The Scourge of God c-2

by S. M. Stirling

  The stream was about medium bowshot across. Close to the middle a bald eagle's talons struck the water and punched up a burst of spray. The great black-and-white bird flogged itself back into the air with a fish twisting in its talons.

  "Good luck to see an eagle striking," Odard said, and Edain nodded.

  "Slow down here by the fort. They're likely to be a might testy about travelers," Ingolf said, and Rudi raised his right hand to signal the others.

  "A testy man with a napalm shell on his catapult is not someone to offend," he agreed.

  More quietly, Ingolf went on: "And the Bossman has reason to be offended with me," he said. "Remember, he paid my Villains quite a bit to go get that stuff for him from the dead cities."

  "Not your fault Kuttner was working for the Prophet."

  "I don't think so, and you don't think so, but the Bossman may not agree. Tony Heasleroad didn't strike me as being the forgiving sort."

  "There's your friends," Rudi said.

  "Yah. They've got pull. I don't know how much pull, not after years. We could go north through Marshall and Richland."

  "And take months extra time. I lost us too much, when I was wounded and got us stranded in the Valley of the Sun. Things aren't going well back home. We must get that Sword, my friend."

  Iowa held the western bank of the river where the bridge crossed; from what Ingolf had said, the Nebraska folk accepted that with sullen acquiescence. A strong fort of concrete reinforced with steel stood beside the road where the land started to dip to the wooded river valley; it was a rectangle with corner towers, and two more by the gatehouse. A dry moat-mostly dry, with puddles and mud at the bottom-surrounded it, filled with rusty sharpened angle iron and barbed wire and smelling of stagnant water and waste, and the drawbridge was down. From the gatehouse flew a flag with three broad vertical stripes of blue, white and red; when a puff of breeze lifted it for a moment, he could see an eagle in the central panel clutching a scroll in its bill, but the words were too small to read.

  A swinging barrier came down to block their passage on the bridge as the party approached, and from behind the rusty metal an armed man shouted:

  "Halt!"

  Rudi duly halted, letting himself sink backwards in the saddle to signal Epona. He waited patiently, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve; she tossed her head, thumping at the gravel-patched asphalt with one hoof and flicking ears and tail against the flies. He'd packed his jacket and folded his plaid with his blanket roll behind the crupper, but his linsey-woolsey shirt was sticking to his back and sides and making patches black with sweat. Sitting the saddle in the grilling sun in a powerful cloud of human and equine perspiration and assorted insects wasn't pleasant.

  "I would be sooo glad to sit somewhere shady and have lunch," Mary said. "Something besides beans and bacon and corn bread, too."

  Ingolf smiled reminiscently. "There used to be a place in Hawarden"-he nodded towards the town on the other side of the river-"that did a great pepperoni pizza. And they made a fine beer there, too."

  "I'd like to have a bath," Mathilda commented. "And get some pumice to sand the calluses off my backside. How long have we been in the saddle now?"

  Virginia snorted, as befitted a Rancher's daughter who'd ridden before she could walk, but then admitted:

  "It's a powerful big country; I never realized how big. I thought there was a lot of the Powder River range, but it's like a little corral compared to the rest."

  "I didn't realize how much… muchness… there was either until I left home," Fred replied. "We'd been on the trail for a hell of a long time before you joined up, Virginia, and then since then.. . From the way Mom and Dad talked, I'd always thought it was a lot smaller. The maps don't tell you the half of it and the old books are useless. Worse than useless-they give you the wrong idea."

  Father Ignatius nodded: "In your parents' youth, it was smaller. At least in terms of how long it took to travel across it. It wasn't a surprise to me intellectually, but then the Church has to communicate all around the world. We know how big the planet has grown. And it's still a shock when you experience it in person. My admiration for the couriers the Vatican sends out from Badia knows no bounds."

  "Yeah, but Mom and Dad always sort of gave me the impression that America was a country, like Idaho. It's a world."

