by Larry Niven
“Or sell it to one government or another. But I’ll fly with it first.”
That night, cuddled close in Sung’s arms, Sparthera roused herself to ask a question. “Sung? What if I should have a child by you?”
He was silent for a long time. Long enough that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he did answer it was in a very soft voice. “We would ride off into the mountains and build a great hall, and I would put a glamour on the child to raise up a new House of Sung.”
Satisfied, Sparthera snuggled down into the magician’s arms to dream of mountains and gold.
They woke late the next morning, with the dust of the caravan actually in sight. They left it behind them as they rode, still following the King’s Way. “This is ridiculous,” Sung fretted. “Another day and we’ll be in Rynildissen!”
“Is it possible that this Gar actually buried his loot in the King’s Way?”
“I wouldn’t think he’d have the chance. Still, I suppose nobody would look for it there. Maybe.”
Around noon they reached a region of low hills. The King’s Way began to weave among them like a snake, but the silver box pointed them steadfastly toward Rynildissen. Sung dithered. “Well, do we follow the road, or do we cut across country wherever the pointer points?”
Sparthera said, “Road, I guess. We’ll know if we pass it.”
And road it was, until the moment when Sung sucked in his breath with a loud “Ah!”
“What is it?”
“The talisman’s pointing that way, south.” He turned off, guiding the unicorn uphill. Sparthera followed, pulling the wingbeast along after her. The unicorn seemed to be grumbling just below audibility.
Now the land was rough and wild. There were ravines and dry creekbeds and tumbled heaps of soil and stone. They were crossing the crest of a hill when Sung said, “Stop.”
The unicorn stopped. Sparthera reined in her horse. The wingbeast walked into Twilight’s haunches, got kicked, and sat down with a dismal bray.
Sung ignored the noise. “Down in that ravine. We’ll have to try it on foot.”
They had to move on all fours in places. The bottom of the ravine was thick with brush. Sparthera hesitated as Sung plunged into a thorn thicket. When she heard his muttered curses stop suddenly, she followed.
She found him surrounded by scattered bones and recognized the skull of an ass. “The pointer reads right in all directions. We’re right on it,” he said.
A pair of large stones, brown and cracked, looked a bit too much alike. Sparthera touched one. Old leather. Saddlebags?
The bag was so rotten, it had almost merged with the earth. It tore easily. Within was cloth that fell apart in her hands, and a few metal ornaments that were green with verdigris. Badges of rank, for a soldier of Rynildissen. In the middle of it all, something twinkled, something bright.
Sung had torn the other bag apart. “Nothing. What have you got?”
She turned it in her hand: a bright faceted stone, shaped like a bird and set into a gold ring. “Oh, how pretty!”
“Hardly worth the effort,” Sung said. He worked his way backward out of the thicket and stood up. “Diamonds have no color. They’re not worth much. You see this kind of trinket in any Shanton jewel bazaar. Give it here.”
Sparthera handed it over, feeling forlorn. “Then that’s all there is?”
“Oh, I doubt it. We’re on the track. This was just the closest piece. It must have been part of the hoard, or the talisman wouldn’t have pointed us here. Even so…how did it get here? Did Gar lose a pack mule?”
He opened out the pointer. With the bird’s beak he traced a looping curve on the silver surface. “There. The talisman is pointing true again. There’s still treasure to be found.”
They climbed back uphill to their steeds. The King’s Way was well behind them now, and lost among the hills. They were picking their way across a nearly dry stream bed when Sung said, “We’re passing it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know yet.” Sung dismounted. “You wait here. Sparthera, come along,” and she realized he’d spoken first to the unicorn. He picked his way carefully up a vast sloping spill of shattered boulders: leg-breaker country. At the top, panting heavily, he opened the box and turned in a circle.
“Well?”
Sung turned again. He spoke singsong gibberish in what might have been a lengthy spell; but it sounded like cursing.
“Are you just going to keep spinning?”
“It says all directions are wrong!”
“Uh? Point it down.”
