III. July 768
"In the light of the Divine Sun..." The rest of the High Priest's invocation was lost on Countess Vivian. She was staring out the council chamber window. It faced east from the second storey of the Citadel of Vonnis, across the green flood of the Lavan River, toward the ridge that separated the river valley from the plains of Bazir. While he went on, her mind spun its wheels in ruts worn over the past three months.
Her county was short two provinces. Skavin was now on the defensive, with only its southern border adjoining the other parts of Clane; Thane Burley had resigned his post as Minister of the Interior to concentrate on his province's defense. (His place on the council was now taken by bridge builder and lifelong Vonnis resident Purcell Colmack, who was even more taciturn than the Thane.)
What would her dad think, who had defended those Bazir and Maklos again and again? But her army in Bazir was smaller than his had been, and the foe larger than his usually was, aside from the singular victory at Grassyfields in Skavin two years before her birth. There (as she read in his annals) Count Edmund had only his thousand knights and two hundred Skavin bowmen against five thousand or more Avar horsemen. What had he done? Well, he'd dismounted. And he'd used cavalry traps. Just like the little battle at the Cleft this past April, most of his battles had been won by tricks that she'd probably have to wait fifty years to use again.
"The Countess Vivian presides," said Sir Rogier, nudging her foot.
"Thank you," she said. "So. How's the, um, treasury?"
Neil of Gorngold shifted in his fancy fat-guy robes and reported that things were still not good. The loss of a farm province and a trade route to Inzil had cost some revenue and the campaign had required even higher military expenditures. This led to a quiet re-enactment of her first council meeting's shouting match. It took a while for her to get up the gumption to step in. "All right, all right, all right," she said. They all looked at her. "Well, you need to meet halfway. So we need more revenue, Neil, or at least more spending toward defense. I'm sorry to say it, but we do. Why Dad couldn't have vanquished all our enemies for good, I do not know, but they're back. And I hear the Rugians are also acting up, am I right?"
"I was telling the Countess earlier," said Sir Everard of Angren, "raids were up in Edmund's last two years, and they're already ahead of last year by fifty percent."
"And especially in Siret, right?" asked Vivian.
"That's right, they're running twice last year in Siret. Well, it's a long haul there from Vonnis, they've figured out we can't get there fast in force. And, uh," Sir Everard added, glancing at the Countess, "I, uh, will undertake to make do with less. A lot of the knights are bringing their own supplies, and some of them that used to be due Imperial stipends waived them this year, because we know money's tight. There are other savings. But, my lady, there's a limit to those things. After the fat is gone, there's only the muscle."
"What about help from abroad?" asked Neil. "I was under the impression--"
"Well," said Sir Rogier, "the rest of the Empire has not hastened to assist us--so far. Our victory over the Avars in the Cleft has bought us time at least. Meanwhile, I am, uh, pleased to report a certain sort of progress in our efforts to interest other lords sovereign in helping us."
"What sort of progress?" asked Vivian.
"Well, my lady, we are as of this day up to three officially registered suitors for your hand: the second son of the Duke of Farlain, and a nephew, I believe it is, of the Grand Duke of Avigon, and in today's mail, no pun intended, an introduction for the third son of the Count of Shadewind. Would it please you to think about whether to entertain any or all of them here?"
Vivian thought of a number of things it might please her to do. She had met the sons of Duke Maladar of Farlain: the elder one was quiet in an unsettling way, while the younger was an athletic fellow of much superficial conversation. The Grand Duke of Avigon, who was considered primus inter pares among the seven Dukes and the dean of the Lords Sovereign, had skipped the Imperial Diet, and the sound of "nephew, I believe it is," did not appeal to her at all. At least none of the lot had anything to do with the Count of Inzil, whom she was far from forgiving for not coming to her aid in Bazir. After a few moments' consideration, she came up with a suggestion. The lords and ministers had a quiet laugh before Sir Rogier, smiling very slightly, asked, "Did you get that, Edgar?"
"Sir, I seem not to have quite caught up in my notes, and I did not catch her ladyship's last remark."
"That's fine," said Vivian. "I mean, I've clearly got too much on my mind at the moment to consider lighter matters such as these."
"Do any of them come with promises of troops?" asked Margus.
"No, sadly," said Sir Rogier. "My lady, how shall I say this? I hope you understand that this concerns all of us, and all of your people."
"I do," said the Countess, "and I understand that the Council has the right, as affirmed in Imperial charters, to constrain me from marrying anyone you deem unworthy of the County of Clane. And I'm definitely not going to marry another Sovereign Lord or even a relative of a Sovereign Lord. But look, it's my business, and I'm going to conduct it myself, like Dad did."
"Of course," said several. "Any of these unions," said Sir Rogier, looking around at the ministers, "would create constitutional problems, as I've said before. The Imperial system does not allow for sovereign states to ally, much less combine their lines, and it would hardly be in Clane's interest to marry up with any of the other states anyway." Thane Horst and Sir Everard huffed in agreement. "And I can assure the Council that her ladyship feels the same way, at least as strongly as I do."
"Um," said Margus, "if I may ask--?"
"Please," said Sir Rogier.
"Um, if none of us want such a marriage alliance, um, least of all the Countess, apparently, why don't we just tell them to--?"
"I suggested that," said Vivian. "But we thought we might get some troops out of them in the short term while we string them along."
"It could be a dangerous game," said Thane Horst.
