Striking Chains

by Kris Schnee

  Dominic came to Saint Wylan as an enemy, under a white flag. Irene and Jakob rode along with the trussed-up Perrin. The foreign captive looked furtive, as though deciding whether to try escaping prematurely.

  A party of armored men rode out from a drawbridge in the city's massive wall of tan stone. The tight bowstrings of giant spike-flinging ballistae loomed down on the cleared field Dominic passed through, and a moat surrounded the whole line of towers and parapets.

  Dominic took one look and murmured, "Maybe we should turn back." This infiltration plan wasn't going to work. He hoped Border Fort Two was sturdier than One.

  Jakob said, "I wasn't going to say it, sir." Still, they held their ground.

  A blond man with a bristling mustache led the westerners' group. His plate armor gleamed and his upturned lance had a pennant with a golden sun on red. He halted a stone's throw away. "What brings you to the holy city, masked ones?"

  Dominic looked the foreign warriors over. Dark of hair, mostly, with unbranded foreheads and fine horses. The armored men on each end held crossbows casually against their saddles, the rest had lances, and everyone carried a hatchet. Those were all Citizen weapons. The men had a proud bearing as they faced down the visitors. Their group could slaughter Dominic and the rest in seconds, and mere wooden darts wouldn't do much damage in return, unless they could go for the leader's uncovered head.

  In battle between the nations, the Baccata Holy State typically used its Bound as spearmen to block and harry the Mithraic cavalry, while archers and Citizen crossbowmen provided support. Servants were for aweing and killing poorly armored infantry, not for standing up to people like these.

  Dominic's hand whitened on his horse's reins. He tried to speak in Mithraic, but some of the conversation had to be repeated and translated by one side or the other. "I am Servant Dominic, here with Servants Irene and Jakob. The young man with us is a prisoner. However, he says he's from your country, and we offer him as a gift. Will you have him?"

  Perrin called out, "My name is Perrin Cadiz! Thank the King, I'm glad to see you!"

  One of the westerners startled. "You? What is your father's name?"

  "I'm an heir of the great Roland Cadiz and his lady, Johanna the Healer. Are they alive? What about my brothers?"

  "They're well, last I heard." The warrior turned to his leader and said, "It's him! There's a reward out for his killers, but this is better news!"

  The blond chief's banner fluttered in the wind, shifting direction. "We will take him. Is that all your business here?"

  Dominic glanced at the city wall, composing himself. "No, good sir. The young man has told us tales of how your people live. We're out this way on a mission of learning, and would be interested in seeing the city for ourselves." He threw in another coin's worth of negotiation. "Of course, you're welcome to come and inspect our lands once we return, if you have a similar interest."

  The enemy leader and most of his men withdrew to whisper among themselves, while a few crossbowmen kept watch. Maybe they were of the lowest rank. To learn more of their military system would help Citizen Hanse, at least.

  Irene sidled close to him to murmur, "They'll come back to demand we let some visitors through immediately to our side. To see what we're up to. I'd make sure they go inland." Which would make them less likely to hear of Seahorse.

  "Ugh. You're right. We'll need to send someone to escort them."

  The enemy sent one of their riders back through the city gate. The leader advanced toward the Servants again and spoke in poor Baccatan. "The Duke needs to consider your request."

  "Come, now," said Dominic. He felt a smile hidden under his mask. "I've heard that the warriors of Mithrol have discretion in what they do, and don't need to clear every action with their Servants."

  An icy stare. "We find it useful to ask. Return in an hour, if you please."

  The groups saluted and parted. Jakob asked Dominic, "What was the taunt for?"

  "I thought it'd be useful to see how he reacted. A quick temper, or fear of displeasing his Duke. Didn't see either."

  Nearly an hour of awkward waiting and horse-grooming later, the three Servants brought Perrin up to the gate again. The leader's hair was mussed as though he'd been running his hands through it. In frustration, maybe? He said, "The Duke is busy, but yes. If you hand over your captive, and accept a few of our own scholars to travel in your lands, you may visit our city." The man glowered at the Servants over his horse's head. "Under supervision."

