The Guild

EIGHT

A woman, strangely familiar, had appeared between her and the stone wall, though she was no woman that Rexei could recall seeing before this moment. Rexei took in her light complexion, her long dark brown curls that gleamed like the richest silk framing the rectangular face of a native Mekhanan, and wondered who she was. She even wore a knitted overgown similar in shape to Grenfallow’s, save that this one came in every natural shade of wool imaginable. From the creamiest white to the reddest auburn to the blackest of fleeces, it had been embroidered with a repeating motif.

That motif was the one which Rexei herself had created and described: a gear-toothed wheel with the spokes formed from the crossed shafts of a hammer, a scythe, and a narrow-tufted brush, one sized for either painting or writing. Machinery gears, farming tools, crafting tools, designing tools, all of those things decorated her gown . . . or rather, Her gown, for Her eyes gleamed with a light that made it impossible to say what hue those irises were; like Her aura, Her eyes shimmered with the cool promise of water on a hot summer’s day.

She looked only somewhat like Rexei had imagined Her, but it was clear who She was.

“You have an immense strength to your faith, Rexei,” Guildra stated in a soft, pleasant voice not much louder than a murmur.

A quick glance behind at the crowd showed Rexei how the murmur echoed through the great meeting hall, reaching every ear and widening every eye. Rexei faced Her again, speechless at what was happening.

“Your words in expressing it are well-spoken. You have convinced many here that I should exist, enough for Me to briefly manifest. I am . . . grateful . . . for My birth, and I will be honored to guide and defend you all . . . but you will have a long road ahead before you can achieve your goals of banding together as a new form of kingdom . . . and four more years before I can be Named and so take My place among My Brethren. Should you succeed,” Guildra added in soft, sober warning. “Only the past is immutable; the future must be seized and shaped. What you believe, so shall I be.” She smiled. “I would prefer to be a Goddess of Peace and Prosperity, as well as your Patron of Guilds.”

That radiant gaze shifted to the others. Released, Rexei discovered she had forgotten how to breathe while the Goddess, her Goddess, had spoken to her. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she tried not to shake too hard. No Mekhanan cared to have any deity’s attention, particularly a mage . . . but at the same time, Rexei believed with all her heart that this deity was what they needed and wanted, and thus She could not ever possibly bring them harm.

For several seconds as She regarded the crowd, Guildra said nothing more, until Her gaze came back to Rexei’s face. Lifting Her hand, She placed it on Rexei’s brow. It felt warm and alive, but not entirely solid, leaving a hint of cool waterfall in the back of the young woman’s mind.

“Your task is well begun, Rexei. I place My blessing upon you,” She stated. Sparks of light trickled down from Her touch, solidifying around Rexei’s neck as a heavy weight. “Your belief, first and foremost, has created Me, so I name you the incipient Guild Master of My Holy Guild. Petition them for its entry, Guild Master. I shall return when your collective faith in Me as a new nation has grown substantially.”

Pinpoints of light shimmered through Her form, first as faint as starlight, then growing in brilliance until they flared and faded, leaving nothing behind. Nothing but that heavy weight on Rexei’s chest. Glancing down, Rexei blinked at the new medallion on her chest. Not the ribbon-strung one that marked her as a Master Actor, which was roughly the length of her thumb in diameter. No, this one had been strung on sturdy gold links. It was a flat oval as long as her palm and stamped with an engraved image she had never dared to carve so large.

Slowly, Rexei turned first to face the other men and women seated at the Consulate bench, then to face the breathlessly curious crowds on the pews and benches of the hall. She held herself still, trying not to tremble, and let them look long and hard at the tool-spoked wheel symbolizing her faith in the guilds the others represented and the Goddess she had envisioned for them.

It was all she could do not to faint. From journeyman to Guild Master in less than a quarter hour . . . Giving up, Rexei sagged onto the bench next to Grenfallow . . . and a storm of conversation erupted. It seemed that everyone in the meeting hall just had to comment, discuss, and argue over what had happened. Rexei let it wash over her while she struggled with the idea, the concept, the fact that she was now responsible for the spirituality of her nation.

Everyone knew where the Gods came from: They literally came from the belief and faith of Their people. Culture dictated Their focus; for example, if a culture believed that horses were the most important things in the people’s daily lives, they would have a Horse God or Goddess. Equally important, the more people worshipped that God or Goddess, the more who believed in Them, the more their collective willpower fed that deity, permitting Them to grow strong and powerful.

The most often cited examples were the Patron of Fortuna, the Threefold God of Fate, believed by everyone to be the oldest and most powerful deity of all, and the second-most powerful deity in the world, Menda, Goddess of Mendhi and Patron of Writing. It was said They could even act well outside Their normal homelands because of this pervasive, worldwide belief in Them, though such miracles and manifestations were still exceptionally rare.

The terrible corollary to this belief-equals-power had been the bane of Mekhana for far too long, for fear could also keep a God in power. Sitting there, trembling from the draining effects of manifesting an actual deity, Rexei felt ill. If the priesthood in that temple worshipped whatever great demon they summoned . . . that demon could become a dark and vicious God—one with a small following, but even a small amount of belief could wreak miracles, regardless of whether they were malicious or divine. With that thought preying on her mind, she swallowed against the nausea raised by the possibility and swallowed again from nerves while people shouted questions and demands and argued near the top of their lungs.

The heavy cracking of the stone-headed mallet against its equally hard base cut through all the noise. Grandmaster Toric smacked his gavel again, a trio of sharp raps that demanded order. Looking up, Rexei could see the Guild Master of Masons wincing. Having been a Mason apprentice for four months at one point, she knew the stone used for the Consulate gavels was strong enough to withstand a fair amount of punishment, but it made a painfully loud, hard-struck sound.

