″Like to fight, do you?″
″No, that I do not,″ Rudi replied. ″I like the art of the thing, and the mastering of the skill, and the testing of the self. A bladesman′s skill can be as beautiful as any other. Fighting . . . that you do because it′s needful.″
″You′ve won a lot of fights,″ one of the youngsters said brashly, despite a glare from his instructor when he pushed into the conversation. ″What′s it like? We′ve had some brushes with outlaws lately but they just run off if they can′t bushwhack you.″
Rudi twitched the wooden sword down until its point rested in the dirt and leaned on the hilt. ″You′ve slaughtered beasts, I suppose?″ he said calmly.
The teenager nodded; it would be rare for anyone not to have that experience. Anyone except a wealthy dweller in a large city, and such were very rare in the world as it was now. Even a child could help hold the bowl of oatmeal to catch the blood for sausages and black pudding when a carcass was hoisted up to drain.
″Much like that; like butchering a pig, shall we say, they being clever enough to know what you′re about, and to fear their death before it comes. Except that you can generally kill a beast cleanly with one blow, since it′s not trying to stop you with a weapon of its own, the which is unfortunately rare in a fight. In battle you must often disable before you can put an end to the man; which means you can see the knowledge in their eyes as the last blow falls. Or you must cripple a man and go on to the next, there being no time for mercy.″
The instructor nodded vigorously. Rudi continued:
″And animals rarely try to hold the wounds closed, or weep, or scream and call for their mothers because the pain is so bad.″
″Oh,″ the young man said; he and his friends winced.
″And that,″ the DI said ruthlessly, ″would have been you three this time.″
He pointed to each of them in turn. ″Weiss, you′d be bleeding out right now, fast, ′cause that one he gave you would′ve opened up the big artery inside the crotch. Cartman, you′d be lying flat on your face with blood coming out of your nose and ears waiting for someone to cut your throat. And Andersen, you′d have a four-inch stab wound in your gut and after the fever set in you′d be begging for someone to finish you. So let′s practice some more, hey? Get set, two on one!″
He turned back to Rudi and spoke more quietly as the young men moved off in obedience to his orders:
″They′ll do OK, if I can just keep them alive while they get some of the piss and vinegar whacked out of ′em.″
Rudi smiled; he liked this man, even on brief acquaintance. ″Still, better to have to restrain a noble stallion than prod a reluctant mule.″
″Yah, God knows that′s true. The timid ones take even more work. These, they′re good kids. It′s just . . .″ A pause. ″Trouble′s coming, isn′t it?″
″It is that. Trouble that follows me and my friends—but even so is just the first wave of a storm of troubles to come.″
″Well, shit. I′d better get back to work, then.″
Something touched the back of Rudi′s hand. It was a snowflake; more fell, and then the wind began to flick them into his face. The young Readstowners stepped back and began to sling their gear.
The instructor gave a smile that would have done credit to a tiger confronted with a crippled cow.
″War isn′t going to be called on account of snow!″ he barked. ″Where do you think you′re going?″
Rudi walked over to where his half sisters and Virginia Kane and Fred Thurston had been showing off a little with mounted archery, which was an upper-class style here. Ingolf was leaning against a maple and watching with his arms crossed.
″Standards have gone up since I left,″ he said. ″This bunch are a lot better than I was when I went for a soldier.″
″The which is a fortunate thing,″ Rudi said.
The snowflakes grew larger, and began to stick on his eyebrows.
″What would you say of it?″ he asked; Ingolf would be a better judge of weather here.
