by Pam Uphoff
"I don't think the Lady will behave for a cult." Liz smiled suddenly. "Now, new fashions for women, that is already happening. Goodness, long jackets and loose slacks. Boots. I wonder if it will affect Arrival fashions?"
Kurt grinned. "I wonder if we can persuade the Lady to visit the capital?"
Liz snickered. Just don't think about the next few days.
She decided to walk to the laundry for gossip, rain or not. The few women there happily discussed the best style of hat for a lady with burned off hair and a missing ear.
The next few days were uneventful. The rain passed, and the ground dried.
The Arbolians cut and dragged wood around from the southern forest for their towers. Not that they had to build them very tall.
Kurt took to bed with a fierce belly ache. Liz handed a bottle of the lady's wine to the upset Captain Stone, then sat up and worried all night. A massive hangover kept the prince inactive the following day, although he managed a small dinner with Liz. He blushed and swore the Lady's wine had "cured everything." Liz was too flustered by her embarrassing mental speculations to actually ask . . .
The women of the town produced a stiff boiled leather helmet with a sheepskin lining for the Lady. Polished black, of course. With feathers.
The Lady appreciated the soft lining.
"Not that I mind the very stylish and flattering look, and the sweep of feathers where I don't have hair is brilliant. But right now, comfort wins over fashion." She looked in the mirror. "And it makes me look dangerous."
Chapter Twenty-three
Tuesday, March 31, 3493 AD
Jeramtown, Arrival
The town walls had been built a century ago, to repulse bandits or the Marchessaus horsemen, not a modern army.
"I wish we'd had time to dig a ditch." Kurt paced the north wall. "They've been keeping fires going all night, not a chance for us to raid, to try and burn the towers. The best I can say is that they are far enough away that when they start moving them, we'll have plenty of time to man the walls."
Liz walked beside him. "December's out of bed and eating and, well, acting like everything is normal. But she is staying in and not doing much. She said she was saving her energy for when it was really going to be needed." She looked sidelong at him. "She's got this really grotesque little rim around her earhole, now, like she's growing a new ear. She just shrugs and says she's never done it before and has no idea how long it will take."
He squirmed a little. "I, err, am really really impressed with that wine, although there was that rather painful night when I cussed it. And I sure do feel differently than I did . . . has it only been five weeks? Surely I'm missing a month or two in there?"
Liz thought back. "February twenty-fifth. That's when Lonnie . . . " She bit her lip. "He didn't make it to town. If they killed him, out there, I'll never know, will I?"
"Boyfriend?"
"Brother. Fifteen years old. Godawful pain in the neck." She took the offered shoulder and sniffled a bit. "Sorry. It's going to get so much worse before it gets better."
"Most likely. The army couldn't possibly get here for another week, and three or four more weeks would be a more honest estimate."
They stood there, comfortably physical.
"So . . . is there anyone in this whole town who hasn't got a bubble room they can close up and hide in?"
Liz pondered. "You and your guards. No, you've got a whole stable, don't you? And I'll bet Mama's was stuffed the other night. How about up here? Do you need some retreats up here on the walls? I could ask the Lady."
"Could be . . . oh hell." He studied the troop movements. They were forming up, were bringing teams of horses to pull the towers most of the way to the wall. "Private Kobold, three dings on the bell please." He turned back to her. "Go to the Lady. Help her do anything she thinks she needs to do." He kissed her gently, then stepped back.
She spun and ran for the steps.
The Lady was dressing already, in her new dark cotton suit. A cobbler had replaced the slashed boot. She'd removed the feathers and tucked her irregular hair out of sight. And Quail was fed and tucked into the saddle bags.
"She's all closed up in a bubble in there, so she won't get hungry or anything." The Lady handed the bags in to Lucy. "You just seal up the room when you need to, and count to ten, and then peek out the smallest crack you can see through. That should be about a day, on the outside. If there's something desperately wrong, seal it back up and count to a hundred before you look again. You can do that for as long as you need to."
