I. March 768

"The thing to remember," Sir Rogier de Clatu was saying as he and the Countess Vivian rode along a foggy highway, "is that the Imperial Diet is as important as you choose to make it."

"Then I don't choose to make it very important," said the Countess. "Six sovereign lords out of seventeen. No wonder all we did was drink wine."

"But what wine, my lady!"

"I certainly thought Farlain's wine was excellent. But no assurances about helping out with those border raids everyone's worried about."

"Well, no, that wouldn't be Duke Maladar's way at all. But Count Carial of Inzil assured us both that his troops are our troops in the event of a serious problem with the Avars. It was no idle offer--we share a common border, and our problems are his problems. The Avars may well invade our plains--in order to get to Inzil."

"Well, no one at the diet seemed concerned about any invasions."

"Weakness is a temptation to the strong, and the nomads may well be gathering strength. Your father knew that, but they learned to fear him at the Battle of Grassyfields. Your grandfather Count Theodred was acutely aware of it--it was he that caused the border forts to be built. We've been secure--and we have grown outward, so now farmers pasture cattle and grow wheat in the high plains around Kazuhar, where the nomads encamped fifty years ago, until Theodred built the hold there. Perhaps it should not have been allowed, but they are our people, and we must protect them."

"I suppose," said the Countess. "It all seems quite far away."

"The Avars' horses ride fast."

They rode for some minutes in silence. Then Sir Rogier said, "You know, my lady, the Duke of Orzali--well, he took a long look at you, if you see what I mean."

"Did he!" Vivian replied, shocked and complimented.

"When an unmarried woman comes into unargued possession of a County, even if it's a sprawling depopulated frontier like Clane, all the Sovereign Lords start looking to marry her to themselves or their sons."

"Well," she replied, "I wasn't impressed with him. I don't particularly want to be someone's trophy. And," she added, "I don't see why you would want a dynastic marriage. Least of all to Orzali. Might as well be Samarra."

"Of course you're right. The Clanish nobility would definitely prefer a woman ruler to a foreign one."

"Thank you very much. Well, that's how it is. Our fellow Imperial lords are just a bunch of foreigners now. Still. 'Better a woman than a foreigner.' I like that."

"I didn't mean it that way, my lady, and you know it." She obviously knew no such thing, so he went back to sarcasm. "Anyway, we probably couldn't manipulate the Duke of Orzali as easily as we can manipulate you."

"And I'm sure that Orzali would find the daughter of the Count of Shadewind much more appealing. Sorry, the Duke of Shadewind, as he calls himself. 'Count' isn't good enough for him."

"In all seriousness, Countess," said Sir Rogier, "you may not appreciate yet how great a protection it is, that you are not the, ah, embodiment of the feminine ideal as it is sung by the minstrels. No, I mean no offense. You are serious, straightforward, plain speaking."

"A tomboy."

"A bit of one, my lady, but you do cut a dashing figure on a horse."

"Well, thank you, Sir Rogier. Fortunately for both of us, you are not so straightforward--usually."

"Directness in speech is not a virtue for a minister of state."

They rode on, away from the Imperial City, Avigon the Dirty, which in a few square miles had five times as many people as Clane in its sprawling vastness. They journeyed toward the familiar mountains, and the hills already rose and fell around them like waves on a high sea. They were two days and a half out of the capital and four days from Vonnis, on the road north of Calway, the seat of the Duke of Farlain. Their road ran more than a hundred miles northward up the valley of the Lavan River, which rose from the mountains of Skavin, and flowed vigorously south through the middle of Clane. It washed the stones that buttressed the walls of Vonnis, where the Rocky River flowed in from the west, from Siret and Selac and Tarnver and Westdubbik. In Farlain the Lavan grew into a wide, slow, ambitionless river, headed for Avigon behind them, and the River Allor and the sea.

The Countess and her Minister of State rode along with a dozen well-groomed soldiers, proud sons of Vonnis. These kept a courteous distance, forcing themselves to remain ignorant of the jokes the two laughed at, and to wonder how serious were their arguments.

"Do you suppose there will ever be an Emperor again?" she asked at length.

"In this life or the next?"

"I'm serious. There must be a real heir someplace."

"Would you like to put him on the throne, my lady? That would be a good project to waste your life on."

"And a few others' lives, I guess. I don't suppose a real heir would even want to come out of hiding. Then again, I don't suppose we have much reason to want the Emperor back. They were bad as often as they were good."

"So the histories say. I don't know what will become of the Empire without one, but through the last forty years the structure's been slowly decaying, like an old boat that's sunk in a muddy river."

"The boat had been rotting for quite a while before it sank, if my father told me right."

"He did. I imagine that in another fifty years--when you are an old grey Countess, my lady--there won't be anything left of it but the name and a bunch of little states."

"From which will grow empires again?"

"Which will again rot, and so on until time grows bored and wanders off. History, my lady, is very repetitious; that is only one of its faults."

"It's not entirely repetitious, is it? I mean, things have a way of changing while they're staying the same, don't they?"

"Quite right. The Rugians of the mountains, for example, or the Avars of the plains: perhaps one of these will cut the heart out of the Empire and start afresh. It will be invigorating watching them learn everything again."

"We won't have to watch, Sir Rogier, unless we're lucky."

"An encouraging thought--perhaps. I understand that the Avars find twelve-pound babies a delicacy."

"Thank you for that."

"I apologize, my lady--I really think their cannibalistic tendencies are exaggerated. In my experience campaigning against them, they were much more interested in cutting them off. Ears, hands, noses--usually as a message that they have indeed killed so-and-so, and you're going to be next."

"Sir Rogier."

"Actually, they're quite chivalrous in battle: I fought them in my youth, you know, under your father. One doesn't have to worry about being snuck up on, at any rate--they have quite an array of war-howls. The consummate barbarian. That involves, of course, a certain (well-restrained) sense of honor and decorum. No, it's not during the battle that one has to worry, but after, should they win."

