Chapter 1
In the hinterland of the Low Country where the rolling hills join Lesser Germania there dwelt a family respected by the many, the Vallières, tracing their line back to Aevar in the district of Douai. At times here and there a Vallière had risen to the loftiest offices in the service of the Dynasty but by and large they were content to attend to their own affairs; save when the trumpets sounded for war. On such a note they leapt up to win the Dynasty victory at the point of their wandswords, and so won rich rewards. The head of the family tended to reside at the native nest Vallière, which bore their name, but one could come across others of their number along the Amblève as it wound toward the sea. Never a numerous family its branches nevertheless drifted apart and the members fell out of touch; they were gathered together under the same sky only when there was a census of the general Levee, in the regiments of the Royal cavalry, and at the Estates General.
It was the reign of Francis II and the patriarch of all the Vallières then was Aubert Henri de la Vallière, the Swordbearer of Douai. Dwelling in the ancestral nest he also owned Deuteville, Jeadeuc, and St. Wavre, all of which was surrounded as if with a sea by the petty nobility. Then, as now, the low country was thick with noble blood and the whole riverland of Douai was clustered with the estates of the lesser mage families. Many remain today, but not in the places the dead knew and the living call them by names their ancestors have no memory of. Wars scourged the flesh, famine gnawed the bones, villages were not always rebuilt on ruins – in a word, much has changed.
All the nobles of Douai served in the Levee under the Swordbearer: the richer with two horses and armed retainers, the poorer with one of both, and the youngest as attendants. In those days mages were still as warlike as they were when the Founder had burst forth like a storm from the Holy Land and of them the nobility of Douai were particularly enamored of a knightly career. In the questions of public affairs they were rather less versed: all they knew was that Francis II was a Caliph of the Dynasty; that in the Low Country the Cardinal was the Dynasty's chamberlain, that Hallecourt was voivode of Yvelines, and that Aubert was at Vallière in Douai. For them it was enough: they followed Aubert, for surely the old Swordbearer was of the same mind as Hallecourt, and the latter was one and the same as the Cardinal. The Cardinal was the Dynasty's arm in the Low Country, the Caliph was the divinely appointed consort of the Republic, protector of the armies of the faithful.
In this way the Vallières were allies of the great magnates rather than clients: at their beck and call were a thousand voices and a thousand Douai wandswords – and wandswords in the hands of those warlike mages were taken lightly by no one alive. It was only later that things changed, but the old Swordbearer did not live to see the evil turn of the Dynasty's fortunes.
Cruel mischance fell on the Vallières that year. War was flaming up everywhere in Halkengenia: Gallia had plunged into its century long Wars of Religion, the Kushan suddenly swarmed forth in their endless tagmas over the Kuyaivan – the Eastern borderland of the Dynasty was imperiled. Armed retainers returned with the corpse Swordbearer's son, fallen defending the Faith, to be buried in his home country. Old age, which had taken his sight and his hearing, did not permit Aubert to bury his grief with the sword in the Dynasty's own struggle. In his place a nephew bravely took up the Colonelcy and led the Douai regiment to battle. Not a month after the Douai men had left an inexplicable ague, born on pestilential winds, swept through the land. It burned up thousands in their beds, among them Swordbearer's youngest daughter. When tidings came Marechal Revuel had checked the Kushan advance at Karacahisar only by mutual slaughter, that the Douai regiment had been cut to pieces refusing the enemy's pursuit of right wing's pell-mell flight and that the young Vallière had died of his wounds, it seemed an entire generation of Vallières had been blotted out in a single blow. It proved too much for the father and benefactor of the nobles of Douai.
Aubert, seized by apoplexy, surrendered his spirit.
The bloodied survivors, too mauled to constitute proper squadrons, were allowed to return home. In common with the quota of the Low Country they felt that the Revuel, enchanted by the spell of small victories and confident in haste, had cast his strength too soon against a power he had not truly measured; only nightfall had saved the whole army entrusted to him from being overwhelmed. They returned to find that death had marched before them.