"We live in a dangerous neighborhood," replied Sir Everard. "I agree completely with the Countess's strategy. Those rogues owe us military aid anyway--we're guarding their borders after all."
"And just in case you wondered," she added, "I have no intention of sharing power with the man that I do pick, when I do pick one."
"My lady," said Sir Rogier, "I think I speak for all of us when I assure you that we wouldn't have expected any less."
After the council meeting had adjourned, Vivian remained in her chair. Sir Rogier, still gathering up his papers, was caught by her blue eye once everyone else was gone from the room. "Sir Rogier," she asked, "how am I doing, really?"
"My lady," he replied, "that is not for me to judge. It is rather for you to say how I am doing." She rolled her eyes. "All right," he went on, "you're doing much better than I expected you would." She rolled her eyes again. "My lady," he said, with a small amount of exasperation in his voice, "I fail to see how you can take that remark as anything but a compliment. But fine, fine, if that's how you want it, try this: you're doing very well, in my opinion, and I think everyone else agrees."
"But I don't have any idea what I'm doing."
"That's not important. You have good ministers--I am especially impressed by your Minister of State, by the way--and you use their advice, even when you don't follow it. If I say you're just like your father, will you take that as a compliment?"
"I will, but I won't necessarily believe it. How did he conduct council meetings, for instance? I only got to attend one, when he reached his thirty year mark."
"Well, you're not like him in council. He'd sit and listen while we argued, and then after fifteen or twenty minutes of others talking he'd clear his throat and we'd all shut up and he'd tell us what he was going to do. He rarely asked questions and he never told us his thinking. He liked me to run the meeting and leave him all the decision-making. You, on the other hand, prefer to run the meeting yourself, ask the questions, throw out ideas, participate fully. But the result is the same: you hear all our views and then you decide. And I don't have to work as hard."
"So you think I talk too much."
He sighed. "My lady, you do not talk too much. Do you want criticism? All right. You have mood swings. You're up one moment, down the next. And maybe you're a bit more sarcastic than might be desired. And you obviously haven't learned all you're going to, but you will, you will."
"Sarcastic? This, from you?"
"Well, yes, I am a known hypocrite. Who am I to complain anyway? I find it entertaining."
"I'm glad," replied the Countess. "I learned it all from my Minister of State. And, if you wondered, I think you're wonderful."
"So they want to marry you off to some jerk from down south?" asked Angeline Rain.
"No, I don't think they want to," said Vivian. "It's just kind strange to see all these jerks from down south lining up to propose."
"It sounds icky," said Ellean. Both Rain sisters, as well as Vivian, had had birthdays in the intervening months, making the Countess twenty-two, Angeline a full-grown, if skinny, seventeen, and Ellean a suddenly developing fourteen. It was a warm night in early July, a few days after the council meeting, and the three young ladies were sharing a bottle of wine in the anteroom to the Countess's boudoir.
"I always thought," said Angeline, "that marrying a prince would be glamorous."
"Oh, me too," said Vivian.
"Who are you going to marry, my lady?" asked Ellean.
"Nix on the personal questions, dummy," said her sister.
"I don't know if I will marry," said Vivian rebelliously. "Why should I?"
"But there has to be an heir, right?" said Ellean.
"Well, yeah," replied Vivian, "but I don't have to be married in order for there to be an heir, you know." Ellean looked scandalized, but Angeline smiled conspiratorially.
"You'd have to get pregnant," said Ellean, "and that's still icky."
"I know. My mother died in childbirth."
"So did ours. It was going to be her first son. The son didn't survive either."
"This heir business is serious," said Vivian. "My mother, the Lady Eleanor, was just not strong enough for it. That's what they told me. I was only one when she died."
"That's so sad," said Angeline. "Our mom died when I was seven, so I do remember her. I think she was sick a lot."
"Not like Lady Anne," said Vivian, "my stepmother. Everybody said she'd have a dozen kids, and then she never managed to have any."
"I remember her," said Angeline. "Did you get along with her?"
"She was perfect. She wasn't like a mom. She was really my best friend, especially the last year or two." Vivian shook her head. "Sometimes I wish she'd had a son."
"No you don't," said Angeline.
"No, I don't," said Vivian. They laughed and drained their glasses in memory of Lady Anne, and then they refilled them. "What do you think of the wine?"
"It's not as good as usual," said Angeline.
"Good job! It's not the old stuff: it's last summer's vintage. Austerity measure. I had Neil of Gorngold sell off two hundred cases downriver. It should buy us another castle somewhere."
"I hope it's a good one," said Angeline. "You should make him sell a few barrels of his own wine. Or some of those fancy clothes."
"There's an idea," replied Vivian. All three sipped and contemplated. "Do you remember your mother?" she asked Ellean.
"I think so," said Ellean. "I was four when she died. I remember her singing."
"That'd be right," said Angeline. "Singing all around the house, dancing--I think Dad got quieter after she died. Maybe it was just the silence left over when she was gone."
"He was a good man," said Vivian. "I hardly knew him. I felt so bad when I saw him--he was a hero."
"Yep," said Angeline.
"So was your dad," said Ellean. "I remember seeing him when I was little. I thought he was the smartest and handsomest man in the world."
"That's what I thought, too," said Vivian, "but he was frail and tired and worried. Now I guess I know why."
"I know he'd be proud of you," said Angeline.
"Stop," said Vivian. They all looked down, then they all sipped. In ten more minutes they were laughing.
