SEVEN
Torven Shel Von wished he had not been seated at the archbishop’s right hand. The dining hall had two hearths, one at each end of the long table and both with warm-glowing coals doing their best to heat the space, but there was a draft at his back that pushed half the heat away. At least the food was reasonably good and the wine not bad, if well watered. Allowing mages to get inebriated was rarely wise.
Still, it was better than the fare found in most inns and taverns, thanks to one of the priests who actively enjoyed cooking. The apprentices roped into assisting him had grumbled, but with all the servants kicked out, no one of lower status had been left to help in the temple kitchen. Torven found it amusing that the apprentices who had complained the most were the ones being fed the thick glop, half stew and half porridge, which had been earmarked for the former prisoners.
He reached for the thigh of the roasted pheasant quarter he had been given for a third course, ready to remove the tender meat. The conversations around him revolved around his lengthy lessons in the exact wording needed for oathbinding demons into obedience. From the gossip, Torven had proved to be a fair, if stern teacher. A few of the novices had ended up with reddened hands from being slapped for their poorly presented oaths, but the elder priests hadn’t objected to his use of an Aian-style ruler smacking. Plucking at a bit of still juicy meat, he wondered if he’d been too light on them. Demons rarely played fair with honest mistakes.
The murmur of voices fell quiet at the far end. Into the hall strode the bald priest who had first questioned him, Bishop Hansu. His lips, framed by his long, neatly groomed, dark brown beard, were pulled down in a frown. So were his matching gray-salted brows.
Archbishop Elcarei lifted his own brows. “You have news, Bishop Hansu?”
“Yes, archbishop.” He paused at the midway point and bowed. “The Patriarch and over half the priesthoods have voted against our guest’s proposal.” A slight, ironic dip of his head was aimed at Torven, then he continued. “But six of the nearest ten temples have agreed to it. Provided our guest can prove his method works, and works safely . . . then they will be with us.
“On another, somewhat related topic . . . from the state of chaos in many of the cities out there, it was strongly urged by our counterparts in the other temples that we get this city under control. Given what the talker-boxes picked up and the fact that it is now sunset,” Hansu continued, “I strongly suggest you select someone to go to the Consulate, Holiness.”
“Yes, we should remind them that we are the highest-ranked Guild in the land, and thus have a very strong say in the governing of it,” Elcarei agreed. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You said the other towns are rioting?”
Hansu nodded. “Not every temple has reported in via scrying mirror. It is presumed that, by now, they have been overrun by the local peasants—many of those are the ones that did not release their prisoners. Most of those temples which followed our guest’s advice have been spared. Not all, but most.”
“Thankfully, Captain Torhammer is a stickler for the law. This will work in our favor.” At a gesture from the archbishop, Hansu took the remaining empty seat and began dining on the food left around his plate. “I shall go myself in a moment, with a bishop and two priests. Koler, you have served well in our dealings with the Consulate; you shall come with us. Brother Grell and Brother Tanik, you will join us as well.”
The three selected priests bowed their heads. Elcarei looked to his right, meeting Torven’s mildly bored gaze. “Under Bishop Hansu’s supervision, you shall direct the novices to clear the power room of rubble and set it up for a series of test summonings. You will start with one minor demon, demonstrating that you can summon, control, and banish it, then progress to more powerful kinds.
“You may have the assistance of up to three priests and six novices but no more . . . and the first thing you shall do once the room is readied is teach everyone here the proper banishment spells, before actually summoning anything.”
Torven dipped his head. “I was going to suggest something similar myself, Your Holiness. I am pleased we are so well matched in our thinking.”
His flattery was even true, save that Torven had no intention of remaining subservient for long. Banishing a demon was not a problem; even if an enemy banished one, unless that enemy were a higher-ranked priest, the demon could always be resummoned. No, binding the demon was where all the true power lay, and he intended to bind the demons summoned to himself as their ultimate master.
“Save dessert for us,” Elcarei stated, rising from his seat. “We may be back late.”
Everyone else rose as well out of courtesy, giving the archbishop a bow of reverence. Even Torven, though his was not quite as deep. He would not upset this chance at securing a vast power for himself, but neither would he play the bootlicking toad to get it. They will acknowledge me as an equal, or they will find out the hard way that I am their better.
? ? ?
