She did, and gasped a little as he reached and pulled the other from the rock; it came free as easily as if that were the sheath. Light seemed to well about them as he reversed the blade and offered it to her. She took it reverently and he the hilt of hers.
“Quickly!” he said, and she sheathed the Sword he’d handed her.
They knelt on either side of the rock, and each touched a finger to the point, the red drops mingling.
“By the bond of blood,” he said, and laid the point against the rock.
“By the bond of blood,” she answered, and wrapped her hands around his.
Together, they thrust the blade forged beyond the world into the Heart of Montival.
“Rudi!” Mathilda gasped. “I’ve seen…I’ve seen…”
They fell together, shivering. She went on: “Oh God, I’ve seen such wonders!”
“Myself also, anamchara mine,” he said, stroking her hair.
“And I talked with Dad,” she went on, longing and sadness in her voice. “He’s…he’s in Purgatory, I think. And he said he was sorry…”
She shook her head slightly and fell silent. He nodded.
“Yes, that’s between the three of you,” he said. “And now-”
They stood, and he drew the Sword from its stone sheath. Mathilda blinked, looking at the place it had stood.
“It’s still there, isn’t it?” she asked. “Even if we can’t see it.”
“It’s perceptive you are, darling. It always was and always will be there now.”
She looked around at the snowy trees and the dark-purple surface of the lake. “And I can feel it. Feel…everything, a little. Feel how I’m part of everything.”
“Myself also. It wasn’t a form of words. We are the land. Though I suspect it’ll become a bit less obtrusive as time goes on and we grow accustomed.”
“It feels strange,” she said. And after a moment: “But…you know, it feels pretty good, actually. Like being at home, with friends.”
Rudi nodded. They packed up the gear again; a sudden thought made him glance at a shadow, the usual way of judging time even if you could afford the luxury of a watch. His lips pursed a little in surprise.
“Hardly any time at all!” he said. “And it felt like an hour or more.”
“Rudi…” Mathilda said.
Wordlessly she pointed to their own footprints in the soft damp earth, where they’d walked to the edge of the water just after they arrived. The outlines were blurred, indistinct, and the water had seeped in to make each a miniature puddle.
“Carson a chiall!” he said mildly. “What on earth…well, we’ve skipped about…a day, would you say?”
“Just about.”
He felt tired, too, as if he’d been up a day; tired and hungry, but not bad. More the way you felt after you’d spent a day cutting timber or pitching sheaves onto a wagon. Mathilda suddenly put her hand to her stomach.
“I’m pregnant!” she said, wonderingly. Then: “I wasn’t sure…I’ve been working hard, sometimes that delays things…but now I know. Our daughter, our first child.”
“Sure, and it’s a wonderment,” Rudi said, warmth in his voice. “And I’m afraid this just past will be your last campaign for a while, a ghaoil!”
She nodded. “That’s OK. It’s not as if I won’t have enough to do, behind the lines, and essential work. It’s just…seeing what will come of things.”
They linked hands and walked up the trail. The Lake vanished behind them in a score of yards, and soon the musty-chill and resin smell of the woods was leavened by woodsmoke and cooking odors. It felt as if they were walking…
Back into the world, Rudi thought, and his stomach growled.
“And how the most exalted things give way to the fact that we must eat daily or regret it!” he said quietly.
Mathilda chuckled. “Just as it should be, dear,” she said. “When God’s own Son established the most holy rite of the Faith, He did it with bread and wine at a supper.”
The camp of the emissaries wasn’t anything fancy, but it did have some tents of considerable size. Juniper Mackenzie was the first to see the pair, and hurried towards them. Her pace slowed, and it was stately when she reached them rather than the dash and leap to an embrace he’d half-expected.
“Oh, my son,” she said quietly; there was a glitter as of tears in her voice, and her eyes shone. “Oh, my darling foster girl. What have the Powers done with you?”
Then, as the others came up, she gathered the skirts of her arsaid a little and sank to her knees.
“Hail, Artos, Ard Rí! Hail, Artos, High King in Montival!” she cried, the steady tones of her trained soprano ringing through the camp like a bell. “Hail, Mathilda, Bana-Ard-rí, High Queen in Montival! All hail!”
Rudi stood, waiting, meeting the eyes of the others. They knelt in a ripple and cried the pair hail. He suspected-
No, he thought. I know that there are few in Montival who didn’t feel something, however faint, when Mathilda and I thrust the Sword into the stone. Those with the Inner Sight would have felt a great deal; and these were very close indeed to the Heart.
When a ringing silence fell, he spoke aloud:
“I am High King.”
“I am High Queen,” Mathilda said, matching him.
“The land has accepted us, the ancestors and the Powers,” he said. “Our blood has been bound to the land and the folk, and so it shall remain so long as our line does-unless the sea rise and drown us, or the sky fall and crush us, or the world end.”
“This has been accomplished according to the will of God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, and by the grace of the Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of God and my patron,” Mathilda added.
“Is there any here who denies our right?” Rudi asked, his voice firm but not menacing. “If so, let him speak now or hold his peace hereafter.”
Silence again; Professor Turner met his eyes and nodded once, slowly, before glancing down again. Yes, everyone had felt something. Rudi smiled and gestured with his palms up.
“Then rise, my friends, and let us speak together.” He laughed. “And by all the Powers, let’s eat as well!”
They rose and pressed closer; he hugged his mother to him and whispered in her ear:
“It was a big bit of a shout, eh?”
“Like the ringing of a bell the size of the Moon,” she murmured back.
“And you’re to be a grandmother again.”
She pushed back a little and tweaked his earlobe. “And you think I didn’t know?”
Sandra Arminger was looking a little staggered as Mathilda spoke to her, holding both hands in hers and whispering quickly and softly. Edain pushed forward and thrust something into Rudi’s hand. It was a bun, split length-wise and full of a grilled sausage.
“That’ll hold you, Chief,” he said, giving another to Mathilda.
“Ah, and with men like you at my back, what can’t we do?” Rudi laughed, and took a bite.
He inhaled the cold upland air, full of the scent of the firs, and chewed and swallowed with relish.
“Which is good,” Mathilda said. “Because there’s a lot to get done.”
“A lot for everyone to do,” Rudi said. “Every soul in Montival, to make it the kingdom of all our dreams.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NEAR BEND
CAPITAL, CENTRAL OREGON RANCHERS ASSOCIATION TERRITORY
(FORMERLY CENTRAL OREGON)
HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL
(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)
NOVEMBER 30TH, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD
The Montivalan army-or to be more precise, a detachment of several thousand including Bearkiller lancers and pikemen and crossbowmen, field artillery, CORA refugee horse-archers, and Mackenzie longbowmen-came marching southward to Bend, under the command of Eric Larsson.