The Guild

TEN

This time, when she surfaced from the depths of sleep, Rexei knew where she was, who she was with, and what position she had taken. Well, maybe not the latter. She remembered going to sleep next to Alonnen, each in their own half of the bed, and not snuggled with him in the middle of it, but she knew who he was and that they were in a bed in a room in the best brothel in Heiastowne.

They hadn’t started out in bed together, but after listening to the head of the Mages Guild squirm and shift for roughly two hours on the not-quite-long-enough couch, Rexei had given up and ordered him to share the bed. She had pointed out that they were both in undershorts and shirts, that they were quite capable of sleeping chastely, and that she trusted him . . . and that he could trust her in return, “ . . . honest!” That had provoked a chuckle from him and convinced him to join her on the feather-stuffed mattress.

It had not been meant as a ploy to get him snuggled up along her side, with that long nose of his pressed into the side of her neck . . . except . . . Wait . . . did I pull him over to me? I think I did . . . Yeah, I did! He was snoring something awful, Rexei recalled, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling over the bed. The air was cold on her face and head, but she wasn’t quite ready to get up and tend the coals in the iron stove off to the side. I remember I poked him, and he rolled toward me, and he almost shut up. So I poked him, he rolled back, it got worse . . . so I pulled him back over to me by his shirt. Yeah.

So this is all my fault.

Staring up at the ceiling, she was very aware of how much of Alonnen’s body touched hers. By luck and the grace of his position, her arm hadn’t gone numb under the weight of his shoulder and cheek. One of his arms had wrapped around her ribs, with his fingers tucked under her back, no doubt enjoying the warmth of being draped between her flesh and the feather-stuffed mattress. His chest and stomach warmed her from ribs to hip. And his right thigh lay atop hers, almost wrapped around it.

That meant his groin was snugged against her hip, replete with the distinct lump of his masculinity. Rexei waited for the fear to rise and grip her with panic at that awareness . . . but . . . it didn’t. Not more than the briefest of surprised twinges rose before fading within moments. I’m not scared he’ll . . . do things to me like those men did to Mum. I guess this means I trust him. My face is hot. Am I blushing? Why am I blushing? Maybe we’re sharing too much body heat? I . . . he’s waking up?

Holding herself still, she waited for him to process where he was and who he was with, too. It didn’t quite work out that way. He breathed deep, sighed, mumbled something, and snuggled closer. The lump against her hip hardened. Another breath, and his hand shifted. Feeling her blush deepen, Rexei cleared her throat. Loudly. Before those fingers could completely cover her breast.

He stilled, drew in a third breath, and cautiously lifted his head, pushing up a bit on his other elbow. “Uhh . . . sorry? I . . . Gods, that’s cold!”

She had to agree; when Alonnen lifted himself up, that allowed a rush of cold air to fill in the gaping tunnel created by the change in position. Shivering, she reached up with her free arm and pulled the covers close. “I’d hope the fire hasn’t gone out, but I fear it did.”

Grateful she wasn’t screaming at him, Alonnen cleared his throat. “I’ll take care of that, then. Sorry about hugging you for warmth and . . . so forth. Should’ve stuck to the couch . . .”

“I still trust you.” The words blurted out of her even as Rexei hugged the quilts to her chest. Not because she feared what might be exposed—she was wearing her linen undershirt, after all—but because the room was cold, and he was moving to get out of the bed, which meant cold air was moving to get in and take his place.

Alonnen stilled, pondered her words, then nodded slowly. “Good. I’ll, ah, try to remain trustworthy . . . if I don’t freeze to death. It’s rather bright in here, isn’t it?”

Craning her neck, Rexei peered at the windows beyond the bed frame. The curtains had been closed when they had entered and were still closed, but a great deal of light was seeping around their edges. A glance at the clock mounted on the wall showed it was only mid-morning.

“Well, it’s daylight, but that is a lot of light. I’d say the storm broke,” she offered, twisting to follow his movements as he padded to one of the windows. The maneuver had the added benefit of wrapping her up firmly in the bedding, cutting off further drafts.