Toric whacked the stone anvil twice more, then set his gavel down as the crowd finally fell quiet. “Thank you. I have listened to the chaos of your words, and I have gleaned three important questions. First, was that a true manifestation of a deity? Second, is this Guildra the sort of Goddess we actually want? And third, is Master Gearman Longshanks’ apparent elevation to Guild Master of the as yet unvalidated Holy Guild a legitimate elevation? These questions will be addressed by this Consulate meeting, but we will have order in this hall.

“Technically . . . there should be a fourth question in there,” he added dryly, “of whether or not we want a Holy Guild. I admit I am personally of the mind that I would rather do without any priests or any God . . . but then I have lost seven extended family members to the predations of the last group, who were less-than-stellar examples of what every other nation calls a priesthood. I acknowledge my prejudice, and must recuse myself from participating in any deciding votes on the particular subject regarding the validation of any new priestly guild . . . though I will oversee any arbitration needed with absolute neutrality.

“Let us begin with the first question,” Grandmaster Toric stated as everyone stayed respectfully quiet. The guilds depended heavily upon the Gearmen for that very neutrality and the fairness it carried, and were willing to listen to the debates. He dipped his head in appreciation of their respect and placed an hourglass—or rather, a two-minute glass, a standard length for timing short speeches in such meetings—prominently in front of himself. “So. Was that a true manifestation of a new deity?

“I will open the floor to short speeches of proof or disputation of the matter. Please raise your hand if you have something useful and unique to contribute. Remember, if anyone else has covered what you want to say, simply state that you agree with them and sit down, or move on to a new point to be discussed.”

The apprentices came around with a second set of refreshments, moving as quietly and unobtrusively as they could. This time, Rexei accepted a mug of hot spiced cider and a wedge of cheese. It gave her something to do while one by one, various citizens of Heiastowne and the retinue of the visiting Guild Masters stood and gave their opinions on the matter. Most everyone was in at least tentative favor of it having been a true manifestation, save for one repeating question.

“Master Longshanks, as many have asked just now, answer us truthfully,” Toric finally stated, making her head jerk up like a deer hearing a noise in the woods. “Did you yourself plan for or attempt anything which would have caused that apparition?”

Caught in the mass of stares aimed her way, she shook her head quickly. “No! I swear, I wasn’t even expecting it. If you’ll remember, I was looking at all of you and . . . and just speaking from my heart. The only thought in my head was to hopefully sway you by the logic of my words and by the truths which we all know.”

Alonnen spoke up, addressing the grandmaster. “For my own part, Grandmaster, I believe I saw a near-manifestation several hours earlier while in a discussion with Longshanks about the sort of Patron we should have now that the, ah, False God is gone. Longshanks did not notice anything then, same as he did not notice just now until after She had manifested. But he was speaking from the heart, then as now. Given what my Guild manages, I can also say with strong certainty that there was no magic involved, either then or just now.”

“Your word on this?” Toric asked him.

“I give my word,” Alonnen confirmed, bowing his head. “It is for that reason, the earlier, barely discernible image of the same figure we all saw just now, that I requested Longshanks put his words and thoughts into a usable format, defining what sort of Patron we best need and what sort of Guild might serve as the facilitators for that Patron Deity.”

“So this is basically your idea?” Captain Torhammer asked dryly.

“Organizing it as a discussion, yes. Defining it, no,” he replied calmly. “That would be Master Longshanks’ purview.”

“Thank you. Given the general consensus of everyone present, I believe we can vote that this manifestation was a genuine Goddess event. Any dissenting votes?” Toric asked. A few hands rose, but out of the hundreds crammed into the hall, there were only four or five at most. “Any abstaining? Eight, right. Show of hands for agreement? . . . Five dissenters, eight abstentions, and over five hundred confirmations. Consensus confirmed. Moving on to question two, is a Goddess of Guilds, representing everything which we as members of many guilds believe the Guild System stands for, the sort of Patron Deity we might actually want?

“Again, please raise your hands only if you have something unique to contribute, or we’ll be here all night. Remember, this is a discussion question and not an actual vote by the guilds to accept any Patron Deities at this time . . .”

This time, the debate ranged longer. Some of the men and women called upon to speak even tried to define a different God or Goddess . . . but however fervently they spoke, however much the speakers peered around, nothing happened. Grandmaster Toric eventually ruled after the sixth or seventh attempt that discussing a different Patron was not the topic at hand and would not be further discussed. That sped things up a bit, until the general consensus was agreed upon that a Patron Goddess of Guilds was something most everyone could get behind.

More gratifying for Rexei was how even those who had suggested alternatives agreed that a Goddess of the Guilds seemed a reasonable sort of Patron for their culture to have.

Once more under scrutiny, Rexei found herself grateful that Alonnen had insisted she put her ideas down on paper. It had allowed her to revisit and refresh her ideas on what a proper Patron Deity should be, and more specifically the Patron for her people. By being prepared enough to answer their questions—even if she had to think of a couple replies on the spot—she sounded competent, even professional. An equal among Guild Masters, however young she might be. Rexei felt relief and gratitude for that.

The third question, whether or not Rexei was a legitimate Guild Master of the as-yet unapproved Holy Guild, quickly morphed into whether or not Rexei was an appropriate Guild Master for a brand-new priestly guild. As the Grandmaster Gearman pointed out, it was a question partially wrapped up in whether or not they wanted a new priestly guild, but as more than one person expressed from the audience, if they wanted to be an officially recognized kingdom, it would help to have an official Patron Deity. That was a discussion which Rexei could not sit out of and ignore, for many of the questions and comments were directed at her.

Yes, she believed in Guildra, Patron of Guilds. No, she would never worship or believe in anyone even remotely like Mekha. Yes, she would serve as a priest. No, she would not demand to remain the Guild Master if someone more suitable were found. Yes, she had a charter drawn up—a rough draft of a charter—as an apprentice dozens of times over, Rexei had seen and studied far too many not to know how to put one together, even if she hadn’t ever apprenticed in the Law-Sayers Guild.

