Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  The ghost-girl grew fainter and vanished. Haniel's mother got up from the bank of moss, walked over to Haniel, and slapped her in the face. "All the gods, Hanny, what did you drag me into? What did you become?"

  Haniel's mother and the garden vanished, and they were back in the room, with a dead little girl.

  "Thank you," Bowen said, and gave her a hug.

  More wizards arrived, including Mantyger, who pulled Haniel aside. Seeing the horrified question on Haniel's face, she said, "Lupica knew that this place existed, but not where it was. I assumed Crane would have cleaned it up days ago. I promise I would have done something for them, if I knew, if I could."

  "And this place was just a whorehouse, where they let people screw the Puppets?"

  "It was more. You've guessed: they're all a little different. They were doing experiments, trying out different sorts of Bindings on them."

  Haniel looked at the ground glumly. "What can we do to Crane?"

  "We'll see. Hopefully, he did one of them himself, and I'll be able to show it in the Binding. Or maybe one of them saw him, or maybe another one of the wizards who works for Crane, who won't be willing to fall on a sword for him. I'll have to spend some time with the children to know what I have."

  "You're going to nail the bastard?"

  "I am going to try. I suppose I should have told you: we came much nearer to dying the other night than I let on. Crane could have killed us with the Gift if he wanted, but explaining how we both died would have been more trouble than dealing with me. He could have done it though, killed us and got away with it, only he is trying to keep as low a profile as he can, for the moment. If I take him on, it will have to be through the Order."

  Haniel nodded blankly, and Mantyger's eyes turned wild and desperate.

  "And don't, don't be dumb enough to try to sort this by knocking him on the head with that hammer of yours! Promise me, Hanny." Mantyger was crying. "They'll kill you for that, if you somehow survive. They dumped that poor boy on our doorstep, and I slit his throat. Wit's off in the mountains, and I can't lose you, Hanny, please?"

  Haniel patted Mantyger on the shoulder, and Mantyger buried her face in Haniel's chest and quietly sobbed. "They left him on the doorstep and I slit his throat, please, I can't lose you, dear Hanny…"

  The children were taken back to the tower. Bowen, his mistresses, and the Adepts went back to Bowen's house, where Karn (for they were in her side) set out food and wine.

  "What will happen to those children?" the new mistress, Laura, wanted to know.

  "They'll help the ones they can, see if they can learn enough to find their families," Bronzino said. "Some minds can be rebuilt and they'll be able to have relatively normal lives."

  "Not all of them?"

  "No," said Bowen quietly. "One or two, if that. If the Order would let someone like Mantyger work on them for a year or so, more might be possible. But they would not agree to that as an efficient use of her time."

  "And the rest?"

  "The Order will take care of them," Bowen said. "The Order has about a dozen older, mostly retired wizards, in comfortable houses on the other side of the capital. They house us, the Gifted, when we are first brought to the capital, and they also take in any Puppets that get rescued and can't be helped, along with people who get their minds wiped by accident in the normal course of our business. I remember, when I first got to the capital, there was a fellow in the house, Stuttering Tom we called him…"

  "Stuttering Tom!" said Haniel.

  Bowen's eyes lit up, "You knew him?"

  "Yes, he was in the house I was in when I first came here."

  "He must have been ancient."

  "He was, but still going strong."

  Bowen smiled. "He was a young man when I knew him. You had to let him polish all three of the kitchen candlesticks every morning, or else he would cry."

  Haniel nodded.

  "And he loved catching and throwing a ball. Once you'd played catch with him for five minutes, he'd be your friend for life, and would smile and smile whenever you came into the room." Bowen beamed. "All the gods, how was he when you knew him?"

  "He was like you said," said Haniel. "He didn't know a dozen words, but kind as could be. Once I was sick in bed with a cold, and he brought me a cup of tea, and I thanked him, and he was so happy that he kept bringing me tea until the house was out of cups."

  The women did not know what to make of this; Laura smiled pleasantly.

