Glasswrights' Journeyman (44 page)

Hal's relief was nearly palpable. Of course Rani saw the problem clearly. “Precisely,” he said.

Rani glanced at the octolaris cages once again, started to speak, but then she stopped herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and raised a hand to her throat, to the remnant of her small, healing wound. Who had hurt her? How had she received the nick?

Hal resisted the fleeting temptation to follow her hand, to set his own fingers against her injury. Instead, he said, “You see the problem, then. How are we to do both? How are we to satisfy the church and the Fellowship?”

“And keep from earning Liantine's enmity, all at the same time.” Rani strode across to the window, looking out over the city. “You must let me think on this, my lord. Let me see what I can devise.”

“We haven't much time, Rani.”

“Hardly any time at all.” Her answer was so soft that he had to strain to hear her words. She gazed into the distance, and her fingers strayed to her throat once again. After a moment, she shook her head, and the motion seemed to set aside her vague and distant mood. “We must prepare for what we can, though. The players will come to you tonight, my lord. They'll speak with you, in preparation for the festivities following your wedding.”

“Why do they wish to speak to me?”

“No.
Speaking
.” There was a curious emphasis as she said the word. “They will prepare a play for you, a story to tell in honor of your wedding. After the feast, of course. After the houses of Morenia and Liantine are joined.”

“This … speaking. Is it difficult?”

She turned and smiled at him – the first untarnished smile she had shown him since her return to Liantine. “Oh yes, my lord. It is difficult. You will be asked to share your stories, your secrets, your deepest thoughts. It is difficult, my lord, but well worth the labor. Speaking will change your world forever.”

Hal heard her words and barely kept himself from muttering a petition to the Thousand Gods. He needed to change his world. He needed to create a way to keep both the church and the Fellowship at bay. And if, along the way, he could experience this … speaking, this change that made Rani Trader glow, then he was willing to try. He was a desperate man, and he was willing to try nearly anything. “You'll think on this, Rani? You'll find a way for me to keep both church and Fellowship content?”

“I'll see what I can do, my lord.” She nodded and turned back to the window. “I'll see what I can do.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16

 

“Sire, this is most irregular.”

Hal whirled around to face the Holy Father. He had already fought this battle with Dartulamino, already explained why the leader of the Morenian church was expected to watch over a heathen wedding ceremony – to watch over
and
to give his blessing. “Yes, Father, it is.” Hal's page jumped at the anger in the king's voice, stumbling as he backed away to the edge of the tent. Hal scarcely spared a glance for the wooden casket that Calaratino held, for the jewels that glinted on their velvet bed.

Hal could hear the crowd outside the pavilion, the rising pitch of excited voices as people gathered on the edge of the woods. The morning fog had burned off, and the sun was hot on the spidersilk tent. Hal knew that the hour must be approaching noon, that it was almost time for his wedding service to begin. He waved at the page. “Go ahead, Calo. Tell them that I'll be ready in a few moments. I wish to pray with the Holy Father.”

The boy's eyes were as big as trenchers as he bowed his way out of the pavilion. “Yes, Sire,” he said.

“And make sure that we are not interrupted,” Hal said as Calaratino reached the door.

“Yes, Sire.” The page seemed incapable of any further words. That was just as well. The last thing Hal needed was a child spreading rumors about a squabble that he had overheard, a jagged dispute between the crown and the church. Hal waited until the spidersilk folds of the door had fallen into place, until he had regained as much privacy as was possible amid this farce of a wedding spectacle.

“Father,” he said, stepping closer to Dartulamino and lowering his voice. How many
times must he explain himself? How many times must he state that he had had no choice regarding the
blasphemous rites? “Father,” he began, after a deep, steadying breath. “You know the danger that I
faced. You know that I had no choice here. I must gain Princess Berylina's hand in marriage. I must
have her dowry, if Moren is to be rebuilt.”

“Some costs are too great, Sire.”

“But not this ones' Hal fought to lower his voice, remembering that anyone could hear through spidersilk. “Not this one, Father. Don't you understand? It is more important than ever for me to wed Princess Berylina. She
believes
in the Thousand Gods. She embraces them with her very soul. She is endangered staying here in Liantine, here in the heart of the territory held sacred to the Horned Hind. If I can help her escape by wedding her here, today, then I am obliged to do so. And if I can get her dowry for Morenia at the same time, so much the better.”