  Dominic's shoulders relaxed. Any chance of throwing open the gates or otherwise wreaking havoc seemed to have evaporated, which took some pressure off of him to risk himself. He could simply learn about these people, maybe gain some useful information for the State, and call the mission successful. In theory now might be a good time to strike the city before the forts' supplies ran low and the enemy went on higher alert, but... He wasn't eager for more bloodshed. For pushing pieces around on a map, and knowing that many of the people involved were frightened young peasants like he'd once been.

  Why did it feel like a dark and terrible secret, that he didn't particularly want to slaughter enemies of the State and conquer the survivors?

  * * *

  Sir Marion, as the leader was called, gave them a stiff and formal welcome to the "holy city". Dominic recognized the severe and blocky architecture of home, because parts of the city had been built by his own people. But the old structures were overrun with ivy, golden sun banners, and a profusion of many-colored signs. There was a great deal of writing on them. The warrior and his men led Perrin and the three Servants through the streets on horseback. Dominic felt many people staring at him. Their clothes varied greatly in cut and color, favoring yet more sun designs and the colors of flame. There was no discipline to the layout of the newer buildings, which sprawled all over the streets almost at random and leaned against one another with larger upper floors, often wooden. It all seemed poorly organized.

  Sir Marion halted at a market full of fruit and baskets, cheese and wine. He raised one gloved hand and called out to the crowd. "I have here some visitors from the east, and a young prisoner who's waited years to be liberated!" He pointed to Perrin, still riding tied up, and said, "Has anyone got a knife to lend me, to set him free from his captivity in Baccata?"

  A cheer went up. Dominic looked wildly around. What seemed like every single one of the hundreds of people in sight cheered and raised a knife, or a hatchet, or even a toy wooden sword for Marion.

  Perrin let the warrior cut him loose with a humble utility knife he'd borrowed. He hopped down from the horse, wobbled, and stretched his legs. Marion smiled down at him and said, "Welcome home."

  "Thank you, sir." He was crying as he looked to the crowd and said, "Thank you all!"

  * * *

  "Any sign of spy-holes for listening?" Dominic was checking the walls of their commandeered room at a small inn, but the others were feeling around too like blind men, stirring the Weave as they fiddled with it.

  "No, sir," said Irene. "I don't think they regularly get our kind in town."

  Dominic pulled off his mask and wiped the sweat off it and his face. "We'll be watched like the laziest Bound the whole time, so be careful what you say and do. Write notes to each other if there's any doubt, then make sure one of us burns them."

  They conferred quietly, rubbing their bare faces. Dominic needed a shave. "Maybe we can get a tour and look for anything useful."

  Jakob slouched on one of the straw beds. "He was so happy to be home."

  "Can't blame him," said Dominic.

  "It's different to have this place as your home. There's food here. And the people; did you see them? They reacted as though they wanted to help the Citizen or whatever he is, and weren't just afraid of a whipping. Even some of the ones that look like Bound had axes or better!"

  All three of them flopped back onto their beds. "We're more or less prisoners for the evening. Might as well sleep."

  Jakob said, "How is
your skulking skill? I imagine you don't learn that in the Nether."

  Dominic said, "Mine? Unimpressive. Don't get us killed, if you creep outside."

  Irene sat up, suddenly excited. "Actually..." She found her mask and put it on. "Who do I look like?"

  "Any Servant ever," said Dominic.

  Jakob leered. "The ones with hips, anyway."

  Irene ignored him. "The locals will be looking for masked, robed people. If we wear other clothes, we could pass for westerners. Better yet, distract our minders by finding someone to wear a robe for us."

  Jakob rolled his eyes. "I doubt we'd easily find someone willing to."

  "I didn't say 'willing'."

  Dominic yawned, letting fatigue overcome nervousness. "Now that Perrin is dealt with, I expect they'll let us spend a few days here if we look like harmless tourists. If we do make a move, it should come after we know more."

  * * *

  They woke to the sound of bells. Dominic sat up, confused. He hastily put on his mask and looked out of the room's tiny window at the street below. A few people walked the street, showing no sign of alarm. He shrugged, washed his face and got properly dressed while the others woke.

