Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  Shain tipped back the flask, then lobbed it to Brakk. She gazed into the fire and grinned. "Several years ago, I was sent to Gardago, the furthest settlement up the coast before you hit Alliance territory. Decent place, if a little sunny. My task was to locate a Wai sailor named Luku who was rumored to have dealings with the Aubrey."

  "The who?" Joti said.

  "Strange people. Look a lot like humans, and for all I know they are, but they're exclusively sea-goers. Anyway, I'd hardly started asking questions about Luku when I was ambushed by a pair of Tusker mercs. I stabbed one of them a little too hard to live, so I made sure to take it easy on the second one, then tied him up.

  "The obvious motive for the attack was that Luku was up to no good, and when he heard I was sniffing around his business, he'd sent a pair of big mean grunts to put a stop to that. And to me. So I put my questions and fists to the survivor. He held out for several minutes before relenting. He told me I was right: Luku had sent them. When I asked if Luku was consorting with the Aubrey, the man hesitated. After another round of fists, he confirmed that this was true.

  "A final application of knuckles revealed that Luku was at that very moment sailing out to meet the Aubrey. And get this: he wasn't going out to trade with them. Rather, he was meeting with them to finalize an alliance between the Wai and the Aubrey to seize the coast, going north into Alliance lands and south into ours.

  "Hearing that, I ran straight to the piers. There wasn't a single captain who would agree to take me out to the island the grunt had cited as the meeting spot. Claimed the waters were so full of horrors that they'd rather set their boats on fire than venture out beyond the bay.

  "At that time, I happened to be carrying a lobe of human liver I'd confiscated on my way to Gardago. I shared it with a captain named Roe. Fifteen minutes later, he was smiling so happily he'd have sailed me into the sun. We shoved off and made way for the island. I'd slipped the oarsmen a bite of liver apiece and they paddled along like we were out for a pleasure cruise."

  Shain took off her cap and spun it in her hands, her teeth shining whitely in the firelight. "We didn't make it a hundred yards out of the bay before the first of them slams into our hull. Rattles the whole ship. Within seconds, they're hitting us one after another. The captain's so goosed on livers that he tells the first mate to go and ask the creatures what they want.

  "Well, the mate leans over the rail. And this thing jumps out of the water. Fish of some kind, but it's got fins like axe heads and teeth long enough to cut a man in half. Which I know is true, as that's exactly what it does to the first mate.

  "This sobers up half the crew. They turn about and strike for the bay, but the fish kept biting the oars until they're nothing but splinters. The hull's cracking like it's about to join the same state. By the time the beasts tear away the last oar, and we drift to a stop, we're still fifty feet outside the safety of the bay.

  "The monsters are still slamming into us. Crunching us on all sides. We're taking on water. The captain's still useless, lost in his bliss. One of the crew dives from the prow and swims for the bay, but the beasts rip him apart before he's gotten three feet. But seeing how they homed in on him, I have an idea. I run to the stern and lean over the rail. An instant later, one of the monsters vaults out of the water and snaps its teeth so close to my face I can smell the mackerel on its breath.

  "This draws several others to the stern. I lean back and they start ramming us beneath the waterline. Each time, we jolt a few inches forward. After a minute, we're crawling steadily toward the bay. But each time they hit us, the ship cracks a little more. We're sinking faster now. Getting lower and lower into the water. I have to back up from the stern so they don't leap up and grab me. We're trailing broken planks behind us. It will all be over in a minute.

  "Just as water starts to pour over the gunwales, the attacks stop cold. It's deadly silent—all except for the captain, who's up in the stern singing himself a sea chanty and waving at the birds. Nobody wants to be first overboard, but the boat's sinking so fast we don't have a choice. We lash some flotsam into a raft, drag the captain onto it, and start swimming for the piers.

  "Every second of the way, I'm imagining those teeth wrapping around my waist and sawing me in half. But soon enough, we're coming to the docks. There, a crowd had assembled to jeer us for our stupidity. Know who was right there with them? Luku.