  Rudi kept one ear on the byplay, but most of his attention on the fort; there were men moving on the ramparts, and a hot bright blink of sunlight on edged metal. Then a trumpet sounded, and a platoon's worth of troops double-timed out of the open gate of the fort with a bristle of polearms. Ingolf inclined his head towards them:

  "Some bored officer's playing at soldiers because he can," he said. "This is a hardship post for guys someone in Des Moines doesn't like. Most of what trade there is goes through Sioux City, farther south."

  The men were in full gear, jointed two-piece breastplates, arm-pieces and thigh-guards of polished steel, helms shaped like the old American army headgear, and metal gauntlets. The ones here all had either sixteen-foot pikes or something that differed from what the Willamette country called a billhook only in detail-a chopping blade on a six-foot pole, with a spike on top and a cruel hook on the back; short straight-bladed footman's shetes hung at their waists.

  Ritva spoke softly: "I saw something move behind the firing slits on the north tower. Murder machine. And there are crossbowmen on the crenellations."

  Odard nodded. "If they're just going through the motions, they're going through all of them."

  Rudi took off his bonnet and fanned himself with it. He gave the pikemen a look of pity; they were only the length of their own weapons away, and he could see how red their faces were. At a guess, someone had rousted them out from their midday meal or the siesta after it. Though to be sure doing that occasionally was good training; here he suspected that it was sheer frustrated spite. A minute or two later a pair of men strode down the sloping roadway from the fort.

  Ah, the one in the lead is in charge, Rudi decided.

  If the soldiers' armor was polished, his was blinding with a luster possible only with chrome steel, and his shete was the long curved horseman's model.

  I think this is a man who stands on his dignity. He dismounted, signaling the others to do likewise. As he'll be resentful if I look down at him from the saddle.

  He couldn't help being six foot two and he was cursed if he'd slouch, but fortunately the Iowan officer was only a little shorter, and his helmet with its tall horsehair plume made up the difference. As the man approached, he muttered to the one beside him.

  "Oh, all right, Sergeant."

  "Thank you, sir. Stand at ease! Helmets off!"

  There was a rattle and thump as the polearms were grounded and leaned against shoulders. The soldiers were unexceptionable young men; big, muscular and fair-skinned for the most part with a country-boy look as if they weren't long from the plow, their hair cropped close to their heads and their faces shaved. Rudi gave them a professional glance and decided that they were strong and used to hard work, well-enough drilled, and certainly splendidly equipped. But probably not very experienced. Nobody had dared to challenge mighty Iowa lately.

  No reason to think they wouldn't fight well, given good leaders, he decided. But this man isn't the one to do it, I'm thinking.

  The officer had a small yellow mustache and pale green eyes set a little too close together and an expression of permanent discontent.

  "I'm Captain Schlenker, Iowa National Guard," he said, his tone suggesting that the name should mean something.

  Which, hereabouts, it may, Rudi thought, with an expression of polite interest.

  "In the service of His Excellency Anthony Heasleroad, Governor, President Pro Tem for Life of the Provisional Republic of Iowa, the Sheriffs' Choice, Protector of Farmers and Vakis, Bossman of All Hawk-eyes. You can stop your merry band right there until you've answered a few questions."

  The Iowan had a flat harsh accent much like Ingolf's, one that turned
the vowels in words like Mary and marry and merry into the same sound. It sounded much less agreeable in his mouth than in their companion's.

  "So, who are you people?" he asked less formally.

  Rudi introduced himself. "We're travelers from the Far West, sir," he said.

  It didn't hurt to be courteous on someone else's land.

  "Traders?"

  "It may be, if we find anything to buy in Des Moines, which is where we'll be heading, to see the remarkable sights of the city, so far-famed it is," he said.

  Schlenker's eyes narrowed. "We don't allow armed vagrants to wander around Iowa," he said.

  For the first time he seemed to pay real attention to the party. Rudi had left his sword slung at Epona's saddle, but there was no point in trying to conceal that they were well armed, or the quality of their horses. With Mathilda and the twins and Virginia they were slightly implausible as a bandit gang… but they looked as much like that as anything else, and it wasn't absolutely unknown for women to take up that trade. Or for genuine traveling merchants to indulge in a little banditry on the side, if they saw an opportunity.

