The Sword of the Lady (21 page)

His square face had the bullock-stubborn look of a man who was pacing himself by the task, and giving it everything he had.

″Boyo, they have to keep going for another four miles, or an hour and a bit, so. After that it′s Bossman Heasleroad′s problem, and none of ours.″

Edain blinked and shook his head like a man coming out of deep sleep. Then he grinned at the Mackenzie chieftain, and Rudi grinned back.

″Sure, and it seemed like we′d be traveling forever, didn′t it?″ he said, and leaned over to clap the younger man on the shoulder.

″That it did. And not a nice pleasant pilgrimage for Beltane, either. Fighting, which I do not like, or running, the which I like even less.″

″Is fearr rith maith ná drochsheasamh.″
Rudi laughed. ″A good run is better than a bad stand.″

Edain nodded, then raised a warning fist as Rudi′s mount turned a considering head towards him:

″
Keep your teeth to yourself, y′ evil-eyed keffle!
Forever and a day, Chief. And the Sword there needing to be gotten, the which weighs on my mind.″

Rudi showed his teeth in what was not quite a smile. ″Do you think it does not for me also? But the quest of the Sword is only a bit about the finding of the Sword. It′s what we do along the way, too.″

Edain blinked at him. ″Learning how to travel three thousand miles, then, would that be it?″

″No, boyo. Learning how to travel three thousand miles and make an ally against the Cutters every few hundred of those miles. Allies ready to fight with us when we return. Remember the Lakota? And Chenrezi? And those guerillas in Deseret?″

The gray eyes widened, and the stocky bowman slapped himself on the forehead. ″Now it′s blind I feel! Well, you′re the Chief. High King, perhaps, too.″

Rudi pointed a finger at his face. ″And the High King′s right-hand man had better learn to think of such things. It′s your wits I′ll be needing, Edain Aylward Mackenzie of the Wolf sept, as much as the skill of your eye and hand.″

A shout came from ahead. Rudi nodded; he′d expected that about now. Jake and his Southsider warriors jogged back towards the wagon train and the rest of their tribe in no particular order, on either side of a squadron of Iowa cavalry.

The Iowans were in a neat column of twos, with an officer in a plumed helmet at the front and a bannerman with the State flag flying just behind him. They were well mounted on big glossy geldings, and despite the formal stiffness of their formation they also looked tough and alert, unlike some of their comrades he′d seen elsewhere. They all wore coal-scuttle helmets and short-sleeved mail shirts, with heavy curved shetes at their sides and round shields slung over their backs; their four-foot horseman′s horn-and-sinew recurve bows were out of the scabbards, and they all had arrows on the string.

And they′re notably good horsemen,
Rudi thought.
With well-trained mounts. Elite troops.

The thought was confirmed when the column came to a halt in rippling unison not far away. You needed to use both hands for a saddle bow, which meant you had to control your horse exclusively with legs and balance. Rudi could do it—

—but mostly people with that knack were ranchers or cowboys or Rovers or from the Plains tribes, folk who lived in the saddle from childhood. Iowans were tillers of the earth or town-dwelling merchants and craftsmen as a rule, but these had a different trade.

He slid to the ground and walked forward on the cracked slabs of the roadway, split into uneven segments like the back of a tortoise by a generation′s frost heave, glad to be out of the beast′s kicking and biting range. His blue-green eyes narrowed as he took in the commander′s face beneath the brim of his helmet.

Denson,
he thought.

Then they went wide as he saw the big man beside him, the one wearing a kettle helm with a broad brim like a hat′s.

″Ingolf!″ he shouted. ″Ingolf the Wanderer!″

And alive, free and armed,
he added to himself, feeling a grin of delight split his face.

″Rudi, you miserable slippery son of a bitch!″ the other man called. ″Christ, you could fall into a heap of horseshit and come out smelling like a rose with a gold brick in your teeth!″

He slid from his mount as well, and they grasped each other′s shoulders, laughing with pleasure; that grip was easier because they were almost of a height, though Ingolf was a bit thicker-built, bull to Rudi′s tiger. The other man′s weathered face was a little gray under the short-clipped beard, but that was to be expected after weeks of confinement. He fisted the Mackenzie on the arm and stepped back, looking at the wagons with his thumbs hooked into his sword belt.

″By Jesus, I never thought I′d see
these
again. All the way to Boston and back . . .″

His face went cold for an instant, obviously remembering the friends and followers of his who′d died on that trip. Then he shook it off.

″Good work . . . Chief.″

″I had help.″ Rudi shrugged.