Thankfully, the Consulate was warm. Not only had the message for the meeting gone out in plenty of time to stoke the fires, taking the chill out of the air, Heiastowne itself was large enough that there was a permanent Consulate staff. It wasn’t the biggest city in Mekhana, but it was in the top ten easily, with many strong guilds and a handful of actual Guild Masters in the Precinct, not just grandmasters or mere masters.
At Alonnen’s urging, Rexei had brought all thirty of her Guild tokens, all strung on her silver chain. The other Gearmen of the Consulate had duly examined those thirty, including her trio of larger journeyman-rank medallions, the fourth one that represented her Gearman status—always left uncounted when tallying ranks—and permitted her a seat on the guild bench. Off to one side, of course; she was from out of town as far as they knew, which meant she had the right to speak only for those guilds not represented here in Heias Precinct, or at least not at this meeting.
The discussion hall was packed. All three fireplaces were roaring with the crisp, competing scents of coal, applewood, and oakwood. Even without the fires, she probably would have been warm enough to remove her Vortex-borrowed coat, though she was glad that her current project, a fine, silvery gray wool suitable for summer weight, was now big enough to cover her thighs. She wasn’t the only one, male or female, with a bag or basket of skeins and some sort of needlework in their lap. Looms were taxed for whatever they produced; knitting and crocheting were not.
Sharing the guild bench—which in a Consulate of this size was a long, curved table set with several high-backed chairs—were the Grandmaster Gearman of the Heiastowne Consulate, his three master Gearmen scattered at the quarter points, and Rexei at the far left end. Next to the grandmaster sat the Captain of Heias Precinct. Chairs had been brought in and crowded around the table until one could scarcely move to get up, even by pushing a chair straight back from the table a body length. Rexei herself sat on a footstool dragged in from somewhere else, and she had only been accorded room because she could speak for those outside the immediate region.
The rest of those seats were filled with the Guild Masters of several guilds: Masons, Coalminers, Lumber, Ironworks, Steelworks, Hydraulics, Brassworks, Clockworks, Engines, Modellers, Munitions, Plumbers, Wheelwrights, and Luthiers, specifically those woodworkers and metalsmiths who specialized in making musical instruments. And, of course, Alonnen, representing the one Guild no one wanted to actually name. The grandmasters of the many other guilds were given preferential seating in the first three rows of pews facing the long, curved table, and the masters of those guilds with no one of higher rank in the area were right behind them.
Everyone else crowding the place was a nonrepresenting master, a journeyman, or a few rare apprentices of the various guilds—mostly from the Servers and the Hospitallers, distributing warmed drinks and small sweet biscuits. Such offerings were not uncommon; each time a Consulate gathering was held, a trio of Guilds was taxed to pay for refreshments.
A fresh cluster of people arrived. Two women detached themselves from the rest and were greeted by Grandmaster Toric. Rexei couldn’t quite hear their titles over the general hubbub of the three or four hundred people crammed into the pews lining the rest of the hall, but she thought she heard the words Actors and Lacemakers.
Alonnen—who had donned a pair of blue-tinted viewing lenses once he had arrived—rose and hurried over to the side of the plumper of the two women, who was clad in a colorful knitted overdress patterned in shades of cream, beige, and russet from wool raised in the northernmost flocks. Nestled on her ample cleavage was the large oval gold-cast medallion of a Guild Master. From the masques engraved on it for its guild symbol, the woman had to be the head of all the Actors Guilds across Mekhana.
Rexei had never met her, but she had heard of Guild Master Saranei Grenfallow, one of the few female Guild Masters who was respected by the priesthood; she was that good an actor. Or had been before taking up the Guild Master’s job. From what Rexei had observed in her many apprenticeships, it was difficult to lead a guild even as a mere grandmaster, never mind as the Guild Master for all the various chapters across the kingdom.
In contrast to all the Guild Masters who wore their palm-sized oval medallions with their symbols on both sides, Alonnen wore a large gold medallion that had been left polished but otherwise blank on the side currently facing outward. Rexei had seen the other face of it when he had taken off his coat upon their arrival; that side had been engraved with a striated triangle, with its point down. Only because she had seen the Vortex itself did she know what it represented, for it was not in the list of symbols Gearmen apprentices were supposed to memorize. Reassured by the sight of it that he was the Guild Master of Mages, she still marveled that he would actually dare to wear it in public, even with Mekha gone. The man has far more bravery than me . . .
