Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky Page A

offer.”
    â€œAnd the others? What about the other gods? It’s what—more than five hundred?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing?”
    â€œThey have altars. Small shelters for priests, little more than single walls to protect a candle flame. The priests don’t stay there on a daily basis; they visit only occasionally. Once a week, perhaps, to attend to pilgrims’ needs, to stamp their cavalcades and send the faithful on their way.”
    â€œAnd those altars, are they decorated?”
    â€œThey have cloths. The faithful bring flowers in season, or other devotional offerings.”
    â€œAnd glass?”
    â€œAt none of them.”
    â€œNone.” Parion repeated the word, breathing in as if he spoke a prayer. None. The gods were being neglected. Eighty glasswrights, here in Brianta. More than five hundred altars. They could craft symbols for the abandoned gods, Larinda and the other journeymen who were ready to rise to master status. They could recognize the power and the glory of each deity. Parion said, “I’ll need the list.”
    â€œIt will be done by this afternoon.”
    â€œVery good.” Already, he could see the whitewashed tables, could imagine his people
hard at work. The emblems they would create would be fine work, worthy of the accolade “master.”
    The neglected third tier gods would exalt in the attention. The priests would be grateful, eager to recompense such a pious guild. They would use the glasswrights’ devotion to inspire activity by other guildsmen, more concrete examples of craft offered up in honor of faith. The priests would preach about the glory of the glasswrights who offered up their art and skill in service of the gods.
    And even if the priests didn’t pay for the new altarpieces outright, the pilgrims would. They would make offerings at the cavalcade points. They would seek out glasswrights to create replicas of the insignias, reproductions of the masterpieces. The guild could create a formbook, a description of each piece and how it should be made. Apprentices could learn their craft by practicing on those forms. Journeymen could set the pieces, stain them, solder them. A master could certify them—yes, a stamp would be necessary. Each medallion would have a lead tag, an official designation, proving that it was issued by a master glasswright.
    The guild could sell them at the larger cavalcade points—the more senior apprentices could work the transactions. The complete set would be available to interested pilgrims who visited the guildhall itself.
    Would anyone want all of the medallions? Was there a nobleman in all the world devoted enough—and wealthy enough—to want one thousand emblems? One thousand and one, Parion quickly remonstrated with himself. He mustn’t forget Jair. The guild would create a separate symbol for the Pilgrim, for the man who defined true faith in all the Thousand Gods.
    â€œVery good, Larinda,” Parion forced himself to say. “Send me the list as soon as it is complete, and we will begin to plot our course among the points. You’ll be working on your masterpiece by the end of summer.”
    â€œThank you, Master.” The gratitude in her voice was palpable. “I look forward to serving the guild.” Like a good journeyman, she bowed her head as she left his study, nearly managing to avoid a last longing glance at the Hand on Parion’s work table.
    He waited until the door closed before he turned back to the window, to the view of all Brianta that spread before him. His fingers automatically pushed aside the piece of parchment, and he cradled the medallion that Morada had made so long ago, in simpler days.
    â€œWe’ll have our vengeance yet, my love. We’ll raise the glasswrights up. We’ll turn our guild into an instrument of power. And when we have the money, when we have the dedication, when we have the zeal of hundreds of