The Sword of the Lady

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FREE REPUBLIC OF RICHLAND

SHERIFFRY OF READSTOWN

(FORMERLY SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN) OCTOBER 8, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

'Getting close,'Ingolf said, rubbing a hand down the neck of his mount.'Soo, Boy, soo,' he said to the horse.'You'll get a good feed here, even if you were foaled in Nebraska.'

Rudi Mackenzie nodded, tactfully ignoring the slight hoarseness in the other man's voice, as if he were choking back unexpected tears; Ingolf's face was an iron mask locked against a surge of feeling.

A Mackenzie-any who were Changelings, at least-would weep, returning home after so long, Rudi thought. But customs differ from land to land, and so do the stamp they set on our souls. Wouldn't it be a duller world, if they did not, so'

It was a bright fall afternoon, comfortable but with an underlying nip to it. This was farm-and-forest country, but you could tell that the North Woods started not so far away, and that the Wheel of the Year was turning towards the Crone's dominion, in a land harsher than Oregon Than Montival, he reminded himself; it was growing natural.

As they rode north along the valley of the Kickapoo from the hamlet at Soldier's Grove the fields had quickly gone back to scrub and saplings, the usual story of more land than the survivors of the Change had means or reason to till when they no longer used machines to feed cities far away. But for the last hour or two the signs of human habitation had grown thicker again, first the chewed look of land used for rough summer grazing, then fields and the odd farmhouse behind its berm and ditch and barbed wire or palisade.

Often there was a wary twinkle of spearheads from the defenses or a fighting platform built atop an old silo, or the sight of livestock being driven up the slope of the land towards the woods; just what you'd expect from sensible folk when scores of armed strangers passed by. That alarm diminished as they went, until men and a few women came out to watch them pass with no more than a little caution… and weapons in their hands.

Then Ingolf laughed aloud as they came upon a man-high oak stump not far from the road. It was roughly carved into the shape of a naked big-nosed troll, but despite the crude work you could see a look of ineffable self-satisfaction on its face and in the way its hands folded across a swag belly; from the weathering and moss, it was at least a decade old and perhaps more. In Mackenzie or Bearkiller territory Rudi would have thought it a roadside shrine, but he doubted that was the purpose here and looked a question at the Readstown man. 'I did that,' Ingolf said, a chuckle still in his voice.'Well, me and Bert Kuykendall and Carl Heisz and Will Uhe, when we were all about twelve. It's the spitting image of old Bossman Al, Al Clements. He came up from Richland Center that year, doing a tour of his Sheriffs' homeplaces. We snuck out and worked on it after dark, kept it under a pile of brush until the day, and he went right past it and turned… what's that color, sort of like purple…' 'Puce,' Mary Havel put in, sharing her man's good humor. 'Yah, puce. Dad wore out a hickory switch on Bert and Carl and Will, and two more on me for setting a bad example, but it was worth sitting down careful for a while. Surprised Ed didn't have it cut down; he isn't… wasn't… much of a man for a joke.' 'Why didn't your father do just that and take an ax to it, if he was angry, and it annoyed his overlord'' 'He wouldn't give Clements the satisfaction. Never liked the man. I think he laughed about it to himself, despite the merry hell he gave all four of us. Dad was a hard man on his sons, but he expected us to push back at him. Wanted it too, I think.' 'Ah, and are you also thinking those three friends of your youth will be there to greet you'' Rudi said.

The smile died.'All dead now. Will put a pitchfork through his foot while he was loading manure that year. He was always a dreamy sort. Got lockjaw, poor bastard.' 'A hard passing,' Rudi said sympathetically, nodding; they'd had drugs for that in the old days, but…

Ingolf shrugged.'What way isn't' Unless someone hits you on the head with an ax when you're not expecting it. Bert and Carl volunteered for the Sioux War and left home with me… Bert got an arrow in the eye a couple of weeks later. We weren't even to Marshall yet and he wasn't eighteen when it happened-night attack, just dumb bad luck and our not knowing what the fuck we were doing. Carl was bushwhacked by Eaters in Boston, that last salvage trip east my Villains made. But we collected the head-price for him, and piled the ears on his grave.'

Rudi nodded again; he'd have expected no less; Ingolf wasn't a man to let a comrade go unavenged. 'Ritva, Mary,' he said.'Ride ahead and see to our welcome.'

He reached into his saddlebag and held out a large envelope. 'They'll have had scouts watching, unless Ed's let things slip,' Ingolf said.'And odds are someone came ahead when we got off the ship and said who we were and where we were going; they'd have gotten here yesterday, riding fast and switching horses. You can't drag this many people through the countryside tactfully, but nobody's looking too upset over us. They must have some idea who we are.' 'To be sure. But I'm thinking it's best to be formal.' 'With my brother Ed' Yah, you betcha. Always was a stickler.'

The twins reined around; Ritva took the envelope and Mary paused for an instant to reach out and touch Ingolf's hand before she leaned forward and brought her Arab mare, Rochael, up to a canter with a shift of balance.

Rudi waited for another fifteen minutes of travel amid the stuttering clop of scores of hooves, creak of saddle and harness, grind of wheels and the thud as one rose and fell over a rock in the roadway, then threw up his clenched right fist. The long caravan came slowly to a halt behind him, with a squeal of brakes and a neighing of horses and curses in two languages and several dialects. There were six big wagons there, and nearly a hundred folk.

It's a migration, not a quest! he thought. The which is a giant flag to attract attention and an inconvenience, so it is. Finding three pounds of food per head per day… it's a lesson in logistics! Or a pain in the arse. But the Southsiders will be worth their weight in gold farther east-more than worth it, for the savages don't want to eat gold.

Then aloud:'We'll await them here. It's… polite.'

His comrades followed his example as he dismounted, stretching and twisting in relief; it had been a long day in the saddle. Virginia Kane didn't only twist and reach, but frankly rubbed and kneaded her buttocks. 'I got outta condition in Iowa,' she said.' And on that damn boat. Too much sittin', not enough ridin'.' 'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Fred Thurston said to her.'It makes me want to do it too.' 'What, rub your butt' Why not' We ain't none of us picky about parlor manners, that I noticed.'Cept Odard, and that's his problem.'

The baron of Gervais bowed and blew her a kiss, which she answered with a raised finger. Fred grinned and replied: 'No, it makes me want to rub yours.' 'Now you're talkin', lover boy!'

She unhitched her lariat from the saddle and swatted him on the backside with the coil. 'Let's go get those remounts bridled and on leading reins; they'll be skittish'round strange horses. More fun than talking anyhow. 'Specially talkin' to farmers.'

She looked around at the valley that held Readstown.'This country's too… too crowded with country, you ask me. I feel like I'm stuck in a closet and something's hidin' behind them hills and trees.' 'You know, Chief, the Rocky Mountains were grand,' Edain said, when she'd dropped back.

They stood with the breeze cuffing at their plaids and ruffling the raven feathers in the clasp of his flat bonnet, the tuft of wolf fur in Edain's.

The young man of the Wolf totem went on, with a glance at Virginia over his shoulder where she was roping a skittish piebald: 'And the deserts, and the plains-well, the Lord and Lady made all lands beautiful in their own way, but after a while the flatlands had me feelin' like a bug on a tabletop, and someone about to swat me and say sorry, little brother and flick the body off the table with thumb and finger for Garbh to snap up.'

The big shaggy beast rose at the sound of her name and butted her head under his hand. He ruffled her ears absently and went on as she grinned and squirmed and leaned against him: 'This now… It isn't home, but it's more homelike than most of what we've seen, sure and it is.' 'I had the same buglike feeling on the plains, boyo,' Rudi said. 'It's all where you're raised, I suppose. And this is a delight to the eye, and no mistake.'

