"My question answered," Patience said, as they hiked on. It was, Baj found, almost impossible to step between the grass tussocks — unless, of course, one had been raised to it from childhood. It seemed better to simply stomp along, hoping for no sprained ankle . .. though where the tussocks didn't rise, the mossy tundra was soft and flower-decorated as fine carpet.
The Shrike chief, Dolphus, came to walk with them. "Our general," he said, "is in an amiable mood. She rarely shakes anyone's hand. Rarely has casual conversations. And often is having someone skinned and sprinkled with sea-salt.... An expensive hobby."
"And is this fierceness," Baj said, though disliking the Shrike, "— is this fierceness her talent, or beside it?"
The Shrike turned. "Ah... a sensible question." He walked along, javelins across his left shoulder — and stepping, Baj saw, neatly between clumps of grass. "Her fierceness, I think is beside her talent. She's beaten us in battle three... four times, large fights and small. Never as a furious wolf might leap for your throat, but rather as a pack will chase and pace and circle until you stand surrounded, exhausted, and already bleeding from bites."
"True enough," Richard said over his shoulder. "She has a genius for it."
"I would say," Dolphus-Shrike smiled at Baj, "— I would say that she would have given either of your fathers fits. You know that usage?"
"I've read as much as you," Baj said. "And written, besides."
"No!" the Shrike made his face of astonishment. "A truly literate River-prince. Well... 'Will wonders — '"
"' — never cease,'" Baj said, and he and Dolphus-Shrike exchanged a fellow look, though guarded.
... They came to the marching camp — the Shrikes drifting away — and into noise and broken formations, what seemed, at first, only confusion as the soldiers, infantry and cavalry, were settling in.
A sentry, ax-armed and in steel half-armor with a small bright brass circle riveted to each shoulder pauldron, stood in their way. A Person of Richard's bulky blood, though not quite as large, and with fur-tufts rust red, he said, "What's your business here?" The tone incurious at such an odd party arrived out of wilderness, though the small brown eyes were interested.
"Our business is our business, Corporal," Richard said. "Now, whistle up your officer."
The corporal stared a moment more, then placed two large horn-nailed fingers in his jaw, and whistled a single high trilling note. He wiped the fingers dry on his leather sleeve, and stood watching them... waiting.
Soon enough, a Person came trotting to the camp's perimeter — of Richard's blood again, though again not as large — trotting in exactly Richard's swift lumber, though in armor, a double-edged ax balanced in his right hand.
"Won't state their business, sir."
The officer, a gold chain-link at each armored shoulder, examined them with eyes the color of his ax's blade. "Good Lord," he said — an ancient usage, that once, far south, would have been risky. Then, "Captain, you're a fool."
"Who isn't, Terry Fish-hawk?" Richard smiled. "When the link?"
"More than half a year ago."
"Ruined a good sergeant," Richard said. "You're too smart to be an officer."
"Well," Terry Fish-hawk said, "— that might be true." And to the sentry, "Corporal, the Shrikes brought these people in at the General's command. Pass them, but slate the number, and note that it's a daylight pass."
He sketched a one-finger salute to Richard, said, "Captain, I'd stay clear of Infantry Street; people there still mind your running." Then he glanced again at the others, turned and trotted away.
The Corporal surveyed them again, said, "Five," and waved them on their way.
"Formidable," Patience said, as they walked into the ordered turmoil of the camp.
"Terry?" Richard smiled. "These are all formidable. Good soldiers. Better... much better than Boston deserves."
"And you miss them," Baj said, "— miss the Guard."
"Of course I miss them." Richard shook his head. "Wouldn't one of your First-father's officers have missed his squadron of Kipchak horsemen? One of your Second-father's commanders miss the regiments of the Army-United?"
"Hear men's nonsense," Nancy said — and though Errol, apparently uneasy being back in a camp, was staying close — she took the boy's arm to hold him closer. "Persons or otherwise," she gave Baj a look "— they lose their wits when trumpets blow, like children at a parade."
"Sadly true," Patience said, "though sometimes very useful."
