Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor (8 page)

Sometimes mistakes happened. And when they did, He gathered up the broken shards with infinite patience, put them back in His furnace, and began again.

The more conventional analogy—and the one that the Sunpriests favored—was to compare Him to a swordmaker. But it had come to Alberich that He was really nothing like a swordmaker; for one thing, the vast majority of the people He made were not creatures of war. And for another, few of them were tempered and honed. Most of them were simply made, humble creatures of common use, as perfectly suited to their lives as a thick pressed-glass window. Some were merely ornamental, like a bead. Some were honed and polished like the glass scalpels the Healers used for the most careful surgery. But they all came from the same hands, and the same place.

Better window glass was made in the same way as mirror glass, and required a glassblower as well. Alberich had been rather surprised by that when Master Cuelin told him; it had not occurred to him that one would use the same technique that created a goblet or a vase to make a flat pane of glass.

But, in fact, that was precisely how it was made. Glass was blown into a bubble of the right thickness, the bubble was then rolled against a flat and highly-polished metal plate to form a cylinder, the ends were swiftly cut off the cylinder and the cylinder slit up the middle while the glass was still soft enough to “relax,” and the resulting pane unrolled itself onto the plate and cooled flat. A master of the craft created a flat, rectangular pane of even thickness with irregularities so few as to be trivial.

But of course, the larger the pane—or mirror—the more difficult the task of blowing and cutting. Something the size of the mirror in the salle was going to be extremely difficult to do.

And in fact, it was Master Cuelin himself who was taking the first tries at it. A pile of rejected shards to one side testified that he had already tried and failed a time or two this morning.

“Ah, I give over,” he said, as Alberich arrived. “I thought I'd give it a try, but I've not the lungs anymore. I'll stick to my colored glasses and let young Elkin here do what he does best.”

But “young” Elkin—who was older than Alberich—shook his head. “It won't come quick, Master Cuelin,” he said honestly. “I've never done aught that big. I'll need to work up to it.”

“I wouldn't expect anything else, my lad,” Cuelin told him. “Give it time; you'll manage. Kernos knows so long as you don't make the mess of it that I just did, we can find buyers for the smaller panes and mirrors while you work your way up to the right size.”

“Are you sure of that, Master?” the other craftsman asked, surprised.

Cuelin laughed, and pulled off his leather gauntlets. “Certain sure. You just wait; as soon as word gets out that we're replacing a salle mirror up there on the hill, there'll be a stream of highborn servants at the door. ‘If you'd happen to have a spare window glass, so-by-so, Master Cuelin . . . if you're like to have a mirror for milady's dressing table . . .'
They
know we have to work our way up to a pane that big, and
they
know they'll get a bargain they wouldn't get if they'd commissioned those glass panes and mirrors special. Then it'll be the polishing, and then the silvering, and that'll be a bit tricky as well. Master Alberich, I want to show you something that'll catch your interest, aye, and you, too, Elkin—I had the Collegium servants bring me down the old glass, and when I got it, this is what I found.”

He held up a shard of silvered glass. “This'll be from the top of your mirror—” and a second, “—and this'll be from the bottom. Now, what d'ye think of that?”

The top shard was clearly thinner than the bottom. Alberich scratched his head. “Glass not so good as you can make it?” he hazarded.

Cuelin laughed. “Oh, flattery! No, no, it was fine glass, and we'll be hard put to match it. But I'll reckon that mirror was over two hundred years old if it was a day, Master Alberich. Maybe more. And when it was made, top to bottom was the same thickness.”

He wanted Alberich to look puzzled; with some amusement, Alberich obliged him. “Then, how?” he asked.

“Glass never quite
sets,
Master Alberich,” Cuelin told him. “It's like slow water, my old Master told me. Believe it or not, it keeps flowing—oh, slow, too slow to notice, but over a century or two, or three, you look, you'll see that any glass has got thicker at the bottom than it is at the top. Mind, most of it doesn't stay unbroken long enough to find that out, 'specially with lads like your two troublemakers about, but there you have it. You can tell the age of a piece by how thick it's got on the bottom compared to the top.”

