"I am, sir."
"Question the First: why do you seek Our Power?"
"To be made whole."
"Question the Second: were you injured?"
"I was."
"Question the Third: what was the cause of your injury?"
"That skirbit—Toque the griffin farmer, sir."
Wit grimaced and Cardozo started. "Are you sure? It was that skirbit that bit you, Toque's teeth that caused your injuries? Is that the answer that you wish to give?"
"It wasn't the skirbit, but it was a griffin…"
"Question the Third: What was the cause of your injury?"
"A griffin, sir."
"Well, I don't see a griffin in front of me, so why have you come here and who in seven hells is that skirbit? I will ask one final time. Question the Third: what was the cause of your injury?"
"A griffin that was kept by Toque the griffin farmer."
Cardozo nodded. "A Controversy is before Us. Before Our Power may be invoked, both sides must be heard." He thumped his staff against the floor. "In this instance, I shall hear first from Toque, and then from Finmetten. Afterwards if Toque has anything further to say, I shall hear that as well."
Toque stepped forward. "It please you, sir, I live in the Western Forests. In the autumn I sometimes fly amongst the mountains and collect griffin eggs."
"Why?"
"To sell them, sir."
"The eggs? You sell the eggs?"
"Yes sir."
"Was this man injured by an egg? No, I'll let you tell it."
"Well, I collect my eggs in late autumn. I keep them in a barn in back of dragar Wha's home. At the end of the winter, I take them to market, where they are sold to the griffin trainers of the dragar houses. Typically, your griffins hatch around mid-spring. But this last winter, one of the griffins hatched not one week after mid-winter. It got loose and attacked this man, while he was walking along the road. I've never seen a thing like that before in my life, a griffin hatching that early. There was nothing I could have done…"
Cardozo waved his hand. "Where is the griffin now?"
"Well, I wasn't in any position to keep a live griffin around, so I sold it to a dwarven cook."
"The griffin has been eaten?"
"I should think so, at this point."
"But it was sold?"
"Yes."
"And you collected the money from the sale?"
"Yes."
"So it was your griffin?"
"Yes."
Cardozo banged his staff on the ground. "The Matter is Closed as to Fault. We Find for Finmetten." He turned to Toque. "Your fault having been decided, you may make inquiries as to Our Reasons, if you so choose."
"If it please you, sir," said the skirbit. "I didn't know that it had hatched, I had no reason to think it might have hatched, and so how can it be that I bear the fault for a creature that I didn't know existed?"
Cardozo tossed his head at Wit, who spoke. "It is a settled principle of our Order, that the owner of an animal shall always be responsible for the harm done by that animal, unless the person harmed actively provoked the animal and was aware of its dangerous propensities. Thus, for a man to recover when he has been injured by an animal the only things that must Appear to Us are that the man was injured by the animal, and that another owned that animal. Here, it is not in dispute that the animal was the cause of the man's injuries. And through your own words, you have admitted to ownership of the animal. If you are entitled to the gold from the sale of griffin's flesh, then surely you are also compelled to bear the consequences of any harm that the creature causes."
"Now Our attention turns to the Matter of Damage." Cardozo turned to the bandaged man. "What do you seek to make you whole?"
"I seek one hundred pieces of gold."
"How have you arrived at this amount?"
"I spent fifteen gold pieces on medicine. I haven't been able to work these last three months, and the healers say it will be another month before I can. In four months I normally make 55 gold. I have also been in much pain, and I ask for a further thirty pieces of gold to compensate me for what I have suffered."
Cardozo turned to the skirbit. "You may pay the man this compensation. Or you may seek Our Power in the matter of Damage. Our Power is not to be used lightly. If you seek Our Power in the matter of damage, and we find that the damage is as this man said, you will be under a further obligation to Us, which I shall determine. Are you satisfied as to this damage?"
"It's a lot," said the skirbit.
"Do you Seek Our Power?"
"Yes."
