"It's nothing. An old family relic we use to identify our property."
Shain crouched, tapping the anklet, running her thumbnail over its runes. "Are you aware that dealing with the Order is highly illegal?"
"The next time I see my ancestors' spirits, I shall be sure to reprimand them."
"I'm taking the boy."
"You what?" Fere's expression blackened like an old mushroom. "We're two hundred miles from the borders. The No-Clan has no jurisdiction here!"
"You ordered him put to death. The No-Clan is authorized to take orphans and the condemned from every clan except the Sum. Hence I'm requisitioning him for immediate service."
"You're also bound by law to negotiate with any interested parties!"
Shain flicked her hat an inch up her brow. "If you'd like to buy him back, I'll sell him for nine thousand gold. What do you say?"
"Nine thousand? When I bring this to the Council of the Maul—"
"They'll fine you for wasting their time. As furthering this discussion would be a waste of my time, I will take my property and my leave."
Fere thrust herself to her feet, waving away her cloying attendants. "You can't! By your own code, you can only claim him if he agrees to submit his life to the No-Clan!"
Shain rolled her eyes, exhaling loudly. "Well, Joti? Would you rather come with me? Or stay with the esteemed Dame Fere and her friends at the statue?"
Joti blinked. "You're asking whether I want to stay here and get my head bashed in with a hammer?"
"Correct."
"And what's the alternative?"
"To come with me to the Peak of Tears."
"The Peak of Tears?"
"It rains a lot."
"This sounds important," Joti said, "Give me a second to—no, wait, I'll go with you."
"So let it be known." Shain pivoted to face Dame Fere, resting a meaningful forearm on the pommel of her sword. "Now get this bracelet off of him, you wrinkled old toe."
~
The horse jounced beneath him, ejecting his rear from the saddle. Joti dug his knees into the beast's flanks, feet tight in the stirrups. The unbroken summer sunlight had him sweating rivers.
Shain gave him a glance. "Doing all right there?"
"This is a lot different than being on a wozzit."
"Well yes. For one thing, it doesn't smell like riding a mobile latrine."
Ankin Drog was at their backs, the shadows of its statues and obelisks reaching after them like the shades of dead gods. Now that they were outside of it, Joti didn't think its tall walls were there to keep foreigners out. No, they'd been put up to keep the city in, to confine its wretchedness so it couldn't spill out and defile the rest of the earth.
The thought made him smile. Not so much for its content, but because he'd been capable of thinking it in the first place. When Movo had removed the anklet from Joti's leg, the majordomo had removed a layer of muddle from Joti's mind. He felt lighter on his feet, capable of seeing and hearing again in ways he hadn't even known he'd lost.
Which meant he was suddenly and acutely aware that he was riding on the back of a strange beast in the company of a dangerous stranger on his way to a place he'd never even heard of.
The city shrank behind them. Dust plumed from the hooves of their mounts. Shain kept the horses at a swift canter for a few miles, then dropped to a ground-eating trot. They'd struck out from the city less than an hour after leaving Dame Fere's and it was still early afternoon, giving them hours of daylight left to travel by.
The road was hard, rutted dirt. Green farms spangled the plains. They rode through one town and two hamlets, all three of which could have fit into a single district in Ankin Drog. Shain's coat and swords drew glances from most and waves from a few.
It was high summer, meaning sunset came late and lasted halfway till midnight. When at last the sun started to think about going down, they made camp under a pink and orange sky. Shain told Joti how to rub down the horses, watching him do so with a casually critical eye. After a dinner of smoked wozzit and baked potatoes sprinkled with frighteningly potent spices, they cleared ground for their bedrolls.
Shain unbuckled her swords. "Are you one of those people who doesn't talk?"
"It's been a while since there was much to say."
"Probably for the best. We've got a week's ride ahead of us. Wouldn't want to exhaust our conversation on the first day."
She rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately. It was the first time Joti had camped under the stars since before the raiders had sold him to Ankin Drog, but he couldn't sleep. Two hours later, with Shain snoring lightly, he got up as silently as he could and started back toward the road.
"Going somewhere?" Shain's voice didn't even sound tired. "I can tie you up, if you insist. But that means you will forfeit your status as a person in favor of being my luggage."
He didn't turn around. "My tribe was driven from our lands by the godstorm. After that, they were attacked by Tusker raiders. Even if they survived, they've moved on. I'd never find them. So where exactly would I go?"
She stared at him, face unreadable in the darkness, then grunted and laid back down.
In the morning, she shoved him awake with the toe of her boot. "Come on, killer. You can sleep in the saddle."
By mid-morning, blue lumps formed on the northern horizon. The day after that, he could make out individual peaks. None looked half as tall as Drag Nir. Shain detoured off the road to a fishing village nestled around a wide, shallow stream. Everyone there dropped their work and crowded around her to ask for news and gossip. She passed out a few small packages they'd been waiting for, exchanging them for dried fish wrapped in leaves and packets of pale blue salt.
The locals exhorted her to stay for a day or two, but she smiled and jerked her thumb at Joti. "I'd love to, but I've got another delivery to make. I'm afraid I won't make it before he turns—he's starting to smell worse by the day."
They mounted up and returned to the road. The village and the stream disappeared into the high grass.
"How do they know you?" Joti said. "Is that your tribe?"
Shain laughed so hard she pinched the bridge of her nose. "My tribe? Not for all the prairie salt in the world."
"Then who are your people?"
"That would be the No-Clan. Occupants of the very place you're headed."
"Are they all warriors like you? How come I've never heard of the No-Clan?"
"Because you're an illiterate pig-rider who would never have traveled beyond the Woldring Reaches if someone hadn't literally dragged you away from it." She lifted her cap and swept the sweat from her brow. "Do you know how many clans there are?"
"Eight. Or nine, counting the No-Clan."
"Correct. Do you know how many tribes there are?"
He tried to think of all the peoples he'd heard of over the years. "Lots. And lots."
"That's as accurate as anyone can be, considering that new tribes are being created and destroyed every season. Our conservative estimates say there are at least three hundred. Now, if there's two things everyone knows about orcs, it's that we hate being bossed around, and we love taking things that aren't ours. Do you know what's beyond those mountains there?"
"More grass?"
"The borderlands of the Alliance. Where at any given time, tribal raiding parties are sneaking in to steal whatever they can get their hands on—and provoking reprisals from the Alliance. Even if we wanted peace, it would break down as soon as the first rogue tribe snuck across the border and grabbed some dwarven plate. It's been especially bad since Drag Nir blew its top. It's squeezed too many tribes into too little land. The western seas are full of monsters, and the east is wasteland, so where else are they going to go?"
"Underground?"
She gave him an unimpressed look. "The No-Clan has the futile task of trying to prevent all-out chaos. The Alliance proper won't deal with orcs, but it's a different story for the towns on the frontier who have to live across from those orcs
, and would often rather negotiate with us than spend all day picking up their dead." She smiled, tapping the hilt of her sword. "And if it turns out that the situation has degraded beyond repair, and the Alliance calls for war, then it's the No-Clan's duty to wreak havoc until they regret their decision so greatly that they hang whoever suggested it."
Joti nodded, doing his best to keep up. "Then what do you want with me?"
"Well, to recruit you. To train you to help us in these endeavors."
"Why me, though? The lands are brimming with warriors who'd be happy to go kill humans."
"And most of these would-be volunteers are no more than axes with a set of arms attached. Even when it's time for war, we rarely battle on the open field. The No-Clan needs people with certain skills."
"Which are held by undersized slave 'illiterate pig-riders'?"
"What's interesting about your enslavement is that you survived it despite being too young and too small. You went on to end your involuntary career by killing a grown soldier. At the Peak of Tears, we're exceptionally good at identifying good steel—and forging it into terrible weapons."
