Glasswrights' Master

by Mindy L. Klasky

  Tovin bowed fluidly, as if the mild rebuke were praise. “Nay, my lord. But I still would speak with you, if you will. In private, if I have no license to speak before your court.”

  “You and I have no dealings that must be hidden from my people.” King Hamid sounded angry at the suggestion; he looked to his gathered lords, as if he feared they might be troubled by Tovin’s words. What strange patterns this king drew in his court; what odd ties he created.… Rani glanced around, beginning to understand a little more about how things worked in Sarmonia.

  King Hamid had gained his throne upon the approval of his lords, and he kept that position only so long as they were content. For that reason alone, he was beholden to them, but not with the good, powerful bonds of a liege and his vassal. Rather, he was tied to his lords with darker bonds, with tighter ties.

  Where Hal might have agreed to speak with Tovin in private–had agreed to do so many times in the past–King Hamid could not afford the appearance of any impropriety. He could not have his lords even imagine that anything clandestine might transpire with the player. If those lords felt threatened, they might summon up a new election; they might banish Hamid from his post.

  And Tovin Player understood that. The man was as good at spotting patterns as Rani was; he understood bonds between those who watched his players’ creations, between those who might sponsor his troop. Tovin knew that King Hamid could not agree to a private consultation. Therefore, the player must actually want his words to be heard by all in the chamber. He wanted his words to be heard by Rani.

  If there could be any doubt, it was dispersed when Tovin met her gaze directly. “Your Majesty,” he said to King Hamid, “there has been a misunderstanding here. Your men thought that they stopped common intruders in your forest. Instead, they have caught important people from the north.”

  No! Hal had chosen not to reveal his true identity. That much was evident from his decision to have Puladarati press his case. If Hal admitted who he was, if he said that he was king, then he would have to recount why he was in Sarmonia. He would have to admit to the invading army back in Morenia, the blockading navy. He would leave the Sarmonian monarch with no choice but to declare his intentions in the battle that had broken out back at home. King Hamid would be forced to declare himself for or against Morenia, for or against the spiritual center of Brianta, the wealthy land of Liantine.

  And Rani realized that the danger was even more complicated than that. If Tovin spoke Hal’s name, he might alert the Fellowship to the Morenians’ presence. Who knew how many members of the cabal lurked in the great hall’s shadows? Who could tell which Sarmonians wore dark hoods at night, traveling to secret meetings and promising private loyalties? The Fellowship had vowed to destroy Hal; naming him in public might be tantamount to securing his assassination.

  “Tovin!” Rani heard the name torn from her throat, ripped out of her like entrails from a slaughtered beast.

  Before the player could respond, King Hamid leaped to his feet, thundering questions at the player. “You know this woman? You know these criminals?”

  Tovin glanced at Rani before taking a confidential step toward King Hamid. “Aye, Your Majesty. I know this woman well. She is the patron of my troop, my sponsor back in my homeland. I humbly ask that you grant her the same license that you have granted to me and to my troop, the same safe passage through the northern woods.”

  Rani stared at Tovin, conflicting emotions roiling within her. At first, she was relieved that he would intervene on her behalf; given their bitter parting, she had not expected ever to speak with him again. She did not want to owe him, though; she could not bear the thought of being indebted to the player.

  Obviously unaware of her turmoil, King Hamid asked the player, “And her name?”

  There. Tovin would answer the question, and the Fellowship would be put on notice. They would know to find her here in Sarmonia; they would know that Hal must be nearby. Their assassin blades and poisons would find homes soon enough–and all because Tovin had sought to aid her.…

  Rani closed her eyes, taking a centering breath, trying to regroup, trying to adjust to the knowledge that her end was fast approaching. She almost failed to hear Tovin’s reply: “Varna Tinker, Your Majesty.”

