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It was a painting, near man-high, and undamaged save for splintering around the frame where it had been tossed roughly back into the box by some wild-man disappointed it wasn?t anything useful. ?Now, I wonder who he was?? Rudi murmured after a moment.
A young man, in black clothing a little like what Associates wore, but different in detail; a white ruff stood all around his neck, and the sword he rested one hand on was a rapier with an intricate hilt. The more Rudi looked the more were the intricacies he saw-yet the more it was also a whole, a thing in itself. You could see the haughtiness in the heavy-lipped, strong-nosed face, and the way the columns and domes behind focused attention on the figure in the foreground. The glow of rich fabrics brought out the olive of the man?s complexion, and the glint off a ruby in his ear…
Edain gave a wordless sigh, and Rudi nodded. They came of a folk who respected a skilled maker above all things save courage and loyalty. ?That?s something which makes me feel better about doing this,? the older Mackenzie said.?I?ll never be a friend of Iowa?s Bossman, and it may be that he sent Ingolf to fetch this out of nothing but vanity… but he?ll keep it safe, sure and he will. And his great-grandchildren?s subjects will thank him for it.?
Edain nodded.?What?s that number down there?? he said, indicating the bottom of the frame with the end of his bow. ?A date, in the Christian fashion, from the year their God was born,? Rudi said.?The year it was painted, I?d say.?
The stocky archer whistled softly; he recognized the system, though Mackenzies of their generation mostly reckoned from the time of the Change. ?More than four centuries ago!? he said.
Jake stood silent, then stooped to peer more closely at the painting as the sun brightened. ?Bitchin? tough stud,? he said after a moment.?Some Bossman, right?? ?Right you are,? Rudi said, reflecting-not for the first time-that ignorant wasn?t the same thing as stupid. ?The Iowa-man, he wants this just?cause it looks good??
Doubt was in his tone. Rudi replied: ?No. Because having such things of beauty will make others respect him more.? ?Yeah. Tha? big-man thinkin?,? Jake said with satisfaction.?They rich, in Iowa. Do things for looks good.? ?That?s one of the better things about being rich,? Rudi said.
And Matti?s mother has scoured the museums and mansions of the west coast for a generation now, he mused. And Corvallis has too. We Mackenzies and the Bearkillers perhaps a little less, but we?ve found our share.
It was still only a fraction of what had been lost; for a moment his soul ached with the thought of it. Then: ?Life is for the living, though. There?s never an end to what beauty a maker can summon, and we and our descendants just as well as the ancestors. Let?s to work!?
He stowed the painting reverently in the box, and he and Edain heaved it back into place. Then he dismissed it from his mind.
The wagons had been gifted from the Bossman?s store, probably from his arsenals, when Anthony Heasleroad hired Ingolf and his company-Vogeler?s Villains, they?d been called-for the trip to the east coast, and virtually everything in them was cu
The horse harness was missing, of course-from what Ingolf said, the Cutters had set a fire to force the Villains to abandon the train; they?d unfastened the horses at the last minute and galloped them clear. Luckily the wagons were built to be controlled by someone riding the front left horse, not by complex arrangements of reins. Unluckily, they needed at least eight pair each; and the horses he had available hadn?t been trained for it. Some of them might be harness-broke; the wild-men tribes around here did use light two-wheeled carts sometimes, or travois. Most were trained only to the saddle.
And that badly, he thought. ?This is going to be a riding by the nightmare,? Edain said cheerfully, looking at the stack of wood and leather the Southsiders had brought along and rubbing his hands.?What I wouldn?t give for a proper saddler?s workshop now. Or a carpenter?s. Or even some drills and spokeshaves, I?m thinkin?.?
Badly cured leather, often little more than rawhide; logs and baulks of ash and hickory, and that was the sum of their materials. They?d both helped with harness-maker?s work and done their own minor repairs in the business of farm and field, but neither of them was what a Mackenzie would call expert at it. ?Well, we?ll need… call it thirty-two horse collars,? Rudi said.?Thank Goibniu Lord of Iron that the trace chains are still sound! We?ll make the collars of ash and pad them.? ?Another bit to entertain the folk at home, when we can find time to write,? Edain said, gri
Rudi laughed.?We?ll be in Nantucket by the time that tale arrives,? he said.?They?ll be reading what we wrote from Chenrezi Monastery, in the Valley of the Sun, about now. The Luck of the Clan willing, considering how many hands the letters must go through, so.?
Edain made an invoking sign with his right hand, then clenched both and worked his arms in an unconscious gesture to loosen the muscles before a heavy task. ?Best we measure the horses, first. Then-?
DUN JUNIPER CASCADE FOOTHILLS, WESTERN OREGON SEPTEMBER 6, CHANGE
The packet of letters was thick; the messenger from Bend had come over the old Santiam Pass, and down to Dun Juniper in the western foothills as fast as relays of horses would carry him. Sutterdown was the logical first stop… but the man was not just a messenger of the Central Oregon Rancher?s Association; he was a retainer of Rancher Brown, an old friend of Juniper Mackenzie. He?d cut across to Dun Juniper, staggered in to lay the saddlebags before her, and then been half carried away to the baths and the guesthouse.
Some of the letters she set aside for forwarding; those from Mary and Ritva Havel, to their mother Signe at the Bearkiller headquarters of Larsdalen, and to the Hiril Dunedain, their commander as Rangers and not so incidentally their aunt Astrid. And of course the sealed report from Father Ignatius to Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski, and Odard Liu?s to his mother and to Sandra Arminger up in Portland. She sighed at that. ?Probably a plea for clemency, poor boy,? she said; the sympathy in her voice was entirely for the young man.
And if ever anyone deserved an ax across their neck, Mary Liu is the one. A spell in the Summerlands, a talking-to from the Mother, better luck next time… She?s never forgotten Eddie Liu?s death, well deserved as it was. Nor will she give over seeking vengeance while she lives, or pouring poison into poor Odard?s ear. He might be something considerable of a man, if he could be kept away from her long enough! ?I doubt Lady Sandra will send Mary Liu to the headsman. Not until Mathilda is safely back in Association territory, and doesn?t need Odard?s help,? her handfasted man Nigel Loring said, in an English accent to the manor born. ?House arrest does seem unusually… indecisive… for Sandra,? Juniper agreed.
Mathilda had done two letters, one to Sandra and one to her, but she laid hers aside to wait until she?d read the missive from her son.
Rudi?s was in two parts. One an armsman?s report to his Clan Chief, succinct and terse. Even in that there were things that raised her brows: someone else might have discounted the dream vision as a delusion born of the wound fever he?d been suffering while they sheltered in that cave against blizzards and foemen. She did not.