Pushing the curtain aside, Alonnen squinted and shielded himself from the bright sunlight with a hand, then closed the curtain, found his tinted viewing lenses, and tried again. Squinting through the blue-hued glass, he peered at the world outside.

“We’re not going anywhere for a while,” he stated. Drawing the curtains shut again, he shook his head. “There’s a full foot of snow outside, and no one’s cleared the streets yet. No wonder it’s bloody cold—keep my spot warm for me, will you?”

“If you insist,” Rexei found herself teasing. “But I’ll require a tithe in exchange for all this warmth. Once I figure out what that should be, I’ll let you know.”

Alonnen tried not to shiver. He hurried to the refreshing room and used it, since it was too cold not to feel the need, then returned to the stove. Peering inside, he jiggled the handle to sift the ash out of the bottom, and unburied a few peach-glowing embers. Heaving the coal bucket up to the door, he used a bit of magic to move the black lumps around, spreading them evenly over each other and the remnants of the fire. Once that was done, he hurried back to the bed.

“C’mon, give me some room. I’m not getting out of this bed again until it’s bloody warm,” he ordered, climbing in beside her.

She let him tug the covers over, but the cold air got to her, too. Scrambling free, she used the refreshing room as well, then hurried back. It was horribly cold in the room, not much different than her own bolt-hole would have been, but Rexei took great comfort in the fact that she didn’t have to get up and go to work cleaning the many public rooms of the temple this morning.

“I am so very glad I got to quit the other day,” she muttered, trying not to let her teeth chatter. Tugging the bedding a little higher, she gave up trying to be polite about sharing the warmth and just rolled herself right up against the older mage’s side. “I don’t have t-to try to slog through the snow to the temple, and I don’t have to scrub any stone floors in f-freezing-cold temperatures.”

Alonnen twisted onto his side, wrapping her in his arms as well as the blankets and quilts. Their knees bumped, tangled, then intertwined when he pulled her close enough to rub her upper arm and her back for warmth. “Neither of us have to go anywhere. Not until the roads are cleared. And as neither of us is in the Roadworks Guild . . .”

“I was. When I was fifteen,” she added.

“Oh, right, the brickwork medallion,” he muttered, remembering that one. “It’s hard to keep track of all the discs you’re entitled to wear . . . ah. Sorry about that,” he added, blushing and scooting his hips back a bit. “It has a mind of its own in the mornings.”

“It’s, um . . .” She blushed herself. At his inquiring look, she blushed harder, struggling to come to grips with the odd thoughts flitting through her head. For the first time in her life—or at least what felt like it—she finally understood the “fuss” everyone made of moments like this. The pleasant sort of fuss, that was. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”

The way she snuck a peek up at his face made Alonnen wince a little. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like you want me to kiss you,” he told her candidly. “Because if you don—”

She kissed him. It was awkward, it was short, the tip of his nose bumped her cheekbone, and it ended within just a few seconds. Feeling like she was blushing all over, Rexei cleared her throat. “I-It’s okay. I told you I trust you.”

Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Rexei, don’t tell a man that. Not when I’m trying to respect you.”

“I can’t help it!” she argued defensively. “I don’t know how all of this is supposed to work. The only thing I know how to do is either lie or tell the truth, and since I feel like it’d be wrong to lie to you, I’m telling you the truth. I . . . like you. A lot.”

Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily but hugged her close. A kiss on her short-cropped hair, and Alonnen returned the sentiment. “I like you, too. A lot. But we’re going to go slow and get to know each other.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to go stomping full on the galloper-pedal on this motorhorse, when I feel like I barely know how to steer it just yet,” she muttered into his shoulder. Then mumbled, “I don’t know what romance is like. Not from the inside.”

An odd thought made him chuckle. When she shifted in his arms, Alonnen explained it. “I can see why you picked a Goddess of Guilds, instead of a Goddess of Romance, then.”

That got him a pinch on his ribs, which got her a yelp in her ear. They tussled for a moment, until the covers shifted, sending cold air between their bodies. Shivering, both yanked up the bedding at the same time, cuddled close, and behaved themselves while the coals slowly caught in the stove and worked on heating the room.