  What? Varna Tinker had been lost to Rani for nearly a decade, gone in the chaos that had followed the destruction of the glasswrights’ guildhall. Even now, Rani could remember heartbreak as her best friend betrayed her to the King’s Men, calling out for their assistance as Rani sought help, sought order in the midst of sudden, complete confusion. Now, in Sarmonia, she cast a frantic glance toward Mair, toward the friend that had emerged from that betrayal.

  Mair, though, was not able to offer any assistance. The Touched woman was drawn into her private suffering, contorted by her bound wrists, eyeing her square of black silk as if it held her private key to the Heavenly Gates. She would be of no assistance.

  Had Rani told Tovin about Varna? Had she unveiled the pain that she had suffered so long ago?

  She must have. There was no way that he chose the name by coincidence. And yet, Rani could not remember having spoken of her childhood playmate, could not remember telling the tall player man about that passage in her youth.

  Even as she wondered at his knowledge, she realized the answer. She had Spoken with him about growing up in the city; she had shared numerous stories of her past. She must have mentioned Varna once when she was under the strange spell that Tovin wove. She must have said something in passing, and he had remembered it. What other secrets had he cataloged to use against her? What else did he know, could he use at his will, whenever he felt the need?

  And what did it matter, here in Sarmonia, with another crisis at hand?

  “Varna Tinker,” King Hamid mused, as if he were trying out the syllables prior to purchasing them. “A merchant, then, by your northern method of naming. That explains how she has the funds to sponsor your troop. It hardly tells me what she’s doing here, though, Tovin Player. Or what she was doing in my forest.”

  Tovin smiled easily. “We were to meet–”

  “Silence, Player.” The king’s tone was mild, but there was no mistaking the royal command. “I’d like to hear the explanation from Varna herself.”

  Rani stepped forward and cleared her throat, wishing that her hands were free, that her shoulders were eased so that she could speak without the distraction of that burning pain. “We were to meet, Your Majesty. My caravan and the players.” She warmed to her story when she was not cut off immediately. “I am a tinker by trade, and I’d hoped to discover new riches to offer in the Morenian marketplace. Tovin Player had already come south to work with his troop. I hoped that he would make contacts for me, discover sources for goods that I could bring up to Morenia and sell at a profit in the marketplace.”

  “The men who travel with you hardly look like merchants.”

  Rani nodded agreement. “They’re not, Your Majesty. It’s a long road between here and Morenia. I hoped to protect my riches against any who would attack me on the road.”

  “My men found no trade goods with you. We found no evidence of your … caravan.”

  “No, Your Majesty. We’ve made no purchases yet. We only just arrived in Sarmonia, two days, no, three days past. We were waiting to make contact with Tovin Player.”

  “Then you should have wealth with you. What did you expect to trade for Sarmonian goods?”

  What indeed. Rani’s story was unraveling like a lie told to a parent. She had no wares with her. She had no trinkets. She did not even have a stash of coins. Before she could weave another chapter from thin, desperate air, Puladarati stepped forward. “We travel with drafts from King Halaravilli ben-Jair, Your Majesty.”

  King Hamid narrowed his eyes even more than his customary squint. “Is this true, Madam Tinker? You bear scrip from the king of Moren?”

  Rani forbade herself to look at that king, even to look at Tovin Player. She must answer earnestly; her futu
re depended on her ability to play her role. “Aye, Your Majesty. We have the honor of providing cooking wares to the royal kitchens. We left Moren just before the summer silk auction, and the king gave us signed drafts to cover our debts here in Sarmonia.”

  “Show me one of these drafts.”

  Rani gave Puladarati a tight nod. The duke, in turn, shrugged his massive shoulders expressively. “Your Majesty?” he said to King Hamid.

  “Untie him,” the Sarmonian commanded. “But keep a close watch.”

  The guard complied, and Rani read volumes into the man’s motions. He might have been proud of capturing his prisoners out in the woods. He might have believed that he served his lord well, gathering up intruders. But now he was disarmed by Rani’s explanations; he had clearly decided that the ragtag group of northerners was innocent, safe, no threat at all to Sarmonia.