While she watched and plied her hook, tugging out lengths of silvery spun wool every so often, the two Guild Masters engaged in an increasingly animated discussion. Then Guild Master Grenfallow turned and clapped her hands, gathering her entourage to her. More discussion followed. The grandmaster of the Servers Guild was called up from one of the front benches, and the matter, whatever it was, was discussed further.
Rexei didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. As it was, she knew Alonnen intended to call upon her to discuss Guildra as their next Patron Deity and the formation of a new priesthood. It was taking most of her concentration to keep her crocheting stitches even, rather than small and tight with tension. Every few lengths, she looked up to gauge the mood of the room and the mood of the Guild Masters in particular, some of whom had been summoned from other cities.
Gabria Springreaver had done an excellent job of summoning everyone important within reasonable traveling distance; Heiastowne would not be the only Precinct represented here tonight. The Guild Master for Lacemakers had already been shown to the far end by a Gearman apprentice; from the looks of things, they were trying to determine if she could share the bench with the Master Gearman at that end or if she would have to displace him. If that happened, Rexei herself would be ousted from her own bench, to give Guild Master Grenfallow her seat.
“Are you Journeyman Rexei Longshanks?”
The question startled her. Quickly winding a span of wool around the tip of her hook to hold the yarn in place without slipping, Rexei stuffed it into her basket and gave the head of the Actors Guild her full attention. “Yes, Guild Master.”
“Hm.” The middle-aged redhead frowned at her. Behind her stood Alonnen, giving Rexei an encouraging look. He had removed his outer coat, revealing a dark, fine-spun wool waistcoat over his equally dark shirt. Grenfallow frowned at her, even as Alonnen smiled. “I’m told you changed your name after moving on from my guild. What name did you earn your journeyman rank under, and why did you quit the guild?”
Rexei glanced at Alonnen, who smiled at her. Confused and wary that he would have told this woman about her abrupt change in names as well as careers, she answered, “I used to be called Rexei Targeter . . . before I was harassed out of the Guild by a grabby woman who should’ve known that ‘no thank you’ means ‘no thank you,’ even when a lad is the one saying it. I moved on to Clockworks after that, among others.”
“So I’ve heard. And tell me, where have you been apprenticed and working for the last two months?” Grenfallow asked her.
“Servers Guild. I was one of five who worked in the Heiastowne temple until yesterday,” she admitted warily.
“So I’ve heard,” the older woman murmured, before sharpening her tone into something very no-nonsense and direct. “Now, be honest with me, Journeyman Actor. Were you set to spy upon the temple inhabitants—the priests—for those two months?”
Alonnen nodded in encouragement, so Rexei admitted carefully, “Yes . . . as a Gearman investigating a claim of improper conduct by the temple inhabitants against members of the Servers Guild.”
“Did they ever suspect you of being anything other than a Server?” Alonnen asked.
“Not while I was within their walls. If anything, the archbishop claimed I grew stupider every time he talked at me,” Rexei admitted. “But . . . they may have overheard me speaking with some wit in the square yesterday, after they pushed us all out the doors. I do not know if they did, but the possibility is there.”
Rather than speaking to her, the leader of the Actors Guild turned to her three companions, two men and another woman. All wore the large round medallions of grandmaster actors. Ovals were reserved for Guild Masters alone. “I believe Master Tall’s assessment is accurate.”
“Two months is an impressive time in the face of their understandable paranoia and skepticism,” the older of the two male actors stated.
“One must subtract some of the points for that from their sheer arrogance, though,” the younger blonde woman countered. “They do sometimes overlook things.”
“Not for two whole months,” the younger male argued.
Grenfallow raised her hand. “Value for value . . . would you agree with Master Tall’s assessment?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Of course.”
“Definitely,” the other three agreed.
“Then I’ll take it up with the grandmaster.” Nodding graciously to Alonnen, Grenfallow strode off. The others made their way toward the back of the room to look for any scrap of pew or bench unoccupied.
Rexei gave Alonnen a quizzical look. “What was that about?”
“Just a little bit of business I thought about on the way over here, after hearing who would be in attendance,” he dismissed. He nodded to her and headed for the centermost seat to chat with Grandmaster Toric.
A sudden swell of sound from the back of the room caused heads to turn . . . and the sight of what caused it made everyone stop talking within seconds. Clad in snow-speckled velvet robes, Archbishop Elcarei of the Heiastowne Temple of Mekha strode into the Consulate meeting hall as if he owned the place, with three similarly dressed priests at his back. Their rich scarlet, emerald, and sapphire velvets looked very out of place among the plebian undyed wools most everyone wore—dyeing was also taxed, same as loomed cloth.
