by Larry Niven
Tower tuned him out. She’d been hearing this for half her life. The terrain was sparsely forested, richly green valleys separated by dull brown hills, but sometimes the hills had pine forests. There was a sudden storm of small birds and a hawk in their midst. The Lordkin ducked, then laughed at each other.
This was easy travel. Sandry and his men had no trouble adjusting to the caravan style of living: pack everything, every time. To the Lordkin this was almost strange…but not quite. “You’re all like the boss—like Chief Wanshig,” said Secklers. “Is that because he sailed on a ship? A place for everything and everything in its place.”
“That’s the way we live,” Tower assured him.
“It’s a pain.”
“You can live with pain. How did you get that scar?”
Secklers grinned and told a harrowing tale of a raid on Howler turf.
The days passed. The Lordkin learned a little, and, hey, you could put up with just two of them. Sandry tried them out as scouts. They were a token, Tower thought, sent to even things out. Peacevoice Fullerman was the Lords’ eyes and ears.
A caravan did more than move. The wagons carried grain to cook, and various kinds of tea, but any variety in diet had to come from the land. The hunting grew better as they moved south, but predators grew more numerous. Tower taught them to see fruits and roots that could be eaten.
On the fifth morning, they passed a terror bird. It left them alone. Later that day, another attacked them. Sandry distracted it, and as it turned to chase him, Maydreo drove up from behind to let Whane drive a spear into its back, just where the neck came out of the torso. It ran a few more paces and fell dead, the battle over before Peacevoice Fullerman could get more men into armor. Trebaty found a clutch of three huge eggs. The bird and its eggs served as their dinner.
“This is odd,” Sandry said to Squirrel. “This one attacked us when we came near her nest. The other stayed clear. Are there two kinds of terror bird?”
Squirrel said nothing.
On the eighth day, the road gently turned to southwesterly.
“Aren’t we getting closer to Condigeo?” Burning Tower asked.
Squirrel nodded. “We’ll be in Condigeo by noon tomorrow, earlier if we make good time today. It should be safe enough from here on. Never heard of terror birds this close to the sea.”
Sandry nodded in relief. “I’ll keep scouts out to both sides and ahead just in case,” he said. He waved to the Younglords in their chariots. “Be alert,” he said, but it was hard to stay alert this close to the end of a journey.
An hour later, they topped a low hill. A wide valley stretched out to the east and west, a sluggish stream in its middle. There was a fortified town just south of where the road forked to the west. Guards waved from their watchtowers as the caravan went past without stopping.
There were loud bird cries, and a half dozen seagulls glided over, wheeled to inspect them. This was the first time since leaving Tep’s Town that Sandry had seen gulls. He pointed to one of the graceful sea birds. “I’m surprised we didn’t see more of them. Aren’t we close to the sea?”
“Getting there now,” Clever Squirrel said. “But the Hemp Road stays on the other side of the hills from the ocean. The coast road is dangerous. Pirates in the Flea-bottom Creek area. Robbers in the Greyswift Hills. Too many to fight. There’s a big patch of manna in the Greyswift Hills. I’ve never been there, but I’m told there’s a nice town there if you can get to it. But we stay away from the coast until we’re close to Condigeo.”
“Fear! Fear and foes!” The shouts came from Sandry’s scouts to the east. Maydreo, shouting the same words he’d shouted in Peacegiven Square, but with confidence and defiance now, a lot less fear.
“Fear! Fear and foes! Alarm! Make ready!”
Someone in the watchtower in the town behind and to their left sounded a conch shell horn. The guards outside the town gates scrambled inside. The gates slammed shut in haste.
“No help from them,” Peacevoice Fullerman said. “To arms, lads, to arms. Full kit. My Lord, I have four men under arms. It will take a bit to get the rest equipped.”
“Right.” Sandry had been riding in the wagon with Fullerman, his empty chariot tailing the wagon. “My team’s rested. Chalker!”
“Coming,” the old man shouted. He ran up from the second wagon where he had been riding and climbed into Sandry’s chariot.
