"That's your buyers forted up?" Rudi asked.
"Yup. See the flag? A golden bee on dark blue-that's New Deseret."
"There can't be many of them," Rudi said regretfully; if there were, the little attack just now would have cost the Rovers more.
"Nope," Brown agreed. "About as many as we got to start with, no more. Less now."
He looked up at the sun; it was about noon. "I'd say the Rovers hit them at dawn, maybe snuck someone up to cut out their horses first. The Mormons're good enough in a tussle from what I hear, but they're farmers and townsmen mostly, and their ranchers 'n' horse sol diers are all out east fightin' the Prophet. This sure isn't a place for a farmer's fight."
Rudi looked over the little battlefield, and the endless rumpled landscape around them. Brown was right, and he felt uneasily self conscious about it. He'd never come so far east… and he'd never been involved in a fight this size, either.
Ingolf squinted at the Rovers. "So there's the nine of us, twenty-one of your men, Rancher, and maybe fifteen or so in the wagons down there-and they don't know we're here."
"But we've got some heavy horse," Rudi pointed out. "We bought Ingolf the gear for it too"-he nodded to the older man-"and you were already fine with a lance. If we could get in range for a charge, we could spatter them."
Bob Brown shook his head. "Hell, I was in the Mount Angel fight in the war," he said. "I remember how the Protector's knights cut us CORA folk up. It was like try ing to outbutt a mean old bull. But that was in the Wil lamette, where we couldn't run far. You try that here, they'll just run-and then when those big horses of yours are tuckered from a-haulin' all that iron around, they'll shoot you full of arrows."
"Like wolves with an elk." Rudi sighed. "So much for that idea."
"Wait a minute," Ingolf said. "Bob's right if they can run away. But back in the Sioux War, there was a time when…"
He went on, giving the details and then pointing out the features below-the hills, the water, the wagons and ruins, how far a horse could run…
"Oh, now that's a lovely plan, sure!" Rudi said, watching it take shape in his mind's eye.
"Lovely if it works. Four-to-one odds just purely don't leave you much to fall back on if things get fucked," the heir to Seffridge Ranch said dubiously.
"But we'll have to be quick; they're going to get overrun down there before sunset," Rudi said.
"Well, dip me in shit and roast me with nuts if it isn't our only real chance," the rancher's son said ruefully. "Can't just go home and tell Dad, 'Sorry, the Rovers done kilt all our customers.' "
Then his eyes went back to the ruins. "Be tricky timing, though. If it goes south, we're in it up to our asses."
"Never yet been in a fight that didn't have some risks," Ingolf said. "I wouldn't try it if there weren't those hills in back, but that makes it a chance worth taking."
Chapter Fourteen
Southeastern Oregon
May 15, CY23/2021 A.D.
"I hope this is worth it," Odard said, slapping each palm against the vambrace on the opposite fore-arm to make sure it was seated firmly, and then pulling on his mail backed gauntlets.
"You have to help your friends," Mathilda said, as she bloused her long tunic of titanium mail a little around her sword belt. "And your friends' friends. And we need their help getting farther east after Rancher Brown's men turn back, unless we want to try swinging far south and tackling the Colorado Rockies by ourselves."
"Point," the Baron of Gervais said.
Rudi grinned as his head emerged through the neck of his brigandine; he pulled out the bottom of his coif and tossed his head so the lower part of the mail hood would lie on the shoulders.
"And it's a nice day for a fight," he went on. "No clouds, not too hot… Someone give me a hand here?"
Edain did; putting on full lancer's armor was always a bit awkward. Mathilda met Rudi's eyes and gave him a grave nod as she fastened the flap of her coif across her mouth, then lowered the conical helmet with its splayed nasal bar onto her head and buckled the chinstrap. A plume of black-dyed ostrich feathers rose from the peak, traded from hand to hand at incredible cost from the deserts of the southwest where the birds ran free.
"Well, I'm off to do my bit, then, Chief," Edain said. "Wings of the Morrigu shelter you."
"Horned Lord with you," Rudi replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "And may the Wolf fight by your side."
Edain started towards his horse, then turned his head to say, "And thank Him and Her and Father Wolf too that I don't have to use that bloody saddlebow!"
The lancers' horses were ready; they'd armed them before themselves, with chamfrons to cover their heads save for the eyes and nostrils, and peytrals of steel plates mounted on padded leather backing on their chests and necks and shoulders. Epona whickered greeting; the chamfron went clink on the mail that covered Rudi's upper arm as she tried to nuzzle him. Her eyes rolled behind the ridges of steel that protected them as she snorted and stamped a foot eagerly.
She knows what the gear means, just as I do, Rudi thought. But she likes it more than I.
He settled the sallet helm on his head-a low dome of steel that came down to the angle of his jaw save for the open space before his face, and flared out to protect his neck. A smooth curved visor with a narrow vision slit slid up under his hand, shading his eyes like the bill of a cap.
Twin sprays of raven feathers stood in holders at each temple. Thin lines had been graven in the steel, and filled with black niello, in the likeness of more feathers; the visor came down to a slight peak. On this trip he wasn't supposed to advertise who he was, but he could still show what he was.
His thoughts went grimly on:
Epona just doesn't like people, except me; she wants to hurt them, the way they hurt her before we met. We're old souls to each other, I think; we've met in past lives, or in the Summerlands. But I don't enjoy killing men. It's necessary, sometimes, that's all.
He leaned against the saddle for a moment, closed his eyes, and murmured under his breath, "Dread Lord, Father of Victories, Storm rider, Wild Huntsman, aid us now. Dark Goddess, Morrigu of the Crows, Red Hag of Battles, to You I dedicate the harvest of the unplowed field of war, and the blood to be spilled this day on Your earth. Be You both with Your children; and if this is my hour, then know I go most willingly to You."
Sometimes the regard of the Powers could be as warm as a lover's embrace or a summer's wind lying in new mown hay; but most often They came in the Aspect that you called. Now he felt as if a wind were blowing, blowing along his spine and into the spaces of his head, cold and bitter from a place of ice and iron and bones. Then he swung into the saddle and picked up a lance from the seven that leaned against the wagon.
Father Ignatius had the band's Catholics gathered about him for a moment. Rudi could hear their voices following his:
"Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us. Come to the aid of us Christians and make us worthy to fight to the death for our faith and our brothers. Strengthen our souls and our whole bodies, Mighty Lord of Hosts, God of Battles. Through the intercession of the Immaculate Mother of God, and of all the saints, we humbly beg this of You. Deus lo vult! Amen."
Then the monk swung into the saddle and rode over. He smiled and hefted the next of the eleven foot ash wood shafts, looked critically along the length, and gave the nod of a workman satisfied with his tools.
Their eyes met, and Ignatius smiled. "Serious business, Rudi. It's always well to start it with a prayer."
"Right you are, Father," Rudi acknowledged.
The twins and Mathilda seemed to think so too. Odard was cool and detached, making sure his gear was just so.
"This is a damn good plan, Ingolf," the baron said. "If it works, I owe you a bottle of wine." He laughed. "And if it doesn't we'll be too dead to drink, most likely."