by John Dalmas
Among the hillsmen, tanners were the glue makers, too. They'd made the glue to glue pieces of hickory together, because suitable single-piece shields were tricky to make, and gluing would often be necessary. Bull hides would then be stretched over them, shrunken into place and hardened. Finally iron cross bands would be riveted on, and bosses and hooks added. And when squads got their shields, they'd begin a simple shield-training regimen borrowed from the militia at Wolf Springs.
Payment for shields, as for much else, would be in captured silver, army horses, and if need be, chits.
***
After the sixth day, though, the continued lack of response from Liiset began to gnaw on Macurdy's mind. What was the holdup? He'd gotten the impression they were eager. Did they plan a surprise? Treachery? Something to give them leverage?
Meanwhile, on Macurdy's fourth day back from the Dales, Kithro had come to his tent, where he sat talking with Melody and Jeremid after supper. "Fengal's been telling an interesting story," Kithro said.
"Oh? What's that?"
"The story of what you found over below Laurel Notch: a set of human bones. He said you dropped to your knees, looked into the eyes of the skull, yelped a cry, and fell on your face in some kind of trance."
"I can't vouch for the yelp, but the rest sounds about right."
"He says you lay there for quite a while, babbling like someone in their sleep. Talking in other people's voices about ylver and Ferny Cove and other things that meant nothing to him. And woke up mumbling about having seen everything that happened there."
"Huh! I never thought he'd talk about it. I'm disappointed in him."
Kithro shook his head. "A boy like that, seeing and hearing what he did, couldn't be expected to keep his mouth shut. And he's done you a favor-done us all a favor-because the story's spread all through camp."
Kithro paused. "My people used to have shamans. Till Gurtho's great-grandfather executed most of them; them and their progenies. Claimed they'd been a source of agitation. After the slaughter, the people lost faith in shamanism and the favor of God. There's a few villages still have someone who calls himself a shaman, but their magic doesn't amount to much. For healing, we depend mostly on old women with a few simple spells and a knowledge of herbs.
"Then you came around and made fire with a wave of the hand, and grew new teeth. Now there's this story of Fengal's. The men have gotten excited about it. They consider you a shaman warrior for sure, now. A shaman of power."
He looked meaningfully at Macurdy. "I thought you ought to know," he said, then left, the others watching him go.
"Hmh!" Melody looked accusingly at Macurdy. "You didn't tell me any of that." She turned to Jeremid. "Did he tell you?"
"Nope." He raised an eyebrow at Macurdy. "How about it?"
Macurdy grunted. "I guess I should," he said, and began.
On the eleventh day, he had an answer that explained the delay: Sarkia had come to Tekalos, was at the palace with a company of guardsmen and one of Tigers. She wanted to meet with him outside Gormin Town, at the junction of the North Fork Road and the Valley Highway, in four days.
The message arrived in midafternoon. Haltingly he read it to himself, and again after supper to Melody sitting across from him, and Jeremid at his elbow.
"Sarkia," Melody said when he'd finished. Her face was very serious. "She's supposed to be the greatest sorcerer in the world. Don't go, Macurdy."
"Do you think she'll put a spell on me? Catch my soul in a bottle? Scramble my brain?"
She peered at him unhappily. His expression was calm, matter of fact. "She'll try something," she answered.
He remembered how easily Varia had influenced him, that night in Indiana. But it hadn't been sorcery that got him in bed with her, though it had gotten him to her house. And he'd been an innocent then, ignorant, a psychic virgin. Yet even so, in the morning he'd had second thoughts about marriage, objections she'd had to answer.
"I've got the talent," he said, "and I've had some training. She can't make me do what I don't want to." And there's a lot at stake here for me. There's no other way I can hope to get Varia back. None at all.
"These Tigers," Jeremid said. "Are they as good as I've heard, do you suppose?"
Macurdy shrugged. "I guess that depends on how good you've heard. Varia mentioned them once; she thought they were the best. Savage, highly skilled, and stronger than other men. And they won't be tentative like the people we've been fighting."