"Sir Rogier, I'll take your word for it. The Avar warriors are not refined in their treatment of captives, and they don't hold with the raising of crops. You could leave it at that."

"Yes, my lady, I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"Well-put, and carried away is just what I shall take care not to be."

"That, my lady, is just what those twelve gallant horsemen behind us are for. Francis Weaver, are you still there?"

"Yes, my lord," replied the handsome young fellow who was captain of the Countess's escort. They bore swords and bows both, and chain mail, which placed them in the category of cavalry known as cataphracts. These were an old Imperial military formation, now kept alive primarily in Clane.

"Isn't it pleasant to think that there are always twelve men within call who will throw their lives away to give you another hour of freedom?

"Sir Rogier, you are simply trying to disturb me. All this talk of eating babies and throwing lives away. You're just tweaking the new kid."

He smiled politely. They rode on through unending woods, as the fog cleared and above them opened a skyful of dense cloud cover. The thin cold breeze intensified. Several of the horsemen began to suffer from sneezing fits. Vivian, for her part, squirmed in the saddle, and finally broke the silence.

"Sir Rogier," she said, "it was not only the subject matter that was making me uncomfortable."

"Too long in the saddle, my lady?"

"Well, that, and I, uh, feel under a lot of pressure right now, and, well, I feel the need to relieve myself of certain, ah, strains."

"Ohhh." His eyebrows took on their highest settings. "Can't wait?"

"Rogier, if I recall correctly from the trip down, we are in the middle of a twenty mile stretch between towns. I think it's safe to assume that we have as much privacy as we're going to get all day."

"Fine," said Sir Rogier, holding up his hand. The riders halted, and he jumped down to help the Countess from the saddle. By the time he arrived at the side of her horse, however, she was already standing, stretching her legs. She looked up at him across the ten inches that separated them in height, with a very genuine look of discomfort.

"My training in horseback riding," she said, "did not entirely prepare me for five-day journeys. I don't know how I lasted the way down to Avigon. I think my legs are all blister."

"Your training also did not include feasts of the sort that are common fare for most of the Lords Sovereign of the Empire." He turned to address the loitering riders. "Gentlemen, please stand at ease."

"Only turn your heads," Vivian called after him.

"My Countess, I trust you will find sufficient cover--"

"And you keep watch! I'll be behind that third tree there. Oh, and if any of you riders have to go, please use the other side of the road." She sauntered off into the woods.

"They're used to long rides," he called after her over his shoulder. "They don't need to--" She wasn't listening, and to his further chagrin several of the riders took her suggestion. He began to notice the bladder's pull himself.

A minute or two went by. Then, to make Sir Rogier's uneasiness complete, there came to his ears the sound of hoofbeats from the road ahead. Two horses, riding hard--perhaps they would pass without stopping.

Neither the Countess, in her un-countess-like position behind her tree, nor the soldiers across the way, each in front of a tree of his own, seemed near to being finished. The other riders stood suspiciously among the horses, watching the bend in the road.

Two horses careened around the turn and into view, two lanky, ribby steeds with gaunt faces and bulging eyes, ridden by two small riders swathed in the twilight grey of the Countess of Clane's livery. Their heads were surmounted by scratched, dented and tarnished helmets bearing the engraved cats of the Countess's service. The riders pulled up before Sir Rogier de Clatu, and one of the helmets came off, spilling a quantity of auburn hair over skinny shoulders.

"My lord," the girl rider declaimed in a deep voice, "we are come from Vonnis with desperate news for our lady the Countess of Clane."

"What is your name? What are you doing bearing messages?" he queried them.

"Sir, I am Angeline Rain, and this is my sister Ellean Rain, and we were commissioned by the Lord Consul on account of neither of us is over ninety-five pounds," she intoned in one breath.

"You must have great need of haste," he replied in his best chivalric accent. "How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen," replied Angeline Rain, "and Ellean's thirteen, but we both have birthdays in May. Where is her ladyship, sir?"

"She's nearby," he answered. "You can tell your business to me, until her ladyship gets back."

Angeline looked dubiously at Ellean, who had taken off her helmet and looked even more formidably adolescent than her elder sister. Ellean returned an exact copy of Angeline's suspicious look.

"Oh, come on," said Sir Rogier. "I'm the Minister of State. Don't you think I'll hear your news eventually?"

"Excuse me, sir," said Angeline, "but we've got, um, exact orders, sir."

"His lordship is probably testing us, Ange. To see if we'll blab."

"That's right," said Sir Rogier, shrugging. "I'm probably testing you. Would you like a little wine to refresh you after such a ride?" He pulled out his flask. Ellean took on a deeply troubled look, but Angeline climbed down from the saddle for a drink, throwing a smile in the direction of the handsome captain of the escort.

"How long have you ridden?" asked Sir Rogier to pass the time.

"Since I was five," Angeline answered. "Horsemanship's in the family. You've heard of my father, haven't you?"

"Sir Evan Rain? Yes, we used to ride together, under the banner of young Count Edmund. But what I meant was--"

"Two days, and this morning," said Ellean with a sarcastic look at Angeline.

"That's rather fast."

"We've been up since before dawn this morning," said Angeline stoutly. "Yesterday we rode from Delyan and stayed the night at Sand Point Inn, a distance of ninety-eight miles. The day before, we made Delyan from Vonnis, which is seventy miles. I make our progress for today about twenty."

A crackling of twigs announced the Countess Vivian. Angeline looked up with surprise, then dropped to her knees. Ellean, still on her horse, suppressed a giggle. "Visitors?" asked Vivian.

"Seems so. These are Angeline--get up girl--and Ellean, the daughters of Sir Evan Rain, and they have made good time from Vonnis to bring you some sort of message."

"All the way from Vonnis, eh?" Vivian smiled. In this company she felt quite the adult. "Who sent you, Sir Everard?"

