Striking Chains Page 11

  The elder nodded. "You see. We must get him. Will they trade him for you?"

  It wasn't State policy to exchange prisoners. People who'd been outside might themselves be dangerous somehow. Reluctantly, he admitted he was now in that category. He said, "I doubt it. No."

  That got him a glare. "Then we kill you and fight the rest of you. Understand? We don't want our other neighbors fighting us for getting their kin killed."

  "Then you should've thought of that before spying on us." Dominic said. He was probably better off for the fact that the elder didn't understand him. "Will you try to kill me, then?"

  The leader and his henchmen sized him up. "Not yet. Slave of the State, you can stop a fight. Our people will kill some of yours. You value them, don't you?" He used the same word for "value" that a trader would use. "Get our guest back."

  "I can't do that from here."

  "What if we let you go? Can you get our guest back?"

  Dominic said, "Why would you allow that?" He didn't think they were that stupid.

  "How much do you value this?" the leader asked, tapping his own face and pointing to the Servant's mask.

  A Servant did not lose his mask. It had been known to happen, and it was humiliating, but there was no horrible execution as punishment. Dominic said, "I see. If I lend you mine, will you trust me to bring back your guest?"

  After several rephrasings, the elder finally understood and nodded vigorously. "Good." He held out his hand for the mask.

  Dominic was being told to shamefully unmask himself just to earn a little trust from a bunch of savages, to go and do them a favor. The captured foreign rat-man might be useful to the State. But Dominic had been sent here with wide leeway to observe and learn.

  Another thought bothered him. "Has there been another Servant here? Another masked one?"

  "No!" said the leader, with such force that it was an obvious lie.

  There could be a fight here, and he might win it and escape, but he'd be creating more trouble for the State by triggering a larger raid. Best to look for a diplomatic solution, then. He awkwardly reached for the straps of his mask and removed it, letting cold air wash across his face.

  The tribesman guarding Dominic said, "They have faces."

  The Servant yawned. "The chain?"

  "Outside."

  They led him back outside the village, to where only the Weave's light and a few bits of amber lit their way. Dominic shivered and stumbled along, only kept awake by cold and tension. When they came in sight of a fort again, an alarm sounded and an amber flare-arrow shot into the dirt near their feet. Dominic raised his chained hands and waved, creating a spell-pattern to call attention to himself. Suddenly his escorts were fleeing, throwing an iron key at his feet. Dominic turned to see them go, then waited for his side to rescue him.

  * * *

  Citizen Astor helped unlock his bonds. "Are you all right?"

  "Other than my pride. They say you've got a prisoner." He explained what he'd been told.

  "Right." The Quartermaster of this little trading post slicked his hair back. "This situation is a terrible mess. I suppose you'll want to sleep before we make the exchange?"

  Dominic wavered, but shook his head. "For all we know, they'll assume I've betrayed them unless I come back with the prisoner as soon as possible." He paused. "I'm surprised you didn't suggest that we keep him, break the deal, and just find me a new mask."

  "They have a sense of honor, sir. It's a basis for working with them."

  "Working on what, exactly?"

  The Citizen clammed up. Dominic didn't press him, but said, "If you don't mind, I'd like a little food, my robe, and that coat I borrowed. I'll go back with the outsider and speak with them."

  "You'd risk yourself rather than just letting their 'guest' run back to their lines? Why give him an escort?"

  Dominic said, "It may be our best chance to learn about them. Tell me, what was the point of keeping a foreign creature in a cell?"

  "There wasn't much of one, if you ask me. Our High Citizen got a report that we'd caught him, and gave orders to have him studied. Doing that seemed like more trouble than it was worth. But now that you're here, you can override the order."

  So, Dominic would be crossing the ruling Citizen of Torrin for the sake of diplomacy with the barbarians. Tricky. On the other hand, if the prisoner weren't returned right away, there went his chance to do anything meaningful with the tribes except conquer them. All the more reason for him to personally escort this creature and take that chance to learn.

  Dominic said, "I'll risk it, to avoid more fighting."