The faintest smile crossed Cardozo's mouth for the briefest moment. He banged his staff on the floor. "Our Power is Invoked in the Matter of Damages."
For Wit, Finmetten's entire being presented itself as a brief, impossible jumble. He was being beaten by his father as a boy. He watched a pretty young girl as an adolescent. He felt the rending burn of the griffin's talons.
But Cardozo was there as well, a cold meticulous presence. Wit watched the waves of experience roll off of Cardozo and leave no impression. He searched efficiently among the man's memories—and Wit felt guided to the fatigue of long marches, the rush of battle, the ache of a wound, and the sensation of gold coins in his palm.
Cardozo banged his staff again, and they were back. "We have exercised our Power as to Damages. And We find that you have been damaged in the amount of 75 pieces of gold. You have the right to ask how We arrived at this number."
Luckily for Wit, the man took a moment before asking, which gave Wit time to reconcile the moments that Cardozo had showed him from the man's past with Cardozo's award.
"About the fifteen pieces of gold paid for medical expenses, there can be no dispute," said Wit, buying himself a little more time. "As to the matter of lost wages, it is Our belief that the figure that you quoted to Us, 55 pieces of gold in a four-month period, was somewhat optimistic. From Our inquiry, it appears that in a typical four-month period you only manage to earn about fifty pieces of gold. Furthermore, it is a settled Principle of Our Order that pain is a subjective matter, to be determined solely in reference to what was experienced by an individual sufferer. Here, we find that, while the injuries suffered were in fact grave, and to a different victim might very well have been worth thirty pieces of gold, that was not the case here as the victim has led a hard life and these injuries did not create the same level of hardship as they would have in one of more delicate sensibilities. We are, in particular, impressed with the fortitude shown by the Victim in his service during Lord Shreeton's orcish campaign and at the battle of Sentelmy. Thus when one accounts for the victim's hardened constitution, We find that ten pieces of gold is adequate compensation for what the victim subjectively suffered."
The man nodded.
"Do you have the gold?" asked Cardozo.
"Yes sir."
"Upon your paying the man, this matter shall be closed."
Next the sergeant called the carter and the dwarf. "Does one of you seek to invoke Our Power?"
"I do," said the dwarf.
"All seeking Our Power must answer three questions. If the answers are incorrect, you will be under an obligation to the Order, the nature of which I shall determine. Are you prepared to answer the questions, and render your obligation should you fail to answer them?"
"I am."
"Question the First: why do you seek our power?"
"To be made whole."
"Question the Second: were you injured?"
"I was."
"Question the Third: what caused your injury?"
"A cart, sir, driven by that man and owned by Lord Lexus."
"A Controversy is before Us. Both Sides must be heard." Cardozo banged his staff.
Through the parties' narratives, and Cardozo's questioning, it emerged that the carter had stopped to water his horses, gotten drunk at an inn, lost track of time, and then driven his team down the road at a break-neck pace. There was no reason to think that
the dwarf had played any part in the accident or could have avoided the injury.
The dwarf worked for one of the foundries in the capital, repairing equipment. An artisan's foot, Wit knew, would cost about five hundred pieces of gold.
"As to fault," Cardozo said, "I think the fault goes, ninety percent to the carter, and ten to the lord? Lexus, was it one of the heavier carts of yours or the lighter? I think those lighter ones are far too apt to topple over, and we have spoken about that before."
"It was one of the heavier ones," said Lexus. He controlled the land around the stretch of road that led to the capital and employed a significant number of the carters hauling goods and construction materials in and out of the capital. He was a frequent visitor to the Order's hall. For the last handful of years it was more or less settled that whenever one of his carts injured someone, between five and twenty percent of the fault belonged to the Lord.
However, if even one percent of the fault was attributed to Lord Lexus, the dwarf would have the option to seek the full amount of his damage from the lord. If he did, then Lexus would be able to collect the difference between his own fault and what he had paid to the dwarf from the carter.