Sung stared at her. Then he pointed the talisman at his feet. He said, “‘Ta netyillo—’ Sparthera, my love, you may be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I am delighted to hear it. My shovel’s still on the horse. Shall I go for it?”
“Yes. No, wait a bit.” He started walking, staring at the talisman. “It must be deep. Yards deep. More. Forget the shovel, there must be a cave under us.” He grinned savagely at her. “We’ll have to find the entrance. We’re almost there, love. Come on.”
They trudged down the hill, trying to avoid twisted ankles or worse. Sparthera paused to catch her breath and caught a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye. It was headed for the animals. “Sung! What—”
Twilight whinnied in terror. He tossed his head, pulling loose the reins Sparthera had looped over a bush, and bolted downhill. The unicorn had splayed his front feet and lowered his head, as if he thought he still owned a spear. The winged packbeast, filling the air with a bedlam of sound, was bounding rapidly away in two-pace-long jumps, tiny wings beating the air frantically.
Sung let out a yell and charged up to the top of the ravine, swinging a heavy branch he’d snatched up on the way. Sparthera clambered up beside him, swearing as she saw her animals heading off across the landscape. There was a loud wailing sound that put the wingbeast’s efforts to shame, and then silence. The thing had vanished.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know. I’m more interested in where it went. Keep an eye out, love.” Sung pulled his sword from the pack and wandered about the shattered rock.
Sparthera’s nose picked up a heavy musky animal odor. She followed it, heart pounding, knife in hand. They were too close to the treasure to stop now.
The odor was wafting out of a black gap in the rocks, less than a yard across. Sung clambered up to look.
“That’s it,” he said. “It’s not big enough, though. If we crawled through that, the thing—whatever it is—would just take our heads as they poked through. We’ll have to move some rocks.”
Sparthera picked up a heavy boulder and hurled it away. “I feel an irrational urge to go home.”
“I can’t go home. Let’s move some rocks,” said Sung, and she did. The sun had dropped a fair distance toward Rynildissen, and every muscle in her body was screaming, before the dripping, panting Sung said, “Enough. Now we need torches.”
“Sung. Did it…occur to you…to let me rest?”
“Well, why didn’t you…oh.” Sung was disconcerted. “Sparthera, I’m used to giving orders to women, because I’m supposed to be the immortal Sung. But it’s just for show. I’m also used to being disobeyed.”
“I can’t.” She was crying.
“I’ll be more careful. Shall we rest, have some tea?”
“Good. Offer me a swallow of wine.”
“That’s not—”
“For Khulm’s sake. Sung, do you think I’d go in there drunk? It’s in there. I know it. I kept waiting for it to jump on me. Don’t you have a spell to protect us?”
“No. We don’t even know what it is. Here—” He turned her around and began to massage her neck and shoulders, fingers digging in. Sparthera felt tensed muscles unraveling, loosening. It was a wonderful surprise.
She said, “It must have half killed the Sung women to let you go.”
“Somehow they managed.” She barely heard the bitterness; but it did
bother him.
It was dark in there. The late afternoon light only reached a dozen paces in. They stepped in, holding the torches high.
There was a rustling flurry of motion and a loud whimpering cry.
If one of them had run, the other would have followed. As it was, they walked slowly forward behind Sung’s sword and Sparthera’s dagger.
The cave wasn’t large. A stream ran through the middle. Sparthera noted two skeletons on either side of the stream, lying faceup as if posed…
Another cry and a scrabbling sound. Something huge and dark moved just outside the perimeter of light. The animal odor had become sickeningly strong. Sung held the light higher.
Off in a corner, something huge was trying to pack itself into a very narrow crevice. It looked at them with absolute panic in its eyes, pulled its long scaly tail closer under its legs, and tried fruitlessly to move away.
“What in the world is it?”
“Nothing from this world, that’s certain,” Sung said. “It looks like something that was conjured up out of a bad dream. Probably was. Gar’s guardian.”
