The Soprano Sorceress
THE
SOPRANO SORCERESS
L. E. Modesitt, ]r.
For and to my soprano sorceress,
who made this possible.
Any mistakes are mine,
the music hers.
I
LIEDTRAUM
* * * * * * *
1
West of the Sand Pass, Defalk
A dozen musicians sit on stools under the oblong white silk awning held
in place by four sturdy poles, each pole anchored by heavy cords to a
pair of stakes. The silk flutters slightly in the almost still air that
carries the scent of dust and horses.
The brown-and-red mountains that loom in the east above the pass entrance
waver in the summer heat, and sweat drips down the faces of the
musicians. All wear faded blue cotton tunics and trousers, with boots of
a matching blue leather. Occasionally, one blots a forehead or cheek, but
not one of the musicians speaks. Dark sweat stains mark the tunics of the
heavier men. The three horn players exchange glances, not quite those of
worry, then look toward the two men standing in the midday sun beyond the
silk awning.
The bigger man, wearing leathers and a hand-and-a-half blade in a
scabbard worn across his shoulders, puts a hand on the saddle of his
warhorse. A good fifty paces to the east wait a squad of mounted troopers
wearing the purple of Defalk. Their black sabres are sheathed in
scabbards at their waists. Half carry black horn bows and quivers, and
half bear long spear-lances with identical, leaf-shaped steel blades.
"You're sure these walls will stand against even the Dark Monks?" drawls
the bulky, broad-faced man. His hooded eyes give his face a
sleepy-looking cast.
"What I raise will be standing when you and I are long gone, Lord
Barjim," affirms the resonant baritone voice of the slender and balding
man in blue silks.
"That'll be a long time, Brill," laughs the Lord of Defalk. "You look the
same as when I was Jimbob's age."
"They'll stand that long or longer."
"Aye, and they should for all the silver I'm paying."
"It's far less than bringing in masons from Nordwei."
"Not that much. Not in these times." Barjim pauses, as if waiting for a
response, then finally continues. ' 'Too bad you couldn't bring us rain.
Need that worse than the fort, except we need both, with the dark ones on
the move." He looks down at the shorter lord. "I still don't see why you
can't bring rain. It's not as though you've avoided dark-song. We both
know that."
"That's too dark, and I've explained why before," Brill answers patiently.
"You have an answer for everything," points out Barjim. "That's why
you're a sorcerer."
"No," responds Brill. "That's why I've survived as a sorcerer."
"Cold iron is more sure."
"That is true, lord," says Brill, his tone light, not quite mocking.
"Unless you consider the Dark Monks."
"Someday." Barjim shakes his head. "I'll leave you to your task, master
sorcerer. I'll be back to inspect your work later, and, of course, pay
you."
"Of course, lord." Brill bows deeply.
Lord Barjim snorts and turns, swinging up onto his mount. As .he rides
toward his troopers, they straighten in their identical purpled leather
saddles.
Once the troopers pass the outcropping of dark stone on the south side of
the valley, they turn due west, back toward Mencha, away from the Sand
Pass that leads to Ebra. When the sound of hoofs on the paved highway
echoes back uphill, Lord Brill lets a smile cross his lips. He glances
toward the representative piles of stone and brick, the dry powdered
mortar, and the tubs of water, then steps under the silk sunshade and
wipes his forehead. After he takes a long sip from the goblet on the
portable table, his brown-flecked green eyes drop to the two-part drawing
of the walled fortification fastened with leather thongs to the drafting
board. The right-hand side of the drawing illustrates the foundation
outline, the left-hand side a frontal view as if seen from a tall oak,
though Brill stands in the middle of a depression between the hills,
empty except for the sorcerer and his players, and the heaps of stone on
the south side. Beside the drawing are the spells, with the proper
accents marked. The softness in Brill's eyes vanishes as he faces the
musicians.
"The ground-sorting tune," he orders. "Run through it once." He lifts his
right hand and began the count, marking the time deftly. "One, two…" With
his nod, the musicians begin the sonorous tones, the brass horns low and
urgent, the woodwinds pantherlike, the strings whispering like shifting
sands.
"No! Jaegal, you must emphasize the downbeats more, especially the
first." Brill's hands stop the players, and his eyes flash.
Not one of the musicians looks up, although one of the horn players
scowls, his face averted from Brill. In the last part of the string
section, a black-haired youth takes a clean gray cloth and blots his
forehead quickly before replacing the cloth and repositioning his bow.
"Again!" Brill demands.
As the musicians play, the ground beyond the bricks and mortar and water
appears to shiver.
The sorcerer nods. "Good. Take a moment. Some water. Wipe your
foreheads." Without looking at the seven men and three women, he turns
the drafting board so that he can direct the musicians, see the drawing
and the spell, and the ground where the fort is to rise.
Brill waits. The silk awning above ripples in the hint of a breeze, and
the only sounds are soft and muted as the musicians drink and blot
foreheads, necks, and fingers.
"Places," the sorcerer finally announces.
The ten players reseat themselves on their stools and take up their
instruments. The last to lift an instrument is the black-haired young man
in the back with the viola.
"Now… one… two…"
Brill's resonant baritone wraps around the notes the musicians play.
"… cleave the ground, even, straight, and true,
More cleanly than the diggers do.
Scour the stones both smooth and flat…"
The sorcerer sings; the musicians play; and a silver haze settles onto
the hilltop where the soil shifts, and the ground parts. The air stills
completely, and the awning hangs limply in the heat, and even the scents
of parched grass, dust, and horses seem to vanish.
At the end of the songspell, Brill's hand slashes for silence, and the
songhaze vanishes. The silk awning flutters.
"You have a few moments," the sorcerer says. He takes the spotless white
cloth from his pocket and wipes, then blots, his steaming forehead,
before lifting his iron-tipped staff and walking out into the full sun
and toward the sets of trenches that had appeared on the hilltop after
the song-haze lifted.
The sorcerer walks the trenches, and the staff taps the lines of exposed
stone, stone remelted into the foundation pattern.
Under the awning, the players stretch and stand, except for the woodwind
player whose braided white-and-red hair betray her age far more than her
creamy skin. Her cold eyes follow the sorcerer until he begins his
return, when she looks down and takes a quick sip from her water bottle,
then moistens her lips and her reed.
"The foundation is solid." Brill blots his forehead a last time before
folding the cloth and slipping it back into his pocket. "Places."
With a soft shuffling the musicians square themselves on their stools and
lift their instruments in response to the sorcerer's hands. Their notes
follow his tempo, and his voice.
"… replicate the bricks and stones.
Place them in their proper zones…
 "Set the blocks, and set them square
set them to their pattern there…"
The hilltop shimmers, as do the bricks and stones, and the heaps of
mortar, and the tubs of water tremble. Dull crackings whisper through the
haze from the south side of the valley.
When the silver haze lifts, Brill turns toward the structure that looms
there—newly built. Stone-based brick walls rise the height of four tall
men and stretch across the floor of the valley, almost joining the two
hills. The dark stone outcropping to the southwest of the fort has almost
vanished, two-thirds of its bulk sliced away.
"Behold Lord Barjim's new stronghold against the Dark Monks of Ebra."
Lord Brill frowns, then whirls toward the players.-"Someone was humming."
Brill's eyes scan the musicians. "Someone was humming. And look! Look at
that gate wall!" His hand jabs westward.
The left-hand side of the arched gate is crooked, out of true.
The sorcerer reaches for his goblet and drains it, setting it on the
small table with a thud. "Gero!"
A thin youth runs from the wagon and the tethered horses to the west.
"Yes, Lord Brill."
"More water." Brill grasps the staff and carries it as he walks across
the trampled sun-parched grasses and onto the paved road that resumes a
dozen yards from the magically built fort's gate, beyond the bricked and
dry moat. He keeps tapping the iron-tipped staff as he continues through
the open brick archway, across the brick-paved courtyard to the low
brick-walled building that stands roofless in the afternoon sun. The
staff raps against walls, against stone and paving stone, against mortar
and brick for a long time before he slowly walks back under the white
silk awning that scarcely flutters in the still air.
"The gate, thank the powers of song, is the only flaw." His now
dark-circled eyes sweep the musicians. "I should starve you all." His
eyes lighten. "Refresh yourselves, and then, then we will "use the
symmetry spell to repair the gate."
Brill limps, ever so slightly, to the drafting board, where he studies
the spell, and begins to murmur to himself. After a time, he takes a
markstick from the wallet on his belt and begins to write out a revised
similarity spell below the others.
Under the back section of the awning, the black-haired young man glances
nervously toward the white-haired viol-ino player in the front row, but
the older man sips from his water bottle without acknowledging the
scrutiny.
With a last slash across the yellow paper on the drafting board, the
sorcerer turns and straightens. "Places." Brill takes a deep breath.
"Similarity one, please. No humming. Fast tempo." His hands begin marking
the time, and his sharp nod cues the musicians as the music rises.
"… set true and straight
both sides of the gate…"
This time, the spell is short, and the songhaze lingers only over the
gate for what seems to be instants.
The sorcerer slashes the music to a halt, staggers, before taking another
deep breath, then a gulp of water from the goblet on the small table.
Only then does he turn and walk back toward the gate. A dozen paces are
sufficient to confirm his handiwork. The gate is straight, with no sign
of deformity.
With a quick nod to himself, he studies the gate for a time. His steps
are stronger as he heads back through the hot, still afternoon to the
shade of the awning.
The musicians wait, silently.
"Culain—you hummed again!"
"No, ser. No!" protests the white-haired man who clutches the violino. "I
did not."
"I will not have lying, and I will not have carelessness jeopardize me or
those around you! Once is an accident. Twice is arrogant disregard."
Brill's eyes turn hard as jade as his mouth opens in song, as Culain
backs away, out from under the lightly fluttering silk awning and into
pitiless afternoon sun.
"Once a man is not always a man,
lower than dust, softer than…"
As the songhaze rolls across Culain, shrouding him, tears well up in the
eyes of the black-haired young man. The woodwind player's eyes remain
cold, and dry.
2
Anna looked into the mirror, trying to ignore the fine lines running from
her eyes. "You look like a raccoon."
She used the tissue to blot her eyes. If only… if only… With a deep
breath, she tried to push the offending viola out of her mind. She had
given the final examination for her last course, Introduction to Music,
and the sheets were even graded. The Scantron helped a lot, even if she
hated multiple-guess tests, but there was no way she was about to grade
eighty essay tests for an intro course.
The viola… Don't think about the viola, she told herself. But it was
Irenia's viola—an instrument tied irrevocably to her daughter. She took a
deep breath and blotted her eyes again.
Why had she accepted the dean's invitation to sing at the Founders'
Dinner for major donors? Because it was extra money—only fifty dollars,
but the ATM had said her balance was down to two hundred, and it was
almost two weeks until the first.
Her eyes flicked to the viola. Funerals… who would have thought a simple
funeral would have been so expensive? Outside of the small policy paid
for years ago by her father, there hadn't been any insurance, and that
just hadn't been enough. Avery—the self-styled perfect husband and
tenor—had always paid for things like insurance, and while she'd taken
out insurance on herself for the children, she hadn't thought about
insurance on them, even if she'd been able to afford it.
A quick glance at the clock told her that she had less than a half hour
to pull herself together. She blew her nose, then looked at the empty
glass on the dresser. No… one drink was all she could take.
First… makeup to repair the ravages of grief—and age. The two seemed to
go together. The crooked and cheap Queen Anne stool that Sandy had
repaired with metal straps before they'd broken off the relationship
cracked, as it always did, when she sat down. Everything Sandy did had
been a little rough, but he'd been there when Avery hadn't… for a while.
Was the cracking of the straps louder? Did that mean she was heavier?
Makeup—concentrate on one thing at a time. When she finished, Anna
studied her face. She used a touch more mascara, then stood. What would
she wear? As she rummaged in the closet, she began the vocalises. Once it
had taken only a few minutes to warm up, but these days it took longer, a
lot longer.
"Holly-lolly-polly-pop…"
Good, her throat was clear, her cords resilient.
The green formal gown was clean, and she hadn't worn it where the
president had seen it. After hanging it from the top of the folding
closet door, she rummaged through the plastic bags she'd never unpacked
or put in the drawers until she found the new longline bra—she hated any
kind of bra, but she couldn't wear the gown without it. Then came the
slip—tight, almost too tight. She sucked in her stomach as she zipped it,
then twisted it around, checking in the full-length mirror. Of course, it
wasn't straight, and when she tried to straighten it, the bra twisted.
Finally, with both bra and formal slip in place, she took a deep breath.
"Holly-lolly-polly-pop…" She could breathe, and it wasn't as though she'd
be doing Mimi or Butterfly. It was just five songs for the university's
big donors—the Founders' Dinner.
She took down the gown and slipped it out of the plastic, before
beginning the struggle. These days, everything was a struggle, especially
zipping a formal gown without help. Her eyes strayed toward the picture
on the Queen Anne dresser—the four of them, one of the few with just the
children and her. Most of the old family pictures had Avery in them. He'd
been insisting that he was Antonio or Tony thirty years, but Anna had
known him when he'd been Avery Marshall—long before he'd become Antonio
Marsali. The great Antonio Marsali, king of the comprimarios, who'd never
paid a cent toward any of the children's education—except for Irenia.
They all looked so young—Irenia, Mario, and Elizabetta, even Anna
herself—standing in front of the lilacs at the lake house. Now, it was
Avery's vacation home. How could she have been so stupid?
Shoes—the green ones were in the corner, she thought, and they were. Her
eyes went back to the picture, to the blond-haired young man. Mario
always joked that he was "northern Italian" or a "WASP Italian," probably
just to irritate his father. Marsali had been Avery's great-grandmother's
maiden name, and she was the only Italian in the family, but Avery—the
great Antonio—had insisted that an Italian name was a must for an opera
singer, especially a high baritone. Then he'd become a tenor.
After Mario had left to go back to Houston, the condo had seemed so
empty, but he called, like a dutiful son, every few days."'Anna blew her
nose and looked away from the picture. Think about singing. Think about
singing.
Jewelry? Something ornate enough not to get lost, but simple. The silver
necklace didn't look right.
The gold-link necklace looked good, but where had she put the earrings?
They were where she'd left them, next to the telephone.
She squared her shoulders. "I can do this." She lifted the liptick and
touched up her upper lip. "I can do this."
Especially since the president was the only supporter she had left now
that Dieshr had become chair of the music department.
She could sing for the major-donor dinner, and Dieshr would sit by the
president and say sicky-sweet things—like "Anna's so good with young
voices." Or "She does very well without a doctorate."
As if she'd had any choice—
She went to the window. Cloudy, but it wasn't raining, not yet. She
picked up the green leather purse and hurried downstairs. Her raincoat,
not exactly fashion-coordinated with the gown, was folded across the
banister.
After slipping it on, she glanced at the clock—five-forty—checked for her
keys, then locked the door and stepped out under the town house's
pseudo-Georgian portico. The cramped townhouse condo was definitely not
what she would have ideally chosen, but aging junior music faculty
members lived where the bargains were, in this case, the Colonial
Mansions.
A roll of thunder was followed by a spattering of rain on the sidewalk,
and a gust of wind that whipped the long skirt of the green formal around
her calves.
Her hand went to her hair. The umbrella was in the car.
The line of rain struck the far side of the parking lot and gusted across
toward her.
"Damn!" She was going to be late—or wet… or both, and she was being paid
to look good as well as sing. "Damn! I'd just like to run away… anywhere.
Anywhere," she repeated grimly. "Anywhere!"
As she reached for her key to let herself back into the condo, the world
swirled around her.
3
Mencha, Defalk
The black-haired young man bounces in the saddle a last time as he reins
up the horse in front of the thick-walled cottage. The dark-oiled wooden
shutters are closed against the midday heat, and not even the chickens
are out in the hot still air. Dust lies heavy on the planks of the small
porch shaded by the overhanging eaves, and the oiled oak door is shut as
tightly as the windows'
After wiping the muddy sweat created by road dust off his forehead, he
struggles down from the horse and ties the mare at the heavy stone
hitching post at the end of the porch under the single oak in the yard.
Then he eases the viola case from the oversized saddlebag.
"Well, Daffyd, where'd ye be getting a horse?" asks the slender brunette
from the half-open door. Her hair is pulled back and bound high enough on
the back of her head to lift it clear of her neck. She wears a sleeveless
homespun brown shirt that reaches mid-thigh over loose gray trousers that
stop at mid-calf. Her feet are bare.
"It was Da's." Daffyd looks to the half-open door.
"He give it to ye? A fine gift that'd be."
"He be dead, Jenny. Lord Brill killed him." Daffyd takes the two steps
onto the porch, then stops several paces short of her, the canvas and
wooden case in his right hand.
The brunette steps back toward the door. "What be ye here for?"
"You owe me, Jenny," Daffyd says. "You be owing me more than you can ever
pay. How many times have I played for you, just the way you wanted, to
send or summon folks all the way to Nordwei or Elioch?"
"I've been more than nice to you, Daffyd."
Daffyd flushes, then adds, "Aye, and I've been nice to you, not charging
you for the music."
"If Lord Brill be after you…"
"He's not after me." Daffyd waits.
"Then why are you here?"
The young man wipes his forehead. "You could invite me in where it's
cooler. You've no company." His eyes traverse the dust on the porch
planks, unmarked except by his boots. .
Jenny tightens her lips and looks toward the empty lane, then jerks her
head toward the door.
"Jenny, seeing as it's me, no one would be saying anything."
"Come in, then, seeing as there's no stopping you." She stands back from
the door.
Daffyd crosses the porch and steps inside, closing the heavy door with
his left hand. The main room is empty, but a faint scent of onions wafts
from the kitchen area to the left rear of the cottage. While the cottage
is cooler than the late-morning heat outside, Daffyd wipes his forehead
with the back of his left hand, his right still clutching the old brown
canvas viola case.
"Well, fine talking Daffyd, what do you want?" The brunette looks to the
closed heavy door, and then at the mirror on the cottage wall. "I can't
bring your da back from the darkshadows. Lord Brill himself couldn't do
that. I could send you to Farway. That's as far as I can do."
"That won't bring back Da."
"Nothing will bring back yer da. Not even Meringuay could do that. I'm a
rote travel-sorceress—good enough to hold a house—but not more. You told
me that yourself. 'Member that?"
Daffyd pulls his lips together, then speaks. "He hummed—just a few notes.
Just a little. That was all. And only once—not twice like Brill said."
"That'd be strong, accusing Lord Brill of lying. He'd not like that."
"Like it or not, he lied. Da hummed a little. He's hummed for years.
Everyone knows that, but he doesn't hum tunes, and it's never upset
patterning before."
"Just a few notes in front of the land's strongest sorcerer." Jenny
shivers, pursing her narrow lips.
"He turned him into dust—just dust—and the wind blew him away…"
"All I can do is send you somewhere," she repeats.
"Can you bring someone here?"
"Aye. If they want to come, but who wants to come to dry Defalk?"
Daffyd smiles. "Bring me a sorceress. One out of the mists. Make her
blonde and strong enough to turn Lord Brill into red dust himself."
Jenny shivers again. "Out of the mists? A sorceress? She'd have to want
to come, and what one of them would want to leave the mists? Why would
they- help the likes of you?"
"Try it. Please…"
"I don't know."
"You try it—or I'll keep you from sending anyone anywhere." Daffyd's
voice turns cold.
"You do, and Lord Brill will be a-chasing you." Jenny backs away. "And
you don't be threatening me, Daffyd. You're not the only friend I've got."
"You aren't the only one I've got, either." Daffyd shrugs.
"Mayhap… but it's my cottage where you've come." She crosses her arms and
waits.
Daffyd sighs, and waits. Finally, he speaks. "You're the best I know, and
I need the best."
"Ha! You tell all the girls that, and that's just when you want
something." She walked over the bare open space of the room to the stone
hearth, then turns and recrosses her arms. "What you want is trouble."
"I need a strong sorceress."
"What am I—failed bread?"
Daffyd's lips tighten, and his breath hisses out through his nose. After
a moment, he asks, "Do you want to take on Brill?"
"Am I looking as daft as a heatstruck fowl?"
The young man shrugs.
"Oh, Daffyd… you've always been trouble."
Daffyd sets the viola case on the battered waist-high square table set
against the wall that separates the kitchen from the main room. He opens
the case carefully and extracts the polished viola, then the bow.
"I need a spell for the mists," points out Jenny.
"I have one." He gently sets the viola on the table beside the case, and
fumbles in his wallet before extracting a scrap of paper covered with
smeared markstick. He reads the words slowly.
"Bring us a singer, truly strong,
from the mists beyond our song.
Her voice like fire, hair like gold,
her words filled with flame and bold…"
Jenny holds up her hand. "This spell's pretty chancy, Daffyd. You could
get a blonde-haired lizard that sings."
"Let me read it all the way through."
The brunette nods.
Daffyd glances down and keeps reading, his voice deliberate as he
pronounces each word. When he finishes, he looks at Jenny and asks,
"Well… ?"
"It might work. Just you make sure you play it all the way through. Those
first lines are chancy." She takes a deep breath and looks at the mirror
on the cottage wall. "But you get her outta here quick-like. I'll be
telling Lord Brill you tricked me. You understand that, don't you? I'd
have to be telling him that."
Daffyd nods.
"Recite it again. I need to get the words in my head. Then you'll be
playing your tune. I'll be needing to listen a few times." She shakes her
head. "A sorceress out of the mists… why…"
4
Anna completed an uncertain step, swaying for an instant. The outdoor
light of Ames had been replaced with something gloomier—and hotter. She
stood in the middle of a room, smaller than the cramped living room in
the condo. The walls were a dirty white plaster that was uneven and
rough, and there was no ceiling, just open rafters. The faint light that
seeped around ill-fitting shutters on the room's two windows was the only
source of illumination.
Where was she? How had she gotten there? Had she fainted? Her hand
twinged, and the door key was somehow burning her hand. Anna slipped the
key into the green leather purse, then squeezed her fingers together,
pressing her thumbnail into her palm, stopping before the pressure became
pain.
White spots flickered in front of her eyes, and she forced herself to
take a deep breath, then another. What had happened?
"You did it! You did it!" exclaimed a male voice, interrupting her
self-inquiries.
"A travel-sorceress I am. Give me a good spell and a decent tune, and I
will bring someone from anywhere," answered a woman. "You'd better hope
she's what you want."
Wondering what the young man wanted, and fearing that she did know, Anna
slowly turned from the hearth. On her left were the two shuttered
windows, on her right a wall containing only a single wood-framed mirror
and near the far end, a closed wooden door. In the middle of the room
stood two figures. The man, black-haired and somehow both angular and
round-faced, was barely out of youth. He held what looked to be a viola
and a heavily arched shed bow and wore faded blue trousers and an armless
and col-larless shirt fastened with oblong wooden buttons. The woman was
several years older, square-faced, in short trousers and a baggy armless
blouse.