“You risk your very soul, Your Majesty. You chance having the Heavenly Gates locked against you forever!”

“Who says that, my lord? Is that the Holy Father speaking? Or is it the Fellowship of Jair?”

The priest gaped, seeming astonished that Hal had dared to name the shadowy cabal aloud. “My lord, if you think for one instant –”

“I think
every
instant. I think that the church would like nothing better than to have the crown forfeit on its obligations. I think that the priests would like me to fail to make my first repayment, fail to render up my first usurious return tomorrow. You would shake your head in sorrow, and you would sigh at the dishonor, but you would gather up my power all the same.”

“Sire – ”

“But,” Hal continued, not permitting Dartulamino to interrupt, “that is nothing compared to how you would gloat if I fail to pay the Fellowship. I still don't understand precisely what test the Fellowship has set me, Father, what they intend to do with the bars of gold I'll pay. I recognize the power of the Fellowship, though – the power of its promise. The power of its threat. The power of the Royal Pilgrim. I
will
meet the Fellowship's demand, and by giving, grow stronger. You may not want me as a rival, but you will not drive me away, Dartulamino. I know my obligations, and I begin to understand my potential.”

“Your ‘potential' is lost if you give yourself to Liantine, if you sell yourself to the Horned Hind.”

“I'm selling no one. I'm fighting to preserve what is mine, in any way that I see fit. And if that fight requires wedding a Liantine princess atop a wooden platform on the edge of a sacred grove, then that is what I will do. If I must kneel before a horned hind, then I will. If I must take my child bride on a bed of holy fir boughs, I will. I will not give up on Morenia, Dartulamino. I will not let you have my kingdom without a fight!”

Before the Holy Father could respond, the tent flap opened, and Teheboth Thunderspear ducked inside. The king of Liantine looked like an invading warrior – he had set aside his resplendent silks for riding leathers painted with the green and silver of his homeland. Teheboth's beard was braided with bits of pierced antler, and his hair was clouted back, held at his neck with a fantastic bronze medallion, shaped like the stylized Horned Hind he had painted on Hal's brow months before. In his hand was a massive spear, an ancient token of his house that glinted with deadly iron at the tip.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Teheboth said, scarcely sparing a glance for the Holy Father. “I was told that you were praying.”

“I was,” Hal said, refusing to elaborate. Let the Liantine wonder at the method of prayer for followers of the Thousand Gods.

“I trust you've found the spiritual guidance you require, then,” Teheboth said, after only a moment's pause. “Our people are waiting to witness the joining of our houses.”

Hal nodded and settled his crimson cloak about his shoulders, the resplendent garment glinting even in the dull light that sifted through the tent. He paused for one moment, reaching into the wooden casket that the page had held to withdraw a heavy chain of interlocking Js. J for Jair. J for the Defender of the Faith.

He turned to Dartulamino. “Father? Will you assist me?”

Hal watched the Holy Father weigh his options. The man could take the chain of office. He could settle the golden Js around Hal's neck. He could give his blessing to the wedding, to the joining of Morenia and Liantine.

Or he could refuse. Without explaining about the Fellowship, without letting people know his reasons. He could gather up his holy entourage and abandon King Halaravilli.

Dartulamino was no fool. He understood the political world. He sighed and stepped forward, taking up the golden chain. No emotions flicked across his sallow face as he said, “In the name of all the Thousand Gods, Sire.” He raised the necklace over Hal's head. “In the name of First Pilgrim Jair.”

“In the name of Jair,” Hal murmured, accepting the silent challenge. Dartulamino might have yielded as the Holy Father, but there were battles left to fight. The Fellowship remained a tangled skein – a glittering, unknown mystery.

Teheboth shook his head and muttered something under his breath, which might have been a prayer to the Horned Hind. He refused to acknowledge the Holy Father as he turned back to the entrance of the tent. Lifting the flaps of spidersilk with a warrior's disdain, the Liantine gestured Hal to walk before him. Hal scarcely had a chance to see that Dartulamino stalked behind, furious.

