Josiah finished and dropped the brush on his desk. His copy of the Third History sat there, a ribbon marking his spot, but he couldn’t face an hour deciphering the tiny cramped letters. Elkan might find reading relaxing, but for Josiah it took almost as much energy as healing. He’d be lucky to get through the remaining six volumes before the time, three years hence, when Guildmaster Dabiel was scheduled to begin compiling and editing the last hundred years’ worth of records into a tenth volume.
He didn’t need a nap, either. He was almost fully recovered from the earlier draining. Too bad all his friends would still be hard at work with their masters.
He could go to the market, but he didn’t have any money. Today was Sixthday; the apprentices would get their weekly allowance at the midday meal. It seldom lasted Josiah past Firstday. Maybe Master Lirah would give him his early. She wasn’t supposed to start the distribution until noon, but that was less than an hour away. Decided, Josiah headed out with a quick word of farewell to Sar.
When he got to Master Lirah’s office, he found he wasn’t the only one with the same idea. Mathir was there, giving her his most soulful, innocent look. “Please, Master Lirah? Master Hanion asked me to pick up his new tunic from the tailor’s, and I thought on the way I would stop and buy some nuts as a treat for Nina. She’s worked so hard today; we had three court cases, one right after another.” His familiar, a gray squirrel, sat up on his shoulder and favored Master Lirah with a matching gaze from her bright brown eyes.
“And some pastries for yourself, no doubt. We know you’re going to spend it on sweets, that’s why we make sure you get at least one good meal first.”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Josiah volunteered. He returned Mathir’s betrayed look with a grimace he hoped Master Lirah wouldn’t notice. “I’m going to the market, too. Sar needs a new brush.”
“You’d think that donkey was a new-made journeyman with seven suitors. Don’t think I don’t know all your tricks. I’ve been in charge of apprentice allowances for twelve years, and I haven’t heard a new argument in eleven.” She shook her head and reached into her desk to pull out two small pouches. “You’re not going to like it, but it’s not my decision. Take it up with Master Dabiel. She’s going to speak to everyone at the midday meal.”
With a sense of dread, Josiah accepted the light pouch. Sure enough, when he turned the coins out in his hand, there were half as many as he usually received.
“But—” Mathir protested.
“I said, complain to the Guildmaster. Now go on.”
Mathir sulked all the way out of the Mother’s Hall. Only when they reached the street outside did he let loose. “It’s not fair! They just lowered our allowance three months ago! And now they’ve cut it again?” Nina chittered in his ear. “Yes, of course I’ll still get your nuts. But it won’t leave me enough for anything else.”
That was an exaggeration, but not by much. “Come on,” Josiah said. “Master Lirah’s right, Sar’s got plenty of brushes. I’ll get some taffy at Master Nevya’s shop and share with you.” Taffy wasn’t Josiah’s favorite sweet, but it was cheap and lasted a long time. Usually he’d buy rock candy, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach that again for a while.
“All right.” Mathir looked slightly mollified. “But why do you think they did it?”
Josiah shrugged. “I’m sure Master Dabiel will explain.”
Word of the smaller allowances must have spread, for when the Guildmaster stood by the hearth in the dining hall and called everyone to order, it took a long time for the nervous, angry buzz to quiet. She waited with her hand raised until the last voices stilled.
“That’s better,” she said into the hush. She dropped her hand and rested it on the head of the enormous hog standing beside her. “Yes, the rumors are true. Apprentice allowances have been reduced to half their former amount, beginning this week and continuing for the foreseeable future. Journeyman stipends and master shares have been cut as well. The other masters and I debated long and hard about this, but in the end we couldn’t deny the necessity. You all know of the difficulties that have beset Tevenar this year.”
Josiah nodded along with the others. The problems had begun around the time he had arrived in Elathir with Elkan, just before last Springtide. Heavy rains and a sudden snow melt in the western mountains had led to flooding. The great Tarath had overflowed its banks, submerging much of the low-lying areas of Elathir. The dam on Mill Stream had broken, releasing a torrent that had washed away the old prison and a substantial residential area. Enormous resources had been poured into repairing the damage and replacing the losses.
