The Sword of the Lady (41 page)

Rudi nodded gravely; that was a heavy responsibility, when sloppiness or lack of skill could ruin a year′s sweating-hard work and condemn an entire settlement to hunger, or at least a diet dull and unhealthful until the new crops came in.

More important still in this land of iron winters
, he thought.

″You guys smell a lot better now,″ a youngster′s voice said at the door.

Mark Vogeler came in quickly and closed it against draughts, leaning against the jamb with his hands in his pockets, elaborately casual but with a barely suppressed excitement. He seemed to have fond memories of Ingolf, and doubtless this was the biggest interruption of the round of seasons and lessons and chores he could remember.

″Hi, Mark,″ Ingolf replied, and heaved himself out of the tub. ″Dinner′s on?″

″Pretty soon, Unc′ Ingolf, und Mom′s chust looking after Jenny a bit before we start.″

He has that way of speech his father does, only stronger still
, Rudi noticed.
Mother would be interested; she always did like to place a man′s accent.

At Ingolf′s look of enquiry the nephew went on: ″The youngest. There′s . . . well, you know about me, and Dave and Melly—only she wants to be called Melinda-in-full these days. There′s um, Ingolf . . . and Sue, and Jenny now too. Jenny′s not on solid food yet.″

″Ed′s been busy,″ Ingolf said, and the boy blushed a little. ″
And
Wanda.″

A hesitation, and then the youngster went on: ″You really going to marry the pretty lady with the eye patch?″

″Yah, I am.″

Ingolf′s grin was rare, but the warmer when it came. ″You know, Mark, that′s exactly the way I feel about it too!″

″I mean, she′s gorgeous and she′s got a twin and wears that great stuff und talks dat strange language . . . and I bet she′s done all sorts of great things! Real adventures, like you have, Unc′, we heard a little about that. Not just hung around home, like . . . well.″

″Oh, Christ, don′t
you
start getting ideas about running off and having
adventures
, Mark!″ Ingolf said. ″I did that and ended up in the stupidest damn war since the Change, bar none, for
years
. Sheer dumb luck I didn′t get killed for damn-all nothing, like poor Bert Kuykendall. And
he
wasn′t more than a couple of years older than you are now when he came running out of his tent and caught an arrow with his eyeball.″

The boy flushed and looked a little mutinous; Rudi judged he was at the age when a youngster dreamed of doing the wild deeds for the deeds′ own sake, and never considered the price of them, or the desperate need that made men willing to pay it. A chill took him despite the heat of the water.

And how many glad boys like him—on all sides—will lie sightless as a feast for the Dark Mother′s scald crows, before this is done?
he thought.
How many friendly garths like this will be roofless and burnt, their folk knowing exile and hunger even if they live? The necessity doesn′t change the black wickedness of it.

He rose and took one of the towels that heated on racks beside the boiler, hoarded pre-Change cotton kept for honored guests. The boy looked at him, then did an almost comical double take,
looking
in a way that took in the scars. The expression of awed respect went deeper, as he glanced at all of them in the same light, lingering on the purple weal that marked Odard′s left forearm. Now that Rudi thought about it, this
was
a collection of tried fighting men that would impress many a lad.

The Mackenzie spoke in a cheerful tone: ″My sister Mary has indeed done much, things wild and deadly, but from duty and necessity, not from choice, my young friend,″ he said.

Then he smiled: ″She and Ritva are of the Dúnedain, the Rangers who′re sworn to protect the weak and oppressed, and who travel and explore and fight their whole lives long. Which tends not to be all that much of a longness, as it were.″

Mark′s eyes went wider, and Rudi continued: ″It′s their trade, a hard and difficult one; that and guarding travelers and hunting bandits and scouting in war. Now, at your age, I also wanted adventures, and I will admit it. Remember though, an adventure is someone else neck-deep in a dung heap, and that far, far away! Until the bards get to work on it.″

″Bards?″ the youngster said, frowning in puzzlement.