  "Turned out that he was simply making a few trades with the Aubrey. The guy I'd beaten half to death had been so scared that I'd do the same to the other half of him that he'd spun the first story he could think of to get me killed. I never would have imagined a Tusker would have the wit for a lie that good!"

  Shain laughed hard and slapped her thigh with her cap. Even Nod chuckled. It took a while for Shain's chuckles to wind down. "I had a point somewhere in there, didn't I? Ah yes: learn from my lesson. When you're being told what you want to hear, even a fool can make you look foolish. Now Brakk, give me back my flask before I wring the liquor out of you like a damp rag."

  ~

  In the morning, frost sheathed the pine needles. The four of them hiked down the mountain, losing elevation fast. The snows retreated to the shadows. The forest quit, replaced by grass that had grown tall in the autumn rains and was only now starting to go yellow. A few miles below, a town rested on a flat shelf of land, the smoke of many fires mingling above it.

  Though they reached its outskirts before noon, the taverns were already packed with woodsmen and miners. Shain beelined toward an establishment with a sign bearing a picture of a broken keg. The smell of sizzling chicken wafted from the poorly-fitted door.

  "I'll wait outside," Nod said. "Make sure you're not ambushed."

  Shain flicked the hilt of her sword. "Paranoid, but appreciated. Joti, come inside and take a look around. I doubt the Orange Lady's followers are this high up the slopes, but if you spot anyone you recognize, it'll save us a hell of a lot of time."

  She squared her shoulders and entered. Joti followed behind, Brakk on his heels. Men and women sat around tables stacked with foamy mugs and steaming platters of chicken, pork, bread, and potatoes. All of them carried knives or clubs. Most of their belts drooped with hammers, chisels, and other mining tools that could also double as skull-bashers. Their hands were scarred and more than a few were missing at least one finger.

  Shain and Nod weren't wearing their metallic Marshal cloaks, but Shain's sword and bearing were enough to make the locals' eyes linger on her. She ignored them, stalking straight toward the bar. Joti cleared himself from the doorway and glanced from patron to patron. He'd gotten used to living with people from all clans, but outside of Dolloc Castle and the Peak of Tears, it wasn't common to mingle. Here on the frontier, however, there were white-haired Gru, deep green Tuskers, delicate-faced Har, and others of all kinds.

  He ignored most of them in favor of the Tuskers and Artuskers. He wasn't certain he could recognize any faces other than the Orange Lady, as Shain had dubbed her. Everyone else he'd seen and fought had been just another soldier, and Joti had been paying more attention to their spears than their faces. But one Artusker man drew his eye. Joti frowned, trying to remember the warriors he'd seen during his and Drez' scramble away from the war band and toward the river.

  The man glanced his way, caught him staring, and stood, chair scraping. Joti's instinct was to turn around and walk out of the tavern, but he held his ground.

  The man was tall, his shoulders rounded like a pair of boulders. He swayed to a stop in front of Joti. "What are you staring at?"

  Joti met his pale eyes. "I thought I knew you. I was wrong."

  For no discernible reason, the man's face darkened with anger. He reached out, his forearms as hard and striated as the rock he worked, and shoved Joti to the ground.

  "You don't know me." The man leaned over Joti, breath sour with ale. "But now you will. Every time you see what I've done to your face, you'll remember mine."

  Joti scrabbled for his sword, but the man
stepped on it, pinning it to the floor. He drew a length of chain from his belt and flicked his wrist, wrapping the chain around his fist in a single deft gesture. Several others were watching, leering through broken yellow teeth. Joti planted his feet and tried to push himself back, but the man bore down on his sword, stopping him.

  The links in the chain looked big enough to brain a troll. Some were stained off-red. Maybe it was rust. Maybe it was blood. Memories flashed of Movo beating Ladd the servant until the boy's teeth fell out and his mind followed them. Joti lifted his hands above his head, but he knew they wouldn't protect him for long.

  The miner drew back his elbow. Behind him, Brakk unfolded like a spider from a crack.

  "Ugly walks away." Brakk pressed his knife against the pale green skin of the miner's throat. "Or Ugly gets a second smile."

