Free Lord of Mountains: A Novel of the Change by S. M. Stirling Page B

and not-particularly-well-washed soldiers of the two households and the Protector’s Guard. Nothing fancy at all; this was a Crown castle, designed simply for a garrison at a strategic spot rather than a resident lord or as a possible headquarters for the high command like Castle Goldendale. It didn’t have any of the plundered artwork the Lady Regent’s salvagers and their imitators had used to furnish the greaterkeeps, or the modern equivalents she’d sponsored. Logs crackled in a big, shallow hearth backed with slanted iron plates that threw the heat out into the room.
    The two squires went and made their bows before the Grand Constable and the High Queen at the upper table on the dais, sweeping off their hats and bending a knee. The two leaders were deep in conversation with a cluster of scouts and officers as they ate, folded maps and documents amid the platters and bread-baskets and one propped up against a hunk of cheese with a knife in it.
    Mathilda looked up, extending her hand for the kiss of homage.
    “That was good work, Huon,” she said, smiling. “And you too, Lioncel. Especially for junior squires. A knightly deed. I’d have hated for Ogier to die in a scuffle like that.”
    Lioncel flushed. “Sir Ogier would probably have handled it himself, Your Majesty,” he said. “We just…reacted.”
    “It was the
right
reaction, both of you. That did you credit, and any honorable accomplishment of yours rebounds to the honor of your lieges.”
    Tiphaine d’Ath nodded. “Though from the time stamp on the heliograph message, you took your own sweet rambling way getting back. What were you two up to all afternoon?”
    Lioncel froze, wide-eyed, and made a choking sound. Huon coughed and managed to say:
    “Ah…this and that, my lady. The High Queen did say
sunset
, my lady, so we didn’t push the horses.”
    D’Ath made a slight throat-clearing sound, looked at him for an instant with an unreadable expression, and then went back to the report and sketch-map which had claimed the High Queen’s attention. Lioncel mimed wiping his brow as they went over to the trestles where dinner was being handed out, barracks-style. They took big chipped plastic bowls from a stack; the cook ladled them full of the stew that steamed in a cauldron, and her helper stuck a spoon in each and stacked thick slices of bread and butter on top. They took their meal to the juniors’ benches, signed themselves, murmured Grace and ate in contemplative silence for a while.
    I’ve got a lot to think about.
    The stew was better than usual this evening, with plenty of onion and garlic, dried tomatoes and chunks of potato as well as the inevitable beans and salt meat.
    Or maybe it’s just relief
, Huon thought as he spooned it down.
What a day!
    They went back for seconds, and Huon had another mug of the raw red wine. As they turned in the empty bowls, he paused to extend a hand.
    “You’re all right, de Stafford,” he said seriously. “I’m glad to have you at my back anytime.”
    The blond youngster flushed as they shook, meeting his eyes with a look as firm as the grip of his hand.
    “You too, de Gervais. We’re comrades now, brothers-in-arms who’ve stood side by side in battle!”
    Rodard looked up as they passed on their way out, tired as the day caught up with them and eager for their bedrolls.
    “Ah, Huon.”
    “Yes, Sir Rodard?”
    The young man grinned, with a slight hint of a wink. “You’re quick-witted, Gervais. But while you were
doing
‘this and that,’ Mistress This and That bit you on the neck.”
    Lioncel choked again, and Huon clapped his hand to the sore spot behind his right ear.
    “Boys will be men, it seems. There are worse ways to spend what may be the second-to-last day of your life. Go get some sleep. The High King’s ordered the general reserve to close up behind the main force. The enemy are coming. It ends now.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    T HE H IGH K ING’S H OST
    H ORSE H EAVEN H ILLS
    (F ORMERLY