  * * *

  The prisoner was in a stone cellar beneath the trading post. The room had been stripped of anything wooden or cloth, leaving just a miserable cell. Its occupant huddled in a corner and startled awake at the creak of the metal-bound door opening.

  Dominic raised an amber lantern and got his first look at the race from beyond the Waldic lands. It -- he -- was short, covered in grey-brown fur, with an animal's muzzle and with pointed ears that lay flat back across his head. Little claws flexed at the tips of his fingers.

  The rodent let loose a stream of chittering profanity in Mithraic, too quick and accented to follow.

  Dominic held out a cloth backpack that had been found on the prisoner. "Here. Yours."

  "You speak real language?"

  "A little. I'm letting you go. Here are your things."

  "I can't reach them." They were across the room from each other, and the rodent was chained by one leg to an improvised metal post. The place didn't seem to hold captives often.

  Dominic was surprised the bag hadn't been magically snatched from his hands already. "I thought you were a race of mages."

  A hiss. "Idiot. We're not all mages. The Lord will hurt you for taking me."

  "It's all right. You can go. I'm taking you back. Look; your clothes are in there." Dominic warily approached and set the bag down within reach. "There's bread, too."

  The prisoner darted forward to grab it and get away. A long, fluffy tail flicked and curled along his back as he moved. He yanked an oddly tailored tunic out of the bag and struggled into it to cover himself. The fabric was simple linen, but the front bore the mark of a green tree so dense with spell-threads that it looked to the magic sense like a shield over his heart.

  "Are you ready to go?" asked Dominic. Then he chuckled.

  "What?" said the creature, lashing his tail up and down.

  "I was told about rodents. I wasn't told to expect some kind of squirrel."

  "How strange! Here's another strange thing: a Baccatan who isn't a complete bastard. Let's go."

  They walked together to the north, back beyond the ground that the State controlled. Every step made Dominic feel ready to collapse; maybe he'd have been better off sleeping even at the risk of battle. He kept going until he spotted the enemy village and the group of fighters who lurked as a faint green-lit blur behind some trees. He called out.

  The group started forward as if to ambush him, but a barked command from behind them made them stop. The same elder came up and said, "Our guest?"

  Dominic called back, "Here."

  "Good. Come, rest."

  "Me?"

  "Yes. Safe, guest." There was more that Dominic couldn't make out.

  Dominic did still need to retrieve his mask, so he came forward with the squirrel-man. That one looked at him curiously and said, "He says you look exhausted."

  Dominic forcibly stood up straighter but said nothing. He came forward, palms up, genuinely unarmed. Though his second meeting with the Waldics was tense, they showed him back to that hut and gave him some decent bedding and food.

  * * *

  He woke up in the morning with the mask beside him and a meal of grilled mutton and onions sizzling in a bowl. He went for the food first; the outsiders had already seen his face.

  A woman entered, carrying fresh bread. He thanked her and said, "Where is your guest?"

  Sh
e pointed outside and leftward. Dominic stepped outside holding the bread, to go look. The squirrel-man was at the forest's edge, crouching and mumbling. "A mighty tree grows... its rise, like earth..."

  He listened until the guest stood and turned, tail-flicking uneasily. "Thank you, slave."

  "The word is Servant," Dominic said, using his native word. "I am... glad not to fight. What are you?"

  The creature answered in Mithraic, but the terms were unfamiliar. "I am Pine Hopsson, of the Velesians."

  "Dominic, Servant of Baccata." He held up his mask.

  "Not a good meeting, but hello. We want peace with your people."

  Dominic wasn't sure he could say the same in return. "We know nothing about yours."

  "We should eat."

  The two of them sat in the hut Pine was sharing with a human couple, who cleared out of the way, looking uneasy. Pine sat on a bench, gnawing on a loaf of dark bread. "A Servant is not a slave?"

  "No. We serve the entire State."

  "Ah, so you run things. Are you all mages?"

  "Servants are mages, yes. Who owns you?" He was still struggling with the vocabulary, but Pine at least spoke fluent Mithraic despite his accent.

