The Scourge of God

The Cutter priest looked as if he were about to explode, his face flushed red; the dead flatness of his eyes was more vivid by contrast. Graber stood motionless, his hand near the vacant place on his belt where his shete would rest, but his eyes were never still and his body was poised ready for action. The ruler of Iowa spoke languidly:

"Yes, yes, Sheriff Heuisink has been entertaining us all with his stories of assassins, plots, exiled princesses, mad monks, battles in Idaho…"

The Bossman leaned forward. "But I still didn't get what I paid for, Vogeler."

"I'll fetch it for you, Your Excellency…"

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me -"

Rudi took a deep breath and stepped forward; his guards were too startled to do more than grab the ends of the rod, and he wasn't trying to move any farther.

"Your Excellency, if I might be of assistance? You've a right to be displeased that your expedition to rescue the beauties and glories of the time before the Change was brought to naught, sure and you do, by the Gods. But it wasn't my comrade Ingolf's fault; it was the Prophet and his lackeys and spies-"

"Lies!" burst out of the Cutter priest.

Anthony Heasleroad's hand swung out, the finger pointing at the High Seeker; he didn't bother to look around. He smiled slightly at Rudi as he spoke to the man who'd interrupted him:

"First and last warning." Then to Rudi: "It's all he-said-they-said, isn't it? This is amusing, but it'll turn boring if it's like a court session."

"Then let me fetch your goods, my lord. Keep Ingolf here, if you will, as security for it."

Quiet fell again, and Heasleroad gave a sidelong glance at Colonel Heuisink as he thoughtfully ate a chocolate-covered cherry.

"What do you say, Sheriff?" he asked the master of Victrix Farm.

"Our intelligence has nothing good to say of this Western cult, Your Excellency," the older man said carefully.

"Oh, they've been fighting the Sioux-who are such a nuisance and have been for years," the Bossman replied.

Then he clapped his hands together. "I think I'll take you up on that… what were you called?"

"Rudi Mackenzie, tanist of the Clan Mackenzie," Rudi said. "Your Excellency."

"There can be only one," the Bossman said, and laughed; it was more like a giggle, and for some reason Colonel Heuisink shot him a glance.

"Yes, only one. You may go and get my artworks. If you have them in… oh, shall we say one month… you and the others may leave. If not… well, breaking a contract with the Bossman is treason, isn't it? And we all know what treason brings."

Rudi forced himself not to lick his lips. A month wasn't too long for a well-found party to get to where Ingolf's wagons had been left. The weather wouldn't have disturbed their cargos much, from the description; the goods had been tightly sealed in metal boxes, under tight-strapped canvas tilts on Conestogas whose bodies were mostly steel. The problem was that the local inhabitants might well have been busy at them.

"Your Excellency, that's a bargain," Rudi said calmly. "Now, if you'll give the order for the release of my friends and our goods and gear, we can be about your business."

"You can go wherever you want, you mean, as soon as you're over the Mississippi," the Bossman said, a slight jeering note in his voice. "No, no, there can be only one. I said you can go and fetch the treasure."

He looked speculatively at Odard and Mathilda. "These and Vogeler will be safe enough here."

"Look after Matti, Odard," Rudi said softly a week later, and held out his hand. "This is going to be hard on you all, but hardest for her, I think."

"I will," Odard said seriously. His grip was firm for the brief shake. "I'm going to get all the help I can, too."

Rudi Mackenzie nodded and swung into the saddle. Epona danced sideways half a dozen steps as she sensed his tension, and the hooves beat hollowly on the pavement of the bridge. He made his face calm as he nodded to Mathilda; her face held an iron pride, but her eyes were reddened and slightly swollen.

"Did you see the follower?" she asked in halting Sindarin.

"Am I blind?" he replied, and gave her a brief grin.

Captain Denson of the Iowa State Police was standing near her; a full mounted troop of his men were on either side.

"Tell the Bossman that I'll be back as soon as possible," Rudi said politely, gathering up the leading rein of his packhorse.

Denson gri

Rudi nodded again, and gave a last look at the walls of Dubuque, and the spire of the cathedral rising over them.

"Guard my soul-sister," he murmured quietly to it. "Brigid, be at her side; Dread Lord, be their shield."

He took a deep breath of the air, full of the damp warm river scent, silt and greenery, then signaled Epona up to a fast walk. The bridge stretched ahead, a mile or more of embankment and concrete piers, the center section suspended on cables from a horseshoe-like arch of steel truss beams.

A galley went by underneath as he rode, the oars stroking the blue river water into foam in centipede unison; he could hear the drum of the speed setter faintly through the rush and rumble of the current past the footings of the bridge. The eastern shore loomed ahead, wooded hills like those behind him… but the only buildings were ruins, and a single small fort flying the Iowan flag.

I'll be back, he thought. And Mary and Ritva and the others are there now, and they can act without my holding their hands, can they not?

Eyes were probably watching him from those hills, looking at his gear and horses. He shrugged and sat taller in the saddle; that straightforward greed was easier to deal with than the treachery of princes and the unsleeping hate of the Prophet's men and their demon lords.

"And sure, I'm looking at them," he said softly; Epona's ears flickered back. "The savages, and the foes behind me too. And if they'd stand in my way… well then, the worse for them!"