At some point, Rexei drifted off to sleep again, but Alonnen stayed awake for a while. He thought about what she had said, about what had happened the previous night, and tried to figure out how all these disparate pieces would fit together in a way that would stop a demonic invasion. Thinking about demons was far safer than thinking about the fact that she wanted to kiss him, after all.

• • •

“Oh! Uh . . . sorry,” Rexei stammered, taken aback by the sight of a woman in the Consulate’s talker-box room. “I thought this was empty.”

“I take it you need it?” the older woman asked, swiveling to face the door. She started to say more, then held up her finger, listening to the cone held to her ear. Turning back to the machine, she spoke into it, some sort of confirmation and a request for more people.

Rexei wondered idly if the woman’s conversation had to do with last night’s meeting. Possibly, from the sound of things. She studied the other woman, taking in the dark wool trousers and thick-knitted sweater, not much different from Rexei’s own, save for a subtle pattern down the front and along the neck and cuffs. The smaller rooms of the Consulate were heated by those new boiler-fed pipes, so the woman wasn’t wearing a cap or bundled up in a coat. Her ash-brown hair had been pulled up into a bun; from the size of the knot, it looked like it would be fairly long when unwound.

Absently rubbing her own short, dark locks, Rexei wondered if she’d ever get a chance to grow them out without fear. Probably not for a long while. Not until we’re so firmly a new kind of kingdom and Guildra is so firmly our Goddess, that She has the power to flick away the old priesthood like I’d flick a bug off a fence rail.

“. . . There we go. Do you know how to operate a talker-box?” the woman asked, turning back to her.

Nodding, Rexei pulled out her necklace of discs and sorted out one of the three medium-sized coins. The other woman raised her brows at the sight of so many coins, then slowly nodded.

“I see. So, you’re Master Longshanks. Or rather, Guild Master Longshanks. Gabria told me about you last night.” The woman smiled with one side of her mouth and held out her hand. “I’m Marta Grenspun, Clockworks Guild and Precinct clerk. Today’s my rest day, so I came here. I was going to use the Precinct’s talker-box to start making calls on behalf of this new kingdom idea you’ve tossed out there, but the Hammer of Heiastowne put his foot down.” Her half smile gained a wry wince to it. “It’s not Precinct militia business, so out I had to go.

“So. Here I am, networking with my fellow clerks and kinsmen, trying to spread the word of Guildra and Guildara. On your behalf,” she added, pointing a finger at Rexei.

That took the younger woman aback. Blinking, Rexei asked, “You’re not afraid of . . . of Guildra’s manifestation? Or of me, for summoning a Goddess?”

The smile Marta gave Rexei was wry, and only on one side of her mouth. “I’m not Gabria. In the ‘m’ sense, as well as by personality—she’s my dearest friend, don’t get me wrong, but she’s the shy, creative type, while I’m a natural-born organizer. And you, young lad—or lady, whichever you prefer—need organizing.”

Rexei blanched. She quickly shut the door to the talker-box room, hissing, “She told you that?”

Marta blinked. “What? Oh no! Gabria would never betray anyone else,” she denied firmly. “No, I figured it out for myself, the moment I saw you just now. I’ve met many women who dress as men, particularly those who work in the factories and among the militia ranks. In fact, I tend to do it myself. It makes dealing with the men in the Precinct offices easier. Speaking of which, what sort of militia-based role do you see women accepting? Strictly clerical and other forms of support, or do you picture them taking up arms and defending this new nation of Guildara?”

Caught on the spot, Rexei stammered. “I . . . that is . . . uh . . . I-I don’t think a . . . a member of the Holy Guild should . . .”

“I think you should think about these things. Remember, we suffered in part because what the deity is all about, the kingdom becomes,” Marta told her. “Now, since I have personally seen it, I know that women can be just as effective as men in combat, if they are given training appropriate to their strengths and their reflexes.”

“But women aren’t as strong as men,” Rexei stated, bemused by the turn of conversation. She had come in here to use the talker-box to contact other Consulates to find Gearmen apprentices willing to serve in the new Holy Guild, and . . . Marta was shaking her head. “What?”