  Sure, and Mary's smile would look more reassuring without the eye patch.

  They certainly didn't have the wagons or pack-animals you'd expect of serious traders, and it would be ridiculous to claim they were traveling across the continent for the pleasure of it.

  "We're well able to provide for ourselves, sir," Rudi went on. "If there's a regulation for posting bond, in gold shall we say…"

  According to Ingolf there wasn't, but the officer's face brightened at the diplomatic offer of a bribe. When he still hesitated, Rudi continued:

  "And we'll be staying with a friend near your capital, a Farmer and Sheriff. A Colonel Heuisink, with whom you may check if you'd be wishing it."

  That brought a definite change in attitude. "Let's get into the shade," Schlenker said. "Sergeant Morrison! Bring them into the fort. And pull a watermelon and some beer out of the well."

  You asked what land I love the best

  Iowa, 'tis Iowa,

  The fairest State of all the West,

  Iowa, O! Iowa,

  From yonder Mississippi's stream

  To where Missouri's waters gleam

  O! Fair it is as poet's dream

  Iowa, 'tis Iowa.

  See yonder fields of tasseled corn

  Iowa, 'tis Iowa,

  Where plenty fills her golden horn

  Iowa, 'tis Iowa,

  See how her wondrous prairies shine.

  To yonder sunset's purpling line

  O! happy land, O! land of mine

  Iowa, O! Iowa.

  And she has maids whose laughing eyes

  Iowa, O! Iowa.

  To him whose loves were Paradise

  Iowa, O! Iowa

  O! Happiest fate that e'er was known.

  Such eyes to shine for one alone,

  To call such beauty all his own.

  Iowa, O! Iowa

  Go read the story of thy past.

  Iowa, O! Iowa

  What glorious deeds, what fame thou hast!

  Iowa, O! Iowa

  So long as time's great cycle runs,

  Or nations weep their fallen ones,

  Thou'lt not forget thy patriot sons

  Iowa, O! Iowa

  The song rang out in children's voices as they climbed down from the railway; it came from a frame building not far from the depot, where a choir was apparently practicing. As the travelers unhitched their horses from the rearmost wagon the eight- and nine-year-olds spilled out clad in shorts and T-shirts, mostly barefoot in the warm summer afternoon. They came running down the dusty street to watch as the passengers disembarked, with the dust motes glowing golden in the slanting beams of the westering sun.

  "All out for Valeria!" the conductor cried, walking down the line of cars and flourishing her speaking-trumpet. "Refreshments available in the station building! Train will embark for Des Moines in one hour!"

  "What a surprise," Mathilda said, as they stretched and rubbed parts affected by the hard bench seats and Garbh growled at a village mutt that went into a dancing, barking frenzy until a boy pulled it away. "Another hot, humid, hazy day!"

  "Could be worse-" Rudi said.

  "-could be raining," Edain finished with a tired grin.

  He nodded towards clouds on the eastern horizon-which were very visible, flat as the land was. They towered into the sky, black at their base and shading off into a froth like thick whipped cream at their summits, with the topmost heights starting to glow gold as the sun sank westward.

  "Or hailing and storming," he added; they'd had enough time to realize how undependable the weather was here.

  The station was a small four-square brick building, with a stable and paddock to one side where the spare teams were housed; the train's driver and his assistant led their tired beasts there to be turned over to the ostlers, and began assembling the replacement. The travelers clustered around the pump to one side of the station, taking turns to work the worn hickory of the handle. Once the trough had been filled and their own horses were dipping their muzzles into it the humans held their heads beneath the flow and drank heavily from cupped hands-the deep tube wells here were generally safe.

  Rudi sucked down another draught of the cold, slightly mineral-tasting liquid, then splashed some over his head and brushed the long red-gold locks back, enjoying the momentary coolness in his sweat-itchy scalp.

  "Gods of my people, you always feel like it's time for a shower here!"

  "Welcome-" Ingolf began.

  "To the Midwest," the rest of them chorused.

