“However, we have a very large selection of horses and gear,” he went on. “You may of course take your pick.”
Ian gave an almost inaudible whimper, and she elbowed him discreetly.
Another relay race on horseback, she agreed. Then: It’s going to be hard on Cecile and the girls. And Juliet. Good thing we’ll have liniment and some experienced fieldmasseurs, like me and Aunt Eilir. We can rig a carrier cradle for Lawrence Jr., but he’s not going to be a happy camper after a while either, poor little guy.
Alleyne brought out a map. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a spot near Winnemucca. “We need to get here.”
His finger came down on Ashland, in the Rogue River Valley south of the Willamette.
“The rail line was cleared and repaired that far three years ago, just before the war started. We can catch pedal cars from there, and then be anywhere on the rail net quickly, with a maximum priority to clear the track.”
Hao looked, intent. “Your route?”
He traced it. “Dunedain explorers have covered most of this area south of Ashland, from a bit west of here to the ocean and down into California, and this should be the least troublesome-the distance is about three hundred miles as the crow flies. About seventy to a hundred more as we’ll be traveling, mostly along the old Route 140, but in summer and with plenty of horses, I wouldn’t say it’s too hard. A bit strenuous, perhaps. Seventy to a hundred miles a day.”
Ian unconsciously rubbed at his buttocks. Ritva nodded, but then she looked at the face of the Lord of the Folk of the West. Something like this was just what he needed right now.
CHARTERED CITY OF GOLDENDALE COUNTY OF AUREA PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION (FORMERLY CENTRAL WASHINGTON) HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL (FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA) AUGUST 25, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD
“Oh, by Saint Bernadette, that’s awful!” Yseult Liu said, at the end of the story of the escape from Boise.
The Thurston girls looked at her solemnly, as they rolled the bandages and she contemplated their story of treachery and exile. They had a table to themselves in the city guildhall; apart from that, they were all doing pretty much the same work, making neat bundles of the clean linen. Nearly all the workers were women, but there was everything from gentlewomen to laborers’ daughters here, supervised by the experts from the Sisters of Compassion. It was hot and stuffy despite the size of the room and the high ceiling and the tall open windows, and her hands felt a little sore from the frequent dips into disinfectant.
The bandages went onto wheeled trays that others pushed around, taken off to the ones who’d sterilize them in autoclaves, seal and label them and then pack them for shipment to the warehouses where they awaited the need.
Soon, Yseult thought with a slight shiver. The Grand Constable is already fighting in the east. It’s getting closer. Huon will be there soon.
“Uh… yeah,” Shawonda said. “The Cutters are awful. They… they sort of warp things around them. Like contagious miserable badness. It’s scary!”
Yseult nodded vigorously, though she didn’t add the thoughts about demonic influences that naturally occurred to her. She wasn’t under any illusions about why it had been suggested that she take the Thurston daughters under her wing. It was a first installment on her future status as lady-in-waiting to the High Queen, even if she still wore her oblate’s robe and worked at a medical task.
Mathilda’s feeling out what I can do and how well I can do it. Which is exactly what she’s supposed to do. And maybe Shawonda and Janie will be ladies-in-waiting with me… which would be fun, I think.
A whistle sounded. “Shift change!” the guildmistress of the weavers who was overseeing the whole affair called.
Everyone rose and filed out; Shawonda blew out her cheeks in relief as they went into the courtyard. The walls on either side gave shade, along with tall cottonwoods, and there was a garden-at least, a fountain in the center and several banks of flowers in raised beds between gravel walkway. The building was new since the Change; there hadn’t been anything in the little town suitable for meetings of craft and merchant guilds and the Lord Mayor and Council of Aldermen and the Confraternities.
The Crown had subsidized it, as part of the Regent’s Compassionate Feudalization program. She’d heard the High Queen sigh over that term; then she’d acknowledged that it was perfectly sensible to give people positive incentives to act the way you wanted them to. Hence the three stories of stuccoed ferroconcrete gothic tracery around them, with the arched gateway that gave out onto the main square. They all drank from the cool water that sprang down in streams from the central spindle of the fountain and shook out their hands, laughing.
