Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"I trust," Baj said, and was startled to hear what he was saying, "- I trust that we, in turn, will not be disappointed by your command."

He could not remember in his life before, such a silence as fell then. It was a quiet absolute, so even the camp noises seemed muffled around them, while they all stood in a lamp-lit and soundless well.

"… Forgive him," Patience said. "He's young."

The Wolf-General turned to her. "When I require your instruction, Nearly-Lodge," the rip-saw voice, "- I'll ask for it."

Silence again.

The Wolf-General stared at Baj, and licked her chops absently, apparently considering. Her eyes were remarkable, as if a tragic and beautiful woman looked out from that dreadful mask. "You," she said, "- have spoken up, I suppose, as your great fathers would have done. Meaning as well, fuck me if I didn't care for it." She smiled, or seemed to."… We will see if you're wise enough never to do so again."

Baj bowed, and kept his mouth shut.

"… We have fodder, food, and supplies," the General said, "- for eight WT weeks, and of course, will not be in the south to requisition additional. Still, sufficient for our purpose, for that… attack, that distraction that will cost so many of my soldiers' lives."

"Worth it," Patience said.

"Yes, to break Boston's grip at last." Sylvia Wolf-General lowered her fur-crested head. "Break it… then mourn the necessary deaths of the mothers."

"There is," a younger relative, apparently part-sired by a quite handsome wolf, "- there is some discontent in the ranks at that."

"I know." The General shoved her maps aside. "… Let three things be understood by the soldiers – the sergeants to see to it. First, we all bitterly regret this necessity, which will cost many of us those they love, and who gave them birth. Second, it is being done to save all future Persons' mothers – and tribesmens' daughters – the same suffering. And third, any grumbler continuing after today, will be tied to a mess table where camp-streets cross, and his liver taken."

"I'll see that word is heard." The handsome officer – fur tufts, fur-crest granite gray – bowed, and leaving the tent, said, "Nancy," and smiled at her as he went.

"The other companies," the Wolf-General said, "- are too few – and by now too far south and east to trouble us. The nearest force is under Philip-Robin, and would be no trouble in any case."

Her officers smiled.

"- What could Town Council have been thinking in that promotion?" She shook her head.

"Perhaps," her aunt said, and smiled, revealing yellowed fangs, the left broken at the tip, "- perhaps they consider one good general enough."

Sylvia laughed, a woman's laugh with no wolf in it. "More than enough." She studied Baj and the others. "… And when Persons and a Sunriser take responsibility for action in my presence, I consider that an oath of service. Do you understand?"

There was a small silence, and she picked up a slate, scribbled on it with her thumbnail, and handed it to an officer. "Louis, see this done. I want every mount sound, or slaughtered. If a moose founders going north, the colonel and his officers will carry that load – the trooper or supplies – on their backs."

"Ma'am." The officer left the pavilion.

The general looked across her table. "Well…?"

"For this campaign," Richard said, "- yes, my contract oath."

"I also swear to it," Patience said.

"Yes." Nancy nodded. "I swear."

"And so for me," Baj said,"… if the General does the same."

Another run of woman's laughter, the dangerous head thrown back to reveal a sinewy throat, lightly furred in white. "… Perhaps you are your fathers' son. And certainly fortunate I'm in such a good mood. I think rebellion suits me."

"Suits you very well, Sylvia," her aunt said, "- and earned you many beatings at my hands."

"Don't remind me," the Wolf-General said. Then, to Baj and the others, "As you swore campaign-loyalty to me and my companies, so I swear mine and theirs to you. And will forsake you, in or after battle, living or dead – never… Also, each of you is assigned a private soldier's credit against pay," she smiled, "- pay to be issued when, and if, the paymaster's wagon is encountered… Now, get out."

"… This is something," the Sentry-officer said, as they came from the pavilion, "- that needs its head taken off." He shook a bruised Errol severely to make his point. "He tried to draw a knife on my men."

"Well done," Nancy said, "- for nine soldiers to bully a brainsick boy."

"Get the fuck off my post," the officer said, and shoved Errol into them.

"His knives," Nancy said.

"Henry," the officer said, "give these… people… their weapons. And the knives."

"The General," Patience said, as they walked down-camp to Cavalry Street, "- appears to fulfill her reputation."

"She is the best Boston has had commanding the Guard," Richard said, "- since Peter Fish-hawk. He conquered almost all the Coast of the Ocean Atlantic."

"More than a hundred years ago," Patience said. "And didn't he go mad?"

"He was mad to start with." Richard led to the right along Cavalry, toward the Lines. "Wolverine blood – even the usual eighth, and its tiny bits persuaded just so – is an uncertain portion to have."

"The standard-bearer," Baj said, "- the sergeant at the pavilion?"

"… Badger."

They were passing a number of soldiers lounging at what seemed to Baj a sort of makeshift tavern – the usual leather lean-to, though larger than most, with a long counter of planks resting on six barley barrels. The Persons were drinking from leather jacks. Off-duty, none were armed or armored.

"Beer…?" Baj said.

"… Yes. The sutler's is a notion." Richard turned on his heel, started across the camp street..

"Absolutely not," Patience said. "Richard…"

"Don't go." Nancy tugged at Baj's sleeve, held Errol's hand with the other. "It will only cause trouble." *

"If we're her sworn soldiers, sweetheart – at least for a time – then we'll take soldiers' pleasures, and cause no trouble doing it."

"Well," Patience said, "this is stupidity."

But the Person troopers, though they stared, shifted aside to give them room. And a certainly Sunriser-human – small, withered elderly, and bundled in stained sheepskin against the wind – hobble-stepped up behind the plank counter, apparently lame.

"And for a Boston lady," addressing Patience in a booze-worn voice, "- and memories of old times, I regret to have only barley beer and blueberry pie."

"Do I know you?"

"You knew me once. My colonel had me keep you back with the cooks when the Kipchaks came to Map-Arkansas."

"Nearest Jesus," Patience said. "You're Sergeant -"

"Givens, Lady. Jack Givens. An' General Butler's staff-officer said, 'Keep that little bitch away from the General.' Which I did try, but you'd fly away like a fuckin' bird, and what was I supposed to do, snow drifted up to our assholes?"

The guardsmen, down the plank at either side, were interested.

"It's a pleasure, Sergeant Givens," Patience reached over the plank counter to shake the old man's hand, "- to meet you again. Though I'm surprised you knew me after so many years."

"I'd know them black eyes anywhere," the Sergeant said. "Thought at first you were that girl's mother – then said to myself, 'Don't be an ass, Jack; it's Patience Nearly-Lodge, the creature herself!"

"And so I am," Patience laughed, "- the creature herself."

"Those were days…" The old man stepped to dipper into a barrel – staggered a little, so Baj saw he'd already been drinking beer or better – filled a jack, and passed it over the planking. "Beer for you, darlin' – an' I brew it, an' it's good! Bake the fuckin' pies, too. Here," he filled and handed jacks over to Richard, Baj, and Nancy."- The kid?"