Then they were among rows of rising shelters. Oil-blackened leather lean-tos — weather-breaks rather than closed tenting — were being pegged with stands of arms spaced along: long-shaft pikes, short spears, shield and swords, and axes.... There were the shouts, the apparent confusion, the colors and equipment and various odors nearly the same as in any marching camp of the Army-United that Baj had visited — but not quite. The trotting columns of moose sweated ranker than horses. The Persons did not smell quite like men. Their voices were more various.
"Do you know?" Patience said, hesitating a step to scrape moose dung from her moccasin-boot, "I've never visited the Guard. Had no idea they were... so busy, bustling about."
"Soldiers," Nancy said "— are always bustling, or asleep."
As they walked through the camp rising around them, hundreds of soldiers were swarming to Under-officers' loud commands — rough book-English being used in odd tones and accents.
A file of Persons lumbered past — many of these big as Richard, and looking very much like him, though fur-tufts varied to black, grizzled, or (for the largest) white. Each of these soldiers wore back-and-breast steel armor, and all, that Baj could see, carried the big double-bitted ax.... Two wore the same little silver crescent moon, necklaced, as Nancy, Richard, and Errol.
Only one of the file, a huge white-furred Person, had turned his head to stare at them as he passed. It was an unfriendly, carniverous look from small pitch-black eyes in a massive wedge-shaped head, its humanity precarious.
"Never trust a White, Baj," Nancy said, noticing. "Those have a mind beneath their mind, that changes when they're hungry."
"My mind," Richard held up to let another formation by, "— is changing with hunger right now. That passing Ice-oaf, by the way, was Albert-One. His brother, Albert-Two, is also in the Guard, and was in my company. Neither of them worth much, always complaining.... Nancy, hold Errol with us."
"No need. He's afraid someone will take and fuck him," Nancy said. "And I know these companies." A buzzing snarl in her voice, deeper lisping. "— They care only for their nasty dicks, whatever their blood may be."
Baj reached to her, but she pulled away. He reached again and gripped her narrow hand until she settled, so they walked like children hand-in-hand among the soldiers.
They passed riders — Persons of the same breed as those four near-Sunrisers who had ridden with Sylvia Wolf-General. Cavalry, in high boots, hide trousers, and hide jackets with chain-mail over, they wore long fur cloaks, and were armed with heavy straight sabers slung at their belts. Their Under-officer, at the head of the troop, had lost an eye to the same slash that trenched his forehead.
Jingling by, only two of the cavalrymen had spared Richard and the others a glance.
"... We'll camp on the Lines with those boys," Richard said. "They'll bear me no infantry grudges." And he turned to follow them.
Stepping aside as a four-team of moose came hauling a loaded wagon by, Baj noticed several soldiers of what seemed the third most common bloodline of Boston's Guard. The bear-bloods, near-Sunrisers, and these...
A group of them were standing beside a folded stack of shelters dumped there for distribution. They were talking, laughing, with three women — also Persons, but much smaller, wearing red boots, caribou vests, and striped pantaloons decorated with bits of metal and reflecting mirror. These Person women — one richly furred a cloudy gray, her face (great-eyed, soft-muzzled) apparently reflecting some part lynx — wore their vests loosely open, to reveal
naked armpits, and hints of breasts.
The soldiers, six... seven of them, were less finished versions of the Wolf-General's savage perfection, but still weighted with wolf blood — though one was slighter, possibly from a portion of coyote, and apparently was the jokester.... The seven, their laughter white with fangs, red with tongues and gullets, were armored with bronze cuirasses, and cloaked and trousered in thick-woven wool, striped red, yellow, and black.... Each of them bore a round hide shield slung at their backs, belted a scabbarded short-sword, and leaned on a leaf-bladed spear.
"Those," Nancy said to Baj, and nodded at the women, "— are what I was, before I stuck a knife in Jesse-Thrush, and ran, because he was cruel, and tried to fuck me wrong and hurt me. That was from Service to Company D, then under Sylvia's command, so I committed Breach-of-contract.... A very serious thing."
Baj stopped walking, and took her arm to hold her still, Errol beside her. "Then thank every Jesus," he said, "for Jesse-Thrush, who began your travels to me, my dear one."
Nancy said nothing then, but golden eyes said much.
