The Tears of the Sun tc-5

by S. M. Stirling

  “The rest seem to be doing well. The doctors here are excellent, that’s what our Doc Jennings says. One of them went to the same school his own teacher did. And uh, Lord Rigobert left some of his medics too, and more medical supplies, so we’ve got enough morphine for the bad cases. He pulled out at dawn, couldn’t have slept more than a couple of hours, that’s one busy man. The Tithe Barn thing we’ve got all the wounded in is as comfortable as you could expect, sir, it was just used for a grain store, pretty clean.”

  “I’ll drop in on them again today,” Ingolf said. And it won’t be quite as bad this time. “The rest?”

  “Camp’s pitched in the reaped fields about a half mile out of town. Still putting up the tents.”

  Which wasn’t urgent; in weather like this it was probably more comfortable to just roll in your blankets than sleep in a stuffy tent. Most men preferred them if they had a choice, though. Probably because they gave an illusion of permanence, of home, in the enforced nomadism of a soldier’s life. They were a shell you could take with you.

  “There’s a good well of clean water we can drink straight, plenty of it and a wind-pump, and the distance might, ah…”

  “Make it harder for bored troopers to come into town and get drunk and cause too many problems,” Ingolf said.

  The younger Richlander nodded. “Yessir. And maybe we should provide working parties to our hosts, sweat some of the devilment out of them once they get over the fight and start feeling bored and randy again. Uff da, this officer’s job, it’s like being a nanny, isn’t it, sometimes! I figure that’s why Three Bears put the Sioux even farther out.”

  Says the graybeard of twenty-four, Ingolf thought.

  “That, and they don’t like being crowded; and he’s scouting out to the north right now. Supplies?”

  “Plenty, sir, we don’t have to touch the reserves. Lots of firewood ready cut. Lord Maugis here gave us a bunch of the sheep.”

  Maugis shrugged and spread his hands. “Sheep and battles go ill together, and the meat won’t keep in this heat. That was my demesne herd, too.”

  The Richlander nodded. “And all the vegetables and fresh bread and fruit we can use, which is making the men happy, and some pretty good beer, I’m having that carefully rationed. We paid, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ingolf said gravely.

  He and Mary glanced at each other. They had permission to draw on the Crown accounts through Sandra Arminger, but Rudi was still fairly heavy with gold-the friendly new government of Iowa had given them a substantial going-away present to mark the alliance. As it turned out, gold was relatively more valuable here in Montival. Ingolf knew why. There were more ruins in the east, particularly more big ones, and the big ones were where most of the precious metals could be found. You had to have a grasp on the economics of the trade to succeed as a salvager. The difference in purchasing power was about two-to-one for gold, a little less for silver.

  But it’s going to run out someday not too far away. Wars are really expensive, and then Rudi’s going to be dependent on his mom-in-law for an allowance. Which will make everyone else unhappy or even get them thinking she’s taking over using him and Matti as a false front, and I’ve noticed other people in this neck of the woods aren’t too fond of the PPA. Or he’s got to get them all to pay him taxes so he can be independent, which will also make them unhappy, and he’ll probably have to borrow a lot from the bankers too. The Destined Prince with the Magic Sword is wonderful, but less wonderful when he asks you to cough up every tenth bushel and piglet and takes out a mortgage on your farm.

  Maugis smiled. “Cash is always useful, Esquire,” he said; Jaeger blinked a little at the unfamiliar title. “But note that my bailiff is selling you fresh produce.”

  It took a moment for Jaeger to get the implications; Mary snorted a little under her breath, but Ingolf thought the man wasn’t slow, just deliberate.

  I’m not selling anything that would be useful in case of a siege, in other words.

  The captured Boise officer had been eating with concentrated attention; probably they’d been on thin rations for a while. The enemy army was so big it was straining their logistics just by being all in one place, and they’d also probably looked forward to getting somewhere they could forage from the enemy. Ingolf waited for him to slow down and make a second trip for dark red Shuksan strawberries and cream. He could ease himself by thinking of it as plunder.

