VI. July 769
"In the light of the Divine Sun," intoned the Priestess Enjele Ennis of Angren, "in the warming rays of the Sacred Day of Eternity, may the supreme power that lights the world and asks nothing in return grant its inspiration to this woman and this man as they walk through their lives together, and may the streaming force that falls upon the mother Earth and causes the trees to bear the abundant fruit of life be reflected in their lives, that they grow in happiness and bear fruit, that the generations of the people continue as long as the Divine Sun lights the sky." The Countess could not help but smile.
Here in the middle of the quaint and wealthy town of Angren, in the Countess's Domain about twenty miles west of Vonnis, in the park at the town's center, on the first day of July, on Midsummer Day as it was known, dozens of noble folk from across Clane and almost the entire local population had turned out for a wedding, here in the square where the first Count of Clane had been given his medallion by the Eleventh Emperor. No Emperor remained today, but it was clear that the Sun blessed the union: the day was flawless. The men stood on one side of the central aisle, the women on the other, and all were dressed to the nines, in their most expensive clothes and with every scrap of jewelry they could find a place for.
There were four exceptions. First, Vivian, who wore a Clanish grey knee-length dress with a high collar and a pair of brand-new shiny black boots, and whose only ornaments were the signet ring and the gold chain and medallion of the Countess of Clane. The Counts, by tradition, never did anything conspicuously, and in this, at least, she had been well-schooled by her father. Second, the Priestess Enjele Ennis, who wore flowers in her silvery hair and a white gown that fell from her shoulders to the ground, and no other garment or ornament. And then there were the bride and groom, who by the custom of the Sun-cult were naked except for the rings by which they had pled their troth and necklaces of flowers that each had made for the other this morning.
Angeline turned to face the gathered crowd. She said, barely audible in the back of the crowd, "Because of his great goodness, and because of his gentleness and love, and because I cannot live without him, I take Francis Weaver this day as my husband."
Francis Weaver then said in a strong voice, "Because of her love for me, and because she is strong and wise and beautiful, and because I cannot live without her, I take Angeline Rain this day as my wife."
Then they stood still, as the Priestess chanted for a minute or two in the old language. Vivian felt something on her cheek and realized that she was shedding tears as well. She pictured herself and Ellean and these two and their son to come, all old. She wondered what man, what children would be with her in the picture. Lady Alice de Clatu, who was standing next to her, put her arm around Vivian.
Then music broke out all around: horns and drums playing a wedding march. Vivian pulled herself together. The couple walked all the way back up the central aisle, and the men and women rose behind them, greeting one another as if they had never met until now. It was not considered fitting at Clanish weddings for any man and woman to be placed together before the bride and groom were. The bride and groom were followed by Lady Ellean Rain and Horse Marshal Margus de Passaya, both dressed more nicely than Vivian had ever imagined they could be. Margus's hair, longer than Ellean's and better combed, was actually staying put in the breeze.
The newlyweds knelt before their Countess. She knew the routine, but just in case, Lady Alice gave her a tiny push forward--she was standing in for Sir Rogier, who was among the men.
"I bless this union," said the Countess. "May no earthly thing stand between this woman and this man, united today and forever under the Sun." Taking their hands, one in each of hers, she made them stand, then looked up into their faces. "I know you'll be very happy."
They murmured nervous replies. Vivian stood aside and watched the procession go on across the green to the hall where they would feast that night. First, though, the bride and groom would go dress up. At every Clanish wedding it was thus: the couple went off into their own dressing room and shut the door, and fifteen minutes later they came out in new clothes, while their male elders made sly jokes about what else they might have been doing in there. Of course, anyone who had ever been bride or groom knew that they could have been doing nothing more remarkable than putting on their posh duds and catching their breath.
Marriage had been proposed, and three days later marriage was done. This was not strange, although it could be done otherwise. The Priests of the Sun encouraged the reproductive aspect of marriage, and everyone knew (Countess Annelle being two and a half centuries dead) that marriage was not necessary for reproduction. "You don't have to till the garden to get flowers," they said. Short notice did not seem to keep anyone away, though it was sheer astounding luck that there were no other aristocratic weddings planned in Angren for Midsummer Day. It was also a day off for most people. All in all a well-timed ceremony, especially considering that war loomed again for the Captain--and that the Priestess had examined Angeline and concluded that she was indeed with child, due in January or February.
The Countess had come to that conclusion as well, and then some, and had expended no conscious effort in doing so. Last night, as she slept in the guest bed at Rain Hall, she had dreamt of the child to come. This was not surprising. Angeline, who was required to do without her Captain the night before the wedding, had been lonesome and weepy, and had joined Vivian in the wee hours out of sheer need for comforting arms. Vivian possessed a natural gift of comforting arms. They had fallen asleep again cuddled together. In the morning, Vivian had awoken first, and she had lain staring at the ceiling thinking of many things while a softly breathing Angeline pinned her right arm and two huge grey long-haired cats lay across her legs. Suddenly her dream came back: Angeline, just a few years older than the current version, dressed in white and bedecked with flowers, with a big straw hat on, waving to her Captain as he rode off with the cavalry. A boy of two held her hand; she was heavy with another child. So Weaver really is the father, Vivian thought in spite of herself: the boy's hair was the same straw color as his. All this she kept to herself, in the habit of her family.
Vivian presided over the feast, in the sense of having a seat between the newlyweds at the head table. After she made the proper toasts--eight or nine, she lost count--she got out of their way. "You guys have been separated by me long enough," she said.
