"Sailors and traders have brought creatures from Chin'mai," the Yoorst priest said. "However, they bring them to my temple to show us and to receive the temple's blessing that the animals will not cause harm. And only one, not in pairs. Loud, colorful birds are popular." He sighed. "Very loud birds."
Tycho knew exactly what sort of birds the priest referred to, and forced himself to hide a sympathetic smile, lest it be misunderstood. Some of the captains in Rhonari brought scarlet screamers and green and yellow birds-of-dawn home. They rarely lived more than five years or so, but you knew who had one every time you passed their house or office. Apprentices celebrating port opening were not as loud as those birds.
"So this," the priest gestured to the remains on the table, "is new. No sailor brought it."
Korvaal's Daughter sniffed. "This is not god-sign."
"It is not a laupen or other northern creature," the emperor repeated.
"And I have not seen the like, although, again, the tail resembles the hide from Liambruu I inspected in the market yesterday."
The emperor looked from hide to priests and back. "Honored Fathers, we confess, this bothers us greatly. We know of no magic that can bring life of this kind save god-magic, and things long banned, from the Time of Ice. The last are only tales told to warn young magic workers not to tempt the gods' anger by usurping their powers. Could... could this be why Liambruu's priests have declared magic anathema? Something unleashed these on the land and they now fear?"
Tycho backed away from the beast without meaning to. A loud hiss came from Hugan's corner, and the cat's fur now stood on end. Tycho backed another step.
The priests and priestess exchanged concerned looks, and the woman cradled her gem of office in one hand. "It is possible. We would need to ask our brother of the Scavenger if he knew, because such magics attract the Dark One's attention. They require death in their working, or so it has been said in the oldest of old books, the ones that forbade so many great magics." She raised one eyebrow and looked at the emperor, as if reminding him of something, or asking. He remained silent. "However, the beast still would have to cross the Moahne near the mouth, then come overland, and," she raised her free hand, palm up.
Chuckles and knowing nods met her words. "Indeed, sister, and while this might climb cliffs, I doubt it could swim well, especially in such cold water." Yoorst's priest sounded very certain. Tycho had seen the mouth of the Moahne once, and had to agree. Until very, very far inland, the Moahne flowed through a chasm for most of its length, and where it came close to the land surface, enormous rapids made it dangerous. That was during the few months when you could travel by boat. Other times it dried to the point that nothing larger than a log could float down it, and the boulders remained, as did the chasms.
"Thank you, Master Tycho, you may leave." The emperor dismissed Tycho, and he bowed to the priests and emperor, then departed as fast as was seemly. Once out side he gulped the afternoon air, happy to smell nothing but smoke, cooking odors, the black-coal of the smiths, and a pong of tanning and the public necessaries. Ordure did not begin to describe the stench of the thing upstairs, and he wondered what the noble would think when he visited his finest court chamber next. Perhaps he would have to get rid of the tasteless tapestries in order to remove the stench.
The strange animals bothered Tycho. They shouldn't, but for some reason he could not get them out of his mind. Their wrongness struck something within him. He watched the great-haulers sunning and napping, and the ovstrala resting or eating and making grumbling sounds. These animals were as they ought to be, no better or worse or stranger. Even the laupen had their place, although he was quite glad that it was far, far away. But long-necked beasts with stingers on their tails, and serpents with legs and stingers for tails?
What had Liambruu done? Or was it something from the south of Liambruu? No, Tycho thought, that could not be, because nothing lived south of Liambruu. The sand sea ended in waters that might go as far east as the horsemen's plains, but he had never met a man who'd been there. All the northern sailors stopped at Chin'mai, and the men of Chin'mai did not venture into the "Locked Sea" as they called it. Well, he reminded himself, just because men could not do something did not mean that the gods could not. But if the priests knew nothing, well, he did not like it one bit.
Sanchohaakon of Liambruu was a fool. That much he did know. And bankrupt, which told Tycho everything he needed to know about the man.
6
To the Moahne
"Are ye certain it's safe?"
Should he laugh at the question, or ignore it? The ferry crossed over water, flowing water, very high and fast-flowing water carrying large trees and other things. Water that belonged to Donwah. Of course it was not safe.
