The Sword of the Lady (7 page)

″However, babies are much harder to housebreak,″ she finished. ″Plus puppies don′t need to be found dowries or fiefs when they grow up.″

″And on that note,″ Sandra said more seriously. ″What do you make of the situation? Not the details—the larger picture.″

As always she was in combinations of gray and white, with silver gilt buttons down the sleeves and bodice of her cotte-hardi. A Persian kitten rested in a small basket on her lap, and dodged a paw out at the dangling trails of the wimple now and then.

″The enemy are still not pressing us very hard,″ she added, reaching in a hand and running a finger down its head; the little beast turned on its back and began to wrestle with the digit as she tickled its stomach. ″I expected them to be more aggressive.″

″The dance starts soon,″ Tiphaine said, and went into the details.

Conrad nodded agreement when she′d finished. ″It′s a persisting strategy. Subtle, for an alliance. The sum total of a whole lot of little fights is more predictable than one or two big ones where luck and generalship can overcome the odds.″

Unlike the older noble, Tiphaine reached for a second sandwich.
Benefits of an active metabolism,
she thought, as she marshaled reports and observations in her mind.
Perks of running around wearing sixty pounds of steel half the time. Also good food makes me feel less pessimistic.

Sandra pursed her lips and tapped a finger on them. ″I′m surprised our enemies are being so . . . farsighted. They′re both young men—Prophet Sethaz is barely thirty, and General-President Martin Thurston of Boise is younger still. In my experience, patience isn′t a quality of which men that age show any great fund.″

″Sethaz is . . . I′m not sure if he′s altogether human,″ Tiphaine said. ″He′s certainly mad and I wouldn′t rule out the stories of demonic possession.″

Conrad grunted agreement. Sandra raised one elegant brow; her brown eyes were a little surprised.

″
Et tu
, Tiphaine?″

″I′ve had too much contact with the CUT to doubt that something very strange is going on out there in the Valley of Paradise,″ she said. ″Strange and . . . unpleasant. You taught me to evaluate the evidence, my lady, not reject it because it conflicted with my assumptions. And you heard about Lady Astrid′s headache?″

Sandra′s brow went up. ″That was
supernatural
?″ she said.

Conrad snorted. ″Damned straight it was. I′ve seen Tiph draw, spin a hundred and eighty degrees, cut a dragonfly in half on the wing, sheath the blade and be back where she started in about a second,″ he said. ″Astrid′s just as good.″

″Just as
fast
, certainly,″ Tiphaine said with hard-won professional detachment.

The
Hiril Dúnedain
had killed her lover Katrina during the Protector′s War in the course of the botched first attempt to get Mathilda back from the Mackenzies. Tiphaine didn′t dwell on the memory; it was too stressful.

″
Something
is going on,″ Conrad said grimly. ″And I lost my belief in the absolute reign of impersonal natural laws about twenty-four years ago. There′s something else at work in the universe. And it doesn′t seem to like us much.″

″A point,″ Sandra said reluctantly.

She was that rarity these days, an atheist to the core, a complete materialist and rationalist. Tiphaine had been one herself, until recently, though they were both pious enough in public. As Sandra said, God was a myth but
religion
was as real as rocks and far more useful to rulers.

Now I′m . . . not sure anymore,
Tiphaine thought.
I′m still not sure about God, that is, but the devil is starting to look awfully convincing. I′m going to have to have a talk with Delia about aligning with some protective spook or other. Even if I′d rather pull out my own toenails with my teeth.

She went on aloud, her voice coolly neutral:

″And Thurston is just too smart for comfort. He
is
having riverboats built in Pendleton, with the locals and the CUT supplying materials. Sethaz lets him do that—the Cutters have those religious taboos about machinery. But as long as we hold the castles and walled cities along the Columbia we can strike north or south at the flank of any invader and we have superior water transport for our logistics.″

″Clear enough, then. Let′s not get bogged down in military details at this point,″ Sandra said. ″I leave that to you, my lady Grand Constable, and to the Chancellor. What′s the state of morale, Conrad?″ she went on.

