She'd managed to insist that the sword blades be dulled first, and that had become the rule-she hoped. She'd never been one to think that life could be made smooth and safe altogether, but:
It's appalling, the younger generation's attitude towards risk!
"I'm keeping an eye on that young man," she said aloud.
"Me too," Aylward replied; his wolf mask was pushed back so that he could tip up the mug he held, full of Bran-nigan's Special, a dark Guinnesslike malt brew of extraordinary potency. "Moves like a big cat, doesn't he?"
The dancer in question was Rowan Carson Mackenzie, one of the leading lights of Dun Carson, whose heart had been his father's farmstead before the Change; he'd changed his name from Raymond when he became a Ded-icant. He was in his midtwenties, a broad-shouldered long-limbed man two inches over six feet, arms heavy-muscled from his trade of blacksmith and bladesmith, with a jut-jawed face. Like most male Mackenzies his age he shaved his beard save for a mustache and wore his hair at shoulder length, spilling from under his flat bonnet in a flaxen torrent and whirling with the effort of the dance. His sister Cynthia was dancing with him, and their feet flashed and blurred as the pace of the music picked up and they sprang from one Quarter to another.
"He's big, which rarely hurts," Aylward went on. "Strong as a bloody ox, which never hurts, and he's very quick, which is even more important. Works hard at it too; you've seen him with that ax he made."
Juniper nodded, finishing the kebab and tossing the stick into a trash barrel. She had seen it; the weapon was much like Dennie's, built to the ancient Viking pattern, and Rowan handled it like a willow switch at practice or in competitions. He'd fought with it, too-against bandits, and in a few border skirmishes with raiders from the Protectorate-and won a fearful name. She had her doubts about that ax: And before that, he'd been just barely old enough to be in that initial battle with Arminger's men, back in the harvest summer of the first Change Year.
"Good shot, too, if not quite as good as Cynthia," Aylward enthused. "Bends a heavier bow than hers, of course-heavier than me. And he's clever, and he's got motivation."
"That's why I've got my eye on him," Juniper said. "Perhaps a little too much motivation, Sam?"
"Natural enough, Lady," he said. "After all, Arminger's men did kill 'is father, back in the first Change Year."
Juniper shook her head. "Cynthia hates Arminger because he killed their father," she said. "Rowan's: obsessive about it. I meant that I was keeping an eye on him to see if I could help ease his soul, somehow. Black hatred like that damages you more than the one it's aimed at."
Aylward shrugged and spread his hands, and Juniper sighed in turn. They were close friends, but that didn't mean they saw everything the same way-or that they should, of course.
"Perfect for this job we have in mind, though," he said. "Both of them are good at rough-country work."
Juniper nodded. "At least they're well past twenty-one," she said. "I don't want to second-guess you on your job, Sam, but aren't most of the rest a bit: young? I doubt the average is much above voting age. Sanjay and Dan Barstow don't shave much more than their sister Aoife."
He nodded towards the Carsons. "They're older than those two were, the first fight we had," he pointed out.
"We were desperate and fighting at our doorsteps."
"Thing is, Lady, it's the younger ones who've had the most training now, and at the most impressionable ages, especially the ones we've picked for this job. The best archers start with the bow as a kiddie. They've grown up rough, too, rougher than anyone our age. On this trip they'll need all the youthful endurance they can get. And they're: more adjusted to the circumstances, if you take my meaning. Also they're less likely to have young children of their own."
"What about you and me?" she said, with a quirking smile.
He shrugged again. "I've got enough age and treachery to make up for youth and strength," he said. "And you're needful for the political side."
The dance ended with a long-drawn roll from the bodhrans and squeal from the pipes, and a chorus of hoots and claps. Flushed and happy, the brother and sister came over to where they stood-which was near a table that bore beer kegs and mugs, and trays of eatables.
She smiled at their greetings as they tapped the barrel. "Rowan, Cynthia, merry met. All's well at home? Are Joanne and Jack along? I should have asked before, but the Sutterdowners have been running me from one thing to the next."
"Joanne's fine and sends regards, Lady Juniper, but she didn't fancy the trip seven months along," Rowan said. "Besides which, little Morianna has just learned how to say no."
Juniper winced and laughed, and raised her mug. "All my sympathies. And you, sir, are a black traitor to run out on Joanne at such a time. And yours?" she went on to his sister.
"Sean's well over that fever, and little Niamh's fine too-I keep telling this hulking lout, all you have to do is say Want to take a nap? and then right afterward Want a cookie? Do that a couple of times, and they learn no isn't the answer to every single thing. Jack wanted to keep a close eye on the new vineyard, though, and we're just putting in the foundations for the crusher."
"Brannigan's vineyard needs some competition," Juniper agreed.
Cynthia's brother smiled a wolfish smile. "And neither of our spouses are around to try to talk us out of: something."
"Ah, and here's two more," Juniper said, giving him a quelling glance.
A chant went up in the middle distance:
"Fire, burn this Beltane night
Fire to greet the Sun-"
Then it turned into a cheer as a pair took a run and leapt over a bonfire flaring in a trench. The group broke up in laughter and shouts, streaming away to the high-school amphitheater where Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne was being put on. All but the pair who'd leapt for luck and love; they walked over to Juniper, and turned out to be Astrid and Eilir. They joined the two from Dun Carson at the barrels, and then in a circle around the Chief.
I finally got her out of the covenstead, Eilir signed. Meditation and prayer, prayer and meditation! It would be too much for Samhain, and this is Beltane, for Her sweet sake!
Astrid flushed a little and opened her mouth, but Juniper held up a hand. "Dear, Eilir's right. For us, this world isn't a preparation for another. The God and Goddess are the world, and it's our rightful dwelling-place; to know Them, you have to live in it. It's the Summerlands that are a preparation for coming right back here -another life is a gift, not the loss of nirvana. Remember the Charge of the Goddess!"
The tall girl with the silver-streaked eyes pouted slightly, but nodded. Cynthia nodded as well, and Rowan raised his mug: "Well, we'll need Working for what we have in mind, too, Archer," he said, and winked as Aylward scowled. "The Lord of the Spears and the Lady of the Crows: "
Eilir and Astrid both looked as if they were suppressing a grave excitement. The pair from Dun Carson were openly eager. Juniper sighed. This too was the work of a leader in the Changed world.
Or perhaps any other.
Chapter Fourteen
Crossing Tavern, Willamette Valley, Oregon
May 13th, 2007 AD-Change Year Nine
"I thought you had some direct action in mind, back on Gunpowder Day," Mike Havel said. "Good for you. If Arminger's barons think they can violate the truce on the quiet whenever they like, I'll be damned if we can't do likewise."
He grinned. "And each of us can blame it on the others."
Juniper nodded. "It's a cunning fellow you are, Mike. We left Chuck and Judy in charge at Dun Juniper, and the fair at Sutterdown this Beltane was a good cover for what we had to do. No better time to gather the right people secretly, and to leave unnoticed."
What a wealth of living that packs into a couple of sentences, Juniper thought, looking around the Crossing Tavern's private room at them. Mike's eyes, friendly and shrewd and as ruthless as a wolf in winter as his strong white teeth ripped the meat off a pork rib; his Signe's blue gaze, intelligent and not in the least friendly; the calm strength of Will Hutton that always reminded her of Sam, and the polite curiosity of the English group.