by Larry Niven
“Thank you. Better than before, thanks to Aunt Shanda.”
Wagonmaster Ern watched curiously, but most of his attention was given to Ruser. “I am told you wish to join our wagon train, Master Jeweler. And you bring these two as guards?”
“Two wagons only,” Ruser said. “And they are both guards and partners.”
“Partners,” Ern said slowly. “Interesting. Will they fight?”
Arshur struck a pose. “Who needs killing?” he demanded.
Regapisk shrugged. “I am a Lord of Lordshills; we are all trained in war crafts,” he said.
Sandry smiled to himself, remembering Reggy in sword practice, Reggy at spear throwing. Reggy’s hopelessness with a bow. He had spoken the truth, but…
“I will also have a chariot with two teams, mules and mares,” Regapisk said. “Arshur will be my spearman.”
Sandry nodded with more enthusiasm. Reggy could drive. As to Arshur, Sandry asked, “Do you have any skill with a spear thrower? They call it an atlatl.”
Reggy looked blank. Arshur frowned slightly. “Yes, if I understand what you mean.”
Sandry made gestures of placing a spear onto a stick, then throwing it.
Arshur laughed. “Assilima, we called them in the north. Sure, but you don’t do it that way! They’re a little tricky, but I can show you.”
“I never saw one,” Reggy said quickly.
“I’ll teach you both,” Arshur said. “But why are you interested in those things? They’re not much good for fighting from a chariot!”
Sandry said. “We’ll only have two chariots, counting yours, and no trained Lordsmen either. I’m sending everyone but Whane back with Green Stone’s wagons to Condigeo. We’ll have to defend ourselves with the help of locals who aren’t too well trained at fighting without magic. I was hoping these spear throwers would make up some of the difference; they look like they’d give you a lot more range.”
“More range, more power,” Arshur agreed. “Not as accurate. You pay by losing accuracy. But at close range, they’d sure help green troops against those birds. Good thinking…I forgot your name.”
“Sandry. Of Lordshills.”
“Sandry. We’ve met before, but I don’t remember where.”
“There was a tea room in Condigeo.”
“Yes. Sure was,” Arshur said. “I was with Tras Preetror. Been with Tras for twenty years, more. But he died, you know. On that ship. Tras died, and I’m going to Aztlan to be king.”
Going to be king, Sandry thought. He found it no more likely now than when Arshur had said it in Condigeo, but he noted that neither Ern nor Clever Squirrel laughed or even looked incredulous. “Congratulations,” Sandry said. He must have sounded as if he meant it, because Arshur looked pleased.
Younglord Maydreo tried to keep a straight face, but he was having trouble hiding the big grin that kept breaking out.
“You’ve earned the right, but not that grin,” Sandry said.
“Sir?”
“I’m putting you in command because I think you can do it, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about you,” Sandry said. “Remember the bloodberries?”
“Yes, sir—”
“And Vic’s Vampire Feast?”
“Yes, sir, I understand—be careful about magic.”
“Precisely,” Sandry said. “You’ve had good training with weapons, and you got some good experience fighting birds, not that I expect you to run into very many birds on the way back. But that’s just the point, Acting Lord Maydreo.”
Maydreo suppressed another wide grin.
“Without the birds, the bandits will be more active.”
“Oh. So I should keep the chariot men in armor?”
“You’ll have to decide that yourself,” Sandry said. “Certainly at least one team ought to be armored with bows.”
Maydreo nodded, suddenly sobered. “Bandits. Yes, sir, I’ll be ready for bandits.”
“Bandits, yes. But you’ll have to be alert for what the shaman called undead. And all kinds of horrors we don’t know because we don’t know much about magic,” Sandry said. “The worst of it is that Chalker and Peacevoice Fullerman won’t know much about magic either.”
Maydreo frowned slightly.
“I think you’re smart enough to realize that the real secret of leadership is to listen a lot before you say anything,” Sandry said. “I sure hope you learned that, anyway.”
