Burning Tower (33 page)

Arshur drove the first of the jeweler's pair of wagons with Ruser sitting beside him looking relaxed and unworried. Ruser had hired two young men from neighbor families as drivers and helpers, and between them they seemed competent enough in the second wagon.

Burning Tower rode Spike. He was larger now, bigger than any horse, blazing white with a big spiral horn. The big one-horn seemed docile enough so long as Burning Tower was near, and he would follow their wagon if she sat at the tailgate, but if he couldn't see her, he could be difficult despite the stoutest harness and bit. He clearly disliked Clever Squirrel, but he also seemed afraid of her. Sandry wondered at the wisdom of bringing Spike, but Tower insisted.

 

The road led across the wide valley through green fields. There were crops and pastures on both sides of the road, all well watered by the river that cut through the valley but neglected during the siege of the terror birds. Farmers were cautiously returning to work. It would be harvest time soon enough, and the food was needed. The farmers waved at the wagon train and watched it go by.

Sandry wore his lightest armor. Speed would be more important than armor out here. His chariot was well equipped with weapons, four throwing spears, a thrusting spear, and a light shield, and most important, the bow case held his compound bow and forty arrows. Now that the Younglords were gone west there was not another bow like it. At least he had never seen a good bow outside Lordshills. The Feathersnake and Crescent City bows were simple affairs hewn from springy manzanita, the sort of thing a Lord's child might use for training. They were not difficult to draw, and the arrow wouldn't penetrate a shield. Or a terror bird.

Sandry's bow had taken a dozen years to construct, and cost more than his chariot. It was made of thin layers of wood and horn bound together by sinews and glues. Stringing it took nearly all his strength, but it could send an arrow much farther than a man could throw a spear. Chariotmaster Lords all had such bows, and they were one of the reasons the Lords had held Tep's Town against invaders and Lordkin revolts. An armored archer in a chariot was formidable, with enough speed to keep away from swordsmen and spearmen, and enough range to hold at risk as many lives as he had arrows. Add the disciplined Lordsmen soldiers and the wild Lordkin, and there had never been an army that could face the Lords of Lordshills.

But bows and armor were nearly useless against terror birds. They moved too fast for multiple shots, and they had few vulnerable spots among their thick hides and layers of feathers. It took the mass of a spear with its heavy bronze blade to stop the birds, and often that wasn't enough. The bows had stayed in their cases for the entire journey to Crescent City.

Now, with fewer birds, there might be other dangers. Sandry stood tall in the chariot. What was out there?

The river went roughly north. The road angled straight to the northeast, and as they went farther from the river, the green fields thinned out—fewer crops and more pastures, and no trees at all. Hillocks were covered with scrub brush.

They topped the first ridge. The ridge top was nearly bare, flinty soil with chaparral but little grass. From the top Sandry could see far ahead.

The road stretched northeast across a broad flatland. Near the road was mostly tall grass. Countless wagon trains had trampled out the sagebrush for a hundred paces and more to each side of the road. Grass grew there. With no wagon trains to graze it, the grass was tall and lush.

“Good foraging for the horses,” Sandry said aloud. He clucked his horses into a trot and caught up with the Wagonmaster. “How long until camp?” he asked.

Ern looked up with a start, as if he'd been dozing. He stood on the wagon bed to look ahead, then looked to the sun to estimate the remaining daylight. “Another hour, Lord Sandry. There is a small pond and stream, with a corral if the birds didn't destroy it. There was a small village there, but the villagers are back in Crescent City hoping we'll find it's safe for them to go back.”

“I think I'll ride ahead and have a look,” Sandry said.

Burning Tower rode closer to him. “Premonitions?” she asked.

“No. It's the obvious place to camp,” Sandry said, “so it's the obvious place for an ambush.”

“Ambush by what?” Wagonmaster Ern asked. He concealed his smile, but some of the indulgent look came through. “And this close to the city?”

