Burning Tower (6 page)

A spurt of speed, and Chalker thrust at the bird. The spear went home, and the bird dropped, pulling Chalker out of the chariot and onto the ground. He made a loud
thud!
as he fell heavily to the ground beside his victim. The bird flopped around, spurred feet kicking, toothed beak opening and closing, and Sandry had to look to his driving.

The last bird was closing on Tower and her mount. She led it directly toward the wagons. At the last moment, she turned the pony and leaped from its back onto the wagons. The one-horn put on more speed…

And the bird crashed against a wagon. As it did, a dozen stones flew. Some hit it. A wagoneer, big, big as a Lordkin, leaped off the wagon. Another, smaller, jumped down waving a blanket. They spread out, taunting the bird. It turned toward the smaller one with the blanket.

Sandry urged the horses forward. They didn't want to close with the bird. “Can't blame you,” Sandry said through his teeth. “On! On, ladies!”

The wagoneer threw his blanket. It settled over the bird's head. The big one—Green Stone, that was his name, Tower's brother, Sandry remembered. Big, big as a Lordkin. And nearly as strong. He had a big knife, like the Lordkin knives but better made, sharp, and he swung it at the bird just as Sandry's chariot reached the scene. Sandry hurled a short spear into the bird, but it wasn't needed. It was down.

He looked back. Chalker was limping, but he was upright, and that bird wasn't.

Down. All down.

And there was Burning Tower. Here. And she'd been riding a one-horn, and everyone knew what that meant. Sandry was ready to cheer.

“W
elcome,” Green Stone said. “We have not set up facilities for receiving guests, but we freely share what we do have.”

It sounded like a formal speech. Was that because Green Stone was speaking in the Lordkin dialect of Tep's Town? He'd have learned that from his father, but it could hardly be the language he used most. There'd be no need for that along the Hemp Road. But there was more to it than that. Someone had told Sandry that hospitality offered was a big deal to the wagon people.

“Come in, come in!” Burning Tower was jumping excitedly, chattering. “It's good to see you! I told you we'd be back. Did you come to meet us? Did they tell you I was here?”

She was wearing a leather skirt over the leggings she'd worn when she rode. It was tattooed leather, painted over with suns and tents and wagons and exotic birds, all painted in colors, far too fine a garment to be worn fighting. Sandry was certain she couldn't have been wearing that when he first saw her. Her long brown hair was flowing free now. Brown, but it flashed red in the sun when she turned. She'd had it in a queue when she was riding. She was wearing soft leather slippers, beaded with tiny shells, over her perfect feet.

“You are a gracious host, Wagonmaster,” Sandry said. “We will return your hospitality as soon as feasible, and all is ready for you at Peacegiven Square. Or—well, it's not my place to invite you, but I'm sure that if you would care to bring your caravan farther toward the harbor, we can find accommodations nearer Lordshills. Tower, it is great to see you!” He knew he was grinning like a fool. “I was hoping you would come, we waited, but then we thought you would not be here this year, the caravan was late. And I didn't know you were here, I learned that when I learned the monsters were attacking, then I came as quickly as I could, it is great to see you—”

Green Stone looked from Sandry to his sister and back again and sighed. “We were late because this is the fourth attack of terror birds we've had to fight off, Younglord Sandry.”

“Lord,” Chalker said carefully. “Your pardon, Wagonmaster. Lord Sandry has been made a Lord since you were here last. He is chief of the Fire Brigades.”

“Oh, good!” Burning Tower said. “Was it the battle with the Toronexti? You were wonderful then!”

“You were too,” Sandry said. She was glad to see him! Really! “You burning the old charter, that's what won the war.”

“Are the terror birds all defeated?” Green Stone asked.

Sandry nodded. “As far as I know, there were twelve. Eleven are dead and one is in a cage. Do you think there were more?”

“No, that's more than we counted,” Green Stone said. He ushered them toward a place in the shade, where carpets had been spread to sit on and a fire blazed in a big ceramic bowl. There was a tea kettle on the fire.

