XIII: April 772
"In the Light of the Divine Sun," the High Priestess Enjele Ennis said in a penetrating soft voice, "in the healing rays of the Sacred Day of Eternity..." Petrus Petre was once again merely the priest of Nikolad, and seemed not to mind; with the death of Trofim, the Council of Priests of Clane had chosen Enjele, around sixty with long pure white hair and deeply tanned skin, to be the County's new High Priestess. It was a matter of seniority, but Vivian probably would have made the same choice if anyone had asked: Enjele was not just a fine-looking Priestess, but had fled Angren and led the Clanish priests in their unanimous resistance to the sackers of blameless Vonnis. Vivian's mind wandered to the conversations she could remember with Trofim, and how much she might have learned yet, not that he had ever come right out and taught her anything.
She was trying to make up for it with Sir Everard, who, in spite of his own prediction, had survived to see the spring. Not that Spring 772 was any prize--there was rain every day. This gave Vivian plenty of opportunity to prod the old man into talking, sometimes on the record, narrating history to Scribe Fergus, but more often in private, with only Vivian and Sir Rogier seated at his bedside. She wished she could write it all down, but the ideas he expressed most clearly were, in order of emphasis: that she would return to Vonnis someday; that she shouldn't do anything rash or foolish; that she should look for allies where she could; and that those two young men, by which he meant Weaver and Willd, ought to be knighted. "They remind me of me and Rogier," he would say, although he declined to say which was which.
"So we are here," said the Countess aloud, as soon as Sir Rogier nudged her. It was the sixth of April, four years to the day after the battle in the cleft, when they had defeated the Avars at the beginning of her reign. Now, the downpour seemed to wait only for the height of the ceremony. She stood on a flat stone in the square, the broken old man of Mount Nikolad looking over her shoulder, the high mountains visible over the walls north, west and south. Black storm sat upon the peaks to the west, but here and there a rocky height would glint with the distant blessing of the morning sun.
Hundreds of people were gathered in the square, and more watched from windows and balconies. It was an Event, so most of them wore their absolute best clothes. The Countess herself wore a long dress of Clanish grey, with the medallion glinting on her breast. Ellean stood nearby, in one of Vivian's teenage dresses, a month short of eighteen; there was Angeline, all in white, carrying Jack and looking proud enough to be Francis's mother, who was also there, having slipped out of Angren the previous fall; with her was Willd's mother, a fragile little old lady who was now a refugee from Radun. All of the major and minor nobility of Westdubbik and a daughter and two sons of Thane Hugo of Tarnver were there; and then there was Thane Burley's man Garrik, come to represent Skavin. There was also Lady Helene de Herynold, only surviving child of Sir Everard of Angren, and now the widow holder of a tiny manor in the mountains of southern Siret; around her stood three grown daughters and a teenage son. Flanking the Countess were Lady Alice and Miranda the Brewer, and a little behind them stood Jen holding Susan. Weaver and Willd wore long robes of dark grey and no adornment.
"We are here to bestow the honors and the duties of knighthood on two who have served Clane with distinction in the four years I have been Countess. Without their efforts things would certainly be much worse than they are now. They already know that after they receive this honor, they will be called upon to accomplish even more." There was a peal of thunder. "Um, Alice, are we ready?"
"We're ready, my lady," said Lady Alice. She held a box that contained two bronze medallions fresh from the Nikolad smithy.
"Come forward, then, gentlemen." The two men rose from where they knelt, walked up and knelt again before the Countess. Raindrops began pelting them. "Horse Marshal of Clane, I knight you Sir Francis Weaver." She touched him on the exposed back of his neck with her father's ceremonial sabre. He flinched at the cold, and then again as a big raindrop landed next to the blade. She swept the sabre up into the air and gestured to Sir Francis, who rose to accept his medallion.
She smiled at him and said, "Just one more, and we can go inside." The rain was starting to fall in earnest. She looked down upon the other man kneeling before her. "Errand-rider to the Countess, I knight you Sir William Willd." By the time she got to touch him with the sabre, rain was coming down in bucketfuls. He stood and looked at her with a sheepish smile as Miranda put his medallion over his bare head. "Enjele," she shouted to the priestess.
Enjele was already rattling off the incantation of good fortune at respectable clip. True Clanish folk, they stayed till the end and then ran inside. Of course the reason the ceremony was held out of doors was that the dining room had seats for thirty at most, and every place but hers was filled a few minutes later when the Countess took her high seat. The open space between the double doors, the long table and the kitchen was filled with folk standing.
She stood back up and put on her best "I'm about to speak" face, and the room quieted. She raised her cup and said, "To our two newest knights, Sir Francis and Sir William, though I'm still going to call them Weaver and Willd." Cups were raised and partially drained of Miranda's best dark ale, but the Countess held her cup aloft again. "And I would also like to announce my intention," she said slowly in her deepest voice, "to marry Sir William Willd--" Many voices were raised in surprise, mock surprise or congratulation, and someone shouted, "Did he say yes?" She gave back a mock scathing look and said, "Yes, he said yes. Didn't you?"
"I did, yes," said Willd.
"And the wedding," Vivian went on, still holding her cup aloft, "is to be held, if the Council approves--"
"We approve!" shouted Sir Rogier and Thane Horst together.
"On the soonest possible Midsummer's Day, in the Square at Angren!"
There were general cheers, and all glasses were drained and refilled for the next toast. Old Mama Willd grinned and nodded, listening to Weaver repeating the Countess's words into her ear; then she got to sit with the Countess herself, along with the Countess's betrothed. Then it rained food and drink, while gladhanding and backslapping went on all around. All went away from the feast feeling as though the Countess's cause had turned a corner, that while they might not see Countess Vivian marry Sir William this summer, next summer was a real possibility. After all, they had held off several superior enemies through two winters, and now the foes all seemed preoccupied with other fights. If things went on as they had been going, the reconquest of Clane was only a matter of time, and things did not show any sign, as far as the revelers in Nikolad could tell, of going any differently.
The instability of the world of 6 April 772 became apparent over the course of three weeks with a sequence of five letters to the Countess from a princely friend. The first arrived the night before the ceremony, and was among the items considered in private session between the Countess and her oldest advisors in the afternoon after.