“Yes, sir—”
“So they can tell you about bandits, but your best people won’t know any more than you do about magic. That leaves Green Stone and the shaman.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll listen to them.”
“Chalker can help you with Trebaty,” Sandry said. “He may or may not be the biggest problem you have.” Sandry stood. “I’m not following my own advice,” he said. “I’m talking too much. You’ll do fine, Acting Lord Maydreo.” He held out his hand to grip Maydreo’s forearm. “You’ll do fine.”
The wagon train was formed and ready. Sandry and Burning Tower stood close together as Green Stone stood on his wagon and looked at his charges. He turned to wave at Tower, then turned back. “Whenever you like, Acting Lord Maydreo.”
Maydreo raised his spear to Sandry, then turned to Chalker, who stood as his spearman. “If you please.”
Chalker looked one last plea at Sandry. Sandry turned his eyes away. There was a long pause, then trumpet notes sounded. The wagons began to move. Peacevoice Fullerman shouted, and the troops began their steady march. Lordkin Trebaty ambled behind them. He turned to wave to Secklers, who waved back. Secklers had decided to go with Sandry to the Aztlan trading posts.
The Feathersnake wagon train moved west, down the road through town and out the gates.
Burning Tower looked very serious.
“Worried about them?” Sandry asked.
“I’m more worried about us,” Tower said. “I wish we were going with them.”
“You still can. You can grab all your things and still catch up before they top the last ridge.”
“And leave you here with Squirrel? Never.” She tried to say it as a joke, but it came out serious. “But I do wish we were going home. To be married, to live at Road’s End or Lordshills—I don’t care.” She looked east and shivered.
“Premonition?”
“I don’t have premonitions,” Tower said. “My father has less talent for magic than anyone I ever met, and I don’t have a lot more. But I don’t need premonitions to be scared. Squirrel’s scared, and she has premonitions enough for all of us.”
She turned away to see the boy Spotted Lizard staring after the wagon train. “I thought you would go with them,” she said.
“It was kind of Green Stone to invite me,” the boy said. “But maybe my people are hiding somewhere. They were coming here; I’ll wait for them here.”
“How will you live?”
“I have found work.”
Sandry and Tower left the boy staring after the wagon train.
The next day it was their turn. Ern looked up and down the wagon train, asked if anyone needed more time, got no answer, and waved forward. The lead wagons moved out the east gate and up the road through the valley.
Regapisk rode alone in a roughly made chariot drawn by sturdy mares that looked more accustomed to pulling a plow than a chariot. They wouldn’t be fast, Sandry thought. Faster than the mules that trailed behind Ruser’s wagon, but not much, and the chariot was heavy—spokes too thick. It wouldn’t be fast even with good horses. They didn’t make good chariots in Crescent City, and they didn’t seem to know much about using them. Something to remember.
Arshur drove the first of the jeweler’s pair of wagons with Ruser sitting beside him looking relaxed and unworried. Ruser had hired two young men from neighbor families as drivers and helpers, and between them they seemed competent enough in the second wagon.
Burning Tower rode Spike. He was larger now, bigger than any horse, blazing white with a big spiral horn. The big one-horn se
emed docile enough so long as Burning Tower was near, and he would follow their wagon if she sat at the tailgate, but if he couldn’t see her, he could be difficult despite the stoutest harness and bit. He clearly disliked Clever Squirrel, but he also seemed afraid of her. Sandry wondered at the wisdom of bringing Spike, but Tower insisted.
The road led across the wide valley through green fields. There were crops and pastures on both sides of the road, all well watered by the river that cut through the valley but neglected during the siege of the terror birds. Farmers were cautiously returning to work. It would be harvest time soon enough, and the food was needed. The farmers waved at the wagon train and watched it go by.