″Going on to snow hard,″ he said. ″It′s early. That means we ought to be able to get going in a week or so.″
Rudi nodded. ″If I were more eager, ants would crawl out of my nostrils. They′re crawling around under my skin, as it is. But again, we′ve not wasted the time here. I think your brother has come around to our way of thinking about the Cutters.″
Ingolf nodded. ″Yah. He connected the dots and didn′t like the picture. He′s going to be sounding out the other Sheriffs and the bigger Farmers about it over the winter too, you betcha.″
″So we′ve accomplished that here.″ Rudi sighed. ″Much as a mad dash would have eased my heart. Do you know the worst of adventuring, my friend?″
Ingolf snorted. ″Your Majesty, I could go on all day about that.″
Rudi shrugged. ″It′s not so much the hardship or danger. It′s the monotony . Everyone back home probably thinks it′s such a wild and carefree life . . . but it′s hard work, and mostly at the same thing. You travel, you fight, you try not to starve, travel some more, fight some more . . . even a pleasant place like this isn′t home, and it isn′t yours.″
Ingolf chuckled. ″Well, you get to see a lot of the country. Granted you do a lot of it bleeding or running or hiding. And sometimes you meet a great girl and she falls for you.″
His gaze turned fond as he looked over at Mary; she was putting the cap on her quiver, and paused to blow him a kiss.
The Readstowner went on: ″And Mary and I are going to get hitched before we go.″
Rudi grinned at that, and put out his hand. They shook, and a grin came over Ingolf′s battered face as well. It made him look a good decade younger.
″We′re already brothers in battle and camp,″ Rudi said. ″It′ll be good to have you formally in the family, so to speak.″
″It′s not . . . well, it′s just a ceremony, but . . . you know.″
The rest of the questers came up while they were talking, and Ingolf endured more handshaking and slaps on the back.
″Mary doesn′t mind a Catholic service,″ Ingolf said. ″And I thought my folks here would prefer it that way.″
Rudi nodded. ″You′re handfasted when the two of you stand before the folk and say you are. Ceremonies mark a marriage, but they don′t make it, not to the Old Religion′s way of looking at things.″
He cocked an eyebrow at Mathilda. ″Matti and I have decided we′re to be wed, by the way.″
Everyone congratulated them. He went on. ″But we haven′t yet decided on a date . . .″
Mathilda looked at him, turned on her heel and stalked back towards the Vogeler manor.
″Now, what was that about, for the sake of sweet Brigid Hearth-mistress?″ Rudi said, bewildered.
Ritva cleared her throat. ″Ah . . . I don′t know exactly, big brother. But yesterday she muttered something about witch-boys all being cream-stealing tomcats with their consciences in their balls.″
He raised his hands in exasperation and looked from side to side. ″What? What? I′ve been as chaste as Father sworn-to-avoid-it Ignatius the now!″
Virginia laughed, not exactly cruelly, but . . .
″Your Majesticalness, I even believe you. But it ain′t me you′ve got to convince!″
Four days later the blizzard howled outside the Vogeler dining room, hard enough to shake the stout walls now and then; it was a second-floor chamber, big enough to seat a score, if not a feast for the whole garth. Today it held all of Rudi′s party, the Sheriff and his wife, and what Rudi had come to think of as the Readstown general staff. The windows were good double-glazed ones of pre-Change manufacture. They rattled a little in the modern frames, and they looked like squares of blackness with ribbons of white spearing at them. It made the glow of the lamps and the flickering coals in the fireplace all the more welcome, and the pleasant lingering smell of the meal.
″And how pleasant it would be, to feast the winter away so, snug and warm, with all th
e comforts of home,″ Rudi said. ″The which some of our party can do.″
Jake sunna Jake nodded reluctantly. He also lifted his third wedge of blueberry pie—a quarter of the whole—onto his plate and lathered it with whipped cream; Rudi smiled at his enthusiasm. Until a few months ago none of the Southsiders had ever tasted baked goods, or sweeteners other than wild honey, or dairy of any sort. Some of them didn′t like the unfamiliar diet. Jake was not one of them. He′d done justice to the glazed ham, shepherd′s pie, glistening panfried potatoes, vegetables, and the better part of two loaves of bread and butter, too. He and his tribe all had the reflexive voracity of those who′d gone hungry often from childhood on, even those who yearned after their old perpetual stew.
And his table manners have become something less roynish, Rudi observed, with some relief. Even a fork has yielded up its mysteries to the man.
