Glasswrights' Apprentice (5 page)

She should not have been surprised to overhear the conversation in the Hall of Discipline. After all, the altar was especially situated so that one apprentice could make out the … instruction of another, thereby fostering greater discipline through the imagined penalty. Many a time, Rani had emerged from her own instruction at the hands of the disciplinarian, only to face the whey countenance of another apprentice, looking up anxiously from Sorn's altar.

Still, when Rani realized that the voice was Guildmistress Salina's, she caught her breath, the better to make out the hissed words.

“Of course it did not go as we wished!”

Rani could not make out the other person's response, but it rumbled around the corner, a man's timbre.

“We knew there was risk in using our scaffold,” Salina insisted, “but we never intended to call attention to a glasswright in the
middle
of the plot. Since that brat cried out, there's no way the guard will see us as innocent victims. The glasswrights are certain to be the first suspects. The only reason they've delayed so far is to muster troops.”

Rumble.

“No, we must accept the cards the gods have dealt us. It was ill luck and blatant disobedience that led that merchant-rat to be in the Cathedral. She's been a thorn in my side since I took her family's money - I never should have kept her around. She's too strong to bend to the good of the guild; she's stubborn enough to break first, just to show who she thinks is mistress.”

Rani's indignation was so sharp that she almost stormed into the Hall. Only the rumble of the unheard speaker stilled her, his rumble and the icy fingers that closed around her heart at Salina's dismissive tone.

“Contract be damned. She may have shown some promise with patterns, but she's more trouble than she's worth. Those merchant-brats almost always are. Now, the soldiers are certain to come looking for her - her guild insignia was perfectly clear, even if no one knows her by name. I saw it myself, on the cloak she left hanging on the cathedral's side door. I instructed Brother Gatekeeper not to let her in - at least we'll be able to claim that we don't know where she is.”

Rani's skinned knees smarted, and tears stung her eyes. Guildmistress Salina was supposed to act as her mother; the woman had sworn she would love Rani as her own daughter. Even the chronic annoyance in the guildmistress' voice would hurt less than her current dismissive tone.

“I've got all the guild in the refectory for now - they know that Tuvashanoran is dead, and Instructor Parion is leading them in prayers for his soul.” The old woman's grim laugh crept down Rani's spine. “We may have planned a different messenger, but our missive has been delivered, all the same. Don't worry, Nar-”

Perhaps the guildmistress would have spoken three syllables, labeling her companion as a guildsman, or four, which would mark him as a soldier. Rani would not even have been surprised to hear five syllables spilled across the Hall of Discipline, denoting the conspirator one of the princely caste.

She was not to learn the man's identity, though. Before Salina could finish her sentence, a tremendous crash echoed down the Apprentices' Corridor. The guttering candle flames all but died, and Rani tumbled back onto her heels, ignoring the stinging pain of her embossed knees.

Steel-shod feet clattered against the stone flags of the discipline chamber, and leather creaked against mail. Rani heard Salina's cry of outrage, and then a man's bellow, cut off in a sickening, wet gurgle.

Rani's heart pounded in her chest like a chick pecking through its egg, and she clambered to her feet. What was it Salina had said? The guild was assembled in the refectory. Rani ran down the Apprentices' Corridor, ignoring the fact that the breeze of her passing extinguished some of the dangerously low candles.

The refectory - there would be companionship there. There would be other apprentices who would understand this most recent injustice. There would be Instructors who could explain to the soldiers, who could make everyone understand that this was all a horrible mistake.

Rani never made it to the refectory, though. The soldiers moved faster than she had thought possible. She had scarcely reached the door to the Apprentices' Corridor when a great monster of a man came crashing through from the Hall of Discipline. He bore a sword, and even in the dying candlelight, Rani could make out the sheen of sticky crimson on his blade. Surprising even herself, she screamed, and the soldier swivelled in her direction like a blind beggar.

His sword swept across Lene's altar, and Rani cried out as the carefully balanced offerings to the god of humility crashed to the floor. Horror at the sacrilege rose in her throat like bile, and she almost turned back to defend the holy altar.