  "Of course, we remember Tom because the others were not so nice," said Bowen. "Half of them could do a chore, the rest just sat where you put them, except when they would scream or cry. I'll never forget what my master said when I asked why I had to clean up after them."

  Bronzino and Haniel both nodded.

  "What did…?" Karn started to ask.

  "That you have to do it then, because in ten years another child will be cleaning up after someone who is like that on account of something you did," Bronzino said softly.

  "It happens too often anyway," Bowen said quickly and bitterly. "I thought about them, Tom and the others, all my life. When I was an Adept, I swore up and down, to any god that would listen, that no one would ever end up like that on my account. I made it six years. It was a skirbit we were Binding over something odiously technical, eggfruit out of season, and there was something about just how much he loved to fly, it was too much for me, and I broke him." He and raised his glass and tried to smile. "Here's to one of you doing what I couldn't."

  "Gods willing, sir," said Haniel.

  "But the ones in that house, someone made them like that on purpose?" Karn asked.

  Bowen nodded.

  "Do you know them?"

  "Yes," Bowen said quickly. "Not who they are, but I know them, I must. Whatever wizard it is, it is someone I have spoken with, broken bread with. Lupica—I would never have guessed. He was a pleasant, funny fellow: played the flute rather badly, and loved to go fishing. I'd say that that's the darkest thing about this business—that it must be one of my respected colleagues—if what we found in that house wasn't so much damnably darker. Rum or brandy, Haniel?"

  "Whichever you prefer."

  Bowen got a bottle of rum and poured them drinks. "If there is one good thing about this whole business, it is that there is the makings of damn fine wizards in both of you. I'm in your debt for finding that poor little girl a mother—all the gods, mine wouldn't have done! We were from a rather superstitious province, bordering the Alliance, not in it. When she saw that I could read my brother's mind, she locked me in the cellar and beat me senseless twice a day to cure me of witchcraft. Then some brigands butchered my family and brought me to the capital—there was good money in selling Gifted children to the Order, especially when the Alliance was smaller." He stared gloomily into his glass. "Damn lucky, if you think about it: take three wizards at random, and I don't like the chances of finding one mother between them."

  Bowen sent them home with some pickled vegetables and a promise that they would both be given the next day off.

  "I don't think that he's stupid at all," Haniel said.

  "I don't really, either, but why do you say that?"

  "Well, after tonight each of the women knows about the other, but in light of everything else, those wretched children and his miserable life—which he worked into the conversation rather cleverly—it would seem fairly petty for either of them to get very angry over not having a middle-aged wizard to herself."

  25

  Over the course of twenty minutes of aggressive dickering, Shain and the witch struck a deal too convoluted for Joti to follow. With the sun gone and the temperature plummeting, the dwarf—who didn't seem to have a proper name, and responded only to Dazagoon—brought them to her home. Most of it was underground, but the top level opened into glass domes protected from the elements while giving a full view of the stars.

  Shain offered the witch a meal from their provisions. The dwarf gave her a caustic look. "How many types of
salts are in it?"

  "Salts? Just one."

  "How are you going to make your bones strong with a single type of salt? Keep your orc slop to yourself."

  Wanting to start out first thing in the morning, the witch called it a night as soon as they were done eating. She warned him it would be warmer downstairs, but Joti asked and was allowed to sleep inside one of the rooftop domes. He'd slept under the stars countless times, but there was something transcendent about being snug and cozy while looking out on a land so cold and hostile. It was like he could finally feel what the stars felt when they looked down on him.

  Shain woke him while it was still dark. "Crack those eyes. You never want to make a witch wait."

  Feeling mighty sluggish, Joti glared at nothing. "I thought you said she wasn't a real witch."

  "With witches, it's best not to take chances."

  He'd slept in his clothes and was ready to leave within minutes. Dazagoon led the way forward while it was still dark. The air was silent and bitingly cold and it smelled like snow was on its way. The dwarf crossed through the glass tube to the neighboring canyon, staff clacking along the solid trail.

  "How far will we travel?" Shain said.

