by Larry Niven
Regapisk asked, “What’s to stop anyone from just driving around the gates?”
“Guards,” Flensevan said. “You don’t come in without invitation, unless you want your heart cut out and set in the wall. A lot of business gets done outside anyway.”
“You’re going to have to tell me about that wall.”
“North of the shop, under the Great Mesa. You will see it soon enough. But it is ill luck to speak of it.” The chariot lurched as it went through the gates, and Flensevan stopped talking.
There was a city outside the city: a few big blocky buildings, and several circular buildings of the type usually associated with religion—kivas. The wagons were impressive even to a man who had seen the Feathersnake caravans. Regapisk asked, “We’re looking at considerable wealth, aren’t we?”
“Oh, yes,” Flensevan said.
“The High Road is over there,” Regapisk said positively.
“Why, I believe so, but how do you know?” Flensevan braced as the chariot rounded a turn to go south.
“I see it as a bright line,” Regapisk said. “I’m surprised you can’t see this; the power in it blazes even at dusk. And there it is.”
The guards at the High Road terminal saluted the king’s chariot.
“I am king’s companion,” Regapisk said.
“Yes, Lord, how may we serve you?”
“I seek the visitors who arrived today.”
“Certainly, Lord. In the Caravanserai.” The guard pointed. “They will lodge there for the night.”
The Caravanserai would have been a palace in any other city. It was built in a manner Regapisk already thought of as Aztlan public building style: a multistoried building nestled against the cliff face, with a broad, flat patio in front. Inside the city, many of the buildings were faced with tiers of seats for the public, but this one had nothing obscuring the patio’s view of the High Road and the long stretch to the west, flatlands with mesas, lightning storms above high mountains to the northwest.
An elegantly dressed servant led Regapisk and Flensevan to a table on the broad patio. The table was set in a pit, with a bench around the pit’s wall for seating. In the center of the table was a large, shallow, round bowl of red clay. It held a fire that at first looked like burning brush, but the brush blazed away without being consumed. The fire sparkled with magic, and what little smoke it emitted obediently avoided the eyes and noses of everyone around it.
“Visiting Ladies and Lords, the king’s companion and his friend,” the servant announced.
Sandry stood and bowed. Regapisk thought his cousin was doing a good job of hiding a grin. “Hail,” Sandry said. “Please join us.”
“Yes, we have much to discuss,” Regapisk said. “This is Flensevan, my partner.”
“Welcome to Aztlan,” Flensevan said. “No doubt you will receive a more formal welcome tomorrow.” He lowered his voice. “As to discussions, in Aztlan it is well to be careful of what is said. The Emperor’s servants are everywhere.”
The bench around the table was surprisingly comfortable. Conversation ran up and down the table with the wine.
The wine was from someplace far south, and it was old. It had to be. No caravan had come near Aztlan in nearly a year. Flensevan spoke rumors of treason by priests who served the nightmare birds. Yes, they were true. What, then, of the rain?
It evolved that the priests of Left-Handed Hummingbird had infiltrated deep into the Office of Rain. The Emperor and his servants would have to separate out those blameless among the apprentices. Weather might be dry in Aztlan until those became proficient in the work.
Now Flensevan was urging Regapisk to speak of his past. Reg couldn’t lie in front of Sandry. “I am a Lord of Lordshills and Tep’s Town, sent to explore. I have farmed,” he said, “and trained with weapons and fought terror birds. I know the sea. I can speak to mers, but I don’t suppose there’s call for that here.”
“Mers?” Flensevan asked, and Regapisk laughed and explained, aided by Sandry. The port at Tep’s Town, the tales of Lordkin sent to sea for crimes. Flensevan listened, not quite believing.
“Then here’s to my new partner,” Flensevan said presently, and drained his cup. A servant refilled it, but Flensevan set it down untasted. When the servant retired to his place along the wall, Flensevan said, carefully, “We are outside, but so are the Supreme One’s servants. Wine loosens the tongue, and that can be dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?” Regapisk asked. “Dangerous to the king’s companions?”