Almost, but not quite. Rani might have been raised to respect all the Thousand Gods, but she certainly was not going to die for them, not here, in a darkened hallway of the guild that despised her. Harnessing the desperate strength of the pursued, she snatched up the velvet altar-skirt dedicated to Lene, pausing only an instant to toss the cloth at the warrior before rushing headlong from the corridor. The soldier bellowed his rage as he freed his wicked sword from the dusty cloth.

The maneuver gained Rani precious seconds, and she fled into the heart of the guildhall, unfettered by sword or mail. She heard the berserker warrior behind her, leaving a trail of destruction, but she knew the corridors of the guildhall like the lines on her palm. Often enough she had been summoned to bring a pot of tea to an Instructor in the dark hours after moonset, and she had ferried laundry, glazing tools, and other endless burdens along every inch of these passages.

Instinctively, Rani dashed toward the refectory, but she traveled by way of the obscure and twisting servants' corridors rather than the main hallways. Gaining a narrow alcove near her destination, she huddled in the shadows, drawing her pale arms inside her dusty jet tunic and crouching against the dark floor. She caught her breath as her pursuer rounded a corner, his mail clashing against the stone walls.

Either Rani's prayers to all the Thousand Gods were answered or the soldier's military helm obscured his vision. Whatever the cause, the berserker stumbled down the hallway toward the refectory, snarling rage at his prey. As soon as the mad soldier had clattered out of earshot, Rani sprang toward a recessed stairway just across the corridor. She took the steps two at a time, recalling when - only a fortnight after her arrival at the guildhall - she and Larinda had first explored this passage. Then, they had thought to escape the completely unreasonable wrath of the Instructors at some misdeed.

The stairs were steep, and Rani's breath stuttered from her lips as she climbed the last dozen steps and emerged onto the narrowest of balconies, perched high above the refectory floor. Stone-carved stands indicated that the space was originally intended for musicians, but the luxury had long since been abandoned - Rani had never dined to the accompaniment of a musical serenade.

From this vantage point, she could make out a milling horde of Instructors, guildsmen, and apprentices. Clearly, the glaziers had been surprised at their afternoon work - many people clutched the tools of their trade. In happier times, Rani might have grinned as one particularly absent-minded Instructor held a piece of crimson glass to her eye to check for impurities, looking for all the world as if she were daft. Rani felt the urge to cry.

Cook was in the refectory, too, holding a wooden spoon coated with evil-looking glop. Even from this height, Rani could hear the woman complaining that her meal was being ruined, that the fire was burning too high, that an apprentice should be in the kitchen stirring the pot.

The soldiers who burst into the refectory obviously did not care if the guild went hungry for the night. Rani recognized her pursuer from the hallway below, but it took her several minutes to realize that all the guards were looking for her. In fact, it was only as one particularly burly man with a filthy, tangled beard pushed Larinda to her knees near the dais that Rani even realized what was happening.

One by one, the apprentices were cut out of the crowd. As the guildsmen and Instructors recognized the wolves in their midst, they attempted to shelter the children. Parion, the Instructor whom Salina had appointed to guide the guild in prayers for Tuvashanoran, swept off his cloak and settled it around the shoulders of one of the most senior apprentices.

The subterfuge, witnessed by a soldier, merely won Parion a backhanded gauntlet across his mouth. Rani felt ashamed when she saw the Instructor's hand come away from his split lip, a trickle of blood glinting even at this distance. As the apprentices were herded to the far end of the refectory, the leader of the guard stormed through the door, his face apoplectic beneath his ornate helm. He sent the heavy wooden door crashing back on its hinges as he pushed Guildmistress Salina into the hall.

The dramatic entrance was heightened by Salina's appearance. Her hair had come undone during her struggle in the Hall of Discipline, and cottony wisps of grey haloed her face. A gash stood out on one pasty cheek, and her quivering hand drifted to the narrow trickle of blood as if she could not believe her fate. Before any of the soldiers could stop Parion, the Instructor moved to his mistress' side, offering Salina an arm to lean on. The guildmistress accepted the assistance with a humility that was more devastating than anything Rani had yet witnessed.

