Burning Tower (34 page)

“W
ill we fight men or birds?” Secklers eyed Sandry's heavy armor and noted the bow case and quiver in the chariot. Then he fingered his big Lordkin knife. “Looks like you expect men.”

“I do,” Sandry said. “But I don't know. The shaman said there would likely be birds as well.”

“So the lady can lead them around,” Secklers said. The big Lordkin waved at Burning Tower in her place on Spike. “I'll stay with the wagons. Lead them to me, Tower!”

When they left Tep's Town, Spike was a large gray kinless pony. Now he was a white stallion, larger than any horse Sandry had ever seen, and armed with a formidable spiral horn growing out of his forehead. When he was younger he had seemed attracted to Sandry's mares, but now he paid them no attention, to the enormous relief of the stallion Blaze. At one time Blaze had challenged Spike. Spike was much smaller then, and they were evenly matched until they were separated. Now Blaze avoided the one-horn, and Spike did not deign to notice a mere horse.

It was Sandry that Spike hated now.

“If there are birds,” Sandry said. He shaded his eyes to peer up the long gentle slope to the Dust Devils village two thousand paces ahead. The road ran right through the village, and the soil here was dotted with big chunks of crumbling black rock. Vegetation was sparse except for the high grass in the cleared areas on both sides of the road. It would be bad country for horses to run in, worse for chariots. Birds would have far less trouble.

Next to the village was a large fenced corral, also full of tall fresh grass. Smoke from cook fires rose straight up to the sky in the windless afternoon. There was no breeze to waft smells of stews and soups toward them, but it wasn't hard to imagine them. A stream ran invitingly along the far edge of the village. The village gates were wide open. A perfect place to stay.

As they drew closer, Sandry saw that the corral and much of the village fence was made of living plants, big broad-leafed plants, leaves as long as a man and nearly as broad at their base growing from a central stalk. Each leaf had a sharp spike at the end.

“Maguey,” Ern said.

“What's that?” Sandry demanded.

“They make mescal from it,” Fur Slipper said. “A drink fit for the gods, full of manna and strong with fire. A cup of that will make anyone see visions.”

“But there won't be any here,” Ern said.

The wagon train moved onward toward the town. No one had come out to greet them.

“Why not?” Sandry asked.

“This is the first village outside the Emperor's land that has been given the right to grow the maguey,” Ern said. “I remember when they earned that right.” He paused. “Another name for the maguey is the fifty-year plant. It produces the pulque only when it blooms, and it blooms every fifty years. Those plants are no more than a dozen years old.”

“How does it grow?” Mouse Warrior asked. “Will it grow anywhere?”

Ern shook his head. “I don't know. It grows only with permission of the Emperor. How they make it grow after he gives his permission is not anything I would know.”

“Maybe we can find out,” Whane said. “We have excellent gardeners in Lordshills, and the Emperor doesn't rule there. I'll see if I can find out.”

“Maguey may not grow without a spell,” Fur Slipper said. “Certainly the mescal will not be the same.”

“Is there manna here?” Sandry asked.

Regapisk had been listening quietly. Now he shaded his eyes and squinted toward the village. “Not much,” he said.

Sandry nodded indulgently and looked to Clever Squirrel. She shrugged. “As he says. No more than along other stretches of the road. Nothing special.”

“The road narrows. There's no way around their village,” Sandry said.

Ern agreed. “We would have to clear a path. The ground is too stony for wagons.”

And for chariots as well,
Sandry thought. “If we're going to fight, I want to do it here, with the sun behind us.”

“We can't just attack them,” Ern insisted.

Secklers grinned. “Let me go in and look.”

“And if they kill you?”

“I'll sure take some with me,” the big Lordkin said.

“I will come,” Arshur said. “How can they kill me? I will be a king.”

Secklers chuckled. “I'll be glad to have you with me, Majesty. Let's do it.”

“You won't speak their language at all,” Ern reminded him.

Secklers shrugged. “I can sure look around. And Arshur here knows some.”

Arshur was already striding ahead of the wagon train. Secklers scrambled to keep up.

Sandry took the big compound bow out of its case and strung it with an effort. He motioned to Whane to join him in his chariot. “Drive,” he said. “At a walk. Stay about fifty paces behind those two. If anything happens, we'll try to rescue them. Just get to them, let them get aboard, and run for the shield wall. Stay on the road; that's leg-breaker turf out there.”

“Yes, sir. It looks pretty quiet in the village,” Whane said.

A boy no older than Lurk came out of the gates and waved in welcome. An older man stood in the gateway. He shouted a greeting that Sandry didn't understand, but Arshur answered and laughed. A puff of wind whisked smells of hot stew toward them.

“Stop short of the gates,” Sandry ordered.

