Burning Tower (13 page)

“We're told that the god Coyote is your father,” Wheereezz said. “Is this Coyote? And is he improving his portrait?”

“Yes, Sage,” Squirrel said.

“And,” Wheereezz roared, “have you any idea how much power your magic has used?”

“Yes, Sage—”

“Let's find out.” Wheereezz clambered up the slope toward the vast face. Sandry distinctly saw the eyes in the portrait move. The big man stood just beneath, his robes billowing in the wind.

“This girl is under my protection!” wheezed Morth of Atlantis. He was still edging his way down.

There was a flash of color: the eyes of the god blazed and pinpoints of light played across the robes of the accusing wizard. Sandry thought he heard a laugh.

“Although she may not need it.” Morth spoke quietly, but they all heard him.

“Not much gone,” Wheereezz said. “Not much power gone at all.”

“That's silly—forgive me, but it's not plausible,” the lean old man exclaimed. He moved away from the dots of light, but they followed him. He frowned. “Even gods must obey the rules here! This cursed cliff has been ready to fall on Meetpoint for a generation already. Now she's used up most of the manna in it!”

“If she had, I'd be rolling downhill in fishy form,” Wheereezz said, “and no god would be able to function here at all.” He grinned up at Coyote, then laughed. “Go ahead, Conal. Test it.”

Conal's jaw set hard. His hands wove a complicated series of passes. Pale rainbow fire spurted from between his fingers, in a spell that had been powerful enough to blind enemy armies a mere hundred years ago.

Conal glared at the apprentices around him. If any were thinking that they now had permission to try a few spells, that stopped them. “The magic's as strong as it ever was,” the Sage Conal said, biting down on his words. “She's used almost nothing. Girl, how did you do it?”

In a small, frightened voice, Clever Squirrel said, “But there's no great magic here. Rock wants to fall. The cliff is already crumbly, can't you tell? I just tell it where to crumble. You don't have to be a mighty wizard if you're making things do what they want to do anyway. Rock sculpture is easy. We in Bison Tribe use it to mark a trail.”

Conal was aghast. “Can all caravan shamans do this?”

“Anyone can mark a crumbly rock, sure, or tell a tree to write a sigil with its branches. Main Man is a better artist than me, but he can't work this large.”

“Very well,” Wheereezz said. “Can you prepare a lecture on your style of magic? We have a slot open day after tomorrow—”

Before she could answer, Sandry said, “No. I'm sorry, really, but we need Clever Squirrel in Tep's Town as soon as possible.”

Rage ran across Squirrel's features, and Sandry suddenly perceived the young woman's power. “Who do you think you are, Lord Sandry of the Burning City? Remember where you are!”

Burning Tower spoke up. “Squirrel, it's true. You're needed. We came all this way to get you.”

“I might have a solution,” said Schoolmaster Wheereezz.

S
quirrel chattered as they made their way back down the hill. “Morth was already gone when I got to Carlem Marcle. I stayed at Rordray's Attic for a night while I waited for a ship to Blackhawk Bay and Avalon. I sent Seshmarls to Whandall with messages. No point trying to get you a message in the Burning City!”

“No,” Tower said.

The bird Seshmarls was a magically endowed crow. Magic still ran thin in Tep's Town.

“But the idea was to meet the caravan in Condigeo, two weeks from now! Blazes, I've never seen Condigeo! And the wizards here have invited me to lecture!”

“Well, that worked out,” Twisted Cloud said.

“Oh, yes. They'll get a better look at roadside shaman technique if you do the talking. You've been at it a lot longer, Mother. And they'll have to give you a sigil and let you attend the other lectures. It all works out very nicely for
you.
How will you get home?”

“With Morth.”

“Uh-
huh.
Watch out for raw gold! But
I'm
missing classes, and Blazes, you never saw Condigeo either. Wouldn't you jump at the chance?”

Burning Tower shrugged. “Someday.”

“But what's this all about?”

Sandry didn't seem ready to speak, so Burning Tower said, “Terror birds.”

