S. Stirling - The Scourge of God

But the Seeker had been there at the ranch, waiting-with troops who must have left weeks ago to make it through the wilderness and the passes.

Graber swallowed. The Ascending Hierarchy commands all power, he thought. Doubtless he commands the Seventh Ray. That is an amethyst on his wristband.

His own service was with the Fourth Ray, as the diamond on his personal amulet showed; that was under the Master Serapis Bey, and hence largely physical. The Seeker might even be an adept of Djwal Khul, who ruled communications of all sorts.

Dalan is different from most Seekers I've seen. Usually they were thin or gaunt; this one was stocky-muscular. But the eyes are the same.

He wrenched his mind back to the present, despite the thin film of sweat on his forehead. His was to obey. That he didn't like Seekers was between him and his conscience and the long wrestling with the emanations of the Nephilim that any soul must undergo.

There were no Sioux working around the drying racks, though the low fires under them still smoldered. A dozen wagons had been drawn up in a circle on a nearby rise, and between them he could see spears and the twinkle of arrowheads. That would be the noncombatants-not that they wouldn't fight if need be, of course. A good sixty Sioux warriors were drawn up a little way off, armed with bows and shetes and hunting-lances. Few of them had any body-armor beyond shields and steel caps, but they would fight like cougars, as he knew from painful experience.

Graber swung his fist aloft, and the formation halted, spreading out into a two-deep staggered line, bows in hand and the butts of the lances in the scabbards. Seeker Dalan spoke:

"They are not here. Close, but not here."

"Can you be more precise, honored Seeker?"

The square face with the flat black eyes turned back and forth, frowning. "No. I am… resisted. A shadow is drawn."

He put his hands to the sides of his head; the sleeves of the robe of dried bloodred he wore fell back, showing arms encased in black leather guards striped with narrow steel splints.

"A woman? Or is it a buffalo? And a raven… the blockage is not so complete as when they were in the Valley of the Sun, but you must rely on the physical. For now."

He felt relief at that, and reined out towards the mounted Indians. The Seeker followed; he had to admit the man was fearless, not like many of the red-robed ecclesiastical bureaucrats Corwin bred, who always put him in mind of the maggots that had writhed in a dead raccoon he'd found under the floorboards of his home two summers ago.

A man rode down to meet them, though he stopped well within bowshot of his own position.

"Hau kola," Graber said, raising his right hand in the peace gesture as he drew rein.

The Indian was a dark middle-aged man, muscular and heavy-featured, with a little gray in his braids; a full-blood from his looks. He wore a steel helmet with bison horns and fur, and a fox pelt over his colorful war-shirt. There were scalp-locks down the seams of the arms, more than was comfortable to contemplate; he'd have fought in the long indecisive struggle between the Church and his nation.

He didn't return the gesture, or speak at all.

Bad, Graber knew. But, then, I expected that.

"We're here after some fugitives, itancan Red Leaf," Graber said, guessing at his rank and remembering the briefing files. "Under the Treaty of Newcastle, the Lakota tunwan agreed not to harbor refugees from our territory or to hinder our recapture of such criminals."

The black eyes were chill as they rested on him. "Under the Treaty of Newcastle, the Church Universal and Triumphant agreed to recognize our sovereignty. Last time I looked, sovereign nations didn't have to let other countries send troops onto their soil uninvited. You invade us, the war starts up again-and from what I hear, you folks are busy out West."

Damn those rebels to the Void! Graber thought.

"These criminals are under the personal ban of the Prophet," Graber said softly.

"Remind me why I should care what the Crackpot of Corwin thinks."

Graber felt himself flush at the blasphemy; rage came off the Seeker like heat from a closed stove in winter.

"You deny that there were fugitives here?" Graber said, his voice still flatly unemotional.

"Nobody here but my relatives," the Indian said, baring his teeth.

"He speaks truth, but with intent to deceive," Seeker Dalan said. Then: "There! There!"

He pointed north and east. The impassive face of the Sioux didn't move… but Graber was experienced at reading men's eyes. Their lips lied, speaking or smiling, but the pupils never.

"We will pursue," he said. To Red Leaf: "Don't get in our way, and none of your people need be hurt."

The Sioux leader raised his hand, and his folk began to draw their bows. Graber smiled thinly, and raised his own left hand-despite the savage twinge of pain that shot into the joint. The long formation broke into motion again, advancing and reaching over their shoulders for arrows in a sinuous unison like a tiger uncoiling from sleep.

"I have two hundred men, itancan," he said. "We outnumber you four to one, and my men are in full armor. If you fight me at close quarters like this, I will lose perhaps twenty dead, including any too seriously wounded to ride. We will kill you all, and it will take less than ten minutes. Then we kill all the women and children in this hunting camp. Then we will proceed on our mission."

"None of you would leave Lakota territory alive!"

"Words cannot express how much I do not care, as long as my mission is fulfilled," Graber said flatly. "Or as long as I die in the pursuit of it."

A boast would have rung false; the Indian was no fool. Graber's eyes never left his. After a moment, the Sword commander nodded curtly and reined his horse around.

It will take them some time to assemble a war-party that outnumbers us sufficiently. We have that long.

He remembered blue-gray eyes looking into his, and a pleasant lilting voice speaking:

It is easy to kill. Any fool can do it.

"Shite," Rudi said in exasperation.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to stop long enough to put the gear on pack-saddles, he thought. But if we'd kept the cart, they'd be a lot closer. And we're going to need that equipment, later.

The sun was well up now; his binoculars showed the wink of its light on lance-heads southeastward. Far too many of them and far too regular to be Sioux; and besides, the Lakota didn't use nine-foot lances or russet-colored armor, as far as he knew.

But the Sword of the Prophet do, the creatures.

Ritva rode towards them and reined in, pointing eastward in the direction she'd come. "The buffalo are there, Rudi. You would not believe how many. But…"

"But?"

"They're moving north, and picking up speed. It looks like something spooked them. We'd better hurry if we want to get across the front of them-if we don't, we'll have to wait on this side. It is definitely impossible to get through that herd while they're moving."

"Shite," Rudi swore again, this time with more feeling.

He couldn't see them yet, but he thought there was a haze of dust in that direction. And even when the ground looked as tabletop flat as it did here, he'd learned that distances were deceptive-the slightest roll or fall of the ground could hide anything shorter than a hill even if it was only a few miles off.

"No," Three Bears said. "It's good. If we can get across the herd before the Cutters catch up, I mean. It'll take hours-maybe a whole day-for them to pass. If we're on the other side, we might as well have mountains in between."

Ritva nodded vigorously.

"Then go," Rudi said. "Ingolf, you and Mary take lead. Three Bears and I will bring up the rear; we're the best mounted archers. Now."