John Dalmas - The Lion of Farside

"Later on she said to me, 'You read my message from the Dynast, didn't you?' and I admitted it of course." He looked meaningfully at Macurdy. "I asked Liiset once who she thought would eventually replace Sarkia, and she said that was one thing Sarkia never talked about. So. What caused her to think about it now?" Wollerda paused as if to stress what he said next. "Then, after her last weekly message, Liiset reminded me of that. And said, 'The Dynast has gone into seclusion. She's at the Cloister, but staying in her suite.' " He shrugged. "Looks as if time has finally caught up with her."

Macurdy nodded thoughtfully. "Who did Liiset recommend, do you know?"

Wollerda shook his head. "I'll ask her at supper. She might even tell us."

At supper, Macurdy got a pretty good idea how Wollerda had gained weight; this wasn't the simple fare he'd eaten as a commander of rebels. When they'd finished, a light wine was served. Macurdy drank buttermilk, instead, and they talked of his plans to farm. He had in mind to try certain Indiana practices in Teklan conditions.

"I had the idea you wanted to be ambassador to the empire," Wollerda said.

Macurdy looked at his wife. "I doubt that Melody would like living in a city, especially where people might be hostile to us. She might run someone through before it was over."

"Well, if you're set on farming, I've got a farm for you. Actually a choice of two large estates. Their ex-owners were guilty of major tax frauds."

"What will the locals think of that? The neighbors around there?"

"They'll cheer. They're smallholders, and both the men I've thrown in prison were old favorites of Gurtho, arrogant and overbearing." He cocked an eyebrow. "Actually I had another job I'd hoped you'd take, if you turned down the ambassadorship. And to tell the truth, I can't imagine you being satisfied as a farmer very long, after what you've been doing."

Macurdy shook his head, laughing. "You don't know me as well as you think. I'm a farmer born and bred." He paused. "What did you have in mind?"

"Minister of Revenue. It needs a strong man, the income is more reliable than farming, and you'd have a lot of influence."

Macurdy shook his head vigorously. "No way in hell would I take that job. You might consider Tarlok though; he could do it, do it right. And Kithro's worth considering as ambassador."

"Hmm. You know, that's a good idea. Both of them are. I'll take it up with them."

"Just don't tell Tarlok I recommended him."

Wollerda grunted. "Anyone who'd want the job, I'd rather not give it to. In running a kingdom, money's a problem, but if you don't tax honestly, the whole thing turns sour."

Macurdy sipped his buttermilk, saying nothing. He was thinking about the new furniture and wall hangings in the palace, all expensive.

Wollerda's next words popped Macurdy out of his reverie. "Liiset," he said, "who did you recommend to the Dynast as dynast-designate? And who did you recommend against? Can you tell us?"

Liiset looked at him calmly. "Of the four I recommended, only two are anyone you know of. My first recommendation was Varia, if we could somehow get her back. When we were young, she was trained for the executive staff. But that's out, since she's married Cyncaidh. And my second-" She turned to their guests. "My second was Curtis Macurdy." They gawped, Macurdy especially. "You're of Sisterhood lineage," she pointed out, "and I see no reason that the Dynast has to be a woman, though who knows how Sarkia might look at it. As for recommending against someone-I'll keep that to myself. It's not someone I dislike; simply someone whose appointment would be unfortunate, a source of abrasion and conflict."

Liiset's report introverted them, killing the conversation. After a few minutes, Wollerda excused them.

Before they went to sleep, Melody lay gazing at the ceiling. "Macurdy," she said, "I'm glad you refused to be the tax collector."

He grunted. "It's a lousy job. A lot of people are going to resent whoever does it, even if he's honest. To do a good job of it, you've got to push, even throw people in jail. If I had to do that, I'd get mad every time I saw money wasted, and any government invented by man is going to waste money. Even if it's only poor judgement."

Melody nodded. "I grew up thinking there were only three honorable professions: soldier, farmer, and shaman. And I'd rather have you be a farmer. Farmers are home at night." She turned on her side, fondled him, felt him swell. "Soldiers are likelier to get killed, too." She raised up on an elbow, kissed him and threw a leg across his. "And I want us to be together a long long time."

They moved to one of the farms, into a house with eight rooms plus kitchen, pantry, cellar, and servants' wing. The field hands had kept the crops in decent tilth, and Macurdy had no difficulties with any of them. Summer faded into fall, and Melody learned about morning sickness. The corn was harvested, the potatoes dug, and fall plowing gotten under way. Farming wasn't as satisfying as he remembered it, but Macurdy told himself that would change when the crops were crops he'd planted himself. And when he learned where to get alfalfa seed, and peanuts, and other things he wanted to try.

One noon, he came up from the fields to find a large and familiar black bird perched on the roof, looking coldly at the cats, all of them interested but tentative. No doubt partly because of his size, but also because he was scolding them in a perfectly human voice.

"Blue Wing!" Macurdy shouted joyously. "It's great to see you!"

"Really! How great could that possibly be, when you keep creatures like those around?"

"The cats? There's not one who'd tackle you. They're not foolish enough for that."

"As long as I don't fall asleep."

Macurdy ran them off-as barn cats they were wary of him anyway-and Blue Wing glided down to the porch roof.

"Where've you been the past year?" Macurdy asked.

"I helped raise a pair of young, and amongst my kind, it takes till nearly the equinox before they can forage for themselves."

"Did you bring your wife along?"

"By wife I presume you mean a permanent mate. Happily we don't have such aberrated concepts." He eyed Macurdy. "Perhaps for a species like yours, that takes so ridiculously long to mature their young and tends to have more or less permanent residences, an arrangement such as marriage makes sense. But for the more fortunate…"

Macurdy grinned. "I'm married, you know. To Melody."

"I'm aware of that. We have already spoken, she and I. I'm also aware that she will give birth next summer. And frankly, I think she'd be much better off laying eggs than in passing something the size of a human infant through her vent. After carrying it around inside her for the better part of a year! Outrageous!"

"How'd you like to stay around this winter? I'll make you a perch in the corner of the windbreak, where the winter winds won't be so bad, and put a roof on it to keep the rain and sleet off. On top of a twelve-foot post, on a platform so the cats can't bother you, or a weasel. And nail a sheet of copper around the post near the top, so they can't get close enough to scrabble at the platform. How about it?"

Macurdy built the perch that same day, Blue Wing supervising, and although afterward the bird was off roving much of the time, over the weeks before winter they had several good conversations. Through his species' hive mind, the bird had heard quite a bit about the war, but what he learned from Macurdy was both broader and more detailed than any other great raven had learned. And when Macurdy was in the fields working, or in the woods with his men cutting firewood, Blue Wing sometimes accompanied Melody on her almost daily rides, perched on her wrist like a falconer's hawk so they could talk more easily. It was mostly she who fed him, when he was around.