Glasswrights' Progress (37 page)

Sin Hazar ignored the child's incredulity and shot his next question at Al-Marai. “And how many men did we lose in Davin's maneuver?”

“None, Your Majesty. Only a sun, the smith who launched the trap.” Al-Marai nodded at the map. “It was an excellent ploy. The southerners were stung by an insect they'd never seen before, and now they're wary of anything with wings.”

“Anything with wings.…” Sin Hazar heard the undercurrent of disagreement in Al-Marai's tone. “You still think I'm wrong to send the flying machine to the Liantines, don't you?”

“Not
wrong
, Your Majesty.”

“But it's a choice you would not have made.”

“I would have kept the machine here, to defend your city walls.”

“But Davin can make me another. He's already working on it. Besides, the Liantines have offered enough gold for the contraption that we can procure
another
ten Yrathis.”

“So you've said.”

Sin Hazar glanced at Bashanorandi; he was annoyed at being challenged in front of the boy, however obliquely. “Al-Marai, we've been over this a dozen times. The Liantines will pay.”

“They've honored their obligations so far, Your Majesty. But the Liantines do not control Yrath. We may not be able to procure the mercenaries, even with Liantine gold.”

“But who is offering more money than we?”

“So you've argued before, Your Majesty.”

“Al-Marai, you certainly can't be afraid that that upstart rebel of a southern king is going to out
spend
us? You can't think that he's going to buy the Yrathis out from under us?” Sin Hazar forced himself to laugh in ridicule of the concept. From everything they'd heard, from Bashanorandi and more reliable spies, Halaravilli could not afford to smelt weapons for his men. How was he going to purchase the finest soldiers that money could buy?

“Nay, Your Majesty. We've seen nothing to indicate that he can afford the Yrathis.”

“Then what is it, Al-Marai? What are you not telling me?”

The lion took a deep breath and then flicked his glance toward Bashanorandi. He seemed to be asking Sin Hazar a question, begging permission to speak plainly in front of the southern brat. Sin Hazar waved an exasperated hand, but Al-Marai still swallowed hard before he managed to meet his liege's eyes. “Your Majesty, we can't guarantee that the southerners will be stopped before they reach the city. They make decisions as if they're mad! They torched the Swancastle, and the countryside is afraid.”

“The Swancastle was an undefended pile of stones! Our own
boys
undermined the walls!”

“Aye, but the sound of a stone wall falling does not carry. Smoke can be seen for leagues.”

“What are you telling me? Do you think that I'm in
danger
?” Sin Hazar's voice broke on the last word, from incredulity or rage, even he could not have said.

“I don't think that you're in serious danger. I don't think that your life is on the line. Nevertheless.…”

“Nevertheless, what? What are you trying to say, Al-Marai?”

“I think that you should take out the Golden Dragon. I think that you should command this war from the sea.”

Sin Hazar gaped at his brother. Go out to sea? Admit to fear?

Al-Marai was the first lion in the history of Amanthia to conceive of setting up an alternative command post during war. They'd talked about it often enough – the Golden Dragon had become Al-Marai's pet project over the years. The general had always championed the notion of a palace that could be maneuvered about the open seas, providing secrecy and safety.… Sin Hazar could use pigeons to send messages to a half dozen land-bound outposts. He could launch smaller crafts from the deck of the Golden Dragon; he could issue orders to his crack troops, all from a safe distance.

And all Sin Hazar needed to do was admit that he was afraid. “The Golden Dragon.…” he said, sampling the taste of the ship's name, sampling the flavor of retreat.

“Aye, Your Majesty. It would permit us to test my theories. You could try it now, before you
need
 to. Cement your command for the future. For you know that next year, we'll be turning our attention away from the south. Once you have Morenia under control, you'll be looking toward Liantine in earnest. Knowing our capabilities on the open sea will be important there.”

“But who would stay behind to command my forces on land?”

“I would, Your Majesty.”

Sin Hazar gazed at his brother, warmed by the automatic reply. He flicked a glance toward Bashanorandi, to see if the brat was absorbing the lesson. The boy's eyes were locked on Sin Hazar, his hand raised to his throat, massaging the angry red line where his tunic had cut across his windpipe. There was a message behind that cornflower gaze, an expectation that Sin Hazar would accept Al-Marai's offer. Would accept the escape.

