"So that much was true." The priest nodded to himself. "I thought sky-fire dropping from clear skies sounded a touch extreme."
Tycho had thought the ground ripping apart under the men's feet and swallowing them was extreme, but he was not a priest. "No, honored Father, no sky-fire. It snowed two days before, but the sky was clear and cold that day. The snow also disappeared from where the Liambruu priests had stood. They waved their hands and chanted, but nothing transpired."
"We," the priest gestured to the entire temple, "were saddened to hear that our southern brothers and sisters had gone so astray, but not surprised. When they declared all magic anathema, we send remonstrations, but they would not hear us." He sighed. "It can be very easy to mistake our desires for being the same as the gods', if we do not listen very closely."
Tycho had no response for that, so he nodded.
Footsteps sounded from beside the statue of Maarserbe, and the younger priest turned, bowing to a senior priestess. Tycho bowed as well. The lady carried a merchant's staff touched with gold, and wore a chain like that of a trading master. Maarserbe's Daughter nodded to the men. "Be welcome in the Traveler's home."
"Thank you, reverend Sister." As he straightened up, Tycho felt something moving in the air.
The priestess stared past him, her eyes looking into the far distance. "Watch, child of the Traveler, born to the Sea Lady. Watch and be ready, for I fear a time is coming soon when a spell breaker may stand when others fall."
The emperor had called him "Spellbreaker" in half-jest, during a private audience. Tycho wanted to fall onto the floor and beg to be excused. He was only a trader, all he wanted to do was trade and provide for his family as the gods commanded all men to do. Instead he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, taking deep breaths and trying not to shake.
The priestess shook all over instead, and her eyes resumed focus. She smiled a little. "Rise, please Tycho Rhonarida. Men may yet find wisdom and come to their senses, although I would not wager so." She shook her head. "If the great and powerful had as much sense as they have wealth, the world would be a calmer, happier place, but men are men. Power does not preclude folly, alas."
"Ah, no, reverend Sister, it does not." Neither did age always bring wisdom, although sometimes bodily aches and limitations stood in wisdom's stead.
She raised her free hand in blessing. "Go with the favor and grace of the Traveler, and may your path be smooth, your beasts sound, and your dealings prosperous."
Tycho bowed once more. "Thanks to the Great Traveler for all blessings past and to come."
As he left the temple and climbed down the steps to the street, Tycho mused yet again that he preferred living unnoticed. And that the gods could be a cryptic as some of the oldest records, the ones with faded ink and missing pages. Although, he probably preferred not knowing exactly what storms lurked over the horizon. Tycho considered matters, glanced at the display in front of a chandler's shop, and decided to send word to Gerta and Ewoud that more non-magic staples would be good trade investments, given Liambruu's last outburst.
Tycho visited the victuals market and after some serious thought sought out a seller of baked wares. The woman's little shop-shed backed up to one of the small temples of Gember that doubled as a charitable bakery. Tycho studied the samples on the counter, and blinked. "Goodwife, this looks different," he said, gesturing to the road-bread.
She smiled, revealing missing teeth. "Aye, good sir. These are models, not for eating. There's naught but bad flour, salt, and water in them. Keeps the young and foolish from stealin' more than once, good sir."
Tycho coughed behind his hand, covering an answering smile. A wise woman indeed, and he wondered if the priests of Gember had suggested the recipe. "Ah. I need five gaalrund of road bread if you have so much."
She blinked, pursed her lips, and looked to the side, small eyes narrowed in thought. Then she nodded firmly. "I have three and a quarter, good sir. A donation to the leb-bakery might bring more. Two vlaat for mine, and they have powdered meat in them."
That almost justified the cost. Tycho hesitated, then decided. He preferred to pay less, but this would be his last opportunity to add to his supplies from a known seller. "Two vlaat." He removed the coin and broken silver bits from his pouch and gave them to her. She weighed the silver, then handed him two sacks. He hefted them and decided that it was indeed fair dealings. They felt heavier than three and a quarter gaalrund. "Thank you, and may Gember bless you."
"Maarserbe smooth your way, good sir."
