Glasswrights' Progress (30 page)

Rani stared in confusion, gaping with the rest of the children, and then she turned to Crestman. He was shaking his head, his eyes blank with dismay. His hands clenched and unclenched, useless at his sides. “Who is it?” Rani hissed. “Who is this Tain?”

Crestman only shook his head and looked back at the gate. A handful of girls had entered the enclosure, each one smaller than the one who had gone before. Obviously, they had formed a plan outside the enclosure; they had sent their tallest and strongest first into the lions' den.

Rani felt the tension grow among all the children, the awe and disbelief at the youth of these newest recruits, shocking even to the Little Army, who had seen so much. The last of the girls eased into the compound, and the entire assembly stared in awe.

The final newcomer could be no more than six years of age, a babe by any calculation. A swan tattoo glinted by her right eye, capturing light from the steely sky. Rani felt the bread that she had eaten rise in her gorge, and she reached out to clutch Crestman's steely arm. He did not acknowledge her touch, though. Instead, he watched Shea look up from the sobbing Tain.

Rani saw the sunwoman glance across the courtyard, saw the light of recognition in her eyes as she acknowledged each new girl. The blade of horror, though, as she saw the youngest child was like a dagger plunged through Rani's chest. “Serena,” Shea whispered, the name strangely clear in the silent stockade.

The sunwoman held out her arms to the little girl, stretching to reach her across the mud and muck. “Serena, child.” The swangirl ran to the old sun, burying her face in the old woman's skirts. Shea began to smooth her hair, running her fingers through the filthy blonde tangles. “Don't cry, Serena. You'll be all right. You're safe, Serena. We're all together again. You'll be fine, my poor, poor Serena.”

Rani shivered at the old sun's lies.

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

Hal rested his muddy boot on a boulder that sat outside his tent-flap, and he looked at his footsoldiers with eyes far older than his seventeen years. “What am I doing, Lamantarino? How can I possibly think that these men are a match for Sin Hazar's?”

The old man followed his king's gaze over the straggling soldiers and his head shook. Hal could not tell if the motion was from palsy or disagreement. “War's a strange thing, Your Majesty. The king who leads the most men into battle is not always the victor. You have to remember the other rules of war – choosing the location of your battle, the timing of your fight.”

“I haven't forgotten, Lamantarino. I hardly
could
forget, with my honored lords drilling those rules into my skull since I took the throne.”

“We only teach you so that you can lead us to victory, Your Majesty.”

“Aye, Lamantarino.” Hal scuffed at the gravel underfoot, adding dust to his trail-worn boots. He sighed. “I didn't mean to complain. It's just that I don't have any
control
over the coming battle. Sin Hazar will decide where we fight, and he'll decide when. I've barely had a chance to summon my own men from their villages and crofts. We'll march and set siege and make demands. And we'll starve, with winter fast approaching.”

“Now
that's
unlikely, Your Majesty. The Amanthians will have gathered in their harvests. Their tithing barns must be bulging.”

“Don't try to comfort me with a nurse's words, Lamantarino! You've heard our spies' reports, even before we decided to come up here. There are entire provinces starving, whole Amanthian villages that have yielded to ghosts and the Thousand Gods. We won't likely find tithing barns to feed our men. The Uprising crippled this land a generation ago, and it hasn't recovered yet.”

“Ah, yes, Your Majesty. Well, we might as well return to the City, then. We might as well head back to the call of the Pilgrim Bell, tucking our tails between our legs and hoping that Sin Hazar doesn't follow.”

“Don't mock me, Lamantarino!”

“I'm not mocking you, Your Majesty. I'm merely reminding you of the weight of the crown. A weight, I might add, that your father bore before you, and in worse straits.”

“Aye, so you say every chance you get. But my father did not need to confront Yrathi mercenaries. This morning's spies confirmed that Sin Hazar has dozens of hired swords, and he's recruited his Little Army. The rumors of Amanthia's power are true.”

“Ah, yes. The rumors. They say that a captain in the Little Army is only promoted after he lies with his own sister and slits her throat while she still warms his bed. They say that the soldiers fight on no rations, feeding on the power of the Thousand Gods. They say that the Little Army can fly over bulwarks and drop stones the size of men's heads.”

