Glasswrights' Progress (43 page)

Hal kept his head bowed, his eyes averted. Rani felt his mistrust like an icicle
through her breast. Not mistrust that she would harm him – that had not been a fear since the
heart-rending moment when he had recognized her in the shadows outside his tent. No, he mistrusted
her
words
. “Hal –” she started to say, and the king flinched as if she had struck
him.

Thinking of the trials they had shared in Morenia, of the companionship that they once had known, of the heat of his palm against her cheek when she had stood outside his tent, Rani gaped in pain. “Your Majesty, forgive me! Be not angry with me for Sin Hazar's evil!” He stiffened but did not meet her pleading eyes. “Please, Hal!” A sob broke from her lips on the last word, and she raised her hand to dash away furious tears.

Before she could wipe her face, though, Hal stepped closer. He caught her wrists in a surprisingly firm grip. His lips quivered as he tightened his grasp, stretching the skin until she felt it bruise against her bones. “I heard the voices!” Hal whispered. “
They
made me believe that you were gone.”

“V – Voices, Your Majesty?”

“Aye.” He nodded as if she should understand him, but then a look of wonder spread across his face. “I heard the voices through all these long months, but now they're gone. They left when I confronted Tasuntimanu. They did not speak after I faced him down!”

“Tasuntimanu?” Rani asked, uncomprehending. Could Hal mean their colleague in the Fellowship of Jair? But what could the Fellowship have to do with voices? And how could Rani ask, with a dozen soldier-ears listening to every word? To be certain that they spoke of the same man, Rani said, “In the name of Jair.…”

“Aye,” Hal agreed. “In the name of Jair. Tasuntimanu, and Yrathi mercenaries, and.…” He finally met her eyes, pinned her with a burning gaze that held mystery and truth and deep, dark suffering. In his eyes, though, she also saw another emotion: determination. She raised her chin a bit, in response to the bold power that steeled her liege.

As if recognizing her salute, he raised her hands between them and brushed his lips across their tanned backs. Rani felt the caress like a sweep of silk down her spine, and she shuddered as she forced herself to hold his gaze. She leaned closer as he whispered, “We have much to talk about, Rani Trader.”

“Aye, Your Majesty, but we haven't much time.”

“Time? We've the better part of winter, I'm afraid. My army has set siege to the Amanthians, but our blockade won't hold. They'll get goods by sea.”

Rani shook her head as she let Hal draw her over to two low camp chairs. Urgency bubbled up beneath her heart, and she started to tell him of the Little Army and Teleos, of Liantine and the slave markets. “Your Majesty, we have until sunrise to get back to the harbor. Otherwise, seven score children will sail into slavery.”

 

It took Rani nearly an hour to tell Hal all that had happened in Amanthia. She forgot about the listening guards as she related what she had suffered, from Bashanorandi kidnaping her on the hill outside of the City, to her queasy journey north, to settling into Sin Hazar's court as a hostage.

As she related her tale, she sensed the soldiers' disbelief. She went a long way toward restoring their trust, though, when she showed Hal the long angry scar that twisted along her leg, remnant of the sword that had plunged into the hay-wagon as Rani and Mair huddled to escape from Sin Hazar. The scar, and her passion, and Hal's unyielding faith – by the time Rani was through with her tale, the soldiers had relaxed their vigilant stance, had begun to mutter among themselves of pride and revenge.

Two of the guards even vied with each other to lead a hastily assembled expedition to the harbor south of Sin Hazar's capital. Hal ordered twenty men to collect Teleos, to bring the slave trader into camp.

“We bargained with him in good faith!” Rani objected.

“Aye, as good a faith as one can have in a thief, a slave-master, and a procurer.” Hal nodded to the soldiers. “Bring him here, but leave the Little Army, under ample guard. We won't test their loyalty to their Morenian liberators. Not yet.” As the guard started to slip out of the tent, Hal called out one more instruction. “Bring the flying machine as well; have men carry it here at double speed.”