It was a lovely summer, and the Countess spent many of its days riding in the hills near Vonnis, always with a small escort, at the urging of Sir Rogier, who might not have been relieved to know the escort was the Rain sisters. She also read, continued her dialogues with the High Priest, met with the scouts, heard the complaints of the refugees from the plains, and kept up her own meditations. Toward this end she expended some of her budget of time toward reading her father's explication of ancient texts.
Many of the texts themselves were available to her, in copies made by her father, her grandfather Count Theodred, and others of her predecessors from the originals in the Imperial Library at Avigon. But her father had never gotten around to teaching her the complexities of the language--a study requiring many years, it seemed--and no one living could read them.
She wondered whether that was really true the moment she thought it. She suspected that the High Priest might at least have a clue about the glyphs, he who spoke the priests' version of the old tongue. The priesthood was old, even compared to the Emperor. The cult of the Sun went back more than a millennium, and its predecessor priesthood far before that, while it was less then eight centuries since the First Emperor rose from the sea. Vivian assumed that was just a metaphor for the emergence of the Empire from among the warring tribes and kingdoms, and changing history, changing even the numbers of the years, for the Year One was the year that the First Emperor ascended the Throne.
It was a conceit of the old Empire that there was one Emperor for all time, but the imperial dynasty was apparently just like any noble house, except for one macabre practice. Father was followed by son, and when son took the Throne, his brothers were killed. Many children were needed in the Imperial House to make sure that one worthy boy would grow to be Emperor. Then only the Emperor's sons could remain alive, because the Imperial Line had powers too great for more than one mature practitioner to be abroad in the land.
Inevitably these powers were diluted. The final century of Emperors had lineages that were tenuous at best--the last emperor's seemed on the edge of fiction. They inherited mostly an aura, and meanwhile the fables grew beyond the reality of seven hundred years past.
The daughters of the Emperor were never allowed to claim the throne, and did not meet the fate of their brothers. Most were priestesses. So the girls never received the attention that the boys got, and, as Vivian herself knew, this was not always a bad thing for them. In the annals, written in the archaic English of the imperial years, she had counted more than a dozen daughters of the Emperor who had been forgotten by the chroniclers after surviving birth. Then there was the case of the Lady Ranere, sister to the tenth Emperor, who fought beside her brother against the sinister attacks of the Roganites, a dark cult of the fourth imperial century whose powers had also become the stuff of myth. It was written that Ranere bore her brother's child, the eleventh Emperor, but the awed tone of the annal made Vivian wonder which of four explanations was most likely. Maybe they married and mated because they were each so wonderfully powerful that no one else qualified; or maybe they were perverse, like some of the Lords Sovereign that Vivian had heard of, and were emboldened by absolute power; or perhaps it was all made up just to give their story that final twist that storytellers crave. Maybe the eleventh emperor was Ranere's son by someone else, and all the rest was coverup. Who knew, now, which to believe?
And then there was the Lady Penelope. Vivian did not know for sure that Penelope was a vanished Imperial daughter, though in the middle centuries there were eight Penelopes listed as born to Emperors, and one, born to Ranere in 372 and forgotten thereafter, would have been the right age. Of course, since girlhood Vivian had heard about the first Count of Clane, the Imperial general John Zimmish, who conquered the Rocky River valley from its hideous pagan lordlings and drove the Rugians from the uplands of Tarnver and Selac. He was given his title in the year 430, the last created of the seventeen Sovereign Lordships. His wife, who seemed to be at least his equal, was Lady Penelope. Vivian began searching the library for evidence of her origin, and was not amply rewarded.
For one thing, unlike the Emperors, the Counts of Clane tended to hide their tracks when it came to their odd faculties. For another, many of the Counts' own private records were written either in a latter-day adaptation of the old hieroglyphs, or in the Imperial alphabet but in a seemingly random gibberish of English words. Of course there were diaries aplenty telling everything from battle formations to court romances to menus at state dinners, and these made for revealing reading.
There had been three ruling Countesses before Vivian. Annelle, the Third Countess of Clane, who was born in 433 in newly-founded Vonnis and ruled from 502 to 510, left little record except for a book of judgements that showed a harshly moral streak. She once ordered a farmer hanged after he was caught in the bed of his intended bride two weeks before the wedding, something that in Vivian's day wouldn't even rise to the level of gossip. The Eleventh Countess, Tereza, who was born in 608 and ruled from 636 until 679, might not have survived in the county as ruled by Annelle. Vivian liked Tereza, who was her great great grandmother, and felt she knew her quite well from her diaries. Tereza had two sons but never married. Her journals were full of stolen kisses and liaisons at midnight--those journals that Vivian could translate, that is. The other ruling Countess was Helenna, sixth of the line, whose reign, from 536 to 553, was in effect the reign of her brilliant husband Lord Alquin. Never had a Countess succeeded a Countess, and by Imperial law any son had preference in the succession over any daughter.
Countess Tereza left volumes of the mysterious hieroglyphs, though Vivian could not see when she had time to write. Vivian's grandfather and Tereza's grandson, Theodred, fifteenth Count of Clane, who had been dead sixteen years when Vivian was born, also left volumes in several of the secret styles used by the Counts. Pondering these late at night, Vivian was completely at a loss, especially since she knew these writings could be intended only for an audience of one: the current wearer of the Medallion. Could the High Priest tell her what they said? Could she ever, ever reveal them to anyone, even him? Hadn't her training by High Priest Trofim taught her, at least, that he would only answer questions with other questions?