Since then, the troubles had continued. The weather had remained unseasonably cold and rainy all summer. Planting had been delayed, and even after the crops were in, the Farmers’ Guild reported they weren’t thriving. They’d warned the Council of Guildmasters to expect a slim harvest. The new dam was still under construction. Until it was finished, the system of pipes and fountains that supplied Elathir with fresh water was useless. Water had to be hauled up from the river. The grist mill below the dam had been destroyed, and until the new one was complete, whatever meager harvest there was would have to be shipped up to Korisan to be ground into flour.
All these things combined to cut back revenues of almost all the guilds. Food prices had risen, and would probably continue to increase until spring. Everyone guarded their money, saving against the lean days of winter to come. The crowds at Elathir’s busy market had thinned, and many shops had been forced to close. People weren’t going hungry yet, but everyone feared it might come to that. Elathir was the worst hit, but the rest of Tevenar was feeling the effects as well. The country hadn’t dealt with such widespread hard times since the aftermath of the hurricane twenty years before.
As the money folk earned from their crafts fell, the portion they paid to their guilds in dues fell also. In turn, the percentage each guild passed on to the Wizards’ Guild to cover the services provided to its members came to a much smaller amount. Josiah had listened to Elkan and the other masters discuss the problem nearly every night. No one had any answers, save to cut back and endure until the Mother sent better fortunes.
“The current conditions are bringing hardship to everyone in Tevenar. As representatives of the Mother, it’s our duty to lead by example. I expect every one of you, from the oldest master to the youngest apprentice, to demonstrate a spirit of cheerful acceptance of these new restrictions. If we all work together, Tevenar can come through these difficult days stronger and more united than before.”
Dabiel’s words rang firm and confident through the hall. Despite himself, Josiah felt his spirits lift. The nearly empty pouch at his belt seemed a noble sacrifice, his small contribution to Tevenar’s welfare.
Some of the other apprentices showed signs of the same reaction in their faces, but a number still scowled. Even a few of the journeymen looked discontented. Some of them had families and households of their own. The cut in their stipends would hit them harder than a mere lack of pocket money.
Beside Josiah, Mathir kicked at the floor. “It’s not like the coins they take from us are going to make any difference.”
“Hush!” Beyond him, Kalti glowered. “Listen to Master Dabiel. You, too.” She fixed Josiah with her glare.
“I didn’t say—”
But she’d already turned away. Josiah fumed. She had never accepted him as a wizard. The disdain she’d shown him when they’d first met, when he was still a fuller’s apprentice, had continued even after he bonded with Sar. In her eyes, since the Mother hadn’t revealed his name to the Guildmaster with the others when they were thirteen, he could never truly be a part of the Wizards’ Guild. Even though he’d spoken with the Mother when he bonded, just like they all had.
It didn’t help that he was a year younger than the other bonded apprentices. They’d all paired with their familiars at the beginning of their fourth year of apprenticeship. Even if Josiah had joined the Guild the usual way, he’d only be in his third year.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Mathir muttered. Braon, Seriti and Daera all made encouraging faces or gestures. Josiah took heart. At least he had some friends among the other apprentices.
Master Dabiel continued, ignoring their disturbance. “I thank the Mother for all of you. You may be dismissed to get your meals.”
She sat down at the table she customarily shared with several of the older masters. She seemed as composed as always. But when she dropped her hand to Buttons’s head, her fingers scratched the hog’s stiff white bristles so hard he flicked an ear and pulled away. She glanced down and gave him an apologetic pat, but her eyes were shadowed.
Josiah gulped. He hadn’t been worried up to now. Nothing was so bad that it wouldn’t go back to normal sooner or later. But Master Dabiel was the strongest, wisest wizard he knew. Her understanding of the Mother was unsurpassed, and her practical skill in leadership kept the often fractious Council of Guildmasters working together effectively. When Elkan, who up to that point had been the very paragon of wizardry to Josiah, had been so badly shaken by the events of the spring that he questioned his fitness for the Mother’s service, her faith had remained unwavering, and her calm, gentle guidance had helped him find the way back to his true calling.
If Master Dabiel was so troubled by the present situation that she let it show, things must be far worse than Josiah had realized.
