The Guild

SIX

Still a little off-balance from that friendly hug, Rexei focused on settling her thoughts. Alonnen Tallnose was not the only person here in the heart of the Mages Guild to touch others so casually. Going downstairs to break her fast, she had seen a couple dozen late risers laughing and chatting, and yes, touching each other in friendly, companionable ways. In ways she had not seen since the destruction of her family.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed such friendly closeness. It unsettled her even as she longed for it. This whole place unnerved her, even as it made her want to relax—even her habitual mental humming, protective and omnipresent, seemed quieter in the back of her mind here. The place felt warm and cozy to her inner senses. It was hard to uncurl from her protective mental huddle and accept that comfort, when she had been forced to live out in the cold and the damp for so long.

Squirming a little, Rexei slouched in her seat and considered his questions firmly, banishing all other thoughts to the back of her mind. “I came up with it myself. Mostly. I remember . . . when I was young, my father and brothers were talking about this and that, and they got onto the topic of what we’d do if we ever actually did get rid of the Dead God. Lundrei, that was the one . . . my eldest brother—half brother, technically—he said something about he’d never want another male deity.

“He said Goddesses were almost always more compassionate and caring, and less devoted to war and other violent pursuits—not that we knew for sure if this is true or not,” she cautioned. “Even now, we barely have any friendly trade with the Sundarans, and the priesthood constantly comes up with blatant lies about them and everyone else just to keep the wars going on the other three fronts, against Arbra, and Aurul, and the northeastern lands.

“But that was his thought, to long for a gentler ideal to worship. And Father asked, what sort of patronage would a Goddess have of our land? So we all thought about it, and the others offered suggestions. I was a bit young, so I didn’t say much, just listened. But I remembered it, and I thought about it from time to time, especially after I had to leave,” she said, looking past him at one of the bookcases lining his sitting room. “I remember I was apprenticing with the Coalminers. One of the priests came to oversee the operation.

“He wanted to grope me, just because he saw a young lad with . . . with a pretty bottom.” The indrawn hiss of Alonnen’s breath reassured her of his sympathy. She continued, clearing her throat. “One of the master miners distracted him, while one of the visiting Carters whisked me away in a coal shipment. Got me a job with the Coopers Guild, making barrels. Just like I’d gotten a job in Brassworks after a Tanner journeyman tried the same thing—he got punished by the local grandmaster, last I heard—and how the Woodrights took me on after my first accidental . . . you know . . . thingy we shouldn’t do.”

“Spellcasting?” Alonnen asked her, arching one brow.

Rexei nodded. “Yeah. That. It drew attention when I was apprenticed in a Glassworks forge. That’s when I realized the guilds had always been there for me, even as an orphan.” She looked up, meeting Alonnen’s gaze. “That’s when—in the Coopers Guild—I realized what kind of Goddess we needed, if we could only get rid of Him. A Goddess of Guilds.”

Listening to her recite her thoughts, Alonnen almost missed it. Almost, but not quite. As the Guild Master of Mages, he was constantly hyperaware of magical energies. Rexei still appeared to have none, even though he had watched through his scrying mirrors as she had demonstrated how to cast spells while cloaking the power traces. But behind her . . . something shimmered.

“I’d already played around in the Woodwrights with some carvings and drawings, a symbol of all the things I’d done. I was thinking I might go into the Engravers Guild at that point, but I ended up having to flee when my powers showed up again in the woodshop at the wrong moment, and I wound up in the Lumber Guild. I realized a Goddess would need a symbol . . . so I started working it up, perfecting it . . . and then drawing it everywhere I went. All the while thinking about what kind of deity we deserved, instead of the one we suffered.”

Alonnen scratched his chin, listening to her rambling reminisces. The faint glow had eased a bit and faded once she stopped talking about the concept of a female Patron Deity. Letting his suspicions simmer in the back of his mind, he focused on her current words. He had seen the extra Guild medallions while setting out the stacks of her freshly laundered things. At the time, he had wondered how it was possible, but with just a few descriptions of her troubles, she had outlined just how one youngish person—male or female—had racked up memberships in roughly thirty guilds.

With that many guild associations under her belt and with her mind attuned to the thought of a Goddess of Guilds . . . Gods, this young woman might actually be the focus for manifesting an actual, real, tangible Patron Deity. . . . But he didn’t say that out loud.

“I’d think that would be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done, marking everywhere you went with the symbol of a new Patron,” he said. She gave him a lopsided smile, one reminiscent of Gabria’s friend, the one who worked as a clerk in the Precinct his brother served and who rarely smiled fully at anyone or anything. He smiled back equally wryly at Rexei. “So, what’s the symbol, and how did you slip it past everyone?”

