Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  "No. There's standard mechanisms for the Bound's welfare. It essentially requires them to get a certain amount of food and sleep or the spell breaks. It's not a lot, but it keeps you looking better than the bodies at the mine."

  "But that can be changed?"

  "Yes, but I didn't know of anyone who ever had changed it; I don't know of anyone who would want to. The lords, the people who most often have people Bound to them, suggested it you know: they kept on working their Bound men to death, and they wanted us to build Bindings in a way that would make sure they got the most value out of them in spite of themselves. We've been doing it like that for nearly seventy years.

  "None of it adds up. Maybe the orcs needed the wizard to help them get rid of the miners, and took him from here by force? Wa'llach thought there were a hundred strong dwarf miners who would have fought the orcs, maybe the orcs thought that as well. But the wizard killed the dwarves, who had been fighting the orcs. Maybe the wizard had seen the fight go badly for Hogan, and wanted to help a winner…"

  "No orc would have needed any help killing the skin and bones at the mine. And there's no sign that anyone was taken by force from this room."

  "Why don't you go to your leader and get her to send over the soldiers who came up with me? One of the dwarves in the hallway was a high-ranking officer, and the other one's things are fine enough that he was probably someone important: a relative of the lord's, perhaps. They might recognize at least one of them, and that might give us a better idea of what happened here."

  Joti walked a quick circle around the room, shaking his head. After a moment, he drew Wit's attention to an empty bookcase.

  Wit walked over: there were scratches in the floor, suggesting that the bookcase had been pulled out from the wall on more than one occasion.

  Wit grinned. "He didn't get a chance to take it before he left. It's still there."

  "Do you know through the Warp?"

  "There's too much candle wax on top of the scratches for it to have been moved very recently." Wit got up and together they shoved aside the bookcase. A few bricks had been removed from the wall, and in the resulting alcove was a small blue book and a stack of envelopes, which Wit grabbed. He spread them out over the desk.

  "What do they tell you?"

  Wit shook his head. "I'll need time." He thumbed through the book. "This is a wizard's book—and since it was hidden it probably has what he used to Bind the men at the mine, and maybe also has how he killed the dwarves in the hallway." He turned to the papers, but gave up quickly. "They are written in letters I don't recognize at all, probably a private code." Wit started to hand the stack to Joti, but stopped as his fingers rubbed against the heavy wax seal on an envelop, and he withdrew his hand and looked quickly at the seals on each envelope.

  There were seven envelopes and five seals, two of them being repeated. Two of the seals were meaningless to Wit. One of them he dimly remembered belonging to a wizard. One of them was Lord Lexus'. And one of them belonged to LinLaugh, the High Dragar of Youngkent.

  Joti looked at Wit sharply. "What is it, wizard?"

  Wit shook his head. "Who are you, and what do you do, really?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "Wa'llach said that you kept peace amongst the orcs. Is that true?"

  Joti nodded. "We patrol the borders. We make sure that the orcish incursions do not bring down the full wrath of the Alliance."

  "I should speak to your leader."

  Joti nodded. Wit collected the papers and they walked out of the room and down the stairs. "What do you think you have learned?"

  "It's just a guess, so far…this mine had a small, mostly exhausted vein of iron. Working it normally did not yield a substantial amount of the iron, at least not at a profitable rate. But once Hogan got his hands on the Bound men he was able to produce more: probably simply by having them work eighteen hour days, or some such."

  "Who cares about the iron?"

  "Dragars in Youngkent did. And now my Order does. Briefly: that the dwarves building the wall in Youngkent were supposed to use iron from a mine to the north, but they used the iron from here. If the Youngkent dragars get their way, the dwarves will be forced to tear down the wall and build it again."

  "How long would it take?"

  "No one knows: but between a year and four."

  "In half that time the hordes of the Tusk would storm the pass. They are gathered already, but to the south. But they are not less than two months' march from Youngkent."

  Wit smiled grimly. "Well, I think keeping the Alliance from attacking the orcish border might get much easier. Your clan can take a nice long vacation."

