Along one enclosure paced a great black mare, looking like another species amid the rough coated ranch quarter horses. Epona whinnied indignantly when Rudi rode by with only a wave-John Brown, Rancher of Sef fridge, was an old friend of the family, but he might get a bit huffy if Juniper's son stopped to greet his horse first. There were other western horses there as well, Epona's two daughters, and a clutch of sixteen-hand warmblood destriers that dwarfed the smaller range breed and out weighed them by a third or more. He didn't recognize them, though the four dappled Arabs his twin half sisters rode for serious business were familiar.
Rancher Brown stood to meet them on the veranda that wrapped around the old stone ranch house, a leathery man in his sixties with thinning white hair and skin wrinkled like a relief map but still erect and strong.
"You fellas get on back to the herd," he called to Cody and Hank. "Tell Smitty I know these folks and was ex pectin' 'em. And don't any of you go flappin' your lips about it."
Then he beamed at Rudi and came forward to shake his hand after he dismounted.
"Not that it'll matter, seein' as Smitty and his crew aren't coming back down for quite some while. You're looking all growed up, boy," he said.
"This is Edain Aylward Mackenzie and Ingolf Vogeler, friends of mine," Rudi said. "And you're looking the same as ever, Uncle John."
He'd been sixteen the last time the rancher came west of the mountains on CORA's affairs, but Brown and Juniper Mackenzie had done business from the first Change Year, and they'd fought the Protector together even before the War of the Eye.
"And you're a liar," the older man said with a wry smile. "Mirrors still work, boy. Come on in, all of you. All your other friends are here."
All two of them? Rudi thought, a little puzzled. And they're my sisters… well, half sisters… what are the twins up to now?
The big living room held leather-upholstered furni ture, racked weapons on the walls and a bearskin rug and more sheepskins on the floor; there was a mounted cougar head over the wide stone hearth. The twins were there, grinning their sly little fooled you, ha ha grins, but they weren't alone by a long shot. Mathilda and Odard had the grace to keep their faces straight. A thin inconspicuous man he recognized as some sort of hanger-on to Odard was there too, and a warrior-monk from Mount Angel, a dark close-coupled man with swordsman's wrists.
Yes, he was there that night… his name's Ignatius. That's nine, he thought, his mouth thinning with anger. Well, now I know where the destriers came from.
He looked at his half sisters. They saw his face and did a creditable imitation of what he thought of as their aunt Astrid's elf-lord-with-a-pickle-up-the-ass expression of hauteur.
"Let me guess," he said heavily. "You didn't have to tell her "-he looked at Mathilda-"so you could get her in on it without technically breaking your promise. And Matti, you heard something from your mother, so you could tell them"-he nodded to Odard and his servant-"what you'd heard from her."
Mathilda smiled and mimed clapping. "And nine is traditional."
The twins nodded seriously at that.
Father Ignatius spoke before Rudi could ask: "The abbot guessed," he said succinctly.
Mathilda went on: "It will give you a better chance, Rudi. And this is important. The Prophet thinks so…"
Ritva and Mary nodded vigorously. "We ran into a CUT preacher in Bend, and he started a riot we got sucked into. Not a nice bunch."
Mathilda gave them a quelling glance and continued: "… and so does your mother. I don't know about the Prophet, but I've always taken Lady Juniper's ideas seriously."
He nodded, touched despite his irritation. And nine… that many aren't really more conspicuous than five, but another four good sword arms might make the difference in a tight spot. It's luck and the whim of the Trickster either way. Judgment call.
There wasn't much sense in pitching a fit; he had no way of stopping Mathilda from following him except to turn back himself.
Of course, when and if we get back… Oh, sweet Mother-of-All, what if I come back and she doesn't?
"You realize your mother will kill me?" Rudi wasn't quite sure whether he was serious or not. "If something happens to you, she'll kill me slowly."
I like Sandra, but…
She'd saved his life when he was her husband's pris oner as a child during the War of the Eye-saved it several times, in fact. And she'd always been kind to him when he was visiting afterwards, and he'd learned a good deal from her. The problem was… he wasn't a kid anymore. With Sandra, you never knew. Was she capable of acting nice for twelve years as an act of calculation, just to get on your good side?
Oh, yeah. She's capable of it, no doubt about it. But would she be after doing it the now?
Sandra's daughter looked a little daunted, and then brightened-probably thinking that it would be the bet ter part of a year before she saw her mother again, or more.
"That's the least of your worries," Mathilda pointed out. "For now, at least. Mom's back in Portland or Castle Todenangst." A grin, half-ironic. "And even the Spider's reach has limits."
Of a sudden, Rudi threw back his head and laughed. It would be a year, and he was still young enough for twelve months to seem like a long time.
"Well, when you're right, you're right," he said; her smile warmed him. "And Matti-I'd have done exactly the same thing in your place."
He turned and introduced the others. Odard had seen Ingolf before, and met Edain once or twice, and was smooth as ever, but when he and Vogeler shook, their forearms clenched a little as each took a squeeze. Rudi hid his smile at that-two strong men taking each other's measure, a bit like two strange dogs bristling and stalking around stiff-legged and then sniffing each oth er's behinds. The more so as Ingolf was a tried fighting man, and Odard just enough younger to be extra touchy about the fact that he wasn't.
"Pleased to meet you again, Sheriff Vogeler," Odard said when they'd finished.
He worked his right hand a little. That was a mark of a certain respect, and so was the form of address; Association nobles didn't always admit that the titles of eastern sheriffs were comparable to their own… and Odard was technically a baron now himself, while Ingolf was a younger son and landless wanderer.
"Pleased to meet you again, Baron Gervais," Ingolf said, impeccably polite.
He didn't flex his hand. That might mean he'd won the little unspoken exchange-he was bigger and heavier boned, after all-or it just might mean that he had six years more experience and was better at hiding things. Or both; probably both.
Behind them, Rudi saw the three young women exchange a glance and roll their eyes skyward ever so slightly. He knew exactly what they were thinking: Men. That made him cock an ironic eyebrow at them.
Girls have their own way of playing who's-the-boss; if we do it like dogs, they're more like cats, he thought. It's sneakier, usually, but it's the same game, sure. And they can play our way if they want.
He shivered slightly, inwardly, at a memory. Tiphaine d'Ath had told him once that she even had an advantage at it; she skipped the preliminary strutting and chest beating flourishes men expected and just killed whoever she thought was a threat. Of course, that had its draw backs too; it made her hated almost as much as she was feared. Let the fear weaken, and the hate would become active.
There was a reason for the rituals; they let men settle their positions without fighting to the death every single time.
Rancher Brown had caught the byplay between the two younger men too, and snorted softly; with him it was probably that he had nearly seven decades of perspective, and was an old alpha dog who was sensible enough to let the sixty well armed youngsters who followed his banner do his growling and sniffing for him.
"Come on in."
The breakfast table was still set in the dining room, though it looked as if half a dozen people had already eaten. Mrs. Brown was there, a quiet middle aged blond woman a fair bit younger than the rancher-his first wife had died not long after the Change when some medicine she needed to live ran out. The current Mrs. Brown's children were there, down at the end of the table, two girls of eight and ten and a boy a couple of years younger than Edain.