"It was nice," said Sir Everard, "I watched from the window there."
"I saw you. I waved to you."
"I thought you did. I remember the first day you wore the Medallion, my lady. You looked today just like then, and yet you also look so much older. Stronger. I'm certainly not stronger."
"What about me?" said Sir Rogier. "I should look stronger, I've been carrying the weight of the Old Guard's reputation, all this time you've been imprisoned."
"I'm sure Thane Horst's holding up his end. Ah, do you remember, Rogier, the day when Count Edmund finally announced that the Lady Vivian would be his heir? What were you, fifteen, Countess?"
"Fifteen, that's right. I'm sure he'd decided by the time I was twelve."
"If so, he said nothing to anyone. As was his way. So we just assumed he still had a plan for getting a son. The rest of the Council certainly hoped so."
"I took no part in any such discussions, my lady," said Sir Rogier.
"You're lying," said Vivian. "You were probably the ringleader. You didn't like me one bit at first. I had to win you over."
"You have him pegged," said Sir Everard. "I was sworn not to tell, but you guessed it. We were all rather dubious until your first council meeting--that's when you won me over."
"My lady," said Sir Rogier, "if I ever had doubts, suffice it to say that I have long since lost them. In any case, let us not waste this poor old friend's few remaining wits on mere reminiscence. We have business to attend to. Correspondence."
"Ah, Correspondence," said Sir Everard.
"From our good friend Prince Frenerac," said Vivian. "Or Duke Frenerac, perhaps."
"Yes, let's see," said Sir Rogier. He read: "My dear Vivian, Countess of Clane, at Nikolad Hold, Westdubbik, from his Excellency the Duke Frenerac of Amari, at Syrud, by his own hand, 26 March 772."
"By his own hand," repeated Sir Everard. "Big secrets?"
"Well, we'll see," said Vivian. "Actually he's been writing about once a month all fall and spring. Sir Tylon brought this one yesterday evening. He looked in on you, but you were asleep."
"My lady, could you make sure he looks in on me today? Wake me if you have to. He was most kind to me. But sorry, please continue, Rogier."
"Skip over the greetings and get to the news," said Vivian.
"Hmm. Oh yes. I am settling in here, but not comfortably: of course they don't let me actually decide anything. Father's plans are still known primarily to Father: his attention turns to Avigon, whose Grand Duke he has been alternately threatening and wooing all fall and winter. Rumor is that the G. D. of Avigon will soon acknowledge Father as a 'Grand Duke'. All in keeping with Father's idea of being Emperor without being called Emperor. I think Brother Salvar likes it little, this playing with titles: his taste would probably be to take the title as well as the power. Father's realm has increased in the last two months, by the way: Marchwind and the south of Shadewind have been rescued from the Barbarians by an army of Farlain spears and knights. All this seems not to threaten you, of course, or at least it threatens others more than you."
"So, do we believe all of it?" asked Vivian.
"I wouldn't," replied Sir Everard, "except that I can't think ill of Frenerac."
"I trust him," said Sir Rogier. "Frenerac is certainly not in the circle of power in Farlain. I think he gets more respect here in Nikolad than he does in Syrud or Calway."
"So is that all the news?" asked Sir Everard.
"Oh no," replied Sir Rogier. "He goes on. I hope you will see fit to reply by the same carriers: I trust them, and few others here or anywhere. In sooth being called Duke likes me not: I much preferred Prince and Second Son. Many currents swirl just below the still surface. By now, at least, your enemies are all out in the open, but who are my enemies, or those of my father, or of Salvar? If you figure out, please inform me. I yet hope to make up for the many wounds and wrongs that Clane has absorbed from Farlain these two years."
"Two years!" cried Vivian. "Has it been so long? And yet it seems like a century. But I doubt that we've seen all our enemies, either."
"We shall see, or not, my lady. He goes on: Will write again as fortune permits... All well here... Ah. My Duchess is well, but not yet with child. My duty still calls me. You should have seen the wedding: but there was no possibility of getting you onto the guest list."
"Too bad. That would've been most interesting."
"My lady, a formal Imperial-style wedding takes four hours just for the ceremony. I suppose you have that in mind for yourself and Willd?" She made a face. "I'll take that as a no. Let's see. Hope you remain well, my loving thoughts be with you and your people, especially Sir Everard of Angren. Farlain still owes him a great debt: mayhaps I'll have a case of wine sent. Do you think that will help?"
"Couldn't hurt," said Sir Everard.
"Most sincerely your obedient servant, I'll tell you if you can do anything for me, trust you'll do the same: Frenerac."
"Do you think he'll actually have a child?" asked Vivian.
"Oh, sure," said Sir Rogier, "fine strapping young fellow like him."
"What about you, Countess?" asked Sir Everard. "Was one enough?"
"Oh, no," said Vivian, "I think one more would be nice. Maybe two, spread out. The Counts have had a bad habit of having only children for heirs. I mean, we have to consider the chance of something untoward happening, to me or Susan. Besides, it wasn't that bad."
"My wife had three," said Sir Rogier, "and complained about each one more than the last."
"My sainted wife," said Sir Everard, "bore seven children, and only Helene survived her."
"My sainted mother," said Vivian, "died in childbirth, as did her son, or I would not be wearing this piece of jewelry."
"I well remember that day," said Sir Everard. "No worse calamity could have befallen Clane. It was one of those times when one wonders if there's any future at all." He smiled. "And yet, I cannot now conceive of a more dire disaster than for Vivian never to have been Countess."
"Oh, please."
"My lady," said Sir Rogier, "I would expect you at least to have the grace to accept a sincere compliment."
"Maybe I was just thinking of all the calamities that have befallen Clane."
"That only means," said Sir Everard, "that Dame History must have an especially high regard for you, my lady."
It was a good day that day, but the old man's decline continued. Lady Helene de Herynold and his grandchildren spent many hours with him now, and the Countess not so many. She had her hands full, as did Jen as well, with the crawling menace of young Lady Susan. The heiress was almost walking and already talking: her utterances were impassioned and indecipherable. Jack Rain, age two, was talking, walking and causing Jack-sized disasters. Of the two babies he was the sweet-tempered one. Vivian could just imagine the shambles the place would be when Suzy was two or three--and the shambles Jen would be.
