Hern ignored this piece of rudeness. ‘Allow me to introduce your fellow council members. Marga here is responsible for the welfare of widows and orphans—unless of course you want to do this?’
Krital shook his head curtly.
‘We are reopening the houses of the indigent under less rigid rules. Ustavan is looking into restoring city markets.’ Hern waved to a sharp-looking former purveyor. He paused. ‘Unless of course you want to do that too?’
‘You know I don’t,’ growled Krital.
‘Murdle here is ensuring the supply of fish to the city. Tasmin is investigating the possibility of restoring the currency in some form. Medic Hort is contacting any doctors who have gone into hiding, assisted by Nurse Bedwin who is doing the same for midwives. Your escort, Conal Hunter, is in charge of a local watch system, dealing with incidents of theft and violence. Need I go on?’
‘You’ve made your point.’ Krital crossed his arms and tapped his foot irritably. ‘What does that make you—and where does it leave me?’
‘I’m temporary spokesman for the council until such time as we can identify an appropriate leader. As for you, we were hoping you’d like to take charge of defence. We need an army and yours is the only fighting force left to defend Rolvint.’
‘Why should I do that? Why don’t I just push aside your little council and get on with things my own way?’
Peri knew that that indeed was the crucial question. He wondered what his father would say.
‘Because, sir,’ said Hern, ‘you listened to a little foreigner when she came to you. I think you see that there is no point destroying the fragile efforts we’ve made to reconstruct our city. We’re not working against you; we’d like to work with you if you’d allow. Surely we’ve all had enough of chaos and bloodshed. It’s time to declare an amnesty and make a new start.’
Krital scanned the faces of those gathered in the entrance hall until his eyes lighted on Peri. He gave a thin-lipped smile.
‘All right, falconer, we’ll work together for now. On one condition.’
‘And that is?’ asked Hern nervously.
‘That we banish that boy from Rolvint. He shot that foreigner you mentioned. I won’t work with you if he’s here.’
Hern began to protest but Peri stepped forward.
‘No, it’s fine, Pa. I’ll go if that’s the price he wants.’
‘Pa?’ Krital looked at Hern with new hostility. ‘You can forget the offer of co-operation if he’s anywhere near me. Unless, that is, you’d like to give me your son so that we can settle our differences personally.’ He bared his teeth at Peri.
Peri had been carrying a great burden of guilt ever since he’d shot Rain. In a strange way, he felt relieved that he had a means of paying his debt.
‘I’ll go. But please, just tell me if Rain is all right.’
‘She is, no thanks to you, falcon boy.’
‘I’m not sending my own son into exile,’ protested Hern.
Krital slapped his gloves in his hand. ‘I’m in charge of the defence of the country, true?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Hern.
‘Then give me the boy. I’ve a vacancy for a guard on the road to the port. I’m sure he’ll enjoy serving under Morg, my commander in that district.’
So this was his revenge: to send Peri where Krital had just come from and make sure he suffered under his control as an outsider in the bandit army.
‘Peri has important work to do here,’ countered Hern.
‘Really?’ drawled Krital. ‘More important than mine?’
Peri handed his father the scrolls detailing the foot patrols he had been working on for Conal. ‘It really is fine, Pa. He knows we need him. There’s no point dragging this out.’
Hern reluctantly agreed, but he couldn’t let it rest there. He drew Krital aside and spoke right in his face. ‘You treat my boy well, Krital,’ he hissed, ‘or you’ll rack up a personal debt with me that I will insist you pay in full.’
Krital pulled away and laughed. ‘I’ll treat him exactly as he deserves, falconer. Morg, congratulations, you’ve just been appointed commander of the western district.’ The bald-headed bandit, who had first found Rain hiding from the attack on the convoy, stepped out from among the bodyguards, a malicious grin on his face. ‘Take our lad here and induct him into my army. You can have my old quarters as your own.’
‘Thanks, boss.’ Morg took Peri by the back of his neck. ‘You’re coming with me, scavenger.’
Krital folded his arms with great satisfaction as he watched Peri being frogmarched out of the palace. ‘Now that’s settled, I suggest you show me to my living quarters. We need to discuss the position of head of the ruling council, true?’
Morg thought it amusing to lodge Peri in the same hut in which he had shot Rain.
‘Here you go, bird boy, your new palace,’ he quipped, kicking over the pallet bed and stomping on the straw-filled mattress until it burst.
Peri supposed he should be grateful that the door was unlocked and he was free to move around the camp, but his first few days as a new recruit to Krital’s army left him wishing he could bar the entrance and stay inside. The dozen bandits given the job of guarding the pass on which they had once preyed, enjoyed having a target to bully. For them, it passed the boring hours off duty.
It started when one man threw his muddy footwear at Peri when he came into the hall for the evening meal. ‘Bird boy, clean my boots.’
Peri debated replying that the bandit should clean them himself, but knew this was a test. If he failed, it would give them the excuse to beat him up. On the surface, they may be reformed characters acting to uphold order, but their old nature lay not very deep beneath. Peri had always had a deep supply of patience in his dealings with wild birds; this was really no different. He had to train them to ignore him. He scooped the boots off the floor and said to the room at large. ‘Anyone else?’
