by Jean Johnson
“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, master
s, 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.