Jeremid gestured at the paper lying on the table. "Why do you suppose Sarkia mentioned them in her message?"
"I can only guess. Maybe she wants to scare me. Added to Gurtho's cohort, just a company of Tigers could make a big difference. Even without Gurtho's cohort, a company of guards and one of Tigers makes it too dangerous to take a cohort south to capture her. Not that I would."
"They could be to keep us from rescuing you, if she takes you prisoner," Melody said.
"True. But it doesn't feel like anything to worry about."
"You're going to go regardless of what we think," Melody said. "Are you going to take a bodyguard? Besides the escort who'll ride down there with you? Someone who'll be beside you during the meeting?"
Macurdy grinned at her. "Who have you got in mind?"
She grinned back ruefully. "Me."
"If I was going to take someone, it would be you." And let them think maybe I have a new love. Let them feel they have to offer more. But if something does go wrong…
"But you're not taking anyone."
"Right."
"What about Wollerda?" Jeremid asked.
"That's the next big question." Macurdy plucked a sheet of paper from a small stack, then reached for his inkwell. "I want you to write a message to him, for me to sign."
Blue Wing carried the message and brought back Wollerda's answer: Macurdy could meet with Sarkia but make no final commitment. If he failed to return, Wollerda would accept Jeremid as Macurdy's successor. If Macurdy's Force elected someone other than Jeremid as their new commander, Wollerda was not committed to work with him, although he'd consider it.
Usually Macurdy slept well, and the night before leaving was no exception. The officer of the guard wakened him at the first light of dawn, and he got up feeling exhilarated. He and his escort of ten men were in the saddle and on their way before sunup. Despite the unknowns, Macurdy's sense of strength and confidence grew as he rode. He wasn't euphoric or ecstatic, just alert and confident, sure of himself. This would work out.
The state persisted through the morning.
Near midday, in the distance, he could see the inn at the crossroads. He'd assumed that Sarkia intended to sit down with him there, but almost as soon as he made out the inn, he saw what looked to be a tent, a large pavilion erected on the other side of the North Fork Road. Shortly a dozen men were riding northward toward him at a brisk trot, and after closing the distance somewhat, he halted his escort to wait. The reception party stopped a hundred feet away, sitting its horses in precise ranks. Two of its members rode the rest of the way at a sedate walk. Macurdy had no doubt that they were Sarkia's rather than Gurtho's. Mounted on beautifully matched black horses, they wore black uniforms with polished cuirasses and helmets that, from where he sat, looked to be silver. The two who came to meet him wore clusters of long scarlet ribbons from their helmet peaks.
"You are Commander Macurdy?" one of them asked. He showed no hauteur, despite the rebels' rough clothes and casual ranks, nor did his aura show anything like scorn.
"That's right."
"If you are prepared to meet now with the Dynast, I am instructed to conduct you to her. A meal is being prepared for her and yourself. Your men will eat with us if you wish, or they can eat apart."
"Where do I meet her? In the tent?"
"In the pavilion. Correct."
"My men will eat at the inn. I'm ready to meet the Dynast, the sooner the better."
The guard officer nodded. "Follow me, please." Macurdy turned, called an o
rder, and his men fell in behind the guardsmen while their commander rode beside his guide.
The pavilion, as he neared it, impressed him. Its vivid red, white, and gold roof and wall panels were brighter than he'd have thought possible. (He'd heard that among other things, the Sisterhood made expensive dyes.) Segments of the walls had been rolled up for ventilation. As he drew even with the inn, Macurdy gave another order and his men turned off, riding to the stable beside it. His air of confidence was so strong, so clean, that none of them faltered in leaving their shaman/commander unguarded. He turned the other way and followed his guide to the pavilion, where he dismounted, handing over his horse to a guardsman-orderly.
