The dragar looked at her thoughtfully. "It is a wise religion if it honors the sacred dragon-born. And your priests must be wise, to tame noble salamanders."
"That, or salamanders like the extract of the poppy as much as anyone."
"Because both the salamanders and the poppies share a sacred quality," the dragar said firmly.
Bronzino tucked the extra cigar behind his ear and they left the shop, and returned to the bridge. Below the black form of the tower, thousands upon thousands of torches and cooking fires from the acres and acres of small buildings that housed the workers glowed in the night. The two Adepts stood on the bridge and smoked.
"Listen," Haniel said suddenly, "which do you think is more important, the tower or the people below it?"
"They need each other; it's not like that. Or you could say the tower. The people wouldn't be there if we weren't building the tower."
"But the tower wouldn't be built without the workers."
"Griffin or the egg."
"No—it's the workers. It's always been the workers, it always will be the workers. We can see into minds, we can remake a man's will. But that's nothing compared to the tower, the physical tower, and getting men to build it. The tower brings the men, pays them wages, which they spend, and They buy stone and wood and make the merchants and carters rich. We give them all something to do, make their very purpose and place in the world, with our tower."
"For what?"
"For nothing. It's all an end in itself. Workers work, break their backs and starve; merchants get rich; and wizards gather enough favors sorting through the crumbs that they don't have to pay for their cigars."
"But why?"
Haniel tossed the butt of her cigar over the bridge, and watched the glowing ember get swallowed by the blackness below. "I have no idea."
The way back took them through the mostly wizard-owned neighborhood where Haniel and Mantyger had fought with Crane's men. They passed a house with some construction materials piled in font, and Bronzino's eyes lit up—and fixed on the lighted windows, a mischievous smile glued to his face.
"What is it?"
"Bowen. He's got a new girlfriend, a lithe little blonde from the west"—Haniel immediately swerved her eyes to the house as well—"but he didn't want to leave his old girlfriend. He had bought her, the old one, that house because it was what was available when they met, even though it was far too big. So, when he got the new one, he just decided that he would have carpenters divide the house into two apartments. He's telling the old one some lie about doing a favor for a friend of his, and everyone who knows him is wondering how long he can get away with it."
Haniel made a bitter face. "Well, if the old letch is using magic on them…"
"Oh lord no, Bowen isn't smart enough for that: everyone's fairly sure that he hit on the scheme because he can't remember two separate addresses."
They both laughed.
"I told him," Bronzino went on, "that he ought to have it cut into three apartments, in case he meets a third woman, and he seriously thought about it. Personally, I think he is mad for toying with the first one: she's a delightfully curvy brown-haired lady from the wine regions, as friendly as can be, and I'd have rather caught a glimpse of her than the new one."
"Westerners are pretty," said Haniel.
"Breasts are pretty," said Bronzino, and they laughed again.
There was a torch at the end of the street and Haniel paced around while Bronzino lit his cigar from it. She listened to quiet noises: the gentle clatter of dishes from one house, the low moan of a child's crying, the methodical sound of a rug being beaten somewhere.
Bronzino was still messing around with the cigar. Haniel found herself standing in front of a dark house. It was close enough to Bowen's house that she wondered why the lascivious wizard hadn't bought it—even he could have remembered where to find both of them. She chuckled to herself, and noticed a doll's house in the window of the house she was standing in front of.
Bronzino, with the cigar lit, came up and stood beside her. He passed her the cigar, and she took a long drag and let the herbs soothe her. She listened again to the noises of the night, the rug had been taken inside, the dishes were replaced with the sound of water, and the child was still crying, uninterrupted, and unresponded to.
She handed the cigar back to Bronzino. The child's crying was soft enough that she only now realized that it was coming from the house she was standing in front of and not somewhere further away. The dark house, with a doll's house in the window.