  Downstairs, the innkeeper shuddered at the sight of him. When Dominic asked about the bells, he said, "Sunday service, of course. I'll have to miss it today, what with you... visitors."

  "Ah. Your religion. Were you granted exemption from the ceremonies on my account, then?"

  "Exemption? I don't have to go every week, if that's what you mean, so long as I don't miss service regularly."

  Dominic said, "Actually, I'd be interested in attending."

  "Really?" said Irene from the stairs.

  "We're not here to see anything in particular," Dominic reminded her. Definitely not the gate controls!

  The innkeeper's gaze darted back and forth. "Well, your... lordships, you're my only guests today. We can go together."

  A city guard in full armor came too, to "guide" the visitors. The church had a great dome, and the inside of it shined with brass and polished wood and beams of morning light that splashed through multicolored windows onto the benches. The whole ceiling had been painted like the spring sky outside. Figures looked down from it, chiefly a man with a bronze axe held aloft, his whole body shining like the sun. Other scenes showed the man battling a many-eyed cloud of seething darkness; a woman guarding a cave full of children though pierced by spears, a robed figure striking a statue with glowing eyes, and other characters he could hardly define. Then there were the stylized shapes of griffins, half hawk and half cougar, flanking the altar and pulpit. Dominic saw it all first as a display of great beauty, then chided himself for being dazzled by wealth. Like hoarded gems, every bit of gold leaf and colored glass was the stolen labor of some local Bound. This place was a show to impress fools.

  The natives whispered to each other and kept their distance from Dominic's party. The guard and the innkeeper had a word with the priest, then sat with them at a rear bench.

  Dominic couldn't tell the priest's status; where did this man in white drapery fit into these people's hierarchy? His foreign words were hard to follow. Still, his voice carried well in the echoing hall, and pieces of the sermon pierced the barrier of language.

  "In those days our home was a land of slaves and masters," he said, studiously avoiding the hidden eyes of the masked trio. "And Saint Wylan was only a shepherd's boy with a talent for protecting and guiding those in his care..."

  He told a skewed account of the great battle in which Mithraic forces seized control of the then-Baccatan city, making it all sound like heroism instead of secretive betrayal of a truce and prisoner exchange. Ha. The tale's climax took place during a mighty storm. "And then, the boy humbly asked Swiftwing his hawk and Surehoof his horse to go forth with him from the gates, into the rain and wind, and the light was upon them such that they understood his plan..."

  Odd, thought Dominic. He hadn't heard much about miracle tales from Perrin, and wasn't sure what role they played in the people's faith. He'd gathered that their "king" was a dead saint rather than a live ruler.

  "So let the foe come! Let their whole host draw up girded for war! For it is not men only that fight for the City of Hawk and Horse, but the beasts of the field and sea and sky, the rocks and the trees and the air! For the might of the King protects us."

  The priest was working himself up into some righteous rant, until one man interrupted. "Warmonger! Haven't we suffered enough?"

  The men around the heckler scooted away and craned their necks up at him. He stood tall and spindly, with haunted eyes. "We can't have a sermon these days without you boasting of killing people! What sort of diligence is this, that you fixate on death and destruction after a plague?"

  The priest said, "Doloreaux, this is not a good time. We should speak afterwards."

  "'Valor: let no evil pass unchallenged.' You and your friends would turn the beasts themselves against our foes, but that only means more blood! Leave them out of this!"

  One of the loudmouth's neighbors had grabbed his arm and was leading him out of the church. "There; I've challenged it," he said, apparently to himself. He passed near Dominic's bench and gave him a curious look. Not the hatred Dominic would have expected, but furrowed brow and slightly downturned mouth. He said more quietly, "You wouldn't understand. Even men are only beasts to you."

  * * *

  The escorting guard looked rattled by the church visit. "Maybe you'd like a tour of somewhere else?" he said.

  Irene said, "What was that heckler talking about, anyway?"

  Dominic interrupted. "Just nonsense, Irene. Trust me." It would be best to show no interest in things that might be important secrets, nor in military strength itself. "Show us something... fun."

