Epilogue
"In the light of the Divine Sun," intoned the old High Priest Trofim, "in the warming rays of the Sacred Day of Eternity--" Vivian came awake suddenly in the middle of her council and remembered that Trofim was more than ten years dead. It was the controlled passion of the High Priestess Enjele that filled the room, which was otherwise much the same one in which Vivian had held her first council. The Citadel of Vonnis, and the city around it, had passed through war and fire and terror and fourteen years of occupation, and were already half remade as they had been. Even the portrait of Countess Tereza was returned, hidden in a closet by a servant who paid with her life for tarrying on that peculiar and awful day. Not all the scars could be erased, but the blanket of snow on the reborn town outside the window hid much of what history had wrought upon blameless Vonnis. Her council was certainly much changed.
"This being the first day of the eighteenth year of Vivian, daughter of Edmund, son of Theodred, son of Lenward, son of Tereza, seventeenth Countess of Clane and Lady Protectress of Vonnis, this eleventh day of January of the year 785," Enjele Ennis concluded.
"The Countess Vivian presides," said Lady Angeline Rain. "How was that?"
"Very good," said Sir Rogier. "I am now officially retired."
"But stay nearby," said Vivian, "there'll be another crisis along any time now."
"The crises go on, my lady, even without me. But, as you wish, I will stay close. I'm not sure what I'd do around home."
"And I don't know what I'd do without you to needle," Vivian replied. Susan, next to her, sighed in agreement. "But let me not neglect to say that Clane has lived and the Empire has died thanks to your long hard work and loyal service. You never once failed me."
"Thank you, my lady: for once you exaggerate. But your father, who appointed me to this privileged post, looks proudly upon you from among the heroes."
"Hear, hear," said many in the room.
"All right, enough," said Vivian. "As to the treasury, Lady Mirabel?"
"Well, our revenues are up from last year," said Mirabel de Nikolad, "mostly because of the twenty thousand florins we made the Farlainers leave behind when they vacated Vonnis. Of course we spent it all. Another ten thousand seven hundred and twelve came in through the voluntary levy."
"Farlain at last almost paid in full for the damage," said Vivian. "Duke Frenerac has plenty of destruction of his own to fix. We were already replastering the Citadel when he was fighting his way into Calway."
"Yes," said Mirabel, "may the Sun shine on him and his people. We won't be able to afford much for roads and fortifications this year, but we paid the troops and we started fixing up Vonnis and Angren. Oh, and the memorial funds are fully subscribed, as well. As for grains, the Farlainers' stores here have been shipped out around the county. The shortages in October and November have abated. I guess things are as good as could be expected, the year after the war."
"Thank you, Lady Mirabel. I must take a peek under your manure pile one of these days, just for old times' sake."
"Feel free, my lady," said Mirabel. "I promise I won't go visiting Neil for advice."
"It's funny about that," said Vivian. "You know, I spent fourteen years thinking of torments to inflict upon Neil, but when we got here and there he was in the dungeon already, I couldn't bring myself to do anything more to him. I didn't even feel like making any of the pointed remarks I'd thought of. Let him sit there, him and Sir Mallon de Mayol, that little creep. Didn't want to surrender the city. Had to have his troops mutiny around him before he'd give me back my home town."
"It was his idea to put Neil in the dungeon," said Sir Rogier. "I'm sure they'll enjoy some sparkling conversation."
"Yes, isn't it ironic. The final week of the Empire and they throw Neil in the slammer. And Sir Unmentionable de Mayol, who knows? Maybe he thought he'd claim the Throne. I told him the first time we met I'd kill him if I saw him again. Maybe that's why he wanted to hold out."
"He and Neil can debate the war to their hearts' content," said Sir Rogier with a smile. "We all know how Neil loved to argue."
"And Sir Bleep can't say eight words without one of them being a threat," said Vivian. "It's punishment enough for Neil, that and seeing what little all his treachery came to in the end."
"I certainly found it fitting, my lady," said Edgar, "since he's in the very cell I'd sat in for four years, two months, eight days."
"I won't worry about it any more, then. As long as he doesn't weasel out by dying before he's been there seven times as long. I understand Lord Sperrin is trying to be one of Frenerac's scribes. May the Sun shine on him: I've sworn off executions. Anyway, let's see, Interior?"
"Roads are in a sorry state," said Purcell Colmack. "Not complaining, my lady. We'll wait in line like the others till there's money to quarry stone and the like."
"Master Colmack, your service to us in the area of fortifications has saved many Clanish lives, at Nikolad and Hvanar and Tarnhold and Angren, and those whose lives were saved don't even know it. Except for Martin of Auzel: I'm sure he knows full well how much credit to give your walls."
"My lady, we don't need no thanks really. It's our job."
"You still get credit. Oh, have you noticed you're the only guy left on the council?"
Colmack looked around. Valerie de Nikolad, the Horse Marshal, sitting next to him, smiled sweetly at the old engineer. "No, my lady, I hadn't, till you mentioned it." He put a brave face on. "Don't bother me any."
"You'll get used to it. Let's see, how about the military situation?"
Thane Sigrith laughed out loud. "We've got peace on all our frontiers," she said, "but with luck we'll be back in the thick of it by this time next year."