They halted. Moments later, Regapisk plodded by in his heavy chariot pulled by two mules. In the wagon with him were Mouse Warrior and one of the Crescent City youths Regapisk and his partners had hired as drivers. Sandry took in a breath to shout at him, then thought better of it. “Whane, if they try to close those gates, I'll use my bow to stop them. If I can.”

“I think you're worried about nothing,” Whane said, “My Lord.”

“We had a warning.”

“Sir. Yes, sir. Two women babbled a lot after drinking hemp tea,” Whane said.

“The shaman was right about the berries,” Sandry said.

“Sir. Yes, sir. And maybe about the undead or whatever she called them. And she was good with the fires in the big battle. But we all felt something was wrong, we all saw what was happening. This is just dreams.” Whane shrugged. “Sir, I dreamed we found a city of gold, and a lot of times I dream I can fly.”

Regapisk was well inside the gates now. His driver began to chatter excitedly with the villagers. There were more villagers now, and they weren't just women and children and old men. There were young men too, some armed with knives or axes but none of them in armor, and they were all mixed in with the women and children. Sandry frowned. “They sure look glad to see us.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

“You can omit the sarcasm,” Sandry said.

“Yes, Lord Sandry. But they do look glad to see us. If they're trying to fool us, they've done a good job on me.”

A pretty girl brought Arshur a bowl of soup. He drank heartily and offered it back to her. She blushed and drank more daintily. Another girl gave Regapisk a flask. Reggy drank deeply and smiled at her.

“And me too,” Sandry said finally. “Let's go back and get the others.”

 

They camped in the corral area. Sandry inspected the fence: a sturdy palisade of wood between stone pillars, and outside that a thicker fence of the spiky plant Ern called maguey. Each of the plants had more than a dozen leaves that tapered in thickness from as wide as a man's forearm at the base down to a finger-length hard thorn at the tip. It wasn't hard to cut the plant, but nothing large could come through that fence until a passageway had been cut.

For a moment he had visions of being trapped in there and burned the way he'd trapped the birds, but the ground beneath them was hard dirt cleared of the rocks. Nothing to burn there. Bales of fodder had been piled in one corner of the corral, and fountains poured water into basins, one large enough for animals to drink from.

“This is how I remember the Dust Devil village,” Ern said.

“Pleasant,” Sandry said. “Do you trust them?”

“Why should we not?” Ern asked.

“The shamans said—”

“I heard them,” Ern said. “And I always listen to the advice of our shamans, just as I listen to you. But I ask again, why should we not trust them? You see their young men, some armed, some not. Mouse Warrior has stood on the wagontops and searched and sees nothing. What is there to fear?”

Clever Squirrel had come up behind them. “I wish I knew,” she said. “But I agree, all seems well.”

“Do you often have false dreams of warning?” Sandry demanded.

“Seldom, and never shared with another. Such a thing would have to be
sent
.”

“We'll keep watch,” Sandry said. “The men will hate it but we'll do it, anyway.”

 

Supper was excellent. Visitors and villagers ate from the same stew pots and drank from the same pitchers. The stew was goat meat, strongly flavored, and a welcome relief to terror bird jerky. Afterward many of the village men joined them to sip tea and talk. Sandry understood none of the local languages but was surprised to see that Regapisk was conversing with the locals.

“You speak Aztlan, cousin?” Sandry asked.

“I do.” Reggy paused. “I learned from the wizard on the salt farm. I've always been good with languages.”

Sandry nodded, remembering. “So what are they saying?”

“We're the first wagon train from the south in a long time,” Regapisk said. “Several have gone south through here, but none have come back for nearly a year, and that's unusual. When we told them about the birds, they seemed surprised.”

“Surprised. Of course they'd say that,” Sandry said.

“Yeah, but you know, Sandry, I think they really were surprised. Anyway, they're glad to see us because there's been nobody to trade with, and they're afraid they'll get behind on their tribute payments. I gather that's not a good position to be in.”

“But everybody south of us will be behind,” Sandry said.

“Yep.”

“Don't these people know that not two days south of us the villages are all burned out?”

Regapisk frowned, and turned to one of the village headmen. They talked for a while. Then Reggy said, “Nah, they didn't know. Their place is here, so here they stay. They paid their taxes, the Office sends rain, and they waited for caravans to come through. Not their job to worry about why they don't come.”

 

At dusk Mouse Warrior mounted the wagontop to stare into the sunset. He saw nothing, and the night was peaceful. At dawn when he awoke, he shouted. “The bird!”

“Same one?” Sandry asked.

“Think so.”

They had seen the rooster every day since they set out. One huge bird spreading inadequate wings, always at a distance, and always on the road ahead of them.

F
ifty days out from Crescent City, Sandry began to keep a journal.