  Valeria was a town so small that any Mackenzie dun would have made three of it, but the streets were crowded right now. Most of that was a convoy of big six-wheeled wagons drawn by huge gray horses much like those that pulled the train, just finishing loading from a series of warehouses of pre-Change sheet metal by the side of the railroad track.

  Same breed, but better horses, Rudi thought, admiring their glossy spotted coats and hooves the size of dinner plates, thick arched necks and flared nostrils, the muscle that rippled in their massive haunches and flanks. Well tended, too.

  A man came around one of them, talking to someone behind him, then froze as he saw Rudi and his party.

  No, he's looking at Ingolf, Rudi thought, as the man walked slowly towards them, eyes wide with wonder.

  Then he drew himself up, coming to attention. He was in his mid-twenties, Rudi's age, or nearly. A little shorter, a bit under six feet, but broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, with short auburn hair and blue eyes and a wide, snub-nosed face; that was emphasized by the small blob of scar tissue on the very end of his nose. Most of the little finger of his right hand was missing, and a bit of the top of the next digit.

  Moves well, Rudi thought. Good balance. His eyes went to the wrists and shoulders, and the swing of the walk. Strong, and quick with it, but there's just a shadow of a hint of a limp in the right leg.

  His clothes were plain but good quality; knee-boots and indigo-blue denim trousers with a horseman's leather inserts on the inner thighs. The trousers rose to a sort of bib with shoulder straps; he had a green linsey-woolsey shirt beneath that, a silver-studded belt with a shete, bowie and tomahawk around his waist, and a billed cap on his head. The bib overalls and cap were what farmers wore in Iowa; rather confusingly, hereabouts Farmer seemed to mean about what Rancher did in central Oregon. Or knight in the Association territories; a landed gentleman, or at least a member of the ruling class.

  He faced Ingolf, came to attention and saluted briskly. "Corporal Heuisink, reporting for duty, Captain Vogeler, sir!" he barked.

  Ingolf frowned like a thunderstorm. "Sloppy as a hog in a wallow, as usual, Heuisink! You're not on your daddy's farm down in Iowa now, by God!"

  Both men burst into roars of laughter and fell into each other's arms, hugging like bears, dancing around in a stomping circle, pounding each other on the shoulder and bac
k. Then they held each other at arm's length, each examining the other with wonder.

  "Jack, you miserable son of a bitch!" Ingolf said, and mimed a punch to the face. "You couldn't get a message to me in Hawarden? You know how long we waited in that lousy oozing chancre on Iowa's fat ass, eating overpriced pizza and listening to ourselves sweat?"

  The other man pretended to stagger. "You expect the heliograph net to work out there, you ignorant cheesehead?" he said. "There's a surface-mail letter on its way!"

  "Ignorant? I left Readstown because I had to. You were the one who thought that being a hired soldier for those cheapskate dickheads in Marshall was going to be an adventure. "

  "I ended up in deep shit, far from home. That is adventure."

  Rudi laughed aloud; only someone who'd had adventures knew how true that was, though it wasn't the whole of the matter. Mary cleared her throat.

  "Why is it that when men play, they always play at hitting and insulting each other?" she said.

  Ingolf turned with his arm around the younger man's shoulders; he was laughing, and his battered, craggy face was more relaxed than Rudi had seen it.

  Younger, in fact, he thought; as if the brown beard and scars had been removed. A lot of the time you forget he's only five years older than I.

  "Mary, this is Jack Heuisink, who was dumb enough to run away from a perfectly good home and enlist in Vogeler's Villains back when we were fighting the Sioux War, up north in Marshall."

  "I was a teenager," Heuisink said defensively. "More… hormones… than sense."

  "I kept him alive long enough to come to his senses, which happened about the time he put his right hand in the way of an Injun tomahawk headed for my noggin."

  "Good as new, what's left of it," Heuisink said, flexing it. "Gave me a decent excuse to come home, too."

  "Jack, Mary Havel, my intended."

  Jack's eyes went wide; his eye skipped from the patch to her face, down to her feet and up to the braided yellow hair. They also skipped to the worn hilt of her longsword, and the gear on the dappled Arab behind her, and then widened a little as he realized that Ritva was identical to her-except for the missing eye and the scar.