It was not the first time Rexei had seen priests enter a Consulate meeting with such arrogant airs of command. This time, however, the looks on the faces of the men and women seated on the pews were not expressions of fear and avoidance. Instead, they wore dark looks of irritation and resentment, even anger.
Before more than a few whispers and mutterings could begin, Grandmaster Toric picked up his stone-headed gavel and cracked it twice against its matching anvil. The sharp noise cut off all sound in the hall, beyond the sound of the priests’ boots on the polished stone floor, and the movements of Alonnen and the leader of the Actors Guild moving off to the side to find their seats.
“This emergency Consulate meeting is reserved for Guild Masters, grandmasters, masters, and representative journeymen,” the Gearman at the center of the table stated, his voice strong and steady despite the visible wrinkles of his years.
“And that is why I am here, Toric,” Elcarei stated smoothly. “As Archbishop of Heiastowne—”
“As nothing,” Captain Torhammer snapped, rising from his seat next to Toric, “you will be silent.”
The archbishop stopped, eyes wide in shock. His face reddened, and he drew in a breath to argue. The Precinct captain cut him off.
“You are now a private citizen, Elcarei Tuddlehead,” the captain asserted.
“I am the Archbishop of Heiast—”
“Ex-archbishop,” Torhammer stated coldly, cutting him off mid-sentence again. “With the dissolution of Mekha and the removal of His Patronage, there is no priesthood in this land. Your own rank was dependent entirely upon the existence of the God you worshipped. With that God eliminated, by law, your guild no longer exists . . . and I will uphold the law, sir. Because you now lack any guild standing whatsoever, you are not invited to this meeting, Private Citizen Tuddlehead. You and your companions are thus asked to remove yourselves from this hall. It is reserved for Guild Masters, grandmasters, masters, and other representatives of the various Guilds in this land.”
Elcarei blinked and stared. Rexei quickly scooted off the bench she was on, giving way for the Guild Master of the Actors Guild to take her place. Taking her project with her, she stuffed the wool into the bag and leaned against the back wall, since there were no more seats to be had.
Grandmaster Toric spoke. “As you can see, Milord Tuddlehead, we do not have enough room in this meeting for extraneous visitors at this time. Please remove yourself from the hall. I promise you, all decisions made by this Consulate this evening—if any—will be printed up within two days by the Binders Guild and posted on the reading boards at all city squares and in all public taverns.”
Elcarei was made of sterner, and quicker-witted, stuff than that. He did not leave, but instead he lifted his chin. “Then I petition the right to represent all mages within Heias Precinct, as I am the most powerful, most highly trained mage present, and I have already held the rank of grandmaster in another guild, so that surely qualifies me for a high rank in the incipient Mages Guild.”
Alonnen, again proving himself bolder than Rexei ever would have been, leaned forward and spoke bluntly, if with a smile on his spell-altered face. “Sorry, milord, but we already have one of those . . . and by the duly ratified Charter of the Mages Guild, all members of Mekha’s priesthood, past, present, and future, have been banned in perpetuity from ever joining. I’m sure you’ll realize why.”
Two red blotches of color appeared on the ex-archbishop’s face. They had nothing to do with the contrast between the snowstorm outside and hearth-heated air inside. Eyes wide, mouth tight with fury, Elcarei lifted his chin. “If you think you know anything about magic, you untrained, savage—”
“You’re outnumbered.” Rexei didn’t know where this sense of rebellion in the last two days was coming from, but she swallowed and met Elcarei’s gaze as the archbishop turned to face her. His eyes narrowed in recognition, but she lifted her chin anyway. “Remember? You set all your God-drained prisoners free. One hundred,” she emphasized, pushing away from the wall to stalk slowly toward him, “and fifty-three. Some of them have recovered. Some of them may even be in this room right now, under disguise. And there are many more mages roaming this land, ones that you never captured.
“You are outnumbered, ex-priest . . . and you are a fool if you think you can just take anything from anyone ever again, by spell or by force.” She stopped just beyond arm’s reach and lifted her chin. “If that’s what you think. So. Which are you? A wise man or a fool?”