“Longshanks, Mekha gave us all that mechanical knowledge to augment our abilities. It honestly does not matter if it’s a man or a woman steering a motorhorse. It does not matter if it’s a man or a woman maneuvering around in a motorman suit. Both can do so equally well. It doesn’t even matter all that much if it’s a man or a woman operating a cannon, save that it may take two women to easily load the munitions into the chamber, versus one man with a bit of effort or one woman having to struggle hard. But they can all load the cannon and fire it. Not that I advocate going to war, but I do strongly suggest we prepare ourselves to defend against it.”

“Well . . . good,” Rexei agreed, seizing on that. “Because my Goddess does not want to go to war. We’ll stand ready to defend against it, but . . . but we’ll only take on those who want to join us. None of this forcing ourselves on others. That’s nonsense and does nothing to ensure that our Patron will be a strong one, capable of standing strong in the face of anything. The False God certainly wasn’t strong. We’ll accept only those cities who want Her, because we won’t be like Him.”

That half smile came back, this time more amused than wry. Marta lounged back against the talker-box desk. “He wasn’t very strong, was He? What made you think up that antiwar policy?”

“Because . . . well, because He was all about war and conquest, yet we’d not managed to make our borders budge any bigger,” Rexei said. “We’re lucky the Arbrans and the Aurulans and the Sundarans haven’t been interested in claiming a single inch more for their own lands. And we’re lucky the northeastern barbarians haven’t enough organization, magic, or militia to do more than hold their borders.”

Marta winced. “Please, that’s not the diplomatic way to address them. They’re hardly barbarians. They’re just small, clan-organized, city-sized kingdoms, each with a God or Goddess no more powerful than Mekha was. Now, what do you think about setting up a new capital city? Should we do it in the same place as the old one?”

“Where the Patriarch lives?” Rexei asked, quirking her brows. “Are you crazy? We’ll have enough problems from Archbishop Elcarei. The old capital is full of the Patriarch’s lackeys and yes-men. Besides, they only have five or seven or something Guild Masters. Heiastowne has twelve. The capital of Guildara should be located wherever the guilds are strongest, wouldn’t you think?”

Both corners of Marta’s mouth curled up, and her blue-gray eyes gleamed with good humor. It transformed her face from pleasant and full of character to actually beautiful. Rexei hoped the woman had never smiled like that around members of the priesthood.

“Heiastowne has thirteen Guild Masters,” the older woman corrected her. Not much older, not by more than a decade at most, and probably only her late twenties, if Rexei was any judge. “At least, while you reside in the Precinct. Oh, the leftenant sent his congratulations on your triple elevation,” she added. “Master Actor, Master Gearman, and Guild Master. Quite an achievement in just one night. Everyone will be expecting great things from you as a consequence.”

Those words wilted her. Abandoning the door, Rexei pulled out the other chair at the talker-box table and slumped into it. “I don’t know if I can handle this . . . I mean, I believe I’ve picked the right sort of Patron Deity for us—I truly do, and it’s quite obvious, or it was last night, but . . .” She tried to gather her thoughts instead of letting them ramble. “Miss Grenspun . . .”

“Marta, please,” the other woman said.

“Marta . . . I have no idea what I’m doing, beyond blind faith. Master Tall set me the task of writing out ideas, but . . . I’m just one person,” she confessed. “I’ve had training as a Gearman and as a Sub-Consul, I’ve seen the workings of literally dozens of guilds, and . . . Well, you’re asking me things I don’t know if I should be discussing! Mekha’s priesthood stuck their greedy, gouging fingers into everything. I don’t want my Holy Guild to be anything like that. They were political. I think the priesthood should stay out of politics, save to try to bring opposing sides to some sort of understanding, in the hopes of them reconciling through . . . through logic and calmed emotions. By remembering our similarities. That’s hardly the formula for creating a kingdom, I should think.”

“It’s a far better start than some,” Marta countered. Reaching for a bound notepad, she pulled it over and flipped through several pages of neatly written notes to the beginning. “Now, after listening to Gabria talking last night—ranting and wibbling, rather—I got up early this morning and wrote down several ideas I had. I like the idea of a new kingdom based on the faith we all have in the Guild System. There are many laws we should retain, and we’ll have to take some time to sort through all of them to see which ones were imposed by the priesthood for their own benefit rather than the benefit of all. But since you have the clearest idea—obviously—of what Guildra stands for, I was hoping to run a few preliminary ideas past you.

