Burning Tower

by Larry Niven

  And I—but no, others will read this account. I do not like this.

  About midmorning, Fur Slipper pointed with the prow of her nose, right of their course and dead east. “There!” She waved her arm to catch Ern’s attention on the lead wagon. The Crescent City wagons began to turn.

  Sandry rode up in his chariot. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Just more desert. The ground rises a little?”

  “Yes, but follow the road around. Expect guards.”

  “I see a tower. There’s someone in it.”

  “There would be,” Fur Slipper said. “I’m blinded. I see a line of light glowing in a sea of nothing.”

  Off in the distance, several terror birds watched them. One was the rooster they’d come to know. The birds didn’t approach, but they watched.

  “That’s more than we have ever seen on this road,” Sandry said. “Be ready, all!”

  “This close to the Fallen Star? Birds will never attack there,” Ern said.

  They came to a gentle rise of ground gradually curving off to their right. The road the caravan had followed since Crescent City continued around it. A league of following the curve of the road revealed that the tower stood seven or eight manheights, with an armored man on the platform at its top. A little farther and they could see over the rim of the crater.

  There were buildings below the tower: blocky squared-off structures, housing for more than a hundred people, Sandry thought, set down into the pit itself.

  This must be the Emperor’s main trading post. The main gate and the buildings it served were just below the crest. There was a wall of logs and maguey plants around the post, but the plants were not thickly planted, and the wall in places was lower than a man’s height. This post did not depend on walls for defense.

  Above the walled town, and around the part of the crater rim that Sandry could see, there were odd statues, man-high and higher, of grotesque heads stacked one on another. They were made of bright colored—wood? No, it was stone, though it had the texture of wood. The eyes of these monsters were jewels, and they glowed brightly. The statues were set about a hundred paces apart, ringing the trading post, then extending along the crater rim in both directions.

  “Protection stones,” Ern said. “You would not wish to pass between those without permission!”

  The ground was rocky and dangerous, but Regapisk drove his chariot off the road and over to one of the stones, carefully staying outside the ring they formed. “Ugly!” he shouted.

  The road led to a gateway wide enough for wagons bigger than these, and the big double gates stood open. A pair of the ugly protection stone statues faced each other across the gateway opening, multiple carved faces with bulging eyes and protruding tongues staring at each other. And at us? Sandry wondered. The eyes seemed to follow them as they approached. An illusion?

  Sandry watched a handful of men assembling: a force of twenty, four groups of four men, and another group of four officers.

  They wore bright armor and carried bows. The armor was thin plates of polished bronze over leather. The bows were simple wooden bows and probably couldn’t penetrate that armor. Sandry smiled to himself. His bow would outrange those things by double, perhaps more, and even at long range his arrows would penetrate that feeble armor. With a chariot and fast horses, he could fight all twenty and win. Fifty Lords with chariots and a thousand Lordsmen and Lordkin could defeat any number of such men.

  If this was the best of the Emperor’s army, why would anyone fear the Emperor?

  They followed the road uphill. On the flat, the road continued, but greatly changed. Thenceforth it ran straight as a spear’s flight at a constant width of about nine paces, and a line of logs ran right up the middle.

  Fur Slipper shouted, and all heads turned. “Nothing must profane the High Road! Set foot on it only at the invitation of the Emperor! Beasts are not to touch the High Road at all!”

  They followed the—low road?—up the gentle rise. Ahead were the main gates into the town itself. There was no more to be seen until they neared the top of the crest.

  Then the crater seemed to appear magically out of the desert. It was a bowl hundreds of paces across, tens of manheights deep. It was all rubble, barren of life. To Sandry it looked weird beyond understanding…

  “A mountain fell out of the sky.” Clever Squirrel whispered in his ear. “It smashed this hollow into the earth. See here, where rock melted and splashed, where a fiery wind lifted the surface and peeled it back. Pristine magic, never drained by the world’s gods or wizards. Can you feel the power? It’s making me drunk!”

  Burning Tower said, “I don’t feel a thing.”

  Sandry shook his head.

