Glasswrights' Progress (45 page)

“Hold!” Sin Hazar's eyes flashed as he bellowed his command, and his lips disappeared within his beard. The king's left hand was stretched toward Bashanorandi, fingers rigid, as if he would cast a spell to freeze the boy. “Hold, I say!”

“Your Majesty,” Bashi spluttered, spittle flying from his lips as he turned back toward his liege.

“I'll not command you again!”

Bashi opened his mouth to protest, but then he took in the Yrathi mercenaries, noted that the three front riders had lowered their pikes toward him. He suddenly seemed to realize that he was unhorsed, and on the edge of enemy troops. The tail of the dragon banner trailed across the ground, drifting close enough that Rani could have stomped it with her booted foot. With a convulsive shudder, Bashi uprighted the standard and planted it beside his own foot, as if he had intended, all along, to stake claim to this territory for his king.

If Sin Hazar appreciated the gesture, he gave no sign. Rather, he switched his attention from the trembling bastard prince to Hal. “Halaravilli ben-Jair, you trespass on our lands. We will grant you until noon to begin your retreat. We do not wish to shed blood between your house and ours, in honor of our blessed sister, who has gone to walk among the Thousand Gods. For Felicianda's memory, we will let you retreat to your borders.”

“Felicianda was a traitor,” Hal spat. Rani could not help but think his words would carry more weight if he were mounted on a horse, if he could look Sin Hazar in the eye. The Amanthian king evidently thought the same; he let his stallion jangle forward a few steps, forcing his Yrathi guards to edge up their own mounts. The motion only underscored Hal's danger.

“Felicianda was our sister, a swan, and a princess of the house of Amanthia!” Sin Hazar tugged on his ebony steed's reins. “I repeat, Halaravilli. You trespass on our land. We have ridden out to treat with you, so that you understand our men will
never
yield. Ride now and save yourself, or you will regret your decision when the fighting is done.”

Hal's voice tightened. “Your army has already yielded. One boy in our ranks was able to take down your greatest general, your Al-Marai.”

“Do not speak his name!” Sin Hazar's face twisted into a mask of fury, and Rani began to understand why the king had ridden from the safety of his palace, why he had passed through his city gates to the vulnerable plain. Sin Hazar was maddened by his loss. He spat, “Do not speak the name of our brother, of the lion of Amanthia. You could not have
touched
him if you had not used our weapons. You stole our engine! Now, with your own weapons, you have no hope of winning any battle!”

“Nor can you, Sin Hazar.” Hal's voice was deadly quiet in the freezing air. “Nor can you hope to win, or you would not have ridden out here. Al-Marai would be ashamed.”

“By Jair, you try our patience, upstart prince!” Even as Sin Hazar's face darkened with rage, Rani's gaze was pulled toward his Yrathi escort. She could not be certain, but she thought a handful of the men had started at their employer's oath. Before she could be sure, Sin Hazar continued, “If you wish to speak of shame, Halaravilli, look at the dogs that trail behind you. Ranita Glasswright!” Sin Hazar pinned Rani with his ebony eyes. “Have you told your king that you feasted by our side? Have you told him that you danced with us in the darkest hours after midnight?”

Rani refused to acknowledge the blush that leaped to her cheeks. With all the prepossession she'd gathered in her years at court, she forced her voice to a steady treble. “I've told him that you sent me to a prison camp, my lord. I've told him that you meant to sell me as a slave. Me, and Mair, and Crestman. And Monny who lies dead, yonder. I've spoken the truth to His Majesty, in the name of First Pilgrim Jair.”

There. She was certain that she glimpsed movement this time. It was nothing much, probably would not have been visible if she'd been on a level with the mounted men. But from her compromising angle, she could just glimpse the Yrathis' fists tighten on their reins. For a single instant, several of the mounts tensed, ready to move forward. Then, almost as soon as Rani recognized the motion, the mercenaries lapsed back into their vigilant formation.

Rani darted a glance at Hal, to see if he had also noticed. She thought that he had; she thought that he ducked his chin just a bit in her direction. But she was not certain until she heard his next challenge. “And by Jair, Sin Hazar, I believed my vassal. I believed every word that Lady Rani told me, when she said that you were craven enough to enslave an army of boys, to procure your kingdom's girls for the Liantines.”