He'd make do with three and a half gaalrund. Tycho departed the city and returned to the imperial camp. There was not point in spending coin on an inn when he could camp and the weather remained fair. He packed the way bread in with his other private supplies, triple-checking the seals on the sacks and small metal box. Everything just fit into the whole-hide oiled leather sack.
That evening, Borghind called a meeting for all teamsters, and Tycho attended. The wagon master frowned a little as he declared, "Our route has been changed. There is a problem at Harnancourd that his majesty needs attend to in person."
The men rustled with curiosity. Tycho leaned on his staff and twisted his mouth in a sour and grim smile. It was time and past for someone to do something. Ever since Godkurt's death, Harnancourd had lurked like a thorn in the flesh of the Free Cities.
"We will turn south from there, instead of following the route we had planned. Those on the way have been informed, and there are pfalzer along the way." Many of the teamsters nodded and Tycho saw shoulders relaxing. Whatever a pfalz was, it must be something good. "Yes, it will add some time to our journey, but the sight mages have looked ahead, and it is better if we do not move back to the coast for a few weeks."
Someone behind Tycho muttered, "Aye. Ovstrala don't swim so good."
"Don't smell so good wet, either," another man chuckled.
Aye, the rivers would be rising this time of the year. Had some bridges washed out? A few always did, and rumors held that even the great structure at Moahnabrig had suffered damage when the Moahne's mouth went "odd," as Captain Garoostra had described it. After listening to Garoostra's description of the changes, Tycho would have said "dramatic," but Garoostra always under-spoke.
"Weather permitting, it will be eight nights to Harnancourd." Borghind's tone suggested a certain lack of faith in the weather remaining fair. Tycho seconded the doubt. Spring brought rain as well as rising rivers, this all men knew. Six days of fair weather and good roads? Radmar likely spun his Wheel as they stood, and they'd awaken to a hand's depth of wet snow, or rain mixed with ice, and boggy roads for the next four days. The ovstrala might tolerate it, but the great-haulers? Not at all. Once Borghind dismissed the men, Tycho grumped back to his wagon and hunted in his packs for cold-weather rations for both birds and men. He moved them closer to the top of the load, and confirmed that the snow-claws for the birds remained in good condition.
"Hae, Master Tycho, what be those?" an older teamster asked. Red burn scars marred his face, and Tycho wondered what had happened to the man. One hand resembled a claw, and he carried his guide stick in that hand.
"Snow claws."
"With your leave?" Tycho handed him one of the leather, wood and metal implements. "Like so?"
"No, turn it over. Yes. The straps cross over the top of the foot, then wrap up," Tycho mimicked winding and fastening them. The leather and wood protected the birds' feet from cold traveling up through the metal, and kept ice from forming in their claws.
"Ah! We have similar for true ice, but in snow?" The teamster returned the snow claw. "Their feet splay, like so," he held his hand flat to the ground, palm down, and spread the fingers between the middle and fourth finger. "Bigger, flatter, not sink so far."
"Like the snow-walkers of the eastern forests?" Tycho had seen the odd paddle-like things hanging on one of the old trader's walls. The man had gone farther than most in his youth, and rumor maintained he'd even ventured onto the far eastern p
lains as well as to Chin'mai.
The man nodded. "Exactly like."
They parted, and Tycho debated sleeping in the wagon instead of under it. No. Cold and dry under the wagon made his joints hurt. Cold and wet in the wagon could cause problems, especially if his right shoulder locked, as it had two winters before. That injury had been the warning that Tycho's years as a road-trader drew to a close. A man who could not defend himself had no place in the trade caravans. Which reminded him. Tycho looked around him, making certain that no one approached the wagon, and began working with his staff.
First he practiced simple blocks and parries, things that did not strain his shoulder or other muscles. Once he felt comfortable and all the joints moved without sticking or clicking, he sped up, adding lunges and harder blows, attacking as well as defending. He needed blade work as well, but not without asking what the law permitted here. In a normal caravan, he'd have been doing blade practice from the first night out, but could he? Tycho set the idea aside and concentrated on staff exercises. In the normal run of things, thieves and others ought to leave the imperial Progress to pass unmolested. Tycho had long ago decided that stupidity and greed could motivate people far beyond what sane men considered wise. And it might discourage any of the imperial party who thought to test him in some fashion. Young men... He blocked low, then swept the staff up, reversing the ends and bringing the heavy, iron-shod butt down where his attacker's head would be.