″The songsmiths, the storytellers, you′d say. They can take anything and put a polish on it like hammered gold.″

″Says the man who laughed as he rode mad buffalo, jumping from beast to beast, one to the next, with enemies shooting arrows at him the while?″ Edain snorted, rubbing his oak-colored curls vigorously with a towel of his own. ″And it′s a wonder
I
don′t have white hair now, from the watching of it: what would I say to Da if I came back without you?″

″That was necessary. They were chasing us,″ Rudi said quellingly. ″The buffalo were the best way to shake the pursuit.″

The younger Mackenzie winked at the Readstown boy. ″But the Chief, he grinned amidst the million of them while he rode the wild bulls, that he did, while one slip would have meant being hammered to paste.″

″Afterwards I remember mostly snorting water out through my nose, and it half mud from the dust I′d breathed,″ Rudi said, and threw the wet towel at Edain, who dodged with a laugh of his own.

″And you′re all too likely to have a war coming to
you
,″ he went on to the boy.

Ingolf nodded soberly, but his nephew seemed to feel nothing but excitement at the thought. Rudi shook his head, sighed, and dressed. The two clansmen drew on clean drawers and then pulled their best saffron-dyed linen shirts over their heads, wrapped their kilts and pinned the garments and their plaids with the brooches kept for social occasions, silver wrought in knotwork or intricate running designs of elongated gripping beasts and geometric shapes, studded with turquoise and carnelian.

″Is that the way people dress in . . . in . . .″ Mark asked.

″Montival,″ Rudi supplied. ″The some of us do—we of the Clan Mackenzie. It′s the style of our ancestors, so, from long before the Change, which our folk remembered after it.″

He remembered things his mother and his stepfather Nigel Loring had said, and amended it to:

″More or less the style of some of our ancestors.″

″Absurd barbarian fashion,″ Odard put in as he donned his parti-colored court-style Portlander hose.

That required perching on a stool and gathering it up to the toe and considerable care and effort; Juniper Mackenzie had once told him that the effect had a strong resemblance to what she′d known as
panty hose
, but with even fine bias-cut linen a lot less stretchy and convenient than nylon. The carefully preserved jupon and tunic came out to follow, donned with foppish care.

As the baron of Gervais added a ring and admired the effect on one hand Rudi reflected that Odard really
enjoyed
dressing up in what Associates insisted on calling
garb
, no matter how uncomfortable, so long as it was rich and sightly. Not being able to do so every day was a real hardship to him, albeit one he bore without too much complaint.

Mathilda was probably putting on her set of the same; she′d left the cotte-hardi in Iowa, observing that once past Wisconsin most of the people they′d be meeting would be either Cutters or cannibals, unable to appreciate a lady′s formal dress and all too likely to put her in situations where skirts would be a handicap.

″But I′d guess she′s not putting it on just yet,″ Rudi said aloud. ″Have you ever observed, my friends, that a woman may have no more surface area than a man—″

″Distributed differently,″ Fred Thurston said; he was donning something very close to the green dress uniform of the old American army, with a dark beret on his short wiry hair. ″Different in a
good
way.″

″Granted, by the Foam-Born! But the same area of skin, do you see? Yet why
cannot
she wash in the amount of time a man finds ample, unless the water is freezing, or has things with fangs in it, so?″

″Or put on a kilt as fast as we do,″ Edain observed, tucking the little sgian dubh, the
black knife
, into its sheath in his sock-hose. ″It′s a mystery of the Mother-of-All, that it is.″

″Christ, this still fits,″ Ingolf said, donning his own clothing.

It was a set of blue linen pants with copper rivets, a light roll-necked sweater and a denim jacket dyed with wild indigo. He′d left it all behind when he rode off to the Sioux War, and it had been carefully preserved by his sister-in-law. More of the fittings were pre-Change salvage than his relatives wore now.

Then he worked his shoulders. ″Well . . . the jacket′s a bit tight here. I hadn′t quite gotten my full growth then. It′ll do, though. I′ve got enough range of arm for getting the beer to mouth-height!″

A soprano voice came from the other side of the door, a mutter of Sindarin and then:

″Aren′t you people ready yet? I′m starving!″

 

 

 

″Harry, I got you those sixty-four acres because you′re my sister′s cousin-in-law. People understand that. Now it′s up to
you
to make what you can of it before you start asking for more favors. People will understand
that
, too.″

Rudi halted, and the others did perforce behind him; the half-closed door leading to the vestibule let the conversation through only because one side of it was being conducted at the level of a bad-tempered bellow on Edward Vogeler′s part. There was a murmur from the other man . . .