On the third voicing of the Pilgrim's name, Rani was certain. The Yrathis were reacting to Jair, responding to the holy name.

Oblivious, Sin Hazar threw back his head to laugh. “Enslave boys? Procure girls? You're a child yourself, Halaravilli ben-Jair! You're a child, if you believe that wars can only be won with honor and glory and sacred prayers to the Thousand Gods.”

Hal shot a glance at Rani, sparing her one tight nod as she shifted her grip to the dagger thrust through her belt. Then Hal raised his chin in defiance and called out, “Not to the Thousand Gods, Sin Hazar. To First Pilgrim Jair!” Hal shouted his challenge: “To me, Yrathis, in the name of Jair!”

Chaos.

Eight of the Yrathis reversed their pikes, driving them into their brothers' mounts. Horses screamed. Men cursed. Sin Hazar swore in the name of all the Thousand Gods, wasting breath in a helpless explosion of rage.

Hal unsheathed his sword and plunged into the maelstrom, burying his weapon in the chest of Sin Hazar's stallion. The beast crashed to the ground, scarcely giving its master time to leap free.

Even as the Amanthian king fought his way clear of his own stirrups, he fumbled for his scimitar, screaming for the Yrathis he had purchased to protect him. Those mercenaries, though, were engaged in a deadly battle with their own brethren, two Fellowship-bought men battling every one who stayed loyal to Sin Hazar.

Rani saw the instant that Sin Hazar recognized his danger, the precise heartbeat when he knew that he was trapped. Swearing viciously, he jerked his curved sword free from its sheath, brandishing the weapon high above his head. He threw back his head and screamed out an Amanthian battle cry, a ululation that echoed off his city walls.

As Sin Hazar tore his gaze from the dispassionate sky, he pinned Hal with his depthless midnight eyes. Rani could read the madness in his features, the death-knowledge on his face. He knew he was surrounded by traitors. He knew that battle was futile.

Rani watched as the morning breeze stiffened, catching the edges of Hal's crimson cloak. The king of all Morenia raised his dripping sword, as if he would consecrate this encounter to all the Thousand Gods. Then, with a wordless cry, Hal swung his blade in a perfect arc.

Sin Hazar folded over the Morenian steel, barely managing to twist around and stare up at his rival. His eyes grew wide with shock, melted into stained pools above his twin swan-wing tattoos. The fingers of his free hand convulsed, clutching at the dreams that flowed away with his crimson blood – dreams of conquering Morenia and Liantine and more. His throat worked as if even now he would give orders to his men, issue commands to the sham of his Little Army. When he opened his mouth to speak, though, blood slicked his lips, and he fell hard to his knees.

Hal stepped back, tugging his sword free from the tangle of Sin Hazar's blood-drenched cloak. The rough motion brought Sin Hazar halfway up, and his arms rose as if to ward off further injury, jerking like broken wings. He collapsed back to the ground, managing a single convulsive breath as he swivelled his gaze up to Rani. He tried again to speak, but before he could form words, a horrible shudder overtook his limbs, trembling his arms and legs as if he were no more than a rag doll. He fell forward at last, and his blood poured onto the churned Amanthian soil.

Rani stared at the man who had wrought such havoc in her world, who had played with the lives of children and men alike. She watched as the breeze picked up, blew as if it were possessed by the last breath that sighed from the monster who had ruled the north. Sin Hazar's blue cloak lay sodden across his body, too soaked with blood to stir in the wind.

Only as Rani staggered back from the slain king did she realize that the Fellowship's eight Yrathi mercenaries had subdued their fierce brethren, murdering each of the soldiers who had fought to remain loyal to Sin Hazar. The Fellowship of Jair had gained a good bargain with its purchase of the ruthless soldiers. However much gold had been paid from the Fellowship's shadowy treasury, the cost had been a fair one.

At last Rani realized that Puladarati was screaming orders to his men, commanding that they close around their king. Hal stood tall above the body of his vanquished enemy, his own cloak thrown back from his shoulders, soaring on the wind like a mantle woven by all the Thousand Gods. His teeth were bared in a grim smile as he stared down at his bloody victory, and he held his crimson-slicked sword away from his own body.