Sandry gathered throwing and thrusting spears and dropped off the wagon. Clever Squirrel loosed the chariot reins from the wagon as Sandry jumped into the chariot. Sandry looked around for Burning Tower. Nowhere. He waved to Clever Squirrel, and caught the reins as she threw them.
Maydreo was closer now. “Fear and foes! Alarm! Lord Sandry, it’s birds!”
“How many?” Sandry shouted.
“Twenty, I counted,” Maydreo answered.
“Twenty-one,” Whane corrected. “And all bunched up.”
Sandry wheeled the chariot to face east. There they were, a quarter of a mile or less down the valley, birds bigger than horses and coming on fast over the grassy fields. A stock fence slowed them momentarily, then they jumped, a graceful echelon of green and orange.
Beautiful, Sandry thought. Damned deadly, but they’re beautiful. “Maydreo, walk your horses,” Sandry shouted. “Let them rest up a bit; we’ll need all the speed you can get. Fullerman, hurry it up!”
“Fast as we can, My Lord.”
It wouldn’t be fast enough.
“Call in the other outriders.”
“Aye, My Lord.” Fullerman’s trumpets sounded.
“Tep’s balls!” Trebaty and Secklers ran up, their big Lordkin knives ready. They had their woolen ponchos over their left arms as shields. “That’s a lot of them buggers!” Trebaty looked around. “What do you want us to do, Lord Sandry?”
What to do with stray Lordkin? “Please stay with Peacevoice Fullerman,” Sandry said. “Keep him alive so he can direct his men.”
“Right!” Trebaty said. “We’ll do that.”
A pledge. One less thing to worry about, Sandry thought. He flicked the reins and sent his chariot hurtling toward the oncoming green-and-orange wave. “Steady, steady…get ready, Chalker.”
“I been ready!”
“Steady—haw! Haw!” The chariot wheeled to the left, so that Chalker, to Sandry’s right, would have a clear shot. As the chariot wheeled, Chalker threw forward and to the right, forward so that the chariot’s momentum would be added to the strength of his arm—
“Score!” Chalker shouted. “The leader’s not down, but he’s slower. They’re after us, My Lord.”
“Good.” Now if the horses hold out and don’t stumble… “Gee! Gee!” The chariot wheeled to the right. The wounded bird was trailing now, clear of battle. Its plumage flared, gaudy, a rainbow of colors. The rooster? And the rest were hens? The terror bird hens surged after the chariot.
“Are those town watchtowers manned?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’d rather be on the road than in this field.”
“Better slow just a little—they’re wavering.”
“Right.” It was a balancing act, staying far enough ahead of the birds that they couldn’t catch him, not so far that they lost interest. Last year Sandry had done this dance with a wave following him, a water elemental flowing uphill in the wake of his chariot. Birds were nothing. Here was the road now—follow it down toward the town.
“They’re no help,” Chalker shouted. “They’re cheering you, but they ain’t throwing nothing from those towers.”
“Blast.”
A trumpet sounded.
“Fullerman’s ready,” Chalker shouted.
“Right. Here we go.”
Fullerman’s troops stood ready, shields locked, thrusting spears leaned against their shields as they held their throwing spears loosely.
The birds were strung out in a line following Sandry’s chariot. The one Chalker had hit trailed well to the side. The others were
in fine shape, and the horses were tiring. “I’ll lead them close,” Sandry shouted.
He guided the chariot on a path parallel to Fullerman’s line and no more than ten feet away. The birds followed.
“Hey, Harpy!” The shout came from the lead wagon. Sandry stole a quick glance at the wagons. There was a wagoneer with a sling on top of each, half a dozen on the wagon closest to Fullerman. Mouse Warrior was calling. “Hey, Harpy!”
As the birds closed with Fullerman, a shower of stones flew from the wagoneer slings. The lead bird was hit several times, stumbled, another bird crashed into it from behind—
“Throw!” Fullerman ordered. Spears arched out.
Three birds went down. Another flight of stones pelted them. The other birds held up short, looking at these new dangers.
“Thrusting spears!” Fullerman ordered.
The line of troops sprouted a bristle of points. Two of the birds charged into the spearpoints, impaled themselves. One of the guardsmen was thrust backward as the bird pushed onward.