At the entrance, the leader of his escort reported to a Sister that this was Commander Macurdy. The woman disappeared inside, and two minutes later another came to meet him. For just a moment he thought she was Idri, whom he'd seen but once. But neither aura nor eyes fitted what he knew of her. An Idri look-alike, he realized, as Liiset looked like Varia.
"Commander Macurdy," she said, "the Dynast will see you now."
"Will she? I'm here at her invitation, and I've had a long ride. I need something to drink first, and take a crap."
The woman's aura hardly reacted to his deliberate crudity. "Drink and lunch are both served in the Dynast's room," she answered. "Oran will show you to the guards' latrine."
Macurdy didn't really need to go. He'd been establishing his independence. Following Oran into the latrine, he released the little water he'd accumulated. There were washbasins on a trestle table, bars of white soap, and pitchers of water. On a fresh bar, the name "IVORY" was stamped. From Farside then, probably brought from Ferny Cove.
When Oran returned him to the entrance, the woman still waited. "I don't know your name," he said.
"I am Lariin," she answered.
"Lariin. Right. I'm ready."
He went inside with her, feeling primed but at ease, and found himself in a corridor walled with golden yellow cloth. Its ceiling was much lower than the roof, to help keep the pavilion from overheating in the sun, he supposed. At the corridor's end he found the Dynast in what he decided was a reception room, rather than her living quarters. Its furnishings seemed too fine for even such a tent as this: a handsome table, waxed and burnished, with inlaid squares of some pale wood, paler than white oak, alternating with what he recognized as black walnut: a mosaic of old ivory and rich dark brown. There were matched, upholstered chairs as well, and a small buffet. The room was open to the west, the direction of the breeze.
Three women got to their feet as he entered. Liiset. And Idri; that was a surprise. And what could only be the Dynast herself, looking physically no older than the others, though there could be no doubt she was. And somehow it seemed to him he had little to fear from her.
Her gaze was inscrutable, her aura calm. "So you are Curtis Macurdy," she said.
"I am. And you're Sarkia. And that ugly bitch on your right is Idri." He turned his eyes to Varia's kidnapper. "If I'd known back in Evansville what kind of vicious sow you are, I'd have wrung your humping neck and stuffed you down a privy."
His gaze shifted to Sarkia. "Just so we understand each other."
Idri flushed, her aura flaring dark with anger. Sarkia was coolly amused. "It seems I needn't worry that you won't speak your mind; Varia did an outstanding job of selecting her second husband. Had I been consulted, I'd have left her on Farside, with the understanding that she provide us with litters by you. There'd have been no difficulty in leaving one of each to gladden your personal lives there.
"But I can hardly condemn Idri, for if she hadn't stolen Varia from you, I'd never have had this opportunity. You are even more-far more attractive to me as a leader and general than as the sire of children. Although my Sisters would be more than happy to provide you with company, if you'd like. I'm sure you'd find any of them quite accomplished in bed. And Liiset is much like Varia; she could warm your nights nicely until you get your wife back." The Dynast eyed him appraisingly. "No? Perhaps Idri then. You could consider it revenge of a sort, and she's notoriously good in bed."
Sarkia's face and voice were pleasant and matter-of-fact. Even her aura showed no particular emotion. But beneath it all she was cold. She could pet a kitten, he told himself, then throw it in with the hounds to see if they'd kill it.
"That's not the kind of vengeance I had in mind," he answered, then turned the conversation to business. "Liiset told me you want an alliance. Between you and Gurtho and the rebels, with me as your general. The fact that I'm here now tells you I'm interested. But I owe my rebels more than just fighting. What they want is their independence, and I won't accept less for them."
"What would your Kullvordi think of playing a special role in the kingdom of Tekalos, with you as its king? And Varia your queen. I have no doubt you can produce worthy heirs, and your hillsmen could provide your royal guard; indeed the core of your army."
Macurdy's eyes were steady. He didn't trust the Dynast yet, even on a provisional level. "You sketch a nice picture," he said. "Where would the Sisterhood fit in it?"