Al-Marai persisted. “War is fraught with danger, Sire. I'll stay behind. We'll work well together.”

War is fraught with danger. And what sort of king would Sin Hazar be if he ran from that danger? One glance at the sniveling Bashanorandi answered that rhetorical question. “I'm sorry, Al-Marai. I will not flee a battle, even to test your Golden Dragon.”

“But Your Majesty –”

“It would look like cowardice to my people, no matter how much you and I might know that it is not.”

“My lord –”

“I'll brook no dispute on this.”

“But, brother –”

“Aye,” Sin Hazar cut him off, before Al-Marai could make some demand that could not be denied, some last-ditch plea backed by blood. “
Brother
. We have battles to fight. Kingdoms to protect. A war to win. I will not let you harvest all the glory, here on land, while I am pampered and bored on the Golden Dragon.” Sin Hazar smiled as he reached out for Al-Marai, clasping his brother's strong hand across the map as Bashanorandi looked on with transparent jealousy. Sin Hazar chose his words to cut as deeply as he could. “Let's study how we'll defeat these southern bastards.”

 

Rani gathered the cloak closer about her shoulders, leaning her head back so that the soft cloth brushed against the nape of her neck.

“Are you ready, Rai?”

“Aye,” Rani muttered, opening her eyes to look at Mair. “Are you certain you shouldn't lead this?”

“I don't have Crestman's ear. In the end, he's what matters.”

“Aye. And you're sure they won't believe us if we just tell them the truth? They won't recognize the danger and fight to turn the ship around?”

“Would you? If you'd been dragged into the Little Army, or you thought you loved a boy who had been? Would you believe a pair of southern traitors who don't even talk like proper suns?” Mair leaned forward and grasped Rani's wrist. “If you don't have the stomach to follow through, you're better off not even beginning.”

“I know that,” Rani said. Of course she'd be better off not beginning. She'd be better off not on this tossing, rocking boat. She'd be better off not in Amanthia at all. She's be better off if she'd stuck with her promises, if she'd worked on rebuilding the glasswrights' guild, and ignored all the pomp and intrigue of living as a noble in Hal's court. She'd be better off if she'd never taken her falcon out, if she'd never tried to fly Kalindramina on that autumn afternoon that seemed like a lifetime ago.

But she
had
flown her falcon, and she'd been carried off to the north. And now, if she did not act quickly, she was going to be sold into slavery in Liantine, slavery or worse. Rani sighed. “I'm ready. Call them over, and I'll do my part.”

“All right then. May Cot watch over us.”

“Cot?” Rani almost managed a grin. “I don't know that the god of soldiers has anything to say about this mission. More like Quon.”

“Not
all
the girls are harlots.”

“Not all of them, no. But enough for our plan to work. Or so we can hope.” Rani grimaced and pulled herself to her feet.

At least the ship had stopped tossing so violently. Crestman had even called the Little Army up onto the deck for an afternoon of military maneuvers, announcing that he wasn't about to have his company arrive in Liantine out of shape and lax in miliary discipline. From down in the hold, the girls could easily make out the drumbeat of the boys' feet on the wooden deck, the crash and tumble of the soldiers going through their exercises. They'd already been at it for a long time; Rani dared not delay any more.

Mair lit one of the precious rushlights from the torch on the wall and began to walk among the girls. “Are you all right there?” she asked of one of the youngest. “Come with me. You, there. Let's gather over here. We need to talk, girls. We need to make our own preparations to help the boys. We need to help the Little Army.”

More of the girls gathered about than Rani had expected. At first, she'd been afraid that Mair would only be able to attract the very youngest, the ones who were too small for even the most desperate of the boys to bother with. Some of the older girls, though, left off their whispering and giggling, coming to join the ragged circle around Rani.

As the girls pressed around, one of the oldest – Suditha, Rani remembered – settled between Rani and Mair. Rani started to shift position, to maneuver closer to her Touched ally, but she caught Mair's shake of her head and returned to her seat on the floor of the hold. Suditha sank beside her, her owl tattoo close enough that Rani could have traced the lines with her finger.