  Pine gave him a chittering laugh. "The Lord of the Forest, I suppose. Nobody else. Why are you fighting these people?"

  "The Waldics? They... don't let us run them. I think there's an old fight with them. Too many tribes, apart." There were at least four distinct subgroups and it seemed impossible to have a truce with all of them at once.

  "We have one tribe," the squirrel said, looking vain. "With one Lord and one race."

  Dominic nodded. These creatures sounded like better neighbors than the scattered tribes. He asked, "Tell me about the race and the Lord."

  Pine was eager to spill a few details, speaking with pride about a mighty wizard-god and a towering oak tree and an invincible army. Dominic wasn't sure how much to believe. In return he spoke a little about the State and its castes. The talk with Pine was more interesting than what he'd learned of the Waldics, really. Here were people who knew how to organize. Maybe all prosperous societies had such a unifying force, whether it was a god or a race or even simply a common language.

  * * *

  Partly out of a sense of obligation, Dominic sent word that he'd like to meet with the tribe's chieftain too. While waiting he toured the village as much as he could without arousing suspicion. Not as well organized as a proper village, and with only the one chief for a Citizen equivalent. Still, they had some farmland to their north (where Baccatan forces couldn't easily attack it) and sturdy homes, some of which showed signs of competent wood-shaping magic.

  Pine had joined in with his tour. Dominic asked him, "Is there a different style to how your people and the tribe cast spells? I noticed the local amber lights were unusual."

  Pine's ears perked up. "I'm no spellcaster, myself. But I think so."

  The chieftain arrived with a pair of armed men, saying, "Time to go, outlander. Our trade is done."

  Dominic slowly fished out the bit of amber he carried in one robe pocket, and offered it. "I'd like to trade this for another."

  Pine explained, "He was asking about magic."

  The chief looked them both over warily, then called for someone and got a replacement light to swap for Dominic's. "Strange custom. Now go."

  Dominic bowed and backed away. He said to Pine, "It was nice meeting you."

  "Good to see one of you without your mask, I suppose."

  * * *

  He put it on, on his way back. He arrived at the trading fort and greeted the Citizen serving as Quartermaster. He gratefully accepted a hot drink and stretched out, trying not to look tense about what he needed to do next. "That's done with. Thanks for your help."

  "It looks like you kept the pot from boiling over into a real fight."

  Dominic nodded. "Now, can you please tell me about the missing Servant?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

  "Fair enough. What can you tell me about the enemy raid last night? Sorry; it's been a long night and day for me and I need to get my facts straight."

  "Bad timing, Servant. Bad for them, since we had you along to keep them from rescuing our fuzzy prisoner. We didn't get to interrogate him much, and lost him in the end. But I assume you bargained your way into learning a thing or two about the tribesmen and their resources."

  Dominic nodded again. "Help me understand, please. This is a border territory with an ongoing, low-level conflict and a number of picket forts. There is no regular communication or trade with the outsiders, just an ad-hoc signal flag system. But there was some kind of security problem last night. We had a valuable prisoner, but he was being kept right here in the trade fort. And the enemy thought to raid this place just after a Servant arrived, as though they knew I was here. It was a reasonable move, I mean. In their place I'd have assumed the Servant was there to take the prisoner somewhere more secure, and that I needed to act right away. It was unfortunate for me that the guards responded so slowly."

  Citizen Astor kept his face calm, but his right foot twitched. "Servants' presence tends not to be subtle, and guards aren't always on high alert."

  "Ha, yes. And I did learn a little about both the tribesmen and the squirrelfolk. Come to think of it, do they have an actual name?" He already knew the answer, but wondered what the Citizen knew.

  "Velesians, named after that god of theirs." The Citizen stood and paced. "I think the problem is resolved well enough. Sorry to get you involved in it."

  Dominic said, "I'm not sorry; I found it educational. What I'm wondering is, how friendly are you with the outsiders, exactly? Please stop trying to hide the full truth from me. I was sent with unusually broad orders, and I suspect there's some connection to this rumor of a missing Servant."