Her father had annotated much of what had been left by the ancients, even what little remained of the pre-imperial glyphs from Avigon and its predecessor cities long since in ruins. She found that he had done the same for a number of scholarly books of the early counts. He had written somewhat himself in his last ten years: thus from the grave, at least, he could school his daughter. Her grandfather had written more--now she recalled her father saying that Theodred had had more "success" than he. She couldn't read any of it but the explications of the old texts, which were in English. She committed herself to studying them until she had some inspiration, and meanwhile there were Tereza's diaries for diverting summer reading.
She intended her studies to lead her deeper into the mystery of herself, the mystery of the line descended from Count John Zimmish and the Lady Penelope, and in this pursuit she meditated in the High Room almost every night. Sometimes she left herself and let her mind's eye wander, but this was often frightening--half in the other world, she was like a baby that barely knew how to crawl, except that she had no watchful mother to keep her out of the street. She didn't even know where the street was, nor what great carriages drawn by what fearsome beasts moved along it. More often, she simply went into trance, and she sometimes had visions which, startling as they were, she at least could view from the safety and comfort of her own cranium.
So, on a hot night in the middle of July, she saw a series of images having to do with horses. There were Avars moving about in the plains, along a small, lazy river. There were errand-riders of Clane, who were ever flitting across the hill country and up and down the road along the Rocky River. Her eye followed one, the fellow who had guided her on her night excursion in Bazir: he rode all the way up the Lavan River to Skavin as the sun rose and set, then rose and set again. Horsemen dashed across the plain, Avars hunting and patrolling, but there was someone else there, who had ridden alone out of a stormy wrack in the South, someone she could not see. There were flags bearing blue horses, flying in the wind over a tent, and someone inside hidden. For a moment she saw, quite still, herself and two other women, in heavy cloaks, sitting on horses that stood on a height overlooking a deep ravine--just before the vision changed, she realized that the women were Angeline and Ellean, full-grown. A man on horseback came up toward them along a switchback trail. Then she saw Avar horsemen again plunging headlong into battle---and her father among his tiny group of knights, as suddenly his pikemen leapt up from the long grasses, pulling upward the pointed stakes upon which the attackers impaled themselves at the Battle of Grassyfields, years before she was born. One of the knights was Evan Rain, and near him, Rogier de Clatu and Everard of Angren. Then she saw old Sir Rogier riding with his wife in the evening, and a group of riders under a green and white flag approached. It seemed as if behind the first group were at least two more, each with their own flag, blue and white, red and white, each led by a young man of noble clothing. The first group reached the gate of Vonnis. The flag was the green swan of Inzil on the snowy Imperial field.
"My lady!" shouted the maid Jen, shouting from the bottom of the spiral stairway to the High Room. "Sir Rogier says you must come down. We have visitors!"
"I'll bet we do!" cried Vivian, leaping up and putting out the candles. "I'll just bet we do!" She practically jumped down the stairs, and pushed Jen, who was two years younger than Vivian and six inches taller, ahead of her into the Countess's chambers. "My white slip," she said, undressing and leaving her pants and shirt on the floor, "and my black dress, the long one. And shoes, the nice ones, the ones I never wear unless I have to."
"The black dress?"
"Yes, the long one. Suddenly I am in mourning again, Jen."
Steps outside preceded a small, firm knock on the door. "It's me, my lady," said Ellean Rain's voice.
"Come on in." Ellean did so, dressed for riding. "Hm. Jen, what can you put on Ell so she'll look like a lady-in-waiting?" Jen looked at the girl critically. She pulled out a demure white dress that Vivian never wore. She held it up and cast a glance at the Countess. "That'll do," said Vivian. "Get dressed, Ell. Jen, I need to be fastened."
They spent the next five minutes buttoning and primping and commenting on each other. "How about jewelry for Ell?" Vivian asked as she fiddled with a button.
"This?" said Jen. It was a thin gold strand that had been Vivian's birthday present ten years ago. Now Vivian wore the Countess's Medallion--and earrings with sapphires.
"That'll do fine," said Vivian.
"Shoes, my lady?" said Ellean, as Jen put the gold strand around her neck. She was barefoot now, having removed her riding boots.
"Try these," said Jen. "They were my lady's, when she was fifteen or so." They were shiny black, looked smashing, and fit, more or less.
When they had done all they could, the three trooped out and down the main stairway to the lower hall. There was Lady Alice, wife of Sir Rogier, with her long silvery hair and petite, if overweight, profile. She ran up to them.
"My lady," she said, "we were out riding when--Rogier says there's someone here to see you--it's an important state visit from--"
"Inzil," said Vivian. "Thank you, Lady Alice. Let's go see what this is about, as if I didn't know."
The entry hall was crowded with Clanish servants and officials, and with knights of Inzil in their riding clothes, and then there was the Countess Vivian coming down the stairs attended by her ladies. She was a sight for sore eyes, of which there were many in the room: small and wiry, graceful and self-contained, her shoulder-length brown hair combed back and held with pretty gold combs. She was wearing simple, elegant black, a long dress which appeared modest and yet accentuated her small but very shapely bust. Her face was pretty, though not in a standard way--her slight smile told of insight, of intelligence, of wit, and of smart remarks ready for use. As she came down the stairs, her blue eyes locked into those of Lord Chalris, the son and heir of the Count of Inzil, who couldn't resist one more eyeful of her breasts.