Tycho worked until he could no longer see for night's darkness, and his muscles hurt a little. Years and miles together wore down a man, he freely admitted. Cunning and surprise were for mature men. The youngsters could use brute force and bravado if they wanted to. Once he felt sufficiently tired, Tycho slowed his movements, then stretched, easing his joints. Sleep came easily not long after a final visit to the necessary pit. He still could not get used to a common necessary.
Eight days later, Tycho frowned under the brim of his hat. The great-haulers shook their feathers and hissed to themselves, as if echoing his thoughts. Rumor was true, as the walls ahead of them proved far past any least remaining thread of doubt. The water mage Trollanus had taken to walking with Tycho and he frowned as well. "The walls ought not block the road."
"Nay, not on this side of the river, sir."
Instead of an open road, albeit with trees too close to the edges for safety or comfort, a large and heavy gate with walls on each side stopped travel nigh unto a mile from the ford. "His Majesty did not extend Harnancourd's rights so far. Did he?"
"The council in Rhonari had not heard so, sir, but the counts here are," Tycho sifted words, weighing them as carefully as he weighed foreign coins. "Not always prompt to inform others of changes."
Tycho and the others heard a disturbance behind them, and voices began calling, "Shift to the side! Make a clear path for His Majesty." The wagons on the outside, near the edges of the trade road, creaked into motion and eased away from the main road as far as they dared. The overgrown brush could conceal far too many dangers, as Tycho well recalled. Godkurt had died with his heir not far from this spot, if Tycho recalled correctly. As soon as space opened, Tycho clicked his tongue and shook the lead great-hauler's rope. She blinked, then leaned into the harness. The wheel birds copied her, and the wagon moved several feet, enough to open room for a large wagon to pass up the center of the column.
Tycho turned and bowed as the Great Northern Emperor's wagon-sleigh rolled through the lines. It stopped well back from the gate. "This will not do," Tycho heard. The emperor gestured, and the wooden gate squalled, wood on metal and stone screaming in protest. The great-haulers reared back, and Tycho pulled the lead bird's head down and back to keep her from running or just lashing out. By the time he calmed and settled the birds, a loud thud had rolled over them, followed by some dust. When he had a moment free to look at the gate, Tycho saw that an empty space beckoned. Men shouted from atop the wall, and he wondered briefly if any of the guards were foolish enough to shoot at the emperor.
"Unh." Trollanus staggered, then leaned against the wagon, hooking one arm over the side to keep himself upright. He breathed hard, wheezing a little, head hanging. The wagons ahead of them began rolling forward, and Tycho hesitated.
"Can you get in?"
The mage looked across the wagon at him, perplexed and almost fever-glazed. Tycho took that to mean no.
He left the great-haulers for a moment, hurried around to the rear of the wagon and dropped the end-panel. "In." With some boosting by another teamster, Trollanus managed to clamber into the wagon. Tycho raised the panel once more and was ready to move by the time the signal came.
The ford reminded Tycho why he no longer traveled so far. The water ran high, as he'd anticipated and feared. Tycho stripped off boots and socks, vest, jacket, and belt. He triple-checked everything in the wagon including the mage, and hooked a rope to the near-side great-hauler's halter. The other end he wrapped around his waist and tied. Then he waited, watching the others. The ovstrala. . . did not care for water. They squalled, tossing their heads, digging into the dirt and generally making a ruckus.
"Hai, hai, easy there," the wagon-man soothed. "No snow-bears here, easy."
"Mbwaaaaa!" The beast tossed his head harder, almost hitting the man with his horns. "Bwooo."
"Shhhh, easy."
