Glasswrights' Test (21 page)

No Touched girl, then. Probably not a soldier, either. A merchant? A noble? A guildsman? Who led the Briantan Fellowship?

Rani suppressed a shudder as another drop of sweat traced her spine. She did not want the speaker to be a guildsman, at least not a glasswright. She had enough problems with Master Parion without adding another tangle of loyalties, another hierarchy.

The girl continued. “We welcome you to Brianta, to the home of First Pilgrim Jair. All blessings flow from the Thousand Gods through Jair.”

“All blessings flow from the Thousand Gods through Jair.” The benediction was repeated by the assembled fellowship, and Rani barely restrained herself from jumping at the voices around her. There were more people gathered together than she had thought; their prayerful worship was much louder than she had expected. In Morenia, there were several dozen Fellows, maybe fifty. Here, there were several
hundred
.

Several hundred people joined in a cause, bonded together by their faith and worship and belief in a higher order. An order higher than their king, their nobles, even their priests.

Rani had seen the havoc that the Fellowship could wreak in Morenia; she had witnessed the orders they could issue, the demands they could make. What might the organization do if they were five times as powerful, ten times?

In a rush, Rani realized that she could not afford to think about the Briantan Fellowship as an entity distinct from the Morenian one. These people stood against all the world. They were a force to be reckoned with, across lands, across kingdoms. Like the stone foundations that supported an entire row of merchant buildings, the Fellowship underlay Hal's kingdom and Jair's homeland and more besides.

The Fellowship was like an onion, with layer sealed around layer. Each time that Rani thought that she had discovered the core of its power, she learned that there was another level waiting beneath. And each level was stronger than the one before. More virulent. More dangerous. Rani ordered herself to focus, to pay attention to what was being said.

She must learn the full extent of the Fellowship, of its power, its plans. After all, she
was
a member. She acted of her own free will. She could choose the direction she wanted the Fellowship's powerful river to flow around her, and she could control her pace within that current.

“In the name of Jair,” the girl leader said, and something about her voice made clear to Rani that she should repeat the incantation.

“In the name of Jair,” Rani said.

“Now then. We have among us three of our number, three of our members from Morenia. They are sworn to our Fellowship, but they are not familiar with our ways. Unbind their eyes that they might see. Untie their hands that they might feel. Bring them into the world of our Fellowship, like children brought into the world from their mothers' wombs.”

Rani did not care for the imagery of birth, for the pain and blood and hard labor those terms implied. Nevertheless, she was grateful when she felt another Fellow behind her, and she blinked hard when the cloth was taken from her eyes, when her hood was pushed back.

The chamber was even larger than she had expected—long and low. Clearly, they stood beneath some great hall. Torches smoked along the edges of the room, but their light did not reach the center of the gloomy chamber. The dark room seemed more close because of the bodies that filled it.

Making a quick tally, Rani found that the number was even higher than she had first expected. There were nearly four hundred people in the room. Four hundred conspirators. Four hundred robed, masked Fellows.

Four hundred potential allies, Rani reminded herself. Four hundred brethren.

She looked at Mair and Tovin, who stood beside her, and she saw awe on their faces, awe that must be echoed on her own. Even though she could count the Fellows who stood in the room, Rani was no closer to determining who they actually were. Each Briantan wore a dark, heavy cloak, with a hood that swept up. Rani felt oddly naked as she looked about the chamber, with her hood cast back. She craned her neck to look at the Fellows closest to her, and she saw that they wore other devices—misty black veils that were suspended inside their midnight cowls. The effect was utterly unnerving, for it looked as if the people had no faces. Each appeared to have a ghostly body, a spiritual essence that bore no relation to life in the physical world.

One of them, though, stood on a platform, a raised dais at the center of the room. She—for Rani was certain that figure was the one who had spoken—seemed to be of middling height, of average build, and older than Rani first thought. There was nothing that would enable Rani to recognize her outside the limits of this chamber.