Well, thought Vivian, this guy really wants to be slapped! But she was much more shocked by how easy it was to read Lord Chalris's thoughts. Usually she could get nothing useful from another person's mind, even when they were unsuspecting, unless she paid close attention: it was like listening to a quiet conversation in the house next door. People she knew well, like Ellean or Jen or Sir Rogier, were unreadable. But Chalris's mind had all the windows open and he was going around shouting out of them.
He was ridiculous, and it was ridiculous. Didn't he have any idea what she thought of Inzil? Didn't he have any idea how complicated it would be to be Count of Inzil and marry the Countess of Clane? For one thing, the Council had a veto and the Council wouldn't hear of it. Well, she thought as she smiled at his rehearsed plea to be considered an official suitor for her hand, she would have the chance to ask those very questions over dinner. After all, why not test him a little--and see if he could bring the troops that his father had denied her? Besides, he cut a handsome figure on the outside even if his mind was disheveled. And besides, he thought she was attractive! He hadn't even noticed Ellean at her side, in that little white dress. That had to count for something.
So that night Vivian and Lord Chalris dined together, alone except for butler, serving woman, cook and a hovering Jen. They shared superficial conversation over dinner while Vivian's imagination alternated between a fantasy wedding and a life of boredom and bickering with this impossible, thoughtless, rash and simpleminded future Lord Sovereign. She enjoyed the beef, she enjoyed the wine, and she definitely enjoyed eavesdropping on his own fantasies, dreams of love and lovemaking, anxieties of rejection. Then over a last glass of wine she asked her two big questions.
"You know, no Emperor ever permitted sovereign lords to forge marriage alliances, and certainly not to marry Count to Countess or Duke to Duchess. How do you see this thing working out? I mean, I would certainly remain Countess of Clane. I hope you didn't think we would just erase the border between Clane and Inzil--did you?"
He waffled and wavered in his response, and off his open mind she read that he had given absolutely no thought to the question. Erasing the border made perfect sense to him, but even he could see she wouldn't settle for bearing and raising his heirs. In his mind Sir Rogier loomed ominously, a subtle manipulator with a hidden agenda. But he wasn't sure the Countess wasn't just as subtle a legal and diplomatic mind. It worried him. Still, her breasts--! She moved on to her second question.
"Did you agree with your father's decision not to send aid when we asked?"
Again he waffled. He had been out of the loop on that one, of course, but he was reluctant to say so. At the same time, he was so eager to please the object of his quest that he found himself saying that he could get her as many troops as she could want.
"Oh," she said, "I could want a lot of troops. The Avars have thousands of riders out in the plains. Hey, if you could bring enough, we could retake Bazir, how about that? Well, just how many are we talking about?"
"Well, I," he said, and waffled some more.
Lord Chalris had been forced by the Avar occupation to travel the long way around through Shadewind and Farlain, and his journey of love had alerted the rulers of those lands that their own sons now had competition besides one another.
The evening after Chalris's arrival, a delegation from Farlain showed up. This consisted of six knights accompanying the tall, blond and well-built Prince Frenerac, second son of Duke Maladar. They were teenagers out on a caper together. Vivian was sure she would not marry Frenerac, but it was a relief to have him in Vonnis. First, unlike Lord Chalris, the Prince paid for himself: he had brought a wagon full of expensive foods and old wine. Second, Prince Frenerac was definitely not in love with Vivian, although he did not dislike her: he seemed rather attached to his friends. He seemed especially attached to a young knight named Tylon, who was as athletic as Frenerac and a bit precious. Third, Frenerac had a casual style that was in maximum contrast with Chalris's scripted overtures. Every time Vivian talked to Chalris, he seemed to feel that their happy future was on the line. Prince Frenerac could take it or leave it as far as their happy future was concerned. Fourth, while she could read his emotions a little, he wasn't yelling his every thought.
Finally, Chalris simply could not stand to be in the same room as Frenerac. At the required early evening wine parties, Vivian would position herself next to Frenerac, while Chalris stood on her other side and tried to make small talk. He had no talent for it. When Frenerac and Tylon had stuck enough pins in Chalris's balloon, Chalris would stalk off to a far corner. Then Vivian and the Prince would ignore each other until dinner: she would discuss things with her ministers and friends while he held forth among his knights and the best-heeled of hers.
At the banquets, Vivian placed the two opposite one another, six seats down the head table from her. Sir Rogier sat on her left, then Lady Alice; on her right was Sir Everard of Angren, who was mourning the recent loss to a fever of his beloved wife the Lady Ameline. He was responding to the loss by throwing himself into his work, and the Countess, for her part, liked to talk business when she ate with her ministers. It had the added benefit of reminding Lord Chalris that she was more than just a pair of breasts.
Three days after the arrival of Farlain's Prince Frenerac, Lord Mertenus, third son of the Count of Shadewind, arrived with a dozen knights and a fourteen-year-old page under a flag bearing the red hound on white. The page looked marriageable--compared to his master. Mertenus was thirty-two years old, while the other two suitors were about Vivian's age. He was somber, a bit overweight, defensive and easily angered, as became clear when he and Lord Chalris almost came to blows before dinner on the night of Mertenus's arrival. He was definitely not the sort to protest his love to Vivian from bent knee, but like Chalris he seemed to actually want her as his bride. It didn't help. It was never clear to Vivian just how he proposed to win her over, or what he thought he would do with her or with Clane if somehow he succeeded. He had no conversation at all, and Vivian did not speak with him even once after greeting him gingerly upon his arrival.