"Yes, your ladyship," said Angeline. "Actually, we took the place of a rider who came in from Bazir in the early hours on the twelfth, um, three days ago." She changed to a deeper tone for the memorized news. "The Avars have crossed the frontier in force in the plains north of Bazir, east of the Lavan River. Lord Smeagle estimates their strength at three thousand fighters and about as many women and children and so on. Lord Smeagle and the Thane of Bazir are trying to delay them until more help arrives."

"What troop strength does he have?" asked Sir Rogier.

Angeline rolled her eyes upward, as if hoping to find the answer written at the top of her eye sockets. "Three hundred horse," said Ellean, "and three hundred militia from Bazir."

"Right," said Angeline, "he wants more cavalry."

"Maybe," said Vivian, "we can send him a thousand florins and he can build himself a fort."

"Perhaps, my lady," said Sir Rogier, "it would be better to send these two back with orders than to spend the time making jokes. What do you say?"

Vivian smiled sheepishly. "Shall we tell Sir Everard to gather troops wherever he can find them? We'll be back in Vonnis in three or four days. We could muster the thanes' forces in--what, a week?"

"For strength of arms, a week is hardly sufficient, though we probably can't afford it. But it would be folly to march to war with a scanty and hastily-gathered force. Ten days from our arrival there, shall we say?"

"Yes, well," said the Countess, "let's say two weeks from today. Angeline, that's your message for Sir Everard of Angren."

"What, my lady?"

"We'll muster our forces in two weeks. Which is--"

"The twenty-ninth, my lady," said Sir Rogier. "Today being the fifteenth. We should make it home in three days and the rest of today."

"Good, good, good," said the Countess. "Muster on the twenty-ninth. You will fly on ahead of us and reach Vonnis a day early. And you get a gold florin for each hour before sunset you get there, on the eighteenth. Understand?"

"I understand," said Angeline.

"All right, Ellean Rain?" The thirteen-year-old looked down from her horse with the realization that she was being given a different assignment. "It's time for us to take the Count of Inzil up on his offer. He left Avigon six days ago, so he'll be home in Annavil in a couple of days, no doubt. Those bloodthirsty nomads are only a couple of days' ride from his realm too. I think he needs us as much as we need him."

"Well-said, my lady," said Sir Rogier. "And let's trade their tired horses for our well-fed ones. Francis, your men will have to concede to these girls your two fastest horses, and you'll have to nurse these poor beasts back to full strength on our ride home."

"Yes, Sir Rogier!" replied Francis Weaver eagerly. He set about choosing new steeds for the Rain sisters, who watched his movements with admiration. Their own horses were relegated to pack-bearing status, and the pack horses given to the escort riders with the least seniority, while the Countess continued her instructions.

"Do you have any idea how to get to Annavil, Ellean? It's on the Allor just before it branches, well up into the hills in the eastern part of Inzil. You'll ride with your sister as far as Sand Point Inn, then cross the Lavan and ride east into Shadewind. That road runs into the main road that runs northeast across Shadewind and on into our province of Maklos. Then on to Annavil. It's a hard ride at four days, I'd say. And when you return, you'll be in a hurry, and you had better avoid Bazir."

"Yes, my lady, I'll find it."

"And take care not to get lost. Even a small delay could mean defeat instead of victory. And don't forget, you can't trust anyone."

"My lady," said Sir Rogier, "you're better-traveled than I thought."

"No, I just read a lot. Now Ellean, you won't be sleeping in any inns, you know. I'd return by way of the southern plains, from Makar straight west to Vonnis. And don't stop to talk to any hordes of nomads. Especially if they're bloodthirsty."

"Yes, my lady."

"Tell Count Carial of Inzil--oh, or his minister of state, if you meet him first--tell him what you told us."

"And remind him," said Sir Rogier, "if I may, my lady? Remind him that they are a threat to him as well."

"Are you sure--?" asked Angeline, from beside her new horse. "I mean, all by herself? She is but thirteen."

"She's all we've got," said Sir Rogier. "Are you faster? Maybe we could switch you two."

"Uh, no," said Angeline quickly. "Ell's much faster. She's only eighty-seven pounds fully dressed."

"Oh, really?" said Vivian. Ellean smiled. "Does that include the helmet?"

"You have your orders, soldiers," said Sir Rogier. "Get going, and don't let us catch up with you on the way."

"Yes sir!" they replied from horseback, fitting their hair back under their helmets.

"And good luck! And be careful!" Vivian called after them.

"Yes, my lady!" Angeline called back, as the new horses bore the errand-riders swiftly away.

"Well, dependable or not, we've sent our messengers," said Vivian. "I trust them more than I trust the lands they're passing through, or Count Carial for that matter." She smiled in a worried way, brushed back a wisp of her shoulder-length brown hair. "Well, then, tell the men to mount up. We might as well be off."

"Excuse me, my lady," said Sir Rogier, "but I am very afraid that I must use that tree of yours."

"Use a different one," advised Vivian, holding down a disobedient curl as the wind picked up and threw a gust of rain at them.

Slowed by the weather and by the obligations of being Countess in towns along the way, they arrived in Vonnis thirty hours behind Angeline Rain, in the last daylight of 18 March, as the clouds broke up after a week of rain on the foothills. Angeline had earned six gold coins, arriving around noon the day before at the city on its steep hill overlooking the junction of the Rocky and the Lavan rivers. Her borrowed horse never wanted to see her again.

The bright light came filtered by a cold west wind. The citadel of Vonnis, with its various-sized towers, pitched roofs and chunky main keep, shone candle-like in the evening. The party rode down a long incline from the south, across the broad, ancient stone bridge over the Rocky, and up into the city's largest gate. Hats popped off left and right among the guard corps, who must have seen them far off. Some of the populace were in the streets, especially in the lower market, and here the new Countess received a more muted but sincere response. Some hats came off, but mostly there was silent staring, followed by favorable murmurs among the town wives: "She looks so nice up on that fine horse," and "She'll be all right, if they don't worry her too much with policy." The riders passed in front of the longest row of stalls, and Vivian looked down with interest upon the goods for sale. The sellers smiled up at her--they knew she was doing them homage too, and every one doffed his cap or inclined her head.

