The Sword of the Lady c-3

by S. M. Stirling

  Ritva cleared her throat.?Ah… I don?t know exactly, big brother. But yesterday she muttered something about witch-boys all being cream-stealing tomcats with their consciences in their balls.?

  He raised his hands in exasperation and looked from side to side. ?What? What? I?ve been as chaste as Father sworn-to-avoid-it Ignatius the now!?

  Virginia laughed, not exactly cruelly, but… ?Your Majesticalness, I even believe you. But it ain?t me you?ve got to convince!?

  Four days later the blizzard howled outside the Vogeler dining room, hard enough to shake the stout walls now and then; it was a second-floor chamber, big enough to seat a score, if not a feast for the whole garth. Today it held all of Rudi?s party, the Sheriff and his wife, and what Rudi had come to think of as the Readstown general staff. The windows were good double-glazed ones of pre-Change manufacture. They rattled a little in the modern frames, and they looked like squares of blackness with ribbons of white spearing at them. It made the glow of the lamps and the flickering coals in the fireplace all the more welcome, and the pleasant lingering smell of the meal. ?And how pleasant it would be, to feast the winter away so, snug and warm, with all the comforts of home,? Rudi said.?The which some of our party can do.?

  Jake sunna Jake nodded reluctantly. He also lifted his third wedge of blueberry pie-a quarter of the whole-onto his plate and lathered it with whipped cream; Rudi smiled at his enthusiasm. Until a few months ago none of the Southsiders had ever tasted baked goods, or sweeteners other than wild honey, or dairy of any sort. Some of them didn?t like the unfamiliar diet. Jake was not one of them. He?d done justice to the glazed ham, shepherd?s pie, glistening panfried potatoes, vegetables, and the better part of two loaves of bread and butter, too. He and his tribe all had the reflexive voracity of those who?d gone hungry often from childhood on, even those who yearned after their old perpetual stew.

  And his table manners have become something less roynish, Rudi observed, with some relief. Even a fork has yielded up its mysteries to the man. ??Kay,? the Southsider Big Man said, in something that had grown closer to the others? varieties of English.?I kin… can… go to like have our bitches-um, womenfolks-and littles stay here. They?s good ones, here. Southsiders who stay, they can learn plenty till-un we gets here again. And eat good shi… good stuff like this alla times, n? sleep warm, not have lotsa littles die.?

  Rudi shuddered a little at what a winter in their home range must have been like, with no more arts than they?d had when he met them. Granted central Illinois wasn?t as brutal in the Crone?s season as the Free Republic of Richland or the territory they were headed for, but it would be bad enough. He also finished his own last forkful of blueberry pie; it had always been one of his favorite dishes, and the berries here were the best he?d ever tasted either fresh or baked or in preserves.

  Edward Vogeler nodded gravely, tamping the tobacco in his pipe. ?Yah, Jake,? he said.?They?ll be a help, in fact. Looks like it?ll be a hard winter, and an early one.?

  That was more tactful than usual with the blunt-spoken Sheriff; it was probably also partly true. Even unskilled hands could always be found useful work-if nothing else, they?d free craftsfolk from routine chores like woodchopping. Not to mention the substantial golden sweetener he?d provided to pay for room, board and instruction in arts like weaving and cheesemaking, literacy and frequent baths. If they returned in the spring When, he told himself firmly. When we come back in the spring. I?ve no choice, now that I?ve taken oath on it.

  When they returned the Southsider noncombatants would be far closer to something civilized. Enough that founding their own dun in Mackenzie territory would be feasible, with a little more teaching from volunteers there.

  To be sure,?Dun Jake? will sound a trifle strange at first! ?And I?m gonna be busy this winter myself,? Ed Vogeler said.?It?s our visiting season, and we visit hard. There are important men who?ll listen to me.? ?And women who?ll listen to me,? his wife put in, a little to his surprise.

  He glanced at her and nodded.?You?ve opened my eyes, Mr. Mackenzie. And Father Ignatius, and all of you. Ingolf too, of course. These maniacs have to be stopped.? ?Good, because to do that we need the Sword,? Mathilda said, her voice clipped.?We need to get going. The snow?s deep enough now. And the sleds are ready.?