Yes, she was serious about requiring apprenticeship in at least three different guilds, because Guildra was the Goddess of Guilds, plural, so Her servants would have to understand the viewpoints and needs of multiple guilds as well. No, she had not been joking when she said she would expect Gearmen to retire or recuse themselves from that particular guild and its Consulate-associated duties if they joined the new Holy Guild, because during votes, they would have to represent only their own guild . . . or choose not to represent the Holy Guild in a vote when choosing to act as a Gearman representative for any other Guild. Yes, she was willing to consider other names, though Holy Guild was the simplest and most direct name for it, particularly if they were going to discard and disassociate themselves from the corrupt, Mekha-ruled version that had just been disbanded.

She had to consult her notes several times to get an answer culled from the ideas written down, but otherwise, she didn’t have too much trouble. If Alonnen hadn’t insisted she write her thoughts down, however, she would have faltered.

The hardest question to answer came from the Precinct captain. “What, exactly, do you envision to be the daily life role of you and your fellow . . . Holies, for lack of a better label? How will you fit into our lives when you claim to want to avoid everything that Mekha’s priests have demanded and done?”

“We . . . will inspire, I guess,” Rexei said. She had forgotten to include this possibility in her note-organizing that afternoon. “We’ll inspire creativity and cooperation. Understanding, too. The guilds don’t always talk to each other, and when they do, it’s often by bringing a complaint to their local Consulate. The Holy Guild would try to foster understanding before misunderstandings become formal issues. Gearmen do some of this, but their main focus is their own guilds, specifically the ones they joined—even as a Gearman, while I can discuss a subject, I cannot legally represent the Lessors Guild for a vote because I have never owned land. I cannot represent the Butchers; I haven’t even harmed anything bigger than a roach or a fly.

“The Holy Guild must come to an understanding of the needs of all guilds, to be able to be the lubrication between the guilds. We need to help point out the similarities, the things that make each organization strong, secure, and caring in regards to each member’s needs.

“And . . . and if we can get over our fear of a deity,” she added, trying to put into words what she knew in her head was right but what her heart still cowered away from, “then the Holy Guild will help pray to that deity for intercession—for rain when the Tillers need good crops, and for dry weather when the Roofers need to work, or for safe conditions when the Roadworks are trying to clear avalanches in the mountains. For protection and aid against any aggressive neighbors, and for calm minds and hearts so that we ourselves are never the aggressors. For inspiration with new ideas, and for the . . . the coming together of resources and ideas when creating new things which will be very beneficial for everyone.

“More than that, though, if the Convocation of Gods and Man has been reinstated,” Rexei told the others, glancing briefly at Alonnen because she didn’t dare mention the word demon, “then we need a Patron Deity, and the sooner, the better. We need to have one codified and accepted so that outsiders will think twice before bothering us, and lost ex-Mekhanans will see that we have order and peace and a Goddess who is a true Patron of this land. She can be Named at the next Convocation, but She needs to be worshipped now, so that She can go to work now. For us, instead of against us. That, above everything, will give us a measure of safety that will stretch far beyond the borders of Heias Precinct or Gren Precinct or even beyond the old borders of Mekhana, for all we will probably never march past those borders.”

Grenfallow spoke up next to Rexei. She did so by holding her arm out over the table, fingers curled and thumb poking to the side. “We have a saying, ‘by the pricking of my thumb,’ and we all know its meaning: The desperate desire to get rid of Mekha. Well, now we are rid of the False God . . . and we have a chance at a true Goddess, one envisioned by a fellow sufferer. It is time now for us to do more than just sign our names in blood. We must add in our sweat . . . but we will need guidance. If we are to have a Patron of the Guilds, then we must all contribute, if not bodies willing to join the new priesthood, then understanding and acceptance for those who wish to serve . . . instead of those who demanded to be served.”

“I’m sure we are all deeply grateful for whatever agent helped rid us of the last one, but we as a nation cannot stand alone,” one of the master-ranked Gearmen at the far end of the table stated. “We do have neighbors. We have things we need to trade for that can only be found outside our own borders—good quality sand for the Glassworks Guild is one example, but it is just one of the many things we can only get by trade. If we don’t have a Patron Deity, if we don’t have a priesthood that does represent the interests of all the guilds of this land, then how can we talk to our neighbors and be assured they will listen? How can we keep them from invading us, unless we get their own Goddesses and Gods to agree to leave us alone? That requires representation at the Convocation. The alternative would mean war . . . and I for one do not want another Patron Deity of War, whatever else He may have claimed to be.”

“I find myself having to agree,” Captain Torhammer stated. That caused a few blinks, but he continued smoothly. “We do need holy representation to take our complaints and our needs to the whole world, and to be reassured that our concerns are respected and heard. That requires a God or Goddess, and a servant to stand as the representative between Them and the people. But I don’t want to be ordered about by any more holy types. I’ve had enough of that already.”

Rexei answered that one quickly. “I have the same problem as well, Captain Torhammer. I don’t envision Guildra’s servants as the sort to do any ordering around. Suggest, yes. Advise, yes. Command, no.

“I also don’t imagine that we’d ever need all that many ‘Holies,’ as you name us,” she added, unconsciously including herself in that lot, though this was far, far from anything she had ever imagined would happen to her. Rexei had conceived of the idea of Guildra but not of herself as a priestess. Nor could she imagine all that many others would be interested, though she didn’t quite put it that way to the Consulate meeting. “There’d be no more than a couple per large city, and maybe one per smaller town. The little villages wouldn’t even need that much, maybe a visiting holy guildsman on a touring circuit, sort of like a member of the Messengers Guild, dropping by every so many days.

