The Sword of the Lady c-3

by S. M. Stirling

  A shout came from ahead. Rudi nodded; he?d expected that about now. Jake and his Southsider warriors jogged back towards the wagon train and the rest of their tribe in no particular order, on either side of a squadron of Iowa cavalry.

  The Iowans were in a neat column of twos, with an officer in a plumed helmet at the front and a bannerman with the State flag flying just behind him. They were well mounted on big glossy geldings, and despite the formal stiffness of their formation they also looked tough and alert, unlike some of their comrades he?d seen elsewhere. They all wore coal-scuttle helmets and short-sleeved mail shirts, with heavy curved shetes at their sides and round shields slung over their backs; their four-foot horseman?s horn-and-sinew recurve bows were out of the scabbards, and they all had arrows on the string.

  And they?re notably good horsemen, Rudi thought. With well-trained mounts. Elite troops.

  The thought was confirmed when the column came to a halt in rippling unison not far away. You needed to use both hands for a saddle bow, which meant you had to control your horse exclusively with legs and balance. Rudi could do it On a real horse, not this ambling pot of glue-makings!

  – but mostly people with that knack were ranchers or cowboys or Rovers or from the Plains tribes, folk who lived in the saddle from childhood. Iowans were tillers of the earth or town-dwelling merchants and craftsmen as a rule, but these had a different trade.

  He slid to the ground and walked forward on the cracked slabs of the roadway, split into uneven segments like the back of a tortoise by a generation?s frost heave, glad to be out of the beast?s kicking and biting range. His blue-green eyes narrowed as he took in the commander?s face beneath the brim of his helmet.

  Denson, he thought.

  Then they went wide as he saw the big man beside him, the one wearing a kettle helm with a broad brim like a hat?s. ?Ingolf!? he shouted.?Ingolf the Wanderer!?

  And alive, free and armed, he added to himself, feeling a grin of delight split his face. ?Rudi, you miserable slippery son of a bitch!? the other man called.?Christ, you could fall into a heap of horseshit and come out smelling like a rose with a gold brick in your teeth!?

  He slid from his mount as well, and they grasped each other?s shoulders, laughing with pleasure; that grip was easier because they were almost of a height, though Ingolf was a bit thicker-built, bull to Rudi?s tiger. The other man?s weathered face was a little gray under the short-clipped beard, but that was to be expected after weeks of confinement. He fisted the Mackenzie on the arm and stepped back, looking at the wagons with his thumbs hooked into his sword belt. ?By Jesus, I never thought I?d see these again. All the way to Boston and back…?

  His face went cold for an instant, obviously remembering the friends and followers of his who?d died on that trip. Then he shook it off. ?Good work… Chief.? ?I had help.? Rudi shrugged. ?I can see that,? Ingolf said, nodding to the Southsiders and shaking hands with Edain.?But you got the help.?

  It was a different tune you were singing when we started out, Rudi thought; there had been a bit of friction when the more experienced man realized the Mackenzie was to be in charge of their group. But you?re an adaptable one, Ingolf Vogeler. And it?s glad I am to see you.

  The Iowan commander had dismounted as well.?Charmed the cannibals, I see,? he said to Rudi.?No accounting for tastes, either way.?

  Jake sunna Jake sat his horse to one side, scowling and working his fingers on the shaft of the spear whose butt rested on the toes of his right foot. Rudi had rarely seen a man more ready to kill who wasn?t trying to actually do it. ?Ah, Captain Denson, still as much a charmer of a man as ever you were before,? Rudi said.

  He smiled, and the State Police officer blinked a little; the last time they?d met he?d been seeing Rudi over the bridge into the Wild Lands on a mission meant to fail, and the time before that he?d arrested the Mackenzie, tried to arrest his friends, succeeded in taking Odard and Matti prisoner, and dragged the three of them before Anthony Heasleroad?s throne. Rudi?s sharp-cut features usually had a half smile about them. It made the expression they wore now more noticeable. ?And it?s glad I am to see you again,? Rudi said, something cat-playful in his tone.?Very glad to see you again like this.?

  This being armed, with armed friends at hand, and the Iowan himself within arm?s reach. Denson was no fool; he?d seen Rudi before, and refreshed his memory with an expert?s quick appraisal of the other man-hands, shoulders, the way he stood and moved. ?Now, Captain Denson, would you be after tellin? me something: you Christians have a proverb, do you not, Vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord??