Four
T
he Matriarch’s audience chamber sweltered in the late summer heat. Hundreds of eyes stared at Gevan. Rank on rank of courtiers, swathed in velvet and satin and shimmering Girodan silk, encircled the room. On the high dais Verinna Fovarre, the Matriarch of Ramunna, sat enthroned. Her skirts were heavy with layers of golden lace, and the gold chain of her office lay against her snowy lace collar. She watched him, her eyes attentive, though most of the men and women attending her exhibited various signs of boredom.
Only the leaders of Ramunna’s three religious factions displayed as much interest. Emirre Rothen, First Keeper of the Temple, sat calmly in his flowing embroidered robes, his thick shock of white hair appearing part of his vestments. In his seventy years, thirty of them as First Keeper, he had seen war, disaster and upheaval sweep over Ramunna, and Gevan doubted any of them had perturbed him in the slightest. He’d certainly never seen the Keeper display anything but serene calm. Gevan expected Rothen to accept the revelation of the window-glass with equanimity. But what he might do afterwards was the real question. He had great influence with the Matriarch, and a few pleasant words in favor of or in opposition to the new device could sway her reaction one way or the other.
Yoran Lirolla, leader of the Purifiers, perched on the edge of his chair. His hands gripped its arms, and his dark eyes bored into Gevan from under the hood of his plain black robe. He’d come to Ramunna from Marvanna ten years ago when he was barely twenty, afire with zeal to spread the Purifier doctrine which dominated their northern neighbor. He’d won many converts. Nearly a third of the Temples in the city were Purifier, and an even higher proportion in the rural areas. It wasn’t enough for him, though. Gevan was sure he would never be happy until every follower of the Mother professed the austere, fanatic beliefs of the Purifiers. For now, the Temple considered the Purifier sect an acceptable variation in the worship of the Mother, but Gevan wondered how long that could last. Yoran constantly declaimed against the laxness and decadence of the Temple and its leaders. Gevan couldn’t deny there was a certain amount of truth to his allegations. But Yoran had alienated Gevan and every other scholar at the University with his sweeping denunciations of any attempt to gain a deeper understanding of the Mother’s universe than was contained within the few ancient documents the Purifiers considered holy.
Far down the ranks of aristocrats, Elder Davon, leader of the Dualist minority, sat quietly, ignoring the space that had formed around him as those seated next to him scooted their chairs aside. Like all good followers of the Mother, Gevan despised the Dualists. But privately he considered them less objectionable than the Purifiers. At least they kept to themselves in the sector of the city reserved to them. Their trading ships were among the most profitable, and they never complained about the double taxes the Matriarch demanded in exchange for her tolerance of their presence. Not that they had much choice; Ramunna was one of the few places in Ravanetha they could find refuge. In Marvanna their faith was illegal, and its adherents were subject to imprisonment or execution if they were discovered. Gevan thought that extreme, even if their beliefs did blaspheme the Mother. The Dualist students he’d had in his classes had been hard working and studious, though lacking in the imagination that made for a truly great scholar. Of course, most of the young men who passed through the University’s halls lacked that quality, so most likely their heritage wasn’t at fault.
Gevan called his wandering thoughts back to the present. The Dean of the University was finishing the last flowery phrases of his introduction. “…I assure you, what you are about to witness is so amazing, so revolutionary, that your understanding of the Mother and her world will be changed for all time. And so I wish to present to you all, your majesty, lords and ladies, the finest flower of the University’s scholarship, the greatest mind of our generation, a man history will remember as far ahead of his time—Professor Gevan Navorre!”
Gevan cringed inside, though he kept his face carefully pleasant. Did Ithran want to bring the enmity of every faction in Ramunna down on him? But no, it was just the Dean’s way. He probably thought he was doing Gevan a favor with his effusive praise. Ithran might be brilliant when it came to abstract mathematical formulas, but he had no understanding of politics.
Gevan stepped forward, bowing in response to the polite applause that answered Ithran’s words. He laid the leather case containing the window-glass on the lectern that faced the throne. The rest of the gathered onlookers were nothing. If he could convince the Matriarch of the truth of his claims, he would win the day.