Behind them was another wall, with an opening into another room.
"She is beautiful," the man said as if Anna were not even present. Anna
hated being referred to in the third person. It reminded her of all too
many auditions, especially the year she'd been in New York.
"A sorceress has to appear beautiful, Daffyd. You do not know what she
really looks like."
Anna glanced down. She still wore the raincoat over her gown, and she was
getting hot in the small and stuffy room. After a moment, she unfastened
the buttons and the trench coat's belt and stuffed the ends of the belt
into the coat's pockets. Then her eyes went back to the woman.
"I'm Anna. Who are you?" Her words sounded firm. Totally inane, but firm.
"I am Jenny, lady." The brunette offered a slight bow.
Anna's eyes went to the man.
"Daffyd." His voice was defensive, and he didn't bow.
Where was she? They spoke English, or she understood what they spoke, but
it sounded like English.
"Could you tell me where I might be?" Another totally inane question—she
was in a peasant cottage—or totally out of her mind. Had she been hit by
a tornado, like Dorothy, and was she lying somewhere hallucinating? Or
worse, had Sandy been right about parallel universes or worlds? She'd
always believed that the world was the world. Another thought flicked
through her mind, a thought that seemed to move so slowly—time travel?
"Why, you are in Jenny's cottage," answered Daffyd sardonically.
"That much I surmised," snapped Anna, reacting to the teenaged-student
tone she'd heard all too many times in her life already, particularly
from ungrateful students. "But where is Jenny's cottage? And when?"
The two locals exchanged glances. Daffyd walked to the square table on
the wall and slipped first the viola, then the bow, into a canvas case.
He did not close the case.
Anna sighed, then stripped off the raincoat and folded it over her arm.
The heat was making her feel faint, and the last thing she wanted was to
collapse in front of total strangers in this unknown place. "Could you
please tell me where we are?"
' 'We are in Mencha, and it is on the eastern marches of Defalk," said
Daffyd, as if the entire world knew the obvious.
That helped a lot, reflected Anna, before answering. "I'm sorry, but I've
never heard of Mencha, or Defalk, and I don't know the name of your
world."
"It is the world, the earth," answered the brunette. "Some of the
sorcerers call it Erde."
"Erde," mused Anna. Germanic, but the two didn't look especially Teutonic.
"Except for the worlds of the mist," added Daffyd, "it be the only world."
The only world? Anna felt flushed, "Might I have something to drink? It's
been a long trip."
Again, the two exchanged glances, as if Anna had said something
profoundly stupid, and she wanted to scream. That would have made matters
worse; it always did. Then Jenny bowed slightly, turned, and walked
through the opening in the wall to what might have been a kitchen,
although all Anna saw was what seemed to be a brick stove and a table
with a bench oh one side. Her legs felt stiff, and Anna looked for a
place to sit. There were two short benches and a higher stool.
Daffyd kept looking at her as if she were not quite real, the way her new
students did after she'd done a recital, as if they couldn't believe that
she could sing, really sing.
Bother it! Anna stepped away from the unused hearth toward the stool. She
set her purse on the dusty plank floor and quickly folded the raincoat
over the rough wooden stool, hoping that the trench coat would shield the
gown from any splinters. As she sat, her nose twitched from the dust in
the hot room, and she rubbed it gently, almost afraid to sneeze.
Jenny returned across the dusty plank floors, a brown earthenware mug in
her hands. She extended the handleless mug to Anna. "Here, lady."
"Thank you." Anna stared at the water in the mug. It looked clean.
"I spell my water clean," offered Jenny. "Most folks can't, you know, and
they won't pay to get it done."
Spelling water clean? What sort of place was this Erde— like a medieval
pigsty? "Thank you." Anna sipped the lukewarm water, then drank the mug
down to the bottom. She'd been thirstier than she'd realized.
The two continued to study her intently, as if looking for some sort of
sign.
"Why did you bring me here?" Anna reached down and lifted the green
leather purse into her lap, rummaging through it for a handkerchief. She
used the rumpled cloth to blot her damp forehead gently. The room was
hdt, hotter than the Colonial, and she had the feeling that it was even
hotter outside. She looked down at the purse. The leather around the
metal clasps was browned, as if it had been scorched or burned. She
didn't recall that, but she'd grabbed the purse in a hurry.
Daffyd looked down at the dusty planks.
"Daffyd needs a sorceress from out of the mists," Jenny finally
volunteered.
"A sorceress? You can't be serious." A sorceress? They thought Anna was a
sorceress? What sort of nuthouse was this?
"You have to be a sorceress. Jenny couldn't have brought you if you
weren't," stammered the youth with the short and ragged black hair.
"Why do you need a sorceress?" Anna had trouble believing she was
behaving so rationally. Or was it irrational to talk sensibly in a
lunatic situation? Daffyd and Jenny exchanged glances. "Well?"
"Lord Brill… he turned my da into red dust because he hummed during a
wall-raising. He said Da ruined the spell, and that was why the gate was
crooked, but Da never hummed in tunes. It was just an excuse."
Anna moistened her lips. The more she heard, the worse it got. "What sort
of wall?" Another rational-sounding question that made no sense.
"It was a whole fort—stone and brick. They'll finish the roof later. You
can't handle wooden roof beams with sorcery, not unless you go to strong
darksong, and that's dangerous, even for a sorcerer like Brill."
"They say he does a lot of darksong when no one's around," Jenny added.
"Liende plays for him then."
Daffyd looked at Jenny. "That can't be."
"I know what I know."
Anna's eyes flicked from one to the other. Both felt they were telling
the truth—that was her feeling, and that meant something was wrong, very
wrong. ' 'Why is that a problem, Daffyd?" Her voice was as calm as if she
were teaching her musical-theatre class, and that was wrong, too, because
the more questions she asked, the fewer got answered.
"Liende wouldn't do that. She wouldn't."
"I know what I know," affirmed Jenny.
"Stop it!" snapped Anna. "Daffyd, you still haven't told me why you
wanted a sorceress. You haven't said why it's important enough to summon
one from far away. You haven't told me exactly how far this world is from
mine. You seem to be why I'm here. I'd like some answers." She licked her
dry lips. "Try to make them clear."
"Go ahead, Daffyd. It be your idea." The young man looked at the plank
floor, then at Jenny, then back to the floor. His eyes did not rise to
meet Anna's. "I wanted you to turn Lord Brill into red dust, like he
turned Da into dust."
Keep to the point, Anna told herself, whatever the point is. "How?"
"With sorcery, acourse."
"You say I have to be a sorceress," ventured Anna, pausing. The room was
small and hot. "Why?"
"The spell called for a sorceress, and you're here. Spells work, or they
don't. It worked. That means you're a sorceress."
Confused as she felt, even Anna could follow that logic, and she held in
a shiver. Wonderful! She was either dead, dying, hallucinating, or truly
in another world or time where they thought she was a sorceress. Anna
pursed her lips. She didn't like any of the choices. And she'd thought
Ames after Irenia's death had been bad. I can handle this, she told
herself silently. I can handle this.
"Daffyd spelled for a strong sorceress," Jenny added. "You must be very
strong."
"Could I have another cup of water?" Anna asked, wondering what she was
supposed to do next. A strong sorceress who didn't even know what sorcery
was? She didn't know whether to cry or laugh, or just break down and sob.
I can handle this, she repeated, whatever this is.
5
Mencha, Defalk
A single chord ending in a discordant minor reverberates from the silver
harp that stands on the pedestal in the middle of the marble basin.
"What now?" The resonant baritone voice is far more impressive than the
slender and balding man who speaks. Circles ring his brown-flecked green
eyes as he walks to the harp. His eyes drop to the ripples that disrupt
the image in the silvered surface—that of a blonde woman in a brown cloak.
"I did not do it, Lord Brill, sir. Not me." The youth in the short blue
tunic backs toward the narrow door through which he has just hurried.
"You could not have done this, Gero." Brill's eyes study the vanishing
image, taking in the green gown that shows from under the blonde woman's
cloak, the rough-walled cottage—and the brown-haired songstress.
"Jenny… oh, Jenny…" His eyes flick to the fading black-haired figure in
the corner. "Daffyd… well, we'll just have to do something about this.
Yes, we will."
Gero backs up until he shivers silently in the arch of the doorway.
"The cloak," Brill murmurs, then reaches for the harp and strums it
gently.
"Hold this image in my sight.
Keep it fresh; keep it bright…"
He replaces the harp and watches for a time as the image in the mirrored
water sharpens and as the woman removes the strange cloak with arms to
display the magnificent green gown she wears. She also carries a large
leather wallet that looks to be of green leather that matches the gown.
Brill frowns once more as the blonde woman sits on the stool and
apparently begins to question Daffyd and Jenny.
After a time, he speaks. "Gero. Have my carriage made ready. I will need
two guards."
"Yes, ser."
"You doubt that two will be enough?" Amusement etches the resonant tones.
"No, ser. But… is it not… not…"
"Dangerous to try to cross the mist barriers? Very—she could have been
burned. She should have been burned. Those two innocent idiots have not
the faintest image of what they have done. But she is here, and we will
see."
"Yes, ser."
Brill's eyes drop back to the images in the mirror pond.
6
Anna tried not to sigh after she took another swallow from the
earthenware mug. "Let's get back to the point. Why couldn't you have
found a sorceress here on… Erde, is it?"
Daffyd looked down at the planks again, just like a student who hadn't
learned his music. Instead of answering her, he glanced at Jenny. "A
mirror peek at Brill's hall?" His voice was almost plaintive.
Jenny glared at Daffyd, but he just looked back dumbly, his big dark eyes
wide and imploring. After what seemed an interminable silence, Jenny
cleared her throat. "If you would not mind… lady…"
"Anna. No, I would not mind." Maybe, just maybe, whatever Jenny did would
shed some light on what these people called sorcery.
"Daffyd? The looking song?"
Daffyd turned slowly and lifted the viola out from its case. Then came
the bow, and he lifted the instrument to his shoulder and tucked it under
his chin. Then he stroked the bow across the strings.
Jenny turned toward the mirror and cleared her throat, then lifted her
hand, and gave a rough tempo, then dropped the hand.
Daffyd began to play, and Jenny to sing.
"Mirror, mirror on my wall,
Show now me the Lord Brill's hall.
Show it bright, and show it fast,
and make that strong view well last."
The mirror shimmered, then filled with colors. Anna swallowed and looked
at the scene in the wall mirror. A blue carriage rolled through a gate in
a tall stone wall, pulled by four black horses. The gates looked to be of
heavy timbers, and there were turrets or guard towers on each side of the
wall above the gate.
Sorcery—was it just the combination of words, song, and accompaniment?
Just? Anna almost laughed. Jenny's words, simple as they had sounded, had
been perfectly pitched and matched to Daffyd's equally simple melody. She
doubted that many undergraduate students could have done that well, and
that didn't take into account the words.
"There be Lord Brill's carriage on its way here, no doubt," Jenny said
dryly.
"Here?" Anna asked.
"He has a magic pool that tells him everything," Daffyd said glumly,
closing the viola and bow up in the canvas case. ' 'We had best leave.
You can go to my sister Dalila''s in Synope. Lord Brill can't leave
Mencha until Lord Barjim's fort is done," Daffyd said hurriedly.
"Why would I want to go to Synope?" Anna glanced from Daffyd to Jenny.
"By the way, where is Synope?"
"You have to go."
"I'd like to know why," Anna persisted. Once again, it felt like all the
people around her were making the decisions.
"You just have to."
"Why?"
Daffyd looked to Jenny. "You asked for a strong sorceress," Jenny said.
"Young Daffyd, I'm not going anywhere just because someone says so," Anna
explained. "Why should I flee? Will this Lord Brill try to turn me into
dust with a song?"
Daffyd winced "That's what he did to Da."
"It doesn't matter, Daffyd," Jenny said. "Lord Brill's carriage is
already too close, and your mount couldn't outrun it carrying double."
Daffyd sighed.
Anna wanted to sigh as well. Had her insistence on trying to figure out
the situation just made it that much worse? Was her life always going to
be like that—a choice between reacting blindly, not knowing the
situation, or trying to figure out the unknown rules and finding she was
hopelessly behind by the time she did figure them out?
"Let's go and meet him," she suggested. Much as she hated confrontation,
she'd learned long ago that running from it only made things worse.
Again, the other two exchanged the kind of glance that confirmed they
thought she was truly out of her mind.
Anna stood, folded the unnecessary trench coat over her arm, and picked
up her purse. She walked toward the door she hoped was the right one.
Daffyd stepped forward and opened the heavy wooden door, and Anna could
sense the ovenlike heat outside. No wonder everyone wore such light
clothes. She stepped out onto the porch. Despite the shade provided by
the overhanging eaves, the air seemed to scorch her, almost taking her
breath away, and, under her gown, she could feel the near-instant
perspiration building. The sun seemed high in the sky—it certainly wasn't
late afternoon, as it had been in Ames. She glanced at her watch—the
hands showed five-forty, and she didn't think they were moving. She
looked again. The brass of the watch looked tarnished, somehow. It was an
inexpensive watch, a cheap replacement for the one her father had given
her when she'd gotten her master's. The graduation watch had broken
beyond repair the same week Irenia had been killed.
Anna swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that her new watch had stopped,
that her daughter was dead, that… that… all too many things—and the
heat—by studying what she could see of Mencha.
Perhaps a hundred feet from where she stood was another cottage—low and
thick-walled with stucco or plaster peeling away from the crosswoven
stick frame in places. A few browned stalks drooped in a square
stone-ringed space that had once been a garden. To her right, across a
rutted dirt lane, was another cottage, one whose plaster appeared intact,
and whose small garden was green, rather than brown.
Daffyd joined her, carrying his viola case. As Anna looked at the young
man, she realized that she was almost as tall as he was, and that she
towered over Jenny. At five-four, she wasn't that tall, either. Was
everyone on Erde short?
"How big is Mencha?" Anna asked after a moment.
"Maybe two deks across." Daffyd turned toward the dirt lane.
"What is a dek?"
"Ten furls."
Patiently, Anna asked the next question. "How long is a furl?"
"For a sorceress, you don't know much."
Anna asked again. "How long?"
"Ten rods."
"How big is—" Anna began.
"Ten yards in a rod."
"And a yard is about this long?" Anna approximated thirty-six inches with
her hands.
"Something like that," Daffyd answered, looking from her back toward the
lane.
"How many people live in Mencha?"
"A hundred households, perhaps," answered Jenny, as she closed the door
to the cottage behind her.
Anna wanted to scream. Trying to find out anything would take foreverl
And by the time she did, everyone would think she was a dizzy blonde.
"How far away is Lord Brill's palace?"
"He has a hall, not a palazzio," snorted Daffyd. "Only the Nesereans have
palazzios."
"I'd like to see how well you do in my world," Anna snapped. "His hall
can't be far, not if his carriage would catch us immediately."
Daffyd gestured toward the cottage wall, as if pointing through the
structure. "It's on the hill, overlooking the Syn-ope road. That's less
than three deks." He added, as if anticipating a question, "That's not
quite half a league."
"A league?"
"Ten deks."
Anna's thoughts swirled with the unfamiliar measurements, but she guessed
that Brill's hall was south of Mencha, assuming that directions weren't
as strange as everything else on Erde. What should she do? Daffyd hadn't
wanted her to meet Brill, yet he seemed resigned.
"What should I watch for with Lord Brill?" she asked.
Daffyd's mouth opened, then closed.
"Go on," she said. "You don't trust him, but you seem to think that I'll
do what he wants just because I wouldn't do what you wanted."
"He talks fine, lady," Jenny said. "They say he's a fine wit, and offers
a right good table, but many folk leave his hall changed."
"Changed?"
"Or with the wind, like dust." Daffyd bit off each word and spat it out.
"They think he's a right fine lord, when they didn't when they went to
sup," Jenny said.
"Sorcery?" Anna asked.
"What else?" answered Daffyd.
"Speaking of the Lord Brill, that dust'd be his carriage," Jenny offered,
pointing past the yellowing oak and beyond the lane.
Anna could see a smudge of brown beyond several huts or hovels. Compared
to them, Jenny's cottage was palatial. Anna wanted to shake her head.
Instead, she used her handkerchief to blot her forehead, gently. For what
it was worth, she didn't need smeared makeup on top of everything else.
"Has to be," said Daffyd. " 'Sides Essoles, he's got the only carriage in
Mencha, and Essoles sent his wife to Wei. She took the carriage."
Anna looked at Daffyd, wishing he would explain.
The young man saw her look. "You wouldn't know that. Some say the dark
ones are going to send their gray legions through the Sand Pass before
winter. That's why Lord Bar-jim's here. He paid Lord Brill solid silver
to raise that fort. Last fall, in the dry months, not that they have not
all been dry, he had Brill raise a dam just beyond the pass road. Elwiss
told me that there's a moat there where they can open a water gate and
wash away anyone below the wall."
" 'Gainst the dark ones, it won't be enough," offered Jenny.
The sound of hoofs on hard soil, and the faint rumble of iron tires,
announced the arrival of the coach. Anna turned back toward the lane as
the carriage rolled across the parched ground almost to the porch of the
cottage, where the blue-clad driver reined in the four blacks. The
carriage rolled to a halt. The blue-lacquered finish gleamed in the hazy
afternoon sunshine, and the door flipped open. A slender and balding man
attired entirely in blue velvet stepped out.
Without a word, the sorcerer or whatever he was stepped onto the porch.
In her heels, Anna was slightly taller than he was, but he doffed his
velvet cap, and bowed. "You do us honor, noble lady. I am Lord Brill."
Despite the kindly appearing smile and the faint twinkle in his eye, Anna
didn't feel quite right about the sorcerer.
He didn't call her a sorceress, Anna noted. Did that mean he wasn't sure,
or was he being polite? What should she do? With a curtsey, the affected
kind all the Met sopranos used, she replied, "You do me the honor, lord."
"I would like to do you greater honor, lady, by offering my hall as your
residence for so long as you find necessary."
"You are indeed kind as well as honorable." Anna didn't quite choke on
the words. Just think of it like university politics, she told herself.
Just more politics. "Most kind." How honorable Brill might be was another
question.
"Might I inquire as to how you prefer to be called?''
"I am Anna."
"Lady Anna," mused the sorcerer. "Neither the pools nor the books offer
guidance for that name, and that may prove most… liberating. We all could
use some freedom in dealing with the dark ones." He smiled again. "But I
stray from your comfort."
Anna offered a smile, the polite, political kind that wasn't quite
automatic.
"Well, young Daffyd," said Brill cheerfully, turning to the black-haired
young man. "Like always, you've done the right thing for the wrong
reason. And both you and Lady Anna were lucky, most lucky. And so were
you, Jenny. Great works from innocents. Still, the dark ones are on the
move, and Lord Barjim would give his left leg for a true sorceress. I
trust you'll be back in your quarters before supper."
"Yes, ser." Daffyd bowed.
"As for you, Jenny… we may be needing you as well." Brill smiled and
added pleasantly. "I wouldn't be traveling too far."
"Yes, Lord Brill." Jenny inclined her head.
The sorcerer turned back to Anna, his eyes and mouth smiling. "If you
would… Do you need assistance?''
"I'm fine." Anna took the two wooden steps off the porch and walked
across the dirt that seemed to grab at her high heels. She paused at the
iron step to the carriage, marveling at the details, from the scrolled
ironwork to the velvet upholstered seats and the brass impressed panels
above the seat backs.
"You will find it quite comfortable, I'm certain," Brill said reasonably.
"I apologize for the long step up, but one doesn't find mounting blocks
everywhere."
"I'll manage." Anna took a slightly deeper breath and, holding the
right-hand railing, also lacquered in blue, pulled herself up and into
the carriage. As she sat down, more heavily than she intended, she could
almost feel the carriage flex.
Brill stepped up into the carriage and closed the lacquered metal door,
sealing the heat in with them. He sat on the side seat opposite Anna, his
back to the driver. Without explaining, he hummed for an instant, then
sang:
"Cool this space and chill the air;
keep us healthy, fresh, and fair…"
When the sorcerer finished, the heat receded, almost as though the
carriage were air-conditioned. He wiped his forehead, and took a deep
breath. "That will not last long, but long enough for us to reach my
hall. It is a far more suitable place for a lady such as you." The
brown-flecked eyes twinkled as the balding man boldly studied Anna.
Anna again caught the humorous overtones in the words. "And why might
that be, Lord Brill?"
Brill made a gesture toward the small carriage windows whose perfect
glass revealed the sunbaked and cracked ground, the yellow-tinged oak
tree at the end of the cottage and the two figures on the porch.
"Is it not obvious?"
Anna nodded slowly, but ever since leaving A very—and before—she had come
to distrust the obvious, especially when someone pointed it out.
"You offer a gesture of agreement, Lady Anna, but not one that is more
than perfunctory."
"I guess I'm inclined to reserve judgment on many things until I'm more
familiar with your world."
"Is that why you did not ride off with young Daffyd?" Brill laughed
softly. "I do not read thoughts, but he was angry. He wrote the spell
that summoned you, and taught it to Jenny, obviously. She is a
rote-sorceress, adequate but without much inspiration. Still, it is
enough to gain her a house as a woman alone, and that is much in these
days. He is talented, but his voice is not good enough to hold spells.
His playing is far better than his father's, and he doesn't hum that
distracting monotone the way Culain did. Young Daffyd still does not
understand how often or how deeply his father has jeopardized me. Or how
much he jeopardized you."
"You turned him into dust for humming?" asked Anna, her voice as
emotionless as she could make it.
"What else could I do? He kept getting worse, and, if I let him go, he'd
have been picked up by the dark ones in days, and they'd have the fruits
of my works to use against Defalk."
Anna's eyes flicked from the earnest-sounding sorcerer to the windows at
the change in the sound of the carriage team's hoofs. The carriage was
headed down a stone-paved street, with a handful of buildings on either
side,, but both pavement and buildings passed quickly, and the carriage
seemed headed away from the town.
"Here, unlike your world, Lady Anna, sorcery is a dangerous business. The
slightest improper inflection, the wrong thought-image of a word, or any
distraction can cause a spell to fail—or to have unintended consequences."
Anna frowned. Hadn't Daffyd said that spells either worked or failed? Was
Brill lying? The inside of the carriage was getting warmer, and she
wanted to rub her forehead.
"You understand, I see. But young Daffyd does not." Brill sighed. "I can
only hope he will come to understand before it is too late."
Anna pursed her lips. None of it made sense. If Brill were so evil, and
if he could turn someone into dust, why hadn't he just turned Daffyd into
dust? Or was that because he needed Anna? Was Daffyd what he seemed? But
she usually had a good sense of people, and the young man had impressed
her as honest—confused, but honest. And what about Daffyd being lucky—or
her being lucky? She already had too many questions.