“The day before we reached Crescent City, there was a hilltop camping place,” Sandry said. “And in it was the wreckage of a wagon train. Men able to summon birds were waiting for us to camp there. It never hurts to have a look.”

“I'll come with you,” Tower said.

Sandry nodded. “Ride with me. Let Spike follow,” he said.

She frowned but dismounted and climbed into the chariot. Spike followed close behind. “I'm glad you like my company.”

“I very much like your company. I also like having you on a fresh mount,” he said.

“Oh.” She stood close to him. Then closer.

He chuckled. “Keep that up and Spike won't be following us,” he said.

“Squirrel says it's overrated.”

“What is?”

“You know…”

“Oh. Maybe she's not doing it right.”

“But I think she's wrong.” She moved even closer to him. Spike snuffled his lips. Tower giggled. “Did you think it was overrated?”

“I wasn't in love.”

“That's what Squirrely says—she wasn't in love and I am—so it will be different for me.”

He bent over to kiss her. Spike snuffled again. Sandry found it wasn't easy keeping his eyes on the road and paying attention to Tower at the same time. Finally he straightened. “We don't have to wait, you know.”

“How's that?”

“No one is going to make you harness a one-horn if we're married in Lordshills.”

“Mother will.”

“Your mother? Blazes, you told me yourself, she's kinless, she was long away from Tep's Town before she knew anything about one-horns!”

“Yes, but she learned, and she's very proud that she could harness hers the morning she married Father. And there's Father, I don't know what he thinks, but he's always said marriage is important. It's not just property, either.”

“Well—but aren't you even a little impatient?”

She laughed. “As much as you—maybe more—but think, there's no one else here who can ride Spike or even harness him! What would we do with him?”

“Bugger Spike,” Sandry said, but he mumbled it so that she wouldn't understand.

“I'm going to have a proper wedding,” Burning Tower said. “Your people can add whatever you do—what do you do for weddings? Lordkin don't have marriages, and I know what Mother tells me about kinless, but I never heard about Lords.”

“Mostly it's contracts and witnesses,” Sandry said.

“Contracts. Witnesses. Well, fine, but I'm going to have Bison Woman and Coyote, and a great feast with all my friends, and one-horns. A proper wedding!”

Sandry sighed. “Yes, my love.”

 

The campsite stood in a circle of broken hogans that ringed a small pond of clear water. Fences had been set between the hogans so that the entire pond was encircled. They drove into the village. “No one gathered here,” Sandry said. “They just walked off. Except for the houses.”

One wall had been opened on every house.
The village looks dead,
Sandry thought,
but it would be easy enough to revive. If the birds don't come back,
he added.

A small running stream trickled out of the pond and ran eastward. It grew visibly smaller as it ran through the dry rocky land, but the line of green marking its course continued a long way. The pond had been divided into pools—a small one, then a much larger one down where it flowed into the stream. Wagon trains could water the animals in the large pool without muddying the water in the smaller one upstream.

Tall grass grew all around the campsite. Sandry left Tower with Spike at the pond and drove in a big circle through the tall grass around the campsite, noting that the grass hadn't been broken down and that the only wheel tracks on the road were his own. There were some confused animal tracks, and one footprint that might have been made by a terror bird running along the dry stony road, but it might have been anything else. The ground wasn't soft enough to hold tracks.

No tracks, and nothing hiding in the weeds. It looked safe enough. When he was satisfied, he joined Tower at the spring.

“Nothing,” he said.

“I thought I saw…”

“Yes?”

“I'm not sure. I thought I saw a terror bird, far out along the road, almost too far to see.”

“Terror bird. What was it doing?”

“Nothing. It's gone now. It was so far away, Sandry, that I'm not sure I saw anything at all.”

“And I thought I saw a bird track. But just one. We'll watch for it, then,” Sandry said. He took a last look around the deserted village. “They left a lot of stuff behind. Secklers may like that.”

Tower grinned. “Not our problem this time. How will he carry it all?”