The Amanthian girl was oblivious to Rani's interest, though; she was occupied only in raking her fingers through her long, fiery locks. The action was sufficient to remind Rani that Suditha had taken up with one of Crestman's lieutenants. The girl was one of the first who had warmed to her role in the boys' camp, and she had embraced her position – and her soldier – eagerly. As Rani waited for the other girls to settle into a close circle, Suditha reached out and touched her tight-woven cloak, the cloak that Crestman had settled around Rani's shoulders when she had stood on deck. “That's a nice garment there.”

“Aye,” Rani said, and she drew it closer about her shoulders.

“My Landur would have given me his, but he's up on deck.”

“Of course,” Rani said neutrally.

“My Landur says that he'll give me a fur-lined cloak when all this is over. After the war. When he's had his share of the gleanings.”

And he'd give her a silk gown, Rani thought bitterly. And velvet slippers. And a golden fillet for her hair. If he could buy their way out of chains. Rani had thought that owls were trained in thinking, in proper logic, but there was no limiting what lies a girl would tell herself when she was lonely and frightened and far from home.

Rani held her tongue while the other girls settled down. When she finally did speak, she purposely pitched her voice low enough that everyone drew closer. “We're drawing nigh to Liantine, ladies. We're nearing Liantine, and the Little Army is preparing to fight. There's something you should know, though. Something that all the Little Army needs to hear.”

Rani looked at the earnest faces around her, flickering in the rushlight. Their tattoos stood out on their pale faces. Suditha's owl, and a handful of lions. Two swans, on the edge of the crowd, and suns. So many suns. Swallowing hard, Rani turned to Mair and spat out the protest they'd rehearsed. “I can't do it, Mair. I can't betray my people.”

“You don't have much choice, now, do you?” Mair's condemnation was immediate; her words dripped with scorn.

“But Mair, I grew up in Morenia! I was raised in the shadow of King Halaravilli's palace! Halaravilli was like a brother to me!”

“A brother, was he? Tell me about Halaravilli's brothers, Rai. He's lost three of them, hasn't he? And under mysterious circumstances, to say the least.…”

Rani swallowed hard at Mair's insinuating tone. She knew that she had to continue with this charade. She had to sway the girls. But the words sounded so much like treason.… They felt so much like betrayal. “Ach,” she breathed, and then forced herself to voice, for the benefit of the Amanthians: “I know you're right, Mair. It's just that I
trusted
him. I thought King Halaravilli would come to save me.”

“He has greater interests than you, you little fool!” Mair's anger sounded real, and the shock on Rani's face wasn't feigned. “He's marching north, through Amanthia. He has a throne in his sight, not some caste-jumping girl, not some fool who dreams of rebuilding a broken guild. Even now, he's likely at the Swancastle, billeting his men in the Great Hall.”

“No one could take the Swancastle!” That, from one of the girls in the shadows at the edge of the circle. Even as Rani reeled from the viciousness of Mair's attack, she swallowed a smile – the first bait was taken.

“Aye, no one
could
have,” Mair answered the girl. “Once, long ago in the history of your people. But after the Little Army finished its training, after they'd used the Swancastle to learn how to protect all Amanthia, it was left undefended. It was ripe for Halaravilli's army to pluck.”

“How can you know that?” Suditha whirled toward Mair, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as if it were a weapon. “How can you, a southerner, know
anything
about the Swancastle? How can you know how we Amanthians do things?” Again, Rani swallowed a smile. The owl had spoken her lines as if she'd memorized the script for this play.

Rani took up her cue, forcing Suditha to whirl back around. “We learned it while we were at court, Suditha. I learned it sitting at Sin Hazar's side.”

“You were never with His Majesty!”

“Ah, but I was. I wore a nareeth and a balkareen, and I danced with King Sin Hazar at a feast held in my honor.” The heat of Rani's memories burned behind her words, and she leaned toward the hungry girls. “I ate at the king's table, and I drank from his cup. He pledged to me that he would conquer Morenia, and then we danced in front of all his lords.”