Around the Hold, spring became ever more pronounced. The snowfields retreated up the sides of Mount Nikolad, daffodils and crocuses and tulips burst forth along with the songs of frogs and little birds, farmers went out to their labors, people were seen outside again in the evening, gangs of boys and girls kicked a ball in the square during intermissions in the rain.
Vivian studied her old texts, watched and learned from Miranda the Brewer, sojourned through the Arch to receive patient instruction from the Lady of the Fountain, looked out in trance from her little library, and journeyed far as well in dreams unbidden.
She looked out, by trance and by the dispatches she received and sent, and by the counsel of her ministers, and now she saw a lawless march-country, subject to three separate invasions. Her loyal subjects remained only in Westdubbik, Tarnver, half of Siret and a besieged enclave in Skavin. The Rugian hordes ruled the upper Rocky River, camping on the remains of Hildiwern and Radun, holing up in the abandoned castle of Simkin, and patrolling the empty streets of Clatu and Acali. The Avars roamed the plains and the Shadewind uplands, riding from the Grassy Valley near Skavin in the north all the way to the borders of Farlain and the bank of the Allor River in Inzil. Duke Maladar's men, meanwhile, were overrunning province after province in the soft South, while five thousand still sat in Angren and Vonnis just in case Vivian should get ideas. And all the while, all along the roads of Clane, and all along its riverways, men were fighting, and most were interested in no goal more lofty than taking one another's gold, or protecting their own. Farmers fled to the towns, and bandits took their places, and sometimes did not wait for the previous owners to depart. Even the road between Dubkarin and Tarnhold was in doubt now, for the Rugians of the warlord Torak were in Clatu, along with an accumulation of bandits.
On the twelfth of April, the Countess convened her council in the dining room and heard similar news all over again. Even Purcell Colmack gave vent to mild complaint. "I don't build the roads for that murdering rabble," he said, following it with a "my lady".
"The only solution to that problem," said the Countess, "is to chase the Rugians out. Then I guess while we're at it, we might as well go ahead and chase out the Farlainers and the Avars."
"All right," said Sir Everard, perking up from a doze, "our first objective is to defeat the Rugians. They only have what, ten thousand on our side of the mountains?"
"We think fourteen thousand fighters," said Weaver. "Another ten thousand of their folk have come over as well. There are four main bands, one under Sigrith at Hildiwern, another under Egon at Simkin, a third that hails Faulk, at Radun. The largest is Torak's around Acali, and the latter two bands both owe allegiance to Torak."
"Sigrith's doesn't, that's for sure," said the Countess.
"Perhaps," said Sir Rogier, "now is the time for your ladyship to tell the Council the outcome of her most recent meeting with the Warlord Sigrith?"
"They just call her Chieftain," said Vivian. "We met at the usual place, an overlook on the Hvanar trail. My escort and her escort stood outside while we talked. While she talked, mostly."
"Hard for you to get a word in edgewise, my lady?" asked Sir Everard.
"Difficult to picture, isn't it? Well, the first thing I found out was that she is dead set against Torak. She trusts him not at all. But, on the other hand, she makes no secret of her contempt for Thane Ellimer."
"Nor do you, my lady," Sir Rogier pointed out.
"Well, yes, he's not my favorite thane. Your Countess must report to you, my lords and ladies, that she does trust this Chieftain Sigrith of the Rukh." Vivian pronounced the name of the tribe with a realistically throaty final fricative. The ministers raised their eyebrows. "She claims the Rocky River valley north from Hildiwern and north of the Snow River, and the mountains around, and I have indicated that it is not in our current program to reclaim such a distant and unpopulated land."
"You did not, my lady," said Sir Rogier, "tell her you'd give it to her."
"No, I was very clear on that. She just said, 'It's not unpopulated, we live there.' And then we drank."
"Beer?" asked Thane Horst.
"No, some kind of heavy sweet wine. Very strong."
"Fortunately," said Sir Rogier, "her ladyship is of a great family of wine-drinkers. Did Chieftain Sigrith say what she was going to do about Torak? How many soldiers does she have?"
"She's expecting him to attack, and her plan is to defeat him, her two or three thousand against his six or eight. Now they're just battling to shore up support among the other clans. He hopes to have them all on his side before he comes for her."
"Is she optimistic?"
"She is, of course," said Vivian. "But I don't think anything's going to happen for quite a while. As likely as not, Torak's power will crumble before he can move to use it. Really our situation and hers are similar." She looked around the table. "Any other questions?" There were none. "Then let's turn to Sir Rogier, on the subject of another of our invaders. There has been another letter from Prince Frenerac."
"Are we not calling him Duke?" asked Thane Horst.
"I guess we don't have a policy on that."
"It's not what one would call a raging dispute within the government," said Sir Rogier. "Master Clark, you have this already copied over?"
"I do."
"Well, then. My dear Vivian, Seventeenth Countess Clane, Nikolad Hold, Westdubbik, from his excellency the Duke Frenerac of Amari, at Syrud, 2 April 772. Greetings to all there assembled: and especially to Sir Everard, hoping that he is well. --Then he gets down to business: I don't know what to make of this, exactly, but my father has assumed the title of Grand Duke of the Realm. Apparently this is something cooked up from the history books, from the civil wars of the last century of Emperors: one or another of the Dukes would be called Grand Duke of the Realm and take charge of affairs beyond the capital. The Grand Duke of Avigon and the Viscount Neil back him up on whatever this is, and so, I'm told, does the Duke of Amari, that is, me. Oh, and he also has the Count of Shadewind, whomever Father has decided that should be, some cousin or in-law perhaps. Not to complain: oddly, it's Salvar that's grumbling. Meanwhile, Father prepares to make order out of the mess in the Duchy of Allor as well: now that Shadewind is out of the picture, perhaps Allor can have a Duke again. May the Sun give him strength in that enterprise at least."
"I have to agree," said Vivian.
