The Jaguar Knights

by Dave Duncan

  As they all rose, Wolf said, “And the neighbors?”

  “I find it easiest just to lay the garbage on the beach at low water—the tidal race is very strong along here. I trust you will experience no further disturbances, señor.” Or cause them, of course.

  The moment Wolf closed the gate on the guests, his wife threw her arms around him and kissed him with great enthusiasm, while trying to jump up and down at the same time. Rojas was probably halfway back to his residence before she broke loose long enough to say, “Darling, that was wonderful. You were brilliant!”

  “Wasn’t I?” Wolf resumed the kiss so he would not have to point out that they might still wake up tomorrow to find their throats cut and all the gold gone. They would not beat City Hall so easily another time.

  He sent the prisoners out the gate in threes and they departed without a fuss. If they had any sense at all they would be gone from Sigisa by nightfall.

  10

  The tyrant made no move in the next two days, while the Tlixilian warriors were still available to defend the villa. That was fortunate, because the four sailors all succumbed to the Sigisian variety of dysentery, which was notorious even within the Hence Lands. Duff recovered fastest; Peterkin was hit hardest; the inquisitors were protected by their conjuration. Wolf and Flicker were kept busy outfitting the ex-slaves for their trek home. Warm clothes and bedrolls were not the easiest merchandise to find in that tropical oven, and they tried to rent a canoe without provoking questions, although Wolf was certain the Alcalde would have spies watching.

  On the last night, an argument broke out. The three jaguar warriors were ready to go, stripped down to loincloths and the local footwear, which was made from congealed tree sap. Their kit was packed, they had three days’ rations—more than that would be a burden to carry—and they bore a Chivian sword apiece. Wolf would be lynched if the Sigisians learned he had given arms to cannibal warriors inside their town.

  Heron-jade sat on the floor with his knees up, the naturales’ favorite posture, for they never used chairs. His gear lay in a heap, ignored. The other three were shouting furiously at him.

  Blood-mirror-walks was red-faced with fury. “It is your duty to the Emperor!”

  Heron-jade just went on picking his teeth with a thorn. His amiable, almost dopey, expression meant he had made up his mind over something and would not be dissuaded. He had probably grinned like that while the slavers flogged his back to paste. “My duty is to my liege, soaring Sky-cactus.”

  “And how will you serve the great lord by staying here? By being a slave?”

  “By being true to his will.”

  Blood-mirror-walks growled dangerously.

  Wolf said, “Will you tell me why you do not wish to go?”

  The big man’s dark eyes studied him for a moment. “I have eaten your meat. You saved me from the slavers. I have not repaid that debt.”

  “But I asked you to repay that debt by defending me from the brigands, which you did, and by going home.”

  “I will not go.”

  “You want to repay the debt and I say you can repay it by going home and yet you say you will not go?”

  “I will not go.” The conversation was over.

  The situation did have merit, because Wolf would undoubtedly weasel more information out of the eagle warrior when Blood-mirror-walks was not around to nanny him. That no doubt explained the jaguar’s anger.

  “You do not have to take the sword!” he said. “Lord Wild-dog-by-the-spring will not mind if you do not take the sword.”

  Heron-jade just shrugged. He had refused to handle one of the metal swords before. The raiders at Quondam had stolen no weapons. A pattern was emerging.

  “You do not have to take the message!” Serpent-night said. “Lord Wild-dog-by-the-spring will not mind if you do not repeat his message.”

  “Yes, I would mind that,” Wolf said. “Since I do not know why Heron-jade refuses to do as I ask.” That earned him angry glares all round. Sometimes he despaired of ever understanding how their minds worked.

  Eventually even Blood-mirror-walks gave up hope of making Heron-jade change his. The three jaguar warriors took their leave with polite speeches. Wolf was convinced that three minutes in the jungle, even in daylight, would see him dying of snakebite or sunk without trace in a swamp, but to them it was sanctuary. Their danger would come in a few days, they said, when they left the forest and began traversing the foothills. If they were caught in Allied territory they would find themselves dead or back in a chain gang, but Wolf was confident that they would reach El Dorado long before de Rojas’s messengers did.