Tycho settled for, "It's still floating."
The teamster guiding one of the noble's wagons exhaled. "True that." In deference to the high water, the upper ferry dock on the north side had been moved up the bank, and a rope-of-ropes—a cable—secured to several trees and weighted with large rocks. Other ropes and metal connected the cable to the ferry with a wheel, and Tycho wanted to find the smith who had devised the thing and order a model to take north with him. The cable of ropes stretched across the river, and the ferry clung to it as it traveled across.
One of the locals also waiting for the boat's return scratched under his hat. "They replace the guide rope every six days, or have. Or if it starts looking worn. Smith inspects the boat rig every evening and fixes it, too. Rates be higher, but spendy beats swimmin'."
That Tycho had to agree with. He also agreed with blindfolding the ovstrala, once he'd seen what it did. As soon as they got a wagon onto the ferry, the handlers covered the beasts' eyes. They lay down where they stood and stopped fussing and trying to shift. Had they been trained that way, or did they just sleep all night, every night? Alas that he'd not trained the great-haulers to do the same.
The bird beside him rustled a little, looking left and right. The birds appeared calm, and had been ferry-trained, but still... Donwah took what She pleased, when She pleased. Tycho had left an offering at Her temple in the city, but then so too did the men whose boats sank every year. He tried not to look at the swift brown-grey water. At least the wind had slowed, making the crossing a slight bit easier.
The ferry hauled into the dock, and passengers and a small cart from the south hurried off the boat and up the bank, away from the stream. Several dropped offerings into the box at a road-shrine to Donwah. After they had all departed and the ferryman had changed rowing crews, the lean man beckoned Tycho. Tycho in turn nudged the great-haulers, and the female led the team and wagon down. She hesitated for an instant at the edge of the water, then stepped onto the wide, flat boat. The beasts pulled the wagon forward to the bow of the boat, stopping at the knee-high rail. The other great-haulers followed behind, tethered to the wagon and half-hobbled so they could not kick as hard. One of the imperial wagons followed and pulled up beside Tycho's rig. The birds fluffed their feathers until the bovines settled down onto the deck. Foot-passengers filled in around the wagons, giving the spare birds a respectful space. "Nae, I be waitin'," a man with a cart announced. "Yon beasts make mine nervy. No man wants 'at."
With that the ferryman gave the order and a second knee-high bar was fitted into place at the rear of the ferry while an apprentice hammered wooden wedges under the wagons' wheels, blocking them. When everyone had found their spot, the ferryman waved once and the boy on shore released a rope. Four men began hauling on the cable-of-ropes while four rowed and two steered. The ferryman used a pole to push things out of the way if he needed to. He reminded Tycho of a rope himself, all muscle and bone, not a drop of fat on him. Tycho had seen a blacksmith like that once. The man could carry his anvil fifty steps, and had hauled a full barrel of stockfish from the dock to the market and then to his shop without aid or rest. No man bothered him, his apprentices, or his women.
The river pushed the boat, tugging it and bumping it up and
down as it crossed the wide flow. Several people murmured prayers to Donwah, and Tycho kept his eyes on the far shore, not looking down at the water. He'd gotten ferry-sick once, and did not want it to happen again. Thanks be that the wind had faded. The wind might blow against the wagons as against a sail, and more than once had upset ferries that way even on low water. The birds rustled and peered around, but seemed calm still. That suited Tycho. If the people did not panic, than the birds would not. He watched the distant trees growing larger and more detailed, and gave silent thanks for safety thus far.
To his minor amazement, the journey passed without surprise or upset. As soon as the ferry docked and the pole slid out of the way, the apprentice removed the blocks. Tycho led wagon and birds off the deck and up the slope, paying both the fee and a little offering as he left. Then came the people, and finally the ovstrala wagon.
The Progress had planned to stop at another pfalz that night, one not too far from the river. Someone had planted crops up to the walls, and that someone expressed loud and vehement dismay when a hundred and more wagons and beasts and people marched into his fields. Jokith, the chief road-ward, stood toe-to-toe with the irate farmer. "Did you not receive word of His Majesty's arrival?"
"Who believes such talk? All men know that the Great Northern Emperor never comes south," the red-faced man protested. "Not until two weeks back, and once crops are knee-high, no man may graze save the owner."
"And who owns this land?"
Spluttering, and the farmer kicked dirt and glowered. Jokith looked down at him. The farmer snarled, and finally snapped, "His Majesty does. But I expect my ground rent lowered this season!"
Tycho went to tend to his beasts and ignored the commotion. Did ovstrala get green-grass flux? If so, he dearly wanted to be anywhere but near the camp, the way the beasts tore into the young wheat and barley. They ignored the onions, as did the great-haulers. Wise beasts. At least the soil would be fertile for the next season.
" 'E should pay us for fertilizing for him," one of the teamsters muttered, but so quietly only Tycho and one other heard him. Tycho coughed and concentrated on removing the half-hobble from the young gelding. The bird squawked and fanned his wings, almost hitting Tycho and sending his hat rolling. Tycho clouted the bird in the neck, then led him over to the others. He fussed again, and the lead female nipped him, hard, pulling out a few pin-feathers. That settled the gelding.
Later that evening Tycho heard a commotion and against his better judgement went to see what was going on. "But not on the ferry?" Borghind demanded.
"Nae. Right off the bank. Ballat didn't check them, least not that anyone saw." One of the younger teamsters spoke, one hand raised and fingers bent in Yoorst's sign as god-oath. Two more men made the same gesture as witnesses. "Don't know if they thought to catch up, or what, but they came down the slope and splash, into the water they went, Ballat holding onto the side of the wagon. They made it less than a quarter way and sank. Logi thought he might have seen one of the beasts' heads downstream, but that's all."
Tycho's gut clenched and he closed his eyes. Ballat had been a fool, but he'd stayed with his beasts to the end and had done his duty.
"Someone might find a wagon full of tools and seasoned wood and spares, but it will be mid-summer." Borghind sighed. "I believe ye. That sounds like Ballat's team. There's reason why you mix the beasts every night and don't let them partner and friend on the road, and now he knows why."
So Ballat's wagon had carried the tools and spare parts for the other wagons. Tycho sighed as well. Tools could be replaced unless they were special to the northern vehicles, but good parts of seasoned wood? He hoped the pfalze had stocks, although as long as it had been, Tycho doubted it. What a headache.
SkreeKRAKthud! The sound cut the air, followed by vigorous cursing. Borghind covered his eyes with one hand, as did several of the teamsters. Tycho turned his head, albeit slowly, because every man who had ever made a road journey knew that sound. Six exceedingly puzzled-looking ovstrala peered over their shoulders, or tried to, at the wagon behind them. The wagon now sat on one corner and three wheels. Thud. The wheel opposite the grounded corner tipped in and the wagon sagged a little.
Borghind uncovered his eyes. "At least he made it to camp. Thanks be that Radmar has mercy on beasts."
Did he? Tycho had serious doubts about that belief, but held his peace. Instead he assisted those unloading the wagon while other men and women unhitched the ovstrala and led them to the corral. The wagon carried foodstuffs that smelled spicy. Something bitter underlay the spice, and Tycho's nose twitched with memories of the false coins and false grain from Liambruu. "Grey-bark. It better not have gotten wet, or I'm going to give a mage and a weaver the weight of my fist, I am," a general servant grumbled as he heaved a sack onto his shoulder and staggered to the pfalz.
Tycho heard axes later that night. Surely they were not cutting a new axel in the dark? Only a desperate man or one who wished to die cut down trees in the dark or even by torch and mage-light. He whispered another prayer of thanks to Donwah, and one to Yoorst, then slept.
Trollanus joined Tycho the next day as he inspected his own wagon. The left rear axel bracket felt as if it wanted to go dry, and Tycho had dug the grease and a spreading feather out of the parts box. He sat on the ground under the wagon, leaning back a little so he didn't smash his head or twist his neck so far, and worked more grease up into the bracket and around the wood. Ideally he'd roll the wagon forward a few finger-lengths and repeat the exercise, but he didn't have the strength and couldn't find help. That should do, he decided after loading extra grease on the top of the bracket. After checking the right rear bracket and the wheel hubs, he emerged from under the wagon to find the water mage looking at the wagon-box. "Is this water-fast, Master Tycho?"
