Burning Tower (48 page)

H
is part in the wedding had been small enough, but he thought he had played it well. Regapisk, Lord and king's companion, stood in the shadows as the butterflies swirled around Sandry and Tower. He was glad of the shade. King Arshur sat on his golden throne in full sunlight.

The king was very drunk. With Arshur, it was hard to tell, but Regapisk had been with the northman long enough to recognize the signs. Drunk and trying to pay attention. In that condition, Arshur could be struck by the whim to do anything, say anything, and Regapisk wasn't close enough to stop him. He tried to move closer, but guards and lesser priests barred his way.

The wedding was done, and Arshur hadn't embarrassed himself. Regapisk felt relieved. This would be over soon, and he could turn Arshur over to Annalun and her virgins to let the king sleep it off.

They weren't done with Sandry. Sandry was pushed out to kneel beside the king. They gave Arshur another drink—big mistake, that—then the Emperor held out a cup to Sandry. “He accepts!” the Emperor shouted. And the crowd screamed approval while Arshur blinked in the bright sun, then seemed to slump down on his throne.

Regapisk didn't like the pattern he could almost see emerging.

Jaguar's priest stood in the center of the platform. His voice boomed loudly, but echoes made it hard for Regapisk to understand what he was saying. “The day when we send the king to plead with the gods for us!” What did that mean?

It became all too clear.

“People of Aztlan! Rejoice! King Arshur goes to the gods!”

And they dragged Arshur out to that slab. Regapisk reached for his sword, but he didn't have one, and the guards stood all around him, watching him, not watching the king.

For a moment Arshur seemed to come alive. Arshur always came through! He was Arshur the Magnificent. No one could—

Regapisk screamed as the black obsidian knife flashed in the sun and the Emperor tore out the king's heart.

One of the lesser priests put his hand on Regapisk's shoulder. “It is done,” the priest whispered. “Your friend is with the gods. Rejoice.”

Rejoice.
Regapisk stood mute, his knees ready to buckle under him. There was nothing he could do! Nothing! And he knew it was true, but it didn't seem to help.

 

The crowd was cheering for King Sandry. Burning Tower looked horrified.
Well she might,
Regapisk thought. He turned to the lesser priest and asked, holding his fury in check, “How—how long before they send King Sandry to the gods?”

“At least four years,” the priest said. “Always in the Year of Jaguar. Perhaps eight. We have known kings who reigned well. Hessinge of Bird City held the throne sixteen years before there were troubles that only the gods could repair. Your Sandry looks to be another such.

“Will you be his companion?”

“If he'll have me,” Regapisk said.

They led Regapisk out to stand next to Sandry, Burning Tower on one side, Regapisk on the other. The Emperor himself drew back in the shadows.

“Take the king to his throne, King's Companion,” Jaguar said. “King Sandry, will you have Burning Tower as queen?”

“She's my wife forever,” Sandry muttered.

“King Sandry proclaims a queen,” Jaguar shouted. “Hail Burning Tower!”

The crowd roared again.

Sandry looked warily around. No way out. He let them lead him over to the throne. Burning Tower sat at his feet, and Regapisk stood to his right behind the throne, where he'd thought he would stand for King Arshur, only they'd pushed him aside.

Eight guards had carried the great stone slab away. All the blood was gone. There were flowers and butterflies everywhere, and the sun shone down from clear blue skies. Joyous music, joyous shouts from the crowds. Great tears rolled down Burning Tower's cheeks. Regapisk, Lord and king's companion, felt his own tears come.

“Hail, King Sandry! Hail to the king and queen! People of Aztlan, rejoice!”

S
andry sat quietly on the golden throne and tried to ignore the shouts of the crowd and the buzzing in his head. Out on the platform, the Emperor and various priests were making proclamations, but they'd left him here with companion and queen, in open view but with no one nearby. He had time to think.

Burning Tower was crying. Sandry didn't blame her, but that wasn't going to help. What could they do?

“You'll have four years.” Regapisk's voice was low and urgent. “At least four, maybe eight, and one king lasted sixteen.”

“This happens to every king?”

“I think so.”

“How long have you known this?”

“Less than a breath.” Regapisk sounded hurt. “Do you think I wouldn't have saved Arshur? Or tried?”

“Sorry, Cousin. I was distracted.”

“They were all over me. Anyway, Arshur always gets away. You know the stories…”

Burning Tower looked up at him in fear. “Sandry, what will we do?”

“For now, nothing,” Sandry said. “Let me think. Shut it, Reg.”

“I have a way out of here,” Regapisk said.

A flash of hope, then reality.
Another Reggy story.

I am king. I'll have soldiers, and I can go out of the city. And they've got to have thought of that. This has been going on for hundreds of years; they must have had kings who tried to run away.

“I have a way out,” Regapisk said again.

“Tell me.”

“It's under Flensevan's shop. You were there.”

