Read Online The High King of Montival: A Novel of the Change by S. M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A

He looked to have shed years or gained inches with a weapon in his hand again, a leopard’s hunting eagerness on his broad features.
    “Is it agreed?” Rudi said. “You join us for this one fight. If we win, you get your ship and enough food to sail her to your home, and pledge your word of honor by your own God that you will trouble these lands no more. The cargo is still forfeit.”
    “Agreed,” Abdou said. “May God destroy me if I break the oath. Inshallah , God willing, we will begin our revenge on those who tricked us and blasphemed the Faith.”
    He turned slightly and repeated the words in his own language. An eager baying snarl ran through the corsairs.
    “And an equal share of any loot,” Abdou added, in a more matter-of-fact tone.
    “Agreed, though the savages aren’t likely to have more than hard blows to give us. Stay close to my band, Abdou al-Naari. These folk may accept the bargain but they don’t love you for it.”
    Abdou shrugged and smiled. “I not love ugly pagans either, we same-same so there,” he said.
    Artos turned to Kalk. “The cargo is worth more than the ship; consider that wergild.”
    “I’d rather have blood for blood,” the Norrheimer said.
    The Mackenzie smiled at him, and the grim old man blinked a little at the savagery of the expression.
    “And so you shall,” he said quietly. “Do you think they’ll all come through such a campaign as this unhurt? They could have stayed safely here waiting for an English ship to pick them up. Instead they’re offering their lives. For their own reasons, but that won’t make their blood flow any the less red, eh? When a man takes up the spear of his own will in a country not his own, he consents to his death and makes himself a sacrifice whose blood blesses the land.”
    Heidhveig chuckled mirthlessly. “I told you he used his head for something besides a helmet-rack,” she said. “Now do you see why the High One said he would found a line of Kings that lasted forever in the tales of men, if he lived and won his victory?”
    Kalk nodded wordlessly and turned away to his sons. Artos looked at her:
    “If you can keep up, you’re welcome,” he said bluntly. “But if you can’t, Lady, then you must ask the Gods for protection, for I cannot stay to offer it.”
    The seeress inclined her head. “My sleigh should be enough.”
    “Pray for cold, then. If we get a thaw and then mud ...”
    “I will. We’ve held our blót and spoken with the wights and cast the runes. Now it’s in Victory-Father’s hands.”
    Rudi turned his head. “Matti?”
    “Arms and armor in good condition, enough arrows, and the food supplies look adequate assuming we can restock at Eriksgarth,” she said.
    “Ignatius?”
    “Our medical kit is full—the healers here are excellent. Enough are coming along that I can be spared for combat duty.”
    “Ingolf?”
    “They’ve got no cavalry at all,” the Richlander said in frustration, and Virginia Thurston scowled agreement. “Mounted infantry at best.”
    Rudi sighed. “You fight with the army you’ve got, not the one you might wish. The ideal one that has a core of well-drilled pikemen and longbowmen, with field artillery to suit, three thousand good light cavalry, and a thousand knights on destriers . . . It would be a nightmare getting enough fodder anyway. Wait until we get farther west! Fred?”
    Frederick Thurston turned his hands upward, the pink palms contrasting with the chocolate-brown of his skin.
    “There’s not much unit articulation in this lot,” he said, frowning slightly. “They fight by households. Given a week or two—and if they listen to me—I could at least get them to sort by the way they’re armed.”
    Artos hid a smile. Fred was young—still short of twenty—but he was very intelligent and very well trained in his father’s army. The problem was that the army of the United States of Boise was a superbly disciplined precision instrument, and he judged everything by