"They were somewhat awkward."
"But he did not spend them actively punishing you." He stared at his arm in the basin. "I was correct you know: we could have taken Wit, by right. It is absolute that Gifted children belong to the Order—it does not matter at all where they came from or what their parents want. It would have saved a great many Alliance lives."
Haniel coughed. "Could you have really, though?"
"Almost certainly not. He was dangerous—ferocious and desperate. He would have killed me for sure—very nearly did anyway—and would have gotten Wendell as well, in all likelihood. But he would not have made it out unscathed and the Aubrey would have perished. Worse, their secrets and their people would have fallen into the hands of the orcs. Can you think of it, a generation of the Gifted growing up as orcish slaves? It might have been the end of the Alliance, of humanity even…that is what I think of, when I feel my wound: that if we had adhered to the Principles of the Order on that day, it might have destroyed the Alliance."
Haniel said nothing.
"It didn't end especially well for the Aubrey, either, from what we learned. Some five years afterwards, they had a violent conflict amongst themselves, and managed to burn nearly half of their own ships. About a dozen years ago some of them came inland and made their home on the Astolat lake. Have you heard of it?"
"I've heard it mentioned, but I don't know anything of it."
"It's on the frontier. A group of human settlers have been on the Alliance side for some years. The orc side has several fields of Ganys flowers—which are hugely valuable as both a dye and a medicine. Before, the human settlement in Astolat had never been of much interest, but with the arrival of the Aubrey, they have been able to both bring larger quantities of Ganys across the lake, and move it more efficiently down Estorause River, which runs from the Astolat lake into the heart of the Alliance." Cardozo watched her carefully. "Do you know what quality a wizard in the field must have above all else?"
Haniel shook her head.
"Courage. Out in the world, without the force of the Order to call on, you might be foolish or reckless and still be of use to Us. But if you are a coward, if you lack the courage to push on, then you are as good as lost, and no use to anyone. No one has ever mistook you, Haniel, for one of the wiser beings to come through the halls, and we all know that you are barely obedient enough to have lived this long. But if there was any question that you were one of the bravest wizards we have ever had, you answered it when you came here expecting to be executed and told me that what I had thought was twenty years of policy in the best interests of the Order was nothing more than my petty, personal hatred."
Haniel blinked. "Excuse me, you just said one of the bravest wizards?"
"Aye. You are to be the Regional Wizard for Astolat. It is known to be one of the least hospitable parts of the Alliance, but you might like it there: it has been mostly settled by various bands that weren't wanted anywhere else. Until the Aubrey arrived, the region was of little interest to the Alliance or the orcs. However, now the Ganys trade has made the area prosperous and the orcs have begun to raid them. And while before neither the people of Astolat nor the Alliance wanted anything to do with each other, they now desire safety, and we desire another source of Ganys: they have offered us dues in exchange for the protection of the Alliance. A caravan is headed toward the frontier tomorrow, and you will go with them to take your post."
Haniel turned suddenly and looked around the room: this would have been the time to have the assassin cut her throat from behind.
Cardozo smiled at her. "No, Haniel. This is earnest. Go, the caravan is leaving early tomorrow. You need to talk to the treasury and take care of everything else by then."
She blinked. "Um, might you write me a note? I don't actually believe that I am a wizard—I can't imagine anyone else will, either."
"No, everyone knew—if you were to leave these chambers at all, it would be as a wizard of this Order."
Bronzino and Mantyger were waiting for her outside of Cardozo's room. "All the gods," she said, "one or the other of you better have brought a drink or there will be bloodshed."
Mantyger beamed at her. "We've brought you something that you might like a bit better."
A long, thin package was leaning against the wall, which Bronzino handed to her. She unwrapped it skeptically.
It was a short, slender staff. The wood was a warm, reddish color, and finely polished. At the top was a poppy, delicately carved out of wood.
