The Sword of the Lady c-3 Page 3

  Pride of ancestry rang in his voice, and Rudi gave a little sigh of relief. That spared him the necessity of explaining what was geasa to him, taboo.

  And that story would help account for how crude their gear is, Rudi thought. If their parents were mostly children… teenagers at most… themselves. And how much their speech has changed. And if this man is chief, none of the pamaws survived much longer than it took their own children to be three-quarters grown. He?s no older than me, I think.

  From what he?d heard, most of the folk of the old world had been utterly helpless when the Change came and the machines stopped, country-folk and farmers only a little less than townsmen. In some places enough skills had been found or pieced together to build life new on old foundations; the Clan Mackenzie had been luckier than most, since many of its founders had been lovers of the ancient arts. Close to the great cities it had been worst of all. There tens of millions were left without food or water; everything went down in a doomed scramble to keep alive an hour at a time, and plague ran through the surging masses like wildfire through dry grass.

  From the Mississippi to the east coast, where the cities had been thickest, little remained but bands like these-and Rudi seemed to have been fortunate indeed in the ones he met.

  Luck of that sort is only to be expected, if you?re fated to dree a hero?s weird, he thought with an inward grin, half at himself, half defiant mockery at the Powers. It?s one of the compensations for the fear and danger and general misery and the prospect of an early death. You?re lucky until you aren?t, so to say. ?They was all littles, the pamaws,?cept old Jake, he was my pa, and Tuk?n Samul?s,? Jake said.?He brought everyone out and hid?em till the New Year. He was a good one, old Jake the sailor man. Dead a long time now, though; he?s a good spook? Spirit-guardian, Rudi translated mentally.

  – ?for all of us Southside studs n? bitches.?

  Men and women, his mind added.

  It was going to be a strain talking, until he learned a bit of this dialect. He?d heard many on his trip across the continent, but none quite so strange except those that weren?t English at all.

  They stayed in the river valley for the most part, working their way south and slightly west, despite the deep dark under the trees that blocked most of the moonlight. A little reflected from the rippling surface of the Illinois, enough to use if you were very careful, and if the horses were sure-footed. They rode on the verge of the broken pavement to spare their feet, with only the sound of the hooves to mark their passage. Rudi guessed that the Southsider camp was down by the riverbank, and wasn?t surprised; it would be easier all round, with firewood close to hand, drinking water, cover from prying eyes, and shelter-the higher land around here was mostly open tallgrass prairie.

  Epona tossed her head up and snorted. Rudi inhaled deeply; that was the smell of fires and cooking, and the sweetish-rank smell of a camp not strictly kept, wastes and old food and raw hides curing with brains and piss. Evidently nobody had told these folk about using oak tanbark, despite it being all about them. Garbh growled at a chorus of yelping, barking mongrels, until Edain called her sharply to heel. Three more of the Southsider men stepped out from behind trees…

  No, Rudi thought, looking at the faces and naked torsos behind the spearheads. One of them is a Southsider woman…

  … and leveled their weapons, before crying greetings to Jake, and wailing at the sight of dead Murdy. More came swarming out to pelt them with questions and beat the curs off with sticks and feet; about three score of all ages, and they walked in a crowd around the horses until they passed a tiger?s skull on a pole and reached the fires and the rough corral.

  Say a hundred of them in all, half children. Three more-or-less grown women for every two men, or thereabouts, Rudi thought, making a warrior?s quick estimate.

  Nobody was much older than his new friend Jake; he doubted more than a handful had been born at the time of the Change.

  High casualties?

  The mob gazed gape-jawed at Rudi and Edain in their strange gear, pointing and gabbling in a way Mackenzies would think rude. Rudi sat his great black horse with long-limbed grace, the bright red-gold hair falling to his shoulders and his sharp-cut high-cheeked face smiling. Edain was less easy, his strong square face blank; he wouldn?t ask Rudi are you sure? with strangers about…

  None of the Southsiders matched Rudi?s height, and none had his companion?s breadth of shoulder or barrel chest. Not a prepossessing lot, but truly friendly, I think.

