"Ed's an old friend, too," Juniper said. "I knew his father well before the Change and we worked together afterward."
"I wish we could say we represent Corvallis," Finney said, nodding. "But we're only quasi-official here."
"We represent some of Corvallis," the younger man in green said sourly. "The part that takes the Protector seriously."
Havel snorted softly. Loring looked over to Sam Ayl-ward; the stocky noncom nodded slightly. Right, Loring thought. A city-state run by committees: which means there'll be plenty who won't acknowledge a problem until it comes and bites them on the arse. Still, they can't be totally shambolic, or they wouldn't be alive now.
"Sir Nigel's brought us a good deal of information about the Protector's capacities and intentions," Havel said. A grin: "Partly because the Protector didn't intend that he'd ever get loose to tell anyone about it, and indulged his taste for monologuing about the details of his own greatness. Sir Nigel, over to you."
Nigel rose, cleared his throat, and began to recite: numbers, estimates, appraisals of men and weapons that he'd seen. He didn't need to look at the notes he'd made, but Signe Havel occasionally glanced down at her copies. When he finished, the faces of the Corvallans were longer than they'd been.
"Told you, Pete, Eddie," Havel said.
"Yes, you did," the soldier said glumly. "And we believed you all along. The problem is, our homegrown idiots are just going to say that means they're right to bend over backward-or forward-to avoid making the Protector angry." He held up a hand. "Yeah, I know, Mike, that means they hope he'll break his teeth on you guys-or at least eat them last. And that's truly, deeply stupid. But it's so."
Havel grunted sourly and looked at Loring. "So, you'd estimate he can put about ten thousand men into the field?"
"Allowing for minimal garrisons in the rest of his territories, yes," Loring said. "If you don't mind me asking, what can you call up to fight him?"
Havel looked at his wife. "The Outfit's got about twenty-three hundred militia," she said. "Infantry-pikes, crossbows, archers. And we've got some field catapults and a siege train."
"Plus the A-listers," Havel said. "Three hundred of them. Lancers and horse archers-you've seen them in operation."
Sam Aylward spoke: "We Mackenzies've got about twenty-two 'undred; that's everyone who can pull a useful bow. No cavalry, but we can get some help from over the Cascades-the Central Oregon Ranchers' Association."
Havel snorted again, louder this time. "CORA couldn't organize a fuckup in a whorehouse, pardon my French-every rancher over there thinks he's a king. They make Corvallis look like a miracle of discipline. Sorry, Pete, Ed."
Juniper Mackenzie made a gesture. "Still, we can count on some help from that direction. The ranchers who've fought with us against the Protector before will turn out, and some others who want to stay on our good side, and if the CORA isn't good at deciding things itself, at least it won't stop them. Say five to eight hundred, depending on the season and what he's doing up along the Mount Hood country, and what they have to guard against on their frontier with Pendleton-that war's a blight on the whole neighborhood.
"Light cavalry," she went on, looking over at Loring. "Bows and swords. Very mobile, and fine scouts."
Aylward looked at his ex-commander as well. "Ranchers and their cowboys," he said. "The ranches are like hamlets these days, they took in a good many of the townsfolk who survived the Change. It's very: decentralized over there, so the CORA as a whole doesn't have to vote for war. The ranchers aren't what you'd call well organized, but they can fight well enough by bits and pieces, as it were."
"Which gives us maybe six thousand against his ten thousand," Havel said, breaking a cookie in half. "And apart from my A-list, ours are part-timers, and his are all full-time fighting men, all well equipped. OK, say he has to leave some at home to keep the farmers under control; it's still not good odds, particularly since about two thousand of his are knights and men-at-arms-heavy cavalry and damned hard to stop. And he's got a better battering-train than we do, and we've got a lot less in the way of fortifications. Besides which, standing siege would let him destroy everything we've spent ten years building up."
Everyone looked at the two from Corvallis. Reluctantly, Peter Jones spoke: "We could put seven thousand in the field with a general call-up. But that would require a council resolution and a referendum vote, if our own territory weren't invaded."
"Ah, participatory democracy," Loring said, his tone neutral.
Edward Finney flushed slightly: "When the people who're going to fight do the voting, they really mean it!"
Which was true, but didn't entirely make up for being late to the party.
"He's still not going to attack before the harvest," Signe Havel said. "The logistics are bad otherwise."
"If he's planning on some sieges he'll bring-"
Loring sat back and let the others argue; he was the stranger here, and thought himself lucky to be allowed to listen in, despite the pleasant informality of arrangements. Instead he watched the faces. A man-or a woman-could lie to you with words, but it was harder to deceive a third party-particularly about character.
Yes, our Lord Bear would make a good friend and a very dangerous enemy, he thought. Just the man for a sudden deadly blow with no warning.
He recognized the type; Sam Aylward was another, solid noncommissioned officers, perfectly capable of running a company and of seeing that lieutenants didn't mess things up too badly before they learned their trade. Both capable of a good deal more under the right circumstances.
And young Lord Bear has come a long way: I suspect most dynasties were founded by men much like him. Wit enough, even if he's no genius, but willpower to spare. Not half so dangerous as his wife, though, I would venture. Beautiful to a fault, yet she reminds me a bit too much of Queen Hallgerda. And I rather think she's a good deal more intelligent, not to mention personally formidable. Mr. Havel is welcome to her.
The two from Corvallis had the harassed look of good men doing their best in a situation that they knew was beyond them. Sam Aylwardhe looked a little different, and not just because he was nearly a decade older. He didn't seem as detached as he would have been at a briefing before the Change; the matter at hand obviously touched him in more than a professional manner.
He's more settled, Loring thought. He was always a fine soldier, but a bit lost out of uniform. Glad to see he's found a home. And we could have used him back in England after the Change.
And then there was Juniper Mackenzie. He noticed that she spoke little, but tended to quiet arguments when she did, and help keep people focused. And her voice was interesting in itself, softly musical, the American accent he'd always found rather harsh and flat softened by the trace of a brogue.
West-Irish, at that, I think she said. Fine figure of a woman, too. Pretty in a colleen fashion, but with character too-someone interesting has been living in that face. Friendly, but I suspect there's a volcano of a temper under that red hair as well.
He'd known Witches before; a good few had survived in England by geographical accident or prescient flight to somewhere remote-two dozen had hidden out in the New Forest, evaded the mobs by some cascade of miracles, and greeted the king's men when they came surveying. Juniper seemed to have her feet planted more firmly in the earth than most of the breed that he'd met. At that moment she looked up and met his eyes; there was a slight jolt that left him blinking, and then she winked at him. He hid his smile, smoothing down his mustache with a finger, then bent his attention back to the discussion. When it ended, she cleared her throat.