 

He led Tower back to the wagon train.

“All clear,” he told Ern. “And good grazing all around the spring.”

Ern nodded. “I hardly expected bandits.”

“If you expect them, you probably won't find them,” Sandry said. “But Tower thought she saw a bird watching us.”

“So did I,” a voice said from behind him. Arshur. “Just when you started to ride out, it was ahead of you. Ran along the road in front of you. Just one,” Arshur said. He grinned. “Lord Reg and I can handle one without bothering anyone else.”

“I'm sure you can,” Sandry said. “But if there's one, there may be more.” He turned to Wagonmaster Ern. “When you get to the campsite, please let the women set up camp. I want all the men for an hour's spear practice. Arshur can teach them to use the atlatl.”

Arshur nodded amused agreement. “Soon as I remember how they work. Been a while.”

T
he drills continued every evening, two hours in light and another hour in twilight. The men complained, but once they got started, Arshur was an eager teacher and no one wanted to challenge him. Sandry wondered what he would do without the giant acting as a Peacevoice, then shrugged. He had Arshur, and that was enough.

There was another reason to learn quickly. Whenever anyone looked far ahead on the road, they'd see the gaudy bird.

“Rooster,” Clever Squirrel said. “And I'm sure it's just one.”

“Sure. Why are you sure?” Sandry asked.

“Coyote thinks it's just one,” Squirrel said.

“Ah. This is his territory, then?”

She shrugged. “Not really. He comes to me seldom. There are other gods here also. Many gods claim this territory, and there will be more as we come closer to the Island City of Aztlan. Sandry, there's so much power there! Each night I dream of it, a small island that burns bright with manna. Gold, and jewels, food and power, everything you could ever want.” She grinned. “That's what I see in my dreams. When I wake up, we're still here.” She indicated the rolling hills covered with sagebrush and grass stretching endlessly in all directions.

At dawn and dusk, they could see jagged shapes in the rising and setting sun, and sometimes they passed great buttes and mesas, but mostly the road led gently uphill through nearly level rocky ground covered with scrub and grass, dotted here and there with springs and small streams that never ran more than a league before vanishing into the rocks at the bottom of the stream bed.

 

Every evening Sandry held drills. Crescent City armor wasn't very good, but they did have stout shields. Armor was more useful against humans than birds anyway.

Sandry taught them to use shields and stabbing spears together, to stand close together and march with shields held in covering position and stabbing spears thrust forward, throwing spears held in place against the shield. Then they would halt and lean the thrusting spears against the shields as they prepared to use throwing spears.

Arshur taught them to use the atlatl, and Sandry took his place in the ranks for the lesson, motioning Younglord Whane to join him. The atlatl was new to them, but Sandry could see its value, something to teach the Lordsmen guards when he got back home. He was startled to see Regapisk take a place beside him as Arshur began his demonstration.

At first it was awkward to juggle thrusting spear, several throwing spears, shield, and atlatl without dropping one. They learned to stand the thrusting spear and spare throwing spears against their bodies, then bring the shield in to keep them from falling down. Then they would use both hands to load a throwing spear into the atlatl, and be ready to throw and reload.

Sandry analyzed each motion, having them do everything in slow motion until they had it right, then slowly speeding up the pace, making sure that everyone was keeping up. In three weeks they looked good, not as good as Lordsmen under a trained Peacevoice, but better than they'd ever expected to be, and proud of using a weapon of their ancestors, one that was new to this stranger officer from Lordshills.

And among the best was Regapisk. Reggy's overmuscled arms became supple enough for smooth throwing motions, and now they added strength.

“He's graceful,” Burning Tower said as she watched Regapisk at atlatl practice. “I think he's as good with that as you are.”

“Better,” Sandry conceded, and wondered if Reggy could use a bow now that his arms were so strong. He could sure throw a spear…. “Not that either one of us will be doing a lot of atlatl throwing. Comes to a fight, we're more valuable mounted up. But yes, Reggy's pretty good with an atlatl. Come to that, so are you.”

