When the Lights Went Out [Emberverse, Waifu Catalog Challenge fic]

High Summer Part 1​

Alexander looked across the field and the massive pavilion tents established. There was a variety of different tents beyond that, but the large wedding reception tents as he thought of them had proven surprisingly useful. He glanced over to the junior deputy, "Rawlins?"

"Yeah." He grimaced turning over the issue of the state penitentiary. "The first look didn't seem promising."

"The fire was bad?" Branch glanced to the side, "Sorry dumb question. Did any of them get free?"

He doubted it. "Its possible, Caesar," Vittorio, "Says that the fire was unlike anything he'd ever seen, most of the facility is just gone? That was, he seemed shocked at how fast it burned." He meant the modern prison. The old spanish revival old prison was untouched which was really one reason to go up to Rawlins anyway, the place was a fortress and and was ideal to the needs of exercising a local presence there. "Speaking of caesars, whats this from Lewiston, about Boise?"

The deputy shrugged, "You're not going to like it," Branch declared with conviction, "my uncle about crawled the wall." From what little he had heard, Alexander was sure Lucian didn't like it... Lucian's persnickety-ness was a staple of his behavior, "So, according to Henry, who went to go visit one of the cousins in Lewiston," He shrugged, stopped to reassure him that the plague outbreak had burned itself out, which was unnecessary, "Anyway Henry goes out that way and the word is that some army officer out of Seattle marched from there down the highway all the way to Boise." Turk continued on meandering through what he knew, and when he finished Alexander was frowning.

Captain Thurston, Alexander decided was going to be a problem. "You're right I don't like it. I don't like it at all." The threat was somewhat moderated by the fact the captain wouldn't have firearms, never mind heavier weapons. It was true that if the 'Change' had just been a nuclear war then there would have been other problems to deal with but the change had taken firearms wholly out of the equation rather than just reducing them to a question of ammunition and keeping them in repair which would have in the short term made some army captain setting himself up in Boise an even bigger problem. "Thats all we need," Not with all of Lewiston's existing problems. The ranchers had started to get their own stuff together as they had gotten the plague under control, but there was still no explanation as to why the plague had hit that fast...and it left them vulnerable to other diseases like cholera breaking out...

Mikoto stepped up to the top of the short steps onto the platform, "More western troubles?" She asked raising a long thin eyebrow.

Branch brooked a bit at calling it west, despite it being accurate geographically, "Bastard is from washington," He muttered.

Mikoto ignored the comment, "Are you still going to Lewiston?" He nodded, but before he could continue a chorus of petitioning voices came crying for 'mikoto-sama', leaving the Uchiha woman to turn to the approaching weavers.


--
"Let us drink, and be merry, all grief to refrain." She brayed in the finishing of Health to the company, and then raised the drinking glass... a piece of a set of ridiculous party / renaissance faire dish were that absolutely fit the Mackenzie's hall.

Lady Juniper MacKenzie.

The Clan KacKenzie... oh boy they should all go dunk their heads, but the world had gone upside down since that day in march. Gods and Goddesses preserve them. It was high summer, and they had a legitimate feasting hall. The hall that had once been her cabin... and now had its own pallisade wall.... their own little dumnonian fort... but that was a sad facet of the new world. She wondered if they were up to a third 'acting governor' yet the second one had only been two weeks after the first.... but they hadn't heard much out of Salem since she'd invoked the morrigan, and they'd all taken to wearing kilts by then. She thought of the nest of eaters... of the other nests that they had had to put to the torch. The thought of burning brought more thoughts... About the plague pits in Salem... and if there even was a Salem any more.

There was Corvallis, and she idly touched her stomach, the Bear killers. Other communities existed, but none that she could be sure could protect themselves in this new world... and there was a cold wind blowing. A bad omen.
--
Mikoto settled beside him, "Will there actually be anything useful in Lewiston? It seems quite a waste." She remarked reaching for her comb and brushing her hair.

"Its mostly a question of cattle and horses." It was true doc blumfield did want answers about the plague outbreak there.... and that outbreak had been very suspicious... but they certainly going to let the old man try and ride that far... wagon or no. They still weren't sure if it would be worth it to restore the old railway lines across long distances if they couldn't get even early steam powered trains to run... but if something like even the Rocket would run... well it or even earlier trains would run then that would be better than nothing. "and," He glanced through the window towards a stand of mulberry trees, "we're going to have to consider trade with all of our neighbors."

She frowned, and stopped combing, "And this new issue?"

"I'm not going to lie, this Thurston guy sounds like a problem." But he'd been considering tagging along with Henry's next ride out to the Nez Pierce Reservation anyway. The truth was they all had a vested interest in keeping good well travelled lines of communication open," and the truth was, "I've got more interest in going to Lewiston than seeing what's going on in Utah or Colorado, even if those same trade considerations are likely going to matter."

"The banner," She remarked.

A properly cared for horse could make twenty thirty miles on a good day. More so if you had several animals per each rider. Twice, and three times were very possible with good horses, trained riders, and spare mounts. Even without all of that, that twenty miles a day, meant it was still possible for news to spread. It only took one messenger to deliver a message... and unlike other parts of the country Wyoming was fairly ideal for grazing horses even without modern conveniences, so they could maintain good sized herds.

He flopped back onto the bed, the mattress roiling under his weight, and he exhaled. "One eyed shields," He groaned, "I mean...." Sauron was a simple image to be sure, and distinct but... Alexander would have never chosen it.... but then the truth was he'd have just as gladly flown the raven or dragon banners either of which one could uncharitably interpret as the same thing in historical context as the fictional mark of Sauron. "I don't like it, but..." He trailed off not needing to speak. In the dark Mikoto's sharingan was answered by his own.

The truth was... he was unlikely to tolerate the romans in boise... they were simply too close given the realities of horse travel. Unless their cosplaying caused them to forget the stirrup was a thing, and they abandoned or regressed to Roman era agriculture... but he doubted it.

"I understand." She replied softly, "You'll do what you feel is necessary, if something arises." The words lingered., and the soft tell tale static feeling of chakra across her skin.

His eyes burned in the dark... aware that there was magic in the world. The owls called beyond the windows, and took flight. Whether it was coming back into focus because of the asshole taking away or interrupting technology from working like it should have he didn't know... but there were little incongruities... and while it would be a while, eventually it was probably going to result in something having to give... probably before they had a generation grow up without ever having known electricity.

