"We mostly pay our dues to the Order by sending soldiers to guard the capital. I'm here because I might see combat and the stakes are low enough, but I am only a year or so away from a bigger command. I had planned on asking to be sent to the orcish frontier, where you can fight a real battle. I could probably get posted to the capital, if I really wanted it."
"Would you do that?"
"I don't know. At the capital the soldiers don't see much action?"
"Almost none."
She sighed. "A lot of polishing armor and dress uniforms?"
Wit nodded.
"I hate that shit…I might do it anyway." She stroked his face. "Don't let it go to your head, but I might prefer spending time with you to getting hacked up by orcs."
Wit kissed her. He thought that she would close her eyes and not see that he was crying, but she felt his tears on her cheek. She moved his face away from hers and brushed away his tears.
"You shouldn't, no one should, give up something you love over a wizard. Just thinking that you would…I don't think any of us deserve to be that happy."
"What does that mean?"
"We…know people too well to be people ourselves."
"That's stupid."
"It's true. Or at least I need to believe it in order to be what I need to be."
"What do you need to be?"
"Someone who can manipulate a mind the way you wield a sword…the person who killed the bandit in the town square."
"Get yourself sent to the frontier. Maybe the orcs will get us both before we can regret it." She kissed his neck until he moaned.
"I have a better idea: I'll leave the Order, and you can kill whoever they send after me."
"Who will they send?"
"The most violent wizards and the fiercest warriors in the Alliance."
She pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around him. "That's a good plan; I like it…Hmmmmm, yes, just like that."
They awoke at dawn, and agreed to meet in the field at noon. Wit dressed with her and walked part of the way to the fort, before coming back to the inn. The old man in the tavern had watched them come down the stairs together, and he gave Wit a stern look, which Wit returned.
"I can turn you into an imbecile just by thinking about it. And even if she could not kill you with one hand tied behind her back—which she can—she could order someone else to do it for her. Bring me a very strong cup of tea and extra bacon."
Wit ate his breakfast slowly and thought. It was a somewhat open question whether a Bound man was Bound to the Order or to individual wizards. More narrowly, Wit wondered what would happen if he tried to get Wa'llach to do something that was in Wit's interests but not necessarily the Order's.
Mantyger would have manipulated Wa'llach's Binding so that he would do as she wished; Bronzino would have looked for the answer in Phreer. Wit was neither as powerful as Mantyger nor as studious as Bronzino, and knew it. After a little while he walked up the path and to the fort.
Wit did not need to be a mind reader to know that Captain Elayne was very well liked by her small garrison. It was also obvious that the soldiers were all perfectly aware of his relationship with their commander, even though it struck them as polite to act as if they were not; that they collectively approved, for no other reason than that she appeared to be happy; and that, as a result, some of the good will that they bore their leader had rubbed off on Wit.
Partially using his Gift, but mostly relying on his sense of smell and a friendly demeanor, Wit was quickly able to locate the inevitable moonshine still concealed amongst the fort's outer buildings. He got a very favorable price on two gallon jugs of clear spirits, which he carried very gingerly to the mine, because he was worried that if he dropped them they might burst into flames.
Inside the shop where Wa'llach was working he wordlessly placed the jugs next to Wa'llach's bench and then pulled a stool over and had a seat. "You are testing the iron that is currently being taken out of the mine?"
Wa'llach nodded.
"But the iron that we care about was taken from the mine three years ago?"
"It was."
"And the iron that you are testing might have come from a different vein, or some such, and thus, actually, be quite different from the iron that concerns us?"
"Well, no. There is but one vein here."
"Perhaps," said Wit doggedly, "the part of the vein that they were working three years ago was somehow different from the part that they are working currently?"
"It is extremely unlikely."
"Well, given that we have come all the way here, I think that we should be sure. Why don't you go into the mine and get some samples from where they were working three years ago?"
"That might take an extra five days or so."
"An extra week? All the gods, I don't like putting off the Order's business any more than you do. However, we cannot neglect this in good conscience. Yes, I hate to think of the extra ten days that the examination will take, but I don't think there is anything else to be done." With that he left, leaving the moonshine behind.
He cheerfully swung his staff at the distracted princess as she entered the field. She noticed when the staff was inches away from her, and somewhat absentmindedly stepped out of the way and kicked it out of his hand.
"Cut that out, I have good news," she said, pressing herself against him.
"Yes?"
"Well, there is a hunting cabin about half a day's ride out from the mine, and a bit of a Controversy between the fellow who owns it and some artisans who have helped him repair it. I think you should go out there, and hear their Controversy. I am sorry that it will delay your journey, but we don't see wizards that often out here and it would be best to just get it done."
"I don't think I should feel safe at all, riding in the mountains alone."
"And your horrible dwarf will be stuck here at the mine." She shook her head sadly. "Also, I really can't spare any of my men, in case something happens here. On the other hand, it would bring great dishonor to my house if something were to happen to a wizard of the Order on an errand that I suggested to him. I don't think I have any choice: I must escort you by myself."
"When will we leave?"
"Tomorrow. Any later than that, and Wa'llach will be able to accompany you."