″ ′Kay,″ the Southsider Big Man said, in something that had grown closer to the others′ varieties of English. ″I kin . . . can . . . go to like have our bitches—um, womenfolks—and littles stay here. They′s good ones, here. Southsiders who stay, they can learn plenty till-un we gets here again. And eat good shi . . . good stuff like this alla times, n′ sleep warm, not have lotsa littles die.″
Rudi shuddered a little at what a winter in their home range must have been like, with no more arts than they′d had when he met them. Granted central Illinois wasn′t as brutal in the Crone′s season as the Free Republic of Richland or the territory they were headed for, but it would be bad enough. He also finished his own last forkful of blueberry pie; it had always been one of his favorite dishes, and the berries here were the best he′d ever tasted either fresh or baked or in preserves.
Edward Vogeler nodded gravely, tamping the tobacco in his pipe. ″Yah, Jake,″ he said. ″They′ll be a help, in fact. Looks like it′ll be a hard winter, and an early one.″
That was more tactful than usual with the blunt-spoken Sheriff; it was probably also partly true. Even unskilled hands could always be found useful work—if nothing else, they′d free craftsfolk from routine chores like woodchopping. Not to mention the substantial golden sweetener he′d provided to pay for room, board and instruction in arts like weaving and cheesemaking, literacy and frequent baths. If they returned in the spring—
When, he told himself firmly. When we come back in the spring. I′ve no choice, now that I′ve taken oath on it.
When they returned the Southsider noncombatants would be far closer to something civilized. Enough that founding their own dun in Mackenzie territory would be feasible, with a little more teaching from volunteers there.
To be sure, ″Dun Jake″ will sound a trifle strange at first!
″And I′m gonna be busy this winter myself,″ Ed Vogeler said. ″It′s our visiting season, and we visit hard. There are important men who′ll listen to me.″
″And women who′ll listen to me,″ his wife put in, a little to his surprise.
He glanced at her and nodded. ″You′ve opened my eyes, Mr. Mackenzie. And Father Ignatius, and all of you. Ingolf too, of course. These maniacs have to be stopped.″
″Good, because to do that we need the Sword,″ Mathilda said, her voice clipped. ″We need to get going. The snow′s deep enough now. And the sleds are ready.″
She shot a glance towards Samantha, whom she seemed to have taken in dislike.
Now, is it more annoying to be suspected of what you have done or what you haven′t? She′s been intolerable lately, Rudi thought. The best traveling companion you could want through battle and hardship, and now we′ve found safe haven for a while, and she′s . . . well, I′d ask her if she was under the Moon′s domain this week, did I want to enrage her even more!
″You′d better wait until there′s some clear weather,″ the Sheriff said.
A little reluctantly, Rudi thought. He′d been perfectly honorable, perfectly correct in his hospitality, and once his doubts were overcome full of zeal for their cause—but keeping a party their size fed all winter would be a bit of a strain even for a man of his wealth and power.
″I′ll leave you to it,″ he added.
The other Readstowners made their good nights as well, all except Pierre Walks Quiet and Samantha the housekeeper. She smiled at Jake:
″I′ll have a Moon School running for your people too.″
He nodded vigorously. ″Gotta get good with the spooks, yeah!″
″And here′s the list of the last supplies,″ she said to Rudi, and handed him a paper. ″Some things I wasn′t sure we could do before you left.″
He scanned down it. ″Blueberry turnovers?″ he said. ″Good, I′m sure, but—″
She smiled. ″Concentrated food value. And they keep well frozen.″
Then she stood, stretched, and said: ″And now for the farewell. Farewell to you all!″
They said their good-byes, a little puzzled; those of the Old Religion bowed their heads slightly at her sign of blessing. She extended a hand . . . and Edain, smiling a bit bashfully, took it.
″Some good-byes take longer than others,″ she said, and pulled him to his feet. ″Merry met, merry part, and to all a good night before it′s merry met again!″
A ringing silence fell as they left the room.
″Well, well,″ Ingolf said meditatively. ″So that′s why he′s been so carefree lately.″
Rudi coughed and decided on another slice of the pie; with ice cream this time.
And that would have been clever, if only I′d thought of it. Keep in mind, High King of Montival—you′re not the only one who can be a cunning fellow!