  She shot a glance towards Samantha, whom she seemed to have taken in dislike.

  Now, is it more annoying to be suspected of what you have done or what you haven?t? She?s been intolerable lately, Rudi thought. The best traveling companion you could want through battle and hardship, and now we?ve found safe haven for a while, and she?s… well, I?d ask her if she was under the Moon?s domain this week, did I want to enrage her even more! ?You?d better wait until there?s some clear weather,? the Sheriff said.

  A little reluctantly, Rudi thought. He?d been perfectly honorable, perfectly correct in his hospitality, and once his doubts were overcome full of zeal for their cause-but keeping a party their size fed all winter would be a bit of a strain even for a man of his wealth and power. ?I?ll leave you to it,? he added.

  The other Readstowners made their good nights as well, all except Pierre Walks Quiet and Samantha the housekeeper. She smiled at Jake: ?I?ll have a Moon School running for your people too.?

  He nodded vigorously.?Gotta get good with the spooks, yeah!? ?And here?s the list of the last supplies,? she said to Rudi, and handed him a paper.?Some things I wasn?t sure we could do before you left.?

  He scanned down it.?Blueberry turnovers?? he said.?Good, I?m sure, but-?

  She smiled.?Concentrated food value. And they keep well frozen.?

  Then she stood, stretched, and said:?And now for the farewell. Farewell to you all!?

  They said their good-byes, a little puzzled; those of the Old Religion bowed their heads slightly at her sign of blessing. She extended a hand… and Edain, smiling a bit bashfully, took it. ?Some good-byes take longer than others,? she said, and pulled him to his feet.?Merry met, merry part, and to all a good night before it?s merry met again!?

  A ringing silence fell as they left the room. ?Well, well,? Ingolf said meditatively.?So that?s why he?s been so carefree lately.?

  Rudi coughed and decided on another slice of the pie; with ice cream this time.

  And that would have been clever, if only I?d thought of it. Keep in mind, High King of Montival-you?re not the only one who can be a cunning fellow!

  He glanced at Mathilda and raised a brow. She looked back boldly enough, but slowly a blush rose from her neck to her bold-featured olive face, turning it a dusky rose. Then he relented and made a gesture with one hand, one they?d used together since they were children: It?s all right.

  She nodded and looked away. Rudi returned to the pie. And you?ll never know just how much I was tempted, acushla!

  TheSwordoftheLady

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE NORTH WOODS (FORMERLY NORTHEASTERN WISCONSIN) OCTOBER 14,

  CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

  ?You are sure the weather will be bad, Master Dalan?? Major Graber of the Sword of the Prophet asked.

  The High Seeker smiled. The snow here was falling straight and thick, cutting visibility to a gray blur in the dim sunlight of a winter?s afternoon. It gave the air an odd muffled quality, as if everything had been wrapped with thick soft cloths. ?Yes,? he said.?The butterfly has beaten its wings. That thunderclap echoes across continents.?

  Graber nodded. I do not know what that means, and I do not wish to know. ?Hail Maitreya!? he said aloud.

  The rolling land here was not totally unlike his home; no high mountains, of course, or any open range, but endless conifers a little like the foothill forests. The cold and snowfall didn?t bother a man reared in the Bitterroot country and the Valley of Paradise; he had a good buffalo-hide robe over his armor and gambeson, thick wool trousers, and for the rest the Sword of the Prophet were trained to welcome hardship. A true man transcended the material with the stuff of his atman.

  There had been a village here before the Sword of the Prophet ca
me. Of sorts, patched-up pre-Change houses and sheds built of salvage and scraps of timber; and they had kept most of the buildings that still had roofs intact, so there was shelter and to spare for his men and even for the horses, and food enough for both if they were careful- he didn?t need to keep seed grain for next year, unlike the former inhabitants. Not enough for the two hundred or so savages who?d drifted in over the past week, but they?d brought their own supplies. Their low domed brushwood shelters stretched in little dribs and drabs through the snowy woods, avoiding the open spaces that had been tilled ground and pasture.

