The Protectors war

She really ought to find a boyfriend and get her nose out of the Tolkien. Yeah, it's a great story, none better, I love it too, but she needs to relate to the real world more. Plus she's still a virgin, sweet Lady Arianrhod witness and pity her.

After a moment Astrid spoke and signed: "Yes. I do hear something, I think. Dogs-a lot of 'em."

Feral pack? Eilir asked, following both-she read lips well. Then, since Astrid preferred the term: Wargs?

There were a lot of dogs who'd managed to avoid going into the pot in the Dying Time, outliving their masters, or been turned loose before people got really hungry, and by now they'd had several generations of descendants, mingled with coyotes. There weren't any actual wolves this far south and west-yet-but the dog packs still in business were real survivor types, big and fierce, and they'd gotten used to eating manflesh in the bad times. That made them a lot more dangerous than real wolves, though more to children or individuals caught alone than an armed group.

"No," Astrid said and signed, her hands moving fluidly above the saddlebow. "No, they sound more: organized than a warg pack, sort of. And they're not just barking. It's more of a baying sound, like hounds. Like the ones Mike keeps for hunting."

The rest of the Mackenzies had passed on another few hundred yards, long bowshot; heads were turning back to look at them. The two put their horses up to a hand gallop-Arabs had jackrabbit acceleration, too-then jumped them over a section of wire fence still standing, overgrown until it was like a shaggy hedge, landed in a spurt of gravel, and reined in beside Juniper. The Mackenzie chieftain smiled for a second at the casual display of horsemanship; then the smile died as she saw their faces.

She frowned when Eilir explained, and flung up a hand. The loose column came to a halt, riders facing alternate directions, looking hard and listening as they fingered bowstrings. First one and then another waved and called that they'd heard the dogs too.

"Should we push on southeast?" Juniper said thoughtfully, looking down at Rudi's excitement. Then: "No. The university and Mike and Mt. Angel all agreed this is Mackenzie land, even if we're not using it much at the moment."

The extremely theoretical western border of the Clan's territories ran along the river and Highway 99W, I-5, south from Salem to Eugene, and east to the crest of the Cascades-eastern Li

Grimly, the Chief of the Mackenzies went on: "That's someone's hunting pack. Let's see who's on our land without our leave, and what it is they're hunting. I suspect it isn't deer."

We Rangers should scout it out, Eilir signed; Astrid nodded vigorously.

Another hesitation, and then: "Be careful, mo chroi, and you too, Astrid dear. Don't be long, and come right back when you've learned something."

I'm always careful, Mom, Eilir signed, and the Chief of the Mackenzies winced.

"Rally the Dunedain!" Astrid called. "Lacho calad! Drego morn!"

Four others fell out to join them-three young Mackenzies and Reuben Hutton. Astrid pulled her own bow from its saddle sheath and laid an arrow in the riser's cutout shelf; her weapon was in the Bearkiller style, shorter than the Mackenzie longbow-a recurve horse-archer's model built up of sinew and wood and horn, glossy with the lacquer that waterproofed it. You could carry one of those ready-strung and they were a lot easier to use from the saddle. She let the reins fall on Asfaloth's neck, turning the horse with knees and balance.

"Check your gear," she said. None of the other Rangers was over twenty, and their faces were gravely attentive or excited or both. "Everyone check your anamchara's, too."

Besides her bow, Astrid wore a Bearkiller-style sword-single-edged, as long as her leg, and basket-hilted-and had a round shield about two feet across slung at her saddlebow over the bow case, with the bear's-head sigil on its elk-hide surface. Marcie and Do

Astrid led the way; the others spread out behind her in a blunt wedge. The road vanished quickly behind them; field and meadow followed for half a swiftly cautious mile, with nothing more startling than the odd pheasant breaking out of the grass at their feet. Then they splashed through a flooded field with black muck and sparkling droplets flying up from the horses' hooves amid a yeasty smell of vegetable decay, over a deep creek by a small decrepit bridge with water flowing over its sagging middle, and into a ten-acre woodlot. Luckily it was mature timber, the lowest branches mostly higher than a rider's head if you ducked and wove a little; then they were up to the edge of a broader clear stretch, more than long bowshot across-four hundred yards or better.

Eilir let her binoculars drop for a second. Careful, she signed. Let's take a look first.

The Rangers all knew Sign; like Sindarin it was a requirement for initiation into the Dunedain, and many younger Mackenzies learned it anyway, useful as it was for war and the hunt. They stopped a horse's length inside the wood's edge; that way undergrowth hid you from anyone out in the light, but you could see out from the shadows. First Eilir sca

A sounder of feral pigs headed towards them, making the tall grass and weeds sway against the westerly breeze. Luckily they split around the silent party of riders as soon as they scented them; swine had come back fast because they were clever as well as tough and prolific. Something else came bounding behind them, half glimpsed, also mainly a waving in the tall grass and reeds Watch out, Astrid signed. That may be the boar.

It wasn't. Eilir had only time enough to recognize the rushing black-striped golden deadliness before it was past, vanishing in the wood's depths. Bows were half drawn, and Reuben managed to get his ten-foot lance leveled with a strangled yell. Horses crow-hopped in belated panic:

Before the Change, private American enthusiasts had owned more than half the tigers in all the world. After the Change a lot of the obsessed owners-and you had to be an obsessive in the first place to keep a cat that weighed three hundred pounds and up-freed the beloved pets they couldn't feed. It turned out that tigers were opportunists when feeding themselves-which in plain English meant they turned man-eater with ease and joy, almost u

Worse every year, too, Eilir thought disgustedly. They breed like : well, like cats.

"If those guys with the hound pack are after Sher Khan there, more power to them," Reuben said. There was disgust in his expression too as he swung his lance back upright and checked his bow case. "Those things are fucking dangerous.''''

Quiet! Sign only, and wait, Astrid signed. One tiger wouldn't have caused all the disturbance Eilir saw.

They didn't have to wait long. Eilir stiffened as she sca

People coming, she signed, then made a broader pulling gesture that meant "bows ready" in their own code.