The jobs continued to come to him—cooking, fetching and carrying, taking messages up and down the hillside in the middle of the night—but the bandits got less amusement from the falconer than expected. Peri conducted himself with dignity, undertaking the humiliating tasks they demanded of him with no complaint, not letting it touch him, picturing one of the hillside stones shedding rainwater from its surface.
As no one had forbidden him to do so, on his first free afternoon, he returned to the compound and fetched Rogue. Perhaps it had been a little selfish to take the falcon from the mews but it did not feel right to Peri to be without at least one of his birds. When he exercised Rogue, he noted that no one bothered him with pointless errands or insulted him. If the bird hadn’t required the peace of his perch for large parts of the day to avoid overstimulation, Peri could’ve gladly carried him on his wrist at all times.
The novelty of taunting the falconer wore off. Krital had miscalculated. Without his presence to remind his men why the boy was so out of favour, they got distracted by their own concerns. Morg went from being pleased at his appointment to being fiercely worried that he was missing out on the real action in the city. He made frequent trips ostensibly to report, but really just to keep up with news. The bullying reduced to a bearable level, a knee-jerk reaction to any reminder of Peri’s difference from the rest of the men guarding the pass, but in truth it was withering away.
One morning, two weeks into his new life, Peri had been given the watch on the road. His companion was stretched out in the sunshine behind a rock, having told Peri to do the ruddy work while he caught up on his sleep. That suited Peri. He could keep an eye on passing traffic while flying Rogue to the lure.
The falconer stood on the summit of a hillock overlooking the track; his bird soared overhead. The emerald green of the late spring grass whipped to and fro in the breeze, white clouds moved swiftly across the sky. Peri had the sensation that the world was in flight, shifting on to the next thing. Rogue sensed it too, skimming the crags with exuberant sweeps, shrieking his joy at mastering the air with his skill.
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Towards midday, Peri spotted two men coming up the pass from the direction of Port Bremis. He summoned Rogue by swinging the lure, then hooded him. Unless he wanted to wake his companion—which he didn’t—it would be better to confront a pair of strangers with his best defender on his gauntlet. He jogged down the slope and took up position on the road.
‘Halt! State your business,’ Peri challenged them.
The two men stopped some feet from him, their uncertainty apparent in the confused looks they exchanged.
‘We traders from far country,’ the younger man said in poor Magharnan.
Peri studied the strange clothing of the pair, the odd moustache covering the speaker’s upper lip like some bushy creature Rogue might have hunted. His hair was brown, proving his claim to be a foreigner. The older man had a pepper-and-salt thatch of curls and a deeply lined face. He looked both tired and worried.
‘What country?’ asked Peri, though he was beginning to guess the answer.
‘Holt. We seek the glassmakers. Not know that your country have problem.’
‘Problem? That’s one way of putting it.’ Peri gave a wry smile. ‘Why are you here?’
The older man spoke up for the first time. ‘I seek my daughter. She is small by your measure,’ he indicated in the air, ‘long curly hair, blue eyes—very blue.’ He clenched his fists against his chest. ‘I would give my life to know she is all right.’
‘And my brother. Brown hair like mine. A glass trader,’ added the other.
Peri held out his free hand. ‘Master Torrent, welcome to Magharna.’
‘How do you know my name?’ gasped the older man.
‘Your daughter told me.’
His palm was seized in a vice-like grip. ‘Is she well—where is she?’
‘She is in the city. And yes, I think she is in good health, now at least.’ He thought it best not to mention to her father that he had put an arrow in her shoulder. ‘I know she is most anxious to be reunited with you. It’s not been an easy time for her.’
‘My brother?’ the other man asked. ‘Is he with her?’
Peri thought back to his first meeting with Rain and realized that he knew the answer to that too. ‘I’m sorry, but I fear your brother was killed soon after arrival, on this very pass. Rain was the only one to survive the attack.’
‘Attack? My brother?’ The younger man struggled to follow Peri’s terrible words.
‘I’m so sorry, but he is dead. It happened months back. Please, come with me and I will make sure you get an escort to the city. Rain can tell you what happened.’
‘Can you not take us?’ asked Torrent. He released his grip on Peri’s hand and put an arm around his nephew to comfort him.
‘Unfortunately not, sir. I’m not allowed. But I’ll make sure you have a reliable guard. Your daughter is a favourite of the chief of our army; you’ll be well treated, I promise.’
Rain had been given Ret’s old bedroom for her recovery. He didn’t seem to mind, making do with a mattress in the cupboard he had hidden in, preferring to remain with her now his old home had been turned over to the new government. Mikel had found her a bed and mattress through means known only to him, and Ret had mysteriously turned up with a bright gold satin bedspread one evening and laid it over her with no explanation.
Rain didn’t remain in bed long. After two days’ rest, she set up a worktable in the window and began again with her designs. She had many visitors, including Helgis who, she suspected, came mainly to tempt Ret outside into the gardens, and Bel, who brought her schoolwork with her to keep her company, but none of them was Peri.
