The Amtrak Wars.

Iron Master.

By: Patrick Tilley.

PROLOGUE.

Cadillac handed his bathrobe to his servant, stepped into the deep tub and sank down until the steaming water lapped his chin. Two more female dead-faces, naked except for their white cotton headscarves, stood in the water on either side of him, waiting to cleanse and ma.s.sage his bronzed body. He motioned them to begin, then closed his eyes and reflected, once again, on his good fortune. Even though he was able to read the future in the seeing-stones, they had not revealed that, in a few short months after leaving the Plainfolk, everything he had ever wished for would be within his grasp. Power, responsibility, a task worthy of his talents, and - most important of all - standing.

His life had been utterly transformed and, for the first time, he felt truly content. The warmth of the water pervaded his body, gently dissolving the flesh and bone.

With his eyes still closed against the flickering yellow light of the lanterns he had the sensation of floating, formless, like a spirit-being poured by Mo-Town into the womb of its earth mother.

He cast his mind adrift...

Shortly after Steve Brickman had soared into the dawn sky, pursued by several posses of Bears, Cadillac began the construction of a second arrowhead from the parts which the clan had kept hidden from the cloud warrior.

Armed with the skills and the knowledge he had drawn from Steve's mind, he found it proved a relatively simple task. It was also immensely satisfying, for his arrowhead was sleeker and stronger than Bluebird, the ramshackle rig he had helped Steve to build and on which he had been taught how to fly.

Cadillac smiled as he remembered how careful he had been not to learn too quickly. Brickman had gone back to the dark world of the sand-burrowers without realising he had given away the key to a treasure house of information. Using the power granted by Talisman, he had made a mental carbon copy of everything the cloud warrior knew; every fact he had acquired, every learning experience since birth. The entire range of Brickman's talents, skills and knowledge were now his to command.

Yes... the loss of Clearwater's soul was a small price to pay for such gifts.

The craft was powered by an electric motor culled from one of the Skyhawks that had fallen in the battle with the iron snake. It was the same motor that Brickman had fitted to Bluebird and then discarded just before his escape because he could not make it work properly.

Cadillac did what Steve, in his haste, could not be bothered to do; he took it to pieces, checked every part, rebuilt it with loving care, and then continued to work on it until it functioned perfectly.

Now the equal of Brickman in the air, he took off from the bluff above the settlement, skimming with the same lack of fear over the edge of the steep escarpment into the void. He felt the wind embrace him, felt its cool sweet breath upon his face; was overcome by a rapturous sense of freedom as he was borne upwards in great sweeping spirals like the golden eagles who nested on the nearby mountain peaks.

Higher and higher he went, into the sky-world with its ever-changing sunlit terrain, climbing and diving between the towering walls of the cloud canyons. From afar, they looked like vast impregnable wind-carved snowdrifts, but the curving terraces and lofty pinnacles that cried out to be explored melted away as he approached, dissolving into a soft formless veil that enveloped his craft and swallowed the sun - like the dawn mists that shrouded the earth at the Yellowing.

For this was the domain of the Sky Voices; a magical landscape that existed only in the mind's eye - serene, awe-inspiring, majestic; endowed with the same fugitive beauty as a rainbow - forever beyond the grasp of mortal man.

Looking down, everything seemed so small. The problems that were so burdensome on the ground shrank into insignificance. The sense of release was so overwhelming, he stayed aloft for two whole hours.

Even after landing, he was on such an emotional high, his feet hardly seemed to be touching the ground.

Mr Snow, in his characteristically sly way, let him wallow in the glow of self-adoration for a few days then brought him down to earth with a b.u.mp by telling him about the bargain he had struck with the Iron Masters.

He made it sound so simple: an arrowhead complete and undamaged plus a cloud warrior in similar condition in exchange for new, long, powerful sharp iron.

Rifles...

Cadillac responded with a baffled stare. There was no arrowhead. The wrecks of the craft launched from the iron snake had been picked to pieces. And the cloud warrior was long gone.

Mr Snow, seated on the other end of the talking mat, read his thoughts and answered with a glum nod. 'You're right. I guess that means it's down to you."

Sweet Sky Mother. Cadillac went cold at the thought.

For no Mute had ever returned from the Fire Pits of BethLem.

Mr Snow brushed aside his objections. Such ingrat.i.tude.

Was this how he rewarded Talisman - who had made him a wordsmith and seer, and had now made him the equal of any cloud warrior? Gifts such as these were given to be used on behalf of the Plainfolk. 'Don't ever forget what I'm about to tell you,' he said, solemnly wagging his-finger. ,There is no such thing as a free lunch."

'Free lunch.. '.?"

Mr Snow brushed aside the question and proceeded to explain the plan in greater detail. Cadillac was to fly north to the Yellow Stone river, then turn east towards the trading post in the lands of the San'Paul.

From there he was to follow the sh.o.r.eline of the grent river, the first of several. The last, which ran north to south, was called In.