She grinned. “Surprised?”

“Yes, actually. I never knew any girls who could use weapons.”

“Ever see anyone teach them how?”

“No.”

She grinned again.

 

The road continued northeast, climbing steadily out of the Crescent City valley. Two weeks out, the climb became noticeably steeper, and a week later they reached a high plain. Everywhere along the road there were ruins, the remains of villages and campsites. In the Crescent City valley, the villages had been built of logs, but now they mostly saw rectangular houses of woven brush covered with mud. A few were stone, with flat roofs. Most had been damaged or destroyed, but nearly all had all four walls.

“Not alive, like hogans,” Sandry observed.

Clever Squirrel agreed. “These are not the same people. But I don't know who they are.”

Survivors who had crept back and lived in fear of the birds occupied a few of the village sites. They spoke little. None had seen any birds for weeks now, and they were slowly rebuilding, but warily, ready to run again, and no one had any food for sale.

As if in compensation, there was good hunting along the road. The grass had grown high enough that their animals could graze with little effort, and not far from the road were rabbits and quail. Springs were frequent. Day followed day.

 

It was the twenty-eighth day. They camped near a village of ruins where a dozen men and women struggled to survive. They needed tools, and Ern gave them some, although the villagers had nothing to trade. “On account,” Ern said. “You can pay when we come back through.”

That night at camp, Ern reminisced about previous travels on this road. “A village every two days, three days at most between them. Hot food. Fodder and forage all gathered and ready for sale, and good prices, because if anyone charged too much, another village would open close by. And it was all peaceful and orderly, patrolled by soldiers.” He shook his head sadly.

Sandry said, “I hear a lot about the Emperor, but he sure hasn't been able to protect these people.”

“We are not in his lands yet,” Ern said. “Not in the lands he rules directly.”

“When will that be?”

“Ten days,” Ern said. “Understand, the Emperor takes tribute here, and in Crescent City as well. There we have our mayor, and our tribute to the Emperor is light, but tribute there will be. Here there is a king who pays tribute. The king's soldiers kept order.” Ern shrugged. “Now we see no signs of soldiers or king.”

“And none of the Emperor,” Sandry reminded him.

“No, and I do not know why. Surely he has noticed that all trade to Crescent City has ceased.”

“And that he's not getting any tribute,” Clever Squirrel observed.

“Surely he knows that!” Sandry said. “Why hasn't the Emperor sent his army to look into the matter?”

Ern shrugged. “No one knows the ways of the Emperor. He does as he wills. Who can question him?”

 

On the thirty-fifth day, Ern pointed to the horizon. “That large rock, red like blood,” he said.

Sandry frowned at the distant object, staring until his mind realized how far away it was. It was big, and flat on top.

“There will be a village and factory at its base. The Emperor's lands begin there,” Ern said. “He will have soldiers there, and his people maintain the roads. From there to Aztlan, the wagons should be safe enough. I confess that I am relieved that we have not had to fight terror birds.”

“They were all at Crescent City,” one of the wagoneers said. “None left to devil us here.”

“More than enough,” another said. There were mutters of agreement.

“We're not there yet,” Sandry said.

“Four days,” Ern said. “Perhaps five.”

 

Clever Squirrel and Fur Slipper sat together, their eyes closed. They sipped strong hemp tea, and rocked back and forth in time to a wordless song. The whole wagon camp fell silent as everyone watched. Presently Fur Slipper opened her eyes. When she did, Clever Squirrel awoke with a start. She stared around without understanding, then saw Burning Tower.

“Ugh. That was vivid,” Squirrel said.

“Did you share a dream?” Tower asked.

“Yes. A strong one. Lord Sandry!” Squirrel called.

“Right here, Wise One.”

“There are bandits near,” Squirrel said. “I recognized them in my dream, but now I don't know who they are.”

