Dies the Fire

"But you don't, as of now, control the Willamette? Sir."

"No," the Protector said. "Right now, it's Portland, and part of the lower Columbia. Our current southern and western border is roughly a semicircle from Oregon City to Tualtin. Does that mean your group won't consider my offer?"

"No, sir. We will most definitely consider it-when and if we get here."

Leaving you to assume that here means Portland, and that we'll come up I-84. Assume makes an ass of you and me.

Aloud he went on: "And depending on our appreciation of the situation then in the light of our own interests. I'll certainly recommend that we take your offer under advisement and send further scouts later in the year, when we're closer. The Pendleton committee offered us land; it just wasn't very good land when you don't have modern equipment to work it. Plus the politics there look unstable, as you said."

Slowly, Arminger nodded; then he made a gesture of dismissal, with grudging respect in it.

"You can start on your way back tomorrow then. Ask the steward for anything you need in the way of amusements tonight, or supplies tomorrow."

"Thank you kindly, sir."

Havel stood, nodded his head in an almost-bow, and led his companions out the carved-teak door, moving easily, but conscious of the sweat that trickled down his flanks despite the coolness of the air. They were billeted in a yellow-brick apartment building half a block away, and he'd be very glad to get there.

"Mike!" Eric hissed, after they passed the guards with their halberds and crossbows. "What the hell were you-"

He gave a muffled oofff! as Josh took his arm and elbowed him in the ribs as he did it. Havel draped a comradely arm around his shoulders for an instant, and said loudly: "Yeah, sounded like a pretty reasonable proposition."

Josh nodded. "Certainly the best offer we've had so far."

Eric missed a step and then nodded vigorously; he was young and still had a bit of the sense of entitlement produced by being brought up rich, but he wasn't stupid. They passed through the corridor, then into a vast open area where the reconstruction work was still under way. From the looks of it, this was going to be a barracks or ready-room.

Havel stopped, looked around, and went on: "Thank God we don't have to worry about electronic bugs anymore… anyway, didn't it occur to you that he has a vigorous zero-fault tolerance program for those who tell him 'no' to his face? Like, nailing their heads up over the door?"

Eric nodded. Havel thought for a moment: "You ever do any of that role-playing stuff?"

"D and D? A little. I wouldn't have figured you for the type, Mike."

Havel gave a rare grin. Eric wore a lot better now than he had when they'd first met; he suspected it was mostly a matter of having real work and real responsibilities.

When you're in it, you grow up fast. Aloud he went on: "I wasn't into D and D; working on my Harley and deer hunting and track and field were more my style, when I could duck out of chores at home. I even read the odd book."

Eric mimed staggering in surprise, and Havel gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"But there was this girl I knew in high school in 'eighty-seven who was a fanatic about it; Shirley, real cute, and by rumor a demented mink in the sack-"

"- and you thought you could make a saving-roll into her pants?"

"Hey, I was a teenager, all dick and no brains, like some people around here right now. Thing is, she liked the Chaotic Evil types and I couldn't compete." Seriously: "The Protector and the way he operates remind me of the guy she dumped me for-dressed in black a lot, had this little scraggly peach-fuzz goatee like a landing strip on his chin, lot of attitude, thought he was seriously bad. And he was smart, but not as smart as he thought he was-for example, he thought all those little needling jabs were going right over my thick jock head. And he thought he could fight 'cause he'd pranced around a dojo a little, in a black gi, of course."

A reminiscent smile, and he rubbed the knuckles of his right fist into his left palm. "About the time I finally gave up on Shirley, I broke the little pissant's nose out behind the school gym-caught hell from the principal, but it was worth it, and I pla

Soberly: "Anyway, give you odds the Protector was his clone when he was a kid and always played a, what the hell was the name… yeah, a dwerg or a draug or a Dark Elf or magical assassin or something."

"Now he's trying to do it for real?"

"Yeah, and it won't work in the end, I'd bet. We may have had a change in the laws of nature, but I don't think even the Change could make the world that much like a D and D game. Plus I think he's got this thing about the history he used to study, the feudalism thing, and that won't work either, at least not right away, although it's a better bet long-term than the Evil Overlord stuff. We may have had all our toys taken away, but the people he's dealing with weren't born back then."

"I don't know, Mike," Eric said. "He has taken over around here, and he looks like he's getting things organized. People will put up with a lot, for that and for food."

"Yeah," Josh said. "And he's also operating on a pretty big scale. What was that Russian saying Eric's dad quoted?"

"Quantity has a quality all its own," Havel said. "Yup. I'm not saying the Protector would be a pushover. Even if he goes down, he could do a lot of damage first; in fact, he certainly will do a lot of damage whether he wins or loses."

A glance over his shoulder, and he continued meditatively: "If he weren't such a looney-tooner, I'd actually give that proposition of his serious consideration. Even though he is… "

Eric made a disgusted noise. Havel went on: "I said if, kid. The other problem is that he's got big eyes. I think it's going to be a join-him-or-fight-him thing everywhere in the Columbia basin, eventually. Damn."

Eric nodded. "We're still not committed," he pointed out. "I mean, we could head southeast, try the Snake River country, or even get out across the Rockies over the summer. Try the High Plains, or find somewhere to winter and then a chunk of good farming country we could claim."

Josh tapped the fingers of his left hand on his sword hilt; the brass strips of the guard rang a little.

"Problem with that is, first, good country isn't going to be all that easy to find without we drive off someone else. And second, we could walk straight into something just as bad as this Protector guy. I got this ugly feelin' ambitious men are going to be right common for a good long while now."

"We'll see," Havel said. A grin: "I mean, hell, I'm ambitious. And tomorrow, we ride out of here-south. He admitted he doesn't control the Willamette. I'd like to see if anyone does, and what the prospects are, before we go back and start making decisions."

Ke

"Shhh," Pamela said, holding his head against her shoulder in the cool canvas-smelling dimness of the tent. "Shhh. It's all right, Ken."

The tears subsided. "I'm so fucking useless," he said. "I'm sorry, Pam."

"For what?" she said. "Hey, Ken, I've been having a fine old time tonight. Young men don't make love to a woman; they use the woman to make love to Mr. Dickie. Give it time."

He relaxed, probably amazed she didn't want to kick him out of her bedroll and never see him again. Pamela's lips quirked in the darkness.

I meant what I said, she thought. And besides, Ken-we can't walk out on each other, not anymore. We're all stuck with each other unless we want to leave the outfit.