  Regapisk and Arshur rode up. Reggy shielded his eyes from the crater. “It’s bright!” he shouted.

  Arshur laughed.

  “You can see the manna?” Clever Squirrel asked.

  “Sure, can’t you?” He cupped his hands around his face to shade his eyes, then peeped out to examine the crater. “There,” he said. He pointed to discolored rocks near the crater floor. “That’s a really bright spot.”

  Arshur laughed again.

  “You don’t believe him?” Sandry asked.

  Arshur shrugged. “Lord Reg is learning the craft of Tras Preetror, and learning it well,” the giant said. “Since I have known him, he’s seen a lot of things I didn’t.”

  Regapisk looked hurt.

  “He’s right about that spot,” Clever Squirrel said. “I don’t see it as brighter than the rest, but I can feel the manna flowing.”

  And Reggy probably saw where you were looking, Sandry thought.

  Ern brought his wagons to a halt. The twenty bowmen blocking their path stepped to left and right. Other men and women waited beyond. Sandry glimpsed a formal garden of amazing extent, but Clever Squirrel exclaimed at sight of a blocky house. “They’ve got sweatbaths!”

  The governor was a woman named Hazel Sky. Her dress was awkward and beautiful, with a huge and spiky headdress. “Fox,” Squirrel whispered, though the woman didn’t look much like a fox to Sandry. But the burly man next to her was unmistakable in his costume. “Terror bird,” said Squirrel.

  Hazel Sky squinted, then smiled thinly. “Greetings, Ern of Crescent City. We have met before. It has been too long since your city brought the Emperor his due.”

  “The way was closed, Great Mistress. Our city was besieged and was nearly destroyed. Has it not been long since any wagons came from the west?”

  “It has. We have noted this, but my Master has sent no instructions.” She shrugged. “So we have done nothing.”

  “Did you tell Emperor no wagons long time?” Sandry asked.

  Hazel Sky frowned. The Terror Bird man hid a smile.

  “Great Mistress, this is Lord Sandry, of Lordshills,” Ern said. “He comes from lands far to the west of Crescent City, lands that lie on the Great Western Sea. He begs your pardon. He does not know the proper forms of address.”

  “Let him learn them,” Terror Bird said. “One does not slight a Great Mistress!”

  Sandry bowed.

  Hazel Sky nodded in acknowledgment. “I see stallions, and the great one-horn. It has been long since a one-horn was brought to Aztlan! We thank you. And the stallion is splendid. What other gifts have you brought for the Emperor?”

  “We have the customary gold, Great Mistress,” Ern said. “And we beg the privilege of provisions, and the customary gifts of manna.”

  She nodded. “The Supreme One will be greatly pleased with gifts such as those,” she said, indicating Blaze and Spike with a wave. “Have you counted out the customary tribute?”

  “Yes, Great Mistress.”

  She smiled. “Then nothing else is needed. Welcome to the place of the Fallen Sun! In the name of the Supreme One, I bid you welcome.”

  The Great Mistress and the other costumed priests retired. Lesser officials were sent to welcome them. Ern explained his caravan’s needs. Fodder was brought. T
he wagons were led down a steep road into the crater itself. No water supply was to be seen, but when Regapisk asked about that, there was general laughter.

  The women made it clear that they wanted to bathe. “At once, Mistress,” a servant girl said. She was no younger than Burning Tower, but she knelt to her. “At once. I will go to heat the stones myself.”

  “Best welcome I ever had,” Ern said.

  Burning Tower looked to Sandry, with both question and fear. Sandry nodded. “Not the time to talk about it,” he said quietly. She looked unhappy but nodded agreement.

  There was plenty of room for visitors. Only about forty people were in the fort.

  They spoke the Crescent City tongue with a raspy accent. Twenty were warriors armed with spears or simple bows, led by a Captain Sareg. Six were officials of the Office of the Emperor’s Gifts.

  The chief of these was called Regly. Tax man, Sandry thought. Toronexti.