The carriage started uphill, and the horses' hoofs clicked once more on
stone.
Anna leaned forward to study the structure. The off-white stone walls
were high enough not to be squat, but not high enough to soar either, and
the three sides she could see seemed to form a hexagon, with the gate she
had glimpsed in Jenny's mirror centered in the middle section. The walls
were not crenelated, and besides the higher towers straddling the gate,
there were additional towers—one at each apex of the hexagon. Impressive
for something called a hall, she thought.
The iron-bound gates swung shut behind the carriage with a heavy clunk
that sounded as she imagined a prison door would. Anna forced a smile.
"There," said the sorcerer with visible relief. "I hope the dark ones
didn't scry you, but, if they did, they won't know too much." Brill
frowned. "How long were you there in Jenny's cottage?"
"Not very long." It was Anna's turn to frown. "Why?"
"It would be better if they didn't know you were here."
"Who? And why?"
Brill laughed the same amused and soft laugh. "I beg your pardon, Lady
Anna. I will explain more when you are refreshed. For now, let me just
say that the dark ones would destroy all of Liedwahr, and kill all of its
sorcerers, including you and me, in the name of what they call reason.
Since you are here, you can help."
"Why should I?" Anna's tone was curious.
"You could be one of the most powerful sorceresses in Liedwahr, not just
Defalk, but you have much to learn," Brill answered reasonably. "Unless
you want to take the risk of dying in fire, you'll need to learn about
Liedwahr. I intend to help you." The carriage rolled to a gentle stop.
All Anna could see through the small carriage windows were walls of
identical stones, each like marble, each tinted light blue. "I imagine
so," she said sweetly, trying to keep from grinding her teeth.
"Not for your body, lovely as it appears, but because I would prefer to
remain whole and intact, and it will take the power of every sorcerer in
Defalk, and all the armsmen Lord Barjim can raise, to stop the dark ones."
"Who are the dark ones?"
"The Dark Monks of Ebra, though their sacred source is in the mountains
around Vult."
More names that meant nothing, Anna thought.
"I'll explain it at dinner," Brill explained, opening the door, and
stepping out. "I imagine you are hungry." He extended a hand.
Anna found she didn't need it, since the carriage had indeed pulled up to
what she imagined was a mounting block—or a set of stone steps designed
to unload carriages.
Brill gestured to a diminutive black-haired girl, not even to Anna's
shoulder, who stood in the shadows at the top of the steps by the open
oak door. "Florenda, will you escort the lady Anna to the first guest
suite?" Brill offered his pleasanf smile once more. "We will eat at the
first bell." He turned to Anna. "That will be two glasses before true
sunset."
Anna guessed that meant something like two hours before sunset, and her
eyes flicked toward what she felt was the west, assuming the hazy white
sun was in the western sky.
"You will find some refreshments in your suite, Lady Anna," Brill added,
with another bow. "Until dinner."
Florenda bowed. "If you would follow me, lady."
Anna wanted to shake her head. The only time she'd ever gotten this kind
of bowing and scraping was the time she'd sung the national anthem at the
Peach Bowl, and that had been years ago, when Cindy what's-her-name had
canceled less than a day before.
She grasped her handbag firmly and walked up the half dozen steps to the
tall doorway that dwarfed her. Her heels clicked on the hard light-blue
stone. Was the entire hall built of the same stone?
The heat of the day vanished as she stepped into the hall and Florenda
closed the doorway. The entry foyer rose nearly three stories, with a
glittering brass-and-crystal chandelier centered in the middle of the
entry, and perhaps ten feet over her head. The stone floor was comprised
of interlocking triangles of black and white, both types of stone
polished so smooth that the floor glimmered as though it had been waxed
and buffed. The white candles of the chandelier were unlit, and the clear
crystal mantels shimmered without a single smudge. Light diffused into
the entryway through high translucent skylights—triangular panes of milky
blue glass set in the angular trapezoidal cupola that topped the entry
foyer.
Inlaid into the smooth slabs of white stone that comprised the walls were
curlicues of polished brass, giving the entry hall a Moorish feel. While
the cool was welcome, she had the feeling that in a cold winter, the
sorcerer's hall would be chilly, very chilly. In the entry hall were no
woods and no fabrics, just glass and metal and stone.
Florenda waited as Anna surveyed the area, then said quietly, "The first
guest suite is up off the main staircase."
"How many guest suites are there?" asked Anna, following the maid through
the high arch at the back of the entry hall into another vaulted hall. A
stone staircase rose straight before Anna, fully fifteen feet wide. On
each side of the open stone-floored area at the foot of the grand
staircase was another archway.
"Five, but none save yours are occupied. That doesn't count the great
lord's suite." Florenda lowered her voice. "Few would visit Mencha by
choice now, even for comforts like those supplied by Lord Brill."
Anna wondered why, if Brill were such a powerful sorcerer, he just didn't
leave the area, since he could clearly build himself a great hall
anywhere. She decided to keep the question to herself for the moment.
"The reception hall is there." Florenda pointed to the left. "And the
grand dining room is there." She pointed to the right. "Your dinner
tonight will be in the salon off the grand dining room." With that, the
maid headed up the stone steps.
Anna followed more cautiously, her free hand on the stone balustrade,
wondering if her heels would slip on the smooth stone, since the steps
were neither carpeted nor covered. After reaching the top of the
staircase, she faced yet another carved archway that led down a wide hall.
"This is your key, lady." Florenda stopped at the first door on the right
and offered Anna a shining brass key with an ornately swirled top. The
door, framed in golden wood, had eight diamond-shaped panels, each
lacquered in dark blue. The keyhole was outlined in the same shining
brass.
"There are gowns and less formal wear in the closets in the wardrobing
area, and some should fit you. If you choose to alter some, Lord Brill
would not mind."
"Thank you." How was she supposed to alter something? With sorcery?
Florenda turned the levered door handle and opened the door. "There is
also an iron bolt inside. If you need any assistance, you only need
summon me with the bellpull." She bowed again, apparently waiting for
Anna to enter the suite.
Anna reached out and touched the door lever. It moved easily and the door
opened inward.
7
East of the Sand Pass, Ebra
Light seems to bend away from the interior of the tent. Behind the
collapsible wooden writing desk is a simple armless stool. On it sits a
figure in a pale brown hooded habit. Though his clean-shaven chin is
visible in the light that filters in through the tent flap as it moves in
the breeze, the remainder of his face is in shadow.
The figure standing before the writing desk also wears a hooded habit.
"Songmaster, Lord Barjim is raising additional defense works to support
his forts on Defalk's side of the Sand Pass."
"Much good they will do him."
"And a portal to one of the mist worlds has been opened."
"Where?" The Songmaster stops writing on the heavy linen-paper scroll.
"In Defalk."
"Defalk? How? A mist portal takes the lyric voice, and none there have
the power. Are you sure of this, Brother Burthen?"
"As sure as we can be. The opening plucked the strings of Erde, and the
echoes still whisper on her strings."
"Was the portal opened from the mist side?"
Brother Burthen shook his head. "Discovering it took some time,
Songmaster. All we could determine is that a strange blonde woman, in an
exotic green gown, went from a cottage in the hamlet of Mencha to Lord
Brill's hall."
"A single sorceress will not stop us, even one that has escaped the fires
of passage. But how she did…" A shrug follows. "That matters not now."
"If she is allied with Brill…"
"Brill always turns and runs when matters become difficult. Why should
this time be any different?"
"The sorceress might change matters."
The hint of a smile crosses the Songmaster's face, visible only on the
unshadowed portion of his mouth. "She would have to be powerful indeed."
"His hall is warded," pointed out Burthen, as if the Songmaster had not
smiled at all.
"Watch it, as you can. We will proceed with the day's works. Contact the
dark chapter in Falcor and see what more they can discover about the
portal—and if the woman is a sorceress."
"One sorceress cannot prove that great a problem," suggested Burthen.
"I would prefer to have no problems."
"Yes, Songmaster."
The Songmaster continues to write, slowly, on the song scroll before him,
long, long after Burthen has left the dimness of the tent.
8
Anna stepped into the room—a medieval or Erde-ish version of a
presidential suite, more than thirty feet long, and nearly as wide from
the door to the windows. On the outside wall, blue-tinted but clear
floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panorama of both the walls to Brill's
stronghold, and the cottages and lanes of Mencha downhill and to the
north.
That had to mean that the hall's walls weren't that high. Anna frowned,
recalling that the hall was on a hilltop. Probably the walls were a lot
higher on the outside than the inside.
The windows were flanked with heavy blue hangings drawn back with thick
blue cording. Before the window was an elegant stone table, flanked by a
pair of blue-lacquered chairs. The large and high bed was covered with a
pale blue spread trimmed in white lace. In the center of the spread was
the letter B, in a royal blue.
On each side of the bed were delicate-appearing stone tables, on each a
brass-and-crystal oil lamp.
"The wardrobing area is through that door," offered Flo-renda.
Anna crossed the room and slipped through the smaller door into a room
that contained a raised stone tub that would have fit four of her, a long
stone vanity that included a sink, and two walls comprised of open
closets half-filled with clothing. Beside the left end of the vanity was
a full-length mirror. It showed a bewildered-looking and slightly
disheveled singer in a green formal gown, carrying a rumpled raincoat.
Florenda pointed to a curtained alcove in the outer wall. "The jakes is
there."
Jakes? The word wasn't familiar, but Anna understood the idea. There was
some form of indoor plumbing, at least for the wealthy, although she
certainly was no stranger to an outhouse, not after the summers at Uncle
Garven's Appalachian farm up in the holler beyond Bear Paw.
"If you need anything," Florenda repeated, "just use the bellpull in the
bedroom or the robing room." She pointed to a long blue rope beside the
stone vanity. Then she bowed. "Unless you have any immediate needs…"
"No. No. You can go." Anna just wanted a few minutes to think. Things
kept getting more and more confusing. She walked to the door to the
corridor, following Florenda. As soon as the maid stepped out, Anna
closed the door and threw the iron bolt.
Wasn't there something about iron being proof against magic? Or was that
a superstition?
She wandered toward the bed, noting that the frame .was
beautifully-wrought metal of some sort, again covered with the almost
shimmering blue lacquer that seemed everywhere. After laying the coat on
the coverlet, gently, she lifted the stiff fabric, noting the stitching
wasn't that much better than her own, and certainly not as good as her
mother's. The bed even felt lumpy, and she frowned again.
She turned and walked toward the window, still carrying her handbag,
looking at the hangings, a sort of velvet, but with a weave that was
almost shoddy in comparison to the rest of the room.
She pulled out one of the chairs. Delicate as it looked, it was heavy, as
if it were solid iron, and the small cushion on the seat, embroidered
with another B, appeared somewhat frayed.
The brass tray on the table contained a small loaf of bread, what
appeared to be slices of dried apple, and a handful of narrow yellow
cheese wedges.
Anna set the green purse on one side of the circular stone table, broke
off a corner of the dark bread, and chewed the small morsel. Although
slightly tough, the bread offered a good taste, like a cross between
pumpernickel and rye. She had another mouthful, then looked at the
crystal pitcher and the pair of matching crystal goblets.
She sniffed the pitcher, but the amber-colored liquid offered a bitter,
familiar, but unfamiliar tang, even faintly musty. Gingerly, she poured a
small amount into the goblet, and took the smallest of sips.
"Oooo…" While it might once have passed for wine, the liquid tasted more
like vinegar. Anna licked her lips and picked up the clean goblet,
carrying it into the robing room.
There were two levered faucets into the stone tub. Anna picked the left
one and turned it. A thin trickle of steaming water flowed out. Hastily
she closed the first lever and opened the second. A wider stream of cool
water poured from the faucet, and she slipped the goblet under the
lukewarm stream for a moment, then turned the lever off.
Water—but did she dare drink it? She looked at the water in the goblet,
thinking about Jenny and the girl's claim about spelling water. The water
looked clean. Still… she wondered.
She thought about that song Mario used to sing endlessly—he picked it up
from an old Frankie Laine album, something about cold, clear, water…
"All day I faced the barren waste
without a taste of cool, clear, water…"
That wouldn't do.
She rummaged through her purse, and finally came up with a stub of a
pencil and the envelope that had contained her last paystub. She began to
write, not that she was any writer. Avery or Sandy or even Irenia—she
shook her head and tightened her lips.
Don't think about it, she ordered herself. Not now. Angrily, she scrawled
out the words. She looked at the rough verse on the rumpled envelope. It
was terrible, but not much worse than the couplets Brill had sung to cool
the carriage.
She cleared her throat, and tried a vocalise.
"Holly, lolly, polly… pop…"
Finally, she looked down at the verse.
"Ready or not…" She cleared her throat, then tried the words, with as
much inflection as she could, emphasizing "cold" and "clean."
"All day I faced this barren waste
without a taste
of cold, clean water.
Give now my glass in lovely place
a healthful taste
of cold, clean water."
Anna could feel something, and she looked at the goblet, where frost
appeared around the rim. Then virtually instantly, the water froze, and
the goblet shattered, and Anna looked down dumbly at shards of crystal
and a lump of clear and solid ice.
She shook her head, as cold inside as the ice before her. As the saying
went, she wasn't in Kansas anymore, nor in Iowa. She certainly wasn't.
Her eyes burned, even as a sense of subdued excitement held her. It was
good news and bad news again. Like the good news had been that Avery had
left; and that had been the bad news, since he'd left nothing for her or
the children. Here, the good news was that she could cast spells; the bad
news was that she was really in a different world where she could cast
spells.
She looked down at the mess again. There didn't seem to be anything for
waste disposal, so she used a crust of bread to sweep the crystal into a
small pile, and then she carried the chunk of ice, free of glass, to the
sink to let it melt.
After that, she took a sip of the vinegar wine, rather than repeat the
water spell. Who knew what she'd get the next time? She also tried the
cheese, but the slightest taste gave her the hint of mold, and she set
the wedge down. The apple slices weren't bad, if slightly like rubber.
In the end, she ate most of the bread and half the apples, leaving the
cheese. Feeling better, she realized the room remained cool, as if a
breeze blew from the windows. She walked to the windows again. While they
were hinged, they were closed. Underneath each was a louver, and cool air
came through the louvers. She extended her hand toward the metal louvers,
but stopped short as she felt the chill. Sorcery? The louvers opened to
the outside air, but somehow changed the hot air to cold air.
She was supposed to have dinner with the sorcerer, and she felt like a
mess, even if she hadn't done that much. But she'd changed worlds, and
she'd sweated, and been shocked and surprised.
Anna glanced around the palatial bedchamber, then headed into the robing
room, where she found a set of towels—small, clean, and tending toward
the frayed. She looked at her watch. The hands still showed five-forty.
Didn't Erde have time, or had the transition destroyed the watch or what?
Or had the battery run out? More questions for which she had no answers.
She reclaimed her purse and brought it into the robing room where she
found a bottle of what appeared to be liquid soap, strong smelling. She
used the smallest dab with lots of lukewarm water from the tap to remove
the grime she hadn't even realized had built up on her hands. Then, with
the smallest towel as a washcloth, using mostly water, she dabbed and
blotted her face clean before reapplying her makeup.
That done, she went back into the bedroom and looked from the two hard
chairs to the bed. She didn't want to lie down and wrinkle the gown, but
the chairs were small and hard.
She walked to the window and looked out, but the scene remained
unchanged, although she did see a man in armor walking along the ramparts
of the hold, with a bow and quiver slung across his back and some sort of
sword in a scabbard.
What was Erde? A place where people could be transported by magic, but
used horses and carriages? Where sor-cerers turned people into dust, but
the weapons were bows and blades? Where castles were elaborate and ornate
and finely built, but where cloth was rough and where the hangings and
embroidery were equally crude? The contradictions didn't make sense. Was
that why she still had a feeling of unreality?
Finally, she sat down on the hard chair, letting her thoughts go where
they would.
A gentle knocking roused her, and she realized she had been half dozing
as she had been sitting before the table, half propped up with arms and
elbows.
"Yes?"
The knocking persisted, and Anna remembered she had bolted the door. She
stood, walked over to it, and answered again. "Yes?"
"Lady Anna? It is about time for dinner." Florenda's voice was muffled,
but clear enough.
Anna undid the bolt and opened the door. "I'll be there in just a moment."
Florenda bowed. "You look most beautiful."
"Thank you," Anna replied, taking the compliment more as a testimony to
fear in her supposed powers than in her appearance. She gathered her
handbag, not wanting to leave it behind, and followed Florenda back down
the wide hallway and the grand staircase. They turned left at the bottom
of the wide stone steps.
The grand dining room contained a wide stone table nearly thirty yards
long, dark under unlit chandeliers. A single gong or chime echoed through
the lofty space, adding to the sense of desertion. Anna had the feeling
that the room was seldom used as she followed Florenda to the open double
doors at the end of the dining room.
Warm light filled the salon, a space not much larger than her bedchamber.
"Lady Anna, punctual as well as beautiful." Lord Brill, still in the blue
velvet jacket and trousers, rose from a carved wooden chair, upholstered
in a blue needlepoint. The armchair was the first wooden chair Anna had
seen.
Florenda slipped back and closed the salon doors.
"Lord Brill, you are most complimentary and hospitable." Anna inclined
her head.
"These days we must be hospitable. Good company is most scarce. Please be
seated. That should accommodate your gown." Brill gestured to the wide
blue velvet settee, also framed in dark-stained carved wood. "You're from
one of the mist worlds, and, despite your poise, it's clear that Erde is
strange." He walked toward the small wooden bookcase set between the tall
blue-tinted windows—a bookcase with four tall shelves that contained
perhaps a hundred volumes. "Would you like some refreshments?"
"Not for a moment, thank you. I did appreciate those you had placed in my
room. Thank you." Anna slipped onto the settee, aware that the upholstery
was uneven. Was it stuffed with horsehair, like all the antiques
collected by Avery's Aunt Lorinda—beautiful, but uncomfortable?
"It was the least I could do." Brill offered the ingratiating smile. "Our
dinner will be here shortly." His left hand gestured toward the small
table placed in an oversized bay window at the end of the salon. The
setting was for two.
Anna nodded politely and waited.
"I've seen some of your worlds—with great metal birds that fly, metal
warships of the kind where one would sink all the navies of Erde. Yet you
are surprised by the form of sorcery here."
"Yes," Anna said, admitting nothing the sorcerer clearly didn't know
already.
"Sorcery does work differently here, and far fewer people employ it,"
Brill said in an offhand manner.
"Fewer?"
"Everyone seems to be able to employ magic carriages in your world,"
Brill said, "and other magical devices." He lodked quizzically at Anna,
then smiled. "I seemed to have misunderstood what I have seen. Do tell me
about your world."
The sorcerer's pleasant smile set off alarm bells all the way through
her, and she forced an equally pleasant smile back, her mind spinning.
What could she say? What on earth could she possibly say?
"You have seen my world," she said slowly. "There is not too much I could
add. But I have seen little of yours." She offered another smile.
"Perhaps,, if you told me more about this world—is it called Erde? Then I
could explain the differences better." That was true enough, since she
didn't have the faintest idea what such differences were.
"Information for information." Brill nodded. "I will tell you a bit, and
then we will dine, and we will talk." He cleared his throat. "Where
should I begin?"
"Explain about Erde. Daffyd mentioned something about dark ones and great
dangers, but that was about all." Anna smiled brightly. She felt as
though she were pasting the smile in place.
"Erde___Erde is the world. She is governed by the laws of music, and by
the influence of the moons—Darksong and Clearsong. She is also governed
by iron, cold iron. That seems to be true to a degree in all worlds,"
Brill added sardonically. "The Dark Monks are a new force in the world,
new in the sense that their brotherhood dates back only a few decades,
but already they have taken over Ebra and threaten both Defalk and
Ranuak, although the Matriarch of the Ranuans insists that the dark ones
are no danger."
"Why are they dangerous?" Anna asked.
"Because they use massed voices to create darksong. They can sometimes
change the weather, and there are those that claim the hot and dry years
that have recently plagued Defalk are their doing."
"You're one of those who believes this," Anna said flatly.
Brill shrugged and offered the quick, warm smile. "I cannot prove that,
but, yes, I do believe that they have meddled with the weather." The
smile vanished. "They will do worse in the seasons ahead."
"I'm not clear on the difference between darksong and clearsong…" Anna
didn't even know what they were, except that they had something to do
with the way sorcery was practiced on Erde, but there was no reason to
confess to total ignorance.
A ghost of a frown flitted across the sorcerer's face before he spoke.
"You have seen that the world can be recorded to some degree by
manipulating the music that binds its components together. The stronger
the aspects of the spell, the more effective it is."
Anna nodded. That made a strange sort of sense.
"But there are two sets of bindings on Erde—those that bind the living,
or once living, and those that bind the nonliving. It is dangerous to
attempt to manipulate the living— and difficult."
"But those who do are the darksingers?" she asked.
"Ah… yes…" Brill looked vaguely disconcerted.
"Are the dark ones—"
"They use some clearsong, too, in dealing with the weather. That's
because a single voice doesn't have enough power, even with a large
number of supporting players." The sorcerer paused, then added, "Your
gown would indicate that you are, in fact, one of the great… ones."
Anna wondered at the pause, as though Brill were having trouble finding
the appropriate word. "I'm considered to have a moderately strong voice.
In my world, it's hard to make it, especially if you have children."
"You're a sorceress, and you have children?" Brill's voice was not quite
unbelieving.
"Three." Anna swallowed. "They're grown." They certainly were by the
standards of this world, and she didn't want to try to explain. "One was
killed in a car accident—a magic-carriage accident," she added.
"How old are they?" Brill asked, clearly confused.
"Twenty-four and eighteen. The oldest was twenty-eight." Anna enjoyed the
look of total confusion on the sorcerer's face.
"Years? Or seasons? Do they grow up more quickly?"
"Years. Probably we grow up more slowly, from what I've seen so far,"
Anna said.
Brill sat down slowly in his padded chair. "Daffyd… I wouldn't have…" The
warm smile returned. "You do indeed present a welcome surprise, perhaps a
greater surprise than many would expect." He stood and gestured toward
the table, extending a hand to Anna. "Let us dine."
She took his hand, a normal, warm male hand, and rose. She could smell
the faint odor of sweaty male—deodorants didn't go with magic, she
gathered.
Brill dropped her hand, without squeezing, and gestured toward the place
on the right. The place setting included a folded, faded blue linen
napkin, a blue china plate with the B, fired in place in the center,
edged in a gold trim, a silver spoon more like a soup spoon, and a small
sharp knife. There was no fork.
The two chairs at the table were both finished in metallic blue lacquer
with blue cushions. Brill pulled out her chair with both hands, and Anna
almost nodded to herself. The chair was heavy.
The outer walls of the keep or hall shaded the blue-tinted windows from
the glare of the sun, low in the sky, Anna suspected, from the angle and
depth of the shadows in the courtyard. The area she could see from the
window was empty—no retainers, no guards. She looked back to the sorcerer.