“We wouldn’t be the smallest of guilds out there, but our numbers would be far smaller than Mekha’s priesthood ever was. With everyone believing in the Guild System, we wouldn’t need the power of an overcrowded priesthood to raise power for our Goddess. Your belief in the guilds—which you already have, or you wouldn’t be high-ranked members of such good standing—that belief would easily translate into a belief in Guildra as our holiest representative. What you want in a Goddess, She would become . . . and I think we can all safely say that She would never become like Mekha, because of that belief-equals-being. None of us wants that, so She will not be that. If anything, I should hope there would be others besides myself, people who are experienced in many guilds but firm in their conviction of being utterly unlike the last lot.”

That seemed to satisfy most everyone. Seated at the head table, she didn’t have to restrict her comments to two minutes, though taking too much time would cause the five-minute hourglass to come out. Rexei checked her notes discreetly but couldn’t think of anything to add. Grandmaster Toric pointed at one of the hands raised on their side of the table. The question came from the local grandmaster of the Architects Guild.

“Master Longshanks, would you be taking over the temple at the heart of this city, then?” the elderly man asked her. “Presuming we could evict that nest of roaches currently living inside, of course.”

Rexei shuddered. “No. Absolutely not . . . and I must recuse myself from further answers on this particular topic, as my personal opinion is that every Mekha-tainted temple should be destroyed down to its lowest levels, filled in, and paved over with as many tons of prayer-blessed salt as we can sow, to counteract its evils.” She paused, then added honestly, “Though when I push past my revulsion for the place, I can acknowledge that no building, in and of itself, is evil and that someone might find a far better use for it.

“I saw, with my own eyes, all the marks of Mekha erased from every surface in that temple. It is nothing more than a building now . . . and as such, should probably be put to good use. Perhaps by the Hospitallers for an inn, or the Militia for an inner-city barracks.” Mind racing, she shrugged and finished, “In fact, if anything, members of the Holy Guild should be based in the Consulate halls, so that everyone knows we’re there to serve all the guilds.”

“We’ll take that suggestion under advisement,” Toric returned dryly.

At that point, one of the lady Guild Masters whispered in the ear of one of the master-ranked Gearmen not quite on the far side of the table from Rexei. He in turn spoke up, calling for a vote on a brief intermission to stretch and use the refreshing rooms. It passed with alacrity.

Only her own multicity familiarity with the general construction of most Consulates, even large ones like this one, allowed Rexei to beat the others to the nearest one. When she emerged, the line stretched all the way back into the meeting hall. A few of the men and women waiting in the queue looked like they wanted to talk with her, but long-standing tradition said that what was discussed in the meeting hall stayed in the meeting hall during such intermissions. Only when the meeting ended could anything be discussed freely elsewhere.

Of course, that made Rexei reluctant to return to the meeting hall. Taking a detour around the outer corridors ringing the central chamber, Rexei finally found herself at the front entrance. Peering through one of the windows flanking the great double doors, she watched the lamplit flakes of snow swirling thickly down out of the dark sky. Enough had already fallen to coat every surface of the city street, various motorhorses, and more than one motorcart within viewing range by nearly two inches, with more yet to come.

She returned to the hall when her breath misted the glass panes too heavily to see through. Several minutes and another round of refreshments later, the meeting reconvened with a rap of the Consulate mallet. The discussions continued, dragging on for another hour plus, if not longer; somewhere in there, Rexei lost track of just how late it was, other than the realization that a second mug of mulled cider and a sweet biscuit on top of a bit of cheese was no substitute for a thoroughly missed supper.

The general consensus remained that Guildra’s appearance was a genuine manifestation. The corollary to that was Guildra’s desire that Rexei Longshanks be Her Guild Master, Her highest-ranked representative. But while the majority did admit that the concept of Guildra as Patron Goddess was a good idea, no one was willing to implement it just yet. The idea of renaming their kingdom—or at least this corner of it—as Guildara had some enthusiasm behind it as well, but like Guildra Herself, no one was quite ready to make it official.

Rexei knew it was partly because some people were worried that Mekha wasn’t truly gone, even though by all evidence His symbols were gone even from the temple’s outer walls and His victims had been set free by His own priests, who had only released corpses and infants before this day. But that was only a part of it. Mainly, they refrained because no one in the room felt qualified to make such a huge decision as just one town alone, however large or well-graced by resident and visiting Guild Masters the meeting was.

At least there was a consensus about that much, though it was clear there was still much to be discussed. Finally, when there were too many side conversations happening around the edges of the room, Grandmaster Toric rapped his gavel, collecting the respectful attention of everyone in the hall.

“Enough. It is late, and these things are too great to be settled easily, never mind immediately. Master Gearman Terostream has reminded me just now that in order to be a guild, there really should be more members than just the designated Guild Master. I am, therefore, recommending to Master Longshanks that he acquire three apprentices, each having had experience in the requisite minimum of three guilds as any Gearman requires, with the added caveat that each experience be of no less than three months in order to qualify.

“These discussions will be debated at a future date, as yet to be determined. In light of the undoubted jealousy and outrage the ex-priesthood will no doubt experience when they learn of these facts . . . it is strongly suggested that you do not gossip about the identity of the proposed Guild Master of the new Holy Guild . . . just as you would not discuss the identity of . . . mages,” he made himself say. More than one person shuddered and glanced around warily. Gathering himself, the elderly Gearman continued, “The proposal to rename this kingdom as Guildara shall be rediscussed two weeks from today and shall include Consuls and Sub-Consuls selected from our nearest sister cities and related towns. We shall also debate further at that time whether or not to accept and spread the idea of this Guildra, a Goddess of Guilds, as our new Patron Deity. With that being said, I declare this meeting—”

“One more thing, Grandmaster Toric,” Alonnen interjected, cutting him off.

“What now, Guild Master Tall?” Toric asked, rolling his eyes. “Or have you not realized you’ve proposed more than enough for this evening?”

“There is one more thing which needs to be discussed right now, Grandmaster, and that is the distribution and care of the ex-priesthood’s former prisoners. In other words, the mages that have been released, now that Mekha is no longer draining them,” Alonnen stressed. Unlike Toric, he didn’t hesitate to say the M word.