"Ah. Well, it turns out that he is an ass, and I am an extremely wise and learned wizard. Your dwarves have a sort of instinctual understanding of things, but we wizards are able to delve much deeper into all matters. I corrected him on some of his mistakes and it turns out that we will be here for ten days, at least."
"What did you bribe him with?"
"If I told you, you might feel as if you had to discipline some people who did me a favor, and so, in all our interests, I think we should defer to my superior knowledge of metallurgy."
"Ten whole days? I really might be able to teach you how to fight." They stepped apart and she nodded at his staff. He picked it up. "Come at me."
Her sword was still in her belt and she had not brought a staff. "You don't have a weapon."
"Do you really think that matters? Try to hit me."
He tried. She nimbly closed the distance between them so the staff did him no good, and they grappled. She used both her hands, and it took Wit a moment to decide to drop his staff, by which time she had him in an effective grip and wrestled him to the ground. He half-heartedly tried to break free—but her grip was inflexible and she twisted until he was firmly pinned underneath her.
She pressed her lips against his ear. "With only three days, I thought we'd just fuck. But with ten days, I'll get to spend more time beating you. Why are you laughing?"
"Because I don't care." She relaxed enough for him to twist so that he was facing her, and they kissed.
17
They ate. And ate. And ate. And instantly regretted it: as soon as their breakfast was over, they were sent off to begin their training at arms.
The House of Steel was set on the west side
of the Peak on an outcrop of rock that rose fifteen feet from the surrounding river. Its sides were cut steep and a single wooden staircase led to the training grounds up top. These were ringed by a chest-high wall of rock. In case of invasion, the island could easily serve as a fortress within the fortress.
A black stone building sat at the far end, its walls coated in moss and runes. The rest was an open square of blank rock. With no trees around it, the rain fell uninterrupted, draining down the graded square through small holes drilled through the walls.
Shain stood in the center of the square, swords on her hips, lead-shaded cloak shedding the rain without seeming to absorb a drop. Joti hadn't seen much of her since she'd delivered him to the Peak of Tears, and as he realized she was to be their new instructor, he felt how keenly he'd missed her. Which was silly—they'd spent little more than a week on the road together—but she'd been the first person to treat him like a person since the day he'd been stolen from his tribe.
"About time you earned your way here," Shain said, addressing them all. Joti felt a pang of disappointment that she hadn't acknowledged him, even with a nod or a smile. She tugged on the brim of her hat. "Now that Almak has trained us a legion of crack tree-climbers and fruit-pickers, the No-Clan will never lose another battle again."
She motioned toward the building. Two servants wheeled out a long rack of orange-red wooden sticks. These were three feet long, with one end terminating in a leather-wrapped haft while the other end was lightly tapered.
Shain slid one from the rack, holding it up to the unabated rain. "Nine hundred years ago, during the Karkan Purge, the Karkans chased the Olo tribe up the side of Uribashi Crater. The Olo avoided their pursuit for as long as they could, but just when it looked like they'd slip to safety through the pass, one of their people betrayed their location to the Karkans. On the southern slopes, the Olo were slaughtered. Only five of them escaped the massacre.
"The next year, when the saplings grew on the southern slope, they came in red. The Olo survivors prayed at their shrine and were told to wait for the trees to grow strong. For twelve years, they waited—and then they harvested the trees. Calling it bloodwood, the survivors shaped it into arrows, spears, and axes. Weapons in hand, they spent the next twenty years harvesting the bones of the Karkans. They didn't stop until the Karkan families, feeling themselves cursed, killed their own chieftains to appease the Olo.
"Bloodwood is the wood of vengeance, and of justice reclaimed. For the next few years, you'll practice with these swords. Keep them safe, and if anyone hurts you, your blades will repay your injury a hundred times over."
Everyone except Kata looked impressed. Kata's eyebrows scrunched together. "But they aren't blades. They're wood. When do we get steel?"
"When you stop being as clumsy as baby owls. If you got steel swords now, you'd kill each other before the enemy even gets the chance." Shain shrugged one shoulder. "This is what you get. Take it or leave it."
They all rushed forward to choose a weapon, Kata included. Each sword had a different pattern of runes carved down its blade. Joti couldn't read any of them, so he took the one that had tigers among its runes, figuring it had to be a fierce one. He made a few practice swipes and jabs. Compared to the spear, it felt almost uselessly stubby.
Shain allowed them a minute to take a few swings, which was impossible to resist when you had a new sword in hand, then ordered them to line up across from her.
Faddak tipped back his head, blinking against the falling droplets. "Shouldn't we go indoors?"
"Why?" Shain said. "Do you imagine a lot of wars are fought indoors?"
"But it's all…"
"Rainy? Yes, that's because we live in a place where it's always raining. If we wish to be able to defend our land, it seems to follow that we should probably learn to fight in it." She gazed across the freshly minted soldiers. "It won't just be the rain. Going forward, we're going to practice many things that seem harder than they need to be. If it ever seems too hard, even unreasonably so, remind yourself there's a very good reason for that: I'm trying to teach you how not to die."