“What about them? They're trouble, but you don't see them often.”

“We do now.”

“Where?”

“They attacked us just before we got to Tep's Town. And before that. You went west, we went south,” Tower said, “along the Hemp Road. We were past Last Pines when three birds attacked us.”

“Three?”

“Three, then four, then five. We'd reached the Firewoods by then. You know, it's lucky we had the practice. We were just through the Firewoods when
twelve
hit us. We circled for defense and held them off. Some of the birds charged off down the road into Tep's Town. Sandry killed them all but one, and caged that one.”

“They killed more than thirty people,” Sandry said. “They're bigger than horses and better armed than most Lordkin. We killed six and captured one alive, Lordkin Firemen and Waterman's tax squad and my boys all working together. The Bisons got the rest. A couple of our wizards—” He stopped for a moment. Tower too had seen Squirrel's momentary grimace. “Such as they are,” Sandry said carefully, “they looked the bird over and couldn't find what's made them enemies. Twisted Cloud looked—”

“I can't either,” Cloud said.

“The birds are a threat to Bison Tribe and Tep's Town both. Now, you know that birds that big won't hunt together. They'd never get enough to eat,” said Sandry. “It has to be magic, doesn't it? They're
sent.
And if expert wizards can't find a wizard's tracks in this matter, then he must be very good at his job, yes? So the thing is, we want you to look this bird over quick, before it dies or escapes on us. We want the best, and that seems to be you.”

 

The inn was on a hill overlooking the harbor. There were a dozen and more rooms, all different. One was a cave. Another was built on a platform at the top of a tower. Three stood side by side off a patio with a view of the harbor. Sandry booked all three. “I'll take this one,” he said, pointing to the smallest. It was decorated with red lace and red hearts, and its usual purpose was obvious. Tower blushed slightly as Clever Squirrel suppressed a grin.

Dinner was served on the patio. Morth eagerly accepted an invitation to join them. Sandry sat next to Twisted Cloud, across from Burning Tower. He kept looking at her, and seeing that the others were watching him look at her, and feeling the warmth come to his face at the realization. All his life he had been taught to hide his emotions, from the Lordkin especially, but from the servants and kinless and the soldiers too. Lords didn't have private lives.

But they knew love. Even Aunt Shanda, formidable Aunt Shanda, was in love with her husband. His father had loved his mother, and when he died, part of her had died.
We can love
….

Before dinner, there were tall drinks, mildly alcoholic, with a trace of hemp.

“Nothing strong, nothing to overwhelm the food.” The proprietor was a thin blond man of indeterminate age. His staff called him Wolf. Sandry wondered if he was a were. “This I learned from Rordray himself; it is the drink served in his Attic,” Wolf said.

“So it is,” Morth agreed.

“You are familiar with Rordray's Attic!” The proprietor jumped up and down. “I only met him once; I went to Carlem Marcle just to meet him. He was most gracious as a host.”

“And a bit stingy about sharing recipes?” Morth prompted.

“Yes, yes, of course, but I stayed three days and I tasted many of his plainer dishes. I was interested in the most plain because I thought I would learn them more easily. On the third day, Rordray himself joined me at table. ‘Learn to know what you like,' he said. ‘If you like it and you have good taste, your customers will like it also.' It was good advice, and now this is all I have left of the cuisine of Rordray's Attic. But I think you will like what I have.”

“Then I will let you choose my dinner,” Sandry said. “With thanks.”

The others agreed, and Wolf scuttled away happily.

“It's pleasant here,” Clever Squirrel said.

“Oh, yes,” Tower agreed. “I'd like to stay a long time.” She looked at Sandry when she said it.

Sandry laughed. “I can keep the ship over another night, but not longer. How would we get back?”

“Ride the mers,” Clever Squirrel said.

“You can't mean that!” Tower laughed. “It would be cold and wet!”

“But what a ride,” Squirrel said.

“There are boats to rent, and mers to hire,” Morth said. “Cheaper than the ships humans use, actually. And faster.”