"If something arises," She repeated.

Fire burned from his finger tips, "If it comes to that." He replied and the sparks faded back into the darkness of the south wing's second floor located master bedroom, "Lewiston," and for that matter the plague outbreak, as well as for that matter the scale mail guy, who now after asking around Lucian was sure had left Absaroaka and gone up to Billings... or at least in that direction, probably going to Montana... and their neighbor to the north was a whole other issue besides. ... but really it would only be a matter of time before the old state lines, were nothing more than historical lines on maps representing a bygone age.

 

High Summer Part 2​

Alexander tucked the stone back away while he waited for the water to come to a boil. After the debacle of Absalom he'd been pleasantly surprised by the number of surplus 19^th century US cavalry sabers that had been turned up from different parts of the country, and for that matter from the reservation. Most had been in need of serious work, but they'd been issued with metal scabbards , and it hadn't been that hard for Vonnie Hayes to organize replacement loops and belts with her little historical reenactment society based on better preserved examples. Two and three ton hydraulic shop presses, and other common 'garage' tools while not historical were enough to start punching out even relatively well fitting plate out of pieces of eighteen gauge steel... and it was actually less work than full maile hauberks... or was up until all those sheets of steel stopped being common.

It wasn't perfect. The best armors available were those that had been bought and paid for or otherwise made before the Change. Pre Change commodities were, well the ones that still worked like they were supposed to had been snapped up. Despite some of the Sheridan crowd having since leaned hard into the woad and plaid, there really wasn't a point to move away from denim and flannel.

Turk finished brushing down one of his family's gallant white stallions and sat down, "What do you think we'll find, Walt said-"

"I know what Walt said," He replied. The Eaters couldn't have been any less of a malicious action than the whole electronics stopping. "We're going to have to start building forts to operate from along the way." The road to Lewiston had been cleared before summer had truly heated, but they still had no real answers for where all the people who had abandoned their cars had gone... it seemed as if they'd just slipped away into the aether after the change... and given the oddity of the Change and everything since then it left him uncomfortable.


"What about the Rez?"

"Which one?" He asked as Lenny Rowell, one of Walter's deputies who was stuck borrowing one of Standing Bear's appaloosas started there way. Lenny was one of those who had 'upgraded' to a 'surplus' cavalry sword when they'd started to be distributed from the museum, "Which Rez?" He repeated the question. They were heading to Lewiston which sat within spitting distance of the Nez Pearce, or the Northern Cheyenne or the Crow that sat just a hair further from Absaroaka, and while not as close to home as the Cheyenne there was Wind River to the west.

"Well the Cheyenne, talking about spears, and stuff... cause all the Eaters that came down from Hardin."

... like billhooks, "I've got to admit even I was a little surprised by the number of guns on the Rez," for all the good it did, "But yeah we're going to need to manufacture weapons, and that means steel or at least repurposing steel from what we have available." Lewiston was about three fifty to Portland, but that wasn't the problem. The reports out of Portland were the problem, and Portland was a lot closer to Lewiston even by overland never mind taking the river. "The Rez is going to have its share of problems without having shit come in from Billings," even if the Crow were more likely to have that happen first, "That just goes to the point we need transit stops along 90."

"You think Billings is gonna burn like Hardin did?"

... he didn't say anything for a minute. Hardin ... Hardin he wouldn't have thought would have burned like it did... and he doubted it had just been the eaters... so maybe one of the factions in Billings or somewhere north had done the city, "Whatever happened in Hardin could to Billings, and Lewiston has already had one run in with the plague, so that could happen in Wyoming or Montana."


Rowell finally got up the small hill to the picnic benches bent over and panted against his alice pack still wearing his breast plate, "Alright, well," He grunted, "got Nez Pearce riders that way," He jerked a thumb back the way he came, "Reckon that we're alright now." It had been a long ride, but the highway made it easier, even if they weren't quite there yet. Seven hundred miles to Lewiston. Not straight, they had to leave wyoming and go up to Montana but following 90 made it easy. The Highway would in theory let them keep the road open all year... if they could manage to clear the hurdles of being reduced to Oregon Trail level technology... or worse.

"How do they look?"

"I don't think anything has changed, I see some more chainmail," Lenny all but tossed himself onto the bench. "Was you serious about what you said, that we could put the railway back in service?"

"We could have horses pull the cars," But that would mean clearing out Hardin, and Vonnie Hayes thought that maybe a lower pressure steam engine something circa 1830 might still work, five ten horsepower even if it'd be big and heavy... but that would probably mean building one since that was the sort of antique she didn't have. "Its just a thought." They had lost enough technology as it was, he didn't want to see them lose more just because people assumed everything was dung ages and just didn't see what worked. "Whats standing bear doing?"

"Henry, he's riding over to see that loony cousin of his."

... ah yes mr played too much shadowrun, and the change was the great spirit taking all the white man's toys away or whatever...
--
Havel glanced into the eastern skyline towards Montana. His conversation with the 'Lord Protector' sat there replaying even as Kenneth sat down.

"What's troubling you?"

"I told Ole Norman too much." The marine replied, even if the rational part of his mind told him that Arminger had told him things as well. The loony bing had given him information, it had been a trade... and thus far the bad guy hadn't done anything yet. "He's had people up to Lewiston, even to Montana." Which, which seemed suspicious, but Kenneth suspected that the plagues spread had been because of the river and how easy it was to transit.

"You don't think you should have mentioned Alexander?"

"Maybe I shouldn't mention having met them." Arminger had said he had sent one of his 'milites', knights for the more modern inclined vernacular, to see the status of the county. "He showed me a map even." Which it hadn't been hard to get one, a copy of the same one, when Alexander had said ranch ... okay maybe he'd accepted that he'd meant a pretty big farm, not, "Its the size of a county, I looked, Arminger even showed me a newspaper clipping of the house saying it was perfectly modernized version of Mount Vernon." Which the paper clipping had given him some further background, he'd been right about him being Army as the paper cited him a Major in the 1/75 during the 'recent' Gulf War.

"I'd have liked to have read that." Kenneth Larson remarked. "Arminger might have been hoping for help then. He tried to recruit you after all."