The wagoneers clustered around them. They all seemed young, older than Burning Tower but younger than her Wagonmaster brother. Most were dark and short, with a queue hanging down their backs, some to their waist. Sandry was average height for a Lord, but much taller than the wagoneers. Sandry had learned that most people outside the Valley of Smokes looked alike, like these who called themselves the Bison Tribe. There were other tribes, but there was no way to tell them apart except by paint and ornaments and feathers, which Sandry didn't know how to read. But they were all one kind of people.

Then there were the others who were not. Green Stone, who was as big as any Lordkin but bore the ears of a kinless. Not surprising, given his ancestry, Lordkin father and kinless mother, no kin to the Bison Tribe people at all. But Burning Tower didn't look much like her brother. She was much shorter and smaller, more kinless than Lordkin, but she could also pass for one of the Bison Tribe. Why not? Sandry thought. Bison Tribes and kinless had to be related, they were both here when the fair-skinned Lordkin giants came following a fire god and wandering southward seeking a land they had been promised but might never find. A land of perpetual green with no winter snow. A land where gathering was good and one never had to work.

Well, we found that for them,
Sandry thought. And from the stories, it had been a good life: kinless did the work, Lordkin lived by gathering from kinless, and Lords governed. Lordkin were convinced the kinless wouldn't work without the Lords, kinless convinced the Lordkin would slaughter them all if the Lords didn't prevent it. And the funny part was that it was all true, Sandry thought.
The Lordkin really would take everything if we didn't stop them, and then the kinless would just stop making anything and everyone would starve.

“Old charter,” Green Stone said. “The one that gave the Toronexti rights to steal. Burning Tower set fire to it.”

Sandry nodded. “Yes. Magnificent. It was law. Written, witnessed, and sealed.”

“I never understood why that was important,” Green Stone said. “Please to be seated, My Lord. We will have tea served. And your—” Green Stone gestured.
Get your armsman seated before he falls over.

“Well, thank you,” Chalker said. He was still gray. “With My Lord's permission—”

“Please,” Sandry said.
You look awful, and I won't say that.

They sat on the spread carpets, the Bison Tribe men easily, with legs crossed. Sandry sat stiffly, his legs out in front of him. It seemed awkward to sit without furniture. Chalker reclined like a bag of oats, smiling cautiously.

“It is important because without law, there is nothing but chaos,” Sandry said. “If each does just what he wants to do, does what seems right in his own eyes, nothing works. Surely you know that?”

“Maybe, but we don't write it all down and act like it can't ever change,” Green Stone said.

“Sometimes we do,” Burning Tower said. “Some things never change, never will change, and they may not be written down, but they might as well be.”

“Like what?” Green Stone demanded.

“Like—like girls having to harness a one-horn before a wedding,” Burning Tower said. Then she blushed.

So it is true, Sandry thought.
True, true, it's all true, and she was riding that one-horn. She wanted me to see her ride it. It's all true, and it's wonderful.

“Well,” Green Stone said, “so you're inviting us to bring the wagon up to Lordshills? Reckon not. Peacegiven Square was good enough for my father; it'll be good enough for us.”

So,
Sandry thought,
that old quarrel, and they haven't forgotten.
“Fair enough,” Sandry said. He waited as Tower poured tea. It smelled of sage, with just a twinge of hemp and wild honey. “Terror birds, you called them. You have a name for them. Are they common?”

Burning Tower looked to her brother.

“Didn't used to be,” Green Stone said. “Used to be you wouldn't see even one most years.”

“You had a costume—”

“Yes, yes, I still have it. I'm glad you remembered,” Burning Tower said. “It was Mother's. My father killed that bird on his first trip north with the wagon train. Mother wore it as long as she was performing, then she gave it to me.”

Performing. That was the first time I looked at her,
Sandry thought. On a high rope doing somersaults. She'd fallen, and he caught her. He tried to imagine Roni or any other Lordshills girl doing that, and he couldn't.
They might learn how, but they'd never put on a show, and they certainly wouldn't talk about
performing.
And I never thought about that sort of thing before.

“But this year we've seen more terror birds than I saw all my previous years put together,” Green Stone went on. “Bunches of them, five, ten, a dozen this time, all trying to kill anything that moves.”

“They seemed to be after the horses,” Sandry said. “Do they attack yours?”

Green Stone looked thoughtful.

“We don't have horses,” Burning Tower blurted out. “No one does. Yours last year were the first horses I'd ever seen.”