"Got anybody in mind?"
"No, my countess, but we're looking into it. Just let old Faulk make one false move, and we'll drop him where he stands."
"No need to go out of our way, you know. I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet. As perhaps you are as well, my Lady Valerie. I've lost my first three Horse Marshals in battle, and I doubt you can top Sir Francis."
"Perhaps I have, my lady," said Valerie. "Kalos reminded me that I have a duty to tell you of any condition that might hinder my service to you."
"Condition?" replied Vivian. "Oh, Valerie. I think I can guess."
"I'm sure you can, my lady," Valerie went on. "I'm due in July. Kalos and I decided that one child right away wouldn't be too much, since he's on loan from Farlain anyway. I won't let it keep me from charging into battle, my lady."
"My, how things have changed since your father's day," said Sir Rogier.
"It's a good thing it's peacetime," said Vivian. "But we do need to repopulate after the war, don't we?" She glanced over at Anne Atgate, who was very large with child. She and Edgar the Chronicler, who wrote busily beside her, had been married the previous Midsummer Day, just three days after Vivian's reentry into Vonnis.
"In any case," said Angeline.
"Lady Rain," said Sir Rogier, "you're already picking up the subtleties of the job."
"I've been watching you," said Angeline. "Shall I attempt the foreign policy report?"
"Please do," said Vivian.
"I am happy to confirm peace on all fronts, as far as Clane is concerned at any rate. Inzil's new Countess is secure, more or less, in her reduced borders--like us, they've had to accommodate Karaghur Khan and his new state in the plains, so Inzil's no longer our neighbor. The Countess of Inzil is due here this night, as my lady reminded me just now, if the Avars keep their word."
"That would have been too much to hope for in the old days," said Sir Rogier, "but I have spoken with the Khan and find him quite surprising in many ways. As he found you, my lady."
"Does he say so?"
"He does. I'm sorry, Lady Rain, please go on."
"Thank you, Sir Rogier," said Angeline. "Let's see. Thane Archibard's son Arlek calls himself Thane of Maklos, up in the high valley of the River Kamakar, and they seem insignificant enough to the Avars to be secure in their new little state. Oh, and Karaghur Khan and his premier wife, our pal Jinaa, are producing a whole row of the toughest little kids the plains of Bazir have ever seen. Farlain of course is at peace with us, as is Amari under Duke Othos, who had not nearly so hard a fight to return to his rights. The picture in Shadewind is uncertain, but the Avars there seem to be slowly shifting toward the north and under the Khan's influence again, while the remaining folk of Marchwind seem to be leaning toward saluting Farlain. They paid a terrible price for their last Count's ambitions. Elsewhere, the imperial facade just crumbled away and the rebels in Rahavon and Orzali and Tithean and, what's the other one, Sir Rogier?"
"Vendrezu, Lady Rain."
"Thank you. They seem to be rebuilding their own states, and most of them have more or less agreed on their rightful succession, although in Orzali the Emperor's extermination program was efficient enough that there are only a couple of distant cousins to fight over the medallion."
"Not to nitpick," put in Sir Rogier, "but it's a coronet. In Orzali."
"I accept your correction. As for Avigon, I defer to Sir Martin."
"Yeah, I just got back from Avigon yesterday evening," said Sir Martin of Auzel, who bore no recent wounds. "I can tell you it'll be a while before anyone has an Imperial Diet there."
"There'll never be another Imperial Diet," said Vivian, "more's the pity, eh, Suz? Anyway."
"Well, the slums are pretty much empty, and there's been a lot of just plain destruction. The Palace Dome has fallen in. The Library still stands, but it's had some unauthorized withdrawals. The Grand Duchy's half dead--Dukesfal's wrecked, Tarvok's flying its own flag. It's an orange ship on blue, by the way."
"Thank you, Sir Martin," said Vivian, "you've done such good work for me, you and Ellean and Siglind and Willd and Sir Rogier's little girl--how would you like to undertake one more dangerous mission?"
"I'm ready to go today, my lady."
"Wait till spring. Then you and Ell and Annie de Clatu can go down to Avigon one last time. Make all the withdrawals you think might be nice for the Vonnis library."
"Avigon? Aren't you coming, my lady?"
"Oh, no, I've made a definite pledge never to go back to Avigon. I sat on the throne, you know: what more is there for me to do there?"
"I'll tell Ell and Annie," he replied. "I'm sure they'll be up for it."
"I'm sure," said Vivian, looking around. "Any other business?" None appeared. "Then let me say just one more thing: no, really, and wipe that smile off your face, Rogier. It's this. You never failed me, any of you, through the fire and the night and all that, and many who served did not survive to see us return to Vonnis, and I owe all of you more than I can ever repay."
"We owe you, Countess," said Sir Rogier. "Clane was fortunate that it was you who wore the medallion at this moment in history. The Empire, the Sovereign States, are fortunate, for without you, the Emperor might have achieved his dream."
"No," said Vivian, "I appreciate the sentiment, but his dream was untenable. It might have taken longer, without me, without you, without this Council, without Willd and Ellean and the scouts, without Sigrith and her warriors, without the Cataphracts, without the Westdubbik pikes, the Vonnis bows, the Archer Girls of Nikolad--but the Empire was over. It was like a man who had been stabbed through the heart but hadn't realized it yet."