‘Where’s your brother?’ she asked Bel a week into her stay in the palace.
Under orders not to upset Rain with news about Peri’s punishment, Bel muttered something evasive about him having something to do on the hunting grounds.
‘When will he be back?’
‘I’m really not sure. When he can.’ Bel smudged her slate with her sleeve, wiping out the last answer. ‘He was really upset that he hurt you.’
But not worried enough to come and see how she was doing now, thought Rain. That didn’t seem like the Peri she knew, more like the falconer who had left her at the bath-house months ago. Had her letter so destroyed anything he had felt for her that he preferred not to visit? The idea that this was true formed a hard knot in her chest, causing more pain than the residual effect of her wound.
Stamping on the stairs heralded the arrival of one of her most frequent visitors. Krital marched into the room, wearing a long scarlet robe but with none of the slashing favoured by the jettans. Their style was now out of fashion.
‘General.’ Rain stood up and curtseyed. She knew him to be a tough and brutal man, but his new responsibilities had changed him for the better. He was working with the government and making sure his army kept within limits. But she had no illusions he had suddenly become a saint; he just saw his best interests now lay in preserving order rather than wreaking havoc.
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘My fey lady, what have you made today?’
She showed him the latest design, a tree in blossom, which she intended for Bel.
‘Excellent, true?’
Bel murmured her agreement.
Krital rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve come with good news. My council has found enough glassmakers to start up one of the furnaces. We need new windows to replace the broken ones.’
‘Yes, indeed. Do you have materials as well?’ asked Rain.
Krital waved a hand dismissively. ‘Someone’s dealing with that. But I came to say that we decided you should take charge. I proposed it and Hern seconded it. You’re not to do any heavy work, mind, but you are, as of this moment, the representative for the glassmakers and have a seat on the council.’
‘Me?’ Rain’s voice squeaked with astonishment. ‘But I’m an outsider. Why?’
‘Because you can’t fiddle around with fragments for ever, fey lady. Do you accept the task?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Thought you would. Put some of your magic in our glass for me, won’t you?’ He strode out, bellowing orders as he went.
Bel put her slate aside. ‘I believe that man has a soft spot for you.’
‘I’m his lucky charm,’ admitted Rain, awkwardly aware that she was now the favourite of the man who had murdered her cousin. But the amnesty meant no justice would be given to his victims; the page had turned on many ugly sins on both sides of the bandit’s balance sheet. She rolled up the last mobile on her workbench and handed it to Bel. ‘Looks like I need to find my forge and see where things stand.’
Rain was pleased with her new workforce. The glass-makers who had been left behind in Rolvint tended to be the apprentices who had not had the means to flee the capital during the troubles. They’d hidden along with everyone else and only felt safe enough to crawl from their bolt-holes now that the palace glass foundry had reopened. Due to the fire risk it posed, the foundry itself was on the eastern outskirts of Rolvint in an area Rain did not know well, a district of orchards and tanning fields.
The most urgent need was for clear panes. Many of the foundry tools had been looted but Rain and her apprentices salvaged enough to begin the production of crown glass. This was one of Rain’s favourite processes. After the molten gather had been blown into a cylinder shape, it was then spun on a potter’s wheel to make it flatten and spread outwards. The wavy sheets of glass were then cut into small panes and fitted in lead frames in the houses able to afford the replacement, paying with bartered goods and services until the new currency was made ready. The first building to be done was Krital’s office in the palace complex. After that, Rain insisted that the houses of the indigent be next in line before she would consider any private commissions. Those who dealt with the little glassmaker soon learnt to respect her determination to get her way. It took only a few days working for her for the apprentices to become staunchly loyal; they would not hear a word against her, especially
from those still suspicious of the outsider.
When Torrent finally caught up with his daughter, he found her checking the latest batch of glass for flaws. He stood for a moment, drinking in the sight of her bending over the workbench, her hair flopping forward as she rubbed at a bubble trapped under the surface.
‘Raindrop,’ he called softly.
She sprang up. ‘Papa!’ She couldn’t believe it! He was here!
Torrent crossed the workroom in three big steps to sweep her into his arms. ‘My God, girl, don’t do that to me again! I thought you had to be dead.’
‘I’m not; I’m fine.’ She clung on tight, thinking that she’d probably never let go now she had him back.
‘More than fine from what I hear. I called in first on the palace and they told me all about you. I met a splendid chap called Mikel who seems to think you float above the ground, you are so perfect. Even the thug they’ve got in charge of the army adores you and I noticed one of your creations hanging in pride of place in his office.’ Torrent eased her back to the ground. ‘He said you were injured by an arrow.’
‘Peri shot me—but it was an accident,’ she added rapidly seeing the thundercloud gather on her father’s brow.
‘I think I met your Peri.’ Torrent’s frown deepened. ‘Out on the pass across the mountains. He was the one who told me where you were. But he didn’t mention wounding you.’
‘Peri? In the mountains? That’s not right.’
Torrent shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s not your one—but he did seem to know you well.’
‘What’s he doing out there?’
‘On guard. Said he wasn’t allowed back into the city for some reason.’
Some of the delight o