"I must apologize in advance, lady. Our fare here is limited." The
sorcerer lifted a crystal bell and rang it before seating himself.
As the tones echoed through the salon, a white-haired woman in the faded
blue that all Brill's servitors and employees, if that was what they
were, wore appeared with a small tray.
Silently, the server placed a half melon in front of each of them. The
melon had a bright orange interior and a yellow-green rind, like a cousin
of a cantaloupe.
"The melons are probably the best part of the meal."
Brill noted, reaching for a crystal carafe containing the same amber
vinegar wine.
"No, thank you," Anna said quickly.
"You do not like the wine?"'
Anna scarcely would have called it wine.
"I'd prefer clean, cold water, if you don't mind."
"Some sorcerers do, I've discovered. The blue pitcher has water in it."
He filled his own goblet with the amber wine.
"Do you have to spell all the water here?" Anna asked, pouring the water
into the empty goblet.
"I do. All the water used in the hall is clean, even the bathing water."
"I see why people call your hall a place of wonders." Anna wasn't so sure
she was happy about a world where it was considered excessively cautious
to purify the bathing water.
"Jenny said that? Generous of her. It couldn't have been Daffyd. He
wouldn't offer me a kind word."
"You don't seem bothered by his dislike of you." Anna used the small
sharp knife to cut away a bite-sized slice of the melon, slipping it into
her mouth. It was wanner than she liked melon, half honeydew, half
cantaloupe, but sweet and refreshing. She cut another slice.
"I'd dislike me were I in his boots." Brill took a sip of the wine. "Not
too bad."
"Why would you dislike yourself if you were Daffyd?"
"I killed his father. It was necessary, because Culain's humming was
getting worse, and he wouldn't listen." Brill set down the fluted goblet.
"Lady Anna… using spellsong is always dangerous. You said your daughter
died in a magic-carriage accident. It is much the same way here on Erde.
My father tried to use spellsong too long. There was less of him left
than of Culain." Brill laughed, a sound with bitter overtones. "Of
course, it didn't help that he tried to turn a thunderstorm on Lord
Barjim's grandfather."
Anna shook her head. "Your father was—"
"Politics. They're always complicated. Barjim was raised by his uncle.
Donjim was the older son, but none of his children lived. Barjim and I
don't care much for each other personally, but he needs a sorcerer, and
I, obviously, need silver."
"Just as you need Daffyd?" Anna guessed.
"Precisely. I thought you might understand. Daffyd is a good player, and
I would certainly not take askance if you remained friendly with him. Do
keep in mind that, like all players, he has a tendency to… react… rather
than consider the effects of his efforts."
Anna cut another slice of melon and chewed slowly, trying to gather her
thoughts together.
Brill cut himself a wedge of melon larger than Anna's and popped it into
his mouth with relish.
"It's often hard to consider the future when you are struggling with the
present," Anna temporized.
"If you don't, you often have no future."
"If you don't eat today," countered Anna, "you may not live long enough
to worry about a future." Even on Erde, it appeared, there were the
elitists who preached about preparing for tomorrow while conveniently
forgetting that too many people had trouble getting through today.
Elitists like Avery, who used his money on vacation homes while insisting
that she share in the children's college tuition costs, while preaching
that she hadn't saved enough after she'd followed him everywhere and
given up her chances at tenure to try to let him have his big chance.
"If I were to allow people to use seed grain for flour, we'd all have
starved," Brill said coolly.
Anna swallowed her retort, realizing that she couldn't afford to make the
sorcerer angry, just like she couldn't afford to make her department
chair angry, her thesis advisor angry, Avery angry… Instead, she took a
last slice of melon and chewed it slowly, looking out the window into the
still-empty courtyard.
"It can be a hard choice," she finally said. -
"Hard indeed, and I am often called cruel for it." Brill refilled his
goblet with the amber wine. "All prudent lords are in this time of
trouble."
The white-haired server removed the melons, leaving the plates, then used
a crude spatula to lever a brown-covered slab of meat onto Anna's plate.
Next came a whitish green heap of something. Finally, she set a steaming
loaf of the brown bread in the center of the table.
Brill nodded at the server, who departed as silently as she had slipped
into the salon.
Anna looked at the brown sauce that covered the hefty slice of meat. The
sauce reminded her of all the mystery meats she hadn't eaten when she'd
been studying in England. She tried to sniff the meat without being too
obvious.
"It's not the best beef," the sorcerer admitted, "but the sauce is good.
Only the tougher animals have been able to weather the drought."
"How long has the drought continued?" asked Anna, using the knife to
slice a sliver of beef.
"This is the fourth year." Brill cut a large chunk of meat and eased the
entire portion into his mouth.
Anna repressed a shudder, although she'd seen Mario do the same thing all
too often. She chewed her small slice— tough despite a marinated sauce
that was sweet and acidic simultaneously. If what the sorcerer was
putting in front of her happened to be good food, she wasn't sure she
wanted to find out what the common folk ate.
"Because of the dark ones?"
"It appears that way. Ebra is getting good rains, and the Ebrans are
selling melons and grains to the Ranuans and the Norweians. Before they
took over, the weather was spotty there." The sorcerer cut another slice
off his slab of meat and stuffed it into his mouth, wiping his fingers on
the necessarily large napkin, then breaking off a chunk of bread. After
that he took and ate another enormous chunk of meat.
"Why are they doing it?" asked Anna, not quite sure what she was asking.
"What do you think?" She followed Brill's example and took a corner of
the bread. A mouthful convinced her that it was far better than the meat.
"Does what I think matter? I wish I knew. Oh, I can summon images that
show what they do, and that's clear enough. They spell-move the
Whispering Sands south and west, uncovering once fertile ground, and
covering the groves and grasslands of Ranuak." Brill sipped from the
goblet. "The Ranuans insist that the sands rffove naturally, but they
must know better. The sand-moving gives better crops to the Ebrans, who
thank the dark ones, and weakens the Ranuans. Beyond that, I can see that
this prosperity allows them to equip and feed better and more troops. I
can only guess at the planned use of those troops. The water mirrors do
not read intent, as you know."
"And you guess what?" Anna took a sip of water and another mouthful of
bread.
"They will invade Defalk, sooner or later—before harvest this year, or no
later than next." He shrugged. "That is. but a guess."
Anna lifted the deep spoon and tried the whitish green mess—which turned
out to be something like tart and unsweetened fried apples. She had
another bite.
"After seeing how you preferred water, I thought you might like the sour
apples."
"They are good," Anna said, "but I can't live on fruit alone. The dark
bread is quite good, too." She followed her second spoonful of apples
with another thin slice of the tough beef. The brown sauce helped, but
the apples and the bread helped more.
"What will you do to stop them—the dark ones?" Anna asked after several
bites.
The sorcerer finished yet another large mouthful of beef before he spoke.
"I have helped Lord Barjim build walls on Defalk's side of the Sand Pass,
but they will only slow the armies of the dark ones." He frowned. "I had
not meant to speak of it, but I had wondered whether you might have some
special magic, such as the mighty weapons of your world."
Anna thought. She didn't want to admit she was essen-tially clueless, but
how could she answer him? Finally, she spoke. "Our world is different,
and the way our technology works requires many technicians. Each adds
something. I am only one person."
"What is a 'technician'?"
"A technician is like a player, I'd say, except technicians work with
special tools and magic boxes called computers." Anna cleared her throat.
"Everything works differently here and there."
"Yet Daffyd's spell brought you," Brill pointed out.
"I may be able to help," Anna said, "but I need to learn more about Erde."
"Can you even do spells here, lady?" asked Brill coolly.
"Yes," Anna answered truthfully, glad that she had tried the water spell,
"but I made a large mess out of one of your goblets."
"You broke one of them with a spell?" The frown was so momentary that
Anna would have missed it had she not been concentrating on reading his
reactions.
"That wasn't the intent." Anna offered a gentle laugh. "I was trying to
get cold and clean water. I got it so cold it froze the crystal."
"Again, you surprise me." Brill inclined his head. "I have never tried to
freeze water. Working with water can be most dangerous. Metals and stone
are generally easier."
Anna glanced down at her plate, vaguely surprised that she had eaten
everything on it, and then at Brill's. Despite the fact that he had
easily eaten twice what she had, if not more, he was clearly trim and
without a spare ounce anywhere. Sorcery had to be hard work here. A trace
of a smile crossed her lips. Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about
weight. Her half smile disappeared as she realized that she was being
considered as a weapon in a war, and she knew little about either side.
The sky outside the window was turning a deep purple, and the salon had
gotten dimmer and dimmer.
Brill hummed for a moment, then sang to the candle on the table between
them:
"Candle light, candle bright,
flame clear in my sight."
The candle flame appeared from nowhere, then flicked and continued
to.burn.
"Can you do that?" Brill asked.
"I've never heard the tune, but I can try. Would you hum it once?'' Anna
asked.
The sorcerer obliged.
Anna glanced up at the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, then
thought. She hummed the tune once, and again. Finally, she took a deep
breath, hoping that she could duplicate the feat, concentrated on the
mental image of a blazing chandelier, and sang:
"Candle light, candles bright,
flame clear in my sight."
The entire chandelier blazed into light, then subsided to a warm glow.
Brill wiped his forehead. "Ah… yes, I can see that…"
"I seem to have this tendency to overdo things," Anna said politely.
Inside, she was half excited, half fearful, wondering how she was so
successful at something she'd never done. She also tried to remember the
tune Brill had hummed.
"Even the dark ones might be somewhat surprised," the sorcerer observed
as he lifted the crystal bell and rang it.
The white-haired server appeared and removed the plates and bread, then
returned with two small slices of pastry.
"Recerot," the sorcerer explained.
Anna picked it up with her fingers and took a small bite of the layered
pastry soaked in honey, almost like baklava— but without the nuts. The
honey tasted slightly off, but she finished it anyway, and followed it
with several healthy swallows of water.
"The honey is a trace strong," Brill said. "I think that's because there
is so little moisture."
"I appreciated it all," Anna said truthfully, realizing that she had been
hungry indeed, and that she could have eaten more.
Brill rose, almost abruptly. "I would not presume to escort you to your
chamber, Lady Anna, but I trust you will rest well."
"I appreciate your hospitality, lord, and your willingness to assist a
stranger." She inclined her head.
"Tomorrow, perhaps, you would enjoy a ride around the hall's grounds?"
"If you have a gentle horse," Anna answered. "I'm out of practice." Out
of practice was definitely an understatement. Except for a few trail
rides with Sandy and his daughters, she hadn't been on a horse for more
than twenty years. "I would enjoy learning more about Erde."
"We will see what we can do."
The ubiquitous Florenda was waiting at the salon door with a lamp, and
Anna followed the slender woman back up to the guest chamber.
"Breakfast is served at the second morning bell, lady. I will knock on
your chamber door at the first bell.'' Florenda bowed deeply, even more
deeply than before.
"Thank you, Florenda." Anna offered the young woman a smile before
closing and bolting the door.
The coverlet had been turned back, and both bedside lamps had been lit.
The window hangings had been loosed and completely covered the perfect
tinted blue glass panes. The small pile of crystal had been removed, and
two clean and empty goblets and a pitcher of what appeared to be water
stood on the window table.
Beside the lamp on the window side of the bed was a candle, like
something out of an antique picture book, set in a metal holder that had
a curved handle. Beside the can-dleholder was a metal device that looked
like a combination between tongs and strange scissors.
Anna shook her head and felt the sheets—somewhat coarse linen, but at
least they weren't wool. She hoped Lord Brill had spelled the bed for
vermin, or whatever.
Of course, she couldn't sleep in her green gown—or wear it every day,
either. With a sigh that was half yawn, she stepped toward the robing
room, then realized that she couldn't see in the dark.
That was the reason for the candle. She stepped around the bed and picked
up the scissor-tongs, and squeezed them. A spark leapt from them.
Although she understood the striker, rather than fiddling with the
device, Anna hummed the tune she and Brill had used to light the candles
again. It seemed easier than fiddling with the striker. This time, she
sang and concentrated on getting a normal flame—and she did.
With a smile, she carried the candleholder into the robing room, and
after pawing through half the left-hand closet wall, she found what
appeared to be a thin cotton gown. Then in the dim candlelight, she
kicked off her shoes and struggled out of the green formal and the slips,
and the longline bra, and the nylons. They were ruined with runs in at
least three places. For the moment, with another yawn, she set them
aside. As she pulled on the gown, she wondered if Brill were spying, then
shook her head. She hoped he wasn't. She didn't like the idea of her
privacy being invaded, but she didn't have any doubts that a sorcerer who
had discovered her arrival could easily use his abilities to follow her
motions—dressed or undressed. Still, the shapely Florehda indicated that
Lord Brill probably had his pick of local young women. So, why would he
bother with Anna?
Had he been telling the truth with his words about not wanting her body,
but her abilities? Was anyone telling the truth?
She carried the candle back into the bedchamber and set it on the bedside
table, cupping her hand and blowing it out, since she saw no snuffer. The
cold of the stone floor on her bare feet was welcome. Sitting on the edge
of the bed, she took off her jewelry last—all costume except for the ring
Irenia had given her—and laid it on the bedside table with the
non-functioning watch.
Then she climbed between the sheets. The mattress was lumpy, as she had
suspected. She tried to arrange the equally lumpy pillows and pushed back
the coverlet so that she was covered only by the sheets.
Finally, she blew out the lamps and lay back in the darkness—and the
silence.
Everything seemed so real—and unreal. The smells and tastes were vivid
enough, especially the vinegary taste of the wine. And the crystal
fragments had seemed real enough. But. a world where sorcery worked? And
everywhere was the same strange contrast—delicate, cultured, refined
items beside crude things. What was the pattern? She shook her head in
the darkness, knowing she knew the answer, but unable to grasp it in her
tiredness and confusion.
Finally, her eyes closed.
9
ESARIA, NESEREA
A sea breeze cools the columned, hilltop chamber. Between the fluted
marble pillars the man in the spotless and feather-light white tunic can
glimpse the whitecaps of the Bitter Sea. The music of strings, low
strings, drifts from the adjoining Temple of Music, providing a soothing
background.
The man wearing the cream-and-green Neserean uniform, who stands below
the marble Seat of Music, does not appear soothed.
"How did the dark ones first contact you, Jorbel?" The Prophet of Music,
Lord of Neserea, and the Protector of the Faith of the Eternal Melody
leans forward on the green cushion that comprises the only softness in
the receiving pavilion.
"I don't understand, Lord Behlem." The uniformed man bows, as he has
several times previously.
"If you wish to keep using that head for understanding and other
purposes, like surviving, you had best stop playing dumb, Jorbel."
The perspiration on Jorbel's forehead turns into rivulets. "Ser?"
Behlem nods, and two armored and armed figures step forward. Jorbel's
hands grab for the knife at his belt, for his scabbard is empty, then
claw at the empty air before him. The corpse sinks forward to reveal the
blade in its back.
"Donkey-copulators!" snarls Behlem. "How do they do it?" His fingers
stroke the neatly trimmed reddish blond beard. "Three of them in the army
command in the last year."
An older man, white-haired and white-bearded, steps forward. His eyes are
bloodshot, with deep black circles beneath them. "He might have said
more, ser."
"They never do. The dark ones do something to them. They don't even
respond to the persuasion of the strings or spells of loosening the
tongue. They just start making trouble, always insisting that they have
received commands I never gave." Behlem snorts. "Why would I order Jorbel
to take the blades from the armory reserves and have them forged into
plowshares? Why?"
"Perhaps the dark ones are sending a message?" suggested Menares.
"That we should peacefully accept the rule of darksong and its dubious
benefits?" Behlem glances toward the storm gathering beyond the
breakwaters of Esaria. "Still…" He pauses. "Are you sure this is wise,
Menares? We are far from Ebra, and building up the army has not been
inexpensive."
"Consider this, ser. All of the traitors have opposed it.
Also consider the situation that faces us. Nordwei is too strong for the
dark ones—"
"At present," interjects Behlem.
"The Norweians continue to expand their navy, and they refuse to trade
except for solid silver. Ranuak is protected by the Whispering Sands and
the Sand Hills. Esaria is our only trade port, and the Bitter Sea is
often ice-packed or frozen near half the year. The overland route to
Encora can be easily severed if the dark ones take Defalk's eastern
marches. In your uncle's time, we had access to Wei through the River
Nord, to Synek and the Syne River to Elahwa."
"Please, Menares, don't give me a lecture on trade or economics. I trust
you for that. Perhaps I shouldn't, but we both know how good I am at that
sort of thing."
A wry smile passes the older man's lips. "Very well, ser. It's very
simple. If you don't take Defalk, at least the access to the Falche and
the South Pass, before the dark ones do, Neserea will be a province of
either Ebra or Nordwei in a decade, and you're a young man."
Behlem nodded, despite the frown on his face.
"Of course, if you would like to rely upon Cyndyth's heritage…"
Behlem's eyes glitter. "You are my advisor, but some matters are best
left to me, Menares."
"I shouldn't have suggested."
"No. You shouldn't have." Behlem's eyes focus somewhere far distant. "I'd
send her home, as you well know, except that I need the annual stipend
from Mansuur, and Konsstin would love an excuse to cut it off." He smiles
brightly, tightly, and his eyes refocus on his advisor. "You're sure this
latest thing won't stop the dark ones?"
"The blonde sorceress that Lord Barjim has conjured from the mists?"
Menares shrugs. "I have my doubts that any sorceress could stop the dark
ones, but if she does… we have nothing to lose. Barjim has not the silver
or the troops to hold his eastern marches against Ebra and the west
against us. Nordwei would not risk an army in Defalk, and certainly not
in Ebra."
Behlem strokes his beard again, as the soothing sounds of the strings
drift across the hilltop from the Temple of Music.
As the Prophet of Music looks away, Menares wipes his forehead.
10
Anna woke abruptly in darkness. Where was she? She reached for the lamp,
and her hand fumbled on the smooth stone of the bedside table, sending
the link necklace skidding off the edge and clanking onto the stone floor.
Her face itched from the scratchy pillowcases, and she could feel a lump
of mattress padding—lint or horsehair or feathers or something—digging
into her side. She shifted her weight and struggled upright in the
dimness, sensing light beyond the heavy window hangings.
Rather than try a lighting spell or the striker—groggy as she was, she
could definitely understand the value of the striker—she eased her feet
off the high bed and onto the cold floor. She padded across the smooth
stones toward the windows, where she pulled back the hangings to a gray
morning, gray because the sun had not risen.
The stone walls looked blue-gray in the predawn light, and forbiddingly
empty. Weren't people supposed to get up early in less technological
cultures? Anna yawned and looked toward the robing room.
Today, she was supposed to go riding—riding and learning more about Erde.
If she were hallucinating, she certainly must have taken some fall. Anna
shook her head. Erde didn't feel like a hallucination.
"It sure doesn't feel like Kansas, Toto—or Iowa."
And it didn't. The mattress had been lumpy, the sheets scratchy, and the
room stuffy. Her joints ached; her eyes were gummy, and she wanted a
toothbrush.
She walked slowly into the robing room and turned on the tap—the wrong
one, and quickly added lukewarm water to the steaming stream. There was a
flat, rubberlike plug that fit over the drain. In struggling to get the
plug to fit in place, she ended up soaking half her gown.
"Damn…" she muttered, looking toward the mirror as she waited for the tub
to fill. The gown clung to her in all the wrong places, especially if she
were being watched, magically or otherwise.
She shook her head, definitely not at ease with the idea of real magic.
"Are you sure you're not hallucinating?"
The faint steam from the tap, the cold stone underfoot, the aches in her
back, the damp gown against her skin, and her itchy nose were good
indications that wherever she happened to be was real—too real.
She finally turned off the water, stripped off the gown, and eased into
the tub. The warm water felt good, although she'd probably need another
bath after riding, as much to relieve soreness as to remove dust. She had
to sprawl half out of the tub to grab the small towel she'd used as a
washcloth the day before. Then she used the oil soap sparingly, very
sparingly, as she washed her face. She wished she had more than the small
bottle of hand cream and the little jar of lip moisturizer. Even lotion
would have been good, but she hadn't seen anything like that on Erde—and
doubted that she would.
The too-small towels were scratchy, and her skin prickled in the cool of
the robing room. Still, it was better than the heat she imagined
continued outside the sorcerer's hall. She laughed ruefully. Hadn't that
been the story of her life— difficult as things seemed, they were always
better than the alternatives could have been?
She also needed to find some clothes that would fit for riding. The green
formal gown was definitely not designed for that. With a deep breath,
Anna turned toward the open closets, where she found what looked to be a
dressing gown. That helped with the chill.
In among everything else—and Anna had to wonder just how many ladies
Brill had prepared for—she found some soft green cotton trousers and a
matching armless tunic, as well as a loose-fitting natural cotton blouse
she could wear under the tunic. She frowned. Would both a blouse and
tunic be too hot? She fingered the fabric of the blouse… or shirt—the
buttons were on the right-hand side.
The cotton underdrawers she found were either too tight or too baggy.
Clearly, Erde hadn't discovered elastic, either. She opted for comfort.
Too tight might look wonderful in a fashion magazine, but she wasn't in a
fashion magazine. She was in some strange world where everyone else
seemed to know what was going on. Finally, she shrugged off the dressing
gown and pulled on the baggy underdrawers— softer, at least, than any
other fabric she'd felt, and then the rest of the outfit.
Shoes? She certainly couldn't wear heels.
On a shelf at the far end of the open were four pairs of boots, all in
shades of blue, but nowhere could she find socks. Only one pair was large
enough, and even those were a squeeze around her calves.
When Anna had dressed and applied a little makeup and lip gloss, she
studied herself in the mirror. She had to admit I she didn't look too
bad. The faded green flattered her complexion, even with the minimal
makeup she'd had and used, and—wonder of wonders—the trousers didn't even
accentuate her hips.
She snorted. "A strange world, and you're worrying about how your hips
look."
Anna looked at the green handbag on the table in the bedchamber. She
didn't want to carry it, nor to leave it, especially some of the
contents, like the lotion, the lip moisturizer. She doubted that any of
the coins were worth anything, not since the U.S. had given up honest
silver and copper. That brought another rueful look to her face. Who
would have thought she'd be thinking about coins?
While she had carried more than a few things in her purse, the handbag
she'd carried had been stripped down to essentials—as she always did for
functions. She offered a wry grin to the mirror. Too bad she hadn't been
headed for a theatrical performance with three bags full of stuff. For a
moment, she wished she were one of those women who carried everything all
the time.
The trousers had no pockets, nor did the blouse, and the two patch
pockets on the tunic didn't feel like they'd hold much. So how did people
carry things?
She went back to the closets that seemed to hold everything and began to
rummage, eventually coming up with something that looked like a cross
between an overgrown wallet, a purse, and a leather pouch. The leather
loops were clearly designed for a belt to fit through them.
