"I need volunteers to scout over the hill," said Citizen Antoine. "We can resolve this before any Servants arrive."

A boy named Dominic stepped forward from the lines of the Bound, the peasant farmers owned by Antoine and his equals, and felt exposed and alone. There were terrible bandits in the valley beyond this hot, windy hillside. Already he was farther from home than he'd ever been, and he wanted to see what was over the crest. Three righteous villages' worth of men were behind him.

From horseback, Antoine appraised him and the older, stronger men behind him. The triple-triangle brand on Antoine's forehead stood out on his sunburnt face. "Crawl over, and don't stand until you're well past the top. Look for armed men, suspiciously cleared ground, anything abnormal, and return. Good man."

Dominic stood taller at the compliment. The older field hands only called him "boy", and Antoine and other Citizens rarely noticed him. Dominic bowed to his master, set down his spear and wooden shield, then crawled ahead. The parched grass tickled his dirty red hair.

He didn't understand why he was crawling until he'd gone over the hill and down beyond the crest, out of sight of his own people. The Citizen was clever! Any villains would be looking for the figures of men atop the hill, not someone crouching.

Dominic had imagined the rebels' valley would have a storm-shrouded fortress of skulls and spikes. Anything was possible, this far from home. Really, what lay in the distance was was a cluster of a few dozen huts and longhouses amid grain fields. Very like his own village, but hit harder by this summer's drought. Even the manor-house where the local Citizens lived resembled his own village's. There were men and women tending scraggly gardens that looked better off than the dry fields.

His heart thumped against the dry earth beneath him. He scurried a little farther on his belly, trying to avoid crushing an anthill. Some sort of mist swirled around an open square in the village. Fog, on such a hot day?

Something tapped along the hillside. Dominic turned. A saddled, dark mare scuffed at the ground. No rider. Dominic climbed up to one knee and reached for his knife. "Who's there?" he said, trying to sound brave.

"Identify yourself, boy, if you please," said a voice that sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well. Three sharp sticks flew through the air and hovered near Dominic's face, each one clouded by green light.

He froze. "Dominic, Village Nineteen, Region Six. I belong to Citizen Antoine. If you're a bandit you won't get away with it!"

The darts flew backward and a gloved hand reached up from the grass to catch them. "Then I, your humble Servant, will escort you to your Citizen. Where?"

"Waiting behind us." Dominic shivered despite the heat. A Servant! What was one of his kind doing here? "Sir, the bandits will see your horse."

"Let them. I'm here to help." A figure in a deep green tunic rose from the grass, wearing a brass mask that caught the sunlight. A slash across the eyes and a smaller one for a mouth were all he had for a face.

A Servant in the village was always special. Dominic had seen these faceless, interchangeable agents of the Holy State before. They came to gather information, collect taxes, and lead the few Citizens and their many Bound in prayer. Each visiting Servant would use his magic to heal the sick and entertain children. Or to drive arrows through the limbs and heart of a criminal for the people's education and fun. This magic was different, though. Dominic kept low and looked up at the man, saying, "Why do your darts glow this time?"

The Servant hesitated. "Describe."

"Sir, the darts seemed to trail and drip with light. There's a strange fog in the village below, too."

The Servant stared downhill. "You're right. Keen eyes." He turned his mask toward Dominic, a little too far, like an owl. "You've not noticed such things before?"

"No, sir."

"You see magic, boy. Not just the spell but the power behind it."

The unclean force! It was safe to watch what it did, but for a Bound peasant to lay eyes on it directly was to be tainted. His admission might even get him pinned to a wall through his lungs. Sweat beaded along Dominic's bare arms and neck. "I... I didn't mean to!"

"Speak no more of this for now."

The Servant mounted his horse and Dominic followed him back to the Citizens. Antoine spotted them and scowled.

Dominic said, "Sir, I didn't see people preparing for a fight."

Antoine relaxed a little. "It's only a few troublemakers, then. It's been a hard year. They'll be ready to pay their taxes once we insist."

The Servant said, "Which ship did you serve on before being assigned to your village, Citizen? Perhaps the same one as the rebels'? Because that would be an oversight on another Servant's part. Sloppy clustering. Do you know these people's supervisors, enough that you might put friendship ahead of duty to the law?"

Antoine's hand tensed on his horse's reins. "No."

"Then I will observe as you provide your services to the misled Bound. Watch for magical traps."

