by Kris Schnee
"Well, here's a piece of the puzzle you might not know. The northmen have a tradition that goes back to our symbolism of the wolf, otter and hawk. To those tribes these weren't animals, just labels for four or five gods or spirits who guided them. From what reading I've done, it might've been the inspiration for our caste system. This is just fun speculation about barbarian beliefs, mind you. But it might interest you."
"All right," said Dominic, a little puzzled. Hanse hadn't been so enthusiastic in discussing what little trade there was with the north, or tales of the rodent-people said to live there. "I'm expected to take notes and learn; I can say that much. Do you know any Waldic or Mithraic, by the way? I need more practice."
* * *
Before he left Seaflower he shopped for last-minute travel supplies. In the process he visited the theater that he'd seen before. This time he could read the sign out front advertising the plays being offered this month. Every one of them sounded like a wholesome morality play, without a trace of mockery. Today there was no noise of laughter or applause from within the walls.
In theory, the calm silence was good. It seemed there'd been a reform. But if the people now feared to criticize the State even in silly, indirect ways, would they really stop having dissenting thoughts? Or would they just find some other way to express them?
* * *
He had an uneventful trip north from Seaflower, passing by some of the outer Flower Walls. On the inner sides were fighting platforms, ready-made high ground, showing strength mainly against threats from the west. He rode onward for days through villages and through grassland inhabited mainly by deer and rabbits, until he came to the region of Torrin.
Torrin was chillier than Seaflower, and seemed designed to huddle around a hill for warmth. The original walled town had long been outgrown. There were no elaborate Flower Walls of earth and roots here; only a few wooden forts defended the northern outlying district. A river flowed southeast through town. In hindsight, it was interesting to compare how the city sprawled relative to Seaflower: the latter had hardly any buildings to its west, while this one seemed less concerned about keeping within its own defensive ring.
Dominic passed streets of warehouses and workshops with thatch roofs. He began to feel off-balance; the streets ahead and uphill either sloped strangely or were cut into terraces. All around him wind whistled through wooden blocks that dangled from various walls, creating a changing tuneless melody. He headed toward the scent of pie.
The smell led him to the Noble Hare just outside the city wall, a public house run by a Citizen who looked capable of hauling a small ship ashore by himself. The man had a brown bunny on his shop counter, amusing the guests. "A Servant. We don't see many of you." His tone was careful.
Dominic nodded politely and bought a meal. "I need someone to tend to my horse. I didn't see a stable here; where can I go?"
The tavern-keeper visibly stopped himself from telling Dominic where to go, then said, "Best place for that is the Frontier Post on the north side."
Dominic ignored the cold stares of the tavern's other guests, but ate his bread and mutton quickly. He did need to get his horse a proper rest. On the way out, he asked the owner, "Did you have any trouble with other Servants lately?"
A grunt. "Yeah, one of your kind who didn't come back. Likely to get us all in trouble."
Any Servant on a legitimate mission to the border would've had all the paperwork filed to do that, possibly on orders from the One. "When was this?"
"A week ago. The masked creep asked too many questions, then said he was making a quick trip to the outlander villages."
Dominic calculated. Word wouldn't have gotten back to the capital about a Servant being overdue, yet. So had the One predicted trouble, or just guessed, or what? He wasn't sure. "I'll investigate," he said. "No need to worry."
After all, worrying about desertion was his department, not a Citizen's.
* * *
Torrin was a quiet town once he'd tuned out the musical whistles. Atop the hill stood a small temple to the One, made of wood like nearly everything else here, and magically shaped with smoothed planks and a triad of stylized roots reaching up from the earth. Dominic paused to pray there and to ask the priest, who to his surprise had neither brand nor mask, about the missing Servant.
"I've heard nothing of such a person," the priest said. He wore a simple robe embroidered with the triple-triangle mark of the Holy State. "Maybe your rumors are wrong."