She unslung her skin and drank some of the beer she'd also picked up at the village. "Doing our job requires a specific type of person. One that isn't encumbered by fractious family and tribal ties that compromise our ability to do our job. That means orphans. Outcasts. And those who walk to the north of their own compass."
Joti gazed into the distance, remembering how the morning light had bounced from the pool to play on Drez' face. "Why would someone who doesn't even want a tribe or a family care about protecting all orc-kind? Especially when they don't even get the glory of bashing Alliance skulls?"
"Do you know what stands between order and chaos? Absolutely nothing. There are some who are brave, foolish, or drunk enough to recognize this—to plant their spears and stare the darkness in its eyes. Without them, we're doomed."
They started up the wooded foothills of the mountains. Shain stopped in at a logging village that worked day and night to meet the demand of the mills of Ankin Drog.
"Been talk of raiding parties ahead," an old man warned her, scratching the stubble of his chin with the stubbed, scarred fingers of his right hand. "Can't hardly believe it, but they claim Tuskers and Artuskers been seen working together. Like something out of the Gruer Wars."
"Then you may want to save some of your lumber for palisades." Shain tipped her cap. "Until next time."
They continued up the slopes. Cloud and mist came and went, leaving the pine needles strung with silver drops. Sometimes, Shain stopped to check tracks. Three times, she moved them off the road and into the forest, where crows cawed and cardinals peeped. Two peaks rose ahead. The road headed for the notch between them.
It took several hours to near the pass. When they were almost upon it, Shain left Joti in the woods as she scouted the way ahead. She seemed on edge, but when she came back, she said the way forward was clear.
Cresting the pass, they looked down on what felt like half the world. To the north, a long, dull blue smudge suggested another mountain range. To the west, scrubland rose to green hills, then a gray range of mountains so high its peaks were lost in clouds. To the east, the land turned brown, then yellow. A river unrolled across the desert, shining like poured lead. Shain observed in silence, paying special mind to the ribbons of smoke rising from the hills.
Joti followed her gaze. "Whose land is that?"
"Not sure."
"No? I was starting to think you knew everyone."
"I try to, but the problem I face in this instance is that the land beneath us doesn't know who it belongs to, either. Sometimes, it's the Har. Others, it's the Tuskers or the Sum, or one of your cousin tribes. Hell, every now and then a group of Wai decides it'd be a nice spot to call home."
"The Wai? I thought they hugged the coasts."
"The more adventurous of them go wherever there's trade. See the hills to the north? Beyond, that's the Alliance. More wealth flows between there and this pass than through a dwarf's dream."
She moved on. The trail zigzagged northwest, descending toward the disputed hills.
Joti adjusted himself in the saddle. "Which clan are you from, anyway?"
"I told you. The No-Clan."
"I mean before that."
"It doesn't matter, Joti. Now, you're not from anywhere, either. The sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be for you."
As a tribe of the Drim-Dak, he'd been a nomad; where other clans were only welcomed by one kind of land, the Drim were at home everywhere. As a family of the Yatto tribe, he'd been more adventurous than other Drim, more prone to glory and great deeds. And as a member of the Ridik family, he'd come from a lineage of warriors on both sides: the steadfastness of his mother, the cunning of his father.
His clan, his tribe, his family: these had always been the things that made him Joti. The things that made him kin with those who shared these things, and better than those who didn't.
Without them, what was left?
~
Two days later, they were high into the western mountains and Joti was growing sick of clouds. His clothes were always damp, his horse smelled wet and funny, and the forest felt muffled, like the moment before you were about to walk into an ambush. It left him uncomfortable and on edge.
Water hissed above him. He muttered, drawing up his hood to protect him from the eighth rain squall of the day. Rather than being another storm, as they crested a steep incline and entered a plateau, the sound revealed itself to be a turbid, frothing stream. It appeared to be feeding out from a mossy stone fortress stacked on the slope behind the plateau. Smoke rose from the fort's interior, becoming one with the mists.
