Glasswrights' Progress

by Mindy L. Klasky

  Rani stared at the man who had wrought such havoc in her world, who had played with the lives of children and men alike. She watched as the breeze picked up, blew as if it were possessed by the last breath that sighed from the monster who had ruled the north. Sin Hazar’s blue cloak lay sodden across his body, too soaked with blood to stir in the wind.

  Only as Rani staggered back from the slain king did she realize that the Fellowship’s eight Yrathi mercenaries had subdued their fierce brethren, murdering each of the soldiers who had fought to remain loyal to Sin Hazar. The Fellowship of Jair had gained a good bargain with its purchase of the ruthless soldiers. However much gold had been paid from the Fellowship’s shadowy treasury, the cost had been a fair one.

  At last Rani realized that Puladarati was screaming orders to his men, commanding that they close around their king. Hal stood tall above the body of his vanquished enemy, his own cloak thrown back from his shoulders, soaring on the wind like a mantle woven by all the Thousand Gods. His teeth were bared in a grim smile as he stared down at his bloody victory, and he held his crimson-slicked sword away from his own body.

  Even as Rani fought to draw a breath, fought to step up to Hal’s side, she caught a glimpse of motion. There, to the right – too fast for safety, for security.

  Rani’s dagger slapped into her palm, and she whirled with the ease that Mair had taught her a lifetime ago, in Moren’s dangerous streets. Her knife drove home before she was even consciously aware that she had struck. She felt the moist pressure of meat and then the jarring crunch of bone. She twisted her dagger and pulled it upward, fighting to free the blade. And then, before she could register the gouts of blood that spilled across her clothes, before she could see Hal’s fingers around her wrist, before she could feel Crestman pulling her back and hear Mair call her name, she looked at the body on the ground before her.

  Bashi stared back, surprise bright in his cornflower eyes. As Rani took a step away she saw the traitor’s own knife tumble from his dying fingers, topple harmlessly onto the ground. He opened his mouth to say something, and a bubble of blood floated across his lips. “Brother,” he gasped, bursting the bubble, and then his face collapsed like a gate before a battering ram. His blood was hot on Rani’s hands as she let herself be pulled away from the chaos and the murder and the victory.

  Chapter 15

  Rani slipped into the great hall, surprised to find it empty of people. The last of Davin’s crates were clustered at the far end of the room, near the dais where she had once sat with Sin Hazar. She was tempted to cross over and pry open the topmost box, dig about for some sort of treasure in the old man’s collection of trinkets and toys. Before she could move, though, she was startled by the loud squawk of a bird. Her heart was still pounding as she turned to the near corner of the hall, to a cage that stood out of the draft.

  Davin’s macaw stared at her, tilting its head to one side and lifting up one of its claws. The bird picked between its toes with its thick, black tongue, all the time keeping a golden eye trained on Rani. She approached cautiously, edging up until she stood an arm’s length from the cage. “Rani Trader!” she prompted brightly. “Rani Trader!”

  The bird only squawked again and ruffled its azure feathers, shuffling about on its perch. “Davin’s misunderstood,” the bird croaked, giving an uncanny imitation of its ancient owner. “No one understands poor Davin.”

  “Aye, and no one will understand poor you, if you don’t keep your mouth closed.” Rani started at the old man’s voice behind her; she had not heard him enter the hall. Nevertheless, he stood inside the doorway, his arms linked around a heavy, leather-bound book. Even though he rested the volume against his right hip, the top edge reached nearly to his chin.

  “Davin!”

  “Aye. What are you doing to my macaw?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything! I was just making sure it was ready to travel.”

  “Travel? That bird? He’s not going south with us.”

  “Why not? You’ve loaded down three drays with everything else that you require.”

  “The winter air on the journey would kill him. Macaws were never meant to live this far north, and the draft along the way would freeze his lungs.” The old man scowled, his brows knitting above his dark eyes. “And don’t you comment on my drays. You let your king’s quartermaster argue with me over what I pack. It was not my idea to move to Morenia.”

