The Protectors war

SAS.

"Line up by squads, you horrible lot!" he barked, and scowled harder at the genial remarks he got back. "Sod this for a game of soldiers, you idle, useless maggots-move it!"

The nonshooting spectators had a high proportion of nursing mothers and the visibly pregnant, including Melissa Aylward.

"Watch your tongue, Samkin!" she called, and laughed at his scowl along with more than a few of her friends and fellow onlookers. "I know where you sleep!"

The squads each had nine bows, with subgroups of three-mystically appropriate and solidly practical as well; there were three squads here from Dun Fairfax and eleven from Dun Juniper's larger population. A hundred and twenty-six archers in all, not counting the juveniles, overage and hopelessly shortsighted who helped hustle more arrows up to the shooters. The arrangement had the added advantage of keeping everything friends-and-neighbors, which put heart into ordinary folk if they had to fight.

Juniper stepped into her place beside Chuck and the Dun Juniper banner, looking to either side with fond pride. They might not have quite the guards snap that Sam remembered nostalgically, or the Bearkiller habit of doing everything at a run, but they got where they were going-a staggered triple line formed, with a yard between each of the Mackenzie warriors.

"Nock shafts!" Aylward barked.

There was no chatter or nonsense now. A hundred and twenty-six hands brought a nock to the cord and a shaft to the cutout arrow shelf that ran through the middle of their bows. The first target was the line of shields three hundred yards distant. Each was about man-sized-or thumb-sized, at this distance.

"Let the gray geese fly!" Sam shouted, his own bow ready: "Wholly together-"

The yellow-limbed yew bows came up, pointing at the same angle-they would begin with dropping shots at extreme range. Juniper drew until the kiss-ring on the cord touched her lip.

"-shoot!"

The slap of strings on bracers sounded so close together that it was like a lightning crack. Beneath that came the deep whining humm of the cords, and the whickering massed ssssssst of the shafts as they rose in a dense cloud, louder than sleet in a bad storm. She emptied her mind and became one with the rhythm of it: breath out as you drew, open the chest, close the back, throw the left arm forward and twist with hip and gut until you reached full draw, sense the right angle for release, let the string fall off the three draw fingers of the right hand, follow through, reach back for another, and another:

"Second target!"

They adjusted their aim; now the arrows flew on a shallower arc.

"Third! Fourth!"

"Point-blank, maximum speed!"

The muscles of her shoulders and arms were burning in truth now, but that was a distant background to the dance, her hand darting down now where the helper had stuck the next bundle of shafts point-down in the turf and ready to grasp. Arrows blurred out from the Mackenzie line, scores every second for one last long burst, slashing across the meadow in a ripple of sleek destruction. The heads struck the plank shields with a hard lock repeated so fast it sounded like a whole flock of mad woodpeckers; they were using broadheads, not greased bodkins, but many were hammering through the double layer of tough wood anyway, and the rest bristled out thicker than a porcupine's spines.

"Halt!"

They did, suddenly aware that they were puffing and blowing. Juniper blinked a little as she looked at the long oval where the arrows stood in ground and shield-thousands upon thousands of them, fired in the time it would take armored foemen to cross the killing ground. She couldn't help but think what it would be like, trying to keep your shield up and march through that. Much less ride a horse into it; the poor beasts didn't wear much armor, and had even less reason to let themselves be hurt and killed in the quarrels of men.

Well, shit, as Mike likes to say. I'm proud we can do it, but Goddess gentle and strong, I wish we didn't have to!

The line broke up; people started helping each other out of their brigandines for shoulder-rubs-you had to be careful about repetitive motion injuries-or went off to practice sword-and-buckler or battle-spear work for a change of pace, or just to socialize, gossip, dicker and swap.

"So, what do you think, Sam First Armsman Aylward Mackenzie?"

"I'm: not quite satisfied, but not unhappy either," Aylward said. "Or rather, we'd have nothing to be un'appy about if every dun in our territory were up to this standard. They're still not real soldiers:

"

"But they aren't any kind of soldiers at all," Juniper said gently. "They're farmers, and blacksmiths and carpenters and schoolteachers and weavers, who fight when they have to."

The Englishman nodded. "I grant you that, Lady Juniper. And for that, they're bloody good."

Tamar ran up, with a smile at Juniper, and her stepfather put an arm around her shoulders. "And I'm a farmer who fights when he has to meself, these days."

Juniper ruffled the girl's hair, unstrung her own bow-something you had to be careful with; it could take your nose off if you slipped, or poke out an eye-and walked over to the wagon.

"Long time no see, Laurel," she said, extending a hand.

You look terrible, she didn't add. The other woman was wearing patched jeans-patched with a piece of badly cured hide across the seat, for starters. She didn't quite look like a homeless gangrel, but she wasn't all that far from it either.