"We want the opportunity to produce and nurture a new race, free of the empire's threat. For that, we need all the realms from the Green River Valley to the Big River united in an alliance. And for any such alliance to persist and be truly strong, the kings must be strong and able, ruling without constant serious injustices, and the rebellions, and wars between kingdoms, that grow out of those injustices."
"And Gurtho?"
"Gurtho has helped bring us you. It seems that was his function. His talents are few and his weaknesses a liability. Once we have an alliance, we will dispose of him."
Macurdy nodded. She's cold as ice, he thought. What he said next took them both by surprise. "You mentioned vengeance and Idri. Have her killed now, in front of me, and we'll talk alliance."
Sarkia's face froze, shocked ugly. "I will not!" she hissed. "There are limits!"
Ah! Even to your self-control. "Limits? Good! That's what I needed to know. All right, let's look at the military and political possibilities. If the prospects seem reasonable, we can discuss how to go about things."
They met for three days. Idri was always present, her hatred of Macurdy suppressed and controlled but always there, showing in her aura. Perhaps, he thought, Sarkia didn't trust her to be with Gurtho in her present frame of mind.
Each evening Macurdy returned to the inn and his escort, and dictated a summary message for Wollerda. One of his guards wrote it; Macurdy could read Yuultal, laboriously, but its spellings were phonetically somewhat obsolete, and his own quite nonstandard.
In the morning, Blue Wing carried it to Wollerda. And each evening, Blue Wing brought Wollerda's answer. Wollerda was leery of the Sisterhood, but as long as the discussions were exploratory and no commitments were made… What he'd like was an agreement that removed Gurtho without more killing, or a minimum of it, but invading the empire he considered out of the question. It was altogether too strong for that.
On the other hand, Wollerda considered a defensive alliance among the kingdoms very desirable. And while negotiations were in progress, the rebel armies were growing, arming, and training.
31: Dialog
" ^ "
There was a quicker route between the two rebel bases than the long rugged way through forested hills. And with their improved military position, and the abeyance of hostilities, the commanders now took that route from opposite ends, to meet at a tiny, out-of-the-way flatlander village. At what passed for an inn, but was more of a local tap house with a single room for occasional travelers. Macurdy hired it, and he and Wollerda sat across a table from each other, Wollerda's aide at one end taking notes, and a pitcher of sassafras tea at the other. Two companies of fighting men lounged outside, and guards were stationed at the door.
"Invade the empire!?" Wollerda asked. "She's crazy. It's larger than all the southern kingdoms combined, has a lot more people, and it's far better organized. Each of its
dukedoms-there's probably fifteen or twenty-has an army maybe as large as Gurtho's; better trained anyway. Then the emperor has the Throne Army, probably five times as large, and there are garrisons in the Marches."
He peered intently at Macurdy. "And you said?"
"I agreed to talk to you about it. What I want to do now is look at all the factors. What about the Marches? The empire conquered them and holds them down, and I suppose it taxes them. What if they revolt when we march in?"
"Unlikely."
"Why unlikely?"
"I suppose Sarkia thinks they will."
Macurdy nodded.
"Sarkia believes what she wants to. I've only been in two of the March kingdoms, but that's two more than she has, I have no doubt. And they were conquered, true enough, but oppressed? Under imperial hegemony, they've grown richer, their conditions of life are improved, they rule themselves better, and they no longer fight each other. There are probably resentments, maybe some with good cause, but the people I did business with-merchants and prosperous farmers-like things the way they are. I expect the rest don't feel too differently."
Macurdy pursed his lips. "What armies do they have?"
"The March kingdoms? Militias. Of volunteers. My impression is, they don't take it seriously. They know, even if Sarkia doesn't, that the empire will protect them. So they don't consider themselves threatened."
"What about the ylvin garrisons?"
"What I've read is, one fort in each March kingdom, with a cavalry cohort stationed there."
"And how ready do you suppose the empire is for war?"
"Hmm. Probably not very. But it could get ready fast enough, if it felt threatened."