"Baj," Richard called back, "— keep up, and don't be noticing those you don't want to notice you."
As he and Nancy walked on — Errol clinging close — Baj tried to estimate numbers. "How many soldiers are here?"
"Two thousand," Nancy said. "Twenty companies."
"Supposed to be," Richard said over his shoulder, "— but never are. There's no such thing, never has been such a thing as a full-roster on campaign."
"Yes," Baj said. "I understood that was so of the Army-United."
"Ah..." Churning after the cavalrymen through tundra becoming mud, Richard lifted his head, sniffing. "Moose-feed and moose-shit, the troopers are leading us home."
To the right, where the camp streets seemed to cross, Baj saw a great pavilion rising, its leather panels painted gray and gold.
"Hers," Nancy said, "— and her relatives'."
"Cousins, brothers, and an aunt," Richard said, turning and walking backward for a moment to talk. "All officers, all good officers — and none of them, particularly the aunt, wise to cross."
Wending after the cavalrymen as the camp was completing around them, stepping aside for troopers riding past, and burdened work-parties, it became plain to Baj that what might have seemed confusion, was its opposite.
"These are disciplined people."
Richard turned his head to stare down at him. "What did you think? That we — that Moonriser Guardsmen would be a mob, or hunting pack?"
"No... of course not."
Richard grunted and lumbered on. Nancy stuck a sharp elbow into Baj's ribs. "Runaway tongue," she said.
... The Cavalry's Lines lay along the western edge of camp. Past them, soldiers were digging a wide ditch in the tundra's grass and flowers, pickaxes swinging, spades shoveling down to permafrost. "They always circle-ditch a camp," Nancy said, "— to hesitate a rush if tribesmen come."
"A useful thing, particularly at night...." Richard led them along a row of great black buttocks, the moose standing short-tied to a long chain anchored at measured places by heavy stakes driven into the ground.
"Step wide," Richard said. "They kick."
Baj stepped wide.
Midway down the Line — as the file of cavalry was halted, the men dismissed to their duties — Richard went past to a lean-to shelter where two of the near-Sunrisers, officers' gold chain-links fastened to their mailed shoulders, sat on stacked saddle-blankets, scribbling on slates. The older one, tall, and slightly stooped, looked up as Richard came.
"And why, by the Wall," he said, "— aren't you skinned and screeching for desertion?"
Richard didn't try to salute. "Too valuable to lose, Colonel."
The stooped officer naaa'd a short laugh, and Baj saw a goat's horizontal pupils in human eyes, a human face. "Best one today," the colonel said, then glanced at Patience, "The Township lady...?"
"Yes."
"Umm-hmm. And you, Richard — and these — are troubling me... why?"
"For bedding and rations, sir."
"Ah. Why don't you and your friends — hello, Nancy — why don't you and your friends go bother the infantry?"
"Because it would mean fighting, sir."
"Fighting," the colonel tossed his head. "Can't have that, can we, Burt?"
"No, sir," the other officer, a two-link captain, said. His eyes were gray, and entirely human. "Can't have fighting."
The colonel stared at them a moment. "All right, Richard-Shrike. Bedding and rations — but stay off the feed bales — and away from my troopers."
"Yes, sir."
The colonel looked at Errol. "That's an idiot boy."
"Twisted weasel," Nancy said. "Mess-kettle cleaner since he was little, and they beat him." Errol, uneasy at the attention, tongue-clicked.
"Well," the colonel said, "if he gets among my moose and disturbs them, I'll have him nailed to a feed box. Understood?"
"Understood," Richard said.
"No offense meant to you, Lady," the colonel said to Patience, "— by these notices."
"None taken."
The colonel bent to his slate, and said nothing more as Richard led them away and down the Lines to a shelter where a large sergeant of supply — with odd hands and an unpleasant corporal — grumbled in poor book-English, then had thick bracelets of red ration-strings looped around their wrists, and fat rolled pallets tossed to them, each slate-noted.
"Fuckin' be sure you return these," the corporal said. "I'm not payin' for 'em."