Rexei had forgotten about them. She winced, berating herself silently for having forgotten the men and women who needed care and protection. Others around her winced as well, though more for the way he so openly said mages than for anything else. Using the word snared their attention, however, and she watched Alonnen firmly press the point.

“My Guild cannot take them in. Literally, we have not the room; we have not the food; we have not the clothing, nor anything else. We are already overflowing with people we cannot care for . . . and as soon as this snowstorm is over, I am going to have to send them back to your guilds, which means you, all of you, each and every other Guild out there, will have to care for, clothe, feed, and assist them in learning how to pick up their lives again.”

That caused an even louder uproar than the debate over Rexei’s manifestation of the Goddess and abrupt Guild Mastery. The uproar was so loud, it took Grandmaster Toric several smacks of his gavel to get everyone to quiet down again. Alonnen seized their reluctant quiet to assert his reasons, rising to his feet as he did so. He spoke sternly, staring down the men and women across from him, and the men and women seated to either side of him.

“This is not negotiable! Heiastowne alone released one hundred fifty-three prisoners, and every other Precinct with a temple that released its prisoners wants to send them to my guild. We do not have the resources for that. More than that,” he stated, pulling out a sheet of paper from his coat. “More than that, I have here a document signed by our predecessor Guild Masters to acknowledge that all guildmembers of good standing, current or former, have the right to call upon every guild they ever served in for succor in times of great need, whether that’s one guild or twenty, whether it’s illness, injury, or whatever . . . and these men and women have been grievously injured.

“And of these prisoners who have been released?” Alonnen added tartly. “Of all of them that we’ve taken in so far, nearly a hundred that you’ve tried to foist off on me, when we have neither the room nor the supplies to care for them? Only three were actual, registered members of my guild. The rest were taken off the streets and out of their homes long before they could ever take refuge with my predecessors and me. The responsibility is yours, gentles.”

Another session of outbursts and counterarguments echoed off the walls. Rexei, tired, overwrought, and now angry, shoved to her feet and smacked her fist onto the table with a thunk. “Enough!” she roared, her high tenor cutting through the babble. “Breaking them up into small numbers and spreading them out across all the guilds means that each guild with a large member base only has to support three or four people—which your guilds can do easily—and each guild with a small membership, save for the tiniest, can equally easily handle one or two.

“You will not abandon your responsibilities to your fellow guildmembers, is that clear?” Rexei demanded. She thumped the table with her fist again. “You will not abandon your responsibilities. You are the guilds of this land. You are the power, and the responsibility, that has kept the False God’s priesthood in check. But even though the False God is now gone, you are still responsible for maintaining order, for abiding by your own charters!

“And if you try to refuse your rightful responsibilities, then to the Netherhells with you! You will not abandon these people, nor force one guild alone to take up the entire responsibility of helping these undoubted thousands of Mekha’s victims learn how to live again!” She glared out across the stunned, silent crowd, then turned her furious stare on the Guild Masters seated elbow to elbow along the length of the curved table. “Because if that’s how you feel, then take off your guild medallions and get out, right now! Get out of this land! You don’t deserve to live here! Get out!”

Her other hand jabbed hard at the main doors into the meeting hall, the ones that led straight to the front doors of the Consulate building and the snow outside. No one moved, and no one spoke. She lowered her arm, giving everyone a hard look.

“Since you’re one and all sitting there instead of leaving,” Alonnen stated in the silence that followed her words, “I’ll take that as unanimous consent that each and every guild will accept responsibility for however many ex-prisoner mages they can handle. As I said, my guild literally does not have the resources to host more than a bare handful, so the remainder will be sent back to Heiastowne and its guilds . . . and by your unanimous consent, you will all send word, particularly the Guild Masters, that it has been decided that all other towns shall retain and care for their own mage-prisoner populations, and protect them from the ex-priesthood still in our midst.”

Rexei sat down as he spoke, leaving him to hold the floor, but he was not uncontested. One voice did speak up.

“You may have shamed them into silence, Guild Master Tall, but the two of you cannot unilaterally make that kind of decision for the entire span of Mekhana . . . even if Mekha is gone,” Captain Torhammer stated. “I will continue to uphold the laws of this land for as long as I remain a Precinct captain. These contracts may be valid, but the scale of responsibility is far greater than anything we have ever seen as a nation, and the corresponding impact will be as great. The law states that any decision which affects the entire kingdom requires a quorum vote, the minimum for which is twenty Guild Masters. Even if we include Toric as a Grandmaster-ranked Gearman and myself as a Precinct captain, both of which do have full quorum-level votes at our ranks . . . we still have only nineteen assembled in this hall.”

“Then I move that we vote to acknowledge Master Longshanks as Guild Master of the incipient Holy Guild.” The man who spoke up had not said much, if anything, before now. Rexei had to squint to see the symbol on the Guild Master’s medallion. It took her a few moments to realize it was a lute crossed with a flute, the mark of the Luthiers Guild, instrument makers.

Toric quickly smacked his gavel, cutting off the start of the next round of conversational chaos. “Order! Be seated and be silent. This proposal is valid and fair. Incipient guilds have one year and one day to prove themselves, up to and including gathering a sufficient body of apprentices to learn the specific craft of that new guild.

“Since we have acknowledged that the Goddess Guildra did manifest in conjunction with Longshanks’ expressed beliefs in Her, and given we all witnessed Her giving Longshanks a Guild Master medallion, we shall take it as moot that She wishes Longshanks to be the Guild Master of Her Holy Guild. Whether or not She will be our Patron Goddess, and thus whether Longshanks shall be the permanent Guild Master of the new priestly order within the borders of our land, is a discussion for another day.

“We are restricted to voting to see if Master Rexei Longshanks will be acknowledged among us as the Guild Master of the Holy Guild, its incipiency to begin today. Guild Masters, grandmasters, and masters, if you are in favor of acknowledging Rexei Longshanks as Guild Master of the Holy Guild, raise your hands now.”