  The State Policeman nodded warily.?Yes.? ?And you?ve another to the effect that if a man hits you on one cheek you should turn and let him hit the other, no?? ?Yeah. Your point is??

  Rudi?s smile grew a little broader, and his thumb caressed the cross guard of his longsword: ?Well, I?m not a Christian, you see. And we of the Old Religion believe that a man?s deeds come back upon him in kind… magnified threefold.? ?Sorry if I offended,? Denson said tightly.?Just doing my job.? ?It?s to my friend Jake here that you should apologize, Captain Denson,? Rudi said.?Because the Southside Freedom Fighters are not cannibals, nor were their ancestors, and because they?ve helped me regain your Bossman?s property. And for the sake of good manners to guests, the which is pleasing to the land spirits while rudeness brings ill luck from the fey.? ?Apologize to a wild-man??

  There was a genuinely scandalized tone in Denson?s voice; that prejudice was no older than Rudi, but it ran deep. The shock of it was enough to knock the man onto his back heel for a moment, mentally. ?When a man?s got himself into a pit, the first order of business is to stop digging,? Rudi said.?Whether with a shovel or with his tongue. And there?s a third reason you should apologize; because you?re wearing a sword.?

  Denson?s hand went unconsciously to the hilt of his shete.?What?s that got to do with it??

  Rudi smiled. Jake sunna Jake cocked his head to one side, considered the expression, and gave a gap-toothed grin of his own. Ingolf seemed to be wavering between sharing the amusement and looking alarmed, but he also shifted his shoulders a little and casually rested a hand on the strap that held his shield across his back. That might be an idle gesture… but it also put him in position to pull it down and slide his arm into the loops quickly. Rudi went on. ?If a man insults another and has no weapon, then he?s a coward and beneath contempt, hiding behind his own weakness and the other?s honor. But if he does it with steel by his side, it?s presumed that he will?-Rudi ran an ostentatious eye over the gray threads in the Iowan?s hair-?how did you ancients put it in the old world… walk the walk, as well as talkin? the talk??

  He didn?t draw his sword, or even put his sword hand to the hilt. He did let the thumb of the other press on the guard, enough to start it free of the slight tension of the greased battens lining the scabbard, and let a single thread?s-width of the patterned layer-forged blade show.

  Denson stared at him for an instant, opened his mouth, then followed Rudi?s flick of the eyes and turned to Jake. ?Sorry,? he said to the Southsider coolly enough, with a little bow.?No offense meant.?

  Jake grunted, probably slightly disappointed. Rudi smiled, this time without the edge of menace. ?Graciously said,? he said.?Now, let?s get your ruler?s property to him, eh?? ?I?ll meet you at the fort,? Denson said, swinging into the saddle and turning his mount; his men followed him, and rocked up to a gallop. ?Imeacht gan teacht ort; titim gan eiri ort,? Rudi said in the language of his mother?s people. Then he added the English for his companion:?May you leave without returning and fall without rising, addressed to the lovely darlin? man himself. The which is perhaps a little too close to a curse for comfort, but sometimes things need to be said.?

  Ingolf let a breath puff out.?We do need him,? he pointed out. ?At least for a while.?

  Rudi nodded.?But he needs us, or you wouldn?t be here, my friend. And he?s not the sort of man who sees a friendly approach as anything but weakness.? ?Yah, he?s the type you have to push back at or get walked on, all
right.? Suddenly Ingolf chuckled.?And Christ… or Manwe and Varda

  … it was good to see him backing down. Spending time in his jail warped my perspective a bit, I think.?

  He swallowed and looked at the wagons.?Thanks, by the way.? ?You?re heartily welcome, but…? ?Yah, Matti and Odard. From what Denson told me they?re as safe as anyone could be around Tony Heasleroad.? ?Which is not a great and exceeding safeness, so?? ?There?s that.? ?And I would not put the good Captain Denson above a wee little bit of an exaggeration, if it suited his purposes.?

  Ingolf nodded.?He?s… a piece of work, yah. And that collection of gallows bait he runs aren?t much better; I?ve seen plenty of hard men-I?ve been one, a lot of people would say-but most of that crew have got something missing, if you ask me.? ?And they may regret it,? Rudi said grimly.?When a man… injures his inner self that way, it?s unpleasantly likely that something will come to infect the wound. Something that likes to dwell amid corruption.?