Vivian went off into a corner and conferred with Sir Rogier and Sir Everard for an hour, debating and digesting the latest news, which was not much but not good. Then she paid her respects to Lord Armand, the chief landholder of the Angren district and one of the Countess's major taxpayers. He was well-liked, and possessed of an excellent wine cellar undepleted by austerity moves. All who came to his table had to fill their glasses. Then she was fetched by Lady Alice, who insisted that she eat something. Vivian found that she was very hungry, and she devoured a generous slice of beef and a pile of potatoes and mushrooms in butter, along with several rolls and a slice of apple pie. The musicians were getting started by then, having traded their horns and drums for fiddles and flutes and lutes and tambourines. Vivian watched them and thought again about making time to practice her lute, but she was not allowed to sink into reverie. Instead, she was danced around the floor by Francis Weaver and several other gentlemen.
At some point in the evening, she dozed off at a table, and Lady Alice had to wake her as things were winding down. Vivian stood up, drained her glass in the direction of the bride and groom and suffered herself to be led to the best guest bed in Sir Everard's house.
When she awoke, the morning sun lay in intense bands across the room and the bed. All was not well with the Countess: her tongue was stuck to the roof of her desert-like mouth, her head throbbed, her eyes and throat hurt, her stomach was deeply unsure, and she desperately needed to use the commode. She groaned.
"My lady," said Jen, coming and sitting on the bed by her, "shall I bring you something?"
"Ohhh, oh, thank the Sun you're here, Jen. Oh, I need to--"
"Oh, I know," said Jen, helping her mistress out of bed. While Vivian used the commode, Jen brought in a basin of hot water, and while Vivian was washing up and redeeming her humanity, Jen fetched tea. This included apple juice and two oranges and an assortment of rolls. Vivian sat on the bed in her nightgown while Jen sat opposite her in the chair, with a folding table between them.
"I don't know if I want food yet," said Vivian.
"You should let me peel you an orange."
"No, it's good practice for harder stuff like standing up." She cautiously stripped the orange of its rind and looked doubtfully at it.
"It's good for you, my lady."
"If you say so," said Vivian. She placed an orange section into her mouth as if it were a large pill. Her eyes closed as she chewed it, and Jen could see the color returning to her face. One by one, with slow savoring, she ate the rest, carefully setting aside the seeds among the bits of rind. "Oh, you were so right," she said when she'd finished.
"I've left some of mine for you," said Jen. "You need it more than me."
"Nonsense," said Vivian. "Eat your own orange. I'll have one of these sugary pastries."
"Careful, my lady," said Jen as Vivian bit into a large glazed roll. Jelly poured out all over her face and neck. "It's filled."
"It sure is," said Vivian, licking her fingers and her lips and dabbing a few drops that had spilled onto her nightgown. "Oh, that's good. Did Sir Everard's cook do these?"
"No, my lady, there's a baker in town. He is said to be the best in the county." Jen was daintily eating her own roll.
"Oh, I can't argue. So, did anything important happen while I was carousing?"
"You were never carousing, my lady! When you had enough wine, you fell asleep, and I assure you everyone else was making spectacles of themselves."
"Then I won't be the only one who feels awful today."
"No, my lady, definitely not."
"And I don't feel awful anymore. I'm so glad you're here." They sipped their juice. Jen refilled their teacups. "I suppose my ministers will recuperate in time for another meeting?"
"I'm afraid so, my lady. Sir Rogier hopes you'll be ready by this afternoon."
"Well, I guess there's no avoiding it. But let's stay here and convalesce for another hour."
In the middle of the afternoon the Countess, fully recovered, convened a council of war in Sir Everard's dining room. "It's like this, my lady, my lords," said Thane Horst. "The Rugians are on the road between Hildiwern and Simkin, two or three thousand of them. Another three or four thousand are camped north and northwest of Hildiwern. They're trashing the northern half of Siret, but they're not exactly besieging the town."
"That's their usual practice," said Sir Rogier.
"And the news from Bazir?" asked Vivian.
"Quiet, for now," said Sir Everard.
"My lady," said Margus, "the Avars have two thousand horse in central Bazir. As you know, that's at most three days from Vonnis. If we go to Hildiwern in force, we'll be almost four hundred miles from Vonnis, which is five days for the cavalry and two weeks or more for the infantry. And the Avars can move in a moment, unlike us."
"What's going to happen in Siret between now and two weeks from now?" asked Vivian.
"With Thane Ellimer," said Thane Horst, "it's sure they're not going to do anything rash. Rather the opposite. The Rugians have already overrun the easy stuff--Hildiwern will delay them for a while, and Simkin could hold against them all year."
"Well, let's take all our infantry, but I'm told the cavalry won't be as much use in the mountains. Maybe Margus would like the knights of Westdubbik and Tarnver to help dissuade the Avars from taking advantage."
"I certainly would, my lady."
"All right," said Thane Horst. "My knights could use a little ride. My infantry has been ordered. They'll meet us at Tarnhold--I'm sure seven days will be enough. I only hope Thane Hugo can find enough bread and cheese to feed their healthy appetites."
"We'll see. What does that come to?"
"Well, let's see," said Sir Rogier. "Five hundred swords have been called back by Sir Everard. Then we have the Countess's Domain with a hundred bows. Add four hundred from Tarnver, three hundred Selacans, five hundred from Westdubbik--seventeen hundred foot."
"Um, isn't it eighteen hundred?"
"Hmm, yes, eighteen hundred. Ah, my lady, you had less to drink last night than I did."
"And is it enough?"
"Enough?" repeated Sir Rogier. "Well, there's only one way to find out."
"If I may," Sir Everard put in, "it should put us close to even with the ones on the road. It's as much as we'll get, if we've decided to do without cavalry. It'll have to do, if we don't want the Rugians living in Selac and Siret all summer and fall."