  Rudi winked at a naked toddler with a huge mop of frizzy hair; she ducked behind her mother, herself a girl of no more than sixteen years who cradled a baby on her hip. ?Let these studs have room!? Jake called.?They saves our asses, truth! An? lay on eats! We got Murdy to bury, an? our new friends to show our right n? good ways!?

  When the mob surged back towards the camp Jake went on quietly: ?And when we?ve had the eats, you can tell me more of that story of yours. We don?t like the Iowa motherfuckers or their bossman at all . Shoved our pamaws back into this shit with their pitchforks. Keep us here still.?

  Rudi nodded gravely; Edain thawed a little, since he too had little use for Iowa?s ruler and liked the whole place less than the older Mackenzie. The Iowa folk had closed the Mississippi bridges in the chaotic months after the Change and patrolled the western shore. .. or they?d have been buried beneath the tidal wave of refugees heading west from Chicago and the other lakeside cities, and north from Saint Louis.

  Though now they?ve more land than they can till, he thought, remembering pasture where fields had once been, and at that more grass than the cattle could eat down. They could change their policy, if they would, and both would benefit by it.

  There was a hungry smile in Jake?s words:?Anyone?s got a hate against that Bossman bastard, he?s got a word to say here.? ?Sure, and I?d not weep if he were to be done an injury,? Rudi said.?He?s not the worst ruler I?ve ever met, but he?s far from the best-and not the smartest, either, that he is not.?

  The smartest of rulers? A toss-up between my mother and Matti?s, that would be; the one wise and good, the other wise and wicked.

  He realized with a start that he missed Mathilda?s mother; missed her counsel, and her peculiar way of looking at the world. They?d always gotten on well enough, even when he?d been her husband?s captive during the War of the Eye, but then again you never really knew where you stood with the Spider of the Silver Tower. He did know she loved Mathilda…

  I?ve never really understood her, otherwise. She?s a bad person, really, but she?s raised Matti to be a good one, and she was always kind to me, even when she pushed me hard to learn and grow. She?s done great evil, but great good also, if more from policy than inclination; and I think that the good will long outlive her, while the evil will mostly vanish… start to vanish, at least… when Matti takes the throne of Portland and rules the Association. And the more I travel, the more I realize I?ve learned from her, those months every year I lived in the Regent?s Household-things I never could have learned at home. Mother has true wisdom, but it?s not all the wisdom there is. What she stands for is good, but some things can?t be seen from where she stands.

  And that was something he could only realize at a distance from them both; as if the knowledge unfolded with the weight of their personalities removed for a while, letting it open like a flower from the bud.

  And at home I would never have realized what I knew, he mused, looking westward to where stars shone over the treetops.

  Nor learned what I have from others on this journey. Am I journeying to the east, then, or do I travel towards myself? When I meet the man I am becoming… ?Who will Rudi Mackenzie be in himself?? he mused.?Will those I know, know me still??

  One thing I do know: I?ll rescue Matti for her own sweet sake.. . but even if she wasn?t dear to me, I?d be downright terrified of failing Lady Sandra Arminger!

  TheSwordoftheLady

  CHAPTER TWO

  BARONY OF ATH, PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION TULATIN VALLEY,

  OREGON A
UGUST 15, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

  The Lord High Chancellor and the Grand Constable of the PPA rode side by side through the harvested field, with their hawks on their wrists and the attendants at a discreet distance behind. A covey of pheasants exploded from the ground ahead of their horses in a cracking flutter of wings.

  Both the Associates were in what Portlander fashion decreed for gentlemen engaged in rural pleasures on a summer?s day; turned-down thigh boots with the golden spurs of knighthood on the heels, doeskin breeches, baggy-sleeved linen shirts beneath long T-tunics cinched by broad sword belts of studded and tooled leather, and wraparound sunglasses in gilded frames.

