The mob gathered ahead of him wasn?t large, only a hundred or so, though it loomed larger than you?d think in the darkened street and filled it from side to side-that cramped feeling was one reason he didn?t like cities. A milling churning mass of dark clothes and pale faces with a brabble of voices in the harsh clipped Iowan dialect. An ugly sense of menace, almost a scent, musky and raw, beneath the horse piss and coal smoke of the city.

And the herd of strangers was between him and where he was supposed to go to help the Chief and his comrades. Down this street to the end, past a church, and to the big building on the square. It was past time he got there, too; something had gone wrong. ?Rudi-man says Iowa fuckers?re friends,? Jake added, his tone growing more dubious still.?Dese?re no friends.? ?Bionn gach duine go lach go dteann bo ina gharrai,? Edain muttered.

That was something he?d picked up from Lady Juniper when she?d come to judge a dispute over straying livestock between his Dun Fairfax and the folk of Dun Carson that had almost come to blows. ?Wha thayt?? the Southsider said. ?That everyone?s a friend. Until your cow wanders into their garden,? he said.

And I understand what Rudi meant. We can?t afford to make these Iowans think of us as enemies, or bloodthirsty savages. That?s the politics of it. The Chief?s in danger-that?s what I know of it. ?And this is the Chief?s business, not mine, deciding such matters,? he muttered to himself.?Or King?s business.?

He knew more about cities than the Southsiders did-it would be hard to know less-but he didn?t like them beyond a day?s visit or so, even a small and friendly one like Sutterdown, half a day?s walk west of Dun Fairfax. Much less this alien monstrosity. The townsmen had sticks-not proper quarterstaves, but heavy enough to give a shrewd knock-and a few had knives; one or two carried short broad chopping swords, what these easterners called footman?s shetes.

More than one had picked up rocks or bits of broken concrete or bricks. A ragged figure knocked a bottle against a building?s wall as he watched, and held the jagged stump in one fist. All of which was well enough for a brawl, but if he had to fight he was going to fight .

Behind him and Jake the grown men-and the odd woman-of the Southside Freedom Fighters fingered their new hickory bows. Some of them were fidgeting, feeling penned in by the three-story brick buildings to either side, or by the distant glow of a gaslight at a corner and the constant grumbling mumble of wheels and hooves and Gods-knew-what that never seemed to stop here. Others grinned at the city folk, an expression that would have frightened the urbanites more if they?d known the wild-men better.

Raising his voice:?You good people should give us the road, that you should. We want no trouble, our quarrel isn?t with you Iowa folk, but we?re ready to shed blood if we must.?

One of the locals turned to the rest of the mob.?Remember what the Seeker said! The Prophet raises the lifestreams of his followers! The poor?n lowly are his and he?ll reward them.? ?Oh, sod all, that tears it,? Edain said.?The Cutters have been at?em.?

I?m a peaceable man, sure and I am.

His father had gotten any inclination to brawling for its own sake out of him early, on one memorable occasion with a whistling bow stave on the shoulders and the observation that any young gallybagger in his family who wanted hard knocks could get them at home without bothering the neighbors.

But Da taught me never to back down when a fight was needful, so. The Chief needs me, and these Southside lads are depending on me to see them through, and those townsmen there are getting themselves into a real fight, whether they expected that or not.

The thought made sweat break out on his brow; not the fighting, but the responsibility. ?And these fucks brought Eaters into Dubuque!? the Church Universal and Triumphant?s convert said.?Eaters! Chicago scum!?

Behind the Mackenzie a snarl went through the tribesmen, as much felt as heard. The Southsiders really didn?t like being called Eaters, which was unsurprising since they?d spent their entire lives fighting those who deserved the name. Also in their legends Chicago was a lost paradise where their ancestors had been demigods, not to be mentioned with disrespect.

We?ll have to go through them, and no holds barred, Edain decided. They asked for it, and by Lugh of the Long Spear and the Morrigan?s black host, we?ll give it them.

And there was a certain relief to the thought. He was a peaceable man, but fighting was something he knew how to do. Talking with a bunch of strangers wasn?t. ?Yes, you can kill them,? he said.

The Southsiders surprised him by falling into ranks as they?d been taught; given how little time there had been for instruction and how their blood was up he?d expected a pell-mell rush. They set arrows to their strings and waited. Then one started a chant; it made him start to hear it in their slurred speech rather than the Clan?s lilt, but there was a raw menace to the sound in the shadowed, crowded night. It came like a breath of mountain and forest, the wildwood come stealing home into the walled town: ?We are the point We are the edge We are the wolves that Hecate fed! ?We are the bow We are the shaft We are the bolts that Hecate cast!? ?Wholly together…? He whipped an arrow out of his own quiver and drew past the angle of his jaw.?… let the gray geese fly.. . shoot!?

Thirty bows snapped. The whistling sound of the arrows? passage was oddly magnified by the buildings on either side. The light was bad, and the Southsiders weren?t even middling archers yet by his exacting standards. Against a bunched, unarmored target less than a second?s arrow flight away it didn?t matter much. A score of men went down, screaming and thrashing and clawing at the iron and wood piercing them, or silent and still. ?Again! Shoot!?

Another volley. Many of the townsmen turned to run, but the long shafts slashed down out of the darkness at them, the arrowheads glinting at the last second as the honed edges of the triangular broadheads caught the light. ?At them!? Edain shouted.

The Southsiders swarmed forward, throwing down their bows and sweeping out knife and hatchet. They had no order at this yet or formal training to the blade; but they had a dreadful bounding agility, and each aided the other in a unison like a pack of wolves slashing at an elk. Their catamount screeching echoed from the buildings; it was actually much like the Mackenzie battle yell. After a moment the only sound from the Dubuque men was panic flight, or the moans and cries of their hurt. ?Leave their wounded!? Edain snapped; he?d stayed back and shot, something he didn?t trust anyone else here to do in this dim light and when friend and foe were at close quarters.?No need to finish them.?

One knifeman ignored him, jerking up the chin of an Iowan trying to crawl away and preparing to cut his throat. Edain tossed him backward with a snatch and grab-he wasn?t more than average height, but his shoulders and arms were broad and thick-and cuffed him silly with a forehand and backhand slap. The man almost lunged at him, but then the mad light died out of his eyes and he grinned sheepishly despite the blood running from his nose and lips, abashed as a child caught with his hand in the nut jar. ?Get your bows and follow me!? Edain snapped.?We?ve work to do yet.? ?Screw this,? Ingolf Vogeler said.?It?s too long-we have to get going.?

Jack Heuisink hissed between clenched teeth.?Leading a band of armed men to the place the Bossman?s staying isn?t real healthy,? he pointed out.?Particularly as the Heuisinks and the Heasleroads aren?t what you?d call friendly. Unless there?s already an attack.? ? Something?s gone wrong, Jack-?

He stopped as a knock came at one of the warehouse windows: tap, then tap-tap, then tap.