S. Stirling - The Given Sacrifice

There was supposed to be some sort of quarrel between them, but family is family and kinfolk stick together at a pinch.

Sergeant Halford set the lantern down on a table and stood at Wellman’s right with his hand on his swordhilt as the officer seated himself.

“Henson, Malurski, Jens, you’re on perimeter,” he said.

Captain Wellman leaned back and looked at the two quasi-prisoners, sighing and rubbing a hand over his balding head; he was around forty, about Cole’s height but whip-thin and wiry, with tired-looking green eyes. The other two Special Forces troopers weren’t exactly pointing loaded crossbows at Cole and Alyssa. But then again they weren’t exactly not pointing them, either.

“OK, let’s hear it, corporal,” he said. “As you said, time’s a-wasting.”

Cole exchanged a quick look with Alyssa and gave him the real story.

Well, no need to go into all the details just yet, he thought, skipping over the bit where the Mackenzie fiosaiche had sent him to sleep and simply saying they’d caught him.

There was no way around the part about his being turned into an involuntary assassin, though: his tongue stumbled at that, simply because words weren’t adequate, and he still struggled with a flux of involuntary rage when he thought of it. Not to mention a deep-in-the-belly cold wash of fear. Halford made a skeptical sound, and Wellman stopped him with a gesture.

“Remember the one we. . sent on, sergeant? That Seeker?”

From the noncom’s grimace, he did, and not fondly.

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen a lot of men die but nobody that slowly when they should have been gone already.”

“Had to hold him below the surface of that latrine with a pole for what was it, five God-damned minutes, as I recall.”

“Seemed longer, sir. Particularly considering how hard I hit him to begin with.”

“It eroded my natural skepticism a little. Not as much as seeing what Corporal Salander says he saw would, but a bit.”

Wellman turned those tired, sharp eyes on Cole again.

“So you’re going to let the enemy into the city?” he said a few minutes later, his face flatly unreadable.

“Captain, the Cutters are the enemy, and they’re already in the city. And three-quarters of the army around Boise are our own people. The rest are Mackenzies and Bearkillers, mostly,” he went on. “They’re disciplined troops, they’re not going to sack the place.”

“Bearkillers are very well disciplined,” Alyssa said. “That’s what I am, by the way. There aren’t any Associates within a day’s march of Boise right now-Rudi. . His Majesty. . is keeping them out of the picture because he knows they’re unpopular. Not that the Grand Constable would let them get out of hand. Basically Frederick Thurston is running the siege.”

Cole went on: “I’ve met Fred Thurston, sir, and I trust him to keep his word, and he’s promising strict order and a general amnesty except for specific crimes, and a free election.”

“And what does King Artos say to that?”

There was an official poster not far away, showing a bad artist’s conception of Rudi Mackenzie in plate armor, flogging emaciated serfs pulling a wagon. The way things had been since the old general died and Martin Thurston took over, you were well-advised to buy the latest and stick them up. You never knew if someone was reporting to the NatPols. .

“Well, he says that’s exactly what he wants too, sir, and he’s said it publicly. It’s his policy that every member of the High Kingdom gets full internal autonomy. Boise won’t be part of Montival unless we decide that on our own in a plebiscite, and we’re to be completely self-governing with our own laws within our borders as of the old general’s death if we vote yes. And I believe him too, sir. He’s. . well, he’s. . quite impressive. Sir.”

Unexpectedly, Wellman smiled slightly. “That’s what the old general said, too, about Rudi Mackenzie,” he said. “He met the young man a couple of years ago, just before he died himself at the battle of Wendell. I wasn’t there for that. Maybe if I’d been at Wendell I could have saved. . never mind. Go ahead.”

“I mean, hell, I intend to vote for Fred Thurston, and to vote for joining Montival,” Cole said bluntly. “Assuming I live that long. The old general wanted to reunite the country, but he couldn’t. Montival, the High Kingdom. . well, it’s not the way he wanted to do it, but it’s going to be a great big chunk reunited, with some of the same stuff he was for. No more fighting our neighbors, for starters. Freedom of religion, and I sure as s. . shoot know the Cutters don’t have that in mind. And no slavery allowed-”

He jerked his head at the poster. “I mean, that’s complete bullshit, sir. Everyone in Montival can move if they want to-it’s one of the few laws that they have that applies everywhere. Which is also something the Cutters don’t have in mind, they don’t even call their slaves something different like they do in some places, they just outright call ’em slaves . Apart from all that thing about how half the human race are Spawn of the Nephilim stuff and it’s abomination if women wear pants and who knows what else.”

Wellman closed his eyes for a moment. “You know,” he went on quietly, “I stayed in the Army because of Lawrence Thurston. I never did trust Martin or the men around him, but I didn’t want to believe his own son would. .”

“Captain Wellman, I talked to the First Lady. . I mean the old General’s wife. . hell, I talked to Martin’s wife. They agreed that Martin killed the old general in the confusion at Wendell to cover up his coup; and that he was. . changed, somehow. After he met Sethaz, the Prophet. He went from being an ordinary evil son-of-a-bitch to. . something else.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Wellman said dryly. Then he shook his head: “Witches, spells, prophecies, red-headed kings with magic swords. . Christ. What’s next, dragons? And I never even liked playing D amp;D.”

Silence fell for about three minutes while Cole searched his memory for the obscure ancient reference to distract himself from the way the time stretched out. Then Wellman sighed again and looked at Sergeant Halford.

“Jack?” he said, startling everyone by using the man’s first name.

That seemed to be some sort of signal; Halford’s face lost its military stiffness for a moment.

“Kid’s right,” he said. “Time to get it over with.”

“You’ve got a point,” Wellman said, turning back to Cole. “There’s only one way this war is going to end, anyway; let’s get it done before the country gets ripped up any worse than it has. Where is this place?”

Cole exchanged another look with Alyssa, and she nodded slightly. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone, but it was the only way to pull this off.

He gave the directions. Wellman grinned, this time a mirthless carnivore expression.

“Just in case you hadn’t noticed, corporal, there’s a Cutter observation post on the roof of that building.”

Cole gulped; he hadn’t.

Wellman went on: “But hey, sneaking around is supposed to be what Special Forces do, right? Let’s go do it.”

• • •

Mary got within six paces of Ingolf before he realized she was there. He didn’t start, which must have disappointed her, but she silently touched his forearm and moved her fingers in front of his eyes:

Come.

He followed, slowly-there just wasn’t any other way to move quietly in woods at night, especially unfamiliar woods. He did start when something the size of a medium dog scurried away noisily through the underbrush with a crackling and rustling; probably a raccoon. It didn’t have to do anything but run like hell, a desire which he viewed with profound sympathy. Up from the edge of the river the trees were smaller and scrubby, grown up since the Change except for a few that had been planted in the old days for shade and ornament. The only thing left of buildings was a few snags of wall. .