Burning Tower Page 6

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  Chief Wanshig

  They were packing the wagon train. Boxes of b
oxes, 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.”