  “Have your wounded been treated properly, Captain Woburn?” Ingolf asked, a formal note in his voice.

  The man nodded, equally correct as the saying went.

  “Yes, Colonel Vogeler. I wouldn’t be here, otherwise. My medical officer survived, he’s been working with yours, and he tells me that they received the same care as your men. I’ve visited them and they’re as comfortable as possible. The rest of us have been well treated and well fed, and the guards are no rougher than necessary.”

  He swallowed; he was an unremarkable-looking young man, medium-brown hair and blue eyes, with a rather long bony face and weathered skin, not big or small but hard-looking and very fit, with large hands and wrists. He forced those eyes back to Ingolf.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s… not exactly what I’d expected.”

  “You’re welcome, though technically you’re Lord Maugis’ prisoners.”

  “Thank you as well, then… my lord,” the Boise officer said.

  Maugis nodded gravely. “You are welcome, Rancher Woburn. It’s an obligation of chivalry to care for the defeated.”

  That brought an odd look; he wondered what sort of propaganda Boise pumped out about the PPA. Boise went in for propaganda a lot, posters slathered all over the place, he’d seen that traveling through its territory on the way to tell Rudi about the Sword, and then again when they all came back heading east; they’d returned by the northern route, through the Dominions. He doubted General-President Martin Thurston had stopped the practice when he took over from-after killing-his father Lawrence. He’d certainly put out enough lies about his brother Fred being responsible for their father’s death; Fred had been one of the Companions of the Quest, and Rudi intended to see him in charge in Boise when things were settled.

  Assuming we win, of course. And “ assume”…

  Boise’s posters never said much that was good about this part of the world, and probably a lot of it was deserved, though not as much these days as in the past. There were still barons who would have been a lot rougher than de Grimmond, though, even with the High King issuing orders.

  Ingolf spoke again: “Your men fought hard against odds when we surprised you, no panic. And they’re very well drilled. When you reversed front on us after that arrow-exchange it was like one man moving; it’s a difficult maneuver and I’ve never seen it better done. If we hadn’t had an ace you’d have gotten away and hurt us badly in the process.”

  “Ah… thank you again.” Bitterly. “Those sheep were a trap, weren’t they? Bait.”

  “Yup,” Ingolf said, and ate a bite of honey cake with whipped cream.

  “And I led us into it and lost half my command,” the younger man said with soft bitterness, looking down at his bowl. “Lost all of it and me, too. It’d be easier all around if I’d taken an arrow in the eye. And I’m supposed to be a trained officer!”

  “Son, if something looks too good to be true, like a nice tasty flock of sheep just begging to get put on the grill, it usually is. If it’s any consolation I got sucker punched pretty much the same way back… when I was younger than you are now and had a command I deserved a lot less that you did yours. Training does only so much. Experience you have to get the hard way. You pay for it, and your men pay for it, and that’s just the way it is in this screwed-up world.”

  Woburn looked up, eyes narrowed in thought. “You’re not from around here, are you, sir? I can’t place your accent.”

  “Nope. I’m from the Free Republic of Richland… the Richland in Wisconsin, not the Richland over near Kennewick on the Columbia
.”

  The other man’s eyes widened. “The Midwest? Then-”

  He shut up quickly. Ingolf ate another forkful, before he said judiciously: “Yup. It really is true that Iowa and the others are marching. On Corwin, for starters, but they’re going to keep right on going as far as Boise and they’re not likely to be in a real good mood by then. Hell, after the way the Cutters killed their Bossman on his own ground, the Iowans aren’t in a good mood now. Iowa’s run by his widow these days, you know. I was there when they mustered outside Des Moines. Must have been seventy, eighty thousand men-and that wasn’t counting the ones who were joining ’em later. They’ve got more if they need ’em.”

  “That’s a large force,” Woburn said, a little white about the lips. “Still, numbers aren’t everything.”

  “They’re mostly pretty green, except for a few from Fargo and Marshall who were in the Sioux War,” he added honestly. “But there are a hell of a lot them and their gear and logistics are good. The Sioux are coming west too, and they’ve got blood in their eyes and scores to pay off. You had some experience with them yesterday.”