  Rani settled her hands on her hips. She’d heard enough of Davin’s harping in the fortnight since Hal had occupied Sin Hazar’s palace. “Don’t complain, old man. You know that King Halaravilli has shown you mercy.”

  “Mercy? Making an old man ride for weeks during the middle of winter? Plucking an old man from his home?”

  Rani refused to fight back. Instead, she set out her grim reply like winding sheets before a pyre. “King Halaravilli could have had you executed for what you’ve done. If not for you, more than three score Morenian men would be traveling in the middle of winter, making their way home to their wives and bairns!”

  Davin pinned her with his steely eyes, gimlets that darted out from their fields of wrinkles. “Your king will never execute me. Not while he thinks I can create new engines for him. Besides, Rani Trader, your king is ready to admit what you will not. Morenia would have lost far more men, if not for me. My flying machine won the day.”

  Davin’s flying machine. And Monny.

  Rani dared not continue the battle, for fear that she would give way to the tears that still lingered close to her heart. Instead, she sighed. “What’s that in your arms, Davin? King Halaravilli has told you he has no more space for your books.”

  “This one is not for me. It’s for you.”

  “Me?”

  Before Rani could make further reply, a dozen boys tumbled into the great hall. They were laughing and shoving each other, making crude jokes, but their amusement was cut short when they caught sight of Davin and Rani.

  “My lord,” said the oldest, flushing scarlet so that the scar across his cheekbone stood out like a white flag. “My lady.”

  Before either Davin or Rani could speak, Crestman strode into the hallway. “What’s keeping you, boys? Those crates have to make it onto the last dray. Move –” The captain caught sight of the hall’s other occupants, and his words stopped in his throat.

  Davin cleared his throat with unaccustomed tact. “I was just instructing the boys,” the old man lied. “I need them to help me repack some goods. I have herbs from swampy Brandir that must be sheltered from the cold.”

  Before Rani could argue, the old man had moved away, setting his oversized book on a nearby trestle table. He began to bully the boys who had come to help him, ordering them about with the same irritability that he had shown when he housed the Little Army near the Swancastle.

  Rani was left staring at Crestman. She caught her fingers opening and closing on the cloth of her robe, and she tried to remember a civil greeting.

  “Crimson.” He spoke first, after a painful pause. “It suits you.”

  For just an instant, she did not know if he referred to the color of her garment, or Hal’s banner, or the blood that had streaked her hands on the plain outside the city gates. “Crestman,” Rani whispered, wincing as the boys behind her started to heave crates about the room.

  “Why won’t you let me come?” the lion pleaded. “The Amanthian countryside is not yet safe! You need a guard.”

  “Hal can guard me. He has an army at his command.”

  “Hal.”

  “Crestman,” Rani said miserably, “we need you here. If you don’t stay behind to command the Little Army, they’ll suffer.”

  “Command them? They’re boys. There is no more Little Army.”

  “Precisely.” Rani glanced over Crestman’s shoulder, distracted by the youths’ squabbling. Good-natured debate began to turn as one boy called another a filthy name. In seconds, knives were drawn and Davin’s goods forgotten.

  “Men!” Crestman’s vo
ice rang out across the hall. “I’ll take your daggers and melt them down, same as I did with your swords!” The boys fell silent immediately, hanging their heads and scuffling their boots against the flagstones. “Now if you can’t get these crates out to the courtyard, I’ll find some soldiers who can!”

  Crestman waited until the fighters had sheathed their blades, but then he took care to turn away before they went back to their assigned labors. Rani understand that this was the way he showed his trust. This was the way he let his soldiers know that he believed in them. She waited as most of the boys left, carrying crates out to the courtyard. The only noise left in the hall was Davin berating the unfortunate trio who had been designated to help him repack his herbs.

