The healer smiled at his words. "Thank you for the caution, Master Tycho. I prefer to eat and not to be eaten."
One of the other men chuckled at her declaration. "Aye. Who wants to be remembered as Harald Snow-Bear-Scat?"
"That's better than being sat on by a wild ovstrala!" The first man waved his eating knife for emphasis. "I can understand why the family changed their name after that. I'd fear being known as his blood kin."
The second man snorted, "Oh indeed. It is said folly runs in some family lines."
Tycho had to ask. "Someone actually was sat on by a wild ovstrala?"
Three people raised their hands in affirmation, and the healer nodded. "Aye, and five hunters saw it and carried the story back. T'was three generations ago, the men were hunting and one had a falling out with the others over fire duty. He made a separate camp and fell asleep just before a clan of wild ovstrala moved into the valley."
"Twice as big as our ovstrala, at least when they are dry," someone interjected. "Move quiet, especially on snow."
"Yes," the healer said, gesturing her agreement. "The others waited and surprised two yearlings, cleaned them, and were ready to move. But the sixth man, one Osbrek, could not be found. They even called for him, but no answer."
A slender teamster nodded slowly. "Aye, and so they searched. They found where he had been, and his fire, all surrounded by hoof marks and scrapes and flattened snow. And then one of the men saw a bit of red glove." He stopped, then nodded to the healer.
"Under more snow they found Osbrek, smothered and flat, but not like one stepped on." The healer spread her hands. "T'is said that, as best the hunters could tell, a boar ovstrala found the banked fire and settled there for a nap. Poor Osbrek couldn't move, or was asleep, and the boar sat on him and smothered and crushed him. Priests truth-read the men and found it to be so."
Tycho sat back and considered her words. He'd heard of strange fates, but that certainly was one of the strangest. But then Radmar and the Scavenger both had odd ways of working their will, and he personally knew of a shipwright who had been killed by a falling branch in still air when he'd been out in the forest, choosing timbers. "Scarce danger of that here. Drowning in your sleep is more likely."
"So sleep in your wagon," came the response.
"You can sleep on bales, barrels, and sacks piled higher than your head," Tycho retorted. "I prefer not to."
"Different places, different customs," the healer reminded everyone as she stood. "We do not drink the blood of our beasts to give us strength as the plainsmen do. Southerners do not fear snow-sleep, and we do not concern ourselves about serpents." With that she departed, leaving the men to their own devices. Tycho retreated to his wagon not long after, exhausted from the day's tensions. He ran through a few basic staff moves, but nothing too taxing.
Tycho studied the land around them as they traveled south. It appeared unchanged from his memories, although the brush now grew closer to the road than before. He frowned. He had outside row, and the overgrowth bothered him greatly.
"Aught wrong, Master Tycho?" Trollanus inquired.
Tycho pointed to the lush brush and undergrowth along the roadside with his staff. "This should be kept clear, so that no men or beasts can creep up to the road without being seen. The towns and villages share the duty with land-holders. At least ten feet must be trimmed back, preferably more."
"Huh. Interesting." The mage considered Tycho's words and studied the verdure to the left and right. "The trees seem young, at least close to the road."
"Yes, sir. Six years ago, this had all been kept clear. I don't know how quickly trees grow, but these are no older than six years." The great-haulers acted as uncomfortable as Tycho himself. Granted, the wheel birds were young, but the lead female kept peering left and right, then kept her eyes to the left. Her crest began to flatten. "Something's in the woods," Tycho warned, but quietly. Without thinking he reached back into the wagon and pulled his sword out from its slot, then slid the staff part-way into the wagon to free his hands long enough to buckle the sword-belt around his waist.
"Surely no one woul—"
"Grab the birds!" Men burst out of the brush, one snatching at the lead rope while the other tried to cut the great-hauler's harness. Tycho drew his sword and lunged forward, wishing he had his staff in hand. The younger man dodged, then cursed as he stumbled on a rut. Tycho slid his blade into the man's ribs, yanked it out and grunted from pain as his shoulder protested. He turned to the knife man and almost died as a third attacker came at him from hiding. Only the bird's kick saved him. Tycho dodged back out of her way and the third attacker missed by less than an inch. His shoulder slammed into Tycho and they both went to the ground. Tycho rolled away from the still-moving wagon and he released the lead rope.