Secklers ran up behind the guardsman and pushed him back into the line. The bird struggled for a moment, then fell in front of the guards.
Now Maydreo charged from behind the wagon line. His chariot brushed past the birds, and Whane thrust his spear, a perfect thrust. Another bird down, and the rest were chasing Maydreo, but the slowest two fell to flying stones from the wagons. Trebaty and Secklers rushed out to slash at the wounded birds, chopping at their necks, then dashed back behind the shield wall. Mouse Warrior shouted in triumph.
Sandry brought his chariot to a halt behind the shield line. Chalker leaped out to brush the foam from the horses’ necks. “Steady there, beauties, steady. Take a rest now, steady…”
And Maydreo led the remaining birds in a big circle, back to where Fullerman’s troopers stood with throwing spears, and the cries of “Hey, Harpy!” sounded from the wagon train.
They were all babbling like fools. Twenty-one dead terror birds. One guardsman lightly clawed, and one bruised from where Secklers had shoved him into line with thirty stone of bird held on the end of his spear. No horses harmed, and twenty-one heads to be carried on pikes, feather trophies for the wagons, Green Stone serving up Golden Valley wine…
And at noon of the ninth day they saw houses on the high bluff ahead. “Condigeo,” Green Stone said. They went along the valley road to the lowland port area in triumph, knowing that the Captains in their great houses on the bluff above would be watching, noting the heads on pikes and the green and orange feathers flying from each wagon.
“But why?” Sandry asked Clever Squirrel. “Groups of them attack us, hate the horses and bison, go for the wagons. Then there are the others who couldn’t care less about us unless we disturb them. Why?”
Clever Squirrel said, “I don’t like it one bit.”
Heads turned to look at her. She said, “It’s a god.”
“A god?”
“A god can’t pay attention all the time. Coyote doesn’t. When the god’s not there, they’re just empty-headed birds. They defend their nests. If they’re hungry, they find something to kill; otherwise, no. But when the god is in their heads, they do what he tells them.”
“But why is he telling them to fight us?” Tower asked for all of them.
Squirrel said, “The god of terror birds wants more turf. You want reasons? Gods aren’t reasonable. They’re powerful, and they’re crazy.”
Chapter Five
The Welcome
The wagon train came down the river valley. Condigeo was spread out ahead of them. A low wall with gates stretched across the valley between them and the city. Where the city was elegant, the wall was crude, made of newly turned earth and stones and green wood. The road they were on was high enough that they could see beyond the wall to the city itself.
The city of Condigeo was built in two parts. There was a cluster of buildings large and small on lowlands around the docks and wharves. Beyond the docks were channels cutting through swamps until they reached the sea. High above the lower city was a line of great houses on a bluff. They all faced west, looking across the lower city and its docks to the ocean. The city and harbor were much larger than Lord’s Town, but what really caught Burning Tower’s eye were the houses on the bluff above.
“They’re grand!” Burning Tower said. “If I hadn’t seen Lordshills I’d think that the grandest sight I’ve ever seen.”
“There’s a couple pretty big even for Lordshills,” Chalker said. “Great view of the sunset too.” He frowned. “They got some kind of troopers up there too. No chariots, but there’s men with spears.”
Clever Squirrel rode up to the lead wagon. “Circle,” she said.
“But we just got here,” Tower protested. “Why?”
“We’ll find out when we need to, my lady,” Chalker said. He looked to Sandry and got a nod, made hand signals to Peacevoice Fullerman. Trumpets sang out.
Fallen Wolf gestured for them to sit inside the wagon circle. When they were all there, Green Stone came out. He was wearing his best clothes, buckskins painted with symbols, a great feathered serpent with malachite green eyes dominant on his chest.
He looks splendid! Burning Tower thought. It was the first time she had really thought of her brother as a Feathersnake Wagonmaster.
Green Stone spoke conversationally, his voice audible inside the wagon circle but not beyond. “I called you here because there’s something different ahead,” he said. “Fallen Wolf.”
