"We found your son in a cage and a good deal else in Crusher's camp, Sarian," he said. "So, you weren't feeding strangers to them because you wanted to. You still did it, and they're still dead, or worse."
Inwardly: If I'd been in Crusher's boots, I'd have made you take a share of the loot to get you in deeper. But I'm not Crusher, thank God. Aloud he went on: "You admit I've the right to hang you? It's certainly what the families of the dead would want." Sarian nodded silently, bowing his head.
"Then hear my sentence," Havel said coldly. "You settled and built this place, Arvand Sarian, but now it's mine. You'll hold it from me, and be my man in all things. You and all yours; and your heirs will do the same for mine. This is now the northern border of Bearkiller territory and you're subject to the Outfit. Understood?"
The heavy swarthy face blinked at him in astonishment, then nodded with a quick decisive movement, fighting down a grin. "Yes, Lord Bear. I hear, and I will obey."
He held out his hands, palms pressed together; that showed he had some knowledge of Bearkiller custom. Havel held up his right, palm out, for a moment.
"Just a minute, Sarian. Up until now, you haven't owed me a thing. Once you swear, you will. They say every dog gets one bite; you've already had yours. Now you'll be running with my pack, and you don't get a second chance. Stand by me, and I'll stand by you; turn on me, and you die. Understood?"
This time Sarian smiled. "I've heard you're a bad man to cross, but also a man of your word," he said. "That seems to be true."
Havel took the other's hands between his. Sarian knew the Outfit's pledge; few who kept their ears open wouldn't, in this part of the Valley. The form for an ordinary dweller in the Outfit's territory was different from an A-lister's, although anyone who knew Astrid Larsson would have seen her fingerprints on both:
"I, Arvand Sarian, pledge obedience and loyalty to the Bear Lord. I will pay his tax and keep his peace, heed his laws and his appointed officers, follow him in war and in peace with arms and council, I and my blood after me. So I swear. So witness earth. So witness sky."
"I, Michael Havel, pledge in the name of the Bearkiller Outfit and my own honor that from me Arvand Sarian shall have fair justice and good lordship, protection and aid at need; and so long as he keeps faith with me, he shall keep holding of all that is his, no man compelling him, he and his heirs after him. So I swear. So witness earth. So witness sky."
The Bearkillers watching gave a cheer. Sarian rose, and chuckled: "So, my lord, I suspect your first command is that I feed all these," he said, waving a hand around at the gathering. "I can. We baked today, and there are the hams, we butchered a beef yesterday and I can slaughter a couple of shoats for ribs and chops, chickens: "
Havel grinned. "That was going to be my first command," he said. "The next: remember that mill we discussed, while the horses were being shod?"
Sarian did, but seemed a little surprised that Havel had. "Yes?"
"You're going to build it, and I'll see you get a loan if you need it. I may be a warlord, Sarian, but I'm not a stupid one."
"Hard man, your Havel," John Hordle said.
He leaned back in the booth with the glass beer stein looking like a teacup in his massive fist. Aylward took a swallow of his own while casting a discreet eye around; nobody was near enough to overhear them, as the Crossing Tavern bustled with the effort of feeding so many-most of them outside around their campfires. There was laughter from the booths around them, and snatches of song from the camp; the strange fruit dangling from the old oak hadn't dampened spirits for long. People had gotten tougher-grained since the Change, and nobody was going to miss Bailey's crew much. Some of those passing by paused to spit on the bodies.
"Not exactly mine," Aylward said. He held up a hand. "I'm Lady Juniper's Armsman now: run her militia, pretty well; not to mention she saved me life right back after the Change. And her territory is where I've settled for good and all, Johnnie-I've a wife and children over there in the Mackenzie country, and a bit of a farm. It's my 'ome now." Unspoken: So don't tell me anything Lady Juniper's Armsman shouldn't know, because I'll use it if you do.
Hordle nodded in his turn. Aylward's quirked smile said: Looks like we still understand each other, mate.
There was little left of the hulking awkward youth who'd listened to Aylward's stories in the taproom of the Pied Merlin. Hordle had still been young when they last met nearly a decade ago; very young to leave ordinary regimental service and pass the almost insanely rigorous SAS tests, but he'd shown promise. Now he was a man grown; not yet thirty, but with a matter-of-fact confidence. He also had an interesting collection of scars on face and hands and arms, when you had time to look-none from bullets, but a fair number of the thin white puckered lines you got from blades.
"As to our Lord Bear," Aylward went on, "he's a bad enemy but a good man to have at your back if he's your friend, and that's a fact. Now do some ruddy talking, John. Any news on my sisters?"
He'd had two still living when he left England ten years ago. He blew out his cheeks in relief when Hordle smiled and nodded: "We got 'em both out, and their families," he said. "Even with the Change, Sir Nigel wasn't going to for-get, eh?"
"Bless 'im," Aylward said, raising his mug.
And I'll wager he got Hordle's kin out too, and the families of any other troops he had under his command. One reason Sir Nigel had been an effective commander had been a thorough understanding that loyalty had to run both ways.
"I've 'ad nine years of wondering what went on back in the old country. What happened to Lady Maude, for starters?"
"Killed when we broke Sir Nigel out of Woburn Abbey," he said.
"What the ruddy helclass="underline" no, I'll let you get on with it."
Hordle finished his stein and filled it again from the jug on the table; then he took a small loaf out of the basket beside it, tore it apart and began to eat it.
"Get on with the rest, then," Aylward said after a moment.
"Ten years in a word, Samkin?" Hordle said, cheeks bulging as he chewed meditatively.
"Ten thousand for a day, unless you've changed."
"Right, then: the Change happened-I was dead asleep in barracks when it did, first thing I knew besides the light and headache was gettin' rousted out at four o' bleedin' clock to stand on a street corner with an SA80 even more useless than it was when bullets worked. Well, it had a bayonet. Day Two they gave us halberds and pikes from the Tower and turned the Tin Bellies up in their fancy kit."
"Must've been bad, in London."
"Bad? Mate, you've no idea-we scarpered early, morning of Day Three, and there was fire and smoke from one horizon to another already, and crowds in the streets, and when the water went off, and then: The politicians had no bloody idea what to do."
"Now isn't that a super sodding surprise."
Hordle nodded. "But Sir Nigel and the Household Cavalry got the queen out to the Isle of Wight; she died that winter, poor lady, of grief and overwork-wouldn't take a crumb extra. And when we left London Sir Nigel had notice sent to officers he trusted, to use the islands as rally points-Wight, Man, Anglesey, Arran: he could see what would happen if things didn't go back the way they'd been, and that the rally points would need defending."
Aylward nodded. And smart enough to figure things wouldn't change back, he thought. And hard enough to see what had to be done. If they hadn't defended those islands, they'd have been overrun and eaten out, which is what I thought had happened.
"Blair was supposed to follow along when the civilians finally started taking it serious-like, by the last message we got out of London, but he never did-the riots were bad by then, and the food had run out."