  He scowled a little as a scream came from one of their camps. The men of the Sword hadn?t killed all the original dwellers, but the newcomers were seeing to that. He?d ever hesitated to do what was necessary, but he didn?t do it for sport. ?The storms will continue,? Dalan said.?And it will be very cold, much colder than usual for this time of year. Air will flow south from the Pole.? ?Good, High Seeker,? Graber said.?But they are still likely to bypass us unless we can get the savages-? ?The Bekwa, most of them are called. Those clans have been drifting in here from the east, in the last few years. And there are some of the local clans here now too.? ?Get the Bekwa in order, so that we can use them to scout. Surely they are not servants of the Ascending Hierarchy?? ?Some of them are. The missions have reached very far. But the Masters are ever-watchful for all of us, you realize.? ?Of course, High Seeker.? That was standard doctrine-all religions had hints of the Truth.?I can?t even speak their absurd language, though. And what English they know is hardly better.? ?I can speak their language. In more ways than one. Come.?

  Graber followed him; he made a small gesture with his right hand to keep any of the men from trailing along, thinking his full armor and the fact that he could call on his troops enough. He didn?t fear the Bekwa, anymore than he would so many rabid dogs-but he wouldn?t take chances with a pack of rabid dogs, either. Since he had to work with them, showing fear would be the worst mistake of all. The buildings quickly dropped out of sight in the silent, steady downfall of the snow. There were dogs, not mad but vicious enough; they ran barking and snarling at the two Westerners, until Graber thought he would have to draw his shete and beat them aside with the flat.

  Then they stopped, staring at Dalan; their bristling fur fell flat. Some whimpered and fled with their tails tucked between their legs. Others fawned on the High Seeker, scattering only when he kicked one. They walked between the shelters of the savages then. Smoke lay in a haze, trickling from cooking fires under little thatched covers, or through holes in the tops of the shelters. It had a bitter tinge, and even in the cold there was a stink that made him wrinkle his nose. The warriors squatted and watched from the entrances of the huts, or from cruder lean-tos, following the two outsiders in silence. Some were Injun; others looked like white men. They all had something of the same feral menace, eyes staring from under falls of tangled or braided hair.

  Not quite complete savages, he thought. Not like the Eaters we saw in Illinois closer to the dead cities. They should be useful, if they don?t kill and roast us all.

  What wool clothing they had was tattered enough, probably looted, but they had well-tanned leather gear of their own making, and their weapons-hatchets, knives, spears, short recurve bows-were reasonably well fashioned when they weren?t salvage. Nor did they look so starved and rickety… though some of them grinned at him with blackened teeth filed to points. After a few minutes they passed out of the encampment, and then came to a circle of the domed huts set about with poles bearing the standards of the tribes gathered here-one had the rayed Sun of the CUT; others included the withered worm-eaten head of a wolf, and several skulls. ?Watch here,? Dalan said to the Sword officer.?This struggle will not be on the gross physical plane… but I may need protection.?

  Struggle? Graber thought.

  His only outward reply was an inclination of the head. Slowly, men came out of the huts; men and a pair of women. Graber scowled at them-they were wearing trousers-but much service among unbelievers had hardened him to the sight of things forbidden. To be honest, the CUT hadn?t yet managed to purge even the homeland of such wickedness. Some of the newcomers looked hostile; one or two bowed to Master Dalan in fellowship. All were oddly dressed, with strings of beads, clusters of feathers, the feet of eagles, gear more arcane, or the tanned heads of animals worn as caps.

  Several produced small drums and began to beat them with bone hammers, the sound falling flat and distanced among the snow: dum-dumdum, dum-dum- dum…

  There were a dozen of them in all. They began to dance, a swaying shuffling circle, in and out and around, through the screen of drifting flakes. He blinked as Dalan joined them, turning in place in the center with his arms stretched skyward.

  Shamans, the Sword commander realized. They?re making magic.

  He shuddered; that was unclean, by the CUT?s teaching. Master Dalan must have dispensation from the Prophet himself-of course, what the adepts among the Seekers did wasn?t magic, strictly speaking; it was powers conferred by the Secret Masters. The dance grew wilder, feet stamping and leaping. Then slower, barely moving at all. At last all squatted and knelt, the circle facing inward towards Dalan. Graber realized with a start that his heartbeat was running in time with the drums, and with a wrenching effort of will that made the sweat run down his flanks and his belly twist with nausea he forced himself to break that rhythm.