"A crowd around that booth," said Vivian. "What does she sell? I can't see."

"Arrows, my lady," said Sir Rogier.

"Not a good sign."

"A good sign for her father, who makes them. Perhaps they will never be used."

"I'd like to say--" said the Countess out loud, and all the buyers of arrows turned to look at her with uncertain smiles. "May these all find homes in the hearts of their quarry." Everyone around agreed with that. "And maybe that will just mean a lot of rabbit stew," she added. The people around the fletcher's booth had a hearty laugh.

The cavalcade moved on through steepening streets toward the decayed walls of the inner city and the well-preserved Emperor's Gate. Thence they rode on through the oldest part of town, atop the hill, and thus to the square before the Citadel of Vonnis, whose shady corridors Vivian had haunted as an innocent as recently as last fall. Arriving at the stable, she felt little regret as she allowed her horse, the light mare Finesse, to be led away. The horse had traveled enough in the past month to earn a year's rest, but Vivian knew it wasn't going to happen soon. She and Sir Rogier accepted the greetings of the household staff and proceeded directly to the council chamber. There a dozen captains and lords pored over maps of Bazir and its neighbor provinces, Maklos and Skavin, the northern plains frontier of Clane.

"Three and a half thousand," said Sir Everard as they came in, pointing to an area on the map between Kazuhar and the Grassy River. "They came over the Fire Pass just at the first hint of thaw, and reached Kazuhar on the second of March."

"So, no more word from up there?" asked the Countess.

"Some refugees, my lady. As for the Avars, they'll be on horseback until battle. Then only the elite will be mounted, maybe six hundred. Lord Smeagle's man came in with news that the Avars are still camped about twenty miles from him, but they've scouted his force. The Thane of Bazir has raised five hundred militia, and Smeagle has his three hundred light cavalry. He's moving them about to make his force appear larger, and catching the Avar patrols where he can. It's dicey. No telling how much time it'll buy. Four days, I give it, and then Smeagle will be hard pressed."

"Tell him to be careful?" suggested Vivian.

"He knows, my lady," said Sir Everard with a slight smile.

"And Kazuhar?" asked Sir Rogier.

"Well," said the Lord Consul, "most of the residents made it out to Bazir."

"Perhaps we should pull them back to Skavin," Sir Rogier suggested. "Or Vonnis. Order a general retreat, even. What do you say, my lady?"

"That would save Lord Smeagle, for a while," said the Countess. "It might endanger Vonnis, though."

"I venture to guess," said Sir Everard, "that Thane Richard of Bazir will not retreat. And if we give up Bazir, then Maklos will be lost as well. Thane Archibard is in Makar, gathering his own militia, but that won't exceed three hundreds."

"More than enough to die for the County," said Vivian. She looked at Sir Rogier, who nodded. "My lords!" she went on, addressing the assembled nobility and military brainpower. "We are all in danger. If we meet them in Bazir, only Bazir's province will be pillaged. How many do we have?"

"How much do you pledge, my lords?" Sir Rogier prompted.

"Everything we can get by the day of muster," said Thane Raymond of Selac. "I've already done some scribbling." He set three sheets of paper on the table. "I came with sixty horse; two hundred foot will be here in six days, all well-trained; and in two weeks another three hundred, raw militia."

"But don't you have your own security concerns, my dear thane?" asked Sir Rogier de Clatu.

"Yes," said Vivian."You should leave your militia at home in case the, um, Rugians are also spoiling for a fight."

"Thank you, my lady," said Thane Raymond, "I was hoping you'd say that." He folded up one of the sheets and stuck it in a pocket.

"Westdubbik," said Thane Horst de Fugad, Neil of Gorngold's father, "will give you six hundred foot and two hundred knights. Give us one week."

Thane Karlan of Intror cleared his throat and announced, "Five hundred foot and two hundred knights. Most within a week, but all--not before the end of the month."

"Those," said Sir Everard, "are our three largest provinces. That comes to, um, thirteen hundred foot and three hundred and sixty knights."

"Um," said Vivian meekly, "isn't it four hundred and sixty knights?"

"Hmm," said Sir Everard, "I hope so. Two, two, and sixty; yes, of course. Sorry. Well, we can expect little more from all the rest. As for the Count's Domain--I should say, the Countess's Domain--four hundred foot, half swords and half bows, but they're very good, I trained them personally. Knights, a hundred maybe; most of our cavalry is out running around north of Bazir. Only the slow ones are still here."

"Tarnver has two hundred cataphracts," said the wrinkled old Thane Hugo of Tarnhold. "By your ladyship's leave, we'll keep our mountain men in the mountains, but you may find our horsemen useful out in yon plains."

"Their fame," said Sir Everard, "is justly great. But Skavin can send nothing--Thane Burley is already on his way home, where he has his own towns and fields to defend. If they decide to come down the Grassy River, they can be outside Orlad in a day. And Siret will send nothing so soon from so far off. They have the Rugians to think about too. I expect we can raise another three hundred militia from here and there, and maybe a few more cavalry as well, but let us not count them until we see them in the field."

"We did send word to Inzil," said Sir Rogier. "Two weeks ago, no more, Count Carial himself promised us aid in exactly this situation. The enemy is, after all, almost as close to Annavil as to Vonnis."

"He's got to come," said Vivian. "How many can we expect from him?"

"Thousands, of course," said the Lord Consul, and everyone laughed somberly.

"I sent the Lady Ellean Rain herself," said Vivian. "She can be very persuasive, you know."

"If she's anything like her sister," said Sir Everard, "then she's there by now, talking a mile a minute. That girl Angeline wanted six florins when she got here. She bade me take careful note of the time: it was noon yesterday."

"You gave her the money, right?" asked Vivian. "I did promise it, one for every hour before sunset."

