Glasswrights' Progress Read Online Free PDF

remembered to hold her tongue as the prince nodded and ordered Mair released. It was a simple matter for Bashi to have the Touched girl bound, to have her tied to her own mount. Then Bashi’s soldiers seated themselves on their own horses. The prince glanced around the plain nervously, his eyes lingering on the dead falcon-master, the murdered soldier, the maimed one. The falcons’ cadge was crumpled on the ground like a skeleton. Maradalian stood amid the ruins, blinded by her hood, uncertain of the disaster around her.
    Bashi nodded to Parkman and pointed his chin toward the hamstrung soldier. “Get rid of that one, and let’s get out of here. We can get to the coast by sunset tomorrow and find a ship to sail north, to Amanthia. With any luck Hal won’t find this till then. We can demand ransom for the girls when we arrive in my mother’s homeland.”
    Before Rani could protest, the soldier dispatched his one-time brother, slashing the man’s throat with one even motion. Then the guards fell into formation, one riding at Rani’s left side, one riding at Mair’s right. Two of the armed men followed behind, flanking their prince. When Rani hesitated to spur her stallion, the soldier beside her drew his sword. Before she could decide whether she would take a stand, Mair swayed in her own saddle, moaning as the movement jarred her injured arm.
    â€œYou’ve got to help her!” Rani cried to Bashi. “At least let me put her arm in a sling.”
    â€œAfter we’ve ridden. You can help her after we cross the Yman.”
    â€œThe river is two hours from here!”
    â€œThen it will be two hours before her arm is set.”
    Rani heard the determination in his voice. In a flash, she remembered the Bashi she had first met when she arrived in the palace. That prince had been a spoiled boy, a noble who accepted his royalty with an unseemly arrogance. He had manipulated nurses and guards, played upon his supposed father’s heartstrings. Now, he had these four soldiers bound to him, and nothing would convince him to take pity on two low-caste girls.
    Sighing, Rani touched her spurs to her stallion’s flanks. Mair moaned through lips that were grey in the twilight, but she jigged her own horse forward. As the riders moved east into the unfolding night, a breeze picked up, blowing from the distant city walls. Rani could just make out the rhythmic clang of the Pilgrims’ Bell, summoning the faithful to Moren’s safety, to the haven of King Halaravilli, to the lost comfort of home and hearth.
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    Chapter 2
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    Shea had put too much salt in the soup. She had thought there were still three potatoes left, that they would absorb the extra salt. It was only when she clambered down to the dank root cellar that she learned that she was wrong. There were no more potatoes. And there was too much salt.
    She was getting old. Too old to remember if she had any potatoes.
    When Shea called the orphans to sit at the long table, she expected them to complain. After all, her children were still learning to follow the course appointed for them by the skies. They were still striving to live by the stars that had shone over their births. Her skychildren were not perfect.
    The five lionchildren, though, stoically raised their bowls of salty water to their cracked lips. They drank like good little soldiers. Five tattoos peered at her over their wooden bowls, lion-brown constellations curving beneath each left eye.
    The nine sunchildren managed as well, sighing in discontent, but drinking down their supper. Only a few rolled their eyes, wrinkling the rayed tattoos high on their cheeks, symbol of the sun that had shone over their births.
    The flock of four owlchildren took the opportunity to discuss the logic of the situation. Should Shea have expected there to be more potatoes? If not, then had she acted properly in preparing the soup? On and on, the owls jabbered at