His lip curled up in a sneer, and his gaze slid down over her body and back. “A fool, to have been fooled by the likes of you. Congratulations, boy. You had me actually believing you were a lackwit. Be grateful you aren’t a mage. Mekha would have drained you dry the moment you crossed the temple threshold . . . and I would have done nothing to stop Him.”
“We noticed,” Toric stated dryly from his seat at the center of the table.
“I want my cap back,” Rexei said, remembering the worries from yesterday that they could track her down by a stray hair caught in its wool. “And my jacket.”
“Your cap and your jacket?” Elcarei asked, taken aback by her demand.
“Yes. If you haven’t noticed, it’s bloody cold outside, and I’d like my cap and my coat back. You shoved me out the temple door before I could fetch either,” she reminded him. “The others in the Servers Guild lost theirs as well. You need to return them.”
“And why should I?” the ex-priest challenged her. “You were in my temple under false pretenses.”
“Wrong. I am a Gearman. I’m allowed to go anywhere under the direction of the Consulate. I was sent into the temple to investigate rumors of improper conduct against members of the Servers Guild,” she explained. She glanced at the Precinct captain, then looked back at Elcarei. “I will confess that from what I saw, you haven’t done anything wrong against the Servers, but if you keep my cap and coat, that’s theft. For that matter, I could accuse Novice Stearlen of raping one of the women you were keeping below ground . . . since he was taking her without her consent after Mekha vanished, and that means after your guild was legally dissolved, taking with it your God-cursed right to do whatever you wished with non-priestly . . . mages.”
“Stand down, Journeyman Longshanks,” Grandmaster Toric stated. As Rexei backed up, striving to hide how her hands wanted to shake, he said, “Private Citizen Tuddlehead, you will return all such belongings still held within the temple’s confines to the Consulate, with such notes as you can deliver regarding the names and identities of their owners. Doing so through this facility will protect your fellow ex-priests from any . . . upset feelings. You will have three days to comply. For now, you and your companions are dismissed from this Consulate meeting.
“Now please go. Your continued presence will only cause more problems at this point in time.” Toric held Elcarei’s gaze until the latter lifted his chin, turned on his heel, and strode for the doors, pushing past the other three priests with tightly contained anger. Aiming a dark look of his own at Rexei, Hansu turned and followed, as did the other two velvet-clad men.
Rexei waited for the doors to shut behind the priests, then waited a few seconds more for her knees to stop feeling like they were going to collapse. Only then did she move back to the wall. As she did so, Guild Master Grenfallow stood and cleared her throat.
Grandmaster Toric, as arbitrator of the Consulate meeting, nodded to her. She sat down again, once acknowledged, and settled in to listen. Rexei leaned against the back wall, hand digging into her shoulder pouch in search of her crocheting needle.
“Right, then. I am Grandmaster Toric of the Gearmen’s Guild, and leader of the Heias Precinct Consulate. This emergency meeting was called by one of the local Guild Masters to discuss the disappearance of the God of Engineering from Mekhana and what that means to the guilds of all regions near and far.
“Given the short notice of the meeting and the inclement weather, we are very honored to welcome the Guild Masters visiting from our neighboring Precincts of Tanis, Luxon, Velchei, Grandsong, and Hollowfeld.” Several of the Guild Masters dipped their head at the introduction, including Grenfallow. “Your local guild chapters are pleased you could attend, and the rest of us are grateful you are willing to represent your people.
“Our first order of business is brought to us by Guild Master Saranei Grenfallow of the Actors Guild, as well as by a fellow Guild Master, who claims the following piece of business will have some impact on the rest of our discussions. Guild Master Grenfallow, please rise and state your business,” Toric directed her.
The middle-aged redhead nodded graciously and rose. “It has been brought to my attention that a journeyman Actor in our midst has just spent the last two months fooling the priests of this town. After consulting with my guild’s grandmasters, and hearing the, ah, freely expressed testimony of the ex-grandmaster of the former Priests Guild of Heiastowne confirming the deception . . . it is my pleasure to elevate Rexei Longshanks to the rank of Master Actor.”
“Witnessed!” Alonnen called out from his seat among the other Guild Masters. A few others echoed him. Rexei, taken aback, forced herself to move toward Saranei Grenfallow, who was digging in a pouch at her waist.
The medallion dug out was slightly larger than the journeyman discs dangling from Rexei’s necklace. On it was stamped the two masques of the Actors Guild, the crying face of Tragedy and the laughing face of Comedy. She had actually carved similar symbols during her apprenticeship and journeyman days in the Engravers Guild, though not the one that had been used to strike this particular disc.