"Was he indeed the old Last Emperor?" asked Mirabel.
"He was. I'm sure of it. He was also Tarun of Delyan, son of Basil the Chandler, so in a sense he was my subject, born in the reign of Tereza. As you see, he was long overdue for dying. It was his will that kept him alive and in power. It's too bad for him that such an extraordinary will was harnessed to so mediocre a mind. He would have been a wonderful priest or librarian, or maybe even minister of state, but his imperial ambitions were doomed."
"His only mistake, as far as I can tell," said Sir Rogier, "was in choosing you for an enemy."
"Yes," said Vivian, "I'll grant you, that was a significant blunder."
"He never could have taken us," said Susan. "Not on our own soil."
"Again," said Sir Rogier, "hints of things I probably don't want to know about."
"I'll tell you everything," said Vivian, "if you ever get curious."
"No, thank you, my lady. The Emperor died of a knife to the heart, and that's all I need to know. It's all your father would have told me."
Wine was brought in, another gift from Duke Frenerac, and they talked and drank and laughed until the world outside was cloaked in white shadows and the smell of food began to waft up from the kitchens on the floor below. The Countess and her ministers went down and found a feast being laid out: the Thanes were there, as were all the new lords and ladies of the Countess's Domain. The special guest arrived just after full dark and just as the first course was being served. Jen entered and announced, "My lady, the Countess of Inzil." A beautiful young woman in black riding clothes entered, around her neck the Medallion of the Counts of Inzil with its diamonds set in gold. She was attended by half a dozen knights, all of whom had been in pursuit of Countess Vivian during the last battle.
Susan, standing behind her mother, surged forward and threw herself into the arms of the Countess of Inzil. "Eliza!" she shouted. "Oh, it's been so long!"
"Way too long," said Eliza. They hugged tearily while the Countess of Clane waited with an indulgent smile. "My lady," she said at last to Vivian, curtseying and bowing her blond head, one arm still around Susan. Indeed, it was Count Chalris's daughter that had fled in the night from his tent in the second-to-last invasion of Clane, only to be captured by the Avars as a gift for Temkuz Khan, only to be rescued, in such a peculiar way, by Vivian's daughters, after striking the single heaviest blow of the campaign. Two years later, when the knights of Inzil sought to inform Chalris of the Emperor's death, they found him dead as well, in his tent, his heart stopped; when these same knights reported to Countess Vivian the next morning to negotiate their own departure from Clane, they found beside her none other than Chalris's missing only child.
"I'm glad to see you back," said Vivian. "It's too bad you can't stay all spring and summer."
"I've missed you guys so much," said Countess Eliza, "but they really keep me busy back in Annavil. So much to do--now I understand a lot more about you, my lady. And I have to keep a sharp eye on my ministers or who knows what they'll do?"
"Oh, yes," said Vivian, "ministers are like that. Right, Sir Rogier?"
"Oh, you have to watch them like a hawk," he replied. "They're almost as bad as young countesses."
A month later, Susan visited Countess Eliza, with Jack Rain among her escort. Vivian and her younger daughter and Jen and Violet, escorted by Willd and the soldier Stephen, traveled to Angren and spent a couple of days at Rain Hall. Martin and Siglind and Ellean now lived there with Angeline and her kids, and Siglind's two daughters lived there too, so the refurbished house now echoed with the sounds of all ages of children. Vivian wasn't sure who was sleeping with whom these days, nor did she care. Angeline was finally over the loss of the great love of her life, or perhaps she was used to the grief and it didn't show anymore.
On a brilliant blue and white day the three men went traipsing about in the woods while the women and children spent the afternoon skating up the Rocky River and back down again. The men returned before sunset, and, finding the women and children still well upriver, opened a bottle of wine and filled their glasses. Martin and Stephen also filled pipes, and the three sat in the small drawing room in the back of the hall and looked out on the evening.
"So along with the city, the Citadel and the town of Angren," said Martin, "I predict the Vonnis rugby team is going to be back to its usual dominance this year."
"Are you playing?" asked Stephen.
"I'm not going on any more battlefields," said Martin. "Are you going to marry Jen?"
"What? Marry her? Well, of course, if she finally says yes. I've only been asking her for the past three years. Do you think she'll finally agree?"
"Of course she will," said Willd.
"Stephen," said Martin, "I've been wondering. Just between us. Is Violet your kid?"
"Violet? No, she's the most beautiful little girl in the world, but it wasn't me." Stephen grinned at Martin. "Word says she was yours, but she's so pretty, if she was yours I wouldn't hold it against you."
"Man, where does this stuff come from? I never--!"
"You haven't slept with Jen?" asked Willd. "There are two women in the Countess's Domain you haven't slept with?"
"At least two," said Martin. "They're back." A concert of sounds grew from the door and in a minute they came flooding in: Vivian and Annie, Siglind and her two girls, the younger one just a baby in a backpack, Angeline and Robin, Henry and Elaine, Jen and Violet and Ellean and the big young dog Duke; the dog was ushered back out by several sarcastic women and three cats.
"So, what have the menfolk been up to?" asked Vivian, coming in and kissing Willd. "Figured out the meaning of life yet?"