“Lamantarino, you're laughing at me.”

“No, Your Majesty, I'm not laughing. Not laughing at all. I'm trying to make you hear the
reason
behind the words that you speak. The Little Army is just that – an army of children. They may be children who have been tortured, they may be children who are trained. But they are still boys. You can defeat them if you draw upon your own knowledge.”

“I
have
no knowledge, Lamantarino! I'm a boy-king who has never led my men into battle. I've barely reviewed them at parade.”

“You're King Halaravilli, son of Shanoranvilli Ben-Jair!” Hal jumped at the steel in the old man's voice. “Your father led his men into battle when he had only seen two and twenty winters. He defeated the Liantines in his very first engagement. He fought bravely throughout his life. Only sixteen years ago, he led his men against Amanthia, and he defeated the northerners then. That's why Felicianda came to your court.”

“And look where
that
has left us.”

“Your Majesty, you're looking for someone to make this journey easy, to make the coming battle safe. If you ask for the impossible, then you're doomed to disappointment.”

“I'm not asking for the impossible!” Hal protested. “I'm asking for justice. I'm asking for what I'm due, as a king anointed beneath the eyes of all the Thousand Gods. I only want what is right and fair.”

“Now
there
is a demand worthy of a king.” Lamantarino turned to face Hal head on, ignoring the wind that tugged at his grey beard. “Listen to me, Your Majesty. Let me tell you a secret that will change the way you rule your entire kingdom.”

Hal caught his breath and leaned closer to the old man. Expectation tensed his shoulders, made his heart pound. “Yes?” he whispered.

“The world isn't fair.”

Hal's rage was a physical thing, a smothering eiderdown that threatened to cut off his breath. He spluttered and tossed his head. “What sort of lesson is that!” he managed to exclaim.

“It's the truth, Your Majesty. The world isn't fair, and if you're going to insist on acting as if it is, then you
will
lose the coming battle. Sometimes people fight unfairly. They hire massive armies when their treasuries should have been bled dry. They commandeer forces of children they have no business impressing. The world isn't fair.”

Hal barely pushed down his urge to berate the old man. Of course he knew the world wasn't fair! Of course he knew that there were men who took advantage of others. What did Lamantarino think he was? Some sort of babe?

Rather than spew words that he knew he would regret later, Hal stalked away, throwing
himself through the flap of his tent. A brazier burned in the center of the ground, warming the air
and lending a smoky aroma to the shelter. Hal was still standing with his hands extended over the
coals, dredging up witty retorts to Lamantarino's “lesson”, when Farso ducked his head into the
tent.

“Your Majesty?”

Hal looked up at his squire's troubled tone. “Yes, Farsobalinti. What is it?”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Earl Tasuntimanu insists upon seeing you. He's waiting outside.”

“Did you tell him I'm not seeing anyone?”

“Of course, Your Majesty. His Grace says that he bears a message for you. He says that you must hear what he has to say before we break camp.”

“Very well, Farso.” Hal sighed, realizing how exhausted he was. This business of raising the Morenian countryside was draining, all the riding through villages and towns, all the ordering and cajoling and manipulating his vassals. Now, to have to face one of his sworn councillors, one of the men that he should be able to
assume
was an ally, but whom he knew he could not trust.… “Send him in.”

Hal drew his dagger from his waist, deciding that he'd rather have his hands busy when Tasuntimanu entered. He pared away a troublesome nail and then grasped the weapon's hilt, testing its weight as if he were not already familiar with the blade. Farso ducked into the tent, holding the flap behind him for Tasuntimanu to enter.

“Your Majesty,” the squire said. “The Earl Tasuntimanu.”

“Thank you, Farso. You may wait outside.”

“Your Majesty?”

“You heard me. The earl and I will speak alone.”

Farso did not look happy with the instruction, but he stepped outside of the tent. Tasuntimanu waited until the heavy flap had fallen back into place before he turned his placid gaze on Hal. Mud had dried on the man's boots, testimony to the messy path the soldiers had churned. The earth was the color of Tasuntimanu's dull hair, his calm eyes. The earl's tone was deceptively mild as he said, “It can be so hard finding a loyal squire, Your Majesty.”