As she untied the leather belt—no buckles on Erde—and slipped the
wallet-purse in place, she smiled ruefully. The meaning of the term
cutpurse was a lot clearer. By carefully nestling items together, she
could even fit everything that had been in her green handbag in the
oversized wallet, except the brush. She set that on the table with the
handbag. Then she looked at it again, finally picking it up and easing it
into the left tunic pocket, bristles down. The handle stuck out, but the
way things had been going, who knew where she'd be by evening?
Her eyes went to the bedside table, and the jewelry and her watch. She
walked over and picked up the watch that still showed the time as
five-forty. That was another question. Why didn't it work? Why had it and
the key gotten so hot when she had been spelled into Erde—but not the
necklace or her rings? Did the gold plate have anything to do with it?
Finally, she strapped the watch on her wrist and the rings on her
fingers, but the costume gold links went into the green handbag. If they
vanished, so be it.
Anna jumped at the knock on the outer door, then took a deep breath and
walked to the door. "Yes?"
"Lady… your breakfast is being served in the salon, and Lord Brill would
greatly appreciate your company."
Anna fumbled with the bolt and opened the door. "Florenda, I will be
there momentarily."
"Might I wait and accompany you, lady?" asked the dark-haired girl, her
black eyes pensive.
"That would be fine." Anna could sense Florenda's unease. Would the girl
be punished if Anna failed to appear? Or was she politely trying to get
Anna to hurry, but fearful of offending someone she thought might be a
powerful sorceress?
Anna left the door ajar as she studied the bedchamber, then turned. "I
guess I'm ready."
Florenda bowed and turned. Anna followed her down the corridor and
through the dimly lit rooms to the salon, where light poured through the
bay window behind the table.
Lord Brill rose from the small table and bowed. "Good morning, Lady Anna.
I trust you rested well."
Anna returned the bow. "I appreciate your courtesy and hospitality, Lord
Brill." She looked down at herself. "I hope you do not mind my use of the
clothing, but I did not arrive exactly dressed for…"
"You may have anything you need, lady." His mouth crinkled and his eyes
smiled. "You will doubtless repay it manyfold through your talents." He
gestured to the table. "Please…"
"Thank you." Anna slipped into the chair across the table from him,
trying not to think about repayment.
The sorcerer wore blue, as he always did, Anna suspected, but the cloth
was more functional, harder than the velvet of the day before. Shirt,
tunic and trousers were all of a faded cotton like that of Anna's green
trousers. The circles under Brill's eyes were even more pronounced than
the evening before, and the brown-flecked green eyes were themselves
bloodshot.
"You must have stayed up awhile last night," Anna observed.
"Something like that." He sat again and took a sip of the hot beverage in
his mug.
Anna followed his example, pouring the steaming yellow-green liquid into
her mug and taking a small sip. While the warmth was welcome, whatever it
was; it wasn't tea, and it wasn't coffee, and it was bitter, with a taste
like boiled pine needles.
She poured a goblet of water.
Before her was another half melon, and in the middle between them, a loaf
of bread, some sliced dried apples, some cheese wedges that looked like
those she'd rejected the day before, and a jar of reddish preserves.
She broke off some of the bread, dabbed some of the preserves on it, and
took a bite.
"You never did say much about your world," Brill began slowly.
"No," Anna admitted after swallowing a mouthful of the tasty and chewy
dark bread. "What would you like to know?"
"Can you create any of the magics like the iron birds?"
"No. Even on my world," Anna said slowly, "to create one of them takes a
long time and hundreds of special workers."
Brill nodded. "I thought as much. What about the magic staffs that throw
fire?"
Anna frowned. Magic staffs that threw fire?
"People put them to their shoulders, and smoke and fire comes from the
end," Brill added. "Sometimes they kill people from a distance."
"There are two parts to that," Anna said. "You need to make the gun, and
then it needs ammunition, bullets, and that takes a special powder…
gunpowder." Avery probably knew the formula for gunpowder, but she
didn't. Anyway, would gunpowder even work on Erde? Slowly, she dabbed
more of the berry preserves on another hunk of bread. She was hungry.
"You look very doubtful, lady." Brill set his cup on the table.
"I don't know enough about Erde to know what might work here, and what
won't." Anna tried to keep from pursing her lips. "It took thousands of
people hundreds of years to develop the things you're talking about." She
took another mouthful of bread and preserves, then cut a slice of melon.
Brill frowned openly. "You make it sound as though magic is very
difficult on your world. Yet my few glimpses in the mirror waters show
many magic devices."
"Few?" asked Anna, stalling and trying to think of an appropriate answer
before she was pushed into admitting something unwise, although
everything she might say appeared unwise in some way.
"It is dangerous to look more than infrequently," answered Brill. "What
about these magic devices? Why can you not spell some?"
How could Anna explain? She sipped some water. Finally, she took a deep
breath. "It's hard to explain, but I'll try. What you call magic in my
world is called technology. People don't make the magic devices through
spells. They use machines to make them. First, hundreds of years ago, we
had simple machines. We used them to make more complicated machines. Then
people improved those machines." Anna stopped, before adding, "It took
lots of people a long time."
Brill nodded pensively. "The reflections show many people in the mist
worlds, and your face shows you are telling the truth." He sighed. "But
it is disappointing. We have few people compared to your world, and
little time. Is there not something from your world that we could use?''
"I don't think our worlds are quite the same, Lord Brill," Anna offered.
She pointed to her watch. "On my world, this tells time. Here it doesn't
even work."
"Perhaps the shock of crossing the mist barriers…" suggested Brill.
"It doesn't feel like it will ever work here," Anna added. She pursed her
lips before continuing. "Also, I can tell you that my songs have never
been as powerful on earth as on Erde. That takes some getting used to."
What she said was true, if misleading, but she felt it wasn't a good idea
to admit she wasn't a sorceress at all on earth. Not now, anyway.
As Brill pondered her words, she cut and ate several more slices of melon
and even had another sip of the pine-needle tea. Then she had more bread
and preserves.
"Hrnmmm," he said after sipping his own tea with far more relish than
Anna could see reason for, "this bears more thought. You are a powerful
sorceress here, and your mist world has many things that would seem
impossible here. Both are true." Brill laughed. "So we shall see."
Her mouth full, Anna offered a nod. She was still hungry, more hungry
than usual in the morning. Was it nerves? Or something about Erde?
"Well? Are you ready for your ride?" asked the sorcerer with a smile
after she had finished the last of the bread. "Perhaps I can show you
something of Erde, enough to stimulate your thoughts on how you might
help us."
Anna nodded, wondering why she should help Brill. The sorcerer hadn't
really given any good reason for her to help, and he had admitted killing
Daffyd's father over what seemed a trifling thing, and yet he was acting
as if she would.
As Brill stood and turned, his hand brushed the crystal water goblet.
Anna lurched toward it, but was too late. The shimmering goblet seemed to
fall in almost slow motion toward the polished stone floor—where it rang
as it bounced… and bounced… and rang… and did not break.
"It's all right," Brill said calmly. "Serna will wipe it up."
Anna tried to look away from the delicate-seeming crystal that still
rolled back and forth on the light-blue stone floor. After a moment, she
forced a smile. "Your crystal is rather durable."
"I had thought so," Brill answered with a smile. "I had thought so."
What did he mean? Then she remembered. She had shattered one of the
goblets with her botched spell. She wanted to blot her suddenly damp
forehead. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"
"Certainly, lady. I'll meet you in the front entry." Brill bowed, not
quite sardonically, as if well aware of the confusion he had created, and
picked up a cap from the side table.
Anna wanted to scream that she wasn't slow, that she wasn't stupid, that
she'd like to see how he would do plopped into her world. He'd probably
get run over in a parking lot in thirty seconds—especially in Ames.
Instead, she pasted on a smile, and inclined her head momentarily. "I
won't be long."
Ignoring Florenda, who had appeared as she left the salon and fluttered
alongside her, Anna walked slowly back to her chamber.
In the robing room, Anna washed her hands mechanically, once, twice. How
could this be happening? Every time she turned around there was another
reminder that people thought she was something special, another hint that
she had to do something.
How? She was just Anna Thompson Marsali, born Anna Mayme Thompson in
Cumberland, Kentucky, a soprano not quite good enough, or lucky enough,
to have made it to the Met, but good enough to place second or third in
every competition she had been able to afford—before she'd given in to
Avery and gotten pregnant.
She walked back into the bedchamber and stood before the window. The
scene remained unchanged—the stone walls, the dirt roads, and the distant
view of Mencha to the north… and the sun, already beating down on the dry
countryside.
Anna went back to the closets, searching again, until she found a floppy
brown hat with a brim wide enough to shade her face. At least she hoped
it would.
Florenda waited in the corridor and followed her back down to the entry
where, as he had promised, Brill waited, knee-length riding boots
polished and glimmering.
Anna stepped out into the morning behind the sorcerer, and felt herself
begin to sweat almost instantly in the summer heat—worse even than Ames
in August.
"This way," Brill suggested.
They walked along the shaded north side of the main hall building, across
more of the flat stones that paved the entire courtyard, and back into
the sun, toward a low, blue-tile-roofed structure.
The stable was like the rest of the hall—well designed and of finely
finished stone. Like all stables, there was the odor of straw and manure,
and of leather and oil.
"Morning, lord." A short, white-haired man stepped from the dimness of an
open and empty stall into the sunlit doorway, offering a perfunctory nod
to the sorcerer.
"Good morning," Brill answered, gesturing from Anna to the wizened man.
"Quies, this is the lady Anna. We'll be riding out to the south dome, but
she'll need a horse." He added. "Quies is the stablemaster, and a fine
one."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Quies." Anna nodded at the wizened
stablemaster, who scarcely reached her chin, although his shoulders were
broad and his arms heavily muscled.
"How good a rider are you, lady?" asked Quies.
"Not very," Anna admitted. "And I'm out of practice."
Quies pulled at his stubbled chin as if to ask how anyone could get out
of practice when riding was the only sensible way to travel. "Well…
you're a tall woman… and a sorceress…"
Anna held in a frown. Tall? She'd never thought of herself as tall, but
on Erde, she seemed to be above average, especially for a woman.
"Maybe the palomino gelding…" Quies nodded as though he expected Anna to
follow him.
She did, stepping into the stable that was cooler than the courtyard, and
followed the stablemaster toward the rear of the long building. Her nose
itched from the straw dust, and she rubbed it, hoping she wouldn't sneeze
too much.
"Here…" Quies opened the stall door and slipped inside. '"I'll saddle
him."
Anna looked toward Brill, but he had stepped to an adjoining stall. He
nodded before turning back to Anna. They waited.
Finally, Anna asked, "Is there any magic to make riding easier?"
"Not that I know of, lady." Brill offered the crinkled smile.
When Quies led the palomino out, Anna looked at the horse doubtfully, and
even more dubiously at the saddle, something higher than an English
saddle, but not as solid as a western one, and there was no saddle horn.
The palomino swished his tail, but didn't edge away as Anna stepped up
toward him. She frowned at the fine tracery of lines across his
shoulders, half concealed by his coat.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Name?" Quies shrugged. "He belonged to one of the raiders out of the
high grasslands. Barjim sold him at auction, and he was cheap because he
was cut up." The stablemaster looked to Brill.
The sorcerer shrugged. "It wasn't that hard to heal him— minor darksong.
He was strong."
"Now he's worth a good five golds—be thirty if the raiders hadn't gelded
him," observed Quies.
Anna had the feeling that she and the palomino would be spending a lot of
time together. Why she couldn't say, but she'd learned to trust her
feelings. So the horse had to have a name. What did one call a horse?
She laughed. "Farinelli!"
"What?" said Brill.
"That's his name. Farinelli." She really didn't know if the original
Farinelli had been blond, but it didn't matter. The name felt right.
Brill and Quies exchanged a look that said, "If you say so."
She studied the palomino once more—a lot taller than a mule or even most
of the broken-down horses she'd climbed on for her handful of trail rides
when Elizabetta had gone through the horse-loving phase. She swallowed.
Her redheaded baby—except Elizabetta was scarcely a baby, not after a
year at Emory. But what had she thought when she had come home from her
job at Pransted's and found her mother missing?
"Lady Anna? Is this horse… ?" Brill asked solicitously. "It's not the
horse," Anna said. "My thoughts wandered." She looked back up at the
gelding, who whuffed. Riding Farinelli couldn't be too much worse than
riding old Barney had been, and she'd managed Barney bareback. Then,
she'd been a lot younger, and her grandfather had been more than a little
upset.
After she took the reins from Quies, she patted Farinelli on the shoulder
again. The gelding whuffed again. Then she led him toward the front of
the stable.
Brill paused by the other stall, opening the door. Shortly, he followed,
leading a blacfc mare, already saddled.
Outside the stable, back in the dry, dusty heat of the morning, Anna
looked up at Farinelli, trying not to swallow. Finally, she grasped the
saddle and levered herself up. "Doesn't need a mounting block…" Quies
observed. Anna turned to see a frown cross the sorcerer's forehead, then
vanish. Quies seemed to ignore the expression as Brill swung up into the
mare's saddle.
"Just be firm with him, lady," Quies added, "and if he tries to nip,
clout him on the nose. Once is enough."
Anna let Farinelli follow Brill's mare along the side of the hall toward
the front gate. Brill reined up at the main hall entrance, slid out of
the saddle, and used the braided, blue-corded bellpull. Anna remained in
her saddle, waiting. After a moment, the door opened and a brown-haired
youth appeared. "Yes, ser?"
Brill turned to Anna. "Gero, this is the lady Anna. She is a sorceress,
and to be respected and obeyed." Gero bowed. "My lady."
"Gero is my assistant. He's perfectly tone-deaf, which saves us both a
great deal of misunderstanding."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Gero." Anna said politely.
Gero bowed again.
"We'll be riding for a time, Gero. I'd like you to tell Kaseth to gather
the players, at the ninth glass."
"At the dome, ser?"
"That would be best." Brill nodded and climbed back into the mare's
saddle.
"Yes, ser." Gero bowed again. "At the ninth glass, ser."
The sorcerer remounted without looking back, although Gero remained
standing stiffly by the door, and turned the mare toward the hall gates.
The twenty-foot-high gates stood open as they rode into the morning sun.
Despite the floppy-brimmed hat, Anna had to squint against the glare as
the horses' hoofs clipped against the stone pavement that stretched for a
few hundred feet beyond the gates.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"First, I'll show you the dome building. There." Brill pointed to the
small and heavy-walled building on the hilltop. "That's where I work on
new spells. While I certainly wouldn't wish to impose, Lady Anna, I
thought you might find one of the workrooms… useful, at least for a
time." Again, the sorcerer offered the friendly crinkled smile, although
Anna didn't feel the undercurrent of alarm she had before.
So…he's being honest? Why? Because he doesn't want you trying to figure
out things and damaging his beautiful hall?
Brill turned the mare onto a narrower dusty lane that wound down the
hilltop where the hall sat, and then up toward the dome building.
Dust rose with every step Farinelli took, some of it seeping into Anna's
nose. After a time, she sneezed.
"It is dusty," Brill said. "It's been that way for the past few years."
His arm stretched eastward, encompassing the low brown hills, some with
scattered trees, others with a handful of dead and leafless trees. "I can
remember when all that was green, and the taller hills were filled with
trees." He shrugged. "Then we began to hear more of the dark ones, and
the summers, and the winters, got drier and drier."
Anna cleared her throat. "Hasn't anyone tried to do something about them?"
"The Ebrans were warlike before the dark ones. No one has ever conquered
Ebra—unlike Defalk," he added sardonically, "which has been conquered and
reconquered. The Norweians lost several thousand troops under their last
Council, and the Ranuans have always relied on the protections of the
Sand Hills and the Whispering Sands."
"Isn't there anyone else?"
"The only three countries that border Ebra are Nordwei, Ranuak, and
Defalk."
Anna lurched forward as Farinelli reached the bottom of the trail and
started back up the winding way toward the dome house. She grabbed the
front rim of the saddle and steadied herself. "That doesn't sound good,"
she temporized, reading Brill's face as much as his words.
"It is not good. Lord Barjim cannot even defend Defalk, much less
consider attacking Ebra. So the dark ones will move on us first."
"Why are you still here?" Anna blurted.
"I intend to show you why, Lady Anna. That may take some time." The
sorcerer reined up halfway up the hillside and pointed eastward. "Those
are the Sand Mountains, and a bit to the south is the Sand Pass to Ebra."
"How far is the pass?"
"Somewhat less than ten leagues."
Anna tried to remember what Daffyd—had it been Daf-fyd?—had said about
measurements. Ten deks were a league, and a dek was almost a kilometer,
and that was something like six-tenths of a mile, and that meant… less
than sixty miles from the border with Ebra?
"You look disturbed."
"I hadn't realized Ebra was so close."
"It's a good two days' ride to the Sand Pass, and another half day beyond
that to the true border." Brill frowned.
Anna shook her head. She'd forgotten that sixty miles or ten leagues or
whatever was a long way on horseback. She needed some perspective. "How
far is the border with the country to the west?"
"Neserea? I suppose it is around sixty leagues."
So Defalk wasn't a postage stamp-sized country, either. "What's to the
north? And how far?" Anna pressed.
"Nordwei—it runs across most of the north of Lied-wahr—more than three
hundred-leagues from Cape Eastwei to the mountains north of Esaria."
Brill pursed his lips. "The border is about thirty leagues north of
Falcor, and a little farther from here."
"Is Falcor the capital of Defalk?" Anna asked.
"Capital? You mean the coins amassed by a usurer? There are few coins
indeed in Falcor. Falcor is the liedstadt of Defalk, because that is
where Lord Barjim's liedburg is."
Every time she tried to get an answer, somehow the answer led into
something else. If the Germanic word roots meant the same things, then
Falcor was the capital of Defalk, but liedstadt translated roughly as
"song-city," while Lord Barjim's castle or hall was a "song-castle." Anna
grabbed the saddle as Farinelli lurched forward, her thoughts spinning as
she tried to construct a mental map— Ebra to the east, and Neserea to the
west, and Nordwei to the north.
"What's south?" she blurted.
"Ranuak," Brill answered tersely. "I have a map in my workroom."
His tone bothered Anna. Was she just supposed to sit on Farinelli and
follow the sorcerer around and meekly take what information he offered?
She'd stopped doing that with Avery—which had been one of the many things
that had led to the divorce—and she wasn't about to start again.
The sorcerer reined up by a stone hitching post outside the squat
building, £nd dismounted. The dusty path to the oaken door bore boot
tracks, almost all the same boot tracks, probably Brill's, Anna reflected
as she climbed off Farinelli and tied him beside the mare.
Anna followed the sorcerer, almost as in a daze, as he led her through
the small entryway and into a room filled almost entirely with a pool
contained in a raised stone pedestal, where, on one side, rested a harp,
half reflected in thei silvered water. Anna squinted as she glanced at
the silvered surface, where images seemed to flicker and then vanish. The
cool of the building was a relief after the searing heat' outside.
"Reading the pool takes some effort, and it's hard to separate what is
from what you hope. There is the map."
On the wall was a crude map. Anna refrained from smiling as her study of
the map confirmed—generally—her mental picture. Defalk was indeed
surrounded on all sides, both by mountains and other countries.
Brill touched her arm, interrupting her study of the map. "The practice
room is through this door."
She bit back a comment about being hurried and followed the sorcerer.
The next space was a large room empty except for an array of stools and a
large wooden stand that could have held music, except that Anna had seen
nothing resembling music.
Brill explained, "This is where the players practice new spellsongs.
Confinement helps reduce untoward effects."
Anna cleared her throat. "I thought there weren't any effects if people
weren't singing."
"Unaccompanied music cannot cast a spell, but it can disarray the
emotions," Brill answered smoothly, with an air of superiority that
momentarily reminded Anna of Avery again—or Antonio, as he now called
himself, the king of the comprimarios.
She repressed a snort, and managed a nod, as they entered another room,
with two wide windows to the east, a flat desklike table, two chairs, and
a small book case.
"This is the eastern workroom, and it might be most suitable for your
use," suggested the sorcerer.
"That is thoughtful of you," she said slowly.
"You are still not convinced that Erde is real," he said
"At some moments I am, and at others I'm not. It's getting more real the
longer I'm here," she added after a pause.
"It is very real, lady, and you could be here for a very long time." He
laughed harshly. "Or a very short time, if you do not believe it is real."
Anna understood that threat and found herself flushing, half in anger.
"You would have some of the same problems in my world."
The sorcerer nodded. "I well might, but you are here." Next he guided her
back to the center atrium and pointed to the doors for a washroom and
attached jakes, and to a storeroom which contained supplies for her work.
"Such as?"
"A key-harp, a set of bells, some paper…"
Anna had seen nothing resembling a piano, a harpsichord, or an organ, but
went with her gut feelings—not to comment on that deficiency.
Brill's own workroom contained two desks and several spoked wooden
chairs, a northern exposure with a view of both the hall and Mencha, a
small instrument that looked like a zither with a short keyboard,
presumably one of the so-called key-harps, and a book case. A rack of
handbells was mounted on a side wall, and sconces held three wall lamps.
The third workroom was similar to the first—stark, but spacious, except
that it seemed much warmer, perhaps because of the southern exposure that
showed browning fields and groves of gnarled trees climbing halfway up
the hill to the dome building.
"Apple trees?" Anna asked.
"Apple and some apricots. The apricots take the heat better, if they get
water."
Anna studied the southern view, the scattered houses and the brown line
that seemed to be a highway heading south.
"Do you prefer this or the east room?"
"The east," she answered.
"I thought as much." Brill turned back toward the small entry hall
without another word.
Were all sorcerers like that? Did they flick from solicitous to
indifferent from moment to moment?
She followed the balding sorcerer from the dome building, and the
late-morning heat struck Anna like a furnace, but the dryness made it
bearable—just. She untied the gelding and mounted.
Brill gestured toward the other-trail, the one leading down to the
groves. "I had thought to show you what we face from the dark ones."
Anna eased Farinelli up beside Brill's mare. "The effects of the
weather?'' she asked.
"Not five years ago, all these fields, all the way to the south, as far
as the eye could see, were green." As the horses carried them farther
down the trail toward the groves, he continued. "The leaves of the apple
trees were so thick you could not see the ground under them from here."
Anna glanced out to the south, her eyes reaffirming the brown dryness,
broken only with intermittent stretches of green.
"The roads were filled with wagons and carriages."
"Kkkkchew!" Anna rubbed her nose. The dust was getting to her. "Sorry. It
is dusty." She was glad for the floppy hat, but she wished she'd brought
sunglasses as she squinted against the constant glare. "It looks pretty
barren."
"That's the work of the dark ones." Brill laughed harshly. "The Ranuans
refuse to see the danger, and the Norweians play off everyone else, and
each year Defalk dies a little more."
