The Sword of the Lady (33 page)

″Hail!″ Mathilda cried, her voice proud as an ocean of lions. ″Hail . . . Artos!
Hail, Artos the First, High King of Montival!
″

The others shouted it with her—some of them a little awkwardly, but just as loud; a red-tailed hawk that had been circling low took flight and soared upward into the blue dome of the sky.

He waited until the sound died, and set his hands on his sword belt.

″Is it that you′ve all gone barking mad the now?″ he said sharply. ″Here we are a thousand miles and more from home—yes, from Montival—and it′s a
king
you would make of me?″

″I think God wants you to be a king, R—Artos, not just us,″ Mathilda said calmly. ″And that′s why the Sword is waiting for you to bring it back.″

″You′re many of you heirs to rulers, but none of you rulers—well, Jake is, and Odard′s of age but he′s a vassal, not a sovereign himself. It′s our parents that should make any such choice, not us!″

″Or the head of my Order, for me, technically,″ Ignatius said. ″Particularly since he′s my temporal ruler as well as my Father in God. But I have prayed for guidance, and . . . I think that this is right; even righteous. Against the dark Power that possesses Corwin, God would raise a bulwark of the Light.″

″I don′t even believe in your version of the divine!″ Rudi protested.

Ignatius smiled with polite, invincible certainty. ″That is a great pity. But nevertheless, He believes in
you
. . . your Majesty. And He is thrifty, and uses what comes to hand. I have that on the
best
authority.″

Ingolf shrugged. ″I′m not even an heir, just a younger son,″ he said. ″But yah, who cares what the old geezers think? Here, there, or anywhere? We′re all Changelings, or close enough—and this world′s going to be ours soon. If it isn′t going to end up belonging to the Cutters,″ he added. ″Which is what this crazy trip is all about, you betcha.″

″Aunt Astrid will
love
it,″ Mary said with conviction, and Ritva nodded vigorously. ″And mom . . . well, Signe′s reasonable. When she has to be. When it′s official Bearkiller business. Sorta reasonable, mostly.″

″
I′m
for it,″ Frederick said, his brown young face grave. ″Dad wanted the country united again, and tried all his life, but the bits and pieces went their own way in spite of everything he could do. My brother Martin . . . he just wants to take it all, hammer it flat, and kill anyone who gets in his way. It′s time to try something else, something that lets them all be different but puts them together as well. I know you, Rudi, and if anyone can do it, you can. I′d rather be your, umm, vassal, and follow you to victory than fail all by myself.″

Virginia Kane grinned and took his arm. ″I think you′re the boy to put a branding iron on the Cutters′ ass, your exalted majesticalness,″ she said cheerfully. ″
And
serve up their Rocky Mountain Oysters on a plate. They killed my father and ran me off my family′s ranch; I want ′em dead
bad
. Plus it just needs doing and they just need killing. Besides, Fred′s my man. I go where he does, and his fights are mine too.″

″You′d have made a great Chief for the Clan,″ Edain said. ″You′ll do even better as High King, with Maude or Fiorbhinn to manage at home, they′re likely lasses. It′d be rank foolishness to deny it.″

Mathilda nodded vigorously. ″We can do the formalities at home, later, when you′ve got the Sword. But we
are
the future. Nearly everyone our age back home will want it; they already know
about
you, and the prophecy. And you′re
our
King, our Changeling King. Artos.″

″Don′t—″ he began, then choked off:
Don′t call me that!

It is my name,
he thought.
Granted it′s my
Craft
name, but it was my own mother that gave it to me in the
nemed
, and her inspired and making prophecy the while. That′s when I was called the Lady′s Sword, too.

A prickling ran down his spine, and a feeling as if a wind were tickling his neck . . . the wind of hovering wings. If it were to be done, he supposed this was the sort of place it
would
be done; far from home, and on his way into deadly peril. The Powers would have their jokes . . . and he had promised more than once to walk the path They set, though it led through the hard and stony places. Images flashed through his mind; Raven′s eyes looking into his, this moment . . . and a stricken field of battle where men roared his name as he bore a sword like a wind of flame.

″I . . .″ he began, and then fell silent again.