The creature was partly furred and partly scaled. It had a long toothed snout and broad paddlelike front paws with thick nails. There was a rusted iron collar around its neck, with a few links of broken chain attached. Now its claws stopped grinding against rock, and its tail came up to cover its eyes.
“What is it trying to do?” Sparthera whispered.
“Well, it seems to be trying to hide in that little crack.”
“Oh, for the love of Khulm! You mean it’s scared!”
The beast gave a long wailing moan at the sound of her voice. Its claws resumed scratching rock.
“Let it alone,” Sung said. He swung the torch around to reveal the rest of the cave. They found a torn and scattered pack, with the remains of weevily flour and some broken boxes nearly collapsed from dry rot. Two skeletons were laid out as for a funeral. They had not died in bed. The rib cage on one seemed to have been torn wide open. The other seemed intact below the neck; but it was still wearing a bronze helmet bearing the crest of a soldier of Rynildissen; and the helmet and skull had been squashed as flat as a miser’s sandwich.
Aside from the small stream that ran between them, and assorted gypsum deposits, the cave was otherwise empty.
“I’m afraid the Regent’s army got here first,” Sung said.
Sparthera bent above one of the skeletons. “Do you think that thing did this? Did it kill them, or just gnaw the bodies? It doesn’t seem dangerous now.”
“It probably wasn’t all that scared in the beginning.” Sung was grinning. “Gar must have left it here to guard the treasure, with a chain to keep it from running away. When the Regent’s soldiers found the cave, it must have got the first ones in. Then the rest piled in and pounded it into mush. Conjured beasts like that are practically impossible to kill, but did you notice the scars on the muzzle and forelegs? It hasn’t forgotten.”
“I feel sort of sorry for it,” Sparthera said. Then the truth came home to her and she said, “I feel sorry for us! The treasure must have been gone for years. Except—the talisman led us here!”
Sung walked forward, following the talisman. He stopped above the skeleton with the flattened skull. “‘Ta netyillo—’ Yes.”
He reached into the rib cage and came up with a mass of color flickering in his hands. Sparthera reached into it and found a large ruby. There were three others besides, and two good-sized emeralds.
Sung laughed long and hard. “So, we have a greedy soldier to thank. He ran in, saw a pile of jewels, snatched up a fistful, and swallowed them. He must have thought it would come out all right in the end. Instead, Gar’s pet got him.” Sung wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fate is a wonderful thing. Here, give me those.”
She did, and Sung began tracing the curve on the talisman, one jewel at a time. She said, “They wouldn’t have left a talisman of levitation.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
“And this stuff isn’t worth nearly my weight in gold.”
Sung stiffened. “The pointer! It’s pointing into the wall itself!” He got up and began moving along the wall.
Sparthera grimaced but said nothing.
Sung called, “Either it’s cursed deep in there, or there’s another cave, or…Why do I bother? It’s pointing to Rynildissen.”
“Maybe other places too. There was a war with Sarpuree seventy years ago. We lost, so there was tribute to pay. I don’t even have to guess where the Regent got the money to pay for it all. He may have sold most of the treasure.”
“Humph. Yes. And if there were any decorative items left, they could be spread all through the palace. And some of the soldiers probably hid a few little things like that diamond bird. Even if we were crazy enough to rob the Regent’s palace, we’d never get it all. It’s the end of our treasure hunt, girl.”
“But you said…Sung! How can I ever win my freedom if we don’t go on?”
“Oh, we’ll go on. But not looking for Gar’s treasure.” Sung scooped the jewels into his pocket and handed her the little diamond bird. “Keep this as a memento. The rest…well, I’ve thought of opening a toy shop. In Rynildissen, maybe.”
“A toy shop?”
Sung frowned. “You don’t like toys, do you?”
“Everybody likes toys. But we’re adults, Sung!”
“Girl, don’t you know that human beings are natural magicians? I think it’s hereditary. The magic was always there to be used…but now it isn’t. And we still want magic. Especially children.”