"It would play havoc with the harvest," said Sir Rogier.
"All right," said Vivian. "Order it thus. The infantry, to muster in seven days at Tarnhold, that's the ninth of July. We will proceed through Selac and on to Siret. Sir Everard, Sir Rogier, Captain Sallier and any thane that wishes may come along. The cavalry to go to Vonnis, as they are raised, and there remain under the command of our Marshal. That includes you, Captain Weaver. May I say what a dashing figure you cut yesterday, even with your clothes on?"
"Thank you, my lady," Weaver gasped, his face grey. "May I have leave to--?"
"Oh, please do whatever you have to." Francis Weaver exited quickly. "My goodness. He was waiting all that time to ask permission to go to the latrine."
"A future minister," said Sir Rogier.
"My lady," said Sir Everard, "I don't know what to think. You're letting me come with."
"I'm telling you to come with. That's different. By the way, you also cut a dashing figure. Did you dance with me?"
"I don't recall, my lady, but I would be ashamed of myself if I missed the chance. I'm sure I was quite honored."
The Countess left Angren on the sixth of July; the cavalry headed back to Vonnis on the fifth; so on the night of the fourth, Vivian's intimate council met in Rain Hall. Present were the Countess, Ladies Angeline and Ellean Rain, Captain Weaver, Jen, the scout Willd and Angeline's two cats in the window.
Vivian asked, "So what has anyone heard about the Rugians?"
"About the Rugians?" repeated Ellean. "Well, they don't like farmers."
"My lady," said Willd, "you know that the Rugians are not as well-organized as the Avars, nor are they said to fight with as much cunning."
"They are known to be exceptionally brave and fierce," put in Weaver.
"That is also said. And they hate cavalry, although some few of them ride."
"The Rugian approach to fighting men on horseback," Weaver explained, "is to cut the horse down first, then the rider. Thus we in the cavalry hate them as well."
"I think," said Willd, "much of what frightens the farmers and villagers about them is their streak of butchery. They place little value on life, and love slaughter. But they do not waste the livestock."
"Do they keep livestock themselves?"
"I do not know how they live, my lady. I know of no one who's been over the mountains to see for themselves. It would be an interesting ride, but not one for which I would apply."
"Well," said Vivian, "I'm certainly not going. How about this lady chieftain?"
"Oh," said Weaver, his head sinking. Angeline brightened.
"It's not unheard-of," said Willd. "I was born and raised near Radun, where my late father raised horses, and he told me that in his fighting days there was a corps of Rugian women warriors of notorious ferocity. Does my lady harbor an ambition to set up a Clanish unit of warrior women?"
Vivian smiled wryly. The Rain sisters were ready to volunteer. "We'll have to look into it," said Vivian.
It took the Clanish army four days to walk the seventy miles between Angren and Tarnhold, through a pleasant dairy country near the Rocky River, at first in the Countess's Domain, and then in the province of Tarnver. Tarnhold was a prosperous town behind sturdy walls, the legacy of its century or so as the furthest outpost of the Empire. The five hundred swords and hundred bows of the Vonnis contingent camped on the grassland west of the town walls, and found there awaiting them some of their twelve hundred hiking companions for the trip to Siret. The Countess and her household became the guests of the very hospitable old Thane Hugo. They dined together for two nights, and the Thane insisted on cooking for his Countess. Tarnver grew wheat and harbored many dairy animals, and he had concocted a number of dishes involving cheeses of a variety of textures and pastas of numerous designs.
On the ninth of July, the forces were mustered. Vivian inspected the troops, riding from unit to unit, returning their salutes with a characteristic wave. Things had gone better than expected, and they would set off for Selac's capital Radun with fourteen and a half hundred; another four hundred awaited them at Radun.
On the tenth they set out from Tarnhold, marching for three days across the wooded hills of western Tarnver to Acali in Selac. The country was empty, especially the second day, when Vivian, riding a little ahead with Ellean and two guards, saw four moose ten yards away, up to their ankles in a swampy bottom, munching on twigs. They did not seem concerned about the Countess of Clane, but at the approach of her army the four made a dignified exit into the woods. The night before and the night after, the army camped on wooded high ground. They arrived at Acali as the sun neared the mountains on the twelfth of July.
They had been treated well in Tarnhold, but in Selac they were truly appreciated. The townsfolk of Acali were grateful for their security from Rugian attacks, all the more so when villages twenty miles to the west had burned in the past year; they showed their appreciation by bringing the troops dinner and barrels of beer.
Countess Vivian, Sir Rogier, Sir Everard and Thane Horst ate with the elderly Lady Selene and her son Lord Arthur: beef, potatoes, good bread and an ale of a deep orange hue. Vivian held up her glass and looked through it at a candle.
"My lady does not like ale?" asked Lady Selene.
"I usually have wine, but we're in ale country, aren't we?"
"We could get you some wine, if you prefer."
"Oh, no, please, this is fine." Vivian sipped: it was, well, different. Sweet, a little, and not at all tart, and oddly spicy. The foam stuck to her lip. She smiled politely.
"Cavalrymen," said Thane Horst, "prefer wine, and infantry prefer beer. Her ladyship has the heart of a rider."
"But I suppose I'll have to learn how to be a foot soldier," said the Countess, taking another wine-sized sip of her beer.
The next day the army passed rich farmland along the Rocky River, whose course the road followed closely between Acali and Radun. They marched through the little city of Radun in mid-afternoon and camped on the sunny fields west of town. Radun had spilled out of its sixth-century ramparts, and new, rambling outer walls surrounded the outskirts as well as the near fields. Already waiting there were four hundred Selacan infantry.