Haniel inadvertently gave a fraction of a smile. "I can't imagine they had the poppy lying around, they must have carved it special. How much did you idiots pay for this thing?"
"You'll never know," said Mantyger. "I had no idea what to put on it, but Bronzino thought of it right away."
"It's very nice, but I don't see why you bothered. I would have been perfectly happy with a simple one, like Wit had."
"Of course you would have—that's why we had to have one made for you," said Bronzino. "You deserve something beautiful, even if you won't get it for yourself."
"It was awfully optimistic of you: from what Cardozo said, it was heads or tails if he'd kill me."
Mantyger sighed, but Bronzino shook his head. "I don't think so: your actions were more or less in accordance with the Principles. The only way they would have killed you over it would have been if there was someone very fond of Chattiel—and Crane is in Youngkent."
They started walking. "I acted in accordance with the Principles?" asked Haniel. "I didn't mean it."
"No," said Bronzino, "but by the Principles, the Adepts govern themselves—even to the point of life and death. There have been at least half a dozen times where Adepts killed each other for less reason and faced no consequences."
"It also turned out," said Mantyger, "that most of the citizens of the capital were appalled by the blood fights—and the Order running them was making Us look thoroughly dreadful: it would have been a real problem if they had gone on any longer. The Kroywen Council has been choked with messengers from merchants and leading citizens, saying how pleased they are that they got shut down. Frankly, I've heard a dozen senior wizards say it was good that you killed him: it let everyone know that that wasn't what the Order was really about, and it's not certain that anything less than a murder would have gotten that across."
Holding the staff, things that would have been fleeting impulses or feelings seemed to acquire the weight of conviction. "You're lying about something, Bronzino," she said, "leaving something out. None of that is the real reason you thought I would be okay."
He smiled and blushed a little. "Well, there's also that you are one of the damn finest wizards we've ever had. Any idiot can see that—except you."
"Where are we going?" asked Haniel.
"The treasury—you have a lot to talk about with them. In addition to your salary, they need to give you expenses for an indefinite post, and explain to you how, and how much, you can charge to the Order."
"No. I'm a wizard now, and what I want counts for something. Maybe not to you, Mantyger…"
"Well," said Bronzino, "that's a bit of an open question. If we were in Astolat, you would definitely outrank her, as the Regional Wizard of the area. In the capital, however…"
"…but it definitely matters to the Adept. You have to do what I say now, Bronzino, and I say that we are getting drunk."
38
LinLaugh had died in the crash. Most of the High Dragar's people had died fighting the No-Clan, and very few of them had known exactly who Wit was—since Vechtin had wanted to be able to deny murdering a wizard, if it came to that. Wit thought that if he staggered into the keep claiming to have been injured in a fight with the orcs as they left Youngkent, he had about even odds of pulling it off.
He was very tempted to tell anyone who asked that Wa'llach was dead: it made more sense for Wa'llach to have been killed in the fighting than to have had his Binding severed. Wit still had no idea what exactly Joti had done, and had
never heard of something like that happening. No one, other than a wizard of the Order, had ever broken one of the Order's Bindings—not even touching the fact that Joti was an orc, and completely untrained in magic.
But Wit was sure enough that Wa'llach would rear his ugly head again and expose the lie that he did not dare risk it. At one point, he tried to remember things that the dwarf had said and come up with an idea of where he would go, but he gave it up: Wit suspected he would learn where Wa'llach had gone and what he had done sooner than he wanted.
At first, things went better than Wit had hoped. When he returned to the keep he found confused dragars and worried rangers, all of whom were very relieved to meet a wizard and completely willing to believe his stories about orcs.
"You couldn't have come at a better time, we need someone to talk some sense into those damn dwarves. The orcs used some kind of siege engine, or bomb, on the wall, and we're not sure that it's sound—and after this attack you understand that we won't take any chances. The dwarves who built it live in a village a little ways away in the mountains, but they won't budge to fix it for any price: they seem to think that they are about to be asked to take it down, and say that they wouldn't do business with us anyway, after how we used them over the construction." A young dragar looked at Wit nervously.