"I'm not so sure," said Sir Everard, shifting under his blanket. "He hasn't done much for Vonnis. But I thought Maladar would keep the title he inherited and take on only the power of the Emperor, instead of this hybrid."
"Why not call himself Emperor?" asked Weaver.
"He's scared," said the old knight. "He's right to be. Lots of oaths have been sworn and curses spoken about the Emperor over the last seven hundred years, and especially the last fifty, during most of which Maladar has been Duke of Farlain."
"Let him call himself what he will," said Thane Horst, "he's only passing by when it comes to Clane, and we're the one's who are staying."
"Hear, hear," said Sir Rogier. "Let's see, he writes some personal news, had a cold, a little commentary on the theater season in Syrud. Ah, a postscript. He's got a child on the way."
"His Amarian princess bride," said Vivian. "Last letter, it hadn't happened."
"Did he send the wine he said he'd send?" asked Sir Everard.
"He certainly did," said Miranda the Brewer, who seemed to have succeeded in making Brewmaster into a council position. "It is excellent. We will drink of it tonight."
"Since it's come up," said Vivian, "it would seem miserly to wait. Hey, Titus," she called to the butler. "Bring forth the Farlain wine."
"Anyway," said Sir Rogier, "that was the substance of the letter."
"And now," said the Countess, "something to celebrate, eh, Treasurer?"
Maura d'Acali cleared her throat, took a drink of water and shuffled her papers smugly. "The sale of Neil's collection of paintings and statues, furs and gems, has brought in two thousand one hundred and ten florins from Amari and Rahavon, and the Neil fund is in surplus again."
"What did I tell you, ministers?" asked Vivian, as the wine was brought in and distributed. "Two thousand whole florins over and above our budget. Whatever shall we spend them on?"
"I'd suggest a fort near Underperkneck," put in Sir Everard, raising his glass.
That night, at eventide, just as the first half moon rose over the high plains of Westdubbik, Vivian sat in the little library. She placed the candles and the book and the card and the cup of wine and entered a shallow trance--but there found herself stuck, as though on entering a room she had found it already jammed with people. Her Emperor-vision would not work at all, and her trance-eye only came in locally, where she saw Susan sleeping and a sentry walking and an owl bringing a mouse to her brood under the stable roof. Now, with her spiritual face pressed to the ground, she sensed peculiar local phenomena: the rivers, for instance, the Glass and Little Glass, each had a force on the spiritual plane, as did each of the mountains, even bent old Mount Nikolad. She found ripples deep in the earth, and felt the stars shedding an immaterial power upon her. Nearby, a small intense source wondered in strange dream: Vivian's mind reached out to Susan's. She noticed fleetingly another, faint source of immaterial interference, not a nature spirit but something human, within the Hold or very close by, but she failed to pinpoint it.
Finally she gave up, put everything away, washed her face and went and curled up between Willd and Susan. Simone woke up in a corner of the bed, got up, stretched, walked over to Vivian's legs and lay down between them purring. For half a minute Vivian pondered: what had kept her from seeing, and where was it now? Did not usually an attack follow such an ominous embargo? Then gradually her mind stilled and she fell into a sleep untroubled by shadow figures.
The next day, Sir Everard was sick. Vivian and Sir Rogier cut their afternoon with him short. He napped and dozed all evening and ate little, and slept only fitfully all night. On the morning of the fourteenth, he was tired and a bit cross, but when Vivian came in he perked up.
"How's the war going?" she asked him.
"We've got them where we want them," he replied, "all around us."
"Are you going to eat something? They tell me you haven't eaten a bite."
"For you, my lady," he said, "I will do my best."
She left him to eat, but when she came back after an hour the tray was untouched. He was asleep. She went out, but half an hour later she was back, and found the old man still asleep, his mouth wide open, breathing very softly. She sat down between his bed and the window. Sir Rogier came in before noon, and there they sat, the two of them, without a word.
A little later, a nurse came in to check on Sir Everard. She looked at them, then back at the old man. She looked at the wall and said, "He's gone, my lady."
"What? Are you sure?"
The clock ticked again. Sir Everard of Angren was dead. He was cremated the next day, 15 April 772, at dawn. His memorial was erected in the cemetery on the long slope east of the hold, among the Lords of Nikolad as well as the chambermaids and farmers.
The Countess composed a pretty oration or two and torn them up. When the time came for her to speak, all she could manage was, "Sir Everard, thank you for all your care and sacrifice. I'm so glad, so glad you came back to us. You are my hero."
The morning of the day after, nearer to noon than to dawn, Vivian was lying between the linen sheets talking with those who had shared her bed the previous night. "Have you got a nosey?" she was asking. "Is that a little teeny nosey? Then you can't be a Willd, can you?"
"Her nose just hasn't reached its ultimate proportions," Willd explained.
"Hay-aigou oo!" said Susan. "Baah." Having expressed herself to her satisfaction, Susan got a big smile and grabbed mommy by the hair. Vivian tickled Susan and Willd petted Simone and no one heard the knocking until Ellean walked in.
"Well," she exclaimed, "I never would have believed such debauchery had I not seen it with my own eyes."
"Ellean!" cried the Countess, trying to sound indignant, "I can't believe you'd just barge in on us like that!"
"Then you don't know me very well," said Ellean, "but anyway, I have a letter that came in late last night, and we were going to wait for you to get up, but you went and slept in."
"Well, with these three in bed, why would I want to get up?"
"I never said I blamed you."
"So--who's this 'we' that would have waited, but?"
"Oh, Sir Rogier said he'd be along once I'd given you time to become presentable. Oh, and here he comes. That must have been enough time."
"My lady," said Sir Rogier, "do I find you well?"
"You can certainly see for yourself," said Vivian, pulling the covers up over Willd. "I guess breakfast was too much to ask for, or is there yet another person to invade the sanctity of the Countess's bedroom?"
"Sorry, my lady," said Jen, coming in with a tray, "I tried to keep them from--"
"Let the record show," said Sir Rogier, "that your maid most strenuously objected, but--"
"Oh, I know. It's another letter from Prince-Duke Frenerac."
"Yes, my lady. With urgent reply requested. Would it make the Countess more comfortable if Lady Rain and I withdrew and returned in bathrobes?"