″No, I′m not going to give you anymore County land,″ Edward Vogeler said. ″
Or
more woodlot rights or fishing quotas.″

Another murmur, and: ″Because you can′t
work
more than a tenth-section by yourself!″ the Sheriff went on. ″It′ll take you years to get that much going, the way it′s grown up in scrub.″

Another murmur, and the reply was even louder:

″No! This isn′t goddamned Iowa, or Marshall, or even Ellsworth—I′m not going to tell someone they have to work for you just because their folks were refugees. Pay someone if you can, though with what God only knows. Hell, you borrowed all the equipment you′ve got—mostly from me! Und only one of your kids is old enough yet to do much fieldwork—Mary Mother alone
knows
how Janet′s going to make do there on her own without a grown woman to help. Now buckle to und get dat land cleared and be happy I′m letting you off the land tax for four years! If you had any sense, you′d stay and work with your father-in-law and do it bit by bit.″

Edward Vogeler was still scowling when Rudi coughed diplomatically and came through the entranceway, but his face relaxed.

″Sorry. Business. Right this way, gentlemen, ladies,″ he said. ″Let′s get you all a brew. Unless you′d like wine? We keep some for company.″

″Ah . . . no, your beer is of a surpassing excellence, Sheriff,″ Rudi said. ″I′ll stick with that.″

That has the merit of being true; and it means I need not say that I haven′t had a decent glass of wine since we crossed the Rockies
, he thought, as everyone else murmured agreement.
Most of them taste as if a fox had peed in the vat with the grapes.

″Beer we got. Also cider, applejack, cherry brandy, peach brandy, whiskey, and vodka.″

The cavernous banquet hall had a floor of polished concrete, and the ceiling above was a simple V of steel rafters and corrugated metal sheets supported by iron pillars, all obviously built before the Change. Their host escorted them through into the great room and jerked his thumb at the row of barrels resting along one wall on X-shaped stands of fragrant pine boards.

″Help yourselves. Gotta run, get some things done first. Mark will show you ′round.″

The mugs were old cast glass this time, and sitting in beds of crushed ice. Rudi decided on a lighter wheat beer, instead of the dark bock he′d had when Wanda greeted them. There were half a dozen types.

And each better than the last
, he thought respectfully after his first sip.

″Ice at the end of summer!″ Mathilda said, impressed. ″We had that at the Palace of course, but—″

Mark Vogeler looked at her oddly, and Rudi didn′t think it was just for the Lidless Eye in the heraldic shield on her chest.

″Doesn′t it
freeze
out west in . . . in Montival?″ he said.

″Several times a year. And we get snow, even down in the valleys sometimes,″ she said.

″For variety in the endless winter rainfall,″ Odard said whimsically. ″I understand that at least the sun comes out here between October and May. Sometimes. We call that period the
Black Months
, back home.″

″You mean . . . the snow doesn′t
stay
all winter where you come from?″

Ingolf chuckled. ″Mark′s looking at you funny for a reason, Matti. Believe me, getting enough ice laid down to last out the summer is
not
a problem here. Wait until you′ve seen one of our winters.″

″We′ve been known to have some cold weather in the Powder River country,″ Virginia Kane said, prickly about her homeland on the High Plains.

″Idaho too,″ Fred Thurston added. ″Granted Boise′s not as bad as the up-country, or Wyoming.″

Ingolf made a gesture that was half acknowledgment, half disagreement.

″You don′t get blizzards like ours. It′s a lot wetter here than most places out west that aren′t on a mountainside, and it′s just as damned cold as it gets in Wyoming, Virginia. Blizzards here can bury a barn, and they could start any time now, too; Indian Summer′s unpredictable.″

He drew them both a mug, expertly tapering off the tail of foam, and looked around the hall.