It was a pleasure to look around, and at the same time it sent a lance of pain up under his ribs. There was no alarm now, so Ingolf's thought of scouts and messengers preceding them were probably the truth. He saw folk at work in the fields heaving wicker baskets of potatoes onto a wagon, a shepherd with her dogs, a bow across her back and her crook in her hand amid the dun-white flow of her charges, the people of a farmstead laying fresh shingles on their roofs against the coming winter with the raw wood yellow amid the faded brown of the older layers. The tack… tack… of the hammers sounded, faint with distance.

At home they'd be doing those homely tasks too, and hanging Brigid's crosses from the roof-trees, and making the costumes ready for Samhain… 'It's a comely place that bred you, Ingolf, that's a fact,' he said. 'It sure is,' the older man said quietly, a half smile on his battered, bearded face.

He hadn't seen this land since he left as a boy of nineteen, younger than Edain was now. There was a hungry look in his dark blue eyes as he went on: 'Pretty as I remember, and then some. Fair is the land, fair to the harvest… I thought about this a lot, in some real bad places. Seeing myself riding up this road, in my head, you know''

The track their train of jolting wagons had followed up the winding river was dry brown dirt, and deep-rutted where wheels and hooves had churned it during the rains. The old paved road ran down closer to the Kickapoo except where streamside cliffs forced it away, and it looked as if the water had risen and bitten chunks out of it every other season over the past generation, not to mention the locals mining what remained for asphalt. Little was left but patches overrun by vine and shrub and eager sapling.

They were heading more or less northeast, in the strip of cleared land between the river and rolling hills covered in dense forests. The whole area was like that, from where they'd left the ship at the junction of the Kickapoo and the Wisconsin River; low wooded ridges rising to tablelands, and valleys between, one opening into another with creeks flowing down them like the veins in a leaf.

That much you could have gotten from a map, Rudi thought.

But not the way mist lay along the twisting river in drifts of soft-edged silver over water that was icy crystal between the tree-clad banks. Nor how the hills were a rumpled crimson and blush-red and yellow-gold shout of sugar maple and oak, basswood and birch and hickory, punctuated here and there by the solid dark green of hemlock and pine, or occasionally a stretch of cinnamon-colored bare sandstone. The cool musty-clean scent of the autumn woods mingled with a little tang of hearth smoke and the mealy richness of damp turned earth, and an occasional pungent waft of manure. The sky was aching-blue above, empty save for the lonely honking of a wedge of geese, a string of black dots drifting southward.

The breeze gusted stronger, and a flight of leaves soared towards them from a lone maple like tumbling coins of ruddy copper or a swirl of butterflies fashioned from flame. Ingolf's lips moved silently for a moment. Then he surprised the Mackenzie by reciting, absently and under his breath, as if to himself: 'Let this be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he long'd to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.'

It wasn't a poem Rudi had heard before. Though it was lovely, the clansman still made the sign of the Horns against ill luck with his right hand-down on his thigh where it was out of sight from the other man. He'd be melancholy himself, had his wanderings gone on so long before a return that was no true homecoming, but it wasn't a good idea to speak your own memorial aloud that way.

You never knew when Someone with a whimsical sense of humor was listening.

Well, well, he thought, with a sideways glance at his friend. And it's often a man will surprise you, even if you've been long on the road with him and fought and hunted and worked side by side, yes, and drunk beer and sung and laughed together times beyond counting. 'A fine land indeed,' he repeated aloud instead.'Even better than your tales of it.'

Which was true; Ingolf wasn't clumsy of tongue, but he wasn't a bard either, and the land about Readstown deserved one. This country didn't have the endless fat black earth of Iowa, but there was forest in plenty for game and timber and room for the soul to breathe when you were alone in the wildwood, and fast streams for mills and to delight the eye and ear. Between woods and water was the rolling ground where those of humankind made their own particular and ancient pact with Earth the Mother, one born of sweat and hope, pain and love and a lifetime's striving.

The fields were edged with post and board fences, cultivated in gently curving strips along the contours, signs of the only wealth that was really real. Pastures within had the seared green color that came after the first frosts, somehow more vivid for being a bit faded. They were dotted with plump white-and-black spotted milch cows with full udders swinging as they walked, black Angus or red-coated Herefords like bricks of flesh, and horses that ranged from ponies to huge hairy-hoofed draught beasts. There were ranked orchards where a few late apples still glowed, and sheep grazed beneath the neatly trimmed trees or fat brown pigs rooted and snuffled after windfalls. The potato fields were lumpy-brown, already dug and looking untidy as they always did; others had the blue-green mist over earth plowed and harrowed smooth that marked winter wheat or barley. Sprawling pumpkins on their vines were vivid orange between rustling brown tripods of Indian corn in stubblefields.

Here and there solid stone-and-brick farmhouses stood with smoke trailing from their chimneys and those of the cottages that huddled near them like chicks about their mother. Silos reared tall as castle towers from a distance, and thatched wheat ricks in their yards like conical huts of gold. Tatters of red paint clung to hip-roofed barns now mostly the brown-gray of weathered plank, once or twice the odd curved sheet-metal shapes the old world had used just before the end.

Rudi sighed; there wasn't time to admire the view. Right now the inhabitants should be more his concern.

Ritva and Mary came trotting back along the roadway on their dapple-gray Arabs, giving him the peace sign to show their mission had been successful. With them came a party of a dozen locals mounted on strong cobby-nondescript saddle horses of no particular breed. They rode in a creak of leather and hollow thudding clop of shod hooves on soft dirt, grouped around a middle-aged, brown-bearded man who was.. 'Ed,' Ingolf said quietly, as if to himself.'Still looking constipated full-time, I see.'

Edward Vogeler, Rudi thought as the words confirmed his guess.

And he did look tight-mouthed; not as if he never smiled, but as if he thought three times before he did.

Ogma, whose words fall sweet on the ear as honey on the tongue, lend me Your eloquence. A quarrel we do not need, so. It's guesting we seek, and open-handed helpfulness.

Rudi gave the group a warrior's swift instinctive once-over as they reined in, soothing Epona's snort with a hand on her neck. Four wore short mail shirts and kettle helmets like bluntly pointed hats with drooping brims. All had long horseman's shetes and bowie knives at their sword belts, with tomahawks thrust through a loop at the rear. Most had quivers and shields on their backs and recurve bows in saddle scabbards at their knees as well. And they looked as if they would no more go riding abroad without the weapons than they would without their rough practical clothes of home-spun wool and leather or their shapeless floppy-brimmed hats and battered billed caps.

The Sheriff's household retainers and his kin, Rudi judged, as he saw them give him and his followers the same appraisal, like an image in a mirror. What they call'deputies' in these lands.

Not full-time fighting men, but well used to weapons and to working with each other and their lord; probably the core of his war levy, when he called out the land folk, and his right and left hands the rest of the time.

Good practical workmanlike sorts at war, I'd judge, as they would be at felling a tree or hunting a deer or building a house, he thought.

They were big fair men, only half of them old enough to be bearded beyond patchy wisps but nearly all in their full hard-muscled, thick-armed strength; the eyes were light against their weather-beaten tans, hair mostly in various shades of brown and blond and red. Ingolf had told him how this region had been settled by Norski and Deutsch long ago, with a dash of Yankee and Gael, Polaki and Czech and others, all long since melded into a single folk deep-rooted in the land. The way they wore their hair-locks hacked off level with their jaws, beards clipped close-made Rudi suddenly look at his friend again; only now did he realize it was the fashion of his homeland rather than a mere whim.

