"Aided? We built your wall!"
"Sir, both Sides must be Heard, but I will hear from you when I am ready." Cardozo turned to the dragar. "Again, I am asking you to briefly describe the breach."
"In the early stages of the building of the wall the dwarves would frequently use inferior materials, and so when the Contract was written…"
"Pardon me, did the breach occur during the early stages of building the wall? Did it occur when you were writing the Contract? Again, tell me how the dwarves of Jacobs breached."
"Sir, the Contract requires that the beams supporting the wall all to be made of iron from the mine in Reading, which we specially asked for because—"
"Yes, I see it, the Reading mine. And were the beams in fact made of this iron?"
"No, they were not."
He turned to the dwarf. "Where did you get the iron you made the beams out of?"
"Some from the mine in Reading and some from a mine in Cohos, which produces—"
"You got some of the iron from a mine in Cohos?"
"Yes, but—"
"Well, there you have it. The Contract calls for iron from Reading, you gave iron from Cohos, there has been a breach." Here he turned and glared at Wit for a moment, before looking at the dragar. "There has been a breach. What would you have me do about it?"
"Why of course we want the dwarves of Jacobs to honor their Contract, and render to us what we Contracted for and if they are unwilling to do so it is incumbent on your Order to use your Power and Bind them so that they must."
"If you Bind my lads to tear down that wall—"
"Silence! You," Cardozo said to the dwarf, "must cease speaking out of turn. And I will decide what is incumbent on this Order, I do not need your help," he added to the dragar. "I am to understand that the wall has been built?"
"And a grand wall it is too, would keep out all the hordes…"
"They built your wall?"
"Yes, but—"
"And, so that I am very clear, the remedy that you ask for is that the wall be torn down and then built again with another type of iron?"
"It is one of the Principles of your Order that all must receive precisely that for which they Contract."
"I happen to be acquainted with the principles of my Order. Another of those principles is to give some discretion to the wronged party when crafting a remedy and it seems to me that you have chosen an odd one."
"The citizens of Youngkent have chosen only what is our right."
"You have a right to ask for this remedy, but I still have to decide if I will grant it to you, and how I will use Our Power." He turned to the dwarf. "What about this iron from Cohos? How did it get in the wall?"
"Five years ago, the Reading mine was agreed on as it produced a good iron and was reasonably close to Youngkent. Three years back, Hogan of Cohos says his lads have hit a new vein, and comes to me with a sample of iron—my smiths test it out and say it's as strong or better as what we been using…"
"The Cohos iron is better than the Reading iron?"
"The quality of the iron is of no importance to the Order," the dragar hissed.
"Excuse me, I shall decide what is important to the Order."
"The Order's Power extends only to terms of a Contract, the Contract called for Reading iron and—"
"Silence! You concern yourself far too much with the Order's interests. You say the Cohos iron is better than the Reading?"
"Aye. A dwarf is only as good as what he builds. The Cohos mine is closer to Youngkent than Reading, Cohos prices were reasonable, and we saved a bit of gold shipping the iron."
"If you fall for his trickery," said the dragar, "you betray the principles of your Order and weaken the Alliance."
"If you Bind my men to unmake a perfectly good wall, every dwarf clan will march on your fine capital and pull this damn tower down over your head!"
"That, I feel comfortable in saying, is of no relevance to my decision. As our colleague is so fond of mentioning, I must confine myself to the terms of the Contract. War and treason are not mentioned in the Contract, and, therefore, do not concern us. Iron is mentioned in the Contract. You, at the very least, believe that the iron from Cohos was as good as the iron from Reading."
"For the last time, the quality of the iron is of no concern to your Order. The only concern of your Order is to see the terms of your Contract are enforced."
"In the case of a breached Contract, the Order awards damages to the party that was injured by the Breach. The quality of the iron may be important to the damages that I may decide to award…I think, that there are a number of issues here that require further examination. For example, it is settled that the quality of metals is not to be determined by the opinion of any party but rather by an expert of the Order's, or by a third party agreed on by the belligerent parties. I am going to spare you gentlemen the pleasure of attempting to agree on an expert, and appoint one myself."
"The citizens of Youngkent do not care for any remedy but the—"
"—but the tearing down of the wall and rebuilding it with Reading iron. So you tell me. However, whether or not We choose to grant this remedy will depend, at least in some part, on Our assessment of the Damage suffered by the people of Youngkent. And for this, it is necessary that we learn a bit more about the quality of the iron. I am going to send an expert, with orders to go to Reading and to Cohos, and then to proceed on to Youngkent. I have yet to work out the details, but I imagine that will take the better part of two months. I, myself, will then go to Youngkent where I will hear the report of the Order's expert, and inspect the wall."
The dragar started to speak, but Cardozo raised his hand. "In any event, the remedy you seek cannot be granted in the capital, and if it is granted, must be granted in Youngkent. There seems to be no argument that some of the wall was built with the Reading iron, and so that part of the wall might remain standing. I must be in Youngkent to see how many of Jacobs' men will have to be Bound to do the work—for We are loath to use more of Our Power than we must. You gentlemen are to come back here tomorrow, when I will tell you when you may expect me in Youngkent." He thumped his staff. "This matter is Postponed."
