John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

Acting in character, Birgar agreed to send one company instead of two. He already had a great raven staying in the hayloft of the royal stable. The dwarf king had arranged it.

Macurdy left wondering what leverage Greatsword had applied to the Asriki. Or had he simply convinced them of the danger? He asked Blue Wing what he thought.

The bird focused his attention, scanning. "I find no definite answer in the hive mind," he replied. "Until these last few weeks, we had rather little political information. However, the Silver Mountain dwarves are rich and powerful neighbors to the Asriki. And a few hundred years ago, according to a tomttu storyteller, Indrossa coveted the Granite Range for silver deposits believed to exist there.

"We generally treat information from tomttur as gossip. But you are well aware, I know, of their invisiility spell, which is adequate for most situations. Along with their native curiosity, it results in eavesdropping from time to time.

"So one might speculate that the dwarves, preferring a stable and acquiescent Asrik as a neighbor, discouraged an Indrossan takeover. And if all that gossip and speculation is correct, Finn Greatsword may have chosen this time to call in an old favor."

Macurdy was impressed with Blue Wing's reasoning. He wouldn't be surprised if it was a lot like the truth.

Weeks earlier, via the ravens, Macurdy had messaged Amnevi that he wanted to train and lead the Tigers as raiders behind voitik lines. Amnevi had messaged him back that Sarkia had approved. He'd assumed that Idri would block the move, but hadn't heard anything back on it.

When he arrived at the Cloister, he learned he'd been right. "When Idri was informed," Amnevi told him, "she said if Sarkia forced the issue, she'd take over the Administration Building with them."

"Why didn't you let me know sooner?"

Amnevi smiled slightly. "Because Sarkia hasn't given up on it. She has a plan to bypass Idri, and take her power from her. We've had to keep it secret, of course. If Idri found out, she'd block it, and follow through on her threat. She'll try to anyway, but she's less likely to succeed then." Amnevi gestured toward the door of Sarkia's sickroom. "I'm to explain it to you in the dynast's presence, so she can elaborate, or answer questions. I must ask, though, that you do not stress her. She is very weak, and on Five-Day she'll need all the strength she can muster."

Macurdy frowned. Five-Day, he thought, must be the day when Sarkia would make her move.

The dynast seemed asleep when they went in. Her body aura was even weaker than when he'd seen her in the spring, but her spirit aura was steady, and… serene was the word that came to him, a word and concept he seldom thought of.

Omara sat beside her. "How is she?" Macurdy murmured.

"She is persisting," Omara replied. "And awake, incidentally. With her it is not always easy to tell." She looked at Amnevi. "You've prepared him, I believe."

Amnevi nodded, then described the plan to Macurdy. Sarkia never stirred, never even opened her eyes while her deputy spoke. Macurdy didn't notice. His attention was on Amnevi's words: In a public ceremony on Five-Day, he'd be named the Cloister's new military commandant, over both the Guards and Tigers. "Are you willing?" Amnevi asked.

"Yes," he said, nodding slowly. He hadn't foreseen the proposal, but it didn't surprise him. The dynast had taken a lot for granted, he told himself, but she'd had little choice. And it was simple. It could even work; it felt right. "On Five-Day," he said. "Good. That gives me two days to take care of other business."

He left the room with a sense of empowerment he would never have expected. On Five-Day he'd be ready. Then-who knew?

After supper he visited his sons. Before leaving them, he hugged them. It hadn't occurred to them that a father might hug his sons. Then he went to the Guards' stable and curried Vulkan. "Tomorrow," Macurdy said, "we'll visit the King in Silver Mountain."

‹No complications have arisen then?›

"Actually something has, something good. I'll tell you tomorrow on the road. I'd like to ride you again, if that's all right."

‹Of course.›

After hanging up the curry comb and brush, Macurdy walked to the Administration Building, where he was lodged in a guest room.

He was preoccupied, but it wasn't Five-Day or the dwarf king he had on his mind. Ever since he'd left Indiana, little more than six months earlier, a thought had lodged in the back of his mind, only occasionally looked at: that something might have happened, and Varia would come back to him. Now he told himself he'd been dreaming. It wasn't going to happen, and it seemed to him he needed a wife. Wanted one anyway, or would when this war was over. And when he thought about it, he thought of Omara.

But somehow he felt uncomfortable with the idea, as if he'd be taking advantage of her. Partly because it was himself he was thinking of, not Omara. But mainly because what he felt for her was not what he'd felt for Varia, or Melody, or Mary. What he did feel was respect and admiration-which was good as far as it went, but less than the complete package.

On the other hand, it had been Omara who'd initiated their sexual relationship, nearly eighteen years back, and so he'd assumed she'd like to be his wife. But politics had been part of that, and…

It occurred to him he really didn't know much about women, other than his wives. And somehow all three of them had proposed to him. He'd never really thought about that before. It was simply the way it had happened.

If you're ever going to do anything about this, he told himself, you need to talk these things over with Omara. He examined the thought. But not now, he decided. After Five-Day maybe, or after the war. If I'm still alive.

In the Mountain, Macurdy met with both the king and Aldrik Egilsson Strongarm. Strongarm, a stony-looking dwarf, was to lead the dwarven army north. A whole legion! Lads and gaffers would stay behind for home defense, and to keep things running in the Mountain.

Strongarm's surname sparked Macurdy's curiosity. Just how strong were these people? He was tempted to invite Strongarm to arm wrestle, and find out, but it seemed unwise. He knew too little about dwarven pride and customs. If he beat the dwarf, it might cause resentment, while if the dwarf won, it might lessen his own status and respect.

The king had received Macurdy's messages to the Rude Lands kings on tactics and training, and now made it clear that his army would follow their own strategy and tactics. "Yours are fine for tallfolk," he said, "with their great long legs and long-legged horses. But my folk will fight as an army. We've far less need than tallfolk for food. Ye've no idea what we can subsist on, if it comes down to it. Nor do we need fires or fuel. The All-Power keeps us warm."

The All-Power. The Web of the World, Macurdy realized. "All of you?" he asked. "Or just the more talented?"

The old king sized him up shrewdly. "Ye know what I'm talking about, don't ye? Yes, all of us. It's a gift given us by the All-Power itself, in the time of sorting, when we agreed to live in the Earth and delve for things of beauty."

They could, he went on, travel all day at better than two miles an hour, and sleep anywhere. Or travel at night, for dwarven eyes made use of the least light. "Even rock gives off light," the king said, "for those who can see it. And trees as well. Weakly 'tis true, but we'll not crash into them in the darkness. And yer aware that voitik monsters have no effect on us.

"We'll march north when winter comes. Cross the Pomatik River behind the invader's lines, and strike his encampments as we find them."

"The Pomatik River?" Macurdy interrupted. He'd never heard of it before.