The thick-bodied man looked at the wineglass in his hand and said grudgingly: ″Uneven. The older nobles are being effusively loyal—and will stay that way as long as we keep the enemy outside our boundaries. If they get inside and it looks profitable to start cutting deals . . .″

He shrugged, and Tiphaine mentally followed suit. Norman Arminger had built a feudal kingdom, albeit a strong one; his personal obsession had been the eleventh-century Norman duchy and its offshoots. Homegrown varieties of neo-feudalism without the PPA′s elaborate organization and terminology . . .

Or our spiffy boots and radical-cool costumes
, she thought.

. . . were certainly common in other areas of the continent, and evidently overseas as well. But.

But while loyalty is the great feudal virtue, unfortunately treachery is the corresponding vice
, Tiphaine thought; history had been a compulsory subject in Sandra′s Household.
And the older generation had to
learn
about loyalty, while treachery was something they already knew very, very well indeed. All those gangers . . .

Sandra had never pretended to be any sort of soldier, and generally didn′t try to joggle her subordinate′s elbows—unlike her husband′s practice. At politics, however . . .

″I′ve looked over the list of tenants-in-chief you want to summon to the muster,″ the Lady Regent went on. ″It′s approved, with the following modifications.″

She reached into an attaché case on the ground beside her and slid the typewritten schedules to them. Tiphaine took hers and her eyebrows went up. Tenants-in-chief held their land directly from the Throne on payment of mesne tithes—a share of their income—and service of knights, men-at-arms and foot soldiers of set number and equipment on demand. Part of the Grand Constable′s job was to see the troops were ready and call them up at need. The total numbers here were the same as her recommendations for the opening stages of the campaigning season, but some of those summoned were awkwardly placed.

Then she smiled thinly as the reasoning sprang out at her. The initial levies of House Stavarov, the Counts of Chehalis up near Puget Sound, were summoned for the war in the east and the rally point at Walla Walla—the Counts themselves, their menie of household knights and paid men-at-arms, spearmen and crossbowmen, their castle garrisons, their subinfeudiated vassals and
their
menies. The third string, the peasant militia and town levies, were detached for service under the Warden of the Coast March against the nuisance-verging-on-threat of Haida raiders. Which meant . . .

Conrad spoke first. ″Ah . . . Uriah the Hittite, my lady?″

If there′s anyone who
would
change sides when a Cutter army arrived in front of his castle gates, it′s Count Piotr Alexevitch Stavarov.

″I′ve nearly killed Piotr at least three times,″ Tiphaine said meditatively. ″Isn′t there a saying that it′s the things you
didn′t
do that you regret at the end of your life?″

″No, no,″ Sandra said. ″I′m not telling you to
get
them killed. We need every man, from what you and Lady d′Ath say. But if men
must
die, why not men from the menie of County Chehalis? They do their duty, and the Stavarovs are weakened.″

She held two small, beautifully manicured hands out palm up and mimicked a balance, raising first one and then the other. The Grand Constable nodded.

″I can make the adjustments easily enough, my lady,″ she said. ″The logistics are a little more difficult, but not enough to matter.″

″The younger nobles are eager for a fight,″ Conrad went on, and Tiphaine nodded silent agreement.

″Ordinary people are . . . frightened, my lady Regent,″ Delia said, a frown on her oval face as she joined the conversation.

She′d been a miller′s daughter here in Montinore village before she met Tiphaine. When it came to how the commons thought, she had a better instinctive grasp than any of them, despite all the Regent′s spies. Sandra and Conrad Renfrew had been founders of the Association, of course, and Tiphaine had been
raised
as an Associate. Delia went on:

″They′re nearly as frightened of having the Throne weakened and the nobles unrestrained if we lose as they are of Boise and the CUT. What′s helping a lot is the stories and songs about Princess Mathilda and Rudi and the rest, particularly with the younger people.″

She was near-as-no-matter a Changeling, too, which helped. Tiphaine had noticed that the older generation tended to
miss
things, and she did too, albeit less often.

