The Sword of the Lady

by S. M. Stirling

  ″You′re well, I hope, Lady?″ he said, rising and bowing as her pupil helped her towards the hearth.

  She grinned at him, indomitable. ″At my age, you′re either well or dead. I′m not dead yet. This is just an act to get a handsome young man like you to give me an arm.″

  He stepped forward and put an arm beneath her hand; it gripped him like a handful of walnuts. He guided her into the cushioned armchair nearest the fire, with Thorlind on the other side. Despite the light words, he could hear her breath whistle a little between clenched teeth as she sank down into the seat. Thorlind fussed with a rug she tucked around. The old woman pushed her hands aside with a good-natured chiding:

  ″We′re in front of the fireplace!″

  ″We were telling my story,″ Rudi said, as he took seat again across from her. ″And trying not to let it go back to the beginning of the world, so! Well, you′ll need to know a little of how the Change took us, in the High West—though I was born about this season of the first Change Year. Born on a battlefield, near enough—″

  He sketched it in. The details were unfamiliar to them, and what tales had crossed the continent were hopelessly garbled, but the gist of it seemed easy enough to grasp; it was not altogether different from what they or their parents had experienced.

  ″Lady Juniper!″ the seeress said, at one point. ″Juniper Mackenzie . . . Tell me, boy—she′s short and slight, is she, and with hair brighter red than a fox, green eyes, and a voice like water flowing by moonlight? With a County Mayo brogue she could put on when she wished, that she learned from her mother, and you learned from her?″

  ″You know my mother?″ Rudi said, stopping in an astonishment shared by the others. ″You′ve met her?″

  Then he smiled and slapped his forehead. ″Oh! From before the Change?″

  ″Yes. She used to play with the consort Siobhan ni hEodhusa put together for the Principality of the Mists. It was a great loss to the Kingdom of the West when she moved north again. If anyone lived, she would. But you say that nothing is left in California?″ she added wistfully.

  ″I fear not, except in the most remote mountain parts of the north and east,″ Rudi said gently. ″It was . . . very bad there, from what the Dúnedain explorers have found of late.″

  ″So Kalk saw in his vision, before the Change. So my heart said,″ she said. ″That′s why I and my family moved here, and just in time.″

  Then she shook her head and looked shrewdly at Mathilda.

  ″And your father was Norman Arminger, and your mother Sandra, girl?″

  Mathilda nodded warily; her parents had collected enemies, and though they hadn′t spoken often of the old world she′d heard rumors enough.

  Heidhveig laughed shortly. ″And Norman ended up cutting himself out a kingdom from the chaos at the sword′s edge? Why am I not surprised.″

  ″He was Lord Protector,″ Mathilda said. ″He died in battle . . . well, to tell you the truth, he and Rudi′s father killed each other in single combat . . . when I was ten.″

  ″Your sires killed each other?″ Bjarni said, a brow going up.

  Rudi spread his hands: ″But not before we′d sworn the oath of anamchara . . . which made us as soul brother and soul sister.″

  ″Ah,″ the Bjorning said. ″Yes, sometimes one duty has more might than another. Also, a fair fight that men chose freely . . . well, that may end a feud, not start one.″

  Mathilda nodded and went on: ″My mother . . . Sandra is Lady Regent now, until I′m of age . . . twenty-six that is. A few months less than two years from now. She held things together in Portland after he died.″

  ″Why am I even less surprised at that?″ Heidhveig said dryly.

  ″You, ah, knew them, lady? You were in the Society?″

  ″You might say that . . .″ she said wryly. ″But that was another world—literally. I had another name then. I was another person then, and not just because I was a lot younger.″

  Then, softly for a moment: ″That world went down in ice and fire and terror, before you two were born. Let all the old feuds die with it. From what you say, Norman and Sandra did great things, deeds terrible and grand, that few others could have accomplished. For good and ill both.″

  Farther down the hall, Odard Liu and Ritva Havel were playing their lutes, a crowd of appreciative Bjornings surrounding them—they knew the guitar here, and the harp, but didn′t seem to have many lutists. The baron′s voice rose in a song he′d composed some time ago, but with altered words. Mathilda flushed a little to hear it:

  ″The ones who rule over our fair land of Montival

  They reign just and wisely, without favor or fear

  And no truer lady trod on this good earth

  So let the hall ring for the Light of the North!