“If we—you and I and anyone else so inclined—all agree on what the differences should be, then we can start implementing them right away. I figured, since I am so good at organizing and thinking of little details, I could come and help you figure out all of the things that will need to be settled soon,” she explained. “So. First thought: What sort of cultural gesture or ritual should we use to invoke the thought, presence, or spirit of Guildra?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Rexei hadn’t given that any thought. Glancing down at her hands, which were knotted together, she spotted her thumb. Frowning softly, she lifted it, fingers curled in and thumb poked out sideways. “We used this symbol as a way to imagine a day when we wouldn’t have Mekha around. The thumb that we pricked our blood to sign all those petition books. Maybe we’ll keep this one? I mean, it wouldn’t do to forget where we came from, because if we forget what we suffered, we might find ourselves straying into the wrong paths again.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marta agreed, bending over her notes to mark an additional comment with a couple of underlines. “What about invoking the Goddess by name? Any specific ideas for prayers? Benedictions? Blessings?”

“‘In the guilds we trust,’ perhaps?” Rexei offered, shrugging. “And, uh . . . ‘May Guildra guide you in your tasks’ . . . ?”

“Good! Short, to the point, and easily memorized. Okay, what about the role of women in this new society? Are you going to go with an all-female priesthood?” Marta asked next, lifting one brow.

That was an easy one to answer. Rexei shook her head. “Definitely not. That’d lead to the temptation of treating men the way the old priesthood treated women. It should be a mix of both. Equals all the way.

“We may have a Goddess, but anyone can serve Her if they believe—actually, I should change my ruling that an apprentice in my guild has to first serve in three others,” she added, sitting forward as she warmed to the subject. “Rather, to advance to the rank of journeyman of the Holy Guild, he or she should agree to co-serve in at least three guilds. To be an apprentice, they just have to serve in at least two guilds.

“And to be journeyman rank, their service should preferably be from at least two different types of guilds. From among those that design and inspire, those that craft and fix, those that tend and provide, and those that advance the quality and ease of our lives—the brush, the hammer, the scythe, and the gear,” she said. “And then those of master rank should serve in at least five guilds, with one in each of the four categories, and be of at least journeyman rank or higher in two of them. . . and grandmasters should have so many years and so many guilds, with such-and-such rank . . . Sorry, I’m getting off subject, aren’t I?”

“Not to worry, I’ll just make a note of it so we can come back to it later . . .” Flipping to a new page, Marta wrote that down as well. “Right. It might be a better idea to start the apprentices with just two guilds’ worth of experiences instead of three, since you’ll have a harder time getting anyone from the more limited pool of the Gearmen’s Guild. But it’s wise to have that cross-guild understanding of how the various crafts and skills work. So. On to the next question . . .”

• • •

“You.”

Waiting in the front hall for Alonnen to finish checking via talker-box on the condition of the roads, Rexei flinched inside at the sound of the archbishop’s voice. Silently in the back of her mind, she started humming hard; she hadn’t done much of it during her long conversation with Marta Grenspun because the subject had been too fascinating for her to concentrate, but now, she needed her protective meditations.

Turning to face the middle-aged man, she gave him a bland look. “Yes, Mister Tuddlehead?”

From the narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t like being addressed as anything less than Your Holiness or Archbishop. Still, he merely gestured sharply with a slash of his hand that ran from his assistant to her. The novice at his side stepped forward and drew a coat and cap out of the cloth bags he carried. Rexei took her cap, quirked her brows at the light brown wool of the coat, then shook her head. Flushing, the young man dug deeper. Two coats later, she nodded and held out her hand for the correct one.

“Thank you,” she stated as calmly as she could. The wool jacket, she draped over her left arm; the cap, she shoved into one of its pockets. A subtle glance to the side showed that the apprentice Gearman who had been mopping melted snow off the stone floor was trying not to move, so as not to draw attention to his brown-clad self. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to draw the ex-priest’s attention.

She wasn’t sure what to make of the archbishop personally coming along to deliver her and the other Servers’ belongings. For all I know, he’s placed some sort of tracing spell on this coat. He was quite upset with me last night. As much as she wanted to curse him and kick him out of the land, Rexei’s rather lengthy chat with Marta had included a few questions about how she, the head of the new Holy Guild, should behave. Which means I need to be gracious and forgiving . . . ugh.

Taking a deep breath, she pictured her anger and her fear, imagining them as heavy bucket handles. In her mind, she opened her hands—though she kept humming to disguise her magic and hide herself from any magical traps or tracking spells—and let go of her burdens. Unbidden, words rose up within her, gracious words. She hoped Guildra would be proud of her for speaking them.

“May Guildra guide you onto a path of remorse and reparation in the days to come, Mister Tuddlehead,” she told the ex-priest. “Returning our things is an encouraging first step. One, I hope, of many that will lead you to a much more worthy and well-deserved life.”

“May who, what?” Elcarei asked, frowning in confusion.

The same quirk of courage from before made her flash him a brief smile. “Guildra. Goddess of Guilds, Protector of Heiastowne . . . and soon to be our new Patron Deity, the Goddess of Guildara. The kingdom that is about to rise from the ashes of Mekha’s many mistakes.”

Elcarei reddened at her claim. “Listen, boy—”

“Master,” she countered flatly. “It’s Master Longshanks.” Another tight smile, and she dipped her head. “I have you to thank for my elevation to the rank of Master Actor last night. Which also elevated me to the rank of Master Gearman. So I thank you.”

“Thank me, for fooling me?” he asked, his own mouth twisting into an equally tight but far less pleasant smile.

She softened hers. “Yes. You must remember that everyone here had regarded you, the Archbishop of Heiastowne, as a very astute, keen-eyed, sharp-witted man. You served a cruel, hated, and utterly unwanted master in the False God . . . but aside from that one particular flaw, no one in this town ever considered you a fool. And again, I remind you I went into the temple to investigate allegations of abuse against the members of the Servers Guild . . . and in two months found none. Not unless you count verbal abuse.”

Elcarei folded his arms across his chest. “Every master has the right to castigate an apprentice. Regardless of guild affiliation.”

“It can be carried to an irresponsible extreme,” Rexei admitted, thinking of the foulmouthed, foul-minded bastard in the Roofers Guild she had fled from after only two months of his version of verbal abuse. “But in your case, it was more a matter of dismissive arrogance than destructive vitriol. I saw no reason to mention it as a flaw in my report to the Consulate.”

Elcarei stepped forward, brows drawing together. “You dare judge me? You? A boy too young to grow a beard?”

Instinct warred with experience. Instinct said she needed to avert his wrath and avoid his attention. Years of ducking and hiding said she should apologize, grovel, and extract herself as quickly as possible from his attention. The Consulate apprentice did just that, quickly taking himself out through a side door so that he could escape further notice. She hoped he had also fled to report to one of his superiors, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

Experience, however, told instinct to shove off. Similar moments in her past had taught her that one should never back down from a bully. Particularly when one was in the right, and definitely when in a place with plenty of witnesses. Even if the apprentice had fled, off to one side, she spotted a familiar long-nosed, scarf-wrapped face coming down the hall, hair re-illusioned to look nut brown instead of ginger red.

Encouraged, she lifted her chin slightly, not budging an inch. “Physical age is no obstacle to maturity, Mister Tuddlehead. And yes, I dared to judge you. I was doing my job. By the laws under which Mekha oppressed us . . . you did an excellent job as archbishop. Do keep in mind, however, that some of those laws have now changed . . . and were changed last night by a full quorum of Guild Masters.”

He frowned, looking somewhere past her shoulder as he silently counted in his head. “I know all the Gearmen, save yourself, that were at that table. Subtracting them, the count should have been short of a full quorum.”

“That’s because we appointed a new Guild Master last night, of a new guild,” Alonnen stated, joining Rexei. He looked remarkably relaxed, for the one mage the priesthood would have cheerfully killed to get their hands on just three days before, had they known of his strength and his existence.

“What new guild?” Elcarei asked, glancing between the two of them.