"Got aiiigh—" crunch thump. The wheel ran over the man's chest and part of his head. Tycho rolled farther, scrambled to his feet, and saw one of the emperor's men wrenching the harness-cutter away from the screaming birds, dislocating the boy's shoulder with a satisfying pop. Ovstrala boomed, the birds shrieked and hissed, and Tycho grabbed for the rope, then began trying to watch the forest as well as soothing the birds. They appeared uninjured, just upset. Blast it, he needed to wipe the blade before he sheathed it, but he couldn't let go of the birds!
"Let me," Trollanus offered, taking the rope. Tycho nodded, and quickly cleaned the blade on one of the fallen bandit's sleeves, then sheathed it and accepted the rope back.
Three of the guards rushed up, and Tycho swallowed a curse as great-haulers and ovstrala resumed their commotion.
"Damn, man, slow down or we'll be chasing beasts all the way to the sea," one of the teamsters called.
"And not the closest one, either," another man snarled. "Easy, boy, easy, they're not going to eat you."
Tycho began stroking the lead bird's neck, soothing her. As she calmed, the younger wheel birds also settled down. Of all the days to be using his spare team, Tycho sighed. Thank Yoorst that they had not panicked and kicked out blindly, or tried to attack the bandits themselves.
Everyone had come to a halt. Tycho twitched, waiting for the next attack. The last thing you did was stop in the middle of an ambush—wise men sped up and broke through whatever waited around the bend or behind the rocks and trees. The guards inspected the dead and questioned the injured man.
"Dal promised us ten silver each for great-haulers! Don' wan yon' hairy cows. Never seen cows pull afore," the boy protested. "Was just for the birds. Merchies not allowed to fight!"
"Any man is allowed to fight when life is threatened," the guard growled.
"Weren't threatenin' 'is life, just grabbin' t' birds!" Tycho's hand twitched as he considered getting his staff and thumping the man for whining. The fool boy had already pissed himself. Instead Tycho concentrated on soothing the great-haulers before they lashed out again. "I wan' blood justice! 'E murdered my blood-kin, 'e did."
One of the guards came over and eased around Tycho to study the half-crushed form in the dirt, then the gutted attacker. The men wore decent clothes, sturdy beneath the patches. Their boots could do with some new soles, or at least the ones Tycho could see did. They were not starving desperate, not yet. "Who killed this one?" The guard pointed to the gut-stabbed man.
"I did." Tycho regretted having to kill the would-be thief. If he'd had his staff, he could have brained him instead of putting steel into him. No merchant wanted a blood-claim against him and his family. "He tried to grab the birds while his friend cut their harnesses."
"Good blow." The guard turned and rejoined his fellows and their prisoner. "His Imperial Majesty would like a word with you." At the man's nod, a second guard popped the thief's shoulder back into place. The robber fainted and the teamsters snorted, rolled their eyes, and made crude comments about boys and men's work. One of the larger guards picked the thief up, hoisted him over his shoulder, and carried him back to where the nobles traveled.
A courier bustled up not too much late
r. "Roll the dead into the brush for the Scavenger. His Majesty's orders. We must move on." That suited Tycho, although he did not like leaving them unburied. Their spirits might walk and bring miasmas and disease to camp in revenge. Tycho put his sword back in the wagon, retrieved his staff, and helped drag the dead well into the woods for the beasts and birds. He did not relax until the sun had passed far enough toward the horizon to slide behind the tips of the tallest trees.
When Tycho returned from seeing to his birds that evening, he found Hugan at his wagon, sniffing the wheels. How exactly did one greet the emperor's enormous cat? Tycho settled for bowing but not speaking. That seemed appropriate, and the cat nodded, scraped a little dirt onto the bottom of the wheel, then made a beckoning motion with one paw. Tycho blinked a few times, then followed the enormous white beast through camp. The north men and women cleared the way for cat and merchant, and Tycho's mouth started going dry as he realized that they were headed directly for the imperial enclosure. He needed to wash face and hands, and comb his hair, and visit the necessary. Hugan continued on, leaving Tycho no choice but to follow. They reached the inner ring of tents, and two guards nodded, raising their spears and allowing cat and man to enter.
