Glasswrights' Master (20 page)

“Your piece was meant to prepare me, then? You will request three favors?” Hamid's tone was dry, and he clearly hoped to shrug off the player's request.

“Nay, Your Majesty.” Tovin laughed infectiously, letting his copper curls catch the torchlight. “A king is mightier than all the shepherds in the world. One favor from a king is worth infinitely more than any three from a shepherd.”

“One.” Hamid set the word between them with the wariness of a forest beast expecting a trap.

“Aye. And this is something easily within your ability to grant, Your Majesty. Perhaps by the granting you will grow, like the shepherd in our play. You will grow, and I will grow, and then I can beg more indulgence in the future.”

The assembled nobles, even the electors, waited for Hamid to smile before they laughed at Tovin's impertinence. As if he had been outwitted, the king waved one bejeweled hand. “You'll keep at me, if I do not give in. I learned that much when you asked for rights to the Clearing, and again when you insisted that your sponsor be permitted to join you. Go ahead, Tovin Player. Ask your favor.”

Tovin took a single step forward, and his eyes grew sharp. Suddenly, Hal wondered if he could trust the man. Might Tovin turn against him? Might Tovin actually work for the Fellowship, work against Hal and Morenia, and all that hung in the balance?

Then, the dangerous moment was past. The player gestured expansively, directing Hamid's attention to Hal's dark corner. “All I ask is this, Your Majesty. Speak with my friend. He has some questions to ask of you.”

“Questions?” Hamid peered into the shadows, apparently taken aback by the request. “He can wait until I hold court in a fortnight.”

“His questions are more urgent than that, Your Majesty. He needs you now.” With a player's touch, Tovin placed a low rumble of import behind his words. “This only do I ask, Your Majesty. Speak with my friend, and then my players will be at your command–to play for you or leave your court, whatever you desire.”

Hamid measured Tovin carefully, his narrow eyes ignoring his nobles, ignoring their questioning looks. “Very well, Player,” he said at last. “Whatever I command.”

Tovin bowed deeply. “You are most generous, Your Majesty.”

Hal caught the pointed glance that Tovin cast his way, the certain proclamation that debts were changing hands upon the players' stage. Hal nodded once, accepting the new bargain. Yes. He would pay Tovin later, pay with coin, if he could devise nothing else that the player wanted from him. With coin, that was, if this gambit was successful, if he managed to find his way back to Morenia, and his throne, and his treasury. Otherwise, all debts would be cleared with Hal's annihilation.

Tovin's arm swept toward the shadows, toward Hal. “Then I present my friend to you, Your Majesty.”

Hal made sure that he had removed his hand from the pouch at his belt before all eyes turned in his direction. It would not do for the Sarmonians to assume he fumbled for some weapon. He emphasized his innocence by shrugging, by turning his palms outward and displaying their pale flesh like a treaty flag upon a battlefield. He forced himself to stand straight, to throw his shoulders back.

And then he stepped toward Hamid and bowed the short courteous salute from one man to an equal. “King Hamid,” he said, carefully avoiding any superlative title, even as Puladarati and Farso flowed into place behind him like an honor escort.

Hal raised his eyes in time to see anger flit across the Sarmonian's face. From the southern king's perspective, he had just been tendered a grave insult. He was slighted, embarrassed in front of all his court. Hal did not have long to clarify his stance, did not have many heartbeats to explain what was happening.

“We are honored by your welcoming us into your court, brother.” Hal made the words hearty, boisterous, as if he had just returned to the Sarmonian hall after a good day's hunting.

Hamid cast a quick glance toward one of his retainers, the court herald who stood against the wall. The man resorted to shrugging. He clearly did not recognize Hal's face or the guise of his companions. “We?” Hamid said before the pause became embarrassing. His voice was dry, skeptical.

“We hope that you will not think ill of our loyal retainer Tovin,” Hal soldiered on, brushing a hand to bring the player into the circle of his power, even as he attempted to absolve his vassal. “The player acted solely at our command.”

“Command? What power do you think to hold in my court?”

“The power of embassy, I hope,” Hal said, and he thrust his hands forward, turning his wrist so that the large signet on his finger caught the light: J for Jair, for the ancestor of his house.

