AD
A knight was singing, alone at first and then joined by a dozen others: “Morning red, morning red
Will you shine upon me dead?
Oliphants will soon be blowing,
Then must I to death be going,
I and many merry friends!”
Rudi Mackenzie looked up from the map, remembering to keep the bacon and fried onions folded in a wheat cake aside so that it wouldn’t drip grease on the precious document. The tall young man was one of the Protector’s Guard, helping his squire to groom his destrier a little down the slope from the royal command pavilion; he wove ribbons into its mane, and it snuffled at him and lipped his yellow curls until he fed it an apple.
Around him his friends and comrades were finishing bowls of porridge and bannocks and bacon, many already in their war-harness and the others in the midst of donning it, laughing as they sang, a few waving their spoons to the chorus:
“I and many merry friends!”
“Nothing like a little pessimism,” Rudi said in a dull tone, and took another bite.
“It’s not pessimistic,” Mathilda said seriously. “It’s a happy song, a young man’s… Oh, you got me again!”
She thumped him in the ribs; a largely theoretical gesture, since he was in full plate, but her gauntlet made a satisfying whunk against the steel and he grinned and winked.
The air was full of the sounds and scents of an army getting ready to move; men’s voices, the clank of metal, the creak of leather and wood, the occasional snort or neigh from a horse. Sweat and scorched bacon and dung, but also the clear cool fall air, and the first rains had laid the dust and left a dusting of green across the rolling hills. Banners snapped and fluttered, their points streaming towards the east and the enemy. Long shadows stretched westward, from the hills and the odd tree. Mostly the land here was tawny wilderness, even the herds of wild horses and antelope and bison fled. The birds waited overhead, though, crow and raven and buzzard, riding the air and waiting patiently.
They would have their victory today, whatever passed among humankind.
“The sun will be in our eyes for the morning,” Bjarni Ironrede said, looking at the map. “Here?” he added, pointing.
“But the wind will be at our backs all day,” Oak Barstow said. “Fifty, a hundred feet extra range, and the cloth yards will hit harder.”
“Here is where we deploy,” Rudi agreed, tapping his left forefinger on the map where Bjarni had indicated. “But if they’ve any wisdom, they won’t force a full engagement while we hold that position. They’ll push a little and then try to work around us.”
He turned his head. “Lord Chancellor, you will continue to function as Chief of Staff here,” he went on.
The warrior cleric looked happier in armor than he had the last time the High King saw him, which had been shepherding a supply convoy and looking very much as if he wanted to curse.
Rudi looked around the circle, with a particular eye on the Associate lords; there were a round dozen, but Conrad Renfrew looked to have them well in hand.
“My lords, this is the last of our preliminaries. We must fold the Grand Constable’s force into the body of this army, and pass them to the rear where they will form our main reserve, and also get a chance to rest. We will offer battle this day, but only if the enemy accepts it on our terms. This will require the most precise attention to my orders. I will not fight except at an advantage; but there will be battle, either today, or in the next few days. The dance ends soon. Is all that understood?”
They all bowed their heads and thumped their breastplates in salute. “General Thurston?” he went on.
“Two full regiments of my troops are ready, Your Majesty,” the dark young man said. “Six battalions and field artillery. We’ll anchor the archers, and Ironrede will fill any gaps.”
“Excellent. Eric-”
The Bearkiller commander nodded.
“-my gut, not to mention my testicles, gives me a feeling that they’ll try to work around our right and push us away from the Columbia. Be wary of that, but not fixated on it. We may backpedal, but if we do it will be straight west. We will not allow ourselves to be forced away from the river. There isn’t enough water for an army this size, otherwise.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. Then a grin, and a flourish of the steel fist. “They’ll regret it if they try.”
“See that they do.”
A thunder of hooves, and a challenge-and-response from below the hill. They all looked down. One of the Dunedain was riding a dappled gray Arab up towards the command party, and a man on a good but not spectacular horse beside, carrying a long light lance with a pennant marked with the crowned mountain and Sword of Montival. As they approached Rudi recognized his half sister Ritva; she was in the gear Rangers wore for a real battle, a black brigandine with the Stars-and-Tree picked out in silver rivets, mail sleeves and breeches, a spired helm with cheek-pieces, a gray hooded cloak beneath.
There was a long bright scratch across the brow of the helmet, the type an arrow would make, and the broken-off stub of another in the cantle of her saddle.
Ah, the one in the kettle helm and the red coat under his mail shirt will be her Drumheller Canuk, then, and carrying my banner, Rudi thought. Good luck to them both this day. Lug strengthen their arms, and the Crow Goddess beat Her wings above them.
They swept to a stop, and before the hooves had stopped moving Ritva come out of the saddle in a showy vault-dismount and went to one knee before him, bowing with hand to heart for a moment, and then extending a dispatch.
Some of the others snorted a little at the showiness. He didn’t mind; such things kept hearts strong, and battles were won in the heart as much as on the field.
“Rise, and give me the report verbally, sister,” he said.
She’d been sent for more than carrying an envelope; not least, to give an account that even the most birth- proud Associate lords would listen to carefully. He handed the document to Mathilda and then finished the sandwich with one last large bite, relishing the salty smoky tang of the cured meat and the sharp onion with it. He did not think he would die this day, but even with the Sword of the Lady there was no such thing as certainty.
Mathilda opened it and began to read it quickly while Ritva stepped up to the map.
“The Grand Constable’s rearguard are making a stand here,” she said. “Four Yakima infantry regiments and about three thousand horse, a thousand lancers and the rest light cavalry. The rest of the expeditionary force have broken contact and should be here ”-she tapped the map to the northward, where the Horse Heaven Hills turned higher and sharper before they fell away to the Yakima Valley-“any minute now. They’ve got what’s left of the baggage train, mostly field ambulances and the wounded… the ones who haven’t been wounded in the last hour or two. We burned the rest of the wagons two days ago. A lot of the troops haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours.”
“Lord Chancellor,” Rudi said.
Ignatius nodded, turning and giving orders in a low voice. Messengers knelt to listen to him, lean men and a few women in leather, Church couriers, many of them of the Order of the Shield. Clerks were writing as he spoke; the orders were folded, stamped and on their way while Ritva was still speaking.
“Enemy forces?” Rudi asked.
“Mostly light cavalry, their vanguard, trying to pin us. About ten thousand men. That’s not counting their casualties, they’ve been pushing it hard and paying the butcher’s bill.”
Someone whistled softly; ten thousand was a stunning number for the mere lead element. Ritva went on: “But the Hir i Dunedain says there’s at least one brigade of Boise troops only about two hours by bicycle behind them and he strongly suspects more within striking distance.”
Her finger traced an arc farther east, converging on the force that had been delaying and harassing the advance of the CUT and Boise.
“Ah,” Rudi said. “Time and force and space. If that rearguard is not pulled out before the enemy are there in force enough to invest it, they are lost.”
“The Hir i Dunedain thinks you have very little time, Your Majesty.”
“Ritva Havel, if Alleyne Loring-Larsson says that, I will believe it as I would sky-tall letters of fire, written in