Yseult exchanged curtsies with others of those streaming out of the workroom; going first and sinking deeper to ladies of higher rank, returning those of her inferiors, and nodding and smiling instead when it was a non-Associate woman. The Thurstons looked on, a little puzzled at the ritual of precedence; she thought that Shawonda at least sensed that she was seeing the steps of a dance she didn’t know.
Janie spoke as they walked back towards the castle; that took them along the town square, which was nearly packed, slowing their walk as they dodged around clumps of soldiers and clerks and clerics, craftsmen and peasants and laborers.
“You look a little like your brother,” the younger Thurston girl said. “I liked him a lot. He made me laugh and he was so… so elegant.”
The children’s trousers attracted some eyes, but there were enough folk from outside the Association present that it would pass even in this little backland quasi-city-she could see three Mackenzie kilts and a couple of Bearkiller outfits at a glance, plus someone who was probably from Corvallis. There were political reasons for them not to wholly adopt Association ways.
Her oblate’s robe was plain, but it got more deference and effort to let them through than an escort of crossbowmen might have, though she still had to navigate carefully around porters and the preoccupied. It took her a moment before she realized that Janie meant Odard, not Huon; time dulled grief, and it had been months now since she learned of his death.
“And he was so handsome,” Shawonda nodded, her eyes looking a little dreamy for a moment. “Not as handsome as Rudi… I mean the High King… but really cool. He had such beautiful manners, he made you feel special. ”
The elder Thurston girl had a round face; she wasn’t overweight, a little gaunt if anything, but that seemed to be the way her bones went. Her sister was much prettier and she thought always would be, though still a child rather than a maiden.
And they’re the sisters of a ruler, of course, so it won’t matter that much for them, Yseult thought. They’re both clever, which is more important.
“Thank you,” Yseult said. “He was a gallant knight and a good man and a wonderful brother… except when he was being a jerk; you know how brothers are sometimes.”
They both nodded, and she went on: “He saved our family after.. . well, after what my mother did.”
“Like our brother Martin,” Shawonda said bitterly.
Janie took her hand consolingly. “It’s good to see Fred again, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
They passed a knot of men-at-arms drinking outside a tavern that had spilled out to encroach on the way with trestle tables; they ignored the girls, sitting with their arming doublets half unlaced and intent on the tail end of a song: “Now gracious God may save our King,
His people all well-willing,
Give his arms success at ending,
That we with mirth may safely sing”
And then the tune turned to a shout as fists pounded hard enough to make the tankards and baskets of bread jump: “Deo gratias, Montivalia!
Redde pro victoria!”
The castle gate was even more crowded than the town; they barely crept in along the chained-off pedestrian edge of the drawbridge, but the squire who commanded the guard knew her face.
“My lady Liu,” he said, thumping f
ist to breastplate and bowing his head. Then he turned and called, “Make way for the Lady Liu and her guests! In the High Queen’s name!”
Nobody recognized the Thurstons yet, and it was uncertain how they fit into the Table of Ranks anyway; Yseult had decided that they were princesses, but wasn’t going to insist on full state just now. The soldiers thumped the butts of their guisarmes as well, then used the shafts to open a lane for them, and Yseult nodded in reply. Another sign that she was being eased into her new status; and that she was shining in the light of Huon’s reflected glory. It was certainly more agreeable that being a pariah under suspicion, but…
No, I must avoid bitterness. I have become cynical and reluctant to trust. My confessor is right; these are tasks I must work on. And these are nice girls who have suffered badly. My mother betrayed us, but at least she didn’t kill our father, as their brother did. Take up your cross, Yseult Liu.
“It’s good of you to volunteer to work so soon after such a terrible journey,” she said, as they climbed the spiral staircase of the donjon tower. “Everyone is putting state aside and doing what they can.”
