Glasswrights' Progress (9 page)

King's Council. Denounce all. Cat's pounce –.

Enough.

“My good duke Puladarati. We know that you are only trying to counsel us in our hour of need.” The dozen lords at the table all leaned closer. Hal rarely lapsed into the royal plural. “We are concerned, though, that we may not act properly in this, the first major confrontation of our rule. You know that we value your counsel, Your Grace. We value the counsel of all our lords.”

Hal sat back and watched the tension begin to defuse around the table. Not for the first time, he wished that his father had allowed him into the council chamber when Shanoranvilli had still been alive. Hal might be able to fight these battles better if he'd been permitted to watch an admitted master at work. The lords at the table were like a nest of rats, all tossed into a sack. They were too busy clawing their way to freedom to worry about whose flesh they tore on the way out.

And of all the rats, Duke Puladarati was the oldest, most yellow-toothed beast, the scratched and scarred warrior who patrolled the largest section of the rodent waterfront. If Hal could convince Puladarati that he could rule competently, the rest of the council would fall into place. Of course, if Hal could sprout wings and fly to Amanthia, he could overlook Sin Hazar's palace and dispense with any further debate in council. Wings and Puladarati's cooperation. Each was as likely as the other.

“So.” Hal bargained for a few more moments, looking up and down the table at his expectant lords. “Let us review what we know.” He steepled his hands in front of his chin, echoing a gesture that he had seen his eldest brother, Tuvashanoran, use. Before Tuvashanoran had died. Before the crown had passed to Hal.

Clearing his throat, King Halaravilli forced himself to continue. “First. We know that Prince Bashanorandi has received correspondence from his uncle, from Sin Hazar. We know that the letters
we
intercepted did not contain direct incitement to rebellion; however, we cannot be certain what letters we did not receive.”

Very good. None of the lords jumped in to interrupt. Hal continued. “Second. We know that Bashanorandi traveled to the hilltop three days ago. He went to fly his falcon, taking advantage of the clear weather, and the fact that falcon-master Gry was already transporting birds for Lady Rani and Lady Mair.”

There was a shuffle of discomfort at the council table.
What
? Hal wanted to cry
out. What bothers you so much about
names
? Of course, he knew that his loyal lords were made
uncomfortable by his adding the honorific “lady” to the short names of a merchant and a Touched
girl. Hal stifled a sigh. Now was not the time to change the traditions of a kingdom. Now was not
the time to struggle with the beliefs of centuries. Hal had another mission at hand – saving
his stolen loyal vassals while protecting his kingdom from invasion. He continued.

“Third. We know that the party on the hillside was attacked, apparently after L –, after Rani flew her falcon, because that bird has not been found. Two guards were killed outright, and three were taken captive, along with Prince Bashanorandi and the two ... girls. Are we in agreement?”

“No, Your Highness.” Hal stifled an oath and whirled to his right, to a spot halfway down the council table. He had not expected the full agreement of his council, but he had hoped to get further in his argument before his men contradicted their sworn liege lord.

“Aye, Tasuntimanu. And why do you disagree?” Hal fought to keep his words steady, although he was doubly upset when he realized the identity of the speaker. In other hallways, in other councils, Tasuntimanu was Hal's sworn brother – both were members of the Fellowship of Jair. The existence of that shadowy group, though, was not known to most of the lords who crowded the council table. In fact, most of Hal's sworn retainers would have been scandalized to learn that their lord and master had offered up his loyalty to another organization, to a group of individuals more powerful than the Crown, than the divine right of kingship bestowed upon the house of Jair by all the Thousand Gods.

Because of the Fellowship, Hal knew Tasuntimanu. He knew that the older man was high in the ranks of that other body. Hal heard Tasuntimanu speak at the council table, and he listened to the voices of others, to advisers who would never be, who
could
never be admitted inside the council chamber. Swallowing hard, Hal pressed forward for enlightenment. “Go on, Tasuntimanu. Tell me why we are not in agreement.”

“Your Highness,” the earl inclined his head respectfully, exposing the bald spot in the middle of his thinning mud-brown hair. “You must understand that the days are growing short, that autumn is almost over, and winter will soon be upon us.”