″I can see that,″ Ingolf said, nodding to the Southsiders and shaking hands with Edain. ″But you
got
the help.″

It was a different tune you were singing when we started out
, Rudi thought; there had been a bit of friction when the more experienced man realized the Mackenzie was to be in charge of their group.
But you′re an adaptable one, Ingolf Vogeler. And it′s glad I am to see you.

The Iowan commander had dismounted as well. ″Charmed the cannibals, I see,″ he said to Rudi. ″No accounting for tastes, either way.″

Jake sunna Jake sat his horse to one side, scowling and working his fingers on the shaft of the spear whose butt rested on the toes of his right foot. Rudi had rarely seen a man more ready to kill who wasn′t trying to actually do it.

″Ah, Captain Denson, still as much a charmer of a man as ever you were before,″ Rudi said.

He smiled, and the State Police officer blinked a little; the last time they′d met he′d been seeing Rudi over the bridge into the Wild Lands on a mission meant to fail, and the time before that he′d arrested the Mackenzie, tried to arrest his friends, succeeded in taking Odard and Matti prisoner, and dragged the three of them before Anthony Heasleroad′s throne. Rudi′s sharp-cut features usually had a half smile about them. It made the expression they wore now more noticeable.

″And it′s glad I am to see you again,″ Rudi said, something cat-playful in his tone. ″Very glad to see you again like this.″

This
being armed, with armed friends at hand, and the Iowan himself within arm′s reach. Denson was no fool; he′d seen Rudi before, and refreshed his memory with an expert′s quick appraisal of the other man—hands, shoulders, the way he stood and moved.

″Now, Captain Denson, would you be after tellin′ me something: you Christians have a proverb, do you not,
Vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord
?″

The State Policeman nodded warily. ″Yes.″

″And you′ve another to the effect that if a man hits you on one cheek you should turn and let him hit the other, no?″

″Yeah. Your point is?″

Rudi′s smile grew a little broader, and his thumb caressed the cross guard of his longsword:

″Well, I′m not a Christian, you see. And we of the Old Religion believe that a man′s deeds come back upon him in kind . . . magnified threefold.″

″Sorry if I offended,″ Denson said tightly. ″Just doing my job.″

″It′s to my friend Jake here that you should apologize, Captain Denson,″ Rudi said. ″Because the Southside Freedom Fighters are not cannibals, nor were their ancestors, and because they′ve helped me regain your Bossman′s property. And for the sake of good manners to guests, the which is pleasing to the land spirits while rudeness brings ill luck from the fey.″

″Apologize to a
wild-man
?″

There was a genuinely scandalized tone in Denson′s voice; that prejudice was no older than Rudi, but it ran deep. The shock of it was enough to knock the man onto his back heel for a moment, mentally.

″When a man′s got himself into a pit, the first order of business is to stop digging,″ Rudi said. ″Whether with a shovel or with his tongue. And there′s a third reason you should apologize; because you′re wearing a sword.″

Denson′s hand went unconsciously to the hilt of his shete. ″What′s that got to do with it?″

Rudi smiled. Jake sunna Jake cocked his head to one side, considered the expression, and gave a gap-toothed grin of his own. Ingolf seemed to be wavering between sharing the amusement and looking alarmed, but he also shifted his shoulders a little and casually rested a hand on the strap that held his shield across his back. That might be an idle gesture . . . but it also put him in position to pull it down and slide his arm into the loops quickly. Rudi went on.

″If a man insults another and has no weapon, then he′s a coward and beneath contempt, hiding behind his own weakness and the other′s honor. But if he does it with steel by his side, it′s presumed that he will″—Rudi ran an ostentatious eye over the gray threads in the Iowan′s hair—″how did you ancients put it in the old world . . .
walk the walk
, as well as talkin′ the talk?″

He didn′t draw his sword, or even put his sword hand to the hilt. He did let the thumb of the other press on the guard, enough to start it free of the slight tension of the greased battens lining the scabbard, and let a single thread′s-width of the patterned layer-forged blade show.

Denson stared at him for an instant, opened his mouth, then followed Rudi′s flick of the eyes and turned to Jake.

″Sorry,″ he said to the Southsider coolly enough, with a little bow. ″No offense meant.″

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 éirí 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 Manwë 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 inner self that way, it′s unpleasantly likely that something will come to infect the wound. Something that likes to dwell amid corruption.″

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 inner eye, and I confess Edgar Denson makes me regret that the Gael gave up taking heads to nail over the door, the sorrow and the sadness, that he does.″

″You hadn′t given up chopping them off, that I noticed,″ Ingolf said dryly.

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.″