Their mother and sister-in-law were off making appearances where they told the truth about what Martin Thurston did, which was why she’d been set to shepherd and chaperone the girls. It had already started producing results that the High Queen was pleased with. None of them were getting much rest; the girls were still moving a bit stiffly, even after being able to rest on the railcars for the last two days of their headlong trip from the Wild Lands. The troubadours were already fitting it into the songs.
Shawonda groaned and made as if to rub herself rather indelicately. “Those Dunedain are made of iron,” she said.
“They’re very hardy warriors,” Yseult agreed; she didn’t add anything about their morals or, for most of them, their religion.
“They’re cool,” Janie added. “I want to be one! Don’t you, Shawonda?”
Shawonda looked a little troubled. “I’ve always loved the books, the Histories they call them. It was like being in the books to travel with the Dunedain. But… and I don’t know if I want to be a soldier. It was wonderful what the Hiril Astrid did, but…”
She shuddered. “The fight was so horrible. And I saw her die. It was awful, and she did it to save little Lawrence, or even Juliet, and it was so brave but… terrible.”
Be fair about the Rangers, Yseult told herself. Some of them are good Catholics. Besides which, that was a glorious and knightly deed that Lady Astrid did, the rescue and the way she put herself in the way of the bolt. We all die soon or late, but Lady Astrid’s name will live while honor’s praise is sung, and God loves those who imitate Christ by sacrifice, even if they don’t know Him. I will pray for her; surely she’s in Purgatory.
“Well, they’re not all knights-errant,” Yseult said aloud.
She’d had a few romantic dreams about Mithrilwood herself; most girls did, for a little while at least, and some young noblemen. The old grudges had died away over her lifetime.
“There aren’t any Ranger peasants,” she went on. “But they have. .. oh, troubadours, bards they call them, and armorers, and healers, and craftsfolk. And they own ranches, and hunt and do forestry, and have houses in towns, and things like that, so some of them look after their properties.”
They came to the chambers that had been turned over to the Thurston family; the set above were for Juliet Thurston and her son. She’d noticed how strained relations still were between Mrs. Thurston and her daughter-in-law, largely smoothed over by the grandson. That this suite was theirs alone was a mark of favor given how crowded Castle Goldendale was, even if it did mean the two girls were sleeping on truckle beds in this sitting room.
It was a pleasant enough chamber, shaped like a wedge of pie since it was in a circular tower, with plastered walls painted in hunting scenes. The location also made it easy to guard. There was no way in except through the outer gate, the keep gate, and then a guarded portal at the base. None of the windows were big enough for even a very small and lithe assassin to climb through.
The staff had set out a cold collation for them; regular dining in Hall had gone by the board, with everything upset by the mobilization. She’d heard someone grumble that they were all grazing like a herd, wherever they found a moment.
“Oh, good,” Shawonda said. “I’m starved, but in weather like this a regular cooked meal makes you feel so logy and stuffed afterwards.”
Yseult flipped off the white linen cloth. “Let’s eat!” the sisters said in chorus, and took off the covers.
There was sliced ham, roast quail, potatoes done with garlic and herbs, a salad of roasted peppers and sweet Walla Walla onions and cauliflower dressed with oil and vinegar, another of greenstuffs, along with good manchet bread and a big apricot tart with cream. The girls waited while she said grace, then ate with what she recognized as good manners of a very old-fashioned sort, and enthusiasm.
Janie grinned and rubbed her hands after she’d loaded her plate. Yseult poured them all a glass of white wine. Janie paused and looked at hers a little dubiously.
“Am I allowed to drink wine?” she said.
“Well, some,” Yseult said, surprised again.
Wine was what you drank with food, unless you had beer, which was slightly plebian. This wasn’t anything special, just ordinary drinkable wine decanted from a cask to a carafe and sent up from the kitchens.