  Joti came to a stop. "But if the wall is keeping out the Tusk, why will you tear it down?"

  "Because it was not as called for by the Contract."

  "But it's keeping the people there alive."

  "It doesn't mean they don't have a right to receive that for which they Contracted."

  "How can a people so mad still be alive?"

  Wit laughed and then started to walk. They had reached the bottom of the stairs and were again near the hall, and the courtyard, and the smell of death.

  "Stop," said Joti, "this foolishness will destroy both our people."

  "Well, yes, it seems as if it very well might."

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  "Screw a basilisk if I know…what were you doing here anyway? Following the other orcs? Do you know who they are?"

  "Bandits. Ruthless slavers. They are mostly Tusk and Artusk, but they seem to work for the Gru."

  "And?"

  "You already know."

  "No. I know that there is more; but I can't see what."

  "Their leader…massacred my people, and sold me and others into slavery. My family…"

  Wit nodded. "The ford?"

  "Yes."

  "You mean to kill her?"

  "Of course."

  "How would she know a wizard?"

  "I don't know. But the things I have seen and heard: the Tusk and the Artusk working together…helping the Gru. It is very possible that it is being accomplished with the aid of your magics."

  "Shit on all the gods…"

  They left the castle and walked the brief path to the mine. An orcish soldier pointed them in the direction of a flimsy wooden building, apparently used by the mine's administrators, where Wa'llach and Shain were.

  Wit was simply relieved that everyone was still alive. Shain, however, did not seem as if she had much interest in having it stay that way.

  "Your dwarf tells that you mean to tear down the Youngkent wall?" she said abruptly as Wit walked in.

  "I…hope that we do not tear it down. That is what I had hoped to speak to you about."

  Wa'llach was cheerful. "Don't let her frighten you. She's not killing any wizards."

  "He knows less than he thinks he does," Shain said grimly. "Will the wall be taken down?"

  "I am not permitted to answer that question," Wit said, "and will not, no matter what I am threatened with. Killing me would do nothing to preserve the wall, in that that matters to you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I won't take it down. An older and stronger wizard will be needed to Bind the dwarves to do the work. The purpose of my mission is to see if there might be a reason to keep the wall up—not to take it down."

  "A better reason than the lives of all who live behind it?"

  Wit nodded. "Our ways are strange, even to ourselves." He suddenly wished he was wearing his best tunic; this was about to be the most important moment of his life, and he felt very tired and dirty. "There isn't anything I can do to keep the wall up, and there is little that my Order will do. The No-Clan, however, might be able to do something to preserve the Youngkent wall."

  "What do you mean, wizard?"

  "It was almost certainly the intention of some, all along, that the wall would come down. The wizard who enslaved those men, and who kept them Bound while they died, was sent here to m
ake sure that the wall came down: and came down in a way that did the most discredit to my Order. He has connections to the very dragars who want the wall taken down, and he is friends with the orcs who did this thing. He went with them of his own will and killed several dwarves who tried to stop him."

  "You would ride with us after the orcs that did this? And bring him back to your Alliance for justice?"

  "No. And if you ride after them, I think it will spell ruin for all of us. I believe that in the interests of both our people, you should follow me to Youngkent."

  "Why?"

  "In the two years that it has been completed, the wall has successfully kept out the orcs, and the people of that region have forgotten what savage brutes you really are. Perhaps, if they were reminded, they might reconsider their choice in Contract remedies."

  Wa'llach began to laugh his guttural laugh.

  "You are telling me to bring my soldiers into the lands of the Alliance—and pillage them?"

  "Well, I would recommend that you be selective in your pillaging. I would suggest that it be centered on the household of the High Dragar. I think that if that person and all his close associates perished, it might be somewhat more likely that the wall would stay up."

  Wit sat down heavily in a chair and did not pay much attention to the voices around him, staring absently at the ceiling. Wa'llach and Shain were yelling at each other. It was, he realized, a larger precipice than the cliff that Joti had nearly thrown him over—and he had jumped right off. Shain was yelling at him, but he was not listening. Eventually she stopped speaking.