"Yeah, we just worked that out, my lady," said Martin. "Anything else you'd like us to do?"
"Dinner," suggested Angeline. "Martha's got the evening off, tending to her sick sister."
"We can't make dinner," said Martin. "We're men."
"Come on," said Willd. "There's a turkey and some bread and potatoes. I'll see what I can do for gravy. Do we at least get Jen to help?"
"No!" said Vivian. "You get Robin and Henry. Jen, your orders are to take no orders tonight. Hey, Stephen, bring some glasses. And this bottle's not going to last long."
In a few minutes the five women, along with eleven-and-a-half-year-old Annie, were lounging in the cozy drawing room, while the younger girls played on the floor nearby and encouraging noise came from the kitchen.
"So are you going to marry him?" asked Ellean.
"Oh, I don't know," said Jen.
"Yes, you do," said Vivian. "Ell, go peek in the kitchen."
Ellean jumped up and peered in the door. A cacophony of pans and shouted suggestions came out. "They're not paying any attention," she told the others.
"So?" asked Vivian.
"Oh, I don't know," Jen said again. "Oh, of course I am. I just haven't gotten around to telling Stephen yet."
"You're doing the right thing," said Vivian, "but you can't have this Midsummer's Day. I'm getting married then."
"Something to look forward to," said Angeline. "Willd looks fine with his clothes on."
"I'll agree to that," said Siglind.
"He looks just fine without them," said Ellean. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you guys. Vivie and Willd and I went all the way to Avigon and back twice and camped along the way."
"And how many times did you go all the way with Martin?" asked Angeline.
"Oh, it was more than twice."
As they finished a quite decent dinner of turkey and potatoes and raisin bread and white wine, and were topping it off with sugary fruitcakes and mint tea, they heard horses calling to one another in the night, and a minute later the new front door opened to admit Miranda mac Conahay. "I rode as hard as I could," she called out, stamping the snow off her boots. "But I was in Dubkarin this morning, and my son would insist on making me a big complicated breakfast. Am I late for dessert?"
"Not at all," said Angeline.
"Though," Vivian added, "we weren't waiting on you either."
The brewer was allotted a generous piece of cake and a place at the table. Then the six women and three men, and Annie and Robin, both going on twelve, sat around sipping dark red wine from Tarnver. In half an hour, the two almost-teenagers were nodding, and Vivian and Angeline lugged them off to bed. When the women returned, they were met with a fait accompli.
"My lady," said Stephen, "I have asked for your servant's hand in marriage, and she has accepted. We beg your consent."
"It was my idea all along, wasn't it? How's the first of June sound?"
"Since Midsummer is excluded, my lady, it will have to do, because I don't want to pass another year waiting to take Jen to wife."
"You know she's still my chamberlain. I depend on you, Jen, my darling. I have to do without Sir Rogier, but I won't do without you."
"Of course, my lady." Jen sighed and smiled and took Stephen's hand. "The first of June! Can we wait?"
"It's your fault you waited this long, silly girl," said Ellean. "But, not to change the subject, Vivian, I think it's time for you to answer some questions."
Vivian turned to face her and adjusted herself in her chair. "I'm prepared to answer some questions," she said. "Just keep my glass filled."
"Well, what I'd like to know first is how you found out about Willd's imperial blood."
"Yeah," said Martin. "There seems to have been a lot of it around. I'm starting to think I might have some of that."
"I don't know," said Siglind, "were the Emperors well-hung?"
"That's Sigrith's blood showing," said Vivian, "and we all know how strong that brew is. No, I had no idea Willd was of the Old Line. I just--well, I found I could draw strength from him, and I always wondered where it came from. But this is how I piece it together--if you care."
"Tell us all the deep tangled secrets," said Angeline. "But if Martin turns out to be the Emperor's third cousin, I'll throw up."
"I don't know about that," said Vivian, "but Willd seems to be his nephew. It was all in that dream I had at Delyan. Kalos got some records copied over for me when he was back in Calway last fall: the births at Arrenuim were recorded, of course, although no one in Farlain ever knew that the parents of them all were the son of the fifteenth Emperor and the daughter of a daughter of the fourteenth."
"Or so you guess," said Miranda.
"Or so I guess. Well, Arrenuim was crushed in 649 after one of their grandchildren claimed the throne--well, I'll get to that. But they had three children that gave birth to survivors of the destruction of Arrenuim by the Twenty-first Emperor, who, by the way, only managed to stay on the throne for four years himself. It was getting a bit unsteady by that time. His line perished, but the lines of Arrenuim survived, isn't it strange?"
"It's all strange," said Angeline. "It's strange that Ell and Marty knew all this before I did."
"Hey," said Martin, "don't accuse me of knowing anything."
"Anyway," said Ellean.
"Anyway," Vivian went on, "their names were Dione, and Aricus, and Velassa, the children of Kelark and Asrain, the founders of Arrenuim. The house of Velassa produced a son named Mark, who married a lady of Intror. Mark died five years before the fall, having moved to Intror with his wife and family; one of the daughters was Saranna, who wedded my great grandfather Count Lenward, second son of Tereza and father of Theodred. Saranna was my great grandmother. Mark's sister Enessa became an aide to Countess Tereza; her children became Angren aristocracy. I suppose both Mark and Enessa knew of the imperial powers, but their descendants for the most part missed the chance to learn."