"I have to get away from this," said Vivian. "Let's go for a ride tomorrow." Once again, she and the Rain sisters were in the Countess's boudoir, sitting around a table sipping wine. The Countess's cat Simone, a long-haired calico yearling with an already slothful character, dozed on the fourth chair.
"Where?" asked Angeline.
"I don't know. In the hills. I used to ride along the old tracks up north of Bald Mountain. We'll take off at dawn, pack lunch, and not return until dark. We'll have to tell Sir Rogier to entertain the boys without us."
"It must be nice to have men vying for your hand," said Ellean.
"You should take a good look at the Prince," said Angeline. "He could care less. He's a man's man."
"I kind of like him," said Vivian."It's just such a relief to be ignored by Frenerac after the way the other two act around me."
"Maybe the guards shouldn't have stopped them fighting," said Angeline.
"Oh yes. A good war between Shadewind and Inzil. Fine. Just so they fight it out on their own turf."
"You know Sir Rogier will object to you going off for a ride," said Angeline.
"Why should he?" replied the Countess. "I'm leaving him in the company of men of exceptionally noble quality."
Sir Rogier of course objected. He demanded that she take a squad of soldiers along, but she turned him aside with a smile, saying she had two riders of proven skill and loyalty picked out already. So it was the next day, which happened to be the twenty-sixth of July, that Vivian, Angeline and Ellean, dressed for a long ride, set off just after dawn through the rural north gate of the City of Vonnis.
The horses walked up slanting forest paths, took their time on the steep pebbly climbs under thinning canopies, nibbled sweet grass along the crests of rocky heights, ran with abandon down long lush meadows hidden by the empty hills from the cattle and sheep of Clane, and then stood around grazing as their mistresses sat on a big rock at the top of a rise and talked.
"So which one--?" Angeline began.
"Nope," said Vivian. "Not today. Not a single word about my marital prospects. Lets talk about your marital prospects instead."
"I wouldn't marry any of them," said Angeline.
"But oh, that Francis Weaver!" sighed Ellean. She batted her eyes at Angeline. "Isn't he just a dream?"
"Shut up," said Angeline.
"Hey," said Vivian, "a marriage of nobility is better. I mean, you have a bit of land, so you have some rents, but it's not all in one place. You need to marry strategically. A powerful lord, even a wealthy one--how about Neil of Gorngold?"
"All right," said Angeline, "I get the point. I won't say another word about--about them. At least you can tell us who around court you think is cute these days."
"Oh, that's a state secret."
"We're your confidantes. Come on, is it still Francis that has the title? I mean, I know you couldn't marry him, but--!"
"Hey, I can do what I want. But, well, I don't know, he doesn't quite do it for me, as you guys would say. You can have him."
Angeline's eyes flashed at her sister. "I don't share."
"But he sure looks good in comparison," Vivian went on.
"We're not supposed to talk about your suitors," said Angeline, "or I'd jump right in and agree with you."
They rode the hills through a glorious afternoon, stopped along a rock outcrop and sunned themselves in the leveling rays, then hurried down the lower woods paths back to the road that ran north along the Lavan from Vonnis toward Skavin. They came to the highway in the red-gold of sunset, came out of the shadow of the trees, crossed to the riverside and turned just in time to see the sun slipping behind the mountain. They bowed their heads in sign of respect as it departed.
Vivian turned and looked up toward the heights of the ridge that edged the plains of Bazir. Angeline was beside her, and they sat on their horses in silence for some minutes watching a few cattle graze along the valley edge across the river, watching the wispy clouds float over the highland, watching the blue sky turn toward indigo. Ellean looked northward up the road.
"Vivian," she called out, "there's a rider coming."
"Oh." Vivian nudged Finesse over to the road, and the thin black mare responded with her usual precision. There was a small figure apparently not moving, just sitting there on the road from the north getting larger and casting up dust. "Well, we just look like three country girls out riding, don't we?"
Angeline looked her up and down and said reassuringly, "You don't look especially countess-like."
"Good." They sat on their horses watching. The rider became differentiated from his horse, moving at a good pace for long distance. He would reach Vonnis before all the stars were out. When he was two dozen yards away, Vivian recognized him as one of her own errand-riders, dressed in the grey of Clane and bearing the reclining cat emblem of the Countess. She flagged him down.
The rider, with some effort, pulled to a stop in front of them. It was none other than the leader of scouts from the night ride in Bazir. "What can I do for you?" he asked gruffly. "I am on an errand--oh!"
"You're my scout, um," said Vivian, searching for the name.
"William Willd, your servant, my lady." He jumped to the ground and doffed his cloth cap, revealing short hair somewhere between blond and grey. He reached into his sack and pulled out a roll of paper with a wax seal, which he handed to the Countess without a flourish. She broke the Thane of Skavin's seal and read, while Willd looked the Rain sisters over. "Well met, ladies," he said. "You are also errand-riders, aren't you?"
"Well, yes," said Angeline.
"Wasn't it you," he said to Ellean, "who rode all the way to Inzil just to get a 'No' from the Count?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," said Ellean.
"Quite a ride," said Willd. Ellean swelled right up.
Having read the dispatch twice, Vivian rolled it back up and stuck it in a pocket of her riding shirt. "Let's go," she said. "You're coming with us, William Willd. The Council will need to hear from you."
"The Avars appear to be readying a strike against Skavin," said Vivian. The Council, this night, consisted of Sir Rogier, Sir Everard, the scribe Edgar, Margus de Passaya and Purcell Colmack, along with the Countess and her messenger. "Willd, would you read it?"