  After a long moment, Wit looked at her with tired eyes. "Will you do it or not?"

  She started to speak, but suddenly paused. "I need time to think about what you have asked of me and speak with my people."

  Wit nodded. "That is fair."

  "You and the Orc Friend should leave this place. Gogg, go with them, and make sure they don't go too far." She nodded at Joti, and he walked to her side. "Wizard, leave your staff behind this time."

  Wit clutched it instinctively, but then relaxed his grip and leaned it against the wall. If he was going to survive the next few hours it would be because Shain wanted him to, and having a stick wouldn't make any difference. He followed Wa'llach and Gogg out of the building.

  The dwarf struck him lightly in the ribs. "Maybe now you won't be so ready to call me a filthy orc-loving traitor. Ha ha. It's one thing to team up with them for a little bit of banditry; you're using them to assassinate a lord of the Alliance and trample on the very principles of your fine Order. Ha! You're not there by a ways, but you're becoming my kind of magician."

  Gogg listened, bemused.

  "Oh, shut the hell up. And give me something to drink."

  "I haven't got anything."

  He nodded benignly at Gogg, "My evolving views of orcs notwithstanding, you are still a treacherous liar and repugnant thief. Give me your booze."

  "He's telling the truth," said Gogg sadly, and Wa'llach smiled wickedly. "We drank all his rum while you were in the castle. Not enough to share. Gogg only got one sip."

  "All the gods, what a wretched day. There must be some paint thinner or something in the mine that would do the trick. Don't tell me you don't know where it is."

  "Bound as I am to your mighty Order, if it is your command, oh wise one, I will lead you to the paint thinner. However, if you would deign to take the counsel of your humble servant…it is widely known that Hogan had the last good wine cellar on this side of the frontier."

  "Right then," said Wit. Gogg was already walking to the castle, not especially interested in whether his prisoners followed him.

  They made their way back through the carnage in the courtyard, the dead in the great hall, and to the rear of the castle. They paused in the kitchen to collect candles, goblets, pickles, and dried meat, and finally found a stairway leading down. After half a flight, it split in two directions, one leading to the wine, and one to a dungeon.

  They guessed wrong and were about to turn back up the stairs away from the row of cells when they heard a clanging coming from down the hall.

  "Why?" moaned Wit, "all I wanted was a damn drink."

  Neither Gogg nor Wa'llach responded. If they shared a taste for alcohol, they also shared experiences that did not allow them to take the plight of the incarcerated lightly. Gogg bound down the corridor in the direction of the noise while Wa'llach rummaged through the gaoler's station for keys.

  He found them as Gogg finally pulled the door off of the hinges. They went into a small dark room, and something recoiled from the light of the candle.

  It was a dragar, dressed in rags. Its scales hung loosely around its frame, and it blinked as its eyes grew accustomed to the light. It started, but only momentarily, as he caught sight of Gogg.

  "If it's the Trickster's Moon already," he said, "then well, that's the best orc mask I've ever seen, and I've also messed my calendar up badly"—pointing to a series of scratches on the wall—"and it was rather mean of you not to tell me."

  "Guess again," said Wa'llach merrily.

  "Hmm…do you know if Pete lived? I rather liked Pete, he was becoming an acceptable chess player."

  "Don't know him, but I wouldn't think he did."

  "Ah. Well, sorry Pete." He brightened after a moment. "But I suppose that means they got Fred. I don't mean to cut short the pleasantries, and I am very sure that a dwarf, a human, and an orc are filled with fascinating stories, but you gentlemen wouldn't happen to have anything to eat? I can't quite tell time in here, but I don't think I have eaten in over four days."

  The helped him walk to the gaoler's station where he fell on the food that they had taken from the kitchen. Once he was out of the cell, Gogg and Wa'llach's compassion lessened considerably, and they watched him eat with barely concealed impatience.

  "Bring the food with you, we're going where there's wine," Gogg said when the dragar stopped for breath; seeming restored by what he had eaten, the dragar made no objection. They climbed one set of stairs, descended another, and soon found themselves in a vast wine cellar.