A forest of arms lifted into the air. Some shot up immediately, while others rose at a slower rate. Rexei couldn’t count them all from where she was seated, but it looked like she had a majority vote in her favor at both the head table and among the first five rows of the pews.

“Lower your arms. All opposed . . . ?” Toric asked. This time, the number of arms was easily countable, less than ten. “And those who abstain?” A few more arms raised. He gestured for the arms to drop, consulted under his breath with the Precinct captain, then nodded. “The number of votes for is over eighty, which is where I lost count because it’s too late at night. The number of votes against is nine. The number abstaining is twelve. Motion passes. The Consulate of Heias Precinct grants you the title of Guild Master Rexei Longshanks of the incipient Holy Guild. Don’t let it go to your head,” the elderly Gearman warned her. “You are acknowledged a Guild Master, but you are young, and your Guild virtually nonexistent . . . not to mention not yet fully acknowledged.”

Rexei bowed her head, acknowledging his point. He continued, addressing the others.

“Guild Masters. You have been apprised of your responsibilities locally for those prisoners released from the Heiastowne temple. You have been informed of the release of prisoners elsewhere in your homeland and the fact that the inhabitants of those other towns are attempting to absolve themselves of their chartered responsibility for all members, current and former, of good standing . . . and I shall remind you that being kidnapped by the False God’s priesthood simply for the ability to . . . to cast magic does not make any guildmember a member in bad standing.

“As Guild Masters, you have the right to make unilateral decisions for all guildmembers within your purview. As we now have twenty present, we have a quorum for kingdom-wide decisions. Shall we return these . . . ex-prisoners . . . into your individual guilds’ care in small groups? Or shall we place them all into the care of the one guild which even now none of us cares to formally name out loud?”

The men and women seated at the Consulate table exchanged wordless, wary looks. It was clear they weren’t comfortable with the idea of taking back into their midst known mages, whom the priesthood could come back and grab at any point in time. Rexei wanted to say something, but she knew this wasn’t her fight.

The one man who knew whose fight it was did not stand up again, but he did speak sharply.

“If they get shoved into my guild,” Alonnen told the hall, “then I will demand tithes from each of your guilds to cover the costs of feeding, clothing, and giving each ex-prisoner adequate medical care and emotional support. And a stipend to cover all further expenses that may crop up . . . and if you will not give those supplies willingly, then I shall have no choice but to command my people to take those supplies, just to keep everyone from starving to death within the first week.”

“Thank you, Guild Master Tall. I will presume that you vote to insist that every guild take up the care and responsibility for at least some of these ex-prisoners,” Toric said dryly.

“Damn right, I do,” Alonnen shot back. “We’ll take in a few, but we can only afford to take in a few—there are five guilds in this town with less than a dozen members, from masters to apprentices, so we’ll take in one for each of them, plus the three who were registered with us before their capture. Any others will require a full-support tithe, and the maximum we’ll take in will be thirty . . . so twenty-two of them would require support tithes.”

Rexei seized the pause that followed his words. “I also must insist that the guilds accept and manage their responsibilities toward each other in this matter.”

“If we will continue from that end of the Consulate bench,” Toric stated dryly, “I shall take that as two votes for multiguild management of the ex-prisoners. Guild Master of Actors?”

“I vote for each of the guilds to take in a few of the prisoners,” the redhead stated firmly. “Regardless of the outcome, the Actors Guild will take in at least three. My fellow guildmembers can manage that much locally here in Heiastowne. In Luxon, the temple has yet to release its captives, but when it does, I know we can care for five or six in the larger arms of the Actors Guild there. We won’t abandon anyone, though we, too, are limited in how many we can accept.”

“Guild Master of Modellers?” Toric asked.

“It is all our responsibility, not just Guild Master Tall’s. We can take in three here in Heiastowne without any strain to our resources. Hollowfeld to the south is a small town. We had only twelve prisoners released total,” the male Guild Master stated, “but the Modellers Guild has a solid presence for its size, there. We, the Tillers, Woodwrights, and Hospitallers all took in the released mages pretty much immediately. We can even take in two more from this area, ship them to my fellow Modellers in Hollowfeld, and see that they receive proper care . . . and wherever possible, we will take in one or two elsewhere as well.”

“Guild Master of Wheelrights?”

“We’ll do it across the kingdom . . . and we’ll take in five here in Heiastowne right away. Or at least when the weather improves,” the rough-voiced man stated. “I saw the snow outside. We’ll all have to take refuge in town tonight.”

The vote continued down the line. Each man and woman questioned agreed to accept responsibility kingdom-wide, and most listed a number, small but significant, which they knew their nearest groups could take in immediately. Hearing so many accept their responsibilities, Rexei started to relax. However, she could see Alonnen tensing, no doubt worried that a single vote otherwise would throw his whole guild into turmoil.

Torhammer dipped his head slightly when it was his turn. “As Precinct captain, it is my responsibility to enforce the law. This I have done as firmly as I could. The law says that each guild owes a responsibility to all of its members, past and current, provided they are all of good standing. That means the orphans of lost guildmembers can call upon their parents’ guilds for support and protection. Injured members can request their guilds to pay for their apothecary expenses, and so forth. I am well aware that these ex-prisoners are orphaned and injured, as much or more inside their hearts and minds as in their bodies. My vote goes toward all guilds across the land accepting their share of responsibility.

“However, that being said . . . this and the other Precinct militias cannot accept the responsibility of any of these orphaned and injured mages into its ranks—let me finish,” he added sternly, raising a hand as several in the audience across from the head table started to protest. “Not because we do not care, but because we must manage the Hunter Squads. Some of which are still out there, hunting down mages because they may not yet realize that Mekha is indeed gone from everywhere, rendering their captives unnecessary. I have reached some of them via talker-box in the last day . . . but not all of them have reported in, yet.”