  Ern laid out a blanket and covered it with goods. There was some gold, but there were other items, manufactured in Crescent City. Fruits and melons preserved by Fur Slipper’s spells. Pots and dishes. Sandry frowned. Except for the gold, little of this would have brought a decent price in Peacegiven Square, and most would have been worthless in Condigeo. Aztlan was rich! Why did they want crude goods?

  Regly examined the items. “Acceptable. When will you deliver the stallion and one-horn?”

  “Soon,” Ern said. “All our beasts are needed to draw the wagons and chariots into the pit, and I think you have no one here who can harness the one-horn.”

  “That may be true,” Regly admitted. “Good. Your gifts are acceptable.”

  Ern explained after Regly left. “There is no trade with the Emperor. We bring gifts, and the Emperor gives gifts in return. His gift is the privilege of using the crater.

  “Over there are traders, with goods.” He pointed to a line of stands, like any market. “They buy and sell. There will be stonewood, every kind of stonewood, carved and crude, charged and depleted. There will be jewelry talismans of turquoise and silver. And rain arrows, to make the trip back much faster. With rain arrows, we do not have to follow the streams.”

  “Are the arrows expensive?”

  “Not very. But each is accounted for, and its use is taxed, and all of that takes time.”

  Nine officials and six clerks belonged to the Office of Rain.

  Rain was a good deal of the post’s business. Hundreds of rain arrows with turquoise heads were stored, waiting to be used here or carried away to other lands. The luxuriant vegetable garden was testimony to their effectiveness. Rain arrows, charged in the crater, traveled all over the Empire. Each one was accounted for by documents meticulously kept by the clerks.

  The Office of Rain was a circular sunken room, a kiva, inside a blocky building that wasn’t much bigger. The head of the Office of Rain was Thundercloud, a burly, powerful man in middle age—he who had been dressed as an archetypal terror bird. He looked more comfortable in black robes.

  Ern said to him, “We are ready for water now, Lesser Master.”

  Thundercloud stood and summoned a clerk, who produced a document. The clerk asked questions, got answers from Ern, and wrote. Then he asked more and wrote more.

  It took most of an hour. Finally the clerk was satisfied.

  Thundercloud selected an ornate arrow tipped with turquoise. He brought that to the clerk, who recorded something on the document. Thundercloud took his seal cylinder from his wrist and rolled it in fresh clay dripped at the bottom of the document. The clerk did the same.

  “One gold bit,” the clerk said.

  Ern produced the gold, not much larger than a speck. The clerk noted that on the document, and dropped the gold bit down through a slot on his desk. “All in order,” the clerk said.

  Thundercloud took a bow from the wall and strung it with an effort. Sandry suppressed a grin. It was only a simple bow, and it couldn’t be that difficult. But it was ornately carved.

  Thundercloud took the bow and the rain arrow outside. “I will do this myself,” he told Ern.

  “We are honored,” Ern said. Thundercloud nodded agreement.

  He nocked the arrow and sent it upward, almost straight up, chanting as it rose. Tiny sparkles of lightning followed it up. It rose until it was nearly out of sight, then fell, still trailing brilliant sparks, to just short of where Ern had placed his wagons.

  Upslope from the wagons, it began to rain. A junior clerk rushed down the hill to retrieve the arrow. Soggy and dripping now, he brought it back to the first clerk, who examined it and added notations to the document. They went back inside out of the rain.

  “We recharge arrows using these.” Thundercloud showed them a line of thumb-size frames of silver. “I won’t demonstrate. I don’t want to get wet.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Wizard’s

  Bathhouse

  There was a line of sweatbaths not far from the Office of Rain, but the servant girl led Burning Tower, Fur Slipper, and Clever Squirrel past those to a smaller area fenced with maguey. Inside the enclosure was a rose garden. Hummingbirds were everywhere. One frantically tried to drive the others away, but there were far too many roses for one bird to defend.

  Like the other baths, this one was placed at the crater’s rim. Mats placed outside, for relaxing after the sweatbath, would have a wonderful view. The building was made of petrified logs aglitter with garnet and other semiprecious stones.