“The Emperor proclaims this a day of rejoicing!” Jaguar was shouting. “And the new king and queen have gifts for the Son of the Sun! We go now to receive them.”

The animals. Sandry had forgotten the animals.

“What is this way out?” Sandry demanded.

“A boat. An Atlantean boat,” Regapisk said.

“A boat. How many can it hold?”

“I don't know; it's a big boat.”

A boat,
Sandry thought. What had he heard about Atlantean boats? But it ought to be fast, as fast as the river, and that river ran fast.
As far as Crescent City! Get us to Crescent City ahead of the Emperor, and we're safe
enough—I know the way back to Condigeo. We just need a head start.

The Emperor and his son were leaving the platform, headed toward the baskets. The Emperor would go first. Then the king.
That will be me, and Tower, and Regapisk—

“Regapisk. Get Squirrel to that shop.”

“Sure. When?”

“Now. As soon as you can.”

“Sandry, the boat won't move without us. We can go anytime.”

“Maybe,” Sandry said. “And maybe not. Can you get Squirrel there now?”

“I'll find out,” Regapisk said. “I'll have to see to Flensevan and his son. It's their boat.”

“No one will care what they do,” Sandry said. “Tell them to go home while everyone is watching the next ceremony. You go with them, with Squirrel.”

“Right now?” Reggy whined.

“No better time,” Sandry said. The ghost of a plan formed in his head. “We'll give you as much time as we can. Now see to Squirrel.”

The Emperor had left the platform, and everyone was waiting. Sandry stood. “My queen.” He kept his voice low so that it wouldn't be picked up by whatever magic was making them heard throughout the city. “I am concerned for your sister.” Sandry gestured toward Clever Squirrel, who lay babbling in scattered sand on the big table.

“I will see to her, Majesty!” Regapisk said.

“If you please, Companion,” Sandry said. “Bring her now.”

Burning Tower held his arm. “What do we do?” The tears were gone, but she sounded scared.

She should be,
Sandry thought. “I may have a plan. It depends on Reggy.”

“It depends on Lord Regapisk?” She sounded more frightened than ever. Sandry nodded grimly.

 

Reggy carried Clever Squirrel like a rag doll. Her head rolled back and forth, and her arms twitched. As he carried her toward the basket, he came close to Flensevan.

“Go home. Now,” Regapisk said. “Take Egret.”

“Lord Reg—”

“No time. Just go. Is Pink Rabbit home?”

“Yes, watching the shop.”

“Get home—stay there. Keep both your sons there,” Regapisk said urgently.

“Poseidon protect us,” Flensevan muttered.

Regapisk followed Sandry and Burning Tower. He had to elbow some of the lesser priests out of the way.

“Do you wish assistance?”

Coyote's priest, his mask under his arm. He looked concerned. “The king told me to take care of her,” Regapisk said, “so I will.”

“Admirable. You will miss the ceremonies on the plaza.”

“There will be others,” Regapisk said. “I'll take her to the river. She needs water.”

“Water?” Coyote's priest sounded puzzled.

“Flowing water. Don't you know about such things? I'll explain it all tomorrow,” Regapisk said.

They were at the basket. Two guards leaped in with Sandry and Burning Tower. Two more baskets were filled with guards, then all three were lowered. The next basket was filled with priests, then the next.

Regapisk gestured to Flensevan. “Come.” He turned to the apprentices who controlled the baskets. “I carry the queen's sister,” Regapisk said. “Give me a basket. I will be accompanied by my friends.”

The apprentices looked around. No one contradicted Regapisk. “Certainly, King's Companion.”

Squirrel stirred and mumbled. “King. Goes to the gods. Tell Sandry.”

“He knows,” Regapisk said. “Be quiet just for a bit, please, Squirrel….”

The trip down the side of Mesa Fajada took forever. The great Temple Mesa still glowed like a burning tower in the afternoon sun.
Omen,
Regapisk thought.
An omen foreshadowing what?

But below stood the king's chariot, and next to it, a chariot for the companion. Everyone was following the Emperor and the king up to the Great Plaza, and no one cared when Regapisk claimed the companion's chariot. Flensevan and Egret held the babbling Clever Squirrel upright as Regapisk drove down toward the river, then, when no one followed, along the deserted streets to Flensevan's jewel shop.

Flensevan had been silent until they were well out of the palace. Then he asked, “What are we doing?”

“Sandry is going to run for it. In the boat.”

Egret looked startled and almost lost his grip on Clever Squirrel.

“Why am I not astonished?” Flensevan said.

“All right, why not?” Regapisk said.

“It happened before, you know. We used baskets to get Zephans out of the city. I think they have been suspicious of me ever since,” Flensevan said. “So. It is time to go. You say we will have wealth in Crescent City?”

“Fabulous wealth, and welcome in other places.”

“I have always wanted to travel,” Egret said.