  The man stiffened, flushing. Behind him, his friends were grinning, delighted by the turn of events. Joti watched them a moment, but wasn't too concerned that they'd get involved. The code was that when you started a fight by yourself, you fought it yourself.

  The miner lowered his fist, letting the chain dangle. "Had to call in your friends, eh? What, was your mother too far away?"

  Hearing his friends chuckle, he swiveled his head toward Brakk, pocketing his chain. Brakk unentangled himself and disappeared his knife as if it had never been there. Joti relocated to the other side of the tavern.

  Brakk padded along beside him, looking as smug as a frog in its pond. "Has Joti just learned that not everyone thinks the No-Clan's farts smell like cinnamon?"

  "What did that have to do with the No-Clan?"

  "He sees Shain come in. Shain is known here. He sees Joti with her. And then he watches Joti, and he waits."

  Joti scowled. "Why would he have a problem with the No-Clan? We're here to protect him."

  "Heh heh! These people are outlaws. Joti thinks they want his protection?"

  Joti had been right about to thank Brakk for his help, but he no longer felt so inclined. He finished his scan of the room and turned his attention to watching Shain's back. At the moment, she was talking to a man at the bar who was so weatherbeaten Joti couldn't even tell what clan he was from. Shain did some gesturing—she loved gesturing—and pointed in the general direction of the plains. The man nodded.

  Shain rolled her eyes. It was too loud to hear what she said next, but it was obviously a curse.

  From the corner of Joti's eye, he saw the Artusker miner staring at him. The man drank steadily. Just as he was starting to think it best to go outside, Shain wrapped up her conversation with the weatherbeaten man and strode toward the door. Joti fell in behind her. After the stifling warmth and smells of the pub, the outdoors felt almost oppressively brisk and bright.

  Shain raised an eyebrow at him. "See anyone you've seen before?"

  "Not that I could remember."

  "Unfortunate. I was hoping to find them here and save ourselves a lot of walking. Now, onto the other matter. What the fuck were you doing in there?"

  He sputtered, taken aback by her sudden ferocity. "I didn't do anything! I was doing my job. Surveying the crowd. He's the one who decided my power of sight was offensive."

  "And next thing you know, he's got you on the ground?"

  "You saw that? Why didn't you do anything?"

  Shain flung out her hands. "Because you should never have let him put you down in the first place! You have to always be on watch, Joti. And if for some reason your attention slips, and you find yourself in danger, you have to strangle the situation with ruthless hands. Be ready to hurt—and to kill—the moment you feel yourself falling into danger. That's what it means to patrol the borders. To be a Marshal."

  "Were you always like this?" Joti tilted back his head, trying to see through the anger warping her face. "Or did something happen to you? Did someone betray you?"

  Nod had appeared seemingly from nowhere and was watching them. So were a group of dusty men who'd been arguing across the street. Other than a faltering breeze, the air was suddenly silent.

  Shain flicked the brim of her cap. "Yes, something happened to me. It's called being alive. Typically, I wouldn't recommend it, but since you've already gone and been born, the least you can do is look after yourself."

  "Wise words." Nod's voice was as flat as ever and seemed sincere, but Joti was abruptly unsure if she'd been mocking everyone all along. "Did you find him?"

  Shain gave Joti a cold look, then nodded to the other woman. "Wurrik was there. That's the good news."

  "Who's Wurrik?" Joti said.

  Shain looked ready to give him another mouthful, then pursed her lips. "Several years ago, myself and a Marshal named Bobod saved Wurrik's life three times in the span of two days. As a result, he's one of the few people in these hills the No-Clan can trust. Better yet, he makes a living selling tips to travelers and miners, meaning his livelihood depends on knowing what's been happening."

  "What was the bad news?" Nod said.

  "According to him, the Orange Lady and her merry band were last seen in the Gullies With Too Many Snakes—which are currently controlled by Daryar Tribe, Summite Clan."

  "Oh."

  "Yes."

  "Tell me we don't have to go to her."

  "Is there another way?"