  Ingolf shrugged and returned to practicality:?Matti seems to have charmed everyone around the Bossman, though; she and Kate Heasleroad are thick as thieves. And Odard?s popular at court too.? ?Neither is a surprise,? Rudi said. Though with Odard, it?s more of a mask, I think.?Matti has a gift for being liked; it starts with being likeable, and also with her liking folk who deserve it.?

  Edain had been leaning on his longbow. Now he nodded after Denson, a considering look in his eye. ?The man?s fey,? he said.?The shadow of the Hunter?s wings is on his face.?

  There was a moment of confusion-Ingolf seemed to think the word fey meant something entirely different from the Clan?s use of the term-and then Rudi spoke: ?I hadn?t noticed that… but strong passion blinds the inner eye, and I confess Edgar Denson makes me regret that the Gael gave up taking heads to nail over the door, the sorrow and the sadness, that he does.? ?You hadn?t given up chopping them off, that I noticed,? Ingolf said dryly.

  The two clansmen laughed.?But his deeds are coming back to him, threefold,? Edain said.?I could feel it, and I?m not one to see the Dread Lord?s mark on a face just because breakfast didn?t agree with me.? ?That you are not,? Rudi agreed.?From your lips to the ears of the Fair Folk, though, that they may send him just precisely the ill luck and black misfortune that he?s earned. The man is a waste of living space.?

  Ingolf looked at the wagons.?You got them moving, all right,? he said.?But where did you find this collection of crowbait you?ve got pulling them??

  Rudi laughed.?Thereby hangs a tale. And it was a tale of the Lakota that gave me the idea.?

  Care seemed to slide from Ingolf?s shoulders as well; he was a few years older than Rudi, but not more than thirty yet. ?During the Sioux War we used to say they could steal your horse and you?d ride on half a mile before you noticed. Guess it?s catching, Strong Raven.? ?That it is, Iron Bear.?

  Edain joined the chuckle.?How Dad will grin when he hears about how we got the horses. He?s always on about what great raiders the SAS were, before the Change.? ?He taught you,? Rudi pointed out.?So it?s only natural he?ll take a bit of the credit.?

  NEAR DUN LAUREL CLAN MACKENZIE TERRITORIES WILLAMETTE VALLEY,

  OREGON SEPTEMBER 6, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

  ?Advance in skirmish order with fire and movement!?

  That bellowed order was faint with distance, but the dunting huu-huuhadd-hurrr bray of the cowhorn trumpet carried more clearly.

  The old man leaned silently on his unstrung bow stave and watched the warriors deploy, popping a few blue-black serviceberries from the shrub next to him into his mouth from time to time. Sam Aylward was in his sixties, and had never been more than middle height, though deep-chested and broad in the shoulders; now he stooped a little, and the square tanned Saxon face was gaunt and furrowed, the once earth-brown hair turned gray and white. There was strength yet in the scarred gnarled hands on the yellow yew-wood but they were starting to twist with age, and they were battered with a lifetime of working with animals and weapons and tools, heavy weights of flesh and wood and metal and urgent speed.

  He was grateful for the heat of the summer sun sinking into flesh and bone, even as it brought sweat out on his face and flanks; somehow he was cold a lot of the time these days. A deep breath brought a scent of rank greenery and silty mud, windfalls rotting beneath apple orchards gone feral, crushed grass, a few blue lupins still blossoming. Grass heads scratched at his legs below the pleated kilt. This was the time to practice the arts of war, after the grain was in and the stacks thatched and waiting for the threshing, when strong young hands and backs could be spared.

  Time to read Edain?s letter, too, he thought; he could almost feel the weight of it in his sporran. The boy?s had a bad time. That were cruel hard, not being able to save that girl he met. There?s a lesson you have to learn: sometimes you give it everything and nothing works

  … But he?s all right, and he?s been doing a man?s work and no mistake. And tonight I can show it to Melissa.

  A slight smile moved his lips at the thought of his son and the prospect of his wife?s face. She?d been worried badly, which was natural enough, and spending a lot of time spell casting and trying auguries until Lady Juniper told her once a month was enough.

  I?ve been worried about the boy too. Boy? He snorted. I?ve bred and raised me an Aylward fighting man to reckon with! Now stop woolgathering and get back to work, Samkin. They?re shaping nicely-and Oak Barstow has them well in hand. He?ll be better than his dad at it. More fire in the belly.