Tycho went to one knee as he saw the emperor looming over the thief. Hugan continued on, sniffed the thief, and said, "Mrrhsssss." Then he scratched dirt at the man.
"Ahem." The emperor's mouth twitched, and Tycho wondered if the cat echoed the man's sentiments. "You know the rules."
"Mow." Hugan's shoulders drooped, then returned to normal and he sat, watching Tycho.
"Master Tycho, this man says you killed his blood-kin without provocation."
Tycho looked up, meeting the emperor's bright green eyes, feeling something study and weigh him. "I killed the man who attempted to steal my great-haulers, Most Imperial Majesty. I did not ask what else he intended, or give him time to attack me."
The emperor turned to a man with a large book in his hands. "What says road law?"
"Road law says that an attack on beast is an attack on man, and theft of a man's beast, if it will leave him in wild lands and alone, is an attack on the man, Most Imperial Majesty." The scribe looked up from the book. "From the time of Torvald Snurison, third of the imperial line, Most imperial Majesty."
"Thank you." The emperor turned to Tycho again. "Why did you not use staff?"
"Because I would have had to let go of the birds, Most Imperial Majesty, and I did not know what the men planned, or how many of them there were, sir."
The emperor nodded once. "We saw the attack, and we apologize for not sending our guards ahead in the line sooner. We trusted perhaps too much to the good sense of men and forgot the power of temptation." Tycho bowed his head, accepting the apology. He'd seen the attack? How? Oh, sight mages, Tycho remembered now. The emperor had them looking ahead of the Progress? Why?
"Tycho Rhonarida owes no blood price." The emperor turned to the thief, now trussed up like a fowl for the spit. "You and your comrades attacked, and all men have the right to defend themselves on the road, with blade as well as staff."
The thief gawped up at the emperor, jaw slack, as if he could not believe the words. "But we just was wantin' the birds, not 'is goods or life!"
Did the man not realize who he spoke to? Apparently not. Tycho looked away and heard a firm slapping sound, and a thud, and whimpering. He glanced up again and saw contempt on the faces of the guards, the scribe and others. "Go back to the ones who sent you and tell them the laws. If we see your face again, you will go to the Scavenger in such a way as to warn all men of the fate of attacking those under our protection." The emperor turned. "Master Tycho, you are dismissed."
Tycho wasn't happy, but he kept silent, bowed, and departed. Perhaps the emperor had his own plans. He was less unhappy when one of the guards fell in, walking beside him, and said, "Well done, Master Tycho. If you wish to practice weapons work with us, you are welcome to attend."
His body did not care to work so hard. Tycho's desire to survive the rest of the journey and return overrode his shoulder's objections. "Thank you. I will, but not tonight. Sword and staff."
"Good." The guard gestured agreement. "We do not have a good staff teacher, and some of the younger men do not yet understand that the farther away you stop an attacker, the better it is."
Damn. That was not what Tycho wanted to do, not in the least bit. He was old, and his body did not recover the way the youngsters did.
The guard continued, "We have padded practice armor, and I will make damn certain that it stays practice and no one loses his temper. The youngsters can be as bad as first-summer ovstrala bucks, trying to prove that they are better than they are." He sounded torn between amusement and resignation, a sentiment with which Tycho heartily concurred.
"I have three sons."
The guard smiled and clapped Tycho on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "One son, three daughters. Trade?"
Before Tycho could refuse the generous offer, a younger guard trotted up, "Fathnir, sir, someone's skulking around the ovstrala pens. Mage alert."
"That didn't take long," the guards disappeared back toward the imperial enclosure, and Tycho wondered yet again if men took up banditry and theft because they lacked the brains needed for honest work. Granted, some were born to the Scavenger and had little choice in their lives, but any man trying to steal a beast from the ovstrala rings deserved the fate that awaited him. A great-hauler's beak did not look as dangerous as ovastrala horns.
Borghind found Tycho just before he went to sleep. "Change in the road order tomorrow, Master Tycho, his Majesty's orders. He would like you with him, inside row, with the other nobles and treasury wagons."
Why? He'd find out on the morrow. "Yes, sir. Provided Hugan does not scare the great-haulers."