“Mekha doesn’t exist anymore!” one of the female Guild Masters asserted. “There’s no need for them to keep and drain their prisoners.”

“Mekha being gone simply means that there’s nothing to stop these bastards from draining any captive mages for their own benefit,” Alonnen growled. “It isn’t quite blood magic, but it is still a form of rape most foul. I must agree with Captain Torhammer; his support of the law is deeply appreciated, and technically all Precinct militias are a form of guild, and all of captain or higher rank have a vote in this quorum . . . but I also must agree that his reason for abstaining from direct support is understandable in the light of his explanation.

“My guild will take in an additional five mages on top of the original eight in the militia’s name. With supporting tithes from the militia, of course,” he continued, his tone pointed and dry. “I trust, Captain Torhammer, that you will rein in the Hunter Squads within your jurisdiction and inform them in no uncertain terms that hunting for mages is now at an end? And that you will explain to the ex-priesthood in equally blunt terms that they are no longer allowed to imprison, torture, rape, and drain any mages ever again?” Alonnen asked. “You are renowned as the Hammer of Heiastowne. Feel free to invoke that hammer in the name of the law.”

“It would help, Guild Master Tall, if our very next vote after this one is an equally unanimous quorum on decreeing the imprisonment and draining of mages to be utterly illegal,” Torhammer returned wryly.

Toric spoke up, regaining control without using the gavel stone. “That is the very next subject and shall be tabled until this vote is complete. As a grandmaster-ranked Gearman, I have the right to vote in this quorum . . . and I vote for the guilds to undertake their lawful responsibility as well,” Toric asserted. “The Heiastowne Consulate can manage to care for at least one ex-prisoner at this time. Not every Consulate is large enough for a permanent staff, but ours can manage that much.”

Rexei focused on tidying up her papers and returning them to her bag while the vote continued to the far end of the table. By the time the last Guild Master voted, however . . . it was clearly unanimous not only in agreement, but in the voicing of how many freed mages each guild would take. A nonbinding show of hands was called for among the grandmasters and masters with no Guild Master representing them at the head table. Most raised their arms in favor, with only a few abstaining—mostly those with only master-rank members within the city’s walls—and none voting otherwise. Many of them stood up, each in turn offering shelter for the ex-prisoners.

She felt deeply relieved for the sake of the Mages Guild and its rather finite resources at that last revelation. From the look on Alonnen’s face when he glanced at her, he felt the same way. By the time the last guild offered, all one hundred fifty-three mages, and then some, were covered.

By comparison, the vote to render any further capture, torture, and power-draining of mages illegal was a simple yes/no vote. In fact, it passed so swiftly that it was anticlimactic. With one last admonishment for “Guild Master Longshanks” to finish polishing the new Holy Guild’s charter for future ratification and to pick up at least three apprentices as soon as possible, Grandmaster Toric closed the meeting with a rhythmic rapping of his gavel on its matching stone anvil.

Immediately, Alonnen was up on his feet and crossing the distance between him and Rexei. Snagging her elbow, he murmured in her ear, “Let’s go. Out the back, right away,” he ordered, literally pulling her off her end of the bench. “If we don’t get both of us out of here now, we’ll not get free for two hours or more.”

Snatching up her bag and grabbing her coat and cap from where she had rolled them up and tucked them under the bench seat, Rexei followed him. Several of the others tried to intercept both of them for questions, but both were quick and slim enough to squeeze through the barely open side door. Rexei pulled it shut behind her, slowing down their would-be interrogators. That gave them a few more seconds to dodge into the back corridors of the Consulate building.

Alonnen led her out into the alley, quickly shut the door, then pulled her across to a door placed almost directly opposite, and rapped on it in a hard, fast pattern not too dissimilar from the one the head of the Consulate had used to end the emergency session. Rexei had only a glimpse of the trampled snow of the alley, but it was enough to tell her that several people within the last hour had used this particular door, both coming and going.

It swung open within seconds. By the time the Consulate back door started to open, the door to the new building had swung shut. They were let into it by a vaguely familiar man.

“How many?” the middle-aged door guard asked without preamble, watching them stamp off the three inches of snow they had waded through.

“Nine,” Alonnen stated. “The others will come in soon.”

Someone came down the nearby stairs, so heavily bundled up, swathed in coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, Rexei couldn’t have sworn they were fully human, never mind their gender or anything else. From the way the figure avoided her gaze, she thought maybe they were trying to avoid being recognized. Then again, he or she could just be wrapped up against all that snow outside, with a long walk to wherever they’re headed home . . .

“You only get three. Back stairs, rooms thirty-six through thirty-eight,” the burly man stated, plucking a key from the wall by the door and handing it over without being asked or offered anything—and that was when Rexei recognized him by voice as well as face. He was the fellow who had bruised her shoulder just the day before. She kept her head ducked low, not even daring to peek at him. Thankfully, his attention had switched to letting the other person pass outside.

Relieved to have avoided another confrontation with the strong-fingered man, she mounted three sets of stairs in Alonnen’s wake. The place was remarkably silent; even the stairs barely creaked as they made the climb, leaving her with nothing to do but follow her guide and eye the rich, brocaded gold and red cloth glued to the walls in place of mere painted plaster. The corridor at the top of the stairs was equally opulent, though up here the predominant colors were gold and lilac, even if the flowerlike pattern was the same. Even the doors were painted pale purple with decorative numbers and trim in polished brass . . . including the one, tucked into the corner of the L-shaped hall, that Alonnen opened.

Visual opulence wasn’t the only overwhelming factor. The smells inhabiting both the corridor and the chamber behind that panel made her nose itch from the faint but cloying mix of perfume, musk, and . . . Stepping fully into the room, she rubbed at her nose and frowned at the floor, trying to figure out what that scent was. It took her a few moments to realize the smell underlying everything was not musk, as in the perfume; no, it was the scent of sex. She stopped mid nose-rub and blinked, then hurriedly glanced around. Closing the door behind her, Alonnen lifted one brow, catching her bewildered look.