The ovstrala pawed the dirt of the road, snorting and muttering, tails slapping left and right. Tycho folded his arms around his staff and watched as one of the teams hesitated, then charged for the ford. "Wait!" their man called, sprinting to catch up with them. The heavy bovines lunged into the water, complaining and calling. It came to their backs, and the wagon began floating, then they dragged it to shallower water. The four beasts surged ahead again, and Tycho had to laugh at the sight. Their heavy white and grey wool hung in strips the size of his forearm, and they had shrunk considerably in girth. Water streamed from their tails and they grumbled, ears back, and plodded up the slope from the ford.
Then it was his turn. After a whispered plea to Maarsrodi and Donwah both, and to Yoorst of the Beasts, he took a deep breath. "Tsshai!" He flicked the lead rope, and the great-haulers raced down to the river, almost dragging him. They needed that speed when they hit the water, and the birds scrambled for footing. So did Tycho, and the icy water stole his breath and thought together. He fought to keep his head up, paddling as best he could until he felt cold mud underfoot, then equally cold stone. The birds trotted, then plodded up the slope, wings flapping and spraying everyone around with drips of frigid water. Tycho hurried them as much as they would tolerate until they found a good place to stop. He unhooked himself from the wheel bird, put the rope back into the wagon, and wrung himself out as best he could. The sun shone warm, but not warm enough, and the wind stole what little heat remained in him. Tycho hunted around in the food sack until he found the tiny bottle of fire-bark essence. The physician had warned him at length of the risk of unbalancing his nature if he used too much of the stuff, but even a cold, moist-natured person such as himself needed heating up on occasion. Tycho dripped one drop onto his tongue, then swallowed with a gulp of water from the waterskin.
The heat roared out from his stomach, and Tycho swore that he could feel every little ring in his throat, and the hollows inside his skull. But he stopped shivering. He pulled on socks, then boots. That helped. Warm, dry feet always made a man feel better. The birds stood with their wings spread, absorbing heat and letting the feathers dry.
After three more wagons crossed the ford, the signal came to move ahead. They could not afford to pile up so close to the river. The birds stepped out with a will, probably glad to be moving and making heat. Tycho certainly was. The ovstrala did not appear to have strong feelings either way. Many hung their heads, as if embarrassed by their bedraggled appearance. Some still dripped a little from tails and neck-ruffs. The little wind blew the scent of wet ovstrala back into the Progress, and although Tycho's eyes did not water from the sour, wet, clinging smell, he certainly a
greed with the north men that wet ovstrala lacked any olfactory appeal. The great-haulers seemed to have taken the bath better than the bovines did, and Tycho wondered if the northmen ever had to cross rivers at fords, or if they only used bridges. They'd have to be amazingly wealthy to have wagon bridges on every stream, and he tried to recall what he remembered about the lands and waters of the north. Very little, and none of it truly useful, so he shrugged and concentrated on not waiting for bandits to jump out from behind every tree.
The sun lacked a hand-span from the horizon when they finally reached the walls of Harnancourd proper. Tycho had inadvertently moved toward the head of the line, and got to watch the faces of the city guards as they realized who had not stopped at the wall on the opposite bank of the river. The officer on gate duty appeared positively bilious and no doubt wished that he had any other duty besides the one now thrust upon him. Especially after the emperor's courier announced, "His Most Imperial Majesty understands that Count Richmund might prefer more time in order to properly welcome and host his liege, and will remain outside the walls until dawn." The officer's face shifted from greenish-pale to crimson red to white as the full weight of the insult and warning settled onto him. Tycho enjoyed the man's discomfort perhaps a little too much, but Harnancourd's count had tolerated theft and worse without doing his duty. And extending his walls so far?
Tycho found his place, and once parked, helped Trollanus out of the wagon. The mage looked healthier, but kept one hand on his head. "Thank you. I should have anticipated that better." Anticipated what? Something cautioned Tycho not to ask, just to watch and learn. He soon had more than enough to drive the mage's odd illness out of his mind.
As Tycho led the three great-haulers to the night corral, he heard rising voices and the sound of animals colliding. At least a dozen teamsters walked with brisk steps toward the corral, not running but not dawdling, either. "Mooowaah! Thud.
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