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The Mormon women made bannock out of some of the flour, and minced a couple of desert hares as their contribution to the stone soup; the rabbits would be lean, without the fat that kept you going, but every little bit helped. Things settled down when the chores were done, and everyone sat around gnawing on hardtack while the stew seethed, chatting easily-except for Ignatius, who kept a calm, cheerful silence, and Ingolf, who brooded despite the twins' attempts to draw him out.

Rudi took another deep drink of the water; it was very clear, with a mineral undertang, and cold, which felt glorious. He'd taken the chance to strip and scrub down before the heat of the day left completely; this area was higher than it looked, and a clear night would be chilly even in August. Putting his sticky clothes back on had been a bit of a trial; he was a fastidious man, when circumstances allowed, if not quite as picky as, say, Odard.

"I'm thinking then that you aren't altogether happy in Boise territory," Rudi said to Nystrup.

"No," Nystrup said shortly, looking down at the sword he was honing.

Then, thawing: "I could tell right away that the new President, Martin Thurston, wasn't going to keep his father's… He was talking about splitting up the refugees, settling them a few each in Boise towns and villages, or enlisting our troops in his army-and as individuals, not in units. That meant he wasn't planning on helping us get our homes back. And he said he wouldn't allow any 'raiding' over the border from the refugee camps. Said it might endanger the 'peace process.' "

Rudi nodded, pursed his lips thoughtfully, and called: "Fred! The good colonel needs to talk to you. Colonel Nystrup, Captain Frederick Thurston. Yes, of the Thurstons."

"Damnation!" the Deseret officer blurted, when the tale of Martin Thurston's treachery had been told, amid a babble of questions from his followers.

That cut off sharply when Nystrup made a gesture. Rudi's brows rose; that bespoke real discipline and this collection of odds-and-sods wasn't a regular military unit. From what he'd heard, the Saints were an orderly folk, but it still said something about Nystrup as a man.

"But didn't the CUT try to assassinate him along with his father and younger… and you, Mr. Thurston?" the colonel said.

"Everyone thought so at the time," Rudi said. "I'd say the now that only the ones aimed at General Thurston were really trying to kill."

"And the one behind me," Frederick said.

"Perhaps," Rudi said gently. "He didn't have any real need to kill you then-you'd never have suspected. But perhaps."

And perhaps you need to think as badly of him as you can, for your own sake. I'll not hinder it.

"You think Martin Thurston's going over to the false prophet?" Nystrup said sharply. "Has already, secretly?"

"Now, there I'm less certain," Rudi said judiciously.

Odard Liu cut in; he'd been doing his share of the chores, and without any of the reluctance that Rudi half expected. Alex had done much of his master's work before the man revealed his true colors. Now the Baron wiped his hands and spoke:

"I'd say it's an alliance of mutual convenience, not an affair of the heart. Ah, some people in the Protectorate-"

Including your darling mother, Rudi thought. Who has all the faults of Sandra Arminger and none of her redeeming qualities, sure. And who Sandra will now undoubtedly kill.

"-have been, ummm, negotiating with the CUT too. They evidently don't demand you convert in order to intrigue with them about politics."

"Not at first," Ingolf said grimly from by the fire. "I was a prisoner in Corwin last summer. They really believe that horseshit, or at least most of them do. And they send out their missionaries everywhere they can reach."

"Does anyone in Boise know about their President and what he's doing?" Nystrup asked eagerly.

"That they do, naming no names," Rudi said.

"It'd probably be a real threat to health to draw Martin Thurston's attention by talking up a version of the events that isn't his," Odard said judiciously.

Frederick nodded. "But they'll be spreading the story quietly. Everyone knew Martin was… ambitious. Just not how ambitious."

"That changes things," Nystrup said; a little of the lost look faded from his eyes. "We and Boise never got along well, but everyone hates the CUT. If we can get people in Boise territory to help us.. . hide us, give us shelter in between raids on the CUT garrisons and supply lines, give us food and horses…"

"And everyone loved my father," Frederick said. "Well, nearly everyone. Nearly everyone in the United States." With bitterness. " Dad didn't want to be a king! With him it was everything for the country, nothing for himself."

" Emperor is more what Martin has in mind, probably," Odard said, tuning the lute which someone had brought along from the Conestoga. "I got those vibrations off him"-he plucked the strings-"and we talked a few times. He was extremely interested in the balance of power out West, in the realms of the Meeting at Corvallis. I don't think he's going to settle down to quietly rule what he has now."

"He couldn't," Frederick said. "Too risky."

They all looked at him. "Dad… OK, Dad ruled with a hard hand, and it was an awfully long time before he decided to hold national elections. But he didn't want to be king; he really wanted to restore the United States. That's one reason he waited-electing a government from just part of one State would be like an admission of failure. It really ate at him. He thought everyone would rally round once he got going and it didn't happen. A lot of our people wanted, want, to put the country back together too. Especially the army officers. If my.. . if Martin is going to hold on to the Presidency, make it into something like being a king, or an emperor-"

He nodded to Odard.

"-then he has to make some progress on reunification."

"Conquering other realms," Mathilda said-but musingly rather than a sharp-toned correction, simply translating the young man's words into the terms the others would think in. "An emperor is a king of kings, after all. If he conquers widely, it'll make his claim to the throne solid."

"OK, if you want to call it that," Frederick said. "That's more or less what I meant. Nothing succeeds like success."

Mary and Ritva came back to sit on their haunches with their arms wrapped around their knees.

"Like Saruman and Sauron in the Histories," one of them said thoughtfully. "Both want to conquer and rule. Our side can probably use that."

"Our side?" Frederick said; not bitterly this time, but with a genuine humor in the curve of his full mouth. "All nine of us?" He glanced at the Mormon leader. "Well, with all due respect, all thirty of us?"

"You're after forgetting," Rudi said gently. "We here are not just travelers from over the mountains. What we know, we can send to our homelands-and there, our parents are people of importance, with the power to bind and loose."

"And I'm not just in charge of twenty-one fugitives," Nystrup said. "There are other Deseret units still in the field."

Kindled, he looked at Rudi. "With you to help us-"

"In passing only," Rudi said, his voice still gentle, but with an implacable determination behind it. "This isn't an affair of greedy warlords only. Those are like bindweed or couch grass; it's the work of the season to uproot them. There's more to it. The Powers are at work here, and we the song they sing."

"Soup's on!" Rebecca said.

Nystrup seemed to be glad of the interruption. He stood and faced his people, folding his arms across his chest and bowing his head with closed eyes:

"Heavenly Father, we are grateful for this food which Thou knowest we needed badly, and for the generosity of Rudi and his friends. We ask Thee to bless them and watch over them as they journey East, that they may always find sustenance provided for them, as they have so generously given to us, and we ask that Brother Rudi complete his quest safely. We also ask Thee to bless this food that it may nourish and strengthen us, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."