“Yes, and I never did!” Flensevan said waspishly. He shrugged with his shoulders, his hands occupied with bracing Clever Squirrel against the side of the heavy chariot. “Seven, then. An auspicious number. You, Sandry, the Queen, my two sons, the shaman, and myself. In Atlantis, seven was lucky. This may be fated.”

“Will they pursue us?”

Flensevan laughed. “Of course. They will seek to keep the king alive, to capture him without harming him. As for the rest of us—” Flensevan shuddered.

The Wall of Hearts,
Regapisk thought.
I just hope Sandry knows what he's doing.

And he must be thinking the same about me!

 

Burning Tower held tightly to Sandry's arm as the basket dropped down the side of Mesa Fajada. She felt crowded by the two expressionless guards. Emperor's guards, humorless, not the friendly guards who had served King Arshur.

As if that made any difference. All these soldiers served the Emperor no matter what colors they wore. She didn't understand Aztlan, but she knew that much. When they named the Emperor the Supreme One, it was simple truth.

And Sandry was going to defy him. She didn't know what he would do, but Sandry would never submit to this.

Would he? She'd overheard enough of the stories, of Arshur and Regapisk and eight virgins, of the accomplished lady Annalun. Was Sandry tempted? He was king now, as well as her husband, and he could do anything he liked.
But he's not like that! He's still Sandry.

She held that thought as the basket descended.
He's still Sandry.

Four years,
Regapisk had said.
Four or eight or sixteen.
But Sandry wasn't going to wait. She wished she could talk to him, but the guards stood close by.

Hah! They wouldn't understand.
“My husband,” she said, using a word that a kinless of Tep's Town would use.

“Yes, my love? Do you think these Lordkin sons of donkeys will understand?”

“They think—”

Sandry sprawled at ease. “They think it's our wedding night, and they're right, and that's what they think we are talking about.” He put his arm around her and peered suggestively at her breasts. Butterflies stirred restively.

“So what will we do, my love?”

“I'll tell you in this tongue when I know,” Sandry said. “Until then, you are the frightened bride of the king.”

“A part I have no difficulty playing,” she said.

The Wall of Hearts loomed up before them as the basket touched the ground. Burning Tower shuddered.

 

The Emperor and his priests waited impatiently at the stairway to the Great Plaza. Everyone smiled and was pleasant. The only malice in those smiles was the common cruelty of a wedding day, when everyone schemed to keep the newly wed couple from being alone for as long as possible. They treated Sandry as king, but always there were fours of guards, impassive and unsmiling, armed with clubs and leather cords. Though they said nothing disrespectful, it was plain they would never allow a king to leave the city.

“We'll get this over as quickly as possible,” the Emperor said. He leered at Burning Tower. “The king will be impatient. I don't suppose you'll want the services of a Great Mistress tonight, Majesty?”

“I will have more than my share of happiness,” Sandry said.

“Discreet. I trust the ceremony was satisfactory?”

Burning Tower started to speak, but Sandry gripped her hand tightly. He said, “So far, indeed, Supreme One.”

“So far? There is more? What more?” the Emperor demanded.

“It is only a small part,” Sandry said. “We come from far away in a land of hunters and barbarians. Has the Son of the Sun ever heard of Lordkin?”

“No.” The Emperor was impatient.

“The Lords have retained ancient customs that originated among the barbarians,” Sandry said. “You may enjoy this.”

They emerged onto the Great Plaza. The crowds were still in the stands. Vendors moved through the stands with buckets and dippers, and food rolled in corn shucks. From the sounds, the buckets contained intoxicants. Someone shouted a raucous obscenity, and everyone laughed.

Spike stood next to Sandry's chariot. He eyed the stallion with contempt, but when he saw Sandry he stamped and reared. “He doesn't like me,” Sandry said.

The Emperor smiled.

“And now the bride mounts her one-horn,” Sandry said.

Burning Tower hesitated only for a second. Two hands and an athlete's leap put her aboard Spike, settling like a feather. Spike turned to look her in the eye.

“And I stand in my chariot—” Sandry mounted the chariot. A guard jumped in with him.

“Careful of those gifts,” someone said importantly. The Emperor frowned.

“Now, Tower,” Sandry said. He used the kinless language. It sounded like he was chanting. “Ride to the shop, ride to my cousin, ride fast. Ride now!”

Tower shouted. Spike shook himself free of the young girl who had acted as groom, and darted across the plaza, long white veils streaming behind her, and a rainbow cloud of butterflies. The crowd roared.

“And I must capture the bride!” Sandry shouted the language of Aztlan. “I must do this without assistance! Hee-ah!”

Blaze and Boots darted forward at the command. At the same time, Sandry pushed the already unsteady guard. The guard lost his footing and fell off the back of the chariot, and rolled as if he'd practiced it, and came up smiling to watch Sandry drive his war chariot across the Great Plaza of Aztlan in pursuit of Burning Tower on her great white unicorn. It was easy to follow the trail of butterflies.