Glasswrights' Master (32 page)

“Please, my lord,” Hal said to Hamid, rushing his words a bit so that he would not be interrupted. “Is there a chamber where we could raise a glass? Where I could tell you of the kin that I have lost and you could grieve with me like the brother you pledge yourself to be?”

Hamid glanced at his electors, and Hal sensed the quick debate that flashed between them. Of course the retainers did not want their king to act alone. Of course, they did not want to lose any shred of the power that they had gathered over Sarmonia. But they were wise enough not to try to correct their leader in public, wise enough to recognize the power of death rites and rituals.

“Very well, brother,” Hamid said, when he had confirmed permission to speak. “Let us drink, that we may share your loss.”

Hamid led the way from the dais. Hal remembered the hallways that led to the study, the stone walls that had seemed to eavesdrop on him the last time that he passed this way. Like Hamid, he allowed his retainers to come with him this far, to follow carefully behind.

The entire procession was silent, as if each man counted out his own sorrow, his own loss on this bitter morning. Hal suspected that his own people attempted to think their warnings loudly enough that he could hear them through his pounding skull. He swallowed with his dry mouth, unable to imagine any convincing arguments above the tattoo of his boot heels, above the single repeated syllable: Dead, dead, dead.

When they arrived at the study, Hamid ordered his men to wait. One of the electors challenged propriety enough to step forward, to make a bow in Hal's general direction, and to say to his own lord, “Your Majesty, we electors would add our grief to yours. We would speak for all the people of Sarmonia as we join together to mourn our northern brother's loss.”

Hal thought that he heard a slight emphasis on the word “together.” He waited while
Hamid formulated an answer, counting out his own heartbeats. If the electors came, all would be
lost. If the electors entered the study, Hal's fledgling plan would be shredded like a cobweb in a
gale.

“Thank you, my lord,” Hamid said at last. Hal could hear the ripple of tension beneath his courteous words. “I must yield to Morenia in this. We support him in his loss, and we honor all his customs, however different they might be from our own. Wait here, and we will all return to the Great Hall together.”

Hal's relief was so intense that he felt faint. As wings of blackness swept in from the sides of his vision, Farso slipped a supporting hand beneath his elbow. Hal permitted himself only a moment of leaning on his friend, on his true, heartfelt brother. Any longer, and Farso might think himself bound to enter the study. Any longer, and Hamid's retainers would follow suit.

A single deep breath steeled him enough to cross the threshold, to watch Hamid close the door. He thrust down the whispers in his head, banished them with a strength that he did not know he possessed. He waited only for the Sarmonian to come close enough to hear him, and then he whispered, “Fast now. We have much to discuss, and not enough time to do it.”

“What?”

“Quiet! Do not let them hear you. Quick. Pour a glass, that we might leave behind what they expect to see.” Hamid hesitated, uncertainty moving his hand toward the jeweled dagger at his waist. Hal saw the edge glint in the brilliant morning light, imagined the sharp blade against his own throat, cutting his wrists, plunging into his chest.

Pain, yes. But not a pain as deep as he already suffered. Not a pain as endless as the one he now faced.…

He sharpened his voice, reminding himself not to yield. Not now. Not yet. “Will you let your electors call you a liar after we leave this room? Pour the wine, and listen to me!”

Hamid crossed to his writing desk. A pitcher was set close to hand, covered with a slip of parchment, as if he were particular about dust settling on his wine. “There is only one cup,” he said, and Hal noted that he projected his voice, as if he wanted the assembled nobles on the other side of the door to hear.

“That is well,” Hal said in a similar tone. “In my land, brothers share the same cup, as they share the burden of their loss.”

Hamid shrugged and poured, and Hal closed the distance between them with a few quick steps. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “You have no reason to believe me, I know, no reason to trust me. I will only tell you what I know, and then you must make your decision.

“My wife and son were killed by the Fellowship of Jair, by a secret band that seeks to gain power in all the kingdoms in the world.”

“Your family was poisoned by an herb witch!”