Flensevan smiled thinly. “You may know less of that than you believe,” he said.
“Does everyone fear the Emperor?” Burning Tower asked.
“Fear him or love him,” Flensevan said. “The wisest love him in fear.”
“What must we fear?” Clever Squirrel asked.
“You are a shaman. Have you had visions of a long wall?”
Squirrel frowned. “I have dreamed of a wall of stucco, and heard a sound,” she said. “But I don’t know what it means.”
“What sound?” Burning Tower asked.
“Almost like rain. Or a thousand drums. Or a million butterfly wings—”
“A thousand hearts,” Flensevan said.
“Hearts?”
The jeweler said, “The Wall of Hearts lies under the Great Mesa. You will see it tomorrow, or when it pleases the Supreme One to invite you into the city. There are niches in it, bricked up. Each holds a heart. At least a thousand hearts have been placed there.”
“Hearts,” Sandry said with disbelief. “Hearts without bodies, but they still beat?”
Flensevan shrugged. “Your shaman hears them. And I assure you, Lord…Sandry? I assure you they were beating when they went in.”
“Whose hearts?” Burning Tower asked.
Flensevan shrugged. “Mostly enemies of the Emperor, of course. Those who blaspheme against the gods, those who oppose the will of the Supreme One, or the bureau chiefs. Thieves. And a few others, who are sent to the gods for the good of Aztlan.”
“What others?” Clever Squirrel asked. “And to what gods? I know no gods who wish for such gifts!”
“Not gifts,” Flensevan said. “Messengers. Doubtless those who know more of this will explain it all to you.” He shuddered and would say no more.
It was well past dark when Regapisk and Flensevan took their leave. Two soldiers carried torches to light their way. Like the cook fire at the table, the torches gave light but no smoke and were not consumed.
More servants with glowing torches led Burning Tower and the others to the large building and up winding stairs through corridors and small rooms. Tower was soon lost.
Their sleeping quarters were three spacious rooms with windows that looked out to the city gates and beyond into the canyon that held Aztlan.
All the beds were in one room.
“Aztlan has different notions of privacy than we,” Sandry said when the servants were gone. “I can move my bed.”
“No,” Squirrel said. “If they expect us all to sleep in one room, we should do that.”
“Three to a room,” Tower said. “Isn’t three bad luck in their world?”
“And this may be an oversight, or it may be an insult,” Squirrel suggested. “Their ways are not our ways, and our only safety now lies in not offending them.”
“Squirrel, are you afraid?”
“Of offending them? Yes,” Clever Squirrel said. “There is power here. The manna is not as…as dense here as it was at Sunfall, but there is more than anywhere else I’ve been, and it is all under control. It is as if I could reach up and seize manna from the air because they have put it there for my use. And if that is so, they can take it away again. Tower, Sandry, this is a place of great magic, and I feel very small.”
“Coyote will protect you,” Burning Tower said.
“Perhaps.” She opened a bag and began to pour sand, building a crude stick figure that might have been anyone of any sex. It came alive. It spoke.
“Squirrel?”
“Greetings, Mountain Cat,” Squirrel said. “Mother said someone would be watching.”
“Yes, but talk fast.”
“I will. Tell Mother that I’ll give as much warning as I can, but the wedding is at the convenience of the Emperor, and he hasn’t told us when. Days, I think. From now on, I’ll try to call in the mornings.”
“All right,” the figure said. “You know what it costs to keep this painting ready? Talismans are expensive!”
“I know,” Squirrel said. “Tell Whandall we’ll bring wealth enough to replace them. Good night.” She swept the black sand into its bag without waiting for a reply.
In black moonless night, Clever Squirrel cried out, “It is an island!”
Sandry woke. “What?”
She was at the window. “Sorry. Lord Sandry, it’s an island of magic in a sea of nothing, a big island with a blazing peak. Mesa Fajada? A burning tower. You don’t see it?”
“No. Even when there was light, it was just a city in a desert…impressive enough, though.”