“The Holy Guild. The new priesthood,” Rexei answered. It was her place to do so, though she certainly wasn’t going to tell this velvet-clad bastard who the new Guild Master was. “Those who serve Guildra, Goddess of Guilds, shall also serve the people of this land. Rather than try to bully and abuse them.”

He sucked in a sharp breath . . . but said nothing to her for her impertinence. Turning instead to his novice, he pointed at the reception desk. “Leave the rest for the ingrates to pick up. We have better things to do with our time.”

Nodding, the young man fished out the various coats, hats, and scarves from his bag and dropped them on the currently unoccupied desk. Flattening the bags, he rolled them up and stuffed them into the pockets of his long velvet overcoat, not quite as luxurious as the ex-archbishop’s but still clearly a cut above the average Mekhanan’s woolens.

“Hey, Elcarei,” Alonnen called out as the two headed for the front door. “Don’t do it.”

One hand on the door, pushing it just open enough to let in a spill of bright sunlight and cold air, the ex-priest frowned back at the long-nosed redhead. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t summon what you’re planning to summon. Don’t betray humanity,” Alonnen warned him.

Rexei flinched under the swift, sharp look the ex-archbishop flicked her way. She frowned at Alonnen, but he kept his gaze on the middle-aged priest. Not wanting to make any movement that would draw more attention to herself, Rexei bit her tongue to keep silent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elcarei finally stated, lifting his chin just enough to look down his nose at the shorter man.

“Don’t do it. Or I swear, in Guildra’s name,” Alonnen promised, “you will be thrown out of this land and hunted through every other nation across the face of this world until you come to your end.”

Elcarei raked his gaze down over Alonnen’s plain, somewhat worn gray woolens, his slim frame, and unintimidating height. “What, should I be afraid of you? Your threats are meaningless.”

“Not mine,” Alonnen warned him. “Prophecy will be your downfall.”

“Prophecy is a bunch of Gods-spewed shit, boy, designed to herd us onto a path of Their choosing,” he told Alonnen, who was clearly old enough to grow a beard, given the hint of ginger stubble along his jaw. Elcarei pushed the door wide. “But They also gave us free will . . . or haven’t you heard?”

“Then don’t summon the demons They predicted you would,” Alonnen said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

For a few seconds, the ex-archbishop lingered in the doorway, backlit by the white of the sun on snow and framed by a gust of icy wind that ruffled his robes. Then his mouth twisted in a sneer, and he turned away, striding down the clean-swept steps. The door swung shut in the wake of the novice, extinguishing the excess light and leaving Rexei and Alonnen for a moment in what felt like darkness, despite the glow pouring in from the narrow windows to either side of the double-wide entrance.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Rexei finally muttered.

Alonnen looked at her. “Hadn’t done what? Given him a warning? Hoped against hope that he might change his mind? I have an obligation to stop him, you know.”

She sighed and rubbed at the tension in her forehead. “Not that. I meant, told him in the first place that you know about the demon-summoning thing. Because that put his attention on me. I may not be Gabria, shrinking from even the thought of a God or Goddess getting anywhere near me, but I am not comfortable catching the scrutiny of a bunch of men whose sole job in life—for generations!—was to capture and torture and suck the life-energy out of our people.”

She said the last in a hiss, because she wasn’t comfortable with the thought of anyone else overhearing even that much. The look he gave her was rueful and apologetic, enough to mollify some of her stress. Not all of it, but some of it.

“Sorry, Rexei,” Alonnen muttered. “I guess . . . I guess I’m so energized by the thought of finally being rid of the threat of Mekha over our heads, I forgot the men who followed Him are still quite dangerous, even if they don’t have His foul power to back their efforts anymore.”

“Just . . . try to remember that,” she sighed, for a moment letting go of her humming as she rubbed again at her forehead.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he told her, “you do have the top dozen most dangerous men and women in the whole world at your back. I told them you’re the Gearman of the prophecy, and they’ll do whatever it takes to help keep your strength up.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” she muttered. “I just wanted to avoid the priesthood, live my life, and . . . and maybe find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”

“We’ll look for them, too.” He rubbed her arms through the oversized coat he had scrounged for her, urging her toward the back of the Consulate. “Come on, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now. I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning.”