Rexei tried not to feel too much pride in her cleverness, since part of it was simply because it was a good design. “I didn’t work out the final version until I was around fourteen, and by then, I was in the Tailors Guild and ended up chatting with a Brassworks master while filling an order for my master . . . and he realized I knew enough about brassworkings and glassworkings and such, he sponsored me to the local Consulate as a Gearman apprentice.” She shrugged, folding her knitting-covered arms over her flat-bound chest. “When I got in, the master Gearman who approved my apprenticeship caught me doodling it one day, asked me about it, and said it was perfect.”

“Oh?” Alonnen asked, raising his brows. “How so? What does it look like?”

She shrugged diffidently. “You’ve probably seen it by now. It’s a gear-toothed wheel, but the six spokes are actually made up of three crossed tools,” she explained. “A scythe, a hammer, and a paintbrush.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” Alonnen agreed, nodding slowly. “I remember seeing it a few years back in the Heiastowne Consulate—that was you? I thought the name of the creator was some chap named Targeter.”

Rexei sighed. “That was the name I held at the time. The gear stands for our engineering knowledge, the hammer is for craftsmanship, the paintbrush for artistry, and the scythe represents our kingdom’s many resources. Master Crathan said it covered all the guilds he could think of and carved a stamp of it to use on all his Consulate paperwork. I think his fellow Consuls saw it, liked it, and started using it as well. By the time I was fifteen, the Masons Guild I had joined was already carving it into the motifs for the Consulate Hall they were renovating.”

“So when did you stop being Rexei Targeter?” Alonnen asked, curious. “Or did you have a different first name?”

The question roused a blush to her cheeks. Rexei shrunk down a little in the padded leather chair and tugged on her black woolen sleeves, half hiding her hands. “I had to quit the Actors Guild, so I just picked a new last name when I moved on.”

As much as he wanted to respect her privacy, Alonnen could not help the rampant curiosity her shy, embarrassed shrinking evoked. “What happened that had you abandoning a guild you’d gained journey status in?”

Her face heating even more, Rexei mumbled, “Th’ women wouldn’t leave me ’lone.”

For a moment, Alonnen frowned in puzzlement. Then his confusion lifted. “Ahh, right. Randy older actresses, younger cute lad . . . Well, you’re quite good at acting. My brother would’ve given me a sign if he thought you were a young woman instead of a young man. He’s good at figuring out that sort of thing, weeding out the women in trousers from the men he’s had to conscript, but you still managed to fool him. I can see why you’re a journeyman.”

He fell silent, thinking. Rexei watched him rubbing at his chin. The sitting room was warm, but she still huddled a bit in her chair, feeling vulnerable instead of chilled. Finally, he sighed.

“Right, then. Can you put yourself together, mentally, so you’re back as a boy again?”

She snorted at the question. “I’ve been a boy for longer than I’ve been a girl. It’s always been safer.”

“Well, I’d say ‘you’re safe now,’ except you’re not safe now, you’re just safe here,” Alonnen shot back. “But the point is, you should go back to the temple to ask for your coat and cap. If you were a normal sort of Server apprentice.”

Rexei shuddered and shook her head. “I don’t know if they were listening or not. I didn’t sound like an idiot when I . . . when I stupidly confronted that crowd all but on the temple steps. And I don’t need the coat. Not if I’m going to stay here.”

“That might be so, and you’re more than welcome to stay . . . but if we, the regular sorts, don’t find a Patron Deity fast, the priesthood’s going to want to fill it for us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want whatever they come up with. Odds are, it’ll be a demon in disguise, but even if it isn’t, they’re a group of men that have never hesitated to kidnap, torture, and do many worse things to anyone they wanted.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rexei asked, challenging him.

He leveled a look at her. “I know you do. But we have two major problems on our hands. First and foremost, the threat of demon summonings. Now that Mekha is gone, we might have a chance to get some sort of scrying aids planted inside the temples, but to do that, we need someone to get inside with focus crystals. There are probably a dozen other things we could use, but I know how to make those. Still, to get past the outer wards, they’ll have to be smuggled inside and then activated. That takes a mage . . . and you’re the only one we’ve got who they won’t know is a mage.”

Every time he said the M word, she shivered. Rexei tried to hide it by sitting up a little more, huddling into her borrowed sweater. “You said, that you know how to make them. But weren’t we talking last night with a bunch of powerful mages from outkingdom? I’d think they’d know tons of stuff we don’t about spying and scrying.”

Alonnen hadn’t considered that. So used to doing things on his own, of struggling against the local ignorance of his fellow mages, plus the need to hide his actual location and the existence of the Vortex, he had not actually considered that. Blinking, he nodded slowly. “Yes . . . I suppose I could ask them. But that solves only one problem, if it can be solved.

