Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

Finished by stropping on moose-hide leathers, then touched with tallow against the damp, Richard's worked edges were keen past testing. Touched even lightly, they cut.

"And still," he would say, handing over this or that murderous instrument, "- still sharpened at a sensible angle, so no wire-edge, no becoming delicate on armor."

Richard was bent to this chore – Baj and Patience playing pickup sticks by firelight – when there was the faintest cry out of fallen darkness, from John trench.

It was barely a sound… only the trace of one – but Richard was up with his ax in his hands. Other soldiers near the Lines were standing listening – some sergeant already shouting an order – when Baj said, "Nancy," picked his sheathed rapier up from Richard's blanket, and went running.

He jumped fire-shadowed shelter tie-downs as he went out from camp row toward John trench, and heard soldiers coming behind him. The Wall – immense, though still many miles away – gleamed before him under a rising moon.

… The cry again – with strangled fury in it.

Running hard – feeling oddly light, as if he could float along – Baj reached the latrine trench, turned down along it, and saw a Person bent and struggling, his broad back touched by moonlight.

Nancy yelled again.

Baj saw her held beneath, kicking, biting. The Person on her turned a broad head, a blunt-muzzled face to Baj as he came. Nancy's shirt was torn away, her small breasts showing.

Baj gripped his rapier's hilt to draw as the soldier stood with a quick hunch and heave to face him – when a breeze and flutter swept above. "Baj, don't draw! " Patience swung down through the air beside them. "Death, to draw steel in camp!"

The Guardsman smiled, teeth glinting in moonlight, huge hands held up and empty. There was blood on the side of his furred face, where he'd been bitten.

The Master's voice sounded in Baj's ear, clear as if reality. "Never. Never lose your temper in a fight."

Baj swung the sheathed rapier back – and whipped its limber length whistling across the soldier's face. It struck with a stock-lash's heavy crack, and wiped the smile away.

Baj spun in reverse, brought the blade around, and caught the soldier not quite guarded on that side, so the scabbarded steel struck him across the side of the head, across a small fur-tipped ear.

Either blow would have sent even the strongest human staggering, would have knocked a weaker man down, but the Guardsman still stood, his face now a fanged mask of rage. He came with one swift heavy step – and a Wolf-soldier in half-armor, brass Provost-chain gleaming across the steel breast, stood between them.

"Continue," the officer said, his grating voice harsh as his general's, "- and die."

"I went to piss," Nancy, bruised, spitting like an angry grain-store cat before their fire, "- and he came and took hold of me. He saw I didn't have my sword!"

"Who is that thing?" Baj said, sitting with his arm around her.

Richard sighed. "That 'thing' is a sergeant. The general's banner-bearer."

"Yes," Baj said, "it was that one. The Badger-blood. Always staring at her…"

"If you'd drawn on him, Baj," Patience shook her head, "they would have executed you."

"And for attempting a rape?" Baj started to stand, but Nancy tugged him back beside her. "What does the Guard do for that?"

"For a rape – out of camp and after fighting – no penalty," Richard said. "Otherwise, a beating with harness leathers, fifty strokes. Sylvia decides if with the metal buckles, or without."

"They will not beat George Brock-Robin," Nancy struck the turf with a small fist. "That fucked-his-mother will say I was a camp whore and am a camp whore, and felt and tempted him – then changed my price unfairly."

"And they will let that go…?"

"His word against hers, Baj." Richard shook his head. "He's a shit – but a good soldier, fighting."

"Sad, then, that he'll be missed," Baj said. "Now, tell me how I can bring him to my blade."

"You can't."

"And you shouldn't," Patience, sitting cross-legged by the fire, shook her head. "Nancy was frightened -"

"I was not."

"- but not hurt. And we are with these companies on a razor's edge."

"All the more reason," Baj said, "to see they respect us."

"And your fathers," Patience said, "would have agreed. But they had armies at their back."

"And therefore – since we do not have tumans, do not have regiments of the Army-United behind us, the more reason to earn their respect."

"Baj… Baj." Patience shook her head. "Whether true or false, that is not the deeper truth of the matter, is it?"

"It is a truth," Baj said, "- but the truth you look for is that I will not have Nancy abused. I'll kill whoever does it."

"Baj… don't."

"Sweetheart, this is already decided."

"It is not."

Errol, observing upset, began tongue-clicking. "Baj," Richard said, "it's easy to talk of killing, and honor to you to intend it. But the doing would be… difficult. George-Brock is a serious soldier, or he would not be bearing the Wolf-General's banner."

"Bigger than you, Baj," Patience said, "stronger, and swift… and has killed, no doubt, many many times."

"I said he'd be missed. Unfortunately, he didn't keep his paws to himself."

"He won't fight you," Richard said. "It would have to be a decided duel – and over-the-ditch from camp. He won't fight you; he'll laugh."

"Will he laugh if I call him a liar?"

"Yes, he will. Everyone knows he's a liar."

"A coward?"

"Baj – everyone knows he's not a coward."

"Then I'll have to think of something that won't make him laugh."

"Oh, this is just so unwise." Patience leaned to touch his cheek. "Baj… Prince… please let this go. Will you allow your pride to damage us all – damage the cause and reason we came here?"

"I think I've learned something of soldiers, now," Baj said, "though I've never been one. I'll let this pass, if Richard can say to me that two things are not so. – First, that justice requires the Banner-bearer to answer to Nancy, and to me. Second, that this camp – including the General and her officers – is waiting, curious to see what we do in answer. And in waiting, are judging whether we are serious in all our intentions."

"Richard," Nancy said, "tell him no,"

"…I can't," Richard said.

Patience stood, angry. "So unwise!"

"Unwise, perhaps," Baj said, "as any sensible woman would likely say. But necessary, as any man would feel in his bones."

"Listen, foolish… foolish boy," Patience tapped her scimitar's hilt. "I can fight two-handed, now, and could cut you crippled, prevent your stupid fight. Better you're crippled than dead."

"Listen to her!"

"Nancy, I would fight you all to be free to deal with George Brock-Robin." He smiled. "Though I'd undoubtedly be somewhat whittled, come time to duel him."

"He'll likely kill you," Richard said. "You know that?"

"He'll have an excellent chance, no question. Certainly frightens me."

"He'll kill you," Nancy said. "Please please please…"

"No, sweetheart…" Baj tried to kiss her and was pushed away.

"Listen to her," Patience said. "You think she'll respect the memory of a fool?"

"No," Baj said, "listen to me. I'm not a fool, and while I've had no soldier's experience of battle as that Person has, I have considerable experience of duels… And I doubt if he's used to that lonely fighting, with no comrades by him, right and left."

"Bigger," Richard said. "Stronger, and fast."

"Well," Baj smiled, "of course, luck will have to come into it." He got up, walked away into the camp, and didn't turn when they called to him.