told this story at home, or he would have heard about it before this. With reproaches. “First time that ratty old garment paid for itself, I do believe, after all those years of carting it around.”
They were interrupted as the wagon rolled past. Dag waved on a concerned-looking Sage and Calla, and the boys with the pack animals as well. Barr stared over his shoulder, handed his pack string off to Ash, and came trotting back to them.
Fawn’s eyes were wide, looking across Dag’s saddlebow at tall Sumac. “Is that your old magic coat that was supposed to turn arrows, Dag? ”
Sumac’s gaze flicked with equal curiosity toward little Fawn. “I’ve not tried arrows. Rain and spears, definitely. I’ve become very attached to it, tatters and all. I paid Torri Beaver a pot of coin to renew the groundwork when last I was home, though she offered to make me a new one for not much more. I had her leave the scratch in, for bragging rights. Er… you don’t want it back, do you, Uncle Dag? ”
“Not me. You keep it. My patrolling days are done.”
Sumac rolled back in her saddle, fine lips pursing, doubt replacing the merriment in her slitted eyes. “In truth, I hardly recognized your ground. I hardly do recognize it.”
“Well, it’s been what, over a year since we crossed paths? When were you home last? ”
“This fall. Just about a month after you left, I was told.”
“So you’ve heard about, um… everything.”
“And in so many different versions.” Her voice slowed. “So… is this your infamous farmer bride, Uncle Dag? ”
Dag lowered his eyelids, let them rise. “Sumac Redwing Hickory, meet Fawn Bluefield. My wife. You may observe our marriage cords, if you please.”
Sumac turned her head, blinked twice. “It seems Dirla and Fairbolt were right about those.”
She could have said, It seems Papa and Grandmama were right about those;
Dag breathed relief. Or maybe Sumac was just being polite. He trusted that her past few years as a patrol leader under Fairbolt Crow had taught her a little more leaderly tact, however much she scorned the mealymouthed.
“Making me Dag Bluefield, ah… No-Camp, at present,” he went on.
Her black brows quirked, but she let that pass. “So-Missus Bluefield-I guess that makes you my aunt Fawn, eh? ” The two young women regarded each other in mutual contemplation of this absurdity.
Sumac shook her head. “Uncle Dag. Who would have guessed? ”
And after another moment, “What in the world is wrong with her ground? ”
“Nothing. It’s a little experiment of mine. A ground shield for farmers.”
“Groundwork? You? ”
“It’s a long tale.”
Fawn put in, “Dag’s studying to be a medicine maker. Arkady here is teaching him. He’s a real respected groundsetter from the south.”
Sumac’s astonished lips shaped the word, Medicine…!
Arkady touched his temple in an almost Dag-like salute. “Arkady Waterbirch New Moon Cutoff, at your service.” He’d been almost expressionless, listening to all this family gossip, but now his lips lifted a trifle.
“Maker Waterbirch.” Sumac returned a courteous nod, looking deeply bemused.
Barr cleared his throat.
“And Barr from Pearl Riffle Camp, up on the Grace,” Dag supplied.
“Barr’s, um… with me.”
Barr smiled sunnily. Most young men did, when first exposed to Sumac. Most all men did, actually. The tears came later.
Sumac nodded all around and introduced her partner, or follower.
“And this is Rase from New Elm Camp. I took a returning exchange patroller down to New Elm last fall, then stayed on a bit to help train their youngsters. Rase here is coming back with me to Hickory for his first exchange.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting the famous Fairbolt Crow,” Rase confided to Dag.
Dag quelled the impulse to say something unnerving, and chose instead, “You’ll be made welcome. We send out far more patrollers than we ever get back.” We? How easily that old habit of speech slipped in.
“Fairbolt will also work your tail off, but it’ll be good for you.”
“So I’m hoping, sir.” Rase nodded earnestly.
Blight, but trainee patrollers were getting younger every year…
Dag’s half-opened groundsense noted a primed knife in the boy’s saddlebags.
At least he’d come prepared.
About to turn and lead them out onto the road again, Dag followed Fawn’s arrested look to Sumac’s knee, and noticed for the first time a bouquet of a couple of dozen fresh rattlesnake skins hanging from her saddlebags-to dry, presumably. A similar lashing hung on the other side, tails down, free to swing and rattle interestingly as she rode. Barr choked. Arkady twitched his brows. Dag resolved not to be the first to break down and ask.
Indigo came cantering back to them. “Dag? Are you coming, or should we wait for you, or what? ”
Dag waved at him. “We’re coming.”
Sumac’s eyes lifted to the receding green-painted wagon. “You’re with them? ” she said. “But they’re farmers!”
“It’s another long story. We’ll be making camp soon-care to join us?”
She glanced at her partner, and up the long road ahead. “We’d planned to reach-never mind. Of course. I wouldn’t miss this tale for anything.”
Dag let Fawn introduce her-absent gods!-new niece and Rase to Indigo, who rode off to let the others know what was happening. Barr fell behind to talk with Rase, not much younger than himself; Dag, Sumac, Fawn, and Arkady rode abreast at an easy walk.
“It’s actually your fault I spent the winter at New Elm, Uncle Dag,” Sumac confided to him.
“Oh? And me so… not there.”
She grinned. “When has that ever stopped anyone from blaming you? No, it was your marriage adventure did it. Of course, Grandmama’s been pressing me forever to bring home a husband to help prop up the tent, and you know how much she loves me being in the patrol.”
Dag nodded full understanding at this last sarcasm. Of all his sins, inspiring his niece to stay in the patrol was the one that most irked his family. And he hadn’t even done it on purpose.
“Lately even Papa’s been wading in on her side, or at least not on mine, not that he ever was on mine, but you’ll never guess who put in the next oar.”
“Omba?” With her elder son safely string-bound, and her two younger children apprenticed to makers and happily courting, Dag hadn’t thought his tent-sister would be quite so concerned.
“Of course not Mama! You know when Redwings start to argue she just ducks out and goes to pet her horses. It’s likely how she survived all these years. It was Fairbolt. Fairbolt!” Sumac shook her head at this defection. “I was joking around with him about when the next company captain place would open up-well, half joking, half angling, you know the way it is when you’re trying to get information out of Fairbolt-and he flat out told me I’d be a shoo-in for it-as soon as I returned to the patrol from my child-years. Then he went on about Massape and Greataunt Mari.”
“Ah,” said Dag.
“Without you to hide behind, it seems I’m the new prime target for the Redwing matchmakers.”
“Well, you are destined to be the next head of Tent Redwing.”
She jerked her chin, making her heavy braid swing. “Shouldn’t that be Mama? ”
“I’m afraid Cumbia’s always thought of your mama as a sort of placeholder.”
“I’ve long plotted that when Grandmama passes, I’ll change my name back to Waterstrider. Just to show her, although I suppose it couldn’t show her anything by then.”
From the far right of the row, the intently listening Arkady made an inquiring noise.
Fawn turned her head to him and put in helpfully, “Dag’s mama Cumbia only had the two boys, Dar and Dag. She persuaded Omba Waterstrider to change her name to Redwing when she married Dar, so’s she’d have a girl to carry on her tent. It was sort of like an adoption, I reckon.”