“The other thing we need is to make sure the rule of law doesn’t break down here in the Heias region. Those laws were decided upon by the Consulate, which means by the representatives of all the many guilds. If we can present the local guild heads with a Patron Deity they can understand, grasp, and focus upon, then we just might be able to get one to manifest—and what better Goddess than this Guildra you’ve been meditating upon?” he asked her.

Rexei wasn’t too sure about the word meditating, but she supposed it did fit, sort of. Guildra was a concept she had clung to in the hopes that one day, someday, they could be rid of Mekha and lead far less fear-filled lives. Now that Mekha was gone . . .

“For that matter, who better to explain the concept of Guildra to the others than you?” Alonnen added, gesturing toward her. “You’re practically Her . . . well, not a Patriarch since I don’t think anyone would want a system so similar to the last one, but I’m not sure what to call the highest priestess of the new system, if not a Matriarch.”

His words stirred unnerving feelings of trepidation within her. She could see his points, but Rexei wasn’t so sure she wanted to follow Alonnen’s suggestions to their “logical” outcome. Rexei shook her head. “Actually, if we’re going to have a Patron Goddess of Guilds, Her priesthood should be arranged exactly like a regular guild. None of this ‘superior to you’ nonsense the old priests used, and none of their fancy titles. No one guild should be ranked higher than another.”

“Rule by committee is a terrible method,” Alonnen pointed out. “There is always someone who guides and rules during Consulate meetings. But I don’t think the other guilds would care to always be ruled by the Guild Master of the Gearmen’s Guild.”

“In one of the towns where I stayed, they had three grandmasters of equal rank in the Weavers Guild,” Rexei pointed out. “Each one served a term of two years. We could rotate Guild Masters that way.”

“Yes, but in what order?” he challenged her. Then sighed. “I suppose we could always call a quorum vote . . . So, what, the highest clergy would be a Guild Master of . . . Priests? Of the Worship Guild? Prayerful Guild? I’m Not A Bastard Meanie Guild?” Alonnen tossed out. It pleased him to see her grin at his silly suggestions, though she did duck her head a little in the effort to hide it. “See, there? That’s what we need. A fresh look at everything.

“So, Longshanks . . . will you please come with me to the Consulate meeting this evening and discuss your ideas for a new sort of Patronage with the rest? You can consider it a part of your official duties as a Gearman, and thus a Sub-Consul, a representative of Guilds that cannot make it to the meeting. Only in this case, you’re representing a new sort of Guild that doesn’t exist yet.”

She wasn’t quite swayed, but his words did make sense. “I’ll think about it. And . . . I might attend the meeting. But I won’t go straight to the temple. It’d be smarter to contact one of the other Servers who was working there and ask them to discreetly see if they can find out if the priests know I’m smarter than I pretended to be, while trying to fetch my coat and my cap for me.”

“I suppose that could be done instead,” Alonnen allowed. “The priests’ll have to open up at some point for food supplies, if nothing else. As much as I’d love to get a scrying crystal in there . . . not at the risk of your life, no.”

Studying him, Rexei wondered. And then she wondered if he would be offended if she asked. Since she had learned in thirty different apprenticeships that the only way to learn fast and far was to ask, she asked, “What are you thinking? About all of this. Mekha vanishing, the kingdom collapsing, a new God or Goddess, Guildra . . . everything.”

He raised his brows at the question. Lacing his fingers over his chest, he tapped his pinkie fingers against the brushed-flannel wool of his shirt. “Quite a lot, actually. Even without the threat of demonic invasion, we’d still have to deal with the priesthood somehow. Some might be willing to disband and take up other livelihoods . . . but these are, one and all, boys and men who grew up understanding that the priesthood had the greatest power in the land.”

“They could take anything, do anything, and they answered to no one but another priest . . . unless it was the combined weight of the guilds. But even then, not even the strongest of Consulates dared resist all that hard,” Rexei agreed, letting her head drop against the padded back of the chair. “I got the lectures when I became a Gearman.”

“And ‘Gearman’s strength shall then endow,’” Alonnen murmured, eyeing her speculatively. Her head lifted up off the chair and her brows came down in a wary frown. He flicked a hand partly in dismissal and partly in acknowledgment. “You’re definitely mixed up in all this. I can see it.”

Her mildly wary look shifted into a much more nervous one. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he argued lightly.

“No, I’m not,” Rexei asserted, sitting up a little.

Re-lacing his fingers together, Alonnen shrugged. “Yes, you are.”

“It’s coincidence, nothing more,” she tried to dismiss him. That only earned her a chiding look.

“We have exactly one kingdom between us and Fortuna, and that’s not far enough away to escape the Threefold God’s sight. Even nations on the far side of the world have heard of Fate and acknowledge Them as the oldest and strongest of all the Gods.” Alonnen reminded her, “You are the Gearman in question.”