“But you can ride!”

“Boneheads,” she said. “They're rare too, but there are some for sale up and down the Hemp Road. But no horses.”

Green Stone looked as if his tea had gone sour.

His sister grinned. “Rocky doesn't want me to tell you things like that. He wants to trade for information.”

Sandry frowned. “Like tellers trade stories?”

She grinned again. “See! I told you the Lords don't do things that way,” she told Green Stone.

“Well, no,” Sandry said. “We don't have many secrets.”

“Actually, I'm surprised you didn't know already,” Green Stone said. “But then who would have told you? We were the first real wagon train into Tep's Town.”

Sandry nodded. Any sea captain might have said something. Maybe one did and no one thought it was important, because what could anyone do about it? They sure couldn't ship horses out on boats. “So you'll be buying horses,” Sandry said.

“Maybe. If the price is right,” Green Stone said. “Lord Sandry, here is Twisted Cloud, Shaman of this caravan.”

Sandry stood. Twisted Cloud was dressed in a leather skirt decorated with whirlwinds. Her hair was in two dark braids that hung below her shoulders. Sandry guessed her to be Aunt Shanda's age, although it was hard to tell, because there was no gray in the stark black hair, and no wrinkles on a face dark as well-tanned leather.

Visiting wizards had described caravan shamans in contemptuous phrases: hedge wizards specializing in minor spells such as food preservation and divinations, in contrast to the real wizards, who could build palaces overnight and create armies of the dead. So they had said, but Sandry had never seen a wizard
do
these things. There was never enough magic in Lordshills or in all of Tep's Town. A few wizards had brought fetishes and talismans, a few could heal hurts that weren't serious—itches, a boil—and one had made rain from early morning fog, but for the most part, the tales of great magic were only stories.

When Sandry bowed, Twisted Cloud caught his hand. She stared at it for a moment, then grinned slightly.

“Wise one, what did you see?” Burning Tower asked eagerly.

“Little,” Twisted Cloud said. “My father read secrets better than I, and my daughter better than Hickamore ever could. But this one has few secrets to read. All his names are known, and his wishes are plain to all. Green Stone, you may forget your fears.”

Sandry felt himself blush. “Only Lordkin have secret names in Tep's Town,” he said.
And that's silly. They know that—Whandall Feathersnake is Lordkin himself.
“Lords have little need for secrets. As I said.”
And as they must know, so why bring their wizard to me? And what fears did Green Stone have? Oh—

Green Stone clapped his hands. He seemed much friendlier as he said, “Bring food for our guests. Welcome, Lord Sandry, to the lesser Feathersnake caravan.”

“Thank you,” Sandry said. “But duties call. Bordermaster Waterman may need help.”

Burning Tower smiled. “Why? You've won, the terror birds are all dead, and from what I remember of Master Peacevoice Waterman, he can take care of himself.” She glanced significantly at Chalker. “Do rest a while and have some refreshment.”

Sandry glanced up at the sun. Incredibly, it was not yet noon.

Green Stone nodded. “We'll have plenty of time to pack up and get to Peacegiven Square before dark,” he said. “And even if we hurried, we couldn't be there in time to set up a market today. Be welcome, Lord Sandry, be welcome.”

Very friendly.
He must have really been worried. That we'd rob him?
“Thank you, then.” Sandry sat on the carpet again. “Leading a caravan must be hard work.”

“It can be,” Green Stone said. “It's the details to keep track of. And now these terror birds.”

“No idea where they come from?”

“No.”

“From the south,” Chalker said. “When I was a boy, I had a hat with terror bird feathers, and my father told me he bought it in Condigeo off a merchant from further south. Down the Golden Road,” he said.

“Outside Coyote's lands, then,” Twisted Cloud said. “I believe that. I can't think Coyote would be silent if they came from his turf.”

“Coyote—the god, not the animal? He talks to you?” Sandry asked. He tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“To my daughter, to Clever Squirrel,” Twisted Cloud said. “Sometimes to me, since he fathered my child.”

Sandry looked at her in wonder. No one else seemed startled or surprised.
These people are strange,
Sandry thought, and felt a shiver. Then Burning Tower laughed, and he forgot his fears, and the hour passed too quickly.