On the right side of the trail, perhaps fifty feet from where the apple
orchard began, was an empty pond, one with slightly darker dirt that
indicated recent water," formed on three sides with the elaborate and
precise brickwork that Anna was associating with sorcery.
"You made the pond?"
"What else could I do? You see…" explained the sor-cerer, his hand
pointing to the nearest of the gnarled trees, and the damp and narrow
ditch that ran from a sluice gate at the bottom of the brick dam down to
the orchard.
Anna studied the irrigation system as Farinelli carried her down into the
orchard itself.
"Where do you get the water?"
Brill smiled wryly.
"Is that what you were doing last night?" Anna guessed.
"I claim I have a spring that flows at night."
Anna nodded. With water so scarce, Brill would not wish to broadcast his
sources, especially if he were drawing from the same aquifer as others'
wells.
"Even so, see how small and few the apples are?" The sorcerer lifted his
shoulders and let them fall. "And I cannot bring water more than a few
times a week, and the waters barely feed the orchard."
"How far do your lands extend?" Anna asked.
"Not even a dek beyond the base of the hills. My grandfather obtained the
hills, and my father added the groves and fields beyond the base. Not
that the fields have offered much in the past few years." He turned the
mare back uphill without another word.
Her knees were shaking by the time she dismounted at the hall stables.
Her head was spinning, and sparkles flashed in front of her eyes. She
staggered as her feet touched the courtyard stones outside the stable.
"Are you all right, Lady Anna?" Brill took her arm.
"I need some water," Anna rasped. She wasn't that good with heat, and the
dryness had kept her from realizing just how dehydrated she had gotten.
She'd been used to the wet heat of Iowa, where she would have been
drenched in sweat.
"The mist worlds are cooler. I should have known," Brill took her arm and
helped her back to the hall and to the salon where Anna slumped into a
chair at the table.
The sorcerer watched as Anna sipped her way through nearly a pitcher of
water.
"I'm not used to this much heat," she finally said as the worst of the
dizziness and disorientation passed.
"Will you be ready to hear the players this afternoon?"
"How long?" she asked.
"That won't be until the ninth glass."
"I'm not used to your timekeeping. How many glasses in a day?''
"At the beginning of spring or fall, the day is ten glasses long, and, of
course, so is the night."
Anna thought for a moment. So a glass was somewhat longer than an hour,
say, maybe ten minutes or so, and it was near noontime. "It's what, about
the fifth glass of the day now?"
"Actually, midday in summer is the sixth glass."
"I should be fine by the ninth glass, especially after I eat." She
paused. "If we ride in this heat anymore, I'll need a water bottle of
some sort. That should do it."
"You are different, Lady Anna." Brill shook his head slightly. "Very
practical."
Anna wondered. Avery and even Mario had thought her often very
impractical. Or was a problem-solving attitude just considered unfeminine
on Erde? Or was Brill flattering her?
He rang the bellpull, and the white-haired server ap-. peared.
"Serna… we will eat… and the lady Anna will need a pair of water bottles
for our afternoon ride—around the eighth glass."
"Yes, ser." The dark eyes looked from Brill to Anna and then at the floor.
Anna supposed she looked bedraggled, but, for the moment, she didn't
care. She probably would later, but her stomach was empty, and she still
felt dehydrated. She refilled the goblet and took another sip of the cool
water. The last of the light-headedness was beginning to disappear.
In less than two sips, Serna returned, with two platters and an array of
food—more of the dark bread, two more half melons, some cold slices of
meat, yellow cheese wedges, and dried apple slices.
Anna tried a small nibble of the yellow cheese—hard, but without the
moldiness that the softer and whiter cheese possessed.
The melons were the same as always, but welcome nonetheless, as was the
tasty bread. Again, Anna found that she ate more, far more, than she
should have.
"I'd like to rest for a while," she said, after glancing again at the
empty platter before her.
"Of course." Brill's smile was understanding, but not cryptic, and she
made her way up to the bedchamber, accompanied by Florenda.
11
North of the Whispering Sands, Ebra
Ten rows of dark-hooded figures stand silently as the drums begin to
roll. Then come the horns, the low falk horns and muted brazen trumpets.
The Songmaster raises his left hand, then drops it into a slow rhythm,
while the drums and horns meld into a sound like the incoming tide
rushing across the Shoals of Elahwa. The black baton in the Songmaster's
right hand falls, and th? massed voices take up the spell.
"Blessed be" the land that receives the damp,
Strike the watered clouds with heaven's lamp.
Blessed be the land that receives the damp,
Strike the watered clouds with heaven's lamp."
Shortly, a bolt of lightning flashes through the black clouds that roll
southward and pile up in the skies over the newly uncovered soil just
north of the Sand Hills.
"Blessed be the land that receives the damp,
Strike the watered clouds with heaven's lamp.
Blessed be the land that receives the damp,
Strike the watered clouds with heaven's lamp."
More lightning bolts cleave the clouds that have turned nearly
night-black.
The Songmaster's left hand gestures once more, and the timbre of the
accompaniment deepens. The baton flicks, and the chant shifts.
"Blessed be the land that receives the rain.
Open the clouds onto the thirsty plain.
Blessed be the land that receives the rain.
Open the clouds onto the thirsty plain."
Droplets begin to fall on the newly uncovered soil, on the fragments of
dried wood that had once been shaped, and upon the sand-polished, white
fragments that had, centuries earlier, belonged to some living creature.
12
The ninth glass found Anna in the dome building, standing beside Brill as
she watched the players tune their instruments. Gero sat on a stool in
the corner, his eyes on Brill. While she hadn't been able to sleep, with
all too many questions swirling inside her head, the combination of the
midday meal, lots of water, washing up, and several hours' rest had left
her feeling surprisingly good, surprising for someone thrown from one
world to another. She just hoped Elizabetta would be all right. Mario was
on his own, anyway, except that she still worried.
"After they practice," Brill suggested, "you might have a word with young
Daffyd."
"About what?" Anna asked innocently.
"Whatever you choose," the sorcerer answered. "He's like a skittish colt,
and if he bolts, he's going to get in trouble."
Anna held in a frown. In trouble with whom?—Brill? Lord Barjim? the dark
ones?
"The dark ones would see him as your summoner, and…" Brill shrugged.
Lovely, reflected the singer. If I don't keep the young man here, and
anything happens to him, it's my fault! It was so convenient for Brill to
forget about what he did to Daffyd's father, but not unexpected. That
sort of rationalization was typical for tenors, conductors, and
directors—and, apparently, for sorcerers. Her eyes went back to the group
assembling around the stools in the dome building's practice room.
There were twelve players, and eight were strings—four violinists, with
instruments like the early Italian violinos, two violas, and two cellos.
Then there were the horns—two instruments resembling clarinets, one
wooden flute, except it was played from the end like an American Indian
flute, a last woodwind that resembled a cross between a bass clarinet and
an English horn, and one brass horn halfway between a French horn and a
tuba, except the brass tubing seemed thicker and shorter.
Daffyd, carrying his viola, looked sideways at Brill, then at Anna. Anna
offered a smile to the young man, but he looked away quickly, and took
his seat on a stool.
"Are they ready, Kaseth?"
"We are almost ready, lord."
"We will begin with the building song," Brill announced. After a minimal
number of tunings, the sorcerer raised his hands, and with tight but
fluid gestures, directed the group through the very short song.
Anna listened. Although she was no musicologist and she couldn't have
provided an explanation of Schenkerian analysis, let alone provided such
an analysis—the music seemed similar to early Western music, mostly
polyphonic and modal in nature. Then, did they have either the
mathematics or the instrumentation to develop equal-tempered tuning?
There was so much she didn't know, didn't even know how to ask without
creating more problems.
Each instrument seemed to carry its own melody, although the predominant
melody seemed to rest mostly on the high strings, the violinos.
Occasionally the predominant theme was carried by both the woodwinds and
the strings. The cello seemed totally used for a simplified bass version
of the melody, rather than for true harmony, as was the deep sound of the
bass clarinet/English horn. The brass horn—Brill had called it a falk
horn—followed the violas, or so it seemed to Anna.
"… the section where the falk horn and the bass wind join—you're not
together there…"
The two hornists exchanged glances, and the woman clarinet player with
the white-streaked red hair followed the interchange. Daffyd looked
stolidly at Brill.
"Again," the sorcerer ordered.
"Now the paving song…"
"… the forging song…"
Through the rehearsal, if that were what it was, Anna wasn't impressed,
but she kept her face impassive, or she hoped she did.
"That will be all for this afternoon, Kaseth." The sorcerer nodded to the
man with the wispy white hair, the concertmaster, of sorts, then at Anna.
Anna slipped from the side of the practice room to the stool where Daffyd
was easing his viola into the brown case. Brill followed Kaseth out into
the small entry hall. Gero followed the sorcerer.
"I'm sorry about your father," Anna said.
"You are with Lord Brill, most high sorceress," Daffyd said stiffly,
closing the instrument case.
"Yes, I am staying in his hall. That's all. I'm a stranger here. I have
no clothes, no money, and very little knowledge of Erde. What would you
suggest?"
"You are a sorceress. Lord Brill says so."
"That may be." Anna took a deep breath. "But I don't know who to trust,
and how much. I don't know the politics or even much about the geography.
Don't you understand, Daffyd? Even if my language is much like yours, I'm
a total stranger here. I'm not a composer. I'm not even an arranger. I'm
a singer, and the songs I know won't do much here."
Daffyd looked over his shoulder. Only the woodwind player with the
white-streaked red hair remained in the practice room, and she looked
directly at them. Anna caught her eyes, and the woman turned quickly and
hurried out into the entry foyer.
Daffyd still did not reply.
"What is it? Is 'singer' a dirty word here?" The look on the youth's face
gave her the answer. "Some people act as though it's a dirty word where I
come from, too. Especially when it's time to pay you. They want it for
free, or cut-rate."
"They don't pay sorceresses?"
"If you mean singers… no, not very much."
Daffyd looked bewildered, and his eyes flicked toward the empty doorway.
"But you are a sorceress," he protested.
"Right now, I'm a sorceress with a few spells, just enough to keep Lord
Brill off balance."
Daffyd paled slightly. "They must be powerful."
"Enough," Anna temporized. "But not enough to go wandering all through
Defalk, not without getting into even more trouble." She could tell that
Brill remained outside the practice room, and that bothered her. What was
he expecting from her?
"But you were powerful in your world…"
"Song magic isn't as strong as technology magic on my world." Anna
thought of her stopped watch. "Here, it seems like some forms of
technology don't work at all, and song magic is stronger, much stronger.
It takes some getting used to."
"Why are you talking to me," Daffyd asked, "if Lord Brill has all the
answers?"
"Because no one has all the answers, and because I trust you," she
answered bluntly, but quietly enough that her words would not carry. "I
couldn't explain why, but I do."
Daffyd opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he asked in a whisper.
"And what about Lord Brill? Do you trust him?"
"About some things."
Daffyd gave a small nod. "I have to think."
"Do that." Anna watched the young string player as he left the practice
room.
Brill returned shortly, even before Anna reached the door. "He seems more
settled. What did you tell him?"
"I told him that I had to learn more about your world, and that I trusted
him."
"That was dangerous."
"His heart is good," Anna said.
"But not his judgment."
"He's young," Anna said, reflecting to herself that some judgment could
be learned, but not trustworthiness. "We've all had to learn."
"You're more charitable than I," Brill continued as he closed the doors
to the building.
"That may be because you are more experienced in the ways of your world,"
Anna answered, hating herself momentarily for trying to placate the
sorcerer.
Despite the sun's low position over the western plains, the air was still
and penetrating as though Anna stood in a massive oven. She patted
Farinelli and took several deep swallows from the water bottle before
mounting.
As they rode back to the sorcerer's hall, Brill edged his mare closer to
Farinelli. "What do you think of our music?"
"It's more… functional, I think. Ours is designed more for…" Anna paused.
How could she say it? What was earth's music designed for, anyway? After
a time, not long before they slipped into the shadows of the hall's
gates, she finally answered. "I need to think more."
As they rode past the main entry to the hall toward the stable, from
somewhere in the back of the hall grounds came the single crow of a
rooster, following by clucking and brawwldng.
"You are very thoughtful, lady," Brill said as he dismounted outside the
stable. "Best you get the thinking done while you can. Events may not
always allow for lengthy contemplation."
"I appreciate the advice." Anna dismounted and led Farinelli toward his
stall, where she was met by Quies.
"How was he, lady?" asked the stablemaster.
"He was fine, thank you. I enjoyed riding him."
"Good." Quies led the gelding into the stall, and Anna started toward the
front of the stable.
"You seem rather distant," Brill offered, joining her. The two walked
back across the stones toward the main part of the hall.
"It is rather unsettling to accept a whole new world." Especially when
you're still not sure it's real. Anna took off her hat, holding it in her
hand. Where the hat had touched her hair was sweaty, and probably dirty
from the sweat and dust. "It's even hard to know where to start."
"I have done my best to make you welcome."
"I would have done the same for you, Lord Brill, and you would have had
as much readjustment in my world as I do here—perhaps more." Anna
realized she shouldn't have spoken so sharply, but her feet hurt, and she
was tired of being expected to be grateful or scintillating or brilliant—
or whatever Brill expected.
"Dinner will be ready in a glass or so." Brill said stiffly in the entry
hall, his eyes taking in Anna's dusty clothes and floppy hat.
"That will allow me some time to get cleaned up," Anna said sweetly. She
was amazed at how dusty she'd gotten just from the short ride to and from
the sorcerer's outbuilding. She nodded politely and headed up the wide
stone stairs. Before she had gotten three steps up, she was joined by
Florenda.
While the tub filled, she rummaged through the long closets, not wanting
to wear the green performing gown— especially not the longline bra—to
dinner. The tub was almost full before she found a dark blue gown that
was almost a wrap-around style—but it seemed to fit—the only one that
really did. Most of the clothing was for women far shorter than she was.
She'd still have to wear either the heels, a pair of sandals her toes
hung over the front in, or boots.
She opted for the sandals, since green heels clashed with the dark blue.
Then she stripped off the dusty riding clothes and eased into the tub.
For a time, she just lay in the warm water of the tub, letting it carry
away the soreness in her feet and legs.
A knock on the door roused her, and she had to hurry, finally pinning her
hair up into a bun that would probably come undone halfway through dinner.
Again, Florenda escorted her to the salon.
"You scarcely look like the horsewoman I saw this afternoon." Brill bowed
deeply. He had also bathed and wore the dressier blue velvet trousers and
tunic, and short boots.
"You're kind." Anna nodded.
"Truthful. I'm still amazed that you have grown children. You have no
secret spells to make you younger, you're sure?"
"Not that I know of." Not except hair coloring, and I'm not about to
mention that.
"After a day here, what have you discovered about us?" asked the
sorcerer, pulling out the chair and waiting for Anna to seat herself.
"That I have a great deal to learn." Anna kept her voice light as she
slipped into the heavy chair.
"What else?"
"Defalk seems to face some serious problems."
Brill rang the bell, and Serna appeared immediately. Dinner was a
repetition of the night before, except that the sauce on the unnamed meat
was white instead of brown, and the bread was more toward rye than
pumpernickel.
"Have you had any more thoughts about the difference between our music
and yours?'' Brill probed idly.
"Ours is more concerned with affecting how people feel," Anna said
carefully, knowing that was certainly true enough.
"That's more like darksong. Is that because your tech-knowledgeable magic
is more powerful than clearsong?"
Anna blinked. "Oh, it's technological magic—the machines. Now, we can do
much more with technology, but it hasn't always been that way." She still
felt as though she were walking on eggs, trying to avoid admitting that
song had no direct physical power in her world without being blatantly
untruthful. "Does your clearsong—it is clearsong, isn't it?—work better
on things than people?"
"Clearsong usually does not work on people. Darksong does, but only if
the sorcerer is both powerful and careful. Healing is the most dangerous
type of spellcasting."
"Don't you have doctors?" She paused. "Healers?"
"Some healers know herbs and poultices, and there are some surgeons, but
except for setting bones or sewing up wounds, most people heal better
without them."
Anna shook her head, and took another mouthful of bread. She ate slowly,
her eyes heavy. The long day, and the heat, were catching up to her.
"Tomorrow, I need to work on a new spell," Brill mused.
"For what?" Anna asked.
"That's something sorcerers generally do not share, at least not until
the work is done." Brill took a sip of the vinegar wine that Anna
continued to avoid. "You could use the other workroom." The sorcerer's
words weren't quite a suggestion.
"You'd prefer that I not ride anywhere alone, and that I not experiment
with spells in the hall?" Anna tried to keep a smile from her face.
"I have great respect for your abilities," Brill returned. "So might the
dark ones, and they know you are here. Outside the walls, until you are
more… accustomed to Liedwahr…"
"Do you think people would come after me?"
Brill smiled sadly. "I know they will. What I do not know is how soon
they will begin."
"It sounds like you think I should work on sorcery to protect myself."
"That is always a good idea, particularly now."
Anna yawned. "I'm sorry. It's not as though I've done that much today.
Just ride and listen and look around. Maybe I'm still recovering from…"
She spread her hands.
"That could be. I have never dared to try to transport someone from the
mist worlds."
Anna waited.
"It can be dangerous, and some sorcerers have been pulled there, rather
than pulling objects or people here. Most times the objects or people
carried are burned as if by fire." Brill laughed, but his laugh died
away. "For those reasons, hard as matters may be here, I prefer my own
world.''
"So would I, but I wasn't given much choice." Anna finished the last of
the water in the goblet and sat back. "How do I get back?"
"I do not know. I would worry about trying. It could kill you." Brill
spread his hands. "You are here, and a few others have come from the mist
worlds. Likewise, there are records of older sorcerers traveling there,
and records of those who arrived as charred corpses. I know of no one who
has traveled more than one direction." The sorcerer paused. "That does
not mean it is not possible."
Anna understood. Brill was not about to spend time on something that was
impossible. He wouldn't hinder her, but he had paying work to do, work
that she had interrupted, and he was suggesting that she work on getting
her own spellcasting in order—before too long. Like… starting tomorrow.
"If you don't mind, Lord Brill, it's time for me to turn in." She stifled
another yawn. "Time to get some sleep," she added as she pushed back the
chair and stood up.
Brill rose and bowed. "I will see you at breakfast."
"I'm sure you will." Anna inclined her head.
Florenda appeared and followed her up to the bedchamber.
After changing into the thin gown, Anna sat on the edge of the bed and
looked at the covered windows, wondering how Elizabetta was doing, hoping
that her daughter would be all right. Then, again, Avery would certainly
step in. Yes, he would. Her fingers clenched.
Finally, she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets.
Neither her worries nor the lumpy mattress and pillows could keep her
awake.
13
Falcor, Defalk
Barjim looks into the pewter goblet, then across the table. "I shouldn't
have any more."
"No one will tell you not to, lord," offers the blocky gray-haired man.
"No one but my conscience, or the ghost of my father, or worse yet, that
of my uncle. Or the headache I'll have tomorrow." Barjim's hands curl
around the goblet as if he would squeeze it into scrap before he forces
his fingers to relax. "Everyone is watching every move I make. If I move
troops from Denguic to Mencha or farther east, the Prophet of Neserea
will have an army marching from Elioch. Oh, I forgot. He already marched
it to his border station at the West Pass to ensure… What did he call it?
The music of tranquility?" Barjim's heavy, hooded eyes widen
fractionally, and he sets the goblet down on the ancient table. "The dark
ones are massing to overwhelm me through the Sand Pass, and I can't raise
enough levies and can't buy enough troops to reinforce the eastern
marches, and Brill's got about as much backbone as a sand adder."
"He does a good job on fortifications," pointed out the older man.
"Only if he's paid, Gelen. Only if he's paid, and you know how little
silver we have left. With the drought, the fall harvest won't bring much,
and even those bitchy usurers in Encora won't lend me anything else."
"So… abdicate. Turn Defalk over to Behlem and his prophecies of music. Or
petition the Traders' Council of Nordwei to make Defalk a protectorate of
Nordwei." Gelen's voice is ironic.
"I can't do that." Barjim picked up the goblet once more, turning it in
his fingers. "Behlem would have my hide—and have Jimbob turned into a
castrato and sold to the Sea-Priests. The Norweians would just put me in
command of the forces against Behlem—or the dark ones."
"Have you asked Alasia?" asks the gray-haired man.
"I don't have to ask her, Gelen. I certainly don't. She tells me, and how
can I not listen? Her father has no other direct heirs, but the holding
would go to Ensil like that"— Barjim snaps his fingers—"if he thought I'd
as much as indirectly criticized her."
"She is not stupid," Gelen says levelly.
"No. She's brighter than I am, and all of Defalk knows it. Oh… what does
she say? She says about what I just said, because I listen, because I'm
smart enough to know that she makes sense." The Lord of Defalk looks at
the pitcher beyond the goblet and shakes his head. "Everyone needs an
excuse—even me."
Then he stands. "Except I've got to live with myself."
14
Everything here is yours to use, or you may ride back to the hall. Make
sure either Wiltur or Frideric accompanies you. All I ask is that you do
not disturb me when the door to my workroom is closed." With that, Brill
had bowed and left her.
The workroom was clean enough, and spacious, nearly the size of her
bedchamber in Brill's hall, with a window that viewed the distant
hills—or mountains—to the east.
On the stone table were a goblet, a pitcher of cool water and more of the
dried apple slices and bread. Both a crude pencil and a quill pen and
inkstand rested on the table beside a stack of light brown paper. The
key-harp on the corner of the table was something like a miniature piano,
except the volume was so low that it was clearly useless except as a
composing or learning aid.
Anna pulled out the chair and sat at the table. Was she just supposed to
practice? What? Spells she didn't know? Or was she supposed to create
spells?
As she'd told Daffyd, she wasn't a composer. She was a singer.
She filled the goblet half-full and took a deep swallow, then another.
Her fingers strayed toward the bread, and she pulled them away.
She touched one of the hand-harp's black keys, and winced. Either the
instrument hadn't been used in years or Erde used a strange scale, and
that didn't seem possible. The music played the day before had been a
simple polyphony, functional, but not out of tune. She looked at the
tuning pegs, almost like levers.
Her hand crept toward the bread again, and she pursed her lips. Eating
because she was worried and stressed—one of her worst habits, and one
reason why she was a size twelve instead of the eight she'd been four
years ago. She shook her head and picked up the pencil, absently creating
a series of fat-lined, interlinked loops on the top sheet of the brown
paper.
Anna tried to recall the general rules Brill had given— grudgingly—at
breakfast. Sorcery didn't work on the singer—except indirectly; if you
caused something to explode you could get killed by the fragments. Spells
worked best on ordered or semi-ordered nonliving materials. Spells had to
have rhyme and what amounted to meter. Songspells worked best with solid
accompaniment, and the more complex and involved spells didn't work at
all without that kind of support.
