Sunrise Lands

The Rovers were brave men, but they'd never met true heavy horse before; nobody had reinvented it yet in their part of the world. It took them a few moments and more than a few lives before the survivors realized how terribly vulnerable they were to that ironclad violence at close quarters. The sight of their chief's fall and the loss of the horse tail ba

Suddenly Rudi had no targets within arm's reach; he pushed his visor up with the edge of his shield to gain better vision, and the world opened out before him. His sword sank… then rose again with frantic haste at a glimpse of motion behind him, something long and looping spi

Epona whirled at the shift in his balance, as cat-nimble as a roping pony at a roundup despite her size and weight. One of the Rovers had used a lariat as soon as he had the room for it. The braided rawhide had settled down around Mathilda's shoulders, clamping her arms to her sides and her shield to her body. She was half out of her high saddle already as Rudi slashed with reckless speed. The good steel of his sword was still knife-sharp, and the pull of the leather rope kept it taut. He grunted as the weight of the awkward cut leftward and back pulled at shoulder and arm; he had to risk wrenching a muscle to keep from cutting Epona on the neck as he recovered, and the edge did touch the barding lower down.

The Rover didn't stop, but he was still looking at the severed length of rope when Bob Brown cut him out of the saddle with a sweep of his stirrup hilted saber. His eyes went blank as he slumped and fell.

"Howdy," Brown said, gri

Rudi rested the longsword across his saddlebow and nodded back, panting like a bellows and feeling as if his armor were squeezing him to death; he had been be yond the world for a while, and the return always came hard, hard. The dry air cut the death stink a little, but his gauntlet and steel-clad right arm were ru

The Rovers were scattering for real now, in panic flight and not as a tactic, like beads of mercury under a ham mer; some of them were far enough away already that they were trails of dust turned reddish by the setting sun rather than men and horses. Brown's men were after them, their quivers refilled from the packhorses, shooting them down as they fled.

"Now, that was one good plan, Mr. Vogeler," Brown went on."It actually worked the way you laid it out, which in a fight is somethin' of a prodigy of nature. You can dance lead any hoedown I'm at, far's I'm concerned."

Ingolf shrugged. "Worked the last time I tried it," he said. "Worked even better this time." To Rudi: "These western style lancers of yours have real punch, if you can get them into position."

"I'll remember that," Rudi said, as he checked to see that none of his band were badly hurt.

The cowboys definitely had a few down, and more wounded, but they weren't carrying nearly as much ironmongery as his folk.

It's needful, he knew, as Brown's retainers drove their ruthless pursuit to the edge of sight.

We have to frighten the Rovers down to their toenails to make them leave us alone; if the ones still alive aren't afraid enough, they could try another attack.

It still wasn't to his taste, any more than finishing off the enemy wounded was. That was needful too; the Rovers weren't a civilized foe who dealt in ransoms and exchanges, and the hate between them and the settled ranchers farther west was bitter. It was a blood feud; if you let enemies crawl away and heal today they'd kill you or your kin or friends a week or a month or a year or five years down the road.

Odard had dismounted to recover his sword; he limped as he came back to his horse, swearing softly and leaning against its side instead of swinging back up.

"Are you all right?" Mathilda asked her liegeman sharply; she'd unhooked the flap of her coif, and it dangled beside her sweat-wet face.

"Got a whack on the knee from something," he said, wiping and sheathing his blade. "It's not broken, but I'm going to buy some plate poleyns after this, and damn flexibility. It's a good thing those Rovers couldn't run away, though. We'd never have caught them in a long chase."

Rudi wiped his own sword clean, carefully making sure nothing was left to get under the guard and rust unseen, then sheathed it with a hiss of metal on leather and a steel-on-steel ting of quillions against the guard at the lip of the scabbard.

Ingolf snorted. "If they'd had time to get their asses in gear and room to run, they'd have pecked us to death like crows mobbing a hawk," he said shortly. "How would you go about beating eighty men you can't catch and who can shoot at you from sunup to sundown?"

Rudi's canteen seemed to be missing; he took Mathil da's with a grateful nod as she extended it, washed a mouthful around and spit to clear his mouth of the thick gummy saliva. He'd cut the inside of his mouth against his teeth at some point, and he was just now conscious of the sting; the gobbet was tinged with pink. Then he drank deeply of the water, blood-warm and salt-bitter and delicious.

Mathilda was looking a little wide-eyed at the conse quences of their plan, and crossed herself twice. There were nearly three score bodies scattered over the rolling sagebrush plain between the wells and the wagon laager; this was far and away the biggest fight either of them had ever seen. Buzzards were circling overhead already. More would come as soon as the first felt safe enough to glide down; they watched one another for that, and the ripple could bring them in from hundreds of miles away.

He handed the canteen back and gave her armored forearm a slight squeeze as she took it. Their eyes met, and he felt a momentary warmth, as he saw him self thanked God for. Ignatius crossed himself as well, touching his crucifix to his lips afterwards. Rudi could hear him murmuring beneath his breath:

"Ora pro nobis…"

One of the twins was near him; she was saying some thing in Sindarin, a Dunedain prayer of thanks for the shelter of the Lady's wings and the Dread Lord's spear. He nodded agreement and added his own silent gratitude.

And men were coming out from the wagons. Rudi saw Edain among them, and broke into a delighted grin; Odard nodded calmly to his multitalented manservant Alex. A middle aged man was walking with Edain, and beside him a pretty girl in a dress with a crossbow in her arms.

No, Rudi thought a moment later.

He scrabbled at the chin fastener of his helm with his free hand, pulling the confining weight of the sallet off his head and hanging it from the saddle horn, then tossed his head to let the air at his damp hair; the shock was almost like cold rain, and wonderful.

Not a pretty girl. She's young, but she's a woman, and beautiful.

Edain waved to Rudi as his chief sat easily with his raven-plumed helm on his saddlebow, looking like the young Lugh as the dry evening wind cuffed at his long red gold hair. His own smile soured just a little bit as he noticed Rebecca staring at the horseman with her jaw dropping slightly and her eyes wide.

Well, that's not fair or right! he thought, then gave a rueful chuckle. He does look like the young Lugh come again in glory. I look like a farmer who's good with a bow… which is what I am.

"I hope it's not going to be like this all the way to the coast, Chief," he called. "That was just a bit more lively than comfortable."