Cardozo got up and Wit followed him out of the hall. They climbed a small staircase to the third floor of the tower and walked down the hall to Cardozo's chamber.
The only furnishings were a large table, several chairs, and a shelf of books. Cardozo sat on one of the chairs at the table and motioned for Wit to take another.
"You see that it was a breach?"
"Yes, sir."
"It is elementary that it was breached."
"Yes, sir."
"The question is what damages we are to award. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know the dwarf Wa'llach?"
"I know of him. He has been Bound to the Order for seventy years, and we have him for eighty more."
"He's been with us for eighty, and we have him for another hundred. He is an expert in ores, amongst other things. I intend to name him as the expert in this matter, and in that capacity he will accompany you to Reading and Cohos."
"Sir."
"And you will go in the capacity not as an Adept, but as a Junior Wizard of Our Order."
2
Even as a lowly eighth-year, Joti Ridik knew many things that were true: the rains fell in the winter, the moon was made of mithril, and that life wasn't fair.
The waterfall pounded the far end of the pool. The water lapping around his waist was cold, but he didn't move, waiting for the trout to drift closer. The stillness in his mind, was that what the warriors felt when they stalked their enemies? If he'd been born first, or even fourth, then some day, he might have known.
But he was a ninth seed. A pig-tender. And that was all he'd ever be.
The dark spear of the trout floated within arm's reach. It didn't seem to care about anything. It must be nice to be a fish. Joti could feel Drez' eyes on his back. He tensed his arm and made himsel
f a deal: if he could catch the fish and bring it to shore, then he would become a warrior. He didn't know how—that was Uggot's job to figure out—but he knew, like the rains and the moon, that it was true.
The trout began to turn. Joti darted out his hand. His fingers brushed something scaly and cool. He closed his hand and brought it to the surface, but when he opened it, he held nothing.
He pounded his fist into the water. "I had it!"
Behind him, Drez laughed. "You missed? Again?"
Joti shook the water from his hands, turning away so she couldn't see him blush. "It must have heard you talking."
"I didn't say a word!"
"Then it must have smelled you."
Her orange skin flushed red. Everyone knew she had a scent to her—not bad, exactly, just odd; one of the older girls had said it almost smelled human—and she bunched her fists, looking ready to shove him under the water and keep him there.
Instead, she grinned. "I forgive you, Joti. It's not your fault that you're so bad at fishing that you have to blame other people for your failure. But I know how to fix you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Your clumsy hands need bigger targets. We'll have to swim out further, where the fat fish lurk."
Joti grunted. At nine, she had a year on him. She was bigger, too. If he defied her, she'd just wrestle him down, then drag him out to the deep kicking and screaming.
"We hunt the depths," he said. "But you go first."
He motioned her onward. A waterfall tumbled into the far end of the pool, crushing the rocks beneath it, and the ground dropped away fast from the shore. Except where it fed into the stream, the water was enclosed in a bowl of land, and other children liked to come there in the afternoon and jump from the rocky shelves. Joti and Drez had set out early, though, and they were alone that day and the water was as cold as an ice-kissed hatchet.
They'd stripped down to their first-clothes to go wading, but Drez still had a red spitebird feather in her hair. She pulled it out and tucked it into a crack in a boulder, blowing on it to make sure it was secure against the wind. This done, she walked out from the rocky shallows. She dropped to her shoulders, then her chin. She dived and swam, a vague form beneath the green-black surface. When she reached the middle of the pool, she came up for air, her dark hair slicked back from her face.
"It's okay if you're scared," she said. "When I catch mine, I'll let you have the guts."
Before he could answer, she inhaled and dived again. A single bubble popped up where she'd gone under. Joti stepped forward, craning his neck, but the falls pouring into the water ripped up the surface too much to see deeper than the first few inches.
Drez breached with a gasp. He wouldn't have been surprised to see her clutching a tusked catfish in both hands, but they were empty.
She spat water. "I touched one!"
"Then you should have caught it. My turn."
Joti strode forward. The water was so cold it squeezed his ribs. He went under. A few feet down and he couldn't see more than dark shapes. He reached ahead and groped for anything scaly, claws scraping over slick rocks. Ten seconds later, with his lungs collapsing, he came up empty-handed.
After that, they took turns. Over the next ten minutes, Drez claimed she'd had one in her grasp, but Joti hadn't felt anything but slime. Arms tiring, Joti paddled to the side of the falls and grabbed onto a rocky jut. He felt around for a toehold in the hollow beneath him. He hated the sensation of extending his foot into a blind crag, but he kept his face carefully blank so that Drez wouldn't notice his discomfort and call him every name for coward she knew.
Once he'd secured his footing, he motioned to the misty pool. "This isn't working. We're from land. The fish are from water. We can't catch them when we're out of our place and the fish are in theirs."
"So we try harder."
"We should try better. We should work together."
Drez looked at him like his teeth were falling out one by one. "But then I can't beat you."
"Nobody gets to beat anyone when nobody catches anything."
