The Sword of the Lady

Mathilda choked back a gurgling laugh. Two years ago Tiphaine d?Ath had won, and the Grand Constable had ridden up to the stands and dropped the crown from the point of her lance into the lap of her lady-in-waiting Delia de Stafford. At which the local bishop had nearly choked on the blessing, since everyone knew about Tiphaine and Delia.

That was wicked of her. Fu

Though nobody spoke about it, unless they wanted to face Baroness d?Ath in a duel, which wasn?t anything a sane human being would do unless they were tired of life. Mathilda sighed a little, struck by sudden homesickness.

In the unlikely event that I ever win a tournament -

She knew herself to be fair to middling at best despite a lifetime?s coaching by experts, without the supernal speed and skill that d?Ath used to compensate for men?s greater raw strength.

– I?m going to crown myself Queen of Love and Beauty and nobody else! Or maybe I could crown Rudi King of Love and Beauty… all the warrior saints witness he?s beautiful…

Odard went on, diplomatically ignoring her sudden flush: ?I?m surprised you don?t have tournaments here… weren?t there any Society people in Iowa? In most places which survived at all they did very well.?

A new voice broke in:?Oh, there were some here in Des Moines. Dad said he found them very useful as instructors, the craftsmen and the fighters at least-the rest were… sort of flaky. He didn?t want anything to do with all that ceremonial they liked so much.?

Mathilda concealed a start. That was the Bossman, just breaking away from the people she didn?t want him talking to-the emissaries from Corwin in Montana, the red-robed and shaven-skulled priest of the Church Universal and Triumphant, and the hard-eyed officer of the Sword of the Prophet who?d been pursuing them ever since they left Oregon. Anthony Heasleroad saw her glare at them and motioned them away. Being here on sufferance themselves they went, not without glares of their own. ?Dad always said you could afford to have people curse you in private, but not laugh.?

Pride stiffened Mathilda?s spine, and she sank in the formal curtsey her tutors had drilled into her in girlhood. When she spoke her voice was cool courtesy: ?I?m sure your father was a very able man, my lord Bossman,? she said.?But so was mine; Portland lives, when all the other great cities on the West Coast died. And I assure you nobody laughed when he was styled Majesty or my lord. Not more than once, at least. Your Majesty.?

Then Mathilda saw the glitter in his pale eyes. There was something not quite right there. ?You say that word?Majesty? with such conviction,? Heasleroad said.?I could get used to it… if people said it the way you do. And if I was sure you?re not trying to disrespect me.?

Mathilda met his eyes. If he says kill her, the guardsmen will cut me down, she thought. You can see it in their eyes; most of them would do anything he said.

There was a slight hush around them; even Kate stiffened, until the Bossman chuckled and nodded. People relaxed, and the bubble of silence collapsed inward again.

She felt a slight trickle of sweat down her spine, more than the heavy clothing and sticky-warm night warranted, and sipped at the sweet strong liquor again. That wouldn?t have happened at the Palace at home, or Castle Todenangst. Sandra Arminger killed when she had to, with the cool dispassion of a housewife selecting a chicken. But not from spite or for the pleasure of it.

Darling, people should be afraid of the ruler?s power, she?d said to her daughter. They shouldn?t live in terror of the Throne?s whims-that can make men willing to kill even if it means dying, just to end the uncertainty. The surest way to drive a dog dangerously crazy is to punish and reward unpredictably, and people aren?t that much different.

An intense longing for that cool quiet voice filled her, and their evenings together in the Silver Tower, talking or listening to the minstrel or playing chess or just sitting together reading…

I even miss Mom?s damned Persian cats shedding all over me! I?m even looking forward to how mad she?s going to be at me for ru

A little to her right Odard slid his right hand away from his left sleeve. She wasn?t surprised that he?d managed to get a knife and conceal it. But she was suddenly, shockingly aware that he?d been ready to attack Heasleroad if he ordered her cut down. One thing desperate times did was show you who your friends really were. She?d had her doubts about Odard before they left home.

And I really doubted it when he said he loved me. Now I?m not so sure. Which is… messy. I don?t love him that way… do I? More like a brother. ?Your family were Society people, then?? Iowa?s Bossman said to the baron of Gervais. ?Ah… not exactly, my lord Bossman,? Odard said cautiously. ?My father Edward Liu was a freelance man-at-arms before the Change, and gained the golden spurs afterward. He rose high in the Lord Protector?s service and was e

Mathilda winced slightly behind a polite smile and nod. Her father Norman Arminger had been in the Society for Creative Anachronism, but not all his first followers had been of its Households. A lot of them had been like Odard?s father Eddie Liu-freelancers, bandits, mercenaries-what they called gangsters back before the Change, or Mafiya like old Alexi Stavarov with his reptile eyes.

Dad had to use what was to hand, she told herself. The others didn?t understand what had to be done, that so many had to die if anyone at all was to live. Yes, Dad wanted power. What conqueror or founder of a dynasty hasn?t? But if he hadn?t gotten it, Portland would have been like Seattle or LA, nothing but bones and ruins and wilderness.

Instead there were hundreds of thousands of people in the Association?s territories in the Columbia Valley, villages and towns, the living fields that fed humankind, the churches and proud castles. ..

Even Eddie Liu wasn?t that bad. He was always nice to me, at least. ?But my mother was of a Society household,? Odard said.?And of course both the Princess? parents were, and they gave a lead to things. The Lord Protector was a very great man, and his lady has ruled us with justice and wisdom since his death.?

And your mother has lethally pissed my mother off, Odard, Mathilda thought. She?s been intriguing with the CUT. You know and I know Mother… the Lady Regent… will have her head for it.

That wasn?t a metaphor; it meant an appointment with a wooden block and a man in a black hood with a very large ax, the latter a privilege reserved for the execution of those of noble blood. Ordinary people just hung by the neck.

Where does that put you, Odard? I know you?re loyal to me here and now, but a mother is a mother. When we get back… ?And that… Rudi fellow?? Heasleroad said. ?His mother was… is… a bard,? she said.

Mathilda fought down a smile as she remembered how indignant Lady Juniper had gotten when a teenaged Mathilda Arminger thoughtlessly suggested that being The Mackenzie was more dignified for one of noble blood than busking.

Chiefing it is as dignified as pumping out a cesspit, the which is needful work too, she?d said indignantly. And I?m of the blood of plain dirt farmers and workingmen. A bard I was and a bard I shall be until the Hunter comes for me, and I will make music in the Lands of Summer for the simple joy of it!

Then she?d sung-a beautiful a cappella piece that ended: ?I ha? harpit you up to the Gods? own thrones,

I ha? harpit your midmost soul in three;

I ha? harpit you down to Anwyn?s dell,

And ye would make a Chief of me??

The smile was in Mathilda?s voice for a moment as she went on: ?Lady Juniper Mackenzie, the Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie. There was a war… her forces captured me during a raid. Then my father?s took me back and captured Rudi, and then the Bear Lord and the Lord Protector fought between their armies and killed each other-it?s a very long complicated story.?