  The Quartermaster tensed. Dominic's hands moved faintly, invisibly brushing the threads of the Weave as though about to play a deadly instrument. He waited for the Quartermaster's move.

  "I... It's not..."

  "Go on."

  The Citizen drew himself up straighter. "Servant, I am a loyal follower of the State like you. There are things... Do you know the myth of the Great Hawk?"

  "An old totem spirit. Yes?"

  "Old, and powerful -- or so it's said. The Waldics provide certain blessings in the name of their spirits, in the name of peace and unity. It's a courtesy by them. Superstition of course, but they mean well."

  "I see. And what do you give them in return for this service?"

  "Nothing! We have some basic friendly trade, an exchange of gifts, beyond the usual iron imports. Gifts and some notion of trust are necessary to the State's goals around here."

  Dominic didn't release his grip on the dart-commanding spell waiting at his fingertips. "What sort of gifts do you get? Gold? Gems?"

  "Warm coats. You're wearing one. Isn't the style more comfortable than that robe of yours? And unusual fruit; we've grown some berries that they gave us seeds for. You see? Nothing that harms the State or makes me rich or defrauds the Bound. Only things that help us."

  "Defrauding the Bound, you say. So if I were to call in your Bound right now, they'd also be well dressed?"

  The Citizen looked relieved. "Yes. I'll do it, if you're so concerned."

  A summons went out, and unbranded men and women hurried into place to salute their master with a gesture Dominic had only ever seen among the foreign tribe. Each of them looked healthy and wore good wool or linen clothing, and often a fur-lined jacket. Several outfits had a deep blue dye that Dominic recognized as an import. Nothing obviously inferior to the Citizen's clothes besides the plain copper chain that he wore as a necklace.

  "Copper?" said Dominic.

  "This? It came from my own personal budget. I invite you to check my bookkeeping. I don't own a mansion, Servant; I have a modest house in the city when I'm not living here."

  As far as Dominic could tell, this confession was the truth. A cert
ain amount of gift-giving and harmless superstition in the name of cross-border cooperation, and making legitimate commerce flow smoothly without constant violent skirmishes. A basically honest Citizen making do and making friends. It could even be argued that the Citizen's actions would help Baccata to assimilate the tribes into the State someday.

  All this was a problem for Dominic, because it was also completely illegal. Smuggling, unnecessary cooperation with an enemy tribe, a little heresy against State religion; unregistered trade and perhaps personal relationships. And:

  "The raid that captured me. How much of that was staged?"

  "I... Servant, what did you make of the prisoner?"

  "He looked miserable in that basement cell, and much happier out of it. He claimed not to have magic, by the way."

  "He told you that? Interesting. Servant --"

  "Dominic, if you please."

  Citizen Astor tilted his head, trying to see behind the mask. "What do you want from me? To haul me off for execution for trying to help the State?"

  Dominic wasn't entirely sure. "This is a puzzle for me, still. Are you sincere in not knowing about a missing Servant? Or is that part of your earlier ignorance?"

  The Citizen looked at his group of Bound, the people he'd sworn to protect and guide, and he sighed. "I didn't help him flee. None of us did, but if you need to blame someone, blame me for not realizing what was happening. Around a week ago, a Servant went north from here much like you, and claiming to have specific orders for it. He bluffed me into not checking for proof, and I helped equip him for the journey. He never returned."

  "And what really happened to him?"

  "That I sincerely don't know. I doubt that the Waldics killed him, so maybe he simply ran off."

  "Ran off! That doesn't happen."

  "Of course, sir. No one would ever be so stupid. So he must have been killed, maybe by one of the other tribes farther out or by wild beasts."

  Dominic hadn't really questioned, before, whether the "murder victim" in that coastal village had died. If some Bound was missing from her village, surely she was dead. Right? There were Citizens known to have fled from the State to escape justice, but they lived much of their lives at sea anyway. For a Servant to completely abandon his duties and comfortable life was ridiculous. To do such a thing was madness. Some bizarre other way of thinking. The Servant could be wandering now through distant hills and forests, seeing all sorts of strange things and unique magic.