arrived in their king's city that morning. They had not seen the courtyard, the barrels filled with water, the slaves toting bucket after bucket to the trees. Events had unfolded so rapidly that many people did not know that Rani had negotiated for the spiderguild's treasure.

Five hundred and thirty trees. Fifty-three children, sold into Liantine slavery in the spiderguild alone. Fifty-four, with Crestman. Out of how many thousand Amanthian children who had been shipped across the sea? How many of his people were lost forever in Liantine?

The riberry trees, though, would buy their freedom eventually, he could hope. The trees would ultimately pay for their passage home.

Hal would take the riberries and Mareka's octolaris, and he would find his place in the Fellowship of Jair. He would build the Order of the Octolaris, and he would come back to redeem whatever children he could. Some – maybe even most – had already been lost forever. But others would survive. They would crave freedom, and he would give it to them. Later. After he had married Berylina and made his peace with Liantine. With the church. With the Fellowship. Then Hal could save whatever children were left. And all because Rani had managed to bargain for the riberry trees.

“Thank you, Rani Trader. Thank you for your gift. And what boon would you ask of me?”

Her throat worked for a moment, and he had a chance to imagine all the things that she might ask, all the demands she might make, all the favors she might beg. He thought of their fights in Morenia, their bitter disagreements, about his crown, about his kingdom, about the Fellowship.

She smiled, though, a brilliant smile, and he knew that he need not fear any of those things. He need not fear Rani Trader.

“As you know, Your Majesty, my glasswrights' guild was destroyed in the year before you took the throne. All the master glasswrights have left Morenia. I seek to rebuild my guild, and in that pursuit, I have studied the duties of a journeyman. I can pour glass, and I can cut it. I can set it. I can supervise apprentices. I have offered the fourth part of all my earnings to the crown, in the form of the riberry trees that sit in King Teheboth's courtyard even now. I ask that you declare me a journeyman in my guild.”

Hal faltered. He did not doubt Rani for a moment. He knew that she would not lie about her standing, would never lie about her glasswork. But who was he to pass judgment? Who was he – a noble – to say that she should be elevated within the structure of a guild?

“Rani,” he began. “Ranita Glasswright. I am no master guildsman.”

“There is one who would speak for me, a master in his own right. If you would sanction his evaluation, then it might bear weight enough, enough for Morenia, which has no glasswrights' guild of its own..”

“Then let him stand forward.” Hal watched as Tovin Player stepped to Rani's side. The man bowed fluidly, gracefully, as if this were a play he had performed numerous times in the past. Hal saw the possessive way the player stood beside Rani, and his own heart beat faster in his chest. He forced himself to say, “Glasswright, do you speak for this one? Do you say that she is qualified as a journeyman?”

“She speaks the truth, Your Majesty.” Tovin's honeyed tones flowed over the assembly, easily reaching the wedding guests who stood at the back of the crowd. Even with that volume, even with that force, it did not seem that the player raised his voice. “She has met the duties of a journeyman. Justice requires that she be elevated to that rank.”

“Very well then.” Hal forced himself to meet Rani's eyes, to see the excitement glinting there. “Ranita Glasswright, I commend thee to thy guild, and I welcome thee to the rank of journeyman. May your guild prosper long in Morenia.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Her smile was dazzling as she sank into a deep curtsey. This time, though, Tovin raised her up. The player escorted her back to the ranks of Morenian nobles.

Hal forced himself to look away from Tovin's protective hand on Rani's arm, from the quiet glance that the two of them shared. Instead, he turned to Teheboth, to the Liantine king's impatient sigh. Teheboth was glaring across the field, as if he would set fire to Berylina's pavilion with the power of his gaze. Shalindor was nowhere in sight.

Even as Hal wondered what course he should pursue, he turned back to find another wedding well-wisher. Mareka Octolaris knelt before him. “My lady,” he said and reached out to raise her up.

“Your Majesty,” she said. He looked at her more shrewdly. Never before had Mareka acknowledged his sovereignty, not in any of her gamesmanship. She saw that he caught the difference in her wording, and she smiled. “I would offer up a gift, Your Majesty.”

