The Sword of the Lady c-3

by S. M. Stirling

  The wind was out of the west; it contributed to the hard pitch and roll as the waves took the ship under the quarter. Abdou looked at the sky with its high lines of mare?s-tail cloud, at the compass, and then ordered in two languages: ?Make sail all! Up, up!?

  His bosun shoved teams into position; Ingolf followed him, watching closely. A high screech brought both ready, and then they heaved, hauling the lines in hand-over-hand. Pulleys squealed. The long gaff-sails slid up the masts and then swung out as the booms turned. A thuttering like snapping branches and then the canvas snapped taut, swelling out into a series of curves and triangles, and the ship heeled to port until the dark planks sloped like the roof of a house. A fore-and-aft ship like this was economical of men, and the sails could be managed from the deck for the most part.

  The bowsprit dug in, then broke free in a burst of crystal spray that shot back along the deck to sting Rudi?s cheeks with an icy salt benediction. The motion turned to a long lunging swoop, and waves of white curled back from the sharp prow. Gray and white and blue, Mother Sea stretched ahead of them, the manes of her snowy horses running to the very horizon. A whale spouted in the middle distance, twin plumes rising from the water before its slate-colored length slid back below, and the flukes slapped foam into the air. ?Glad to be back at sea, Abdou al-Naari?? he asked.

  The Moor looked at him; he was bundled in wool and felt until only his face showed. He snorted: ?In Dakar my lord the Emir have… has powerful machine, his hakims make. Wind turns, much thump. Pistons. Makes ice come. Put in drink juice on hot day. Ice is very good there.?

  Rudi felt his legs flex and turn to take the rocking motion of the deck; it was easier than a trick like standing in the saddle of a galloping horse. Mathilda smiled at him a little shakily, her face pale, but she faced into the breeze and breathed deeply and grew steadier. Edain smiled as well-and then rushed for the leeward rail. Asgerd followed him and waited politely until the first racking heaves were over, then offered him a cup of water from one of the butts. When he?d spat and cleared his mouth, she asked sweetly: ?Feeling better, master bowman? Hunger weakens a man, they say. What you need is food.? ?Please-errrrk-? ?Why not have some fried fat salt pork, nearly fresh? Or cod cooked in cream with onions-?

  Edain gave a wordless cry and dashed back to the rail. Half the watchers laughed, except for a few hanging over it themselves. The rest mostly grinned; even Matti did, and she was usually tenderhearted and liked Edain well. Virginia Kane-Virginia Thurston now, since Lady Heidhveig laid the Hammer in her lap at the handfasting ceremony two days ago-fairly staggered about hooting with mirth. Fred Thurston was looking a little queasy himself, but not enough to join the fish-feeding chorus line.

  Seasickness was one of those things everyone found humorous except the sufferer, who wished for death and wasn?t granted it. The only one wholly sympathetic was Garbh, who curled against Edain with whines and nuzzles and ears laid back above anxious eyes.

  But it can be no joke, if it goes on long enough, for weeks of sweating misery. I don?t think any here will. Edain always runs to the rail and always recovers quickly, if I remember our boating trips rightly. ?We keep this tack,? Abdou said to Rudi, after he?d cocked a tolerant eye at the sufferers and their audience.?Long tack, as long as wind is steady. Like… so.?

  He pointed southeast.?Clear Cape Cod. Then turn for Sorcerer?s Isle. Maybe have to beat up into Sound; that take more time, more work.?

  And to be sure, his English is much better when it comes to nautical matters. ?How long?? Rudi asked.

  He could feel his skin itching with the need, now. The Sword glowed in his mind, brighter than the winter dawn. ?Seven days, maybe. Winds… might come on storm; then have to run for open ocean get sea room. Inshallah.?

  Rudi sighed. Every man has a right to his faith. But I could come to hate that word, sure and I could.

  In the meantime… ?All of you!? he called.?Those who aren?t tending the rigging. We?ll drill with these deck engines; there?s plenty of ammunition-?

  Or at least plenty of roundshot beautifully worked from heavy granite, which the corsairs used for ballast. The four-foot javelins and globes of napalm the engines could also throw were far too valuable to use here where they couldn?t be recovered. ?-and it?s my thought the work will do us no harm.?