For those who remained and those who had returned the only solace was in the glory of their exploits; how the Regiment was always amongst the van, how at Karacahisar as the rightmost regiments came apart and the Marechal had no other squadrons to hand they with no aid but the Unicorn Guards and a few brave musketeers burst the mass of enemy lancers as if they were smoke, cut them down, overthrew them, how by dashing upon the enemy as the other retired they stymied the enemy until the moon and stars began to glitter - how they wheeled about and left the field in good order, gruesomely reduced but undefeated, bearing away the mortally wounded Vallière. All of Douai listened with stubborn pride to these stories and hoped that the Dynasty would soon raise the general Levee.
Through the mourning and sorrow, the dazed nobility was occupied to the last with the funeral of their former chief, Aubert Henri de la Vallière. It was known too that he had left a will, which was opened. In it the old Swordbearer had entrusted the nobility of Douai with execution – "who, having only affection for me and returned kindness for kindness, to treat my daughter, now orphaned by this fatal season of mischance, in the same way. Let them guard her from ill. They are to ensure that she has safe use of the properties and encounter no obstacle in taking possession of them.
However, if by the special favor of the Gods, my daughter should have a will to take on the habit of a nun, let nothing hinder her in this either. The mysteries of the Gods precede the small business of man. Let the estates then return to the Dynasty. "
None of the nobles wondered much at how the old swordbearer had disposed of his property, it was easily guessed at, and talk of it in the manse at Vallière soon ceased. Their thoughts turned, however, to Clotilde.
The elder Vallière sister had not been seen for many years. After completing her education she had left without further word for far Germania, to Lechia it was believed, now swallowed up by the war. After the bloodshed at Karacahisar the main body of the Kushan withdrew a short distance but no one was left to offer real resistance to the smaller columns rushing forth like a flood, breaking here and there only against fortified walls. The shadow of their wings was seen as far as Bresiach. Despairing of victory, the Hetmans of Germania and their armies gave over the far country to the enemy, falling back to the heartland. Lechia, like many of the Eastern Voivodeships, was seen as lost. It was not accepted that she too had fallen for the death of a cavalier of high station could not have escaped notice, but in the confusion people were scattered like leaves in a tempest and nothing was certain.
However that storm had not reached beyond Greater Germania. Douai returned from its senses, as if waking from a dream. The old men and women of Douai deliberated at length in private council. All were humbled by the confidence the late Aubert had placed on them and there was no question of treating his daughter with the same respect. The Vallière estates were tended as carefully as if they were their own. It was decided to send experienced men to find the lost Vallière.
In the meantime the awaited summons came. Douai mobilized. The Levee had been called up: those who could still wield a wandsword or a stave were to mount their horses. The Caliph awaited at Vernuil, hence they mustered. God-fearing Douai appeared in full number.
In time the danger passed. The enemy did not enjoy their victory for long but was thrown back over the Kuyaivan, beaten back as if with whips, defeated everywhere. Captured banners and shorn dragon horns were piled before the Caliph. His armies would go on to carry the war into Kushan, but for the men of Douai their part was over: the Levee was dissolved. Their triumphant return to the riverland, which had expected them with a quiet impatience, was met with raucous celebration. Yet what impressed everyone more than the war trophies and battle honors was the one whose horse they led in honor: Clotilde, and in her arms an infant swaddled in strips of silk.
She shut herself up the old estate for a time, seeing no one but the retainers of her House and the elders of Douai, who made sure she was not disturbed by the curiosity of the nobility. This was fed on the tales, let slip by the veterans of the recent campaign, which grew in the telling. She emerged to attend the Mass, and around her a throng of the nobility fell in place almost as if at parade. To their curious questions she said only, "Her name is Jehanne-Louise," and that was enough.