I have been walking that path perhaps . . . since my birth? Since the day Mother held me over the altar in the Sacred Wood? Perhaps only since I was old enough to know it
, he thought.
I am the sacrifice that goes consenting.

Mathilda′s shining eyes twisted at his heart. All
she
saw at this moment was him returning in glory and victory, and herself at his side, to rule together. She
was
her mother′s daughter, and her father′s for that matter; kingcraft was in her blood. Not to mention that if he was High King, many of the religious obstacles to a marriage could be set aside—there were ample precedents for that in the long history of her faith.

And yet if that comes to pass, and all you wish for is granted us . . . even then,
anamchara
mine, still the day will come when I know that the King must die so his folk may live. On that day I will leave you, be the parting never so bitter. I have it on the best of authority—from a God, if not
your
God—that it will be before I grow old. Mine is the blood that renews the land. Well, let us hope that day′s not today, or soon; and let us see that it is not shed in vain. In the meantime we have time, which can be lived in every moment.

″Is this truly what you want?″ he asked softly—his eyes were locked on Mathilda′s warm brown gaze, but his voice included the others.

For answer they thrust their blades into the air again; the young sun broke in a blinding glitter from the honed edges.

″Hail, Artos!″
And from Mathilda and Odard and Ignatius:
″Vivat Artos Rex! Vivat Artos Rex! Vivat!″

The shout woke something in him—something he wasn′t sure of, stronger than a jolt of brandy or the battle fury of
ríastrad
. He wasn′t a man hungry for power, but there was so much that needed to be
done
and which only a King could do. Defeat for the Cutters, first and foremost, but much else beside.

″I ask you again,″ he said, and now he looked from face to face. ″Don′t do this unless you are
sure
. For there′s no going back. And keep this in mind. If I am to be a King, then by Earth, by Sky, I will be
King
indeed. For such is our land′s need, that′s beyond disputing. I won′t spare myself in serving that need. I won′t spare you, either, my friends.″

″So mote it be,″ he said quietly, and the words fell into the world with a weight like bells cast from bronze.

Silence fell again, broken only by the sounds of ship and river and wind, and the long
sssshs
-click! of swords being sheathed. Then Mathilda came forward and went carefully to her knees before him, her hands lying palm-to-palm before her.

Rudi took them between his; they were warm and strong but almost vanished in his long-fingered clasp. She spoke proudly, looking him full in the face. The words were half familiar, but not exactly the formula her folk used, or his, or the Dúnedain, or the Bearkillers. They must have talked it over between themselves . . .

There go my people,
he thought, remembering a saying his mother was fond of.
I must hurry to catch up with them, for I am their leader.

Mathilda′s voice rang:

″Here in the sight of God and all men I, Mathilda, daughter of Norman, daughter of Sandra, of the House of Arminger and in my person heir of Portland by right of blood, do swear fealty and service as vassal to the High King of Montival and take him as my overlord; in peace to serve with aid and counsel, in war with sword and goods and life, in my waking and my sleeping, in my living and my dying, with heart and hand and all Earthly worship; until death release me, or the world end. So witness God the Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, and the Blessed Virgin who is Portland′s patroness and mine.″

Rudi swallowed, but his voice was firm as he answered:

″And this oath do I hear and swear in turn: I, Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie″—the slightest hesitation—″also called Artos, son of Michael, son of Juniper; son of Bear, son of Raven, and High King of Montival to be. I will not forget your oath, or fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valor with honor, loyalty with good lordship, oath-breaking with vengeance. This I swear by the Earth below me, by the Sky above, by the Water that is my blood, and by the Fire that is my life, and by the Lord and Lady and all the Gods of my people. May they witness it.″

Mathilda offered her sword; he touched hilt and steel and sheathed it again for her. Then she stood, and they put their hands on each others′ shoulders and exchanged the kiss of peace on both cheeks. She came to stand at his right, erect, with her eyes bright and glad. Mary stepped forward and knelt in turn and offered her hands, and the others lined up behind her. Rudi took his half sister′s palms between his; her single blue eye seemed to wink at him for an instant—but that might just be that it was the only one she had left to blink with.