Dominic retrieved his spear and shield and joined the other Bound spearmen in their mighty line of over two hundred men. The Citizens of the three villages -- roughly the men of four or five families -- rode behind and beside them with crossbows. Except for Antoine, who rode in front. Dominic felt swept along as the army crested the hill to dispense justice.

A bell rang in the town below. The bandits swarmed from their houses and fields to take up arms, while women and children fled. They were bandits, weren't they, stealing tax money from the State?

Antoine watched the rooftops, then pulled an amulet from under his shirt and held it near his mouth. When he spoke it was with a voice like a gale, louder than Dominic had ever heard from him, and wisps of the same greeen light flashed by for a moment. "Citizens, come out and talk! There's still time to resolve this."

The spell-tinged mist Dominic had sensed already in the village, still teased the corners of his vision. Now that he could stand and watch the place openly, the little town seemed even more like a copy of his home. Maybe one day his children would be assigned to be raised here, just as he'd been transfered from his own parents.

An old man hobbled into view with a walking stick, and approached to within earshot. No Citizen brand like Antoine's on him. "Outsiders! Please listen. The harvest was bad and we hardly have enough for ourselves. If you're from anywhere nearby, surely you know this year's been dry. Please, leave us be for just one season. Maybe our gardens..." He waved vaguely around at the struggling vegetable crops around the bachelors' longhouse and the other huts.

"Your Citizens. Bring them," Antoine repeated.

"Please, sir, in the State's name! They wanted me to go ask you for mercy, first."

"Cowards," said Antoine. "Most of them."

The masked Servant scoffed. Dominic glanced at him, then noticed something else and went wide-eyed, pointing. "Look out!"

A man with a crossbow perched atop one of the outlying houses. Antoine leaped from his horse, then rolled away as the frightened mare jumped.

The local villagers backed away to face the invaders from the far end of the village square. Dominic held up his shield and hoped Antoine and the Servant could still fix things. The prospect of actually facing the bandits' spears felt less appealing now that they were pointed at him.

The Servant rode off to one side as though fleeing. He rose one hand and a thatch roof collapsed under the crossbowman, dropping him through. The Servant wheeled around and gestured toward another house, where the same thing happened with another startled yell.

Antoine had recovered his wits and weapons. "Surrender for mercy, Bound! Your Citizens are cowards and you're outnumbered. You're not to blame." No one else came out to negotiate, and even the old man was hurrying away from the invaders.

"Your duty," said the Servant.

Antoine grimaced. "Yes." He raised his hand. "Advance!"

All around Dominic muscles uncoiled and spears rattled, carrying him along in a sweep of power. The air itself felt tense, sweaty. He was in the fourth row, instinctively cringing as crossbow bolts whizzed over his head from behind. He saw only fragments of what was happening ahead and below, glimpsed between shields: bolts ramming against bandits' shields and sometimes cracking them, or finding a gap. Someone screamed. No one was shooting back now; crossbows were Citizen weapons. The rest of the locals fell back and Antoine's side pursued. Dominic hurried forward, surrounded by the rattle of shields and spears.

"Move!" shouted one of the Citizens behind them. "Kill the bastards!" The noise drove Dominic's forces forward even as the rebels feinted and fell back.

The wind carried the smell of blood. Now Dominic's side had reached the village square and could do as it pleased. What did one do with bandits, if their Bound really weren't guilty?

The village bell rang once more. The ground shuddered and gave way under Dominic. Earthquake! He and dozens of others crashed down on each other into a pit. Worse yet, he saw several of the Citizens' horses plummeting toward them. He tried to twist and roll away like Antoine had done. Bodies crashed around him and something heavy thudded down near his face. The hole was full of horrible shouting and struggle -- and now, someone was shooting at them too!

Dominic held his shield over his head and found a corner of the pit. The villagers had dug it around twice his height down, maybe by magic. Someone kicked his left knee out from under him and he fell. Dominic yelped and landed under his shield, just in time to feel a crossbow bolt thud far enough through it to gash his arm. Where was everyone else? They couldn't all be down here. The pained, kicking horses were a bigger danger than the shooters above.

"You there! Help me up!" one of the farmhands called to Dominic. Dominic had learned threshing from him. He ran over and crouched to offer a boost, just in time to dodge a bolt that went instead into the other man's chest. Dominic yelped and leaped back. Someone had stabbed the horses to end their kicking, and soon the crossbow fire stopped. That left him in an open grave surrounded by angry, hungry bandits.