  Embroidered heraldic shields on their chests showed their arms. Those of Chancellor Conrad Renfrew-also Count of Odell-were sable, a snow-topped mountain argent on vert; it echoed the towering perfect cone of Mt. Hood, just visible as a tiny silver spike on the eastern horizon. Baroness Tiphaine d?Ath bore sable, a delta or over a Vargent; she wore a discreet livery badge at the brow of her hat as well, her own arms quartered with Sandra Arminger?s in token of vassalage. ?Your turn,? the Count of Odell said, nodding towards the pheasants skimming over the ground. ?Thanks, Conrad,? Tiphaine said.

  This was one of the Five Great Fields of her manor of Montinore, and the three hundred acres of brown-blond wheat stubble with clover pushing up below provided plenty of cover. The ring of hawthorn hedge and wide-spaced poplars around it were full of good places for nesting, and even conscientious gleaners didn?t get all the fallen grain that attracted quarry. ?Three gets you five that cock pheasant makes it to the hedge,? the older noble said.

  The big black-gray peregrine on her wrist crouched and bated with a bristle of feathers as she slipped free the hood, and a faint sweet ring from the silver bells on its bewit-straps as the talons closed and relaxed in anticipation. It knew what the sudden coming of the light meant. Then its mad slit-pupil yellow eyes flared dark as they fixed themselves on the prey; she could feel the strength of its grip on her wrist through the thick leather of the glove. ?Done,? Tiphaine replied.?Go for it, Riot Grrrl.?

  She tossed the arm up in a quick throwing arc and the bird flung itself skyward, soaring upward in a widening gyre with a harsh skri-skri-skri. The wind of long graceful wings was cool on her cheek and neck for an instant, in the mild dry warmth of a Willamette summer?s day.

  The covey?s alarm suddenly turned panic-stricken as the incarnate shadow of deep ancestral fear fell across them; they scattered, spattering away like water popping on a hot griddle. Frenzied, the male pheasant tried to outrace the circling doom rather than going for cover, his long tail feathers streaming as he strove for height. ?Stop taking the air, you idiot,? the Count of Odell said sourly. ?She?s twice as fast as you are!?

  Tiphaine watched the dance of life and death in the cloudless blue above with eyes the color of moonlit glaciers, and smiled with a very slight curve of the lips. It made everything seem more intense for a moment, from the feel of the great muscles moving between her thighs to the smells of equine sweat and oiled leather, sweet crushed clover and dry dusty earth. ?That?s a lovely falcon you?ve got there,? Conrad said, following the flight of the peregrine.?And she?s going to cost me some money, dammit. Alaskan??

  She nodded.?Aleutian.? ?Must have cost you,? he said.

  Trade was sparse from those remote islands, and had to run the gauntlet of Haida pirates in the Queen Charlottes and the Inland Passage. Only the most expensive luxury goods could bear the costs. ?Worth it,? she replied.?Northern birds always fly better, especially in yarak.?

  The Association nobles reined in and watched the falcon climb; the bird sitting hooded on Conrad Renfrew?s wrist was a big dark brown mews-bred Harris Hawk with chestnut shoulders and white banding on the base and tip of its tail. It had already taken two rabbits and a duck today. Despite which…

  It?s hardly falconry at all with a Harris, Tiphaine thought.

  She privately considered that species to be like Irish setters with feathers and talons. Unlike pretty well all other birds of prey they were social hunters, coursing in flocks in the wild, and they were affectionate to their handlers in ways other breeds just weren?t. That and the ease with which they could be bred in captivity made them favorites.

  They do everything but lick your hand and lift a leg to pee. ?You?ve got a good eye for a falcon,? he admitted. ?I always did identify with predators. Back before the Change? Conrad had been over thirty then; she?d been fourteen. They?d both survived the first Change Year when the vast majority of the human race had not, but the experience divided as much as it linked them. His generation were of the old world; those a few years younger than she were Changelings. She hung between?my bedroom was plastered with pictures of hawks and wolves and tigers and leopards.?

  The Count of Odell?s hideously scarred face quirked in a smile. ?Isn?t it usually horses with girls that age?? ?Usually. I preferred things with fangs or claws or both.? ?Why am I not surprised, Lady Death?? he said, using the common pun on her title. ?Well, I had a Melissa Etheridge poster on the wall too.? ?Who… oh, she was a musician, right? I think I?ve heard you do some of her stuff now and then.? ?Right. Serious crush on her at the time.?