"So," said Miranda, "you're descended from the house of Velassa."
"Yes," said Vivian, "but the house of Aricus was more interesting. He had two sons, and Aklos, the elder, had the temerity, not to say stupidity, to claim the throne on the death of the Twentieth Emperor. This resulted in his own speedy execution, and brought the wrath of the Twenty-first Emperor upon Arrenuim. His brother Alexe was killed, as were the two other siblings of Aricus and Dione and Velassa, along with all their descendants--or else I suppose we'd be up to our armpits in imperial heirs. But Alexe had one son who survived, out of four children--it was a boy named Basil, age thirteen in 649, who must've been off at the market or something when the imperial troops started pouring in. He escaped to Delyan, no doubt fully intending to leave all his perilous heritage behind him. But then a beautiful young woman, also fleeing, came to town, and he knew her: his cousin Adrenna, granddaughter of Dione."
"Adrenna," Ellean repeated. "The one who died in childbirth."
"Very good! It's all in Countess Tereza's diaries. Adrenna. The Emperor's mother, that is, Tarun's mother. And I'm not sure that the Emperor at that time, 670, the, let's see, twenty-second, I think, didn't have something to do with her death. But there was Basil with a young son and the love of his life gone. So he must have told Tarun about Arrenuim, just hinted even, and the boy's intellect and drive carried him far beyond his father's ambitions. I suppose old Basil was scared to death: Tarun must have reminded him of Uncle Aklos, the doomed claimant of 648. And Basil knew or thought that imperial agents were watching him. His response was not to flee but to lay low, and the Chandler's Road must have looked mighty low to him. Eventually he married again, to a young Selacan woman named Mildrid, and then the imperial agents stepped in again. Who knows why? Maybe Tarun committed a youthful faux pas, like causing one too many brain hemorrhages in the same place. We should've asked the Big Guy while we had the chance, but other things like avenging Tylon and Francis and living to see the next morning were uppermost in all our minds."
"Lying unconscious on the ground was at the top of my list," said Ellean.
"It was a safe place for you. It's a good thing we were distracting him, or he would certainly have killed you that time. But I really think Tarun must have shown himself somehow, used his power in some obvious way. Remember that he had imperial blood from both parents. He was almost powerful enough to achieve what he set out to do. But he was only eighteen when Basil died, and Tarun was lucky to escape with his life. As did Mildrid, six months pregnant. Tarun fled north over the Fire Pass to the Avars, where he learned much from their shamans, and on his own, and whence he eventually returned to make himself a place in History. But what about Mildrid?"
"That's my grandmother," said Willd. "She moved back to Selac with her relatives, and her son Aemar was my father."
"Of course they never knew, since Basil told Mildrid nothing, and she would just remember Tarun as a young rebel, a bit strange and perilous perhaps. Aemar became a horse-breeder. He was called Aemar Willd for his adoptive uncle, some sort of elder cousin of Mildrid. He was fifty before he married, and William Willd was his only son, and being good with horses the young Willd joined the Selacan cavalry, but not being good with a sword or a spear he turned into a scout. My father drafted him for the Avar campaigns, and I inherited him, and I can say, I think, that I may have actually tapped his full potential."
"You're not going to teach him to do brain hemorrhages?" asked Miranda.
"Ha. No, and I'm swearing that stuff off too. Forever. I mean it."
"It's not going to change how I act around you, my lady," said Martin.
"Or me," said Ellean. "So, Susan and Anne have the Blood from both parents."
"So do I, little girl, so do I."
"But your mother was that Lady Eleanor, from Nikolad or something."
"Actually, she was the town beauty of Wallwood, Westdubbik. But she had a secret. The trouble was, she died when I was a year old, and I never was taught by my mother as was the custom at Arrenuim--and in the Priestly Circle."
"The what?" asked Angeline. "I don't get any of this."
"She was of the Priestly Circle?" asked Miranda. "You've told me about them."
"Well, what was the Circle but cast-off Imperial daughters? But the secret is in the house of Dione. Dione and her daughter Merana fled to Amari. Merana's daughters, teenage when Arrenuim fell, were Adela, who married Lord Paran de Kliotis, a north Amarian lord, and Adrenna, who married Basil. Adela had two daughters, one of whom was Velana, who married an Amarian merchant. They came to live at Nikolad, where their only child Aranel was born, and she in turn married Lord Calph of Wallwood, and died giving birth to Eleanor, whose grandmother taught her the secrets."
"I understand Eleanor was quite beautiful," said Angeline.
"I saw her when I was a boy, once," said Willd, "and I remember her as being the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Until I met her daughter."
"Oh, my gentle knight," said Vivian.
"So why aren't you the Emperoress?" asked Angeline. "Not to give you ideas."