  When they had gone, Wolf and Dolores took their voluntary slave out to the patio. They dined at the table. The big man sat on the floor and ate more than both of them, just to keep them company. While an unorthodox companion, Heron-jade was certainly an interesting one. Wolf plied him with rum to loosen his tongue and was amazed at the quantity he poured down his throat.

  “If you feel you still owe me a debt, Taker of Four Captives, then there is a small task that you may perform for me. It is a very trivial thing to ask of so great a warrior, but it is dear to my heart.”

  “Name it,” the eagle said with his mouth full.

  “You see this jewel on my sword?”

  “Blood-mirror-walks said it was the regalia of a knight.”

  “Yes it is. How did he know that, do you know?”

  “Yes. I promised not to tell you.”

  Wolf said, “My mother bore another son who wears such a sword, and I believe he is on his way here. He may not come for a very long time, or never at all, but if you would consent to look at the men disembarking from each ship as it arrives, then this would put my heart at ease.”

  Heron-jade stared at him as if he were thinking, but that was just his way. “For how long must I search, Wild-dog-by-the-spring?”

  “Until my brother arrives, or until you feel you have repaid the debt.”

  “It is a life for a life. I will do this. I can do it from here.”

  Dolores uttered a small gasp. “Your great powers impress us.”

  He leered drunkenly at her. “Noble Sky-cactus is generous with his blessings.”

  She said, “He gave you his ability?” Delegation of powers was another marvel.

  “I would accept it from no one else!”

  “Of course not.”

  He sighed. “My lord said I was the truest of his watchers.”

  “But this stone is so small,” Wolf said, tapping Diligence’s pommel. “I would doubt that even the eagles flying among the peaks could see so tiny an object at such a distance.”

  The big man found that remark hilarious. “It is a weapon, borne by a warrior. You think I cannot see that? When I am looking for it?”

  Well, yes.

  “I will look in every ship,” he promised.

  “You will also warn us if brigands approach our house?”

  “Of course! Fear not, Wild-dog-by-the-spring. I do not want to wear sky-metal regalia again!”

  Heron-jade downed another half bottle before he explained his refusal to leave, which turned out to be nothing more than ordinary human stupidity.

  “Only a coward fights on the back of a deer!” he proclaimed. “Dogs are for eating, not to turn into monsters to attack noble warriors. A true warrior uses his strength, his courage, the powers that come from the captives he has taken. With these he fights. He does not sully himself with the ways of his enemies.”

  That was that. El Dorado was split. Eagle knights were traditionalists and scorned anything that stank of the invaders. More pragmatic, the Jaguars would use steel blades and armor if they could get them. The Great Council was divided and the Emperor had made no decision yet. Until he did, Heron-jade would not tarnish his honor by carrying Wolf’s offer to sell weapons, because the offer was insulting. Similarly, the eagle knights Amaranth-talon and Bone-peak-runner had agreed to transport Lizard-drumming’s men to Quondam but had refused t
o bring back any of the demons’ weapons. A matter of honor.

  The party ended when Heron-jade laid his head on his knees and went to sleep. Wolf led his wife off to bed, feeling very pleased with himself. He had launched two birds and had nothing left to do except enjoy the lordly life in Sigisa while waiting for them to return to his wrist with the prize in their talons. That, and wonder where Lynx was and what he was having to endure.

  VII

  Birds of Prey Must Be Handled With Respect

  1

  The Fierce Ones met in formal session yesterday.”

  Basket-fox spoke offhandedly, as if commenting on something trivial, like the current shortage of captives, but Lynx knew him well enough by now, and was sufficiently fluent in Tlixilian language and customs, to guess that something important was coming. His throat tightened.

  “My lord honors me with this confidence.”