"He tried to recruit us." He responded, emphasizing the us part. "The bear killers for muscle. He's got bigger ambitions. If that meant agreeing I was Lord Bear he'd have been fine with that, but the guys off his rocker. Especially if he thinks I'd work with this Iron Rod freak willingly."

The Larson patriarch nodded, "Yeah, I saw the farmstead too." ... and the massacre that 'duke' had perpetrated.
--
Notes: We are going into the High Summer Chapter which will then lead into dealing with in the following chapter the Camas Prarie and the first of Norman Arminger's de facto minions falling, admittedly exactly how useful Iron Rod was to Portland is probably debatable but Iron Rod is a good convenient 'bigger scope' starter villian for the bear killers as well.

In my original notes High Summer was supposed to be 5 segments, and thats what I'm shooting for its about six thousand words total, if the Juniper scenes get added in probably closer to seven for the chapter as a whole. It presents basically a good excuse to link up with Havel after the few months (since march) even if we don't introduce Juniper to the western situation just yet, she has her own problems to deal with.

Geography wise (and yes 2000 sq mi is basically the 'starting' size of Wyoming counties they only get bigger from there, but that would be like a third of Park county) we know Campbell (in Longmire) exists as a county (Absaroaka is fictional, so I would normally equate it with say Big Horn, but Walter explicitly states in the novels that Absaroaka is a founding county, which may have been retconned since then) Its in that vicinity its either Big Horn or Park or some pieces of both. [Walter describes Absaroaka as being the size of New Hampshire, in what is not likely to be an intentional DBZ joke in square miles over nine thousand]

But anyway its ~july ish 98. Its hard to keep track of dates in Emberverse especially in the first book

 

High Summer Part 3​

June 1998​

Mike turned the second man over carefully, reached two moleskin gloved up fingers and felt out an identical wound channel to the first in his chest. "Not how we," The Marine Corp, "would have done it, but somebody clearly knew what they were doing, what do you think doc?"

"I'm not a forensic pathologist," The Vet protested, which he rebutted by pointing out that wasn't what he had been asking. Arnstein was the closet they had to a medieval weapons and fighting expert and all.

"Long blade, narrow, stiletto maybe?" One of the other bear killers guessed. Pam stuck her gloved fingers in the wound.

He shook his head looking into the dead man's puffy face, both of the ex bikers had been caught unaware, taken from behind... and not from someone small that they might not have noticed . Pam was currently prodding the deep purplish contusions that had occurred near or possibly after the fatal stab wounds. "Think its a dagger of some kind," Not a knife, not like the kabar in the marine corp, the fatal wounds were all stabs to important weak spots in the men's armor... which they hadn't been stripped of. Whoever had dropped these two had left two decent sets of maile, and at least serviceable weapons behind... which probably meant he was travelling quickly overland and couldn't afford the weight.

... of whoever was killing Iron Rod's muscle didn't give a good god damned. That hypothesis was voiced by the local sheriff, "Not gonna complain, after all this." Regarding both bikers having been jumped unawares.

Pam backed up, "Wound channel is almost six inches. Its too wide to be a stiletto."

"Will?" Will Hutton had moved to the first body.

"It went through this mild steel," He gestured to the armor, "and then that deep, and he didn't get it stuck in one of these bastards?"

... and doing two sentries, "Look for a second set of tracks, it might not be one guy after all." They'd only seen one set of big boot prints further back, after they'd surveyed the area... so they might have fucked up the 'crime scene' and obscured another guy, but if Mike were to bet somebody had probably been watching here for a bit, probably had an observation post somewhere nearby... which brought the question of had they actually moved on.

"What are you thinking Mike?" The Larson son asked as he gazed the hill.

"I'm thinking that if this were me, even if guns don't work," he patted his field glasses, "That these still do. A spotting scope up there, might not be as much good without an M40 but you can still watch." He shook his head, "What's going back on there?"

"Legolamb is lecturing on elf speak from her books."

Tolkien. Tolkien had been a linguist. "How's that going."

"Hark gold falls leaves wind." Larson grunted half intelligibly some combination of caveman trying to do Shakespeare, then in his normal voice. "Its whatever," He shrugged, "As long as I don't have to hear anything else about mount doom."

"I know that one, Amon Amarth." The former marine said with a laugh.

--
A Wyoming county started at a bit over million and a quarter acres. It was actually one of the more palatable organization features of the state though you saw similar throughout the high plains states but Wyoming, partially due to population had all kept her counties above a certain size... where as even Montana had created several much smaller counties for that and other reasons. Washington though... Washington's border counties bordered on tiny in comparison to Wyoming's neat typically rectangular ones, and Oregon wasn't any better. They'd crisscrossed back and forth, and were now once again in Idaho. Switchbacking all over...

It was all academic now. The old lines on the map were largely irrelevant. The division of original counties might return based on geography... or just as likely new reasons would create themselves if civilization could reassert itself. The old states no longer mattered.

Jim Thomas folded up the map and stowed it away, glancing to him, and then to Turk, "What now?" The man asked shuffling his six five muscled frame around to glance down the hillside and looking into the columbia river countryside.

"Well we could wait for Iron Cloud." He muttered referring to Joseph Iron Cloud had come up from Washakie county to the south of Absaroaka.

"are you serious?"

"No." Alexander replied to Turk's question. They didn't have time to wait, or at least not as how he figured it. They had diverted too far south as it was. Whether or not Henry Standing Bear had agreed with it, the sheriff was not going to be happy they jumped on this, regardless of what the situation in Lewiston had been like...especially not riding all the way down here and having sent word back really more as an afterthought. "That," He pointed his finger in the direction of ... what according to the local map was a fucking convent of all things but might as well have been a castle for its present situation, "Is a problem."

Just like the young Crow Indian who'd shown them the path had told them. He hadn't known the indian, probably on leave from the army when the change had hit, but he'd apparently known who Henry and the Sheriff were so he'd been happy to show them the approach to 'Duke Iron Rod's castle'. It had greatly simplified their work, but it also had encouraged them to move quickly.

He glanced back at the trail when a gravelly voice ordered them to "Wait." Henry Standing Bear was not someone to trifle with, the MACV-SOG veteran had come out of the grassland brush. The younger Nez Pearce took about five minutes to catch up with them crossing through the off trail, and was out of breath.

