The Jaguar Knights

by Dave Duncan

  “Then let’s all go!” Flicker said sullenly.

  This sort of back-talk might be correct Dark Chamber procedure, but it rankled a Blade. Wolf said, “Why don’t you let Peterkin show you the sights, sonny? Then maybe we’d get some peace.”

  Peterkin was the expedition’s brothel expert. Flicker scorned to visit the houses and brought home no women of his own. He just mooned around the hacienda making calf-eyes at Dolores, lovesick brat.

  He glared. “At least let me visit the coastal states. Yazotlan or Zolica.”

  “No. We’ve been over this a dozen times. If the rebel states need arms, they get them from the Distlish. If they were willing to trade their conjury secrets, they’d have sold them to the Distlish long ago. We deal with El Dorado or with no one. We need you here and I expect you to be loyal to the team. Now, if no one has anything else to—”

  “If you were loyal to the team we would be halfway to El Dorado by this time.”

  Now both Megan and Dolores were looking blank.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” Flicker sneered, “you’re keeping us all here in Sigisa only because you hope to catch your thief brother on his way through.”

  That hurt, as Flicker undoubtedly intended. Yes, Wolf kept an eye on ships arriving and Heron-jade said he did, too. What else the eagle warrior did with his time, apart from eating and wandering the streets, only the spirits knew. He kept his slave scars hidden under a shirt, and he was too big to attract trouble he did not choose himself.

  Meanwhile, to become angry would be to give Flicker a victory.

  “That is not true,” Wolf said calmly. “I do watch for Lynx, but I do not let my own priorities interfere with the mission, and you can tell I’m not lying. You reminded me of something, though. There’s a Chivian caravel named Sea Queen in the river, unloading barrel staves and pig iron. I’ve spoken with the captain and he’s willing to take mail Home for us. Mention that to the sailors, will you, Megan? Now, if no one…Yes, Duff?”

  The carpenter had emerged from the house, looking unhappy at interrupting. “Note handed in, sir. Man says it’s urgent.”

  Dolores beat Flicker to the message, grabbed it, and broke the seal.

  “They’ve answered, they’ve answered! Oh, Wolf, they want to trade!” She tried to kiss him and show him the note at the same time.

  The cause of her excitement was brief, neatly inscribed. Alcalde Don Rojas requested the presence of Don Lope and Dona Dolores at their earliest convenience this evening, so that certain promises could be made and other promises kept.

  Wolf glanced inquiringly at Flicker, but now he was being inscrutable, of course.

  “Isn’t it wonderful!” Dolores said. “I have nothing to wear!”

  “Chain mail might be safest.” Bait in a trap should smell as sweet as this. “It’s a very quick response, but possible, I suppose.” Just plausible enough to be believed? “Will you be able to tell if the emissaries he produces are fakes?”

  “Of course! If they say they’re what they’re not.” Suddenly she turned coolly professional. “He’s hinting he wants us to bring the gold along!”

  “Over my dead…I mean, not yet.”

  The summons gave Wolf gooseflesh, and even Dolores was starting to look edgy, now the first excitement had worn off. “Why not let me go and you have a headache?” he said.

  “That won’t work.”

  “I’ll take Flicker. He can do truth-sounding as well as you can.”

  “Flicker doesn’t know an execration from an exaltation. Don’t baby me!”

  She was right. “Very well. Tell the man he’ll have our reply in a moment, Duff.” Wolf went in search of pen and paper.

  He would trust a fer-de-lance ahead of Don Rojas. Whenever he and Dolores visited the hyena’s den, he put everyone on alert in case they needed rescuing or the villa was attacked in their absence. Normally a couple of the sailors accompanied them to the Alcalde’s door, while Heron-jade kept watch from their own kitchen table. There was no question that the eagle warrior could see some things at a distance and, although he was never specific about which things or how he looked for them, he had never failed to dispatch sailors to escort them home again when they were ready to leave. Rojas’s invitation had taken them unawares and Heron-jade was nowhere to be found. He might be carousing somewhere or he might already be floating in the harbor. It was worrisome.

  An hour or so later the Attewells strolled arm-in-arm along the bustling street, with nightlife roistering around them and Will and Hick stalking behind. The gate to the mayor’s compound was opened by the usual men-at-arms, but the guard in the torch-lit courtyard included a dozen naturale warriors in feathered headdresses. Most wore the usual embroidered cloak or mantle pinned at the right shoulder, but some were in padded cotton armor, while a couple of youngsters had not graduated beyond simple loincloths. Many carried feathered shields, and all were armed with spears and obsidian-edged swords. They outnumbered the Distliards.

  “This is real!” Dolores whispered in Chivian. “He wouldn’t fake all this.”

  Seventy thousand pesos would finance a fair scam, but Wolf was certainly not about to call these bravos imposters to their faces. How had Rojas smuggled such visions into the city? How had he dared? By entertaining his king’s enemies, he was openly playing traitor.

  The usual servants had vanished. The visitors were greeted at the front door by pox-faced Don Pedrarias, who was chief justice of Sigisa and as ruthless as the Alcalde himself. He looked them over coldly.

  “You brought it?”

  “No. If it is due I can easily fetch it.”

  The villain scowled, but he could not seriously have expected Wolf to drop a fortune at his feet. He led the way out to the main terrace and left them there.

  The garden was dimmer than usual, with no moon so close to Long Night, and only a few small lanterns substituting for the usual flaming torches. Stars swarmed overhead, flowers loaded the air with soporific scents, and the surf beat its slow measure like a great heart, but there were no guests in sight, no servants, not even stools or benches. Dolores grinned and fidgeted with excitement, while Wolf grew steadily more tense. Truly, they were the world’s greatest pessimist-optimist partnership.

  Soon, though, a dozen men paraded out from the house. Other than Don Ruiz, they were all naturales in their glory—gems, gold, and feathers. Earrings, labrets, nose plugs, bracelets. They were almost all armed, but older men than the guards on the gate. The leader of the delegation, the sun amid this constellation of nobles, was the man on the Alcalde’s arm. When those two stopped, the others spread around in a circle. Trapped, all Wolf could do was wait politely to be presented to the bull elk.

  He was a smallish man made tall by pride, well-preserved but old enough to have stringy whiskers. The shimmering feather cloak hung loosely on his shoulders, like his headdress and jewelry, seeming at once less gaudy than most of the others’ and more impressive. His eyes were rapier-sharp, deep-set in wrinkles.

  “This is the foreigner, glorious one,” Rojas said in halting Tlixilian. “And his senior wife. His name is Lord Wild-dog-by-the-spring. Don Lope, we are honored by the presence of Prince Hummingbird, Conch-flute of Yazotlan.”

  Yazotlan? All the arguments Wolf had thrown at Flicker earlier collapsed. Why Yazotlan? Yazotlan was a coastal state, a Distlish ally. His head throbbed as he tried to work out why it would want to buy steel swords from him. Did the Distlish charge too much? Or were the Yazotlans trying to buy more arms than Distlain would supply?—for both sides must know that all bets would be off as soon as El Dorado fell. Or perhaps precious spiritualist secrets were the Distliards’ asking price also. In that case, the Yazotlans must prefer they go to a distant, unaligned power like Chivial than to one with an army already on the mainland.

  And the Conch-flute! El Dorado was ruled by a Great Council composed of men of the imperial family. The man called Emperor by the Distlish and Fountain-of-swords by the Tlixilian
s was leader of the army and thus the most powerful, ranking first in the council without being paramount. Second in authority was his minister for foreign affairs, termed the Conch-flute for reasons lost in the mists of time. Apparently the arrangements in the city of Yazotlan were similar.

  Wolf offered a full court bow and some sickly compliments.

  Hummingbird’s curt nod suggested he should lie prostrate and kiss sandals. Rojas frowned, perhaps wishing he had coached the foreigners in the correct etiquette. Of course all those obsidian swords might be making the tyrant’s neck itch. Technically Yazotlan was a Distlish ally, but only the Caudillo would have royal authority to deal with its government, so Rojas was still playing a dangerous game.

  The Conch-flute gestured. An attendant spread a mat behind him. The great man sat down. Everyone else at once dropped to their knees on the stones. Since Dolores had given no signal that Lord Hummingbird was a fake, Rojas had amply fulfilled his side of the bargain and now it was up to Wolf to negotiate. In that sticky tropical night, the prospect made him sweat rivers.

  “Your women are most beautiful, Wild-dog-by-the-

  spring,” the prince remarked politely, hugging his shins.

  “So are yours, Highness. So are all women.”

  He smiled. “There speaks youth.”

  The courtiers’ obedient little chuckles sounded like beetles dancing.

  “The Alcalde tells me that your wives are callers of the spirits?”

  “I am limited to one wife, Highness, but she is wise in the ways of the elementals. This is not unusual for women in our country.” It would be in his. He must find Dolores’s presence bizarre.

  Again a thin smile. “Then she has great talent as well as beauty, and also fortitude, for I understand that journeying upon the waves is an ordeal to try strong men.”

  “It is indeed, but what man ever dared give birth to a baby?”

  A thinner smile. “She has very pale skin.”

  In Wolf’s opinion Dolores’s visible parts bore a magnificent tropical tan. “Our land lies farther from the sun, Great One. That is why.”

  “How many days did you journey upon the waves?” His accent was not that of El Dorado as Heron-jade spoke it.

  “More than half a…” The query had sounded like more chitchat politeness. Too late Wolf saw that it struck at the heart of the night’s business. “…year.”

  The bargaining had begun and he had already stumbled.

  “You speak with your King’s voice, Wild-dog-by-the-

  spring?”

  “Well, sort of. But he doesn’t know it. I mean my King doesn’t.”

  “Of course he does!” Dolores corrected. Everyone glared at her.

  Wolf tried to recall his blunder. “I mean he’s really on the side of El Dorado in your war, but don’t worry about that.” No, that was worse. His thumping headache was mashing his wits.

  “And what war goods have you ready to trade?”

  “Swords and spears and horses. Lots of horses and swords. Good swords. Not the best, like mine, but good enough to fool you.”

  “Fighting dogs?”

  “You want dogs, I’ll promise dogs.”

  “You have ships standing by? On their way?”

  “Oh, no. You can fetch the stuff the way the El Dorado knights sent their warriors to my land last winter, can’t you? Isn’t your conjuration as good as theirs?”

  “The world is a big place. How will you show our Eagles where to go?”

  “I can’t.”

  “So when could you deliver the weapons?”

  That was the crux. If the Distliards overthrew El Dorado without significant Yazotlan help, Yazotlan would not share in the booty. Worse, if the Distliards gave up and sailed away, the allies it abandoned would face terrible vengeance from the triumphant Empire. The negotiations were urgent, but Wolf had already admitted that his homeland was farther away than Distlain was.

  “At least a year, maybe two.”

  Old Hummingbird sat there unblinking and spat questions. He ignored mosquitoes landing on his face. He had a mind like a dancing scorpion and Wolf was making an utter fool of himself. It was worse than being shredded by Quintus.

  The Conch-flute asked, “And what do you seek in return for these wonderful things you promise?”

  Seeing a chance to let Dolores take over, Wolf grabbed it. “Wisdom, Highness. To explain that, I must ask you to hear the words of my wife.” It was a great relief to stop talking and rest his aching skull.

  But it was too late for Dolores to save the situation, and she fared even worse. Oh, she knew exactly what it was she wanted to learn about the knights’ techniques, but the technical terms she had learned from Intrepid and her other instructors would not translate into Tlixilian. Even Wolf had trouble understanding what she was saying and any Blade knew a fair bit about conjuration—certainly more than the aristocrat-politician, Hummingbird, did. It began to seem that Tlixilian and Chivian views of what conjury actually did were worlds apart.

  When she finished, the Conch-flute just sat and stared at her for a while without expression. Then he said, “Extraordinary!”

  Rojas was seething. “I was misled, Highness. I am deeply sorry that you came so far to no purpose.”

  “Never fear, it has been instructive. But I do not think we can trust these strangers. What does the exalted Shining-cloud think?” The old man had not raised his voice, but the answer came in a screech out of the sky.