... They spread blankets, unrolled pallets, then settled onto soft tundra turf just beyond the Line, wind-sheltered by canvas feed stores raised close on either side. Soldiers were digging the encampment ditch an easy bowshot away... and past them there was only a great level, the plain of sedge and dwarf willow — grass green, moss brown — stretching the Warm-time miles north, to the frost-white horizon of the Wall.
Wind came streaming from that northern ice, weighty, biting with cold that here proved short-summer's date a lie — so Baj, Richard, and Nancy wrapped their cloaks around them, and Errol burrowed under a blanket. Patience, her scimitar in her lap, sat cross-legged, looking north — her worn blue coat apparently warm enough.
It seemed to Baj that he and the others were changed in some subtle fashion. No longer quite what they'd been in the mountains — so few in the freedom of those grand landscapes. Here, in the Guard's marching camp, they appeared diminished, cramped (as they were cramped, hemmed in, and at others' mercy). Here, a simple order would see them dead — though after a scrambling fight, to be sure. An order, the necessity of which, Boston might have anticipated.
The icy wind come ruffling, Baj imagined Nancy dead in this place, huddled hacked and ruined on bloody blankets at the feet of panting soldiers. The golden eyes gone dark with death.
That, and his death and all their deaths, required only a few grating wolfish words — and from more a muzzle, than a mouth. So much coarser than Nancy's elegant indications. He needed to write a poem to her...
They all lazed, eased from traveling, as the glass-hours passed into after-noon. Nancy lay drowsing beside Baj, and Errol slept, twitching in some weasel dream.
"What," Baj said, when the wind, that had been so steady, shifted to westerly, "— what is that stink?"
"The bales," Nancy said. "Feed bales. Moose don't care much for grass."
"Under-bark and summer water-plants, bog cabbage," Richard said, "— packed damp, then the bales frozen on the ice in slit hides, so some air comes through when they thaw."
"And stink," Nancy said.
"Mountain-Jesus knows it," Baj said.
Nancy shook her head. "Frozen-Jesus here, Baj, held forever in the ice. Or, of course, we can call to Lady Weather."
"This odor..." Patience said. "There are disadvantages to moose, though heroes have ridden them."
"It must," Baj said to her, "be such a gift to travel in the air... and not afoot or riding some rel
uctant beast. But everything clean and clear, with distance meaning so little."
Patience stared at him.
"... I meant no offense."
"You don't offend me, Baj. I'm only surprised you still think there is some wonderful way, that is not wonderfully dear.... I travel in air, Walk-in-air, at the penalty of making myself a sort of idiot, most of my mind empty of everything but keeping the earth away, so only by... leaking notions past can I think of anything else." She shrugged. "When I was young, there was more room in my head for other considerations — and I could still hold altitude while mulling them."
She paused so long it seemed she'd lost her thoughts' thread... then said, "There may be harder work, for one growing so swiftly older. Perhaps rowing an oar in a Kingdom warship. Perhaps hacking fire-coal from the tribal hills of West Map-Virgina. — Perhaps those are harder work, but I doubt it. One week of Walking-in-air, unspools months of most Talents' lives." She smiled. "Though, when I was a girl, and very strong in that piece of brain, I disregarded the cost — as I disregarded everything that was not a wish of mine."
"Then rest on the ground, dear," Richard said. "Sylvia Wolf-General meant what she told you."
"I'm sure she did," Patience said, "and only hope she also still means harm to Boston. I sent a Mailman to her in Lord Winter's season — an expensive young Mailman sacrificed, 'lost to hawks,' since I killed it on its return, for secrecy.... Also, on the ice at
303
Salem, I spoke to her sister, a major, as well. There was — is — an agreement, if she hasn't decided for the Township after all."
"Sylvia's mother and an aunt both died in the Pens, birthing." Richard tried his ax's edges, then searched in his possibles for his whetstone."— Supposed to have been a Sparrow shaman's daughters, captured by Fish-hawks in a raid. Then the Guard came to the coast, and took them.... I doubt the General has changed her mind."
"Still," Baj said, "she commands for Boston."
"And doing so," Richard stroked stone along a gleaming crescent, "— hones these companies to use against it."
Nancy sat up and stretched. "Do these near-Sunriser Persons mean to feed us?"
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