Burning Tower by Larry Niven; Jerry Pournelle

Author:Larry Niven; Jerry Pournelle
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy - Epic, Fantasy - General, Epic, Fantasy, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Science fiction, Science Fiction - General, Niven, Larry - Prose & Criticism, General
ISBN: 9780743416924
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2010-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen - Feast and Famine

The wagon train rolled along a wall that was no more than rocky earth pushed into place. "Primitive," Sandry said.

"They used magic first, and craftsmanship too." Squirrel waved at the gate. It was tall and ornate, made of vertical copper bars. It stood in a long ridge of granite, a civilized stretch of wall until it abruptly became little more than a ridge of earth and stone. "Maybe saved their talismans for something more urgent."

Tower tried to picture what could be more urgent than keeping terror birds out of a city.

Men, women, and children were crowded up against the bars, looking out through the gate. They spoke in whispers; they sounded like a wind full of ghosts. Now someone was shouting orders. Now the crowd edged away from four tall men in armor polished to a glitter. As Sandry and Green Stone and their entourage reached the gate, the gate swung wide.

Sandry had never seen a besieged city before. He waited for Green Stone to announce himself.

The wagonmaster shouted in Condigeano. "Are you hungry?"

A laugh, then a small, ragged chorus answered.

"There's fresh-killed bird meat up there!"

A jumble of voices rose. Only a few must have understood Condigeano, but they were translating for the rest, and the wind carried smoke and roasted meat.

What followed then resembled a stampede. Sandry held back his men, and Green Stone his wagons, as a horde of pale brown robes and a few armored, shouting soldiers streamed out and uphill.

What remained were a great many soldiers and a handful of what must be merchants and dignitaries, judging by their dress and elaborately coiffed hair. One, then the rest bowed low. A tall man straightened first. His robe was wonderfully ornate. A garden splashed across the front, worked in colored thread: yellow corn, red peppers, a rainbow of flowers, tall trees in black and green. He announced, in oddly flavored Condigeano, "Gentlemen and ladies, you have broken the siege. We thank you. Crescent City is yours. And I am Mayor Buzzard at Play."

"You do us much honor. I am Green Stone of the Feathersnake wagons. This is Lord Sandry, who leads our fighters." Green Stone wondered what would happen if he accepted the gift of the city; he decided against. "We come in trade."

"Good! Our water source comes from outside the gate but was never contaminated. You will camp along the West Bank, where the other caravans are. And when you can ..." The Mayor hesitated, then: "We hope you'll tell us how to deal with the nightmare birds."

"They make a formidable enemy, Mayor. Today we had some luck. We hope to hear the tale of what happened here. First we should get the caravan settled, and then—I trust there will still be stewed bird meat. We came hungry."

The streets were filthy with trash and sewage. Feathersnake's wagons and Sandry's men hesitated. In that moment, the mayor sighed, then shouted, "Wait here."

"For what?" Green Stone asked.

"I'd hoped—never mind. Move off the avenue, I beg.

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