Sunrise Lands

Birds were many; away in the middle distance he heard the mating-season boom-boom of a blue grouse, and closer to hand a pair of hummingbirds hovered above a patch of iris. It was all nearly as familiar as his family's house, or the fields. He still smiled to see it…

But I'm leaving, he thought. I'm going far and far away, and I may never be back again!

He stopped for a moment to look back for a last glimpse through the trees and down at the valley's dappled spring quilt of plowland and pasture and young wheat. That was enough to sober him for a few minutes; with every pace away he could feel how his heartstrings were deep in that good brown earth. And it made him look at each tree and turn of the creek in a new light as it went past; but he was cheerful enough again in a few minutes. He was young, and strong, and the Chief's tanist had chosen him as his companion on the great journey.

When he came near the old overgrown logging trail above Dun Juniper he was gri

"Not bad, kid," a voice said from behind him.

He knew from the flat harsh accent that it was the foreigner Ingolf. Very slowly he turned, cheeks blushing with embarrassment, biting down on anger.

He outsneaked me! he thought indignantly. And on ground I've hunted over all my life!

Rudi stood gri

"Ready, Edain?" he said, tossing it.

Edain caught the length of ashwood and looked up through the trees to the high white peaks eastward. Mackenzie Pass would still be cold this time of year…

"Ready, Chief!" he said, rearranging his quiver and shrugging one of the packs onto his back with a grunt of effort.

Usually Rudi didn't like being called that; and tech nically he wouldn't be, not until his mother died or stepped down, and even then only if the Clan hailed him-though that was pretty well a foregone conclusion now that they'd made him tanist. This time he shrugged it off with a grin.

"Then let's get going!"

"After you, Chief," Ingolf said with a smile.

Rudi did scowl at him; then they set their faces east ward and walked into the forests and towards the peaks that walled the world.

Chapter Eleven

County Odell,

Hood Valley, Northern Oregon

Portland Protective Association

April 17, CY23/2021 A.D.

"It really is worth coming here for the blossom time," Mathilda Arminger said wistfully, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. "Too bad we have to leave right away."

This had always been fruit country, and still was; neat orchards mantled the rolling floor of the valley on every side, apple and cherry and pear, a froth of cream and pink and white, the scent as intoxicating as cool wine. Petals fell in drifts from the trees on either side of the road to catch in her hat and hair and the russet-brown suede leather of her jerkin, and there was a deep murmur of bees amid the blossoms.

The great white cone of Mount Hood hung in the sky to the south, looming over the valley that ran north to the Columbia Gorge. The cream of its summit was tinged with a little pink from the rising sun. It looked a bit odd to see the snowpeak there, even though this was far from her first visit to the chancellor's home fief-in Portland and the Willamette you saw the mountain from the west.

The ferroconcrete bulk of Castle Odell on Lenz Butte behind them was two years younger than Mathilda, but the bright white-stucco mass might have loomed there for generations, with ba

Steep forested hills rose green and blue with distance on either side, and Middle Mountain a few miles south separated the lower valley from the upper. A few fleecy clouds floated overhead, and the air was busy with birds journeying north. The road their horses trod came out through the town's western gate and followed the old Union Pacific. Trains of ox drawn cars went by north ward on the steel rails, mostly with barrels of fruit brandies and cordials, apple vinegar and honey mead; south the return cargoes were grain and wool from the count's vassals in Grass and Tygh valleys.

As the road and rail turned west and then south they passed manors and villages and even a few isolated farms-the latter very rare in Association territory, and a sign of long peace. Peasants cutting hay in a riverside meadow paused to wave their straw hats; a friar on foot told his beads as he walked and raised a hand in blessing as they passed; once a raggedy-gaudy troubadour with a lute slung over his back doffed his cap and bowed as they rode by. A little later a half dozen mounted crossbowmen on road patrol saluted smartly.

And now we have to figure out how to get rid of Lady Catherine, she thought as she returned the gesture with a wave of her riding crop.

As princess she was exempt from most of the usual rules, but Catherine was young-daughter of one of the Countess of Odell's ladies-in-waiting-and took her duties as chaperone seriously, sitting primly on her pal frey in her modest divided skirt and leggings. Her lips were compressed; it had taken a direct order to stop her hauling along a round dozen mounted attendants and guards. Mathilda's own mouth quirked.

Chaperone, indeed! As if I couldn't kick up my heels anytime I wanted! And Odard would be happy to cooperate-he isn't a pest about it, but you can tell. There's no real guard against impurity but determination.

The hills closed in on either side as the way turned south and closed with the Hood River, brawling and leaping white over rocks with spring's snowmelt. A roadside shrine caught her eye, a miniature carved wooden shed above a saint's image. It was a naked man with one hand on his chest and the other holding a cross.

Saint Dismas, she thought, the thief who'd been cruci fied at the side of Jesus. The one who repented, that is. Patron saint of criminals who've gone respectable.

Conrad Renfrew wasn't openly old fashioned, but he had an odd sense of humor she'd noticed sometimes in those who'd been adults before the Change. It was just like him to find a special devotion to that particular member of the calendar.

"Let's stop and ask the saint's help," Mathilda said.

That was always a safe thing to suggest, and in this case she really wanted it as well. They reined in and dismounted; Odard gallantly gave her a hand down, which was sort of superfluous-Catherine was the one who might actually need it. As he did he whispered, "I'll fix her saddle to slip off when she remounts. She couldn't ride a rocking horse bareback and she won't notice until it's too late. Then we can just gallop away and she'll have to walk back to the castle."

Mathilda nodded unhappily; the count wasn't at home, but his lady and his eldest son were, and they'd smell a rat as soon as Catherine got back to town, and couriers would start galloping in every direction and heliograph messages would fly to the outposts all around. It would be touch and go whether she and Odard could make it south to the border before a conroi of lancers caught up to "escort" her home… and there would be hell to pay from her mother.

The three young nobles tied their horses to the hitching rail, dropped a few copper coins in the box and lit the small tapers provided, planting them before the image. Then they knelt on the dense green turf, signing themselves, kissing their crucifixes and taking up their rosaries. Mathilda continued with silent intensity as they all bowed their heads in prayer: