Burning Tower (7 page)

T
hey were packing the wagon train. Boxes of boxes, everything designed to fit into the wagons for moving, or under them as defensive walls, or outside the wagons to form the elaborate nests the wagoneers lived in.
A craft of great skill,
Sandry thought.
It would take a long time to learn all the details of that nomadic life.

But if a
Lordkin
had learned that, so could a Lord.

And even if—He snorted.
Horses, I know. Not bison, and I'm no merchant. And where would I get a wagon?
But he kept watching Burning Tower as she helped her brother pack the carpets into the wagon boxes.
She knows this life, and I don't, and—

“The horses are rested, Lord,” Chalker said. “Reckon it's time we got back to our duties.”

Sandry nodded. “Right.” He turned to Green Stone. “My thanks for your hospitality. We will see that everything is ready for you in Peacegiven Square. Water, hay, kinless to shovel and carry…” Amazing how much water the bison could drink, and how much waste they made.

Green Stone squinted at the sun. “We'll be there before dark,” he said.

“May I invite you to dinner? At my house. You and your household,” Sandry said.

“Oh, yes, please,” Burning Tower said, but her brother cut her off.

“Not tonight,” Green Stone said. “We'll be all night setting up the market. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then,” Burning Tower said eagerly.

Green Stone scowled at her for a moment, then relented. “Oh, all right, dinner in Lordshills tomorrow night, then. If we can get there. That wizard Morth says kinless ponies can't get up your hill.”

“They can't,” Sandry said. “But horses can. I'll have teams and wagons waiting. And of course you'll stay the night; I'll have rooms ready for you. How many will come?”

“Just us, I think,” Green Stone said. “Me, Blazes, and Twisted Cloud.”

“And Nothing Was Seen,” Burning Tower said. “I know he'd like to come.”

“Oh. All right,” Green Stone said.

Sandry caught the odd note in Green Stone's voice. What was that all about? “Wonderful. I'll have four rooms ready, then. Mother will be pleased to meet you.”

Green Stone and Twisted Cloud exchanged glances.

The ride back to Peacegiven Square seemed to take forever. Then there was a fire in the Grey Falcon territory, and Sandry had to go to make sure that the Dirty Birds and Snakefeet didn't get into a turf war. Wanshig's Firemen were shorthanded because of the losses to the terror birds, and it took all afternoon before they were sure it was completely out and the kinless cleanup crew could be left to finish the job.

“Bad one,” Wanshig said. “Cold drink?” He indicated the door of the Serpent's Walk guild hall.

“Thank you, yes.” He followed Wanshig inside. Few Lords had ever seen the inside of any Lordkin building. Of course not many would want to. “Tough one, all right, and it's going to get worse when the Devil Winds whip up,” Sandry said. “You're going to need more men.”

Wanshig shrugged. “Yes, Lord, and I can get a few, but…”

He didn't have to finish the sentence. It wasn't all that hard to find Lordkin who wanted to be Firemen. The tough part was finding Lordkin who wanted to be Firemen but wouldn't use the position to steal, and would fight fires outside Serpent's Walk, and…

“Falcon Chief said he's got men who want to be Firemen,” Sandry said casually.

Wanshig nodded. “I know.”

“Even says his people would work with yours,” Sandry said.

“I'll think on it, Lord.”

And so will we,
Sandry thought. There were advantages to having Lordkin bands work together, but too much cooperation among the bands might be dangerous too.
Reggy would have leapt at the chance, but it's too big a decision for me.

“A favor, Lord,” Wanshig said suddenly.

“You've earned anything within reason.”
Not something to say lightly,
Sandry thought. He had learned to trust Wanshig as much as you could trust any Lordkin, but that wasn't very far…

“Secklers. He's the man who used his shirt to help catch that bird. He's got a kinless girl pregnant,” Wanshig said. “He still cares about her.” Wanshig said that with a note of disbelief. “I guess he does too, since he asked me to help. But I can't. Her people will throw her out, and he can't bring her home either. Maybe you could find her a job in Lordshills?”

Sandry thought about that. It wasn't an unusual situation, but that was the trouble—it happened often enough that there wasn't room enough in Lordstown and Lordshills put together to hold all the careless progeny of the Lordkin. But this was an opportunity to have a powerful Lordkin leader in his debt. “Yes, I think that can be arranged,” Sandry said. “It won't be easy.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

It was impossible to read Wanshig's expression. Sandry had learned that the Lordkin were good at playing games with the Lords Witness. They even had a term for it:
messing with the lordheads.

“Will there be more of those birds, Lord Sandry?”

“I don't know. The Wagonmaster says there have been more this year than in all his years before. So probably.”

“Could cost us some,” Wanshig said.

Sandry nodded.

“Anyone in the wagon train know what those things are?”