The Countess met with old Thane Robert, who suffered from an unknown malady. He had his own diagnosis. "It's old age, my lady. It's a strange disease, which afflicts only the lucky."
"We hope that you suffer from it for many years to come," said Sir Rogier.
"And I hope that the Countess develops a long drawn-out case of it, but none too soon. At any rate I hope you'll understand if I choose not to mount my charger and ride off to war. We're proud to send our troops out with you, and two of my sons are among the captains. Ranulf and Roger they're called, in case you get the chance to meet them; you may not know them by their faces, for by the grace of the Light they took after their dear departed mother."
"I'll judge for myself," said Vivian. "If I may steer the discussion to less pleasant things, I'd like to know the news from Siret, and how much of Selac has been touched by the invasion."
"They've appeared before Simkin, my lady," said the Thane, "but they're not interested in us, this month, it would seem. Simkin would be a mighty tough nut to crack without a few months' siege, and the Rugians haven't the patience. But as for Siret, well, they're mincing the peasants up there, from what we hear."
"What's the Thane doing?"
"Oh, Ellimer's holed up at Hildiwern. He's quaking in his boots, and rightly he may: he has maybe three hundred and none of them's a match for a typical Rugian warrior. He probably figures it's up to you to take care of things while there's still a few farmers left alive."
The next morning they marched out of Radun, many of the soldiers wearing flower necklaces from the town's women and girls. They reached Simkin that afternoon, and camped all around the little fortress with its ten-foot-thick stone walls. The farmers and villagers from a ten mile radius were all within, so there was little room for more troops. Most of the Simkin garrison, as well as its lord, Trevin d'Acali, would march on with Vivian, leaving the farmers to hold the place. Inside, there was only room for Vivian and her immediate household--that is, Ellean.
"The rooms are tiny," said the girl, walking in without knocking. "I hope the wine's good."
"The rooms are well-defended," replied the Countess, "though regrettably they lack locks on the doors. And there's only beer, I'm afraid. Want some?" Without waiting for a reply, she poured each of them a full mug from a pitcher.
"Ah," said Ellean in a deep voice after a long swill. "That hits the spot, eh?"
"Is that how the infantrymen say it?"
"However would I know? Just what are you implying? I learned from Angeline."
"Just so you don't follow her example. Actually, I'm not sure she didn't know better, messing around with her dream guy. She seems suspiciously happy about the whole thing."
"I thought that myself. Maybe childbirth will change her mind." They drank quietly for a minute. "So, Viv," she said after several savoring sips, "do you actually like this stuff?"
"I guess it's an acquired taste."
"Mmm." They sipped in silence again for a minute. "So, when are we going to take our usual scouting ride this trip? Is that why you brought William Willd along?"
"The question is, why did I bring you along, silly girl. No, I don't mean that. But I don't think I'll chance it this time."
"Oh," said Ellean reproachfully.
"Well, this is dangerous country, and there's no heir, and I just think it's time I acted a bit more responsibly, don't you?"
"There goes that good old Countess Vivian, that's all I can say. That fun, daredevil Vivian who rode right among the Avar camps in Skavin."
"If you're trying to manipulate me into doing something irrational, it's not going to work this time. You may be fifteen, but I'm not, and it's time I started acting like an adult."
Ellean bit her lip and gave Vivian a rueful look. Then she smiled, raised her glass and said, "Whatever. To the Countess's health."
"And to the health of all her soldiers," said Vivian.
At Simkin, they were seventy miles from Hildiwern, where the Rocky River, flowing down from the north and out of the unknown as far as Clane was concerned, was joined by the Snow River that flowed through Siret's capital Hvanar. There were no villages thought to survive between Simkin and Hildiwern, and somewhere about were several thousand Rugians. The force moved forward cautiously but swiftly, with the idea of making half the distance that day, the fifteenth of July, if possible. It was not.
Just across the border into Siret, the army approached a place called the Hogback, where a series of rocky fins stick up above the river lowland, like the backs of seven or eight whales just submerged in the turf. After midday scouts returned to the Countess and Lord Consul as they were riding behind the vanguard. Thane Horst rode up when he saw them: he hated to hear news second.
"My lady," said the first scout to ride up, "we have found the Rugians."
"What's the meaning of this?" said Sir Everard. "Isn't this Sir Evan Rain's young daughter?"
"At your service," said Ellean.
"We're sending teenage girls out to scout?"
"Only me, my lord," said Ellean, "and you'll notice I'm the first back with the news. Do you want it or not?"
"Out with it, impertinent scout," said the Countess.
"Those ridges?" said Ellean. "They're covered with tents."
"How many?" demanded Sir Everard.
"There were an awful lot of them," said Ellean. He opened his mouth to rebuke her, but she added, "I counted a hundred and fifty, and there are more behind."
"And how many men is that?"
"Well, I'm guessing ten to a tent, based on what I saw milling about. So, sixteen or seventeen hundreds."
Willd and one of the Westdubbik scouts rode up. "A hundred and sixty tents, I make it," the Westdubbiker shouted as soon as he was within earshot. "Ten miles off, on the Hogback."
"All right, very good, scout Rain," said Sir Everard. He rubbed his trimmed white beard with his hand. "Allow for some unseen, and they have at least as many as we do."
By now, Sir Everard, Thane Horst and the Countess were in the middle of a group of captains and lords including Sir Rogier, Edwy Sallier and Thane Robert's two sons, as well as Ellean, Willd and the Westdubbik scout.
"I tried to count the numbers," said Willd. "I got thirty-two that seemed to be associated with three tents."