The tavern-keeper hadn't told Dominic the name of the missing one. "Do you know if there was a Servant here at all recently?"
"Servant, fetch that wood outside for me."
Obeying the legal fiction, Dominic went outside to haul some firewood. On his way back, the apparently Bound priest stepped out and met him by the woodpile. "If there's a problem, it's a local affair, and might be best if you left it alone."
Dominic said, "What kind of problem might you be talking about? It wouldn't be wise of me to go home empty-handed."
The priest said, "Take that damn mask off. Let me see your face, if you want to talk."
Dominic was shocked. The order came at a temple, from what was apparently the appointed priest! "Who is your master?"
"High Citizen Lukas, lord of the city. Now do you want to have an honest conversation or not?"
"The State is my master," said Dominic. "If you please, I will follow its rules."
"Fine, then." The priest faced the Servant down until Dominic walked away.
Dominic fumed from behind his mask. He'd need to report a troubling lack of discipline in this town. Without more information to go on, he needed to see about meeting the barbarians.
* * *
To do that, he stopped by the Frontier Post, where there was a proper stable. The Post itself was a wooden stockade reinforced with iron wire, and a squat central trading building. Dominic walked in and greeted the Citizen in charge. "I'm here to look around and offer any help you need. I'm especially interested in seeing the town's defenses and making contact with the northern tribes."
The Citizen looked like a military man, probably a Quartermaster like Barger back home. He looked Dominic up and down and said, "Hello. I'm called Astor. First trip this far north?"
"Yes, sir."
"I can lend you a coat or sell you one."
It was getting chilly. "I'd appreciate that."
"Besides clothing, you'll want an escort if you're going to explore around here. I wouldn't go any farther than the picket forts if I were you. We have a signal flag we can hang on one of those to tell the northmen that we want to talk, and they usually respond in a day or so. Right now, I don't think they're eager."
"Why is that?"
"Raids, back and forth. If you're going to report formally, you can say the barbarians definitely started the trouble, but really there've been so many little lootings and reprisals that I've lost track of what the original feud was. We both have hunters and woodcutters in the disputed area."
"Anything unusual to report?" Dominic asked, fishing for news about the missing Servant.
The Quartermaster paused. "Do you have a familiar, Servant? No, obviously not. I can tell you that tension on our border is a natural state of affairs. Life may seem safe for you back in the capital, but there's been a steady trickle of Citizens and Bound coming here to be thrown into the foreigners' teeth. Which is of course part of our wise and just policy of keeping them at bay, but it's costly."
"Is there much trade, to justify this half-fort, half-shop you have here?"
"You've judged this post correctly, anyway. We can never trust that their trade caravans won't try to loot the place and run, but we can't be too closed either or we won't get the furs and magical trinkets and iron they have for us."
Dominic nodded. "I'd like to arrange a meeting with these tribes. I can tell them..." He tried to speak in the Waldic language. "The spirit of the land of the Three wishes peace."
Astor squinted, then guffawed. "I'd love to s
ee the look on their faces if you say that! You mispronounced 'spirit' and 'peace', I think, unless you're trying to proposition them."
"Ah..."
"Glad for the mask, eh? You tried, you tried." The Citizen carefully corrected the little speech for Dominic to memorize. "I'm surprised you bothered learning any Waldic at all."
"They recommended Mithraic for this trip; I studied some of that too. I'm new at both."
"Fair enough. Now, I can tell the nearest fort commander to hang out the parley flag, but what do you want it for?"
Dominic pulled his robe tighter, making the darts inside it rattle faintly. "I was given broad orders to look around and meet with them. To learn. It's a rare thing to get to see outsiders at all, so I'm genuinely curious. There was talk of rat-men, I think? And shamans?"
"Half right. Do you have paperwork about such a visit?"
Dominic handed him a battered letter, signed and sealed by a secretary of the Boundless One.
Astor nodded as he read, looking relieved. "I'll arrange things, then. Grab one of the coats over there before I forget." The Citizen peered closely at Dominic, then called in a Bound who arrived with a shovel in hand. "What do you make of this Servant?"