  Edain and the other sufferers mostly staggered erect at that; something to distract them from their miseries would be good… and somehow he doubted it would be a simple matter of sailing, this last league of his quest. Mathilda came to his side after the exercise was over. Most were set to sparring with individual weapons, but the two of them had done more than their share of the artillery practice.

  Sparring on crowded, shifting ship timber required learning new reflexes. Once again he noticed how Abdou and his folk ignored her and the other women; he wasn?t sure if that was courtesy, scorn, or a mixture of both. Mathilda was beginning to notice it too, and in no kindly spirit. ?What do you think of our Norrheimers, acushla?? he asked her.

  Quickly appraising people and how to get the best from them was the most basic of the ruler?s arts, or a commander?s. She turned to the matter seriously at once; the daughter of Sandra and Norman Arminger would always take the trade of kingcraft seriously. He felt a sudden rush of warmth as he watched her frown and wind a lock of seal-brown hair around one forefinger. If he was to be High King, there would always be someone by his side he could share all his mind with. And their strengths and weaknesses complemented each other; he was a better field commander, though she was far from bad at it, but she excelled him equally on the administrative side. ?Most of them were… good enough,? she said thoughtfully.

  They?d sworn in seven new recruits in Eriksgarth; one had died in the street fighting against the Cutters and their pirate allies, and another had been too badly wounded to come along afterwards. They?d both been fair-to-middling youngsters, and too little-known for him to feel any great personal grief beyond the regret a lord had for any follower who fell. Still, leading men into battle meant accepting that some would die. That was a cost of doing business, and he didn?t ask anyone to risk what he would not. Three of the remainder were promising beginners, luckier than their fallen friends rather than more skillful. Two… ?Hrolf Homersson is the best of them,? Mathilda said, watching the exercise.?Remarkable, in fact.?

  Rudi nodded; the man gave a guttural shout as he leapt to the rail and back and again, swinging his great ax against a target dancing on the end of a pole and turning the massive weapon as if it were a willow switch. The light on the honed edge made sparkling patterns, cold as the wind that keened and whipped bits of ice from the rigging. ?He?s as strong as I,? Rudi said.?Maybe a bit more, in fact.?

  He was about three inches taller than the Mackenzie, and considerably heavier too. Not as fast, but not a lumbering ox either. More of a?swift enough,? and thoroughly agile too, which wasn?t quite the same thing. He had a mouse-brown beard that he wore in a braid that reached halfway down his chest, and his long ax bore a war hammer?s serrated head opposite the curved blade. ?Though I wouldn?t have thought even a man that size could use that… that thing… effectively,? Mathilda said.?He can, though. Blasted right through a lot of parries and he never had to hit the same man twice.?

  She winced slightly; some of the wounds it had dealt had been grisly even among the usual butcher?s-shop horrors of a battlefield ruled by edged metal driven with desperate strength and savagery. Speed let you dodge or block a blow. Weight and strength could make it count even so, crush a shield or brush aside or snap a parrying blade. ?I wouldn?t care to stand and take a blow from it, even in a suit of plate,? Rudi agreed.?Ulfhild the Black there is next on that list, I think.?

  She was not actually very dark; black of hair and eye and with skin of a medium olive. Back home he?d have thought she was Hispano with a fair dash of Indian and nothing remarkable, but those looks were much rarer here-and the Norrheimers thought beauty in a woman meant fairness. All their songs and legends spoke of women who looked lik
e Asgerd, or Rudi?s half sisters, or their mother, Signe, and aunt Astrid. That must have been a burden to her, that and the small-eyed, heavy-jawed looks that were three notches down from Mathilda?s pretty-plain features even in the flush of youth. She was about Mathilda?s five-eight-and-a-bit, too, but thirty or forty pounds heavier; not fat but solid and…

  Meaty, he thought.

  Ingolf stumbled back with a yell as her blunt, padded lath practice blade slammed painfully under his mail-clad ribs in a wicked rising stroke before he could get his shield in the way. The narrow edge of a live steel sword might well have broken bone there, could possibly have severed the rings and would certainly have hurt badly. ?Fast as a viper,? Rudi said approvingly.