Sandry shook his head. “Not that they told me. But thanks to you and your man—Secklers?—we have a live one. Maybe a wizard can tell us something about it. Or the wagon train shaman, the woman who…” He stalled.

“Lord?”

His mouth had run away with him. “Claimed to have mated with a god.”

Wanshig looked impressed. “Happens, sometimes. Outside.”

And was Wanshig putting him on? The Lordkin looked serious. And he'd been outside the basin, two or three years at sea, before coming back to Tep's Town, so he knew more about the world than Sandry. Gods didn't mate with humans in Tep's Town or Lordshills.

“Not to change the subject, but when do we expect Lord Regapisk back?”

“Never.”

“Ah?”

“The Lord Chief Witness has found other duties for Lord Regapisk,” Sandry said formally.

“Vanished him, did they? And what's the blood price for a Lord?”

“High, and I didn't say what assignment they gave him,” Sandry said. “But it's not likely you'll ever meet him again.”

Wanshig's smile grew broader. “Manning an oar, then. His skills may be up to that.”

“Just make sure none of your people try that on me,” Sandry said.

Wanshig looked at him sharply. “Try what? Well, okay, but when the gold fever takes a man—”

“Gold fever be damned,” Sandry said. “There was no magic in that gold. How could there be? Every bit of manna was used up, by Morth to keep up his speed, by the water sprite chasing him, by Yangin-Atep himself! There's no magic in it. It's no more than precious dust.” Sandry reached into a bag—two sets of warriors tensed—and pulled out a fist-size ball of scorched glass. “Do you recognize this?”

Wanshig considered; then: “Magicians have been turning up everywhere since Yangin-Atep went myth. One sold me this. Someone gathered it before I could use it. Where did you find it?”

“In the ashes near Glegron's body. It's magic, isn't it?”

“It's supposed to make gold dust cling to itself, into one glop. Like to like. I never had the chance to try it.”

“It wouldn't work,” Sandry said. “I don't know a lot about magic, but I know that much. Once the magic is gone, charms and ornaments and magic tools don't work.”

Wanshig shrugged.

A year ago, Whandall Feathersnake had drawn maps all over the floor of the big dining hall. Now, Sandry was startled to see something tiny in motion on one of the maps. When he looked directly at the map, nothing happened, but if he looked away and then back again, something had changed.

“The wagon train,” Sandry said. “It's moving into town. How long has your map been doing that?”

“Always did since Whandall drew it,” Wanshig said. “Or at least since Yangin-Atep's been gone.”

And I'll have to talk to the Lordshills wizards about it,
Sandry thought. Could this be dangerous? But Lordkin were never wizards. Learning wizardcraft took years of study and hard work, and Lordkin didn't do either. Not much danger they'd start now.

 

The wagon train came in late afternoon, accompanied by a cloud of chattering kinless and some hulking Lordkin looking for a chance to gather. They were escorted by Younglord Maydreo, and Lord Hargriff, and Peacevoice Fullerman with a fresh squad in newly polished armor.

Sandry watched them from the comfort of his outside table at the inn. Order in confusion. Boxes came off the wagons to form living quarters, storefronts, goods tents. Cookfires were lit, and a cooking pot bubbled with the smell of red meat as they cooked the terror birds. The feathers had already been collected and stored away. Wagon traders wasted nothing.

How long would it take to learn how to be a part of that? Too long. It would never work.

Could she live here? What would Mother say? Nothing—she barely notices if I come or go. But Aunt Shanda!

A flat board from a wagon's side was laid on a box to become a wide table. Travelers spread it with tiny glass bottles, scores of them, too tiny to be of use, but pretty. Bordered around them, the travelers laid small, burned-looking stones.

“May I have some tea, please?”

She had startled him, but Sandry was already grinning when he turned. Before he realized what he was doing, he jumped up and took her hand as if he were first meeting her, and then they were both grinning. But he'd have to let go to clap for tea, and he didn't want to.

But the kinless waitress had heard and went inside with a knowing smile. Neither Lordkin nor kinless were ever supposed to know anything about the private lives of Lords or even that they had private lives. And Sandry couldn't make himself care despite what Aunt Shanda would say if she'd seen this.

“Finished setting up?” he asked.

“For a while. My brother wants me to get into costume and do a performance before dark, get the crowds wanting to come to the market tomorrow.”

“No danger they won't come,” Sandry said. “I don't think there's anyone doesn't know the caravan is here.” He grinned. “But don't let me stop you. I love to watch you, but I'm scared for you. It looks dangerous.”

She shrugged. “Not as dangerous as it looks. Ropes don't usually care. I mean they do if you don't take care of them, but we're always careful. They're
our
ropes; my cousins made them.”

Sandry looked at her carefully. She was chattering, just as he had been, but about what? His mind caught up. “You mean the hemp.”