"What's the matter?"

"We found a game warden's station, and blood." Henry explained that he had seen circling buzzards and decided to follow them... because well the last time they had done that they'd found some of iron rods victims from him wreaking a swathe of violence in Western Idaho.

So he went ahead and asked the obvious question, "Iron Rod."

"I do not believe so."

"Eaters?" He guessed again.

Another shake of his head, "No. The kill was ... efficient."

... Alexander did not immediately reply to that, then settled for a single word in response to the inflection on the last word, "Great."

"What if it was someone doing what we're doing, who'd the body belong to?" Henry raised an eyebrow at Turk's youthful optimism, and the young Connolly scowled, "Well?"

"I do not know, but the body had been scalped."

"You're fucking kidding." The deputy exclaimed, much much louder than Alexander would have preferred, but from the quesy look on the out of breath nez pearce ... Henry wasn't joking.

On the other hand, months now after the change he wasn't surprised that someone was going around scalping people. "Did the body have any tattoos?" He asked after a moment.

"None that I could see, but there was a lot of blood from where he was hanging."

A nod. No tattoos might mean it wasn't iron rod's bikers... or just that there were none visible... or a recent recruit from the 'road people'. But really who knew... it could very well have just been some hapless fuck who'd gotten killed by some asshole who thought the change made that sort of thing ok- "He was hanging?"

"In the sense that someone went to a great deal of trouble to tie their victim up several feet off the ground, yes."

"Great." He repeated as he surveyed the others. The fact that some alien malevolent asshole intelligence had made it so firearms didn't work had greatly altered the load he had brought... in the sense that they were travelling with plate armor chain, and other such things, along with bladed weapons... though both Jim Thomas and Turk had their billy clubs as well. He personally considered those a liability, but to each their own.

He glanced to the road leading to the convent thing, and shook his head.

"Are you planning to go in their alone?" Standing Bear asked having crossed his arms over his chest in a disapproving stand

... he was seriously considering it. He blinked the spinning tomoe from his eyes. "I want to see if their guard patterns shift." He replied instead still focusing on what the map called 'St Hilda's'.

"Here."

Apparently the bear had been busy. He flipped through the local tourist bureau's regional sight seeing. St Hilda's was newer than he'd been expecting... which of course only meant the nineteen twenties. It was a benedictine abbey, and the dated the year previous pamphlet advised visitors to speak with a mother superior Gertrude. The abbey had done outreach, and the usual for the community and the pamphlet had had no shortage of glossy color photographs. The tourism board hadn't shrimped on their trade.

"Thanks."

Henry grunted. "At least seventy or eighty bikers." The indian declared, "Probably more." He observed looking out towards the butte. "Also, I talked with one of the locals, the plague has spread to Boise last he heard."

Alexander frowned. "Before or after that Thurston kook got there?"

"He didn't know. I'd guess before he didn't know anything about our ... what did you call him a Cosplayer?"

"Romanphile works too." He snorted, "Suppose the locals have heard the same things that Lewiston has about back east?" An affirmative grunt.

 

High Summer Part 4​

"I don't think this was iron rod." Mike remarked as they cut the man down from what had at one point been a highway road sign.

"I, agree with you." Pam remarked after he was taken down and laid out on the prairie grass. The most immediate tell had been the lack of, threatening slash self aggrandizing messages that proclaimed this was the biker turned warlord... the other was that now that they were up close, "These cuts are almost surgical in precision, not a scalpel but someone knew what they were doing."

... and then they'd hauled him up, "This was more than one guy right, I mean this guy has to what two twenty?" Erik asked looking at the big man.

"Closer to two fifty," Mike replied, "He's been eating good since the fall, and that looks like a spear to me." The wound was one he could be sure, but the laming injury didn't look like a sword stab, someone had gotten chunky here and fucked a calf up.

"Mike, I think this guy was alive when he was strung up," The vet gestured to the blood, "Which means his eyes were cut out while he was alive."

The Lord Bear looked at the knots and then to the tattoos, it didn't fit. "This isn't like that other group. This is one of iron rods guys for sure, but someone was sending a message,"

"Hell of a message, for gods sake they took his eyes."

He almost reiterated the doc's assessment that the biker had been alive. Mike kept looking around for details they had missed on the initial pass through. They'd followed the birds cawing, the carrion eaters had been circling.

They walked back, more than an hour, to the bear killer camp with its easily disassembly fortifications that could transferred to the wagon train, and deployed quick. A couple of men standing with the bows they'd received from the 'Clan MacKenzie' folks, and other ranks with their own stocks. Mike was mostly used to it... even if every so often he missed, felt the twinge, towards what he'd carried in cammies under the desert sun.

"So do you think that's three or four?"

The question caught him off center. "Huh? Oh," they knew it wasn't the sheriff and probably not any of the locals, but it wasn't hard to guess that 'Duke Iron Rod' but must have been pissing off all of his neighbors. "I don't doubt Iron Rod has been a bad neighbor and that's coming home to roost." He thought about the two men that had been dropped the two bikers and left them with their gear, not bothering to strip the bodies of their lamellar scale armor or their weapons. "I think who ever did that needed to take fat boy's armor cause he couldn't get him strung up otherwise."

Erik nodded appreciably.

Not that they'd found the armor, but someone had gone to a great deal of effort to send a message to the 'Duke of the Camas Prarie' or whatever Iron Rod's official title was supposed to be. He supposed they'd interrupted the message in transit, but as it was setting up with Sheriff Woburn the Bearkillers were probably about to deliver their own messages.

"You think they'd be willing to team up with us?" Erik Larson asked.

"If its just a couple of guys we can't really chance it," Partisans could be a mixed bag, and Mike wasn't keen on wasting time trying to find them, but the thought was cut off when one of the young recruits rushed up with cries of lord bear. The urgency in the younger man's voice though caught him off guard, and he had the passing thought of 'fuck what now'.

--
The man's massive muscled form was unmistakable on some instinctual level, and maybe it was the adrenaline but there was a moment as the sword swung back in a false cut that caught a biker in the neck that the ranger's eyes looked red under his helmet. With a linebacker's build the bodycheck the man threw into another sent one more biker tumbling into the ground and the long blade descended into the downed biker's neck point first.