"Liz, there is another bubble right here. Big enough for a couple of dozen people to cram in, and a few supplies. I'm leaving it wide open, so you can run in at full speed. The door slides, grab this side and slam it. Do the same counting trick, for looking out. I've put others around town, too. C'mon. Let's see how fast things are developing."
Liz leaned in and hugged her mother, who whispered, "Baron Paul Jameson of East Heights. Challenge the annulment, then make them acknowledge your marriage before you're in trouble and desperate."
"I love you, Mama."
"I love you, Elizabeth."
Liz scurried after the Lady, glancing back to see the door sealing. They are all safe. I will concentrate on the battle, now.
In the stable, all the guard's horses were saddled, bridled, and ready to go.
"We'll be sealing them in, with the boy here waiting and watching. If it goes bad, he'll nip in with the horses and seal it from that side. But if we need them, we can get them quick." Private Smith cast a quick look at Phantom. "Take care of each other, M'lady, Liz, Phantom."
The horse nodded at him.
Liz giggled, and hopped up behind the Lady. Moxie was better off sealed in with the ordinary horses, today. Phantom could probably seal himself into a bubble somewhere . . .
The streets were eerily empty. The doors that had crowded in everywhere were sealed from the inside and invisible to everyone but the Lady.
When they got to the wall, they were let through by the militia, waiting in the streets below the steps up. They left Phantom back by the guard horses and climbed to the top. The towers were about an arrowshot away from the wall, spread out. They were unhitching the horses that had moved the towers so far. They would be pushed the rest of the way by the men inside. Pity the ground drained so well, she'd never complain about deep mud again . . . it was cloudy, tall thunderheads building. They could get some rain yet today, but it wouldn't be in time to slow the assault.
Beyond the towers, the soldiers were lined up, standing in offset squares, listening to their superiors. Liz made a quick estimate. Eight times four, so thirty-two deep, and ten times seven, so about two thousand, two hundred forty . . . if one were to count the women, the children, and the elderly, the stuffed town outnumbered them. Barely. And today, with most of the children, elderly and women all sealed up, they had a fighting force probably a quarter the number of Arbolians. And most of it barely trained.
At the moment the Arbolian Dandy was addressing the ranks of soldiers, his back to the wall. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but there was a lot of gesturing, and roars of approval from the soldiers. There was an officer standing behind and to the right of the Dandy.
Roger stood behind him to the left.
Poor blithering fool. He'd thrown away everything to be an Arbolian puppet. Better to die fighting to protect you own. Better to live, having successfully defended your own, of course. Liz nodded firmly. That was the goal. Safety for her mother and brothers and sisters, Quail. This is my home.
***
Kurt watched as Prince Secundus Henry finished addressing his troops, and turned and walked out to the open space between them and the wall. Roger and General Bruce stayed at his shoulders. A soldier carrying a white flag strode out to accompany them.
Kurt looked around. "Mayor Kline, Master Burne? Let's go see what they have to say."
The Lady stirred. "I'll come too, in case of magical attack."
K
urt nodded, and Franklin stepped forward. "May I loan you my sword, M'lady?"
She accepted it, "Thank you, Captain. I shall endeavor to return with it, this time."
At the base of the steps she walked to the wall across the narrow road and made a circling motion. "A corridor, to a spot as far east as I have been." Her glance took in the militia standing silently. "Your families are as safe as I can make them, and as a wife and mother, I assure you that they would prefer that you retreat and come back with reinforcements, if the wall cannot be held." The bright spot showed well as clouds darkened the sky. If it rained, they at least wouldn't have to worry about the town burning.
She paced quietly beside the prince. "Sorry, did I just undermine your defense?"
"Umm, giving them hope? We can't hold the wall. I have thought that we should just retreat." He sighed. "Can you see the future?"
