Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

Soon enough, a Person came trotting to the camp's perimeter – of Richard's blood again, though again not as large – trotting in exactly Richard's swift lumber, though in armor, a double-edged ax balanced in his right hand.

"Won't state their business, sir."

The officer, a gold chain-link at each armored shoulder, examined them with eyes the color of his ax's blade. "Good Lord," he said – an ancient usage, that once, far south, would have been risky. Then, "Captain, you're a fool."

"Who isn't, Terry Fish-hawk?" Richard smiled. "When the link?"

"More than half a year ago."

"Ruined a good sergeant," Richard said. "You're too smart to be an officer."

"Well," Terry Fish-hawk said, "- that might be true." And to the sentry, "Corporal, the Shrikes brought these people in at the General's command. Pass them, but slate the number, and note that it's a daylight pass."

He sketched a one-finger salute to Richard, said, "Captain, I'd stay clear of Infantry Street; people there still mind your running." Then he glanced again at the others, turned and trotted away.

The Corporal surveyed them again, said, "Five," and waved them on their way.

"Formidable," Patience said, as they walked into the ordered turmoil of the camp.

"Terry?" Richard smiled. "These are all formidable. Good soldiers. Better… much better than Boston deserves."

"And you miss them," Baj said, "- miss the Guard."

"Of course I miss them." Richard shook his head. "Wouldn't one of your First-father's officers have missed his squadron of Kipchak horsemen? One of your Second-father's commanders miss the regiments of the Army-United?"

"Hear men's nonsense," Nancy said – and though Errol, apparently uneasy being back in a camp, was staying close – she took the boy's arm to hold him closer. "Persons or otherwise," she gave Baj a look "- they lose their wits when trumpets blow, like children at a parade."

"Sadly true," Patience said, "though sometimes very useful."

Then they were among rows of rising shelters. Oil-blackened leather lean-tos – weather-breaks rather than closed tenting – were being pegged with stands of arms spaced along: long-shaft pikes, short spears, shield and swords, and axes… There were the shouts, the apparent confusion, the colors and equipment and various odors nearly the same as in any marching camp of the Army-United that Baj had visited – but not quite. The trotting columns of moose sweated ranker than horses. The Persons did not smell quite like men. Their voices were more various.

"Do you know?" Patience said, hesitating a step to scrape moose dung from her moccasin-boot, "I've never visited the Guard. Had no idea they were… so busy, bustling about."

"Soldiers," Nancy said "- are always bustling, or asleep."

As they walked through the camp rising around them, hundreds of soldiers were swarming to Under-officers' loud commands – rough book-English being used in odd tones and accents.

A file of Persons lumbered past – many of these big as Richard, and looking very much like him, though fur-tufts varied to black, grizzled, or (for the largest) white. Each of these soldiers wore back-and-breast steel armor, and all, that Baj could see, carried the big double-bitted ax… Two wore the same little silver crescent moon, necklaced, as Nancy, Richard, and Errol.

Only one of the file, a huge white-furred Person, had turned his head to stare at them as he passed. It was an unfriendly, carniverous look from small pitch-black eyes in a massive wedge-shaped head, its humanity precarious.

"Never trust a White, Baj," Nancy said, noticing. "Those have a mind beneath their mind, that changes when they're hungry."

"My mind," Richard held up to let another formation by, "- is changing with hunger right now. That passing Ice-oaf, by the way, was Albert-One. His brother, Albert-Two, is also in the Guard, and was in my company. Neither of them worth much, always complaining… Nancy, hold Errol with us."

"No need. He's afraid someone will take and fuck him," Nancy said. "And I know these companies." A buzzing snarl in her voice, deeper lisping. "- They care only for their nasty dicks, whatever their blood may be."

Baj reached to her, but she pulled away. He reached again and gripped her narrow hand until she settled, so they walked like children hand-in-hand among the soldiers.

They passed riders – Persons of the same breed as those four near-Sunrisers who had ridden with Sylvia Wolf-General. Cavalry, in high boots, hide trousers, and hide jackets with chain-mail over, they wore long fur cloaks, and were armed with heavy straight sabers slung at their belts. Their Under-officer, at the head of the troop, had lost an eye to the same slash that trenched his forehead.

Jingling by, only two of the cavalrymen had spared Richard and the others a glance.

"… We'll camp on the Lines with those boys," Richard said. "They'll bear me no infantry grudges." And he turned to follow them.

Stepping aside as a four-team of moose came hauling a loaded wagon by, Baj noticed several soldiers of what seemed the third most common bloodline of Boston's Guard. The bear-bloods, near-Sunrisers, and these…

A group of them were standing beside a folded stack of shelters dumped there for distribution. They were talking, laughing, with three women – also Persons, but much smaller, wearing red boots, caribou vests, and striped pantaloons decorated with bits of metal and reflecting mirror. These Person women – one richly furred a cloudy gray, her face (great-eyed, soft-muzzled) apparently reflecting some part lynx – wore their vests loosely open, to reveal naked armpits, and hints of breasts.

The soldiers, six… seven of them, were less finished versions of the Wolf-General's savage perfection, but still weighted with wolf blood – though one was slighter, possibly from a portion of coyote, and apparently was the jokester… The seven, their laughter white with fangs, red with tongues and gullets, were armored with bronze cuirasses, and cloaked and trousered in thick-woven wool, striped red, yellow, and black… Each of them bore a round hide shield slung at their backs, belted a scabbarded short-sword, and leaned on a leaf-bladed spear.

"Those," Nancy said to Baj, and nodded at the women, "- are what I was, before I stuck a knife in Jesse-Thrush, and ran, because he was cruel, and tried to fuck me wrong and hurt me. That was from Service to Company D, then under Sylvia's command, so I committed Breach-of-contract… A very serious thing."

Baj stopped walking, and took her arm to hold her still, Errol beside her. "Then thank every Jesus," he said, "for Jesse-Thrush, who began your travels to me, my dear one."

Nancy said nothing then, but golden eyes said much.

"Baj," Richard called back, "- keep up, and don't be noticing those you don't want to notice you."

As he and Nancy walked on – Errol clinging close – Baj tried to estimate numbers. "How many soldiers are here?"

"Two thousand," Nancy said. "Twenty companies."

"Supposed to be," Richard said over his shoulder, "- but never are. There's no such thing, never has been such a thing as a full-roster on campaign."

"Yes," Baj said. "I understood that was so of the Army-United."

"Ah…" Churning after the cavalrymen through tundra becoming mud, Richard lifted his head, sniffing. "Moose-feed and moose-shit, the troopers are leading us home."

To the right, where the camp streets seemed to cross, Baj saw a great pavilion rising, its leather panels painted gray and gold.

"Hers," Nancy said, "- and her relatives'."

"Cousins, brothers, and an aunt," Richard said, turning and walking backward for a moment to talk. "All officers, all good officers – and none of them, particularly the aunt, wise to cross."