Vivian smiled. "Don't think it didn't occur to me. But no thanks. Clane is big enough for me. The Counts of Clane were profiting all along from the draining of the Empire: and why not? Clane's much nicer than Avigon. I count seven times that a Count or Countess produced an heir with someone of hidden imperial lineage: Penelope and Count John Zimmish, Alquin and Countess Helenna, Siphann and Count Raymond, then Tereza had Lenward, and she never let on about either of her sons' fathers, but her lover at the time was a young buck who seems to correspond to a disappeared brother of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Emperors. One can't be sure--keeping his parentage to himself must have been a vital survival strategy. Lenward married Velassa's granddaughter Saranna, and Dad married Eleanor, and then there's me and Willd."
"So that's why Susan is so scary," said Ellean.
"I don't know if that's the Imperial Blood," said Angeline, "though now I think about it--"
"I can see," said Siglind, "that I haven't been choosing my mates as well as I might have."
"You keep your hot hands off Willd," Vivian cautioned her. "As to Susan being scary, well, her mother is descended from Velassa and Dione, and her father from Aricus, so Suzy and Annie come from all three."
"And this guy really was the old Last Emperor," said Angeline, shaking her head. "The Last Emperor was practically a fable when we were growing up."
"No kidding," replied Vivian. "Emperors were usually long-lived, but he truly outlived his age. I don't think it was a Power of his--I think it was just the power of his Will. Well, guess what. The Power of Will isn't everything."
"Where was he all that time?" asked Ellean. "What, forty years?"
"For thirty-nine years," said Vivian, "that is, nearly all of my father's time and the first two years of mine, he lived with the Avars. Their shamans were the inheritors of the very tradition that of old gave rise to the Priestly Circle, and their Black Priests--well, maybe the First Emperor came from among such folk. We'll never know."
"So the Big Guy learned from the Avars," said Angeline. "From having been among them, I'd say they have a lot to teach."
"Shall we send Suzy among them for a few years?" said Vivian. "Actually, I think he rather bent their shamanistic society to his needs, drained it of most of its secrets, and the shamans are diminished as a result. And the Black Priests are no more. He sucked all the power out of them. But for forty years they sustained him, and when he returned he was much more powerful than when he left."
"And," added Angeline, "he chose the perfect moment to return. The Empire was just rotted enough that he could come in and take over, but not yet a complete shambles."
"Oh, that's good," said Vivian. "Yes. He was a spirit trying to enter a corpse and bring it back to life. It helped that Duke Maladar had already begun to enlarge Farlain. It gave the Big Guy a head start."
"Did he have Maladar in his pocket, do you think?"
"No. No, I'm certain he didn't. He had Salvar, but not his father. Remember that strange time when Maladar disappeared, and Frenerac came and joined us? The Big Guy's fingerprints are all over that. He had Neil, for a while anyway, had him from before they took over Vonnis. He had Chalris almost from the moment Chalris became Count of Inzil--remember that campaign? Riding up to Orlad, and the fog and rain? Well, I didn't know it at the time, but that was really my first brush with the Last Emperor. He wanted Vonnis then, but all he got was Kemif. It was a start. I suppose he tried to reel in Maladar too, and failed--Duke Maladar would never have accepted a new Emperor. So he had to go."
"I take it," said Angeline, "that Maladar and Salvar did not have the Blood."
"No, I don't guess they did."
"How about Samarra?" asked Martin. "Or that guy who held out so long--Teodas of Tithean?"
"Well, who knows?" replied Vivian. "I'd guess not, but who am I to say? I suppose if anyone else but me did, Count Teodas must've. Did you meet him?"
"Once," said Martin. "In the early years of the Big Guy. He was pretty scary. His officers would've thrown themselves in front of arrows for him, but that might just be because he was a good leader. Hey, most of us would do that for you."
"I appreciated that," said Vivian. "But it scared me too, your loyalty. Well, loyalty didn't save Teodas of Tithean. Lots of his men got the chance to jump in front of arrows, and still he was swept away by the Emperor."
"What about Eliza?" Ellean put in. "Didn't she have some of the Blood?"
"Oh, no, I don't think any of it got as far as Inzil." She looked around. Stephen was asleep, Siglind was wearing her big drunken smile, and the others were all more or less in the know. "All right, big secret." They all leaned close over the table. "Count Chalris was the easiest person to read or manipulate that I've ever met. I guess the Emperor had him under almost total control. No wonder he died when the Emperor died. I mean, even Temkuz and Torak had plenty of their own personalities left. Right, Siglind?"
"Right. Here's to that bum Torak." She downed her glass and poured another, with Martin's help.
"And Eliza likewise was easy to read and so on. But you know, it never occurred to me. I took her at her word--a refugee from eastern Bazir, that would explain her slight accent, found by the Avar foragers, and the rest, as they say, was history. But why shouldn't we believe that? She told a great story, to save her life. The real story was much too incredible, that she'd been forced to come with her father, and escaped rather than be subjected to the Imperial will, for what purpose only the Sun sees. She got captured as she tried to slip out through the Avar camp in the middle of the night. Chalris wasn't going to advertise that his only child was loose somewhere, and the Avars didn't think to check with him before they gave her to the Khan."
"I'll say this," put in Angeline. "I think you were as surprised as anyone when those knights recognized her, when they came to tell us of Chalris's death."
"You have that right. And I thought I'd had all the surprises I was going to. I mean, my Willd, the Emperor's nephew? And now this, about Jen getting married. It's almost too much. I think I may burst from good news. I haven't been conditioned to it. Of course, I can always go talk to Mirabel about the budget, and that brings me right back down to earth."
