Moonrise

the ice in slit hides, so some air comes through when they thaw.'

'And stink,' Nancy said.

'Mountain-Jesus knows it,' Baj said.

Nancy shook her head. 'Frozen-Jesus here, Baj, held forever in the ice. Or, of course, we can call to Lady Weather.'

'This odor…' Patience said. 'There are disadvantages to moose, though heroes have ridden them.'

'It must,' Baj said to her, 'be such a gift to travel in the air… and not afoot or riding some reluctant beast. But everything clean and clear, with distance meaning so little.'

Patience stared at him.

'… I meant no offense.'

'You don't offend me, Baj. I'm only surprised you still think there is some wonderful way, that is not wonderfully dear… I travel in air, Walk-in-air, at the penalty of making myself a sort of idiot, most of my mind empty of everything but keeping the earth away, so only by… leaking notions past can I think of anything else.' She shrugged. 'When I was young, there was more room in my head for other considerations – and I could still hold altitude while mulling them.'

She paused so long it seemed she'd lost her thoughts' thread… then said, 'There may be harder work, for one growing so swiftly older. Perhaps rowing an oar in a Kingdom warship. Perhaps hacking fire-coal from the tribal hills of West Map-Virgina. – Perhaps those are harder work, but I doubt it. One week of Walking-in-air, unspools months of most Talents' lives.' She smiled. 'Though, when I was a girl, and very strong in that piece of brain, I disregarded the cost – as I disregarded everything that was not a wish of mine.'

'Then rest on the ground, dear,' Richard said. 'Sylvia Wolf-General meant what she told you.'

'I'm sure she did,' Patience said, 'and only hope she also still means harm to Boston. I sent a Mailman to her in Lord Winter's season – an expensive young Mailman sacrificed, 'lost to hawks,' since I killed it on its return, for secrecy… Also, on the ice at

Salem, I spoke to her sister, a major, as well. There was – is – an agreement, if she hasn't decided for the Township after all.'

'Sylvia's mother and an aunt both died in the Pens, birthing.' Richard tried his ax's edges, then searched in his possibles for his whetstone.'- Supposed to have been a Sparrow shaman's daughters, captured by Fish-hawks in a raid. Then the Guard came to the coast, and took them… I doubt the General has changed her mind.'

'Still,' Baj said, 'she commands for Boston.'

'And doing so,' Richard stroked stone along a gleaming crescent, '- hones these companies to use against it.'

Nancy sat up and stretched. 'Do these near-Sunriser Persons mean to feed us?'

'Soon. Trumpet'll call Mess in about a glass-hour.' Richard tested his edges with a thick brown thumb.'… It's always an ax-fighter's question, whether to sharpen both edges keen as can be – or leave one very slightly duller, so as not to turn on armor, but drive through it.'

'One keen edge,' Baj said, 'with a spike opposite, is the battle-ax favored on the river.'

'Ah…' Richard set his weapon down, '- but your spike may become stuck in whomever, have to be levered and wrenched free. And while a Person is busy with that, what's an enemy at liberty to do?'

'Mischief, I suppose.' Baj noticed his breath smoking with the cold.

'Mischief absolutely, Baj. Though, with a light ax, and long-handled… less of a problem.'

'We had a heroine who fought with one.'

'I know that story,' Nancy said. 'Many women know the story of that brave girl and your old queen – a reminder that females are not baby-squirters only, but can fight.' She slid a length of her scimitar's steel from the scabbard by emphasis, then slid it back. '… I wish,' she said to Baj, 'sweetheart, I wish we'd practiced more.'

'I couldn't have survived more practice.' He leaned to kiss her ear, lying so nicely tucked in her soft red mane. 'You're too fierce for me.'

'I'm not.'

'You are.' Another kiss.

Errol, curled on a blanket, opened his eyes and tongue-clicked at them.

'Quite right,' Richard said, '- ridiculous.'

… As they waited the mess-call, with Patience and Errol both sitting against a feed-shelter's canvas wall – each looking out over distance past distance, and seeming to dream awake – Nancy sat under a sheltering blanket, and watched while Baj, his fingers stiff with cold, played fast, no-pausing chess with Richard. Fast and losing chess. Soon, his king was desperate, hobbling back and forth from one square to the only possible other.

'Give up,' Richard said.

'Never.'

'You've lost. Give up.'

'No. Anything might happen.' At which, a saving trumpet soared out three long notes. 'See?'

Richard heaved to his feet. 'I've won.'

'Have not. My king still stands.'

'Nonsense.'

'My Baj,' Nancy set her blanket shelter aside, '- is true-human, and not to be trusted.'

'No question.' Richard held out a massive hand, helped Patience lightly to her feet. 'Nancy, keep the boy close. – We go; we stand in line at the kettles. We get our rations; we leave and come back here. No conversation.'

'All right.' Patience smoothed tundra grass from her blue coat. A ragged strip of its hem was missing.

'- And if some moose-rider insults you, bear it.'

'Any insult, Richard?' Baj moved his king the one square to safety, and stood.

'Any insult. If the cavalry foots us out of their Lines, we're in trouble for a peaceful place to sleep.'

'Okay,' Baj said (a perfect WT usage). 'This doesn't seem a good place for argument. But we leave our packs here, our goods?'

'Leave them,' Richard said. 'No one steals in the General's camp.' And he led off toward the trumpet's repeat, as troopers came strolling past.

… Having waited their turns in a long line (with no conversation) – then, at the stoves, having one looped red string snapped off their wrists – they each were passed a big tin bowl of stew, and a fat dark round of barley bread.

'Spoons,' Richard said, his only conversation at mess, speaking for all of them.

A tall, shambling cook made an exasperated face, rooted in a wicker chest, and handed over spoons. 'Issued once,' he said to them.

… Then, with spoons and bowls and bread, they retreated past a number of uninterested or unfriendly glances to their patch of tundra over moose-lines. And sitting on wool pallets, wrapped in cloaks or blankets – except for warmth-talented Patience – they began eating the food before it chilled.

'Dear Jesus.' Baj hadn't intended to complain, was prepared for the expected military 'chow.' Or thought he was.

Nancy reached to pinch his cheek. 'What's wrong, dear? – who was a prince, and pampered.'

Richard smiled his toothy smile. 'It's seal meat in the stew, Baj. Guards' main ration. People take them from the ocean ice… butcher out, and let the meat freeze for transporting.'

'Better become used to it,' Patience was dipping bread into her bowl, '- from here to the Wall, then up onto the ice, it will likely be frozen seal meat or herring.'

'Unless an army moose dies,' Richard said. '- or one of the Shrikes' caribou… Errol likes it.'

And so it seemed, since Errol was crouched with his face in his bowl, making feeding-dog noises.

Baj held his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, spooned with his right… and got some of the stew down. A rank and oily puddle, it lay in his belly restless. The bread, though, was quite decent… helped cleanse his palate. 'And we have no mutton left at all?'

'No, we don't,' Richard lifting a bit of stew meat on his knife. 'You may find you grow quite fond of seal. Become a judge of its various qualities.'

'I'm sure…'

'And my Baj is so brave,' Nancy said, 'holding his nose as he swallowed.'