  Woburn was silent for an instant, then doggedly returned to his food. “And thank you for… stopping those… Sioux.” He’d probably been about to say savages. “They’d have killed us all.”

  Ingolf nodded. “They’re not what you’d call fond of the CUT,” he said mildly. “They’ve got good reason, and there weren’t a lot of rules when they fought ’em the last time, out there on the High Plains east of the Rockies.”

  That brought the other man’s head up. “We’re soldiers of the United States, not that f-… not the Prophet!”

  What everyone else called the United States of Boise called itself the United States of America, and some of them actually meant it. Ingolf chuckled slightly. “Captain Woburn, have you ever been out of Idaho before?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, then said with stubborn honesty: “No. Never even as far as Boise until I did the Officer Candidate School course.”

  “Well, I’ve been all the way from Nantucket to the Willamette. More than once. And young feller, the United States is deader than.. . than Rome. Than f-… freaking Babylon, come to that, or those other places in the Bible, Nineveh and Egypt and whatnot.”

  “All the way… are you that Ingolf Vogeler?” Woburn blurted, his eyes going a little wide.

  “Yup.” Ingolf nodded towards Mary. “And that’s the Mary Vogeler, formerly Mary Havel. Rudi’s sister. High King Artos’ sister, Mike and Signe Havel’s daughter, Astrid Loring’s niece.”

  She smiled charmingly. “My mother and father met your father a long time ago, in Idaho. The Camas Prairie, isn’t it? Just after the Change.”

  Woburn took a deep breath. “Well, that’s, ah, startling. Yes, I remember Father telling me about that.”

  “I’m sure he told you about the fight against Iron Rod,” Mary added.

  Yeah. Mike Havel saved Woburn the elder’s bacon back then. We won’t mention the fact that Arminger was backing Iron Rod by proxy.

  “And Captain Woburn?” Ingolf went on calmly. “Just for your information, I was at the Battle of Wendell, when old general Thurston died. He was wounded by the Prophet’s men, but his son Martin killed him, your current ruler and the one who came up with this alliance with the Prophet and the CUT. I know Fred Thurston didn’t do it, Martin did. I was there.”

  “So was I,” Mary said crisply.

  “Is that the truth?” Woburn said quietly.

  Ingolf shrugged. “Either my word’s good, or it isn’t, and you’ll have to be the judge of that for yourself.” He held up a hand. “Just think about it.”

  Woburn gave a jerky nod. “May I ask what’s to be done with my men?”

  Maugis nodded in turn, smiling politely and slipping in a small needle: “The High King’s orders are that all Boise prisoners are to be kept separate from the Prophet’s men… I trust that’s satisfactory?”

  Woburn flushed, and the nobleman went on: “You’ll be taken to Walla Walla and then on the rail line to Wallula, and down the Columbia by barge to join the others; we’ve got over three battalions’ worth of your comrades by now. The High King has also commanded that Boisean prisoners are to be treated strictly according to the laws of war. Enlisted men may be required to work, but nothing excessive, officers to keep their sidearms and be allowed to give parole, prisoners will get the same rations our men eat, and no degrading punishments. Perhaps he’ll talk to you himself.”

  The Boisean was silent for a moment. “I should return to my men, my lord.”

  “By all means. If you have any needs, please inform my guards and they’ll relay the message to me. We’re rather busy and stretched thin here, defending our homes, but I’ll consider anything within reason.”

  Then he went on to Ingolf: “Come walk with me, Lord Vogeler.”

  Mary caught his eyes and nodded very slightly; Mark gave a slight yelp as if someone had kicked him under the table and subsided, and he didn’t think Lady Helissent missed any of it. Captain Jaeger stood and gave him a salute and then headed back to the buffet one more time before he’d have to get back to the regiment.

  The two men strolled out through the busyness of the manor, down the front steps and toward the heavy steel-strapped timber gates.

  “Getting your stuff out while the going’s good?” Ingolf asked.

  Maugis shrugged. “Yes. Though in the end, things can be replaced.”

