Sunrise Lands

"Yeah, that's true," Kit said. "And Martin Thur ston's… he understands, you know? Nothing against the boss, but sometimes he doesn't think like us. I've heard Captain Martin talk and I've talked to guys in the sixth regiment. They say you can always go to him with a problem and he'll see you right-he'll stand by a friend no matter what. And he's a young guy, like Joe says, he's got his pecker up, he's got big plans for the country.

Time to do something new, like his dad did when he was young."

"You'll hail him tanist, then?" Edain asked. "Vice president, I mean."

"Well, there's some bullshit rules about it," Kit said. "I don't see why we've always got to get our panties in a twist 'cause of something written way over on the other side of the world back when."

Gottberg put down his spoon, his blue eyes narrow ing. "Fuckin'-A. And those Cutter loonies from Corwin, they tried to kill him-snuck killers into the guard detail! Kill him and the boss and his brother too! I've got nothing against Colonel Moore, but he's even older than the boss, like you say. If those scumbags hadn't been shot in time, we wouldn't have anything of the boss left."

That brought a growl all along the table. Men sitting at others close enough to hear nodded; a couple of them gave Edain a thumbs-up gesture, probably having heard who it was who saved their ruler.

Rudi will be interested to hear this, Edain thought.

Politics lost its charm; someone began to sing. The Boise men didn't have as much training as so many clansfolk would, and it was odd to sing without women's voices, but they had some catchy tunes.

They liked "March of Cambreath," and he did it twice so they could get the words; the "How many of them can we make die?" chorus was really popular. Then they started in on their own war songs. Soon the whole room was hammering mugs and fists on the tables and bellowing:

Yanks to the charge! cried Thurston

The foe begins to yield!

Strike-for hearth and nation

Strike-for the Eagle shield!

Let no man stop to plunder

But slay, and slay, and slay;

The God who helped our fathers

Fights by our side today!

Edain turned down an invitation to follow them to a sporting house, whatever that was. He didn't know what the conversation had meant, not wholly, but it did give him a bit of a feeling for the place, and Rudi was better than he at putting the bits and pieces together.

"Yeah, that toadsticker you use is dangerous one-on-one," Martin Thurston said. "As long as you've got room to give ground."

Rudi nodded and settled back in the big chair; he felt loose and relaxed after the sparring and the shower. The officer's mess of Boise's citadel was a comfortable place, with leather furniture and good paneling, and a discreet bar. It also stood on the sixth floor of an old high rise, the Williams Office Building, built into the new citadel wall, which gave it a magnificent view of the state capitol-national capitol, according to the residents-when the heavy steel shutters with their arrow slits were drawn back.

There were a few other officers and their guests there, but Martin and Juliet Thurston were getting a deference that was just a shade more than the man's official rank would account for. Particularly from the younger men.

"That saber you used is fairly nimble, too," Rudi said. "You gave me a few uncomfortable moments, if you know what I mean. A more subtle weapon than the shete, I would say."

"Just plain and simple better… as long as you're not trying to clear brush with it. Shetes are so point heavy all you can really do is make like a woodchopper. The easterners dote on the damn things, though, I suppose because their dads used the original-article machetes to get through the Change and the dying time."

"I've a man in our company from the east who uses a shete very well."

"Vogeler? The tall fella? He looks like things would stay down if he hit them with a club, much less any sort of sword."

They gri

Though I have less sense of the man than I would ex pect, Rudi thought, sipping again at his drink. Usually you get a feel for the mind in the head when you test the sword in the hand.

His foster father, Nigel, said that it was hard to lie with a sword.

"Yes, he's got wrists like a bear, anyway," he went on aloud. "Even so, the shete is slow."

"The saber's faster," Martin agreed. "But it's a cav alry weapon. Not suitable for our infantry tactics… and speaking of cavalry, do you have any stallions out of that mare you ride? I'd pay gold for one of them in our stud."

"I can believe it, sure. Unfortunately young Ahearn is in stallion heaven back home, improving the breed throughout the Willamette Valley. And outside the Clan's territories, it's often enough I'm paid in gold indeed."

He raised a brow. "Which makes me sort of an equine pimp, I suppose…"

The young Thurstons joined in the laugh, before Mar tin went on: "Pity. That mare's the best piece of horse flesh I've ever seen… well, we depend mostly on our infantry, and short swords are our weapon of choice for the foot. Though in a one-on-one duel, I'd still take a longer blade. But for fighting in ranks…"

"I know the short blade's dangerous, close in," Rudi said. "Many of my people use them. A line of them, with those big great shields of yours, that would be more dangerous than is comfortable to contemplate."

"Iron discipline and the short sword, that's what makes good heavy infantry," Martin replied. "In fact-"

"Oh, God, honey, you're not going to go into the glory-of-the legions thing again, are you?" his wife said.

"Sorry, darling," the young man said with a quick smile.

Juliet Thurston was… the word sleek came to Rudi's mind. Partly that was the glow of early pregnancy-about four months along, he thought-but most of it was a general catlike smoothness, not least in her long blond hair, and the way she curled into the red leather of the couch. She was pretty otherwise, too, long-limbed and well curved, with an oval face framing bright blue eyes. They seemed guileless.

And they're not, sure, Rudi told himself.

The mess steward came by; she chose a fruit drink of some sort; Rudi and her husband took another whiskey-and-water each. He took a sip. It was good, with a smooth burnished taste he wasn't used to, probably from something else besides barley in the malt.

"Tell me about your mother," Juliet said. "Judging by the little we hear from the far West, she must be quite a lady."

"She is that!" Rudi said enthusiastically.

And I miss her, he thought. I miss everyone.

"She's elected, you say?" Martin asked.

"Hailed, every Beltane," Rudi said. "I suppose some one else could stand and ask for it at the same time, but there wouldn't be much point, and someone might throw things… not sharp or metallic or pointy things, but even so… though now and then a Jack-in-the-green does."

"Jack?" Juliet said.

"Sort of a licensed fool… one of the merrier parts of our religion. A Jack does outrageous things and it doesn't count."

"She didn't mind you standing for… what did you call it? Ta

"Tanist," Rudi said, noting a quick glance between the two. "Much like your vice president, I think."

"Sensible," Martin said. A smile: "Though perhaps sending you haring off across the country in the middle of a war isn't."

Rudi shrugged. "It's necessary."

Juliet sighed. "I wish we didn't have to fight the Corwinites," she said."But we do."

"Since they tried to kill me and Frederick and Dad, yeah," Martin said dryly. "But you're right, honey, that's going to be hard. And not just the fighting. The reports are there's a great big mob of refugees headed this way."