Tycho put the grease and spreading feather away after wiping the excess grease off the reed-stiffened feather. "Not boat-tight, but close. If I were to use tow and pitch, it would be. As it stands, it will take on water but very slowly, Donwah willing, and the team should be across the stream before then. Should it get drier, then the wood will shrink and it lets in more water, but not too much more." The tire on the wheel loosening and the spokes coming loose as well—those would be problems first.
"Tow?"
Did they not waterproof boats in the north? "Uncoiled rope cut and torn into pieces, so long," he held his hands a little shy of chest-width apart. "Dip them in earth-tar or warm pitch and work it between the planks and boards with a narrow, dull-bladed tool, then add more tar. The ship can flex and the tow holds the pitch better than if a man pours it onto the boards."
The mage blinked a few times, then nodded. "Like we use ovstrala-shed on house and building walls, then. You can't spin or weave it, but it holds tar and helps keep wind and snow out."
Part of Tycho flinched at the cost of using good schaef wool for such a task. Rough wool from the backs and tails went for rugs and sacks and the like, even for hair-rope! What sort of man could waste it on stuffing into walls? Then he thought about the mounds of hair left at the pfalz after the teamsters and others had combed the ovstrala. Perhaps keeping snow out was a thrifty use of the hair. "Like that, yes, sir."
Shortly after he finished hitching up the birds, a wagon rolled past, getting into place in the day's march order. Tycho blinked. No. They had no spares, or did they? He looked more closely and yes, that was the exact same wagon that had suffered the broken axel the night before. Dirt still clung to the left rear corner of the bed. Had they found a spare so fast? Or was it running on a green axel? He'd heard of that being done in dire emergencies, but only as a true last resort when a man could not cut the birds free, leave the broken vehicle, cache the contents and return.
"Heh." Tycho looked at Trollanus. The water mage stood, arms folded, and smiled. The smug look reminded Tycho of a cat. "I thought it would work."
Despite himself, Tycho had to ask. "What worked, sir?"
"I'll tell you once we are under
way."
Tycho nodded at the reminder and settled the birds, then urged them on. They strained, the wagon creaked a little more than Tycho preferred, but it started rolling and found its place at the outer edge of the march column. Once they'd been underway long enough that the birds relaxed, Trollanus spoke. "Water mages can move water if it is not moving otherwise, and not part of a pond or lake."
Tycho mulled the idea over. Donwah tolerated little or no interference with her waters, at least by magic, and even well water and small rivulets refused to stay charmed for more than a few days or weeks at most. So what had water in it that could be moved? And that was not moving already. "You dried the wood cut last night—the axel?"
"You are fast, Master Tycho, and yes. I and two others, with his Imperial Majesty supporting us with his strength. We seasoned the wood until midnight. Then the smiths could mount the fittings and repair the wagon." The smile faded a little. "We won't be doing much today, and it did take three of us. Fast and careful requires far more than fast or careful." The smile returned but rueful.
Tycho returned the smile. "Aye that. Ye can have a hide tanned quickly, a hide tanned cheaply, or a hide tanned well. But only two of the three at any one time."
"Exactly like," Trollanus agreed.
Could any of the mages in Rhonari do that? Tycho ran through the list of services the confraternity of preservation mages offered. Preserve food-stuffs of various kinds, bespell roofs to keep them sound or fireproof, walls likewise, keep water out of a wrapped and sealed bale of cloth or hides, ward off vermin, make oiled-cloth truly water-proof instead of just much slower to let you get wet, and to turn heat away from some foods, medicines, and cosmetics. No, Tycho remembered, they didn't do heat-shift spells in Rhonari any more. You had to go to Platport to find mages who worked in that sort of spell, and using a groat-box worked better for long trips. Not shipping such things in mid-summer worked best of all. But no one drove water out of wood to season it faster.
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