Great! She put down the pencil, pushed back the chair, stood, and walked
toward the door. Then she stopped. What would she do? Ride back to the
hall and stew? Complain to the two guards? Or to the ever-attending
Rorenda? And about what? Being fed, clothed, treated like a lady? She
wouldn't even get sympathy.
With a deep breath, she turned to the bookcase. Maybe the books would
help. The handful of books in the case were leatherbound—hand-bound, she
was certain. She scanned the titles—Boke of Liedwahr, The Naturale
Philosophie, Proverbes of Neserea, Donnermusik. She pulled out
Donnermusik, and opened it to the first page. Her eyes blinked.
While what she spoke seemed close to what Brill and the others spoke, the
words on, the page before her seemed like a cross between
seventeenth-century English and German— or maybe the way English would
have been without the Norman invasion.
Musik is the mathematik of sound… and sound the manifestation in Erde
itself of the structure of musik that doth support all that be and all
that be within Erde…
She struggled on for a page or so before she realized that the book
wasn't just about music, but a treatise on the musical theory behind
storms. From what she could piece together, the writer was discussing how
the harmonics of a storm were music-driven. She flipped through more
pages, stopping occasionally and reading paragraphs.
As lightning beginneth with a long note value, so must the music which
calleth it forth…
Harmonic variants be most important as a musical consideration, for they
must in truthe effect a change of musical resemblement though the
constant repetition, with most suitable variants, of the bass pattern…
through trommel…
The relationship between the thunder, and that needs must be represented
by the falk horn, supplemented by a continuous bass provided by a
trommel, and the lightning… must be joined by a melodic line of the
violincello…
Anna frowned. The last phrase sounded like a sorcerer needed an entire
symphony to deal with storms and weather, but Brill had been uneasy in
talking about the weather, and he had certainly implied that the dark
ones were the only sorcerers who did—and that they used massed voices
because a single voice didn't have enough power.
She looked at the book again. The writer certainly seemed to think that
instruments could support weather spells. But the writer was hinting at
something that amounted to harmony, and nothing Brill had shown her had
demonstrated anything that was effectively complete harmony. She shook
her head, and began to leaf through the pages again, but so far as she
could see, the slim volume held no words for spells, and nothing
resembling music, not even the flaglike medieval tablature she vaguely
remembered from her graduate days.
She closed the book and walked back to the "window. The roads were empty,
and the sun was higher, and hotter, no doubt. After a time, she turned
and reseated herself at the desk-table.
Part of the problem was the songs. She'd never realized how many dealt
with love, and feelings. She needed a song that dealt with solid objects,
or weapons, or something.
Her mind was blank. With all the songs she'd learned over the years… Her
mind was blank… not blank of songs. There was the jewel song, and all the
arias from Boheme, and Barber, Don Giovanni, and even Lakme. De-libes had
some violence in Lakme… Were there some sections that could be used? She
murmured the words, not singing them until she reached the section she
sought.
"Que le del me protège
Me guide par la main
Chasse le sacrilège
Au loin de mon chemin!"
"Sacrilège" wasn't it. Could she use "les ennemis'l— that was a near
rhyme even in French'. But… the words wouldn't do much except in a
battle, and she didn't expect to see one. At least, she certainly hoped
she wouldn't. Still, she wrote down the words, with the change, and the
rough notes of the melody line. Would they be enough? She couldn't write
the whole score, and even if she could, could anyone read it? She hadn't
seen any written music. Was there any?
She rubbed her forehead and took a swallow from the goblet, turning it in
her hand. Why did she have so many questions? In novels, heroines or
heroes just did things, but what was she supposed to do?
She looked back at the key-harp. She might as well tune it, even if it
were only good for composing or learning. A piano would have been better.
Why an underpowered harp?
Then she nodded, almost ashamed at her slowness. If the strength of
spells were determined by the combination of music and voice", and if
most spells took twelve players or more, a sorcerer or sorceress had to
be limited by what he or she could develop and teach. That meant that
there couldn't be that many sorcerers, not when it took talent, trained
skill, the ability to read both language and music, and write both in a
semi-literate culture.
With a piano… or something like it… She shook her head. A good pianist
and singer—or even a good guitarist and singer—would be the equivalent
of… what? A guided missile, atomic weapons? She didn't know… and she
didn't have a piano, or a clavier or a harpsichord.
She strummed the strings, then counted—twenty-four— three octaves. It
sounded almost like equal-tempered tuning, but not quite. Perhaps an
early form, without the minute adjustments that made the system work
smoothly? She hoped so as she reached for the tuning levers.
After getting the key-harp in what she hoped was a rough tune, a very
rough tuning, Anna looked at the short stack of paper and rubbed her
forehead. Surely, surely… Surely she could come up with something.
What about repeating her cool-water experiment, if only to prove she
still had the talent? She had left the envelope with the last words in
the green handbag. Shaking her head, she began to write with the greasy
pencil, since she hadn't even brought her one working spell with her.
Some sorceress.
The words were as awful as ever, but she scratched out "cold" and
replaced it with "cool." Then she ran through the vocalises quickly.
Should she use the key-harp?
She turned the chair and picked the harp up, resting it on her leg, and
trying to duplicate the melody. She stopped after a dozen notes. Even
using a one-note-at-a-time melody was laborious with the unfamiliar
instrument. She set the harp back on the table. Maybe later.
After clearing her throat again, she sang the words again, emphasizing
"cool" and thinking about ice water.
Surprisingly, the goblet didn't split, but frost rimmed both goblet and
pitcher, and the water was cool indeed, and a pair of ice cubes bobbed in
the pitcher.
Anna grinned, but the grin faded quickly. So she could chill water. That
wasn't going to do much of anything, let alone get her back to Ames and
Elizabetta. With a deep breath she looked at the paper again.
Love songs… Why did almost every song she knew deal with love or
something like it?
Her eyes drifted to the road below the hill, and the single rider who
headed up toward the hall, a rider wearing a sleeveless purple surcoat.
There had to be some songs she could change… didn't there? To what… for
what? She shook her head angrily. No one was telling her anything, and
she didn't know enough to know what to ask.
Could she do something with the candle-lighting spell? She wrote down the
words and looked at the paper. After glancing around the room, finally
wadding up a sheet of paper and setting it on the floor. She hummed
through the tune and tried her improvisation.
"Paper white, paper bright,
flame clear in my sight."
The single sheet of paper went up in an instantaneous blaze.
Anna wiped her forehead. Would it work with other items? She wrote out a
set of lines to the same rhyme scheme, but pondered… If every word,were
critical, what about armsmen? Would such a spell work on them? She took a
deep breath, and penciled in another thought.
She snorted. Great! She could turn paper into fire, and maybe an armsman
or two, if she had time to sing, if she had some accompaniment.
Her eyes went to the window once more, toward the clear hot day outside.
Finally, she took another swallow from the goblet and reached for the
Boke of Liedwahr. Maybe that would help with ideas… or something.
15
With the rap on the workroom door, Anna glanced up. "Would you care to
accompany me back to the hall for the midday meal?" asked Brill.
Anna looked at the half loaf of bread and the empty platter that had held
apple slices. She was still hungry. How could she be? "Yes.
Unfortunately. I seem to be hungry all the time."
"Magic is hard work," Brill offered. "There are few weighty sorcerers."
That might be so, but Anna hadn't been doing that much sorcery. She was
still trying to figure out the basis for a few verses or adapt a few
songs that might possibly be converted to the magic of Liedwahr—she
hoped. She'd figured out a way to cool water—safely—and burn paper.
Neither was particularly inspiring. "I haven't been working that hard."
Brill glanced at the dark spot on the stone floor.
Anna flushed. "I burned some paper. The spell worked."
"Why paper? Paper is hard to come by, lady."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that."
 "There are a number of objects and materials in the closet," Brill
inclined his head toward the closet door Anna could not see.
Anna donned the floppy hat, following the sorcerer out to the horses—and
the two guards—who waited outside in the shade offered under what
amounted to a portico. Gero stood behind the guards, eyes downcast.
"Is all well?" asked the sorcerer.
"We'd not be seeing anything strange," offered Wiltur, the older guard,
one hand still on the blade at his waist. "Cepting a messenger."
"Messengers do not bode well," Brill said lightly, "but we all know
that." He laughed gently.
Anna smiled briefly at the two men, then untied Farinelli, and climbed
into the saddle, trying to ignore the blazing sun and dust as she rode
beside Brill and toward the hall. Gero and th£ guards followed.
"To the northeast there," said the sorcerer with a gesture to the hills
that hugged the eastern horizon, "lies Lake Aulta. Vult is the home of
the dark ones, and it lies some thirty leagues north of the lake through
the mountains."
Anna concealed a frown. Why were the dark ones attacking some thirty
leagues to the south? Or were the distant mountains so impassible that
they made direct travel difficult? She smiled to herself ruefully,
thinking about horses and foot soldiers crossing the Rockies—or the
Appalachians. Cumberland Gap had been the gateway to Tennessee, and that
had been less than two hundred years earlier. But it was still hard to
believe she was stranded in a place where such considerations were
necessary. "I take it the mountains are impassable for an army?"
"For a large force," Brill conceded. "And clearsong sorcery does not work
that well there, except where there are no trees."
Anna rubbed her nose, to try to keep from sneezing, then shifted her
weight in the saddle.
Farinelli whuffed, and she patted his shoulder. "Easy there… good boy."
That got her a snort.
Even the chickens were silent in the midday heat as she reined up before
the stables, and by the time Anna had walked from the hall stables, she
felt like a morning glory subjected to the South Dakota badlands in
August. She shivered, recalling the time Avery had dragged them all
camping and Elizabetta had come down with roseola in the middle of
nowhere.
The cool of the hall was welcome, and she stopped for a moment in relief,
pulling off the floppy hat.
Brill bowed and said, "I will meet you in the salon, Lady Anna, shortly."
Anna started up the stairs, followed by the ever-present Florenda. Anna
pursed her lips. She hated being followed. That was one thing that Mario
had done as a preschooler that had driven her crazy. She'd cross the
family room, and. he'd follow. Then Avery had used the same tactic, as
things were falling apart, following her from room to room, except he'd
kept saying, "We just have to look at this logically. You're feeling,
Anna, and you need to think about it."
At the top of the steps, Anna turned to the serving girl. "Florenda?"
"Yes, lady."
"Are you to do my bidding?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Good. Follow me." Anna marched to her bedchamber and into the robing
room.
Florenda tagged along. "You wish some help in robing?"
"No. I need some more clothes. In this whole place there are two pairs of
trousers that fit, and two shirts, and not much more in the way of gowns
and drawers."
"Drawers?"
"Underclothes, smallclothes, the stuff you wear under your trousers or
dresses."
"Yes, lady?"
Anna turned and glared. "I don't need help. I don't need you following me
around. What I do need is more clothes. I'd appreciate you taking care of
that, rather than following me around."
The girl swallowed. "But Serna… and Lord Brill…"
"Tell Serna I've told you what I need. If she has a problem with that…
then she can talk to me." Anna smiled. "And you can also tell Serna that
I will be very displeased if I find out that she is even thinking about
punishing you for carrying out my wishes."
Florenda swallowed.
"And I will punish her if you are replaced."
That got a tentative smile, tinged with hidden amusement. Anna wanted to
sigh, hoping she'd covered all the possibilities. "Now… get on with
finding me some clothes. You can still wake me in the morning or announce
meals, and you can check with me when I come back to the hall—but
otherwise, get me some clothes that fit."
"Yes, Lady Anna." Florenda remained standing in the middle of the robing
room.
Anna pointed to the dusty outfit she had worn before. "Take that and go.
Now."
Florenda backed out. When the door closed, Anna took a deep breath. "I
hope it works."
After washing up, Anna returned to the salon where, for once, she arrived
before the sorcerer. She seated herself, pouring more water into her
goblet, and sipping it while she waited.
Brill's face was solemn, almost impassive, when he finally entered the
salon. "You need not have waited."
From the formality of his statement, Anna decided it was better that she
had. "You have always waited for me."
The sorcerer pulled out the heavy iron chair, which grated slightly on
the stone floor, then sat and immediately filled his goblet with the dark
wine that Anna had not" tried. "Bad news?" she asked, adding, "I saw a
rider in purple, earlier…"
Brill lowered his goblet. "Lord Barjim sent a messenger."
"You don't sound pleased."
The sorcerer shook his head. "The dark ones are beginning to mass their
forces on the far side of the Sand Pass. Lord Barjim estimates they will
begin to march in two weeks, perhaps three." He took a long sip from the
goblet. Serna slipped through the doorway, her sandaled feet almost
silent as she carried two platters to the table—one with narrow wedges of
both yellow and white cheese, surrounded with dried apple slices, the
other with a long loaf of dark bread.
Brill waited until the server set down the platters, then broke off a
chunk of bread from the one and nodded to Anna. She took a chunk herself,
and added several wedges of the yellow cheese, and some apples, to her
plate.
"Did you expect them so soon?" Anna asked, hoping the sorcerer would
provide more information. She still knew so little.
Brill chewed through some cheese and bread before answering. "That they
would attack before harvest was to be expected. This soon… Barjim had
hoped for more time, and so had I."
Anna chewed through another mouthful of bread, nodding for him to
continue.
"With the bad harvest of last year, and the dry winter, supplies are
scarce. We have a half a season to harvest— and Lord Barjim probably owes
half his share of the harvests to the usurers in Encora."
"Encora… you haven't mentioned that."
"That's the liedstadt of Ranuak, and the richest city in Liedwahr."
"That's the one women run?" Anna asked. "If it's so rich, why aren't the
dark ones attacking there?"
"They are," snorted Brill. "They're moving the Whispering Sands south."
The sorcerer refilled his goblet. "Defalk is an easier target. With all
the coins the usurers have, the Ranuans can afford a large standing army,
not just levies. Of course, the bitches also need the army and the ships
to prove they can collect on their loans." Brill took another deep
swallow from the goblet, then broke off another chunk of bread.
Anna ate silently for a time, trying to put together what she had
learned. Finally, she spoke. "Do you think that what the Ebrans plan is
to take over Defalk, then bring back the rain and prosperity, and use
that—"
"Exactly," snapped Brill. "It's so obvious, that an outsider like you can
figure it out in less than a week, and no one in Liedwahr has been
able—or willing—to say so." The goblet went down on the table with a
thump. "Then, they might have to join forces against the dark ones.
Instead, they each hope that the lizard snake eats the others first."
"You're upset," Anna prompted.
"I am requested, in return for silver, to join Lord Barjim's forces at
his summons."
" 'Requested'?" Anna gave the word an ironic twist.
"I don't exactly have a choice, dear lady. If Defalk falls to the Ebrans,
they will have no use for sorcerers of my type—or yours. If, by some
miracle, Lord Barjim holds them off without my assistance…" Brill frowned.
"You're not exactly in the best of graces?"
"Exactly—if you consider being dead or exiled as being in poor graces."
The sorcerer's eyes flicked to the window.
Anna followed, but the sky outside remained clear, the walls empty.
In the silence that followed, Anna asked, "What do you expect of me?"
"Lady Anna, I expect nothing. You will do as you see fit. You owe Lord
Barjim nothing, and so he can ask nothing."
"I owe you hospitality and information," she replied, biting back the
thought that the information remained hard-fought and scanty.
"In a struggle such as this, one cannot ask," Brill said gently.
Right! She would be forced to volunteer by Brill's expensive hospitality.
"What will you do, then?" she asked.
"All that I can," answered the sorcerer, with a rueful laugh. "There is
little point in doing less." He lifted his goblet, then held it
momentarily, while asking, "How was the workroom? Is there anything… I
might help with?"
The sorcerer's condescending tone irked Anna, just as Avery's had, but
she wasn't married to Brill, and she smiled and asked, "Why couldn't you
use just a drum to replicate thunder, rather than requiring both a falk
horn and a violincello?" Anna watched Brill intently.
Brill swallowed hard, then squinted at Anna. For a moment, he said
nothing. Then he took another swallow of the vinegarlike wine. "No one
has tried to create storm magic in a century—except for the dark ones—and
they use the chorus—the power of massed voices."
"Why couldn't you use a drum?" Anna broke off a corner of the dark bread,
still the best part of the meals Serna offered.
"It is like matching voices with different melodies and the same words."
"We call that 'harmony,' " supplied Anna.
"If the match be not perfect," Brill continued as if she had not spoken,
"then both singers could be destroyed."
"But you said that the darksingers used massed voices."
"They sing the same notes and words in chorus. That is different."
She wondered how different—or were sorcerers so paranoid, or untrusting,
like rival tenors, that harmony was effectively avoided? She ate more of
the bread, wondering why she was not becoming a balloon.
"You continually surprise me, Lady Anna. Burning paper, and actually
reading."
"Don't most sorceresses read?"
Brill laughed, not unkindly. "Very few sorcerers or sorceresses could
have read what you obviously did. The talent to cast spells does not
necessarily require reading. Young Daffyd's friend Jenny cannot print or
read her name, but she is good at summonings and sendings—if someone else
supplies the spell and music. That earns her a fair living."
Anna shook her head at the reminders that Liedwahr was still mainly an
oral culture, even in spell magic, and one where a prosperous woman was
one who owned a small house. She noted that, once again, Brill hadn't
answered the question. "Why wouldn't a drum be enough?"
The briefest of frowns vanished from the sorcerer's face. "It has to do
with the nature of magic. There is no link between one drumbeat and
another. All are the same tone, and by the construction of the drum, all
must be of the same tone." He pulled at his chin. "The first Evult was
said to have wrought spells with drums of different pitches, but no one
has tried that since, not that I know of, although who would know what
they do on the Eastern Isles or in far Sturinn?" Brill turned to Anna,
and with that cheerfully false smile, added, "You still puzzle me, lady.
You understand some aspects of music, yet not others. Your voice is firm,
precise, yet spells seem foreign to you. Once given a hint, you can
perform a spell as powerfully as the best, yet you seem to know no
spells."
"I didn't say I had no spells," Anna said slowly. "I think I could come
up with several dozen love spells, but love spells aren't really what I
need."
"Several dozen?" Brill's voice sharpened.
"Maybe more," Anna admitted. "You might say that those songs are the ones
most in demand in my world." There! She'd told the truth, but not in a
way that revealed anything new. "I was working on a different spell this
morning, and I think I have it right, but I need to make sure I have the
support correct." She hoped Delibes' ghost weren't whirling too much in
his grave.
"I thought you burned the paper?" Brill looked confused.
"Oh, I did that, all right. That was just an adaptation of the candle
spell. And I figured out how to really chill water without smashing your
crystal. This was something else.'' She smiled brightly, and took another
mouthful of the bread.
"And you said you hadn't been working that hard?"
"At a recital, I'd have to perform for at least an hour. A glass,
roughly," she explained. "Perhaps two."
The sorcerer shook his head. "Glasses' worth of love spells, performed
one upon the other. Yet you have few other spells? What a strange world
must yours be."
"It is," Anna agreed. Put that way, earth did sound strange. "It is."
16
South of Synek, Ebra
Eladdrin?" the voice song-whispers from the harp that stands on the
pedestal in the small pond, above the image of the hooded figure in a
brown robe so dark it is almost black.
"Yes, Evult?" The Songmaster bows slightly, his golden hair a pale blur
in the darkness of the closed tent.
"I can still sense the ripples in the music of Liedwahr. Those ripples
have already reached Stunnn. What have you done about the mist-world
sorceress?''
"I have taken steps, Evult. The ripples will be removed."
"It may not be easy, Eladdrin."
"I have made ready a second effort, Evult." The Song-master bows again to
the image in the luminescent pool. "If necessary, there will be a third."
"Good. It would be better were she removed before the faithful combat
against the infidels of Defalk."
"It would be better, Evult, but one who ripples the weave of the music is
strong, and we must march soon."
"I understand, Songmaster, but bear my words in mind."
"I hear the melody of your music, Evult." Eladdrin offers a last bow, but
the image in the pool has vanished, and the harp is silent above the
water.
After wiping his forehead, then easing the soft cloth into the left
waist-pocket of his robe, Eladdrin steps into the cool outside the tent,
breathing deeply of the damp air that has followed the rains to the east,
taking in the scents of the orchards and the fertile fieldsT
As he steps toward the campfire, the two armed monks slip from the
shadows and follow.
17
Anna sat at the desk in the eastern workroom, her eyes blank. Why was
every. song she could recall a love song? Or a lullaby? Or useless? She
refilled the goblet, and took a sip.
With each day, she felt more and more useless. Yes, she could burn wood
objects, and paper, and freeze water or chill it. She could light and
snuff candles, and she had two or three spells that might, just might, do
something in a battle. She'd pried some more information out of Brill,
but each syllable that meant anything was an effort.
She'd terrorized a poor servant girl into not following her every
step—just every other step—and she had another riding outfit, and a
casual gown, and a pair of soft leather shoes for wearing around the
hall. But the sheets were still scratchy, the mattress lumpy, and each
day, she owed more of that intangible debt to Brill—one he clearly didn't
want paid with her body, but with the skills he pressed her to keep
developing.
The indirectness was driving her crazy.
She jerked upright at the rap on the workroom door.
"Are you ready—?"
"Not yet." Anna forced a smile. "Would you sit down?" She gestured toward
the chair across the desk.
Brill sat gingerly, his eyes flicking to the window, and then back to
Anna.
"Customs are somewhat different in the mist worlds, or mine, anyway,"
Anna began. "And I've tried to discuss certain matters with you, but you
are so charming that they never get discussed. So I have a few questions,
and I'd be even more deeply in your debt if you could bear with me and
answer them."
"I have tried to be most forthcoming."
"As I know you have," Anna said flatly. "First, in simple terms, if
Daffyd and Jenny, who have far less skill than you, could summon me, why
can't you send me back to my world?"
Brill looked at Anna. "Song magic isn't just a sorcerer singing and
players playing. The words have to be right, and the sorcerer has to be
able to see what he wants. I have to be able to see the fort Lord Barjim
wants, almost to feel it. I use the drawings and plans to help create the
image in my mind." He shrugged. "Daffyd could bring you here, because he
was asking for any sorceress to be placed in a setting he could see. The
problem with sending you back into the mist worlds is that you're the
only one who can see where you need to go, and you can't send yourself."
Anna half understood the visualization aspect, but it still bothered her.
It had been almost a week, and Elizabetta had to be upset—a totally
vanished mother, with no trace whatsoever. "That's almost saying that no
one can send me back unless I can show them an image that they can hold
to."
"You must trust them, totally," the sorcerer pointed out. He frowned,
then added. "Perhaps you can see why sometimes the smallest of
distractions can upset a sorcerer. They should not, but they do. And
there is the problem of the burning. Too many attempts, and the fires
turn on the sorcerer. That is why my glimpses of the mist worlds have
been infrequent and seasons apart, fascinating as I find such glimpses."