“How did the mers get to be fish? Or dolphins?” Sandry asked.

Morth of Atlantis shook a head of red hair and laughed.

“Funny? I suppose so,” Sandry said. “You're looking well, Morth. Much younger than the last time I saw you.” The last time Sandry had seen Morth, the wizard looked to be a hundred years old, and dying of it, hair falling out in patches. Of course he had just done battle with a god and a water elemental and used the one to defeat the other….

“And older than the last time Twisted Cloud saw me,” Morth said. “I have more manna available in Carlem Marcle than they will allow me here.” He shrugged. “So I age a bit here. It's worth it for what I learn.”

“They're vicious about manna rationing here,” Twisted Cloud said.

“Yes, well, they have to be,” Morth said. “There's a small source here on the island. Hot springs. And some comes in currents in the sea. Enough to sustain the mers so long as they are very careful.”

“All this so they can turn into fish!” Tower said.

“No, no,” Morth said. He sipped his drink. “Refreshing indeed. Burning Tower, you have it backward. The mers are dolphins and orcas and swordfish who can turn into human beings. Not the other way around. Without manna they would be animals, not human.”

“So that's what Wheereezz meant up on the hill,” Tower said.

Morth nodded. “Clever of you to have noticed. Yes, precisely.”

“How do they enforce this?” Sandry said.

Morth laughed. “You grew up in a land without magic, Lord Sandry, so you have never had to face a wizard in his wrath. I assure you, your sword will do you little good against real magic in a land where there is manna.”

“His sword is cold iron,” Burning Tower observed.

“Yes, yes, that will help,” Morth said. “But he is not made of iron.”

“I hope not!”

Clever Squirrel laughed. “Well, well. Have you two come to an understanding, then?”

There was an awkward silence.

“No words have been spoken,” Tower said finally.

“Perhaps none need to be,” Twisted Cloud said. “You're awfully quiet, Lord Sandry.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Your mother likes Burning Tower,” Twisted Cloud said. “I saw that she did. So did you.”

“And she told me to be determined,” Tower said. “And I will be.”

Sandry looked down at the table.

“Lord Sandry is not entirely his own master,” Morth observed. “I lived among these people since before Sandry was born. Their ways are not the ways of any other people I know.” Morth shrugged. “But I can say this. The magic is coming back to Lordshills and Tep's Town, and that will change everything. Your old ways are doomed, Sandry.”

“And if we don't manage to deal with those terror birds, so are ours,” Twisted Cloud said. “Squirrel, you have to go back in the morning and look at that bird. It's not just for the Lords Witness of Tep's Town. If we don't do something about those birds, there won't be any more wagons on the Golden Road.”

T
he twilight was long and the sunset glorious. A magical place indeed, Sandry thought. He felt Burning Tower near him even after it became too dark to see.
Determined,
he thought.
She said she will be determined! And so will I be. If her people won't accept me, and mine won't accept her, the world is a lot bigger than I thought. We only have to be determined.

He paused, startled at his own thoughts.
I have decided,
he thought.
I want to marry this girl. Will she accept? She said she would be determined….

The sky was clear and black and full of stars, the way it sometimes was when the Devil Winds blew hard across Tep's Town. Morth and the girls had names for some of the stars. “And there's the Bear,” Burning Tower said. She stood next to Sandry to point to a group of stars. “That's his tail.” She moved closer so that he felt her warmth next to him. Her hand found his.

“Bears don't have tails,” Clever Squirrel said. “But still we call that the Bear. Morth?”

“We called it the Bear in Atlantis.” Morth shrugged. “There's probably a story that goes with that, but I don't know it.”

A trail of fire streaked across the sky to vanish behind the island. “Close,” Sandry said. He didn't let go of Tower's hand but used his left hand to point.