23
Joti had been on his way to bring back more wood for the bunkhouse's hungry hearth, and met Shain behind the woodshed. The snow on the ground hadn't been able to decide whether it should melt or stick, but it was first thing in the morning and the air was still cold enough that a few stray flakes were looping down from the sky.
Joti nodded slowly. He wasn't sure, but it felt as though he didn't have to look up quite as far to meet Shain's eyes as he used to. "She's here? You're sure of that?"
The Marshal put on a wry look. "The only thing I'm sure of is that someone we don't know told someone we do know that he'd seen a tall and authoritative woman leading a pack of strangers around his neighbor's mine. The woman was further described as having an orange braid as thick as a hawser draped down her back."
"What's a hawser?"
"Mooring line. For a boat. And if you've never been on one of those, it's a floating wooden structure used to convey people and goods from one place to another with minimal risk of drowning."
"Did the witness see what clan she and her warriors were from?"
"Tuskers. However, he further stated that the commander and several of her subordinates were unusually pale."
"Artuskers. The witness didn't recognize them because he wasn't expecting them to be seen together. The Faval Rusk is here, and she's leading them." Joti closed his eyes. "I wish you luck finding them."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said I wish you luck. I have work to do." He crouched to pick up a bundle of wood.
Shain put herself back in front of him. "Perhaps the thickness of the air below the Peak has stoppered your ears. I said that the woman who raided your tribe has come to our lands."
Joti piled split logs into his arms. "Good for her."
"It's been nearly six months. Are you still so drunk on pride?"
"No, Shain. That's been gone for a long time now."
The woman looked troubled for among the first times Joti could remember. "Whoever this woman is, she's managed to take people who would typically use each other's guts for confetti and united them into a cohesive unit of frightening power. If she's brought that unit to the borders, and intends to wield it against the Alliance, they'd see it as more than a raid. They'd see it as war."
"If it's that serious, don't you have the whole No-Clan to boss around? What do you need me for?"
"Until we know what we're dealing with, we can't risk spooking her by bringing down an entire war party. Additionally, she'll be deploying scouts. Operatives. Lieutenants. All sorts of people operating independently from her war band. You've seen these people. You might be able to recognize them for us."
The split wood was growing heavy in his arms. "Maybe so. But if there's a war band out there, then I can't leave. I'm here to defend Dolloc Castle. And we at Dolloc Castle defend the Peak of Tears."
Shain chuckled, tugging on the brim of her cap. "That's what they tell you here?"
"Why else would they have built a castle halfway up a mountain?"
"Because many years ago, some fool with too much gold and too little sense wanted to declare himself a lord. Well, he soon discovered that no one would take him seriously until he'd built himself a fort. This particular fool was the esteemed Qasu Dolloc."
"We run patrols. Hunt bandits. We help keep the heights safe!"
"Oh, the castle serves its purpose. But do you really think it's keeping the Peak safe? If something came along that was powerful e
nough to threaten us, what chance would this place have against it?"
Something inside Joti felt like it was about to break. Maybe it already had. He closed his eyes and lowered his voice. "Why can't you let me have anything?"
She turned away his words as quickly as she would have parried a sword. "Because I respect you, Joti. Your decisions are your own to make. But at least make them based on the truth and not what you want to believe is true."
Joti set down the firewood. He'd never expected to like it at Dolloc Castle, but it was starting to feel like a home. Meanwhile, Shain and the Peak and becoming a Marshal was nothing more than another episode of his life. One he'd resolved to put behind him. And that resolution had brought with it the death of his dream—or more likely, his delusion—of finding the orange-haired woman, finding out if she'd taken his family, and then exacting his revenge.
If the woman who'd attacked his tribe was down there, and he'd have Marshals at his side, then maybe it was no longer delusional to go after her. Even so, did he want to get dragged back into that quagmire? He wished, then, that he knew the Warp, and could use it to see which decision would lead to the future he most wanted. But the Warp was beyond him. The gods were silent. He had nothing but himself.