“Of course I know the time of year.” Hal barely swallowed his impatience.

“And you know that most of us must return to our holdings, to supervise the final harvest, to make sure that our people are secure against the approaching winter.”

“Aye.”

“Then, surely, you understand that we would be foolish to abandon those plans, those
necessities
, to ride after three captives, three
children
who are not even of noble blood.”

Hal heard the indrawn breath of his other councillors. Tasuntimanu's disdainful words went to the heart of the single greatest battle Hal had fought since stepping to the throne. Even as Hal had struggled to get his council to recognize his power, to support him as their liege, he had fought to protect the people who had been loyal to him in the bitter confrontation that had set him on the throne. Hal had fought to protect Rani and Mair, even though they had no noble status. Hal had even fought to preserve Bashi's royal treatment, constantly reminding the council that the old king, Shanoranvilli, had commanded such a thing.

Tasuntimanu's outspoken stance, though, was all the more disturbing to Hal because the earl discussed other members of the Fellowship. Rani and Mair were both sworn to the organization; they were sisters to the earl who spoke against their rescue. They were sisters to Hal.

Swallowing hard, the king forced his voice to remain even, forced himself to remember that he was the one who wore the golden fillet of Morenia. Whatever might pass between him and Tasuntimanu in the Fellowship's shrouded meeting house, however higher Tasuntimanu might be in that shadowy hierarchy, Hal was king in this room. As king, Hal set his words into his council chamber, letting the chill of fear that surrounded his heart frost his words. “You forget yourself, my lord.”

“Do I, Your Highness? With all respect, my liege, I forget nothing. You see, I remember that Bashanorandi is not even a prince by our reckoning. I remember that he is the rebellious son of two executed traitors. I remember that Rani Trader is a merchant – and scarcely that. She sold that birthright to join a guild so rebellious against your crown that it had to be physically dismantled, stone by stone. I remember that Mair is a Touched brat, sprung from who knows where, born under the sign of who knows which god. In the name of Jair, Your Highness, do you believe that I forget anything?”

In the name of Jair
. There. Tasuntimanu was not jousting with a tipped lance. He was summoning Hal to a true battle, calling into play the power of the Fellowship, the oaths that Halaravilli had sworn when he was only a prince, when he was the outcast younger son of a king who showed him neither favoritism nor respect. Tasuntimanu drew upon Hal's bonds to the Fellowship of Jair.

“I understand your concerns, Tasuntimanu, and all the counsel that you would offer me.” Hal hoped that he loaded the words with enough certainty that the earl would grasp his double meaning. There would be time enough, after the council meeting, to determine why Tasuntimanu was prepared to sacrifice Rani and Mair. Time enough, after Hal had cemented his own plans. He cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, my lords, this is a matter we have visited before. I have told you, I have told all of my people, that Prince Bashanorandi is to be honored in Morenia. My father, King Shanoranvilli, recognized the prince as his son and honored Bashanorandi from his deathbed. I would not be forsworn to my own father, blessed be he by all the Thousand Gods.”

Hal paused to make a religious sign across his chest, a sign that the rest of his council aped. Peering up from his piously averted gaze, Hal noted which councillors took longer to fall into the platitude than others. Three men were notably slow in acknowledging Hal's gesture, three plus Tasuntimanu. Fine, then. At least Hal still held the majority of the council. At least five men still believed in the divine right of kingship. For today.

“Besides,” Hal continued, deciding that there was no time like the present to force his game. He dripped heat over his words. “The house of Jair does not only rule to protect the nobility. We have watched over all of Morenia for decades, for centuries! We bear responsibility for
all
of our subjects, for merchants and guildsmen and even the Touched. We can hardly stand by and watch a raiding party steal away our loyal subjects and do nothing!”

Hal gauged the council's reaction to his fiery speech and fought an inward wince. Certainly, the nobility of the land understood that it had an obligation to the Thousand Gods, a destiny to keep Morenia safe and loyal to the gods. Nevertheless, no king had ever bothered to protect a handful of low-caste folk before. No one had waged war for a Touched girl and a caste jumper.

