The Tears of the Sun by S. M. Stirling Page A

homes and workshops along cobbled lanes, the tall steep-pitched covenstead that served for ceremony and gatherings and school for the children, and a communal barn and grain elevator and warehouse where things like the reaping machines were kept; there was a pond like a blue eye near the center where ducks and geese swam, surrounded by willows and oaks and a stretch of grass. Smoke drifted blue from brick chimneys in roofs that might be mossy shingle or flower-starred green turf, and very faintly she could hear the tink-tank-clang of a smith at work. The largest house was a pre-Change frame structure not at all unlike some she’d seen as a girl, but it was much altered and painted in a pale blue. The corners and windows and door lintels had all been set with bands of carved planking picked out in gold-yellow and scarlet and green.
    Beautiful, but different . . . very strange . . . witchy, she thought.
    â€œToo crowded,” she said aloud, and then again had that disconcerting feeling that Edain was following her real thoughts. “All those households within one wall.”
    â€œAh, well, it was bad in Norrheim after the Change but worse for us,” he said blandly. “For ten years war hung over us like a thundercloud of threats and raids before it burst; I remember the wars against the Association, though I was naught but a nipper when Rudi was taken prisoner, and the northerners besieged Sutterdown, and I recall Da leading our archers out to the Field of Gold. And bad bandit troubles before and after and during that, gangs of the spalpeens, so it wasn’t safe for families to live apart on their own as your folk do. We got into the habit of dwelling close, so.”
    â€œIt’s still as packed with folk as an egg is with meat,” she grumbled.
    â€œForbye it’s a bit crowded now, yes, what with the easterners we’ve given refuge and our own numbers growing. Perhaps after the war, we’ll get together with Dun Carson and some others and found a new settlement.”
    Unspoken went: if too many don’t die in the battles to come.
    There was quiet pride in his voice: “We’ve done it before and more than twice; this is the oldest Dun in the Clan’s territory, after Dun Juniper. And Dun Juniper’s . . . different. This was the first of our farming Duns, and the pattern for the others, so.”
    The bigger house was the Aylward household, where her man’s family dwelt. Her marriage-kin now. She took a deep breath. No task grew easier and no danger grew less because you flinched from it. Just as she did they both heard soft quiet steps coming from below. Hands went to weapons, and Edain made a brzzzzzllll sound between his teeth, the buzzing trill of some local bird she didn’t know. The like answered it, and they relaxed; then a man and three dogs came into sight.
    â€œDickie,” Edain said, slipping the arrow back into his quiver.
    His younger brother was just eighteen and hence a little younger than Asgerd herself, in a kilt but barefoot, with only a sleeveless shirt below his quiver and a bow in his hand and a dirk at his belt. He had a kin-look of Edain, but his long queue of hair was a brown ruddy with the tint of old rust, his face half-covered with freckles where it wasn’t pale, and his build more lanky. Two of the dogs were just out of pup-hood, two years or so with heads and feet still a little large for their frames; the other was a gray-brown bitch of six or seven. All three were enormous, mastiff-Dane crosses with a strong trace of timber wolf.
    â€œStay, Garbh,” Edain said.
    The bitch came over to him, sniffed politely at Asgerd’s hand, accepted a ruffling of the ears, then sat down by her master with a thump of tail against packed dirt and leaned her massive barrel-wide head into his thigh. A slight lift of the lip to show fang kept the younger dogs well mannered when they showed an impulse to leap about. They were the get of