She showed them the basics of the grip, a jab, and a few slashes, forehand and backhand. There were ways it felt similar to a staff, but Joti still thought it was a weird in-between weapon, lacking the reach of a spear, the nimbleness of a knife, and the raw power of an axe. It didn't feel very orcish at all.
Shain was quick with her criticism, leaving one student after another blushing and stammering, but she was also patient, with a knack for explaining a concept in multiple ways until the lesson finally sank in. After two hours, she broke from teaching them forms to ask if they had any questions.
"I got one," Gogg said. "Swords are for humans."
"Technically, that isn't a question, but I'm going to do you a favor and assume you're asking why the No-Clan fights with human weapons. That's because, for our purposes, swords happen to make the best weapons."
"Can't be. Swords can't split skulls like an axe. Can't split wood, neither. See? Axes is stronger."
"I expect that's true," Shain said. "But they're also much slower. Too much weight in the head. Their blocking surface is smaller, too. Both factors leave you too vulnerable."
"What about spears?" Joti said. "They're longer than any sword."
"Which makes them unusable in tight spaces, such as indoors or in dense forest. Besides, spears are mostly wood. Swords are mostly metal. When the two elements come together, which do you think breaks?" As smoothly as flowing water, she drew her blade, eyes resting on its slight curve. "Yes, they're a human weapon. But every once in a while, even humans make something worth using."
She returned to their forms. At noon, they were dismissed for the welcome return of lunch.
As Joti finished eating, he was approached by Brakk, who bent to one knee and averted his gaze. "Chieftain Loton wishes to see the young master."
Joti set down his fork. "The chief? What does he want with me?"
"Not for Brakk to ask. Follow and find out!"
Joti stood and went with him outside. Brakk kept up a steady patter of questions about how the morning's training had been, as if he was personally invested in Joti's progress. Joti answered distractedly. Had Chief Loton finally heard about what he'd done to Faddak? Had he taken a big step toward becoming a Marshal only to be thrown out of the Peak a few hours later?
Brakk led him to a western-facing dock. Across a fifty-foot span of moving water, a wooden fortress stood alone. The front corners of the building were composed of two tall, thick trees. Their trunks were fifteen feet across at least, and bore no branches until the canopy, where they suddenly sprouted in leafy profusion. The trunks were perforated with narrow windows. Rather than being built from regular old boards, the front wall of the fort looked to be made from dozens of slender trunks that had woven and merged themselves together into one solid mass.
Brakk dropped into a dinghy and helped Joti aboard. The servant pulled them along a rope strung between the dock and the fortress, coming in at another pier. A guard greeted them wordlessly. Brakk shrank on himself, as if expecting to be cuffed, then scurried through a gate. The courtyard was cool and damp and smelled like mint. Strange. There wasn't much that grew in the Peak except fungus and the trees.
Cog Loton stood alone in a grotto of tree roots, still water, and mushrooms that ranged in size from Joti's pinky nail to a grown man's head. The scent of other spices hung in the air, but Joti still couldn't see the plants that could be producing the odors.
"Joti Ridik." The chieftain's pale eyes moved to the wooden sword hanging from Joti's hip. "Was today your first experience with a sword?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"It was the first time that the pointy end wasn't aimed at me."
"You've been attacked with a sword before?"
"Back at…" Joti halted. "Before I came here."
"When you were with the Yatto."
"I thought we were supposed to forget abo
ut where we came from. Sir."
Loton shook his head, a single jerk of his chin. "You were chosen for who you are. Your experiences are what make you as you are. Without them, you never would have caught Shain's eye. You don't have to forget who you were—but you must always remember where you belong now." He took a seat on a round black rock. "Besides, this matter is precisely what I brought you here to ask about."
"The Yatto?"
"The raid on your people. What can you tell me about it? Who was it that attacked you? What were their methods?"
Joti gazed across the grotto. For a moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to remember more than the fact that the raid had happened, but then the day came back as clearly as if someone were telling the story to him.
He explained how he and Drez had seen the scouts in the woods. Followed them back to the war party. Heard the woman exhorting her people to battle.
"This woman. Did you get her name?"
Joti shook his head. "She had orange hair. Bright like a bird's feathers. It was braided into a single plait. White scars ran from her brows down to her cheeks. She looked Artusker. A lot of them did. But most of them were Tuskers. I didn't understand why they were traveling together. I thought those clans hate each other."
"Typically, they do."
The chieftain offered no more. Joti's heart beat harder. He made himself ask, "Do you know who the raiders are?"
For five seconds, Loton was as still as the rock he was seated on. "They're called the Faval Rusk. They became active around the same time that Drag Nir erupted."
"Drag Nir was the gods' punishment. Are the Faval Rusk part of that, too?"
"That would explain many things. All we know is that in every land they've gone to, everyone else has disappeared."
"The Yatto were hundreds of miles from the Alliance border when the Rusk attacked us. Why does the No-Clan care about this?"
"Different clans usually get along about as well as fire and cotton. If a united force decides to turn its spears on the Alliance, it could provoke all-out war." Chief Loton frowned, eyes snapping to Joti. "Return to your duties. You have much to learn."
Students of the Order Page 25