He clenched his hands. "When do we leave?"
"Given our orange friend's propensity for travel, I'd think now would be an appropriate time."
Joti ran to his bunk and got his sword, bow, armor, and traveling clothes. Shain assured him they'd brought enough provisions for him. Once he was loaded up, the two of them crunched through the snow toward the icy gates.
Joti glanced back. "Don't you need to ask Chief Paugh if you can take me out of here?"
"Nope. Anyone you'd like to say goodbye to?"
"Won't I be coming back?"
"In our line of work, that's never a safe assumption."
"Then maybe I shouldn't be making the kinds of friends who I need to say goodbye to."
She gave him a funny look, then quickened her pace. They passed through the gates. The day was cloudy and there wasn't much light. Shain led the way down the trail. She had her bow strung. Joti stopped to string his, ears pricked to the silence of the forest. It smelled like snow and pine.
Shain took him off the trail toward a stand of trees. Two figures stepped out. Nod offered him a silent incline of her head.
Brakk appraised him and snickered. "Young Joti could go anywhere in the world, and he chooses to stay penned up in a musty castle. He spent so much time herding beasts that now he thinks like one himself."
Joti blinked at Shain. "What's he doing here?"
She shrugged. "As it turns out, our faithful servant once ran into the raiders, too."
"When was that?"
Brakk glowered. "Some time ago, when Brakk was minding his own business exploring the slopes of Drag Nir."
Shain laughed. "Is that what you call attempting to rob a war camp?"
"If the camp didn't want to be robbed, it shouldn't have made itself so near to Brakk."
"Hence he might be able to help identify any members of the Faval Rusk."
Brakk nodded sagely. "Yes. Brakk is well-traveled man."
"Equally important, he's skilled at carrying things I don't want to. Let's be on our way."
Shain returned to the trail, advancing at her typical no-nonsense stride. Nod moved with the stealth of a lynx. Brakk was shorter and weaker than the two Marshals and occasionally slowed by the snow, but he otherwise looked every bit the ranger, smiling to himself as he walked in Shain's footsteps, nose lifted to the air like a weasel on the hunt. Joti felt out of sorts. Not because he felt like he didn't belong, but just the opposite: ranging with the two Marshals, it was as though his time at Dolloc Castle had been nothing more than a strange dream.
Shain stopped to inspect a scuff in the snow on the side of the trail. "How well does Dolloc keep its recruits apprised of events in the outside world?"
"I've been told it exists," Joti said. "But some of us think that's a lie to keep us from slacking off in our training."
"Are you aware that, one month ago, the Sum tribes made a major push west, claiming the entire river valley? An act that led, in turn, to the displaced tribes creating a war zone around the head of the valley and the lowlands surrounding it? A process that displaced tribes from those lands, pushing them up into the hills?"
"I heard there were some bandits."
"The valley couldn't be messier if Uggot had vomited into it. We're going to need to watch our every step. The people down there will be scared. They'll be angry. And they might not appreciate a group of strangers showing up to ask a lot of questions."
She filled him in on a few more details, but Joti got the impression the situation was changing so rapidly the Marshals were having a hard time keeping up with it. As the day wore on, the air warmed a little, icicles dripping from the boughs. As they descended further, patches of bare earth emerged from the snow.
Early that afternoon, Shain diverged from the road onto a winding trail that led to a village ringing a small lake. Har men and women smoked fish and tended to their bighorns. Shain was allowed to speak to the chief's brother, but the tribe claimed ignorance of anything going on below them.
They got back on their way. As the sun withered behind the western clouds, they moved off the road to make camp. Nod instantly found a rocky overhang—Joti wasn't sure if she'd already known it was there, or simply knew how to find such things wherever she was—and they set up two small tents beneath it. Nod wanted to make it a cold camp, but Shain argued her into allowing a fire, sending Joti and Brakk off to gather kindling.