"Ahh…well, if it was one of the heavier ones, then I am inclined to think that this goes 95 to the carter, and five to you, Lexus, and if we are all in agreement, I don't think that it will be necessary to use Our Powers as to fault."
Your pies better be good, dwarf, thought Wit. He cleared his throat. "I believe that We might exercise Our Power as to Fault," he said.
Cardozo looked at him. "Why?"
"Sir, Lexus played no role in the accident itself, beyond causing his cart to be on the road. However, the accident was caused, in large part, by the man's drunkenness. It would seem possible that this man is a habitual drunkard, and that if he were aware of that fact, and he employed him to drive his cart in spite of it, then Lord Lexus would bear a higher portion of the fault."
Cardozo nodded. He thumped his staff. "We exercise Our Powers as to fault."
This time Wit led them, but it was easier because they were looking for the moments when Lexus' past intersected with the carter's. They were few but memorable: the lord beating the carter for being drunk, the lord refusing to give him an advance on his pay to buy wine.
Cardozo banged his staff. "We find that the fault is half for the carter and half for the lord."
The lord started to step forward.
"We find it thus," Cardozo spoke slowly, "because Your Lordship had ample notice of the drunken and depraved nature of his servant, and yet saw fit to entrust him with a loaded and heavy cart, on a crowded roadway. A roadway, I might add, whose existence and function is of the utmost importance to this capital city, and this Order. We find much fault in your lordship's failure to find a more temperate and reasonable servant for this task. As to damages, will you be rendered whole with 550 gold pieces?"
"I will sir," said the dwarf.
"Have either of you any desire to seek Our Power as to Damages?"
Both the lord and the carter shook their heads.
"Have you 275 pieces of gold?" Cardozo asked the carter.
The man shook his head.
"Hmm…given your level of accomplishments, your skills, and your drunkenness, I think that 275 pieces of gold should be fifteen years of your life. Now, you may seek Our Power in this regard, but if we find that it is actually more than that, you will be Bound for whatever the Power says you shall be Bound for, and then Bound to the Order for another five years upon the conclusion of that time. Do you wish to seek Our Power on this matter?"
"No sir."
"How will you take your damage?"
"I'll take it from each of them, sir. 275 in gold from his lordship, and fifteen years from the man."
The lord glared at the ground in disgust and the carter fell to his knees in relief.
"Your honors," said the dwarf, "might you make the Binding so that I may release him from it before the fifteen years, if I chose?"
Cardozo nodded. "Bind him," Cardozo said to Wit.
"Sir?"
"Bind him," he thumped his staff.
Wit had never done a Binding before, and had not expected to be asked to for several years. He had watched other wizards do them and had read on them extensively, but had never performed one himself, or even actively assisted in one.
The carter stood in front of him and Cardozo was somewhere behind him, ominous and unhelpful. Wit felt the power of the Order course through him like he never had before.
Wit knew that it was an absurdly easy Binding, and to a stronger wizard it would barely count: the carter practically longed to be Bound to the dwarf. Wit focused on the longing until he saw it as strands of matter, and from these strands he began to build a cage. The rough outline of the spell was cast quickly and easily, closing the man in a simple structure—Wit knew that, in most Bindings, this was the hard part, and he did it with relative ease.
Cardozo seemed to watch approvingly. But the spell was not over and Wit could feel a question coming from the older wizard.
In order to complete the spell, Wit had to reach deeper into the man's being. Gingerly, he moved into the cage. He found himself overcome with the carter's sensations. The memory of months of hangovers, dusty roads, cheap wine, the smell of horses. Holding together the memories, longings, and sensations were strands of essence and these were what Wit needed to complete his spell. He scanned carefully for redundant strands, which he then began to pull away and wrap around the edge of the cage.
It went well, at first, but then Wit pulled at a strand of essence that was rooted more deeply than he had thought: a month of the carter's life—a rainy journey in a distant land, sweet skirbit brandy, a week stuck in an inn when the road was too muddy to travel—presented itself in vivid detail to Wit and then was gone. Wit grabbed frantically at the structure, and after a moment, was able to hold it in place and prevent more of the man from vanishing.
