drank a double handful of the cold mineral-tasting water, shaking out his hands afterwards. The air sucked the moisture out of his beard in moments, but it was a little cooler now.
Lord Maugis stood looking westward for a long moment, his left hand on his sword-hilt. When he turned he bowed.
“My lord de Stafford said that all the barons of the County Palatine were summoned to a conference in Walla Walla by the Count, to consider our strategy in this war. If we could be spared from our domains. I think that I can be, now.”
A bell began ringing; the big one in the church, going a slow deep: bong… bong… bong… a dozen times.
“And it is time to return to the square,” he said.
They did. The bustle there was still going on, by the light of steel baskets of burning pinewood that lofted trails of sparks like little scarlet-yellow stars. The fire in the clouds westward was dying down, and the sky over the mountains was dark blue, a few first true stars showing. The moon was nearly full, shedding a silvery light almost as bright as the fires. And a timber podium had been set up in front of the manor gates, a simple thing that would raise a few people to about head-height over the pavement. The ground sloped away from there; it would give everyone in the square a view.
More and more people summoned by the bells were pouring in, until the area was packed. Lady Helissent and her mother came out, and her children. Her glance crossed that of her husband; he nodded to her. Ingolf could see something pass between them, knowledge and decision; Helissent’s eyes closed for an instant, and then she took a deep breath and opened them and smiled bravely at the father of her children.
“If you would accompany me, Lord Vogeler, and your good lady?” Maugis chuckled at the look on the older man’s face. “No, I’m not asking you to speak, just to… be present.”
The local priest went up the stairs first in his vestments, and intoned a prayer. Nearly everyone crossed themselves and kissed their crucifixes, then joined in the last part of it:
“… Dignum et iustum est. Amen.”
Then the lord of Tucannon and his family and guests climbed up. Looking down, Ingolf saw a sea of faces, and at first was conscious mainly of the eyes. The gaudy haughtiness of the knights and their families and households were in the first row, shading backward into the shaggy dun mass of the commons, straw hats and kerchiefs and shock-headed children. There were a scattering of Richlanders and Sioux; even a few of the Boiseans were there, officers who’d given their paroles. Captain Woburn was one of them, his face impassive. The crackle of the fire-baskets ran beneath the sough of breathing.
Almost-silence fell as Lord Maugis stepped forward; then a bow swept through the crowd. The soldiers behind the podium came to attention, thumping their spearbutts and the metal-edged points of their four-foot shields down on the paving blocks. Maugis doffed his hat with a flutter of liripipe and returned the bow, not so deeply but a definite gesture.
“My people,” he said. “My brothers and sisters-for any who fights beside me for this our home I call my brother-we are here tonight to celebrate and to mourn. We fought and beat those who threatened our land, our homes and our families-”
The crowd burst into a long rolling cheer, calling the baron’s name. Maugis stopped for an instant; Ingolf could see him blinking in surprise. Beside him Mary murmured very quietly, but pitching it to carry to his ear: “I sort of like our host.”
Ingolf nodded; he saw her point.
“-and that we celebrate. We mourn the loss of fathers, brothers, husbands. We pray that God will receive their souls, who died bravely fighting for the right.”
He crossed himself. “Holy Mary-”
The crowd murmured with him, like wind through trees: “-mother of God, pray for us, now and at the hour of our deaths.”
Maugis waited again. “I wish that I could say that this was the last battle we must fight. But it was not. The enemy is numerous and strong. He will come again, and we must fight, for he comes to kill our loved ones, to take the land that feeds our children, and to destroy our holy faith. The way will be hard, and many of us may fall. Pray to God and to our patron St. Joan for the strength to endure all that we must suffer and do.”
Well, that’s telling it straight, Ingolf thought. Hope he knows his audience.
Into the silence Maugis continued: “But we do not fight this fight alone! Not only all the Association, but all of the High Kingdom of Montival is fighting this war with us. Our High King, Artos, leads them; and he bears the Sword that was forged in Heaven and given to him by the Lady of Stars, the Queen of Heaven herself! If God is with us, who can prevail against us? Artos and Montival! ”
The cry was unfamiliar, but the crowd took it up willingly; stories of Artos and the Sword had been circulating for a while now, even in out-of-the-way spots like this. Many of the faces looking up were exalted and rapt now.
“And we have strong allies. You see some of them among us now. More are marching against the enemy from north and east. A cheer, my people, for the allies come from far away to risk their lives beside us!”
Maugis laid a hand on Ingolf’s shoulder for a moment, and the Richlander fought down an impulse to fidget and blush at the roar of acclaim.
“Already a great army gathers at Walla Walla, many thousands strong and led by the Grand Constable of the Association, and by our own Count Felipe, who is my overlord as I am yours. He has called me there to consult with him.”
This time the silence had an edge to it. Maugis lifted his hands again.
“In the short time I shall be gone, I name my own good wife, the well-loved Lady Helissent, as deputy in my place. To assist her, our allies will remain here until I return in a few days. Give her your loyal service, your strong arms and wise counsel, as you have to me.”
There were more cheers. Mary’s lips moved close to his ear: “Pointing out his wife and children are staying right here,” she said. “That was a smart move.”
When the sound died down, Maugis’ arm went to the trestle tables. “And now let us feast and dance, my brothers and sisters. Whatever storms come, let us remember this day, and that we are one, and that one with the strength of many. Here, and in lands we have never seen.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE WILD LANDS (FORMERLY HUMBOLDT-TOIYABE NATIONAL FOREST, NORTHWESTERN NEVADA) HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL (FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA) AUGUST 14, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD
R itva shivered. Ian put an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into it gratefully as the dry wind flicked around them, its hooting the only sound besides the spitting crackle of the torch, its scent heavy with the smell of the cut pine logs. Astrid Loring-Larsson looked inhumanly peaceful as she rested on the pyre, hands clasped on the hilt of her sword. Though they were yards away, the downslope put her on their eye-level.
The crossbow bolt was gone, and they’d found a spring of good water here at the edge of the wooded mountains that stretched north and west during their day’s labors. The body had been washed and dressed again in the war-gear and then wrapped to the shoulders in her dark cloak; the long white-gold hair lay over her shoulders, stirring in the breeze beneath a thick wreath of crimson columbine whose blossoms attracted a hummingbird of iridescent green. There was a vulnerable look to the moon-pale face that Ritva didn’t recall seeing before, like a shy wild child lost in dreams.
She shivered again.
“What is it?” Ian repeated, whispering next to her ear.
She wasn’t crying anymore; he knew it wasn’t just grief.
“It was what she said at the end,” Ritva said.
“I didn’t understand it,” Ian said.
And he’d been well back in the gondola when Astrid died in her husband’s arms, with Eilir’s tears falling on her face and John Hordle wringing great paws that suddenly looked so helpless. He didn’t understand the Noble
