Better window glass was made in the same way as mirror glass, and required a glassblower as well. Alberich had been rather surprised by that when Master Cuelin told him; it had not occurred to him that one would use the same technique that created a goblet or a vase to make a flat pane of glass.

But, in fact, that was precisely how it was made. Glass was blown into a bubble of the right thickness, the bubble was then rolled against a flat and highly-polished metal plate to form a cylinder, the ends were swiftly cut off the cylinder and the cylinder slit up the middle while the glass was still soft enough to “relax,” and the resulting pane unrolled itself onto the plate and cooled flat. A master of the craft created a flat, rectangular pane of even thickness with irregularities so few as to be trivial.

But of course, the larger the pane—or mirror—the more difficult the task of blowing and cutting. Something the size of the mirror in the salle was going to be extremely difficult to do.

And in fact, it was Master Cuelin himself who was taking the first tries at it. A pile of rejected shards to one side testified that he had already tried and failed a time or two this morning.

“Ah, I give over,” he said, as Alberich arrived. “I thought I’d give it a try, but I’ve not the lungs anymore. I’ll stick to my colored glasses and let young Elkin here do what he does best.”

But “young” Elkin—who was older than Alberich—shook his head. “It won’t come quick, Master Cuelin,” he said honestly. “I’ve never done aught that big. I’ll need to work up to it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, my lad,” Cuelin told him. “Give it time; you’ll manage. Kernos knows so long as you don’t make the mess of it that I just did, we can find buyers for the smaller panes and mirrors while you work your way up to the right size.”

“Are you sure of that, Master?” the other craftsman asked, surprised.