Clever Squirrel said, “It’s not that kind of island, Sandry. Wait for daylight. You’ll see a butte. To me it’s ablaze with manna, with sparks of brighter magic flying around it.”
Sandry took the shaman very seriously, but he didn’t always believe her every word. She’d been fooled once before.
Chapter Nineteen
The Wall of Hearts
“Reggy! Wake up, Lord Reg!”
“My head hurts,” Regapisk complained.
“Awake! Now! I need you.” Arshur’s shouts couldn’t be ignored. Regapisk noted that there was no one else on the mat with him. Whatever her name, she’d gotten up before he woke.
“Regapisk!” Arshur’s voice had a snap to it.
“Coming, Majesty,” Regapisk called. He pulled on a gown, hardly noticing the supple fibers and rich colors that would have made the garment worth a fortune in Lordshills. He found Arshur seated at breakfast. A dozen scribes crowded around him.
“Yes, Majesty.”
Arshur grinned. “The Emperor asks a favor.”
“Instantly,” Regapisk said.
Arshur nodded, and Jaguar’s priest said, “The Emperor finds that his duties today are more extensive than he anticipated.”
Arshur laughed. “Everything’s going to hell, and I haven’t finished telling him the half of it! There are situations to deal with to the north as well as the west. We’ll be all day planning this stuff!”
The Jaguar-headed priest nodded and continued, “And thus the Supreme One asks that the king’s companion greet the new guests who arrived last night. I believe you have already seen them yesterday at dinner.”
“I did, priest.”
“They were invited by the Supreme One, and they must be conducted into the city by a suitably important official,” Jaguar said. “Come to the window, if you please, King’s Companion.”
“Sure.”
Jaguar pointed. “You see the Imperial Palace, and the great Temple Mesa Fajada to the north there.”
“Yes.”
“Now look west, across the river, beyond the merchant homes. You see a palace against the cliff there. That is reserved for important visitors. Your friends would be lodged there, and all was made ready for them, but now King Arshur has invited them here. They may choose as they will. The servants expect them.”
“Bring them here, Lord Reg,” Arshur shouted.
“As the king commands, then,” Jaguar said. “Bring them here.” He bowed formally. “The Supreme One requests that you go to the gate and in his name welcome his guests and conduct them into the city. Chariots await you outside.”
The roads were clear and the horses—all mares, Regapisk noted—were fresh, but it took over an hour to get to the gate from the king’s palace. He found Sandry, Tower, and Squirrel in the dining area of the Caravanserai.
“You again?” Sandry said.
Regapisk grinned. “Not just me. I am here as king’s companion to welcome you to Aztlan in the name of the Supreme One. Welcome, guests. I am to conduct you inside.”
The effect was startling. Everyone nearby bowed, not head to the ground but low.
They passed through the gates. Burning Tower held Sandry’s arm tightly. “Four days, then,” she said. “And then we’ll be married. Finally!”
“I can’t help wishing it were all done and we were headed for home,” Sandry said.
“But think of what we will see! And the stories we will tell,” Tower said. Her eyes darted everywhere. People stopped whatever they were doing, scampered for the road’s edge, and then bowed as the chariots passed. She examined their mode of dress. Their skin color varied, but she thought she could pass as one of them. If she had to.
Her thoughts toyed with notions of escape. Traders on the Hemp Road did not like to be so restricted, and trading partners could turn in an instant.
But mostly she thought of the coming wedding. How would she look? What gowns did they have for her? The Emperor would preside. It would be magnificent.
And then he would claim Spike. She tried not to think of that, to concentrate on Sandry and her wedding day.
The way led through the city. Regapisk pointed out the military barracks and training ground, the stables, a hospital. He turned down the river road to show them the jewelry shop in the house by the river. There was a market beyond that.
Squirrel was sniffing the air like a dog, catching scents, no doubt, but manna traces too.
The road led to the Imperial Palace, and the great Temple Mesa. It gleamed in the prenoon sun, tiles of all colors, awnings and shades above the balconies.