  They left the former prisoner on the floor with his meal. The wines were arranged in a way that might have made sense to Hogan's steward, but not to outsiders. Wit and Wa'llach wandered together amongst the bottles and barrels, occasionally stopping to drink a glass, and resuming the argument about wine that they had been having since the capital. Gogg, starting with the barrel nearest the door, and moving to his right, simply drank a glass from each barrel that he passed.

  "Your taste for that flavorless piss, Unicorn Grove and the like, is exactly what's wrong with you wretched magicians…"

  "If you want to drink your nasty rum, drink nasty rum. If your only goal is to drink yourself stupid as fast as you can, leave wine out of it. The problem with dwarves is they have no sense of refinement…here, Gogg, try each of these and say which is better."

  Gogg took a skeptical sip of each glass he was offered and made a disappointed face after each. "This wine is the best," he said rapping his fist against the barrel he was leaning on.

  Open minded, Wit and Wa'llach each accepted a glass. "All the gods," said Wit, licking his lips, "that's only a little bit marvelous."

  "This is a proper wine, unlike that swill you were shoving at me earlier," said Wa'llach.

  Wit inspected the barrel and brushed a bit of dust off of a label. "Ha: Year of the Green Comet, Bliss Valley vineyards: well, welcome to the Alliance, my friend—most of the time we charge you twenty gold coins a glass for this stuff."

  They were interrupted by the dragar coming up to them. "I am awfully sorry to have been so distracted, but given the cosmopolitan nature of your group, you weren't sent to rescue me by any chance? It just occurred to me that you might have been."

  "We don't know who you are," said Wit. " And 'cosmopolitan' might be a bit of an overstatement, we're his prisoners," he pointed to Gogg, "for all intents and purposes."

  "Oh. Well, you know, you
seem to have a much more progressive attitude about it than Hogan: I would rather have been your prisoner for the last four years."

  Gogg laughed.

  "In all seriousness thanks very much for letting me out. Can you tell me what happened here?"

  "The keep and the mine were stormed by orcs, although not Gogg's orcs—Gogg was chasing them," Wit said. "Most everyone is dead, Hogan definitely is, and upwards of a hundred soldiers. I'd been hoping you might tell us more."

  The dragar shook his head. "Normally someone brings me a meal two times a day, and once or twice a week if I'm lucky, Pete plays chess with me. But I haven't seen anyone since…well, my best guess would be three or four days ago. I heard the devil of a racket some time ago, and then it stopped."

  "Do you know anything about what was going on here, generally?" asked Wit.

  "And who are you that you were expecting to be rescued by a wizard, a dwarf, and an orc?" asked Wa'llach.

  "Enexiyo, at your service. I am afraid that I know very little about anything that happened here. Hogan was holding me as a favor for the High Dragar of Youngkent. I was brought here some four years ago and have hardly left my cell since. As to your question…" Turning to Wa'llach, he paused and thought for a long moment. "I have many questions of my own…and the answers I give are not all together safe. But you freed me from my cell, and everything is connected, so I shall tell you the truth.

  "It is widely known that dragars believe that the destiny of our race is linked to the noble dragons. Most dragars believe that, in time, we will ascend and become dragons ourselves, through rediscovering magics lost to the past, and awakening secrets in our blood. Others, a heretical minority to which I once belonged, also believe that it is our destiny to become dragons, but that doing so will require a more active role for ourselves."

  "The mechanical dragons!" cried Wa'llach in joy.

  The dragar suddenly looked happier than when he had left the cell. "You know of them!"

  "I've seen them. When the humans and dwarves invaded dragar lands a hundred years ago, I snuck in after them, stealing everything that wasn't nailed down. I heard tell about how, at the Battle of Hol, the dragars had been launching each other out of catapults in strange contraptions, so when the armies met again at Rymer I went to watch. That time they had some skirbits drag a thing into the sky: it fell like a stone but managed to squirt some flames out on the way down, before it crashed into the side of a mountain. The funniest thing I've ever seen!"