  Shain shrugged broadly. "Not unless you want to spend the next three months passing the Daryar's absurd loyalty tests. By the time we finally earn entry to their lands, our quarry will be long gone."

  "Damn this earth and my feet that walk on it."

  Joti glanced between them. "I know a Sum girl from this very valley. She might be able to get us in."

  Shain swiveled her head. "What tribe?"

  "Roko."

  "Wrong tribe. The only thing the Sum hate more than outsiders is each other."

  "Then what is the plan? Whatever it is, you make it sound like you'd rather eat your own teeth."

  Shain grimaced and reached for her flask. She uncorked it and tipped it back, then glared at it, shaking it testily. "First, we must reprovision ourselves. I'm not currently in a state to discuss such horrors."

  She padded down the town's main street, leading them to a shop similar to the quartermaster's stations in both the castle and the Peak. After some bartering, Shain came away with three round earthen jugs. She stowed two in her pack, swaddling them in blankets, and took a long drink from the third. Grim-faced, she took the dirt trail out of town that descended toward the lowlands.

  "We are going," Shain said, "to see the Witch of Dazagoon."

  "A witch?" Brakk rolled his eyes in such terror Joti had to remind himself it wasn't real. "Will she glamour us into spiders, to never again eat anything but flies?"

  "I don't know the extent of her powers. I don't even know with certainty that she has any. What I do know is that she's a dwarf—and that she's crazy as a cat in a sack of rats."

  Nod stepped around a heap of dung lying in the middle of the path. "Not sure she's crazy."

  "She lives alone in an orcish desert and believes she needs to heal the sand. If you don't think that's crazy, I'm afraid we're going to have to start tying you up at night."

  "You live on a mountain peak where it never stops raining and believe you need to heal the borders. Now who is crazy?"

  "She is," Shain said. "At least I have friends."

  Joti glanced at a miner coated in stone dust trudging past them up the hill. "Why would the land need to be healed?"

  "Are you aware of the Alliance's legal concept of being made 'whole'?"

  "I know there's an Alliance. I might have known they have laws. Beyond that, my knowledge stops."

  "Don't play ignorant pig-herder with me. We teach all of you what the wizards of the Order are—and how to ignore them. In its simplest terms, the Order exists to address injuries and grievances without the need for violence."

  Brakk tutted. "How boring."

  "Practical solutions typically are." Shain lowered her chin against a gust of cold wind. "Here
in the Many-Claimed Lands, and in most tribes beyond, if somebody has damaged you—if they hurt you, stole from you, broke your favorite knife—you'd simply bash them good and consider the matter settled. The Order, however, will decide how much if any wrong has been done to you and how much gold—or slavery—the one at fault must pay you in compensation. That's what is meant by 'making you whole.'"

  Joti crinkled his forehead. "How do they decide how much being hurt is worth?"

  "I believe it's based on the time-honored principle of 'it's whatever we decree it is.'"

  "But we're all being hurt all the time. Shouldn't we owe each other more gold than exists in all the world?"

  "I am sure they've devised a system that results in minimal work for the maximum flow of shiny yellow metal to their own pockets. Regardless, the point is that the witch believes that sand is the evidence that the rock itself is crumbling to pieces. And that until the land is made whole, no one who lives upon it can be whole, either."

  "Oh."

  "A ridiculous belief even by dwarven standards, which are as low as the dirt they worship. To her benefit, however, her veneration for the sand earned her great credit with some of the Summite tribes. It will be much faster to approach the Daryar through her than to do so directly."

  The wind was picking up, tossing tiny snowflakes around. "If she's crazy, how can you be sure she'll be willing to help us?"

  "I can't." Shain produced a scarf and flung it around her neck. "Now enjoy contemplating that question for the rest of the march."

  ~

  They made their way down through the hills, stopping in for news at every settlement they passed. A few of the villages were no more than tent cities that had appeared over the last few months as miners arrived to stake their claims. Shain eyed them and did some bitter grousing about how no matter how much metal came out of the hills, the only people who'd make any money would be the ones selling the shovels.