Rudi's buffalo was headed straight for it. I'll pour out a bottle of whiskey for you, Coyote Old Man, he thought, raising his legs until they were along the buffalo's back. Just no more of your jokes, now, you hear?
He turned his feet in, frantically trying to dig in with the toes. Then the world shook with a whump as the buffalo struck the rock and staggered sideways; another as it rammed into the animal on that side, which promptly tried to hook its horn into whatever had hurt it. Rudi could feel his stones trying to crawl up into his belly now; the beast he rode was staggering, and there was nothing he could do…
A horse loomed out of the dust, pacing the buffalo; he realized it must have been in the lee of the rock, where the stampede parted around it.
Rick Three Bears rode it, leaning low over the neck as he urged it up to speed, death closing in all around and on his heels.
"Hey, Strong Raven!" he screamed, just barely audible through the cataclysmic noise of a million hooves, his streaming braids framing a wild grin. "Room for two on Big Dog here!"
Rudi waved back the circle of faces as he staggered forward and then collapsed to his knees. A hand held a canteen in front of his face; he drank, spat, coughed, drank more and coughed again convulsively, dust-colored water shooting out of his nose. His stomach heaved with a sick dropping sensation, and he swallowed acid at the back of his throat. When he raised the canteen again, his hand shook so badly that the horn mouth rattled against his teeth.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Ground and center.
He struggled and controlled his diaphragm. Behind him Three Bears was talking:
"Jesus Christ, I've never seen anything like it-we'll have to rename him Rides Mad Buffalo-"
"Rudi, Rudi, are you all right?"
That was Mathilda's voice; he could feel her hands on his shoulders. He concentrated, and her face came into focus, the big hazel eyes soft with concern.
"Anamchara," he croaked, and fell forward into her embrace.
"Are you all right?" she asked, her hands stroking his hair.
Another shuddering breath, and he felt a little control come back. "Apart from feeling like I'm going to puke, the which would be no return at all to you for your care of me, I think I am," he said.
Amazingly, it seemed to be true; he felt stiff and bruised, and he'd be sore as a graze tomorrow-and he had more than a few of those-but nothing was damaged.
Mathilda rose, helping him up. He stood, panting, and took a real drink of the water, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders with his left arm. He held his right out to the itancan 's son, and they gripped forearm to forearm.
"We're even," he said to Three Bears. "In fact, I'm in your debt."
The dark face was flushed now too; the memory of those moments was coming out, and it was harder to bear than the doing had been.
"Shit, they were only going to kill us, not eat us like the lions!" Rick said, his own voice a little shaky. "Brother," he added.
Rudi nodded gravely. "You'll be wanting to get back to your father and family, brother," he said. "But I'm thinking we'll be meeting again."
"Yeah, and we'll be fighting Cutters together again," Three Bears said.
Then he looked west. Half a mile away the herd was still streaming by. "I'll head back when the Buffalo People get out of the way!"
TheScourgeofGod
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wide is the land, and high under heave n
Many the folk, their gods and ways;
All Artos would see, and with them take counsel
Wisdom win from friend and from foe From: The Song of Bear and Raven
Attributed to Fiorbhinn Mackenzie, 1st century CY
"I could use a watermelon," Ingolf said, as the whole party slowed their mounts. "Kept nice and cool in a well. You cut it open with your bowie, and then that first bite into a big slice, crisp and sweet, with the juice just dribbling down your chin-"
"You're not helping," Mary said, and slapped him on the back of the head.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity," Rudi added, and wondered why Ingolf laughed.
"Welcome to the Midwest," he said.
Mary groaned: "I'm sweating like a horse. I can't tell where my sweat stops and Rochael's begins anymore."
"You still smell better than she does, honey," Ingolf said, and reached over to pat her dapple-gray Arab on the neck. "Though she's mighty pretty, for a horse."
Ritva snorted. "I don't mind sweating, but it doesn't seem to be doing me any good-I'm still just as hot, only sticky too. Is it like this all the time?"
"Only about half the year. The other half's freezing cold and snows like hell," Ingolf said. Then he shrugged: "Actually there's a month or so of good weather in spring and fall, but we don't like to admit it."
They'd been ambling through farm country; now the land dropped away to a river valley, wooded with hickory and oak and cottonwood and spanned by a pre-Change metal bridge. Beyond it just past the immediate floodplain was a small walled town; rumpled hills rose gray-blue-green above the flats a few miles away eastward. Rudi could see several children sitting on the eastern bank, fishing or playing with a dog, their sun-faded tow hair bright against the dark earth. One of them rose and waved at the travelers, then turned back to his rod as the float on the string dipped below the water.
The stream was about medium bowshot across. Close to the middle a bald eagle's talons struck the water and punched up a burst of spray. The great black-and-white bird flogged itself back into the air with a fish twisting in its talons.
"Good luck to see an eagle striking," Odard said, and Edain nodded.
"Slow down here by the fort. They're likely to be a might testy about travelers," Ingolf said, and Rudi raised his right hand to signal the others.
"A testy man with a napalm shell on his catapult is not someone to offend," he agreed.
More quietly, Ingolf went on: "And the Bossman has reason to be offended with me," he said. "Remember, he paid my Villains quite a bit to go get that stuff for him from the dead cities."
"Not your fault Kuttner was working for the Prophet."
"I don't think so, and you don't think so, but the Bossman may not agree. Tony Heasleroad didn't strike me as being the forgiving sort."
"There's your friends," Rudi said.
"Yah. They've got pull. I don't know how much pull, not after years. We could go north through Marshall and Richland."
"And take months extra time. I lost us too much, when I was wounded and got us stranded in the Valley of the Sun. Things aren't going well back home. We must get that Sword, my friend."
Iowa held the western bank of the river where the bridge crossed; from what Ingolf had said, the Nebraska folk accepted that with sullen acquiescence. A strong fort of concrete reinforced with steel stood beside the road where the land started to dip to the wooded river valley; it was a rectangle with corner towers, and two more by the gatehouse. A dry moat-mostly dry, with puddles and mud at the bottom-surrounded it, filled with rusty sharpened angle iron and barbed wire and smelling of stagnant water and waste, and the drawbridge was down. From the gatehouse flew a flag with three broad vertical stripes of blue, white and red; when a puff of breeze lifted it for a moment, he could see an eagle in the central panel clutching a scroll in its bill, but the words were too small to read.
A swinging barrier came down to block their passage on the bridge as the party approached, and from behind the rusty metal an armed man shouted:
"Halt!"