The woman spoke again. “We gather in the name of the Thousand Gods, here in the city of Jair. May the Thousand look upon us and watch over us in their wisdom. May they lend us strength and wisdom and courage to do all that we must do in furtherance of their name. In the name of all the Thousand, so be it.”

“In the name of all the Thousand, so be it.”

“And we bind ourselves together in the name of the first Pilgrim, in the name of Jair who first recognized the power of the Thousand. We bind ourselves together in the name of Jair, so be it.”

“In the name of Jair, so be it.” Rani felt the power rising within the group, the harmony and thrumming energy of people united in a cause. She whispered the last three words simultaneously with Tovin and Mair.

“And we pledge our bodies to the cause of our Fellowship, to the service of the truths and ideals and potentials that we might bring into being through our community of believers. In the name of the Fellowship, so be it.”

“In the name of the Fellowship, so be it.” Rani repeated the line, making her voice firm.

The woman on the platform raised one commanding, gloved hand, and her masked face turned toward the corners of the chamber. Rani followed her line of sight, looking past Mair and Tovin to a cluster of Fellows who stood between the torches. Those shadowed figures moved forward, spreading through the crowd.

Where they passed, a ripple of commotion followed. Rani saw Fellows turning, one to the next, touching gloved fingertips to gloved fingertips. Whispers passed between people as well, some muttered formula so soft that Rani could not quite make it out.

Then, the person closest to Rani took a half-step forward. It must have been the Fellow who had claimed her from her chamber, Rani realized, the man or woman who had conducted her through the city streets. That person reached toward Rani, pressing a partial loaf of bread into her hands.

“In the name of the Fellowship,” the Fellow whispered, and Rani realized that she was supposed to tear a bit of bread from the loaf. Her fingers slipped over the smooth surface. The dough had been braided into an even link, and the link had been twisted upon itself, twined into an intricate form. Rani could feel flour on the bottom of the loaf, and a yeasty smell filled her nose.

She was pledged to the glasswrights' guild. She had promised Master Parion that she would not eat or drink away from the confines of the guildhall. She had sworn to follow her guild's precepts, taken a vow when she was a twelve-year-old child.

She could not turn her back on that pledge now. Not for a single bite of bread. Not for the Briantan branch of the Fellowship. Not for new loyalties, conflicting obligations.

Nevertheless, Rani knew that the Fellows were staring at her. She tore at the ornate loaf, ripping off a small bite. She passed the loaf to Mair, taking care to whisper, “In the name of the Fellowship.”

Mair took the bread quickly, ripping off a sizable chunk before passing it on to Tovin. When it seemed that every person in the room had a piece of the loaves, the woman on the dais raised her own morsel. “With this feast, we bind ourselves each to the other. We declare our love and honor and respect for our Fellows, our dedication to serve our cause, with the fervor that Jair first served the Thousand Gods. In the name of Jair, so be it.”

“In the name of Jair, so be it.” Rani repeated the vow with the hooded figures around her.

Something about the solemn vow called to mind another ritual, and Rani cast about in her mind for the connection. Bread. Shared in the name of the church.

Her belly tightened as she realized she was remembering the funeral service. She blinked, and she could picture the small loaves that Hal and Mareka had shared as they honored their lost sons.

Shivering, she palmed her bread, rather than eating it. The maneuver caused her to wave the fresh-baked morsel in front of her face, and her belly clenched at the savory scent. Nevertheless, promises were promises. She folded her hands into her sleeves and then made as if to brush crumbs from the front of her robe. She used the swift gestures to secret the scrap of bread in a pocket of her robe, offering up a silent prayer to the First Pilgrim that he forgive her for her duplicity.

“Very well,” the woman said, as each Fellow swallowed. “The word of the Thousand Gods has traveled far and wide, moving beyond even those paths trod by First Pilgrim Jair. Our Fellowship stretches to the north and the south, to the east and the west. Our brothers and sisters from distant lands come to us to report their successes, to note their failures. Today, we begin the season of the Counting.”

