And he knew what Red Leaf saw, what the Sioux chief was for instants that rang by like lifetimes:
A tall rangy man in buckskins with a flintlock in the crook of his arm, striding westward through a forest whose trees were like cathedral pillars.
A man raven-haired and high-cheeked, a hunter gliding beneath black pines on skis whose toes kicked up powder that glittered like diamonds.
A man blond and cold-eyed, dressed in mail sark and boar-crested helm, who leapt from the bow of a war-boat grounded by a burning village with a sword in his hand and a grin like a hunting wolf.
A man naked but for patterns in blue woad, his lime-dyed hair wild around his face as he ran out along the pole of the chariot between the galloping horses, shaking his spear and screaming defiance at the advancing legion beneath its eagle standard. .
More, for both of them. Men plowing and planting and building, hunting and herding, fighting and falling, men looking on a woman’s face with sudden astonished wonder, men leading children out beneath the night sky to name the stars for them, dancing joy-drunk in worship of their Gods or weeping in despair, singing as they brought in their harvest or starving in years of black disaster, men laughing, sobbing, dying. Back, back, until two who had the look of close kin stood dressed in hooded leather parkas and leggings by the shores of a lake that one day others would name Baikal. They embraced and spoke, and the words of a tongue long dead when the pyramids rose echoed down twice ten millennia:
“All the kindly spirits go with you, my brother.”
“All the kindly spirits stay with you, my brother.”
One man stood and watched with the tears trickling down his bearded face as the other turned to lead the sundered half of their clan eastward towards the rising sun-
Artos’ eyes blinked, and it had all passed in an instant. His voice was steady as he spoke:
“Whapa Sa, Red Leaf of the Oglalla and the Lakota nation, in whose name do you speak?”
The Sioux had only a few seconds more to collect himself; Artos nodded very slightly in respect for his wit and strength of will as he mastered his confusion at the sudden vision:
“I am Red Leaf of the Kiyuska tiyospaye of the Oglalla and the Lakota tunwan, and I speak for the Seven Council Fires of my people by their free consent.”
“What oath do the Seven Council Fires swear to me? And what shall I swear to them?”
“The Seven Council Fires offer their allegiance to the High King of Montival, their aid and advice in peace and the service of their riders in war. In return they ask good lordship and fair justice as with his other subjects, that they may hold their lands forever untroubled by any enemies and live by their own law and custom, under the protection of the High King’s Sword. So long as he keeps faith with us, and his heirs after him, we will keep faith with him and them; this we swear by the spirits of our ancestors, by the Earth beneath us and the Sky above, and all the Wakha? Tha?ka and by our own honor.”
Artos’ rich baritone filled the pavilion:
“And this oath do I hear, and swear in turn: I, Artos, son of Michael, son of Juniper; son of Bear, son of Raven, and High King in Montival. I swear that while they keep faith with me, in my realm the people of the Seven Council Fires shall hold their lands freely forever, and their own laws and Gods. None shall trouble them, or settle within their boundaries without their leave which they may give or withhold by sovereign right according to their own custom. This right I shall defend with all my strength against all men, failing not while I live; and also to them I shall give good lordship and fair justice as my subjects, respecting all right and law. I swear this oath by all spirits of Earth and Sky, of Water and Fire; by the Lord and Lady and by the Sword that They have given me, forged in the World beyond the world. May they and the Sword witness it. To this oath I bind my successors in the line of my blood forever, until the sky fall and crush us, or the sea rise and drown us, or the world end. So mote it be.”
A flash seemed to run through his flesh, and he was conscious for an instant of every vein in his body, every nerve, until it seemed he could see the very coiled matrix at the heart of each cell. Then it passed, and Red Leaf rose and put a hand on his shoulder. He returned the gesture, and the Sioux spoke quietly:
“You realize you’re going to have to spend six months touring around the makol repeating that with bells, whistles, chanunpa pipes and sweetgrass as soon as this war’s over, don’t you, kilt-boy. . I mean, Your Majesty.”
“That I will, and enjoy most of it. But let’s win the war first; time’s a-wastin’.”
He drew the Sword from the planks and sheathed it, conscious of a collective exhalation of breath from everyone within sight. This time he sat in the chair at the head of the table, adjusting his plaid as he did.
“Most of you gentlemen and ladies know the capabilities of the Sioux. Who have just, as you saw, joined themselves to the High Kingdom of Montival. Whose eastern border you now know, Bossman Rassmusen.”
The lord of Fargo looked as if he’d bitten into a very green apple. “We never accepted that border as final after-”
Artos held up a hand palm out to keep Red Leaf and his son from interrupting, which they were obviously boiling ready to do:
“You signed a treaty with the Seven Council Fires. . which now means with me. . and the border was about what it had been before the fighting started, was it not? I will see to it that the Lakota don’t trouble you, and the border will be open for trade. Do you have any objection to that?”
The man looked as if he most assuredly did, but he shook his head. Artos went on:
“Now, I won’t presume to comment on the military strategy of the campaign here, beyond the most general terms; you shall advance west, my forces-”
About which I know absolutely bugger-all, but let’s not become bogged down in details, for all love.
“-move to the east and we crush the enemy between us. Sure, and it would be foolish to try for more; under modern conditions the distances are just too large for close coordination. I shall lead in the west, the great Provisional Republic shall lead here in the east.”
He inclined his head towards Kate Heasleroad, and she returned the gesture with regal calm; Abel Heuisink was fighting down a grin.
“One point I do wish to make. The territories controlled by our enemies are part of the High Kingdom of Montival, and even if they don’t know it the dwellers are my subjects, albeit some are in arms against me. This war is against the Cutter cult, and the regime of Martin Thurston. It is not. . and I would like to repeat that, not. . against the lands or peoples they hold in subjection. I know that wars kill people and break things, nor can a great and numerous host act like so many pilgrims to a holy shrine. War means fighting, and fighting means killing and destruction. But I will have pledges that there will be no unpunished killings of civilians, or arson or rape; that in short there will be no wanton destruction or plunder beyond military necessity. These are my people.”
Abel Heuisink spoke: “I might add that Iowa fully agrees with our ally on that point. We want to beat armies, overthrow the men who’ve threatened us, and go home, not get locked up fighting peoples.”
“We are avenging my husband, the father of my son, and securing all our lands and peoples against an enemy who have shown themselves to be utterly unscrupulous and insatiable,” Kate Heasleroad added. “Iowa has no territorial ambitions in this conflict.”