  Let the hall ring for the Princess of Montival—

  Let the hall ring for the Light of the North!

  ″She matches in honor the Prince of our Montival

  To all of her subjects she lends a kind ear

  Lady by grace, and Princess by birth!

  So let the hall ring for the Light of the North!

  So let the hall ring for the Princess Mathilda—

  So let the hall ring for the Light of the North!

  ″She carries a sword for the honor of Montival

  Before her in battle our foes flee in fear

  With her inspiration our knights will charge forth

  So let the hall ring for the Light of the North!

  So let the hall ring for the Princess of Montival—

  So let the hall ring for the Light of the North!″

  ″He thinks he′s a troubadour,″ she said apologetically, as cheers greeted the song.

  ″Well, then he probably is,″ Heidhveig said. ″I′ve heard far, far worse.″ She reached across with the staff and prodded Rudi′s bare knee below the kilt. ″Go on, lad, go on.″

  Rudi cleared his throat; more than any women he′d met besides his mother and Matti′s, Heidhveig seemed able to make him feel like a boy again without even trying.

  ″Well, two years ago—two years and a month, it was Samhain Eve, and that an omen in itself—Ingolf here rode into Sutterdown, the Clan′s only town, having as he thought shaken off the Prophet′s men in the passes of the Cascades. They were waiting for him instead, disguised as harmless travelers, and—″

  ″That′s a wild tale,″ Bjarni said when it was finished, shaking his head. ″I wouldn′t credit half of it, if it weren′t for the seidhkona. Even so, it′ll take a while to settle my mind around it. How large the world is! How little our share of it seems now, that was so broad yesterday!″

  She looked at Rudi: ″The Church Universal and Triumphant, eh? I knew a little about them before the Change. They were . . . strange . . . and obnoxious sometimes . . . but they didn′t traffic with malevolence or try to turn men into less than beasts. They′ve been corrupted, to serve the enemies of humankind . . . and of the Gods.″

  ″Corrupted by who?″ Rudi asked.

  Bjarni shivered a little, and his wife laid a hand on her belly over the child.

  ″Asa-Loki, ′neath the mountain, chained and raging . . .″ Harberga quoted softly.

  Heidhveig nodded. ″As good a name as any. And unless they′re stopped, even one as old as I may yet live long enough to see that One riding with a face of poison to Vigrid Plain, on the last morning of the world.″

  Father Ignatius nodded crisply and signed himself. ″Good will triumph over evil in the end,″ he said. ″But it doesn′t happen without us working and, yes, fighting for it. Nor is any victory certain until the last days.″

  Rudi shivered slightly, staring into the fire where white flames danced over the red glow of the coals.

  ″I′ve had . . . visions. Some, I think, of what the world might have been if the Change had not come. Some of what might yet be, if the CUT triumphs. Both . . . bad. Very bad indeed. And their common feature that men no longer walk the earth, though in some of them
things in our shape do. In others, the very soil and air are dead.″

  ″I′ve seen those too,″ Ingolf said, his battered hands clenching on his knees. ″Only on Nantucket, though. God . . . Gods . . . that was weird! But I saw things in Corwin while I was a prisoner there that were enough to turn your stomach; and things that would make your hair crawl, things that just shouldn′t be. They′ve got plans for the world and I wouldn′t want them to come true. Those breeding pits—″ He shuddered.

  ″Then we must see that they don′t come true,″ Mathilda put in.

  Bjarni′s big capable hands gripped the arms of his chair.

  ″I know that the seidhkona′s vision was the truth. Thor′s Hammer, I heard it! I′m a true man; I′ll stand with the Gods—which means with you, Rudi—with all my main and my might. But I can′t call on every fighting man in Norrheim to march a thousand miles and more to battle an enemy they′ve never heard of. They′d hoot me off the Thingstone! And—″

  He looked at his wife again; love and pain were at war in the glance they shared.

