The Burning City (53 page)

“Hospitality,” Morth said.

“He hadn't asked for food and fire and shelter from the night,” Whandall said. “I made sure of that. He'd just barged in, invited himself as if he belonged there.

“I had tea with them. He told us his tale. He's a
good
teller, Morth, you remember. He'd taken ship up to Great Hawk Bay to get tales from the mers at Rordray's Attic. I'd heard of this place from the caravans, but Tras told us a lot more.

“He'd heard rumors from the Puma wagons about a new head man in the caravans. He tracked the tales of a snake tattoo, east and south. Morth, I
have
to know that a traveler can reach me if my wagons have cheated him. The caravan tribes guided Tras straight to my house.

“Now he's waiting for
my
story, right? I showed him my cold iron case, and opened it, and blew a bit of gold dust on him and his man. I didn't see any result, Morth, but I
hate
your damn lurking spell and I thought he might have used it on my gate guard.

“‘Raw gold,' I told him. ‘It distorts magic spells.'”

Morth barked a laugh.

“‘And it saved my life once,' and I told him just enough of the fight with Armadillo Wagon to hook him. ‘Come with me, if you like, I'll show you where the bodies are buried.' And I stood up and led him out, still talking. ‘Tras, every time I think I've given up violence, something pops up.' That got him moving, and his man jumped up and went ahead of us.

“He didn't seem to speak the local tongue. I switched to Condigeo. Tras's man didn't know that either, but hey, I hadn't practiced in a while. I was just finishing the Tale of the Suitors when we reached the graveyard.

“‘We bury all our dead here,' I said, and I took them among the graves.

“The Armadillo wagon ghosts came out to play. They couldn't touch us, of course, but they tried to attack
me.
Tras was used to ghosts. He forgot that his Lordsman guard wouldn't be. The guard was shivering and whimpering and trying to back through a boulder. Tras tried to interview one of the ghosts. I drifted behind three trees growing together, went between them and up, and hid myself.

“I talked through the treetops. ‘Tras, there's something I should tell you, because you'll have to translate for me.'

“‘Where are you?'

“‘Behind you, Tras, always behind you. We know how to lurk. Tras, do you remember starting a riot? I tried to shut you up—'

“‘No, Whandall Feathersnake, you can't blame me for that!' And he laughed.

“His man had his nerve back. Tras spoke to him and he began circling around. He had me placed pretty quick. He pulled more armor from his pack, shin guards and stuff. Morth, I think there must have been some kind of turnover in Tep's Town. There's too much armor floating around in the great wide world. The gatherers from Armadillo Tribe had armor too.

“I said, ‘Let's test your memory again. You know how Lord Pelzed's men left me. Do you remember?'

“‘That's not my fault either!'

“‘Tras, you will be in the same condition when I leave here. If you tell your man to protect you now, there won't be any living man to carry you away. I'll bury you here in the graveyard. If you tell him to step aside, he can take you someplace to heal.'”

Morth asked, “Did you think he'd do it?”

Whandall shrugged. “I gave him the chance. I don't know what he told his guard. When I dropped from the tree, the guard moved on me. I thought I'd have to kill him. He took some cuts and some bruises, and then he backed away protecting himself, and then he ran. Tras was gone.

“I tracked Tras down to the crypt and, well. I kept my promise. Then I slapped him awake and gave him some water, and I told him that if his man didn't come back for him by sunset of the next day, well. But if he did, there were stories I didn't want to hear. ‘If I ever hear anyone describe how my household is arranged, or what kind of tea I serve, if I hear about a flask of gold sand' “—Whandall rapped his groin—” ‘I will know who they heard it from.' I told him I travel everywhere, from Condigeo to Great Hawk Bay—I was lying, of course. I told him people are entitled to privacy, and some will kill for it. I'm not sure he heard any of that, Morth. I was raving. That diseased looker invaded my house. Nobody but the Armadillo Clan ever did that. Ask their ghosts.”

Morth was silent.

“Tras wasn't hurt any worse than Samorty's men hurt me, but of course he's older. I don't know if he healed. He was gone at the next day's sunset.”

And to hell with what Morth thought of him. Coming here wasn't Whandall's idea.

The night had turned cold, fire or no. They wore the cloaks Whitey had insisted they carry. Morth donned an impressive robe.

Whitecap Mountain broke the silence. “I know why the town of Fair Chance came to be deserted.”

“That's a good story, but a partial truth,” Morth said. “I sense a tribal secret at its heart. You won't tell
that.
As for me, my tale hasn't happened yet. My tale is that I must destroy the water sprite that wants my life. Living here is driving me mad.”

“Go inland,” Whitey said as if he was tired of repeating it.

“When I came here I was running from a wave. I climbed, thinking that water could not flow up so steep a slope. Water doesn't have to! A wave isn't a moving block of water, it's a pattern moving
through
water. The sprite can flow like a wave. It came to me through the ground water. It lives below me. When I go down to the spring, I go fast. I'll show you tomorrow, if you like.”

Green Stone asked, “Is that safe?”

“Oh, you can watch from above. Get a view of the immediate danger. Whandall, what I want from you and your caravan is transport. Take me inland, out of its reach. Take me to the Hemp Road.”

“You'd settle there?” Willow would love that!

“Oh, no,” Morth said. “I'm going to
finish
this. I'm going to kill the water sprite. I think I have to return to the Burning City to do that.”

Whandall said, “You're been trapped on a mountain for twenty years. This thing has hunted you for more than forty, and now you've decided to kill it. Is that about the size of it?”

Morth grinned in the yellow light of burning gold. “I can't tell you all of it.”