Stringing it on a bit of crumpled ribbon also pulled from the depths of her pouch, the Guild Master draped the coin around Rexei’s head. “Welcome to the rank of Master Actor, Longshanks. Remember that with this rank comes the responsibility to represent the Guild favorably and well, to teach your apprentices carefully, and to understand that, as in any craft, there is always room for improvement. Even at higher ranks.”
“Thank you,” Rexei murmured, clasping and shaking the hand the older woman offered her. “I, ah, wasn’t expecting this, but thank you.”
“You’ve earned it,” Saranei told her. She turned, still holding Rexei’s hand. “Grandmaster Toric, this young Master Actor is a journeyman Gearman. That means he is also a journeyman in two other guilds. But now that he has a master’s rank . . . ?”
The grandmaster took the hint. “We have a motion to elevate Journeyman Rexei Longshanks to the rank of Master Gearman, and with it, the right to be listed as a permanent Sub-Consul capable of representing any unrepresented Guild wherever he may go, and the right to be granted the rank of Consul on a temporary basis as needed to represent those guilds which he has served in good standing,” Toric stated dryly. “Any objections?”
“Yes, what’s his age?” one of the Guild Masters near the far end of the table asked.
“Almost twenty-two,” Alonnen answered for her. “And the ‘lad’ has served in thirty Guilds. Thirty-one, including my own.” His words stirred murmurs of discussion among the audience and the Guild Masters alike. Raising his voice, Alonnen explained. “The priests kept stumbling across his . . . abilities . . . so he kept moving on to new venues and new identities.”
Sometimes the priests, Rexei thought. But sometimes the grabby hands of men and women who thought a young apprentice, or even a journeyman, could be taken advantage of . . . Not often, but it did happen occasionally. Each time I reported it to the next-highest guildmember and picked a new guild. Not an unfamiliar tune, though many would simply have picked a new master or grandmaster in the same guild to learn under in some other town. But mostly the priests, yes.
“That is an understandable reason for switching careers. I am surprised that you managed to gain journey status in three different guilds, lad,” Toric allowed, nodding his head at Rexei, “but if you can fool the . . . ex-priesthood for two months straight, you’ve clearly earned your Master Actor rank. Any objections? . . . None? Motion granted,” he stated, cracking his mallet on its anvil once. “Journeyman Callis? There you are . . . Fetch a Master Gearman medallion from my office, if you please. Master Rexei, as you are from outside the Heias Precinct, you are invited to join the rest of us as a discussion arbiter. Good luck trying to find a seat, but do stay at that end of the table and help maintain order.”
Bowing, Rexei settled in to stand behind Saranei Grenfallow. The leader of the Actors Guild sighed and patted the bench next to her, shifting just enough to make room for Rexei to sit. Grateful, she sank onto the bench next to the older woman . . . who leaned in and murmured in her ear.
“Good job on fooling everyone that you’re a male, too,” the Guild Master said quietly while the grandmaster paused for a moment or two of quiet discussion among the audience members. “You might want to consider hiding your throat as you get older; men usually have an apple-lump there, while women do not.”
Since there wasn’t much she could say to that, Rexei merely dipped her head.
“The next piece of business is a petition by Guild Master Tall. You also said this one will pertain heavily to the discussion of Mekha’s removal and the fate of this kingdom as well?” Toric asked Alonnen.
“Yes, Grandmaster, although it is not actually my place to say. Master Longshanks has a presentation to make to all of us,” Alonnen stated.
Rexei wished she could shoot him a dirty look. She had just sat down, she was still a bit wobbly from the shock and the honor of her rise in rank—double rise, Gearman as well as Actor—and now he wanted her to leap straight into the heart of their problems? She wanted to scowl and stick out her tongue. But as every Gearman apprentice was taught, one did not act rudely within a Consulate meeting. Particularly when one sat at the head table. Sighing instead, she dug into her messenger bag, down past the wool, and pulled out her notes.
“I can now see why you chose to urge a higher rank onto the young man,” Grandmaster Toric stated dryly as she readied herself.
Alonnen shrugged, elbows braced on the table and hands clasped in front of his face. “I merely pointed out the extraordinary abilities which Longshanks has already displayed. Grand Master Grenfallow chose to enact the elevation under the standards and qualifications required by her guild.”
“Very well. Rise, Master Longshanks, and make your presentation.”