Then Hal began his own tale. He related the battles he had fought in his Council Chamber, how he had argued that he must lead his army north. Several times, the king glanced at his remaining soldiers, and Rani understood that there were bits he was not telling, information that could not be shared in public. Nevertheless, it took him hours to relate all that had transpired in her absence. He concluded by reciting fresh intelligence from one of his scouts. “And so,” Hal ended, “it seems that some of the Yrathi mercenaries are prepared to turn against Sin Hazar.”

“Are we certain that they've been bought off? Can we trust your scouts' sources?”

“By Jair, we have no choice!” By Jair. Then the Fellowship was definitely involved. Well, Glair could manipulate Yrathi mercenaries, if anyone could.

There were more secrets. Rani could see them carved across Hal's cheeks, rubbed into the shadows beneath his eyes. She longed to linger with him beside a cheery hearth, sipping mulled wine and talking, as they had spoken in the long days after King Shanoranvilli had passed through the Heavenly Gates. But time was a luxury they could not afford on the Amanth Plain. There'd be time enough to talk if they survived the coming battle.

As if to underscore that thought, a soldier ducked into the tent and bowed low.

“Your Majesty, the flying machine is here.”

“Already? Then, what, it must be nearly dawn?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. An hour off or so. The soldiers bringing the slaver should be here shortly after sunrise.”

Hal nodded and gestured for Rani to lead the way outside the tent. The air was freezing. Rani felt it catch in her lungs, prickle at the corners of her eyes. By the time she had walked with Hal to the northern edge of the army's camp, her fingers were numb.

She was grateful to see that Puladarati had followed Hal's orders to the letter: Crestman, Monny, and Mair were clustered on the leading edge of the camp, each swathed in a crimson-dyed woolen cloak. Someone had even managed to find the newcomers matching woolen mittens, although one of Crestman's lay on the frozen ground by his feet.

The youth was leaning over the flying machine, frowning at the spindly structure. He gestured for a nearby soldier to lean in closer with a torch. “There's something off with the harness, here.” He glared at the contraption, and the Morenian moved even closer with his flickering light. “Careful, man!” Crestman exclaimed, pushing the guard's arm back. “This thing is held together with glue and a prayer! The joints will burn like oilcloth if you get that thing too close!”

The chastised soldier swore softly, shaking his head as Crestman made some adjustment to the rigging. It was several long minutes before the straps fell to his satisfaction, and he still frowned at Monny as he instructed the boy: “Lean back, Monny.”

“What are you doing?” Hal finally asked, unable to keep silent any longer.

Before Crestman could reply, Duke Puladarati stepped forward from the shadows that surrounded the moth-like machine. “Your Majesty, we think it best to surprise the Amanthians with their own creation. While you were conferring with Lady Rani, your generals have held their own conference. We are agreed that we must use the flying machine, now, before Sin Hazar sees it from the city walls.”

“We haven't had a chance to think this through!” Hal protested. “Why can't we just cover the thing, and make our decision later?”

“We've been encamped outside the city for nearly a week, Your Majesty. You can be certain that the Amanthians know every corner of our camp; they've watched us through their spyglasses since we settled here. They'll see some large machine, even if it's under wraps. They'll know something is amiss.”

“Then place it in a tent!”

“To what end, Your Majesty? If the Thousand Gods have seen fit to send us the contraption, we'd be fools not to use it.”

“Even if we know nothing about it? Even if we've only just learned of its existence?”

The burly councillor sighed. “Your Majesty, you know that we've been searching for a means into the city.” When Hal did not respond, Puladarati held up his maimed hand, gesturing with one finger. “We've considered mines, but we haven't been willing to risk your men.” The councillor extended another finger. “We've cut our battering ram from the forest and dragged it into camp, but again, we dared not risk the men who would be exposed for the time – for the
days
it could take – to break the city gates.” He extended his last digit, gesturing with his deformity toward the flying machine. “This creation appears to us as a gift from the Gods.”

“What exactly do you plan?” Hal's curiosity was winning out over his caution.

“Just this, Your Majesty. The boy, there, will be strapped in.…” The duke settled his good hand on Hal's shoulder and guided the king to the edge of the cluster of people. Rani could not make out the rest of his words, but she could hear his tone – reasoned, calm, confident.

She turned her attention to the flying contraption.

