Glasswrights' Journeyman Read online

  “Yes.”

  “Very good, Ranita. Look inside the glass. Look inside it as if it were a mirror. You can see yourself in the glass. Do you see yourself, Ranita?”

  “Yes.” Rani saw herself sitting on the edge of the pallet, saw Tovin sprawled beside her.

  “Very good, Ranita. I’m going to count to ten now, and with every number, you will move further into the mirror. Reach deep into yourself. Deep into the peace. Deep into the Speaking. One. Two. Three.”

  Rani heard Tovin begin the numbers. She heard each one form on his lips; she absorbed each one with a breath. She pulled herself further into the white light, deeper into the pool of calm awareness that she had crafted with the diamond blade. “Nine,” she heard him say. “Ten.”

  She was aware that her head had drooped, that her chin was resting against the lacy edge of her bodice. She felt the incredible burden of her arms, so heavy that her hands were numb; her fingers were lost. She felt the pallet beneath her, but it seemed a lifetime away.

  “Can you hear me, Ranita?” Tovin’s voice was clear, sharp, as distinct as an edge of glass. She heard him, and she held on to his presence, even as she moved further away from her self.

  “Yes,” she tried to say, but she realized that she had only opened her mouth, had only shaped the word.

  “Very good, Ranita. You are very good at Speaking. You have power. I knew that you had power when I heard you talk to Mair tonight.”

  Rani pictured herself beside the stream, pictured the night gathering close about her. She and Mair had been talking about the Fellowship, about her octolaris plan. Secrets. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her brow wrinkle into a frown.

  “No, Ranita Glasswright. Stay inside the Speaking. Stay inside the mirror. You’re safe here. You don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to tell.”

  Rani let herself be stilled by his words. She let herself slip back into the white comfort, into the weightless, hazy realm inside the diamond-cut mirror. Tovin said, “You sat beside the stream. You spoke with Mair, and you let the water carry away your words. You let the water wash away, flow away, ease away. You were worried while you spoke with Mair. You were afraid. But the stream carried all your burdens. Do you remember the stream, Ranita? Do you remember the water?”

  “Yes.”

  “The water will keep you safe, Ranita Glasswright. It will keep your secrets. Think of the water, Ranita. Think of it holding you. Covering you. Protecting you.”

  She felt the water, felt it flowing over her. She felt the cool stream wash over her toes, her ankles, her legs. She leaned back into the blood-warm flow, leaned back until her hair streamed down the riverbed, until she was floating, weightless and cradled in the ever-changing, ever-perfect stream.

  “You can speak now, Ranita Glasswright. You can tell the water your secrets. You can speak them and be safe. Tell the stream about the Fellowship.”

  Rani knew she must be cautious. She must not tell Tovin all that she knew about the Fellowship, all she knew about the cell led by Glair. Nevertheless, the player had clearly heard something that evening. How could it hurt for her to say a little now?

  “We’re sisters,” she said, and her words swirled into the flow of the stream.

  “Who?”

  “Mair and me. We’re sisters in the Fellowship.”

  “Who else is in the Fellowship?”

  What had she said beside the stream? What did Tovin already know? “Glair.”

  “And who else?”

  Who else had she named? Had she spoken of Hal? Had she called him by name? She could not be certain, and she did not want to tell Tovin more than he already knew. “Others,” she said at last. “Many others.”

  The stream continued to flow, warm and swift, carrying her along in a flood of white, white light. She felt a surge of peace rise within her as she realized that she was in control. She could decide not to Speak, not to share Hal’s name.

  If Tovin worried that she had not answered completely, he gave no sign. “And what does the Fellowship do?”

  Do? The question was so large. It stretched across the streambed, filling all the space from one bank to the other. Do? Rani could not begin to form an answer.

  Tovin waited, and then he said patiently, “Does the Fellowship gather regularly?”

  That, at least, was simple. “No.”

  “Does the Fellowship ever gather?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me of the last time the Fellowship gathered, Rani. Tell me what happened.”