  Hail Serapis Bey! he told himself, chanting the mantra inwardly as he?d been taught in the House, until calm gradually returned. Hail Serapis Bey! The Fourth Ray is with me. Hail Serapis Bey!

  When he could focus on the world again he almost started and drew his shete; there were men around him, wrapped in bulky fur coats against the growing cold and the endless snow. A little older than the other Bekwa warriors, and better dressed, all with weapons in their hands.

  War chiefs, he thought, noting the array of scars-from the look of them, fighting infection wasn?t among their skills. Waiting for.. . whatever Dalan is doing.

  Some of the chiefs had torches with them, soaked with pine resin. The flames shed a ruddy tinge over the motionless circle, hissing as snowflakes fell into them. The drumbeat stilled at last. One of the drummers seemed to yawn… until the gape grew impossibly wide. A whining sound came from the gaping mouth, and an instant later blood sprayed out; and ran from nose and ears and eyes as well, like black tears. Another of the shamans jerked forward and then slumped with a limpness that Graber knew well-it was the sort that a man showed when he?d had his spine cut, or an arrow through the eye into the brain. Dalan held out his arms, as if embracing the shamans. ?I… see… you,? he said.

  The shamans blinked. It took an instant before Graber realized that they?d done it in unison, and even then he could not be sure. When they spoke it was a rustling whisper, in a synchronicity as complete as a Temple choir: ?I… see… you.?

  They rose. When they had sat it had been one by one; now they came to their feet like drilled soldiers. They turned to face the war chiefs, and blinked once more… at the same instant, every pair of eyes obscured and then open. And something looked out from behind those eyes, those faces blank and fixed as if they were formed from dough. ?Guerr!? they cried in unison.

  Dalan threw his hands skyward in triumph. ?War!? he shouted. ?Guerr di? Dyu!? ?God says war!?

  Dalan staggered towards him, face blazing with exultation.?They will fight, Major,? he said. ?Good. Though even so… it?s a big country.? ?More than them, Major. More things than the tribesmen will make war.? ?Now, this is something of a sport!? Rudi Mackenzie said.?And a very good way to travel in a hurry, so.?

  He let his skis plow to a stop with the points angled in, and stabbed his poles into the snow. He?d skied before he came east, but only downhill; mostly at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, a Portlander Crown preserve kept for hunting and sport under forest law. That was a fine swooping wonder he?d seldom tired of when the Regent?s Court paid a visit during his annual stays in the north. This type of skiing-cross-country
, they called it, which was more sensible than most names-was almost as enjoyable, and new to him. The snow didn?t lie long enough in the Willamette lowlands to make it practical and the mountains weren?t flat enough.

  This gear was different, too; the skis were longer and more narrow, with an arch under the foot, and a fish-scale pattern pointing backward in that section to give you a grip when you pushed off. And the foot wasn?t fastened hard to it either, just a loop for the toe and a band.

  Ingolf Vogeler came up the low slope with a skating motion and slid to a halt beside him under the shelter of a stretch of white pine. He pushed the goggles up on his face and blinked into the wind that was-again-starting to flick snow at them. It came harder and harder out of the northeast, out of the darkness growing there as the short day died. The cold with it was bitter, the sort that would turn the tip of your nose numb before you noticed it. They?d had a few cases of mild frostbite already, and only stringent checks and careful training had kept the party from worse.

  Both men wore loose parkas with quilted linings and hoods trimmed in wolf fur; beneath them were what the Richlanders called long johns against the skin, scratchy and itchy but blessedly warm, double-thickness pants, knit socks and flannel shirts, sweaters and balaclavas that covered all of their faces but the eyes.

  Sure, and the brigandine and its padding are lost in the swaddling of it all! Rudi thought.

  With all that and the warmth of effort he was merely a little chilly, but the temperature was dropping fast from the hard cold of day to something that frightened him a little. It was four hours past noon, or a little more, and getting dark even without the thickening clouds. The stretching boughs above them swayed back and forth with a whirring, soughing moan. ?Well, at least none of our bunch are falling over regular anymore,? Ingolf said.?We?re actually starting to make decent time.?