Sunrise Lands

In the terminology that Boise used, the men they were talking about were part of the Army of the United States. Everyone else called General-President Thur ston's regime after its capital city; he preferred "USA." In fact, he insisted on it…

"The ones hiding up are pretty much like the Proph et's men from Ingolf's descriptions, composite leather and metal armor, sort of reddish brown stuff. Medium horse-bows and swords and light lances. Flying a flag of dark red with a golden-rayed sunburst."

Ingolf nodded. "Not just Cutter soldiers. The Sword of the Prophet, out of Corwin-his personal troops. Well trained, and they all really believe the horseshit the Church Universal and Triumphant peddles. Very bad news."

Rudi pursed his lips. "That's not a good sign, a unit of them all this way west of New Deseret," he said to the bishop, who looked as if he were sucking on a green persimmon.

"No," he said shortly. "But we're thinly spread out, most of our towns are on rivers or irrigation canals. If they came in from the south, or through one of the sparsely settled areas…"

He shrugged. "But why should it concern us, Mr. Mackenzie? The others are clearly Thurston's troops, and he's no friend to us. We should try to avoid both."

"Are you at war with Boise?"

"No… no. Not now. But we have had… clashes… in the past."

"Then you should get friendly with Boise," Ingolf said bluntly. "And they with you. Or the Prophet will pile your heads in a pyramid next to theirs."

"One thing at a time, Bishop Nystrup," Rudi said calmly, nodding.

The older man fell silent and Rudi looked at the map. Three lines converging on a spot…

"What's Thurston doing sending troops down here? I mean, I know he claims the whole continent, but it's a bit outside his usual stomping grounds."

Nystrup's daughter spoke up unexpectedly; she was some sort of aide or secretary to the bishop as well as his child, but usually rather quiet because it was an irregular thing, a wartime emergency measure and a sign of how hard pressed they were. Now she said, obviously consulting a mental file, "There's good water at Wild-horse Lake, and at least a thousand acres of pretty good land that could be brought under the furrow near it. And a lot of underused grazing. Enough land for a big village, maybe two medium-sized. He could be planting a colony. We considered putting one there, before the war started."

Ingolf cut in: "From what I heard while I was there, everyone in Boise has to serve in the army for three years when they turn nineteen, and then they get land or a workshop or something when they muster out, if they don't stand to inherit one. They tried hard to get me to enlist while I was passing through there-I ducked out by night-and they offered me land at the end of the hitch. It would have been tempting, if I hadn't had places to go."

A grin. "Haven't had that damned dream since I met you, Rudi. You don't know how good that makes me feel!"

Rudi nodded absently. The new farmers build his country's strength and they'd be loyal to Thurston, too, probably, he thought. Smart.

Aloud: "So that's why a column from Boise might be heading south."

"Not just a column," one of the twins said. "The flag-pole has a golden eagle on top."

"That's either Thurston himself, or a very high-ranking panjandrum of his," Ingolf agreed.

Rudi looked at Bishop Nystrup. The older man nodded. "Thurston is

… hands-on, they used to say."

Rudi nodded. "Now… if I had a couple of hundred of the Prophet's horsemen, what would I be doing here?"

Ingolf spoke. "Something important. They wouldn't be risking elite troops like this except for something major."

"It's not likely that two forces are this close by ac cident," Mathilda said thoughtfully. "And when one's hiding and the other's not, that's pretty obvious-the Prophet's men are here to attack the Boise force. Which is another argument that someone important is heading it up."

"The false Prophet is at war with us, but not with the United States of Boise. Yet," Nystrup said. "To at tack them would be reckless, even for the madman of Corwin."

"Who is a madman, eh?" Rudi pointed out. "And possibly possessed by something that's no friend to hu mankind. But certainly crazy at least, and given to doing crazy things."

"One more thing," one of the twins said. "We got a look at what we think is the Corwinite commander. He's a pretty ordinary looking guy."

She looked at Ingolf, her tilted blue eyes consider ing. "Except that he's wearing a patch over his left eye. Didn't you mention you got the one who was holding you prisoner that way?"

"Yeah," Ingolf said, his tough battered face flushed.

Interesting, Rudi thought. That's a killing rage, if ever I saw one. And Ingolf isn't a man governed by anger, usually.

After a long pause, the easterner went on: "Still, we should go south with these folks. No sense in ru

Rudi shook his head. "But along the way, things to do. We go north, and we save this General Thurston by warning him, that we do."

Epona pawed the roadway, where a little gravel had survived the rare but violent summer thunderstorms of twenty two years. Rock rattled off her steel-shod hoof, and a puff of khaki dust went up around it as she stamped. Rudi crooned soothingly and ran a hand down the black arch of her neck, muscle like living metal under the gleaming coat. He thought he saw a twinkle of metal northward; that might be a Boise scout giving them a once-over. Well, they wanted to meet them…

"Think the Mormons will be OK, Chief?" Edain asked, looking back over his shoulder at the dust cloud fading towards the south.

Rudi shrugged. "They'll be better off than they would with two hundred Cutters hunting them," he said. Then he smiled. "Rebecca in particular, eh?"

The younger man flushed beet red under his tan. "She's a nice girl, Chief, but she was a bit busy and grief-struck for dalliance, nor I so stupid as to try it. And there's that religion-Horned Lord and Mother-of-All, it's strange!"

"All in the point of view," Rudi said tolerantly. "Many paths."

"Do you think they were after the Mormons, then, Chief?"

"Either them or General Thurston," Rudi said. "More probably Thurston. And in either case, I'm thinking it would be a good thing to thwart them, so it would."

Everyone in their party looked a little tense, in their various ways. None of them were wearing armor, not even the brigandines or light mail shirts that they usually did on the trail; the shields and helms and lances were all back with the wagon and their remounts, in an ar royo and being watched by Odard's man Alex. The rest of them sat their best horses and tried to look peaceful-they had their swords and bows, of course, but you could scarcely expect travelers to have anything less.

Ingolf edged his horse closer. "You sure about appeal ing like this to General Thurston?" he said quietly. "I never saw him when I went through Boise, but he's got a major reputation as a hard-ass, and his people certainly looked that way to me."

"No, I'm not sure, exactly. Though they say he's a law-abiding sort, not one who chops off heads on a whim," Rudi replied cheerfully.

Mathilda nodded. "On the other hand, from what Mom and Lady d'Ath and Count Odell told me, as far as he's concerned, he's president pro tem of the United States, and everyone else who claims authority within the old borders is bandit scum who deserves hanging."

"Well, he's not the only one with that delusion," Ingolf said dryly. "Every second bossman out East called himself president back in the old days, from the stories my father and uncles told. Some still do-the Bossman of Des Moines lists it right after governor of Iowa when he's being formal. Ours in Richland doesn't bother anymore."