  As if to foster that belief, Puladarati made a show of moving slowly after his hands were freed. He reached for his saddle bags as if he were an ancient man, taking time to uncinch the buckle, open the flap, shift his possessions with care.

  The old retainer’s game worked. His guard relaxed even more when they saw nothing to alarm them in the satchel. Rather, Puladarati produced a handful of scrolls, each sealed with Hal’s crimson wax.

  King Hamid broke the sigil on the first one himself, and he scanned the words with casual negligence. Whatever was written there clearly matched Rani’s story; she appeared to have royal drafts to underwrite her supposed merchant trip. “Very well, Madam Tinker. These papers support your words. Nevertheless, you had no royal charter to be in the woods.”

  “I did not know–” Rani started to plead, but she was interrupted by Tovin.

  “Please, Your Majesty. Varna did not know the laws in Sarmonia. She is a simple tinker, not a diplomat wise in the ways of foreign courts. She did not think to challenge your authority. How could she, with a serving girl,” he gestured toward Mair, “and an aged accounts-man?” Tovin’s hand included Davin, deprecating the so-called merchant caravan with a shrug. “They are hardly an invading enemy force.”

  “And yet, they are. She and her companions had no business in the clearing.”

  Tovin smiled easily; he might have been discussing sweetmeats at a feast. “Your Majesty, their business was to be with me. Perhaps they were confused about our meeting place. After all, Sire, you gave permission to all my players to use the Great Clearing. Certainly, one small merchant party could not cause more disruption at a lesser place in the woods.”

  Rani heard the camaraderie in Tovin’s voice, the casual manner in which he addressed the king. She had seen this side of the player before; she had watched him melt into courts as readily as if he were noble-born. He could play a Touched man as well, she knew, or a merchant, a guildsman. Rani did not trust Tovin for one instant, not when he smiled that easy smile, not when he tossed his chestnut curls back from his face.

  “Tovin Player, you would make me break my own rules.”

  “Your Majesty, I would merely have you stretch them. You have granted a charter to me and my players. Surely it is only logical to extend that charter to my sponsor.”

  King Hamid stared at the player for a long minute, then cast his eyes over Rani’s companions. He counted out the soldiers, but his attention merely brushed over those he considered too old or too unimportant to recognize–Davin, Mair, Hal himself. At last, the Sarmonian sighed. “Very well, Tovin Player. You plead your case well. Your charter covers your sponsor.”

  Tovin bowed his head and muttered thanks. King Hamid ignored the words, saying, “You have inconvenienced me, though. For that, I should be recompensed. I will expect your players to attend my supper this evening, in my private apartments. A short piece, a comedy, I believe. That will help me to forget all this bother.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. I know just the selection. In fact, if you have time after you hear the other matters of your court, we could Speak of it before you retire for the afternoon.”

  “Speak of it.…” King Hamid repeated the words, and Rani read the thirst in his narrow eyes. The king had already had occasion to meet with Tovin, then; he had already been lured into the quiet depths of the players’ Speaking. Rani could not blame King Hamid for the gleam in his eyes; she herself craved the power of the secret places where Tovin could lead her. Even now, even here, in the dangerous southern receiving hall, Rani could recall the strange power that the player held over her, his awesome ability to take her deep into her own thoughts, into her own pasts, into memories so distant that she could not consciously remember them. She remembered the peace that she had found in the Speaking, and the power and the strength. “Yes,” the king said, as if he were shaking himself awake from a dream. “We will Speak later this afternoon. Until then, take your sponsor and leave us to our work.”

  The king waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and Rani found herself being rushed from the hall. Only when they were back in the courtyard under the late summer sun, did the guards see fit to loosen their prisoners’ bonds. Rani bit back tart words as the blood began to flow into her fingertips.

  Hal’s men did not bother to smother their comments; most of them swore at the discomfort. None was so foolish, though, as to comment on the charade they had just witnessed. Tovin merely glanced at the Morenians as if he were accustomed to their companionship, and then he said, “Varna, I have taken a room at the Golden Bee. Shall we go there, so that I can tell you about our bookings here in Sarmonia?”

  The assumed name still sounded odd in her ear, but she agreed for the sake of the Sarmonian soldiers who still stood within earshot. “Aye. My men would do well with a pint in the common room.”

  It was a testament to the training of Hal’s Morenian troops that they did not hesitate to group around her, acting as her escort when they left King Hamid’s palace. They even turned toward her with the slight deference that trained fighting men owed their employers. Rani could not help but notice that Hal stayed close to her side–that made the job easier for his men, no doubt.

  They held the formation out into the city streets, permitting Tovin to guide them through the warren of Riadelle.

  “Very good, men,” she said, on the threshold of the Golden Bee. “Tovin Player and I will take our cups in the far corner. We’ll be safe enough in the common room. Order supper–first ale for each of you will come from my purse.” She tried to sound as if she had directed caravan guards for her entire life, lest any observers run back to King Hamid.

  The men allowed some honest pleasure to crease their faces, and then they commandeered three long tables. Rani was not surprised to see that Hal ended up in the middle of the crowd, protected, made invisible by his loyal men. Mair huddled in the shadows, apparently doing her best to look like a merchant’s serving girl, although she held her black square of cloth in nervous fingers.

  Rani forcibly set aside her worry and followed Tovin to a small table in the corner. The seats were close to the fire, and everyone else in the common room had the good sense to avoid the heat. Rani found herself thinking of fires back in Moren, of a welcome glow against autumn’s growing chill. The first harvests would be coming in, fresh grain, strong new wine.…

  She recognized the pattern of thoughts in her own mind. She was attempting to avoid the fact that she sat across the table from Tovin, that they were alone together for the first time since their ragged parting. She had dreamed of the things that she would say to him; she had imagined the apologies that he might make. She had despaired that she would see him ever again.

  Trying to set aside the cloud of quite unmerchant-like thoughts that besieged her, she said, “Varna Tinker?”

  “If I’d given your real name, the Fellowship would be upon us in a heartbeat. You know they must be searching for you. You and your king.”

  She appreciated his restraint, his failure to indicate that Rani’s king was in the very room, even as she wished that he was yet more discreet. Even as she wished that they were
discussing something else. Even as she wished that he would take her hand, place his fingers against her cheek, against the flesh at the V of her neck. She cleared her throat. “What do you know about that? You weren’t even in Morenia.”

  “I have my sources. My players are still there, of course. They have ways of conveying messages, faster than Hamid’s intelligence.”

  She must not look at his copper eyes. She must not think about the feel of his curls beneath her fingertips. She roughened her voice and asked, “If your troop remains in Moren, who are you working with here? Who will perform for King Hamid?”

  “My new company hails directly from Liantine. They arrived in Riadelle just as I did. We’ve been together now for seven months. They had some good basic players, and I’ve been able to teach them a thing or two.”

  “From Liantine?” Rani asked. “Then they are sworn against Morenia in the northern battle?” She could not keep condemnation from her tone, even though she knew her question put herself and her companions at risk, even though she knew her words might tell too much to anyone who overheard.

  “They are players,” Tovin said, shrugging. “They have no loyalties to kings, to boundaries on a map. They honor their sponsor, their plays, and cold, hard coin.”

  “So you feel nothing for the land you left to come to Sarmonia? For the people in the home you built away from Liantine?” She knew that her voice sounded hurt; she was not speaking merely of players.

  He knew as well. “What is that to you?”

  She struggled to stake out a claim of righteousness, of moral high ground for the battle that she wanted to wage. “Do you know how much your mother has missed you? Have you even thought about the players you left behind? They need you–your glasswork and your guidance and your skills.”

  “My mother always misses me. She knows that I’ve been gone for longer trips in the past, buying silk, trading for glass. She always survives. As for the other players, they hardly remember I’m in the troop until I come back bearing riches.”