  The ground the warriors were using was part of the empty zone that separated Dun Laurel from Dun Carson, far enough out in the flats of the Willamette Valley that the Cascades were a line of blue topped with white in the eastern distance; his own hobbled horse grazed behind him, and John Hordle?s thick-bodied warmblood, and his younger son Richard?s elderly little cob. The boy-he was fifteen and a bit, still a few years too young for the First Levy-was aggressively red-haired, freckled, and looking at the exercise with naked envy, unconsciously edging forward bit by bit and reaching over his shoulder to finger the arrows in his quiver. ?Dickie,? the elder Aylward said mildly, without looking around, and keeping the inward grin out of his voice.?If you don?t want to mind the?orses, you could always be to?ome helping your mother set up that new loom. Or there?s them hurdles that need replacing in the ?ill pen…?

  A hundred clansfolk were advancing through the burgeoning wilderness. They moved by threes and nines, dodging swiftly from bush to tree to clump of tall grass that nodded like hair blowing in the slow warm wind. The kilts and plaids of the Mackenzie tartan-which here in Oregon was mostly green and dark brown, due to a salvaged load of blankets that first year-made them hard to see; so did the green leather covering their brigandines, and the matt surface of the same color on their open-faced sallet helms. They shot as they came, stopping briefly to bend the long yellow bows and send a gray-fletched arrow whirring downrange before the next dash; shafts thumped home in the man-shaped targets of straw matting bound round posts, or now and then vanished near them. ?Nossir! Sorry, Dad!? Richard Aylward Mackenzie said.

  The boy wrenched his eyes from the dance of war, straightened up and chivvied the mounts a little closer together; they responded with lazy good manners. ?Nice to have room for this bit so close to the settlements,? John Hordle said, lowering a set of binoculars that looked like toys in his great fist.?Even?ere in farmin? country.?

  His rumbling bass held the same slow yokel burr as Sam?s, deep English of a south-country village sort. Usually his wasn?t as ripe-he was a generation younger, around forty-but he unconsciously fell back into the speech of their shared birthplace as they spoke. ?Moind, with bows you don?t?ave to worry about some git a mile downrange catching one. Still, nice not to be crowded,? Sam replied.

  The Mackenzies numbered over sixty thousand now, more than half of them born since the Change and more too young to remember much before it, but they weren?t short of land-even good land like this, not counting the vast mountain forests to the east on the slopes of the Cascades. There were pro
bably more people about in the rural areas of the Willamette Valley than there had been before the engines died, but they used a lot less of the landscape, now that it wasn?t machine-cultivated to feed some distant metropolis. Most of the Clan?s territory down in the valley flats was like this, kept as a reserve against future growth, and the same was true in the other realms. ?Not much loik the land east of the Cascades, though,? Hordle said.?Less cover out there, mostly.?

  Grazing livestock and dry-season wildfire, deer and elk and sounders of feral swine had kept the scrub and saplings from covering everything here, but the golden summer grass was shaggy and nearly waist high, studded with rosebush and hawthorns gone wild here and there. Scarlet English corn poppies starred the fields with swatches and dots of crimson.

  My doing, that, Sam thought, with an inward grin.

  He?d helped it along, at least; quietly dumped several score pounds of seed salvaged from garden-supply stores here and there in the first years, and they?d spread far in this agreeable climate and fertile soil. Not that he?d ever admit it, and he cursed the weeds with the best.

  Bit of old Blighty, and sod the nuisance they are in the corn. We don?t have to squeeze every acre until it squeaks.

  There was a stretch of wetland over westward to his right, thick with green cattails and reeds where a field drain had been blocked; most of the birds had fled the noisy humans. Elsewhere the trees that had lined tilled fields or roads before the Change had sent out waves of saplings, poplar and Douglas fir, bigleaf maple and garry oak, the oldest of them of respectable size by now. Another patch of forest marked the site of a farmhouse, snags of tumbled brick showing where the roots gripped and ground away at the old world?s works with slow vegetable patience.

  More arrows flew; the levies were retreating now, the same stop-shoot-and-dash maneuver. This wasn?t the massed volleying by ranks that could darken the sky and smash armies, but a very respectable number of shafts were flicking in their long shallow arcs, blurring through the air. ?Not bad at all,? Sam said; in fact he was proud and happy with the performance.?Easier to make summat of?em than it was in England before the Change. Christ, it?d make you cry, to see some of the things that came into the recruiting offices back then. More like garden slugs on legs than?uman bein?s they was, sometimes. Present company excepted.?