“Those toys aren’t—”
“No, of course not, but they’re as close as you’re likely to get these days, especially in a city. Toys from far places might sell very well.”
She was still angry. Sung reached to run his fingers over the tawny stubble on her head. “We’ll live well enough. Come kiss me, little thief. Seven years isn’t such a long time.”
Sparthera kissed him; she couldn’t help it. Then she said, “I wondered if a diamond bird could be your talisman of levitation.”
Sung’s eyes widened. “I wonder…it’s worth a try. Not in here, though.” He took the bird and scrambled up scree toward the cave entrance.
Sparthera started after him. Then, holding her torch high, she looked up. The rock tapered to a high natural vault. It looked unstable, dangerous. Something…a bright point?
Compelled, she continued climbing after Sung. But the diamond trinket (she told herself) was no flying spell. She’d been wrong: no soldier would have stolen that. It would be treason. By staying here she would be working in Sung’s best interests (she told herself, scrambling up the rocks). There was no point in shouting after him. If she was wrong, at least he wouldn’t be disappointed (she told herself, and at last the pull of her oath lost its grip).
Sung was out of sight. Sparthera scrambled back down and set to work.
The soldiers had taken all of their equipment before they turned the cave into a crypt for their brethren by pulling down the entrance. They had taken armor but left the crushed helmet that was part of one corpse. They had taken the metal point from a snapped spear, but a three-pace length of shaft remained.
Sparthera dipped a piece of cloth into the stream, then into some of the moldy flour scattered on the rock floor. She kneaded the cloth until it turned gooey, then wrapped it around the broken tip of the spear. She climbed scree to get closer to the ceiling, and reached up with the spear, toward a bright point on the cave roof.
It stuck. She pulled it down: thin gold filigree carved into a pair of bird’s wings, about the size of her two hands. It tugged upward against her fingers.
“Lift me,” she whispered. And she rose until her head bumped rock.
“Set me down,” she whispered, and drifted back to earth.
No castle in the world held a room so high that she could not rob it, with this. And she waited for the impulse that would send her scrambling out to give it to Sung.
/>
Sung was bounding downhill with his arms flapping, one hand clutching the diamond bauble, looking very like a little boy at play. He turned in fury at the sound of Sparthera’s laughter.
“I’ve found it!” she called, holding the golden talisman high.
And as Sung ran toward her, beaming delight, Sparthera gloated.
For the instant in which she flew, Sparthera’s weight in gold had been far less than the value of the paltry treasure they had found.
She might stay with Sung long enough to take back the jewels, or at least the wings. She might even stay longer. If he were right about the toy shop…perhaps he need never learn that she was free.
“Mana from Heaven”
♦
by Roger Zelazny
I felt nothing untoward that afternoon, whereas, I suppose, my senses should have been tingling. It was a balmy, sun-filled day with but the lightest of clouds above the ocean horizon. It might have lulled me within the not unpleasant variations of my routine. It was partly distraction, then, of my subliminal, superliminal perceptions, my early-warning system, whatever…This, I suppose, abetted by the fact that there had been no danger for a long while, and that I was certain I was safely hidden. It was a lovely summer day.
There was a wide window at the rear of my office, affording an oblique view of the ocean. The usual clutter lay about—opened cartons oozing packing material, a variety of tools, heaps of rags, bottles of cleaning compounds and restoratives for various surfaces. And of course the acquisitions: Some of them still stood in crates and cartons; others held ragged rank upon my workbench, which ran the length of an entire wall—a rank of ungainly chessmen awaiting my hand. The window was open and the fan purring so that the fumes from my chemicals could escape rapidly. Bird songs entered, and a sound of distant traffic, sometimes the wind.
My styrofoam coffee cup rested unopened upon the small table beside the door, its contents long grown cold and unpalatable to any but an oral masochist. I had set it there that morning and forgotten it until my eyes chanced to light upon it. I had worked through coffee break and lunch, the day had been so rewarding. The really important part had been completed, though the rest of the museum staff would never notice. Time now to rest, to celebrate, to savor all I had found.