"I certainly did, my lady, it was the only way to get her to speak her message." The consul sighed. "Well, Inzil may send us a thousand or two. A thousand knights. That's all I ask."

"Let us drink to the Count of Inzil, our savior-elect," cried Thane Raymond of Selac.

"All right," said the Countess, "let me see if I understand. If we wait a week and a half, we can go to Bazir--or shall I say, toward Bazir?--with around two thousand infantry and seven hundred horse. Maybe Lord Smeagle and Thane Richard of Bazir will still be out there with some fraction of their force."

"Even the militia," put in Sir Rogier, "should be hardened veterans by then, should they survive."

"Yes," Vivian went on, "and we'll meet at least three and a half thousand Avars there, who will have been waiting two weeks to fight us. Maybe Inzil will come through with a thousand or two--in which case we might even have a numerical advantage."

"That would be somewhat of a comfort," said Sir Everard.

"I believed him," said Vivian. "He's a twerp, but I doubt he'll let us down. We're defending the Empire, not just our little provinces."

"Hear, hear," said Sir Rogier.

Sir Everard looked sour. "You may be dreaming, my lady, if I may say so. He may regard us as his border patrol. Anyway, talking about him won't make him come. My superstitions say rather the opposite, so let's stop talking about him."

"Your superstitions," said Sir Rogier, "have been good to us in the past."

"Yes," said Vivian. "The Empire's over. I was in Avigon for a week and a half, and I never saw a single emperor walk in and sit down. We even left his chair empty for him. Not that the Grand Duke wasn't inclined to occupy it himself."

"Well-said," said Sir Rogier.

"Thanks," she replied. "Now what else should I say?"

"Only this. My lords, let messages be sent back to your lands instructing your troops to converge upon Vonnis in all haste. Today is the eighteenth. Ten days from tomorrow morning, my lady?"

"Ten days," she answered. "My lords, you may instruct your people that we will muster on the twenty-ninth: perhaps ten days will be enough. Sir Everard, you have your hands full until then, drilling the troops. Any that arrive late must stay here and do some much-needed repairs on the city walls, and, should the Sun not shine on us, defend the place as well, under your able direction."

"My lady," said Sir Everard, "that's very thoughtful, but I had planned on moving with the troops."

"That will not be necessary," said the Countess. "I'll be going with the troops."

"But my lady!" was the general response from the lords and captains, especially Sir Rogier de Clatu.

"And you shall be at my side, Sir Rogier."

"My lady," the Minister of State rejoined, "are you mad, if I may ask? Sir Everard is the Lord Consul. And I--what use shall I be?"

"Weren't you one of my father's best knights? But of course you'll be useful. You're my chief advisor. I'm sure I'll do what you tell me." Her smile froze the protest on his lips, and he smiled weakly back as she went on. "I really think I should get lost on the way to Bazir without you. And Sir Everard has been nagging us to let him get going on repairs to the fortifications. He has plans drawn up, beautiful ones, have you seen them? Look, what am I to do, take all the military minds with me?"

"But my lady!" Sir Everard moaned. "I had so planned on going."

"And I on staying," put in Sir Rogier.

"Plans go awry. Isn't that what you usually say to me?"

Thane Horst de Fugad grinned. "We shall need your diplomatic skill, Sir Rogier, to keep peace among us, and to formulate our taunting replies to their taunting calls for surrender."

"That," said Sir Rogier, "will be a unique privilege."

"Your ladyship," said Sir Everard, "you are just like your father."

"Not in every way, I hope, or how well did you know him?"

"Quite well, and I only pray that we are both around long enough for me to get to know you so well."

"A pleasant thought. This council of war is adjourned. Sir Everard, and my good Thane Horst, it is up to the two of you to draw up battle plans and so on. This council will review them tomorrow at the third hour of the evening."

"Horst will be going with you?" asked the Lord Consul.

"I expect he will," said the Countess. "He's a thane, and not my minister, and can come and go as he pleases."

"Indeed, my lady," said the Thane of Westdubbik, "black night and calamity could not keep me from this expedition."

"And I'm going too?" said Sir Rogier. "You're taking all the great brains with you into battle?"

"Yes, you're coming too," said Vivian.

"Lucky dog," Sir Rogier and Sir Everard said to one another.

"All right, we're adjourned. Let's go find some good wine and toast a few things." To a chorus of "Hear, hear," the council disbanded.

Several councils of war later, five nights after her return to Vonnis, after several glasses of old wine, Vivian removed herself surreptitiously to her father's high chamber with a torch, a book, several candles and a cup of the 746 vintage. The room, with its tall ceilings and drafty windows, was quite cold, and a layer of dust lay on the furnishings. Brushing away memories of her father, she pulled her cloak about her arms, set her things down on the floor and sat down on the drab old carpet.

Placing one of the candles in front of her, Vivian concentrated on its wick until it smouldered with the heat of her glance. I must learn to do that with my ministers. She went to the stair door and shut it, leaving the torchlight out of the room. She sat down again before the candle and stared through it, allowing her mind to fall back from the light and into the dark at the flame's center.

In partial trance, she took the cup and another candle in her hands and set the cup in front of her, with the lit candle on the right and the unlit one on the left. She laid the book open in her lap, its words blurring. It was her grandfather's copies, with her father's translations, of the enigmatic pre-Imperial annals, to whose god-kings were ascribed reigns of thousands of years, marriages with the goddesses of the sea and sky and powers over the living and the dead. It was one of two dozen tomes whose pictograms her grandfather had copied with his own hand from decaying papyri in the library of Avigon, which prescribed arrangements for the dead to ensure the soul's progress in the afterlife (as seen by the ancients, at least as complex and dangerous a world as this), or recorded psalms and hymns to beings whose names were alluded to rather than mentioned, and whose attributes seemed not entirely human or divine... The symbols in the open book grew clearer even as the words of explanation, in plain English and in Count Edmund's fine script, seemed to fade and grow confused. The other candle winked to life, and Vivian's eyes were drawn to the reflection of the room in the surface of her cup. Something was there that was not in the room, or something was missing, not hiding something that was hidden in the room. She was drawn, without moving an inch, drawn closer and closer to the cup's surface, and then her eyes were there, between the burning candles, looking up at a young woman with a cloak drawn about herself, sitting with eyes half-closed and a book in her lap.