Morth laughed. “A hundred leagues, I would wager,” he said. “But I shouldn't laugh. I once thought as you do, that falling stars were close. We went looking for them on the plains in Atlantis. Found some, too, always much farther away then we thought. There's high manna in a falling star, even a small one. The king took half, and the guild took half of what was left, but even so, it was worth finding one. I once had a duel with a chap who thought he could claim a big one even though I reached it first….”

“Did you win?” Clever Squirrel asked.

They sat at the table and Sandry reluctantly let her go.

“I wouldn't be here if I hadn't,” Morth said. “The loser went to the minemasters.”

“Wizard slaves?” Twisted Cloud asked. “How?”

“There is always wizard work in the mines,” Morth said. “Keeping the shafts open. And losing a duel loses a lot of power.”

“I would think so,” Clever Squirrel said.

“Why?” Burning Tower asked. “Do you—did you do something to him after he lost?”

It was too dark to see Morth's expression. “No. I didn't, and neither did the guildmasters. They didn't
sell
Sorel to the minemasters; they found him a position there. He was happy to have it, a place where he had others to back him up if he miscast a spell.”

“Then what happened to him?” Tower asked.

“Think about it, Blazes,” Clever Squirrel said. “Suppose you had your doubts about ropewalking. Could you do it if you didn't think you could?”

“Oh.”

It was thoroughly dark now. “I suppose we ought to turn in,” Morth said. “Squirrel, may I walk you to your boardinghouse?”

“Thank you,” Clever Squirrel said. “Good night. I'll be down at the docks in the morning.” A porter appeared from nowhere. He carried a small lantern, which he offered to Morth. Twisted Cloud chuckled as she watched them go down the stairs to the streets. “That's a sight you would see only on Avalon, Coyote's daughter and an Atlantean wizard using a lantern in a land alive with magic…. I guess it's time for me to turn in too. Blazes?”

“I guess. Good night, Lord Sandry.” She didn't move from the table, and they sighed at the same time.

He thought of his gaudily decorated room and blushed slightly, glad that she couldn't see him. He stood. “Good night, Burning Tower.”

 

It was a bright and glorious morning. When Sandry came out to the patio, Burning Tower was already at breakfast.

He sat next to her. After a moment, their hands touched. “Good morning.”

“It's a wonderful morning!”

“But you're alone. Not that I'm sorry.”

Burning Tower grinned. “Aunt Cloudy said they have breakfast at the conference, but I think mostly she couldn't wait to show off her new sigil.”

There was a long silence. He looked at her, to see her quickly look away.
I need to say it,
he thought.
But not now.
It was awkward eating breakfast with one hand, but neither wanted to let go.

Maybe nothing needs to be said,
he thought. Not now.

 

Clever Squirrel, a porter, and an astonishing quantity of luggage were waiting on the docks. Everything was stowed away on the
Angie Queen,
and Sandry paid off the porter. Captain Saziff welcomed them aboard, and if he had any questions about one passenger being replaced by another with mounds of luggage, he kept them to himself.

 

Oarsmen rowed the ferry out of the bay. There a wind met them, blowing straight toward the mainland. Sails went up, and the oarsmen were allowed to put up their oars.

“There's something I need to do,” Sandry told Tower. “Do you see any stairs down into the oar pit?”

She looked at him oddly. “No. No, I don't.”

“They must be inside.”

“They don't let passengers in there.”

“I know. Excuse me.”

Sandry approached the nearest sailor and offered him wine.

The man refused. “That's okay for you passengers. We get caught with that on our breath—”

“Sorry.”

“That's all right, sir.”

“I'd like to talk to someone about buying one of the oarsmen free,” Sandry said.

The crewmen looked him over. “Tastes differ. Hey, you're from the Burning City, are you?”

“From Tep's Town, yes.”

“Uh-huh.” The man looked down into the pit, to pick out who might be this looker's brother or uncle. “Well. I don't sell oarsmen mysel'. You wait for shore, then you wait for tomorrow because the office is closed by the time we get in. Then you talk to someone there.”

Sandry nodded. “I'd like to talk to the oarsman first.”

“Why?”