He could see that because they were on the right side of the debris, the cars and the broken evergreen trees. A dozen men lay dead at the man's feet or back behind him, and he wasn't alone. There was another two or three big fucking dudes in mail and mixed plate, and a few more smaller guys, closer to Havel's own size as well as a few... grooms holding their horses.

Mike raised his sword, "Bear Killers!" he called and lead his party to cut the 'Devil Dogs' retreat off taking them down and around putting a line of cut and thrust small shield wielders a dozen strong in front of the bikers making a beeline for the park access road. Pam Arnstein's students might not have been kilt wearing scots but their shield wall closed off the only avenue of escape.

Alexander's armor was the most ornate of the lot, dark blue and ochre enamel feature a white owl on his breast clutching lightning bolts and a sheathe of wheat. His other pieces of armor were color matching to the breast plate, while most of the others had their armor in the white, in contrast to the patina applique Havel had applied to the bear killer kit.

Of course given the thrashing the big man probably wanted their focus, and Havel moved to close the positions as ten men stood the last of Iron rod's men on the road. Woburn road forward, more forward than Havel wanted, as the sheriff tried to get ahead of their prospective battle line.

At least part of Alexander's armored war party must have been Indian from the shouts of what Havel dimly recognized as Cheyenne, and thought back to Running Horse's subtext, and what the Nez Pearce had said. Not the sort of thing he fancied to see in a generation or two with some kind of range war breaking out. The back end of a hawk came into the last of the bandits in close and one of the big men, pulled it free from where it had punched through the scales.

Woburn didn't take the hint and called for everyone to stop what they were doing. Mike made an 'executive' decision and dug his heels in a hair to push his horse around the sheriff's own mount and called "at 'em." The butchery took barely minutes to settle as the last of the bikers, already winded and a few bruised stumbled back not having any momentum to meet the class.

"We could have used prisoners."

"I doubt any of those cornered dogs were going to surrender." Mike bit back as he got down and handed his reins off to one of his own bearkiller grooms, and watched the helmet come off. The last few months had done little to the man's expression. There were no signs of deprivation, from lack of food, and he hadn't had any unfortunate run ins with any bears that was clear. "Alex." He waved, choosing to shorten the man's given name. Then punching Pam's arm slightly, "Sorry doc he's married." He joked at her roving eye... and as soon as he said it he had the awkward flash back to the Clan MacKenzier leader and his own tumultuous romance situation.

"I don't suppose," He drawiled, "you've been going around killing Iron Rod's people have you?"

"We have, but I was planning to ask you if you might have happened to been doing the same?"

He nodded, and then with complete seriousness asked, "You scalp anyone recently?"

Mike blinked, "No, you cut anyone's eyes out and hang 'em up for this Duke Iron Rod to see?"

"I have not." He replied, and shook his head, and pulled a gauntlet off , "Alexander Dahlgren." He stated extending the hand to the sheriff."

"Joseph Woburn, I'm the county sheriff."

The two men shook at least which seemed like a good sign. Now that they were closer Mike looked at the armor, "Is this what you had in mind back at the campground about having your armor?"

"Yes," He ran a hand over the plate, and then gestured to a couple of his friends from Montana or Wyoming or wherever, and more specifically their pigeon breasted plates, "Hydraulic shop presses still work, so since we had sheets of steel, it was easy enough to press and rivet those." He shook his head, "Are you planning to do something about Duke Iron Rod?"

"We were thinking about it. The sheriff here has something of a posse reared up if we all go together, I was still putting together a plan, but we definitely have the numbers." He remarked thinking about the butte the monastery was built on, and then to the bodies still warm on the blacktop on the road ten feet away. "What happened here?"

"We caught them watering, and Henry," He gestured to a big man, taller than Alexander himself, who had removed his helmet revealing a still good looking man of middle age... probably ... the tick fell off as he looked at the tomahawk, and in a lower voice in explanation Alexander continued "Standing Bear was Macv-sog. He sent their horses running and we herded the bikers this way."

Now that the cutting was done he could see from the broken trees where a couple of men hadn't made it this far down the road before arrows had caught them, and a look at the big chestnut horse still waiting, and the bow resting a long it, a dozen birch shafted forty inch arrows along it. "What were they doing?"

"Probably prepared to go raid one of the local farmsteads, we've seen them ride out before. This lot stopping for water was to useful to pass up." He replied was a dark predator smile spreading across his features.

The look made him remember, "Hey before I forget you know a guy named Arminger."

"Yeah, have you seen his one eyed shields too," He muttered something derisive or something under his breath, "I suppose I can't talk about that, Mikoto's was knitting dragon banners when we road out."

"She's not with you?" He asked.

"No she's at home."

Home being a ranch... plantation sitting on a county sized estate. "Your own personal mount Vernon?"

"Yeah, thats right." He replied. "So what, you've seen Norman? Did he give you the society was better before the renaissance and reformation made a mess of things speech?"

Mike 'Lord Bear' Havel snorted a laugh, "Thankfully I missed that, but your buddy is building castles to enclose the valley, and I bet, well all the worthless money in my wallet," That he still carried, "that he's been in contact, and he put this Duke shit in Iron Rod's head."

"Possibly," Alexander replied nodding, "Lets talk shop about how we should deal with his grace." He muttered the cold look glazing over his eyes.
--
Notes: I just can't do Juniper and the clan MacKenzie scenes they just fail to click with me. LIke I read her chapters, and she just doesn't click with me.

 

High Summer Part 5
​

Alexander's armor had a number of 'modern' conveniences. The metal was modern steel of course, and its composition from using industrial refinements made it light, but the rivets and connectors were modern materials. They would be able to replicate the riveting that had just been done with a hydraulic shop press, and those still worked, but manufacturing the clasps, and other fasteners... the material they were made of were something would go away as what Larson senior referred to as retrograde tech took over and old stocks were used up and disappeared.

What they had taken to calling. 'LosTech'.

Havel had only gotten here to the tail end of the conversation, "Whats that?" He asked at the use of the term.

"Lost Technology," The Term had come in from the college age crowd as they talked about what no longer worked back in Absaroaka and as a result what they couldn't make anymore but what did still work. "We've noticed some low pressure steam systems still work."