Her view shifted, as on some current of air; her glance wandered the semidarkness of the room. She got control of herself and her vision ceased to float on the currents. She propelled her mind's eye over the woman's shoulder toward the closed door. Then she was in the stairway, past the torch, descending into darkness. Down the winding steps, past windows in which stars winked distantly at her, past empty niches and cold torches and out into the upper hall of the castle where a guard bent over his pipe, protecting a wisp of flame against the draft. Then down, down, following more stairs until she was out of the citadel and under the stars, a pageant of lights marching across the night. Long must she have hung there, between the crowding stars and the dim answering gleams of the city lights, the dreams of twenty-eight thousand souls floating out and caressing her mind's edges. She let herself rise hundreds, then thousands of feet, until she looked down upon the castle and the town from the height of Bald Mountain that overlooked it. There she settled among boulders and out of the pressure of the constant wind.

From far off she heard footsteps. Her body's ears summoned her mind's eye back from across the distance. She found herself soaring down to the soaring tower in which her physical form sat, then looking in the window, the stars behind her. Yes, there was Countess Vivian of Clane, not quite twenty-two, looking helpless and clueless and a little frumpy in her cloak, a poor kid except for the medallion of the Counts on its gold chain around her neck, and the signet ring on her finger.

She flew through the window and into the half-closed eyes. Vivian opened her eyes again with a jerk--or was it the world that jumped slightly? The candles were unaltered, but the cup was slightly off center now, its contents disturbed as if someone had nudged it in passing.

There was a voice calling her name from far below. Out of a deep torpor, she knew it to be a servant, though she could not have said if it was earthly or spiritual. "The door is open," she said, even as she assured herself that the other door through which she had just passed was firmly shut.

"My lady," called the young maid Jen from the hallway at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

Vivian put out the candles and rose. She opened the door. The torch at the top of the stairs had blown out. She said to herself, "It's only darkness," and when she had groped her way to the bottom of the steps she said the same words to Jen.

"Yes, my lady. There's a messenger downstairs, the young girl come from Annavil."

"Oh." Vivian took another step back into the world. "Ellean Rain, is it? I didn't see her."

"She only just arrived this minute, my lady. She won't speak to anyone but you."

"She's a natural errand-rider," replied Vivian, now fully awake. "Well, I'm coming." She followed Jen down the hall to the broad staircase.

In the lower hall, Ellean Rain was surrounded by ministers and thanes, and a fat maid was trying to give her some milk. Ellean, her red-brown hair tousled and her cloak stained with hundreds of miles of dirt, ran to the Countess as soon as their eyes met. She knelt perfunctorily and then jumped up, her eyes even with Vivian's, red with exhaustion and a bit moist.

"My lady," she blurted, "the Count of Inzil won't send you anything at all."

There was a general gasp, a long moment of silence. Every face was aimed at the messenger. Vivian's blue eyes held Ellean's green ones. "What word did he send?"

"They said they were all concerned, and they said they'd be, uh, keeping their eyes on the situation, that's what they said." As an afterthought, she handed over a paper that she had been clutching. On it, in the hastily-written hand of the Count of Inzil's scribe, was an apologetic explanation of Inzil's point of view: the Count and his ministers felt that the Avars might suddenly change course and cross the low mountains of Maklos at any of various places, and descend into the Allor Valley. Annavil was only two hundred miles from the town of Bazir, after all. The Count and his minister of state signed the message.

"Well, there's one Imperial Lord Sovereign whose kin I won't be marrying," said the Countess. "Thank you, Ellean. You will continue to make yourself available to carry messages, and I will want to hear a full account of your adventures as soon as I have time. Now go get some food and some sleep." Ellean Rain curtsied and strode out, several years older than she had been two weeks before. "Where's Sir Everard?" Vivian asked.

"Here, my lady," said the knight, stepping from the crowd.

"I guess we all expected this news. I see no need of another council just to digest it. However, I grant you a sum of five hundred florins for the purpose of outfitting and training some more cataphracts."

"Ah, you saw Tarnhold's cataphracts out riding yesterday, didn't you?"

"They looked fast," Vivian answered. "I understand they're very effective."

"It shall be done." He turned on a heel and left, as though he were going to get right on it, though in fact he went back to bed.

"My lady," said Sir Rogier in her ear, "that was a nice gesture."

"Well, I could have told him to go build a fort or two, but no one would have laughed. Anyway, it might make a difference."

"Indeed, out on the plains," said Sir Rogier. "They have a better range than knights, and superior firepower. We could use more longbows, though. If you're making a list. In the mountains, longbows are better than cavalry, even though I am an old horseman."

"But we're fighting in the plains."

"For now," said Sir Rogier. "But our backs are to the cliffs."

Five more days passed, as the fighting companies arrived and set about serious training in the lowlands along the Lavan River below Vonnis. Vivian rode among them, and spent many hours watching them from the walls through her father's spy glass, paying especial attention to the Countess's Cataphracts. These had been created the morning after Ellean Rain's arrival, not out of thin air but out of all the heavy-set farm-boys Sir Everard could hire for five florins apiece, bring your own horse. They were mostly good archers from the saddle--skills gained hunting--and now they were issued composite bows and given light armor and long narrow swords. They numbered sixty-five, and they were led by Francis Weaver, the captain of the Countess's escort to Avigon and back.