The peasant looked Dominic over, too. "I can't really say without seeing him cast, sir."
Astor nodded. "Servant, I have an unusual request. Could we please see a demonstration of your magic?"
Dominic blinked. Besides the politeness toward Dominic's "lower" caste, the man was asking for something that rarely interested most Citizens. After all, they could cast spells for themselves. "All right, but why?"
"Call it professional curiosity. You Servants are supposed to be really good at it."
Dominic shrugged, and opened his robe to reveal his array of carved darts. He wordlessly made them float out of the inner pockets, then raised his hands and made the collection circle around him like a flock of vultures. To amuse himself he juggled a few of them, which was an easy trick since he could keep every stick in the air at once.
The Citizen and the Bound watched him intently, seeming to study the Weave's threads in between Dominic's hands rather than the objects he moved with them. The mark of professionals. Astor said, "Your style is interesting. Servant, would you happen to know of the spell called Connection of Roots and Stars?"
Dominic scoffed at that. "That one's a myth. Superstition." It was the kind of thing done by Citizens pretending to be fortune-tellers, seeing patterns and omens in the Weave around a place. There was talk of banning it.
The Citizen shrugged. "The barbarians believe in it, and they've been telling us of a growing disturbance to our west. Something that should make us want to make peace with them, so that we aren't forced into two conflicts at once."
"Trouble in the west? That's conveniently vague."
"I know. My judgment is that it's their excuse for offering peace to us, if we reach out to them. We can make it look like they're doing us a favor instead of being broken to our will." The Citizen appraised Dominic once more. "What do you make of that? Should we take what offer we can, or crush the outsiders in the State's name?"
In theory, the State needed nothing from outside. It was a machine that ruled its territory and sometimes gobbled up new lands, or sometimes got interesting toys from the outside world. It could operate entirely apart from everyone. Since the outside had nothing important to offer, there was no reason to let its people set foot outside and bring back diseases of the body or mind. But... the Boundless One Himself was using Dominic as His chosen instrument to peek outside.
Dominic said, "I'm not sure if the One's will is peace or war, but He does want me to see and learn, and I can't do that well if I'm fighting. For now, I'm inclined to keep the peace until He rules otherwise."
"A reasonable stance." Astor stood and stretched. "There are some basic lodgings huddled just to our south, if you didn't see them already. Rest when you like, and I can have someone fetch you when the outsiders come."
* * *
The summons reached Dominic at night, in the form of pounding on his door. "Sir!"
Dominic staggered upright and fumbled to pull his mask on. "What?"
"An attack!"
Dominic hurried outside, gesturing behind himself with a spell to make his darts come along. In the absence of moonlight he saw mainly by the glow of the Weave. The fort in front of him shined, outlined in green, and he saw a group of at least six figures trying to break into the trade fort. Dominic shivered without his robe or coat. The Bound had a spear. Dominic ushered him along and jogged into battle. "Thieves?"
"Could be, sir. Try not to kill anyone or it'll be an even worse feud."
Dominic scowled and flipped his darts around to their blunt sides. He spotted the first raider climbing the fort's wall, and rammed his chest with a pair of darts, knocking the breath from him.
Then the others stopped trying to help him or get over it themselves, and charged at Dominic. They had metal knives that his magic couldn't grab, but with his training he knew how to fling his darts to parry blows and counterattack. The Citizen and his Bound helped him, but a pair of men grabbed Dominic's arms. Even pinned, he could fight back. One of his darts flew in point-first -- and then the blade of a knife touched his throat.
"Surrender," one of the foreigners said in broken Baccatan, standing behind him.