Cardozo watched from behind, silent and unmoving.
Wit drifted about in the man's being, reliving experiences and feeling what the man felt. At some point, he found himself in a field at the end of a hot autumn day. The carter was a young man. The foreman was coming around with money, paying workers at the end of the harvest.
The carter's parents lived in a village about half a day's journey away. He was going to spend the night in the hut where he had lived for the harvest, buy some gifts and supplies in the morning, and return to their village for the winter.
The coins were in his hand. One of the older laborers slapped him on the back. They walked to the tavern.
Gold coins were replaced with flagons of ale. Amidst the smell of stale beer and piss, as the miserable young carter saw first the gifts and then the necessaries that he had planned to buy flow away, as regret mixed with the dull warmth of drunkenness, Wit found what he needed and went to work on the spell. He was so consumed with this task that he was shocked by the sound of Cardozo's staff striking the ground.
"You are Bound," said Cardozo, "for fifteen years."
Wit blinked and looked at the carter. The mark of the Order had appeared on his left cheek, angry and red. His face was dotted with beads of sweat and a thin trickle of blood poured out of his nose.
He left with the dwarf and Wit could not tell which was helping the other out of the Order's hall.
"The dragars of Youngkent Seek the Power in regards to a Contract," called the sergeant.
One of the black-cloaked dragars walked to the front of the court along with one of the dwarves.
"Does one of you Seek Our Power in regards to a Contract?"
"I LinLaugh, High Dragar of Youngkent, seek your power," said the dragar. The natural discrepancy between the races' height was exaggerated as LinLaugh was a tall dragar and Jacobs was a short dwarf. LinLaugh's scales were a dark green, with the occasional striking silver scale scattered about. The creature's face was narrow and stern, his gumless lips closed over jagged
teeth, and his narrow red eyes focused grimly on Cardozo. He wore a dark green robe under his black cloak, bore no weapons, and addressed the wizards with his clawed hands folded behind him.
"All seeking Our Power must answer three questions. If the answers are incorrect, you will be under an obligation to the Order, the nature of which I shall determine. Are you prepared to answer the questions, and render your obligation should you fail to answer them?"
"I am."
"Question the First: Did you Enter into a Contract through the Power of this Order?"
"I did."
"Question the Second: Can you produce this Contract?"
"I can."
"Question the Third: Have the terms of this Contract been honored?"
"They have not."
"We have before Us a Controversy. Both Sides must be Heard." Cardozo paused, and his manner noticeably softened. "I have to confess that I am not as informed on this matter as I might be, and so, I think we are going to proceed in a very slow and orderly fashion. It is your contention that there has been a breach, is that right?"
"There has been a clear breach of this Contract and we seek the full remedies which are due to us," said the dragar.
"That's a damn lie," said the dwarf. Jacobs was a short, brown-bearded dwarf with a round face and twinkling eyes. He wore brown trousers and a brown jacket, and a leather belt with a silver-handled dagger in a fine leather scabbard.
"Silence! I suppose I had better take a look at the Contract then."
The dragar walked to the edge of the platform and handed him a scroll. Cardozo unrolled it and glanced at it. "Can you, briefly, describe the breach that you believe has occurred?"
The dragar returned to his place. "For many years, the dragars of Youngkent have desired a wall along the Western Pass, which leads into orc held plains. Now, the dwarves of Jacobs have at various times aided in the work on this wall…"
Youngkent, Wit knew, was one of the newest provinces in the Alliance, and had only been satisfactorily secured from the orcs for the last fifty years. Its population had initially been human, but over the last century dragars and skirbits had begun to settle there as well, moving from their swamps in the west. Building had brought the dwarves of Jacobs, one of the several dwarf clans displaced by intricate and bitter dwarven conflicts, eager to earn gold and land with their considerable construction skills.
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