"There we are," said the Countess. "Ten to a tent. Sixteen hundred."
"And probably more behind," said Thane Horst.
"And they're sitting on the spot we wanted to defend," said Sir Everard, "the only high ground anywhere near here. Is it as defensible against attack from this side as it's supposed to be from the other?"
"Maybe more defensible against this side," said the Westdubbiker.
"How close do we dare get?"
"I'd say," Thane Horst advised, "we can get within about a mile--woods give coverage that far. I'd say we should give them a bit wider berth than that. And no fires in camp tonight."
"Let it be ordered thus," said the Countess. "No campfires, and no camp that is not under the trees. Fortunately those clouds seem of a mind to stay put for the evening."
"And no one will freeze from lack of fire, that's certain," said Thane Horst, as the Countess fanned herself with her hand.
Ellean tried to goad Vivian into going for a scouting ride, but it was no good. Even if she had been inclined to risk her life for information that she already possessed, she was quite tired, and when she fell asleep while Ellean was talking, Ellean found that she too could not fight off slumber. The male military minds held an informal council, but came up with nothing wiser than trying to march around the enemy's flank.
In the early morning of 16 July, as the camp awoke around them, Vivian, Sir Rogier and Sir Everard drank tea and ate apples and hard bread.
"We still have no strategy," said Sir Everard to the Countess. "Do you?"
"Me?"
"We could just turn and run," said Sir Rogier, "or we could sit here and protect Selac while they ravage Siret."
They drank several cups of tea, and then all three went off and relieved themselves, and finally it was decided to move up and show the flag to the foe. "We might get lucky," said Sir Everard, as the three mounted up. "They might give up the high ground and attack us. Then we'd be at least even in the terrain department. The Avars would never do it, but the Rugians might."
"And if they don't?" asked the Countess.
"Then nothing's lost. We can try to flank them."
"As I pointed out last night," said Sir Rogier, "they'll be in command of our lines of communication."
"You did point that out last night," said Sir Everard. "Repeatedly."
"All eleven times you and Horst brought up the idea."
They laughed mirthlessly and rode up the column. Sir Everard arranged the troops with an almost aesthetic eye: swords on the left, pikes and spears on the right, bows in groups of twenty throughout the force, which advanced almost in a square across low rolling country which, in the more stable times of the last two Counts, had been pastureland. Vivian fell back to ride with Ellean and Sir Rogier, behind the main force, with a few horsemen. They could soon see the ridges grey and blunt against the sky to their west, but could not make out much on them in the morning sun. There was a small river or a large brook cutting diagonally across their path, from northeast to southwest as they went west. The spears on the right reached it first and began to splash across.
"How deep is it?" asked the Countess when Willd rode up from the right side.
"In places, waist deep, my lady, never deeper."
"My lady!" yelled one of the Westdubbik scouts, riding up from ahead. "The Rugians are coming toward us!"
Sir Everard rode up and received the same news. He pulled out his spy glass and had a look. He smiled and handed it to the Countess, who struggled with the focus: it was not the fragile precise instrument she had in her tower room, with which she occasionally sailed the surface of the moon. Oh, yes, there they were, and yes, they were indeed headed downhill in a hurry. Hundreds of them: axemen, spearmen, some swords, a few bows, all looking quite eager.
"My lady, may I?" said Sir Everard. She looked at him curiously: she thought he wanted the spy glass back. He shook his head. "We must pull our troops back across the creek."
"Oh. I see. Yes, please do. Willd? Go tell the spearmen to pull back across the creek." She looked at Sir Everard. "Is that all right?"
"I'll tell you this evening," he said, concentrating on the stream. As Willd rode off to the right flank, Sir Everard and Sir Rogier galloped off to the middle of the front, where the road crossed the brook by a stone bridge. Vivian, Ellean and three mounted soldiers of the Vonnis garrison repaired to a low hill a few hundred yards behind the stream, there to stay out of the way of true military men at work. She kept Everard's spy glass.
On came the enemy, and back fell the over-eager Selacan spears. They were mostly militia and genuinely scared by now. The Vonnis swords on the left were just reaching the stream as the Selacans were wading back across it on the right. Vivian saw now, in the spy glass, Sir Everard arguing with the chief of a sword company, which then took up the position at the east end of the bridge. Then he had his arm around Captain Edwy Sallier, explaining with exaggerated patience the niceties of the situation. Sir Rogier was now on the right, arranging pockets of archers among the Selacan spears.
They stood and waited. The Rugians, full of rage at the Clanish approach, came on in a wide line, and more followed the first wave, and then more. At the left, where it flowed closest to the whale-fin ridges, the first Rugian axemen reached the stream. They stood for a minute yelling curses at their foes while their fellows approached the bridge, but their patience wore out and they waded in. There were patchy woods all along the stream, but Vivian got the idea of what was going on from one scene she could make out through the trees: two dozen or so marauders charged across at unseen foes, and then, three at a time, fell with arrows in them and floated downstream out of sight. Mother's sons are dying, and floating away, she thought, but only for a moment.
The Rugians were having a tough go of it at first, but the battle was just beginning. Soon the press all up and down the stream would be too much to hold off, and hand-to-hand fighting would ensue. Vivian cringed to think of the cost, even if the Clanish troops should win. She wondered why people willingly participated in such things as battles. And what if her troops should lose? Would she be safe even in Simkin, without her army? What if--?
Two hundred Rugian axemen came to the bridge. They charged onto it, and the front four or five clashed with the five largest Clanish swordsmen while their fellows crowded behind them. Then Vivian saw one of Sir Everard's niceties: two score Clanish bowmen were in the bushes on either side of the bridge, and soon the press of Rugians was much reduced. Of those fighting up front, none had fallen, but soon there would be no one behind them.
