S. Stirling - The Tears of the Sun

And ten years after the Change he’d have killed me , if Matti’s mother hadn’t hustled us out of his way after Tiphaine d’Ath rescued Matti from us Mackenzies, and captured me in turn. Killed me with embellishments, just to give Mother anguish, I think. His mind worked that way, the creature. But Sandra saw she might have use for me, even then.

Lady Regent Sandra Arminger was just as ruthless as her spouse had been. She was also even more intelligent, vastly more patient, and not hagridden by his inner demons. Since Norman’s death at the end of the War of the Eye she’d even been a good overlord to the Association from pure rational calculation; a hard ruler, very hard indeed, but not vicious. She had men killed without passion when she thought it necessary, like a croft-wife picking a chicken for the pot, and with as little regret; in just the same spirit as she calculated taxes or which bridges needed repair or how to balance factions in the dance of intrigue. She was even popular with the commons in the PPA territories, because the Counts and barons feared and obeyed her and she kept them in check and enforced the law on high and low alike.

Out of. . craftsmanship, I think. It’s with good reason they call her the Spider of the Silver Tower. Yet she wept tears of joy when she saw Mathilda again; and she raised Mathilda. . me too, when I was spending those months there every year after the war. . as well as could be asked. Certainly we both learned much of kingcraft from her. We can never know the whole inwardness of another, nor all the paths their souls take from the Eastern to the Western gate. Not even our own, until the Dread Lord comes for us, and we stand before the Guardians in the place where Truth is seen whole.

“Our children,” Mathilda said again, leaning against him.

“When we’ve made a world safe for them,” he said. “So, let’s be about it, eh? We’ve troops to muster. Nearly as important, we need to get a better handle on what’s been going on here while we were away questing for the Sword.”

Mathilda nodded vigorously, her eyes going narrow with calculation. When she did that, she could look disquietingly like her mother. Rudi knew he was quick-witted; he suspected that in her way his handfasted wife was more intelligent still. More subtle, certainly, and perhaps a little more systematic.

“And not just the big things, battles won or lost, castles defended or not,” she said. “All the details. It’s going to be crucial to manage the politics properly from the start and we can’t assume things stood still while we were gone.”

“That’s my girl!” he laughed. “Though Chancellor Ignatius will have to take most of the burden perforce. . and I’ll need him in the field eventually.”

“He’s a very able man. And not from the Protectorate.”

“Sure, and that’s one reason I appointed him. That and being absolutely sure of him.”

She frowned, still lost in thought. “And that’s why I’m glad we sent your Aunt Astrid off on Operation Lúthien.”

“I took your advice on that, acushla, though it’s a thin chance, but what’s the relation?”

“Mom always said you have to remember that individual people exist in themselves, but things like nations and clans and armies and classes and religions only exist because people think they exist. They’re not rocks, they’re a swarm of people all flocking in the same direction. I mean, think of Montival-it didn’t exist two years ago, and now it does, and that’s because we pretty much talked people into thinking it did. By letter, at that.”

“A point, though we were pushing on an open door. The folk wanted to believe in a. . dream of greatness. When people by the scores of thousands are convinced something is true, that truth can hit you very much like a rock. Hence our problems with the Church Universal and Triumphant and its Prophet Sethaz, the creature.”

She nodded. “That’s so. But Mom also always said that when bunches of people are fighting against each other, whether it’s with arms or words, you have to remember that they’re not rocks colliding. They’re people colliding. Every helmet has a head under it, and the head can think. The whole point of politics is to get people to do what you think they should. Bashing them is just one way of doing that. That’s why Operation Lúthien is so important. I think it might help us. . talk some people out of thinking that a certain set of rocks exist. And make them believe in our rocks.”

“With the Sword in my left hand, and you at my right, I’m going to be invincible,” Rudi grinned. Then more soberly: “Though we’d best remember this is far bigger than either of us the now, the story of many and not ours alone. We may be at the center, but it’s the wheel that matters, not just the hub.”

One arm went around her shoulders. He put the other hand’s thumb and forefinger to his lips and whistled sharply. There was a moment’s silence, and then figures with long yew bows in their hands came trotting down out of the trees, hard to see at first in their green-covered brigandines and Mackenzie-tartan kilts and plaids. As they formed up around the High King and Queen for the walk back to Dun Juniper one began to sing, and they all took it up. When he recognized the tune so did Rudi, despite Mathilda’s laughing gesture of protest:

“That song’s a mutilation!” Mathilda said. “I’ve heard the original.”

“I call it an improvement,” Rudi said. “This isn’t Erin, after all!

And he continued in a strong tenor:

SHATTUCK HALL, TEMPORARY CHANCELLERY

CROWN CITY OF PORTLAND

(FORMERLY PORTLAND, OREGON)

PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION

HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL

(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)

JULY 31, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

“ My Lord Chancellor,” his executive assistant said. “Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski to see you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Wong,” Ignatius said, with a polite nod.

Many hats to keep straight, he thought; the title still felt a little unnatural.

Though at present, with the hood of his scapular thrown back, there was nothing between his tonsured head with its rim of raven hair and the ceiling. He was a slim broad-shouldered man of medium height, with a pale weathered regular face and slightly tilted black eyes, the legacy of a Vietnamese grandmother brought back here after some half-forgotten war of the ancient world.

Knight-brother of the Order of the Shield of St. Benedict, priest, Lord Chancellor of Montival. Remember that names do not make the man. You are a human soul like uncounted millions more, the smallholder’s boy baptized Karl Bergfried; as precious to God as they, and no more so.

“Please send him through immediately,” he went on. “Then the mustering reports from the Ashland. . no, it’s the Liu matter, isn’t it?”