“I’m just a journeyman!” Rexei protested, throwing up her hands as she sat forward. She dropped them onto her knees, so used to pretending to be a half-mannered youth that she didn’t bother with sitting decorously. “There are hundreds of master-class Gearmen all across Mekhana. Or whatever it is we should start calling ourselves, now. Mekha was nothing more than a False God, propped in place by false priests, refusing to die even though He was struck dead with the collapse of the last Convocation two hundred years ago. I refuse to call myself a Mekhanan now that He is gone. I want nothing to do with Him, not even my nation’s name.”

“Well, if you believe the guilds should have a Patron Goddess named Guildra, then it only makes sense to call ourselves Guildarans or something, and thus Guildara for the kingdom,” Alonnen agreed. Then pointed a finger at her. “And no getting us off the subject. You are the Gearman of the prophecy. Which means, if we’re going to scrape together enough of what used to be Mekhana to be strong enough to stop demon-summoning priests, we’ll need your promised strength.”

“That’s just it!” Rexei exclaimed, agitated enough to shove to her feet as she spread her arms. “I don’t have any! Strength implies standing your ground—I run from confrontations! Strength is all about facing down your fears. I bolt at the first sign of trouble and pick out a new name and a new life at the drop of a knitted cap! And I’d have done it last night, if there’d been any way to avoid your brother.”

Alonnen remained sprawled in his chair, but he did dip his head in acknowledgment. “That’s fair. Your plethora of Guild apprenticeships are a clear sign of just how many times you’ve run. But Rexei, dear,” he told her, giving her a pointed, level look, “you’ve also stood your ground.”

“When?” she asked, though even as she spoke, she recalled a few times from the last full day.

“When you questioned me, for one. Admittedly, anyone who actually knows I’m a Guild Master wouldn’t have dared contradict me or demand answers before obeying—and even now that you do know it, you’re still saying no to me,” he said a touch tartly. He softened it with a wry look. “Not that I’m going to object. It’s good to hear a flat-out No every once in a while, and several sessions of Why per week, for that matter. But from the sound of it, you said you had to stop playing a dull-witted Server on the temple steps so that you could stop a riot. If you truly had no strength to stand your ground, no strength to insist that everyone hold it together and act in a lawful manner, you’d have scuttled off and fled. Right? . . . Right?”

Defeated by his logic, she sank back down onto her chair again, elbows braced on her knees. The position always reminded her of how tightly she bound her breasts and of the padding wrapped around her waist. It was comforting, yet restrictive at the same time. Sighing, she scrubbed her fingers through her short-cropped locks. “I don’t even have the courage to say the M word out loud.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve had a choice,” Alonnen shot back. At her skeptical look, he rolled so that he slouched on his elbow and his hip instead of his back. That left him angled just enough to give her an earnest look. “I am the Guild Master of the Mages Guild, Rexei. I have to be able to say the M word, and say it so comfortably and easily that it puts other M types at ease,” he half teased. “As the Guild Master, I cannot be afraid of who and what I am. Besides, I only ever say words like mage and mages while I’m in the Vortex, within its protections. I’m not a fool. Outside of the dam’s vicinity, I’m just the Guild Master of the Lubrication Guild, a subset of the Hydraulics Guild. But if Mekha is gone . . .”

“Don’t risk it,” Rexei found herself ordering. He blinked at her, but she lifted her chin, standing her ground on that point. “If what you implied is true, that the Convocation of the Gods was indeed restarted, and that Mekha was . . . I don’t know what happened . . . but one hopes by the pricking of our thumbs that He was revealed as a False God and struck down by the other Gods and Goddesses. If all of that, then m-mages might be safe,” she managed to say without tripping too much on the M word. “But we also don’t know what it takes to bind a demon, or even if they will bind a demon. The priests might just go back to snatching up our kind and sucking the energy out of them again, and you’d be the juiciest goose in the butcher’s shop.”

He tipped his head, acknowledging her point. “That may be an actual problem . . . and that may be why not every town with a temple in it has reported seeing its prisoners being released. I could almost wish they would turn to demons instead of our fellow mages . . . but Guardian Kerric of the Tower has repeatedly seen prophetic scryings of a Netherhell invasion. Demons fighting warriors and mages and everyone else.” He sighed heavily, slumping a little more in his chair. “And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else, save that most of the visions seem to have the invasion starting from here.”

Rexei frowned in thought. She rubbed her forehead, then stroked her palm over her short, dark locks. “That prophecy you gave me to read . . . you mentioned something last night when you handed it over about ‘the others.’ I presume the Guardians we spoke with think that the demonic problems will spring up in several nations?”

“This one and five more to come, yes,” Alonnen said. “The first verse of one of the prophecies seems to have come true in Guardian Kerric’s homeland, and we think the second was about Guardian Saleria. She’s off at the Convocation of Gods and Man, though, and there’s no easy way to chat with either her, Guardian Dominor, Guardian Serina, or Guardian Rydan right now. If we’re the third verse, then the fourth of eight will probably be Mendhi, far to the east and south.”