On the right, more marauding axemen waded into the stream. In places they were able to get a foothold on the east bank, but Thane Horst had a reserve of Westdubbik pikemen to send to contain such beachheads, and the longbows wrought havoc on the Rugian reinforcements. Rugian bows appeared behind the axemen, but they were neither numerous nor effective, as far as Vivian could tell. It was the axemen and spearmen who were numerous. They were choking the stream, and still more came down the hill.
Three companies of Rugian axes gathered on the west side of the bridge. Their comrades on the east side were all killed or beaten down and taken by now, but the defenders seemed a paltry few, stretched by fighting all up and down the line of the stream. The axemen charged in, one company on the bridge and one on either side. The sword captain whose ear had been chewed by Sir Everard now had his hands full. The longbows opened up on their attackers, volley after volley, but there were so many that they seemed to cross the stream undiminished. Sir Everard was there, with a few other riders, and some of the Tarnver mountaineers pitched in to bolster the line. Fierce fighting ensued along the stream on either side of the bridge.
Vivian gasped. More bows and some swords were coming, approaching the west end of the bridge from downstream. Surely now the Rugians had enough to break through. Then twenty of the bows stopped, set and fired into the marauders on the bridge, fifteen of whom pitched over into the water. Another volley, and the Rugians on the bridge still fell, or turned to charge at their new assailants. None reached the Clanish bows that had gotten behind them, guarded by their little escort of swords: caught between deadly teeth, they were soon torn to bits. Vivian realized that her troops on the left had lacked for foes and had crossed the stream to outflank the bridge attack. Now the same thing was happening on the right. The Clanish troops had suddenly gone over to the offensive.
Rugian dead lay all over the far bank, blocked the bridge and choked the stream, and more were falling as the Clanish pikes drove into the Rugian bows. Attack turned to rout, and some of those fleeing got arrows in their backs. The sound of battle changed, as the clash of arms and the curses and shouts of frantic fighting were replaced by feeble cries from the wounded, and cheering from the Clanish soldiers. A rider was heading toward Vivian at full gallop.
"Let's go meet him," said Vivian.
"Is it over?" asked Ellean. Vivian realized that she had kept the progress of the battle, as well as the spy glass, to herself.
"It seems that the Sun has smiled upon us this day," said Vivian. They rode down and met William Willd. He had a wound on his shoulder, but it was already bandaged.
"My lady," he said, "the field is ours. It was a slaughter. Not a pleasant sight at all, but thank the sky it did not go the other way."
"I saw. And what happened to you?"
"One of our own, my lady. I was stupid enough to wade into that fight on the bridge, and I did no good, of course, but one of those Vonnis bows that your ladyship is so rightly proud of, one of those on the other side of the bridge, shot me. The wound is not deep."
"I'm glad to hear it. How many did we lose?"
"We have no count, my lady, but it can't have been many. The defensemen from the Vonnis rugby team held this side of the bridge, and not one of them gave way, though they lost a lot of blood."
They rode down to the bridge. Vivian had never seen Rugians up close, and these were almost all dead. She rode up and down and the Clanish soldiers hailed her, some bursting into song at the sight of their Countess. She crossed the bridge with her escort and found the bows and swords of Vonnis binding their wounds and relaxing. She stopped and asked, "Where's Captain Gerold?"
"My lady," said one, "good day! He's only a sergeant, but here he comes."
Gervas Gerold, whose blacksmith father had forged his sword, came ambling up, saw her and knelt. "Well," she said to the other soldier, "from now on, he's a captain."
"I can't believe it either," said Sir Everard as he and the Countess ate lunch in a pavilion set up on the bare rock of the Hogback. They had a good view down onto the battlefield, and Vivian could picture it all from this side. The stream looked insignificant from up here, maybe a foot wide. "They must have thought they'd sweep us off the map," Sir Everard went on. He shook his head. "We lost sixty-eight dead, and about two hundred wounded, mostly at least as minor as your scout Willd. They lost seventeen hundred, and three hundred captured. They had nearly three thousand here, Countess."
"Three thousand? They had nearly twice our number."
"Yes," said Sir Everard. "Accustom yourself to it: the fog of war. They must have brought up more men in the night. Perhaps that's why they attacked."
"What do we do with the captives?"
"In Imperial times, as I understand, we'd slaughter them. Count Edmund put an end to that. It was his idea that they be kept in our dungeons for a month or two, then released in the woods a few at a time without weapons. They always head for home. Once captured, a Rugian thinks of himself as a dead man, and when you let him go, he thinks he's been reborn."
"We'll do what Dad would've done. He was usually right."
"As I discovered, my lady, the thirty-seven years I served him."
"Can you take them to Simkin? It's the closest place behind us, but I don't know if there's room."
"Three hundred? They'll find room. The dungeons of Simkin are bigger than you think. And it's not as though we need to starve ourselves feeding them--they've been eating our beef and mutton and chicken for weeks now."
"Mmm." She sipped her tea. "Well, good job, Lord Consul."
"Thank you, my lady, but I was merely competent. They broke one of the cardinal rules of war: never cross a stream into enemy fire. Especially if it's the Clanish longbow. Well, we should stay here tonight. We need to make a pyre of the dead, and there are wounded to fix up. We can move on with thirteen hundred tomorrow, and leave two hundred and some to take the wounded and the captives back to Simkin."
"Order it," said Vivian. "I'm too tired. I feel as if I was in the very thick of it, the way my heart rose and fell."