  He gestured at the big house. “This is earth and stone and timber; I love it because of the memories it holds for me of my childhood, and because my own children were born here, but it’s not… not something that can really die. We can rebuild if the enemy wreck it, though losing the labor that went into it will hurt. But it’s the people that are the core of it.”

  They walked out the front gate of the manor gardens. The outer wall of the great house grounds formed one side of a town square paved with squared blocks of basalt, with a big fountain in the center, one of several where the folk could fill their buckets as they pleased.

  Trees ringed it, maples and oaks, and other buildings; the tall church, a bathhouse-cum-laundry, a tavern with a creaking sign that read The Hawk and Bear showing a very large eagle fighting a very small grizzly and right now doing a land-office business. There was a potter’s shop too; a wheelwright’s long sheds; and several stores selling things, rather than relying on peddler’s carts or passing Tinerant caravans. This was a baron’s seat as well as the village of a manor.

  Everything was built of the same materials as the great house, tile roofs over whitewashed pise walls on knee-high foundations of mortared basalt stone. The square was thick with activity, some of it preparation for a big public feast; there were a row of fire pits with whole carcasses of pig and sheep and ox roasting over them and giving off clouds of savory smoke as grease dripped on the coals, and women were setting up trestle tables and a series of stands that would hold barrels.

  “I will be giving an address to my people tonight,” Lord Maugis said. “One way or another.”

  Ingolf’s eyes were shaped by a lifetime’s campaigning; they rose to the heights eastward, the first time he’d done that here in daytime. He stopped still for an instant and whistled. He’d known that Castle Tucannon was on a hill over the town. And it was, but that was like saying that the ruins of Chicago were large or that Iowa had a hell of a lot of people.

  This whole range of low mountains had obviously been a plateau once, and then been cut up by water action far in the past into a maze of ridges, peaks and canyons that got steeper as you went farther in. This looked like a lot of the ridges on the edge of the high country. Only the end of the ridge had fallen off somehow, leaving better than a hundred feet of nearly sheer basalt in a horseshoe shape with a tangle of huge rocks at the base.

  The castle had been built atop that; it was the usual basic Association design, doubled as they sometimes were to enlarge it-what they called a mirror keep. But the ou
ter walls were at the edge of those cliffs, and the builders had improved them by chopping out any projecting spurs. Mounted on one of the towers was a tall Ponderosa pine trunk, about a hundred feet tall with a ladder up its side and a small platform on the top. He tried to imagine what sort of a vantage it would give you, and failed. And it probably put Castle Tucannon in connection with the heliograph net all the way to Walla Walla, which would mean all the way to Portland and beyond.

  Say what you like about this Arminger guy, he knew how to get things built, not just how to kill people.

  “There was a solid path in from the other side; my father’s builders used that, then cut it away afterwards and put in a bridge that could be brought down quickly, as well as the drawbridge,” Maugis said, as they resumed their walk. “My sire always did have a good eye for ground.”

  “Water?” Ingolf asked, and Maugis nodded respectfully.

  “You do see the essentials, my lord Vogeler. The rock is basalt, but there’s limestone under it. Water drains down from the mountains through the strata and breaks out as springs there, at the base, plenty even in high summer like this. We run the town’s water in from there through pipes, and there are deep tube wells and reservoirs under the keep. And we use chambers in the rock for bulk storage after the harvest… a bit cumbersome, but it means there’s a four-year supply there at any one time.”

  Maugis smiled, a hard expression. “And besides getting away from the Lord Protector-quite true, by the way- that is a reason why my father picked this place for his stronghold. A major one. He told me he was looking carefully all the time the Association was pacifying these lands. Most of the poor harried starved wretches welcomed overlords with real weapons who could give them peace to plow and plant.”

  Light wagons and packtrains were heading upslope; the jagged peaks of the Blue Mountains lay dreaming and purple there to the eastward. Some of them bore the goods he’d seen coming out of the manor, others bundles of weaponry or farm tools or things less readily identifiable, still others household furnishings more humble than the baron’s.