The Counting. Rani did not know what the Fellow meant; however, the announcement was obviously important. Fellows around her leaned forward; tension in the room ratcheted a little higher. The woman said, “Let us hear, first, from our Fellow newly arrived from Zarithia.”

The crowd shifted, and a cloaked figure moved toward the dais. Rani knew before the Fellow spoke that he must be male; no woman could boast such height, such girth. Even so, Rani was surprised at the deep tones as the man spoke. His voice rumbled like thunder across a valley.

“Greetings from distant Zarithia, where the Fellows number six and twenty in all the land. Although we are the smallest outpost of the Fellowship, we are pleased to report on our progress. In the past year, we saw a third member raised to the Merchants' Council, so that we have even greater influence over that body. We have used some of that power to deflect our city's plans to record all merchants' sales in the Grand Ledger, for we concluded that tracking shipments might prove dangerous to hidden Fellows and would have no benefit for us. Under the Council's own rules, the matter cannot be raised for another two years.”

There were murmurs of approval from the crowd, even as Rani caught her breath. She was familiar with the Merchants' Council in Moren. She even knew that the Fellowship had manipulated it in the past, to her own benefit, contriving to send Rani on errands of their own making, to keep her safe from the dark cabal that would have seen her executed in the market square.

Nevertheless, the notion of outside Fellows controlling a Merchants' Council beat against her caste-born blood. Merchants had a hard enough time carving out their livings between the guildsmen and the nobles. They should not need to fight hidden influences such as the Fellowship. Not without some compensation. Not without some knowing negotiation.

The burly man continued his report. “Unfortunately, our attempts to control the nobles have not been as successful. We had thought that one of our noble members might be named to the King's Council, upon the passing of old Baron Semblay, but the king granted the favor to one of his border lords instead. In the ordinary course of things, we do not anticipate another opening on the King's Council for several years. We do not currently advise that any change be made, for there are no policies we need to enforce that require noble participation at this time.”

Any change.

Two short words, two common words, that any person might use in any speech. And yet, Rani's breath came short as she realized their import. The Zarithian spoke of removing a member of the King's Council, manipulating the very core of the noble caste in his homeland. At best, such manipulation might be done by spreading lies and innuendo. At worst, the man spoke of murder.

Rani's head shot up, and she sought out her colleagues' eyes, finding Mair's first. The Touched girl seemed to have reached the same conclusion that Rani had, for her lips pressed together tightly. She returned Rani's gaze steadily, but she swallowed hard. Rani looked to Tovin as well, but the player's attention was directed solely at the dais. He seemed to be absorbing the speaker's words, incorporating them into his very being.

Rani had seen that intensity before—when the players created a new performance, when they mastered new roles. She had watched the men and women of the troop focus so intently that they would not hear a building crash around them. And she had seen the creations that rose from such awesome concentration.

Her heart beat faster, and she told herself to focus on what Tovin must be gathering from the report.

The burly man concluded: “And so Zarithia completes its report, with our six and twenty members submitting to the Fellowship, offering up our lives in service to our cause.”

The woman nodded once, stepping forward to stand beside the giant. “Thank you for your
report, Zarithia, and for offering up your service to the Fellowship.” She raised her hand to
gesture toward his head. “In service to the north”—she pointed toward his feet—“and to
the south”—she moved her hand toward his right and then followed through to his left—”to
the east, and to the west, you offer up your report in furtherance of the Fellowship. May First
Pilgrim Jair and all the Thousand Gods watch over you as you move our plans ahead.”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and bowed, and the man repeated her gesture. Then he stepped down from the dais and disappeared into the crowd.

Rani's mind reeled at all that she had witnessed. The Fellowship was far stronger than she had imagined, than Hal had ever dreamed. What did Glair have planned for the kingdom's future, back in Moren? What would her emissary report to this Council? Who lurked in unexpected positions of power in Morenia? Rani looked around the room, wondering who would report from her homeland.