″Ah, yes,″ Sandra murmured, with a secret smile. ″How helpful of dear Juniper to compose and spread them. Between her and the Church preaching a holy war, we′re well covered on the propaganda front.″

I′ve never seen you so openly furious as you were when you found out Mathilda had scooted off east with Rudi,
Tiphaine thought
. I actually had to talk you out of sending the army haring off eastward to drag her back. But trust the Spider of the Silver Tower to adjust and see the advantages!

″My lady, I think you′re underestimating the impact of these . . . songs . . . that are going the rounds,″ Tiphaine warned. ″As Delia said, the same technique is more effective nowadays, since so manymore are Changelings. Yes, it′s convenient right now—but it will have political consequences after the war too, provided we win, that is. Ignoring Mackenzie propaganda hurt us badly in the Protector′s War.″

Sandra frowned; she′d known her husband′s weaknesses, but—

But then she actually loved him
, Tiphaine thought; she′d hated Norman Arminger herself, and feared him as she feared few men.
Loved him despite his screwing everything that moved and shaking what didn′t, and his general skankiness. Leaving aside the mass murder and so forth; that was just business, though he enjoyed it.

″The latest . . . this vision of the Virgin telling Father Ignatius to look after Mathilda . . .″ Sandra said. ″I like that one very much indeed. It makes anyone who challenges her rights a
blasphemer
. And the cream of the jest is that Ignatius probably believes it himself—everyone knows the Order of the Shield of St. Benedict is outside our influence. Mt. Angel is cool to the Protectorate at best. They fought us in the war, after all.″

″The Princess was already popular,″ Delia said. ″Everyone who met her liked her. The commons love her. They . . . ah . . .″

″Look forward to her rule.″ Sandra nodded, with a wry twist to her mouth.

Tiphaine could read her thought:
And they′ll never love me
.

Respect and fear, yes; the smarter ones realized how she held the barons in check; but love, no. Too many memories of the early days remained raw, among the ordinary people. And for different reasons, among the Associates as well. Norman Arminger had taken Machiavelli′s dictum that it was better for a ruler to be feared than loved rather literally.

″This . . . this quest thing . . . it′s made her more like an icon,″ Delia continued. She hesitated again. ″Rudi too. The Sword of the Lady . . . it′s not just the people who follow the Old Religion. The rest think of the Virgin, you see? And Ignatius′ vision added to that. They think Rudi is the hero who returns, the one who comes back to save his people when the evil day arrives and things look their worst.″

Sandra chuckled, a gurgling sound that made her cool brown eyes warm for a moment.

″Certainly dear Rudi has all the qualifications for a legendary hero. He′s very
young
, and he′s very
handsome
, and he′s very
strong
, and he′s very
brave
, and he′s very . . . not stupid.″

For some reason Conrad thought that was funny too, though she couldn′t see why: it was all true. He sobered quickly, though.

″It′s good that the stories are perking the ordinary people up,″ he said. ″Even with our allies, we can′t win this war just with the nobility and their retainers; it′s going to be too big for the Associates to handle. But what happens . . . well, my lady, what happens if Rudi and Mathilda
don′t
show up?″

Sandra was very quiet for a moment. ″If Mathilda is killed? Then it′s all rather moot.″ Softly: ″What have I worked for, if not for her?″

CHAPTER THREE

″So, you′re
really
a princess?″ Kate Heasleroad said, her pink young face wide-eyed and guileless. ″I mean, they
call
you that?″ ″Yes, I′m entitled Princess and styled Your Highness at home; my mother′s the Lady Regent,″ Mathilda Arminger explained to the Bossman′s consort.

She must be at least twenty,
she thought.
And I′m only two years older, but it feels like more. I think she led a sheltered life. Until recently, at least.

Aloud: ″But I inherit through my father, Lord Norman Arminger, whose only child I am. He was our first sovereign lord; Lord Protector of the Portland Protective Association. He was a knight before the Change, of course, in the Society, as well as a great scholar of the old ways at the university.″