  The soldier took them to an arena, which looked much the same as any stadium anywhere. Nothing to see there on a Sunday, either. "Nor gambling, nor drinking," their escort said. "We're a proud people, here on the edge of civilization."

  "Which edge?" asked Jakob, innocently.

  To forestall a pointless argument Dominic said, "Our Mithraic guest said something about my people having a lack of honor. What is that to you?"

  The guard drew himself up straighter and barked out his reply. "Di-Ju-Va. Diligence: Let each hour be spent well. Justice: Let each reap as he sows. Valor: Let no evil pass unchallenged. Serve your King and He will serve you evermore. Broad is His banner, and many hands are needed."

  Dominic leaned against a wall, feeling as though he'd been driven back a step by the force of the litany. He thought he could see a faint Weave effect around the man in the form of a pale green braid. He peered at it, more closely than he'd examined any other Mithraist. "Are you by any chance a spellcaster?"

  "What? No. I can't even see the stuff."

  Irene stepped forward to say, "We all are. And there are many more of us Servants throughout our land, all highly trained."

  The guard faced her coldly. "No doubt. How else could you --" He paused, shaking his head and giving Dominic a brief, pleading glance. "There are plenty in Mithrol too, and they don't need to wear masks. Nor are they most useful for fighting and killing."

  Dominic stepped between the two and said, "What she means to say is that we're scholars, among other things. Is there a library here?"

  There was! He dived into the proud stone building hungrily. All of it nominally belonged to the city's ruler, Duke Cecil, but he had made it available to even the lowliest city-dweller. A water basin and towels stood at the entrance for all patrons to wash their hands before handling the dusty tomes. A librarian named Dormier greeted them beneath a magnificent display of deer antlers. All afternoon he followed the visitors around, peppering them with questions and sending his young copyists scurrying to and fro. He called the scribes his "pages".

  Dominic mage-cut actual pages out of his notebook and floated them over to Dormier to examine. "My colleagues have been collecting some of my spellcraft notes under
the name 'Dom's Unraveling'. Maybe you'd like a copy?"

  "Yes! Certainly. I don't care about our petty rivalry. Scholarship will last beyond either of our lifetimes. Tell me, is it true that you've mastered holding back the sea with coral?"

  "Only at Temple Island, where there's a sort of node in the Weave strong enough for that. There are some larger 'polder' structures elsewhere on the coast, but those are mainly non-magical."

  "How did you know that?" Irene asked Dormier. She'd been puzzling through a book of tactics called "Against the Eastern Hordes".

  The librarian scratched his head and said, "We hear things. Prisoners caught in one skirmish or another. It's rare to get to hear from one of you mask people, though. And everyone else is so ignorant. You're probably overlooking a lot of talent among your commoners."

  "I was one," said Dominic. "Another Servant plucked me out from my village."

  "Lucky for you, I suppose."

  Dominic felt uncomfortable being quizzed about his own past. Since this man didn't seem to care exactly why he was here, he said, "I understand this place is called 'The City of Hawk and Horse'? Your Saint Wylan sounds like quite a man."

  "Magic!" said the librarian, hugging a book to his chest. "The spell is called Diligence In Awakening the Lowly. One must truly love and respect an animal to raise it in the King's way, so that it can begin to understand speech and morality. Sir Marion's the one to ask. It's far different than what wizards are said to do with familiars, where they yank some prestigious creature out of the fields and chain it to them. Just a few days ago I spoke with --"

  The guard who'd been stalking the Servants all day came back from the latrines and interrupted. "I do need to carry on with these fellows' tour. Could you finish up whatever trades you're doing so that I can get the guests some supper?"

  "We could eat in the back room."

  "Now, Dormier."

  The man drooped. Dominic spent a few frantic minutes casting Scribe's Aid on pages of spilled ink to make them fuzzily mirror what he placed them on, but then he and the librarian gave in. Dominic paid the assistants to cast it if they could, or write the usual way if they couldn't, and made sure he'd get his own loaned-out pages delivered back to the inn tonight.