"Maybe you won't catch anything. What kind of idea is that? Did you breathe in some bad water?"
A whistle split the morning. Joti jerked up his head. On the rocky bank, an older girl leaned on a staff of the Half Soldiers. She grinned meanly.
"How strange," Magak called. "You're over there, but your clothes are over here." She lifted Joti's breeches with the tip of her staff, eyeing them suspiciously. "They're clearly worthless. Except, I think, to you."
"Give them back!" Joti yelled.
"I'd be happy to—if you can pay the ransom." Magak swung his pants over the water. "Or you can try to take them back."
Drez punched Joti's shoulder. "Who cares if she's got our clothes? Maybe she'll do us a favor and wash yours."
Joti glared at her, but his eyes moved back to Magak a moment later. From time to time, they all shoved around kids who were smaller or younger than themselves—Joti did it, too—but while most of them beat up on whoever insisted on getting beaten up at that given moment, Magak always seemed to come for him.
Without warning, he knew why.
"You followed us here, didn't you?" He kept his voice level. "You're the seventh seed of a sixth seed. They gave you your staff, but they'll never let you lift an axe against anything more dangerous than a tree. Do you really think you can impress them by kicking us around?"
Drez' jaw fell open. At the pool's edge, Magak's face went as hard as ice. She snatched up a rock and hurled it at Joti. She'd given it everything she had, but it splashed ten feet short.
"You're dead." The older girl hefted her staff. "As soon as you get out of there, I'll smash your skull like a snail."
"Idiot," Drez muttered to him. "What's worse? Walking back to camp wearing your first-clothes? Or wearing your brains on your shoulders?"
A second rock splashed into the pool. Joti clenched his teeth, refusing to look at Drez. The truth of Magak had come to him from nowhere, as if it had always been there. It wasn't the first time such an insight had given itself to him. Once, he'd overheard Grudd say it was witchcraft. Joti didn't think it was anything like that, yet whenever one of these truths appeared in his mind, he felt powerless not to say it out loud.
"She's being stupid," Joti grunted. "Clubbing down young-years won't convince them to make her a soldier."
Drez gave him a look. "So she's being stupid. If you poke a boar, and it guts you, do you blame the boar?"
For a couple of minutes, Magak was content to pitch rocks at them. Clinching the cliffside, Joti started to shiver, his fingertips and forearms aching.
"She came with her staff," Drez said. "We should beat her with it."
"Are you kidding? The only way we'll touch her staff is with our skulls."
Drez scowled, fangs jutting from her lower lip. Joti was mad too, but he was tired and Magak was much bigger and she'd been doing her Half Soldier training for a year and there was nothing they could do. At least no one else was there to see them clinging to the rocks like babies at the breast.
At the water's edge, Magak stopped hucking rocks. She stood up straight and smiled. Staff in hand, she hiked up the side of the rocky bowl, circling closer.
"We have to make a break for it," Drez said. "Before she gets close enough to throw her rocks down on us."
Joti's heart thumped. If Magak stopped at the first ledge, she'd be within throwing range, but she'd still be close enough to cut them off if they tried to swim for shore. Trying to wait her out had only gotten them trapped.
"I'll swim toward her," he said. "You swim as fast as you can for shore."
Drez glared at him. "Why do I have to be the coward?"
"I poked the boar, not you. You ready?"
She bared her teeth, then nodded. As he tensed his legs to spring from the rock wall, a shrill horn bleated through the morning air. All three of them lifted their eyes to the cloud-spangled sky. The horn blew a two-part blast, repeating four times.
Up on the cliffs, Magak bent for a rock and hurled it at them. It smacked into the cliff above Joti's head.
"It was luck that saved you," Magak said. "Not any of your strength. And that's why I still have your clothes."
She spat at them, the wad plinking into the water, then climbed down the cliffs. Joti watched helplessly as she jogged away with their clothing tucked under her arm.
He waited ten seconds after she was out of sight, then pushed off from the wall and swam for shore, his legs stiff. He stubbed his toe wading out of the pool, but at least his feet were too numb to feel it.
"Great." He swept water from his pale green skin. "The hunt returns in glory and we return in our underwear."
Drez wrung her thick hair, spattering the rocks. "You talk too much. That's why we're in this mess in the first place."
"What I said about Magak? It was the truth."
"Then learn to save it for when your butt isn't hanging out of your skins."
He tugged his skins back into place, blushing hard. After a brief and futile search for their clothes, or anything that might serve as replacements, they hurried along the path from the woods. A mile in, the prairie opened before them, low green hills under endless skies dotted with black crows. A solitary wyvern soared high in the sky. It was miles away, but they ducked beneath a pollen-rich shrub until the creature passed from sight.
Past a march of hills, a ribbon of stream shimmered in the early morning sun. Tents grew around it like enormous mushrooms, stained with every color of dye the Krannish could come up with. Shaggy wozzits rooted through the fields, minded by squat grub-dogs bred too short for the oversized swine to kick. The village smelled of mud and manure and wozzit grease.
"Act unashamed," Drez said. "If you run home, or try to hide yourself, they'll only mock you harder."
Students of the Order Page 3