  Not as fast as he, but he?d only met two warriors in all the world who were. Both were women, oddly enough: Tiphaine d?Ath and Lady Astrid of the Rangers. Though perhaps not so very oddly. Fighting women were less common than men even among Mackenzies or Dunedain and still more so elsewhere, but the ones who stuck with it as a trade and survived any length of time tended to be exceptional. They had to be, and the way for a woman to excel at weapon play was to be very quick indeed. ?Perfect balance, too, even on a pitching deck and this the first time for her at that,? Rudi continued.?Good technique, though there?s room for improvement there. And plenty of fire in the belly. Ulfhild will be valuable, I?m thinking.? ?Yes, you?re right,? Matti said, while her lips made a moue.?But I don?t like her. She?s… disagreeable.?

  Rudi nodded; that was true too. Sour, in fact; short-spoken to the point of rudeness, and sullen. Folk like that could be formidable fighters, but they could also breed trouble in a war band. Rudi thought there was a little more in Mathilda?s expression of distaste. He wasn?t vain of his looks, and the other sex were less affected by sheer eye-comeliness than men anyway, but he could tell total disinterest when it flicked across him in a woman?s gaze.

  He kept his thoughts there to a raised eyebrow and did not say: the Grand Constable and Lady Delia don?t make you frown that way, now!

  Saving things like incest or oaths of fidelity Mackenzies just didn?t care who lay with who or how, as long as all parties were of age and consenting. The Goddess Herself had said All acts of love and pleasure are My rituals. Catholics had more things that were geasa, forbidden. Sins, in their terms. In his experience they also broke their taboos more often than his clansfolk did, and were more likely to practice hypocrisy, and also to wrack themselves with guilt.

  Indeed, sometimes they?re happier to wallow in guilt at a sin than to avoid it in the first place! I don?t know exactly how the Norrheimers arrange such matters, but they?re more straitlaced than we, I think. How most tribes of humankind do make tangles for themselves!

  A snort told him Mathilda had been following his thoughts with uncomfortable precision. That had been happening more and more; they?d always been close, but now they?d been so long in each other?s sporrans it was becoming a little eerie at times. ?It just struck me,? he said casually,?that if I?m to be High King of all Montival, it won?t do to be saying: Well, and how simple it would be, if only you poor deluded fools would do things sensibly, as Mackenzies do!? ?I can remember how much doing that made everyone love you in Association territory,? she said dryly, and nudged him in the ribs.?A couple of times.? ?Well, I get on well enough with Father Ignatius,? he said.?And Abbot Dmwoski at Mt. Angel.? ?That?s not going to help you with all the Catholics,? Mathilda said.?I like the Order of the Shield myself-they?re mostly very holy men, and to tell you the truth I think Father Ignatius is a saint-but a lot of the secular clergy and some of the other Orders really dislike them, so you can?t show them too much favor. You?ll have to watch that.? ?I?ll have you to watch it for me, praise the Gods!?

  She shook her head vehemently.?No, Rudi. Artos! You?ll need to handle the Church directly, and not just in Portland?s territory. I can be Lady Protector there, but you?ll have to deal with the Archbishop-Cardinal; he?ll be Rome?s man to head the Church in the whole realm. That?s not just… preaching and the sacraments… that?s land, that?s wealth and influence, that?s power. It?s the only two universities in Montival apart from Corvallis, too.?

  Rudi mock-groaned.?Next you?ll be saying I need to think about taxes!? ?You do,? Mathilda said bluntly.?A King needs his own revenues, that nobody else can interrupt, so-? ?So he can reward his supporters, yes, and buy weapons and make gifts and give aid in times of disaster. Matti, I?m not altogether gormless!?

  She flashed a smile.?Sorry, darling. You?ll have the Lord Protector?s lands and dues and tithes through me, and so will our heir-?

  He winked at her, and she blushed and continued doggedly:?But that will make its own problems.? ?Portland already weighs heavier in the realms of the Meeting than many like, true. But there?s Fred.?

  They both looked over to where the son of the first President of Boise was testing his long saber against Asgerd?s sword and shield. ?When he?s President there, he?s promised me that the US of Boise shall be part of Montival. It was his father?s dream to reunite the lands… and if this is a bit of a different way to do it, he?s content with that.? ?And he doesn?t insist on being the one ruling the whole, unlike his elder brother,? she said.?I?m glad. I like him, but I wouldn?t risk our chil drens? inheritance just on that. Fred keeps his oaths, though; he?ll be a good vassal.? ?There is that. He hasn?t decided how to settle the succession there-?