  “Crestman,” Rani said into the uncomfortably heavy silence, “they listen to you. Puladarati’s men would have them strung up in a day. These boys must be reminded of the Little Army – they can’t just be ordered to forget what happened. You can help them. You can teach them how to keep their pride while you prepare them to return to their homes.”

  The lion refused to meet her gaze, refused to acknowledge the truthfulness behind her words. Rani sighed and reached out a finger to trace the scar along his cheek. “It’s a better life than Sin Hazar had planned for you.”

  “It isn’t!” Crestman protested, and he grabbed at her hand. His fingers were icy claws around her wrist. “It’s the same life! Sin Hazar would have enslaved me to the Liantines, and your precious ‘Hal’ has bound me to his Morenians! What difference does it make?”

  Rani trembled at the rage in his voice, at the hurt behind his words. “You wear no chains, Crestman. If you had been on the other ship, or on an earlier vessel, you’d be in shackles by now. In shackles or worse.”

  She watched him measure her words, watched him remember the other ship, the one that had not turned back from Liantine. Fifteen thousand soldiers, all told, lost in the Little Army, and he was complaining about striding free in Sin Hazar’s palace. She saw his grudging acceptance of her argument, his reluctant admission that he was better off in Amanthia. Beneath that resignation, though, she could still see anger. Anger and hurt and shattered trust.

  “This will get easier,” she urged. “When you begin to send the boys home, you’ll see that you’re making the right decision.” Rani struggled to change the subject. “How is Shea doing?”

  “Still the same. She’s mourning those girls, her Tain and Serena. It was cruel for her to see them again, in the stockade, only to have them sent to Liantine. She’d lost them once, and she may never recover from having to let them go again.”

  “Don’t give up on her, Crestman. She’ll help you with the Little Army, especially with the girls. She’ll help you send the children home.”

  “And when we’re done? When all the Little Army is disbanded? What plans do you have for me then?”

  “Crestman, I –”

  Before she could fashion a lie, she was interrupted by a bass voice, booming from the doorway. “Lady Rani, King Halaravilli said that I should –. Ah. My lady.” Duke Puladarati took a step back, swallowing his message and drilling his gaze into Rani’s hand, into the wrist that was still encircled by Crestman’s fingers. “Excuse me, my lady. The king instructed me to find you.”

  Crestman braved the duke’s gaze. “I was just leaving, Your Grace.” The boy paused deliberately and shifted his grip, moving his fingers to curl beneath Rani’s palm. She let him raise her hand to his lips, struggled not to reveal a hint of emotion as he brushed a kiss across her flushed skin. “My lady,” he murmured, and bowed before he strode over to the boys who still fumbled at Davin’s belongings.

  “Crestman!” Rani started to call out, but then she caught his name at the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and forced herself to face Puladarati.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said instead, and her voice sounded curiously high in her own ears. “You were sent to find me?”

  “Aye. King Halaravilli wanted to know your preferences for tomorrow’s feast.”

  King Halaravilli.… Hal had scarcely spoken to her since the bloodshed in front of Amanth’s gates. Rani knew that he was purposely keeping to his appropriated apartments, that he was mourning the deaths of the men he had led north. There were so many.… The seventy soldiers who had been destroyed by Davin’s glass eggs. The councillor, Lamantarino. Monny. Even Bashi, in a way.

  Rani wanted to go to Hal, wanted to comfort him with words and understanding. She knew why he had acted, why he had endangered his kingdom and his vassals. She wanted to tell him that he had made all the right decisions, that she was grateful for her rescue, for the liberation of the Little Army.

  She wanted to go to him, but she would not. She would wait until he wished for her company, until he summoned her to his side. He was her king, after all. Not her brother. Not more. Her king.

  Until then, she would serve him as best she could. Struggling to turn her attention to the matter at hand, Rani asked Puladarati, “Tomorrow’s feast?”