"I'm glad to see you, Lady Juniper," Laurel said humbly.

Juniper sighed inwardly at that, and at the tone more than the words. She'd gotten used to people calling her that, or Chief, or the Mackenzie-from some of them, like Aylward or Dennis or her old covener friends, it was just a half-teasing gesture of affection. Hearing it this way from someone she'd known back in the old days drove home how irrevocably lost those days were, and the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders. She didn't challenge Laurel 's choice of words, either. People wouldn't understand.

Ah, here I am the great Chief, Herself Herself, and I can't so much as tell someone to knock it off and call me Juney.

"Come on, let's get you settled, and then we'll talk."

"So, you were a self-initiated solitary back before the Change?" Juniper said gently.

The four Mackenzies and Laurel Wilson were in the attic loft of the Hall, Juniper's bedchamber when she unrolled the futon now neatly stored beside Rudi's on a shelf, and also her office and workroom, and the place she kept her fiddles and guitars and the big harp. There was a desk, typewriter and adding machine, racks of ring-binders and filing cabinets; being head of even a very decentralized state turned out to involve a lot of paperwork, something she loathed with every fiber of her being. It was also the place where she kept her Craft tools and books, and the site of her private altar, over on the middle of the north wall beneath one of the dormer windows and beside the lectern that had her Book of Shadows under a black cloth. The smell of incense still clung, although the tiny brazier between the figures of the Lord and Lady was empty and clean; around it stood the black-handled athame, a white-handled knife with a curved blade, vials of oils, candles:

The woman sitting across the table from her made a reverent gesture towards it. "I hadn't actually got that far," she said. "We'd just started our Circle but: well, I'd read a lot of the books, though."

"Which books, if I might ask?"

"The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets. And Silver Ravenwolf: "

Behind her back Judy Barstow grimaced with clenched teeth and pummeled her temples with the heels of her hands.

"I tried Starhawk, but it was sort of hard to get into."

Judy went pale and made gagging motions, then mimed tearing out hanks of her hair.

Judy! Juniper thought, hard. Be nice!

The Tradition that the Singing Moon belonged to had always insisted on a year-and-a-day of intense instruction before Initiation, and an unbroken line of descent from Initiate to Initiate; in fact, for Wiccans they were traditionalists. They'd bent their rules-they'd had to, after the Change and the huge influx of new believers-but no more than they must. Particularly for those who went on from simple Dedicant status to full Initiation. Still, this wasn't the time to get all sniffy.

The Lord and Lady don't check your ID at the door, if you come with love and trust in your heart.

She managed a flicker of a quelling glare at her former Maiden; Sally Martin did rather better, and covertly nudged her with an elbow. Chuck Barstow kept his face carefully blank.

Be kind, Judy, Juniper thought, projecting a soothing calm. They've managed to survive this long.

"Well, let's stick to the immediate practicalities, Laurel," she said. "You've got: what, eighty people in your group these days?"

The long room had three dormers on either side, and more windows at either end; down at the east end was her big eight-harness loom with its treadles and shuttles, an old friend from before the Change, surrounded by baskets full of skeins of dyed wool yarn. Duplicates of it were working in half the Clan's households, used by her own pupils and the ones they had instructed. A bolt of finished tartan cloth four feet across stood nearby, ready to be taken for fulling. Laurel 's clothes weren't all that ragged, and they were clean, but the leather on the seat of her jeans was the only thing she wore that hadn't been made before the Change.

"About," Laurel said. "We're over the scurvy now-thank you for telling us about the rose hips!-but: it's one thing after another. All our stored fruit going bad was just the last of it; and we spend so much time hiding, and we lost six people the last time the gangs raided us: "

"We'll help," Jumper said soothingly. She looked down at her notes. "I think that your problem is basically a skills shortage and sheer lack of enough numbers to defend yourselves, rather than resources or effort. You've certainly been working hard enough, and you're producing enough food, just, but it's keeping it that's the problem, between bandits and wastage."

Silence stretched. "Well," Juniper said at last, "we're certainly willing to welcome you to our clan, if you'd rather join us than the McClintocks: "

"Oh, thank the Goddess," Laurel said, and her eyes brimmed over. "You've been helping us for years, and I feel so-"

Judy bent to put an arm around her shoulders. Juniper made soothing noises while she smiled to herself; the High Priestess of Wolf-Star wasn't nearly as much of a tartar as you'd think from the way she talked sometimes. Sally handed her a handkerchief and filled her a cup of chamomile tea.

When Laurel could go on, Juniper did as well: "This is going to be a major effort, relocating your people. You do understand you have to move? We can't possibly have an outlier south of Eugene, it's just too far away-and too dangerous."

