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Silently, he mused to himself: "Recreating the Middle Ages as they should have been."
They were perhaps the only people in all the world who'd felt vindicated when the Change killed all high-energy-density technologies between the earth's surface and the Van Allens in a single instant of white light and blinding pain.
I'm more interested in the reality. With some refinements, of course. Showers and flush toilets are technologies I approve of. At least for me.
"My lord Protector," Molalla plowed on, sweating as he trudged through a speech obviously memorized in advance and probably written by his wife. "I sent the Princess Mathilda back on a well-guarded train as soon as the outposts reported a Mackenzie raid out of the Table Rock wilderness, thinking they'd be safe in Portland before the enemy could penetrate the lowlands-and I sent my own son along. My own younger brother commanded the escort, and was killed in the ambush on the railroad. I admit error, and I beg your mercy for it, but I claim i
Sandra spoke, her voice soft and careful: "But it wasn't as safe, lord baron, as guarding them in your keep would have been. Raiders could ambush a train- which they did. They could not storm a castle, which they didn't even try to do. And while the Mackenzies released your son at once, they did not release my daughter! For more than half a year, she has been captive among the Satan-worshippers."
A heavy silence fell. The burly black nobleman opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Wise, Arminger thought.
The whole past spring and summer had been a series of disasters. The Mackenzie raid, the failure of his attempt to salvage something useful from the old chemical-warfare dump up the Columbia at Umatilla-those damned Englishmen who'd come in on the Tasmanian ship had been responsible for that, suckering him completely-and then the rescue mission for Mathilda had crashed and burned spectacularly. If it hadn't been for the way the Umatilla expedition had extended the Association's influence into the Pendleton country, it could have been a dangerous blow to his prestige. As it was, land for new fiefs would keep discontent to a minimum.
When he spoke it was to his steward. "Why is Baron Molalla unarmed? Bring his sword at once; it isn't fitting that a trusted vassal should appear without a weapon."
A man came up with the long blade, the belt wrapped around the scabbard and showing a buckle bearing the barony's sigil, a rampant lion grasping a broad-bladed assegai. Molalla do
"Use it well in my service, and in the interests of the Association," Arminger said.
He noted how Phillipa's eyes sought Sandra's again, and how her face relaxed slightly at the consort's smile and nod.
Easy enough to see who's got the political brains in that family, though Jabar's a good fighting man, Arminger thought.
Chaka was looking at the Association's overlord worshipfully, too. Arminger suppressed a sudden wave of murderous fury at the thought of Mathilda lost among the fanatics; they wouldn't harm her directly, but every moment she was exposed to that poisonous brew of superstition and make-believe was one too many.
And if you screw up again, Jabar, all three of you are going to spend your final hours hanging from iron hooks on the wall outside!
He smiled instead of snarling the threat. It wasn't necessary; the baron and his family bowed and backed six paces away, among a crowd that didn't avoid them like plague carriers anymore, but Phillipa was looking extremely thoughtful. With an effort of will Arminger thrust gnawing worry aside; he couldn't afford distraction, and could do his daughter no good if he was crippled. Instead he made a gesture. Another trumpet blast echoed.
"Lord Emiliano Gutierrez, Baron Dayton!" the herald called. "You are bidden to approach the Presence!"
Emiliano was in his thirties as well, a stocky brown-faced man in fine white linen and gleaming satin. He gri
Men who can be intimidated easily aren't very effective servants, not as fighting men, Arminger reminded himself, irksome, since intimidation is so much fun, but there you are.
"Lord Emiliano, I'm hereby appointing you Marchwarden of the South, to replace the late Lord Edward Liu, Baron Gervais." He waved aside thanks. "Just see the damned Bearkillers and kilties keep to their side of the border."
Another trumpet blast. "Lady Mary Liu, dowager Baroness Gervais! You are bidden to approach the Presence!"
A slim blonde came forward, sinking in a low curtsey; she wore mourning ribbons around her headdress. The knights did their deadly pavane.
"Lady Mary, I'm taking the barony of Gervais into personal wardship pending the majority of your heir, but I'm making you my steward for it until your son comes of age," he said. "You may appoint a garrison commander from Baron Edward's following. Please inform me before you make a public a
"Thank you, my lord Protector," she said, in a high, reedy voice.
Liu's widow didn't have a prescriptive right to rule her husband's personal holding until the heir reached twenty-one. In strict form the land reverted to the Association, and the Protector could have given her a manor as dower house, or apartments at court, installed his own administrator and commander and collected the mesne tithes from the barony and its subordinate knights-fee manors for himself. That would have given him the income for more than a decade; Liu's eldest was only eight. But Eddie had been one of his personal hatchetmen, and a good one, until his final failure. Besides which, Mary would probably do a pretty good job of it; she knew the place firsthand, and in the long run it would help to have Eddie's kids grow up there.
Though she's not going to appoint her brother garrison commander. Sir Jason's too much of a hothead. A pity, since he's intelligent otherwise.
As a gesture, giving her the chatelaine's job would help keep the rest of his baronage sweet, if he had to take action against Molalla. They were developing an irritating attachment to the minutiae of the law, and an even more irritating sense of collective solidarity about their privileges. Step on one, and the others all squalled like scalded cats. He was stronger than any individual noble, but not more powerful than all of them put together.
Less formally, he went on: "Mary, Eddie was a good man, and a friend of mine. I won't forget that he died trying to rescue my daughter from captivity. And you can take it as a promise that I'll see those who killed him pay for it. I'll see that they pay in fulland to the inch!'
Mary Liu's blue eyes flared for a moment; she'd grown up in a Society household before the Change, and was only twenty-eight now. He'd noticed that the younger generation took certain things very seriously, particularly those with that background. What their parents had dreamed, they lived.
"I'll rely on that promise, lord Protector," she said. Her fingers curled into claws. "If you take the Satan-worshippers alive, I'd appreciate your turning them over to my court for sentencing and execution rather than the
Church and the Holy Office. We: I have some experts as good as any of His Holiness'."
Sandra Arminger chuckled, and Arminger laughed aloud. "That's the spirit!" he said as the crowd applauded. He rose, and caught the eye of two at the rear of the crowd: the merchants from Corvallis. A flick of the head said later.