“Since the lines mentioned a Painted Lord, yes, that makes even a Mekhanan think of the Painted Warriors of Mendhi,” Rexei agreed. Clasping her hands between her felt-covered knees, she gave him a keen, penetrating look. “If we can send them on their way, if the prophecy is about sending these demon-minded priests on their way to their prophesied point of doom . . . then how do we go about it? What little I overheard made it sound like they come in different strengths. One mage can hold one or two minor demons, but if they summon a major demon with the aid of many priests—and they’re far more trained in magics than we are—then how can we stop them?”

The lad—the lass was a lot smarter than she looked. Not just educated, but smart, able to cut to the heart of the important questions. Alonnen slipped his right leg off the armrest and pushed his body upright with his left arm. Echoing Longshanks’ pose, he rested his elbows on his knees as well. “This has actually come up in some of the discussions the other Guardians and I have been holding over the last few weeks. And oddly enough, you just might have the best solution.”

“Me?” Rexei touched her flat-bound chest, bemused by his assertion. “If this is more nonsense about me having a Gearman’s strength . . .”

He shook his head. “Not that. Not exactly. There are two Guardians in the empire of Fortuna. One of them, Guardian Suela of Fortune’s Nave, ransacked some of the oldest libraries outside Mendham. As did Guardian Tipa’thia of the Great Library of Mendham, in Mendhi. And her apprentice, Pelai. They both agreed that the few old records of demonic fighting included the fact that the priesthoods of the various afflicted lands were able to turn back the demons as surely as if they’d one and all been mages . . . only not all of them were mages. The records said that some quality of being a ‘true priest’ granted them the power, the ability, to cast demons back into the Netherhells.”

She blinked and sat up. “So . . . my thoughts on Guildra, on manifesting ourselves a Patron Deity, might actually be helpful?”

“Yes. But in order to do that, we’ll need to not be inundated with all these ex-prisoner mages,” Alonnen said, sitting back. He crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle on his knee. “We’ll need order instead of chaos. We’ll need organization. Because if we’re not fighting each other, then we’ll be able to concentrate as a nation—or whatever corner we can grab of it—on worshipping a manifestation of faith and belief. And I think you’ve hit the nail on the head squarely with the thought of a Patron of Guilds.”

“The Guild System has kept the priests shut out of our lives as much as it can,” she agreed. “We all believe in the guilds. But they have to step up and take responsibility for what’s happening. No one group, not even the Precinct militia, can impose order on all the others. Every guild stands equal in the Consulates for the laws affects us all. One Guild, one voice, one vote. I’ve actually had to stand in for all the missing Guilds, even the ones I haven’t been a member of, for those times in my Messenger days when I’d take some problem to a distant Consulate only to find I’d have to represent those who had sent me when the Consulate had to make a decision based on the information I’d brought.”

“Then you’ll go to the Consulate meeting tonight,” he stated, not making it a question. She drew in a breath to speak, but Alonnen held up his hand. “Not to represent this Guild, because I’ll be there . . . but because you need to represent the new . . . well, the new holy Guild that needs to be formed. If we’re going to get a new Patron Deity, Longshanks, someone is going to have to represent the rest of us and organize our worship and . . . and figure out what sorts of ceremonies there will be, and what sorts of holy days.

“Somehow, I doubt we’re going to want to keep celebrating Resurrection Day,” he added tartly. “Not if the Dead God is finally gone.”

“Well, no,” she muttered, agreeing with him. “But me? Organize a new priesthood? The only things I know about the priesthood come from the nightmares that destroyed my family, and . . . and what little I observed in the two months I spent spying on the current lot.”

“Then you’ll know what not to put into the new order. More importantly, Longshanks,” he stressed, pointing at her, “you’re a Gearman who’s been at the very least an apprentice in, what, roughly thirty Guilds? I seem to remember about that many medallions among your things. I don’t know of anybody who has apprenticed in more than ten.”

“That’s hardly a qualification, Tallnose,” she shot back. “I’m a journeyman in only three of them, and no master of any.”

“On the contrary, you’re still fooling me into thinking you’re a male, so you’re bound to be master class in the Actors Guild by now. And you spent the last two months walking into and out of the Heiastowne temple under the very noses of the priesthood without getting caught,” he countered. “That’s worthy of a master’s rank right there. I’ll even put your name up for it, next time I chat with the Grand Master of Actors.”

She blushed.