Brakk leaned over to pick up a branch. He bent it, discovering it was sodden, and tossed it aside. "And how does Joti do? Is the splendor of the castle everything he imagined?"
Joti scowled. "It's honest work."
"Honest? Work? Is Brakk supposed to regard either of these things as good?"
"I suppose not, considering that if he wasn't magically enslaved to do otherwise, Brakk would steal your shoes from your feet and your dreams from your head."
"At least Brakk is Bound by magic. Joti doesn't even realize he's also a slave—and that his binds are made of his own fears."
Whistling to himself, Brakk added another handful of sticks to his collection and started back toward camp. Joti took his time gathering more. By the time he got back, Nod had already started a fire, the light flickering against the low stone roof. They'd brought trout, eggfruit, and three different kinds of mushrooms. Joti was surprised to find he'd missed the Peak's odd food.
Shain uncorked a flask and took a long swig. She offered it to Nod, who shook her head.
"Don't make me drink alone," Shain grumbled. "People might get the right impression."
Nod stared into the darkness. "I need to stay alert."
Brakk leaned forward, smiling submissively. "Brakk will help Marshal Shain drink."
"I bet you would." Shain eyed him with distaste, then flipped him the flask. "Don't tell anyone at the Peak, you bastard."
Brakk adopted a wounded face, which Joti suspected was a put-on, and fumbled the flask, which Joti was certain was also an act. Just before the container could tumble into the fire, Brakk snatched it and clutched it to him.
He took a long drink and smiled down at the container in a way that seemed genuine. Rather than handing it back to Shain, Brakk thrust the flask at Joti, whacking him in the chest.
Brakk smiled, fangs peeping past his lip. "Doesn't Joti want to help Marshal Shain avoid the shame of drinking alone?"
Joti glanced at Shain, whose eyes were hidden by the brim of her cap. He decided he didn't care what she thought. He took a drink. It was spiced and fiery and he promised himself he wouldn't choke. He passed Shain back the flask, not yet trusting himself to be able to speak.
"Nod might be the only smart one among us." Shain allowed herself another drink. "On the other hand, this might be the only night when it's remotely safe to do any
thing dumb."
Nod glanced at her but said nothing.
Shain swirled the flask. "The problem with traveling with a responsible person is they make you feel guilty for having the slightest bit of fun. Hence I'm compelled to prove I'm not a complete degenerate. Joti, this is an official Marshal task we've been assigned. Your path might have diverged from ours, but there are certain components of our duty that might serve you well in Dolloc."
She picked up a stick and jabbed at the fire's embers with serious purpose. "We are about to go and ask a number of people for information. Most of these people will be strangers. The first rule of gathering information from strangers is that their information might, in fact, be shit.
"Some people will be eager to volunteer info because they believe it will curry favor or prestige, spurring them to pass along the slightest scraps and wildest rumors they've got. People who are eager to tell us things because they wish to mislead us will feed us outright lies. There might not even be a logical reason for their deception—they might think it's funny, or they might simply be insane. Or they might be trying to lure us into an ambush. Whatever these people tell us, we must treat it like a type of frog we've never seen before. Before we're ready to swallow it, we'd better be certain it isn't poisonous."
"The lesson is that people are liars?" Joti said. "No wonder it takes five years of training to become a Marshal."
Shain stared at him from beneath her cap. "When you have been assigned to find an answer, and you've spent weeks searching until you're hungry and tired and lonely, sometimes the right answer becomes anything that will get you home."
"The mind betrays," Nod said. "Must police it at all times."
"Anyway, not all skepticism is common sense. If I'm questioning a fellow, and I beat him until he shits himself, you'd expect he's in a situation where he understands it's in his interest to tell me the truth about things, yes? Well, sometimes that fellow doesn't know the truth, and will feed you whatever answer will cause you to quit beating the incontinence into him."
Students of the Order Page 40