"No, no," said Vivian, swinging herself out of bed. "I'm the ranking officer of the watch at all hours. I can't complain--I get room and board and there's Jen to take care of half the diapers. Speaking of which--"
"Yes, my lady," said Jen, bringing in trays of food. Sir Rogier, with a chivalric finesse, set up the folding table, and soon the Countess and Ellean and the Minister of State confronted plates of fruit and cakes and potatoes and toast and butter and dishes of syrup and honey and jam and pitchers of milk and water and apple juice and strong tea. Meanwhile, Willd got up on the other side of bed, slipped on his pants and disappeared out the door, and Jen turned her attention to the care of the heiress.
"It came in last night after midnight," said Ellean, studiously soaking a piece of toast in maple syrup and butter. "Sir Lamark, the Amarian, carried it. He said he'd wait for your reply."
"Have you read it?" asked Vivian, looking at Sir Rogier.
"No, my lady," replied Ellean. "Not even Sir Rogier has. See? Still sealed." Sure enough, the Amarian hawk soared on the wax seal. Vivian nodded, and Ellean broke the seal and read.
"To her ladyship the Countess Vivian of Clane, Nikolad Hold, Westdubbik, from his excellency the Duke Frenerac of Amari, Syrud, dawn, 8 April 772. My dear Countess, there are ominous noises about, and so I have a boon to beg of you. It seems my father's aspirations have disturbed something deep down in the dead old beast, though I cannot say what: there is rumor of war and of mutiny, and uncertainty about all communications. When you read this, everything here will have changed, though I cannot say how. I trust no one here, not my Farlainish ministers, not my defeated Amarian lords, no matter how they smile to my face. Something is happening, and as usual I will be the last to know. Thus I ask a great favor of you. My Duchess, Zinyda, is recently with child, and I humbly request haven for her and her party in Nikolad. Farlain's debt to Countess Vivian grows larger before it grows smaller, you see, but I do fear for my life, and, much as it irritates me to be so, I am anxious about the safety of my wife and of my possible heir. I will send gold, if that will sway you. Please reply by the same messenger; fear not to deny me, for as I say, we are already far in debt to you. I remain your servant, Duke Frenerac. That's it."
"My instinct is to let her come," said Vivian, "though I'm sure he's overreacting."
"What if he just wants to be rid of her?" asked Ellean.
"As long as he sends some money along, who cares what his motives are? We'll rent out Neil's hall at Gorngold for her. The Neil Fund will never run dry. No, it's decided, you can go send Sir Lamark of Amari on his way: we'll let Duchess Zinyda stay here, and I'm sure Mirabel won't mind as long as she gets a cut."
"It's not hers to say," Sir Rogier pointed out, "since this is an imperial policy matter."
"We'll give her a cut anyway. Ell, could you take care of the message?"
"I'd be happy to," said Ellean. She got up, wiped her hands and mouth, picked up an apple and strode out. Willd passed her on the way in, washed, shaved and dressed. "Finish my breakfast, Willd," Ellean called from the hall. He did, while pondering the letter.
"Do you think there's anything to it?" asked Vivian.
"Who knows?" replied Sir Rogier. "I don't think your friend the Prince is unreliable, but in the witches' brew of the court life in Calway or Syrud, one might expect him to imagine a few threats and plots."
"Well," said Willd, "he trusts us at least."
"Yes," said Vivian, "and can there be any better proof that he's truly worried, than this-- that compared to Syrud, Nikolad seems a safe haven?"
The castle town hummed with life that warm spring day, the sixteenth of April of Countess Vivian's fifth regnal year. Riders came from Tarnhold, bearing word from Thane Hugo of improved stores and supplies but of flooding in the Tarn valley and concerns about Rugian infiltration. In the same packet was a love poem from Sir Francis Weaver to Lady Angeline Rain; he was writing from Dubkarin, having been apart from her for all of a day and a half. There was also a brief letter from Thane Horst, cataloguing the state of Westdubbik as it was reported to him each spring: again, things looked all right, but disaster seemed certain to be hiding behind a bush in the background somewhere.
The next night was, to Vivian's mind, a full moon, although the ancient astronomers avowed that the precise moment was during the subsequent forenoon. She carried a freshly-diapered Susan, almost asleep, up to the little library, and there the girl sat in her lap as Vivian drank the wine and entered the realm beyond the arch once again. Then, as on every visit since her birth, Susan appeared as a young woman, the New Woman of two summers ago. She and Vivian went hand in hand to the Lady of the Fountain, and while the Lady instructed Vivian, their daughters sat on the ground and played. When Vivian tired of her strenuous studies, the Lady walked her and Susan back to the arch.
Behind, visible at the edge of the avenue, stood a shadow figure. The Lady of the Fountain smiled dismissively. She worried for Vivian in the outside, not here. Vivian smiled, turned and fell through the Arch, still holding Susan's hand. They flew back into the world and down to the high small window of the library. The Countess and the baby opened their eyes and smiled at one another. They sat for five or ten minutes resting, and then Vivian rose, put Suzy to bed and went in search of a pint of Miranda's ale.
On the nineteenth of April, the Countess and Ellean and Willd all woke up at dawn, their hearts perhaps sensing that the day would be perfect, cloudless and warm. Vivian and her Sir William found Ellean in the dining room, soaking up maple syrup with buttery toast. Willd went to the kitchen and gathered a varied breakfast for himself and his lady, and by the time they were finished eating, and sat drinking tea, Jen had joined them with a newly diapered heiress.
Fifteen minutes later, Jen cradled Susan in her arms as Vivian, Willd and Ellean strode out the side door of the main gate, armed with walking sticks. They turned and walked with care down a broad slate stair along the side of the canyon, and then up the gravel flats of Glass River bottom west and upriver from Nikolad. Behind them and several hundred feet above, the High Bridge arched across the ravine at a narrow point, a startling sight to folk from the lowlands. Down here the river was crossed by several humble wooden structures, the least ramshackle of which was two miles upriver west of Nikolad. Here the river was fast and perilous and only thirty feet across: further down, it widened and flattened and filled the breadth of the canyon, turning into the stream that put the first Clanish settlers in mind of a sheet of glass.
