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Juniper sighed. "I can only ask for your help, not require it," she said. "You must consult your hearts and each other."
A woman with burning eyes spoke: "My village will rise, as soon as we hear the knightboys've marched. We're just not going to put up with it any more! Rapes, beatings, never enough to eat, working every day until we drop down with exhaustion! They don't even obey their own laws, and those are bad enough!"
"Mine won't rise," another said. "We: I remember my youngest dying in the first Change Year, and sneaking away to bury her so nobody would dig the body up to eat it. Things are bad but my children are alive: and I have a grandkid born this year."
"We've got to work together!"
"We can't work together, not when we've got to sneak around, and: well, you know as well as I do. Some people tell the Associates things-or the priests, it's the same thing."
"Please!" Juniper said, and the budding argument died. "As I said, it's your decision. We will try to give as much help as we can, whatever you decide to do."
Astrid exchanged a few words with Eilir in Sign, then spoke herself: "We Dunedain Rangers will help smuggle more arms to those who wish them. We moved much captured equipment from Mount Angel up into the hills after the battle there this spring. If you want it, talk to us afterwards-individually, to reduce risks. And we're too few to be of much use in the great battles, so we'll be able to send small parties north to guide fugitives, and do as much as we can to protect them. We've done that before, on a small scale. Perhaps we can do it now on a greater one."
Juniper leaned back and let the talk proceed. Her gaze stole to the altar, and the figures there; the Mother was a simple, stylized shape in a blue robe, but the Lord was shown with Coyote's gri
Because I must lead all my people out to war, she thought. Help me!
Somewhere out in the burgeoning wilderness beyond Dun Laurel's walls and fields, a coyote howled in truth: or was it a wolf?
Castle Todenangst, Willamette Valley, Oregon
August 30th, 2008/Change Year 10
Norman Arminger looked down from the Dark Tower and smiled with pride at the iron might his word had called into being. He knew he must be doll-tiny on the balcony to the vast host stretching along the east-west roadway to the north of the castle, but the roar of sound that greeted his upraised fist was stu
The smile was still on his face as he turned from the little balcony and into the War Council's chamber. Armored nobles and officers waited around the great teak map table, helms under their arms or on the wood as they looked down, memorizing the last details of their tasks. The black-mailed knights of his personal guard stood around the walls of the big semicircular room, motionless as ever. And the Grand Constable was stuffing some papers into a leather pouch.
All but the guards turned towards him and bowed; he waved a hand in permission, and the groups began to break up and file out. Renfrew waited for the last.
"We're about as ready as we could be," he said when they were alone except for the guards. "Ninety-two hundred of our own men, twelve hundred from the Duchy of Pendleton, and a siege train that'll make any wall sit up and take notice: except Mount Angel, of course; we'll have to starve that out."
"Glad to see you happy about it, Conrad," Arminger said jovially.
"I'm not, my lord Protector; any victory will be at heavy cost. But if we're going to do it, this is the way to do it. They'll have about our numbers, with the contingent Corvallis sent, but our men are superior in a stand-up fight, in my opinion. If we break their main army, it'll split up-it's a coalition, an alliance. Then we can reduce them one by one."
"Exactly," Arminger said, thumping him on one mail-clad shoulder; it was like whacking a balk of seasoned hardwood.
"There is one thing," Renfrew went on, and Arminger felt his smile die a little. 'We've been receiving reports of internal disorder. Attacks on supply wagons, even a few cases of arson-tithe barns and manors torched in the night. Perhaps some of the light cavalry-"
"Conrad, Conrad, that's why we build all those castles-even if they're ferroconcrete instead of real stone. Nothing a few farmers or Rangers can do can really hurt us. You were the one talking about concentration of force. I'm not going to detach any troops until we've beaten the main enemy army and laid Mount Angel under tight siege."
"Yes, my lord Protector. That was the strategy I called for this spring."
The shaven head bent and the hideously scarred face was hidden for a moment. One thing he'd always found a little irritating was how the white keloid masses made it hard to read the Grand Constable's expressions, and his voice was very controlled. They were silent save for the rustle and clink of their armor as they walked over to the elevators.
Arminger gri
Renfrew snorted laughter when he mentioned it, though of course he'd been in on the joke beforehand.
"It's the look on your face I'm remembering, Norman," he said.
The exit was in the ground-floor chamber, a great circular space used for dances and speeches, cocktail parties and meetings of the House of Peers, with the Eye set into the floor in mosaic. Today it echoed to the tramp of the guards as they fell in and followed him out onto the broad semicircle of steps facing the i
She left her mother's side and began to run to him, then stopped and came on at a pace of stately dignity. Arminger composed his face to the same solemnity, hiding the burst of pride he felt. My little girl's growing up, he thought. Soon she'll be a great lady, another Eleanor: or Mathilda. That thought was prideful itself, but a little painful as well; soon she wouldn't be a little girl, either, and that perfect trust would be gone.
Mathilda went down formally on one knee for an instant, taking his hand and kissing it. "God give you victory, my lord father," she said; but she kept hold of the hand as she rose, and walked at his side as he came over to her mother.
Who may be a little irrational wanting to send Mathilda farther from the fighting than Castle Todenangst, this is the strongest hold in the realm, he thought. He looked into the brown eyes of his wife, as always seeming secretly amused. On the other hand, maybe she isn't. Best to trust Sandra's instincts.
He shoved aside the memory of a time a few months ago when he hadn't trusted her instincts. That had been a screw-up: and the sight of the Baronet d'Ath heading the escort that would take his daughter west brought those memories forcibly back. Perhaps Sandra had made that appointment to rub his face in it: but he'd earned a little of that. And Ath was sufficiently distant to be away from the main action in this war, which would be on the eastern side of the Valley, and its seigneur could be trusted not to take too much advantage of having the heir to the Protectorate behind her drawbridge.