The herald recognized the symbol. The old man eased to his king's side, leaned close to whisper in Hamid's ear. Hal waited, feeling tension expand in the crowd behind him. Whispers started to roll; sharp eyes penetrated between his shoulder blades.

“Halaravilli ben-Jair,” Hamid said, and the name sounded almost like a curse. “You come to my hall, Morenia, when half the known kingdoms search for you.”

“More than half, I suspect,” Hal said, forcing a grim smile across his lips. “Certainly my own land, and my enemies of Liantine and Brianta.”

“And your retainers in Amanthia as well, no doubt,” Hamid said, for the herald had whispered more information. “Duke Puladarati. Baron Farsobalinti.” Hamid nodded greeting, clearly measuring, calculating. “We should be honored that you chose Sarmonia for your sojourn, Halaravilli ben-Jair. We trust that you found our Great Clearing to your liking?”

“It met our needs,” Hal said smoothly. He could see Hamid's anger; the king resented being pulled into the politics of surrounding kingdoms. “Those needs were great, my lord, and our mission secret.”

Hal forced himself to keep his attention on Hamid. There was no time to wonder who among the Fellowship was watching. He must not speculate on who might have slipped from the hall already, who might be carrying messages to Dartulamino or Crestman, or any of the Fellowship's other hidden forces.

First God Ait started at the beginning, Hal reminded himself, taking cold comfort in the familiar nursery saying. “We would speak with you, my lord,” he said. “With more privacy than this hall can provide.”

Hamid eyed him steadily, weighing the request as if it might cost him his life. “You've lied to us once already,” he said at last. “We'll not meet with you alone. We'll bring our men.” He pointed rapidly toward three of his retainers, electors who stiffened to prompt attention.

“And, with your kind permission, we will bring ours.”

Hamid weighed the request, obviously balancing Hal's appearance of respect with the need to continue commanding the situation. “Not that one,” he said, pointing toward Tovin. If the player were offended, he gave no sign. Hal merely added to his mental tally; the player would surely demand additional payment for the insult. Fine.

“Not Tovin Player,” Hal agreed. “Duke Puladarati, if it please my lord. And Baron Farsobalinti. And Rani Trader.”

“Who is this Trader?”

“You met her as Varna Tinker. She is a loyal retainer of mine, so true that she risked all to disguise her name before you.” Hal gestured toward Rani who completed a perfect bow, well-practiced from her years of service in his court. Hamid measured out the obeisance, and then his eyes pinned Tovin once more. It was the player who had hidden Rani's name, who had purposely misled Sarmonia. The lie would cost Hal still more gold coins. It had seemed a better bargain at the time.

At least Hamid shrugged his acceptance. “Let us retire to my study,” he said, and a page led the way from the Great Hall, apparently oblivious to the hum of curious courtiers behind them.

As they made their way through the long corridors, Hal wondered again what he might say to convince Hamid to form an alliance with him. After all, Morenia could not offer wealth or prestige or meaningful alliances, not at present.

No path, his feet scratched out against the stone floor. No path. King's wrath. Blood–

No! He would not yield to the voices. He would not give in to their hopeless suggestions. This was what Hal had bargained for. This was why he had traded his safety and his security, the anonymity that had sheltered himself, his men, his wife. His son.… He was risking all so that he could end his charade, so that he could return to the sort of life that he and his family and his devoted followers deserved.

When they arrived at one particularly well-carved portal, Rani stepped up to his side, almost as if she intended to enter before him. The movement was awkward, but she succeeded in capturing his attention. “I will speak,” she said, the words so soft that he might almost have imagined them.

Was he a coward, then, to hide behind a retainer?

No, he made himself answer in the silence of his mind. Not a coward. Rather, he was a shrewd general, mustering his forces. He relied on a loyal soldier, a warrior who had a specific skill destined to win the day. Rani Trader's negotiations were her strength, her very identity. They formed the core of her being, for all that she had masqueraded through other lives within Morenia and without.

Hamid stalked across his study, drawing up near a carved wooden desk. From the far side of the room, Hal could make out a tangle of writing implements–scrolls, quills, ink, and sand. A gnarled knot of wax rocked as Hamid set his hands upon the desk. The Sarmonian king cleared his throat peremptorily, and Hal's attention was drawn to the men that came to flank their king.

The electors' own symbolic scrolls and quills were embroidered on their chests. Fleetingly, Hal thought that the men looked like prison guards, that they seemed to corral Hamid and subdue him.

Was Hal any less controlled by his own retainers, though? Puladarati stepped closer, his three-fingered hand smoothing his forest leathers as if he'd been born to the disguise. Farso shifted from foot to foot, a sheen of perspiration brightening his features as he measured out the room, no doubt calculating approaches and escapes. Like Hamid, Hal had a past with his lords; they bound him to certain futures.

And yet Hal
was
permitted to make his own decisions. Even if every member of his council disagreed, Hal held his throne by the divine choice of First God Ait and by all the Thousand. Hal ruled because First Pilgrim Jair had ruled; he could not be voted from his throne. Strange Sarmonia, where Hamid was bound directly to his electors, bound to please them and all their landed men! How could any king rule for longer than a season when he must answer to so many?

Hamid nodded once to his electors and then narrowed his eyes toward Hal. “Very well. We have left my Hall that we might speak honestly with each other, without the need to pose and preen for the folk who assemble there. What would you say to me, Halaravilli ben-Jair?”

Hal nodded once toward Rani. He could read her nervousness in the set of her jaw, but her voice was steady as she answered for him. “I, Rani Trader, speak for my king. We come as ambassadors to Sarmonia, Your Majesty. We offer riches that your kingdom cannot refuse.”

If Hamid were surprised that a woman spoke for a king, he managed to hide the emotion. Instead, he spun a sardonic grin across his thin lips. “Riches? From a group of northerners hiding in my forest? Offered by a woman who assumed a false name the first time she dared to speak in my court?”

“Wealth, Your Majesty, from an embassy of noblemen, who took the time to measure out the extent that you might help them.” Rani paused for a heartbeat, and then added, “And they you.”

The electors flinched at that, and Hal bit back a wince. Now was not the time to imply that Hamid needed the northerners. They stood in the study as supplicants, not as equal parties to a fair bargain. Hamid laughed, the rumble rising from his narrow chest. “
They
help
me
? Perhaps you took ill in my woods, Varna, er, Rani Trader. Your brain seems soft, if you believe I need any assistance from lurkers in my forest.”

“I took no illness in your woods. But I have used my time in Sarmonia. I have listened to the tales of your kingdom, Your Majesty, to the rumors of power.”

“Power?” Hamid actually seemed intrigued by Rani's words, even as the electors shifted in discomfort. Where was Rani taking this negotiation? Why hadn't they worked out her words the night before? Hal had spent all his time arguing with Tovin, fighting over how he would gain an audience with Hamid. He had not focused adequately on what he would say once the dialog began. He had not spent enough time with Rani.

Of course, he thought honestly, it would hardly have made any difference. When was the last time that Rani had listened to him? When was the last time that she had done what
he
desired in any instance, regarding any thing?

“Aye,” Rani said. “Power, Your Majesty. Those who stay in your forest learn many secrets, by Jair.” Hal understood what Rani was doing, knew that she was trying to draw a reaction from one of the electors. Her bid failed, though. None of the three men started at the name of the First Pilgrim. She continued with scarcely a pause. “We hear rumors of those who would move against you. We watch meetings in the night, secret gatherings beneath the full moon.”

Hamid's eyes narrowed further; Hal wondered if the man could actually see through the tight slits. The Sarmonian glanced at his electors before he barked, “If you have knowledge of traitors in our midst, you must share it with us immediately. We will not tolerate games of words.”

Rani raised her chin. “I do not play games, Your Majesty. I promise you that.”

The king of all Sarmonia took the full measure of the insolent woman before him. Rani's fingers moved once across her robes, clenching the silk as if she gained strength from the fibers there. Perhaps the cloth reminded her of other battles she had fought, of the spiders that she had stolen from Liantine, of the clever negotiations she had once fashioned to the east.