The Protector's War Read online

  They don't travel well, Juniper thought, watching the beast's mad lemon yellow eyes and noting its ruffled fur and bottled tail. Particularly in a box strapped to a pack-saddle.

  "That torn is fixed, isn't he?" she asked.

  It was unlikely to be much happier in Dun Juniper, away from its territory and forced into association with a half-dozen strange felines. Spraying was something she didn't need. What had Mike called cats once? Little furry Republicans.

  "Oh, yes," Mathilda said, lifting it up under the fore-limbs, which made its hind pair splay open. "And he's a good cat. Well, he likes to break things and claws furniture sometimes and he'll bite if he doesn't like the way anyone but me pets him, and he sort of hates other cats, but apart from that he's a good cat."

  He's a cat with murder on his mind, Juniper thought, amused, noting ears laid back and whiskers bristling and claws slipping out of their sheathes. Even if he lets you

  hold him like that normally, he's not in the mood right now, by the cats who draw Freya's chariot!

  "Better put him back in the box for now," she said.

  "The other Kat's waiting," Liu said, with a hint of a nasty edge to his smile.

  Mathilda's brows went up. "Dad sent Katrina?" she said, surprise in her voice. "Oh, that's OK," she said, turning to Juniper. "She's one of my tutors. Not my nanny, though. But Nan's sort of old, she's over forty, so I suppose they didn't want her taking a rough trip."

  Juniper nodded, slightly surprised that either of the Armingers would show a servant that much consideration, and made a gesture of assent. Liu bowed and went to open the door. A woman came through: youngish, of medium height, with hair cropped to a halo of black curls, a rather hard good-looking face, and impassive blue eyes. She was dressed in practical traveling garb, not the trailing dresses upper-crust females in the Protectorate usually affected.

  "Lady Katrina," Liu said, inclining his head.

  "My lord," she replied distantly, returning the gesture. Then a genuine smile for Mathilda: "Hi, sprout! You OK?"

  "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Mathilda said, a little of the old waspish note in her voice. "Sure. You, Kat?"

  "You bet, sprout, except that we're both in bad company here."

  "Oh, they're not so bad, for rebels," Mathilda said generously. "Sort of weird, but OK. Did you hear about Rudi and the horse nobody else could ride?"

  "Yes. Did you see it?"

  "No." Mathilda pouted slightly and kicked at the floor. "I was watching this guy with a dog that climbed up a ladder." More brightly: "But Rudi showed me the horse later. Hey, it's a real pretty horse!"

  "That's good; I've got Lion with me for you to ride, by the way. Everyone's been treating you properly?"

  "Well, not properly like Mom and the people back home do. But nobody's been mean to me at all and sometimes things are fun. I just miss home and Mom and Dad and everyone."

  Katrina bent the knee to Juniper. "Katrina Georges, Lady Juniper," she said.

  Juniper cocked an eye at the way the young woman moved. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and extended a hand.

  Georges looked uncertain for a moment whether Juniper expected a handshake or a suppliant's kiss on the fingers, then took it in a quick firm clasp. There was a ring of callus around the forefinger and thumb of her right hand, and the grip was very strong when Juniper squeezed a little. Some things just couldn't be disguised.

  Aha, she thought; then aloud: "What exactly do you tutor Mathilda in, Ms. Georges?"

  "Ah… I'm the physical-education tutor, Lady Juniper. And the riding instructor. But I'm also qualified to teach the princess in most subjects for a while at least."

  Probably true, since she knows I can check, Juniper thought. Does Arminger think I'm going to underestimate her because she's a woman, the way one of his testosterone-poisoned barons might? Or is he just taking out insurance, as I would if Rudi were being held hostage, sending someone like Astrid or Sam to look after him?

  "She can attend our school at Dun Juniper with my son, if we haven't come to an arrangement with her parents before then," Juniper said coolly; the term started in September, roughly when the fall rains came, and ran until March.

  Georges nodded. "I have the princess's personal school-books, and copies of some of her favorite reading," she said.

  "I'd best have a look at that."

