S. Stirling - The Given Sacrifice

“Mae govannen, maethyr ,” he said: Well-met, warriors .

“Mae govannen, Aran Raud, i ’wanur vîn,” they replied, putting their right palms on their hearts and bowing before they sat: Well-met, High King, our kinsman.

Among the Dúnedain eccentricities was using a language from the books. .

Pardon me, from The Histories, he thought.

. . though that had its practical benefits since very few outside that fellowship could understand it. One of the many minor disturbing things about carrying the Sword was that it had made him fluent in that tongue as well. . including immense amounts of grammar and vocabulary, which the long-dead Englishman hadn’t invented but which fitted perfectly with the rest and included all the elements you’d expect in a living speech. In fact, he spoke two varieties of it, one of which felt more formal than the other; Ranger scribes had been pestering him for details ever since he got home.

Mary had been identical to her twin Ritva until she lost an eye and acquired an eye patch during the Quest. The two tall fair young women still looked very much alike in their mottled sage-green-brown Dúnedain field gear, with three blue eyes between them and the white Tree, seven stars and crown on the breasts of jerkins that had light mesh-mail riveted between two layers of soft leather.

“Help yourselves,” Rudi said. Raising his voice slightly. “And you two come in as well, so that I may punish you suitably for allowing these depraved Rangers to attempt a practical joke on the ineffable majesty of Artos the First, the shame and sorrow of it.”

The two women were accompanied by their husbands-though Ritva and Ian Kovalevsky hadn’t yet found time to formalize their obvious bond. Ingolf Vogeler was a big battered brown-haired and vastly experienced man in his thirties, originally from a remote part of the Midwest. Ian was younger, slighter, fair-haired, and hailed from the Peace River country of northern Drumheller, which he’d left to become a member of a red-coated band of mounted warriors who kept peace in the Dominions. That had put him in Ritva’s way as they all returned to Montival, and they’d hit it off. Or Ritva had decided she wanted him, which would amount to much the same thing.

The poor lad hadn’t a chance once Ritva set her sights on him; though to be sure he’s able and clever as well as comely, the which does not surprise me, she has high standards.

She’d told him once that she and Mary had thrown dice to see who got Ingolf, who Rudi considered one of the better all-round warriors he’d met and a good friend to boot. As well as the man who’d ridden into Sutterdown four very eventful years ago to tell Rudi that the Sword of the Lady awaited him in Nantucket. . and had done so with the Prophet’s killers on his trail.

I’m rich in real comrades, something a King can’t count on, from all I’ve heard and read. Which reminds me. .

“Ignatius, do you have that letter from Drumheller that came in with the morning courier?”

The cleric silently produced it. Ian’s ears had pricked up hopefully, and Rudi went on, sliding it over to him:

“Not from your family, Ian, but of interest still.”

He handed it to the younger man. The northerner’s pale brows went up. “Well, well! Indefinite detached duty as liaison , straight from the Deputy Commissioner Western District! That sort of. . regularizes things.”

From his looks, he’d been guilty about it too; they were a painfully law-abiding lot where he came from. Ian went on:

“I’d been worried about that. How did you manage it, Your Majesty? I wouldn’t have thought the Force, ah. .”

“Cared much what Artos the First desired? Yes, but they do care what the leaders of the Dominions want, and Drumheller may not wish to be part of the High Kingdom, but they do want good relations and they are our allies against the CUT. I merely wrote to Premier Mah politely asking a favor of her.”

“Thanks!” he and Ritva said simultaneously.

“You’re welcome. Just invite me to the handfasting. No need to inflict Rudi or Artos on any of the children. Now to business.”

He unfolded the map, and they went over it as dinner arrived. Since the army was now stationary, and newly come in a rich irrigated countryside that trusted the Montivallan forces to pay for what they ate, the food was better than usual; skewers of peppered grilled beef and onions, steamed cauliflower, fresh risen wheat bread, butter and the luxury of a green salad. After a while in the field you lusted after greenstuff the way a drunkard did for whiskey, not to mention needing the fiber to keep your guts in order.

“Mmmm,” Mary said, forking a piece of tomato. “Good thing we’ve been winning the battles-they didn’t have time to strip the countryside before we besieged the city, and we’re getting what the townies usually eat. I get so sick of trail mix and dog biscuit.”

Rudi’s fist slammed down on the table, making the plates jump. Everyone looked at him in surprise; he wasn’t much given to displays of temper.

“I’m tired of winning battles!” he said, controlling the flush of anger. “I’m tired of killing brave men whose only fault was to be born in the wrong place and to get levied from the plow! I want to win this bloody war , and get back to my proper work and my family and let everyone else do the same!”

He cleared his throat, feeling their eyes on him and feeling a bit self-conscious too.

“Sorry.”

Ingolf chuckled and spoke, a little unexpectedly-he was normally a little taciturn.

“No problem, Rudi. You’re too God-damned self-controlled for your own good, sometimes. Anyway I agree.”

Just then a snatch of marching song came through the open flap, in time to the tramp of boots:

“Dry your eyes-it’s no cause to weep

The weather is fine and the road isn’t steep

The world is still round, my compass is true

Each step is a step back to you

Each step is a step back to you.”

“And so do the troops,” he said.

Mary grinned and cocked her one eye at him with good-natured skepticism. “And what will you do, lover, when the reign of peace arrives?”

He shrugged. “Sleep a couple of years, and then try not to see anything more exciting than a field full of sheep eating grass and crapping where they please, ever again. You youngsters-”

“Hey, you’re only eight years older than I am!”

“Nine, but it feels longer. You youngsters don’t. . look, guys, you take the dipper to the bucket long enough, the bucket’s going to run dry. And you only get one bucketful per life. I’ve drunk a lot of dippers on a lot of hot days.”

Most of the people around the table looked blank; Rudi suddenly realized he was the third-oldest there, which was a bit of a shock. He was used to thinking of himself when the word “youngster” was thrown about.

I’m still a young man, he thought. But I’m not a heedless overgrown boy leaping into the blue anymore, that’s true. Ingolf is sounding less and less cynical and more and more wise when he says something like that.

He’d had warnings from the Powers, direct and blunt, that he wouldn’t make old bones, too. Every year spent warmaking was a waste he couldn’t afford.

I’ve been that boy, but now I’m a husband and a father. . and a King, to be sure.

Ignatius nodded slightly over his spare dinner of salad and bread, catching his monarch’s eyes and inclining his head towards Ingolf in silent agreement.

Rudi made a gesture of acknowledgment. “With luck, this will speed things up considerably. Now, here’s how we’re going to handle the timing. First the Rangers will-”