Vivian looked to her right, north, at the side of the canyon. A footpath ascended the cliff by way of a dozen switchbacks. At the top, it crept around a boulder that stood like a turret atop a cyclopean wall.
"Quite the hunk of rock," said Ellean.
"Oh, yes," said Vivian absently as they looked upward. Willd was a little ways off, gazing up and down the river. "Or are you talking about Sir William?" Willd, hearing them chuckle, turned and gave them a quizzical look, but they only shrugged and smiled.
They crossed the wooden bridge and climbed the slope on the south side of the ravine, to the left of the sheer cliff. Here the stern face of the rock had been broken over the millennia into a steep hill, scantily clad in shrubbery. They plodded up a winding path until at noon they stood atop the southern side of the canyon. Vivian looked across the ravine at Nikolad, which was still well above them.
The hilltop bore an ancient and often-used campfire circle. Standing on one of the rocks, Vivian could see down into the Little Glass River valley. The Little Glass, flowing down from the south, was little more than a creek, but its beauty was renowned, as was the beauty of its music, and Vivian knew in a moment that the praise she had heard was no exaggeration. Her eyes wandered up the high valley, and above it, in shades of blue and green and white, rose godlike the peaks of the Clane-Amari frontier. Over all stretched the infinite sky and the sun at zenith. She stood atop the rock for some minutes, trying to contain all of it in a memory. Finally she gave up and smiled sheepishly at her companions.
"Look, my lady," said Willd.
On the other side of the Little Glass ran the trail that the message-bearers took between Nikolad and the Duchy of Amari to the south. Three riders moved on it, tiny in the distance, headed for Nikolad. "Great," said Vivian. "Let's go meet them."
Twenty minutes later, they had descended the slope, jumped from stone to stone across the Little Glass River and climbed to the southward trail, just in time to meet Sir Tylon and two other handsome young men of Farlain in the silvren livery of the Duke of Amari.
"Well-met," said Sir Tylon to the three hikers. "We are come from Syrud with a message for her Ladyship the Countess. Oh."
"Welcome back to Clane," said Vivian. "Another letter? Poor Frenerac must have a lot of time on his hands."
"My lady, the situation has changed again," said the knight, pulling the letter out of an inner pocket and handing it to the Countess.
"Oh, I see," said Vivian. "Shall we go up?"
In another fifteen minutes Vivian was sitting in her tall chair in the dining room, flanked by Willd and Ellean, with Sir Tylon across from her. Sir Rogier, Angeline and Fergus Clark sat down around them as Vivian broke the Amari seal and read the letter twice quickly. The third time, she read it aloud.
"To her Ladyship, Vivian, Countess of Clane, at Nikolad Hold, Westdubbik, from Prince Frenerac, Syrud, 13 April 772. My dear Vivian, my father has vanished. There is no word, but a friend from Calway has just arrived with the news that Salvar is in the palace, and Duke Maladar has not been seen. Secret orders are going throughout the army; my own garrison is unreliable. I have sent the Lady Zinyda with an escort, but Tylon will ride ahead with all possible swiftness. The ground is shifting, and I doubt I can keep my footing as well as you have. I may call upon you to help me, so I would appreciate it if you would decide beforehand whether I am worthy of your aid. I remain your humble servant, Frenerac."
"He calls himself Prince, not Duke," said Sir Rogier.
"Where is the Duchess?" Vivian asked Sir Tylon.
"She should be here in two days or three. She has a dozen Amarian riders with her. They do not go in haste, but she should be safe."
"What do you think? Is the Grand Duke dead?"
"Me? Well, ah, I think, I think it quite strange, my lady, that Duke Maladar has not been seen. He is always to be seen in Calway. His pictures were everywhere, and I have heard that even his pictures are disappearing."
"Hmph. I'll bet there's not a picture of me left on display in Intror or Angren."
"Maybe it's no more than he deserves," said Sir Rogier, "but think: what if Salvar becomes Duke? I venture to say that he will more than fill his father's shoes."
She frowned. "I have grievances against Duke Maladar," she said, "but I felt like I knew what sort of thing he'd try. Well, after this month two years ago I did, anyway. With Salvar, who knows? He seems a--a chaotic soul."
"My lady," said Sir Tylon, "I could not have said it better."
"But what's to be done?"
"Do as Frenerac says," said Sir Rogier. "Decide now if he's worth helping."
Sir Tylon and his companions rode away the next morning, with assurance of safe haven should they be forced to turn back. It was another in a string of perfect days, and Vivian and Angeline took their children and their maids out for a picnic on the slopes of Mount Nikolad. The evening meal, as usual, consisted of Vivian sitting at her place talking, writing, reading and occasionally eating, while Jen sat beside her with Susan, and many people came, ate, added their opinions and suggestions, and left.
Just at full dark, as people were beginning to return to the table with glasses of red ale, a rider was admitted through the side door of the main gate. Five minutes later, the main door of the dining room opened and Martin of Auzel admitted himself.
Vivian looked up and saw him. "Ah, Master Martin," she said, "are you come from Tarnver?"
"Yes, my lady," said Martin. She gestured to the seat across from her, which was uncharacteristically vacant. "Here is Sir Francis's report, and here's a letter from Thane Hugo, and one for Lady Angeline from her husband--huh, smells like a love note, if you don't mind my saying so. And this one's for Thane Horst from Lady Agnes, and it's--treasury lists for the spring."
"So what's going on out east?"
"Oh, man," said Martin. "There's all kinds of rumors. I guess Salvar's moving troops around, but for that matter, I heard he was dead, or he was going to rebel, or declare himself emperor. And those are the tame ones."
"I like the one where he dies. Say, Mariel, would you fetch Martin a mug of ale? And I could use a bit more, too."
"Yes, my lady," said the middle-aged maid.
"So," asked Vivian, "what's Francis think about it?"
"I'm not too for sure, my lady, but he told me he'd believe just about anything. They've still got three thousand at Angren, and a couple thousand more at Vonnis, and Francis told me he's ready for them to march on Tarnhold."
"Well, who knows, but I don't expect Tarnhold will be marched on this year."