  Rani paused in the middle of the stream, thinking of the trip that she and Mair had made through the ruined streets of Moren. She could Speak of the Fellowship’s meeting. She could share it with Tovin. He already knew that Glair was a member. So long as she kept Hal’s name a secret, she could Speak. “It was after the fire. After the fire that ruined Moren.”

  She heard her voice from a distance, as if the flow of water filled her ears. As she spoke, the words were carried away, washed downstream, moved beyond any place where they could harm her, could harm Hal, could harm Morenia. With every question that Tovin asked, Rani found her burden lightened. The relief of Speaking about the Fellowship nearly made her weep.

  She had not realized how difficult it was to keep the shadowy brotherhood secret. Every answer carried her deeper into the safety, deeper into the peace, deeper into the security of the Speaking. She told of the Fellowship’s hidden meetings and the black masks that members wore. She told of their shadowy plans for conquering kingdoms, the dreams that the Fellowship harbored. She told of power, raw power, kept chained in secret channels that coursed beneath Morenian politics.

  The Speaking protected the telling, protected Rani. It released her from the terrible weight of living her double life. Nothing bad could happen while she was Speaking. The Fellowship could not control her, would not threaten her. It could not make demands of her, as it had of Hal.

  She was right to Speak. She gained power by Speaking. And still, she could control her words, she could preserve her secrets. She did not tell Tovin that the king of all Morenia and Amanthia belonged to the Fellowship.

  At last, Tovin ran out of questions. Rani floated in the pure, pure stream, and she heard him breathing, heard him swallow. She heard the revelry outside the cottage, but she only waited for Tovin to speak. “Very well, Ranita Glasswright,” he said at last. “If you agree, we might Speak of these things again, another day. Is that all right?”

  She thought of descending to this calm, quiet place, to the freedom of their honest exchange. “Yes.”

  “Good. Thank you, Ranita.” She felt him shift on the pallet, and she realized that he had moved closer to her as he asked her questions. Still, he had not touched her. He had promised that he would not, and he had held true to that promise.

  “It is time for you to leave the stream now. Time to come back to the players’ camp. I’m going to count from ten to one, and you’ll move with me, back to the camp, back to the storeroom. You’ll remember everything we’ve spoken about, but you will not be afraid. You’ll feel rested and awake. Ten. Nine. Eight,” he counted slowly. The stream move more sluggishly. Rani felt herself pulled, dripping and renewed, from the water. “Seven, Six, Five.” She was back in the white light, back in the gleaming mirror. “Four. Three.” She could feel her body, feel her fingers, feel her toes. “Two. One.”

  Her eyes flew open. She was lying on the pallet, her hair spread out behind her. She could not remember reclining on the fragrant mattress; she could not remember slumping so that her legs were sprawled like a child’s.

  Tovin leaned beside her, his weight still resting on one elbow, his free hand cradling the clear glass. He smiled as she blinked, and he helped her to sit up. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath, and a smile spread across her lips. She felt as if she’d slept for days. She felt as if she’d been breathing the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread for a lifetime. She felt as if s
he’d been singing for hours. She felt alive and weightless, unburdened. “Free,” she said. Tovin helped her to her feet. “And hungry.”

  “Speaking will do that.” He laughed and crossed to the whitewashed table, setting the clear glass beside its companion. “We players can solve that problem, easily enough.” Rani was barely aware of his glass-scarred palm at the small of her back as he escorted her from the hut.

  Chapter 11

  Hal looked up from the letter he was reading, seeking out Farsobalinti’s eyes. “She suggests that we call it the Order of the Octolaris.”

  “Order of the Octolaris.” Farso shook his head, reaching for the parchment and reading the words for himself.

  Hal grimaced. Certainly, the idea was creative. Certainly, it would accomplish his most secret goal – gathering together the funds he needed to pay the Fellowship. But it involved octolaris.