Catching the grandmaster’s nod, Rexei rose, a small sheaf of papers in her hands. She tried not to let them tremble visibly. A bow, and she began.
“Thank you for your attention, Guild Masters, grandmasters, masters, journeymen, and apprentices.” She paused, tightened her gut to speak a little louder so that all could hear, and checked the opening statements she had painstakingly organized on the topmost page. And, since she was an actor, she let her voice sharpen a little with emotion as she began. “As you may know by now, Mekha, the long-burdensome False God of Mekhana, so-called Patron of Engineering, is now gone.
“We have received word that the Convocation of Gods and Man has indeed been reinstated, and with the visible removal of His symbols and His powers from our land, this means that the promises pledged to us by Knight-Priestess Orana Niel have come true. She has confronted the Dead God and presented our blood-signed petitions, gathered over the generations, to have Mekha removed from our land as a False Patron. His powers, ambitions, and accursed hungers shall plague us no more, which is a cause for rejoicing.
“However . . . this leaves us without a Patron God or Goddess . . . and in this new era of the Convocation, any kingdom that lacks a Patron Deity is now at a severe political, economical, and theological disadvantage. Should our neighboring lands decide they wish to invade us, we will have no Divine energies to lend to our militia in thwarting any would-be conquerors. We shall have no voice at the Convocation and no representatives. We will be nothing . . . unless we select, as swiftly as possible, a new Patron Deity.
“I, therefore, wish to propose a new Patron Goddess to the people of . . . to the people of the Heias Precinct and to its nearest neighbors,” she allowed, stopping herself from saying the kingdom’s old name. She tipped her head respectfully toward the dozen or so Guild Masters summoned from cities within a few hours’ travel of Heias. “The sooner we can unite ourselves behind a common faith which we can all agree upon, the sooner we can claim Patronage, and the sooner we can re-create ourselves formally as a new kingdom and not a lawless land ripe for anyone to harvest.
“So. Will you hear the details of my proposal?” she asked, lifting her gaze to the others in the hall.
Conversations broke out all over the room. Since they were neither loud nor heated, the head of the local Consulate allowed them to continue for a minute or so before tapping his gavel. Rexei remained on her feet as the crowd of men and women fell quiet again. “Your words of warning have merit, though I doubt we will come to a vote within a single evening, young Master Longshanks. But we will hear your petition . . . and any others that may come along.”
“There really is only one choice, Grandmaster,” Rexei stated earnestly. On this ground, she felt secure and calm, not nervous. Turning to face the crowd on the pews and benches, she addressed them. “I ask all of you, what is our true strength in this land? Is it our weapons? No, for magic can and has thwarted them. They have kept us from losing more than an inch of our kingdom in decades, but neither have we gained more than an inch. Is it our militia? No, for the same reasons, having gained or lost nothing. Was it our engineering skills, our grasp of construction and machinery?
“No . . . and it should not be such things, because these things are nothing without the framework that has kept us strong and kept us safe in spite of Mekha’s accursed hunger. What kept all of us safe was not even the rule of law,” she added, looking down the table to the midpoint, where the formidable Precinct captain sat. Somewhere out in the audience was his leftenant, Alonnen’s brother, but she didn’t look toward Rogen. “It was the system that enforced those laws. The guilds kept all of us safe.
“The guilds have organized our crafts, proposed and ratified laws, even tended to the sick and the injured. Each guild is not just an organization that teaches certain skills; each guild is a family, bound by ties of expectation and regulation, not by mere blood. So I propose that we consider turning our thoughts and our faith and our strength as a system of guilds into worshipping a force I have come to call Guildra, the Patron Goddess of Guilds.”
“A Goddess?” The question came from one of the men seated near her. She didn’t know his face or his name, but from the oval medallion he wore, he was the Guild Master of Clockworks. “Why a Goddess? Why not a God?”
“Forgive my bluntness, Guild Master,” Rexei apologized, “but the women of this kingdom are sick and tired of being forced into lesser status and rank under the thumb of a male God run by a male priesthood. We are all tired of the False God, and we need something completely different from everything that Mekha was and everything that He stood for. Which includes everything that His priesthood stood for—everything you saw for yourself when they arrogantly tried to come in here and claim their old right to force their will upon us. Do you really want to follow in their footsteps by forcing women to continue to take a subservient role, or would you rather women stand as an equal at your side, something they would not have put up with?”