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A stray root stuck out of the pit. Dominic used that, a corpse he didn't want to think about, and some kicks into the hard soil to claw his way back toward the surface. He reached the top, rose to a crouch, then turned around to offer his hands to one of the other men scrambling up.

A battle scream came from behind him, just outside the pit. Dominic whirled. There was a spear, a face contorted with hate, a muscular arm. Dominic's hands went up to shield himself, to try to grab the weapon and yank it away in that last second.

The spear tore itself from the man's grasp and spun, stirring a breeze. The attacker ran into the sharp end. What happened next seemed as slow as a prayer chant. Green light bloomed from the enemy's chest, like a swirl of vines spreading through the air. The blood that flew after it followed the same winding paths until, for a moment, a sculpture of grass and fire seemed to hang between them. The impaled spearman's bright green eyes stared in disbelief as the life left them. Then the ribbons of color shredded.

The Servant strode with several Bound at his sides. These men with him seemed strengthened just by being near him, wreaking havoc with casual thrusts. Dozens of people had collapsed around the village, some screaming and others forever silent.

The Servant lashed the area with his booming voice, similar to what Antoine had done but without needing a prop. "Surrender, if you please! Your Citizens aren't helping you and your trick wasn't clever enough. Your only hope" -- a thrown spear flew at him but deflected as though not daring to hurt him -- "is to put your weapons down."

Antoine meanwhile was at the pit's far edge, hauling people up. The loyal troops regrouped to face a diminished crowd of rebels. Dominic began to relax, but that vision of the green haunted him. He'd killed a man! The whole town stank of fear and blood now, and people moaned and twitched on the ground. He could do nothing to help. Instead Dominic took up the first spear and shield he found, ready to join in the fight if it continued. He held the spear far away as though afraid it would turn on him, and pushed away the thought of the swirling blood. He couldn't be a coward while there were still people who needed him. Even though there might be more danger at any moment he yawned, suddenly feeling like he could collapse. He forced himself to stay upright.

"Are there any local Citizens left?" asked the Servant, loudly enough to be heard by hundreds as the skirmish died down. "Come out from wherever you're cowering. The State is rather upset with this village right now."

The locals looked around at the invading force that still greatly outnumbered theirs, and at their town. The ground was gouged by their own trap and the huts' roofs were shredded, their walls cracked. Then someone snapped, pointing frantically at the women's quarters. Other villagers broke from the group and hauled a few battered, bleeding Citizen men and women out of hiding, then shoved them in front with many apologies. The Citizens' eyes were wide and they searched in vain for an escape route.

The Servant said to the Bound, "If you wish for mercy, kill them."

"Sir," said Citizen Antoine. "There's no need. These people will pay their taxes and scrape through the season. Besides, there are fewer mouths to feed now." The other loyal Citizens kept their mouths shut to avoid being classed with the rebels being considered for slaughter.

The Servant said, "The law requires us to see justice done. These men drew the blood of loyal Bound and Citizens. Will you do your duty, or shall I assist you?"

Dominic watched his master. Antoine sighed and told the bandits, "Your village has been declared outlaws, enemies of the Holy State. If you're only following orders from your Citizens, your actions are only caused by your proper loyalty to improper leaders. Kill them now and their blood will absolve you of your sins."

The outnumbered peasants wavered, some obviously wanting to fight on. One little man whimpered and ran away, staggering across the dry earth. Dominic caught a glimpse of the runner's eyes; it was the Servant's blank mask he'd been looking at.

Then one of the bandits jabbed a Citizen man, the fattest of the lot, just hard enough to make him yelp. The little spear-thrust seemed to give the other rebels courage to stab too, harder, until the whole bunch of rebel Citizens fell screaming and dying to the dirt. One of the killers looked up at Antoine and the Servant in mid-strike as if to ask, Is this enough? Can we stop?

Somehow it was worse to watch than the battle itself, when more men had died.

Antoine turned away in disgust. "We're done here."

"Are we?" the Servant asked, as though this had been a festival visit. He addressed the local Bound: "Your Citizens failed you. We Servants failed them in turn by not providing proper oversight. New Citizens will be assigned to you. I apologize for the disruption and will help you to tend the wounded. You can expect a follow-up Servant visit to check on your reconstruction progress. Bring forth your most wounded."