Rexei focused on the room, not the man at her side; him, she trusted. This place was another matter. Golden wood covered the walls to about hip height and a fancy, carved rail board capped the vertical panels, and above that, yet more silk fabric, this time patterned with delicately woven flying birds, had been glued to the plaster-smooth walls. The front half of the room had a padded divan for seating, a small table with two dining chairs, and a side table hosting a collection of carafes no doubt filled with expensive beverages. A scale sat nearby, suggesting the price of the drinks contained within were gauged by the weight of whatever remained behind. She resolved not to touch a drop, since she didn’t have much in the way of money on her.

A woodstove on the left and a pleated privacy screen on the right divided the front from the back. On the other side, the far wall hosted a huge bed flanked by quilt-curtained windows and mounded with what looked like freshly bleached sheets and a thick, down-stuffed quilt. To the right of it, partially shielded behind the privacy screen, lay a rounded alcove large enough to host a permanent, polished-copper bath in the middle. More quilted fabric panels had been pulled down over the windows, shutting out the lamplight of the city and cutting off some of the drafts, but from the smell and the furnishings and the shape of the room, Rexei knew what that alcove was. This was one of the famous “turret” rooms of Big Momma Bertha’s Brothel.

She had heard about it within her first three days here in Heiastowne, in fact. When Big Momma wanted to “advertise” her establishment’s offerings, she instructed some of the ladies of her guild, and even a gentleman or two from time to time, to take a bath with those blinds rolled up out of the way, particularly on the second floor, which gave just enough of a view to titillate the people in the street. The basement hosted a gambling den, and the ground floor catered some of the better meals for sale in the city. The four floors above were all for rent, usually by the hour, and always for a fairly high price.

Rumor had it the time spent at Big Momma’s establishment was worth it, though. Some of the younger men in the Servers Guild, and even two of the women, had spoken of saving up enough money to visit this place or boasted of having done so in the past. Of all the places Rexei had expected them to go for shelter during a snowstorm, however, this was not one of them. In fact, she had expected somewhere else would have been chosen first.

“If your mouth were as wide-open as your eyes,” Alonnen quipped, removing his cap, “you’d be choking on a bullfrog, never mind a fly. Relax, Rexei. This is a bolt-hole, not an assignation.”

Blinking, Rexei struggled to regain some of her sense of calm. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “So . . . uh . . . how long do we stay here?”

“Two good meals with a bit of sleep in between,” he told her. “If it’s three inches down here on the plains, the snow up by the dam is going to be eight or more deep until it’s cleared, too deep to drive in safely with all those hill-hugging curves on the last stretch of the road. I wish the Wheelwrights would come up with a better method of traction in icy, slippery conditions, but until they do, we’re safer spending the night here. In the meantime, I am hungry, and if you’re not, you should be after all that talking. We can check the menu on the little table, there, to see what’s being offered this week.”

Unbuttoning her coat, she shrugged out of it, then pulled off her winter cap and set her messenger bag on the divan. Belatedly, she removed the heavy gold oval, dropping that into her bag for safekeeping. After adding the medallion-strung chain of her other guild associations, she joined him at the table. Someone had paid the Binders Guild for the use of one of their small printing presses. Made from four sheets folded in half and stitched together down the spine with a bit of ribbon, the menu included a wine list, finger foods, hearty dishes, sweet desserts . . . and a list of jams, jellies, syrups, and “a set of old sheets.”

That last one puzzled her. “Uhh . . . Alonnen? Why do they offer a set of old sheets on the same list as a bunch of flavorings and preserves?”

“What? Oh.” His face turned red. It was still altered somewhat by a disguise spell, a little more tanned with not even the hint of a freckle, but the illusion did not hide the rush of blood to his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Alonnen explained delicately, “That’s so you, ah, don’t get the regular sheets stained. It’s all boiled in hot water and bleached clean, but sometimes the fruit jams can still stain, you know.”

“I still don’t get it,” she told him. “What have jams and jellies to do with old sheets? Or new?”

Still a bit flushed, he cleared his throat. “It’s for those who like to strip their lover naked, lay them down on the old sheets, and then, uh, coat their curves with sweet preserves or, uh, drizzle them in things like butterscotch or caramel syrups . . . which they then lick off their lover’s body. And, ah, hopefully have the same done to them in return.”

Her mouth formed a wordless “oh” in reply. Reminding herself to breathe, that the man sharing this room with her didn’t even seem to want her in the normal way—an oddly unsettling thought—Rexei turned her attention firmly to her empty stomach. “Ah, do you know what this stuff is? Natallian . . . pah-stah?”

“It’s something made from finely ground wheat flour. It’s molded into shapes that are boiled, then drained and drenched in various sauces. It’s hard to explain,” he added at her dubious look, “but it’s just one of those things where once you’ve seen and tried it, you’ll just know what it is from that point on, rather than trying to explain it. I like the Nutty Chicken dish with it. Two or three kinds of nuts, mostly hazelnut, a bit of hazelnut-flavored liqueur, plus a bit of cream simmered with some herbs for the sauce, and it’s done.”

One of her brows raised. “You’ve never apprenticed to a cook in the Hospitallers or the Bakers Guilds, have you? Because that was a very bland description.”

“No, I haven’t. I grew up in the Hydraulics and Mages Guilds, right here in Heias Precinct,” Alonnen admitted. “I know I had a sheltered childhood compared to most mages elsewhere and that I haven’t suffered nearly as many hazards, though I have seen them, and the results of them.” He reached over and cupped his fingers over her hand. “You have my admiration for all you’ve survived, Rexei. You truly do.”

She looked down at his hand, wondering once again at how he could be such a . . . a touchy person. Just as he started to pull his hand away, she released the menu booklet and turned her palm over, twining her fingers with his. She blushed as she did so, and she didn’t quite meet his gaze, but she held his hand. “Thank you, Guild Master.”