The Protectors war

She turned to the two children. "Is Chaka here your friend?" she said.

Mathilda stood proudly. "Yes!" she said. "I won't let you hurt him-and he's the son of my father's handfast man."

Juniper hid a quirk of her lips. That was another word that the younger generation could use without the feeling of playacting she suspected even Arminger felt.

"He doesn't look well, and a hit on the head is always chancy," she said. "It would be best for him to rest quietly, not be thrown over a saddle hog-tied. Will you give your oath not to escape or try to escape or give away our position, if I let him go? Leave him here for his father's men to find, that is."

The girl's eyes narrowed. Even at her age, a lifetime being brought up at Arminger's court would have bred wariness. "Why don't you let me go too?"

"You're not a fool, my girl. Neither am I. Make up your mind and do it fast."

"Father said you were a tricky one, too," she said, surprising Juniper. Then she turned: "Father Rodriquez! Bring your Bible, quickly."

Eilir, Astrid, she signed, while the swift ceremony was done. You'll each take ten archers, the wounded, and all the horses we've got, and half these refugees each. Get over the border as fast as you can; they'll be on our trail and we'll be loud and conspicuous. Eilir, you take the girl, and I wouldn 't be expecting perfect trust from her just yet, promise or no. Questions? No? Then move!

Sam Aylward already had the main column forming up. Juniper swung into the saddle, and waved to acknowledge their cheer as a shout ran down their ranks, marked by bows tossed into the air and caught with flourishes. Someone struck up the pipes, which was safe enough just now, and the rest began to sing as they swung out. Sam cocked an ironic eye at her as the old Jacobite song-highly modified-roared out.

Well, people need songs, she thought defensively. And it's a great tune!

Their clansfolk were happy with their victory, and some of the locals looked positively uplifted as the chorus sounded:

"Wha wouldna fight for Juney?

Wha wouldna draw the sword?

Wha wouldna up and rally At the sacred Lady's word!

See the gathered Clan advancin'

Witchblood hearts as true as steel-"

Crossing Tavern, Willamette Valley, Oregon

May 13th, 2007 AD-Change Year Nine

": and the rest of us headed west, dodging when we could and fighting when we couldn't," Juniper finished. "Eilir and Astrid both got their groups over the border to Mt. Angel -the good baron pulled out the usual patrols to look for us, you see. I suspect he wasn't looking forward to telling Arminger why his dear little Chaka was set free, while Princess Mathilda was taken prisoner."

"That messenger, back when we were arranging for Crusher Bailey's last barn dance?" Havel said.

Juniper nodded. "Little Miss Arminger is now safely ensconced in Dun Juniper, with a good many watchful eyes on her. And leading everyone a merry chase, from the report. Now we have to figure out what to do with her."

"That was really quite clever," Signe said. "Making her swear an oath like that-not that Daddy would care, mind you."

Juniper nodded respectfully. "A game you grow up playing and play all your days isn't a game. It's your life," she said.

"Will he care we've got his kid?" Havel said. "Much, I mean. He'll know we're not going to pull out her toenails or anything like that."

"He'll know that, but I doubt he'll believe it, down in his gut," Juniper said shrewdly. "Since he wouldn't be so: squeamish: himself. And she's his only legitimate child. He's invested a very great deal of himself in being the founder of a dynasty and all that foolishness."

Arvand Sarian had not given Lord Bear and his lady the same cramped room they'd shared with Kendricks the night before. Havel didn't know or care if this was actually Sarian's own bedroom; it was fairly spacious, looked on an interior courtyard of the ramshackle building, and had a good clean king-sized bed.

Which is sort of ironic, when you think about it, he mused, leaning back against the pillows with his hands behind his head, unconsciously checking that the belt with his dagger and backsword hung just far enough away for an easy draw.

The room also had an armoire with a good tilting mirror. Signe Havel sat at it, brushing out her long hair and looking thoughtful as the lavender-scented candle flickered beside her.

"I wonder if it would be worth the trouble of dyeing it back to my natural color?" she mused, then glanced at him expectantly in the looking glass.

"By the way," Havel said. "I'm very, very sorry. I screwed up. I'll never do anything like that again. Our kids are my sole heirs and I'll a

Signe smiled at him over her shoulder. "I'm holding out for one thousand even, but you're only a couple of months short of it," she said. Then, thoughtfully: "I wish we were the ones holding Princess Mathilda."

She used the title with less irony than he could have, but the thought was worth considering. He gave it a full fifteen seconds before he replied: "By Jesus, I don't! Worrying about Arminger's special-ops people swinging down the chimney every goddamned night with knives between their teeth isn't my idea of a quiet life. Yeah, it's an advantage having her on the whole, but the Mackenzies did the raid and we didn't, so they earned it. I don't think we could have done it."

Signe smiled again; this time there was a twinkle of mischief in her bright blue eyes, if it wasn't just the candlelight.

"My darling, you are very intelligent, but there are times I doubt how far you look ahead. Let's put it this way. How old is Mathilda Arminger?"

Havel frowned. "Born late in Change Year One, wasn't she? Come to think of it, Sandra Arminger must have been pregnant when I met them that-what was it-April."

Which had been just before he met Juniper Mackenzie and fathered young Rudi. He winced slightly as Signe let him know she remembered with a glance.

"Mathilda's going on nine; it was unpla

He stared at her, then snorted laughter. "Maybe I am an idiot, but I can't see Juney doing anything like: well, shit, you know her, alskling. The strongest argument in favor of the Old Religion I can think of is that someone that lacking in personal ambition ended up ruling a quarter of the

Willamette -the gods must have been giving her a boost on the QV."

Signe hesitated, and then nodded reluctantly: "Yeah, honey, I admit she might not think of it. But a fair number of other people might. Arminger or his wife, for example. I suspect that's why his little bitch was over where she was. Molalla is one of his strongest supporters-or was, before this. A get-the-kids-acquainted visit, I'd guess." A moment of thoughtful silence, then: "Why do you think Arminger hasn't come right out and called himself King Norman the First?"

"Ummm: because it would sound so fucking stupid?" Havel said, chuckling. "I mean, unless he wanted people making Elvis jokes behind his back. The Protector is: in the building! Same reason I didn't call myself the Boss and get the Springsteen snickers. Not all his backers were those Society weirdos who like that sort of thing; a lot of them couldn't stomach him. Plenty of others already think all that pseudomedieval crap he goes in for is evidence of his not being the most stable chair at the table as it is."

"Grimy arse, cried the kettle to the pot, my sweet Lord Bear."

"Hey, that was Astrid!"

"But Mike, there aren't that many people around who were even adults when the Change hit-and people over forty were a lot less likely to make it through alive. If you ask people the same age as my demented little sister, or the ones who're younger, most of them have never heard of Elvis or Springsteen. They have heard of the Lord Protector, and sweetie, they don't think he's fu