“Rexei, the real reason why you’re the most qualified to set up a new Holy Guild is because you’re proposing a Goddess of Guilds, and you, lad—lass,” he corrected himself, “have personal, firsthand knowledge of all those Guilds. In fact, I’d suggest the first rule you draw up is that no one can serve in the new Holy Guild unless they’re already an apprentice Gearman at the very least. Because it’s a Patron Deity of the Guilds, plural, that we need . . . and if you can classify any Gearman as holy, then any member of the Mages Guild who has served in two other Guilds—and many of them have—can then be considered a member of the Holy Guild.”

“So?” Rexei asked.

“So, coupling holy power with mage power has made all the defenders in all past accounts appear to be three times as effective at thwarting, banishing, and outright destroying demons as anyone else. Not just twice as effective as holy persons alone or mages alone,” he said.

She blinked at him, then sighed heavily, scrubbing at her hair. “Well, I wish you’d told me all of this earlier.”

He flung up his hands, sitting back. “I only thought of it just now! Forgive me for being mortal.”

For a moment, she stared at him . . . then her mouth curved up on one side. Raising her hand, she fluttered it at him. “You’re forgiven, young man. Though I’ll have to figure out some sort of holy penance for you to perform later.”

Chuckling, he relaxed back into his chair. It wasn’t just the almost-twenty-two-year-old Rexei calling him a young man, when he was nine years her elder. It was the fact that she was willing to make a joke about being a priestly type. Shaking his head a little, he smiled at her. “You remind me of me, just now.”

“I do?” Rexei asked, giving him a dubious look. “How?”

“It was back when my predecessor, Millanei Tumbledrum, picked me to be her personal apprentice. I was barely ranked a journeyman in the Guild, and I was convinced I wasn’t the right person for this job,” he confessed, flicking a hand in a dismissive, expressive motion. “Being Guardian, and thus Guild Master, takes a great deal of personal strength. The Vortex can kill a weak mage, burn them up like a leaf blown into a glassworks forge. She told me I had the power to be the next Guardian of it.

“I pointed out a Guardian needed a lot more experience, like a master or a grandmaster. She countered by stating yes, I was incredibly young for a journeyman mage, barely sixteen, and that I’d likely make master status long before she’d hand over the starter key for this particular motorhorse,” he told her. “The same had happened with the other two candidates, Gavros and Storshei, both of them rising up the ranks quickly and early, based on their wits and their magical strengths. There are a few others who were and are strong enough magically, but she told me she picked the three of us because we could think, and we could lead.

“You can lead,” he told Rexei, giving her a frank look. “And it’s obvious you can think. Beyond that, what a priest needs—a real one, and not the false bastards we have here in Mekhana—is the ability to believe. Which you clearly do. So . . . you’ll still need to write down all your observations on what you saw in the temple in the last two months, apprentice priest,” he admonished, “but I think your biggest task, to be completed before midafternoon, is to write down and organize the rules for the Holy Guild we’ll need. At the very least, you’ll need something written up before we head off to Heiastowne this evening.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “I left all my papers on the temple doings up in your study.”

“Set it aside for now. Focus on the new guild. Start with what we’re going to call it,” he added. “Priesthood has a rather nasty connotation in this kingdom, so we’ll want another name for it.” She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. Alonnen raised one brow. “What did you think of just now?”

“I was about to say, why call it anything when your suggestion about making Gearmen into holy guildmembers was a good one, so why not just merge the Gearmens Guild with it . . . but not all Gearmen are the sort I’d trust with something as important as worshipping a new Goddess,” she told him. “Some Gearmen have been rather priestly in their attitudes.”

“In that case, write up some sort of criteria that’ll winnow out the unsuitable sorts,” he told her. “You’ve been in enough guilds by now to surely know how to sum up the differences between, say, Silverworks and Blacksmiths?”

“Silverworks Guild crafts in silver and its related alloys, predominantly making jewelry and tableware, but also certain engineering components,” she stated promptly. “Blacksmiths primarily fashions the iron and steel tools all the other trades use. And they work at least a little bit in all the various metals, doing the crafting and repair work for things that don’t need a true specialist.”

“So make up a list of the differences a true Priests Guild needs, and not the false crap Mekha’s bootlickers have forced on us all these years,” he ordered. Unfolding his limbs from his seat, Alonnen nodded at a side table beyond her. “I’ve paper and graphite sticks over there, so you can start writing right away. I need to get back up to Springreaver so I can make sure she’s got the various Guilds alerted about the big meeting tonight, and then I might have to go yell at a few folks through another talker-box for foisting so many ex-prisoners on us, but I’ll be back.”

Nodding, Rexei rose as well. She had been an apprentice for too many years not to give respect to someone of master rank or higher whenever they stood to leave a table or a room. Which made her think about the kowtowing and subservient respect the False God’s priesthood had demanded of all others. “I’ll make sure the new Holy Guild is no more important than any other.”

“And no less important,” he agreed.

• • •

The chugging rumble of a motorcart engine greeted them when Alonnen, Rexei, Gabria, and four more emerged from the back of the motorhorse stalls. Motorhorses were cheaper to run, as they consumed far less of the smelly, difficult to process fuel, but when there were eight people all headed to the same place, it made sense to take a single, larger vessel.

It was just as well Tallnose had ordered the motorcart, too; the great crystals illuminating the thick curve of the Heias Dam also illuminated the tiny white specks drifting down out of the lead gray clouds overhead. While the seven of them climbed into the back and found seats on the padded benches lining the long sides of the roof-covered motorcart, the guider quickly finished lighting the oil lamps at the front of the vehicle, then climbed into the guiding seat. Having rarely had the chance to ride in one of these machines, Rexei peered over the back of his seat, watching him crank the engine into starting.

With a shift of three levers, he released the cart brake and sent the vehicle trundling forward. Instead of guiding posts like a motorhorse had, sticking out and back from the mechanical beast’s neck, someone had affixed a spoked wheel with short, rounded knobs along the outer edge. She remembered a long, long time ago her father, Gorgas Porterhead, sketching out the steering mechanism developed for horseless vessels like these.

Gorgas had told his young, wide-eyed daughter that the “steering wheel” was based on a sailing ship’s wheel and that the knobs helped the helmsman—or the guider—control the vessel with a bit more leverage and thus without needing that much more strength in bad conditions. She had never seen a sailing ship, however, not unless one counted the little toy boats that were carved and set to float on ponds with little paper sails—hardly the same thing. But thoughts of toys led her right back to thoughts of her family.

Letting her wool-and-leather covered arm cushion her chin from the bouncing and jouncing of the seatback, Rexei wished she knew what had happened to her father and her brothers. With Mekha gone . . . if we can stop the priests from drawing upon any source of power . . . and if we can make this land into its own kingdom, a real kingdom with a real Goddess and not a False God like Mekha was, then maybe I can find out what happened to them. Maybe, because if the old priesthood gets disbanded and scattered into powerlessness, then nobody will have to fear them looking for more mages among the family of the people they’ve already taken.

Warmth leaned against her back and left side. Alonnen’s voice murmured in her ear, just loud enough over the motorcart’s engine to be heard. “Silver tricoin for your thoughts.”

“They’re not even worth a copper square,” she returned, “but I was thinking of my family. Wherever they are.”

She lifted her head a little so she could turn it and speak. That brushed her scarf-wrapped cheek against his. He had left off the tinted viewing glasses since night was about to fall, and that meant she could see little flecks of gold and green in his hazel eyes and the faint hints of laugh lines at their outer edges. His hair wasn’t golden copper anymore; instead, he had done something, cast some sort of spell, that made his hair, even down to the brows and lashes, look a plebian shade of brown. It also made the planes of his face appear subtly different, particularly the length of his nose.

It took her a few moments of studying the differences in his face to realize she was actually comfortable with him leaning up against her, and the realization confused her.

Seeing the faint look of worry creep into her gaze, Alonnen righted himself. As he shifted, he used a one-armed hug to scoop her back against his chest and shoulder. Somewhere along the way, this poor young lady—lad again, now that we’re away from the Vortex—lost the right to hold and be held. That’s too damn sad not to correct. “Come on,” he murmured. “You’ll be warmer leaning against me than against a bunch of wood and metal.”

Since he was right, Rexei didn’t resist. She did squirm a little, getting a little more comfortable, and adjusted the lie of her messenger bag, which was doing double duty as her crocheting bag, laden with both papers and skeins of wool. A frown creased her brow when he shifted and scooped the other female, Gabria Springreaver, up against his left side. She relaxed after a moment, realizing the three men across from them on the other bench were huddling together. A glance to the front showed the fourth male was hunkering as close to the driver as possible without interfering with the other man’s arms and hands.

They weren’t moving fast yet, but she know that would change once they got away from the winding road on the hillside flanking the dam. When they cleared the forge buildings, the dark, damp cobblestones gave way to an icy patch that the guider drove carefully over, then that gave way to frosted white pavement. The cement-mortared road was grooved for traction even in wet or icy weather, but only if the snow remained only a few inches deep.

“Looks like the snow’s going to stick,” one of the men across from them muttered. “Might be smarter to head back, Tall.”

Alonnen shook his head. “This meeting is too important. If things get too tough for traveling back, we’ll just use the bolt-holes in Heiastowne.” Next to him, Rexei snorted. The sound was almost lost under the rumbling of the motorcart picking up speed as they reached a straight stretch, but he heard it. “Something amuses you, Longshanks?”

“You’re not laughing at his nickname, are you?” the other fellow asked her. His face wasn’t easily seen, now that they were away from the lights around the dam and its many outbuildings, but his tone was thick with disapproval.