  The tutor unslung a small leather trunk from her back and put it on the table. The trunk was newish, and also very well made—the combination bespoke great wealth these days, the ability to command the services of the rare skilled artisans. The surface was tooled around every edge in Greek keys, the corners were wrought brass, and the lock was a silver saint's face. When it opened, the interior was lined with fine linen, a contrast to the fairly shabby look of most of the volumes within. There were a couple of classic children's books—Pooh, for starters—readers and grammars, arithmetic primers, a geography text and an atlas. And a number of paperbacks…

  "Is this something you know about, Astrid dear?" Juniper asked, reaching in and picking one out. There hadn't been many things to smile about this day…

  She held up a slim volume with a bluish cover, showing an erupting volcano and someone riding a very stylized pig. Astrid's eyes narrowed, and she came out of the almost hieratic trance of watchfulness. Juniper smiled as the young woman fumed wordlessly, feeling very slightly ashamed. Then she felt much worse, as she saw from the narrowing of Eddie Liu's eyes that he was sharing the amusement.

  Suddenly that ran out of his face, leaving total blankness. "Lady Katrina, where did you get that book?" he said.

  The tutor looked at him, puzzled. "It was on the list and I brought it from… no, wait, I lie. I forgot that one in Portland and got a copy in Gervais when we were staying over at the castle. Your house steward got it for me. Any problem?"

  Liu's face stayed blank, but Juniper had the impression it suddenly required an immense effort of will to keep it that way as he shook his head.

  I wonder what that was. about? she thought. But anyway…

  "This interview was supposed to be short, Baron Gervais," she pointed out. "If you're finished."

  "Yeah. I mean, yes, of course, Lady Juniper."

  "You'd do best to leave immediately, then," Juniper went on.

  She more than half expected Liu to protest and demand quarters for the night; the day was half gone, and he'd have to camp out at least once in unsettled country. Instead he bowed again and left.

  Juniper fixed Katrina Georges with a steady eye: "Let's understand each other, Ms. Georges. I don't trust anyone who works for your employer. You'll be watched. Don't make me do anything Mathilda would regret." .

  That went over the girl's head, but the tutor caught it: She might regret it if you ended up with half a dozen arrows through you but I wouldn't. That wasn't strictly true: Ju-niper never liked killing anything, and human beings in particular. Which doesn't mean I won't, if I have to.

  "We'll be leaving tomorrow morning early," she said. "Please be ready."

  Mathilda gave her an abstracted nod; she'd settled down near the cat's box with her book and was reading bits of it under her voice, giggling as she did so. The tutor's face was unrecognizable.

  Outside in the corridor three Clan warriors stood guard. "Shaun, get me—" No, Sam headed back yesterday to make sure Dun Juniper was safe. "Get me Rowan of Dun Carson, if he hasn't left town yet."

  The Larsdalen contingent had tactfully headed back for Bearkiller territory. That had seemed advisable at the time, but…

  Best to get back home quickly.

  Between Sutterdown and Dun Juniper,

  Willamette Valley, Oregon August 25th, 2007 AD—Change Year Nine

  "What on earth?" Astrid said, then repeated it with Sign.

  The little clump of woods was too dark for easy lipread-ing. They'd picked it because it was convenient and had good water, shelter and firewood. Once inside the outer ring of thick brush, the ground under the tall firs and al
ders and oaks made it plain someone else had been there, and not too long ago.

  Horse traders from Sutterdown? Eilir said, glancing around at the ground.

  Someone made a torch from fallen branches and set it on fire with their lighter. Astrid looked around, raising it above her head so that it wouldn't dazzle her eyes, but instead cast light to let her see. The hoofmarks were many and deep; so were piles of dung, where the mounts had been tethered to a picket line strung between two young trees. The bark bore the scars of the rope, and there was sap to make a finger sticky when she touched it, the bal-samlike scent of Douglas fir.

  There's an awful lot of them. And why would they be headed southeast? There's nothing that way but Dun Carson and Dun Juniper, unless you go all the way south to Peoria and then up to Corvallis.

  Eilir cast about, going to one knee occasionally, sometimes sniffing at a horse apple. A day old, but some's fresh; oat-fed horses, too—see, there's some grain that spilled from a feed bag. They were here during the last of the horse fair and left only an hour or two ago. They didn't let their horses graze, either.

