Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky

he’ll be a soldier, and in Morenia, a nobleman, a priest. The last window will show him in his true guise, in his overarching presentation, as First Pilgrim.”
    Parion heard the pride in Larinda’s voice, and he knew that she must have devised the plan. “You think, then, that all will be pleased, if we follow this path.”
    â€œOf course not. We will never find a design that pleases everyone .” Her disdain was palpable. “I think, though, that this is a good plan.”
    Parion nodded. “Very well, then. I will look at the designs. We’ll see what works.”
    â€œThe guild is honored by the Master’s attention.”
    â€œNoon, then? I’ll come to the hall and view the drawings.”
    â€œNoon, Master.” She nodded and returned her attention to the Hand. This time, however, she slipped her fingers out of the silken ribbons. She wriggled her wrist through the cloth-covered band and returned the treasure to his work table. “That is a good tool, Master. A great tool for your humble glasswrights.”
    He heard the longing in her voice. Curse the Traitor! Why should a glasswright as good and loyal as Larinda be reduced to pining after a twisted pile of silk and iron?
    â€œTwo weeks, Larinda,” he said. “Two weeks, and it shall be yours.”
    â€œClain smiles upon us, Master.”
    â€œAye. Clain smiles upon us.”
    He waited for Larinda to take her leave, to let him return to his work. She did not make any motion toward the door, though, and she did not mutter one of the standard prayers to end conversation. “Is there something else, Larinda?”
    â€œOne thing more. We have completed our survey of the cavalcade points.”
    The cavalcade points. In the midst of all his other plans, Parion had nearly forgotten the basis for the upcoming glasswrights’ test, for the journeymen’s ascension within the guild.
    The points were scattered throughout the capital of Brianta—one thousand of them. Each was dedicated to a different god, forming the start for pilgrims’ journeys. A priest was stationed at each point, offering a parchment scroll and an ornate wax seal. Pilgrims planned carefully before beginning their travels, plotting a course through Brianta so that a personal series of gods watched over their journeys.
    The lucky pilgrims, the ones who had both money and time, would leave Brianta then. They would travel to distant shrines made sacred to their chosen gods, or to places holy to the First Pilgrim. At each stage of their journey, they would add to their cavalcade, to the scroll that recorded their worship.
    The most faithful of the pilgrims would make their way to Morenia, tracing Jair’s own path. Jair had lived out the final decades of his life in Moren, and he had died in that city. Each year, hundreds of pilgrims arranged to be in Moren for the annual recreation of Jair’s arrival in the city, for the presentation of the First Pilgrim.
    â€œSo, the survey is finished,” Parion repeated.
    â€œYes, Master. I have instructed one of the younger journeymen to copy over the figures. I’ll deliver them to you before the end of the day.”
    â€œAnd what do they tell us?”
    â€œMuch as we expected. There are only forty-three cavalcade points that boast full churches.”
    Forty-three. That left hundreds of opportunities. Parion forced himself not to leap ahead too far in his plans. “And are there windows in each of those churches?”
    â€œCertainly. Some of them are quite good, in fact. We need not direct our attentions to them for a while.”
    â€œAnd the ones that are not churches?”
    â€œThere are four hundred and twenty-two buildings. Mostly single rooms, in priests’ houses, or in shops that are sacred to a particular god.”
    â€œWindows?”
    â€œIn a handful. Not many. The owners of the rooms would likely be grateful for anything that we