Well, Hal had not been king before.

Besides, he wasn't ready to wage war. Not yet.

Hal softened his tone, bringing his voice down to a wheedling conspiracy. “My lords, I'm not suggesting that we storm Amanth. I'm merely stating that we should send a
letter
, an envoy demanding to know by what right Sin Hazar has taken our people. I only want to ask him what right he thinks he has to send armed men onto our land! What right he thinks he has to ride to within a day of our City walls! Gentlemen, I do not want to fight Sin Hazar. I merely want to question him – for Morenia. Not for a dishonored prince. Not for a merchant girl. Not for a Touched girl. For Morenia. For the crown. For me!”

Hal's voice rose as he spoke, gaining conviction with the rhythm of his words. For just an instant, he might have been harnessing his sing-song messages of the past, he might have been drawing on the strength and power of his old mental games. He drew straighter as he spoke, and he flung back his shoulders. As he proclaimed the last two words of his litany, he pounded his fist against the table, striking the dark oak with enough force that the wood shuddered for a long moment.

Hal looked down the council table, catching the gaze of each of his advisors in turn. Some stared at him with frank amazement, clearly taken aback by the child-prince who had been rumored an idiot for years. Others looked back with wary agreement, narrowed eyes, and shrewd appraisal. All of them, though, were focused exclusively on their king.

Looking each man in the eye, one by one, Hal said, “Let all of you who are with us stand beside us now. And if you are against the crown of all Morenia, let us know now, that we may count the traitors in our midst.”

For one instant, there was silence in the chamber. Hal's heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he wondered if the other lords could hear it. He forced himself to breathe, first one long breath, then another, and another.

Just as Hal was wondering if he had made the greatest mistake of his life, there was the sound of a chair being pushed back, of wood scraping across stone. The jagged rumble was echoed again and again, and then all the council lords were standing, pounding their hands against the oaken table, proclaiming their fealty to good King Halaravilli. Hal swallowed hard and forbade his eyes to shed their sudden hot tears.

“Then, my lords,” he continued after a moment, “we are decided. We will send an embassy to Sin Hazar and remind the dragon that the lion of Morenia has awakened from its slumber.”

Hal regained his seat at the head of the table and watched as his councillors followed suit. Some of the men were wary, clearly resentful of the sudden groundswell of support that Hal had inspired. Nevertheless, the remainder of the council meeting went smoothly. Hal declared that he would work with a scribe and send a messenger that afternoon. After a brief invocation of all the Thousand Gods, Hal sent his noble retainers on their way.

Perhaps he should have led the way from the council chamber, sweeping through the halls with the power and the prestige that had been his father's, that had been his elder brother's. But Hal could not bring himself to make the walk back to his apartments, not immediately, not while his first council victory still pounded through his blood.

Instead, he sent his councillors away and held back, sitting in his chair at the head of the table like a man awaiting a feast. He was just reaching up to his brow to remove the heavy golden fillet when he realized that he was not alone. The eldest of the councillors, Lamantarino, was completing his shuffle to the door.

Hal started to swear under his breath, embarrassed at almost being caught like an irresponsible schoolboy. As if he could hear that faint sound, the ancient man turned to Halaravilli with a wheeze and a sigh. “You did a good job here today, Your Highness.”

Hal's immediate reaction was one of pleasure. He
had
done a good job, and without any overt support from anyone at the table. After he swallowed his first flush of pride, though, Hal was disturbed by the old courtier's praise. It hardly became the king of all Morenia to be complimented by a mere baron. No matter how old that baron was. No matter how close a friend that baron had been to the king's father.

“My thanks, Your Grace. I was guided by the Thousand Gods.”

“Ach.” The old councillor shuffled back toward the table, leaning his crepey hands against the dark wood and pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “You were guided by your thoughts, and your brains. Give the gods their due, but don't forget to take your own.” Hal almost grinned. He
was
proud of his accomplishments, and he was loathe to give away all the credit. “Be careful, though, Your Highness. You mustn't show a glimmer of weakness.”