Larson senior nodded, "Us to."

It was hard, Mike knew, to actually run experiments while on the trail... hell, he wanted to kick himself for forgetting about gliding... with as many birds as they saw everyday he should have thought about that sooner. Not to be self centered, Mike was pretty sure that if he hadn't thought about it, the Dark Lord Norman probably hadn't thought about it... which admittedly could have been that he focused on observation balloons which was a different problem.... given how fast Arminger had been on the uptake in general, and getting things organized. "So do we have a catchy name for the stuff we're making into our middle ages gear?" Mike grunted kicking his boot at the picnic table's metal leg. "Cause I mean, well Hutton doesn't think it'll be any time soon, but leaf springs are a finite resource."

Larson senior and Alexander exchanged looks, "Not that I've heard." Alexander remarked, "But give it time," He replied after a moment.

The older man cleared his throat, "I think, Mike that that would fall under the same category really. Its pre change technology that we're repurposing, do you really have silk production underway?"

"We already had mulberries in the garden. Admittedly it'll take a while before we have enough silk worms to really be 'in production'," Alexander replied, "But in a few years Mikoto thinks she'll have a small industry." But anything like trade network managed to pull itself together and they moved from looting the ruins of pre change cities... well it was something.

"Iron rod has crossbows." Mike remarked.

Larson shrugged, "That's not a surprise Woburn told us he looted the sporting goods stores."

Havel shook his head, "No, those too, but these are post change reproductions."

"You're thinking arminger?"

"Could he?" Havel replied.

Alexander shrugged, "In the sense of would he do that, probably... I don't know if he'd have the technical acumen to manufacture them. Frankly I doubt it, but he probably could find someone to do that." The crossbows reported were similar to the ones being used by the Portland based group under the professor's cat eye banner. "But I don't think assuming Arminger is responsible is the best reaction. Yes, Norman could be responsible, but by all indication crossbows have been proliferating with everyone."

"He's right Mike, a crossbow is a lot easier to use than a longbow, even if its slower. I think pretty much all the SCA outfits have figured it out, and that makes massed crossbows more practical for," He paused to glance sideways, "normal people than horse archers. Hugo picked up a crossbow to mind Larsdalen while we were gone after all."

Alexander had not met the Larson's wine tender ... or whatever the appropriate term was, but if the 'Bear Killers' could keep the Larsdalen estate, or even just move to another, growing wine potentially would b e a trade good of their own... though he wasn't convinced how popular wine was necessarily going to be in the immediate post change... but then who could say. "I'm not saying its impossible, given the Sheriff's description and what we've seen, its obvious that the Duke has had someone putting ideas in his head." If that was Arminger, then so be it... but his principle concern was the possibility of a developing target fixation Mike Havel seemed to have. Norman Arminger did however seem to have painted a target on his own back by moving as quickly as he had. "For the time being Iron Rod is our problem. We should deal with that now, I want them out of that abbey." Monastery, whatever one wanted to officially call St Hildas... and the truth was he wasn't exactly keen on entrusting its stewardship to Woburn, but the sheriff was certainly a better choice than Iron Rod.

"Right," Mike agreed, "What about your Indian Scout?"

The Crow kid hadn't shown back up, unfortunately. "He showed us the approaches. Iron Rod's defenses could probably be bypassed in a before dawn raid." Not intended as bragging Alexander gave a flat look, "I could spring the gate."

"You can climb those walls in full kit?" Mike didn't sound like he was entirely convinced, and continued, "Even if you can, sending one guy in isn't going to work." The option to simply burn Iron Rod out, had been dismissed on the basis of the slave raiding the former biker gang had been doing.

"Standing bear is getting a feel," Of his own, "Of their watch patterns, but we could mount raids to trim their numbers. Bushwhack them to be a bit more manageable before an assault but your paraglide idea is also risky."

Mike hadn't pretended it was a perfect solution, but one he doubted the enemy would be on guard against given most people just accepted that flying as now for the birds. Except Arminger who had hot air balloons for observation... there was the question about how long it would take for that to spread... since they planned to exploit the fact balloons still worked themselves.

There was a pause as a large owl descended. The great owl hopped twice after landing and extended a leg. "Standing bear?" Larson asked seeing the message.

"Mikoto." He replied unfurling the small sroll and reading. The red eyed bird bowed sweeping its wings before accepting the head rub. "St Hildas," He stated flatly. "I want to move on it tonight."

"Something the matter?" Alexander shook his head, grateful that Mikoto's scrawl was in Japanese rather than english... but part of that was simply practical, "What's the message say then?"

He raised an eyebrow in Havel's direction, "The advantage of were we live is that its good horse country, good cattle country, it certainly doesn't hurt I've been prickly about letting people hunt on the land so there is game. Mikoto thinks we should be able to field a relatively competent collection of mounted infantry to start with before the snows come."

"You're not going for horse archers?"

"No, admittedly... what was it you said," He replied to Larson the elder, "That's difficult for normal people. We've got plenty of horses and frankly steel breastplates are functional. The idea of course is to finish clearing out the eater dens, but we also want to stabilize our ties out to the Nez Pearce rez... and I would like our south western neighbors safe and not having to deal with Iron Rod." and of course, though he wasn't planning to mention it in particular there was the whole Clan Mackenzie peoples that Mike Havel had brought up... and their long bows. "once that's done we should have a stable line of communication..." If that damned roman legion cosplayer didn't stir up trouble, of course.
--
Notes: and next chapter we actually move towards killing 'the duke of cammas prairie' and the taking of St Hilda. Still having no luck having a Juniper centric scene that I actually want to post, so it may end up being more Clan Mackenzie centric as those lines of communication open. Anyway Cammas Prarie is the next chapter, and then whats outlined after that is the meet between basically the Ranchers Association/Nezpearce, the bear killers, sheriff woburn's county, and the absaroaka folk then probably contending with Montana's deteriorating situation and possibly the situations, by courier of Utah, and South Dakota to the south and east respectively. This chapter needed to be finished, this has been sitting there all summer not ready yet, so yeah. When will Cammas Prairie start? Maybe the end of the month, it opens with more medieval post change battles, and the bear killers in action, but yeah I was falling behind on the schedule.

