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“I raised him as my own!” cried Henry indignantly. “No man treated a son better! But he was a bastard. His birth gave me the right to the crown, but it granted him nothing save the honor of being trained as a captain for war. I did everything I could, Alia. I would have made him king after me, though everyone stood against me. But he threw it back in my face, all that I offered him, for the sake of that woman!” He was really angry now, remembering his son’s disobedience.
Sanglant walked in from the garden. Folk parted quickly to let him through their ranks. He came to rest, standing quietly between the king and the Aoi woman, and all at once the resemblance showed starkly: his father’s forehead and chin and height, his mother’s high cheekbones and coloring and broad shoulders: two kinds blended seamlessly into one body. But he had nothing of Alia’s inhuman posture and cold, harsh nature. In speech and gesture he was entirely his father’s child.
“Liath is the great granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer.” Without shouting, Sanglant pitched his voice to carry strongly throughout the long chamber. “Now, truly, my father’s people, my mother’s people, and the lineage of Emperor Taillefer, the greatest ruler humankind has known, are joined in one person. In my daughter, Blessing.” He indicated Brother Heribert, who had come in behind him carrying Blessing. “Is that not so?”
Henry lifted a hand, a slight movement, and his Eagle stepped forward to answer the prince. “What proof have you that the child is born of Taillefer’s lineage?” Hathui asked.
“Do you accuse me of lying, Eagle?” he asked softly.
“Nay, Your Highness,” she replied blandly. “But you may have been misled. Sister Rosvita believes that a daughter was born to Taillefer’s missing son. Any woman might then claim to be the lost grandchild of Taillefer.”
“Who would know to claim such a thing?” He shook his head impatiently. “This is an argument that matters little. If proof you will have, then I will get proof for you, and after that no person will doubt Blessing’s claim.”
“Son.” How strange to hear Alia’s voice speaking that word. It made Sanglant seem a stranger standing among them, rather than a beloved kinsman. “It is true that I was hoping when first I crossed through the gateway into this country to make a child with a descendant of Taillefer. But it was not to be. That you have done so—” She had a fatalistic way of shrugging, as if to say that her gods had worked their will without consulting her. “So be it. I bow to the will of She-Who-Creates. Let proof be brought and given if humankind have no other way of discerning the truth. But proof will be mattering little if all of you are dead because of the great cataclysm that will fall upon you.”
Most of Henry’s retinue still seemed to be staring at Blessing, who had stirred in Heribert’s arms, yawning mightily and twisting her little mouth up as she made a sleepy face and subsided again.
But Henry was listening. “What cataclysm do you mean?” He regarded her intently.
“You are knowing an ancient prophecy made by a holy woman among your people, are you not? In it is she not speaking of a great calamity?”
Rosvita spoke, unbidden, as words came entire to her mind. “‘There will come to you a great calamity, a cataclysm such as you have never known before. The waters will boil and the heavens weep blood, the rivers will run uphill and the winds will become as a whirlpool. The mountains shall become the sea and the sea shall become the mountains, and the children shall cry out in terror for they will have no ground on which to stand. And they shall call that time the Great Sundering.”’
“Are you threatening my kingdom?” asked Henry gently.
“By no means,” retorted Alia with a rare flick of anger. “Your people exiled mine ages ago as you know time, and now my people are returning. But the spell woven by your sorcerers will rebound against you threefold. What a cataclysm befell Earth in the long ago days is nothing to what will strike you five years hence, when what was thrown far returns to its starting point.”
“Like the arrow Liath shot into the heavens,” said Sanglant in a soft voice. He seemed to be speaking to himself, mulling over a memory no one else shared. “Shot into the sky, but it fell back to earth. Any fool would have known it would do that.”
“What mean you by this tale?” demanded Henry. “What do you intend by standing before me now, Alia?”
Alia indicated her own face, its bronze complexion and alien lineaments. “Some among my people are still angry, because the memory of our exile lies heavily on us. After we have returned to Earth, they mean to fight humankind. But some among us seek peace. That is why I came.” She stepped forward to rest a hand on Sanglant’s elbow. “This child is my peace offering, Henri.”
Henry laughed. “How can I believe these wild prophecies? Any madwoman can rave in like manner, speaking of the end times. If such a story were true, then why do none of my studious clerics know of it? Sister Rosvita?”
His outflung hand had the force of a spear, pinning her under his regard. “I do not know, Your Majesty,” she said haltingly. “I have seen strange things and heard strange tales. I cannot be sure.”
Theophanu spoke up at last. “Do you mean to say, Sister Rosvita, that you believe this wild story of cataclysms? That you think the legendary Aoi were sent into a sorcerous exile?”
“I recall paintings on the wall at St. Ekatarina’s Convent. Do you not remember them, Your Highness?”
“I saw no wall paintings at St. Ekatarina’s save for the one in the chapel where we worshiped,” replied Theophanu with cool disdain. “It depicted the good saint herself, crowned in glory.”
“I believe the story,” said Sanglant, “and there are others who believe it as well. Biscop Tallia, the daughter of Emperor Taillefer, spent her life preparing for what she knew would come.”
“She was censored by the church at the Council of Narvone,” pointed out Theophanu.
“Don’t be stubborn, Theo,” retorted Sanglant. “When have I ever lied to you?” The barb caught her, but she recovered quickly, smoothing her face into a passionless mask as Sanglant went on. “Biscop Tallia instructed the woman who raised Taillefer’s granddaughter and trained her as a mathematici. Taillefer’s granddaughter gave birth to Liath. She already works to drive away the Lost Ones again, and to destroy them.”
Henry spread his hands wide. “How can it be that Taillefer’s granddaughter has not made herself known to the great princes of these realms? How can she live in such obscurity that we have never heard any least rumor of her existence?”
“She is a mathematici,” Sanglant observed. “The church condemned such sorcery at the Council of Narvone. Why should she reveal herself if it would only bring her condemnation?” He nodded at Theophanu.
“Where is this woman now?” continued Henry relentlessly. “Where is your wife, Sanglant?”
“Ai, God!” swore Sanglant. “To tell the whole—!”
“How can I believe such a story if I do not hear the whole?” asked Henry reasonably. “Wine!” He beckoned, and a steward brought twin chairs, one for Henry and one for Adelheid. “I will listen patiently for as long as it takes you to tell your tale, Son. That is all I can promise.”