  Even thinking the word called to mind Mareka. The spiderguild apprentice had left his room a fortnight before, but since that day, she had never been far from his thoughts. Even now, imagining how he might negotiate for spiders, for riberry trees, his pulse quickened. There was something about the woman, some power she held over him. …

  This was different from the bond he felt with Rani. This had nothing to do with honor and respect and desire to see the woman succeed. With the spiderguild apprentice, he was drawn to remember every touch. He was compelled to relive the sound of her voice, the fragrance of her hair, the silver light that had seemed to jump from her fingertips to his flesh. …

  “Sire.” Hal pulled himself back from his memories, hoping that Farso would keep his eyes upon the letter for a moment longer, until the flush could fade from Hal’s shamed cheeks. As if the knight could read his thoughts, Farso stood up to pace, tapping Rani’s letter against his palm. “It’s easy enough for Rani Trader to say that she’ll get you spiders. How does she intend to do that, though? Surely the Liantines have tried before – the spiderguild exists within their very borders!”

  “If anyone can do it, Rani can.” Hal was resolute. “After all, she unveiled the Brotherhood of Justice after they killed my brother. She faced down King Sin Hazar and liberated the Little Army.”

  “But poisonous spiders worth a king’s ransom?”

  “She would not have written, if she did not have some plan.”

  Farso shrugged, accepting his liege’s quiet conviction. Still, he probed. “I can see your nobles embracing a new-created order. There’s been little enough to celebrate of late. I can see them trying to build their own silk trade, trying to get the trees to grow, the spiders to breed. How will convince them, though, to pay for the privilege? Ten bars of gold, my lord? That is a great deal, on top of all the other taxes they have paid since you took your throne.”

  “Ten bars is nothing!” Hal protested. How often had he paid ten bars to the Fellowship, after all?

  Farso’s blue eyes were troubled. “May I speak honestly, my lord?”

  “As if you have not before?” Hal waved a hand. “Of course, Farso. You may always speak honestly to me.”

  Farso sighed. “You say that ten bars are nothing, and in the face of your expenses, you are right. Five hundred you must pay over to the church by Midsummer Day, and five thousand after that. Still, to most of your nobles, my lord, to many of the men who serve you best, ten bars of gold is a massive stake. For many, it will be all that they have saved throughout the years.”

  “It is a bid for future wealth. Spidersilk will amply repay every man who joins us.”

  “It will, ultimately. But spidersilk will take great effort. It will take skill, and it will endanger lives. Remember Crestman, and his tale of the child from the Little Army. Octolaris kill. At least some do. I am not saying that your lords will refuse, but this would all be easier if you could explain why such a sacrifice is necessary. The Order of the Octolaris must do more than satisfy a,” he waved his hand in frustration, clearly searching for a word, “a whim.”

  Hal stared at Farso. Of course. Hal and Rani, and Mair too – they all knew why the Order was necessary, why Hal must find a thousand bars of gold. To Farso, though, to all the rest of Hal’s retainers. … The request must sound greedy. It must sound short-sighted and mean-spirited. He swallowed hard and said, “Is it not enough that I ask it, when I have asked nothing similar in all my time as king?”

  “You have, though, Sire.” Farso sighed. “Your plans for the order are similar to raising funds for Amanthia. They resemble rebuilding Moren. Why now? What cause do you have to require payment now?”

  It would be so easy to tell him. So easy to admit the Fellowship’s existence, to admit his desire to lead the shadowy body. The words would take away responsibility, remove the need for skulking and hiding.

  And yet Hal could not divulge the secret. There were other lives at stake, anonymous members of the Fellowship who might suffer if they were unveiled. Besides, the Fellowship did have a plan, a grand scheme – one that had largely been hidden from him so far, but one which he firmly believed existed. One which he intended to direct, intended to shape and guide to completion.

  He tried a lie. “I need the money because the costs of rebuilding Moren are even more than we predicted. The engineers have said that we must raze even some sections of the city that we thought were secure. While we continue our fight to recover from the fire, disease still spreads. The weed that Mair discovered – the one she hopes will treat firelung – is more costly than any tincture a Morenian leech has ever brewed. Yet, if I announce all this, if I tell my people, I fear that they will lose all heart, and our recovery will be doomed.”

  Mair’s weeds. The lamb’s tongue had arrived in Liantine two days before. The farmer who sold it had been overjoyed at disposing of all his crop, and he had crowed over a scant handful of coins. He had even helped to stow the dried bales beneath the deck of Hal’s own ship.