  The former regent scowled and ran his maimed hand through his mane. His words were pointed, as if he were berating a young child. “After the Amanthians swear their fealty.”

  “Of course,” Rani replied, shaking her head as she forced herself to focus on Puladarati’s words. “What was the king asking about?”

  “Would you have Lady Mair sit at the head table? Or should she be with His Majesty’s generals?”

  “I should think at the head table.” Rani forced herself to turn away from the boys at the far end of the hall. “Puladarati, you’re going to be the governor here. You can make these decisions without me.”

  “I tried to tell that to His Majesty, but he insisted that I consult with you. Just as he insists on everything else around here. He thinks he has to be involved with everything, decide every last detail. He thinks we’ll judge him harshly if he hasn’t decided who sits above the salt cellar.”

  Rani sighed. “Don’t worry about him, Your Grace. He’ll be more reasonable once we return to Morenia.”

  “Reasonable!” The duke harrumphed and shook his head. “I don’t question his reason! I question the burdens he’s taking on. He scarcely knows how to run a council meeting! Just because I’m no longer his regent doesn’t mean that I can’t assist him.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” Rani struggled to put all of her reassurance into her tone. “Your Grace, he chose you to be his governor here precisely because you have assisted him. Who else could he trust to administer Amanthia? Sin Hazar’s own lords must be watched over closely. It will be some time before their loyalty can be trusted, whatever oaths they swear tomorrow.”

  “He’s only a boy, though! He needs me at his side, not leagues away.”

  “He’s a boy who was man enough to lead an army up here. He was able to convince his council to ride. He broke the Little Army and Sin Hazar’s regular forces. He has begun administering his lands with all the skills you’ve taught him.”

  The duke shook his head and his throat worked as if he wanted to continue to argue, but he stood a little straighter as he looked out over the hall. “I’ve got to get this room prepared for tomorrow’s feast. We need fresh reeds on the floors, and the tables moved out from the walls. And we’ve got to get that old man’s rubbish out of here.”

  “I’ll take care of that, Your Grace. Davin is nearly through packing his belongings.” Rani gestured toward the boys who were hefting the old man’s crates, following Crestman from the hall. She shrugged. “If you see Mair, you can send her to me, and we’ll make sure that the feast goes smoothly.”

  Puladarati started to argue, but he cut himself off. “Very well, my lady.” He managed a scant bow before he crossed toward the door.

  “Your Grace!” Rani called, and the burly councillor reluctantly turned back to face her. “You aren’t being banished from Morenia. We’ll see you in the south come spring, when Hal calls his first council meeting in the new year.”

  “That isn’t far
away,” the proud man said grudgingly.

  “No, Your Grace. It isn’t far away at all.”

  Puladarati bowed again and took his leave.

  “Well, you handled him like a tame pup,” Davin grumbled before Rani could smile with satisfaction.

  “He’s a good man, Davin.”

  “Aren’t they all?” the old man asked caustically. “If you’re quite through holding court, we can get back to the business at hand.”

  Rani started to bristle at the insulting tone, but she settled for a shrug and turned her attention to the large book that sat on the trestle. At Davin’s waved invitation, she walked over to it, shifting it closer across the planks of the table. The book was even heavier than it looked; it took a solid effort to pull it near. “Why is it so heavy?” she asked, surprised that the old man had carried it so casually.

  “That’s lead about the binding.” He gestured toward the tracery that sprawled across the cover.

  “Of course,” Rani breathed, belatedly recognizing the metal. She leaned closer to examine the binding. Upon inspection, the lead design was strangely familiar, carving up the underlying leather into distinct sections. The leather itself had been tooled with a series of different patterns. Some sections remained light and golden, seeming to leap forward from the surface. Others had been carefully stained so that they appeared to recede. The pattern was the work of a master. “It’s like a window,” Rani said, with dawning recognition. “A window in the cathedral.”

  “Aye. I had it from a master. A glasswright from the west.”