The river didn't have a name that Theophanna knew. It was one of dozens of tributaries that ran down from the mountain to feed the River Tae and fill Lake Fonde. Most likely the locals simply called it the river. To someone like Theophanna the idea that something didn't have a properly articulated name was troubling. She sucked at her teeth, relieved to find that the coppery taste of blood had abated. The speaking she had used had been a major one and could have been much worse. For all it lacked a name the river made a pleasant picture. The forest thinned as they entered the more arable lands and became interspersed with fields of dark tilled earth turned green with the first blush of spring growth. Compared to the view of the land from the top of the ridge, a subjective lifetime ago, it felt like sinking into a calm pond. Prosperous looking peasants looked up from their labors as they passed with interest but not alarm. Travellers were the norm near Yattar and many a peasant had probably made a handsome profit when he was asked to reshoe a horse or replace a broken axle.


A stone three piling bridge crossed the river at a bend where it narrowed to a chuckling rapid. An unshaven tollman shambled from a bark and twine lean too, clutching at an ancient and rusty polearm. His brutish face fell as he realized that the travelers were apparently nobles and thus immune to the toll he might otherwise have demanded. To his surprise and delight, Theophanna drew a silver penny from a velvet purse at her belt and pressed it into his hand. Basalian's as a people were much more used to dealing in coin than westerners and it always surprised Theophanna at the impact it could have. The tollman's eyes widened as his palm closed around the penny and then he bowed obsequiously. 


"Thank-yee marm," he all but gasped, bowing his head and touching his forelock.


"You are welcome goodman," Theophanna told the fellow and favored him with a dazzling smile.


"My man and I need to rest our steed, might you be able to find some oats for the noble beast?" she asked pleasantly, drawing another silver penny from her purse and passing it to the surprised man. Theophanna felt Torm open his mouth to object but she squeezed his leg out of sight of the tollman to keep him silent.


"Yes marm, I'll run to Les Sonet and be back before the Sext bell," he declared, tugging his forelock so furiously it must have hurt. She favored him with a smile and a nod that sent him scrambling off down a trail that ran along the riverbank. Torm and Theophanna dismounted and led Lykurg down the bank so that the beast could slake it's thirst in the cool water and crop at the lush grass which grew on the bank.


"I am Theophanna Countess d'Orbai," she introduced herself. Torm's eyes widened slightly. While they were technically vassals of the Duke of Vencal, the lords of the five counties had been pursuing their own policies more or less unchallenged for generations, rallying behind the Duke only when compelled to do so by the threat of invasion or under pressure from the Arch-Prelate of Il. Torm made as though to kneel but Theophanna shook her head and gripped him to prevent the action. Basilean courtiers did not kneel to each other, though all were expected to prostrate themselves before the Emperor. No courtier would be comfortable receiving that kind of obeisance, which was both embarrassing and likely to attract negative attention from the Emperor. She opened her mouth to explain this when the sound of pounding hooves sounded from the west.


"Under the bridge," Theophanna ordered and they took shelter beneath the curving moss covered masonry. The approaching horses grew louder and louder and then thundered overhead unchallenged. Theophanna found herself holding her breath, although there was no way anyone could hear it over the hammering of ironshod hooves on stone. The horses raced away toward the east heading for Yattar as fast as their riders could drive them. Theophanna let out a slow breath.


"Your attackers My Lady," Torm said, "No one else would be driving horses so hard."


"Yes," Theophanna agreed. At that rate they would be at Yattar within an hour or so, if they did not overtake her on the road, there would be no way for them to quickly verify that she had not already arrived.


"Who are they?" Torm pressed unexpectedly. Theophanna frowned not at the effrontery of the question but in genuine puzzlement. It seemed impossible that the men were simple bandits, or the kind of hedgeknights who were removed from banditry only by opportunity.


"I do not know," Theophanna replied honestly, "enemies of my husband, Brothers of Renewal?" Torm arched an eyebrow at that term. Theophanna again ran through her mental register of noble families. The name Draufkrieg was unfamiliar to her but no one, no matter how well educated, could retain the names of every member of the petty nobility. The Renewal was a growing religious movement which was reacting against the Anointed Emperor's historical role as arbiter of the Western Church. They believed that the Arch-Prelate was the ultimate spiritual authority and that the Empire had no business meddling in Church affairs. They had an antipathy for the Basalians and the Eastern Church as a result of their religious differences and the fact that large parts of Tarlia remained under the control of Basalian garrissons. The Renewal was hostile to any Baslian influence, and particularly to the practice of intermarraige at the levels of the high nobility which they viewed as some kind of conspiracy by the Basileus to infiltrate the west.


"They set upon my coach and slew my escort," Theophanna told him, then explained the attempted abduction, neglecting to mention the role her Speaking had played in the whole event.


"And so the only safety to be found is in reaching Yattar where no one will dare to touch me," she concluded.