Even as Rani fought to draw a breath, fought to step up to Hal's side, she caught a glimpse of motion. There, to the right – too fast for safety, for security.

Rani's dagger slapped into her palm, and she whirled with the ease that Mair had taught her a lifetime ago, in Moren's dangerous streets. Her knife drove home before she was even consciously aware that she had struck. She felt the moist pressure of meat and then the jarring crunch of bone. She twisted her dagger and pulled it upward, fighting to free the blade. And then, before she could register the gouts of blood that spilled across her clothes, before she could see Hal's fingers around her wrist, before she could feel Crestman pulling her back and hear Mair call her name, she looked at the body on the ground before her.

Bashi stared back, surprise bright in his cornflower eyes. As Rani took a step away she saw the traitor's own knife tumble from his dying fingers, topple harmlessly onto the ground. He opened his mouth to say something, and a bubble of blood floated across his lips. “Brother,” he gasped, bursting the bubble, and then his face collapsed like a gate before a battering ram. His blood was hot on Rani's hands as she let herself be pulled away from the chaos and the murder and the victory.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

 

Rani slipped into the great hall, surprised to find it empty of people. The last of Davin's crates were clustered at the far end of the room, near the dais where she had once sat with Sin Hazar. She was tempted to cross over and pry open the topmost box, dig about for some sort of treasure in the old man's collection of trinkets and toys. Before she could move, though, she was startled by the loud squawk of a bird. Her heart was still pounding as she turned to the near corner of the hall, to a cage that stood out of the draft.

Davin's macaw stared at her, tilting its head to one side and lifting up one of its claws. The bird picked between its toes with its thick, black tongue, all the time keeping a golden eye trained on Rani. She approached cautiously, edging up until she stood an arm's length from the cage. “Rani Trader!” she prompted brightly. “Rani Trader!”

The bird only squawked again and ruffled its azure feathers, shuffling about on its perch. “Davin's misunderstood,” the bird croaked, giving an uncanny imitation of its ancient owner. “No one understands poor Davin.”

“Aye, and no one will understand poor you, if you don't keep your mouth closed.” Rani started at the old man's voice behind her; she had not heard him enter the hall. Nevertheless, he stood inside the doorway, his arms linked around a heavy, leather-bound book. Even though he rested the volume against his right hip, the top edge reached nearly to his chin.

“Davin!”

“Aye. What are you doing to my macaw?”

“I wasn't doing anything! I was just making sure it was ready to travel.”

“Travel? That bird? He's not going south with us.”

“Why not? You've loaded down three drays with everything else that you require.”

“The winter air on the journey would kill him. Macaws were never meant to live this far north, and the draft along the way would freeze his lungs.” The old man scowled, his brows knitting above his dark eyes. “And don't you comment on my drays. You let your king's quartermaster argue with me over what I pack. It was not my idea to move to Morenia.”

Rani settled her hands on her hips. She'd heard enough of Davin's harping in the fortnight since Hal had occupied Sin Hazar's palace. “Don't complain, old man. You know that King Halaravilli has shown you mercy.”

“Mercy? Making an old man ride for weeks during the middle of winter? Plucking an old man from his home?”

Rani refused to fight back. Instead, she set out her grim reply like winding sheets before a pyre. “King Halaravilli could have had you executed for what you've done. If not for you, more than three score Morenian men would be traveling in the middle of winter, making their way home to their wives and bairns!”

Davin pinned her with his steely eyes, gimlets that darted out from their fields of wrinkles. “Your king will never execute me. Not while he thinks I can create new engines for him. Besides, Rani Trader, your king is ready to admit what you will not. Morenia would have lost far more men, if not for me. My flying machine won the day.”

Davin's flying machine. And Monny.

Rani dared not continue the battle, for fear that she would give way to the tears that still lingered close to her heart. Instead, she sighed. “What's that in your arms, Davin? King Halaravilli has told you he has no more space for your books.”

“This one is not for me. It's for you.”

“Me?”

Before Rani could make further reply, a dozen boys tumbled into the great hall. They were laughing and shoving each other, making crude jokes, but their amusement was cut short when they caught sight of Davin and Rani.