"Or look at the amount of work that needs to be done in Angren and Vonnis," said Angeline.
"Or Delyan or Passaya, or the roads, or--well, no need to get into that right now. The Big Problem is gone, and all these little problems--I much prefer bad roads and insufficient revenue."
"Clane is healthy," said Miranda, "and you are with us, and life is long, my Countess."
"For us who survived the great war." Vivian lifted her glass, and Sir William, Sir Martin, Lady Ellean, Lady Angeline, the brewer-alchemist Miranda, the warrior-scout Siglind and the chamberlain Jen filled theirs and raised them. "Let us drink to our friends who are gone."
"Francis," said Angeline. "I'll never forget you."
"Sigfrinda," said Siglind, "and Sigmar, my sisters."
"Yes, and Sigern's daughters," said Martin, "and Ivor, remember him?"
"And Thane Horst," said Miranda. "What a Thane should be."
"And Wulf and Harald," said Jen. "They were always in a good mood. They loved what they did, loved their horses."
"Edwy Sallier," said Ellean. "Since Mirabel's not here to speak for him. No one was more a gentleman than he was. And Egon. He taught me how to smoke a pipe."
"And Sir Everard," said Willd, "and Sir Tylon. The perfect knights."
"And Lord Smeagle," said Vivian. "My first horse marshal."
"And your father," said Angeline. "He was a hero."
"I know. And your father, too." For a moment they all sat there, a quarter of an inch from tears. The only thing to do was drain their glasses, refill them and drink a few more toasts.
On the morning of the sixth of April, the Countess dedicated a memorial to all the heroes who had fallen in her time. It was the seventeenth anniversary of the battle in the Cleft, when keeping the Avars out of the Lavan Valley seemed enough of a challenge to Clane. The assembled throng did not resist tears, as Vivian struggled through reading the names of all those who had been close to her and had died in her service, from Lord Smeagle and Trofim fitz-Trofim and Margus de Passaya to Sir Francis Weaver and Thane Archibard and Sigfrinda of the Rukh. The rain threatened, sprinkled, and then blew away, leaving an afternoon of unmarred blue. Vivian and the Rain sisters hurried off after lunch and rode up into the hills behind Bald Mountain, and were surprised when they came down to the Lavan River Road that evening and did not find the errand-rider Willd bearing down on them with news of an invasion.
"I could've sworn I was fourteen again," said Ellean, "and we were both in love with that handsome captain of the Countess's escort."
"I remember him," said Angeline.
"Let's get back to town," said Vivian. "It's getting dark."
They returned to Vonnis by the north gate, and rode through the town in the evening. Its trees were all saplings and every block had its ruins, but it was to them the same Vonnis they had walked in a few days before two ill-starred Farlain guards came to the Countess's chambers. Through spring and early summer, Vonnis grew back to fill its walls. Anne Atgate and Valerie de Nikolad were far from the only women to give birth in Clane in 785. Vivian could see her county growing back, recovering, forgetting, and she was sorry to see the forgetting, but knew it was necessary for the recovering.
The rest of the County recovered too, even indomitable Nikolad and the untainted Tarn Valley. Twenty-five hundred farmers and tradesfolk and knights and lords and Rukh warriors would never return from Angren to their homes and their productive lives, and their loss would take a generation to restore. There was one more new Thane: Rodrik of Selac had left an eleven-year-old daughter, who became Thane Iveth. Frak Egonsson, a civilized and prosperous Selacan landholder at forty-one, became her regent, and set about teaching her as his father had taught young Rodrik.
Vivian's household grew back, by return from Nikolad and by restoration from the Citadel's basements and closets. The great portrait of Countess Tereza, cleaned up and retouched, would continue to haunt the dreams of young men of the Citadel for generations to come. The aged Simone, who had pined in Nikolad without Vivian, grew back to her full girth on the Countess's bed, rousing herself only to interrupt Vivian's work, or to look down on fair Vonnis from her balcony.
Vivian and Ellean sat up there many an afternoon in the spring--which was gorgeous, if one admired mud. "Hey," Ellean suggested one day as they looked out over the town and the brown and green hills draped in cloud, "why don't you use your powers now to make perfect weather?" They were playing checks, and Ellean was anxious for a distraction.
"Oh, I'm not using my powers for anything anymore," Vivian replied, studying the board.
"Why not? Oh, would it be too dangerous?"
"No, dear, it'd be too tiring. All that stuff--it's hard work. The killing thing makes me nauseous, rousing the troops wears me out, and the weather thing gives me headaches you wouldn't believe."
"Oh, so He wasn't the cause of the headaches."
"Not directly, anyway. I wonder what his head felt like after a good struggle with me. No, no more. Still, watch yourself--I plan to keep using the Eye. Meanwhile," said Vivian, moving a castle up to stand, backed by her Lady, before Ellean's Emperor, "that's checkmate, isn't it?"
"Is it true you finally beat Siglind?" asked Ellean. Her opponent only smiled.