Now they chased here and there, assembling in ranks, shooting volleys of bull's-eyes at the targets lined up by a fence, then dashing back down the valley on their thin, swift steeds. When she rode past, they saluted her enthusiastically; when she wasn't looking, they chased the knights and taunted the infantry. The men on foot took it all in stride: they too were solidly working-class, and they further assumed, as the infantry always does, that it was they who would have to do most of the fighting. They trained mostly by rugby matches, marching drills and fistfights, and it was hard to say where one of these activities ended and another began. The knights trained with tilting and swordsmanship and close-order riding, and after dark by drinking deep of the grape and chasing after the young women of Vonnis, who grew very fleet of foot.

Two of those young women were closeted with the Countess one night when there was no council of war--the Rain sisters, telling of their perilous journeys over two more bottles of the vintage of Vivian's birth-year.

"Ellean gets to do the fun stuff, while I ride home to daddy after visiting such exotic places as Delyan and Sand Point Inn," Angeline was complaining.

"Oh, right. You could have switched with me."

"I did give you the chance," said Vivian.

"It was for the best, my lady," said Angeline. "I would have slapped that Count of Inzil, and then I'd have been in real trouble."

Ellean got a very adult look of resignation. "I could tell when I got there what they were going to say. I was just a girl asking for help, and so were you, my lady, to them. Maybe it would have been different if you'd sent Francis Weaver."

"No," said Vivian. "They must have already known of the invasion. They already knew their own counsel, and thought it wise." She sighed. "Well, how was the ride, anyway?"

"Let's see," said Ellean. "Angeline and I parted company at Sand Point Inn. We crossed the bridge and kissed goodbye, and she went north and I went east. It was only a couple of hours after noon. I saw farmers and livestock, but no one else on the highway all day. It's not the busiest road in the Empire--it connects Sand Point Inn to Tenford in Shadewind. That night I slept on the wet ground up in the hills."

"See," said Angeline, "she has all the fun."

"The next day I rode all across Shadewind, and I never knew till then how big it is. At Tenford they were nice to me, they gave us food and water. Me and the colt. I got to the main road up the Shady River an hour or two after noon. It was sunny, and I wasn't feeling so tired all of a sudden. That colt I was riding, he really found his speed. We met a few merchants, and the weather was fine, and we sure saw a lot of villages, but there are some very empty places out there. I slept under the stars. I was wicked stiff when I woke up."

"I know how that feels," said Vivian. "I slept on the citadel roof one time. Don't ask me why, I was your age."

"Yes, my lady. Well, that colt sure had the wind behind him that third day. Good thing too, because there were some Shadewind soldiers to ride down."

"Whaaat?"

"Oh yeah. There were about half a dozen of them, relaxing in the afternoon by the road. I rode up and said hi--well, they wanted me to, you know, linger a while. Like, what's your hurry, little lady, all that. You know."

"You didn't tell me this part," said Angeline.

"I'll take it up with the Count of Shadewind," said Vivian.

"I'd appreciate that, my lady. Anyway, I was straight with them, I really was. I said, you know, I'm on official business, don't waste my time, so get out of the way this minute. And when they didn't, we rode them down."

"You did?" said Angeline. "How?"

"Two of them tried to grab the reins, and we just ran right over them. I didn't stop to see, but I hope they have horseshoe marks on their chests for the rest of their insignificant lives. A couple more tried to chase me, because now they were mad, of course, but that colt didn't even let them get close. We rode right on through Shadyplace that night. We slept in a barn."

"Never done that," said Vivian.

"First for me too, my lady. Big farm family, little farm. They were real nice to us. Next day we crossed into Maklos, which I've also never been to before."

"And how did you find that?"

"It was right there in the road, my lady. It's about as empty as a place can be and still be called inhabited. It's flat, flat, flat. Makar, the capital, it's no bigger than an average village in the Count's Domain."

"That's the Countess's Domain," said Vivian.

"Sorry, my lady. I'm still getting used to it."

"Me too, but go on."

"Well, they gave me lunch, and the colt too, they were real generous, but they didn't say a single word to me at that dinky little inn. That night I slept under the stars again, up in the hills along the Inzil frontier."

"Quiet folk out there in Maklos," said Vivian. "I guess it's from lack of people to talk to."

"Maybe so, my lady. Anyway, the next day we were in Inzil. We came down to Kemif and things perked right up. It was just like riding through Farlain. Lots of little towns, lots of farms, lots of folk on the road. Money, too, I guess. Folk were nice enough, but I didn't trust 'em. And that night I was in Annavil."

"What time?"

"After dark. Rode right up to the palace, ran in, knelt down before the Count and everything. As soon as I'd spit it all out, I could tell they were going to say no."

"But they treated you all right."

"Oh, fine, my lady, but I didn't trust a one of 'em. Everything they said to me, even asking about stabling my colt, or inviting me to dine, the Count and four others had to whisper about it for a full minute first. They made me stay the next day to rest, and I didn't need it but my horse sure did. He'd done all the running. Anyway, I sure wasn't going to trade horses with any of them. I didn't trust them."

"I get that impression," said Vivian. "How was the ride home?"

"Well, it was fine for the first day, and on through Makar. They gave me lunch there. I heard a little bit of talk this time. They were gloomier than they'd been, and I heard that the Thane of Maklos was gathering the militia, which probably amounts to three old guys and a cow. They certainly knew something was up. I didn't know whether to tell them that Inzil wasn't coming, so I just kept my mouth shut."

"Good job," said Vivian, and Angeline at the same time said, "Amazing!"

"They didn't seem too interested in talk. Anyway, like you told me, I rode due west across the open fields. Rolling hills, grass still flat to the ground from winter. Some deep snow in the gullies. We didn't make such great time. Oh, and I actually slept in a tree."

"In Bazir?" put in Angeline. "It must be the only one in the province."

"It did sort of stick out."

"And that's when you saw those riders?" Angeline prompted.

"What riders?" asked Vivian.

"I don't really know," explained Ellean. "It was in the wee hours--I heard hoofbeats. That colt was just standing there in the dark under the tree. I sat there and listened. I could hear them calling to each other. It wasn't any language I know."