"Is this it?" Accomplishment sprung in Joti's chest. "The Peak of Tears?"
Shain didn't slow. "More like the Mesa of Damp Sneezes. We're getting closer, though. These are friends of ours."
They approached the gates, which opened without the need for a call from above. Inside, a guard awaited them dressed in a gray uniform, chest emblazoned with a white triangle supported by an open palm.
"Marshal Shain." He bowed at the waist. "Welcome back to Dolloc Castle."
Shain thanked him, but wasted no time moving on, following a cobbled path beside the river. Black stone towers overlooked the walls. Bright green moss carpeted the roofs of stone houses. White smoke rose from the chimneys of smithies. During the Yatto's travels, Joti had seen any number of ruins. Dolloc Castle looked as ancient as any of them, yet it was still intact, kept alive for countless years.
Shain turned their horses in at a stable, then exited through the rear gates, which were almost as doughty as the front. In the field beyond, men and women dug shovels into the earth, dumping black soil into shallow wooden bins as wide as a wagon.
Joti watched them work. "What are they digging for?"
Shain took off her cap and flicked off the excess water. "Dirt."
"They're digging for dirt? Have they tried looking under all that dirt?"
"Mock them if you like. Soon enough, your life will depend on them."
Upstream, giant wooden paddles cranked in the currents. Axles extended to the shore, turning man-sized wheels suspended above a shallow channel of smooth rock that ran straight up the mountainside. Ropes ran between each wheel, forming a giant loop that stretched up into the forest above. As Joti watched, a team of draft horses hauled one of the dirt-filled bins to the last wheel in the circuit. Workers hooked a chain attached to the bin's front to the ropes. The chain went taut, pulling the bin steadily up the rock channel.
"Typically, we'd hike from here," Shain said. "You need to get to know your home, after all. But since it's your first visit, we shall indulge."
She strode off to talk to the laborers. Whatever she said gave them a good laugh. They walked the horses to a nearby shed and hooked them to an empty bin, parking this at the base of the line of wheels.
"Well?" Shain took off her hat and swept it toward the
bin. "Climb aboard!"
The workers were watching him, looking amused. Joti had no idea whether this was a prank at his expense, but after what he'd been through at Ankin Drog, he found he didn't care. He stepped into the bin, seating himself near the center. Shain got in beside him. The team brought the bin's chain to the immense loop of rope and hooked it to a dangling eyehole.
The bin jerked forward, spilling Joti on his back. Men and women cackled behind him. He righted himself. The bin slid up the groove at a swift walking pace. The wheels creaked overhead. The paddles splashed to his right, stirring the smell of cold, fresh water.
"Enjoy yourself," Shain said. "It might be a long while before you have another chance."
"To take a ride on this?"
"To have fun."
A cool breeze blew over his face. Within minutes, heavy drops of rain began to fall from the canopy. As the ride went on, the ground became more and more rocky, thinning the trees. The clouds grew so dense he could hardly see a hundred yards ahead. The channel curved and bent to follow the course of the river, swinging the bin wide at every turn.
His grip on the rim became less white-knuckled. He'd never sailed, but he imagined it would be a lot like this. Except this must be even better, because rather than sailing over flat water, he was sailing into the sky, as high as Uggot.
Piece by piece, the canopy fell away, the rocky slopes coated in moss and lichen, sporadic trees sprouting from whatever dirt they could find. Nonstop rain tapped against his cloak. The rush of the river swelled to a roar.
The bin clunked; they were now traveling through a canal lined with shiny wood. The ground leveled out beneath them, but the canal continued to climb, elevating them high into the air. A wall resolved ahead, eighty feet high and hundreds across. Water spilled from it from one end to the other.
Joti's jaw dropped. "We're crossing that?"
"Unless you'd rather jump. But I'll warn you, the people at Dolloc Castle are going to be very annoyed if they have to fish your body from the river."
Students of the Order Page 19