  Well, Mair was a member of the Fellowship, every bit as much as Hal was. She would have to help him now. She would have to foment one more lie, if Farso ever asked.

  Now, Farso stared at Hal, his face even more pale than usual. When he replied, his words were strangled. “I did not know, my lord. I thought that we had measured all those costs, that the loan you negotiated from the church was enough. I did not realize the burden that you still bear, the fears that must be preying on you, even here in Liantine.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, Sire. Of course you know what is best for Morenia. If you say we need the Order of the Octolaris, then you may be certain I agree.”

  Hal felt like a liar, a cheater, a snake. Nevertheless, he clarified: “Ten gold bars, then, from every landed noble.”

  Farso nodded and dropped to his knees at Hal’s feet. “It will be done, Sire. I ask only that you honor me as the first member of the Order of the Octolaris.”

  Hal’s throat tightened. “Aye, my lord. You will be the first to stand by my side.” He raised Farso to his feet, thinking, assuming I get the riberries. Assuming I get the spiders. Assuming I can keep myself from Mareka Octolaris, and the disaster that will happen if our liaison is ever known, if Teheboth ever finds that I insulted his hospitality and his daughter by bedding a commoner beneath his roof. “The very first. And may I ask another thing of you, an easy thing compared to that?”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  “Please send a letter to Rani Trader. Tell her first that I say, ‘It will be so.’ She will know you write of spiders. And tell her that I go to speak with Berylina today. I’ll ask Teheboth for the princess’s hand in marriage before the sun sets.”

  “I will, Sire.” Farso knew enough of Rani that he did not pretend those tidings would be glad.

  “Also, write to Davin, back in Moren. Command him to design a pendant for the Order and have it cast one hundred times.”

  “It will be done, Sire.” Farso turned toward the door, confidence quickening his step. Only as he passed over the threshold did Hal call out, “Oh, and Farso? One thing more. Could you send in Father S
iritalanu?”

  “Again?” the knight asked, clearly speaking before he could stop himself.

  “Aye.”

  Hal had called for the priest often in the past two weeks. In the aftermath of his … encounter with Mareka, he had sought the comfort of the church that he had known since childhood. He longed for the reassurance of all the Thousand Gods, even though he was too ashamed to admit to the young religious precisely how he had yielded to temptation, how he had endangered his embassy.

  “Sire, if you’d rather that I stay. …”

  “I’d rather that you help me where you can do the most good, Farso. Don’t look so worried. I’m a bridegroom, or at least I plan to be. It is only natural that I seek the guidance of the Thousand Gods before I go to Princess Berylina.”

  Farso clearly disagreed with Hal’s assessment, but years of serving his lord won out against further protest. “Aye, Sire.” Farso bowed again and left the chamber.

  Grateful for the man’s devotion, Hal crossed his apartment to the small prie-dieu that huddled in the corner. He lowered himself to the wooden kneeler and touched his head to the carved oak upright, calling upon First Pilgrim Jair for guidance. He had spoken to his forefather often in the past fortnight, addressing him as a familiar.

  “Jair, you founded my house, and you carved out a line of kings. What temptations did you face? What tests did you fail?”

  Hal’s prayers were silent, repeating the questions he had asked himself for two full weeks. Even as he settled down to wordless contemplation of his sins, he was interrupted by memories – by the flash of Mareka’s eyes in the grey light of his chamber, by the gleam of her supple arm as it whispered from beneath her spidersilk gown. Hal forced himself deeper into his prayers, but he could not forget the heat of his fever, the strange, heady passion that had overtaken him so inexplicably. He lost himself in the recollection of Mareka’s kiss, of the heat that had burned from her body into his.

  “You called for me, Sire?”

  Hal jerked away from his reverie. Father Siritalanu hovered just inside the door, his hands hanging heavy inside their emerald sleeves. The priest was young, as young as Hal – that was one reason that Hal had accepted the cleric into his entourage. Like all the noble priestly caste, Siritalanu was a distant cousin, kin so vague that Hal would need a herald to be certain of the ties that bound them.