Dominic gaped at the Servant's efficient, matter-of-fact speech. "After all that, you're healing both sides?"

The Servant turned his head slightly toward Dominic, letting him see the edge of the darkness behind the mask. "There is only one 'side', boy. We are all working together for the Holy State. Problems happen, and we correct them. Does anyone here have other troubles that need my attention?" Somehow, no one did.

The masked man let Citizens guard him with crossbows while he worked. His gloved hands moved over the spear-wounds, spreading vines of light around torn flesh so that bones began to knit and flesh to stretch back into shape. Dominic had seen visiting Servants and occasionally a Citizen perform this sort of healing before, though without seeing the light that drove it. Again blood from the wounds tended to flow in tendrils that matched the spell-weave. Dominic thought back to the life he'd ended, in justice's name and to save himself from immediate death. Why had that fool tried to kill him? To kill him, a stranger who hadn't done anything? Dominic shuddered, knowing his own feelings were ridiculous and wrong. He was serving the State and bandits needed to be put down. Still, the unnatural flow of red and green in the air... had he done that?

"We can withdraw," said Antoine. The men kept apart, each to his own thoughts. At the other Citizens' direction, a group went into the manor-house and brought out armloads of finery. Dominic's eyes widened.

The Servant unlocked a storage chest and pulled out strings of pearls and a fur coat. He threw both to the ground, rummaged more, and stood up with a pretty necklace glinting in the sunlight, clenched tightly in one fist. He shouted at the villagers. "Do you see these things? These trinkets are your lives, your blood, stolen from you. Why didn't your masters sell them before moaning about a lack of coins and crops?" The silver chain glittered in the afternoon sun, with the triple-triangle design of the Holy State. "At least these things will pay your taxes, for now. Rebuild as well as you can."

The loyal Citizens shifted uncomfortably. A few wore bits of jewelry themselves.

One of the local Bound spoke up, averting his eyes from the Servant's mask. "Sir, who will give orders while we wait for new Citizens?"

The Servant turned to Antoine and company. "One of you, if you please, until someone else can be permanently assigned. Volunteers?" One of the Citizens' sons looked to his father, got a nod, and raised his hand.

The Servant said, "All right: you." He handed over a gold ring and a pearl necklace from the recovered hoard. "Sell these for food. A trader will be along soon. Tell him the village is recovering from disaster and a fair price is... expected."

The Servant packed the other hoarded wealth onto his horse and a second, now ownerless mare. He told Antoine, "Now you may withdraw, sir. Except for this boy. He comes with me."

The wind froze on Dominic's skin. "Sir?" He turned from the Servant toward Antoine, who looked as startled as himself.

The Servant's brass mask caught the sunlight and shined too brightly to stare at. "You have the talent for magic, boy. Therefore you may no longer live among the Bound. If you please, you will follow me for training. Citizen or perhaps even Servant, should you humble yourself so far." He reached into his robe and counted out a handful of silver coins, which he offered to Antoine. "He's one of yours. Payment for him -- Dominic, yes? -- and the finder's fee."

Antoine paled. "Put it toward their taxes."

"That's the spirit!" the Servant said, with the first hint of warmth Dominic had heard through those slits in brass. "Your civic-mindedness is noted. Come, young Dominic. We have much to discuss."

Dominic looked over the devastated village, where the leaders were dead, the town square an open wound, the roofs collapsed, and the fields no healthier and with fewer people to tend them. "I killed a man," he said to no one.

The masked man said, "By doing so, did you serve the State?"

He felt people watching. "Yes." The sight of this town made him think of his own village, and how little he knew the people he'd fought beside today. There was nothing for him back home, especially if it might become like this place next harvest time.

His Citizen clapped him on the shoulder and looked him in the eye. "You did well today. Fight with word and blade, and you'll go far."

Dominic looked between the Servant and Antoine, between the unknown and deadly realm of magic and the familiar fields a short march from home. "Do I have to go?"

The Servant peered at him. "The other option is to pretend your little spell-outburst never happened. In that case, it will be a slow death for you if you ever touch the Weave again."

He hardly even understood the transaction between the Servant and Antoine. Coins were for taxes and supply caravans. There was so much he'd failed to know and learn so far: the strangeness of the Servant, the villagers' willingness to defy the State, and the power he'd found in himself to kill. He feared not knowing, more than he feared learning. Some part of him was eager to see what was beyond the town he knew, and where these frightening things came from.

"I should go with you," he said.