I knew they were from a different country, but it’s like they’re from a different time. I knew Boise clung to the old ways, but I didn’t expect so much.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I’m sort of young?” Janie said.
“You’re what… eleven?” Yseult said.
“Since June.”
“Well, I started drinking wine when I came out of the nursery.. . when I was six. Watered at first, of course. But don’t worry, I won’t let you get drunk!”
Janie nodded a little dubiously, sipped, made an interested sound but switched to the cool water instead.
“And it’s exciting to be in a real castle,” she said. “Pass the mustard, please… A castle with knights and everything! It looks just the way I imagined!”
Shawonda nodded and jointed one of the little birds, a little more restrained as befitted a maiden in her mid-teens.
“It’s really interesting. But I don’t want to have a banquet and everything all the time, not yet at least,” she said.
Yseult blinked as she broke a piece of bread and buttered it.
What’s odd or special about a castle? And castles are where knights live. Well, and manors. It’s no more strange than finding a horse in a stable or a monk in an abbey.
“We don’t have banquets all the time,” she said instead. “Well, it’s a little different at Court, naturally they keep more state than anyone else and entertain more, and this is a royal castle. But normally we… ordinary Associate nobles and our retainers… just eat in Hall, you know.”
“What’s that mean?” Janie asked.
Yseult blinked again, forced to think how to explain something she’d taken for granted all her life.
“Well, in Hall… you’ve seen the Hall here?”
Shawonda nodded. “The great big building with the dais at one end and that marvelous huge fireplace and the stained-glass windows down one side and the tapestries? And the lovely coffered ceiling.”
Janie nodded. “Yes, we saw that when we came here. Mathilda… I mean, the High Queen… met us and gave a sort of speech, and there were a lot of people. But wouldn’t that be for banquets? It’s awful big for just a dining room.”
“You don’t have Halls?”
“Not like that,” Shawonda said. “I mean, the capitol building in Boise has a big place where they have meetings, and sometimes special dinners. If you have dinner in a Hall, isn’t that a banquet?”
“Well, no, it’s used for banquets too, but those are special occasions. Banquets are different, it’s mostly guest
s then, sometimes everyone’s a noble. But a Great Hall has to be big because all the Castle people eat there, except some of the extra troops if there’s a call-up, and it’s where you have dances and things, and music and performers and maybe mystery plays, and a lord may sit in judgment there for his manor court or the Court Baron, and you play games in winter or sew there at times in the summer if the solar gets too stuffy. A Hall will be a bit smaller in a manor house than a castle but it’s the same thing really.”
“ Everybody in a Castle or a manor eats in the hall?” Janie said.
“Most days. The family and any noble guests at the head table, and then the Associate retainers, and then the commons down below the salt, from the highest-ranking servants down to the stable hands and that sort. We don’t all eat the same food, of course, or use the same tableware, but one reason common people want to serve in a castle is that they eat better than what they would get at home in their family’s cottage.”
Shawonda returned to the subject. “So you eat in this Great Hall place every day?”
“Not every day, especially not breakfast or luncheon, sometimes a lord will eat en famille with his wife and children or a few select guests in a solar or ladybower, but it’s… well, people will think you’re odd and, ummm, sort of… what was the old word… antisocial if you do that all the time. It’s good lordship to sit at meat with your folk. Though it’s nice to be private now and then, like this.”
Shawonda looked down at her plate and realized it was empty except for a few clean-picked bones. Yseult thought she blushed, though it was a little difficult to tell for sure with the brown complexion.
“Go ahead,” she laughed. “You’ve been on short rations, I know. Here, have some of the ham this time. The honey glaze is excellent.”
“We were eating jerky and these hard biscuits and cheese and not much else while we rode so fast,” Janie said. “We were so tired we didn’t realize how hungry we were until we got to Ashland and we could sleep in a bed again!”
Her sister nodded. “Everything sort of blurred together after the first couple of days. I think there were bandits once and I didn’t even notice because I was so tired and sore and half-asleep.”
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