Elvida sank back to the stony ground. Her rubbery legs would no longer hold her. :Please tell me last night was also illusion.:
:I wish I could, Beloved. I wish I could.:
As so many times before, Elvida marveled at the wonder that was Raynor. Even through the emotional agony of the battle, even through his own physical pain, he had kept the secret of her power, knowing they all might take it to their graves. To do otherwise would have prevented the great miracle of the ghostly Herald army. :Thank you,: she sent, along with the awe of the universe.
:For what?:
Elvida did not bother to answer. She slid from the mouth of the cave and headed toward the camp. She still had friends to rescue. And no force in the world: no magic, no army, no doubt was going to stop her.
DARKWALL’S LADY
by Judith Tarr
Judith Tarr is the author of a number of historical and fantasy novels and stories. Her most recent novels include
Pride of Kings
and
Tides of Darkness,
as well as the “Epona Sequence”:
Lady of Horses, White Mare’s Daughter,
and
Daughter of Lir
. She was a World Fantasy Award nominee for
Lord of the Two Lands
. She lives near Tucson, Arizona, where she breeds and trains Lipizzan horses.
LONG ago, after the magic went out of Valdemar but long before it came back again, the Lord of Forgotten Keep had a daughter. He was old and his Lady had thought herself past childbearing; his son was a man full grown and his elder daughter had children of her own. They were already eyeing their inheritance and reckoning the days until it came to them.
And yet in the twilight of their years, the Lady Beatrice found herself waking ill in the mornings. The Healer confirmed her wild surmise: she was, indeed, with child. In spite of her age and the Healer’s concern, the pregnancy proceeded as it should, and all was well.
Word of the Lady’s miracle spread through the region. One day, three months before the child was due to be born, a guest came to the Keep.
The Lady of Darkwall Keep had last visited Forgotten Keep when Lord Bertrand’s daughter was married, five years before. She was not a great traveler and visitor of her neighbors; she lived alone in her isolated Keep, high over a dark river that ran through a deep and fertile valley, and ruled a domain of farmers and river traders.
Her hosts were somewhat surprised by the visit, but they were hospitable people and she was a not-too-distant neighbor. They received her with courtesy. She responded in kind, with manners that could not be faulted.
The Lord was charmed. The Lady was not, but her moods had been strange of late. Even she was reluctant to trust them.
Darkwall’s Lady was an easy enough guest. She professed herself content to rest in her rooms until midmorning, take a turn around the Lady’s garden until noon, then join the Lady and her women in their bower until the day’s meal was served. Her conversation was light and pleasant, like the face she presented to her hosts.
On the third day, at last, she came to the point of her visit. She did so in the afternoon while the rest of the ladies plied their needlework and listened to their Lady’s page, who had a sweet voice and a singer’s gift. Her long white hands were folded and her expression was serene. She leaned toward Lady Beatrice and said, “I have a favor to ask—and favors to offer in return.”
Lady Beatrice was tired and uncomfortable and her temper was not at its best. Still, she managed to raise her brows and say reasonably, “Perhaps you should speak to my Lord.”
Her guest smiled with a touch of indulgence. “Oh, I shall, of course. But you and I know, Lady, that though a Lord claims to rule, his Lady holds the reins.”
“In your Keep, that may be true,” Lady Beatrice said coolly. Still, she was curious. “What favor can Forgotten Keep do for Darkwall?”
Darkwall’s Lady bent her head. Her smile had warmed considerably. It was almost enough to allay Lady Beatrice’s misgivings. “You know of course that I have no Lord, and therefore no heir. I have to come ask if you would consider an exchange: gifts and favors in return for your child.”
Lady Beatrice’s hand rose protectively over the swell of her belly. Her face hardened. “My child is not for sale.”
“Oh, no,” Darkwall’s Lady said quickly. “We’re no merchants, to buy and sell our own children. But we are highborn, and our best currency is the inheritance we leave our heirs. Your son will inherit the Keep. Your daughter is Lady of Mourne Fell. What is left for this gift of the gods? A boy may make his fortune as he can. A girl may be traded in marriage. Is either prospect more tempting than the lordship of Darkwall when I am gone?”
It was indeed very tempting. But Lady Beatrice was not a gullible woman, nor was she particularly softhearted. “That’s all very well for the child. What do you offer us in return?”
“A percentage of the river trade,” the Lady answered without hesitation, “to begin as this agreement is concluded and to continue unless or until your child chooses to end it. A promise of military aid for the same term, when and as needed. And, as earnest for the rest, a chest of gold in the amount proper for a Lady’s dowry—for it will be a Lady, my heart tells me, though I would hardly look amiss at a Lord.”
Lady Beatrice knew as mothers might, cherishing the knowledge that she carried a daughter. She eyed the Lady warily. “It’s a most tempting offer,” she said, “but my Lord must decide whether to accept or refuse.”
“Of course,” said the Lady with all apparent willingness. Then she smiled and beckoned to the page and asked for a new song—a joyful one, she said, in honor of the hour.
The Lord’s misgivings were no less than his wife’s, but he was neither as wealthy nor as well defended as he would have liked to be. It was also in his mind that if this last and unexpected child was a daughter, she would serve her family exceedingly well as Lady of Darkwall. And if it was a son, well then, all the better that he should have a Keep of his own and blood ties to Forgotten Keep.
And so they made the bargain. Darkwall’s Lady would have claimed the child when she was born, but Lady Beatrice would not hear of it. “We will raise our own daughter,” she said, “and teach her everything that you would wish her to know. Send tutors if you wish, but she will be fostered here. When she reaches the age of womanhood, then she may go.”
Lord Bertrand opened his mouth to upbraid her, but Darkwall’s Lady astonished him by inclining her head. “As you wish,” she said. “I shall send a nurse for her, and tutors when she reaches a suitable age.”
Lady Beatrice could hardly find fault with that. She bent her head in return.
The alliance was made and the agreement concluded, and it was settled. The Lord’s youngest child, with three months yet to go until she saw the world, was assured of a lordship and a future.
Lady Beatrice kept her misgivings to herself. She only spoke of them once, six years later, as she was dying. She summoned her daughter to her bedside and said, “Don’t ask what this means. Only remember it, word for word. Walk warily. Trust no one. Always keep your counsel, and remember everything that you see. We sold you for gold and soldiers, and we will keep that bargain—but you can make a new one of your own. Remember.” That last word came out as a sigh. “Never forget.”
“I’ll remember,” the child said.