"I'll handle it, my liege," he said; the heliograph network would flash it all over the Association by the end of the day, and the news would be in Corvallis by midnight. "God go with you."
"Or luck," she said, with a cruel smile as she thought of her immediate errand.
Astrid Larsson had killed Katrina Georges, back in the War. Tiphaine's own oaths meant that she had to do her very best to rescue the Hiril Dunedain and her husband and soul-sister and brother-in-law
…
Which will be sulfuric acid on her soul, if only I can pull it off.
Armand handed her the sword belt; she ran it around her hips twice and buckled it, tucking the double tongue through, and then pulled on her steel gauntlets. The coif confined her braided hair, and she settled the sallet helm with its expensive lining of old sponges on her head and worked the visor. Daylight vanished save for the long horizontal bar of the vision slit, then returned as she flicked the curved steel upward again.
A groom led her destrier Salafin up, and she swung into the high war-saddle. Armand handed her the shield and she slung it diagonally over her back like a guitar in the old days, the rounded point down to her right. By then the CORA light horse were ready, and the block of tall lances and steel-clad riders and barded horses that marked the Portlander men-at-arms, with their arms blazoned on their shields.
"My lords, chevaliers, and esquires of the Association!" she called.
She reined in ahead and turned the war-horse to face them as she drew her sword; the barding clattered as the big black gelding tossed its head and mouthed the bit. "Our souls belong to God, our bodies and our lives to our liege-lady-"
"A cheer for the Princess Mathilda!" someone called from the ranks of the knights.
"Haro!" rang out from a hundred throats.
Tiphaine blinked, as horses caracoled and lances were tossed in the air in a blaze of pennants. She'd had Sandra Arminger in mind. Sandra was respected, and feared. The Grand Constable was feared, and respected. Evidently Mathilda was…
Loved? she thought, as she thrust her blade skyward. Well, she's their generation. I suppose a lot of hopes are riding on her.
"-and our swords belong to Portland! You have given your oaths; now you shall fulfill them, and I at your head. "
Oddly enough, Chateau generals were obsolete now that real chateaux had made a comeback. She chopped the longsword forward.
"Haro! Holy Mary for Portland!"
The destrier stepped out beneath her, and the light horse from the CORA fanned out eastward. Beside her Rodard held the banner of the Lidless Eye, and the black-and-crimson of it fluttered in a cool breeze from the distant Pacific. The winter rains were coming…
I wonder what the hell happened with our pseudo-elf's plan? Tiphaine thought, beneath the running assessment of terrain and distances playing out against the map in her head. Usually she's pretty good, or at least she has the luck you expect for small children and lunatics.
"Here," Astrid Larsson said.
She didn't need to take the radium-dial watch out of the leather-covered steel case at her belt; even in the deep darkness of the tunnels, her time-sense was good. This was just short of midnight, time enough for the Bossman's party to really get going above, and for everyone to punish the wet bar hard. Pendleton men drank deep at a fiesta, by all accounts.
They had a single lamp lit. She saw Eilir put her hands against the concrete blocks of the wall ahead of them and close her eyes.
I can feel the music and the dancing from above, she signed. Sounds like quite a do!
Good, Astrid replied. Get the line of retreat ready for us, anamchara!
Eilir sped off down the tunnel with her four helpers and their burdens. Astrid put her left hand on the hilt of her longsword and tapped the silver fishtail pommel against the blocks: tap, and then tap-tap-tap.
A wait, while she listened to the blood beating in her ears. The air was cool and dry here, and dusty, but there was a faint living smell that the rest of the tunnels hadn't had, more like a storeroom. There was even a slight scent of spilled wine soaked into flooring. Behind her there was a slight clink and rattle as the others of the Ranger assault party did their final equipment check. Astrid took a deep breath and touched her weapons and gear; beside her Alleyne did the same and gave her a thumbs-up.
And then not far away: tap-tap… tap-tap… tap.
"We could use a few dwarves," he said whimsically, and brought his heater-shaped shield round onto his arm.
"We'll be above ground fairly soon," she replied. "Lantern out, Hurin!"
Utter darkness fell, like having your eyes painted over, as the lantern's flame died and the mantle faded to a dim red glow and went out.
Alleyne's cool voice sounded: "John, you do the honors."
She could feel the air move as the big man turned and groped for the steel lever that stood upright in a niche. The lever was fastened with a pin; there was a slight chink as he pulled that free to dangle-that little chain to keep it from getting lost on the floor was so typical of a plan with Sandra Arminger behind it-and heaved. There was a moment while the inertia resisted the huge muscles she knew bunched in his tight black sleeve, and then the wall ahead of them began to swing up.
Once it started the movement was smooth and sure, as counterweighted levers swung the steel plate and the camouflaging blocks up out of the way. Sound came through the four-foot gap in the wall, faint and far, a hint of music and a loud burr of voices and feet.
The cellar beyond was dimly lit by occasional night lanterns, but it looked bright to dark-adapted eyes; the secret door opened between two huge wine-vats, looming above them and resting on double X-SHAPED cradles. A figure waited, in the bowtie of the Bossman's servants. He gave back a step at the sight of John Hordle's bulk uncoiling from the low entranceway to his full towering height, the long handle of his greatsword standing up over his right shoulder.
"Quickly!" the spy said then, licking his lips. "The way's clear up to the kitchens."
"Good," Astrid said. "You should go now."
The man nodded jerkily and scurried away. They gave him a few seconds lead, and then followed. The cellars here were sections of tunnel, joined by narrower linking passages; they went by rows of barrels of various sizes for wine and beer and brandy and whiskey, flour and salt pork and salt beef, shelving with potted meats and vegetables and jams and jellies, sacks of onions and potatoes and bins of dried peppers and beans, vats of pickled eggs and sauerkraut, racks of hams and flitches of bacon in wrappers of waxed canvas… all the varied supplies a great household needed.
It reminded her a little of the storage sheds at Stardell in Mithrilwood, down to the deep rich melange of smells and the arrogant air of a patrolling cat, before the moggy took one horrified look at the strangers and fled with its ears back in a flying leap to the top of a stack of boxes full of apples. There it arched its back and hissed and spat with a sharp tsk! sound, its eyes glowing green in the faint gleam of a lantern.
"Peace between us, sister!" she laughed. And a sudden thought: "Every second pair, take some of that lamp-fuel."
They shouldered large jugs of it, ten-gallon models of pre-Change metal full of pure alcohol. The map was printed on her brain. And there were the metal stairs that led up. She went first in a soft-footed rush.
"Hurin, Melendil," Alleyne said, his sword indicating two.
The pair halted just below the top of the stairs, ready to deal with anyone who came by. Astrid led the rest up a corridor that led past a fuel-store with billets of firewood and sacks of dusty-smelling charcoal.
"Morwen, you and Aratan wait here," she said softly. "Soak down this stack and keep fire ready, but hidden."
The two of them took the metal jugs and began pouring the spirit over the combustibles. She led the rest into the flagged hallway beyond and took a deep breath. The smells of cooking food were strong from the doors ahead, from frying onions to baking pastries with their buttery richness; this was the kitchens, where the made dishes would be prepared while the whole carcasses roasted outside. She and Alleyne looked at each other, nodded slightly, and pushed through, each turning to one side with shield up and blade poised.