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What wool clothing they had was tattered enough, probably looted, but they had well-ta
Struggle? Graber thought.
His only outward reply was an inclination of the head. Slowly, men came out of the huts; men and a pair of women. Graber scowled at them-they were wearing trousers-but much service among unbelievers had hardened him to the sight of things forbidden. To be honest, the CUT hadn?t yet managed to purge even the homeland of such wickedness. Some of the newcomers looked hostile; one or two bowed to Master Dalan in fellowship. All were oddly dressed, with strings of beads, clusters of feathers, the feet of eagles, gear more arcane, or the ta
Several produced small drums and began to beat them with bone hammers, the sound falling flat and distanced among the snow: dum-dumdum, dum-dum- dum…
There were a dozen of them in all. They began to dance, a swaying shuffling circle, in and out and around, through the screen of drifting flakes. He blinked as Dalan joined them, turning in place in the center with his arms stretched skyward.
Shamans, the Sword commander realized. They?re making magic.
He shuddered; that was unclean, by the CUT?s teaching. Master Dalan must have dispensation from the Prophet himself-of course, what the adepts among the Seekers did wasn?t magic, strictly speaking; it was powers conferred by the Secret Masters. The dance grew wilder, feet stamping and leaping. Then slower, barely moving at all. At last all squatted and knelt, the circle facing inward towards Dalan. Graber realized with a start that his heartbeat was ru
Hail Serapis Bey! he told himself, chanting the mantra inwardly as he?d been taught in the House, until calm gradually returned. Hail Serapis Bey! The Fourth Ray is with me. Hail Serapis Bey!
When he could focus on the world again he almost started and drew his shete; there were men around him, wrapped in bulky fur coats against the growing cold and the endless snow. A little older than the other Bekwa warriors, and better dressed, all with weapons in their hands.
War chiefs, he thought, noting the array of scars-from the look of them, fighting infection wasn?t among their skills. Waiting for.. . whatever Dalan is doing.
Some of the chiefs had torches with them, soaked with pine resin. The flames shed a ruddy tinge over the motionless circle, hissing as snowflakes fell into them. The drumbeat stilled at last. One of the drummers seemed to yawn… until the gape grew impossibly wide. A whining sound came from the gaping mouth, and an instant later blood sprayed out; and ran from nose and ears and eyes as well, like black tears. Another of the shamans jerked forward and then slumped with a limpness that Graber knew well-it was the sort that a man showed when he?d had his spine cut, or an arrow through the eye into the brain. Dalan held out his arms, as if embracing the shamans. ?I… see… you,? he said.
The shamans blinked. It took an instant before Graber realized that they?d done it in unison, and even then he could not be sure. When they spoke it was a rustling whisper, in a synchronicity as complete as a Temple choir: ?I… see… you.?
They rose. When they had sat it had been one by one; now they came to their feet like drilled soldiers. They turned to face the war chiefs, and blinked once more… at the same instant, every pair of eyes obscured and then open. And something looked out from behind those eyes, those faces blank and fixed as if they were formed from dough. ?Guerr!? they cried in unison.
Dalan threw his hands skyward in triumph. ?War!? he shouted. ?Guerr di? Dyu!? ?God says war!?
Dalan staggered towards him, face blazing with exultation.?They will fight, Major,? he said. ?Good. Though even so… it?s a big country.? ?More than them, Major. More things than the tribesmen will make war.? ?Now, this is something of a sport!? Rudi Mackenzie said.?And a very good way to travel in a hurry, so.?
He let his skis plow to a stop with the points angled in, and stabbed his poles into the snow. He?d skied before he came east, but only downhill; mostly at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, a Portlander Crown preserve kept for hunting and sport under forest law. That was a fine swooping wonder he?d seldom tired of when the Regent?s Court paid a visit during his a
This gear was different, too; the skis were longer and more narrow, with an arch under the foot, and a fish-scale pattern pointing backward in that section to give you a grip when you pushed off. And the foot wasn?t fastened hard to it either, just a loop for the toe and a band.
Ingolf Vogeler came up the low slope with a skating motion and slid to a halt beside him under the shelter of a stretch of white pine. He pushed the goggles up on his face and blinked into the wind that was-again-starting to flick snow at them. It came harder and harder out of the northeast, out of the darkness growing there as the short day died. The cold with it was bitter, the sort that would turn the tip of your nose numb before you noticed it. They?d had a few cases of mild frostbite already, and only stringent checks and careful training had kept the party from worse.
Both men wore loose parkas with quilted linings and hoods trimmed in wolf fur; beneath them were what the Richlanders called long johns against the skin, scratchy and itchy but blessedly warm, double-thickness pants, knit socks and fla
Sure, and the brigandine and its padding are lost in the swaddling of it all! Rudi thought.
With all that and the warmth of effort he was merely a little chilly, but the temperature was dropping fast from the hard cold of day to something that frightened him a little. It was four hours past noon, or a little more, and getting dark even without the thickening clouds. The stretching boughs above them swayed back and forth with a whirring, soughing moan. ?Well, at least none of our bunch are falling over regular anymore,? Ingolf said.?We?re actually starting to make decent time.?
They both looked down at the line of sleds toiling northward over the riverside roadway. The river there wasn?t exactly small, but the humped white expanse of ice was already halfway out from each shore, leaving only a narrowing strip of dark moving water in the middle. Slushy lumps of snow-ice floated in it.
Four of the sleds were pulled by a double hitch of horses each, and even with the burden of walking through snow it was less draught-power than pulling a similar weight on summer roads would require. A smaller sleigh hissed ahead with eight pairs of dogs drawing it, something Rudi hadn?t seen before. Pierre Walks Quiet managed that, breaking trail with a skill that could have left the rest behind any time he chose. He rode the rear of the sled half the time, then ran tirelessly beside it for a space. His voice was a barking yelp as he commanded the dogs, and they obeyed it like extensions of his will.