"Sure, and the regard of the Powers can be uncomfortable," Rudi said.
He began a pattern of cuts and thrusts, moving slowly at first and then speeding up, feeling muscles warm and stretch. The longsword moved easily in his hand.
"I doubt you'll have any more trouble with them, provided we go and see about this sword," he said.
"I thought you were the sword," Ingolf said dryly.
Rudi cocked an eyebrow at him and grinned. The eastern wanderer was a nice enough sort for a Christian, but he was obviously a bit disturbed to be fulfilling a prophecy made by the pagan gods.
"Well, it's never simple when They are involved," he said cheerfully. "Both, neither, all at once. You can't bind Them with words… not even true ones."
"I suppose if I got the Villains in and out, I can get you there and back," Ingolf said. His face went bleak. "And I won't have a dirty little traitor along this time, either."
Rudi blinked, not letting his eyes narrow. "I'll be careful to listen to your advice," he said-carefully. "You having the local knowledge and the experience and such."
Ingolf was examining a practice shete he'd had made up-the long point heavy slashing swords were what he'd trained with all his life, and it would be more trouble than it was worth to switch styles.
"Just a minute there," Ingolf said, the flat rasp of his native accent strong. "I'm shepherding you to the East Coast, right?"
Rudi shook his head, meeting the other man's eyes. Best keep things straight from the beginning.
"Indeed and you're not," he said quietly. "It's my quest, Ingolf. I'd rather it wasn't, but the Powers have marked me for this task all my life, and it's myself must lead. Not that I won't listen to you, for I can see you'll be a right hand man to me, none better." A smile. "I'm young, but not a young fool, sure."
" I'm the best salvage boss in the business," Ingolf said, obviously not relishing the prospect of being right hand man to someone half a decade younger and still only shaving every second day.
"I don't doubt it," Rudi acknowledged.
"Hell, I'm the only one who's ever gotten to Nan tucket and back. .. and I don't think many have got ten out of Corwin alive, either, or crossed the continent. No offense, Rudi, but you haven't done any of it. Hell, you've never left home."
"You've done more than a little in the way of travel ing," Rudi acknowledged. Though I've been most places in the valley, and round about it from the ocean to Bend.
His voice was friendly but with a trace of iron in it as he went on: "But it doesn't alter the fact that this is my journey. I'd like your help with it, Ingolf… but if you can't accept that, then I'll go without you, and thank you for the message you brought."
The other man's heavy brows drew together. He grunted without speaking. They'd left unspoken the matter of whether the Powers would leave his rest alone if he dropped out of the matter. Ingolf thought for a moment, then brought the shete up in a salute.
Mary Havel was refereeing; she waited while they settled their helms. When Rudi flicked the visor of his sallet closed she chopped her hand down.
"Kumite!"
Fight!
His blade flicked into motion towards Rudi's neck Crack.
The shete smacked into the young Mackenzie's buck ler. He knocked it away and thrust in riposte. Ingolf jerked his body back from the waist without moving his feet; it wasn't a counter Rudi was familiar with, but it worked, leaving him extended and off balance for an instant with the tip of his sword just touching the other man's mail shirt before his shield knocked it up.
The easterner used the motion to bring his shete round and down in a diagonal slash that would have beheaded an ox, or taken off a man's head and his shield arm at the shoulder too. His shield stayed well up all the while, not thrown to one side and leaving an opening. Rudi swayed out of the way as far as he could, and brought both buckler and blade up to meet the blow.
Crack-clung!
The force of it drove him down on one knee and numbed his left hand so that he almost dropped his buckler.
Cenn Cruaich, this one is strong! he thought, eyes going a little wider.
Ingolf cut three times before Rudi could get back on his feet. The Mackenzie parried with his sword-not directly, which would have driven it down on his own head, but by slanting the metal to shed the blows, ting-ting-ting, a threefold shivering crash faster than heartbeats. The big easterner hit like a blacksmith with a forging hammer, but he didn't let the force of his own blows throw him off balance either, which was always likely to be a problem with a point-heavy weapon like the shete.
Rudi feinted a thrust at his opponent's knee to break the rhythm of the attack and then bounced erect. Ingolf stepped backward and shook his head.
"That's enough for me today," he said. "Too much and you lose more than you gain. I'm still a little short-winded."
"You pushed me hard there," Rudi said, grinning. "Not bad, for an old man just up from a sickbed."
"Same back at you, youngster," Ingolf said in turn.
He smiled himself; he was doing that a little more often now.
"All right," he went on soberly. "I'm the guest here. I'll just have to hope you can listen as well as you fight, which is pretty damned good. But you're not going to cut your way across the continent, no matter how good you are with a blade."
Off to their right in the next field archers were practic ing, ninety nine of them and a bow captain, most of the dun's First Levy standing in the staggered three-deep harrow formation.
"Nock shaft!"
Right hands went back over the shoulders to the quiv ers, twitched out one of the arrows, set it to the string with the smooth economical motion of an action as familiar as walking.
"Draw!"
The varnished yellow-orange staves of the yew bows glistened in the bright spring sunlight as they rose and bent, drawing past the angle of the jaw.
"Let the gray geese fly-wholly together- loose!"
The strings of the longbows slapped the bracers all at once, like one great snap. The long arrows slashed upward with a multiple shsshshshsh sound like a distant whickering and came almost to a halt at the top of the trajectory. The pile-shaped heads glinted as they plunged downward towards the target, a line of shields propped near the hedge at the southern edge of the field, two hundred paces distant. The hammerfall of the arrows was still as sharp as heavy hail on a tile roof; they drove deep into the wood, and they would have punched through most armor. Three seconds later the second volley hit, and two more were in the air before they struck, and more followed in a steady nock-draw-loose rhythm.
"You're not going to be taking them with you, either," Ingolf said, nodding at the archers. "Much as I wish we could."
Mary and Ritva sighed with heavy patience. "If you two are through with playing little-boy games, what does Lady Juniper say about it?" one of them asked. "About the quest, not who can pee farthest."
"She's not happy about it, but there doesn't seem to be much choice," Rudi said. "If I didn't know her better, I'd say she was procrastinating. She has given me the go-ahead. The details are up to me; Mom's good that way."
"No, there isn't any choice, Sword of-the Lady-Artos," the other twin said with malice aforethought.
They unpacked the picnic basket. Rudi unstoppered a jug of fresh milk, and took a long draft of the cool rich creaminess; it always tasted a bit better after the grass really got going again. Ingolf bit into a sandwich of sharp cheese and smoked pork loin and slivers of pickle while Mary and Ritva opened the crock of potato salad. None of them took off their gear, except the helmets; you had to keep yourself used to the weight and constriction.