Limits by Larry Niven (books to read for 13 year olds txt) 📕

reached forty my wife put the glamour on my eldest son. And here I am, under oath to travel until nobody has ever heard of Sung House. Well, I’ve done that. Someday maybe I’ll meet my father.”

“What happens to your wife?”

“She took my mother’s place as head of the House. It’s actually the women who rule in Sung House. The immortal Sung is just a figurehead.”

Sparthera shook her head, smiling. “It still sounds like a nice job…and they didn’t throw you out naked.”

“No. We know all our lives what’s going to happen. We think on how we’ll leave, what we’ll take, where we’ll go. We collect tales of other lands, and artifacts that could help us. There’s a little treasure room of things a departing Sung may take with him.”

He leaned back on the bed and stretched. “When I left, I took the pointer. It always fascinated me, even as a boy. I collected rumors about Gar’s treasure. It wasn’t just the gold and the jewels that stuck in my mind. There is supposed to be a major magical tool too.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a levitation device. Haven’t you ever wanted to fly?”

Sparthera’s lips pursed in a silent O. “What a thief could do with such a thing!”

“Or a military spy.”

“Yes…and the Regency raised hell trying to find Gar’s treasure. But of course you’d keep it yourself?”

“Or sell it to one government or another. But I’ll fly with it first.”

That night, cuddled close in Sung’s arms, Sparthera roused herself to ask a question. “Sung? What if I should have a child by you?”

He was silent for a long time. Long enough that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he did answer it was in a very soft voice. “We would ride off into the mountains and build a great hall, and I would put a glamour on the child to raise up a new House of Sung.”

Satisfied, Sparthera snuggled down into the magician’s arms to dream of mountains and gold.

They woke late the next morning, with the dust of the caravan actually in sight. They left it behind them as they rode, still following the King’s Way. “This is ridiculous,” Sung fretted. “Another day and we’ll be in Rynildissen!”

“Is it possible that this Gar actually buried his loot in the King’s Way?”

“I wouldn’t think he’d have the chance. Still, I suppose nobody would look for it there. Maybe.”

Around noon they reached a region of low hills. The King’s Way began to weave among them like a snake; but the silver box pointed them steadfastly toward Rynildissen. Sung dithered. “Well, do we follow the road, or do we cut across country wherever the pointer points?”

Sparthera said, “Road, I guess. We’ll know if we pass it.”

And road it was, until the moment when Sung sucked in his breath with a loud “Ah!”

“What is it?”

“The talisman’s pointing that way, south.” He turned off, guiding the unicorn uphill. Sparthera followed, pulling the wingbeast along after her. The unicorn seemed to be grumbling just below audibility.

Now the land was rough and wild. There were ravines and dry creekbeds, and tumbled heaps of soil and stone. They were crossing the crest of a hill when Sung said, “Stop.”

The unicorn stopped. Sparthera reined in her horse. The wingbeast walked into Twilight’s haunches, got kicked, and sat down with a dismal bray.

Sung ignored the noise. “Down in that ravine. We’ll have to try it on foot.”

They had to move on all fours in places. The bottom of the ravine was thick with brush. Sparthera hesitated as Sung plunged into a thorn thicket. When she heard his muttered curses stop suddenly, she followed.

She found him surrounded by scattered bones, and recognised the skull of an ass. “The pointer reads right in all directions. We’re right on it,” he said.

A pair of large stones, brown and cracked, looked a bit too much alike. Sparthera touched one. Old leather. Saddle bags?

The bag was so rotten it had almost merged with the earth. It tore easily. Within was cloth that fell apart in her hands, and a few metal ornaments that were green with verdigris. Badges of rank, for a soldier of Rynildissen. In the middle of it all, something twinkled, something bright.

Sung had torn the other bag apart. “Nothing. What have you got?”

She turned it in her hand: a bright faceted stone, shaped like a bird and set into a gold ring. “Oh, how pretty!”

“Hardly worth the effort,” Sung said. He worked his way backward out of the thicket and stood up. “Diamonds have no color. They’re not worth much. You see this kind of trinket in any Shanton jewel bazaar. Give it here.”

Sparthera handed it over, feeling forlorn. “Then that’s all there is?”

“Oh, I doubt it. We’re on the track. This was just the closest piece. It must have been part of the hoard, or the talisman wouldn’t have pointed us here. Even so…how did it get here? Did Gar lose a pack mule?”

He opened out the pointer. With the bird’s beak he traced a looping curve on the silver surface. “There. The talisman is pointing true again. There’s still treasure to be found.”

They climbed back uphill to their steeds. The King’s Way was well behind them now, and lost among the hills. They were picking their way across a nearly dry stream bed when Sung said, “We’re passing it.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet.” Sung dismounted. “You wait here. Sparthera, come along—” and she realized he’d spoken first to the unicorn. He picked his way carefully up a vast sloping spill of shattered boulders: leg-breaker country. At the top, panting heavily, he opened the box out and turned in a circle.

“Well?”

Sung turned again. He spoke singsong gibberish in what might have been a lengthy spell; but it sounded like cursing.

“Are you just going to keep spinning?”

“It says all directions are wrong!”

“Uh? Point it down.”

Sung stared at her. Then he pointed the talisman at his feet. He said, “‘Ta netyillo—’ Sparthera, my love, you may be the best thing that ever happened