"That means it wasn't English," said Angeline.

"That means they weren't Clanish," said Vivian. "I take it you stayed in the tree till they were gone."

"I did so, my lady. We got out of there right quick afterwards, though, as soon as I didn't hear them anymore. I didn't see any point in stopping between that tree and Vonnis, either. What time did I get here, midnight?"

"A bit after," said Vivian. "It was a prodigious ride."

"At your service, my lady. I don't need bonus money, either, unlike some I could name." Angeline rolled her eyes. "But you'll understand why I slept all the next day. How's that colt? He's not dead or anything?"

"No," said Angeline, "I checked on him myself. He's getting a vacation. Lulubell, on the other hand, has been drafted for patrols."

"My Lulubell, carrying soldiers?" Ellean seemed outraged. "Say, does that make her a draft horse?"

"Very funny," said Vivian. "Sorry, Ellean, but your old horse has been appropriated by the guy who rode her back from the South. She really wasn't fit for pack duty, but she'll fight the Avars for us. You'll have to make do with 'that colt'. Maybe you could even name him, eh?"

"Maybe so," said Ellean.

"I'm just glad you're back in one piece."

"I am too," said Angeline. "You're my only sister, and you drive me nuts, but I love you anyway." She put her arm around Ellean, and they both looked at the Countess. "So, do we get to go along for this battle?"

"I think not," said Vivian. "Sir Evan Rain is going, and he would be quite angry with me if he found out that you were shadowing your father."

"Are you sure?" Ellean wheedled. "We're veteran riders."

"I'm sure," said Vivian, draining her glass and rising. "But it was a prodigious ride. By both of you. I'll show my appreciation later--by asking you to do another one. Well, I'm afraid I have one more council of war to attend tonight. Finish the bottle for me?" She left, and the sisters spent another hour drinking and talking and laughing in sisterly tones.

The muster took place on the twenty-ninth of March as planned, and still the last Westdubbik companies were straggling in that afternoon; two hundred pikemen from Delyan arrived at nightfall. In council that night, it was debated whether to wait yet another day in order to rest the new arrivals. The last news from Lord Smeagle had been a week ago, when an old man had ridden in with no definite news at all on a horse that was not going to be missed in battle.

"There is a smoky wind off the plains," observed Sir Everard. "It smells of burning soon to come."

After half an hour of vague debate, the captain of the Delyan pikes allowed as how his men were not all that tired anyway. "We're eager to see Bazir," he said, "while we still have the chance."

The morning of the thirtieth arrived, chilly and grey, to find the Countess Vivian surrounded by her solemn advisors, who had been her main friends for the past few weeks, standing on a hill east of Vonnis across the Lavan, avoiding when they could the reminders of the horsemanship that had been practiced in these meadows of late.

Before them stood Trofim fitz-Trofim, High Priest of the County of Clane, in the center of a ring of white stones, chanting in the ancient language that predated the Empire: "Ay wuld nara brak mak mearu ay branwis, kol rofak aaera ay tria..." He scattered the petals of early wildflowers about the hilltop: he and his two acolytes had been abroad before dawn gathering them. Then he circled the assembled ministers and thanes and their Countess, putting one petal in each left hand and finally scattering the rest to the wind with an inaudible word. One caught in the stiff grey beard of Sir Everard of Angren, who brushed it away into the breeze.

The little crowd began to differentiate itself into the leaving and the staying. Sir Rogier and his wife Lady Alice were among the last to part; then Lady Alice and the Countess exchanged quick smiles before Sir Everard, standing beside the priest, asked, "Are we ready?"

"Are we?" the Countess asked back.

"They are assembled," replied the Lord Consul. "I personally rousted them out this morning."

"Very good," said Vivian. "Now get back to the city and catch up on your sleep. An old man like you!"

"My lady, I am still five years the junior of Lord Smeagle, who is out there on the plains waiting for you."

"Let's not waste time, then," said Sir Rogier. "Have we all said our goodbyes?"

Countess Vivian looked from the Minister of State to the Lord Consul, nodding. The look in Sir Everard's eyes melted her. She went to him and hugged him like a child her father, though she had never known him well. The stern, sarcastic old knight patted her hair and said, "You'll be fine."

She pulled away and smiled at him. "So will you," she said. She smiled at the priest, at the Lady Alice, at the rest of them.

"Good luck," said the priest, smiling sincerely. He turned, brushing away a few vagrant petals from his white robe. As he and the consul moved away, grooms came forward with saddled horses. Vivian patted her mare Finesse, then climbed into the saddle and looked around. Orders and answering shouts came up from the encampments on the fields below. The last of the tents were being struck, the fastest of the troops were already assembled in rank and file, and the knights were trotting about comparing armor and insignia and chivalric salutations.

Sir Rogier mounted up next to Vivian, and near them were thanes of five of Clane's eight provinces: Westdubbik's Thane Horst de Fugad, whose axe could fall with plenty of weight behind it, Intror's dark, thin Karlan, wrinkled old Hugo of Tarnhold, the worried-looking Raymond of Selac, and, back from arranging the defenses of the province of Skavin, Thane Burley, the interior minister. The Thane of Siret, the remotest of Clane's mountain provinces, had sent his regards and his second son, Ermark, who now rode with the Tarnver cataphracts. As for Maklos and Bazir, their thanes did not need to send troops to Vonnis en route to battle.

The army set out at a walk, as before them another clot of horsemen formed up and moved to head them off. "My lady, my lords," said their captain, Francis Weaver himself. "The Countess's Cataphracts respectfully request the privilege of escorting you upon the road to Bazir."

"Thank you, Captain Weaver," replied the Countess. "The thanes, I think, will want to join their own troops, but I will surely be glad of your company, so to speak. Captain, you always seem to be following us." Francis Weaver smiled and mumbled in reply. Then the Countess and her own horsemen led the way out onto the high plains to the east.

© 1997 Paul J Gies

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