Moonrise

'Now and by moonlight, if you like.'

'Dawnlight will do.' Brock-Robin nodded pleasantly, and gestured to their fire. 'Join us? We're discussing this interesting expedition north.'

'Thank you, no,' Baj said, and bowed to the others. '- I'll need a good night's sleep to kill you clean.' And walked away from more fireside chuckles… Jolly soldiers.

* * *

'You are a fool a fool a fool!'

'More than possibly, sweetheart. But I offered him a chance to come and apologize.'

The four of them – including Errol, who seemed troubled as if he understood – sat staring at him. Then Richard sighed. 'Baj…' pronouncing the name as if in mourning. 'Baj, in a decided-duel – and the Wolf-General may not allow it, would not allow it if you were in the Guard, and a higher or lower rank – in a decided- duel, you meet over the camp ditch, with officers presiding. You fight with personal weapons only, and wear no helmet, no armor.'

'Fair enough.' It was beginning to seem more a dream than not, with a dream's floating, almost sensible conversation.

'We can go,' Nancy said. 'We can go!'

'No,' Patience said. 'We can't – and wouldn't be allowed to, unless Sylvia permitted.'

'I don't mind!' Nancy tugged on Baj's arm. 'I don't mind. I forgive him – he was drunk.'

'But I don't forgive him, sweetheart.'

'You'll have your sword and dagger, Baj,' Richard said, 'there'd be no objection to them. He'll carry short-sword and shield.'

'Shield…'

'That's what he fights with, Baj. What all Light Infantry fights with.'

'But he rides.'

'Rides, yes – to carry the standard. But he's still Light Infantry.'

'The shield,' Patience said, 'will make a difficulty.'

'Then I'll have to make it his difficulty.'

Another silence, and staring, as if he'd changed to a great mushroom.

Richard cleared his throat. 'Tomorrow? No delay?'

'Tomorrow, as I understand.'

'Too bad. Too bad… We could have practiced you a little against sword-and-shield. Many, many tricks to that.'

'I have practiced that sort of fighting, Richard – though not often. I won't really know his way, and he won't know mine.'

'Yes… Remember this, Baj: a shield is also a weapon. I've known fierce fighters killed by the edge of a shield, with no blood on a sword at all.'

'I will keep that in mind.'

'You have no mind,' Nancy said. 'You're a boy and a fool. I should have let him fuck me, and been quiet – and you would have known nothing!'

'I would have known… everything,' Baj said, and when she began to weep, caught her in his arms.

* * *

Fearful when he lay down with Nancy curled tight against him under their blankets, Baj sank to sleep surprisingly swiftly… and was surprised again on waking (after no dreaming at all) to stretch luxuriously under warm wool, against a warm girl, and feel very well in gray end-of-night, with a light snowfall drifting.

Lord Winter had stepped down from the Wall.

He was up, and the others were up – even ignorant Errol – looking worried, weary in the weather.

'The cold will slow you, Baj – and snow on the tundra makes it slippery…'

'Richard, I'll step light and wear no parky; the exercise will warm me.'

Nancy, crouched striking sparks into grass starters for their fire, mouthed the word exercise, but didn't say it.

As the little dung-heap lit, smoking nastily, its chunks rimmed red, Baj – feeling perfectly calm, really very well – noticed with surprise that his hands were shaking. A fine tremor that seemed to vibrate up his arms. So, if he wasn't frightened, his body seemed to be.

If the others noticed – and they must have noticed – they said nothing.

Patience, wrapped in her new greatcoat of colors, walked away to the mess-tent with their tin bowls.

'A light breakfast, Baj.'

'Richard, I know a light breakfast.'

'And only boiled hot water, no morning beer.'

'I know, Richard. Only water…' Baj began the stretches and postures he'd been taught as preparation for great effort, for fighting. There hadn't seemed time for those formal attitudes – not through all the weeks of flight and mountain traveling. Now, he wished he'd taught them to Nancy…

Errol seemed intrigued, the poses striking him as dance, perhaps, so he stood and joined in excellent imitation… bending, stooping, slowly squatting to leap upright, twisting first one way, then the other… all to easy heartbeat rhythm. One deep breath to every six beats. Step, step, and cross-step to the right. Step, step, cross- step to the left. Slide-step forward… slide-steps back. Arms slowly swinging up and around… down and back around. Wrists flexed, fingers flexed and clenched. Flexed… and clenched.

Stepping lightly, and a little higher for the uneven ground – ground already powdered with snow.

A group of troopers paused as they came by from mess, to watch him finish his exercise – Errol mirroring precisely the same easy come-to-rest at finish. By then, Baj's hands were still as stone.

Richard, shaking his head, muttering in some argument with himself, sat by the fire bent over Baj's rapier with a piece of granite-powdered ice, persuading its keenest edge.

… After a rye-porridge breakfast almost uneaten except by Errol, who had eaten what he could of everyone's, they walked out of camp into clearing air… and the glow of sunrise to the east. The cold was of that variety that Kingdom-River people called 'Hello,' meaning just sharp enough to alert a person, put them on notice of grimmer freezes to come. It was also called 'First breath,' meaning Lord Winter's first breath, come down from the ice.

It would be no trouble, fighting.

'Not too cold after all,' Richard said. None had worn their furs. 'But watch the snow on this sedge grass.'

Nancy said nothing, towed Errol along by her accustomed grip on his jerkin.

'Baj,' Patience touched him on the shoulder. 'If there is a choice to kill or cripple him – kill. Crippling will make enemies that killing won't.'

Baj nodded as they walked along, but said nothing. His world was no longer quite their world, as if a sheet of the Wall's ice had slid between them. What was said to him now, seemed sent as if by pigeon, or one of Boston's little Mailmen.

… They were walking to a crowd of hundreds of soldiers – all, off-duty, standing silent as ghosts of some ancient tundra battle, and all unarmed, unarmored, except for Provost officers, brass chains glinting on steel breastplates.

George Brock-Robin stood aside and alone in boots and leathers, a round hide shield leaning against his knee. He was swinging a double-edged short-sword in his right hand… Baj was pleased. Right hand – better than confusing left, with its reverses.

Brock-Robin waved a greeting as Baj came up, and called, 'Good morning,' his breath smoking a little in the chilly air. He seemed in good humor.

Baj said, 'Good morning.'

'I'm going back,' Nancy said. 'I'm going back.' And she turned away to the camp, dragging Errol with her.

Brock-Robin watched her go, and glanced at Baj – a look between men, satirical. 'Women,' the look said.