The captain of the guard glowered as Salina lowered herself onto her chair on the dais. Only when the soldier towered over the seated guildmistress did he speak, immediately claiming the undivided attention of all in the room. “I am sent by Shanoranvilli, king of all Morenia, to convey this message to the Glasswrights' Guild. It is known that you have conspired against the heir of Shanoranvilli, the Prince of the People, the man who would have been Defender of the Faith. Tuvashanoran is dead, and Shanoranvilli has decreed that this shall be the penalty.”

The guard's words evoked rumbles among the glaziers, protests that they were innocent. The soldier ignored the glasswrights and continued in a stony voice. “At least one of your brotherhood stood on the scaffolding outside the cathedral. We know that you delayed completing your commission until the Presentation Day. We have found the missing pane of glass that let the arrow fly. Even if, by some miracle of the Thousand Gods, a glasswright was not the person who shot the arrow, your brotherhood bears full responsibility. You gave access to the assassin. You summoned His Highness, Prince Tuvashanoran, from his holy meditation to his death.”

It was a warning!
Rani wanted to cry out. I was trying to
save
the
Prince's life! But she held her tongue. Tuvashanoran had been beloved; all Morenia would be set on
revenge. No one would ever believe in the innocence of a glasswrights' apprentice, in her very bad
luck. The guard continued his pronouncement: “Before my soldiers leave this hall, they will question
each of you. Guildmistress Salina has already denied any knowledge of the glasswright who stood on
the scaffold, and she has paid the penalty for her ignorance.”

The soldier reached behind him and dragged Salina to her feet. As the guard pulled the woman forward, he jerked her right arm up, applying enough force to dislocate her shoulder if she had hesitated in the least. Now, as Salina swayed before her guild, the source of her disorientation became readily apparent. A ragged bandage slipped loose, revealing a crimson flower that bloomed against the length of her forearm.

“Shanoranvilli claims the pledge of blood fealty from every glasswright - Instructor, guildsman, and apprentice alike.” Rani's stomach turned as an aide glided forward, slyly displaying the symbols of the guild's blood oath to the king. In one hand, Rani could make out a golden cup, still tinged with crimson. In the other was a glass knife - sharper than any metal blade, Rani had heard, and able to cut as deep. The instruments of the Oath differed for each guild, but the principle remained the same. The king could demand fealty of any of his vassals upon any whim, ordering his subjects to prove their loyalty with an oath sealed in blood. And even the most bitter of protesters would say that unveiling Prince Tuvashanoran's murderer was more than mere whim.

The captain returned to his proclamation, certain now that he had the glasswrights' full attention. “Each of you will be questioned, every morning and every evening, until the identity of the glazier on the scaffold is known. Each of you will be required to swear the oath of blood fealty every time that you are questioned.”

There were angry murmurs among the crowd, and Rani clutched the balustrade with rigid fingers. The room seethed against the injustice of the king's order, but Rani raged against Salina. The guildmistress could have named Morada. The guildmistress could have saved her people from the terror and the pain that the soldiers were now certain to distribute. Crouching in the gallery, Rani tried to remember if any other guildsman could name Morada, if there was a single brother or sister who could spare the others from Shanoranvilli's justifiable wrath. For that matter, Rani thought for the first time to search the refectory floor for Morada herself.

Before Rani could complete her review of the ranks, the officer continued. “We know that the glasswright on the scaffold was not the only malfeasor in the cathedral. We will find this guild's apprentice, the whelp who cried out to Tuvashanoran to bring him into range for the assassin. That name, at least, Guildmistress Salina has provided. We know we look for Ranita, and we know she is not among the apprentices gathered here.”

Rani's fury was a physical thing. The guild was supposed to be her
family
. It was supposed to take the place of the flesh and blood she had turned from, the folk whom she had abandoned to the market's vagaries. Even as Rani stared at the bloody bandages about Salina's wrist, even as she imagined the sting of salt rubbed into the bloody line of the guildmistress' treacherous fealty oath, tears sparked in her eyes.