"Well, yes, that's why I'm here: LinLaugh was in the capital two months ago, demanding the wall be taken down for having been built with the wrong sort of iron," Wit said.
A very worried expression crossed the dragar's face and he took Wit by the sleeve and pulled him into a corner of the courtyard where no one else could hear them. "I beg the confidence of the Order," he murmured.
"Granted," said Wit.
"It is not entirely clear that the wall was damaged by the orcs."
"What do you mean?"
The dragar looked deeply embarrassed. "There are certain madmen amongst the dragar people who think our destiny is to build…machines that can fly and spit fire like dragons. These lunatics have been a great embarrassment to our race—both for the destruction caused by their worthless engines and because they have occasionally excited the imagination of the common folk with their ridiculous contraptions. It was known, but not discussed, that LinLaugh had been friendly with this sect. It seems, however, that he was a more prominent member than we had thought, and also quite insane. The damage to the wall was caused, in all likelihood, by some dragon-like contraption, and not the orcs. We found LinLaugh's body in the wreckage."
"I see," said Wit. "But what do you want me to do about it?"
"Mostly, we want you to get the dwarves to take our meat and gold and fix the damned wall. However, we would also be very grateful to your Order if you would allow us to represent that the damage was done by the orcs…particularly, in fact, where the dwarves of Jacobs are concerned: of all the races, the dwarves were especially amused by the mechanical dragons, and if they learned that we were paying them to fix damage done by one of our machines to their wall, we fear we would never hear the end of it."
"But you must appreciate Jacobs' position: the last they heard from you about the wall was LinLaugh demanding they take it down. You can't expect them to take work to fix the wall if they are only going to get Bound to dismantle it."
"LinLaugh is dead, and he was a madman while he lived," said the dragar, angrily. "Of course we want the wall up, all the gods!"
"Well," said Wit, "find me someone with authority to dissolve the Controversy, and I will go to the dwarves and explain the situation directly—or as much as I can without exposing you to the scorn of Jacobs."
Two days later, Wit found himself watching Jacobs' builders commence repairs on the wall with a feeling of pride. Whatever else had come of his adventure, the people on both sides of the wall were safe from each other for the moment.
He realized that he was impatient for Cardozo's arrival, and that, when he saw him, he would tell the older wizard the truth. Cardozo, at the very least, would understand why he had done what he had done.
Discipline was definitely going to do something to him, but watching the workers, Wit felt a twinge of hope that he might escape with his life. His betrayal paled in comparison to the schemes that Vechtin had been part of. Once he told Cardozo what he had learned, there would be lots of work rooting the conspiracy out of the Order and stopping whatever plots they had put in motion.
Wit shivered. He doubted that he fully understood the breadth of the conspiracy, but even with what he knew, it scared him utterly: a group of powerful wizards were manipulating not only the Order and the Lords of the Alliance, but also the orcs, with the goal of establishing absolute power over Isadoro.
He looked up at an approaching sound—a staff striking the stones on the ramparts. He saw Crane, a thin old Grand Wizard, approaching him. Wit blinked. He had planned on making his confession to Cardozo, the wizard he trusted the most. He tried to rearrange his thoughts to conceal them from Crane so that he could at least make it back to the capital.
Crane laughed at him. "You won't trick me, boy. I trained Vechtin for more years than you've been alive. I know most everything that happened. You are going to tell me the rest, and then we shall figure out what to do here."
"Sir," said Wit. "What do you want to know?" Two days later, he was still having headaches from his fight with the student—which he had only survived because of help from Joti and Haniel. He knew he had no chance against the master.
"The end," said Crane. "How did your orcish friend get behind him?"
Wit nodded. "During the duel, one of my fellow Adepts spoke to us. It disturbed him."
"Which of the Adepts?"
"Haniel."