“Upon the Fellowship's orders. The Fellowship has long sought to destroy my line and gain all power in Morenia. It is behind the Briantan invasion. It supports the Liantines who barricade my harbor.”

Hamid stared at him as if he were insane, and Hal nearly laughed aloud. Of course Hamid thought him mad. Why wouldn't he?

At least Hamid ventured a question. “Who is this Fellowship? How could anyone hold such power over a king?”

“They work beneath the surface of a kingdom. They select their members from all the castes. The draw their strength because no one expects them where they are, no one thinks to look for them.”

“How have you learned of them, then?”

“I was one of them.” The words were bitter on Hal's tongue. “For more than a decade, I was welcomed in their meetings. I, and members of my closest circle.” Rani. If only she were here. Her words could convince Hamid; she could sway the king.

She was dead, though–now or soon enough. Dead, as he would be. As he and all his kingdom, if he could not convince Hamid, if he could not bring Sarmonia to his side.…

Hamid was confused. “And you have left it now, left this … Fellowship of Jair?”

“Aye. I left once I was certain that they worked for my downfall. They already have Brianta and Liantine. If they take Morenia, they get not only my kingdom, but Amanthia as well. After that, Sarmonia could be plucked at leisure, like a ripened fruit.”

Hamid shook his head in protest, his pointed beard emphasizing his disagreement. “That's absurd! If these people lurk beneath the surface of society, how can they gain such power? How can they control so much?”

“You can ask that?” Hal's frustration flashed through his hands; he pounded Hamid's table and scarcely remembered to lower his voice. “You? Who lives on the leash of your electors? How do
they
control
you
? How do they dictate what happens in Sarmonia?”

He had pushed too hard. Hamid's face darkened like a thunderhead, and he flashed a look at the door of his chamber.

“Yes!” Hal said, knowing that he had to give a focus to that rage. He stepped closer so that his harsh whisper could be heard. “Power rises when we least expect it. When was the last time that you sat alone in this room, my lord? When was the last time you made a decision without them? The electors control your every move. They might appear to stand aside, they might permit you to be seen in public. They let your people think that you act as a free man, but they control every rein.”

Hamid bristled. “You know nothing of how we do things, here in Sarmonia. And even if your worst accusations were true, even if every one of my electors were corrupt, my land is stable. We could never fall to some lawless cabal. We could never be controlled by your Fellowship.”

“You already are.” Hal gripped Hamid's arm, closed his fingers around the satin and velvet until he felt the hard muscle beneath. “A fortnight ago, I watched the Fellowship gather in your forest. I watched three riders come down the path from Riadelle. Three riders with the badge of electors on their chests. You have lost your throne as surely as have Brianta and Liantine. As surely as I will now if you do not help me.”

Hamid tugged his arm away, swearing harshly. “There is a balance in my land! We Sarmonians are enlightened. We share power among our people, among all the landed men. I would not expect you to understand how the system works. I would not expect you to comprehend what a kingdom
can
be when wise men wear the crown.”

Wise men, Hamid meant, instead of some blood-bound son. Hal pulled himself to his full height, not hesitating to take advantage of Hamid's slight build. Consciously setting aside all the voices, all the whispers, Hal said: “I know you think your system is better. I know you think your elections are fair and your methods just. Nevertheless, the Fellowship moves against you. It's stolen your electors, and the rest of your kingdom is next.”

Hamid shook his head. “For your Fellowship to steal my throne, it must corrupt a majority of the electors. The only way to manipulate electors is to manipulate all landed men. No secret society could be that strong.”

“They need not build the system from the ground. They only need to grab you now. Grab you now, and change the rules.” Hamid started to protest, but Hal overrode him. “Do you have a queen, my lord?” Mareka. Hal felt tears rise hot behind his eyes, let them hover on his lashes, splash down his face. “Do you have a son and heir?” Marekanoran. “Who do you hold dearest in all the world?”