Sandry kept his temper. “He might like it better here.”

The sailor was amused. “Yeah. Right. Come with me.” He turned away, turned back, and said, “Try not to be noticed.” He went to a low door marked with a rune:
CREW ONLY
.

A ladder let them out behind the Oarmaster's podium. The man jumped, dropped a loaf of bread, and reached for his whip.

Sandry held up his hands,
peace
, with a refined gold coin in the fingers. “I have the urge to talk to one of your slaves, sir.” He gave the coin to the man who had brought him here. To the Oarmaster he offered two.

The man didn't take them. He asked, “Now why would you want to do that? They're not a talkative bunch. Any particular oarsman?”

“Second on the port side.”

“Reggy?
Lord
Regapisk.
He's
talkative. You'd better talk fast, sir. That one'll be gone when next you look.” He took the coins.

“How so?”

“I don't like the way he talks. He doesn't think he's getting his due. He's disrupting the oarsmen. I'll tell the pursers, come next chance we get, he'll be off across the wide world on another ship. Relative?”

“Not quite,” Sandry said.

“My sympathies. Climb on down, but don't get too close to anyone. These are bad men.”

Sandry climbed a ladder down into the belly of the ship.

Some of the slaves were sleeping. Some were eating bread and dried fish. Sandry moved quietly between the two rows. Legs and arms didn't withdraw to let Sandry past, but no man threatened him.

He shook Lord Regapisk's shoulder. “Reggy,” he whispered. When Regapisk didn't stir, he tried, “Your Lordship.”

“Too early. Lemme sleep.”

“Too cursed late,” Sandry said.

“Sandry?” Reggy snatched at Sandry's wrist and sat up, then yelped, “Owoo,” on a rising note.

“What?”

“My back. Sandry, you've got to get me out of here.”

Sandry saw pink ridges crisscrossing Reggy's back.

“Sandry? You testified against me. I saw you.” Regapisk's whisper broke into a whine, then a whisper again. “What did I ever do to you?”

You cost me kinless houses, Lordkin lives, Lords' tribute, and my own broken word,
Sandry thought. But eyes had opened in the dark, and he just didn't feel like arguing in front of an audience of slaves. You couldn't win an argument with Reggy anyway.

“I'll buy you loose,” he said.

“Good,” said Regapisk. “Thank you. I'll pay you back when I can.”

“Sure.” Sandry was mentally adding up his funds. On his person: enough for bribes, enough to be taken seriously. What could he sell to actually raise the price of a man?

“As soon as I get home,” said Lord Regapisk. “They barred me from my own home, Sandry. How could they do this to a Lord?” He was still clutching Sandry's wrist, as if it were his only hope of safety. “
Why?
It was those cursed Lordkin who let the fire get past. I think I even figured out why.”

Had he really? “Morth's gold?”

“What? No. They're practicing, Sandry. They're planning to burn down Lordshills, and they need to know how to handle fire. Nobody in Tep's Town is used to fire. Somebody has to tell Lord Witness Qirama. The old man should have seen it himself!”

“Reggy, what were you told, before they put you here?”

“Told?”

“Were you told, ‘Don't come back'?”

“Curse it, Sandry, they didn't know!
They hadn't thought it through!
”

“There's a lot of that going around. When I buy you loose, what will you do, Reggy?”

Regapisk hadn't thought quite that far. Sandry watched him mull it. “I could hide at my father's house, but that wouldn't get anything done. I have to see Qirama! Qirama's men might not let me in if I try to see him at home. At the office, they'd just arrest me. Sandry, if I could stay with you? and you invite him to your home…?”

“Good-bye, Reggy.” Sandry pulled his arm loose.

“I want to think about this. I'll see you tomorrow?”

The Oarmaster was asleep on his perch. Sandry knocked, and watched to see the man jerk awake, before he climbed the ladder. He gave the man another gold piece and returned to the passenger spaces.

To release Regapisk now…he'd be crabmeat within days. Sandry sighed. Another broken promise.