Alberich examined the two shards, then passed them on to Elkin, and blinked at that, and tried to get his mind wrapped around the idea of something that flowed that slowly. “I am—astonished,” he admitted after a moment. “Astonished.”

“Wonderful stuff, is glass,” Master Cuelin said with pride and pleasure. “And I'll see to it your lads get their heads stuffed full of more than they ever cared to learn about it. No point in exercising their arms and leaving their heads to come up with more mischief. I'll send them back up the hill on time for their classes, though, no worry. And—” he took a slip of paper out of a pocket in his tunic and consulted it, “—I see I'm to expect them back down here at fourth bell, and keep them until our suppertime. We eat late, mind.”

“Correct,” Alberich said. “Be here, they will be. Fed, they will be when they arrive, then they must study for the morrow, then bed.”

Cuelin laughed. “If they've strength enough to hold up their heads without falling into their books, I'll be main surprised.”

Alberich took his leave of the Master with better humor than he had arrived in; clearly Cuelin understood boys, and was quite prepared to handle them as they needed to be handled. Mical's horse and Adam's Companion were comfortably housed, as the Weaponsmaster saw when he went to fetch Kantor, so Alberich left them in peace. The horse was happy enough; the Companion still looked subdued.

:An interesting place. Have you ever thought of glasswork as a hobby?:
Kantor asked, as Alberich mounted.

:I think I would not be good enough to satisfy myself:
Alberich replied truthfully. They rode out into the street; already, the industrious craftsmen here had gotten it cleared, and the snow had been piled up along the walls.
:Why was the boy's Companion so quiet?:

:Because he is as much to blame as the children,:
Kantor told him.
:Apparently, he was in league with them. He is very young.:

Alberich snorted.
:He must be. I thought your kind had better sense.:

Kantor sighed gustily.
:Those of us who are older, are. Some of us, like Eloran—are young.:

:Have you got any plans for delivering some sort of chastisement to Eloran?:
Alberich asked after a moment, while he tried to sort out the meaning behind his words and couldn't come up with anything.

:Oh, yes,:
came the reply.
:Rolan and I have devised something quite—appropriate.:

And since nothing else was forthcoming, Alberich's curiosity had to remain unassuaged.

S
ELENAY looked out of a window in the Long Gallery on the way to her Lesser Audience Chamber and sighed with regret. The garden was alive with color and movement against the snow—the brilliantly colored cloaks, coats, and hoods of the younger members of her Court as they chased one another, flung snowballs, and generally forgot any pretense of dignity. Young men who had lately fought the Tedrels had cast aside their adulthood for a few hours as they fired snowballs at pages safely ensconced behind the sturdy walls of a snow fort. Young ladies giggled and joined the pages in flinging missiles back at their suitors. Others were on the way to frozen ponds with skates slung over their shoulders, or moving toward the artificial hills in the “wild” garden with sleds. Selenay would have given a year of her life to be down there with them.

Alas. The Queen had an audience with the ambassador from Hardorn, and there was no time for frolicking in the snow, no time for skating, no time for a fast run on a sled.

Curse it.

She nodded to the guards on either side of the door of the Lesser Audience Chamber and went inside. She'd had the room repainted in softer colors than her father had favored, though she couldn't do much about the leather paneling, which had been there for decades and would probably be there for decades more. It was easy to keep clean and looked far more luxurious than anything she could install to replace it; she'd settled for painting the trim an ashen brown with silver-gilt touches here and there. The Ambassador and his entourage were already waiting, as was Talamir. Bless him. It was clear he had been keeping the Ambassador properly entertained; although such gentlemen were notable for being able to conceal any evidence of impatience, the smile Ambassador Werenton turned on her was quite genuine and warm, and his eyes were relaxed. He wore the fine shirt, tunic, trews, and floor-length, open vest in the current Valdemaran style, which was a little disappointing. She'd wanted to see what the Hardornan mode was, for the talk was that the new Queen was quite a fashion setter.

