“I’ve got your flank here, Órry,” she said. “Just keep your eyes ahead.”
The High King spared his daughter a brief glance and a grim smile that was mostly a narrowing of the eyes, accompanied by a small slight nod. Her heart swelled; she’d imagined going into battle by his side a thousand times, and a fierce determination not to fail him or the others helped quell the butterflies that seemed to be nesting below her breastbone.
The Archers were moving southward at a steady trot with their kilts swirling around their knees, drawing a little ahead before the heavy horse followed. They all wore Mackenzie war-gear, the brigantine of little plates riveted between two layers of soft green leather, bow and quiver, short sword and buckler and dirk, though the blazon on their chests was the Crowned Mountain, not the Moon-and-Antlers. Not every one was actually of the Clan; to be accepted into that oldest of the Guard units all you had to do was pass some stringent tests, be very good with the bow to begin with. . and swear fealty before the bearer of the Sword of the Lady, who could see into your innermost soul as you pledged.
A few came from as far away as the kingdom called Norrheim on the far eastern ocean where her father had paused and found allies during the Quest in his youth.
The plate-armored knights and squires and men-at-arms followed with their horses at a quick walk, keeping in double column. The varlets brought up the rear, save for a few left with the provisions and tents, sumpter-mules and remounts. They weren’t fighters by trade, but they were armed and everyone in the High King’s train was expected to turn their hand to what was needful. The healer and her two assistants came last.
Órlaith could hear a soft murmur from her father beside her, of prayer to his patron and hers, the Goddess in Her form as the Lady of the Crows, the Dark Mother. It ended with:
“And if this be the day when the King must die for the people, then know that I go to You most willing, as to a joyful feast.”
She knew that one, but she’d never heard him speak it before. It was the prayer before battle, and the King’s prayer at that. When she spoke she tried for lightness:
“It’ll be a skirmish only, surely, Da? Compared to all the great battles you’ve fought.”
His grin was hard. “My heart, when men fight to kill, there’s no such thing as a small battle. Not for the ones killing and dying, at least. Nor is it the less hard afterwards to tell a mother why the one she remembers as a child at her breast will not be coming home, or a child why they’re an orphan.”
Abashed, she looked down at her horse’s head for a moment. His expression turned gentle, and his voice soft.
“My treasure, Edain or Sir Aleaume could manage this fight as well as I. For that matter, Father Ignatius could, even with his beard gone white-and for the rest of the daily work, he’s a better administrator than I, or even than your mother is or her mother was, and that is saying a very great deal.”
“But there’s more than either to being High King.” She’d known that, but right now it felt as if she was learning it all over again. “That’s why you’re going yourself.”
“Aye. Your mother’s faith and ours share a deep truth: that from sacrifice springs great power, and the greatest of all from the one who walks to it with open eyes, knowing their fate and consenting. Didn’t their God’s only begotten Son give himself to it? And that was a deed whose echo resounds down the ages; so also the One-Eyed gave Himself to Himself to win the wisdom he needed. So it is with the very Lord, who dies each year when the yellow corn falls before the reaper’s steel, that humankind may eat and live.”
“And He rises again in the spring to wed the Maiden.”
“Aye; we rest, and we return, but that doesn’t make the dying any less real. Your mother and I bound our very selves to this land and all its peoples and kindreds at the Kingmaking on the shores of Lost Lake, with the Sword of the Lady and a drop of our mingled blood. You were beneath her heart at that moment; through you we bound all our descendants to the King’s fate. One day my day will come. And one day. . may it be distant. . so you too will walk to the Dark Mother, your eyes open to the falling blade.”
“May it be distant for you too, Da!”
He laughed, and out of the corners of her eye she could see men in the column looking at each other and grinning to see the High King merry before a fight. They were alone enough to keep the conversation private if they spoke quietly, but in full view. Her father went on:
“From your mouth to ears of the Three who spin Fate, my heart. But we must always be ready for it. We of the royal kin are those whose blood renews the land.”
Seriously, with a brisk tone: “Now, you know what you’ll be about, girl, and take my word for it that you’re a warrior born and have learned your lessons well. They’re written in your bone and muscle now. Just listen to the wisdom of the body, and remember this: when a man takes a spear in his hand and comes up against you, he accepts his death and leaves you clean of it, just as you do for him. So strike hard and don’t hesitate.”
He looked beyond her to Heuradys. “And as for you, knight, you bear proud arms on your shield. Let’s just say I’m as happy to have you on my daughter’s shieldless side as I would have been to have your second mother in her prime. Which is to say a great deal.”
Captain Hellman trotted up and reined in, a rawboned man in his thirties with a weathered face and short-cropped brown beard, followed by his troop. His birthplace was east of the Rockies themselves in the kingdom’s farthest marches short of the Lakota lands, and there was a sharp High-Line plainsman’s twang in his voice when he saluted and spoke, pointing:
“They’ll be visible just beyond that clump of eucalyptus around the ruined farmhouse, sire. The ones under attack are making a stand on a slight rise-it’s open to the east, flanked by woods, and at the west end there are some low snags of brick wall they’re using, I’d say they were making for the mountains and that was as far as they got before the others caught them. There’s about thirty or forty of them left. Three times that of the attackers. Four-score dead and wounded on both sides. They’re serious about this, no prisoners I could see. Nobody else within an hour’s walk unless they’re lying on their backs in the swamp breathing through reeds.”
“How much time?” the High King asked.
He’s thinking of Oak, Órlaith knew. With his Dun Barstow levy, we’d have the numbers on our side.
“None. The next rush will overrun them, sire,” Hellman said stolidly.
“What’s the ground like, just there?”
“Grass, mostly, leadin’ up to the ruins. Looks like it was open grazing land or what did they call it, a lawn, and the snags of walls are long enough to have been a knight’s manor or a fair-sized Rancher’s home-place, but nothing much above waist-high now. None of these damned vine-stumps between those two tongues of woodland, and they’ve trampled it pretty flat. It looks solid, I’d take it at a gallop. Even on them big beasts you’re riding.”
“Gear?”
“Mixed. The foreigners on the hill all have pretty good armor and what looked like longbows and curved swords like the Kyklos use. They’re in dense formation around a banner but I couldn’t see what was on it. The Haida, the usual light gear. Looks like the strangers with them have mail, mostly; and they all have helmets. Pole arms and recurve bows, chopping swords. Some shields. They’re in fair order but it’s no Bearkiller phalanx.”
The High King blew out a breath. “Hasty approach, then.” He cocked an eye at their surroundings. “Not dry enough for much dust, they may not spot us until we’re upon them. The which would be a good thing.”
He thought for a moment, right hand caressing the pommel of the Sword, then went on calmly: “They’ll break for their ships if they can when they’re beaten. . you lead in on my signal, then extend our flank to the left, Captain Hellman. Block them when they run, we’ll have none leaving to alert others who may be about. We can snap up their ships afterwards. Sir Aleaume, we’ll let the light horse and the Archers soften them a little, and then give them the lance when they’re on the back foot. Edain, deploy on either side of the men-at-arms, riddle them, then follow us in when we charge.”