“There you go,” Mair was crooning, as she cinched a band across Monny's chest. “Is that tight enough? No? How about that?”

“Is this truly necessary?” Rani asked. “Can't we at least wait until daylight?”

Crestman spared her the quickest of glances. “You heard the old man. We spoke with the generals while you consulted with the king.” Rani heard the seeds of jealousy in his voice, and she swallowed a hundred arguments. “All the soldiers are agreed. We should attack at dawn. The light will be trickiest then – the Amanthians won't be able to see well to shoot Monny down, but he should be able to make out his targets.”

“Targets?”

Crestman sighed at her uncomprehending tone. “Do you still think this is a toy? It's a weapon, Rani. One of Davin's finest. Monny should be able to take out the guards at the gate. The soldiers stationed in the towers, too, on either side of the gate.”

“But we aren't ready to attack! This is happening too fast!”

Crestman started to snap a reply, but Mair stepped up to Rani's side. “Too fast for what, Rai? Hal's men have been here for a week. Their supplies won't last forever. They came north to fight, not to freeze on an icy plain.”

“But they didn't even know about the flying machine until we appeared!”

“They knew they needed to get into Sin Hazar's city. Why should they care how the gates are opened?” When Rani still refused to back down, Mair grabbed her arm. “Hal's generals are agreed. Puladarati will convince the king. You know this must be done, Rai. Are you going to help us or just stay in the way?”

“I –” Rani started to protest, but then she stopped herself. There was no need
to argue every point. She was back with King Halaravilli, back with the army of Morenia. She no
longer needed to make every decision to save herself, to save Mair, to save an army of children.
Feeling relief uncoil beneath her heart like a fern frond in spring, Rani asked, “What can I
do?”

Crestman grunted. “Check the arrows. Make sure that they're all pointed down, with the fletching undisturbed.” Rani stepped up to the machine, ducking under the wings to follow Crestman's instructions.

She had just completed her inspection when Hal returned from his conversation with Puladarati. The king's interest was clearly captured by the flying machine, and he walked all the way around the contraption. The sky had begun to pale in the east, a blush of grey leaching across the star-speckled blackness. The light wasn't much, but it was enough for Hal to make out the machine's joints, to study its folded parchment wings. When he had completed his survey, he asked Crestman, “Are you ready, then? It's nearly dawn.”

Crestman ignored the question, reaching out instead to tug at the thicket of leather straps and willow strips that surrounded Monny. He ran his hand down one membranous wing, refolding a flap so that it lay even with the ground. “Mair?” Crestman asked, and the Touched girl nodded from the other side of the device.

“Yes,” Crestman finally said, turning back to Hal. It took him a moment to swallow and add, “Your Majesty.”

Hal nodded and settled a hand on Rani's arm, as if he were going to protect her from the flying machine. Or as if he were staking claim to her. “Very well then.” He turned his attention to the pale Monny. As he faced east, the boy's freckles could just be made out in the growing light. “May Fairn bless you, soldier. Fairn and all the Thousand Gods.”

Rani let Hal guide her back several steps as Crestman and Mair crouched beside the flying machine. She could hardly believe that everyone around her was so calm. This was the battle she had longed for, while she was held captive in Sin Hazar's court. This was the battle the flying machine had been made for.

As the eastern sky melted to pearl, Crestman and Mair began to call their count.

“Stroke!” Crestman urged. “Stroke!”

“Mon! Mon!” Mair added, timing her orders between Crestman's exclamations.

Monny's face tightened in concentration, and he flapped his arms up and down. He caught his tongue between his teeth, and then he began to move his legs, sawing them back and forth, in rhythm with Mair's chant.

Rani felt Hal's fingers dig into her arm, cutting deep into the flesh above her elbow. “By Fairn!” the king exclaimed, and Rani felt a little of his wonder, of the astonishment that she had first known when she'd seen what Davin's engine could do.

And then Monny lifted the flying machine from the ground. He flapped the wings a dozen times, sending ripples of freezing air over the gaping Morenians. Rani's hair blew back from her face, driven by the wind the machine created. Monny rose into the freezing dawn, pumping higher and higher, until he was even with the towering city walls.