  That was odd; the fields about were Mackenzie land, of course, but unclaimed by any dun, and they were tall with grass. Why waste feed?

  Bandits? Eilir asked. Waiting to jump people coming back from the fair?

  That was why they'd gone on a scout-about after the fair, rather than riding straight back to Dun Juniper or west to Larsdalen. Astrid did more of her own looking. No. All big horses, well-shod. Men in boots with built-up heels, wearing armor, from the way they sank in.

  Another of the Dunedain waved from deeper within the woods, where a small creek ran in a hollow. Campfires, he signed in broad form. Forty, fifty men and more horses.

  Definitely not bandits, Eilir signed. Too well ordered.

  Yrch! Astrid replied. Servants of the Lidless Eye.

  Eilir nodded, her face tight with worry. Then: Look!

  A hazelnut bush that fronted the edge of the woods had been turned into a blind; someone had put a blanket down, a ragged tattered one, and not bothered to take it up again. Astrid crawled through, wrinkling her nose at the sweat smell… and whoever it was hadn't bothered to go far when he pissed, either. That gave her a view of the white ribbon of road ahead, over the scrub-grown field. The road to Dun Juniper, which Lady Juniper's party would have taken a few hours ago; unlikely they'd try to push through to home, that would mean traveling long after dark. More probably they'd camp out—

  This was an ambush party, she signed. Eilir gasped, and Astrid went on: Too many men for spies. They probably

  came in disguised as horse traders and then hid here. And then followed.

  Eilir's face firmed. Anamchara, you go for Lord Bear. He's only a few hours away, there and back—he was heading for the southern crossing to Corvallis.

  We'll send one of the others.

  No! It has to be you. He'll listen. We'll follow the enemy directly.

  But you've only got six Rangers here!

  There's better than thirty warriors with Mom. We'll do what we can… but get them here, and hurry! They've got something worse than just an attack planned.

  The dark was dense when Mathilda Arminger awoke in her tent. The night was just a little too cool to be comfortable on top of the bedding, but her blanket and the warm curled lump of Saladin made it cozy. She stirred and yawned, wiggling for a more comfortable position—Saladin just didn't move when he was comfortable, and that was that. That was one reason she'd been happy enough when Lady Katrina had insisted she have a tent of her own, separate from the one Lady Juniper and Rudi had. Then Rudi had said he intended to sleep by the side of his new horse, and there had been an argument… although Katrina had seemed to get along well with the young guard assigned to her.

  "Mmmm?" she said drowsily, realizing that a noise outside the tent had woken her.

  Now the flap opened, letting in a slight wash of starlight, bright by comparison to the utter blackness a moment earlier. Katrina was there, but when she came to kneel by the cot Mathilda could see that she wore a mail vest and had her hair tucked under a light helmet. A crossbow was cradled in her hands.

  Mathilda shot upright-, excitement making her blood race. "What's up, Kat?" she said.

  "We're taking you home, Princess," she replied, speaking quietly. "Get up and get dressed. Quickly now. Don't make any noise."

  She scurried to obey. A rescue, like the stories.'

  Another figure knelt at the opening of the tent and whispered. Mathilda recognized Baron Liu's voice, and the edge of his heavy sword glittered slightly. He was in armor, too, a laced-together cuirass of finger-sized lamellar steel plates and mail sleeves and leggings, and a darkened helmet; the harness gave off a muted sound as he moved, a low sibilant rustling.

  "Any problem with the guard?" he said softly.

  "No," Kat answered. "Everyone knew he was with me, and he was asleep when I made sure of him. The perimeter?"

  "They heard the little glass balls tinkle, and then they all went sleepy-byes," Liu said. "This is good stuff."

  Abruptly, Mathilda recognized the smell from Katrina's right sleeve: it was blood. Surprise rocked her silent for an instant, and then Kat's hand went over her mouth.

  "These are your father's enemies, Princess. Now hold still for a moment."

  She pulled out a small leather case and opened it. Starlight gleamed on a set of hypodermics; the woman lifted one and tapped it, letting a bead of clear liquid trickle down the needle. There was a slight sting in the girl's arm, and the plunger went home. The spot itched and burned, and then a rush of faintness overtook her for a moment, as if the fire were spreading throughout her body.