The head of Clockworks shook his head, lowering his gaze.
“The Goddess I envision welcomes both genders equally into Her service,” Rexei explained. “More than that, Her priesthood should not be ranked higher than any other guild, but instead should be considered to be in the service of other guilds rather than be served by them. I propose that Her priesthood be drawn from women and men alike, so that everyone is represented equally. I propose that this new priesthood should also be like unto the Gearmen, in that anyone wishing to join should serve as an apprentice in at least three different guilds, so that Her priesthood understands the differences and the similarities in each and every guild.
“I do not propose that the Gearmen should become the new priesthood,” she added quickly, catching sight of Toric’s chest rising. She didn’t want him to interrupt. “Members of the Gearmen’s Guild may be welcome to join—and they will certainly qualify—but no one should be forced to join. More importantly, the Gearmen already hold an important position, as adjudicators and arbiters of the law. That should not be changed.
“Instead, I propose that those who would become members of the new . . . the new Holy Guild, to label it as distinct and different from the old Priests Guild,” she added, since she hadn’t been able to come up with any better name for it, “those who wish to join should be required to step down from participation in the Consulate system, because while Gearmen have a proud tradition of serving more than one guild, priests should not have the right to rule over gatherings such as this.
“We have all had it up to here,” she added, hand rising to smack the back of her fingers into the bottom of her chin, “with Mekha’s priesthood making the laws. The Holy Guild should be no more important than the Actors Guild, or the Tillers, or the Cobblers and Cordwainers, who repair and make shoes—they should have a vote in a meeting like this but not the deciding vote. So I propose that the Holy Guild, and our Goddess, be very different from all that we used to know. We all deserve something completely different!”
Her words were having an impact, for more than one head bobbed in an agreeing nod. Many did, so she increased the fervor of her proposal, her argument.
“Our Goddess should be a gentle deity whose focus is the gathering of supplies, the drafting of designs, and the crafting of the things we need to live in peace and cooperation. We shouldn’t give up the pursuit of mechanical understanding, but we should turn our weapons of war into tools for construction,” Rexei stated fervently, putting into words more than what she had put onto paper. She put her belief, sprouted and nurtured over the eleven-plus years during which she had run from all the evil that Mekha and His priesthood had inflicted upon her people. “Serving as an apprentice and a journeyman in numerous guilds, I have given the true nature of our culture many years of thought. I have even done my best to spread a symbol for this Goddess we need, so that we should have something to look forward to one day. And while I never thought to see this chance happen in my lifetime, this opportunity is upon us now.
“I’m sure you have all seen the symbol by now: The paintbrush, through which we design all that is best in our lives,” she recited, looking up often from her notes to make sure she caught the eyes of a woman here, a man there. “The hammer, with which we craft all that is useful. The scythe, through which we feed and supply ourselves. Each of these forms the spokes for a gearwheel. Even the gearwheel of our engineering achievements should be accepted and welcomed, for it is by the clockworks and the engines and the pistons and the whatevers that we have improved our magicless lives. Guildra shall be a Goddess of creation, not destruction. Guildra is a Goddess of cooperation, not deceit.
“Guildra is, therefore, a manifestation of everything the guilds already stand for: law, order, creation, innovation, cooperation, peace, and rankings based not upon our ambitions but upon our qualifications. That is who and what we deserve as our Patron,” she asserted, watching the sea of faces staring at her . . . and now staring past her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but Rexei strove to continue. “We are not going to fall into lawlessness, because we have the Guild System in our blood and in our bones supporting these things, the ways and means of cooperation and organization.
“We don’t have to invent any new concept to gain a true Patron of this land. Let our Patron be the Patron of the Guilds, and let Guildra be the Goddess of a new land. Let Mekhana dissolve along with its False God, and let Guildara rise and take its rightful place in the world. Guildara, which means the Land of the Guilds, overseen and guarded by Guildra, the Goddess of Guilds,” she finished, spreading her hands in the hopes of emphasizing her words enough to recapture her audience’s attention. “Because this is what we are and have always been, even when crushed under the will of the False God, Mekha.”
It didn’t work. They continued to stare past her shoulders, though all she could sense magically was a cool, clean feeling, like soaking hot, sore feet in a shaded, spring-fed pool in the summertime—refreshing not shocking. But there wasn’t supposed to be anyone behind her. Uneasy, Rexei turned and peered over her shoulder as well.