That night they camped, as they had hoped to the previous night, along the whale-fins of the Hogback. Vivian and Ellean and Thane Horst de Fugad and Sir Rogier de Clatu and Sir Everard of Angren had dinner and several bottles of young wine from the Domain. Ellean sat quietly while the other four engaged in a vigorous conversation about the situation before them, and about politics and strategy and the harvest and the relative merits of wine and ale.
Vivian was falling asleep when the old men realized that it was time to leave her in peace. She roused herself only to get ready for bed. Ellean was already asleep, so Vivian threw herself down on her own thin cot and was asleep within a minute.
At first there was only black dreamless slumber. Then she dreamt of many things, unplanned and meaningless, of which she remembered nothing. The dreamscape took a quarter turn into nightmare. She was walking across a misty field, and there was a shadowy figure following her, ever hidden in the mist, which perhaps hid her from it as well. She hoped to reach the darkness of the woods ahead. She could see white mountains beyond, and with renewed hope she came to a valley with a stream slanting across it. She came to a field of flowers, but she found a dead man sprawling among the daisies, a Rugian axeman. He didn't seem so bad, a big burly jolly fellow, but blood seeped from a dozen wounds. Was that sound the pursuer behind her? She hurried on to the bridge. There were more dead men now, so that she could not walk without stepping on them. She went carefully, stepping from chest to chest. She picked her way across the bridge, and there ahead of her was Hildiwern, which she had never seen but imagined as a stone castle, taller than it was wide. Over the gate Thane Ellimer stood at a parapet.
The space before the gate was crowded with dead--not soldiers but Clanish villagers, old women, girls, boys, young men who had tried to defend themselves with pitchforks. They were being killed even now, right before the gates, and there was the Thane trembling behind a parapet. Vivian became enraged. She grabbed a sword, but it was too heavy to lift. She heard a laugh beside her. It was the warrior woman, reddish-blond and tall and naked but for splashes of blood and paint. The warrior woman lifted her sword and set to work butchering the people before her, villagers and Rugian attackers alike. "This is how it's done, Vivie," she said. Vivian wanted to stop her, but the sword just rose and fell like a scythe in time of harvest. Then just as Vivian was shouting at her to stop, she laughed and ran off into the woods. Vivian looked around: a certain shadow hovered over the bodies ten paces off. There were two trails. The warrior woman took the one to the left, and Vivian was about to follow when she heard the calling of many voices behind.
Then Vivian awoke, and she remembered every face and moment of the dream, from the misty field on. It was dark still, but the birds were singing ferociously. She woke Ellean and told her the whole thing--except for the shadow figure.
They came to Hildiwern, which was in fact squat with rambling outer walls, on 17 July. The foundations were not awash in dead peasants, but the mass of live peasants inside was horrific enough. The town square was now so full of countryfolk that their makeshift shelters pressed together and people could walk only in narrow aisles in the camp. There was still an open area between the gate and the keep, but it was crowded. A group of villagers standing near the gate saw the Countess and threw themselves down in front of her, begging her to hear them. They grabbed her hand and wept on it, frail old ladies knelt and cast their eyes down, and three sturdy men of middle age, all bandaged here and there, stood behind, scowling. There was nothing to be done but call for chairs and sit and listen to their stories.
The peasants represented four villages within a few miles of Hildiwern, all destroyed by the Rugians in the past week. They had posted sentries and sent word off to the Thane in good time, but he had refused each time to send any of his soldiers against such a superior foe. So a quarter of the residents of the four hamlets were now among the throng living inside the outer walls of Hildiwern, and the other three quarters lay among the ashes of their homes. The middle-aged men had fought and been left for dead, and all three had lost their entire families.
Then she went to the keep and sought the Thane. Sir Rogier went with her, and she could tell only from the way he was breathing that he felt the same way she did. The two of them took Thane Ellimer aside into a private study, and there the Countess presented the Thane with a few of her observations. When she was out of breath, Sir Rogier offered several opinions of his own; by the time he was done, the Countess had thought of a few more salient points. She summed up with a frank appraisal of his qualifications. For his part, Thane Ellimer stood bravely in the face of the onslaught, saying that he had done everything he could, which was admittedly little, and that he'd had no idea how bad it was.
"I sympathize completely," said Sir Rogier. "Your villagers could have been making it all up. And why risk your own safety just to save a few lives?"
The Thane just shook his head. "No," said Vivian, "you can't understand him, Sir Rogier. How could you? You are capable and trustworthy and brave. So were the farmers' sons who died defending their homes with pitchforks."
They ate in the hall of the keep (Thane Ellimer took dinner in his chambers) and were almost in a good mood when, while the plates were being taken away, Captain Edwy Sallier came with the estimate that five thousand villagers of northern Siret had been killed in the invasion. Vivian heard him out and then got up without a word and went to her room. Ellean was stretched out on the bed in her riding clothes, boots and all.
Vivian sat on the edge of the bed and took off her comfy shoes. She found her boots and pulled them on. She looked at Ellean.
"Let's go for a ride," said Vivian.
It was around midnight when Countess Vivian, Ellean Rain and William Willd rode up a gravel track under starless skies. A little rain had dripped on them as they crossed the haunted empty fields north of Hildiwern, but now they were in the foothills, and the stones beneath the horses' hooves were dry. They had considered canvassing the ransacked villages, but decided that it was too much grief for too little news. Now they rode north in the hills east of the Rocky River, higher and rougher mile by mile. The town lands lay far behind them and they saw no sign of people either living or dead, either inhabiting the land or passing through.
