Mira shivered at the memory of just such a tale but said, stoutly, “Well, they haven’t tried to touch us yet—and as to their being mad, I’ve seen a few whose eyes are too bright and whose laughs are too shrill, but most of them seem as sane as a magician’s guard.”
“They seem so, yes.” But Blaize’s doubt was almost palpable. “I don’t see much evidence of disease, though.”
“Maybe the sick ones died out,” Mira offered.
“That would make sense,” Blaize agreed. He glanced over at the band around the fire pit, laughing and joking now at the end of the day. Several young couples were holding hands. “They’re as hard handed and muscular as any serfs,” Blaize mused, “but there’s a dignity about them, an assurance that I don’t remember from my village.”
“They’re free,” Mira said, her voice low. “That’s the difference.”
“It comes at a price, though,” Blaize said thoughtfully. “They can’t be sure there will be enough game to keep them fed from one day to the next.”
Mira shrugged. “What happens to the serfs when there’s a drought?”
“Famine,” Blaize said, his voice flat. “The lords still have enough, but the serfs starve. Maybe these folks don’t have it so badly after all.”
“And they have a home.” Mira’s eyes filled with longing. “A home, and people to help them if they need it, and defend them if they need that, too.”
Blaize felt the echo of her yearning within him. He’d had two homes, one with his parents and one with Arnogle, and he missed them both very strongly.
Dawn saw a dozen city people sitting in a circle with Gar and Alea. Within a week, the two had taught them the basics of Taoism and they were beginning to wonder about their intermittent strife with the Hawks and the Hounds. But they were shocked when a Hawk party came into their home block carrying a flag of truce.
Longshanks went forward to meet them with half a dozen heavily armed warriors. “Good hunting to you,” he said warily. “And to you,” the Hawk speaker said. “May the game in your wedge multiply.”
“And in yours.” Longshanks forced a smile. “What’s the occasion for this chat? Not that it’s unpleasant, mind you, only surprising.”
“Well … ah … we’ve heard you have some shamans visiting, who are teaching you wisdom. We’d like to share it, if we may.”
“They call themselves sages, not shamans.” Longshanks frowned. “Who told you of them?”
“Our ancestors.”
There was nothing else to wonder about—they all knew that ghosts talked to ghosts. There was some discussion as to whether or not Gar and Alea were willing to go, but since they were, Longshanks tried to put Taoism into practice by exchanging gifts with the Hawks, then the companions go teach.
The Hawks learned as quickly as the Corbies. At the end of the week, they proved it by inviting their neighbors to a banquet. Corbin told his descendants to go bearing gifts, and with double game to roast, the two tribes had a high old time of it.
The next day, the Hounds sent emissaries to ask the teachers to visit. By the end of the month, Gar and Alea had visited each of the six tribes, and all were beginning their days with meditation and trying to find ways to practice Taoism in their daily lives, including martial arts practice. The feuding stopped, but they weren’t quite ready for Gar’s suggestion that they merge their clan meetings into a citywide council.
Gar was positively ecstatic. “Success beyond my wildest hopes!” he told Alea. “I never dreamed they could learn so quickly!”
“They’ve been wanting to find a way to end the fighting for a long time,” Alea answered, “and the meditation is strengthening the powers that they say they don’t have.”
That night, she couldn’t sleep. Feeling restless, she wandered off into the concrete canyons by herself. Somehow she forgot that it might be dangerous.
Then she turned a corner and met a giant globe of a cat head with a toothy grin and an afterthought of a body.
“I might have known it would be you!” Alea jammed her fists on her hips. “Why don’t you let me remember these meetings? It would make my work a great deal easier!”
“You’re doing quite well remembering the ideas we discuss,” Evanescent said easily. “No need to remember where you found them.”
“And what ideas am I ‘finding’ tonight?”
“The cure to this planet’s problems,” Evanescent told her. “There are enough of these city people to beat the magicians’ guards. They even have the combined psi power to muzzle the magicians themselves.”
“I don’t like the idea of starting a war,” Alea said darkly. “You won’t be,” Evanescent assured her. “Some ghost told the magicians about you. They’re horrified at the idea of the city barbarians uniting. They’re already on the march—ten magicians with five hundred guards.”
Alea felt a chill, one that was swamped by the heat of anger. “That ghost wouldn’t have had the idea from you, would he?”
“My dear!” Evanescent said in wounded tones. “How could you think I would even consider such a thing? Besides, I didn’t have to—the ghost was a power-hungry shaman who tried to make this whole city his own little kingdom during the Collapse. He’s outraged to see the barbarians unifying without a lord.”
“So he’s bringing in lords to divide them up?”
“Yes, but I’m sure your clans can fight them off. Don’t worry, dear, I’ll help. You can be sure the magicians’ magic won’t work very well.”
Alea looked down, frowning in thought, then looked up at the empty courtyard, wondering how the broken fountain could still be spouting water—an artesian well, no doubt. Like the human spirit, it welled up again and again, even in the midst of the ruins.
Well, the spirit of these barbarians wouldn’t be ruined, she would see to that. She went back to the empty lobby the Corbies had assigned herself and her companions as sleeping quarters. She wondered if she should wake Gar with this galvanizing news or wait till morning.
She decided to wait.
They were wakened by angry shouts and the clatter of shields and spears being taken up. With a sinking stomach, she knew she shouldn’t have waited.
“What is it?” Gar sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “The alarm.” Alea scrambled up. “The magicians are marching on the city. Quickly! We’ve got to remind the Corbies about the Way! They’re forgetting it completely and going back to their old mob fighting!”
Gar grabbed his clothes, stuffed his long body into them, and ran out into the street.
Blaize and Mira looked up blinking and confused.
“Call every wyvern you’ve got!” Alea told Mira, and to Blaize, “Organize the ghosts and tell them to look for traitors! Maybe they can’t hurt one another, but they can keep the enemy’s phantoms busy!”
They dashed out. Alea was right behind them, completely unafraid of the magicians.
The barbarians were another matter, though. They could lose by sheer lack of discipline—but Gar was already there, calling, wheedling, cajoling. “Remember the Way! Don’t attack them—make them come to you! Use their own violence against them!”
“Nice phrases,” Longshanks scoffed. “How do you do it?”
“This is your land, your terrain,” Gar told him. “You know where to hide, how to appear and disappear. Show yourselves long enough to make them chase you, bait them into a courtyard, and trap them there. Lead them down a narrow street where you have people at the windows with rocks to throw. Entice them down into cellars, lock the doors, and station guards to keep them in. Don’t kill them if you don’t have to—when we let them go and chase them out, we want them spreading the word that you’re merciful as well as unbeatable.”