  Mathilda smiled grimly; for a moment she looked very much like her mother, though in face and form she took more after Norman Arminger. When she spoke her voice was definite: ?I?ve come to know Virginia. Unless she?s childless, it?s settled. He just doesn?t know it quite yet.?

  Rudi shrugged; it wasn?t all that important. Fred was a young man yet, younger than Rudi. Any reasonable length of reign would make things solid. ?And Boise is smaller than the Association lands, but it has more than twice the population and wealth,? he said.?That?ll keep things in balance; that and bringing Pendleton and the rest of the eastern plains into the kingdom. For the future… there?s all the lands to the south of Ashland, empty.?

  She chuckled.?Mom?s Westria Project.?

  They shared the joke, and Rudi went on airily:?There?s just the little matter of beating the Prophet and Martin Thurston of Boise, the creatures, before we set all in order.?

  She nodded and took his arm.?No great problem.?

  He looked out to sea to hide the bleakness that rested in his eyes for a moment.

  I calculate our odds as about even, when we have the Sword. And even then… how many will live to see the victory? How many will lie for the scald crows? There are victories that leave you with wounds that cannot fully heal. And not just in the Histories of the Dunedain. ?Well, then, that?s the fate of the High West settled,? Rudi said. ?Now let?s keep our fearless followers from recalling their stomachs by working them a bit more. You take one half, I the other, and we?ll play at storming and defending the poop deck by turns, eh??

  He leapt lightly down to the main deck; despite his two-hundred-odd pounds of bone and muscle and armor he landed lightly as a cat. ?All of you! We have to learn to fight with a ship as a battlefield. We?ll divide into two teams and each into three squads. Hrolf Blood-ax and Ulfhild Swift-sword, you?ll be with me…?

  The big Bjorning grinned, setting aside his murderous weapon for the practice version. Ulfhild nodded silently, but her face flushed with pleasure at the new use-name.

  TheSwordoftheLady

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CORSAIR SCHOONER BOU EL-MOGDAD APPROACHING NANTUCKET JANUARY 16,

  CHANGE YEAR 24/2023 AD

  Dawn made shadows across the moving deck. Rudi stretched and drew his sword, saluted the glow where the rising sun was about to break over the horizon and began a slow routine that gradually quickened. There was enough space on the main deck just behind the foremast to work out, if you were careful-and being careful was part of the training. A longsword and a tall man?s arm had a great deal of reach, but endless practice had given him a reflexive grasp of where every bit of edge and p
oint would go. It wasn?t quite as certain on the pitching deck of a ship, and he needed to do better with that.

  A little like horseback, but not entirely. It?s fortunate indeed that I enjoy the sword, he thought. For I?d have to spend just as much time at it if I didn?t. Also, I wouldn?t be as good at it, and would die… die sooner, at least.

  When he finished he was sweating despite the cold that bit at his nose and ears and made the inside of his nostrils stick occasionally. He steamed a little, in fact, and not just the deep puffs of white breath. That warmth wouldn?t last more than a few seconds if he stayed still, with this wind out of the northeast that lashed his shoulder-length mane backward from his face beneath the headband. He sheathed the sword on the belt hung from a belaying pin in the collar around the mast, put his waterproof parka back on and buckled on the belt over it. Nobody else but the deck watch was up yet. This was the day they expected to make landfall, and the hold was stuffy and crowded, but the others preferred it to early rising.

  Or most did. Someone was standing on the fantail by the war engine; he recognized a Bjorning voice, and a woman?s-not Asgerd, but deeper and rougher. Ulfhild Swift-sword, then. And she was chanting softly, facing northwards along the white track of the schooner?s wake, with arms raised at either side and palms upward. There was a dreamy yearning in her tone that made him blink in surprise. ?Skadhi, shining goddess

  Hear me, ice-bright beauty

  Your winter white wards Midgard

  As Ulfhild sails the whale?s-bath

  To drighten lord is oath-bound

  Ring-giver fares to Utgard

  And Skadhi?s shield-maid follows

  Yare am I for battle

  So Skadhi, stand by Ulfhild

  She-wolf fights?gainst trollcraft

  Holy huntress, help me!? ?People will always surprise you,? Rudi murmured very softly to himself.?For their minds turn upon themselves in coil and counter-coil. We do not ever know ourselves completely. How can we know another??