Sandry wore his lightest armor. Speed would be more important than armor out here. His chariot was well equipped with weapons, four throwing spears, a thrusting spear, and a light shield, and most important, the bow case held his compound bow and forty arrows. Now that the Younglords were gone west there was not another bow like it. At least he had never seen a good bow outside Lordshills. The Feathersnake and Crescent City bows were simple affairs hewn from springy manzanita, the sort of thing a Lord’s child might use for training. They were not difficult to draw, and the arrow wouldn’t penetrate a shield. Or a terror bird.
Sandry’s bow had taken a dozen years to construct, and cost more than his chariot. It was made of thin layers of wood and horn bound together by sinews and glues. Stringing it took nearly all his strength, but it could send an arrow much farther than a man could throw a spear. Chariotmaster Lords all had such bows, and they were one of the reasons the Lords had held Tep’s Town against invaders and Lordkin revolts. An armored archer in a chariot was formidable, with enough speed to keep away from swordsmen and spearmen, and enough range to hold at risk as many lives as he had arrows. Add the disciplined Lordsmen soldiers and the wild Lordkin, and there had never been an army that could face the Lords of Lordshills.
But bows and armor were nearly useless against terror birds. They moved too fast for multiple shots, and they had few vulnerable spots among their thick hides and layers of feathers. It took the mass of a spear with its heavy bronze blade to stop the birds, and often that wasn’t enough. The bows had stayed in their cases for the entire journey to Crescent City.
Now, with fewer birds, there might be other dangers. Sandry stood tall in the chariot. What was out there?
The river went roughly north. The road angled straight to the northeast, and as they went farther from the river, the green fields thinned out—fewer crops and more pastures, and no trees at all. Hillocks were covered with scrub brush.
They topped the first ridge. The ridge top was nearly bare, flinty soil with chaparral but little grass. From the top Sandry could see far ahead.
The road stretched northeast across a broad flatland. Near the road was mostly tall grass. Countless wagon trains had trampled out the sagebrush for a hundred paces and more to each side of the road. Grass grew there. With no wagon trains to graze it, the grass was tall and lush.
“Good foraging for the horses,” Sandry said aloud. He clucked his horses into a trot and caught up with the Wagonmaster. “How long until camp?” he asked.
Ern looked up with a start, as if he’d been dozing. He stood on the wagon bed to look ahead, then looked to the sun to estimate the remaining daylight. “Another hour, Lord Sandry. There is a small pond and stream, with a corral if the birds didn’t destroy it. There was a small village there, but the villagers are back in Crescent City hoping we’ll find it’s safe for them to go back.”
“I think I’ll ride ahead and have a look,” Sandry said.
Burning Tower rode closer to him. “Premonitions?” she asked.
“No. It’s the obvious place to camp,” Sandry said, “so it’s the obvious place for an ambush.”
“Ambush by what?” Wagonmaster Ern asked. He concealed his smile, but some of the indulgent look came through. “And this close to the city?”
“The day before we reached Crescent City, there was a hilltop camping place,” Sandry said. “And in it was the wreckage of a wagon train. Men able to summon birds were waiting for us to camp there. It never hurts to have a look.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tower said.
Sandry nodded. “Ride with me. Let Spike follow,” he said.
She frowned but dismounted and climbed into the chariot. Spike followed close behind. “I’m glad you like my company.”
“I very much like your company. I also like having you on a fresh mount,” he said.
“Oh.” She stood close to him. Then closer.
He chuckled. “Keep that up and Spike won’t be following us,” he said.
“Squirrel says it’s overrated.”
“What is?”
“You know…”
“Oh. Maybe she’s not doing it right.”
“But I think she’s wrong.” She moved even closer to him. Spike snuffled his lips. Tower giggled. “Did you think it was overrated?”
“I wasn’t in love.”
“That’s what Squirrely says—she wasn’t in love and I am—so it will be different for me.”
He bent over to kiss her. Spike snuffled again. Sandry found it wasn’t easy keeping his eyes on the road and paying attention to Tower at the same time. Finally he straightened. “We don’t have to wait, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“No one is going to make you harness a one-horn if we’re married in Lordshills.”
