Burning Tower by Larry Niven Page A

back. Seems like they really have it in for horses.”
    â€œWhere’s the caravan?”
    â€œJust ahead, sir, on the road up around the bend. You can’t miss it.”
    â€œHow many effectives do you have, Bordermaster?”
    â€œThree, sir. And no more spears.”
    Sandry nodded. First things first, then. He wheeled the chariot toward the dead bird. Two spears stuck out of it, and another lay on the ground nearby. Sandry gestured, and Yiler leaped down to gather the spears. As he did, the dead bird convulsed, and its beak fastened onto Yiler’s leg.
    Chalker leaped down with a curse and ran a spear through the bird’s neck. The beak opened and the head flopped over. Yiler drew his sword and hacked at it again and again.
    â€œYou can stand on that; you ain’t too bad off,” Chalker said. “But I think we let him deliver them spears to the toll house, Lord Sandry. He’s bleeding.”
    â€œRight.” Another lesson learned. Just because the birds looked long dead didn’t mean they were. Take Yiler and the spears back to the tollhouse. Stand ready while they open the barred door and let Yiler in. Do I want another spearman, one of Waterman’s people? Nobody seemed to be volunteering, and Sandry didn’t know any of the troopers except Waterman. “Just you and me again, Chalker.”
    Chalker grinned narrowly. “Yes, sir.”
    Â 
    They saw the birds before they rounded the bend. All three of them, running back and forth. Then the caravan became visible, a circle of wagons. Big rectangular wagons with high wooden sides and gray tentcloth roofs, drawn into a tight circle with little space between them. Men with slings stood on the wagon seats, and men and women with long spears crouched between the wagon wheels among sturdy wooden boxes that exactly fit the empty spaces. Inside the wagon circle was a circle of hairy beasts, shaggy with big horns. They stood in a solid ring, their horns out. Bison. Sandry had never seen one before the first Feathersnake caravan came to Tep’s Town. He still wasn’t sure he believed they were domesticated animals.
    There were horses inside the bison circle. No, Sandry corrected himself, not horses. They’d be kinless ponies if they weren’t so big! And they had horns growing out of their foreheads. Boneheads, one-horns. Some of the seaman traders had stories about one-horns. Could they be true? Everyone said they were true.
    â€œThey see us!” Chalker shouted.
    The birds were coming.
    â€œIt’s the horses,” Sandry said. “They want to kill the horses. Ruby! Steady there!” Ruby and Rose, two mares, not as fast as the stallion and gelding team he’d had in Peacegiven Square. “This is going to be tricky,” Sandry said. “Keep an eye out to the caravan. See if there’s going to be any help there.”
    â€œLooks like they’ve got a gate and people ready to open it,” Chalker said. “We could run inside.”
    â€œAnd be trapped like they are,” Sandry said. “Maybe when the horses tire. The birds have been running; they can’t be all that fresh—”
    â€œThey look fresh enough to me!”
    They did. The birds were coming fast now. Sandry wheeled the horses. Lead them up the road, get them close to Waterman’s tollhouse. Lead them to the spears—
    â€œThey’ve opened that gate!” Chalker shouted. “Something’s coming out. Something, somebody.”
    Sandry didn’t dare look. The road was none too straight, and the birds were getting closer, and the mares were terrified—
    â€œIt’s a girl, riding one of them boneheads,” Chalker shouted.
    Now Sandry had to look behind. It was Tower, Burning Tower, long hair tied behind her, trousered legs astride a white stallion with a gleaming horn, her perfect feet bare and appealing as always. She was shouting in a language Sandry didn’t