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“That is a tale for another day. I took refuge at Lavas Holding with Lord Geoffrey, who stands as regent for the young count, his daughter. Sabella discovered where I was and sent a troop of soldiers to fetch me. I came with the escort rather than risk the lives of innocent children that Sabella was holding hostage. Reaching Autun, we discovered that Sabella had already marched east with an army. On our way here, we were overtaken by the Eika. All of my small company were taken prisoner. So I can tell you something of these Eika and their leader.” “What would you tell us?” asked Theophanu. Human women were not beautiful. The least of the SwiftDaughters was glorious compared to a body whose flesh was as soft and dull as half-baked dough. But this one had a certain cool presence to her that made her different than her sisters. She was not marked by the constant surge and ebb of emotion that marred their faces. One could look at her and feel restful.
Constance was seated to his left. She lifted a hand—any movement pained her for her body had been racked and ruined in recent years. Such was the weakness of human flesh. Yet a strong light burned within.
“Lord Stronghand spared our lives because we were clerics. He set me in the care of his council, among whom preside human as well as Eika. He spoke to me most respectfully, and over several nights we engaged in a long and fruitful conversation.”
“God Above!” said Mother Scholastica. “As well take instruction from a wolf! What can you have talked about?”
Alone of the younger generation, Constance was not one bit intimidated by the older woman, perhaps because her authority sprang from the same source.
“Why, we talked about God, Aunt. And stewardship of land and estate. We talked of trade and trading routes. We discussed the legend of the phoenix, and the tales concerning the spawning of the Eika in ancient days. We spoke of the Cursed Ones, and of the tempest last autumn that swept over the lands. And much more besides. I ask you, Mother Scholastica. Does Wendar suffer? Do folk in Varre starve and die? Since I was freed from Queen’s Grave, I have collected stories. I have heard testimony. It seems to me that plague and famine harass us. Villages are raided by outlaws, and by the Cursed Ones wearing the masked faces of beasts. Crops do not grow without the sun. The summer is cold. Certain sea-lanes have changed in the aftermath of the tempest. Creatures prowl abroad that once slept. God enjoins us to build and sow, to reap and to husband. We are meant to be stewards. Now is the time for good stewardship, else many more will die and the land will lie in ruins.”
Mother Scholastica had a sharp gaze, which she used now, looking first at Constance and then, with a frown and a crinkling of her brow, at Stronghand. “I consider you beyond corruption, Constance, but perhaps I am mistaken. Has being a prisoner all these years addled your keen mind?”
Constance did not bridle, although the words were meant to offend. Stronghand had come to respect her in the last few days. Although in constant pain, she possessed a mind of greatest clarity.
“Ask yourself this, Aunt. How comes this Eika army to this place, at this time? How did the battle cease, when it was so well begun?”
“The battle ended when those foul creatures—these galla raised by Antonia of Mainni who calls herself skopos—when these creatures of the Enemy swept down and devoured so many. The battle ended when Sanglant was killed. That was shock enough!”
Constance shook her head. With jaw set against pain and a deep crease above her eyes as she braced herself, she made to stand. Stronghand moved to aid her, but her servants were already there on either side, four of them who had traveled this far: two men and two women. The action—for she went white at the effort—brought a horrified hush onto the assembly.
“There is one who walks among us.” Her voice rang out into the corners of the hall, even into the rafters. “The emissary of the phoenix, who dies and lives again in the blaze of God’s glory. These signs I have seen: Miracles have blossomed in the land. The Rose of Healing flowers. I was mistaken for a brief time, blinded by appearances, and I thought I recognized the holy vessel. But now I comprehend that it is not my part to speak of that which has not yet revealed its presence.” The younger of her female attendants—the rabbit-faced girl—had begun to weep silently, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor.
“You speak of heresy, with this talk of the phoenix,” said Mother Scholastica, but she looked puzzled rather than angry.