She gave him her hand; he bowed over it, and she was pleased to note that his hand was warm and dry, not cold or clammy. She took her place on the small, velvet-covered throne on the sketchy dais, and motioned to him to sit. This was a room meant to welcome rather than awe; the warm ocher of the leather-covered paneling and the aspect of it, situated so that it looked out into a sheltered courtyard, made it surprisingly comfortable for a formal room. The furnishings were all upholstered in leather that matched the paneling, and the floor carpeted; there was a fine fire in the fireplace, and servants with mulled, spiced wine to serve. Everything that could have been done to relax the Ambassador and his entourage had been—more of Talamir's work, no doubt.

“Ambassador Werenton, it is good to see you again,” she said warmly. “And I am glad that you were able to reach our Court before this snow closed us in.”

“As am I, Majesty,” he replied. “And my King wishes me, first, to tender his sympathies for your loss, and second, offer his apologies that he was not able to send me sooner.”

She smiled at him, and hoped that her weariness with all of the official expressions of condolence did not show. She knew very well that the King of Hardorn could have cared less about who was on the throne of Valdemar. He knew that Valdemar would
always
favor allies and peace over conquest. In fact, so long as that attitude prevailed, the King of Hardorn would not have cared if the Council had elected a horse to wear the crown. “Please, Werenton—the message of condolence arrived with the usual promptiness of our friends and allies, and I can certainly understand how your King would be otherwise too occupied with his own defensive preparations against Karse to think about sending you to our Court.”

“If Valdemar had fallen—or even been pushed back—” Werenton said apologetically, and shrugged. “We share a border with Karse, as you know. The King was prepared, at need, to unite our force with yours if it had come to that. As it was, the defeated Tedrels spread into our land, and we were forced to deal with them as one would any other plague.”

The King would not have bestirred himself unless his Border Lords forced him to,
she translated to herself.
In fact, it probably wouldn't have been the King of Hardorn who united his forces with us at all; it would have been the local Hardornen border-levies.

“And your King was right to concern himself first with them, and concern himself with other things second,” Selenay agreed. “I am glad it never came to the point of asking our allies for help.”

She knew, and probably the Ambassador did, too, that the reason her father hadn't asked Hardorn for troops was precisely because there was no telling what the Tedrels were going to do for certain. Yes, Karse had hired them to take Valdemar. But if Hardorn's border troops had been removed to bolster Valdemaran forces, leaving that border unguarded, the Tedrels would probably have taken southern Hardorn and come at Valdemar from the eastern flank. The King of Hardorn was a good man, and served his people well—but he was not a very good strategist, nor were any of his military advisers, sad to say. All of them were old men, and more accustomed to dealing with the odd bandit force than a real campaign. Karse's long-standing and increasingly hostile feud with Valdemar had ensured that Hardorn had been very little troubled over the past two reigns. Her father had deemed it wise not to distract Hardorn's king with—as he had put it—“conflicting needs.”

She had better say something flattering, before her mouth let something unflattering escape. “And am I to understand that congratulations will shortly be in order?” Selenay continued, with a slight smile.

“We do expect the birth of an heir before spring, yes,” Werenton admitted. He did not mention that the young Queen was only a little older than Selenay, nor that the King was older than Sendar had been. Nor did Selenay make anything of it. She was just grateful that the King of Hardorn had married
before
the death of her own father. Now at least there was one old man who was out of the running as a potential suitor. Had he still been single—his previous wife having died without producing a living heir—there soon would have been advisers on both sides of the Border clamoring for a match between them.

“I will have to rack my brain to find a unique birth gift, then,” Selenay replied. “I'm sure that by now His Majesty has an entire room given over to silver rattles and ivory teething rings.”