"We'll do whatever we can," Thurston said, swinging down from the saddle and taking the man's hand as Nystrup clambered down stiffly. "And we'll do our best to get your people what you need."
"Thank you," Nystrup said again. "We've already gotten the food and medical supplies you sent, and…"
He fought his face to stillness. Thurston turned his own gaze aside for an instant, to let the man recover his self-command.
Nystrup swallowed. "Our rear guard has broken contact with the Corwinites, but they're close behind us."
One of the Mormon officers spoke. "We'd have had to turn and fight to keep them off the civilians within a day or two."
His eyes met Thurston's, sharing the same thought: And been massacred to the last man.
"Then we'd better coordinate our efforts," Thurston said, his face like brown iron.
"We're willing to consider your terms-" the bishop began again.
"My only terms are that we fight together to put down this madman," Thurston said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Startled, Nystrup blurted: "That's a change!"
Thurston shrugged. "I've made mistakes, but I try not to make them twice… and three times is excessive. I do ask for the military command, but we'll leave the poli tics for when that's been done. I intend to restore your people to their homes, and the US government won't ask for any territory-for anything that your people don't freely grant by their own unforced vote."
He spoke firmly, and loudly enough that both his own officers and the party from the east could hear him. Some of the Mormon military officers behind the bishop blinked in surprise at that, startled out of their exhausted dejection. A few looked suspicious; many glanced at one another, and there was a murmur as the words were repeated backward down the line.
Well, I've never heard a man confess a fault quite that smoothly, Rudi thought, letting one corner of his mouth quirk up. Sure, and I'll have to make a note of that for future reference, unless the gods give me the gift of infallibility.
And a few of the officers behind Thurston exchanged glances as well-doing it with a discreet flicker of eyes rather than any movement of the head.
"Let's get your wounded seen to, your troops fed, and your officers can brief me on what you've got available," Thurston said briskly. "There's a good defensive position about three miles east of here that would do nicely, and shelter these civilians until we can get them west and behind walls."
"Do you think the enemy will attack today?" Nystrup asked; his voice was calm now.
"No," Thurston said; several of the Mormon officers were shaking their heads in unconscious agreement. "Not today. But tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.
They've got their peckers up."
His smile was broad and cruel. "That's the easiest time to trim them off."
"I don't like it," Rudi said quietly, as the sun came fully over the eastern horizon ahead of them.
I don't, for sure and all. Something… something makes me itch. Or gives me a wee bit of a chill on a summer day, and it's not just the prospect of a fight in it. A fight I don't mind, and I have the beginnings of a grudge against this Prophet fellow, don't I just, by the horns!
He stood holding Epona by the bridle a little way from Thurston's command group, behind the Boise line, his companions around him. The grumbling, rum bling clatter of white noise, voices and armor clashing and feet thudding, made it possible to speak privately if you wished. Garbh was lying with belly and chin flat to the ground, ears cocked, quiet, but bristling in rippling waves.
But Thurston himself seems confident enough. Of course, he'd be acting that way in any case, eh? And he's taken a liking to me, right enough, enough to let us hang around, and to tell me his thoughts now and then. Well, and so have I to him and his sons. A hard man, yes, but not so hard as he's been painted. I think he's seen all he's done as… needful, even when it hurt him to do it.
Mathilda spoke quietly beside him as she stroked the nose of her charger. "The game of thrones, the game of swords… I don't like what they do to people. The ones who have to play them."
Rudi looked over at her in surprised affection. "It seems your thoughts are running with mine again, Matti. Well, you may not be liking it… but our host yonder seems a natural at it."
Mathilda shook her head and leaned on her tall kite-shaped shield. "I like him," she said.
"Me too."
"And I was thinking of how much happier he'd be running a big farm and breeding horses… or maybe something like a sawmill or a bunch of riverboats or… he's got the gift for organizing; he reminds me of Count Conrad that way. Him and his lady and their kids, mak ing a home, doing something… really useful, not just necessary, the way ruling is."
There was a wistfulness to her voice. Rudi nodded ruefully.
"I know what you're driving at." He hesitated. Still, when better to say it? This probably won't be our last day before the Summerlands; but then again, it might.
"I've been glad to have you along on this journey, Matti."
She gave him a quick glance, concerned; he could see her brown eyes narrow under the mail coif. At that he laughed.
"No, I'm not fey and hearing the screecher. I'd say so if I were." She relaxed in relief. "I am glad to have you with me, even though it's fair selfish of me. For you're my oldest friend, and you know my mind without my having to speak it all, and I yours, and that is a comforting thing."
She put an arm around him. "You are too, Rudi… remember that night at Finney's farm, back during the war, just outside Corvallis? I was so lonely, and so home-sick, and you and Juniper were about the only ones who were nice to me at first. We were ten, and you told me I was your best friend then. You're still mine. And I'll tell you something else; I'm glad to be here."
He nodded, then grinned slyly. "And while then you were a skinny little thing with a scab on your knee, now you're easy on the eyes, sure, even in a hauberk and greaves."
She snorted and thumped her gauntleted hand on his arm. "Men!"
Rudi jerked his chin towards Thurston, serious again. "Still, someone has to stand between the farms and mills and those who would burn them and kill the folk or carry them off slaves."
She sighed wordlessly and turned her face towards the east whence the Prophet's men would come, as if to say: From them.
They were on a slight rise, with much dry pasture and a few wheatfields that were nearly ripe behind and more of the same ahead; this ground had been too close to the old border to be densely settled. The lay of the land let him see the way the regiments flowed out of their encamp ments to take up their positions with unhurried speed. Messengers waited, and others manned an arrangement of lever mounted mirrors on tripods.
That's a cunning device, so it is, but it won't be useful for long, Rudi thought.
This soil was fertile but light, and it was dry-still a little cool with night, but you could tell it was going to be hot, too. It would come up like fine dust under hoof and boot. There was already dust from the light volca nic soil in the air; he could taste the slightly salty alka line bitterness of it on his lips, and it made him want a drink from his canteen. He resisted the impulse until he looked over his shoulder and saw light water tanks on wheels stationed behind the battle line, along with the ambulances and supply wagons full of spare javelins and bundled arrows and stacked shields.
There was more dust ahead eastward, much more-a plume growing wider as he watched.
Odd, Rudi thought. They could go around this army, sure and they could. Battle is like dancing, in its way; the partners really have to agree for it to happen. They may not send messengers and set out a time and place, but everything short of that, yes.