“I’ve been here many times,” Fallen Wolf said. “And there wasn’t never a wall across the valley there, no gates, no troopers on watch. Every time before, we get this close to Condigeo, there’s wagons with merchants and greeters, maybe one or two armed shoremen, but that would be it. Now they got a wall, and marines—that’s what they call their soldiers—and look up there on the bluff where the Captains live. There’s more of them marines watching us. Not like Condigeo used to be.”
Green Stone nodded grimly. “Feathersnake has property in the city. A warehouse at the docks, and a hospitality office. They know who we are, they know we belong here, but nobody’s come out to welcome us. I’m going in to find out why.”
“Shall I come with you, Wagonmaster?” Sandry asked.
“Thanks, but I think not. I don’t think we’ll need your army to get out of here, but if we do, they’ll sure need you!”
“Stone!” Burning Tower blurted out the name, realized she was babbling, but no one else would ask him. “You can’t mean that—Condigeo turned bandit?”
He wagged his head. “Don’t know, Burning Tower. I don’t know anything except that this isn’t what you call a proper welcome.” He smiled. “I’m sure it will be all right, but if this is the way they welcome us, they can’t blame us for not just rushing in.”
“Let me drive him in, My Lord,” Chalker said. “I’ll use Younglord Maydreo’s chariot and team so you’ll have yours. I can bring in the Wagonmaster in style, so to speak.”
“Good idea,” Sandry said. “If that’s acceptable, Wagonmaster?”
Green Stone looked pleased. “Generous of you, Lord Sandry.”
“Good,” Sandry said. “And with your permission, Wagonmaster—Fullerman, full armor, but polished. I want the troops looking like they’re on parade. Whane, that makes you my spearman until the Wagonmaster gets back.”
Green Stone nodded.
“Chalker, I’ll need my armor too. Maydreo can help me dress. Then I want all the Younglords in armor.”
“Ours won’t be polished,” Whane said, “sir.”
“Mine won’t either,” Sandry said. He turned to Green Stone. “I haven’t had the charioteers in armor because that slows the chariots down, and against birds speed is more important than protection.”
“Against birds,” Green Stone said.
“Yeah. And we’ll want bowcases and arrows too.”
“Bows,” Green Stone said thoughtfully.
Sandry nodded grimly. “Bows aren’t muc
h use against birds. Hard to get through the feathers, and they move too fast to hit them at any range.”
“Against birds. But good against men.”
Burning Tower felt a chill. She’d never seen Sandry this way before. A warrior commander, grim. And all his men looked the same way, determined.
Green Stone frowned. “All right, armor and bows. But all of you listen. They’re acting scared in there. Scared of us, which doesn’t make any sense, but it sure means we don’t give them any reason to be scared of us.” He grinned, tried to seem friendly. “When we get inside, no shortchanging the customers. Don’t promise more than you have. Make them glad they bought from you. And I don’t have to say No gathering.” He came over to Burning Tower. “You’re the family member in charge, then,” he said. “Lord Sandry, if anything happens here, get her home to her father. Lordsman Chalker, if you’re ready, I guess I am.”
Burning Tower clambered atop the wagon nearest the Condigeo gates and watched as Chalker drove her brother toward the city. Green and orange feathers fluttered from the spears in the spearcase, and a terror bird head topped the longest spear.
“All those spears,” she said.
Sandry looked up with a grin. “Throwing spears with feathers tied on, thrusting spear with a bird’s head on it. Even an idiot can see this is for show.”
“Oh.”
Sandry nodded. “But an idiot can also see that those are real spears, and that’s not the only war chariot we have.” He touched his bowcase. “And we are the Lords of Lordshills. They’ve heard of us.”
Aha. And Peacevoice Fullerman’s men were in shining armor, but it was armor, and they marched in perfect step, trained men. She watched as the Younglords strained to string their bows. The bows were odd looking, curved the wrong way, nothing like the simple bows Tower had seen among people along the Hemp Road. “Chalker didn’t take a bow,” she said.
“He’s a Lordsman, not a Lord,” Sandry said absently.
“Don’t Lordsmen use bows?”
“No.” Sandry hesitated. “Lords only,” he said. “Chalker’s got spears and a shield. Better at close quarters anyway.”