 

Cammas Prairie​

--
Mike Havel exhaled as he settled into his usual table position. The camp bench was cluttered with papers as they prepared to mount the assault. They wanted to know if there was any chance that there might be more active sentries, but it didn't seem like it.

It was twilight and most of them had settled into positions which were protected from any sort of observation. It was obvious that even though it had been months since the change 'Lord Iron Rod' ... il duce the biker former biker still hadn't gotten used to lack of electric lights... and clearly hadn't been forced to correct that despite taking losses of some of his men by ambush.

For sure, the ex biker hadn't considered something like a hot air balloon like the Bear Killers had rigged up.... it had been an idea that Norman 'Lord Protector' Arminger in Portland had thought of but either hadn't passed along to Iron Rod or the biker hadn't listened. Havel could understand the biker not thinking about it when the lights had gone out he had only been thinking about how his plane's engine had stopped working, he hadn't been considering other ways to fly.

Dark Lord Norman seemed taken his past SCA membership to heart even though he'd separated from the organization, and figured out air still rose... and since he'd so demonstrated Mike had been willing to give it a try. "We know they're in position." The use of the observation balloon had existed in the civil war, but only in a limited capacity, but the books that they'd raided from stores, and libraries were still full of useful information and the little tin heliograph twinkled down to the Bear Killer forward post to pass on what they could see in the distance of the clear sky.

Mike would have preferred a little more time to get a feel. He would have liked to try his paraglide plan as well... but night wasn't going to last forever and they hadn't had time to practice flying in daylight. So instead of waiting, or risking it they were attacking while they had the advantage of a larger force than just the bear killers and Woburn's posse.

That suited Woburn fine, the sheriff's willingness to contract out the fighting didn't strike Mike as the best idea given the stories of Italian history that the ex marine had been regaled with... and doubly so given Alexander seemed to be settling into a feudal mindset of his own. The large ex army officer was examining the axe's edge, but he had series of silver tubes in front of him.

"Are those what I think they are?" Havel asked a little warily. They had agreed to not simply burn St Hilda's, even though that probably would have conserved their strength, but he suspected any kind of assault was going to risk a fire anyway...

"Thermite still burns like its supposed to."

The younger Larson male blinked, "Thermite, what do you do with that-"

"Breaching charge, I'm going to break those wrought iron gates down." At the younger man's look, "We did it in Iraq to breach Baathist compounds." But back then one had guns... but then Mike supposed the bad guys would have had guns too. "There is another reason we need to do this now. I do think, you're right."

Mike grunted, and looked around for Woburn, but the sheriff wasn't around. "How do you mean Alex?" He was kind of glad for that. The sheriff had originally been looking to avoid a major engagement and just drive the devil dogs off.

"I think Norman did put some of the ideas into this idiot's head. The scale mail we're seeing is almost certainly something Norman traded over... and I'm starting to guess why."

--
Norman Arminger put aside the book fondly. A Connecticut yankee in King Arthur's court was not the most serious, or realistic of books, but he had enjoyed it as a child all the same. He would haved liked to have known that the impossible really was possible... all the things he could have done knowing the change was going to happen... the set backs he could have prevented, the preparations he could have made.

There would have been set backs... he wasn't naïve enough to not know that, but there could have been things he could have done. The University could have been pushed harder to pursue various living history projects foremost among them... even if he had to press them as inter disciplinary studies, and press for other period fields to be supported.

He hadn't known this was going to happen. So he was going to have to put things back together... and to do that he needed horses. Human muscle power was simply inefficient, even without accommodating for contemporary issues. Horses needed pasture and grassland that meant trading for horses and clearing land to use specifically for horse raising. It went beyond military needs, he needed horses for farming as well as for keeping a post system in places were the canals didn't reach.

There was a special skillset to breaking horses to consider as well. A skillset that meant he was prepared to to do a lot in terms of short term preparations in order to bring into line... but nothing was quite so simple as knowing the rudiments of astronomy as it had existed in the 19^th century, or being able to speak greek or latin. There were things that needed to be done, and some of the news that was making it across the old highway system was starting to get alarming even by his usually even temperament.

Thankfully most of the people in the major cities in coastal California seemed to be trying to flee inward. They were trying to get to the farms of the heavily mechanized Californian agriculture sector... cows, and wine... and while certainly he would have liked to have been able to seize as many of the cows... it wasn't worth risking the attention. He needed to keep the southern border of Oregon as shut as possible... let the dying times cull the weak as far a way as possible just to avoid being worn down fighting a tide of desperate and starving masses. That was why he had pushed as much of the city's population northwards as possible... admittedly the fires had been a lucky opportunity, and had made it easier to push them out... but now that fall was approaching... only a few months away he knew that they were running out of time.

Norman opened the desk drawer, and put it alongside a host of other classic works of fiction, and looked down at the thick piece of clear plastic that protected the map underneath that dominated his desktop. Iron Rod, and his Devil Dogs were supposed to keep the Cammas Prairie open and safe for travel. He needed that pathway open to range cattle, and horses from Montana to Oregon... or what had used to be those states. Norman felt himself still making those mistakes, because those were the names still on the map.

"Ah, Sorry about that," Jefferson Davis grabbed for the door as it slipped a little harder open than the cowboy had meant for it. "I was just coming to say those wannabes you've got still haven't gotten here yet."

... that meant the most recent messenger was now almost a week late, and that was one of his people. Some delay was to be expected, but the Duke of the Cammas Prarie... the entire point of recognizing a duchy on his eastern frontier was to, was in the hopes of having someone to secure the frontier. If Mondarian had been smart he'd have rolled into Woburn's town and liberally applied fire. Gasoline still burned after all, and as Portland had shown it was very difficult to put fires out without fire trucks especially once a fire reached the building cladding... besides... from everything he'd heard Iron Rod wasn't exactly the best about using soap when he washed.

He should have insisted that the Devil Dog's leader accept aid. The word that the sheriff was doing something like building gallows in front of his office and Mondarian's unwillingness to actually respond decisively to that kind of provocation was concerning. "I suspect that the sheriff may have allies, perhaps he found some help" Norman remarked drawing himself up.

The younger Walker snorted. "That useless peckerwood don't worry me none, but yeah I reckon that he'd be easy to lead around by the nose."