Not to mention how Corvallis and half a dozen others would howl at our annexing more territory. Can't have more quarrels: especially not with the Protector watching.

Laurel nodded. "It's: well, it's hard to abandon so much work, but it just wasn't working anymore. I thought we'd pull through, after the first year-those seeds you gave us saved us-but now: I think the only reason the bandits haven't killed us all is because they want us to be there to steal from next year."

" Eugene 's a problem," Chuck said, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. "We, all the honest valley communities, are going to have to do something about it. If the scum working out of there ever get a leader, we could be in real trouble: The MacGregors would help, and the McClintocks, and some of the towns and neighborhoods down Ashland way. When the Protectorate isn't distracting us, we'll have to see about an expedition."

Which may not be for years, or in our lifetimes: if the Protectorate doesn't destroy us in the interim, Juniper thought grimly, then brought her mind back to the business at hand.

"This is about the best time of year, the next two months," she said. "We've enough to spare from essential work now to give you a guard to get you safe up here."

Chuck nodded. "We might get Astrid's Rangers in on it." A grin: "Pardon me, the Dunedain Rangers."

Laurel looked impressed. "The: Astrid Larsson? And the Dunedain?"

Juniper nodded solemnly. "And Eilir."

"Can we get the tartan we'll need?" Laurel said, looking over at the loom. "For the kilts: "

Juniper winced slightly. "That's not a: ummm, maximum priority, really," she said.

Dennis, go n'ithe an cat thu is! she thought. And may that moggy eat you raw, with mustard! launching her exasperation like a mental spear at the one who'd come up with the fashion. Although: be what you want to seem, the sage said. It will probably make them feel better to look like the rest of us.

"We'll see what we can arrange," she said, and tapped a point on the map. "I think there, on Courtney Creek, would the best place for your folk to settle. It's only ten miles from Sutterdown and about thirty from here; I'll have you shown around it. There's plenty of good land vacant there, isn't there?"

Chuck closed his eyes for a moment, calling up information, before he answered:

"Yes, any amount, and first quality light loam with good natural drainage; if you planted shoelaces there, they'd sprout. There's even some orchard-it won't bear much this year, too neglected, but it could be reconditioned, pruned and cleaned out this winter. Apart from that, there's the vineyard Brannigan in Sutterdown claimed, he's done some real work on that so it's his, of course, but I imagine he'll be happy to have people closer he can get to help bring in his grapes. There's a convenient old farmstead with good wells we can use as a core for a new dun, still mostly intact, even the windows. We'll have to put up a windmill and water tank for starters."

"How's Alex fixed for time?" Juniper asked. "They'll need palisades, too, and then there'll be houses and barns, worksheds: "

Chuck's younger brother Alex had been a house-builder before the Change. Now he was the Clan's inspector of fortifications, and still built houses. There were a lot of vacant ones, but they were usually in the wrong places and useful mainly as a source of materials and fittings-Sutterdown was the only town in the Mackenzie territories that was still occupied, and the pre-Change farmsteads were all too scattered. They'd have to requisition draft horses and ox teams:

But everyone will be glad to have someone plugging that gap, she thought. The new dun would cover the approaches nicely. Plus the extra hands. Always more work around than we can do with the people we've got.

"Alex is busy like you wouldn't believe with getting the Sutterdown town wall finished, but I'll tell him to draw up some plans." Chuck looked at the map. "That's close to the Ward Butte sentry station anyway. Not too hard to keep an eye on."

Juniper looked back at Laurel. "Now, we're going to have to loan you a good deal of equipment, stock and tools," she said. "You understand, Laurel, I can't just give it to your people; mine have worked too hard to make and grow what we're talking about. It'll be some years before you can pay it all off, pay it with work and a share of your harvest: "

Laurel nodded wryly. "I understand, Lady Juniper. You do think the vote will go through your assembly?"

"Oh, yes," Juniper said. "I'm quite certain. Everyone-everyone suitable-who joins us is like another baby born, another candle in the night. Now, we'll also have to think about training and apprenticeships: some of your people apprenticing to our craftsfolk: although you've got some excellent carpenters, I must say, and that'll help immensely, but you also need someone about the dun who knows basic smithing, to repair tools without losing too much time."

Those two young couples from Sutterdown working for Sam could settle with you, for starters, she thought. They'll do nicely, plus Sam says they've three really decent archers among 'em, and there are a few others who 're ready to start their own crofts or take up full-time trades.

"And you'll all have to think about which sept you'd prefer to join-that'll take meditation, you'll want to hold a Circle: in fact, perhaps my Maiden, Sally, could give you some pointers."

