Liiset looked at him calmly. "Of the four I recommended, only two are anyone you know of. My first recommendation was Varia, if we could somehow get her back. When we were young, she was trained for the executive staff. But that's out, since she's married Cyncaidh. And my second-" She turned to their guests. "My second was Curtis Macurdy." They gawped, Macurdy especially. "You're of Sisterhood lineage," she pointed out, "and I see no reason that the Dynast has to be a woman, though who knows how Sarkia might look at it. As for recommending against someone-I'll keep that to myself. It's not someone I dislike; simply someone whose appointment would be unfortunate, a source of abrasion and conflict."

Liiset's report introverted them, killing the conversation. After a few minutes, Wollerda excused them.

Before they went to sleep, Melody lay gazing at the ceiling. "Macurdy," she said, "I'm glad you refused to be the tax collector."

He grunted. "It's a lousy job. A lot of people are going to resent whoever does it, even if he's honest. To do a good job of it, you've got to push, even throw people in jail. If I had to do that, I'd get mad every time I saw money wasted, and any government invented by man is going to waste money. Even if it's only poor judgement."

Melody nodded. "I grew up thinking there were only three honorable professions: soldier, farmer, and shaman. And I'd rather have you be a farmer. Farmers are home at night." She turned on her side, fondled him, felt him swell. "Soldiers are likelier to get killed, too." She raised up on an elbow, kissed him and threw a leg across his. "And I want us to be together a long long time."

They moved to one of the farms, into a house with eight rooms plus kitchen, pantry, cellar, and servants' wing. The field hands had kept the crops in decent tilth, and Macurdy had no difficulties with any of them. Summer faded into fall, and Melody learned about morning sickness. The corn was harvested, the potatoes dug, and fall plowing gotten under way. Farming wasn't as satisfying as he remembered it, but Macurdy told himself that would change when the crops were crops he'd planted himself. And when he learned where to get alfalfa seed, and peanuts, and other things he wanted to try.

One noon, he came up from the fields to find a large and familiar black bird perched on the roof, looking coldly at the cats, all of them interested but tentative. No doubt partly because of his size, but also because he was scolding them in a perfectly human voice.

"Blue Wing!" Macurdy shouted joyously. "It's great to see you!"

"Really! How great could that possibly be, when you keep creatures like those around?"

"The cats? There's not one who'd tackle you. They're not foolish enough for that."

"As long as I don't fall asleep."

Macurdy ran them off-as barn cats they were wary of him anyway-and Blue Wing glided down to the porch roof.

"Where've you been the past year?" Macurdy asked.

"I helped raise a pair of young, and amongst my kind, it takes till nearly the equinox before they can forage for themselves."

"Did you bring your wife along?"

"By wife I presume you mean a permanent mate. Happily we don't have such aberrated concepts." He eyed Macurdy. "Perhaps for a species like yours, that takes so ridiculously long to mature their young and tends to have more or less permanent residences, an arrangement such as marriage makes sense. But for the more fortunate…"

Macurdy grinned. "I'm married, you know. To Melody."

"I'm aware of that. We have already spoken, she and I. I'm also aware that she will give birth next summer. And frankly, I think she'd be much better off laying eggs than in passing something the size of a human infant through her vent. After carrying it around inside her for the better part of a year! Outrageous!"

"How'd you like to stay around this winter? I'll make you a perch in the corner of the windbreak, where the winter winds won't be so bad, and put a roof on it to keep the rain and sleet off. On top of a twelve-foot post, on a platform so the cats can't bother you, or a weasel. And nail a sheet of copper around the post near the top, so they can't get close enough to scrabble at the platform. How about it?"

Macurdy built the perch that same day, Blue Wing supervising, and although afterward the bird was off roving much of the time, over the weeks before winter they had several good conversations. Through his species' hive mind, the bird had heard quite a bit about the war, but what he learned from Macurdy was both broader and more detailed than any other great raven had learned. And when Macurdy was in the fields working, or in the woods with his men cutting firewood, Blue Wing sometimes accompanied Melody on her almost daily rides, perched on her wrist like a falconer's hawk so they could talk more easily. It was mostly she who fed him, when he was around.

Mostly though she rode alone or with Macurdy. The Green River, broad and dark, formed the south boundary of the estate, and they enjoyed exploring the woods that bordered it, both on the flood plain and the first terrace. Coons were numerous, and possums and fox squirrels. Floods were too extreme for beaver and muskrats, and deer and razorback were scarce because of hunting, but porcupines and otters weren't uncommon. Sometimes they saw tracks of bobcat and fox. And of course, cows that trailed down to drink.

Once Melody called, "Macurdy! Come here! There's something you've got to see!"

He rode over to where she sat in the saddle, pointing at a patch of heavily disturbed ground. Something had been rooting up roots or tubers of some sort; skunk-cabbage he supposed. "Looks like a really big razorback," he said.

She shook her head, led him to the shore, and pointed to an exposed sandy mud flat. "Look at those."

He saw hoof prints, sharp and deep, far bigger than any razorback's he knew of. "I've never seen any before," she said, "and never expected to, certainly not in country as cleared and farmed as this."

Macurdy chewed a lip. A great boar could mean trouble. Something that large could hardly sustain itself on skunk-cabbage; in country without much large game, it would prey on livestock. And while he didn't believe in enchanted swine with powers of witchcraft, even in Yuulith, he could very well believe in an animal so cunning that it could be thought of as supernatural. Hopefully it was merely passing through. If it took only a calf or two, he'd call it a bargain.

They found where the tracks moved on, and leaning forward in the saddle, Melody started following them.

"Where are you going?"

"To see if we can come up on it. We'll probably never have another chance to see one."

"Hey! Wait now! They're dangerous!"

She looked at him as if to say, "So?"

"Suppose you do? And suppose he doesn't like it?"

"Then he'd have to run fast enough to catch us."

"He just might do that."

"Damn it, Macurdy! Who's the one that climbed the tree to chase the jaguar out?"

"I didn't have any choice."

"Well then, who went into the fallen timber and buffaloed Slaney? And who went into the Kormehri camp and fronted down a whole damned company?"

"I had to do those things, honey. I didn't have any choice!"

"Macurdy, you can be so exasperating!"

"Besides, you're pregnant. If something happens to you…"

She swore at him, and turning her horse, trotted across the bottomland and up onto the terrace, Macurdy trotting Hog a bit behind. He knew what would happen next, and he was right; when she got onto the firmer high ground, she kicked her horse to a gallop. The last he saw of her, she'd crossed a field of corn stubble and cleared the rail fence on the other side. He shook his head, wondering if she'd ever get over her reckless streak. After the baby comes, he told himself. If she didn't jiggle and jar it to death first. He wasn't going to bring that up though. Not again.