“There is the more immediate problem of paying for the goods,” Høngan said to the priest at last.
“Don’t worry about that,” put in the trooper. “His Eminence controls considerable wealth.”
“Yes, the Half-Breed owns many cattle,” said Høngan acidly.
“There are other forms of wealth than cattle,” said Captain Loyte, “and how dare you call him ‘Half-Breed,’ anyway? Aren’t you a Christian, after all?”
The priest laughed. “Go easy, Loyte, my son. The Bearcub is just practicing his tribal accent, so to speak. After all, how would ‘The Most Eminent Lord Elia Cardinal Brownpony, Deacon of Saint Masie’s’ sound in the mouth of the son of Granduncle Brokenfoot, Lord of the Three Hordes.”
“My father is lord of nothing, yet,” Chür Høngan grumbled, his sour mood persisting.
“See how churlish he turns as he gets closer to home?” said Ombroz.
“Not only is he lord of nothing,” Holy Madness went on, “I’m only his son, not his nephew.”
“You know that makes no difference,” said the priest. “In no way can that old office be inherited, in the motherline or otherwise. The old women have their eye on you, Holy Madness. When the old women look for the Qæsach dri Vørdar, they look for a magical leader, not a somebody’s nephew or son.”
“I don’t like this talk, teacher,” said Høngan. “I love and respect my father. Talk of inheritance is talk of death. And there hasn’t been a Qæsach Vørdar since Mad Bear. After seventy years, who knows how these modern women will think.”
Ombroz chuckled at the word “modern.”
“Granduncle Brokenfoot is going to live a long time,” said the former Texark officer. “I saw him only three months ago when he came to visit my brothers-in-law.”
“The turncoat has a degree in medicine too,” said the Nomad.
The officer shot him a resentful look. “Wasn’t it Magic Madman here who claimed he saw the Night Hag, Father?”
“Damn it, old priest! Did you have to tell him that?”
Father Ombroz glanced quickly at both of them. “Stop spoiling for a quarrel, you two. Or else give me your weapons, and get off your horses and fight. Right here, right now.”
“Trial by combat?” Høngan snickered. “Yes, Blacktooth told me the Church used to do that. Why didn’t you teach me that, Father? You neglected the part of the catechism about the Lord of Armies, but here you are now inviting us to submit to the judgment of God in a fistfight? And I was not looking for one. I just wanted to know, of our Texark adviser here, what other kind of wealth does the Half-Breed have besides cattle? If the turncoat says there is such a thing.”
“God damn your mouth!” said the officer, and shifted his weight hard to the left stirrup, causing his horse to stop.
Chür Høngan looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and dismounted. Ombroz spoke quickly. “1 have to warn you, Captain, Holy Madness has been practicing combat with an expert—a former headsman to the Hannegan. You may know of him.”
“Do you mean that yellow-skinned genny? Woo Shin? Listen, if you fear traitors, fear him. I wouldn’t wonder if Filpeo Harq didn’t send him to kill the cardinal. He has a cadre of hired assassins, you know. They are all clever infiltrators.”
“The Axe is not a genny, you citizen,” said the Nomad, using the word “citizen” as an insult. “Where he comes from, you look like a genny. And he hates Filpeo Harq almost as much as I hate him, city boy.”
“Bearcub, why do you do that? Captain Loyte’s on our side. He knows his business. Try not to be an asshole, my son.”
“All right, tell the bastard to stop patronizing me.” Høngan turned to remount. Loyte was not appeased, and struck him across the back with his riding whip.
Høngan whirled, grabbed the wrist that came toward him with the whip a second time, and kicked the captain in the stomach with his pointed boot.
For some minutes of semi-consciousness, it appeared that the blow might be fatal. But the priest at last revived him, and insisted that they spend the night on the spot to let Loyte recover. Ombroz prayed at them lengthily and angrily, praising God’s mercy for allowing them an undeserved time to repent. Høngan groaned at him sleepily. Loyte whimpered and swore. On the following day, Chür Høngan pulled the officer out of his blanket by the front of his jacket and dragged him to his feet. “Now listen well, pigfucker. If you’re a captain in our army, I’m your colonel. You say ‘sir’ and salute.”
He pushed the former trooper down on his rump; the jolt brought forth a yelp of pain as Loyte grabbed his stomach again.
“No, you listen to me!” Ombroz grabbed his bearcub by the arm and pulled him quickly out of earshot. “I’ve never seen you this brutal! Why? Establishing your seniority is one thing, but you may have ruptured his gut. You’ve made an enemy for life out of pure bad temper.”
“No, I haven’t. He’s already everybody’s enemy. A criminal to his own tribe is no friend to any man. He is what he is, and he must know his place.”
“You don’t mean that. His place is the same as yours, before God.”
“Before God, of course. But his place in the ranks of a fighting force under a war sharf is what concerns me, and he has to know that his rank is low. He cannot be trusted.”
“You know this because of your great insight into character,” Ombroz said ironically. “Greater insight than that of the cardinal, who recommended him to us in the first place. I believe him when he says the agents that followed were sent not just to track him, but to kill him. And in any case, he would be living with the Wetok clan, whether he rode with us or not. They have accepted him. He wintered with them.”
“Have you seen me quarrel with anybody else lately?”
“No, Holy Madness. And I hope you’re wrong about this man. He knows too much about us for you to drive him away.”
“No danger. He has nowhere to go. We leave him with his wife’s people, no matter what the eminent cardinal said. I still want to know how he knows that Brownpony can find his part of the price of the weapons which he promised. And where do the weapons come from?”
“Elia worked hard for Pope Linus, Bearcub, and Pope Linus rewarded him well. I know that Elia owns estates on the west coast, and up in the Oregon country, but he may not need to use his own wealth. Trust him. If you pay the traders sixhundred cattle, the cardinal will arrange for somebody to pay the other two-thirds of the price. As the most powerful state on the continent, Texark has many enemies and few allies. Many of those enemies would be glad to help arm the hordes. You are being ungrateful.”
“Not at all. I like Brownpony. I know it’s his influence more than his wealth that matters. And I trust his best intentions. That doesn’t mean I trust the outcome of his intentions. If he’s wealthy, fine. But how does Loyte know?”
“He probably doesn’t. He was patronizing you. Nomad or citizen, each feels superior to the other. Nomas et civis—it’s a story old as Genesis. But as for the money, there are states west of the divide which would like to see the Hannegans’ empire stop where it is, or be driven back eastward. There is too much talk in Texark about uniting the continent, and their embassies report this talk home. One or more of them may be giving you the weapons for nothing.”
“Six hundred cattle are not nothing.”
“They are next to nothing. Cardinal Brownpony told me the real price of the merchandise. It’s more like six thousand cattle.”
“If we get the weapons at all. If the traders don’t deliver defective junk.”