Debating, Rexei decided not to put on her returned clothes. Not until the others in the Mages Guild had checked them for tracking spells. And for binding spells; she didn’t want to be found or rendered helpless simply from being careless. When they returned to the formidable protections of the Vortex, she would find someone who could examine her coat and hat for spells, and then break any if need be.

For the time being, all she could do was hum her anti-magic songs and push the field outward, enveloping not only herself but Alonnen, and when they reached it, the motorcart. The others were already bundled in the back and waiting, while the driver kept one foot on the galloper to warm up the engine and the other foot on the stopper pedal to hold the vehicle in place until they were ready to go.

• • •

“. . . Live my life, and . . . and maybe find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”

Elcarei nodded to himself, seizing on that piece of information. If that Aian mage was right, they might want several sacrifices, mage and non-mage, to bind a truly powerful demon to their cause—and to a Netherhell with that long-nosed fellow’s warnings. Elcarei didn’t even believe in Seers; there hadn’t been a single one born within Mekhana’s borders for over four hundred years, and all the fancy predictions of that freak of a Seer-King to the east hadn’t lost them an inch of Mekhanan soil in hundreds of years.

The enchantments on the cap and coat were doing their job. He listened as the other man spoke. “We’ll look for them, too,” the deeper voice stated. “Come, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now.”

Elcarei wished he knew the man’s name; he knew the fellow was a visiting Guild Master simply because he’d been one of the unfamiliar faces at the head table last night. Then again, the ex-priest wished he knew who the head of the so-called Mages Guild was. Or the head of that so-called Holy Guild . . . what a piece of effrontery!

“I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning.”

The cheek of the man! Elcarei took special care in cracking and grinding the ice of a puddle under his boot heel as he strode back toward the temple. I’ll show him who the imbecile is. But not hastily, no, he reminded himself, recalling Torven’s warnings on the matter. No. Slowly, carefully, and with such subtlety that they will never realize my vengeance is cold but fully matured, until it is too late to stop their prolonged suffering.

He kept the seeker amulet pressed to his ear, enchanted not only to track down the boy, Longshanks, but to listen in on the youth’s conversations via the metaphysical link between discarded hair and head . . . but didn’t hear anything more. Which was odd. He knew the amulet was enchanted correctly. It had taken him quite a bit of his own personal energy to craft the spell and imbue it with enough power to work over a distance of fifty full miles, all of it linked to the precious, short, dark hairs liberated from the boy’s winter coat and knitted cap. But Elcarei wasn’t hearing a peep now. Not a word, not a footstep, not even a hint of the boy breathing.

Did he . . . ? No, he couldn’t have been a mage. Not inside the temple itself! Definitely not under Mekha’s watchful, ever-hungering eye. Even when we had over half the cells full, Mekha was always subtly probing everyone, even us, trying to sup a little bit of magic from His own priesthood. He would have noticed if the boy was a mage! No . . . oh, no, no, no, Elcarei realized, eyes widening. He stepped into the relative dimness of the temple. Not the boy! That man, the one with the sharp nose. That one spoke of a Mages Guild with the kind of assurance that spoke of personal experience with it, and he was seated as an equal among Guild Masters. That was the head of the Mages’ Guild!

Mekha! If only I’d known!

Ignoring the novice who had accompanied him, Elcarei strode for the stairs and his office. The apprentice could wander off and hide somewhere if he wanted, to avoid the extra chores invoked by the dismissal of the Servers guildmembers. Elcarei had a lot of far more important thinking and planning to do.

Somehow they’ve found a way to block our best scrying spells . . . impudent bastards. But I heard enough to lure that boy into a trap. And given how thick-as-thieves the pair looked to be, if I lure the youth into a cage, the elder will no doubt come along in an attempt to set him free. Then I’ll have both a sacrifice for a demonic proto-God, and a mage to personally feed me.

And there’s nothing that says we cannot still drain mages for their energies . . . for surely any mage appointed to be Guild Master of the lot will be quite powerful, with plenty to share with us as well as whatever demon that Aian fellow might conjure.

It seemed this week was not going to be a complete disaster.