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Jake grunted, probably slightly disappointed. Rudi smiled, this time without the edge of menace. ?Graciously said,? he said.?Now, let?s get your ruler?s property to him, eh?? ?I?ll meet you at the fort,? Denson said, swinging into the saddle and turning his mount; his men followed him, and rocked up to a gallop. ?Imeacht gan teacht ort; titim gan eiri ort,? Rudi said in the language of his mother?s people. Then he added the English for his companion:?May you leave without returning and fall without rising, addressed to the lovely darlin? man himself. The which is perhaps a little too close to a curse for comfort, but sometimes things need to be said.?
Ingolf let a breath puff out.?We do need him,? he pointed out. ?At least for a while.?
Rudi nodded.?But he needs us, or you wouldn?t be here, my friend. And he?s not the sort of man who sees a friendly approach as anything but weakness.? ?Yah, he?s the type you have to push back at or get walked on, all right.? Suddenly Ingolf chuckled.?And Christ… or Manwe and Varda
… it was good to see him backing down. Spending time in his jail warped my perspective a bit, I think.?
He swallowed and looked at the wagons.?Thanks, by the way.? ?You?re heartily welcome, but…? ?Yah, Matti and Odard. From what Denson told me they?re as safe as anyone could be around Tony Heasleroad.? ?Which is not a great and exceeding safeness, so?? ?There?s that.? ?And I would not put the good Captain Denson above a wee little bit of an exaggeration, if it suited his purposes.?
Ingolf nodded.?He?s… a piece of work, yah. And that collection of gallows bait he runs aren?t much better; I?ve seen plenty of hard men-I?ve been one, a lot of people would say-but most of that crew have got something missing, if you ask me.? ?And they may regret it,? Rudi said grimly.?When a man… injures his i
Ingolf shrugged and returned to practicality:?Matti seems to have charmed everyone around the Bossman, though; she and Kate Heasleroad are thick as thieves. And Odard?s popular at court too.? ?Neither is a surprise,? Rudi said. Though with Odard, it?s more of a mask, I think.?Matti has a gift for being liked; it starts with being likeable, and also with her liking folk who deserve it.?
Edain had been leaning on his longbow. Now he nodded after Denson, a considering look in his eye. ?The man?s fey,? he said.?The shadow of the Hunter?s wings is on his face.?
There was a moment of confusion-Ingolf seemed to think the word fey meant something entirely different from the Clan?s use of the term-and then Rudi spoke: ?I hadn?t noticed that… but strong passion blinds the i
The two clansmen laughed.?But his deeds are coming back to him, threefold,? Edain said.?I could feel it, and I?m not one to see the Dread Lord?s mark on a face just because breakfast didn?t agree with me.? ?That you are not,? Rudi agreed.?From your lips to the ears of the Fair Folk, though, that they may send him just precisely the ill luck and black misfortune that he?s earned. The man is a waste of living space.?
Ingolf looked at the wagons.?You got them moving, all right,? he said.?But where did you find this collection of crowbait you?ve got pulling them??
Rudi laughed.?Thereby hangs a tale. And it was a tale of the Lakota that gave me the idea.?
Care seemed to slide from Ingolf?s shoulders as well; he was a few years older than Rudi, but not more than thirty yet. ?During the Sioux War we used to say they could steal your horse and you?d ride on half a mile before you noticed. Guess it?s catching, Strong Raven.? ?That it is, Iron Bear.?
Edain joined the chuckle.?How Dad will grin when he hears about how we got the horses. He?s always on about what great raiders the SAS were, before the Change.? ?He taught you,? Rudi pointed out.?So it?s only natural he?ll take a bit of the credit.?
NEAR DUN LAUREL CLAN MACKENZIE TERRITORIES WILLAMETTE VALLEY,
?Advance in skirmish order with fire and movement!?
That bellowed order was faint with distance, but the dunting huu-huuhadd-hurrr bray of the cowhorn trumpet carried more clearly.
The old man leaned silently on his unstrung bow stave and watched the warriors deploy, popping a few blue-black serviceberries from the shrub next to him into his mouth from time to time. Sam Aylward was in his sixties, and had never been more than middle height, though deep-chested and broad in the shoulders; now he stooped a little, and the square ta
He was grateful for the heat of the summer sun sinking into flesh and bone, even as it brought sweat out on his face and flanks; somehow he was cold a lot of the time these days. A deep breath brought a scent of rank greenery and silty mud, windfalls rotting beneath apple orchards gone feral, crushed grass, a few blue lupins still blossoming. Grass heads scratched at his legs below the pleated kilt. This was the time to practice the arts of war, after the grain was in and the stacks thatched and waiting for the threshing, when strong young hands and backs could be spared.
Time to read Edain?s letter, too, he thought; he could almost feel the weight of it in his sporran. The boy?s had a bad time. That were cruel hard, not being able to save that girl he met. There?s a lesson you have to learn: sometimes you give it everything and nothing works
… But he?s all right, and he?s been doing a man?s work and no mistake. And tonight I can show it to Melissa.
A slight smile moved his lips at the thought of his son and the prospect of his wife?s face. She?d been worried badly, which was natural enough, and spending a lot of time spell casting and trying auguries until Lady Juniper told her once a month was enough.
I?ve been worried about the boy too. Boy? He snorted. I?ve bred and raised me an Aylward fighting man to reckon with! Now stop woolgathering and get back to work, Samkin. They?re shaping nicely-and Oak Barstow has them well in hand. He?ll be better than his dad at it. More fire in the belly.
The ground the warriors were using was part of the empty zone that separated Dun Laurel from Dun Carson, far enough out in the flats of the Willamette Valley that the Cascades were a line of blue topped with white in the eastern distance; his own hobbled horse grazed behind him, and John Hordle?s thick-bodied warmblood, and his younger son Richard?s elderly little cob. The boy-he was fifteen and a bit, still a few years too young for the First Levy-was aggressively red-haired, freckled, and looking at the exercise with naked envy, unconsciously edging forward bit by bit and reaching over his shoulder to finger the arrows in his quiver. ?Dickie,? the elder Aylward said mildly, without looking around, and keeping the inward grin out of his voice.?If you don?t want to mind the?orses, you could always be to?ome helping your mother set up that new loom. Or there?s them hurdles that need replacing in the ?ill pen…?
A hundred clansfolk were advancing through the burgeoning wilderness. They moved by threes and nines, dodging swiftly from bush to tree to clump of tall grass that nodded like hair blowing in the slow warm wind. The kilts and plaids of the Mackenzie tartan-which here in Oregon was mostly green and dark brown, due to a salvaged load of blankets that first year-made them hard to see; so did the green leather covering their brigandines, and the matt surface of the same color on their open-faced sallet helms. They shot as they came, stopping briefly to bend the long yellow bows and send a gray-fletched arrow whirring downrange before the next dash; shafts thumped home in the man-shaped targets of straw matting bound round posts, or now and then vanished near them. ?Nossir! Sorry, Dad!? Richard Aylward Mackenzie said.