Hal swallowed his angry retort and forced himself to say levelly, “I doubt you've come to discuss my choice of servants, Your Grace.”

“No, Your Majesty. I come in the name of Jair, blessed be the First Pilgrim.”

“Blessed be the First Pilgrim,” Hal agreed, aping the holy sign that Tasuntimanu made across his chest. “Let us avoid misunderstandings, my lord. Do you speak for yourself or for others?”

“I speak for myself
and
others, Your Majesty. I speak with the hope of bringing peace before many men lose their lives in battle.”

“Tasuntimanu, I am not the one who has challenged that peace. I am not the one who executed noble hostages before I could even begin to count a ransom from my enemy.”

“Rani Trader was not noble, Your Majesty. Nor was Mair.”

Hal swallowed his anger, tamping down the rage that threatened to spill into his hands. Instead, he forced himself to look up at Tasuntimanu, to gaze into the noble's muddy eyes and try to understand the logic that coursed behind them. “Tell me, Tasuntimanu. Explain to me why you devote your life to the Fellowship of Jair.”

“The Fellowship brings meaning to my life, Your Majesty,” Tasuntimanu replied without hesitation. “It permits me to act in ways that I know are right, in ways that the First Pilgrim would command. The Fellowship brings order and reason to a world that has no order and no reason.”

“And how does it feel to accept that Fellowship blindly, when it could turn on you in an instant?”

“Your Majesty?” Tasuntimanu honestly seemed confused, unable to comprehend the question.

“How does it feel to embrace a Fellowship that throws its own members to the dogs? How can you stand here and purport to tell me about order and reason, when your own order and reason would leave two of our company unavenged?”

Tasuntimanu blinked and shook his head. “Vengeance is not necessarily the goal of Jair, Your Majesty.” The earl gestured with his pudgy hands, clenching and unclenching them as if he could mold an answer from the brazier's smoke. “Jair has a picture greater than we can perceive, Your Majesty. He has a plan that we cannot know.”

“And yet you purport to understand his commands, here, on the edge of battle?”

“
I
purport to know nothing, Your Majesty. I only bring you the words of another. My only purpose in asking for this audience was to remind you of the wisdom of our sister.”

“Our sister?”

Tasuntimanu looked pointedly at the tent flap. “Do you want me to name her, Your Majesty? Is it worth the risk?”

Hal shook his head in disgust. No. No need to name Glair. No need to state facts known by both of them. “Enough, Tasuntimanu. Enough sparring. What message do you bear?”

“I have been ordered to tell you this, Your Majesty. You have disobeyed the Fellowship by declaring war on Sin Hazar. You have disobeyed the Fellowship by raising your army. You have disobeyed the Fellowship by marching north and leaving the City. The Fellowship has given way to you in all these things, because it wants you to remain king of Morenia; it wants your people to have faith in you, to support you. But the Fellowship can only be pushed so far. You must not raise a weapon against the king of Amanthia. You must not murder Sin Hazar.”

Hal's head jerked up at Tasuntimanu's tone, at the bare command that sparked across his final words. “Murder, my lord? That's a strange word to hear on a battlefield. That's a strange description for the execution of a criminal who has ruthlessly exploited innocent children.”

“I'll not play word games with you, Your Majesty. If you kill Sin Hazar, then the Fellowship will see you punished.”

Hal let his disdain flood his retort. “And what sort of punishment is that, Tasuntimanu? Will you slap my wrist and send me to bed without any supper? Your Fellowship seems to think I'm nothing but a child.”

“
Our
Fellowship thinks that you are headstrong, and that you do not know everything that is at risk in this game you play.”

“Then tell me! Tell me what is at risk, that I should let my northern enemy run rampant! Tell me what is at risk, that I should leave the death of two of our people unavenged! What does the Fellowship want, Tasuntimanu? What are its secrets? What are its goals?”

Tasuntimanu blinked, as if Hal's exclamations were a surprise, but then he continued as if he'd never been interrupted. “
Our
Fellowship thinks that you must be reminded of the dangers in the greater world, the forces that are stronger than any one of us, even than a king.
Our
Fellowship thinks that you need to remember the rules of this engagement – the rules and the penalties and the costs.”