Glasswrights' Journeyman Page 35

  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.”

  “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, easi
ly 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.