  Rudi nodded. ″You can′t leave your steadings and families unguarded. I wouldn′t expect you to.″

  Bjarni′s mouth quirked. ″The Wanderer is at home everywhere and nowhere; he has all the world of Midgard to ward and all the sons and daughters of Ash and Embla to guide, and more besides. But this″—his gesture took in the hall, and the lands beyond—″is my world, my tribe and folk, the world my father built, the one I want to hand on to my children when I lay my bones beneath the howe. Yes, and watch over afterwards.″

  His fist pounded the arm of his chair. ″But what does it matter if I guard the borders of Norrheim now, and in a generation or two or three etin-craft and troll-men flood over us like a tide!″

  Rudi tapped a finger on his chin: ″I think there was more than one message in the seeing you made, lady Heidhveig; and more than one meaning to every message. A certain One we′ve both met is crafty and subtle. You may not have noticed, Bjarni, but the . . . Old Man′s . . . word was not the only part of the vision you need to ponder.″

  At Bjarni′s surprised look he went on: ″That unfortunate honey-haired lass who lost her man north of here? Well, that′s the way we′ve come, and the Cutters have been at work there too; hence the man in the red robe with the sun sign on it. That was an adept, an evil magus . . .″

  ″A trollkjerring, we would say,″ Heidhveig said.

  Rudi nodded: ″Stirring up the wild bands, those you deem troll-men, so. They′ll move those against you, I would guess. What other dwellers there are in that country are few and weak, and the Prophet′s ambitions are not limited to Montival. Corwin aims to bring all of humankind under their sway in the end.″

  Bjarni had looked . . . not fearful, but apprehensive, before. Now his face firmed into a thing of slabs and angles; that was a threat he could understand in gut and bone.

  ″You see as clearly as Heimdall! That I can tell the Althing, and be believed!″

  ″And that will serve our common cause,″ Rudi said. ″Otherwise those men will fall on allies of ours, and enemies of the Enemy, further west.″

  ″But as for us, we need to get to Nantucket,″ Mathilda said. ″Your, ah, High One himself said it. Without the Sword of the Lady, we′ll surely lose. Mary, intercede for us!″

  ″The old tales have a number of such swords in them,″ Ignatius said, half as if to himself. ″Many were born by paladins of the Light. Arthur′s Excalibur, of course. Durendal, that Roland bore at Roncevalles against the infidel. Perhaps they were less metaphorical and more substantial than my teachers thought. I don′t think the pagan elements matter, in the end.″

  ″Tyrfing,″ Harberga said. ″Though I′m glad it′s not that blade.″

  ″Getting to Nantucket . . . there I can help you,″ Heidhveig said. ″I came out here with my family before the Change because of a . . . feeling you might say; and because Kalk told me he foresaw a great troubling of the world while I was dickering with him over a harp.″

  Rudi couldn′t quite hold back a blink of surprise. Heidhveig smiled and stroked one knotted hand over another.

  ″Yes, I made music once. I stayed with Kalk and his people at the coast through the first month after the Change, before Erik Waltersson arrived; Kalk was pagan too, and a student of the old crafts, and I put them in touch with each other when I heard the Bjornings had come.″

  ″From which meeting many deeds came in turn,″ Bjarni said.

  Heidhveig nodded. ″I stay there still when I′m not traveling between garths working seidh . . . or just visiting the great-grandchildren, nowadays.″

  ″He′s called Kalk the Shipwright,″ Bjarni said. ″He makes ships and much else, at the garth he built by the sea after the Change.″

  His hand indicated the carved pillars of the hall, and the grim magnificence on the walls; by implication, the dragonheads that reared proud from rafter and roof-tree outside.

  ″All the finest woodworkers in Norrheim trained with him and his folk. They′ve cunning smiths and fine weavers there too, and wise in many other arts. Kalk collects craft skill, as some men do gold or horses or fine weapons; and his sons and grandsons are the same.″

  Heidhveig took up the tale. ″The Shipwright′s men are great traders and fishermen, and often in viking . . .″

  Rudi′s eyebrows went up, and she chuckled.