"To her ladyship the Countess Vivian, and her council, and no one else. Avar strength of two thousand horse and four thousand foot gathered on Grassy River twenty miles east of Orlad. Our strength six hundred behind stout walls. Send help. Your obedient servant, Thane Burley of Skavin, by his scribe Rodric Bingold, night 24 July 768."
"It's definitely from Burley," said Sir Rogier. "I didn't hear a single word that could have been left out."
"How many troops can we bring up to Skavin within a week?" asked Vivian. "We have good road this time."
"Five hundred cataphracts and five hundred assorted infantry are already camped hereabouts," said Sir Everard. "We can send them off now and muster the rest just in case."
"Why not," said Sir Rogier, "let the suitors know that they can prove their valor in battle by going with us?"
Vivian cringed. "You have to be kidding. I want to go."
"And it would remind their elders that we really really do have military problems."
"That Prince Frenerac," said Sir Everard. "He looks like he could wield a dangerous lance."
"He's a good rider," said Margus, "but, if I may say so, my lady, I don't think war is quite his sort of thing."
"If we even let this news peep out at court," said Sir Rogier, "we won't be able to keep Lord Chalris from following the Countess to Skavin. And I do think we'll find Frenerac enthusiastic. I'm not sure about Mertenus."
"Look," said Vivian, "we have a serious problem on our hands. I inherited eight provinces from my father, and now, six months later, we're down to six. I don't want to be at five in another month. So let's just drop this talk of suitors for now, shall we? We know what we have to do. I'm going with the force we have now, and with Sir Rogier."
"By 'now', you mean...?"
"Day after tomorrow?"
"That," said Sir Everard, "is the best we can hope for."
"We'll take the Horse Marshal and Captain Weaver. Lord Consul, you will muster the rest of the army and follow if we need you. Is that okay?"
"We'll see," said Sir Rogier.
"My lady," said Sir Everard, "if I may say so, except for your going, it's an eminently sensible plan, and I don't expect to change your mind on that one detail."
"Well, good! Willd, you will take that news back to Thane Burley in the morning. As for the suitors, you're my council and I should let you in on a secret. Oh, Willd?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Close the door behind you as you leave." He left, and she looked around at the men of the council. "I just want you to know, I'm not going to marry any of them."
The men around her smiled. Sir Rogier said, "My lady, not one of us thought otherwise."
They let out news of the expedition that night, by telling the junior officers about their marching orders immediately. Each of the suitors found out from his own men, and each responded in his own way. Mertenus was gone by noon the next day.
Lord Chalris made a big production of sending one of his knights back to Inzil with a request for a thousand knights. He offered his sword and those of his remaining escort to the Countess "to do with as you wish". It was clear what he wished she would do with him, and it had nothing to do with his sword. At any rate, his father would be reassured by the thought of the Avars again attacking Clane, and as far from the Inzil frontier as could possibly be.
Prince Frenerac took the news as if he and his friends had been challenged to a sporting competition. They prepared to set off immediately, but without any talk of serving the Countess with their swords or otherwise. It emerged that the Prince was a veteran of several battles, all against his father's main enemy, a rabble that rose against Duke Maladar's harsh rule every so often along the Clanish frontier. The Prince presumed that the Avars were of similar fighting skill, since to his mind they were similarly educated and cultured. No one in Vonnis did anything to correct this impression.
To everyone's surprise, it only took one more day than planned to prepare a thousand men and one Countess for an excursion of one hundred and forty miles. In the meantime, Vivian tried to stay away from the two remaining suitors, and was pleased to see that no new ones showed up. She sat in her high room and looked out, but her control over her Eye was still weak, and her trance-visions seemed an iffy way of seeing the world around. They were somewhat better than nothing. On the night of 29 July, she sat in trance and saw many things in a sunlit wandering over the hill country, but something was bothering her. Far in the south, there was a dead city, but in its midst was a dome, a temple or palace, glowing with a fungal luminescence. She sat on her horse, three other women near her, and watched: were they Angeline and Ellean and the maid Jen, or were their faces from the paintings of Annelle and Helenna and Tereza? The four of them looked down as from a height. It was hideous, the blotch on the coastal plains before them, but it was dead, and something was watching from behind, from the mountains or the plains of Bazir. The women turned to look, and they could see out across the empty miles. There was no hiding place, but something hid there nonetheless.
It was a typical premonition, thought Vivian as she lay on her back in the blackest hour of morning: menacing and uninformative.
The morning of 29 July dawned blue and white. "We're getting to used to this," said Vivian to Sir Everard as the High Priest passed out flower petals.
Thane Horst rode up with four scouts: he had come from his seat at Dubkarin, a long day's ride from Vonnis. "My lady," he said hoarsely, "you can't leave without me."
"I guess I can't. Father, would you give a petal to Thane Horst? He just got here."
Trofim fitz-Trofim strode over smiling, put a white petal in the Thane's palm, and then intoned with a standardized frown: "Affu branwe mak mearu, Horstu, af aaera am bunwis." He turned away and continued his rounds.
"I should've thought of that before," said Sir Everard. "My lady, you can't leave without me."
"Well, this time you may get to follow us."
"Indeed, my lady, but we hope not. Only, why are they going?"
"They're my ladies-in-waiting and personal bodyguards."
"I've never heard of those two roles being combined, but I can see that there are many things of which I have never heard that will come to pass in the days of the Countess Vivian."