"If they do, they're in for a surprise. It's a little better fortified than it was, say, two years ago, when they were scared to attack it."
"It should be," said Vivian. "I paid good money for those fortifications."
Vivian and Martin continued their casual conversation, and the Rain sisters put in their two pence worth, and evening glided into night. Presently Vivian rose from the table, carried some of her paperwork off to the library and went to kiss Suzy good night. She read for a while, and then had warm water drawn and took a bath. She was deep in the tub, holding a volume of Countess Tereza's diary above her, when with a quick knock Ellean came in.
"At least you knocked," said Vivian.
"There's a messenger downstairs," said Ellean. "He's from Frenerac."
A few minutes later, Vivian, Sir Rogier, the Rain sisters, Willd, Miranda, Martin of Auzel and Jen sat around in the hall with the young Amarian messenger. Jen read the letter aloud.
"To Countess Vivian, Nikolad Hold Westdubbik, from Prince Frenerac, 15 April. Have you decided yet? I am in need of saving. Salvar is now Duke of Farlain, and it seems he thinks me not well-suited to being Duke of Amari. I have two dozen men. We will take the Nikolad trail, but we are pursued by many more. It's the damned Farlainers, causing trouble as usual. Please help. Yours, Frenerac."
"Well, well," said Sir Rogier. "So the rumors are true."
"Some of them," said Vivian, "but before we risk any Clanish lives, I'd like to know why I should help him. I don't owe him anything, do I?"
"Sir Everard," said Angeline.
"Well," said Vivian, "how many riders can we gather by tomorrow?"
The answer was fifty-three. This contingent of cavalry, which included thirty young women of the manor of Nikolad, was as different from a band of knights as could be, considering that they were on horseback and bore lethal weapons. They were all archers, few carried swords or wore armor, and they were trained only for military action involving wild or domestic herbivores, but they were the best army available on short notice and Vivian trusted them. In command was the highest-ranking available soldier: Captain Edwy Sallier, now a four-year veteran of the Countess's service and accustomed to the idea of a woman boss. The troop left Nikolad Hold at noon on the twenty-first of April, leaving Sir Rogier in charge of affairs and Jen in charge of Lady Sue.
At the head of the force rode the Countess, Captain Sallier and the faithful scouts Willd and Ellean. Martin of Auzel was sent ahead. They rode up the Little Glass River for some miles, and then, leaving the stream filling its vale with music, they climbed into the laps of the high mountains. All day the riders crawled among the great peaks, following the trail along the edge of alpine tarns and swampy meadows as the snowy summits shone down on them. It was the trail that Ellean and Martin had found on their way back from the Imperial Diet in March of last year; it had been fully explored by the errand-riders carrying the Countess's correspondence with Prince Frenerac. They saw no folk all afternoon, only moose, elk, mountain sheep and dozens of hawks.
That evening, five minutes after the Countess and her advisors first talked about looking for a place to camp, they saw a little group of tents along a pond ahead of them, and in their midst was a flag attached to a lance. The silver hawk of Amari flew on a white field, which mostly disappeared against a snowfield on the mountainside behind, so that the hawk seemed to soar in the air beside the lance. The Countess and Captain Sallier exchanged looks.
"It's the Duchess," said Vivian, "or else it's a very small Amarian invasion. Let's go down and find out."
By the time they rode down to the camp, the Amarians had seen them and gathered about their flag. The Countess, with Ellean, Willd and Sallier, rode into the camp, leaving the rest of the riders gathered along the pond's edge. An elderly knight stepped forth to greet them.
"My lords and ladies," he said, "we are the escort of the Duchess Zinyda, and we seek the hospitality of the Countess Vivian at Nikolad."
"That would be me," said Vivian, "and I am Countess of Clane, not just of Nikolad, but you are welcome."
"My lady, I regret my choice of words," said the knight, in an enchanting Amarian accent. "I am called Sylvester, and I serve as the captain of the Duchess's escort. We are twelve men, all Amarian knights, loyal to the Duchess and also to the Duke Frenerac. Now that we stand upon Clanish soil, we are of course your servants."
"Good," said Vivian, "I welcome your service. If you don't mind, we will camp with you here. This is Captain Sallier, and these are my scouts Lady Ellean Rain and Sir William Willd. Captain Sallier, please array the, uh, host in camp as best you can. I think defense is still not a prime concern, but triple watches will have to be posted."
"Yes, my lady. Since they got here first, we'll let them have these lowlands, and camp in yon highlands," said Sallier, pointing to a rocky flat just above the meadow.
"Exactly," said Vivian. "We will all dine together, if that's all right, Sir Sylvester, and discuss our plans. We have brought provisions, except--did you bring wine?"
"We did, my lady. It was said to us by the Duke that several cases of the red wine of Farlain would not hurt our chances of finding help here."
"The Duke is indeed wise," said Vivian, "whether or not he's still Duke."
That night they met and discussed and planned, but the main thing they did besides eat and drink was worry. Sir Sylvester knew no more than what Vivian had from Tylon and the last letter, and the Duchess Zinyda, who turned out to be absolutely gorgeous, with long dark hair and dark haunted eyes, hardly spoke. It seemed Martin had been through a few hours before, and gone on to see what was ahead. Later, while Sallier and Ellean stayed up well into the night drinking and exchanging war stories with the Amarians--who for the most part simply did not credit tales of Ellean's exploits, true though they were--Vivian and Willd sat on a rock overlooking camp and talked softly about nothing more crucial than their love for one another.
The next morning, Sir Sylvester and two other elderly Amarian knights escorted the Duchess on to Nikolad, while the Countess, having added the other nine Amarians to her force, rode on south. The day began chilly with fast-running clouds, and there was snowfall in midmorning, but in the afternoon they rode along a high valley with a brilliant sun above and the sound of water echoing all around them. They had crossed the highest part of the mountains of southern Westdubbik and presently rode down into a piny depression, with a rocky ridge ahead of them cutting off their view of the lands to the south. Sunset found them traversing this trough, and there they set up camp under the fragrant trees, while Ellean and Willd rode ahead up the ridge to have a look at what was beyond. They returned to Vivian where she stood by Finesse watching the tents being erected.