  Hazel Sky, no longer in robes of office but dressed in a simple gown, joined them. Burning Tower was afraid to speak to her, but Fur Slipper greeted her by name and introduced them to her.

  There was no sign of the imperious Great Mistress. Now she was friendly.

  “Welcome,” she said. “We have many baths here at Sunfall, but this one is reserved for the enlightened and their guests.”

  Burning Tower frowned, and Clever Squirrel suppressed a laugh. “My sister is not favored,” Squirrel said. “But she is certainly my guest.”

  Clever Squirrel examined the stonewood walls and looked questioningly at Hazel Sky.

  Hazel nodded agreement. “All depleted,” she said. “A place where those burdened with magical talent can relax.”

  Burning Tower looked puzzled. Fur Slipper explained, “There’s no manna left in these logs. This building would make a dandy insulator if you wanted to avoid a curse. It’s also a shield from visions. Hazel, did you use the magic in the logs to heat the thing? Easier than getting wood, until it ran out.”

  “Likely,” Hazel Sky said. “But that was long before I came.”

  The way inside led to a smaller room where they removed their clothes and hung them on pegs. They turned left to another small room, right to yet another, then left into the bathhouse itself. Each room had a stonewood door.

  Clever Squirrel smiled at Burning Tower’s look of puzzlement. “As Hazel said. This is a place of refuge from magic. Manna flows in straight lines. By turning those corners, we have escaped all the cares of the world.” Squirrel lay on a bench and sighed. “I think I have never been to a place like this,” she said. “Not even Tep’s Town before Yangin-Atep went mythical was so devoid of manna. So clean.”

  “You were there when the god was…” Hazel searched for a word. “Retired?”

  “No.”

  Hazel took another bench and sprawled out contented. “Your friend has no talent at all?” she asked.

  “None,” Tower said. She thought it would be impolite to add that her family had never needed any. “I saw Morth of Atlantis after he sent the god mythical, but I wasn’t there when it happened. No one was, except Morth and my father.”

  Heat filled the room. The source was hot rocks along one wall, and a small brazier held a wood fire far too small to have heated all the rocks. Tower moved around restlessly as the talented ones—enlightened, she thought, and sniffed—relaxed on benches with contented smiles.

  The brazier sat in a small fireplace. The stone floor had no soo
t or any other indication that a fire had ever burned there. Tower could feel a mild breeze going up the chimney, which was just big enough that she could have scrambled up it. No light came down it.

  Clever Squirrel was watching her with a lazy grin.

  “All right,” Tower said. “That fire isn’t big enough to heat this place! And those stones are hot!”

  “Of course they’re hot,” Hazel Sky said. “The servants heat them and bring them in for us. The brazier is for scents and powders, not heat.” Hazel laughed. “Do you think we use fire to heat rocks here? With wood so precious and manna so cheap?”

  “Ah,” Clever Squirrel said. “So you use magic to heat the stones.”

  “Of course. The Supreme One has commanded that guests be treated properly. How could we heat stones enough for all your wagon train to enjoy a bath if we did not use manna? It would take everyone here working full time to bring in enough wood!”

  There were eight sweat lodges heated, but to Sandry the sweatbath sounded like an exercise in discomfort. He gave orders that the bath kettles be heated at the wagon train. That too would be done with magically heated stones. Wood was precious.

  Then he turned to Ern with a frown. “There are no walls here. No protection for the wagons,” Sandry said.

  Ern shrugged. “Nor need.”

  “We saw birds not a league from here,” Sandry reminded him. “We saw the rooster that has tracked us since Crescent City. Why is there no need to protect ourselves from the birds?”

  Ern laughed. “We are in the Emperor’s stronghold! The priesthood is here, in a place of great manna! Protection stones ring the crater and this town as well. This is the safest place I know, safe against any enemy.” He paused. “Any enemy save the Emperor, and there’s nothing we could do if he decided to rob us.”

  Quintana would say that we could sell our lives at a price to teach him to leave others alone, Sandry thought. “We saw half a dozen birds, more than we have seen for days,” Sandry said. “How long would it take for them to kill us in our beds? Circle the wagons and put up the barriers.”