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either, that he is not.″
    The smartest of rulers? A toss-up between my mother and Matti′s, that would be; the one wise and good, the other wise and wicked.
    He realized with a start that he missed Mathilda′s mother; missed her counsel, and her peculiar way of looking at the world. They′d always gotten on well enough, even when he′d been her husband′s captive during the War of the Eye, but then again you never really knew where you stood with the Spider of the Silver Tower. He did know she loved Mathilda . . .
    I′ve never really understood her, otherwise. She′s a bad person, really, but she′s raised Matti to be a good one, and she was always kind to me, even when she pushed me hard to learn and grow. She′s done great evil, but great good also, if more from policy than inclination; and I think that the good will long outlive her, while the evil will mostly vanish . . . start to vanish, at least . . . when Matti takes the throne of Portland and rules the Association. And the more I travel, the more I realize I′ve learned from her, those months every year I lived in the Regent′s Household—things I never could have learned at home. Mother has true wisdom, but it′s not all the wisdom there is . What she stands for is good, but some things can′t be seen from where she stands.
    And that was something he could only realize at a distance from them both; as if the knowledge unfolded with the weight of their personalities removed for a while, letting it open like a flower from the bud.
    And at home I would never have realized what I knew, he mused, looking westward to where stars shone over the treetops.
    Nor learned what I have from others on this journey. Am I journeying to the east, then, or do I travel towards myself? When I meet the man I am becoming . . .
    ″Who will Rudi Mackenzie be in himself?″ he mused. ″Will those I know, know me still?″
    One thing I do know: I′ll rescue Matti for her own sweet sake . . . but even if she wasn′t dear to me, I′d be downright terrified of failing Lady Sandra Arminger!

CHAPTER TWO

BARONY OF ATH, PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION TULATIN VALLEY, OREGON AUGUST 15, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD
    The Lord High Chancellor and the Grand Constable of the PPA rode side by side through the harvested field, with their hawks on their wrists and the attendants at a discreet distance behind. A covey of pheasants exploded from the ground ahead of their horses in a cracking flutter of wings.
    Both the Associates were in what Portlander fashion decreed for gentlemen engaged in rural pleasures on a summer′s day; turned-down thigh boots with the golden spurs of knighthood on the heels, doeskin breeches, baggy-sleeved linen shirts beneath long T-tunics cinched by broad sword belts of studded and tooled leather, and wraparound sunglasses in gilded frames.
    Embroidered heraldic shields on their chests showed their arms. Those of Chancellor Conrad Renfrew—also Count of Odell—were sable, a snow-topped mountain argent on vert; it echoed the towering perfect cone of Mt. Hood, just visible as a tiny silver spike on the eastern horizon. Baroness Tiphaine d′Ath bore sable, a delta or over a Vargent; she wore a discreet livery badge at the brow of her hat as well, her own arms quartered with Sandra Arminger′s in token of vassalage.
    ″Your turn,″ the Count of Odell said, nodding towards the pheasants skimming over the ground.
    ″Thanks, Conrad,″ Tiphaine said.
    This was one of the Five Great Fields of her manor of Montinore, and the three hundred acres of brown-blond wheat stubble with clover pushing up below provided plenty of cover. The ring of hawthorn hedge and wide-spaced poplars around it were full of good places for nesting, and even conscientious gleaners didn′t get all the fallen grain that attracted quarry.
    ″Three gets you five that cock pheasant makes it to the hedge,″ the older noble said.
    The big black-gray peregrine on her wrist crouched and bated with a