"Not in any way that would do you any good." She made a gesture, as if wrapping herself in a cloak, and disappeared.
The gate was unbarred and they walked out.
The secundus looked them over. "I am giving you this last chance to surrender. Baron Roger is the rightful ruler of Jeram. Acknowledge that and surrender to him. If we must take the town by force of arms, every man, woman, and child will be killed."
"We killed your little gods," Kurt's voice rolled out over the countryside, unnaturally clear and carrying. "We put out your fires, we buried your cow carcasses, brought down your dam, and killed your Head Priest. We. Killed. Your. God. Go home, Secundus, or we will bury you as well. And please, take that incompetent traitor with you."
Roger stiffened. "The God of War said we would win."
"He's dead." Thunder rumbled. Nature or the Lady?
"He is not dead! I don't know what those perverted Priests summoned, but it was not the God of War." He stepped forward and raised his arms. "God of War! I summon you to defeat my enemies!"
A sudden crack of lightening lit the giant horse rearing above the prince, gleamed on chain mail, and the uplifted sword shone like lightening in solid form.
Roger back pedaled as the black horse touched down.
"Who calls on the God of War?" The deep voice rumbled and echoed like thunder from the giant figure astride the warhorse.
"I called." Roger swallowed, straightened. "I am Baron Roger Weigh of Jeram. I call on you to defeat the Powers of Evil, the Dark Lady these people have summoned to aid them in their rebellion."
The giant horse spun to face Kurt, and the town. The black creature was much bigger than Phantom, and afoot, Kurt felt hideously vulnerable. The rider wore a helmet with nasal and cheek pieces, a crest of dark plumes. Lightening glittered off the dark eyes that fixed on him.
"And you are?"
"I am Prince Kurt Alpha third son of the King of Arrival. Jeram is one of the States of Arrival. Roger has betrayed the kingdom, and allied himself with the Arbolians who assassinated his father just a week ago."
The horse was looking at something, head turned slightly to the left, tracking it with an ear, and the God lashed out with his booted, armored leg.
The Dark Lady was visible as she hit the ground and rolled, scrambling to her feet, sword ready. The god turned, moved to attack, but lurched in the saddle as the horse backed away instead, shaking his huge head. Roger scrambled out of the way.
The Lady stalked toward the god, deadly and poised.
How can she even reach him, up there? Kurt tried to think of anything he could do. He edged forward, trying to catch a bit of the God's attention.
And the horse kept backing. The God shook his own head slightly and suddenly laughed. A warm happy sound that shocked as it snapped the grim silence. The shining sword sagged, then flipped up to be slung over the giant's shoulder into the baldric . He fastened the strap one handed with a thousand years' experience. The gleaming eyes watched the Dark Lady as she circled. The giant pulled his helmet off. Brown hair, short and rumpled, dark eyes, a short beard.
"Rustle." The single word echoed, and the Lady stopped.
Wavered.
"I . . . is that my name?"
"Ah. Yes it is."
"I have been having trouble with my memory." Her sword point was dropping slowly.
"Xen told me that you said there were voices screaming in your head, that you had to go through a gate to get away from them. I have been looking through a lot of gates lately."
"Xen." The Lady paled and backed up a step. "The laughing boy on the horse."
"Yes."
"What are you doing? Kill her!" Roger rushed up. "That's an order."
The horse kicked him, throwing him against the soldier with the flag. They both hit the ground, Roger curled around his belly.
The god turned to look at the siege towers, the waiting army. "You defend the town?"
"Yes."
The giant leaned over and looked at the wheezing Roger, then the prince secundus, the general. "The problem with summoning the God of War, is that I decide which side I'm on."
He made four left handed chopping gestures and the towers collapsed. "Take your army and go home." The giant horse reared again and was gone.
The Lady backed away, and Kurt and the town delegation joined her in moving away from the Army.
General Bruce spun to his troops. "Bowmen, fire!"