One of the riders stood out, though he rode towards the rear; he was beardless and ruddy-brown of skin, with high cheeks and long braids confined by a headband, a feather in the band of his broad-brimmed hat and beadwork on the sheath of his bowie. His hair had probably been raven black before it went white and gray, and his face was a net of leathery wrinkles. The Indian nodded gravely to Ingolf as the whole party drew rein and raised his hand in a sign of greeting that the wanderer returned.

The youngest of the Readstown men was about sixteen, with hands and feet a little too big for his gangling height. He looked enough like Ingolf to be his son, save for a mop of yellow hair still streaked with summer's faded tow white. 'Uncle Ingolf!' he called, grinning as if to split his freckled face.'Remember how you put me on my first pony''

Ingolf blinked.'Mark'' he blurted.'Little Markie' Jesus Christ, but you've grown!'

Rudi kept his smile to himself. An exile tended to think that nothing changed in his absence, that home remained like a picture hung on the wall of memory with everything frozen as it was. To think that way below the surface, at least; it would be well to remember that his own homeland was living its own life without him to watch. The thought made his smile die and the longing to ride up the road and see the gates of Dun Juniper even stronger. 'Quiet, son,' the leader of the Readstown men said to the youth. 'Save it for later. This is man talk.'

His voice was gravel-deep and full of the unconscious authority you'd expect in one who wasn't often contradicted in this remote place.

Then, a little awkwardly, leaning forward with his hands on the pommel of his saddle: 'Hello, Ingolf. Good to see you again.' 'You too, Ed,' Ingolf replied.

There was a moment's silence, and then he added:'How's by you' Looks like the harvest was good.' 'Tolerable, around here. Bit of wilt in da alfalfa, lost some sheep to the wolves und a horse with a catamount, but a good year otherwise, so far, touch wood.'

Edward Vogeler, Rudi thought, as the man put a finger to the wood battens on the hilt of his shete.

He'd have guessed so even if they'd met on a city street. The older man might have been his comrade's image, if you added on fifteen years, gray streaks in the beard and forty pounds; he still looked bear-strong despite the beginnings of a pot that strained against the silver buttons of his bloodred mackinaw jacket and the way his hair had receded from a high forehead lined with worry marks. The only obvious difference was a straighter nose lacking the scar and kink Ingolf's had, and eyes that were nearer leaf green than dark blue. 'Ah…' Ingolf hesitated again; he was a proud man.'Sorry I was such a cast-iron prick when I left, Ed.'

He seemed surprised when his brother shrugged slightly and replied: 'When you stomped out, you mean' Runs in the family. All us Vogelers are a bunch of damn stubborn squareheads, yah''

His voice had the same flat-voweled rasp that Ingolf's did, but stronger, not worn down by exposure to other lands. And with a little more of the singsong undertone, plus a tendency to use d instead of th at the beginning of words. He swung down from his horse with a grunt and all his party followed; one of the younger men stepped forward to hold the leader's reins. 'You'd be Rudi Mackenzie'' Ingolf's elder brother said, absently fingering a five-pointed star pinned to his coat.'I'm Edward Vogeler, Sheriff of Readstown and head of the local National Guard.'

The Sheriff offered his hand and gave one brief flick of the eyes at the other's strange clothing. The second glance was one Rudi recognized as well, taking in his height and length of limb and breadth of shoulder, the muscle and thickness of wrist on his arm where the jacket and linsey-woolsey shirt fell back, the scars on hands and face and the use-worn binding on the hilt of his sword, and the fact that it hung from his right hip. A third glance went to Epona where she stood hipshot with her head over Rudi's right shoulder, nipping at his hair now and then; it had a skilled stockbreeder's grave respect for her lines. 'Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie indeed, Sheriff Vogeler,' Rudi said, and inclined his head politely.

He took the strong hard hand, squeezing just enough for mutual respect without foolish games. The calluses reminded him of something Ingolf had said, that Sheriffs hereabouts weren't too proud to put their hand to a plow now and then. 'My sept totem is Raven,' Rudi went on.'Tanist by acclamation of the Clan I am, leader of this troop of traveling mountebanks by the inscrutable whim of the Powers, and glad to meet the kinsman of Ingolf. He's been a tried friend and right-hand man to me through battle, storm and wilderness, with a quick sword and wise counsel, from the western mountains to your steading. And soon he'll be my brother-in-law.'

The Sheriff of Readstown checked again, his eyes going wide for an instant at his brother's grin and nod and Mary's little wave, then handed Rudi back the letters of introduction he'd sent ahead with his half sisters. They now included one from the new Regency Council of Iowa, urgently requesting all possible help for our good friend and ally Rudi Mackenzie.

The Free Republic of Richland was free, if he understood the local politics, but they wouldn't want to antagonize mighty Iowa. Richland's independence suited Des Moines because they would rather not annex its problems; its borders with dangerous bandit-haunted wilderness, and what Iowa's ruling powers thought of as the bad example of its looser system of ranks. There was one from the Cardinal-Archbishop too; Ingolf had told him his elder brother was Catholic, and notably pious, and the Sheriff bowed his head as Father Ignatius signed the air in blessing.

So that message from the bishop is just as well. Richland as a whole doesn't care to anger Iowa, but the Bossman of Richland hasn't the power over his nobles… his Sheriffs and their Farmers… that the Heasleroads have. Or had. And so the Sheriff of Readstown won't necessarily do his Bossman's will. Family feuds can be the worst of all. Nor can I absolutely rely on Ingolf's judgment this time-his brother's feelings might well have festered like an ulcer since he left. 'Well, youse welcome here,' the Richlander squire said, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt.'Stay a day, stay a month, stay as long as you damn well please,' he went on, in a phrase that was common throughout these lands.

His brows went up as he looked along the length of the wagon train and took in the Southsiders. 'All of you. I'll have to put your men up in the barn lofts, mostly…'

Then he saw the Southsider women and children.'Uff da! Your men and, uh, the rest,' he added.'I'll spread'em around a little to my out-farms, if you're here for more than a day or two.' 'That's most kind of you, sir,' Rudi said.

And I hope none of the ones playing host to my Southsiders are of an excessive delicacy in matters of feeding and washing.

Aloud:'We can pay our way, Sheriff. Sure and we'll also be glad to help with anything that needs doing in the way of work. Or fighting, of course.'

Suddenly Edward Vogeler smiled; it looked genuine, if also something he didn't do very often. 'Hell, Mr. Mackenzie, my brother and I parted on bad terms-he's probably told you about it, since he's engaged to your sister.' 'Half sister,' Mary noted pedantically, sotto voce. 'Ah, and to be sure, that was long ago,' Rudi replied diplomatically.'And myself a stranger here.'

With better sense than to intrude on a quarrel between close kin, he did not need to add. 'We were both assholes about it, you betcha,' Edward Vogeler said bluntly.'But I had less excuse, not being nineteen. A man's supposed to think with his dick and his fists at that age. I was already past thirty with a wife and kids.' 'Yah, yah, something to that,' Ingolf said, after an instant's pause.'Both ways.' 'So youse're all my guests while you're here,' the Sheriff went on.'You're my brother's friends… and from what you say, my in-laws, soon enough.' 'I'll accept the hospitality with gratitude,' Rudi said.'Though I will pay for what we need beyond a normal brief guesting, and what we need to take with us, and for gear and beasts.' 'I won't say no to that,' Edward Vogeler said, with a firm nod. 'Yah hey, got my Farmers und Refugees to think of. We'll dicker on that stuff. We can always buy more supplies in from upstream and down, mostly we swap around here so cash money's always welcome. Gold, that is.'

Rudi nodded and moved-almost imperceptibly-back, removing himself from the older man's sphere of attention. It was almost like the hunter's trick of withdrawing into yourself to go unnoticed.

I can tell who he's itching to talk with, and dreading it the same, he thought. Though he's a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, I think, and would deal with me alone first if it seemed needful; also careful of his dignity, but he's not as pompous about it as I expected, from the little Ingolf's said. Perhaps he's mellowed, perhaps he's on his best behavior now… or perhaps an angry young man of nineteen was less of a judge than the Ingolf I've known.

The Vogeler brothers shook hands in turn, looking into each other's faces. Then the older caught the younger in a quick strong embrace; it was short and stiff on both sides. Edward looked away slightly as he stepped back and cleared his throat before he went on: 'Mom's dead,' he said bluntly.'Two years ago almost to the day; it was pretty quick, Doc Pham never did really know what. But she had time to tell me to make it up with you if you ever came back.' 'Then we've got no choice,' Ingolf said.

A moment's smile.'Yah. Made me promise and threatened to haunt me if I didn't, you know how Mom was.' 'Was.' Pain flickered across Ingolf's face.'Damn,' he said softly.'I wanted to introduce her to Mary. She'd have been glad to see me married and settled. Damn and hell.'

Mary Havel stepped to her lover's side and took his arm. Ingolf drew a deep breath and went on: 'Kathy' Alice'' he said, naming his sisters. 'Fine. Both hitched, and their kids-oh, hell, we'll catch up once you're settled in. Aunt Cindy and Wanda and the girls have been cooking up a storm since we got the news and the kitchen's like… well, I've been staying clear of it after I delivered the meat.'

Introductions and busyness took over; it was more than a few minutes before they were under way again through more rolling fields of grain and pasture, truck and orchard, though these were empty of houses. Rudi waited until he had a chance to speak sotto voce himself. 'Well, and you're looking like a man who's been gut-punched, my friend,' he said.

Ingolf shook his head.'We spent six months fighting like cats and dogs before I left,' he said.' Just short of fists, and that only because we were afraid we'd kill each other if we started. I'd forgotten we got on well enough, sometimes, for years before then. And family is family. And…' 'And your brother knows this is just a visit, not a homecoming for good and all.' 'Yah, yah. There is that. And hell, he's right: we were both complete dicks about it after Dad died. I couldn't stand the way he tried to step into Dad's shoes with me… and he went all Godalmighty about it too… but damn and hell, he was the Sheriff and he had to show everyone he was bossman here. I guess he was too scared not to be stiff, and he's not the most flexible man in the world anyway.'

A deep breath.'Still, I'm glad I didn't show up alone and broke, and glad it's just a visit, too. Maybe we get along better when we don't have to get along, you know what I mean' It'll be… interesting to see what else has changed.' 'And maybe seeing it's a different place will make it easier for you to leave… really leave,' Mary said from his other side.'To let it go when you ride away.'

Ingolf looked at her and grinned, his worn hard wanderer's face handsome for an instant.'Another reason I love you: you're smart.'

Mary sighed with a touch of theater to it.'I'll just have to settle for marrying you strictly for your looks, I'm afraid, bar melindo,' she said, and they both laughed.

They turned a corner as the road bent elbow-fashion around a clump of woods and could see the…

Not quite a town, Rudi thought, looking at the cluster of buildings half a mile away. Not quite a castle. Not quite a farmstead. Something of all three. 'Ed's been busy,' Ingolf said, after a long moment, standing in the stirrups and shading his eyes with a hand.'About a quarter of that's new. And a lot more of the old ruins were still standing when I left. It's… tidier.'

Readstown proper was about half the size of most Mackenzie duns, perhaps six-score souls in all, including the dozens of children who came tumbling out, wild with excitement over the newcomers. They kept their noise at a distance, though, and the dogs were notably disciplined; there were only a few growls and barks when they'd been called to heel, despite Garbh's bristling stiff-legged presence. All that was a welcome change from some places they'd stopped on their trek.

There was no curtain wall or palisade around the settlement, not as such, but all the dwellings and workshops at its core had stout fieldstone reinforcement for their first stories, steel shutters with firing slits ready to swing over all the windows, and thick-built covered walkways with loop-holes in their walls linking them together into a series of gated courtyards that would be a hard nut to crack.

For anyone without, say, two hundred men and a siege train, Rudi thought. Give me that many, with mantlets and three or four well-served twenty-four-pounders from Corvallis Ordnance Corporation or the Portland Armory, and I could have it in an afternoon. But they haven't seen war on that scale here. Yet.

The barns and pens were at some distance, leaving a clear field of fire all around and no shelter for attackers. It was a bit hard to tell what was left over from the old world and what was post-Change; certainly everything had been heavily modified. And more torn down for materials or to get it out of the way, leaving only overgrown foundations and roadways amid small turnout pastures, gardens that included flowers as well as vegetables where lawns had been, and clumps of trees where houses had stood.

At the blank-walled outer face of the largest house of the complex was something he was sure was new, once he realized it wasn't a silo. It had that shape, save at the top where crenellations barred teeth at heaven; a squat four-story tower of stone and concrete and girder, with the snout of a catapult showing on a round turntable at one upper edge. A pole bore a plain brown flag marked with a bright orange wedge.

The tower's a good bit younger than Ingolf, or even me, Rudi thought, and murmured a question. 'Yah, Dad built it,' Ingolf said.'Used a silo as the shell and built up around it. Finished it the year he died, the year I left. The catapult's dual purpose, you can switch out the throwing trough fast; a thousand yards with bolts, five or six hundred with twelve-pound roundshot or incendiaries. This little four-eyed weedy guy from Richland Center built it. Out of old truck parts mostly, the Bossman sent him'round to get all the Sheriffs' places up to scratch. All the ones who'd pay. I watched him do it, watched pretty close.' 'Hmmm,' Rudi said.'Perhaps I was a little hasty in deciding how easily I'd take the place.'

Ingolf nodded without taking umbrage; it was the natural thing for someone in their line of work to think about, seeing a defended steading for the first time. 'That gives me an idea,' Rudi mused.'Do you think you could put one together''

Ingolf blinked at him.'If I had the parts, and a smith and a machinist, yah. Why'' 'A thought. Later, later.'

Not a real fortress overall, he thought silently. But ample for the need.

There was an earth dam and pond to the east where a stream ran down towards the Kickapoo. Two beam-and-plank mills on fieldstone foundations stood there, with big overshot wheels turning merrily. One building gave off the low throbbing notes of millstones grinding flour, and the other a long rrrrrrrrrrrr as a ripsaw went through hard wood; the white water stopped while he glanced that way and the sound died, as someone within closed off the flue gates for the day. Two small churches reared white steeples halfway between there and the hamlet, one Catholic and one Lutheran. A two-story brick building that was probably a schoolhouse for the district stood near them, with an archery range and baseball diamond and football field beside it. Other structures in the distance held the tannery and soap-boiling sheds and similar necessary but smelly trades.

Willing hands bore their animals away to be fed and watered-he had the usual bit of bother convincing Epona that these were friends-and a crowd ushered them through the courtyards. They passed storehouses and weaving sheds, a smithy with its pile of scrap and baskets of charcoal, a combined carpenter's shop and cooperage in a fragrance of sawdust and sap and varnish and glue, a yeasty-smelling brewery and distillery and cider press, the laundry and the clinic, and all the other dependencies of a great man's household. He could feel Edain turning like a hound at a scent as they went by a well-equipped bowyer's workstead, with rows of recurves hanging to dry inside and billets of ashwood ready to be split and smoothed for arrow shafts.

It all seemed well laid out and solidly built, and…

Clean, he thought, sniffing. They're careful of filth here.

The judgment he made was by a standard no older than he was himself, and a rural one which thought a whiff of horse manure and barn straw perfectly normal, as long as it wasn't allowed too near the supply of drinking water. The verandah of the main house was close enough to the bakery and kitchens for the smell to make his nose twitch with something as familiar as stables and far more welcome; roasting meat and fresh warm loaves, pies baking and dishes more complex making an intriguing medley.