"My lady," said Willd, "you should see this."
"Yes," said Ellean, "and so should Captain Sallier."
The four of them walked up the stony path and soon had a view of the mountains rolling away into foothills, falling off southward into Amari. Beside them, Mount Farag, its high snowfields still gleaming in the sun, marked the frontier. The vista itself, on this clear evening, was astounding, even after two days in the high mountains. Below them, the long rocky slope was punctuated by great piers of stone torn from the sides of the border peaks. One was half a mile below them, and a larger one was two hundred yards downslope from that. The larger rock bore a camp with an Amarian flag in its midst, and among the knights, they could see Martin of Auzel talking with several men. Vivian could see them in Sir Everard's spy glass: Martin spoke with Frenerac, and both looked worried. The smaller and higher pier of rock also had men on it, but only a dozen or so.
"They're archers," said Vivian.
"They are," said Sallier, who had a beat-up glass of his own. "They wear Farlain's livery."
"Of the Vonnis Men," said Willd, borrowing the spy glass, "Prince Salvar's personal elite. The Amarians look to be a score or so: I count twenty-six horses. There are more Farlainers below."
"Then it's Frenerac on the big rock, with Martin, and Salvar's so-called Vonnis men have him surrounded. How many?"
"I can't tell, my lady," said Willd, "but it seems like a company of knights below, perhaps a hundred. As soon as it's dark, Ellean and I can get closer and count them."
"Well," said Vivian, taking back the glass, "I'd say they have poor Frenerac snared. They probably think they got him just in time--if he'd made it up this far, they wouldn't have been able to get in front of him. And I'll wager that they don't expect any threat from this side. Let's get off this ridge where they might see us, and get some dinner. And no fires tonight! We can send what's-his-name, Keven at-Trees, to scout closer: he's a little guy. Ell, you can go with him. We have to know more before we can move against them."
When the two scouts came back, they had settled on a hundred as a good estimate of the Farlain force. "So," said Vivian, "we're outnumbered. What a novel idea."
"They're relaxing," said Ellean, "mostly down beyond the big rock. I guess they just got here today, and tomorrow they'll tighten the noose."
"Well, let's do something tonight," said Vivian. "Can we?"
"My lady," said Edwy Sallier, "if it pleases you, I have a plan."
It indeed pleased Vivian when she climbed the ridge at dawn to have a look at things below. Behind her the camp was swiftly being broken, but she could not resist a peek. With her rode Ellean and the Lady Valerie de Nikolad, a fifteen-year-old, six-foot cousin of Lady Mirabel who obviously worshiped the ground Ellean walked on.
Vivian looked through the glass and smiled. She passed it to Ellean and Valerie, who also found the scene amusing. The pier of rock that had borne Frenerac's beleaguered camp was now empty but for refuse and manure. In a few minutes there were several dozen Farlainers there, all looking around and under stones and manure piles as if the Prince's men were hiding somewhere. The nearer, smaller pier of rock no longer had any living Farlainers on it, just eight dead ones, each with the wounds of several arrows.
"It was too easy," said Valerie. "They just stared at us even as we were shooting them. They couldn't believe Clanish girls could kill them."
"Yes," said Ellean. "We left a couple of our arrows just so they'd see our grey feathers."
"Consider yourselves reprimanded for wasting arrows. Not very seriously reprimanded, though. Shall we go?"
The three women rode down the slope and found the others waiting, already in the saddle. Prince Frenerac's men, along with Martin, and Sir Tylon and his two companions, hailed the Countess with muted enthusiasm as she rode down to them. Then as the sun rose and Prince Salvar's knights worked out what had happened, the Countess and her comrades slipped away north into the mountains.
On the night of the twenty-third of April, Countess Vivian, Captain Sallier, Sir William Willd, Prince Frenerac holding hands with the lovely Zinyda, Sir Tylon, Sir Sylvester, Sir Rogier, Martin of Auzel, Miranda and the Rain sisters sat around the big table sipping Miranda's ale.
"You know," Frenerac was saying, "I could learn to like this stuff."
"I have," said Vivian, "and you know I was raised a wine-lover."
"Will Salvar come after you?" asked Ellean.
"I don't know why he would," said Frenerac. "It's not as if I'm important or anything. I guess he's given up on coming after you, so why should he come for me?"
"Because," said Sir Rogier, "you're next in line for the Duchy of Farlain. Oh, and while we're at it, Zinyda is (is she not?) the rightful heiress to the Duchy of Amari, and her child to come is next in line after her."
"Thank you, Sir Rogier de Clatu, for reminding me that my troubles aren't over. But you're right. Her uncle killed himself, and my father saw to it that her other relatives were all dead once I was married to the niece. Duke Maladar made her the heiress, which Duke Salvar may well rue. Don't be fooled by her, I should tell you: she's quiet and reserved and so sad, but she's got a strong mind, a strong will." Zinyda gave him a look and smiled slightly. "For myself," he went on, "I renounce all claim in Amari. Farlain, though: well, Sal will have a son someday, and then I won't have to worry about being in line for the Diadem of the Duke."
"I, for one," said Vivian, "intend to interfere a lot more in the Farlain succession. The Sun saw that Salvar's tried to interfere in ours. But I didn't take fifty of my most trusted riders on a four-day expedition into the mountains just to save a claimant to the Duchy of Farlain. I came for you because of what you did for Sir Everard. You knew he passed away, didn't you?"
"Sir Tylon told me."
"You know his estimation of you was quite high? I think the only man in Farlain he thought as highly of was Tylon here."
"I certainly can't fault his judgement on that score. But for whatever reason you came for us, the fact is that you came for us, and we are forever in your debt. More than that, my lady, we are in your service."
"I accept your service gratefully. Don't think you won't be called on to fight."
"We are all ready to do so, my lady," said Sir Tylon. "Especially against Duke Salvar, as he's now called. By serving you, Countess, we may yet serve Farlain and Amari."
"Hear, hear," said old Sir Sylvester of Amari. "Not one of us owns this Duke Salvar, but rather the Duchess Zinyda, and you, of course, Countess."
"I'll drink to that," said the Countess, and they all raised their glasses full and set them down empty.