What Tycho could see of the chief teamster's face looked first surprised, then thoughtful. "Ah, I do not believe that anyone considered that difficulty, Master Tycho. I will look into it."
"Thank you, sir."
A guide led Tycho and his wagon back to the proper slot in the Progress the next morning. "Lord Hugan will remain out of sight of your birds, Master Tycho, unless he is needed." The guide sounded amused, and Tycho wondered if there had been wagers of some kind as to the emperor's reaction. "Once we reach the pfalz, you may resume your customary camp position."
"Very good."
The ovstrala pulling the wagons of the nobles looked fluffier and cleaner than the others, and tended to be matched by color and size, some more grey, others a little tan, the rest cream or white. Did a man or woman have to be of a certain rank to have a certain color, like only merchants with more than ten koog of property could wear cloth-of-silver and white mynkha fur? Painted and carved designs decorated the nobles' wagons, and depicted snow scenes, or strange beasts, or what Tycho guessed were story scenes. The treasury wagons loomed, larger and plainer, with larger ovstrala pulling them. How much coin did the company travel with, Tycho wondered again as he guided the birds and the wagon into position. A great deal seemed to be paid for with tax releases, but food and fuel still required payment in coin or kind.
Trollanus walked with Tycho. The road felt more open, the brush lower, and Tycho nodded to himself. Someone had done their duty properly. Just before mid-morning they reached an area where the forest had charred. Black lined the road for several miles, and Tycho looked at what grew and what remained bare. "Is this normal?" the mage asked after a mile.
"If you mean the forest burning, then yes, it does happen from time to time, usually when a thunder storm rises and thunder sparks fire from the clouds." Tycho glanced left and right, still not trusting the forest. "In some places, men burn grasslands to return the dead grass to the soil and cleanse away vermin, or so I have been told." He thought it a waste of good wood, but the gods did not ask his opinion, nor would he dare venture one. "Not every year, and not every place, but forests do burn, just as cities do. Sometimes men are not careful with their fires, or toss
things into them that should not be burned."
"Pop-cones," the teamster on Tycho's left hand snarled. " 'S why Arnulf's face looks so. Some damned fool tossed a pop-cone into the fire, and Arnulf was reachin' for the water pot when it popped, throwin' fire for a wagon-length and more. Caught Arnulf full i' th' face, only th' healer kept him from dyin'."
Tycho winced. All men dreaded fire, and nothing brought the men and women of a city out to work—day or night—like cries of fire. Rhonari had been blessed and spared for decades. Well, Tycho admitted, the laws about plaster over all wood and using slate for roofs instead of wood or thatch certainly helped. And cover-the-fire hours, so that nothing might ignite at night. He'd seen one burned man, badly burned, and had been sick at his stomach for a day after. A barrel of pitch had been too close to a flame and had burst, covering the apprentice trying to move the barrel, and then the pitch had ignited. Someone had rolled the boy in a heavy blanket and smothered the flames, but only after fire had covered him head to toe, alas. The poor boy died slowly.
Just before noon, the caravan passed into heavy, dense woods. Tycho's nerves stretched thin, and he buckled his sword on, but kept staff in hand this time. He shouldn't need either, but the freed bandit had a grudge against him in particular. The birds acted calm, occasionally trilling to themselves, crests up. Still, something made the hair on Tycho's neck rise a little. Quiet. Even here, he should be hearing forest sounds. He began paying closer attention to the sides of the road. Some brush rustled, and without thinking he pivoted, shifting his grip on the staff and starting to crouch and brace.
Zzzz-thunk! A arrow hit the side of the wagon behind him. Tycho ducked as arrows returned from the imperial guards. "Aieergh!" A body crashed out of the thicket, looking like one of Gerta's needle-keepers.
"Stop them," the emperor called. Guards rushed into the underbrush and shadows. More arrows came from the woods, but all missed, hitting only wagons or sailing too high and crossing the road completely. Beside Tycho, Trollanus staggered. Had the mage been hit? He panted hard, sweat beginning to pour down his face. The commotion from the woods reached a crescendo, then stopped after sounds of combat. The mage gasped, leaning against the wagon. The emperor himself stalked into the woods with more guards, and Tycho heard blades on flesh, shrieks, and men begging for mercy. Then quiet.
Merchant and Empire Page 5