  ″Oh, that′s changed meaning here. They go to the dead cities and hunt for goods they can use or barter. As far as New York, sometimes.″

  ″Hmmm.″ Ingolf rubbed his short-cropped beard. ″I was in the same trade, though overland; I think we were the only Midwesterners to reach the east coast and survive. So far, at least. Vikings? You′d need something like that. Salvage work′s . . . well, there are treasures, right enough, but yah, they′re hard to get at. I can see why you used that word.″

  Bjarni shrugged. ″We trade in peace with the Isle of the Prince, and with the English Empire and the Norrlanders. And the Icelander folk. Those of them who stayed there and didn′t go back to the ancient homelands—to Norrland, it′s called now—or to England, offer to the Aesir now too. Not much trade in any one year, but it′s welcome.″

  He scowled. ″And besides the troll-men who haunt the ruins, our folk fight with the blaumenn sometimes, southward, over salvage rights.″

  ″Blue-men?″ Rudi said.

  ″The English call them Moors,″ Heidhveig said. ″They′re from Senegal, really. They′re numerous but their lands are metal poor, not having as many cities from before the Change for mining and salvage.″

  ″My foster father, Sir Nigel Loring, helped keep the Isle of Wight alive through the Change, and was a leader in the resettlement of England before he had to flee from Mad King Charles,″ Rudi said thoughtfully. ″He mentioned trouble with them.″

  ″No, they′re not friendly to outsiders at all, though I suppose they have their own reasons which seem good to them,″ Heidhveig said.

  Bjarni inclined his head towards Fred Thurston, sitting astraddle a bench among the group around Odard. He was laughing, his head thrown back, with a mug of the dark Bjorning ale in his hand, and Virgina stood with her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist.

  ″I thought he might be one, from his looks, but he seems a fine young fellow, and I′d judge him a good man of his hands already.″

  ″Few better, none braver,″ Rudi said crisply. ″No lord could want a better . . . gesith, you say?″

  ″Gesith—companion? Yes, or hirdman.″

  ″And no warrior a better comrade,″ Rudi finished.

  ″He′d better be a strong man, to keep up with that she-cat,″ Harberga said. ″She′s a wild one, if I′ve ever seen any.″

  ″She has reason to face the world like a drawn blade,″ Rudi said soberly. ″They′re well matched; Virginia′s shrewder than you might think from her manner, and Fred uses his head for more than a helmet rest, too. And doesn′t lose it when the steel′s out.″

 
Bjarni nodded. ″Of course, he′s an Odinsman. Why, the High One claimed him in person! That′s a great honor, though not one I envy; I′ll stick with my old friend Thor.″

  ″And if he′s good enough for Odin, he′s good enough for me,″ Heidhveig said, with an odd half-chanting tone in her voice.

  When they looked at her she shrugged. ″Classical reference. Now, we were speaking of Kalk Shipwright . . . Kalk′s stubborn—more now than ever, he′s even older than me!—and he won′t want to risk a ship. Most are laid up this time of year. But I think he′ll listen to me. And if not to me, then to the High One. Though he offers mostly to Njord and Freyr, himself.″

  They spent some time thrashing out the details; when Rudi′s party would leave, how Bjarni would help with the journey to the coast, and how to send out messages warning the rest of the Norrheim tribes that trouble was foreseen. The conversation wound up as the celebrations began again in earnest.

  Rudi joined in the laughter and applause as thirteen masked youths in gaudy-raggedy costumes entered and cut capers, tumbling and playing pranks.

  Then the children in the hall called out their names, seeking to chase them down and tag them:

  ″Stiff-Legs!″ one cried, and clutched the sleeve of a figure who had stilts under his too-long breeks.

  The others were caught one by one, some trying to climb the pillars until they dropped back into the shrieking crowd: Gully Gawk, Shorty, Ladle Licker, Pot Scraper, Bowl Licker, Door Slammer, Skyr Gobbler, Sausage Snatcher, Window Peeper, Sniffer, Meat Hook and Candle Beggar.

  When they were captured the tumblers handed out shoes stuffed with toys and candied nuts and other treats. Harberga carried a broom around the hall and beat them forth with it, the youngsters following in a chain dance, before relenting and announcing:

  ″Come, those who wish to come; stay, those who wish to stay; and farewell, those who wish to fare away, harmless to me and mine!″

  That brought the rest of the grown folk in for the evening meal—which for a Yule feast started in midafternoon.