Sunrise Lands

"Lovely if it works. Four-to-one odds just purely don't leave you much to fall back on if things get fucked," the heir to Seffridge Ranch said dubiously.

"But we'll have to be quick; they're going to get overrun down there before sunset," Rudi said.

"Well, dip me in shit and roast me with nuts if it isn't our only real chance," the rancher's son said ruefully. "Can't just go home and tell Dad, 'Sorry, the Rovers done kilt all our customers.' "

Then his eyes went back to the ruins. "Be tricky timing, though. If it goes south, we're in it up to our asses."

"Never yet been in a fight that didn't have some risks," Ingolf said. "I wouldn't try it if there weren't those hills in back, but that makes it a chance worth taking."

Chapter Fourteen

Southeastern Oregon

May 15, CY23/2021 A.D.

"I hope this is worth it," Odard said, slapping each palm against the vambrace on the opposite fore-arm to make sure it was seated firmly, and then pulling on his mail backed gauntlets.

"You have to help your friends," Mathilda said, as she bloused her long tunic of titanium mail a little around her sword belt. "And your friends' friends. And we need their help getting farther east after Rancher Brown's men turn back, unless we want to try swinging far south and tackling the Colorado Rockies by ourselves."

"Point," the Baron of Gervais said.

Rudi gri

"And it's a nice day for a fight," he went on. "No clouds, not too hot… Someone give me a hand here?"

Edain did; putting on full lancer's armor was always a bit awkward. Mathilda met Rudi's eyes and gave him a grave nod as she fastened the flap of her coif across her mouth, then lowered the conical helmet with its splayed nasal bar onto her head and buckled the chinstrap. A plume of black-dyed ostrich feathers rose from the peak, traded from hand to hand at incredible cost from the deserts of the southwest where the birds ran free.

"Well, I'm off to do my bit, then, Chief," Edain said. "Wings of the Morrigu shelter you."

"Horned Lord with you," Rudi replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "And may the Wolf fight by your side."

Edain started towards his horse, then turned his head to say, "And thank Him and Her and Father Wolf too that I don't have to use that bloody saddlebow!"

The lancers' horses were ready; they'd armed them before themselves, with chamfrons to cover their heads save for the eyes and nostrils, and peytrals of steel plates mounted on padded leather backing on their chests and necks and shoulders. Epona whickered greeting; the chamfron went clink on the mail that covered Rudi's upper arm as she tried to nuzzle him. Her eyes rolled behind the ridges of steel that protected them as she snorted and stamped a foot eagerly.

She knows what the gear means, just as I do, Rudi thought. But she likes it more than I.

He settled the sallet helm on his head-a low dome of steel that came down to the angle of his jaw save for the open space before his face, and flared out to protect his neck. A smooth curved visor with a narrow vision slit slid up under his hand, shading his eyes like the bill of a cap.

Twin sprays of raven feathers stood in holders at each temple. Thin lines had been graven in the steel, and filled with black niello, in the likeness of more feathers; the visor came down to a slight peak. On this trip he wasn't supposed to advertise who he was, but he could still show what he was.

His thoughts went grimly on:

Epona just doesn't like people, except me; she wants to hurt them, the way they hurt her before we met. We're old souls to each other, I think; we've met in past lives, or in the Summerlands. But I don't enjoy killing men. It's necessary, sometimes, that's all.

He leaned against the saddle for a moment, closed his eyes, and murmured under his breath, "Dread Lord, Father of Victories, Storm rider, Wild Huntsman, aid us now. Dark Goddess, Morrigu of the Crows, Red Hag of Battles, to You I dedicate the harvest of the unplowed field of war, and the blood to be spilled this day on Your earth. Be You both with Your children; and if this is my hour, then know I go most willingly to You."

Sometimes the regard of the Powers could be as warm as a lover's embrace or a summer's wind lying in new mown hay; but most often They came in the Aspect that you called. Now he felt as if a wind were blowing, blowing along his spine and into the spaces of his head, cold and bitter from a place of ice and iron and bones. Then he swung into the saddle and picked up a lance from the seven that leaned against the wagon.

Father Ignatius had the band's Catholics gathered about him for a moment. Rudi could hear their voices following his:

"Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us. Come to the aid of us Christians and make us worthy to fight to the death for our faith and our brothers. Strengthen our souls and our whole bodies, Mighty Lord of Hosts, God of Battles. Through the intercession of the Immaculate Mother of God, and of all the saints, we humbly beg this of You. Deus lo vult! Amen."

Then the monk swung into the saddle and rode over. He smiled and hefted the next of the eleven foot ash wood shafts, looked critically along the length, and gave the nod of a workman satisfied with his tools.

Their eyes met, and Ignatius smiled. "Serious business, Rudi. It's always well to start it with a prayer."

"Right you are, Father," Rudi acknowledged.

The twins and Mathilda seemed to think so too. Odard was cool and detached, making sure his gear was just so.

"This is a damn good plan, Ingolf," the baron said. "If it works, I owe you a bottle of wine." He laughed. "And if it doesn't we'll be too dead to drink, most likely."

Odd, the Mackenzie thought. I wonder what it's like to be Odard? You can hunt and drink and spar with a man, and laugh at his jokes and play poker and talk about girls, and still you wonder what the inwardness is like, when he talks to himself in his head.

Odard went on: "They won't have ever dealt with real knights, this far east."

Rudi nodded; that was the plan. Unfortunately there were only seven of them fit to carry a lance-himself, the twins, Matti, Ingolf, Odard, and the soldier-monk.

Ingolf looked down at the kit he was wearing-much like Rudi's, a brigandine supplemented by mail collar and sleeves and breeches, with plate greaves on his shins and vambraces on his forearms. He'd stuck to his own kettle helmet, though.

"I'm not used to wearing this much armor," he grumbled. "Boy isn't either."

"He'll get used to it," Rudi said. "And you're already pretty good with a lance. Full armor doesn't make that any different."

"Just safer." Odard laughed, slinging his long kite-shaped shield over his back by the guige strap and swinging up into the saddle. "Safer for you, and more dangerous for the other guy."

His voice was muffled behind the mail coif; he tossed the lance's length of ashwood and steel overhead and twirled it like a baton until it made the air whir and the pe

"Stop showing off, Odard," Mathilda said sharply. "This is a fight, not a tournament with barriers and re-bated points. I don't want to get that thing in my back because you slipped."

"Your Highness commands," he said, bowing his head and chuckling again before he put the lance at rest.

Over with the Seffridge Ranch folk Bob Brown gave Rudi a thumbs-up. The horse herd was safely pe