Mathilda gave a little sigh of pleasure at the aroma. 'I don't know whether real food is a relief from trail rations, or just makes it harder to go back,' she said.'I can hardly remember what it was like when campfire cuisine was the exception.' 'I'm a good camp cook!' Rudi said, smiling at her.'And Father Ignatius is better.' 'The operative word is camp,' Odard observed dryly.'As in, scorched, raw, stale, monotonous, or all of the above.' 'You're a lousy camp cook yourself, Odard,' Mathilda observed. 'I never wanted to learn,' he replied.'Why should I' I'm a baron, for God's sake. It's not my job.' 'You're a baron with no servants, just now, or haven't you noticed in all the time we've been on the trail'' Mathilda answered, taking the sting out of it with a smile.'And I'm a Princess without a retinue. Except for you, of course.' 'There's nothing better than fresh trout done over a campfire on green sticks,' Edain observed, smacking his lips.'Or salmon baked in clay in the embers, with a few'taters beside them. Good enough for a Beltane feast, that is.' 'Trout. Right. And how often have we had that'' Odard said dryly. Edain looked up, counting on his fingers with a thumb.'Four… no, I lie, five times.' 'In the whole trip. And the twins could burn water; their idea of cooking is frying hardtack in the bacon grease, or grilling venison,' Odard said.'Virginia is no better when it's her turn-stew, flatbread, fried steak, flatbread, stew, fried steak, flatbread. You say you're tired of steak and stew and flatbread and she looks at you as if she was saying: you're tired of food' 'Hey, I can fry chicken too!' Virginia said, glaring at him.'And I can make flapjacks and do beans, or eggs if we could get'em. Biscuits, if I had an oven. Fred thinks puttin' salt on the roast is fancy cooking; I'm lookin' after the kitchen when we're hitched.' 'We could leave it all to the Southsider women now,' Ritva pointed out sweetly.'They'd be glad to burn the water for us.'

Everyone shuddered; Rudi wasn't a fastidious man, but he'd led the effort to get them to stop spitting in the stewpot for luck before calling everyone to eat. 'Mathilda's not bad,' he observed.'She set herself to learn, and she did. Dab hand with a pot roast, in fact.'

Mathilda nodded and pointed out:'You'd be better at it if you set your mind to enjoy it, Odard. Then you could do it the way you like. Father Ignatius is a knight-brother of the Order of the Shield, and a scholar, and he doesn't think it's beneath his station.'

Ignatius smiled and shrugged.'Christ Himself washed the disciples' feet,' he said.'He poured them wine and broke bread, too. Should I be more proud than God''

Odard nodded reluctantly.'Well, when you put it that way, Father

… though I still prefer a real dinner,' he said.'With someone else putting it in front of me.' 'Then treasure these memories we're about to acquire, to bring out the next time we're huddling against a blizzard and gnawing on hardtack and jerky and glad to get it,' Rudi said.

Odard made a face, then turned to the house and swept off his hat as he murmured through a broad smile: 'That's our lady hostess, I should think. Not quite the way that Mother would put in an appearance back at Castle Gervais, but-'

A woman in her forties bustled out of the house, a full-figured blond with a square handsome middle-aged face and her hair piled on top of her head and escaping in wisps. She wore a belted knee-length dress of good green linen with an embroidered hem-about half the women here favored skirts, the other half the same shapeless linsey-woolsey trousers as the men. There were beaded moccasinlike shoes on her feet, and she wore a long apron that had seen recent use close to a stove or chopping-board or both, and there was a smut of flour across her nose. Other women followed her, and a few boys, all carrying trays and tankards. 'Ed!' she said accusingly.'You told me sunset! Uff da! Nothing's ready yet! Und dere's children-you didn't say there would be children, I'll have to get-' 'Wanda,' he said-and suddenly the masterful tones of the Richlander border-lord were apologetic.'They pushed hard from Soldier's Grove, is all. Nobody told me about the kids, either. The scouts just counted the fighters.' 'Ingolf!' she half shouted, and threw herself down the stairs and into the home-come wanderer's arms.'Mary Mother, you worthless bastard! Not even a letter in the last five years! The earth might have swallowed you and then we heard rumors you were dead!'

Ingolf roared and swept her up in a tight embrace, swinging her around effortlessly and leaving her breathless, but not speechless, when he set her down again and said: 'Mary, my sister-in-law Wanda-Wanda, Mary Havel, my intended.'

That brought a happy shriek and more embraces. The travelers gave their greetings, and their names and nations; Wanda Vogeler's eyes went a little wide as Odard and Mathilda made their elaborate courtly bows. Wider still as Rudi and Edain put the backs of their clenched fists to their foreheads, stepped back with one foot and bowed in salute to one who was an incarnation of the Mother-whether she knew it or not. 'Merry met to the Mistress of this Hearth and all beneath her roof,' the two clansmen said; Jake of the Southsiders made a clumsy copy of the gesture.'By whatever name you know Them, may the blessings of the Mother-of-all and Her Lord be on rick, cot and tree.'

She didn't seem to know what to make of Mary and Ritva's hand-to-heart gesture and murmur of Mae Govannen. She pumped Fred's hand energetically. 'My stars! You do take me back, Mr. Thurston!' she said.'I haven't seen a black person since I was a girl in Madison before the Change! And this lady is your intended' Goodness, are those chaps' Like Woody in Toy Story, oh, Lord, how I loved that movie as a little child! And you'd be the Mr. Mackenzie we heard tell of,' she said to Rudi.'And those are your, um, clan'' she said.

Rudi cleared his throat, a little breathless at the rush of words. The Southsiders had learned a great deal beyond and besides how to wear a kilt and plaid, but they were still not the group he'd have chosen to uphold the Clan's reputation-not yet. Not in a display of seemly manners at a feast, at least. For hunting or fighting a skirmish in the woods, he'd be glad to claim them for anyone to see. 'Ah… not exactly,' he said.'Not just the now; we met upon the way. But they will be, if you take my meaning, and they're my people now, their welfare my responsibility.' 'Well, they can all use a beer and a snack, I'm sure. Go on, eat! Und the beer's our own brewing, Reinheitsgebot- style like my grandfather made it.'

Rudi grinned.'That we all could use a bite and a brew is no more than the merest truth, and it's a haven of warmth and welcome this is, after so long on the cold hard trail.'

He winked and went on:'And yourself the ministering Goddess.'

Wanda smiled back at him; he heard Mathilda snort slightly beside him, and read her thought: he was charming the ladies again.

Well, there's nothing wrong with charm, is there, acushla' he thought, a little defensively. Even our host looks pleased; I suspect he leaves the being a human being side of his existence to his wife.. well, he could do worse. From the look and sound of her she's good at it.

The platters were going around. He didn't know if the guest cup and bite were a formal rite here as they would be among his people, but he'd found for thousands of miles of walking and riding eastward that sharing food and drink made you a guest indeed where there was any goodwill at all. The food was some strong pungent soft cheese on wedges of dark dense rye bread, its crust dotted with little nutty seeds and the whole warm from the oven and chewy and richly sour-sweet; there were pastries too, their hot flaky crusts buttery, full of grilled venison and onions and potatoes and a faint tang of herbs.

What Aunt Diana — who'd run Dun Juniper's kitchens since the Change, and a restaurant before that- would call a Cornish pasty, or nearly, he thought happily, as the juices flooded his mouth.

The beer was in a mascar, a tall mug lathe-turned from hard maple wood, with foam dribbling over the edges, and'Oh, my,' Edain said reverently, as he gasped and wiped the back of his other hand across his mouth.'By Goibniu and Braciaca both, and that's beer, by the blessin'! My thanks again, hearth-mistress!'