“Aye?” He did not waste time with titles, with courtesy. After all, what was he to call the woman now? She was a disgraced apprentice, an outcast from her guild.

“I offer to you spiders, Your Majesty. Twenty-three brooding females. Their eggs will hatch within a week, and all the spiderlings I give to you as well.”

There was a roar through the wedding guests – most of them had not heard the tale of Mareka's banishment from her guild. The Liantines who had been mystified by Rani's presentation exclaimed aloud, and Hal could count the heartbeats until people put the pieces together. Riberry trees. Octolaris.

The spiderguild was broken. The silk monopoly was all but destroyed. Farsobalinti's Order of the Octolaris now made sense. Liantines chattered among themselves and Morenians cried out questions, desperately seeking information about the gifts and their meaning.

Hal waited for the furor to die down, and then he said to Mareka, “My thanks, lady. Your gift is a generous one, and it will be spoken about in Morenia for generations. And now I ask what boon would you request, in exchange for the offering you have made.”

The crowd edged forward, eager to hear Mareka's response. The woman who had broken the spiderguild's hold could demand anything in the world. She could ask for a king's ransom, and it would certainly be hers.

Mareka unlaced her fingers, laid them to rest across her belly. She took a deep breath, as if she gathered strength from the sparkling spidersilk beneath her fingers, and then she raised her eyes to look at him directly. “Your hand in marriage, Sire. I ask that you raise up the mother of your child and set her beside you on your throne. Marry me, Your Majesty, and make the child that I bear – your child – your heir.”

Hal's cry of outrage was drowned by Teheboth's. The Holy Father bellowed a question, and even the Horned Hind priestess stepped forward on the dais. The crowd surged closer, those nearest to the platform repeating Mareka's words for those who stood further away.

Mareka looked at him unwaveringly, her fingers spread protectively, suggestively.

One time
, he wanted to cry out. One cursed time!

But he knew Mareka was no fool. He knew that she would not make her claim if she bore no child. She would submit herself to any proof, agree to drink any truthteller's potion.

He would lose Berylina. He would lose the Liantine dowry. He would fail to repay the church. After all of his planning, all of his manipulations, all of his careful, careful calculation, he would forfeit the power of his crown to the Holy Father.

The snare of the octolaris nectar had a longer reach than Hal had ever imagined.

Even as his mind reeled, even as he sought to phrase some answer, some denial, some refusal, he raised his eyes to Berylina's pavilion. How would the princess react? She would be ashamed, of course, and angry. But could she fail to be relieved? Could she fail to be grateful that she was released from her obligations? Even now, the door to Berylina's tent was pulled aside, even now she was emerging – at last – to face the man who she thought was her bridegroom.

But Berylina did not step out of the tent.

Shalindor emerged instead. The chamberlain stumbled out of the pavilion, running back to the wedding guests, to the edge of the forest. He lost one slipper in the grass, and still he lurched ahead, throwing himself through the crowd, up to the dais.

“The princess is gone!” Shalindor cried. “Princess Berylina is gone!”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

Rani whirled toward the chamberlain, making out his scarlet face as he fought his way to the front of the dais. The impeccable retainer's hair stood out from his head in wisps, and his hands shook as he stumbled before his king.

“What are you saying, man?” Teheboth bellowed.

“They're gone!”

“Who? Berylina and who?”

“That western priest. Siritalanu. The nurses have been drugged, and now they are tied up, all four of them, bound and gagged.”

Teheboth roared in fury and rounded on Hal. “I don't know what you thought to gain by this, but you will pay!”

Rani could see that Hal was every bit as surprised as Teheboth. The king of all Morenia looked about him as if he had just awakened from a dream. He opened his mouth and closed it again, obviously struggling for appropriate words, for a proper retort. Helplessly, he gestured toward Berylina's tent, and then to Mareka Octolaris, who still stood before him in all the finery of her spiderguild. “My lord,” Hal managed at last. “I know nothing of this matter. I am as surprised as you.”