He glanced at Mathilda and raised a brow. She looked back boldly enough, but slowly a blush rose from her neck to her bold-featured olive face, turning it a dusky rose. Then he relented and made a gesture with one hand, one they′d used together since they were children: It′s all right.
She nodded and looked away. Rudi returned to the pie. And you′ll never know just how much I was tempted, acushla!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE NORTH WOODS (FORMERLY NORTHEASTERN WISCONSIN) OCTOBER 14, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD
″You are sure the weather will be bad, Master Dalan?″ Major Graber of the Sword of the Prophet asked.
The High Seeker smiled. The snow here was falling straight and thick, cutting visibility to a gray blur in the dim sunlight of a winter′s afternoon. It gave the air an odd muffled quality, as if everything had been wrapped with thick soft cloths.
″Yes,″ he said. ″The butterfly has beaten its wings. That thunderclap echoes across continents.″
Graber nodded. I do not know what that means, and I do not wish to know.
″Hail Maitreya!″ he said aloud.
The rolling land here was not totally unlike his home; no high mountains, of course, or any open range, but endless conifers a little like the foothill forests. The cold and snowfall didn′t bother a man reared in the Bitterroot country and the Valley of Paradise; he had a good buffalo-hide robe over his armor and gambeson, thick wool trousers, and for the rest the Sword of the Prophet were trained to welcome hardship. A true man transcended the material with the stuff of his atman.
There had been a village here before the Sword of the Prophet came. Of sorts, patched-up pre-Change houses and sheds built of salvage and scraps of timber; and they had kept most of the buildings that still had roofs intact, so there was shelter and to spare for his men and even for the horses, and food enough for both if they were careful—he didn′t need to keep seed grain for next year, unlike the former inhabitants. Not enough for the two hundred or so savages who′d drifted in over the past week, but they′d brought their own supplies. Their low domed brushwood shelters stretched in little dribs and drabs through the snowy woods, avoiding the open spaces that had been tilled ground and pasture.
He scowled a little as a scream came from one of their camps. The men of the Sword hadn′t killed all the original dwellers, but the newcomers were seeing to that. He′d ever hesi
tated to do what was necessary, but he didn′t do it for sport.
″The storms will continue,″ Dalan said. ″And it will be very cold, much colder than usual for this time of year. Air will flow south from the Pole.″
″Good, High Seeker,″ Graber said. ″But they are still likely to bypass us unless we can get the savages—″
″The Bekwa, most of them are called. Those clans have been drifting in here from the east, in the last few years. And there are some of the local clans here now too.″
″Get the Bekwa in order, so that we can use them to scout. Surely they are not servants of the Ascending Hierarchy?″
″Some of them are. The missions have reached very far. But the Masters are ever-watchful for all of us, you realize.″
″Of course, High Seeker.″ That was standard doctrine—all religions had hints of the Truth. ″I can′t even speak their absurd language, though. And what English they know is hardly better.″
″I can speak their language. In more ways than one. Come.″
Graber followed him; he made a small gesture with his right hand to keep any of the men from trailing along, thinking his full armor and the fact that he could call on his troops enough. He didn′t fear the Bekwa, anymore than he would so many rabid dogs—but he wouldn′t take chances with a pack of rabid dogs, either. Since he had to work with them, showing fear would be the worst mistake of all. The buildings quickly dropped out of sight in the silent, steady downfall of the snow. There were dogs, not mad but vicious enough; they ran barking and snarling at the two Westerners, until Graber thought he would have to draw his shete and beat them aside with the flat.
Then they stopped, staring at Dalan; their bristling fur fell flat. Some whimpered and fled with their tails tucked between their legs. Others fawned on the High Seeker, scattering only when he kicked one. They walked between the shelters of the savages then. Smoke lay in a haze, trickling from cooking fires under little thatched covers, or through holes in the tops of the shelters. It had a bitter tinge, and even in the cold there was a stink that made him wrinkle his nose. The warriors squatted and watched from the entrances of the huts, or from cruder lean-tos, following the two outsiders in silence. Some were Injun; others looked like white men. They all had something of the same feral menace, eyes staring from under falls of tangled or braided hair.
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