“What? No,” Rexei denied. “Though I guess it’s ironic, you calling him ‘Tall’ when you’re a full head taller. No, I was . . . well, that’s what I called my tenement in town. My ‘bolt-hole,’” she explained awkwardly. “I just found it funny for a moment.”

“Is it a good bolt-hole?” Alonnen asked, curious.

“On a Server’s pay? Apprentice grade?” she asked, brows quirking skeptically under her borrowed felt cap. The motorcart trundled around a corner, forcing her to reach up and tug the cap farther down over her ears in the face of the increasing wind. “It’s a one-room hole on the fourth floor, with an external refreshing room. The only advantage it has is that it’s in the middle of a six-floor building, and that means I got shared heat from the rooms to either side, above and below. Your brother demanded that I clear out, so there’s not even a set of blankets left. Coal for the hearth, yes, but nothing else to keep warm, so I hope your own ‘bolt-hole’ is better off than mine right now.”

The three men across from her exchanged looks and chuckled. The young woman on the other side of Alonnen groaned. “Oh, gears . . . you are not dragging me to Big Momma’s for a ‘bolt-hole.’ I’d rather walk all the way back through an ice storm.”

“Big Mom . . . ? Oh.” Clearing her throat, Rexei realized who, or rather, what the other lass referenced. Big Momma’s was short for Big Momma Bertha’s Brothel.

Home of the Happy Whores, she mocked silently, rolling her eyes at the establishment’s motto. Posing as a young man had given her a broader education—in theory—than she probably would have learned if she’d posed as a young woman. Though at least the local Whores Guild was egalitarian in that there were rumors of male guildmembers working in Big Momma’s establishment, too, not just females.

Out loud, she said, “You can always share my bolt-hole. A bucket of coal is bound to be safer for keeping warm than whatever might be offered at Big Momma’s.”

“It won’t get that bad,” Alonnen countered firmly. “At least, not down in the flats. The cloud cover isn’t that thick, and it’s thinning out on the trailing edge. The mountains will get the worst of it, but the guilds always clear the road up to the dam. There are too many shipments going back and forth every single day not to scrape the roads.”

That made Rexei think. “Tallnose . . .”

“Yes?” he asked, holding both women a little more closely as the motorcart skidded a little on a bit of ice. These carts need some sort of safety rope system, so we don’t get flung off the benches . . .

“The priests were the ones ordering all the fighting against our neighbors, right?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for confirmation. “Even though the militia received the war machines and munitions, it was by Mekha’s will that they tried attacking the borders.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So . . . with Mekha gone, do the Steelworks at the Heias Dam need to keep producing all those parts for war machines?” she asked. “I know there’s a chance the other lands will try to swoop in and claim chunks of Mekhana now that we’re Patronless. But do we really want the priests or the militia still controlling everything?”

“Lad’s got a point,” one of the other two men muttered. All three on the bench across from Gabria, Alonnen, and Rexei were there to be bodyguards for the Guild Master, but they were clearly smart as well as muscled. “Leftenant’s alright, but the captain’s another matter. The Hammer of Heiastowne is strict when it comes to upholding the law, but what if he gets it into his head to make the laws? I heard the leftenant declared anyone making trouble would be dragged off to the quarries.”

“That’s just a rumor,” the third man stated.

Rexei shook her head. “No, that’s what he threatened. I was there. Captain’s orders, a month’s work per hour’s trouble.”

“That’s exactly why we need to have all the guild heads meet at the Consulate,” Alonnen asserted. “Up until yesterday, Mekha demanded, the priests ordered, the militia enforced, and we all had to obey. But not anymore.”

He poked out his thumb sideways. So did the others, though Rexei was the last to move; since the thumb he poked out was the left one, it meant Springreaver’s cap-covered head hid the initial action from her view. Alonnen gave her far arm a little squeeze with his free hand.

“That does not mean, however, that we’re going to let lawlessness take its place,” Alonnen cautioned them. “That’s what this meeting is for.”

A gust of wind swirled around the side of the trundling motorcart, sending more snowflakes in through the open sides of the driver’s bench and a few in through the open back. The very front had an angled glass wall shielding the guider and his passengers from most of the wind, and a pair of clever sweepers that scraped the snow from the panes when a lever was pulled, and the sidewalls of the cargo section had glazed walls, too, but not the doorways by the front bench nor the very back of the vessel. Alonnen grimaced and shifted his right hand off Rexei’s shoulder, swiping at some of the crystals as they smacked into his face and tried to melt on his cheek.

Tugging his scarf a little higher, he switched topics. “We need to start talking with the Caravaners about making these motorcarts more weatherproof. Motorhorses, I can see why they can’t be fully enclosed, but these things could be. And should be.”

From the enthusiastic nods of the others as they huddled together for warmth against the swirling snow and wind, they agreed.