Even though Hal knew the assembly that waited for him, he was still surprised. Hundreds of people stood on the edge of the forest, resplendent in their finest clothes. The Morenians wore spidersilk and velvet – all of Hal's council lords, and Davin, and various nobles who had managed the journey to Liantine. Hal caught Puladarati's eye as he strode nearer the assembly, and he nodded gravely. The former regent had worked his magic once again, gathering together the finest of Morenian and Amanthian nobility, regardless of the short time for planning, regardless of the straitened times.

There were Liantines, too, dozens of Teheboth's lords. Hal recognized many of them now, after his days in the foreign court. Prince Olric stood with Jerusha at his side, almost lost in the swirl of the royal family. The followers of the Horned Hind were obvious throughout the crowd – each man wore riding leathers, his beard braided with antler and wooden decorations. Even the Liantine ladies sported bronze medallions, the symbol of their faith.

Hal looked across the field to the edge of the forest, to the platform that had been erected beneath the shadow of the trees. A woman stood there, all alone. She was clad in chestnut-colored velvet, a long, straight gown, with sleeves that covered her wrists. Her hair was pulled back into an elaborate headdress, a carefully woven construction that hinted at antlers, at horns that were captured and lost in the shifting sunlight on the edge of the trees.

So that was the priestess, sacred to the Horned Hind. That was the woman who would watch over Hal's joining with Berylina. She gazed at him across the field, and he measured her cool appraisal. He might not be content with what was to happen. He might have fought battles against his nobles, against his own priests. But the priestess of the Horned Hind must have her own reservations, her own concerns about joining the house of Liantine to a heathen.

Hal knew that Berylina was not yet present. Teheboth had briefed him the day before on Liantine custom, on the traditions that this wedding ceremony would follow. Hal, in turn, had told Puladarati, had ordered all his followers to be prepared for the foreign observances. He could only hope that the Morenians would follow his lead.

The crowd fell silent as Teheboth escorted Hal across the field. Morenians and Liantines alike clustered near, pressing closer to the wooden platform at the edge of the forest. Teheboth acknowledged his people as he moved, nodding here, touching a shoulder there. The procession was nothing like Morenian pomp, nothing like the regal service that would take place if Hal were marrying his bride in the house of the Thousand Gods.

Hal wondered if he was expected to make the same casual recognition of his retainers. He could not, though. They would not know what to make of a royal smile, of a comradely touch as their king moved toward one of the holiest moments of his royal life. Hal contented himself with seeking out the eyes of his favorites among the crowd.

Puladarati first, of course. The other council lords – Count Edpulaminbi, Count Jerumalashi. Davin, scowling, his deep-lined face dark beneath the summer sun. Farso, standing near the front.

And beside Farso was Mair. The Touched girl wore a simple gown, unadorned linen in Farsobalinti's glinting blue. Hal wondered for an instant if there were a message there, if there were other nuptials to be celebrated. Not today, though. No such distraction for today.

Rani stood beside Mair. Hal swallowed hard and met her gaze. They had not spoken since the day that she returned from the spiderguild – both had been swept up in duty and responsibility. Each day, he had hoped to see her, hoped at least for some missive, as she outlined a plan to save him, to save Morenia and Amanthia both. He had waited for her to set forth a strategy, to tell him how he might keep both his dowry and his octolaris.

But she had failed him. She had not found a solution. They must act, separately, solving the problems in order. First they would take Berylina's dowry on this Midsummer Eve. Then, they could repay the church. Then they would find a way to meet the Fellowship's demands. With Mareka's spiders if she cooperated. Without, if necessary.

With a curious twist of pride, Hal saw that Rani wore his crimson, her gown brilliant against the gold of her hair. Her eyes flicked toward the dais, and then across the field, to the pavilion where Princess Berylina waited. She swallowed hard, and he longed to go to her, to seek her blessing. There was no time, though, no opportunity. Besides, before he could take a step, before he could make the decision to follow Teheboth's casual example, Rani reached for the arm of the man who stood beside her; she leaned close to whisper something to her companion.