The Northern Riftwall

At the northernmost edge of the dynasty, an ancient riftwall. Beyond it lies a snowfield no one governs; on this side of it live the exiles, the Border Army, the bones left behind by old battlefields, and cursed blood run out of control. Those the dynasty banishes are sent here, and those who cannot hold the cursed blood of their own line in check are sent here as well. It is the corner into which the dynasty sweeps the things it does not want.

The boundary stone is a stone half buried in the snow, with a single line cut into it:

Crimson Ring Year 1207 · the Northern Riftwall · Exile Boundary

Most of those brought in the year the stone was raised are still here. From the boundary stone south to Graycrown, the capital, is 12 days by horse, with a change of mounts along the way, and two days more if the road is closed or the snow season falls.

The tents of the Border Army are pitched in rank after rank beneath the wall, and snow drifts in through the seams of the canvas all night long. The stoves never burn hot and never consent to go out. The days are ordered by the watch: out to the post, once around along the snow-track, back to the tent, whatever is wet set by the stove to dry, and the same round walked again the next day. The ration is fixed: gruel, dried salt fish, hot water — the salt fish of the North is mild, while the fish cured at the capital end with inland-sea salt is a good deal saltier. The coin is old, too. What circulates near the capital is the new issue House Whitescript has struck these thirty years past, finely figured; what the hands in the northern exile grounds hold is still the old dynastic issue, its figuring worn almost flat.

The captain of an exile camp holds a station neither official nor common. The post does not appear in the formal establishment of the capital; the Seven Great Houses quietly suffer it to exist, so that someone may keep watch over the troublesome ones on the dynasty's behalf. A captain carries a number of his own, set down in the form R-247. On whatever day the capital remembers one of those troublesome ones and calls him back, the captain's charge ends with him.

A child raised on this side of the riftwall learns three things: to draw a bow, not to weep, and not to ask why. Asking why is of no use — no one will answer, and no one will come to fetch you. Unless one day, over in the capital, someone suddenly remembers you.