“Morth, you can't even tell me
part
of it. You can't even get off this mountain!”

“That I might manage. I'd have to outrun the elemental. Water's natural path is downhill. I might run myself to death. But with transport to carry me farther, I might make it.”

“And then you might just think you'd done all a man could do!”

“Once upon a time I thought I could rob Yangin-Atep's life. Steal the fire god's manna.”

Nobody but Whandall laughed. The others had barely heard of Yangin-Atep; they couldn't know his power. Whandall asked, “What stopped you?”

“I saw less evidence of the god every decade. Yangin-Atep must be almost mythical by now, and I could never find where his life is centered. But the hope kept me there much longer than I should have stayed.”

Whandall knew he was staring. “Why didn't you
ask?
Yangin-Atep lives in the cook fires!”

And he knew Carver's look: appalled and amused. Whandall had never learned to hoard information.

Morth paled. “In the fires. I'm a fool. I never asked the thieves!”

They were still arguing when it became impossible not to sleep. Whandall didn't remember whether he saw flowing rock, but the stone chairs were all stone couches in the morning.

Morth stopped at a shallow rain-etched dip in the rock, damp at the bottom, to pick up a bucket. Then he led them to the edge of an abrupt drop. He pointed down along a bare rock face.

“See the streak where the rock changes color? That's overflow from the spring.”

Whitey said, “Right.”

Morth dropped over the edge.

Whandall could have caught his robe—would have, were he a child or a friend. But Morth wasn't falling. He was running down the mountain's side, weaving through the rubble. Once Whandall would not have believed what he saw. Morth dropped as fast as a falling man, zigzagging toward the gleam of water that marked the spring. He ran past it, dragging the bucket, and was already moving uphill, laughing like a maniac.

Water splashed up after him. Morth led it, still faster than a man, but he had been moving faster yesterday.

The men threw themselves backward as the wave came over the crest. Morth ran across the dip, emptying his bucket halfway, then turned and gestured. The wave crashed into the dip.

Morth was panting hard as they came up, but he was laughing too. Water half filled the dip. It lay almost still, rippling as if in a strong wind.

Whitey asked, “Wouldn't you love to be watching,
first
time he tried that?”

“I take it you can't trap it?” Whandall asked Morth.

“No, and enchanting the spring doesn't trap it either. A water elemental is a fundamental thing, and exceedingly slippery.”

“All right. If this works, you'll owe Puma Tribe and my family too. Puma you can pay in refined gold,” Whandall said. “Right, Whitey?”

Whitey nodded. “But ask Lilac. We change any oaths by mutual agreement only.”

“My family might ask other things,” Whandall said. “Tattoos, for instance. If we can get you as far as Road's End, the New Castle will ask three boons.”

“I don't believe I can duplicate that tattoo.”

Green Stone's disappointment didn't show at all. The boy was a natural trader. Whandall said. “We'll think of something. You pay in magic. Three tasks.”

“I offered one.”

“Did I accept? It got pretty sleepy last night.”

Morth looked into Whandall's grin and decided not to make
that
claim. He said, “One when I'm free of the mountain. One at Road's End. One when the sprite is myth.”

“Morth, you have no reason to think you can myth out a water elemental!”

Morth said nothing.

It's two wishes, then. “Done. It's… midmorning? And the sprite wouldn't stop us from going down? Whitey?”

“It stops Morth. Only trouble I ever had,” the Puma said, “I tried to stop at the spring for a drink. Wagonmaster, I still think you should have taken gold. Wizard, we'll be down before nightfall. The wagon will move at first light, north to the trail and then east.
We don't stop.”

“If I don't get down alive, the talisman box is yours, and the provisions in it. I renewed the spell. I'll enchant this one too before I go down.”

Whandall said, “That's settled. Now tell the bird. Seshmarls?”

“Help me, Whandall Seshmarl—”

“Good bird. Morth, you tell the wagons—”

“Whandall, let me teach you how to make the bird carry your messages.”

Whandall listened. He mimicked the bird's secret name, then spoke a few words. The bird looked at him in disgust.

Whandall grumbled, “My children learned all by themselves. Why don't I?”

“You have less magical talent than anyone I ever met,” Morth said. “Interesting that your children don't share that disability.”

“Disability.”

Morth grinned. “You're an emptiness any god can fill. You just can't keep them out. Feathersnake Inn! And you'll never be a wizard, of course, but
this
you can learn.”

Whandall practiced the bird's secret name, blowing the syllables out
with puffed cheeks, then curling his tongue for the shrill whistle that ended it. He spoke his messages. “Tell the Puma wagons to return at their own pace. Whitecap Mountain has gold to pay them for their trouble. Rordray will get his boxes late. Late and loaded with red meat—mammoth if we can get it, elk or antelope or bison otherwise—and spices. Maybe we can find spices in the Stone Needles—”

“Keep messages
simple”
Morth said.

“Was that—”

“It's getting too long. Say, ‘Message ends. Seshmarls, go.'”

“Message ends. Seshmarls, go.”

“My hope lies in your shadow,” the bird said, and took flight.

Whandall and the others began their descent. The sooner they were down, the better.

Lilac drove. Brush grew everywhere and the land was uneven. She had to be exceedingly careful until they reached flat ground, and wary after that. They wouldn't reach the trade road until after noon. A man on foot could run circles around them, Whandall figured, let alone a wizard.

They saw a column of mist drifting down the mountain and guessed at the waterfall within it.

Near the foot of the mountain Lilac made out a dot moving just enough to catch her attention. Whandall said, “Whitey? He might need help.”

“Shall I hold his hand while he drowns?”