“The survivors of Dust Devil village,” Fur Slipper said. “They had a caravan stop a day's travel ahead. Then the birds came.”

“Refugees from the birds,” Sandry said. “The birds attacked them and took their living, so they turned bandit?”

“Worse,” Clever Squirrel said. “The birds attacked them, yes, and killed some, but then…” She shuddered.

“I can't tell. They may have joined with the birds,” Fur Slipper said. “Their village remains. Perhaps they will invite us in for the night, but then they will summon the birds.”

Sandry digested this information and frowned. “Doesn't every wagon train have a shaman?” he asked. “How would they expect to befool anyone?”

“Perhaps not,” Fur Slipper said. “I would not have seen this vision.”

“And I would not have known its meaning, I think,” Squirrel said.

“Coyote's daughter,” someone muttered.

“No, Coyote is far away,” Squirrel said. “This is not his land. This land belongs to the birds. I think it has always belonged to their god. This was my vision. Coyote is not here.”

“We heard coyotes last night,” Sandry said. “And I saw three of them today. There are coyotes all around us.”

Squirrel said, “But coyotes are not Coyote. Coyote lives in the spirit world, and here the spirit world belongs to other gods. Coyote has a place here, but it is not so grand.”

“I don't think I understand,” Sandry said.

Fur Slipper smiled thinly. “I would not expect you to understand,” she said. “But know this: Clever Squirrel and I have shared a vision. There is danger beyond the next ridge at the stream crossing. There will be a village there, and they will smile and smile. And then the birds will come upon us.”

“Did you see them do that? See them bring the birds?” Squirrel asked.

“Plainly.”

“But I did not. In my dream, bandits crept on us at night to cut our throats in our sleep. There were no birds.”

“So this vision wasn't shared,” Burning Tower said. “Not really.” But she said it in a whisper so that only Sandry heard her.

“Ah, but I saw birds, and people bringing them. Headdresses with feathers. Men carrying talismans.” Fur Slipper signaled for her cup to be filled with water, and drank heartily. “Dreaming is thirsty work. Daughter of Coyote, I saw a little of that dream. You saw more than I. But I saw other wagon trains, and there were birds enough.”

“Have you seen what will be?” Sandry demanded. “How can it be, since we certainly will not sleep in that village?”

“Dreams are but dreams,” Fur Slipper said impatiently.

“So is it certain that Dust Devil has made common cause with the birds?” Ern demanded. “They have been at the crossing as long as I remember. They are said to have power over the wind. Perhaps the rain as well.”

“They served good stew,” one of the drivers said. “Lots of plants in it. Hate to miss that stew.”

Fur Slipper asked, “Would you ignore our warning?”

“We know well enough how to deal with bandits on the Hemp Road,” Burning Tower said impatiently. “How many will there be?”

“Squirrel, how sure are you of this vision?” Sandry asked. “How sure are you that these are enemies?”

Squirrel and Fur Slipper answered in chorus. “Very sure, Lord Sandry.” They looked at each other and smiled thinly.

“The shamans are certain,” Sandry said to Ern. “Why should we let them attack us? Better we attack them.”

“No!” Ern was emphatic. “Although this is outside the lands of the Emperor, it is still within his protection. We may defend against bandits, but if we attack a village, the Emperor will know.”

Sandry said nothing.

“And if the Emperor knows only that we have attacked his village, he will never listen to us. He will send his army, and we will all be killed.”

“He has sent no army to defend the ruined villages behind us,” Sandry said.

“I know,” Ern said. “And I don't know why. But Lord Sandry, we dare not earn his wrath! His vengeance can be terrible! Those villages”—he waved toward the road they had come up—“are behind us. This is close to his border, and now we go into the heart of his domain! And he will know, Sandry. He knows everything. He will know if we defend ourselves—and he will know if we attack unprovoked.”

“That makes it a bit harder,” Sandry said. Burning Tower looked at him quickly. “Quite a lot harder, actually.”