Rudi inhaled the bouquet respectfully himself, and then took a deep draught of the mahogany-colored liquid beneath the white foam. Flavors like chocolate and coffee slid across his tongue, acrid and nearly sweet at the same time, with a cool musty bite. 'My friend Timmy Martins Mackenzie, our brewmaster at Dun Juniper, could do no better and on one or two occasions has done worse,' he said, and bowed again.'And more I could not say.' 'Come in, then, come in-let's get the children something, and you'll all want good hot baths and soap, and-'

He gratefully surrendered to her bustling efficiency as she organized her household to bear everyone away. They'd be here some time, at least a month, and that was starting to look like a welcome respite.

Perhaps even long enough for letters to get all the way home; they might arrive before Yule.

Thanks to Matti's little conspiracy, there are things that certain people need to know. And others must be told as well, whether I want to or not. How her mother will take it…

Rudi shuddered.

CITY PALACE THRONE AVENUE AND ARMINGER STREET ROYAL CITY OF PORTLAND

PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION (FORMERLY THE CENTRAL LIBRARY, AT SW 10TH AND MORRISON STREETS)

DECEMBER 12, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

'My lady Regent, the special courier is here.'

Sandra Arminger looked up as the door opened; the cat in her lap made a querulous sound and gave her a resentful look as she st-opped scratching it under the chin. Outside the tall arched windows of her private presence chamber snow fell, straight down in a windless dark where the occasional street lantern glowed like a blurred smear. Within was the scent of floral sachets and the warmth of the hot-water radiators behind screens of marble fretwork, pale dim elegance of stone and silk and arched wood, the blazing colors of the rugs muted by the low setting of the hissing methane gas lamps.

A little of the chill within her melted at the news but her face remained impassive, framed in its cream-silk wimple bound with steel gray Madras pearls set in platinum mesh. 'Send him in immediately,' she said to the gentleman of the chamber whose privilege it was to act as usher.'And send word to the Chancellor and the Grand Constable that they are to attend on me as soon as convenient.'

She made a gesture, and a lady-in-waiting motioned the maids to turn up the lights, set out coffee and brandy and little sweet pastries and bowls of nuts on a table whose surface was rare woods and mother-of-pearl and lapis in the shape of peacocks and antelope. 'Now leave me,' she said.'Yes, you too, Jehane,' she said to her confidential secretary, and the attendants all swept out in a dance of precedence and bobbing curtseys.

And silence fell, though she knew that she had only to raise her voice and someone would be there, as if by magic.

Sometimes that's the hardest thing to take, she thought. Never really being alone anymore. They're always there, listening, watching, may their dear loyal souls fry.

She'd wanted to be a Queen. The problem was that once you were, it wasn't something you could take off with your clothes. The younger generation didn't seem to have that problem; they weren't playing roles, they were their roles. The doors opened again quietly-they were solid steel beneath the soft beauty of the rock-maple veneer, and ponderous-and the stamp and clash of guards coming to attention rang in the corridor without. Distantly there were voices singing, a chorus of boys practicing in the Great Hall for the festivities of the Twelve Nights: 'Adeste, fideles

Venite adoremus

Venite, venite

Ad Bethlehem-'

The courier looked as if he was still half-frozen, very tough and very tired, a lean brown-skinned young man with his dark hair in the bowl cut and tonsure favored by most Orders of Roman religious. Apart from that she'd have judged him to be a cavalryman of some sort, in anonymous padded leathers half soaked even through the outer gear he'd shed somewhere and with a strong aroma of horses and sweat about him. He went to one knee, took the packet from the glazed-leather case slung over his shoulder and offered it to her.

The first thing her eyes saw was Mathilda's seal stamped in a disk of red wax, and a breath she hadn't been conscious of holding sighed out. The heliograph lines had brought the bare news earlier, of course, and duplicates would be coming along by safer, slower routes. But actually seeing it was something else again.

For a long moment she paused… To be happy, she thought. Simply to be happy. It's a rare feeling.

Then she read the dates on the outer covering, and one brow rose on her round, smooth middle-aged face. 'That was quick work,' she said.'Where did you start…'

At her enquiring look he amplified:'Friar Matthew, my lady Regent. A Church courier and of the Order of the Shield of St. Benedict.' 'Where did you start with these, Brother Matthew' And how did they arrive'' 'I was told it came by our equivalents in the East-north from Richland through Marshall and Fargo, and then west through the Dominions-Minnedosa, Moose Jaw, Drumheller. There are intact railways along much of that route, and pedal cars, so it went quickly. I was at my Order's new chapter house on our mission farm at Drumheller, and I carried it on snowshoes and skis over the mountain passes and down to Barony Vernon in the Okanogan country. Then by horse and rail to the Columbia and Portland. I came all the way myself rather than handing it on, as security was of the highest importance.' 'Thank you, Brother,' she said.

She was conscious of the danger and toil behind the monk's simple words, not to mention the skill a single man needed to stay alive in such country. Most of that route ran through empty wilderness, particularly as far north and east as he'd started; wilderness haunted by tigers and wolves and men who were worse than either, and by the monster storms raving down out of Alaska and the Yukon at this time of year that could bury an unlucky wayfarer twenty feet deep in a day. 'You've brought very good news, and have earned any recompense in reason, Brother Matthew,' Sandra said; she had a carefully cultivated reputation for rewarding zeal in her service.'And a good many unreasonable ones.'

The monk bowed his head.'I swore both poverty and obedience, my lady. I did nothing beyond my duty.'

Sandra smiled. It was always slightly surprising and unsettling to run across a completely incorruptible man. Inconvenient sometimes, but still… 'Nevertheless… Hmmm. The Order of the Shield wanted some Crown land north of the demesne of Castle Oroville for mission work. I think that can be arranged. The Cistercians wanted it too, but they can apply for a grant elsewhere.' 'Thank you, my lady!' 'Now go. I hope your vows don't preclude a mug of hot cider and a good supper and a warm bed in the Protector's Guard barracks''

He grinned, and suddenly under the tiredness and stern discipline you could see he'd been a boy not so very long before, and was still younger than her own daughter. 'Not in the least! Thank you, my lady Regent, and I will remember you and the Princess in my prayers.'

She waited until he'd left, stumbling slightly with the weariness he could now acknowledge to himself. Certain habits were well engrained by a lifetime of weaving secrets; only when she was alone again did she use a letter opener to flick off the seals. The original bundle had undoubtedly included material for Stardell Hall in Mithrilwood, Dun Juniper, Mt. Angel and Larsdalen, sent on with someone else beside the polite young monk, but her spies could glean anything that had been left out here in at least three of the four.

And I don't think any of them have infiltrated to my immediate Household.

She pulled paper towards her and dipped a fine steel-nibbed pen in the ink, careful to keep the lace at her sleeve off the surface of the sheet. No need to consult a code book; this was one she had thoroughly memorized, a private one she and her daughter shared with nobody and had never written down. Mathilda's report made interesting reading, paced slowly as it was while she transcribed from the cipher. Her eyebrows went up as she read of the doings in Iowa, and then she felt the blood drain from her face as the final scene in the Bossman's quarters unfolded, even as her daughter's bold neat hand reassured her that it had ended well. 'There are times when it's inconvenient to be an atheist,' she murmured to herself.'I simply don't have anyone to be thankful to. My eternal gratitude, O blind and ontologically empty dance of atoms, just isn't very satisfying, somehow.'

Then she smiled, warm and fond, at the younger woman's description of the maneuverings after Anthony Heasleroad's death: 'That's my girl!'