Constance shook her head. “I speak truth. That disputation must take place in a different council. A force has entered this assembly and brought a temporary peace upon us. It is up to us to make good—or ill—use of this chance. I would support this marriage if reasonable terms can be agreed upon. Lord Stronghand has shown himself to be an honorable—man—who holds to his agreements. That is all I have to say. Now, I pray you, let me sit.”
Theophanu stepped into the breach. She nodded at each of her kinfolk, all those who sat upon the dais, and at various faces staring up at her from the audience, noting them, examining their expressions. Constance’s speech had changed the tenor of the assembly. Folk were now willing to consider this change of direction into unknown country.
“Let me address Conrad’s objection first. He has brought war into Wendar, and besides countenanced Sabella’s assault upon his cousin and my aunt, Biscop Constance. Yet his claim is a strong one. My brother Sanglant would have been first to call Conrad an honorable man.” She looked at him, but Conrad was wary, like a dog, not at all cowed by her but unsure whether she meant to toss a bone or a rock in his direction.
“Think you,” she asked him, “that Eika and humankind can breed? I do not. Therefore, it is unlikely that any child shall be born of our union. We are stewards, meant to shepherd these lands through the storms to come. So let us, as part of the terms, name our heirs now and see them anointed and crowned. Let there be no question about the succession.”
Conrad shrugged. “I’m not greedy for my own sake,” he said with an expansive gesture, opening his arms. “But I must look after the rightful claims of my children. On the field of battle I made Sanglant an offer, and I’m willing to stand by it, if you were to name one of my children by Tallia as your heir.”
She looked at Stronghand.
He nodded fractionally. “I am still listening. I have agreed to nothing yet. I, too, must ask this same question. What of my children? I control a great deal of land. It is a tricky business holding together an empire.”
She did not smile or simper or frown or knot her brow in anxious thought. She had a knack for cutting straight to the bone without preamble or pointless philosophizing and agonizing. “Have you a proposal, to deal with this matter?”
Oh, she was ruthless and single-minded. A rose among thorns, as the church mothers said.
He knew what he had to do. “In truth, I do have a proposal. That this man, called Alain, who stands quietly among us, act as mediator between our parties. I will accept any terms and treaty and alliance that he approves.”
Constance nodded. The rabbit-faced girl sobbed out loud, then sucked in her breath noisily as she fought to choke down her crying while one of her companions comforted her.
Stronghand had keen hearing, as did all his kind. He heard the faint sigh made by Alain; it was the kind of grunt made by a person who has just realized that, in fact, he will have to haul those damned logs all the way back up the hill and that there is no use complaining because the master is harsh.
But, after all, he had begun to suspect that the WiseMothers had worked a deeper game than even he had ever truly understood. They had ploughed in their slow fashion, where years are as days and the life of their male children and SwiftDaughters flashes past in the blink of one heavy eye. Their spirits had walked in the heavens on the wings of the aether. A mortal could never know how far their vision extended.
The Eika were the children of the cataclysm, born in ancient days, and they, too, had been altered irrevocably by the tempest. The OldMothers would spawn a new generation, which would spawn a generation in its time, in the manner of all life. But the OldMothers would not march up to the fjall to commune with their mothers and grandmothers as they had all these centuries. That thread of immortality had been severed in the tempest last autumn. They, too, would breed and die in the way of mortal kind.
But the Eika were few, and humankind were many. He had no illusions about his empire. The lines of communication and supply would fray, and in the passing of the years the simple toll of numbers would overtake them. The ebb tide had left them tossing on exposed rocks like flopping fish at the mercy of rapacious gulls. There must be a way to save themselves before the feasting gulls swooped down.
One bond remained. Years ago, he and the youth called Alain Henrisson had become brothers, of a kind.
So must it be: brothers, of a kind. The road might seem dark now, but that was only because it remained in the shadow of what is not known. No mortal soul can see into the future. Maybe that is a blessing, although any commander would like such a weapon at his disposal.