  The witch didn't turn her hooded head. "Not far."

  "Not far as in we'll be there by lunch? Or not far because, when one knows one's holy purpose, no things are too far?"

  "It's not far."

  The dwarf reached the end of the path and trudged into the sand. Clouds rolled in overhead, blotting out the stars.

  Shain dropped her scarf from around her mouth. "My understanding is that even with the introduction of a trusted friend, the Sum of the Duk Mak will insist we prove ourselves in some fashion. What can you tell me about what to expect?"

  The dwarf shrugged. "Nothing."

  "Nonsense. You know these people better than half their own tribesmen."

  "And that is why I know that if I tell you of their ways, they'll flay me alive. We'll get there when we get there. You'll pass their tests or you won't. You'll find what you seek or you'll go home."

  "I'll stop listening to you, or I'll go insane."

  Nod sketched out a map as they walked. The eastern flatlands turned purple, then gray. The overcast sunlight didn't bring any warmth or life. The witch had been keeping to the sand-filled canyon floors, but once it was light enough to see into the distance, she hiked up a hill and stopped at the crest, gazing to the south. A minute later, she moved on.

  Shain lifted her hat a fraction of an inch up her forehead. "See anything?"

  "A mouth that won't quit running."

  "It wouldn't have to speak so much if you will simply answer my questions the first time I ask them. I will assume if you had seen something, you would tell us."

  The dwarf jabbed her staff at a bone lying on the gray dirt. "Good thinking. Were you so proud of it you had to share it with us?"

  "What about before today?" Shain seemed determined to ignore the witch's jabs. "Have you heard anything regarding the recent unrest?"

  "Yeah, all those people I talk to in my hermit's abode can't shut up about it."

  "We've agreed to help you double the size of your works within a year. The least you can do is aid us in stopping this valley from being overrun by foreigners."

  Dazagoon climbed down a rocky defile with more agility than her lump of a body seemed capable of. "The Sum tribes have quit warring on each other to war on outsiders instead."

  "Rare event," Nod said. "Only when they feel threatened."

  "That's been my observation."

  "When did they declare this internal peace?" Shain said.

  "They forgot to tell me."

  "Anything else?"

  "I'm trying to stop the world from crumbling to dust," the dwarf said. "Don't get much time to swap stories with the neighbors."

  Shain abandoned conversation for the rest of the morning. A little after noon, snow began to fall in thick clumps. The witch ignored it until it was falling so densely that they couldn't see the next ridge in front of them. Dazagoon tucked into the lee of a canyon wall. They seated themselves, eating dried fish and seasoned rat crackers they made at the castle. Joti still didn't understand the name; he'd never tasted any rat in them, and when he'd asked, the others had just laughed at him.

  They watched the snow for a while. After it showed no signs it was planning to let up soon, Dazagoon rose and walked on, leaving footprints that would soon fill in with fresh flakes.

  "Snow in the desert," Shain muttered. "At least we won't want for water."

  Joti glanced up at the gray sky. "Are there monsters here?"

  "'Here' is a part of 'everywhere,' so safe to assume the answer is yes."

  "Rattlesnakes," Nod said. "Cobras. Scorpions. And ten-scorpions."

  "Ten-scorpions?"

  "Scorpion the size of ten regular scorpions."

  "Apparently this desert was first explored by a poet."

  Nod looked up, snow sticking to her eyelashes. "Once heard a manticore's trumpet. Will freeze you in your tracks. Wrong reaction. You hear the trumpet, you run."

  "That's the lesson in all lands you don't know," Shain said. "If you hear a noise that frightens you, let it be frightening. And go to ground until it's gone."

  The two Marshals dug into a thorough explanation of the lands they'd been to, the creatures they'd encountered there, and whether it was best to dispatch them or avoid them. Joti found their tales engrossing, but the witch was thumping her staff harder and harder against the frozen ground.