"Yes, and let's hope that one of them is not the fall of Skavin."
Presently they set off: the Countess, Sir Rogier, Thane Horst, Lord Margus and Captain Francis Weaver, preceded by a small vanguard of scouts and horse bowmen, and followed by the Rain sisters, then by the infantry, with the cataphracts bringing up the rear. The knights of Inzil and Farlain, in two small and distinct groups, rode alongside on the grasses. The Prince's men, their colors mirroring the blue and white sky, were sometimes in front, sometimes behind as they rode fast to each next village and then stopped for wine. Lord Chalris tried to stay close enough to see Vivian, and let her cast her eyes upon him.
The road to Orlad stayed on the west bank of the Lavan River, upon which the western mountains increasingly encroached as they went northward. Habitation dwindled and disappeared for a while. The force camped in woods empty of people for the first two nights, and for the next two days rode on through gathering clouds in a landscape almost untouched by humanity.
At midday on the thirty-first of July an errand-rider came to them, having left Orlad the previous morning. Again it was William Willd. "My lady," he said, "they have advanced to within five miles of Orlad, and their riders have been seen on this side of the Lavan."
The Countess thanked him and turned to huddle with Thane Horst, the Horse Marshal and the Minister of State. "Can we get to Orlad tonight?" she asked.
"Not quite, my lady," said Sir Rogier. "Our cavalry could, if they went on ahead."
"Well, let's not do that. Sorry, Margus."
"I wouldn't," said Thane Horst. "We can camp within about ten miles. Maybe we can do so without the Avars knowing."
"Then," said Sir Rogier, "we should send out some of the horsemen to cover our advance, to keep our approach quiet."
"Who gets to go?" asked Vivian.
"Not you, I hope, my lady." She rolled her eyes. "Well," he went on, "let's say Margus, with a company or so, not the knights, to stay five miles ahead of us and sweep enemy scouts from our path. The Khan should have to pay for knowledge of our arrival."
"Order it so, if you're willing, Horse Marshal."
"Quite," said Margus, "if I may take some of Captain Weaver's men."
"They're yours to command," said the Countess. Lord Margus was soon among the cataphracts, with young Weaver at his side, choosing a strong vanguard. A local errand-rider was sent back to Orlad with reassurance for Thane Burley.
That night they camped again in the wild. They had turned up local residents at last--a dozen woodsmen and woodswomen, who appeared with a gift of twenty turkeys they had caught. Somewhat of a feast was held by the lords and officers; meanwhile the ordinary soldiers fished and grilled. Among the nobility, much food was eaten and much wine was drunk, though not so much by the Countess. Prince Frenerac and his men contented themselves with sitting under the stars and drinking their excellent Farlain wine. Lord Chalris thought he'd really try to get close to Vivian. She put up with his attentions for about thirty seconds and then went off to call a council.
Margus was just back in camp, with news of half a dozen Avar scouts, but not Avar forces, on the near side of the Lavan. "We could not hide a whole company," he told the Countess, Sir Rogier and Thane Horst. "So we had to settle for killing them."
"How sad," said Vivian. "Well, if you go making war, people are going to get hurt. Can we get into Orlad tomorrow?"
"We can," said Thane Horst, "but we might not have such an easy time of it getting back out. Two of my scouts have found elements of the Avar cavalry preparing to cross the river in force. A thousand or so are camped on the fields southeast of Orlad, just behind the river woods. A lot more are over the Grassy, east of town. They're not there for haying."
"We should consider," said Sir Rogier, "what it might mean if we were cut off up here. They could turn aside and press Vonnis."
"But if we don't go in," said Vivian, "we'll be out in the open, facing a much larger force, or Orlad will be in serious danger of falling, or both. And Vonnis should have plenty of new troops showing up, and nice high walls."
"Well, all I said is that we should consider."
Vivian considered, then looked around at the soldierly men about her. "All right," she said, "we break camp tomorrow before dawn and head for Orlad with all possible speed. You guys can figure out how to do it without getting into a fight."
"And what to do if they try to cut us off before we get there," said Sir Rogier.
"Yes, and that too. I only hope that when we do get there, we won't be greeted by Avars manning the gates."
They all agreed with that. Wine was called for, and Vivian, not wishing to encounter Lord Chalris again that night, made her lords finish off two or three bottles of the Farlain with her before she went off to find her bedroll. Ellean was in bed before her, already sighing the soft breaths of sleep, and Vivian only rolled around on the hard ground for a minute or two before sinking into dreamless slumber.
In the wee hours she woke and got up. Crouching in a corner of the tent, she quietly arranged the book and the candles and entered trance. Her Eye drifted out on the wind over the green hills along the rapid Lavan River, and up toward Orlad on its well-fortified bluff. The town was mostly asleep, but well minded by guards on the walls. Even at this hour, neither they nor Vivian had to wonder where the enemy was: the main Avar camp partied on the bluff on the other bank, east across the river from the town.
Vivian's eye (and ear) flew out across the dark waters and up, and soon she was among the tents and horses of the nomads. They shouted and danced and fought and sang, they painted each other's faces and swore oaths to their dour gods and sharpened their scimitars as she wandered among them, an invisible fellow citizen, listening to their music, glancing into their tents.
The next moment Vivian was awake in her own tent. The card of the Priestess was turned upside-down, and the left candle was out. She looked around. No, whatever it was, it was not in this room, it was up there on the bluff, and she was sure it had not seen her.