"That leaves the question of where to keep Mathilda Arminger." At Havel's quick glance she went on: "Come now, Mike, it's not as if it would stay a secret for long, wherever we put her, sure. You can hide people in a city, but those days are gone, and all we have are villages where everyone knows everything about everybody-we could scarcely chain her up in a cabin in the woods. Too many saw her at that fight in Molalla's territory, for what happened to stay secret for long. Too many of my folks and his."
Havel exchanged another glance with his wife. "She's got to stay somewhere safe, at least."
Juniper nodded. "That leaves either here or Dun Juniper-unless Corvallis would like to keep her, as neutrals?" The two emissaries of the city-state made quick fending-off gestures, and Loring hid another smile.
"Well, then, Dun Juniper for the present. It's out of the way, and as strong as any of our holds, and farther from Protectorate territory," Juniper said, with a trace of reluctance in her voice. "Though if anyone would care to volunteer to take her off my hands: "
Signe Havel nodded slowly and unwillingly. "For now that's the best option, yes," she said.
"Sure, Signe, and we can reconsider later if it seems wise," Juniper agreed. "From what I've heard back, she's not the sweetest-tempered guest ever received in my Hall. But moving her across the valley would be far too risky: "
Hmmm, something there, Loring thought. But there's something about Lady Juniper's voice that makes it hard to stay angry with her, I think.
"Yeah, it would be an invitation to a raiding party," Signe conceded. "She'd better stay at your place for now."
A little surprised at himself, Loring spoke: "It might be a good idea to give her some additional guards. I and my son and John Hordle have more than a little of experience at clandestine operations between us, before the Change and after it. And we'd like to see a little more of the neighborhood, since we seem likely to settle here at the last."
"Good idea-" Signe and Mike Havel's voices tripped over each other. Havel cleared his throat and continued: "Very good idea. Arminger has some sneaking-around-the-woodshed types himself."
Chapter Nineteen
Dun Juniper, Willamette Valley, Oregon
May 31st, 2007 AD-Change Year Nine
So, what's this Sir Nigel like? Eilir asked.
She looked around one last time to check that everything was in place. The sun was setting to her right, westward; the sky there bright towards the Coast Range, while the snow peaks of the High Cascades on her left were touched with a last touch of crimson, and a first few stars bloomed in the purple above. Birds sang towards evening, under the murmur of voices and the eternal sough of the forests above.
From what Mom writes, he's quite a man, she went on. Sam thinks so too of course. It's enough to turn me against him, almost.
"I only saw him for a few minutes. He's nice enough, for an old guy, I suppose: sort of like Theoden, if you know what I mean," Astrid replied.
Decrepit, senile and playing sub to a bearded top in a dress? Eilir signed, and dodged a revengeful elbow.
Most of Dun Juniper was gathered to greet the Mackenzie and her guests, and to celebrate victory. For some like Judy Barstow grief was uppermost, but since the Change people had learned death wasn't something that happened invisibly to old people in hospitals. Most were happy, and the walls were a blaze of flower wreaths as colorful as the gardens at the foot of the plateau beneath a bright blue sky scattered with white cloud. Even the meadows beyond seemed to celebrate, their green grass lavish with scarlet foxglove, white daisies, purple lupine and trembling sheets of blue camas flower; the year's colts ran up and down the fences and hedges, kicking up their heels at the excitement and noise. Eilir and Astrid stood before the closed gates with Chuck Barstow and a few others; the rest lined the walls, or stood beside the road, or waited inside. Astrid had a wreath of crimson penstemon in her hair; Eilir had her Scots bonnet on, with raven feathers in the clasp, but some of the flowers in the brooch that held her plaid.
How come you didn't stay over at Larsdalen? Eilir went on. Not that I don't appreciate the company, but you have those horses you were working on.
The approaching column turned from toy-tiny to human-sized as it rode westward down the winding gravel road through the benchland and towards the Dun. Her mother was there, and Sam Aylward, and three figures who must be the Englishmen, and an escort that included Rowan and Cynthia Carson. They were just close enough to hear Juniper Mackenzie throw back her head and laugh.
Astrid went on: "What, don't you want help keeping an eye on the Little Girl from Udun?"
She's improved, Eilir signed. Rudi's been showing her around and she's not sulking nearly as much.
"Yeah: but Larsdalen is getting too crowded to stand," Astrid said. "Especially the big house. You know, with Signe's kids and Luanne's kids and Pam's two-euuu, at Dad's age!-and the staff and their kids and all. It'll be dull with the visitors gone: I've been thinking again we should find a place of our own, you know, a base for the Dunedain. Somewhere strategic, with good hunting and not too many people. Mithrilwood, for preference."
Yeah, I love it here at Dun Juniper, but there are times it drives me crazy the way Larsdalen does for you, Eilir agreed in Sign. I sort of get nostalgic about the way it was here before the Change, just Mom and me and the dogs, even though I hardly remember it, really. Mithrilwood sort of reminds me of that.
"Of course, it'll be a bit crowded anywhere, when we're not camping out," Astrid. said with a certain resignation.
You had to live behind walls with strong friends at hand, if you wanted to live at all; solitude meant deadly danger. "But not as crowded. And not as many kids, running all over the place and yelling and messing things up."
"Wait till you've got some of your own," Dennis Martin said; he was there in peaceful kilt and plaid and flat bonnet, but he carried his great ax, and leaned on the helve.
Astrid shuddered and rolled her eyes at his remark, but stayed silent.
What's with the chopper, Unc' Dennie? Eilir signed.
Chuck's weaponry was part of his role, but Dennis Martin Mackenzie usually didn't carry steel unless he was away from home, and a battle-ax was a lot less handy than a short sword anyway.
"It's to hit Princess Legolamb here with, the minute she starts in with that 'He's just like Barliman Butterbur' stuff again," he said. "To hit her hard. With the sharp side. Many times. Brannigan, OK, you can call him goddamned Tom Benzadril and his wife is Hashberry, but leave me out."
Astrid ignored him, except for a slight elevation of her straight nose and a sniff; Eilir snickered. The cavalcade was closer now. Some of them dismounted at the foot of the rise and came up the rise leading their horses, others riding slowly behind them; a few of the strangers looked up sharply as the Lambeg drums and bagpipes sounded from the gate towers. Eilir waved to her mother, feeling her face blossom in a smile and a load of worry lift. Chuck and Judy Barstow went forward with the welcoming-cup in its long silver-mounted horn; her mother gave each a brief sympathetic hug before she Invoked the God and Goddess and poured their libation. Eilir expected her to turn to them once more after that, but Juniper Mackenzie was laughing again, talking to the older man in the suit of plate-armor. Behind him :
Oh, wow, this one's pretty! Eilir signed discreetly.
Alleyne Loring was whipcord elegance in his leather-and-wool riding clothes, a smile lighting his face as he swung down from the tall black horse and looked around with his left hand on the hilt of his longsword, and a peacock-feather curling in the band of his broad-brimmed hat; the animal rested its head on his shoulder, and he stroked its nose absently. Medium tall, broad in the shoulders, narrow-hipped, moving like a cat: then he removed the hat and bowed to the images on the Dun Juniper gateway, shoulder-length golden hair swaying as he did, and politely poured out a few drops before he emptied the horn of the last small mouthful of wine.