  "What is—" she began, then gave a muffled squawk of indignation as Katrina clamped her hand back across her mouth.

  "Princess, I have your parents' permission to tie you up and gag you if I have to. Now are you going to come along like a good girl?" Mathilda nodded, and her tutor went on: "That was to keep you safe. I took some myself and the feeling goes away in a few minutes. Now let's get ready to go."

  She turned in surprise as Liu crawled into the tent, then hissed: "What are you doing, you idiot?"

  Liu was upending the leather case that held her books and papers. "Where is it?" he said. "Where is it?"

  "Where's what! We've got the princess; let's go before the kilties catch on!"

  "Fuck the kilties; that's why we've got the gas! You think the Protector wants us to scoot and go with a chance like this? And where's the book?"

  "The book?'" Katrina's face went fluid with shock.

  "Yeah, bitch, the book you took from my castle at Ger-vais," Liu said tightly. His hand moved, and the heavy sword twitched; it was suddenly under Katrina's chin. "And don't ask why. Just don't. Get it!"

  Katrina's hand had left Mathilda's mouth as she made an abortive grab at the hilt of the long dagger at her belt.

  Mathilda spoke, in a small, quiet voice with a shiver in it, younger than her years. "I loaned it to Rudi," she said. "I'd told him about it. That's why I said to bring it."

  Eddie Liu began to swear, softly and venomously. Mathilda swallowed; she knew what most of the words meant, but she also knew there was something very wrong if Baron Liu was talking that way to her.

  "Where is the little shit?"

  "Eddie!" she whispered. "You're scaring me!"

  "Where is he?"

  "And here I thought you were a man of initiative," Juniper said, leaning her chin on one palm. "Tsk, tsk. I go to all the trouble of getting my son his own tent—"

  On the other side of the table, Nigel Loring laughed softly. "And I thought, dear lady, that it was simply that he must have one if young Miss Arminger had her own."

  "He certainly thought so."

  His smile died slightly. "Are you quite sure?" he said.

  "Quite. As if a little bird had whispered in my ear." Or Herself.

  He moved the lamp to the other side of the camp table and reached out both h
ands; she took them in hers. "I'm a bit older than you—ten years—"

  "Oh, hush, Nigel; I discovered my first gray hair some time ago. We're neither of us teenagers in lust. We're middle-aged, and friends. Let's see where that takes us." An impish smile. "And I do covet that fair body of yours, you know."

  "Which I assure you is mutual."

  They were leaning towards each other when the first shout sounded outside.

  Rudi Mackenzie bolted upright at the soft thud of steel in flesh. He made an instinctive grab for the book that slid off his chest, then reached for the knob on the lantern beside his cot. Then he froze; the starlight was just enough for him to see the glitter of cold steel at the entrance to the tent. A huge gauntlet clamped on his ankle with bruising force and yanked him through the entrance and onto the turf beyond in a single motion; behind him the lantern toppled sideways, and there was a rush of flame as the glass shattered and burning wood alcohol rushed out across canvas and cloth.

  "Got him, boss!" a voice like gravel dropping into a steel bucket said, and a huge armored figure loomed over him.

  "The book, you fuckhead, the book!"

  A smaller figure darted through and scooped up the paperback, stuffing it hastily into a pouch at his belt. He swore in relief and then clamped a hand on the back of Rudi's neck.

  "Kat, you got the princess? Sorry I was rough, Princess; business. All right—"

  Juniper Mackenzie had her sword in her hand as she dashed out into the dark; that was a measure of what she felt, because running around in the dark with two feet of pointed, edged metal in your hand wasn't something you did casually. Light flared up a second later, as someone threw dry wood on the low-burning campfires; the wagons were strung out in a pasture alongside the road, and the tents behind them, with the picket line for the horses beyond that. She squinted…

  Rowan was there, panting, his ax in his hands. "Sentries dead on the north end—not a mark on them."

  "Damn the man!" Nigel Loring said. "He was talking about launching it with crossbows. Stonebow type, to throw little thin glass containers of it, like pebbles. There would be enough in the carboy of the real thing for some of those."