Judy opened her mouth and then shut it again; she might be a purist, but she could see this wasn't the time for another of her who-gets-into-what-sept talks. There were times when Juniper thought she'd be happier in a hypothetical First Congregational Church of Wicca, Calvinist, sitting around with the church elders discussing whether an applicant was truly of the elect.

"Could: could we use your nemed here?" Laurel said eagerly.

The Singing Moon's sacred wood had been famous among Oregon 's pagans long before the Change. Now the name trailed numinous clouds.

"Surely," Juniper said, smiling. The wood deserves its fame, even if I don't. "And another near where you'll be settling, to find the right place for your covenstead. Beltane would be perfect for that; new beginnings and fruitfulness, after all. There'll be a festival of dedication at Sutterdown this Beltane anyway."

The discussion went on for some time; when it was over and Laurel went glowing on her way, Judy blew out her lips with a sound like a skeptical horse.

"Oh, great. The septs of the Clan Mackenzie: Wolf, Bear, Coyote, Elk, Raven: and now the Fluffy Bunnies. Robin Wood? No Starhawk? What about Matthews: even Zee Budapest?"

"They'll do very well, once they've settled in," Juniper said stoutly. "Nobody who's survived this long can really be an F-B. Lord and Lady witness, looking back on it we seem like F-B's."

The others of her advisors trickled in; she hadn't wanted them all there during the discussion with Laurel. That would have been too intimidating.

And what's to come intimidates me, she thought.

She sighed and closed her eyes, controlling her breathing, let calm if not peacefulness flow through her. Then she opened them again and looked around the table.

"Cogadh," she said. "War. Whether we will or no. Not very soon, not this month, but not more than a year's grace, either, I'm thinking."

"August at the earliest," Andy Trethar said. "When the harvest is in."

His wife Diana nodded. They were alike as long-married couples sometimes became, both slim and dark, with a little salt in the pepper of Andy's beard. They'd run an organic foods store and restaurant in Eugene, then done the cooking for the clan when all they had was the Eternal Soup, and now they looked after food supplies in general besides running the kitchens of the Chief's Hall here at Dun Juniper.

"We've got plenty stored, and so do the Bearkillers and Corvallis and Mt. Angel. But the Protectorate isn't nearly so well off-they'll be short, until their harvest comes in. That's why they're buying grain now."

Sam Aylward nodded. "Right you are. He'll want to conquer our storehouses, not burn our crops. And he's got projects under way that will take time, things that would improve his position when the balloon goes up. Those ruddy great castles, for starters. More likely after next year's harvest, but possibly this autumn. He's not the sort to attack before he's ready, worse luck."

Chuck made a gesture of agreement, and then one of Invocation. "It's too early to say for sure, but the Lord and Lady willing the harvest this year looks excellent, we ought to average fifty to sixty bushels an acre on the wheat and better on the barley and oats, potatoes look good, and our herds are doing well."

"Plenty of spare weapons," Sam said. "And a reserve of five hundred made arrows for every archer, besides what they keep at home. Chuck?"

"We've got bicycles or horses for the whole levy, and enough draft animals for the supply train; full equipment for everyone, and enough gear to replace losses." He looked at his wife.

"I wouldn't call all the medicos doctors, exactly," Judy said. "Any more than I am. But they know what they need to know, and we've got enough medical supplies: such as they are and such as we can make."

Juniper nodded decisively. "We're agreed he probably won't attack until after the grain harvest, at the earliest?" After a chorus of nods, she went on: "That's what Mike Havel and Luther Finney and Captain Jones think, and the abbot for that matter. But there's the matter of those refugees: what about them, by the way, Sam?"

"If Wally and Leigh are leaving me to set up with this new lot, I'll have room for them, and work in plenty. The girl-"

"She's following Eilir and Astrid around like a lost puppy," Juniper said with a chuckle. "But I had in mind her little gift."

Her chuckle raised eyebrows. "It's Laurel," she said. "Or rather her husband, Collin. It occurred to me while we were considering what to do about them that he'll be useful."

"How so?" Judy said. "Frankly, he seemed dreamier than the lot of them, and that's saying something!"

"He's a stereotype of a professional mathematician," Juniper said, grinning as the others sat up straight. "And he is a genuine PhD. Which would be rather helpful to us, now wouldn't it? It would mean, with luck, we could figure out just what the Protector has planned, as well as when."

A chorus of agreement. Juniper's smile was not at all her usual amiable expression. "And in any case we should do something to him, first, shouldn't we?"

She laughed at the surprised expressions. "We can't loosen his hold until we break his spell of fear. That requires: practical demonstrations. We've been stinging him like mosquitoes. Time to become hornets. Also to demonstrate to him the folly of ruling a hostile countryside, to be sure. You can't be too careful in which enemies you make, and how many, and where."