The hounds sit on either side of the old woman. It is they who see him enter. They thump their tails lightly and gaze lovingly at him but do not move. His grip tightens on the staff Kel carved for him so long ago that those days are lost to memory, just as these days will be, in time. Only the daimones of the upper air can see in all directions: north and south, above and below, past and future.
Yet memory prods us. Much of what we are and what we choose and how we act and react come about because of what we remember. Not so long ago he himself knelt beside the bier set in Lavas church; he touched Lavastine’s cold right hand and heard the breath of stone.
What seems dead may only be in stasis.
He walked forward. Many had joined the vigil, out of love or respect for the man. Sister Rosvita had brought her schola. A pair of Eagles waited to one side—no, after all, it was only the Eagle called Hanna, with a redheaded companion, a man he had seen before but whose name he did not know. Father Ortulfus prayed by the Hearth together with Prior Ratbold and all the monks and lay brothers. Captain Fulk stood guard over Princess Blessing, who had, it seemed, come back after resting in the guesthouse. The child’s eyes were open, and she watched Alain pass. Captain Thiadbold, Sergeant Ingo, and a trio of other Lions moved up behind him, following him in from outside.
Honest witnesses all.
Mother Obligatia turned as he came up behind her. She was frail, tiny, ancient, but nevertheless a woman of immense spiritual power and inner strength. She smiled in the manner of one who has experienced every means and method of betrayal, yet can still find it in her heart to trust humankind, at least one or two of them. Her trust was hard won, but once won, given without reservation.
“Who are you?” she asked him.
The hounds waggled over to greet him. He noticed for the first time how Rage’s belly had begun to round. The truth, it seems, is fertile ground. He scratched her under the ear just how she liked it best. Sorrow pressed his big head against Alain’s leg.
“Lady,” he said, acknowledging her. “Lavrentia, count of Lavas. Great granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer.”
“How can it be?” she asked him. “Although you are not the first to say so.” She nodded toward Sister Rosvita.
“There are some links in the chain that I still do not quite understand,” said Sister Rosvita. Each member of her schola, clustered around her, clutched a book like a talisman, these keepers of memory. “That the counts of Lavas claim a grandson of Taillefer as their ancestor I can prove through these chronicles. It is the shadow that lies over the succession of the elder Charles that defeats me.”
“I know only what I have seen in a vision. Yet this same vision has been woven into a tapestry that hangs in Lavas hall.”
As Alain began speaking, Father Ortulfus broke off his prayer and, with the prior, strode to the bier in order to listen.
“Imagine, if you will, a boy born as the only child of a powerful count. He is raised with every expectation of becoming heir. Then his mother—after eighteen years of barrenness—becomes pregnant late in life. She dies in childbed. She will never know the truth: that she gave birth not to a second son, but to twins, girl and boy. In Varre, according to the old custom, girls take precedence over boys because only through the body of the woman is it sure that the line continues.”
Rage whined. Sorrow gave a faint growl that sounded almost like a groan.
“So comes Sister Clothilde, companion and ally to Biscop Tallia, to Lavas Holding. They are in need of a fitting bride for the last heir of the long-dead Taillefer, to set in train a defense against the coming cataclysm they alone perceive. It must not be any girl but one of highest birth. Like this one, descended herself from Taillefer.”
“They would be too closely related,” protested Sister Rosvita. “The church would never approve.”
“None of this was accomplished under the auspices of the church. To the elder Charles—now desperate—they give the hounds as surety for the exchange. He gives them the infant girl. His mother is dead. The midwife’s fate I do not know. It is as if the girl never existed, was never born. He becomes count, marries, sires an heir. His younger brother gives birth to children of his own, all unknowing.”
“You are saying,” said Mother Obligatia, “that I was that infant girl.”
The hounds squirmed over to her and licked her hands. They could have knocked her over with a single butt of one of those huge heads, but their touch was as gentle as that of mice.
“And that my granddaughter is therefore my heir. That Liath is heir to the county of Lavas.”