Vivian supposed it must be pretty country, but she couldn't see much of it now. She couldn't even see much of her companions: all three were dressed in black and bore no emblem. The Countess's Medallion and signet ring were sitting on a dresser in the walled town. Their only weapons were bows and hunting knives: they were just hunters, woodsfolk, hunting by dark. They talked little except to confer whenever they came to a parting of trails. One such was before them.
Willd was on the ground in the gloom. She could see his face when he looked up. "I can't say which one they might have taken, my lady. Both ways seem recently traveled. I wish it had rained here--we could use some clear footprints."
"But we're sure a band came this way?"
"Yes, my lady. A large band, a few miles back in the mud, heading north. There hasn't been an alternate trail since then, not large enough for them."
"Then they split up," suggested Ellean. "Half went left, the other half right."
Vivian sat on Finesse looking one way and then the other. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, or if there was sufficient excuse to turn around and go home. She didn't feel like going home, not just yet. There was no sound but a breath of wind. She swatted a mosquito. The other two riders watched her. "Left," she said on a whim.
Left it was. They plunged uphill into woods black as closets and then, after a mile or so, came back out into a rocky highland. Before them they could make out cliffs against the slightly less than black sky.
There was a loud sound, like two staves striking one another. Vivian's head went blank as she slid from the saddle. She did not feel herself hit the ground.
She did, however, feel various pains when she woke up. She was on the ground, her head propped against a rock. "Oh, ohh, oh no, oh, what have I done to myself?" she asked the rock.
"Viv," said Ellean nearby.
Vivian opened her eyes. Ellean was sitting on the ground, her hands and feet tied together. Vivian noticed that she herself was bound. She almost fainted with the woozy realization of what must have happened. "Where's Willd?"
"She took him."
"She?"
"She." Ellean looked around. "There's about twenty of them. She's definitely the boss. She picked on Willd right away--I think she figures he's the ranking officer."
"Hey," said Vivian, "by the way, I'm not, you know who."
"Oh, yeah, of course not, um, Sue. Good thinking." They sat in silence for several minutes. "What do you think they'll--?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Vivian. She could think of a hundred possibilities. Some part of her wanted to yell out, "I'm the Countess! I'm worth something to you!" She thought better of it. She also thought better of going on this ride in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Finally she said, "At least they don't think we're peasants."
"Is it any better if they think we're soldiers? Or scouts?"
"Oh, I think so," said Vivian. "Of course the Avars wouldn't even credit the idea that women could be soldiers. Obviously that's not the case here."
"I don't think they'll have trouble telling the us from that warrior woman."
"No, I suppose not."
They had waited at least an hour since Vivian's return to consciousness, and whispered several convincing escape plans and a dozen or so scenarios for their violent deaths, when the sound of boots came to them. Two big Rugian girls came and cut the bonds that tied their feet and walked them over to a campfire. Beside it were a dozen Rugian warriors. Most of them were women. In the middle, hands tied behind his back, was William Willd. He looked exhausted, worried, but not tortured. Finesse and the other two horses were tied up nearby.
Who was boss was evident as soon as Vivian and Ellean reached the fire. The tallest of the Rugians of either sex, who wore nothing but her sword belt and huge sheathed broadsword, gave orders to several of her soldiers in their language. She gave the two Clanish women the briefest glance: Vivian suppressed a gasp, recognizing the face of the warrior woman from her dream. The horses were brought forward. She addressed Willd in English, with only a slight accent.
"You are fortunate, scout," she said. "I have a use for you. And I tire of the slaughter of the unarmed." She took a step over to him, smiled on him, and then lifted him to his tiptoes by his shirt collar. He gave her a steady look. She said into his face, "You will remember the message."
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, my lady Sigrith. I will remember your message."
She let him down. "And you swear you need these two? I could use slaves. Is one of them your woman?"
"No, my lady Sigrith, they are just scouts, but I am accountable for them."
"I see. Your countess has girls for scouts?"
"They ride fast."
She picked him up by his collar again. "They ride fast what?"
"They ride fast, my lady Sigrith," he wheezed. She dropped him. One of the other women shoved him over to Vivian and Ellean. Their horses were brought over and their hands untied. All the while Sigrith watched them intently. Vivian could sense something of the emotions of the Rugians, their lust and anger and weariness, but listening at the gate to Sigrith's mind was like listening to a conversation on the far bank of a river, in a foreign language.
Then Vivian, Ellean and Willd were on their horses, without bows or knives, trotting back down the track in the dark. They rode for miles, back out of the woods, past the intersection where they had debated, and on until they were among the fields again. They stopped to count their blessings. It was near dawn.
"So what was the message? I guess you can deliver it to me now."
"Well, Sigrith says she has no argument with you, my lady, but that the Rocky valley north of the Snow River inflow belongs by right to her clan. She says they'll have it one way or another."
"Let them take it," replied Vivian. "None of our people want it now."
"She also says there are others among her people that pose a greater danger to you. Her own people were not in the battle, and she claims she had nothing to do with the villages around Hildiwern. She said, 'Others like more than I the slaughter of children.' She names someone called Torak."
"Well, doesn't that sound like a friendly name? Does Sigrith offer an alliance?"
"Not as such, my lady. She said, and I quote, 'Tell the Countess, she can trust some of her foes better than some of her friends.' She said it was the same for her."
"That's it?"
"Well, she said everything five times, my lady. And she made various threats, mostly about how she wasn't done with Thane Ellimer yet."
"Neither am I. Did they torture you? Beat you up?"
"Oh, they roughed me up a bit, my lady, but it was all in your service."
"Was it in my service that your shirt got buttoned wrong?" Willd and Ellean looked at Willd's shirt: the buttons were off by one. Below, one button of his pants had been left unbuttoned. Their eyes met, then they turned to look at Vivian, who was already riding on.