"It doesn't matter if he's a patsy for someone else or not Jefferson just that he's in the way." He'd either need to be removed, or be convinced to come to some kind of accommodation with, and that might be difficult given Iron Rod's behavior.

 

Cammas Prarie 2​

In the ninth century the best way to take a fortified monastery like this, like with any fortified structure would have been surprise. Early morning when monks were at vespers and distracted, of course one of the lessons that had emerged out of this and had continued into the high middle ages for the emerging feudal elite of western Europe was it was fine to go to vespers ... just post guards. Even into the twelefth and thirteenth centuries with the emergence of gunpowder onto the western European battlefields stealth and subversion remained the most effective ways to bypass fortified strongpoints quickly.

Once the enemy was alerted to an attempt to breach achieving the action quickly became much more difficult, and thus sieges set in. Sieges had always been dangerous and expensive even going back into antiquity... and as important as this abbey was as a passing point across the Cammas Prairie they couldn't justify a lengthy investment.
Mike had questioned the rush in spite of having seen what Arminger seemed to have been able to put together in just the relatively short span of time since the event, and the subsequent chaos of Saint Patricks day when all the lights had failed. That had been less than six months ago, and whatever he had managed to salvage from Portland it had obviously provided him enough of a supply of raw materials and a not insubstantial labor force

Certainly Norman seemed less concerned about holding the prairie for agricultural reasons... which meant he was probably looking at farmland in the Willamette valley proper ... at least most likely there. Whoever held the choice ground first with the most men was likely to hold it against a comparable force.

... and that was probably why Duke Iron Rod was being complacent.

Alexander slid off the assembly of lattice work. One of the not historically accurate portions of his armor were the gauntlets, they were a much later style with much more articulated fingers construction of modern high quality steel allow. They, and the silk liner inside them gave him full range of motion, and the ability to effectively utilize his bow, while protecting his fingers against some threats.

... obviously he didn't getting hit by a hammer even wearing them, but the gauntlets provided a range of mobility superior to most. It was part of a systematic material advantage to deflect any questions away from ... the other things he could do.

Thankfully the wind chakra that sheathed the longsword was almost opaque against the matte wide triangular blade. He'd elected to carry what oakshott would have classified as an XIV in part due to the concern of quarters. The last thing he wanted to have to explain was why any of the cinderblock walls or brickwork had significant slices through them in interior confines. Of course Alexander was willing to admit he might have under estimated the necessary of moving to a shorter thirty inch blade... a quick peak suggested the ceiling and their low hanging iron fixtures weren't that low... but it was also dark. An abundance of caution certainly wouldn't hurt. That and they had known the bandits had been reinforcing the monastery and building adding things to the structure.

The ex biker wearing a bull horn helmet was to heavily puffing on his cigarette to notice... it was dark and he was more interested in staying warm at the fireside than seriously standing watch. He probably didn't see the point who was going to attack at night when there weren't any lights besides fires, and the big oil drum had been stuffed full of what looked like books and doused in kerosene to keep it burning ... which meant it was bright

... between that and his smoking Alexander's approach nearly silent and from a blind spot was ghost like in its effectiveness. The man dropped as the loose knit coif at his neck split apart barely slowing the almost three inch wide cutting blade that came down as he hunched over to take another deep puff.. Alexander let the head fall, but grabbed the man's body to pull it back so that he could pull it back behind the burning barrel. The former biker had even generously brought a large if ratty looking wool blanket up here and a poncho.

So far as concealment went it was better than nothing but certainly wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. It might let them think the biker was sleeping on the job, but they were just as likely to call out as come over, and once they did come over itw as going to be hard to miss that something was wrong at the guard post watching this vantage point from St Hilda's 'gatehouse'.

Of course by that point he hoped to have merry little thermite burning through said gates. That was also his intended escape route in case of discovery, burn the iron bars and get out the front. Alexander paused to examine the crossbow, commercially made, pre change, hunting broad heads filling the quiver. Good quality, and unfortunately near irreplaceable given the composite material of the shaft and spring loaded heads.

Expensive before the change, but that five finger discount after the power had gone out, no doubt about it.
--
Mike Havel exploded into violence plunging the puko's short blade into a gap in the man's protection. Iron Rod's people weren't wearing their armor flush fit like it was supposed... probably as it was uncomfortable as shit... but that meant it left them vulnerable. The puko wasn't ideal for defeating armor, it was optimized for the role, but if you weren't going to where your personal protective equipment properly it was your own damned fault.

Gunny would have been proud of the aggression.

He was wrenching free and moving to body a second surprised guard when the tomahawk from one of the montana.... or wyoming 'nam vets opened the man's head up. Mike stopped half way as the slack look appeared and the biker went limp and collapsed. "Henry?" He guessed.

The big man grunted. Before Havel could ask why he was over here, "There is a problem, I counted the Devil Dogs are missing perhaps thirty of their number, and accompanying horses." He started, and looked to the 'barracks' as they'd identified it... it wasn't on fire which had been one idea that had been considered, and brought up more than once... the elder Larson had confessed to being against Napalm use because of Vietnam but that apparently hadn't been enough to deter the Wyomings.

It was good that they hadn't decided to go along with that idea anyway, he didn't fancy trying to control the fire in their present conditions... but then... "You think they're attacking the camp?' could they have gotten out after dark.

It was possible he supposed... that had two standout targets in Mike's mind obviously Woburn, or if the Devil Dogs had figured out that the bear killers had a camp... or the wyoming, but he doubted they could find the latter. It was smaller and had no non combatant dependents to attack. It made more sense to try and hit the bearkiller camp or Woburn.

There was a crash like thunder as the almost ton of wrought iron gates dropped free of their housing and hit the walls of the gate house. If they hadn't already lost the element of surprise they certainly had now with that clanging racket.... but it didn't matter the small party on the walls of the Devil Dog fortifications, and the advance party waiting to breach the gates as soon as they were open would be in, and without high ground, or barred fortifications to deal with this was probably going to turn bloodier but it'd be over quicker.

He turned back to the big indian. "Where are the rest of the guards."

"Oh them." Henry Standing bear chuckled whistling slightly as the laguna danced between his fingers.
--
Notes: obviously in the next section we puruse Duke Iron Rod and settle in the conclusion segments of september following the change.