Her eyebrows went higher, and she laughed aloud at her daughter's defiant pride in what she'd gotten the other travelers to do on the deck of the schooner, and Rudi's reaction. 'That is my girl,' she said, with a glow of pride.

The last brief section was addressed from Readstown, Free Republic of Richland; simply that they'd arrived, and had been well received by the local lordling. 'I will report further before we leave; this is probably the last occasion we'll be able to send letters back for some time since we now face a plunge into the wilderness. Duplicates of my dispatches from Dubuque are enclosed and these will go by a different route. All my love, dearest mother and liege-lady, and may God and the Virgin and all the company of Saints hold you and the PPA and all of Montival safe. Mathilda.'

When she'd finished her work she sat back and sipped at a cup of coffee, absently pushing aside one of her Persians that was nosing around the little jug of cream on the tray. Another stamp-clash came through the door, and the usher's voice: 'My lord the Count of Odell, High Chancellor of the Association! My lady the Baroness d'Ath, Grand Constable of the Association!'

They made a knee and kissed her extended hand in turn.'Sorry, my lady,' Conrad said.'That War Finance Council meeting, you know. I couldn't cut it without offending House Jones and House Gutierrez, even if neither of them can count to eleven without dropping their hose… and you did say convenience.' 'It's important but not time-constrained,' Sandra said.'Better you than me on the War Finance business, Conrad. I know it's important work, but accounting bores me like an auger.' 'CPA in good standing,' Conrad said cheerfully, slapping his ample stomach; that had been his day job, back when she'd been a faculty wife and they'd both been members of the Society who just played at being nobility. 'And I was outside the city wall,' Tiphaine said, as she poured them both stiff tots of the Larressingle Armagnac brandy, salvaged from the ruins of Seattle years ago.'Watching our loyal levies squelch and slip and fall on their faces in the mud.' 'Read,' Sandra said, forestalling the question and pushing her transcript across the table with a forefinger.'It's from Mathilda.'

Tiphaine nodded; her ice-colored eyes narrowed slightly in satisfaction. Conrad laughed and swore and slapped his thigh, which was his equivalent. The Grand Constable was in leather riding breeches and slightly muddy thigh-boots and a high-collared, long-sleeved tunic of black wool that looked a little damp; her pale bobbed hair was dark with melted snow. She tucked an owl-shaped pendant she'd taken to wearing into the neck of her tunic, poured her brandy into the coffee-Conrad winced to see the priceless pre-Change French liquor treated so-and sipped while she read. 'You were out drilling troops in this'' the Chancellor said; he was in court working dress with the golden chain of office across his bull shoulders and barrel chest. 'Wars don't get called off due to snow and cold and neither should training,' she said absently, attention on the writing. 'You've got a general staff and unit commanders for that,' Conrad said, in a half-scolding tone; she'd been his second-in-command for years.'I let them do their jobs and I did mine when I was Grand Constable.' 'Your average man-at-arms has a short attention span and a skull that's iron from ear to ear even without a helm, Conrad. It's necessary to keep reminding them how tough I am. Otherwise I have to kill men occasionally just to make the others pay attention, which creates its own problems. I don't look as repulsively fearsome as you, and I pee in a different position, remember.'

Then she tapped her free finger on the dateline of the dispatch. 'Barely two months for news from east of the Mississippi. That's very good. We still haven't got what they sent from Iowa.' 'We probably won't,' Conrad said.'The CUT is clamping down hard on the guerillas in occupied New Deseret, and that's the only way of bridging eastern Idaho unless you go around to the north.'

Tiphaine smiled as she read, a hungry expression. Conrad held out his hand wordlessly and she handed him the sheets she'd finished. 'Ah!' he said, skimming rapidly.'Now, that looks promising! Satan's arse, with piles like acorns! Now the CUT has got most of the Midwest lethally mad at them! Corwin has a genius for making enemies.' 'So did Norman,' Sandra said.'And it is extremely promising. Iowa is a long way from Montana, but from the description they potentially outweigh the CUT by a very considerable margin.' 'The logistics will be murder,' Tiphaine said.'But even a small percentage of a big enough sum is still large.'

Conrad read the pages as the Grand Constable slid the sheets over to him, occasionally glancing at the rather coarse brown linen-rag paper of the original, then frowned-which turned his scarred face into something even more grotesque. 'Damn, it still hits me sometimes! Two months is fast now. I keep remembering FedEx.'

Sandra nodded. She'd made a much better adjustment to the Changed world than most adult survivors-her girlhood heroines had been Eleanor of Aquitaine with Catherine de' Medici a close second, and she'd spent a good deal of her time with the Society making believe that she was someone like that, even in the old world. And of course being a sovereign and waited on hand and foot eliminated much of the sheer inconvenience of existence without high-energy technologies.

And it still hits me sometimes too, at moments like this. There are some things that no amount of hand labor can duplicate.

A decade and a half younger, Tiphaine was untroubled by the look the two shared. Instead she murmured: 'It is more convenient now that we're at peace with the Drumhellers. That gives us a route right around the CUT and Boise both. Suitable for intelligence and communications, if not armies, given that the Canadian Rockies are in the way.'

Conrad scowled for a moment.'The Dominions are scared of the CUT too; they've got a border with them, or at least Drumheller and Moose Jaw do, and if they've got any sense they'll join in. But I still say we should have held out for more of the Peace River country. It's rich, and it's got a big labor force-'

Sandra went tsk.'Which means it is full of contumacious Canuks with bows, Conrad, who really wouldn't appreciate our handing it out in fiefs over their heads.' 'We did just that in plenty of other places.' 'That was in the first Change Years. We were dealing with terrified hungry refugees who'd do anything for help and had nowhere to turn. It's different now. Things have… jelled. In any case, that's for another day, provided that we survive the present war. Read! There's something rather interesting after they left Iowa.'

She could tell when he came to the part on the boat. 'They hailed him High King'' Conrad of Odell spluttered. His skin turned red under the thick white keloid.' Mathilda hailed him as High King of… what the hell is Montival'' 'Everything, evidently,' Tiphaine d'Ath said crisply.'Everything from here to Idaho, down to California and north to the limits of Association territory, I imagine, at least. Perhaps California too, if we ever get the Westria Project going. Hmmm. Montival is actually not a bad name, now that the old State boundaries are so meaningless.' 'Goddammit, she's giving it all away, the-'

Sandra cleared her throat:'Conrad, we're old friends, but I think you're about to say something on the order of dumb little twat about my daughter Princess Mathilda, the heir to Portland. Don't. It would be rude as well as inaccurate.' 'All right, I won't,' he said, a tun of a man in black velvet and gold and heraldic colors, with the sweat of anger on his bald dome. He rubbed it with a hand like a spade before mastering himself and going on:'But why, why, why did you raise her to be such a… such a.. ' ' Romantic is the word you're looking for, Conrad,' Tiphaine said. 'But she's not, really. She's hardheaded enough, in modern terms. Changeling terms. She's just… good.'

The smile grew a little broader.'Not something any of us three have to worry about.' 'And I raised her to be that because I want to build something for her that will last,' Sandra said.'Remember what Napoleon said to Talley rand.'

Tiphaine thought for a moment and then nodded. Conrad stopped in midrant and looked at her before he spoke, in the tone used with quotations: 'Look at the bayonets of my Imperial Guards, how they gleam in serried ranks! With such men, I can do anything!'

Sandra smiled and completed the anecdote with the diplomat's reply: ' Yes, sire. You can do anything with such bayonets… except sit on them. Evil has a short half-life, Conrad. Only a man like Norman-and a woman like me-could have built the Association, given what the times were like at the Change. To make it a living thing that survives us all… I've found that other methods are necessary. And to really consolidate it needs someone like my Mathilda.' 'But she's giving away our sovereignty! Sandra-having the Corvallis Meeting always looking over our shoulders since the Protector's War is bad enough, but this!'