Beyond its eastern sh.o.r.e lay the land of the Iron Masters and the domain of Yama-s.h.i.ta, lord of the wheelboats. To reach the trading post would mean a perilous journey across hostile turf held by the D'Troit and the C'Natti, but by flying high he could evade the bolts from their crossbows. And although it was asking a great deal, it would be safer still if he was prepared to fly when the world slept under Mo-Town's starry cloak. By leaving at sunset before the next full moon he would - if all went well - reach his destination sometime during the following day.

At this point, Mr Snow broke off and rummaged through his untidy pile of possessions. After much cursing he eventually unearthed two folded pieces of cloth which, when opened out, proved to be rectangular banners made of fine white fabric.

In the centre of each was a blood-red disc - the mark of the Iron Masters. The banners - which had been brought from Beth-Lem aboard one of Yamas.h.i.ta's wheelboats - were to be fixed beneath the wings of the arrowhead where they could be seen by people on the ground. To ensure its safe reception, the craft was also required to give off a trail of white smoke as soon as it reached Iron Master territory. Green rockets - which Cadillac had seen fired into the sky on his last visit to the trading post - would signal where he was to land.

So far so good. The Iron Masters appeared to have covered all the angles. All except one - the possibility that Mr Snow might proceed to embellish the agreed plan with a few details of his own. Cadillac was to shed his body-paint and go disguised as a Tracker, wearing the clothes of one of the fallen cloud warriors whose head was now staked outside Clearwater's hut. With his clear skin, his newly acquired knowledge and a short haircut, no one would suspect he was not a Federation wingman. But there was more. The ribbon sewn above the right-hand pocket of his tunic would identify him as '8902

BRICKMAN S.R.".

The irony of the situation triggered a burst of shared laughter, obliterating all thoughts of danger - and the equally daunting prospect of losing his long black hair.

While Cadillac tried to strike a mental balance between the risks and the benefits that might flow from accomplishing such a challenging task, Mr Snow unveiled his final surprise. The craft Cadillac had built would need an extra seat for his armed escort.

Clearwater.

Dressed as a She-Wolf, with her unblemished olive skin hidden under swirling patterns of black and brown, Clearwater would pose as an emissary from the clan M'CalI. Her real task was to provide moral support and if the need arose - use her formidable powers as a summoner to protect him and ensure their safe return.

Cadillac bit his lip, choosing not to speak of what he had seen in the stones- that the bond between Clearwater and himself had been broken.

Despite the outward pretence, she was no longer his soul-mate. Her thoughts and earth-longings were now centred on the cloud warrior; the Death-Bringer who was fated to return and carry her away on a river of blood.

The blood of the Plainfolk.

At the time when Cadillac had drawn this knowledge from the stones, he had also seen the place where Mr Snow would give up his life so that he, Cadillac, might be saved. In his grief he had shed bitter tears, cursing the gift of seership, and he had silently vowed never to pick up a seeing-stone again. The Wheel turned, the Path was drawn. If nothing could be changed then it was better not to lift the Veil. Let the future hold its secret sorrows; the pain of the present was burden enough.

In the days that followed, as he lengthened the slim fuselage pod and fitted a second seat behind his own, Cadillac tried to come to terms with what had happened.

Standing on the bluff with Clearwater and Mr Snow, watching the cloud warrior rise on the freshening wind and turn over the hills towards the south, he had decided there would be no accusations, no recriminations.

The true warrior did not allow himself to be deflected by such unworthy emotions as envy or jealousy. But Cadillac had only just begun to take the first few faltering steps along The Way and had not yet attained the necessary degree of philosophical detachment.

Clearwater's infatuation with the cloud warrior had hurt him deeply.

Already persuaded by his own inner demons that he lacked standing, he could not bear the idea of being second-best. Had he wished to avenge his honour, he could have denounced her in front of the a.s.sembled clan and demanded her death. By the laws of the Plainfolk, her trial would have been a mere formality.

But that route was not open to him. Even now, Cadillac would have gladly given up his own life to save hers. The bonds of friendship, rooted in the shared pain and joy of their childhood and nurtured by their special 'otherness', could never be broken until Mo-Town called their spirits back into the luminous crystal waters that filled the great Cup of Life. Moreover, he had no proof Clearwater had betrayed him. She had not confessed her guilt. Indeed, her manner towards him had hardly changed. But he knew! He knew! Her clouded blue eyes told him that her mind and heart had parted company with his.

He also knew that, as a fellow-summoner, Mr Snow was bound to leap to her defence, leaving him completely tongue-tied. The degree of respect and obedience demanded by the ancient code of the wordsmiths made it impossible for an apprentice to contradict his master publicly. To do so would have been an unforgivable breach of etiquette. But even if he had been foolish enough to try, he could never have won an argument with Mr Snow. Far from gaining any sympathy, he would find himself being mocked by those who envied him and sought to bar him from the ranks of the Bears.