“Mesa Fajada,” Regapisk said. “You saw it from the High Road.”
“Impressive,” Tower said. “That may be the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.”
The road led up the river directly toward the Mesa. Regapisk pointed to his left. “The Imperial Palace.”
The palace faced the temple. There was a huge raised flat plaza backed by an arc of multistoried buildings, rows and rows of narrow windows facing the plaza. The plaza itself faced the Temple Mesa. The walls behind the buildings were bare, no windows or doors at all. All windows faced the plaza, and across it, the Mesa Fajada.
“The Emperor lives there?” Sandry asked.
“I think not, Cousin,” Regapisk said. “The Supreme One lives where he chooses, of course, but I believe he has his apartments up there.” He pointed upward to a great wooden balcony that ringed Mesa Fajada.
“That’s high,” Sandry said. “Twenty manheights?”
“I am told thirty. It felt that high,” Regapisk said. As they came closer to the Mesa, they could see a continual line of baskets flowing up and down along the mesa sides. When they were closer still, Regapisk pointed. “The Wall of Hearts. Slow, driver, that our guests may see.”
It wasn’t that impressive, just a big old stucco wall with a checkerboard pattern, crude compared to the newer structures around it. A more ornate tiled wall rose high at the base of the mesa. A bridge crossed over the wall from the landing platform for baskets to the Imperial Palace itself, actually bridging over the old wall, which wasn’t high enough to be seen from the palace courtyard. The wall was old and dusty, but ornately dressed guards stood post at either end, and the air was full of a fluttering sound just at the edge of Tower’s hearing. Sandry watched the wall with brooding intensity. He did not suggest that they stop.
“Old blood,” Squirrel murmured, “and murder. There’s manna in murder, did you know that? There’s a special name for wizards who get their power that way.”
Their way led past the wall and around the Imperial Palace, which was even larger than Sandry had thought.
The sun was still high when they reached the king’s palace. There was time for a sweatbath. Sandry again declined in favor of a pool. He was relaxing in the warm water when a servant came.
“Come,” the man said urgently. “You are requested. The Supreme On
e himself will greet you. Come!”
Chapter Twenty
The Welcome
They dressed hurriedly and were whisked away in large wagons. Three passengers and a driver in each wagon—they were called by the same word that Aztlan used for chariots, but to Sandry they were far too unwieldy to deserve that noble name—and each drawn by four mares. The driver wore brilliantly polished bronze armor that shone in the sun, and there was a case of spears next to him, but the spears were also polished, with black wooden shafts that gleamed without signs of ever having been held by human hands. There was no bow.
The driver was competent on the paved roads. Sandry wondered how good he’d be in a war formation.
They drove up to the Imperial Palace, and through an arched door into gloom. This part of the palace was a bewildering series of walls and small rooms, not well lighted, with no windows. Statues stood lonely in some of the rooms. Others were empty. They turned a corner to see bright daylight coming down a broad staircase.
They climbed the stairs to what Sandry had thought was the palace roof, but instead it was the immense tiled plaza built high above ground level. The plaza faced the great Mesa Fajada temple and was high enough that from its center they could not see the Wall of Hearts at the mesa’s base. The flat plaza surface was marked by four large circular openings, each ten manheights across. Kivas, Sandry remembered. Ceremonies were carried out in there. Some were secret.
Behind the plaza facing the mesa were tiers of seats built against the multistoried buildings. The seats were just filling with people. People streamed in, some from the kivas, some from other stairs onto the plaza, many from inside the various palace buildings.
They were led to the center of the plaza. There was a great kiva, and they were led down a stairway into it. As they vanished, there were cheers from the crowd behind them.
The kiva was a large circular pit three manheights deep. It was partially roofed over by silk tapestries held up by an elaborate arrangement of spars and hoops projecting from the walls. The tapestries were too thin to provide much shade, but they were brilliantly colored and decorated by drawings and strange complex symbols. Sandry could not make out what they represented.