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"Even when he stepped into one," Nigel said. "And now he's become legend himself."
He shook himself, and she smiled despite her sadness as she felt him put on practicality like a well-tailored suit, even if it was a little threadbare at the cuffs.
"We heard some fighting from over there last night," he said.
He nodded northward towards the Protectorate's camp: a Protectorate without a Lord Protector, now. Smoke rose over it, more than cookfires could account for.
"And according to the Rangers, a block of about five hundred of them is leaving right now-for the baronies along the Columbia, we think; they're worried about the Free Cities and the Jacks. We may not have to fight that great murdering battle after all."
"And our folk?" she asked, knowing the answer.
"Grieving, but not downhearted. I wouldn't like to face them in a fight now."
"Indeed!" she said. To herself: With Mike's spirit behind the blade and the bow? No, no, and no three times!
They stood in line for porridge and bacon, and ate without tasting. The noise of grief died down, but not the reality of it, as the day dawned blue and dreaming over the golden stubblefields around them. Juniper felt herself moving in a shell of quiet, making herself attend to things-reports from spies, the camp disputes and pettiness that nothing stopped. Less than an hour later, a knight galloped out from the Association's camp with a white pe
Well, she chided herself. And if there had never been a one who loved Norman Arminger, the man could not have done so much ill or ruled so long. And now he must account for all his deeds before the Guardians, in the place where Truth stands naked and lies are impossible, and choose his own course to self-forgiveness.
"I am envoy from the Lady Sandra Arminger, Regent of the Portland Protective Association for the Princess Mathilda," he called.
O-ho, it's Regent she is now? Juniper thought with a return of the cold calculation a Chief must be able to pull on like a garment; from the corner of her eye, she saw Signe's valkyr face close like a comely fist. I wonder what the others over there think of that?
"She and her loyal Grand Constable, Count Renfrew of Odell, would come and speak peace with the other rulers gathered here," he went on; was it her imagination that there was a slight stress on loyal? "She and he will come alone, if they have your pledge of armistice and safe-conduct from now until her return."
Eyebrows rose. That was a major concession; it was also a show of strength, that she could come unguarded and with what must be her main supporter along: and also a sign of trust, of sorts. Sandra Arminger had always been a good judge of other people's scruples, even if she didn't have any herself.
Will Hutton spoke, his hard Texan drawl skeptical: "Anythin' else, boy?"
The knight's lips grew tighter, but he inclined his head. "Do you speak for this assembly, Lord Hutton?"
"I speak for the Bearkillers, by Mike Havel's last words," he said. "These others are the leaders of free communities. We'll consult."
Even then, the Protectorate knight sneered a little. "The Lady Sandra says that she would speak first with Lady Juniper Mackenzie, Chief of the Clan Mackenzie, and then with your leaders in council."
Signe looked daggers at the Mackenzie chieftain, but Will Hutton smiled. "Wouldn't be tryin' to sow a little distrust here, would she? Sure. There's nothin' she can say to Juney that Juney won't tell us all. We'll meet her at the command pavilion over to there." He pointed. "Whenever you're ready."
"At once."
The knight ducked his head, and wheeled his horse so abruptly that it reared as it turned; then it landed with a puff of dust from among the reaped wheat stems and galloped northward once more.
Well, Juniper thought. Well, well, well!
"Probably best this way," Will Hutton said quietly as they walked towards the big open-sided tent. "We Bearkillers 'r too sore with it now. And Mike died so we wouldn't have to fight that big battle."
"He was the father of my son," Juniper replied, her tone equally quiet. "And I loved him too, Will."
The older man nodded. "Figure so. But you didn't live with him day-in-day-out."
Unwillingly, she nodded: And Mike knew what he was doing when he gave Will the power. Signe would be too blinded by her rage.
Evidently "at once" meant what it said. "Alone" was something else; it included a driver for the light two-wheeled horsecart that Sandra rode in beneath a parasol, and a maidservant on a little rumble seat behind, and a groom to hold Conrad Renfrew's horse. The former consort sat erect and elegant; Renfrew dismounted first, standing at the wheel to hand her down from the vehicle as it bobbed on its springs.
Signe was close. The consort nodded to her. "We're both widowed today," she said. "Let's see if we can keep too many more from sharing the condition."
The tall, blond, young woman in armor looked down her straight nose. "My husband was a great and good man," she said coldly, then stopped herself with an obvious effort.
Sandra nodded, the black mourning ribbons fluttering on her white headdress and framing cold pride. "And mine was a monster. But that, Lady Signe, doesn't mean I loved him any less than you did yours. And now if you'll excuse me: "
She swept into the command pavilion as if it were a gazebo in the grounds of Castle Todenangst, waiting an instant while the servant unfolded a chair and small side table and set out refreshments, even pouring coffee from a thermos.
Juniper followed and sat across from her, studying the face and form she'd never seen so close before. The Protector's widow sat half-turned in her chair; sunlight from outside the pavilion and through the striped cloth made the pale colors of her cotte-hardi and headdress glow in the dimness inside the tent, the mourning ribbons like shadows across the brilliant white, a subdued glitter of lapis and silver from the buttons. The air smelled of hot canvas and crushed grass and coffee; Sandra sipped, apparently as relaxed as she'd have been in a castle solar, and picked up one of the little watercress sandwiches with the crusts cut off, nibbling.
"Well," the Chief of the Mackenzies said at last, into that silence and Sandra's slight catlike smile. "What do you have to say for yourself, then?"
"That I protected your son, when my husband would have killed him," she said promptly, and the smile grew slightly. "Several times, in fact."
Juniper winced slightly. True enough and there's no getting around it. Still:
"You're not a good person at all, really, are you?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"No, I'm not," Sandra agreed, and shrugged. "And you are, and yet you won anyway. Unfathomable are the works of God." A pause. "And many are the marvels, yet none so marvelous as humankind."
"You agree we've won?"
Another shrug. "Well, somewhat. A chunk of our army has melted away. What's left isn't big enough to fight you, the Grand Constable tells me, although it would cost you many lives to overrun us and we could probably get away even if you tried. Besides, how long will your farmers stay here, when there's work to do at home? They came to stop us invading their land, and that's: no longer on the program."
Juniper looked aside. Conrad Renfrew was standing like an armored fireplug in the open. Eric Larsson was not far away, glaring at him. The Association's general looked at him, shrugged and walked over. The younger man bristled like a wolf at a stranger on his pack's territory, then nodded reluctantly and answered whatever it was the count said.