The Scourge of God

The whole Sioux party were awake and ready not long after, moving their wagons into a circle, the warriors ready to fight and the youngsters and women within-not that they weren't armed as well, and prepared to do whatever they had to. Even then, Rudi was a little impressed.

I wouldn't like to have to fight these people, he thought. Doubly so not on their own ground. It would be like trying to hit a ghost with a club-and sure, you'd have to grow eyes in the back of your head, too.

One of the perimeter scouts came trotting in on foot-it was hard to be inconspicuous on horseback, even for the lords of the High Plains.

"Horseman and a cart, itancan," he said.

"There's more behind them, by a couple of miles," Red Leaf said grimly. "Big party."

"I'm sorry if we've brought this on you," Mathilda said steadily.

Red Leaf made a single fierce gesture. "It's our land! Nobody comes on Lakota land without our leave, and nobody attacks our guests on our land!"

There was an answering growl from the crowd of his people. He pointed to six, all young and slight-built, and spoke rapidly in a mixture of English and Lakota

"You get going," he said at the end. "Tell 'em we need everyone, and fast, and to pass it on."

Then he turned to Rudi. "That'll bring a couple of thousand of our zuya wicasa here, but that'll take a while. You'd better get going."

Rudi winced slightly; that meant abandoning their extra gear. But needs must…

The sound of hooves and wheels came out of the darkness; the sky was just begi

"It's me, Father Ignatius!" the priest's voice called.

He pulled up the two-wheeled mule cart; his horse was tethered to the rear of it, with the stirrups looped up over the saddlehorn.

"Two hundred of the Sword of the Prophet are approaching, according to the scouts around your hocoka," he said succinctly. "They're looking for Rudi and the rest of us."

"Right," Red Leaf said. He turned to Rudi, then pointed: "See that star? Keep it directly ahead of you until full daylight, then turn north and you'll hit the Black Hills. That's better than heading straight east-flat as a plate thataway."

Then he hesitated. "And the big herd is in that direction too; the one we hunted yesterday has probably joined it. It'll be moving north, pretty well, this time of year. Get across in front of it and it'll cover your tracks. Then you can turn north while they're trying to find you."

"How long would that take?"

Red Leaf smiled, or at least showed his teeth. "That's the main southern herd. How long does it take a quarter million of the Buffalo People to go by? And what's left of a trail after they've crossed it?"

"Right," Rudi said. He swung up onto Epona's back and leaned down to shake hands. "Lord and Lady bless you and yours, my friend."

"Wakantanka walk with you, Rudi Mackenzie, and all of you."

"I'd have liked to spend a summer hunting with your folk, and seen the Sun Dance. Maybe someday I can, and you and Rick can come to Dun Juniper for the Lughnasadh festival."

Red Leaf spoke a phrase in Lakota, then translated, first literally, and then the meaning: " On the hillside. Someday, maybe."

Then he looked around for his son: "Rick, you go along until they're on their way-"

The young man looked a little mutinous at leaving when a fight might be coming.

"You forget what you owe Rudi?" his father asked. "Hokahe!"

The troopers of the Sword rode in disciplined silence despite the disconcerting vastness of the morning prairie and the subliminal knowledge of what the Sioux preferred to do to trespassers. Most of them were from mountain-and-valley country, only a few from the Hi-Line of central Montana, and they felt helplessly exposed here where the horizon merged into the slowly lightening sky.

Major Graber ignored the sensation, and the pain in his left arm, with equal indifference; he kept in mind that it would weaken his shield work and that he couldn't use his bow properly, and he would adjust his actions accordingly. He was here to command anyway, not fight with his own hands if avoidable.

And there was nothing wrong with his nose. The abattoir reek of death mingled with an ever-stronger hint of smoke, and of cooking meat. Drying-smoking racks… and yes, there was a plume silhouetted against the lighter eastern sky. He squinted into the sunrise that edged a few clouds there with crimson and faded to pink and then green and blue above, as the last stars guttered out behind him.

The smell and clutter as they rode through the Sioux hunting camp offended him, but…

What can you expect from savages who know not the Dictations? he thought, remembering the ordered neatness of Corwin with pleasure.

The new Seeker had arrived from the capital with reinforcements when they returned to the Bar Q ranch. That had been very fortunate. ..

Then he glanced quickly aside at the Seeker. The man had arrived before any message could have gotten to Corwin that he'd found the trail again. All they would have known from his dispatches there was that High Seeker Twain was killed in the Teton foothills last fall, and that he intended to work through the mountains and resume the search in the spring. Even that would have been lucky… and there was no possible way the Hierarchy could have known how his own first foray across the border had ended.

But the Seeker had been there at the ranch, waiting-with troops who must have left weeks ago to make it through the wilderness and the passes.

Graber swallowed. The Ascending Hierarchy commands all power, he thought. Doubtless he commands the Seventh Ray. That is an amethyst on his wristband.

His own service was with the Fourth Ray, as the diamond on his personal amulet showed; that was under the Master Serapis Bey, and hence largely physical. The Seeker might even be an adept of Djwal Khul, who ruled communications of all sorts.

Dalan is different from most Seekers I've seen. Usually they were thin or gaunt; this one was stocky-muscular. But the eyes are the same.

He wrenched his mind back to the present, despite the thin film of sweat on his forehead. His was to obey. That he didn't like Seekers was between him and his conscience and the long wrestling with the emanations of the Nephilim that any soul must undergo.

There were no Sioux working around the drying racks, though the low fires under them still smoldered. A dozen wagons had been drawn up in a circle on a nearby rise, and between them he could see spears and the twinkle of arrowheads. That would be the noncombatants-not that they wouldn't fight if need be, of course. A good sixty Sioux warriors were drawn up a little way off, armed with bows and shetes and hunting-lances. Few of them had any body-armor beyond shields and steel caps, but they would fight like cougars, as he knew from painful experience.

Graber swung his fist aloft, and the formation halted, spreading out into a two-deep staggered line, bows in hand and the butts of the lances in the scabbards. Seeker Dalan spoke:

"They are not here. Close, but not here."

"Can you be more precise, honored Seeker?"

The square face with the flat black eyes turned back and forth, frowning. "No. I am… resisted. A shadow is drawn."

He put his hands to the sides of his head; the sleeves of the robe of dried bloodred he wore fell back, showing arms encased in black leather guards striped with narrow steel splints.

"A woman? Or is it a buffalo? And a raven… the blockage is not so complete as when they were in the Valley of the Sun, but you must rely on the physical. For now."

He felt relief at that, and reined out towards the mounted Indians. The Seeker followed; he had to admit the man was fearless, not like many of the red-robed ecclesiastical bureaucrats Corwin bred, who always put him in mind of the maggots that had writhed in a dead raccoon he'd found under the floorboards of his home two summers ago.