  “The man was trying to cheat you, benevolent one. The woman is merely crazy.”

  Dolores cried out in shock. An eagle knight stood on the ridgepole of the house like a giant weathervane.

  4

  He was only a black shape against the stars—bulbous, as if he had muffled himself in a quilt from his ears down to his knees, with only the top of his head showing. The way he held his balance up there brought back memories of the giant talons that had marked the snow at Quondam.

  “That the man was lying was obvious,” Hummingbird said dryly, not looking up. “What was the woman trying to say, could you tell, lord of the skies?”

  “It was babbling, baby talk.” Shining-cloud’s discordant croak was a knife on a plate. “She wants to pry into the sacred mysteries of the knights, but her reasons for this madness are more madness. Kill the man for insolence, but the girl is worth something. I will take her myself if you do not want her.” His laugh was even more dissonant than his voice.

  Wolf gripped his sword, aware that he was hopelessly outnumbered, even without counting the mighty Eagle. Much too late, he remembered what gave him headaches.

  “Wait! Your Highness, this freak up on the roof sullies your honor! I am an emissary of a great monarch, entitled to respect. He used the Serpent’s Eye on me! Is not an envoy sacrosanct?”

  A surge of pain cued him to cry out and clutch his head. Sometimes it helped to dramatize.

  “What is this?” The Conch-flute was frowning. “Shining-cloud, are you blessing the foreigner?”

  “Certainly not, scion of heroes.”

  The pain eased, though.

  “He was! I am sensitive to the spirits.”

  Hummingbird peered around his entourage. “Prickly-pear, what do you say?”

  “I may have sensed some blessing, valiant prospect,” one of the older men muttered unhappily. “But I am sure no more than would be prudently applied to disable treachery.” A good courtier could straddle any fence.

  “Shining-cloud does not want the great ones of Yazotlan furnished with sky-metal weapons!” Wolf said. “He hoards the secrets of his order, so he seeks to block an agreement between us.”

  “By your leave, mover of mountains,” the Eagle said, “I claim his precious jewel.”

  “Wait.” The Conch-flute was frowning harder now, but at Wolf. “You slander a mighty warrior, stranger, and the penalty for that is death.”

  Wolf saw he was on to something. “Is it slander? Are the eagle knights of Yazotlan different from those of
the floating city—Sky-cactus, say, or Bone-peak-runner, or the great Amaranth-talon?”

  There he scored his first real hit of the evening. That he could quote such names caused hisses of surprise and disapproval all round.

  “You deal with our enemies also?” the Conch-flute said. Sudden death was now on the table.

  Even Rojas, who had been having trouble following the Tlixilian chatter, had caught the gist. He was displeased, but perhaps mostly at the thought that a dead Chivian could not pay his commission.

  “To deal with those I named is impossible,” Wolf said. “They live in dreams of the past. Jaguar knights—like Lizard-drumming, say, the mighty son of Quetzal-star—are wiser, and wish their warriors to be well armed.” He was gambling that Lizard-drumming was not known for conservative views. No one contradicted him.

  “August ruler,” said the thing on the roof, “I confess that I did cast a very slight blessing on the strangers. They came bearing many strange, outlandish blessings of their own, so they were first to breach the rules of negotiation. I feared those were evils that might imperil you. It is possible that I disturbed the aim of the man’s thoughts a little, but I put no filth in his midden mouth. I made him less able to deceive you, that is all. The foulness he revealed was his own.”

  “Your powers are undoubted, wind rider.”

  “As for the sky-metal weapons and other abominations, I argued against them only until the Great Council in its wisdom made its decision. We are always loyal to the Council.”

  “Your loyalty has been proven times beyond reckoning,” the Conch-flute admitted. “But the stranger’s charge was true and I am shamed.”

  “I claim his precious jewel!” the knight repeated stubbornly. “Emissary or not, a commoner who insults a knight must make recompense.”

  “What does Don Ruiz say?”

  The Alcalde was an unhappy man, anxious to collect his fee. “Our traditions are similar, Highness. We did invite this worm to a parley. However foul his words, in our ways he would be allowed to depart freely.”