“Mother will.”
“Your mother? Blazes, you told me yourself, she’s kinless, she was long away from Tep’s Town before she knew anything about one-horns!”
“Yes, but she learned, and she’s very proud that she could harness hers the morning she married Father. And there’s Father, I don’t know what he thinks, but he’s always said marriage is important. It’s not just property, either.”
“Well—but aren’t you even a little impatient?”
She laughed. “As much as you—maybe more—but think, there’s no one else here who can ride Spike or even harness him! What would we do with him?”
“Bugger Spike,” Sandry said, but he mumbled it so that she wouldn’t understand.
“I’m going to have a proper wedding,” Burning Tower said. “Your people can add whatever you do—what do you do for weddings? Lordkin don’t have marriages, and I know what Mother tells me about kinless, but I never heard about Lords.”
“Mostly it’s contracts and witnesses,” Sandry said.
“Contracts. Witnesses. Well, fine, but I’m going to have Bison Woman and Coyote, and a great feast with all my friends, and one-horns. A proper wedding!”
Sandry sighed. “Yes, my love.”
The campsite stood in a circle of broken hogans that ringed a small pond of clear water. Fences had been set between the hogans so that the entire pond was encircled. They drove into the village. “No one gathered here,” Sandry said. “They just walked off. Except for the houses.”
One wall had been opened on every house. The village looks dead, Sandry thought, but it would be easy enough to revive. If the birds don’t come back, he added.
A small running stream trickled out of the pond and ran eastward. It grew visibly smaller as it ran through the dry rocky land, but the line of green marking its course continued a long way. The pond had been divided into pools—a small one, then a much larger one down where it flowed into the stream. Wagon trains could water the animals in the large pool without muddying the water in the smaller one upstream.
Tall grass grew all around the campsite. Sandry left Tower with Spike at the pond and drove in a big circle through the tall grass around the campsite, noting that the grass hadn’t been broken down and that the only wheel tracks on the road were his own. There were some confused animal tracks, and one footprint that might have been made by a terror bird running along the dry stony road, but it might have been anything else. The ground wasn’t soft enough to hold tracks.
No tracks, and noth
ing hiding in the weeds. It looked safe enough. When he was satisfied, he joined Tower at the spring.
“Nothing,” he said.
“I thought I saw…”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure. I thought I saw a terror bird, far out along the road, almost too far to see.”
“Terror bird. What was it doing?”
“Nothing. It’s gone now. It was so far away, Sandry, that I’m not sure I saw anything at all.”
“And I thought I saw a bird track. But just one. We’ll watch for it, then,” Sandry said. He took a last look around the deserted village. “They left a lot of stuff behind. Secklers may like that.”
Tower grinned. “Not our problem this time. How will he carry it all?”
He led Tower back to the wagon train.
“All clear,” he told Ern. “And good grazing all around the spring.”
Ern nodded. “I hardly expected bandits.”
“If you expect them, you probably won’t find them,” Sandry said. “But Tower thought she saw a bird watching us.”
“So did I,” a voice said from behind him. Arshur. “Just when you started to ride out, it was ahead of you. Ran along the road in front of you. Just one,” Arshur said. He grinned. “Lord Reg and I can handle one without bothering anyone else.”
“I’m sure you can,” Sandry said. “But if there’s one, there may be more.” He turned to Wagonmaster Ern. “When you get to the campsite, please let the women set up camp. I want all the men for an hour’s spear practice. Arshur can teach them to use the atlatl.”
Arshur nodded amused agreement. “Soon as I remember how they work. Been a while.”
Chapter Two
The Road to
Aztlan
The drills continued every evening, two hours in light and another hour in twilight. The men complained, but once they got started, Arshur was an eager teacher and no one wanted to challenge him. Sandry wondered what he would do without the giant acting as a Peacevoice, then shrugged. He had Arshur, and that was enough.