Vivian studied, and wrote down everything she could remember, and she and Edgar and Sir Rogier spent many evenings at a big table with papers and books spread out, writing furiously. Vivian conceived a project of her own--it was in fact Susan's idea, a Life of Countess Tereza. And Vivian and Anne and Susan went to the Other Side at each full moon, for there was still much to learn. On the twenty-ninth of May, the anniversary of the Countess's return to Vonnis, she and her daughters were seated in the twilight on the benches before the mansion, with the Lady of the Fountain between Vivian and Susan, and the little girl in Annie's lap.
I know you, Vivian told her tutor.
Do you? Then you know yourself.
Perhaps, replied Vivian. But you I know at last, Eleanor of Wallwood. Mother.
The Lady smiled slightly, then suddenly pulled Vivian to her. While the young women watched, the two clasped in a tight embrace. Eventually they pulled away and just looked at each other.
I could not teach you, as my grandmother taught me, and her mother taught her, said the Lady. All I could do was wait for you to find me, here and in your heart.
Vivian thought about that for a minute. But the little girl? she asked.
I lost you when you were a year old, the Lady answered. It was too much. When I saw you in your father's dreams, when you were five or six, I had to bring a form of you here. My daughter, that was my only solace for so long.
Then for an untold time the two of them wept in the garden, as the hanging flowers bent in the slightest perfumed breath around them, and the little girl played with Vivian's daughters on the ground.
On the first day of June, Vivian watched over the wedding of Jen and Stephen, and saw to it that no other wedding occurred that day in the Countess's Domain, so that everyone in Vonnis and Angren and all the country around could turn out to cheer the couple. The next day, the entire Domain rose late, and it seemed as though half of it got right to planning the first wedding of a Count or Countess since Vivian's father's marriage to his second wife Anne of Wade thirty-five years before.
And then the days flew by and it was Midsummer's Day, and it was the Countess herself, and her Willd, standing in the Citadel Square before Enjele, naked under the brilliant sun. For once, Vivian heard the entire invocation, although others' minds may have wandered.
"Willd was right all along," said Martin to Stephen, on the men's side of the audience. "Hers are perfect. Just perfect!"
"Oh, yes," whispered a man standing behind them. "Definitely."
"Did you ever have him?" Angeline asked Ellean on the women's side.
"Willd? Of course not. How brave do you think I am?"
"My mother did, you know," put in Siglind. "Before the Countess claimed him."
"Really?" Ellean replied. "Well, when it comes to men, she's the expert."
"The Countess seems to know a thing or two," said Angeline. "Ssh!"
"Because I could not live without him," Vivian was saying, "and because he is brave and strong and good, and because he has given everything without question, and because of his great love for me, I take Sir William Willd as my husband."
"Because I could not live without her," Willd replied, "and because she is brave and beautiful and strong, and because she is the wisest person I have ever known, and because beyond reason she loves me, I take the Countess Vivian, daughter of Edmund, as my wife."
The High Priestess chanted in the old language, and the couple walked through the crowd that rose and mingled and greeted one another behind them. The two knelt at the far end of the square.
"In the name of the Countess and the people of Clane," said Sir Rogier de Clatu, "I bless this union, and may no one ever stand between these two, united under the blessing of the Divine Sun." Everyone cheered, and Vivian and Willd hurried off into the Citadel to dress themselves for the feast.
"I wondered who delivered the blessing of the lord in a situation like that," said Angeline, as the feast turned to dance in the Citadel Square. "Would Vivie just do it for herself?"
"Actually," said Miranda mac Conahay, who now had her mind set on making Master Brewer a council position in Vonnis, "the Emperors used to do that for the Sovereign Lords. I guess that would've been too complicated in this case."
"In Count Edmund's time," said Sir Rogier, "there were two of these things, and the Minister of State took the role. It was Old Stoneface, Sir Adalbert. I can assure you, he kept the proper solemnity for the occasion."
"I bet he did," said Vivian. "He definitely didn't approve of me."
"He was wrong. So were a lot of us. But look around: the old guard is dying out, and these young folks hardly remember a time before you. And they think you're everything a Countess of Clane should be."
"They're right," said Susan.
Thane Hugo hobbled over and grabbed Sir Rogier's shoulder. "My hearing's just fine, young fella," he said. "Did you say something about the old guard dying off?"
"He certainly did," said Lady Alice. "I hope he wasn't speaking for us."
"I don't see anyone old," said Vivian. "Just--familiar."
"Let's find out," said Ellean, jumping up. "Hey, Thane Hugo, how about the next dance?"
And as the thirty-one-year-old scout danced the eighty-eight-year-old thane around the square, the torchlight played on the faces of the Countess and her husband, of her ministers and lords and ladies, of her servants and her people. She laughed, and they smiled to see her happy, and their laughter mixed with the music and floated out into the night.
The End
Did you like it? Do you have suggestions? If you actually read the entire thing, I'd really appreciate you dropping me a email to tell me what you thought, or just to let me know! My email address:
Do you want to read more? If so, you may be interested in Vivian's Life of Countess Tereza, the "dark companion" to The Tale of Countess Vivian. I haven't converted it into html yet, but I can do so, or into Word, and send it chapter by chapter to anyone who's interested. (My wife, who liked "Vivian," tells me that "Tereza" is actually better.)
Vivian Lives!