  "Since none of you can shut your big green gobs," the witch said during a lull, "I will talk so that you can't. And since you're relying on me to get you where you need to be, I think I'll take the opportunity to indoctrinate you. Any of you familiar with the Khazan Barr?"

  "Too well," Shain said.

  "Too bad. For those of you about to receive enlightenment, the Khazan Barr is the dwarven story of how we came to be."

  "It's one of them, yes. To say it's the story—"

  "Is to speak truth. Now be quiet before I decide to sit down and stay sat until we're all buried." The witch walked along, rocking side to side as she traversed the deepening snow. "Before anything, Barukhu looked into the light of the fire. There, he saw every color. Red and yellow. Blue and green. He brought forth each color of fire, and touched it to the ground. When a color touched the ground, it made a corresponding metal. Yellow became gold. Red became copper. You get the idea.

  "For an age, the metal rested in the ground. Then the lower gods started to mine it. To beat it into new shapes and uses. I don't care to get into their stories here. All you need to know is that Hallard the Forger brought the metals into his workshop and hammered them into the creatures he saw in his mind. After years, his statues were so real they came to life. Mice. Rabbits. Snakes. Soon enough, he flooded the world with hundreds of animals—though he later regretted the snakes.

  "When the other gods saw his work, they were awed. The instant they quit being awed, they snatched up his creations, took them apart, and learned how they were made. Within months, they were forging animals of their own. Cats. Dogs. Goats. As they competed, their creations got bigger and wilder than his had ever been. Griffins. Wyverns. Dragons. And nobody was praising Hallard the Forger anymore."

  The dwarf paused to peer into the haze of snow. Something dark flapped across their path, but the snow obscured how far away or how large it might be.

  She grunted and walked on. "Hallard's gut filled with spite. The spite crept upward. Consumed him good. He went to the hills and searched for metals. The purest he could find. In his workshop, he set to his forge. For sixty days and sixty nights, he pounded metal. Best work he'd ever done. Finished, he threw open his workshop doors. This time, he hadn't made any animals. He'd made reflections of the gods. What came to be known as the Five Speaking Beings.

  "You orcs he'd made from iron. Hard, and good for killing. Us dwarves, of course, he'd made from mithril, the most precious met
al of them all, making every project it's used in the better for it. Skirbits were of quicksilver. Squiggly things you can't hardly take hold of, and too much time spent with them makes a body sick."

  She shook out the snow that had accumulated in the folds of her sleeves. Joti said, "What about dragar?"

  The witch chuckled. "Silver. A pretty enough metal, but no one would ever mistake it for gold. Hallard's last creation was the humans. These he made from leftover scraps, binding them together with tin. So when you look at them, they might flash attributes you'd find admirable in the other peoples, but they're impure to the core.

  "Hallard's new people spread across the earth. Mastered the beasts and creatures all the other gods had made. The others praised Hallard so much his cheeks all but caught fire from blushing. Try as they might, none of the others could do what he did; he knew that he would always be held up as the greatest of them all.

  "'Cept Barakhu and the Old Ones don't give a wet damn for the vanity of man. Soon enough, Hallard's creations were so interesting that all the lesser gods quit paying attention to him to better watch the loving and bickering of dwarves, orcs, and humans.

  "Hallard tried to make yet another creation. Something so stunning it'd win the attention back to him. For years, he confined himself to his workshop, hammering and tinkering, crafting and shaping. But nothing he tried could match the Five Beings. By the time he admitted that he couldn't best what he'd already done, and returned to the world, it had left him so far behind that he no longer recognized it, and his people no longer recognized him."

  The witch walked on through the snow. Joti had never heard stories of the dwarven gods and found that they made him uncomfortable. They were nothing like what he'd learned roaming the lands of the Yatto. The best explanation he could come up with was that the dwarves were dangerously insane.

  Shain cleared her throat. "You left out the next part. According to another dwarven story, since we're all forged from metal, if you acquire large quantities of that same metal, you can use it to control the group of people who are made from it. Hence why we hunt and covet it. Isn't it interesting, then, that no one yearns for metal more than the dwarves?"