  “I sorrow to report that my friends and I were overruled. The misguided majority hailed the imposter Flintknife as a lawful member of the order, successor to the mourned Plumed-pillar.”

  “And did the mighty ones make any decision about me?” Pass a death sentence, for example? Was that why they were climbing the pyramid?

  Lynx’s long and painful metamorphosis was complete, so a spectator would see two jaguar knights padding up the steps side-by-side. The older, Basket-fox, was magnificently arrayed in full regalia of feathers and treasure, heading for a ritual, obviously a big one, for many captives were already waiting below and guards were still bringing in more.

  The younger Jaguar wore only a loincloth, a sword strapped on his back, and Plumed-pillar’s regalia on his chest. At times Lynx rather fancied himself in his new form. His skin was tanned almost as dark as the naturales’ and only his greater hairiness distinguished him from a true Jaguar in appearance. Although he could no longer wield Ratter, he was at least as fast as he had ever been and came armed with sixteen deadly claws, which Night-fisher kept as sharp as razors for him.

  Basket-fox said, “They concluded that you were an imposter and must die, of course.”

  It was typical of the sly old cat that he would make this announcement in such a place. He strode confidently upward, not even breathing hard, although the steps were so caked with dried blood that even a surefooted jaguar knight must tread with care. They were also fiendishly steep, because they were crafted for Jaguar legs and paws, not human limbs. A squad of warriors preceded him in case anyone at the top thought of rolling anything down on him; there was no one behind him to catch him if he slipped, for even a slight stumble would be proof that it was time for him to retire.

  Lynx said, “It would be an honor to give you my precious jewel, terror of the night.” Relatively speaking, of course, for the scoundrel had been kind after his fashion. Better him than anyone else. Better still to keep Lynx’s heart where it was.

  The old rogue shot him a cryptic glance. “So it would, but I am ordered to send Plumed-pillar’s regalia to Flintknife with you attached. Your jewel would then be his. I do not see why this must happen today, though. Unless you insist?”

  The wind blew cold on his Lynx’s sweat. “I will serve as my lord commands.”

  Celeste had warned him that something was brewing. They met every day at language lessons, and could talk freely in Chivian. She was now Basket-fox’s senior concubine, tended by many servants, and she bragged that she had him feeling like a kitten again. Only this morning she had warned Lynx that their owner was planning something new for him: “He has been asking me about your life before you became a knight.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you are of noble blood, of course. I didn’t dare make up too much because I didn’t know what you’d told him. I’m trying to talk him out of getting me with child. He can control that, you know.” Celeste could never think of much except Celeste for very long.

  “You would probably be safer as mother of his kits than just a plaything,” her Blade had suggested helpfully. She had screamed at him.

  As they neared the top of the stair, Basket-fox said, “There is still hope, Bobcat-by-the-spring.” That was Lynx’s name when he was not Plumed-pillar Redux.

  “The noble lords may reverse their decision?”

  “No. Even if you were high-born in your own city, here you are nothing. And there is the problem of battle skill. However noble his blood, a candidate for knighthood must have won a glorious reputation in battle. Your scars prove that you can fight, but where are all the captives you have taken? You can no longer swing that sword you carry. How would you fare in battle now, think you?”

  “You know how it goes on your practice grounds, lord.” Lynx could win the mock battles nine times out of ten—he was a demon with paws. “Can I challenge Flintknife to single combat?”

  “He would use the Breath of Night on you. You would stand there yawning while he ripped you to tatters.”

  “The prospect does not appeal,” Lynx admitted. Understatement, that.

  They reached the flat summit of the tower. The escort opened out on either side to let their lord advance, and a drum throbbed a salute. Some of the disgusting black-clad acolytes were fussing with the great brazier, making it burn hotter, and others were readying drums and conches, laying out knives. Ignoring these gruesome preparations, Basket-fox headed to the far edge and stood there, apparently lost in thought, while the wind whipped his feathered cloak and the plumes of his headdress. Lynx went with him, his stomach churning at the thought of what was going to happen to the wretches waiting down below.

  He concentrated instead on the breathtaking view of the city, the bustle and activity, crowds milling along the streets, canoes plying the canals. With the rainy season over, the peaks encircling the green valley had shed their mantles of cloud and stood starkly white against a sky of flawless blue. The marshes where the peasants grew the city’s food were even greener, almost painfully so, and the lake shone bright as silver. Many small towns dotted its shores, most of them too far off to see.

  Suddenly Basket-fox said, “You remember the Battle of Blackrock?”

  Now what? “Of course, great slayer. That was when the Zolicans’ Eagles tried an ambush, moving two four-hundreds in behind the knoll on our right. You and I and—”

  “Good. Point to your pyramid. Good. And Bone-peak-runner’s?”

  Lynx brandished a claw over the floating city. “There, on Four-Cactus Canal.”

  “And who is Moon-feeder?”

  “One of Flintknife’s senior warriors, a taker of ten captives, my brother by another of our father’s concubines. He wears a jade labret in the shape of a swan and he has a jagged scar on his right thigh.”

  The Jaguar uttered his strange chuckle. “Your memory is returning, Plumed-pillar!”

  Having spent hours every day for months being coached by Basket-fox’s reciters, the illiterate keepers of Tlixilian history, Lynx could rattle off his pretended ancestry back for generations and list more than two hundred living relations. Recognizing their faces would be more of a challenge, and all that work was useless now, since the Jaguars refused to accept his claim.

  “We will appeal to the Great Council to overrule yesterday’s wrongful decision.”

  “My lord is gracious,” Lynx said. “Will that work?”

  “No, but it gains us a little more time. You are a warrior of the Hairy Ones.”

  “Not the same sort of—” He was stopped by a feline glare.

  “Whose side are you on, Bobcat-by-the-spring?”

  “Yours, lord.” Lynx had known for a long time what his answer must be when this question came. “The other side would kill me on sight. Many on your side would too, if you sheathed your claws. But while you guard me, my heart beats for El Dorado and I will do all I can against the Hairy Ones.” His real motive, of course, was that only thus could he be of any use at all to his ward. A dead Blade was no protection. He could never return to Chivial in his new shape, so he would not allow Celeste to do s
o either. Fortunately she had not realized this yet.

  “Pretend for a moment you are the enemy. How would you attack this city?”

  Blades were not military strategists, but one-legged Jorge had been a mercenary back in Eurania. Did Basket-fox not know that, or did his dignity not allow him to seek advice from a slave? Lynx was a slave in fact, but not by agreed pretense, and perhaps that made a difference in the old man’s contorted thinking.

  What had Jorge told him? That street fighting was the most vicious sort of battle possible and El Dorado was far larger than any city in Eurania. To take it house-by-house against determined resistance would cost thousands of lives; Jorge even doubted that it would be possible. Eastward the lake was wide and unobstructed. South, north, and west, three great causeways, straight as arrows, connected it to the mainland. Each causeway was broken at intervals by removable bridges, specifically to block an assault.

  But Basket-fox was not after the obvious answers. What did he want?

  “Have the Hairy Ones reached the lake yet, terror of the woods?”

  “There!” Basket-fox aimed a paw at the far distance. “Seven Reeds, a town of cowards, a nest of traitor Tephuamotziner lackeys.”

  “Are the Hairy Ones building boats there, by any chance?”

  The cat eyes shone brighter than Ratter’s pommel. “So my Eagle friends tell me. Many of my brothers feel that we have enough canoes to counter anything they can make.”

  Now Lynx saw where the conversation was headed. “No, lord.” He made some wild guesses as to what would be possible for the Distliards’ shipwrights. “You could fight them with fire arrows and grappling irons, but otherwise it will be horses all over again. Their boats will be faster and far more agile than your canoes, and much less likely to tip over. Their boats will ride the wind, but not only in the direction the wind goes. They can move across or even toward the wind, also.”