When she spoke it was entirely solemn:

″In the sight of Manwë Súlimo and Varda Elentári and all of humankind, I, Mary daughter of Michael, daughter of Signe, of the House of the Bear and the fellowship of the Dúnedain Rangers, do swear fealty and service as vassal to the High King of Montival—″

″That delay in Iowa means we can either hole up for the winter, or keep going despite it,″ Rudi said two days later. ″We′re far north and going farther, and the winter here will have all the wrath the Crone can muster and the Keeper-of-Laws send.″

″Well, I′ve lived through a fair number of those winters. Snow′s easier to travel through than mud,″ Ingolf said. ″Or to travel
over
. It could snow hard as early as Halloween . . . Samhain . . . or even a bit earlier.″

The
Hammerdown
was tied up for the evening, with a hawser stretched to the stump of something made of concrete and steel on the eastern shore, eroded and rusted but still strong. The travelers had set up tents ashore there—a little elbow room was very welcome—and Rudi could see, through the slanting windows of the stern cabin, the glow of their fires on the trunks and branches of the great trees that overhung the campsite. It was chilly enough that his jacket and plaid were welcome even in the rather stuffy cabin.

He spooned up another mouthful of an entirely forgettable catfish stew and took a bite from a lump of equally uninteresting corn bread laced with soy meal, his attention focused on the map, a topographic one from a journal of the ancient world called
National Geographic
. Ignatius and Mathilda were there too; the priest paused to turn up one of the lanterns and the blue flame brightened across the aging, fragile paper glued to a backing of new linen cloth.

″The roads are pretty rough, especially past about here,″ Ingolf went on.

The Readstowner′s thick finger came down near his birth home, on the Kickapoo River.

″They already were when I left . . . and hell, that was a while ago, and there′s been plenty of frost and heave and floods since. Richland isn′t Iowa, and they weren′t kept up the same, or the railroads. But once the snow′s down hard, you can use sleighs, and skis. A man can go twice, three times as far in a day on skis as he can walking, and carry more of a pack, too, or pull a small sled. We′d make up the time. Stick to the rivers and lakes as much as we could.″

Rudi used his spoon as a pointer. ″Right east, then?″

″As far as the Great Lakes. Big chunks of ′em freeze hard, especially around the edges, and from what I hear the St. Lawrence freezes solid all the way down to the ocean. We could go that way—less chance of running into hostiles if we stay away from land as much as possible. It′s risky, yah, but so is waiting for spring.″

″We′d have to wait for freeze-up,″ Rudi said. ″But we do need some time, not least for our wounded to heal fully. Matti and Odard need some rest before they do hard travel again. And to be sure, every time we′ve taken a break on this journey important things have come of it; not least friends willing to fight the Cutters, when the time comes. That′s time well spent, even if it slows us down enough to make me want to run screeching into the woods like a banshee full of brandy.″

″I can travel,″ Mathilda said stoutly. ″But . . . yes, I couldn′t run or fight well right now.″

Ignatius traced the line of the Mississippi southwards from Dubuque.

″And somewhere southward here are what is left of the Cutters, waiting.″

″Well south, Father,″ Mathilda said. ″Kate told me that the Iowan river navy patrols well beyond their border, either way, and she and Abel Heuisink will have them looking hard. The Cutters will have to hide; probably they′ll have to run their ship up a tributary and abandon it, unless they go so far south they′re out of the picture.″

″Probably they′ll go at least this far,″ Rudi said, tapping the place where the Ohio joined the Father of Waters. ″They′d know that we were thinking of taking the Ohio route.″

Everyone nodded. Ingolf shrugged.

″Yah hey, they′d have heard. Tancredo owes me favors and he hid Mary and Ritva and Fred and Virginia. On the other hand, he
is
a pimp. A man who can′t be bought doesn′t go into that line of work, in my experience.″

″They lost about thirty men in Dubuque, killed and left badly wounded,″ Rudi said thoughtfully. ″They′d have eighty left—and a few of their local followers fled with them, to be sure. More than I′d care to meet, if it can be avoided. We were lucky once, but Nike is a fickle Goddess.″