"And what did she say to him?"
"That she had killed his pupil."
"Did the pupil have a name?" Crane's face grew angry and dark.
"Aye, Chattiel."
Crane's staff glowed a sickly green, and he raised it above his head and swung it into the wall in anger. There was an impossibly loud sound, and the whole wall seemed to shake for a moment. The old wizard ground his teeth. "Give me the papers," he hissed at Wit after a moment.
"They are in my saddlebags," said Wit. "If I may ask…?"
"Discipline will want to talk to you about how you managed to lose a dwarf whose services to the Order are worth dozens in gold a day. I am going to ask to have the tribunal set for five years from now, and you will continue as a probationary wizard until then. Nothing else happened here that needs concern the council, or any other member of Our Order. Go and get the papers you got in Cohos, bring them to me, and then ask Enexiyo about the battery of cannons that he built in Maturin Port, some years ago."
"Maturin Port, sir?"
"The people of Maturin Port have kept a trade with the Aubrey even as their empire has weakened, and the fleet still visits there once or twice a year. They also have their share of ordinary pirates and sea monsters—their trade with the Aubrey makes them rich, so they hired Enexiyo to build them the most ferocious cannons in Isadoro—cannons that can shoot balls of fire and tear apart stone as if it were paper.
"Go ask Enexiyo about the cannons, and know that if you ever breathe a word of my plans to anyone in Our Order, the next time the Aubrey pull into Maturin, those cannons will open fire on them and hundreds of people of your blood will burn in the fire and drown in the waters of the bay. And if you are not moved by the annihilation of a people that you have never met, know that, before the last fires have gone out on the ships of the Aubrey, Elayne the seventh daughter of the Lord of Brogdadus will have encountered an unusually well-armed group of bandits in whatever part of the Alliance she happens to be patrolling and died in the ensuing fight. Do you understand me, Wit?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good." He glared pure hatred at him for a moment, and then softened. "And I'll give you anything you want in the world for the head of that drunk bitch."
"Sir?"
"Haniel. I will have that bitch's head."
"I
'll keep the papers," said Wit. "I give you my word that I will show them to no one: but I must have something to ensure the safety of the Aubrey and the princess."
"You won't make terms with me, boy."
"Then kill me."
Crane glared. "I won't stop with you, boy."
"No. You need the Order, at least for a little while, and the Order needs wizards. Haniel killed an Adept who seems to have been part of your plans, and me and Joti killed Vechtin. And now you mean to kill Haniel. If me and Hanny are both dead, along with the Adept, that means that the Order will be at least three years away from having any new wizards other than Bronzino. Either me or Hanny has to be alive, or there simply won't be enough wizards to keep the Order going. I think I can insist on keeping my security. And I give you my word I will show the papers to no one, as long as the princess lives and the Aubrey fleet stay afloat."
Crane watched him carefully for a moment, not angry, and there was something in his eyes that could be mistaken for respect. "I begin to understand Cardozo's fascination with you, Wit. You have made yourself a damnable nuisance to me, but you couldn't have done any of it without being a very capable wizard, deeply skilled in Our ways. Aye, if we could get your people to abandon their boats for our Order, or even with just a dozen or so of you to serve us and breed, we might run this land more beautifully than even I have imagined."
"Sir?"
Crane laughed pleasantly. "Well, of course Cardozo never told you, but you were clearly only the first step in the plan that he and Wendell hatched—I thought you might have guessed. A single wizard is valuable to us—but the potential of the Aubrey, to breed wizards, and have as many as we wanted, that is an unimaginable power, and with it we could rule Isadoro absolutely, forever. Of course, we only recently learned for certain, thanks to you, that the Gift of the Aubrey could be useful to our Order. On the seas, the Aubrey use their Gifts for childish things—influencing the winds, turning salt water into fresh, speaking with fishes and the like. No Aubrey of the ocean has ever created a Binding or executed a Contract.
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