Hamid brushed Hal's hand from his sleeve, as if Morenian tears might be contagious. He crossed to the window and studied the cloudless sky, apparently seeking answers there. He stared out over Riadelle, over the surrounding countryside, out to the forest that smudged the horizon. He twisted the golden band around his wrist, the symbol of his marriage.

Hal pitched his voice low. “Dead, brother. All of them. Dead. The Fellowship can do it. These mourning rags are proof.” He tugged at his own forlorn tunic.

Hamid's jaw was set as he finally said, “What would you have me do, ben-Jair?”

“Raise your army.” Hal rushed through the words before he could lose the foothold. “Take the men that you trust, the ones that are loyal to you directly. Ride with me to Moren, and help me deliver my homeland from our common enemy. Liberate Morenia and crush the Fellowship, and make yourself secure.”

“The electors would never permit that. Not in autumn. Not when they must return to their own halls and attend to the landed men, to their own local courts.”

“You must defy your electors, Hamid. If you do not, you will have no kingdom left to rule.”

“If I defy them, they will cast me from my throne.”

“Let them try! Even if they choose to replace you, the voting will take time! Time that you can spend strengthening your bonds with your loyal men! Time that you can spend consolidating your own base of power, your own means of support.”

Hamid glared at him, but his fingers still twisted his golden armband. When he spoke, his words were sharp. “And do we have a single chance against your Fellowship?”

“All I know is this. We have
no
chance with them.”

“So you would drag my wife and heirs into your battles?”

“I drag no one. All I can promise, Hamid, is that you will lose your family if you do nothing. Maybe not this winter. Maybe not the next. But when the Fellowship rules Sarmonia and has need of your compliance, your family will pay the price.”

“And if I ride with you? How can I keep them safe while I am gone?”

Hal swallowed acid sorrow. “Hiding will not work, no matter how secure you think the place. Bring your lady with you, your lady and your heirs. Keep them in your sight, and hope our battle will be fast.”

Hamid shook his head, and Hal sensed that the man longed for the easy days, for the times when he could look to his electors and know what he should do. “If I stand with you, you can defeat the armies that hold your land?”

“How many men can you bring?”

“I cannot be certain. Five score, perhaps, if we send word now. Five score by the time we reach Moren's gates.”

An entire kingdom at his disposal, and Hamid could promise no more than one hundred men.

Something was better than nothing, though. Something was better than the ragtag group that had fled the cathedral with Hal so many weeks before. “Five score can win,” Hal said, marveling inside that he could pretend such confidence. “I know Moren's defenses. I have the man who designed her ramparts with me here, in Sarmonia.”

“But so few.…” Hamid seemed to shrink within his magnificent robes.

“Enough.” Hal nodded, the tang of imagined revenge giving him strength. “Enough to win. For I have everything to gain by fighting, and nothing left to lose.”

Hamid shook his head again, but he extended his hand. “I will join you then, brother. I will join you in your fight against the Fellowship, Halaravilli ben-Jair.”

“Against the Fellowship,” Hal echoed. He raised the pounded goblet to his lips and drank, and then he passed it to Hamid. “Against the Fellowship,” he said once more, and then both men turned quickly to the table, and their plans, and their goals to liberate Morenia.

 

* * *

 

Hal bit back an exasperated sigh as Hamid leaned back in the small boat and squinted into the moonless night. “This cannot work,” Hamid said.

Hal did not bother to fashion a reply; he had already tired of comforting the man. He had fought down enough of his own questions, banished enough of his own doubts. Even now, he rallied his spirits with a bold–if silent–retort.
Could not work! Who was Hamid to say what could and could not work! Had he ever seen Davin's miracles? Had he ever seen the marvels that the old man could craft?

Hal tried to remind himself that he must be patient with the Sarmonian. After all, Hamid had broken against all tradition in his southern land. He had fled his own capital, leaving behind his palace, his throne. He had traveled north with only a handful of loyal companions, men who had marched because they were faithful to him and not his electors.

Hamid had a right to be pessimistic. Whatever the outcome in the north, the electors would be furious that their power had been challenged. Hamid would not rule in Sarmonia again.