Tiphaine sat silent, a considering frown on her face. Sandra stroked the Persian cat on her lap with one hand, and waggled a finger at her Chancellor with the other. 'Conrad, Conrad, Conrad,' she said-or almost purred, with the smile of a cat contemplating a mouse squeaking under its paw.'You don't think I've gone soft, do you' You're not looking at the big picture!' 'I'm not'' he said. 'Of course not. You're thinking in pre-Change terms.'

Sandra held up one soft, well-manicured, not-quite-plump hand; her eyelids drooped in an expression of purely political but still sensual enjoyment. 'Here we have the High King, Rudi-or Artos the First, as his enthusiastic young friends hailed him. When this message gets about, half the nobles in the Association will be crying him hail as well-' 'Three-quarters of those under thirty,' Tiphaine put in. 'True. And all the burghers and peasants. All the Clan Mackenzie, of course; though dear Juniper will find some way to feel anguished and guilty about it. Witch Queen or not, you can tell she was raised Irish Catholic! And all the Rangers will swoon. Well, not Alleyne Loring or his pet troll Hordle, but certainly Eilir, she's Rudi's half sister after all. And most of all the Lady of the Dunedain.' 'They'll start dry-humping and creaming their hose in every flet,' Tiphaine said, with a slight stark smile.'Astrid particularly, you're right about that, my lady. The demented bitch may get pregnant again just from contemplating the coronation ceremony.'

Sandra nodded.'It's precisely the sort of romantic froth they adore. The Bearkillers… well, many of them will be enthusiastic too, if not dear Signe. Rudi is the son of their precious Bear Lord, after all. And isn't it pleasant to think of Signe striding about kicking the Larsdalen furniture and thinking of how her own dear little lad Mike Jr. should have it, but never will, because he's been done out by his bastard half brother Rudi again'' 'The woman can certainly nurse a grudge,' Tiphaine said.

You're speaking with unconscious irony, my dear, Sandra thought affectionately, as she nodded agreement to her protege. Or as the kettle said to the pot: My, how sadly sooty and grimy is your backside!

She added aloud in a meditative tone:'I think that she's never really been able to get over that little premarital infidelity of Havel's with Juniper because it only happened once. That and Rudi being his spitting image, with three inches and strawberry blond hair added.' 'Are you saying that there's nothing we can do to stop this High King of Montival nonsense'' Conrad said. ' We couldn't stop it if we tried. But if we throw the Throne's weight behind the notion, even the independents like Corvallis and the Yakima League whose rulers don't have any blood link to either the Havels or the Armingers will fall in line. Every single power represented in the Corvallis Meeting. Especially given how frightened they are over the war with Boise and Corwin, and the way the previous messages and all those songs and stories dear Juniper's spread have primed them. If things go well with the war-'

One of Tiphaine's brows raised: Sandra interpreted that as well, there's deranged optimism for you. She continued: '-we might even get Idaho included at the end. That rescue of young Frederick Thurston-splendid mythmaking! It couldn't have been better if it were a lie made up by one of our hired troubadours, and the cream of the jest is that it's true.' 'Support it'' Conrad goggled.'Why should we' Hell, Sandra, we created this country. Did we do it so Juniper's brat could rule all we built up' What…'

He paused, and used the most desperate argument.'What would Norman think' Rudi… he's damned smart and damned tough and damned likeable with it, but he's the son of the man who killed your husband, and his mother was our second-worst enemy all through the wars. You and God and anyone who was within hearing knows I had my arguments with Norman Arminger. But you and he and I made the Association.' 'Yes. And what did we make, Conrad' A nation' A country'' 'Well-yes.' 'Well-no. We made a feudal kingdom, Conrad. Which isn't at all the same thing.'

He frowned.'That's terminology. Yes, you and I were in the Society, and Norman took it all very seriously but-' 'No, it's not just terminology. You're showing your age, Conrad. Think like a feudal noble for a moment, not an executive; think the way the younger generation thinks all the time and you do half the time, for example when you were arranging the marriages of your sons. Think about family. If Rudi becomes the High King, he rules Montival-presumably as a loose federation of autonomous realms; that is what a High King does, after all, as opposed to an Emperor. The Association territories would be self-governing, but part of Montival.' 'That's the problem! Not that I don't like Rudi, but-' 'No, that's not the problem, that's the solution, my dear old friend. It's the solution to the problem that I… and you… and Norman, before the Protector's War… have been struggling with since the Change. The problem being that Mike Havel and Juniper and the damned Yakima League and those greed-mongering pedant anachronisms in Corvallis wouldn't submit to the Throne. To House Arminger.' 'What do you mean'' he said, baffled. 'The High King of Montival must have a High Queen. And if she is none other than my daughter-and bear in mind that she's also Norman's daughter and only child-then one of her children becomes the High King in turn. Or High Queen regnant, to be sure. Then that means that my grandchild-and Norman's grandchild too, don't forget that part- rules the whole west side of the continent, as well as being Lord Protector of the Portland Protective Association. Which is what Norman and I wanted to begin with, and the son of the man who killed him is handing it to us on a golden platter!'

Tiphaine stared at her for a moment.'Ah… my lady, how long have you had this in mind' Just as a matter of curiosity.' 'Since… oh, March 6, 2008.'

They both blinked at her, and Tiphaine spoke:'That's… the day I brought Mathilda and Rudi back, during the Protector's War. The day we arrived at Castle Todenangst.'

Sandra nodded.'Well, of course, I'd had the beginnings of the notion before that, as soon as the Mackenzies took Mathilda prisoner and it became obvious how well she and Rudi were getting along. Everyone knows that a dynastic marriage has been… mmmm, under consideration for a long time. But that would have been between the heir of the Mackenzies and the heir of Portland-many, many problems. But a new kingdom, that's a different matter altogether. Thinking outside the box, as it were.' 'You certainly got me and them out of Todenangst fast,' Tiphaine said thoughtfully.'I thought it was just to get Rudi out from under Norman's bloodshot eye.' 'That too. Dear, dear Norman; he could be so hot-tempered sometimes. But I had to evaluate Rudi personally before it was worth pursuing. Not in detail, of course-the details you always need to improvise as the situation dictates-but in broad outline. And Mathilda had to think it was her own idea, which meant it had to actually be her own idea. Not difficult, really. Rudi's a delightful boy… man, now… Intelligent, with quite stunning looks and an embarrassment of talents, and all the charm in the world. And his people did insist on Mathilda living with the Mackenzies part of the year, at the peace settlement.' 'Where you insisted on Rudi coming and living with us part of the year,' Conrad said, sounding dazed.'Jesus, that far back'' 'Precisely. To shape him, you see, and also to expose the younger generation of our nobility to him.'

Tiphaine burst into laughter; Sandra was slightly surprised. She hadn't seen that happen during business hours more than once or twice in the quarter century they'd known each other. The Grand Constable of the Association went down on one knee and drew her sword, bringing the cross hilt up to her lips in salute. 'Even for you, my liege-lady, that is… it's just so fucking brilliant!'

Conrad had been standing with his mouth open. He shut it, sat down again, and his gargoyle face split in a grin as he reached for one of the blueberry tarts, absently brushing powdered sugar off his jupon. 'Well, I will be damned. I wasn't thinking dynastically. And when you do, that's exactly how it looks.'

He cupped a hand to his ear.'You hear that' It's old Norman laughing fit to split his mausoleum open.'

Sandra sighed, the quiet glee fading from her face. 'And I still miss telephones,' she said.'Now we know they've arrived safely at this Readstown place. That's the edge of civilization, and they're about to plunge into the unknown. How long will it be before we know what happened there, or later''