December threw up her hands, still backing as fast as she could. Kurt wondered if there was a magic shield covering the delegation. If the archers had been ready they could have put a hundred arrows into the air, but the scant moments the Arbolians used to take arrows, nock, draw, and release got them to the gate, and they were through it as the arrows pelted down on them. The closest half a dozen deflected from absolutely nothing as the Dark Lady backed through the gate. The gate slammed behind them. Safe. For now.
Kurt bolted for the top of the wall. Liz was hovering by the stairs, started to cross to the outside with him, then stopping suddenly as they both realized the Lady wasn't there.
December walked out of the gate passage and he could see that she was hard put to stride confidently. Liz galloped halfway down the stairs, then started back up with her.
Kurt turned to Franklin.
"The General has called his officers in, they're going to talk it over for a bit. Do you think they'll leave?"
Half his attention was down the steps, hearing Liz. "December, what was that? Who was that person on the black horse?"
"I think . . . that was the God of War from my world."
December stopped climbing as she realized that Liz had stopped.
"But, but . . . "
"I don't understand either. Roger shouldn't be able to summon one of my gods from my world. And he knew me. Knew . . . my name."
Liz gulped and started back up the steps. "Well, then maybe he was here looking for you."
December paused, then nodded. "That's logical. I suppose he'll show up again, if that's the case."
"I don't understand why he didn't just stay."
"It doesn't work like that. When one of my gods are summoned, they show up, fix the problem and then go back. Always. I don't think they can control it." She spotted Kurt and Franklin on the far side and walked over.
"Oh. Well, you must have a rather impressive church. With your gods coming and going on demand, who wouldn't believe in them?"
"They aren't that sort of god . . . they don't, mostly, have churches at all. They are just really powerful magic users. They . . . have you ever heard of a collective subconscious."
Kurt looked at her and nodded. "The sum total of every human being's thoughts and feelings. All the various conflicting ideas cancel each other out, leaving only those things that nearly everyone believes in."
"My gods are so connected to the collective that the collective molds them and controls them. They aren't God the Creator, everyone knows that. But everyone believes in the ultimate warrior, and so in a way the collective took the person with the strongest connection and a proclivity for fighting and made him into their arc
hetype. Likewise the Gods of Love, Luck, Art, Virtue and Vice. We have a god for eternal youth, one for travelers, one to mete out just deserts. A goddess of logic and one of healing. But then the cynical nature of our collective came out somehow, and our God of Peace and Goddess of Mercy are not at all peaceful or merciful."
"That was your God of War, not the Arbolian's?" Kurt studied her. "I hope this isn't an effect of your gate. We're a bit squeamish about gods."
"Old Gods! Indeed. And I really hope your collective subconscious won't affect him. Them. Oh, dear."
"Well, he's definitely on our side, so far. What did he call you?"
"Rustle. I think it might be my name." She frowned out at sudden movement below.
"Looks like the general has made up his mind. The officers are heading back to their companies."
They stood and watched for a long moment, until the straight ranks broke and returned to their camp. "They're probably as relieved as we are." Franklin muttered. "They can't possibly be confident of their god given right to kill us all, just now."
Kurt nodded. "Watch. I want to know if—and how many—messengers he sends out. Two thousand troops are more than enough to take Jeram Town, but they're not a tenth of their army. Maybe one percent, now that I think on it. I was expecting more troops on their heels. But if their main army isn't here, where is it? I think maybe I should be sending some messengers myself. If they're trying to draw my father and the main army out of Arrival City, they're probably doing an excellent job of it."
Franklin nodded. "Well, the Lady has provided us with a corridor to the east, so start writing, and I'll see about finding a horse and rider."
"Yes." Kurt looked down at the ruins of the towers. "Thank God . . . err . . . "
Chapter Twenty-four
Tuesday, April 7, 3493 AD
Jeramtown, Arrival
Liz was surprised that December rested for an entire week, before deciding to join the scouts watching the retreating Army's progress.