The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

onto a tent pole I could get out with one yank. I figure seven feet of oak with a blunt spike against two and a half feet of cheap Paki steel is a fair fight.”

“And after the fight?” asked Sweetbread. He stirred the stewpot.

“We’d have a dozen dead royal guards, maybe four dead Wolfheads, and war with the crown. The Alpha was right to shut us down.”

Pernach said, “But, damn. Taking food off people’s tables?”

“Not now,” said Tightseam.

Sweetbread tasted his ladle. “This is ready. Let’s have it before Stitches drops by to chat.”

He gave Strongarm a wary eye. At past Kingdom events he’d fed the young fighter without hesitation. Hospitality was a virtue. But he’d always brought twice as much food as he’d need for a weekend. Now . . .

Strongarm shifted on the bale, opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything.

“I appreciate you inviting me on the scavenger run,” Newman said to him.

That put a thoughtful expression on Sweetbread’s face. “Would you like to join us for dinner, young man?”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. I’ve always admired your cooking.”

Rhino meat had a strong taste, but no one complained. When the pot cooled fingers went in to collect the last of the broth.

Wolfhead Alpha strolled by with Mistress Vixen on his arm. His eyes met Sweetbread’s. A jerk of his chin pointed toward the bluff. Sweetbread stood, offered his arm to Tightseam, and followed.

Clean-up was handled by the younger set, including Strongarm. Once everything was put away, he returned to his encampment to “see what the new marching orders are.”

Newman invited Goldenrod out for a walk in the woods. She wasn’t surprised—eight people in one tent left little privacy for fooling around—but he didn’t seem in a mood for smooches.

Other couples outside the walls were, so they had to wander a while before finding a spot private enough for Newman. He turned and faced her nose to nose.

Goldenrod popped up to kiss him.

“Hey,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

She glanced back at the camp. “We are out of there.”

“No. I mean, let’s go to the mountains.”

“Go exploring?”

“No. Well, some. Find a homestead and settle down, just us.”

“What?”

Newman spoke low and fast. “The Kingdom is a pressure vessel. It’s going to explode. There’s going to be blood. When neighbors kill neighbors the grudges last forever. We have to escape while we can.”

She stepped back. “Ye gods, you’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. Do you want to wake up in a tent on fire? Shit like that happens in civil wars.”

“It won’t be that bad. They’ll fix things.”

“How? All the checks and balances of this government were left behind on Earth. All that’s left is people with unlimited power. It’s going to their heads.”

“Government doesn’t work because of rules. It works because people want to make it work. We have good people. I trust them.”

Newman was angry. “Those good people let it get bad enough to almost kill people tonight. Will they fix it fast enough to keep someone from getting killed?”

So was she. “Whether they do or not, I’m not leaving. These people are friends. The closest thing I have to a family. I’m staying with them.”

He looked at her. Then looked off in the distance. He was thinking of going by himself. The realization terrified her.

“Look,” she said. “Be practical. Two people, just with what we can carry? How good a shelter can we build? What happens when we get sick, or hurt? How do we fix metal tools that break? How bad are the winters here?”

Only one moon of the three was up. Its light left the side of Newman’s face toward her dark. He still faced the mountains.

“And when the killing begins?” he asked.

Goldenrod tried to imagine it. She knew he didn’t need to, he’d been in the middle of worse. “If the Crown executes Master Sweetbread I’ll run away with you.”

He let out a long sigh. “I can leave before a fight. I can’t quit in the middle of one.”

“Sweetbread and Wolfhead Alpha are working to prevent that fight right now. Let’s help them.”

Newman turned toward her and spread his arms. Goldenrod fell into the embrace.

Two Weeks After Arrival

Newman remembered how to make a fire by rubbing sticks together. Or rather he remembered that he’d done it as a Boy Scout. That was enough for him to be dragooned into teaching a class for a half-dozen commoners who hadn't packed matches.

After an hour of trial and error he had some blackened tinder. The students had copied all his mistakes. A couple had quit in frustration, but others took their place. Strongarm confined his heckling to carrying over a stack of firewood “for when you succeed.”

Smoke appeared in Newman’s tinder. He spun the stick a few more times to heat it then picked up the board to drop the tinder onto the waiting pile of kindling. Some gentle blowing produced an actual flame. As it spread he added some twigs. Some broken sticks went on next. Strongarm offered a split piece of log. Newman put that on the downwind side. When it caught he flopped onto his back.

“It can be done,” he proclaimed, drawing applause from the onlookers.

When the worst of the muscle aches faded Newman sat up again. He added a few sticks to keep his demonstration fire going. Then he went around the circle watching everyone else work. Goldenrod didn’t need any suggestions. He squatted down next to her friend Redinkle. “Keep the stick turning all the time. If you take a break, even for a moment, it cools off.”

“Right,” answered Redinkle, “I’ll work on that.”

He kept going around. A couple had let the tinder fall away from where the drill pressed into the board. He pushed it back