Dominic said, "I'm glad you learned that word." He slammed his head backward to strike the foreigner in the face. The blade wavered. Dominic slapped the man's arm and ducked under the knife, then by mental command made all his darts arc right toward where he'd been standing. They peppered his enemy like arrows. A second attacker came at him, wielding a club. Dominic tried to grab it by magic, but something inert weighed it down. Metal core? He was distracted long enough that two youths knocked him down with old-fashioned punching and a tackle. He fell, kicked, stabbed one of them with his darts, then found himself with not one but three knives ready to stab him all over.
The Citizen and his Bound started forward, armed and knocking away another young man who'd challenged them. They were coming to Dominic's rescue. One of the tribesmen cursed at them in Waldic and made it obvious they shouldn't take another step. In the distance, a horn blew from one of the little border forts; someone had sounded an alarm. Too late.
Dominic tried to speak Waldic. "What you want?" He switched to Mithraic. "My friends will hunt you."
"You come, or you die. No more fight." The speaker pointed toward the cloud of darts Dominic still commanded. Dominic didn't think he could stab all of the knife-wielders before taking a blade to his throat or heart.
Citizen Astor said, "Want us to risk it, sir?" He didn't have his crossbow but was poised with a spear.
Dominic suppressed a curse. "I'll be fine. Let me see what they want." And break out at my leisure, he thought. A mage was hard to hold among barbarians who built with wood.
He nodded toward the tribesmen, feeling the cold metal against his skin and trying to keep calm. "I come." He let the darts fall.
The barbarians dragged him away.
* * *
He didn't resist much at that point, and let them haul him to his feet so he could march along with blades always aimed at him. Out of immediate reach of the Baccatan soldiers, the captors took out a black iron chain and motioned for him to hold out his hands. Dominic scowled, but he didn't have much choice now.
The nearest of their villages was soon in sight, just a cluster of huts with a small field in view, full of grain stubble. A deer spotted them and darted away, setting everyone even more on edge.
Dominic repeated, "What do you want from me?"
"You talk to --" There was a word, maybe a name.
Dominic remained patient. They shoved him into a wooden shed with a blanket that'd obviously been last worn by a horse. Dominic warmed himself against the thing anyway to stop his shivering; the chain was cold. Two of the tribesmen remained behind to watch him. One of them mimed pulling a mask off.
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"I can't." He showed them his bound wrists. He felt more confident now; between the blanket and the walls themselves he could do a variety of unpleasant things to anyone in this room.
A few minutes later a scarred old man walked in, holding a chip of amber that glowed like a torch. "I know you can fight," he said in a pidgin language that made Dominic wince. "But listen."
"Yes?" Dominic looked at the amber. Its magic was about the same as similar portable lights his people had, but with subtle differences he'd have loved to study in detail. Now that there was proper light he could see his captors better. They wore primitive fur jackets and wool shirts and pants, and one of the warriors who'd attacked the fort had a good leather breastplate.
The old man snapped his fingers and a girl trotted into view, holding a cleaner blanket. She approached just enough to hold it out for Dominic to take, awkwardly, and then she retreated and peered in from the doorway. The elder didn't take his eyes off Dominic. "Slave of the State, do you want war with us?"
"I don't. But if you keep me here --"
"Good. Because..." The man struggled for the right word. "Honor, demands you return the creature you stole. He was our guest."
"What creature?"
"A northern forest man. Our guest. He must have... gone too close to you. You don't know?"
Dominic shook his head. "I don't know of any prisoners."
"Then you know nothing. Why would your people keep him? To cut him apart and see how his body works?"
He blinked. "His body? Is this one of the rat-folk you're talking about?" He struggled to rephrase for translation's sake, and mimed gnawing teeth. "Animal-man?"
"Yes. So, why?"
Dominic knew only from the Servants' records about the creatures that were said to live farther north, beyond the Waldic tribes. Wizards, rat-like, elusive. If one of them had been in Waldic territory as the tribes' guest, and it had spied on the border forts, then it would be in a dungeon right now. Or quite possibly in the same trading post Dominic had just visited. "You were trying to rescue this creature? You... Your men fought to get the guest?"