  That had been an eventful spring. She?d turned fourteen in January, met Katrina Georges in February when the other girl transferred to Binnsmeade Middle School, won a medal at the Oakridge gymnastics meet at the beginning of March, and then on the seventeenth the world had ended, at 6:15 p.m. Pacific Time.

  Birthday, first love, victory, then the laws of nature Change while you?re on a camping trip. Killed my first man five days later and couldn?t believe how easy it was. But I do miss CDs and my Walkman sometimes. Calling for the minstrel just isn?t the same.

  The thought was odd; it had been a long time since she remembered the Change much, or thought of herself as Collette Rutherton rather than the name Sandra had chosen for her when she became an Associate of the PPA. Conrad?s generation always had one mental foot planted in the old world, however hard they tried to pull it out or deny it; hers remembered it, but as though seen faded through multiple panes of glass… except on the rare occasions when it came flooding back to make the now seem like a mad dream for an instant.

  To those a few years younger, the Changelings, it was a fable.

  And I envy them that. Envy them and fear it a little. Even Delia. .. I love her but I don?t understand her sometimes. The kids are even worse. They don?t just take this world we?ve made naturally. They think but they don?t think about thinking the way I do sometimes and Conrad and Sandra and the other oldsters do all the time. The Changelings… it?s like they?re in a dream. So am I, but I know it. They never wake up or know they?re dreaming. ?Ah,? Tiphaine said, pulling off her tinted glasses and shading her eyes with the hand that held them.

  A second later Conrad pushed his mirrorshades up onto the bald dome of his head and muttered something under his breath-probably damn as the falcon selected the cock pheasant?s gaudy gold-and-green plumage for its target.

  The peregrine stooped out of the sun, folding its wings and turning itself into a blurred streak of purpose. There was a faint thud from the air above, a puff of feathers against the bright afternoon sky. ?She binds!? Tiphaine said, and didn?t add: I win.

  The two birds spun groundward locked together by the attacker?s talons. They struck with a thump on the wheat stubble not far away; the peregrine shrieked its triumph and its rage, mantling and darting its ripping beak downward with cruel precision. Everyone cantered over and pulled up; the falconer dismounted and whirled his feathered lure on the end of its cord with a rattling humm. The bird cocked an eye at it and jumped, then consented to be hooded again and fed from the hand. Varlets picked up the pheasant and added it to the basket, giving the neck a quick twist to make sure. ?That?s enough for verisimilitude,? Conrad said with a sigh.?Duty calls, and so does lunch.?

  Tiphaine nodded and turned her horse. They heeled their mounts into a faster pace, towards the little unwalled pavilion where the ot
hers waited. Conrad looked around at the stubble field. ?Nice work,? he said.?You can hardly see where the individual strips are.?

  Montinore manor operated on the usual PPA system; the peasant families each held scattered strips in all of the Five Fields, and the crops-winter wheat, spring oats and roots like turnips or potatoes, grass and clover for fodder-were rotated through the fields in turn. Back in the early days the semi-communal arrangement had let a few real farmers supervise hordes of refugee suburbanites who?d never before done anything more rural than curse the dandelions in their lawns. Nowadays it made it easy for the manor lord to exact his share of the crop and labor service on the demesne.

  Tiphaine shrugged.?I?ve got good reeves on my estates and a first-rate seneschal,? she said.?And Delia keeps them from dipping into the till while I?m away, which is too often. I like living here, and to hell with Portland and Castle Todenangst. I?m sick of spending my days in armor; being Sandra?s assassin and duelist was fun, but Grand Constable is just work. Damn the Prophet, damn the United States of Boise, and damn this war too.? ?Now you know why I was so glad to unload the job on you.? Conrad shrugged in turn.?Be glad you?ve got a nice defensive war you can really get your teeth into. We?d likely be fighting about now even if Boise and Corwin hadn?t gotten big eyes. Sandra hasn?t had us spend the last decade and change building castles and saving up money and training troops for nothing.?