Anna nodded, trying not to swallow at the double impact, as she
understood also what Brill was saying about Daffyd's father. And the
business of burning—was that why her key had been so hot?
But she had to get more answers while Brill was sitting still. "Second,
what can song magic do to stop the dark ones, and what is it that you
want me to do to help you?" Anna held up a hand to cut off Brill. "No
more nice fancy statements. Plain and simple."
"If all women of the mist worlds are like you, I see why the old books
caution against summonings." Brill added a slight laugh.
Anna presented a hard professional smile.
Brill's laugh died away.
"I will have to use clearsong if they are near the hills, or darksong, if
they are not, to bring destruction on the Ebran soldiers." The sorcerer
spread his hands. "Some of my players… darksong would destroy, and that
weakens what I can do."
"What would you like from me?"
"Any spell or magic that will stop the Ebrans or the dark ones." Brill
smiled ruefully.
Anna understood the smile. He found her attractive, but her possible
power even more so. She stood. "Last question. Why do I need guards?"
"For the same reason as I do. These days people want to kill sorcerers…
or sorceresses. And you don't know how to use a blade, either." Brill
eased to his feet.
"There must be something I can carry," Anna suggested. "You carry a
sword."
"Not willingly, and not well. It takes seasons, if not years, to really
master a blade."
Anna frowned. She'd used a sword once, when she'd played Clorinda. She'd
been younger then, twenty years younger, and her arms had ached for
weeks, and that had been a choreographed fight. "What about a knife?"
"That's worse."
"So… what do you suggest, lord and master of the hall Brill?" Anna's eyes
flashed.
The sorcerer looked away.
Anna waited.
"A truncheon or a short staff. You should have some personal-protection
spells worked out before long, and you won't ever master the blade enough
to hold off trained armsmen." Brill added hastily. "I can't, either. So
what you need is something to keep people off you enough to allow you to
use your voice."
Anna had to admit that the sorcerer made a sort of sense, even if he were
suggesting that she get some personal-protection spells in a hurry. "How
about one of each?''
"It couldn't hurt, just so long as you remember that you really don't
know how to use a knife."
Anna tried to repress the glare she felt at Brill's condescending tone.
The sorcerer stepped back. "If you hold a knife and a truncheon, that
might give you time to use a spell."
Again, what he said made sense, but she still hated that air of
condescension. "How do I get them?"
"Quies' son Albero is the armorer, as close to one as we have. I believe
we have some knives and truncheons. Those would be better."
"I know. It's been twenty years since I held a sword, and I didn't do
well with it then." Anna forced a rueful smile.
"I had not realized blades were used in the mist worlds."
"They're not, not normally. I was in grad school, and I played a part
that required using a sword. That was a long time ago." Anna's stomach
growled. I'm hungry. We can go-"
"You have no more questions?
"I have a lot more questions, more than you'll want to answer, but I'm
hungry." Anna gestured toward the workroom door.
Outside the dome building, the midday sun beat through the clear air, as
it had every day without fail. Even in the shade of the portico, the air
seemed hotter than the day before—as if the atmospheric oven had been
eased up a few more degrees. Anna looked down at the empty water buckets
for the horses.
"We refilled 'em twice, lady," said Frideric apologetically. "Gero's gone
to get some more."
Brill glanced to Wiltur. "Any visitors?"
"No, ser. The roads are clear, mostly, except for a messenger of Lord
Barjim's. He was riding toward the Sand Pass."
"We'll be seeing more of that." Brill untied the mare and mounted.
"A-feared so, ser."
As Anna bounced toward the hall, she realized, not for the first time,
that she needed more practice riding. Then, again, she needed more
practice at everything.
18
Encora, Ranuak
What was that awful disharmony in the chords, Veria?" The round-faced and
gray-haired woman offers a cheerful smile as she lifts with both hands
the steaming cup that has no handles. "Did you ever manage to find out?"
"Which discord, Matriarch?" The black-haired woman at the other long end
of the oval ebony table pours her own mmied cider. "Between the Kvult,
his Songmaster, Lord Brill, and the constant scrying of the Norweians,
there have been more than a few incidences of discord."
"You could say that," adds the silver-haired man on the short side of the
table. "I'd even call it dissonance." He adds another pinch of cinnamon
to his cup, then twists the end of his silvered handlebar mustache.
"Then, there has been more discord since the effects of ill harmony were
discovered. Too bad that we could not have the Prophet and the Evult sing
together."
"Father…" protests Veria.
"Do not be vulgar, Ulgar," suggests the Matriarch.
"Accuracy, my dear, accuracy. Not a silver for vulgarity, but golds for
accuracy. Isn't that what the counting houses say?" He lifts the cup and
slurps his cider. "Too hot. Like Defalk."
"You make no sense, Father. It is warmer here," says Veria.
"The warm damp is good for the bones. The dry heat of Defalk turns you
into a mummy."
Mother and daughter exchange glances.
"Counting houses, dissonance, Lord Barjim—it all be linked with the
silver chains of harmony," continues Ulgar.
"You do not have to be obscure, dear." The Matriarch adjusts one of the
wooden clips that keeps her iron-gray hair neatly in its bun. "We all
know the links."
"I don't," protests Veria.
Ulgar lifts one silvered eyebrow and looks to his consort.
"We lent Lord Barjim the golds he requested so that he could buy enough
supplies from us to move his forces from Denguic and Falcor to the Sand
Pass. He will use his sole sorcerer—''
"That was it, Mother—Matriarch," Veria corrects herself and continues.
"He has two sorcerers. Or rather, Lord Brill has a sorceress. That was
the disharmony. Someone opened a weltsperre—"
"Call it a 'worldgate,' daughter. Pretention does not become you,"
suggests Ulgar, putting yet another pinch of spice into his cup.
"Yes, Father." The slightest edge tinges her words. "Someone opened a
worldgate and brought her through. She is blonde, a soprano sorceress, I
think."
"You think?"
"Ulgar… let her finish."
Veria drops her head, then continues. "The dark ones have set their
assassins on her, but they have not reached Mencha."
"I said it was all linked," points out Ulgar.
The Matriarch smiles, still cherubic. "She must be a strong sorceress to
have created such discord."
"The scriers do not know her strength, but Eladdrin, the spymistress of
the north, and Lord Behlem all use their mirrored waters to watch her."
"The better to keep them occupied."
"Matriarch?" asks Veria. "What will you tell the others about the
shifting of the sands?"
"What I have said before. Matters balance, and they will again. The Evult
has strained the chords of Liedwahr, and they will redress the harmonies,
and before too long."
"Then why did you agree to lend Barjim two thousand golds? He cannot
repay them."
Ulgar slurps his tea, and both women wince.
"Sometimes, one must buy time while the harmonies regroup." The Matriarch
smiles and stands.
19
Anna's fingers struggled with the key-harp as she tried to keep the words
of the aria in mind.
"Donde lieta usci al tuo grido d'amore,
torna solo Mimi al solitario nido
Ritorna un'altra volta a intesserfiniti
fior!"
Paper flowers! Love! All the arias she'd learned were useless! And she
didn't know Italian well enough to make most of them meaningful in the
crazy world that was Erde. Or enough German. French she knew better, but
she wondered if the French melodies would work that well in a
Teutonic-musicked world.
Anna wanted to scream and crumple the heavy paper up into a ball.
Instead, she refilled the goblet with water, and slowly drank it all.
Then she stood and walked from the workroom.
Once in the entry hall, she glanced toward Brill's workroom, but the door
was closed, and Gero was nowhere in sight. She slipped out through the
front door, her boots heavy on the stone, and into the mid-afternoon heat.
"I'm going to ride down to the orchards," she announced, checking the
water bottle fastened to Farinelli's saddle. She had to keep reminding
herself to drink in the dry heat.
"More than a few folks on the road, lady," offered Wil-tur. "Some even
stopped under the trees down there."
"Don't see them anymore," added Frideric.
Anna patted Farinelli on the shoulder, then mounted. It seemed easier,
but she'd had some practice over the days. She eased the gelding out of
the shade and into the sun, adjusting the floppy-brimmed hat as she did.
Wiltur glanced at Frideric, then mounted with a fluid grace that Anna
envied.
"Do I really need guards?" Anna asked.
"You more than most, Lady Anna," answered Wiltur. "You're beautiful and a
sorceress, and that's enough to have a lot of folks after you." The guard
with the silvered hair and graying stubbly beard smiled, not that the
smile improved his appearance much, not with the long scar across his
left cheek.
"You're kind," laughed Anna, "but my son's as old as Frideric."
From his position by the dome building's door, Frideric looked quickly
toward her, and then away.
"You must have been young," replied Wiltur. "Very young."
"Young enough," Anna said, her fingers going to the truncheon at the left
side of her belt, and then to the knife, before she flicked the reins,
and Farinelli started down the winding trail toward the orchard below.
Wiltur edged his mount up beside Anna's. "Hottest day of the year so far."
"It feels that way."
"Is it this hot where you come from?"
"In some places, Wiltur. It's not as dry."
"When I was a young fellow, it wasn't this way. My folks had a small
holding out on the Synope road, ran sheep." The guard coughed. "My
brother Uthor got the place. Thought he was the lucky one. All the grass
went, and Falinya died when the heat fever came three years ago. His boy
died too. She was a pretty one, Falinya was, and Eber looked like her."
"What happened to your brother?"
"Sold the place for a handful of coppers—no water—and he left to go to
Falcor. Been more than a year, and haven't had any word."
"I'm sorry."
"Thought he was the lucky one. Me and Biel, least we got a solid cot
below the hall, and enough food for us and the girls. Brill's not a bad
lord, leastwise, long as you keep your, mouth shut. Doesn't take the
girls the way they say his sire did, and the ones that like him, well,
they say he treats 'em well. Strange, though, seeing as he's never taken
a consort, and none of the girls have children." Wiltur coughed again,
looking back toward the hall.
"You're trying to tell me that Lord Brill's a good sort, especially
compared to a lot of lords?" Anna asked.
"I've not seen many lords, but, after a while you get to hear. Know other
lords' guards like to come with their lords when they visit." The
grizzled guard cleared his throat.
Anna looked to the hills in the east, distorted by the heat lines that
wavered across the plains all the way to the horizon. She eased Farinelli
to die edge of the trail to avoid a dust-filled hole. Her nose itched,
and she rubbed it gently. "I take it some of the other lords are best
avoided?"
"Avoided, aye, if you can. They say that Lord Genrica beds every maid on
his lands 'fore she can have another. That's not as bad as old Jylot,
though. Lord Barjim had to have his hall pulled down around him." Wiltur
shook his head. "He had dungeons, and they smelled like a renderer's, and
it weren't from sheep nor cows."
Anna winced, then unfastened the water bottle and forced herself to take
a drink. As Farinelli carried her down and around the curve in the road,
she could see the empty irrigation pond. This time, even the bottom of
the pond was dry and cracked from the heat.
"Are there others as good as Brill?"
"Some… so they say. Lord Jecks—his hall's on the big hill above Elhi.
Peddlers say he's fair, and he even gives each maid raised on his holding
a dower." Wiltur laughed. "Without tryin 'em, so to speak. His levies,
they say he's good, and that means he doesn't mess with their women, and
takes only his fair share of the harvests."
Even from beside the empty pond, Anna could see the fine dust on the
small leaves of the apple trees, and on the cracked branches of the dead
trees. Almost a third of the orchard seemed to be dead or dying, despite
Brill's sorcery to bring water to the trees.
Downhill, at the end of the row of trees that the Brill's road paralleled
on its course down to the main road, Anna thought she saw another pond,
then realized the image was some sort of mirage.
"Quiet, here," said Wiltur.
As Farinelli stepped past the beginning of the trees, Anna could feel the
hair on the nape of her neck prickling, and she turned in the saddle,
looking west past the dusty apple trees, squinting against the afternoon
sun. She could see notning, ana sne scanned me apparently empty orcnara.
Farinelli whuffed and side-stepped, his hoofs raising dust. Anna's nose
itched, but she fought the urge.
"Lady—" began Wiltur.
Although she couldn't say why, Anna threw up her free arm—and fire
slashed across it. Another line of pain slammed into her shoulder.
Dumbly, she looked down at the shaft in her upper arm.
"Guards!" Wiltur yelled, as he spurred his horse away from her and toward
two figures that began to run between the gnarled trees. "Frideric!"
Somehow, Anna clung to the gelding's mane with her uninjured hand as
Farinelli side-stepped, and she turned him uphill. She had to get help.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a horn, and the damned thing
kept blowing and blowing, horribly off key. She wanted to laugh at
herself for thinking about it when her shoulder hurt so much.
Wave after wave of pain slammed through her, but she kept riding, kept
hanging on as Farinelli plodded up the trail back toward the hall. Behind
her, the horn sounded again, and somewhere there were horses, lots of
horses, but she was afraid to look, afraid that she would lose her
balance on Farinelli as the gelding carried her back to the hall.
The last thing she recalled was looking at the front entry of the hall,
wondering how she could dismount with an arrow through her shoulder, and
watching the door open.
20
Anna stood on the stage, looking down at the dusty riding clothes she
wore. What had happened to her gown? She couldn't sing in front of the
Founders' Dinner in riding clothes, not dusty and sweaty. Why, that alone
would kill" her chances for tenure. As Music Chair, Dieshr would see to
that. How had this happened? Had her injury thrown her back to earth?
She tried to open her mouth, but found she couldn't, and only a croaking
groan issued forth. Then, she turned to walk off the platform, but her
feet would not move.
When Anna finally shook herself awake, her back hurt as well as her
shoulder. And her hand hurt. She could feel the sweat and dust matted
into her hair. As her eyes opened fully, Florenda stood by the bed, a
goblet in her hand. She was still on Erde, and her eyes burned.
"You must drink, lady."
Anna drank. Whatever it was tasted like vinegar laced with used crankcase
oil and spiced with extra-soapy cilantro.
"More," insisted Florenda.
Anna forced herself to take another deep swallow, then closed her eyes
for what seemed a moment.
When she woke again, Florenda sat on a chair, sewing.
"I'm thirsty," Anna announced.
But she got more of the oily wine, first, before Florenda let her have
water.
"I must get Liende and Lord Brill." With that the serving girl scuttled
from the bedchamber.
Anna wanted to shake her head, but she had the feeling that her head
might not remain on her neck if she did. How could one arrow do so much?
And hurt so badly? Bullets… she understood the damage that high-powered
guns could cause, but arrows?
As she reflected, the door reopened, and the woodwind player with the red
hair streaked with white entered, followed by Brill and Florenda.
"You are awake," said the older woman. "Good."
"I'm afraid… don't know your name," Anna said slowly.
"I am Liende. Lord Brill asked me to… assist. I had some little training
as a healer years ago." The clarinetist offered a warm but crooked smile.
How do you teel, lady.' asked Brill. The circles under his eyes were
deeper yet.
"I'll live." Anna looked at the dressing across her upper arm and
shoulder and the rough stitches in her palm.
"I'd trust so," he said ironically.
"You helped heal some of this?" she asked.
"Some. As I could. Liende's skill helped also."
Anna frowned. "There was just one arrow. How could it…?"
Liende laughed gently. "It was a war arrow, and no one thought you would
live."
"I'm glad… to prove them wrong."
A silence fell across the chamber.
"I don't understand," Anna finally said. "What did I do? I haven't lifted
a hand against anyone."
"You are here," answered Liende. "You came from the mist worlds, and
that'd be the one place that the dark ones fear."
"But why?" Anna shook her head. She felt so stupid. All she'd been doing
was trying to improve her riding and learn something about Erde, and
people were trying to kill her. On earth, they wanted to destroy your
career or take your job, but most people she knew weren't killers. "I
haven't cast a single spell against them… against anyone."
"I did not think the dark ones would try to strike so soon," Brill
answered. "They fear you, and they want you dead before you realize your
powers. Wiltur and Frideric killed all three of them, but they wore the
dark robes. They cast a glamour and hid there, waiting for you. For the
dark ones to send three so far from Ebra—that is a tribute to your
powers."
Powers? Anna wanted to laugh, but that would have hurt. All she'd done
was shatter a goblet, light a few candles, turn a few pieces of wood to
ashes. Yet some people were telling her she was powerful, and others were
trying to kill her.
Her lips tightened, even as she sank back against the lumpy pillows.
Erde was no dream. It was different, though, a place where sixty miles
was considered a far way, and where arrows could kill.
She was going to have to learn to be a sorceress, a real one. If she
didn't, sooner or later Brill would turn against her or just abandon her;
or the dark ones, for whatever reason, would kill her—or both.
She tightened her lips. She had a lot of memory-searching to do—a lot.
Her breath hissed between her lips.
Except she had to get better, first. Except that she was so tired. Her
eyes closed.
21
Wei, Nordwei
The woman with the close-cropped golden hair steps into the well-lit room
whose single wide window overlooks the harbor piers that mark the
well-dredged juncture of the River Nord with the Vereisen Bay.
The dark-haired woman behind the table, her back to the window, speaks,
though her lips barely move. "Sit down, Gretslen."
The golden-haired Gretslen slips into the armless wooden chair. "You sent
for me, Ashtaar?"
"I did. How are matters going in Esaria?" Ashtaar raises a hand to the
short dark hair, then pauses, her fingers going to the polished black
wooden oval on the desk.
"Well enough. Young Behlem is poised to march, once Barjim reinforces his
troops to stop the dark ones."
"How soon?"
"The dark ones are marshaling in the Sand Pass now, and Barjim has called
for his levies. He must wait for Lord Jecks' forces, and it will take
more than two weeks for them to be gathered and march the distance from
Ehli, say three weeks or more before Barjim gathers east of Mencha."
"The dark ones could move into Defalk long before that."
"Eladdrin won't. Then he'd have to chase the lords' forces all over
Defalk." Gretslen offers a brief smile. "He'll let Barjim mass his
forces—and then destroy them."
"What about the rumors of this sorceress? The one who supposedly was
summoned from the mist worlds?'' Ashtaar laughs. "Mist worlds, indeed."
"She is reputed to be powerful enough to frighten the dark ones. They
sacrificed some of their agents in Defalk to attack her." Gretslen
moistens her lips ever so slightly. "No one has seen her before…
anywhere."
"You really don't believe that song sorcery can cross worlds, do you?"
"I only know that she appeared from nowhere."
"Are you sure?" presses Ashtaar.
"We're sure."
"Kendr said she will die."
"Kendr is a good seer, but the sorceress is not dead, and she is safe
within Brill's hall." The golden-haired woman adds sardonically, "The
attack was enough to drive Brill back to darksong to save her."
"Because it shows her value?"
"Exactly. Brill was already extremely deferential to her, extremely
deferential. That alone indicates that she is more than beautiful, and
this attack would confirm it." Gretslen shakes her head.
"The dark ones are sometimes so stupid."
"They are powerful, though," answers the blonde one.
"So is a cyclone, or a tidal wave, and one should fear both, but not
because they are smart." Ashtaar's eyes focus on Gretslen. "What if Brill
should want another such sorceress?"
"We have taken steps to stop that."
"Good." Ashtaar leans back in her chair. "Who else knows of this strange
sorceress, or whatever she may be?''
Gretslen laughs. "Everyone knows, except Barjim. But no one knows
anything except that she is an exotic beauty who some claim came through
a portal from one of the mist worlds."
"Even Behlem?"
"He probably knew before I did," Gretslen admits. "He has sources all
over Defalk."
"That means Konsstin may. And some others."
"I doubt it. Behlem wouldn't tell him, and Cyndyth wouldn't, not after
being effectively sold to Behlem. And if those two don't want him to
know, who would risk their necks to tell him? He'll find out within
weeks, but he'll be among the last. I don't know about the Matriarch,
although I'd guess so. Money has eyes everywhere."
"So it does." Ashtaar laughs and raises a hand to dismiss the blonde
woman.
Gretslen rises with a polite smile.
22
As the tinted glass of the bedchamber window filtered the worst of the
late-afternoon sun, Anna sat at the table with the key-harp, a stack of
the tan paper, a pencil, and the inevitable pitcher of water and
accompanying goblet.
Her left shoulder ached, as did her left hand, but her insistence on
distilling alcohol from the vinegary wine, and bathing the wounds in
it—combined with Brill's initial magic, seemed to have warded off
infection. The soreness around the deep slash surprised her, as did the
shades of purple and green, and the burning sensation that accompanied
cleaning the wounds and the area around them didn't leave her in the best
of moods.
Nor did looking in the mirror and seeing all too many gray and aubum
roots at the base of her hair.
She glanced toward the robing room, where Florenda had delivered a third
riding outfit, this one in an even lighter green. She asked the girl for
a gown, even sketched a rough outline, but she'd have to come up with
something else for Florenda to do before long. Requesting too many
clothes was wasteful, and probably put her even more in Brill's debt.
No matter where she was, she was in debt in some way or another.
Her eyes dropped to the paper before her, but her mind kept veering off.
How had she gotten to Erde? What had she been thinking? The words rolled
back to her—"I'd just like to run away... anywhere. Anywhere!''
The tears welled up in her eyes, and she blotted them angrily with the
cloth in her good right hand. What was it— be careful about what you wish
for or you may get it? Erde was certainly anywhere other than Ames, but
she was still dancing to everyone else's tune.
She blotted her eyes again and then picked up the paper. She needed
something strong. What about a hymn? Or something? She needed a hymn for
battles. Then she smiled. That one she knew, and there must be some set
of words that would do what she wanted. She had time, and she would get
the words right!
Brill wanted a sorceress, and the dark ones wanted to kill her. Her lips
tightened. She'd repay both—somehow!
23
Anna carried the sketches down to the salon for the noon meal, arriving,
as was becoming the case more frequently, before Brill. Even though her
left shoulder and hand had healed enough to use the key-harp for short
periods of time, the instrument seemed almost worse than useless. Not
only was the key-harp frustrating her, but it had no power of projection.
She sat on her side of the table and poured more water.
Serna peered in.
"He's not here yet," Anna said pleasantly. "You know, I like your bread."
She smiled. "I hope it's yours."
Serna nodded, then vanished.
With the faint whispering of boots, the sorcerer appeared, wearing the
hard, faded-blue clothing that was his working apparel, but his boots
were still those of gleaming blue leather.
"You have that certain look upon your face, Lady Anna." Brill bowed
before pulling out the heavy blue-lacquered chair. "Before you begin, how
is your shoulder?"
"It doesn't hurt at all with small movements, or gentle ones, and it's
still itching. So it's healing." She offered a rueful smile. "How's
Farinelli? He probably helped as much as anyone."
"Quies says that he misses you." Brill shook his head. "You do have a
way, Lady Anna. Wiltur was impressed, also. He said you threw up your
hand to deflect the arrow from your throat or heart, and that you didn't
cry out. You just rode back to the hall with a wound that would have
felled many armsmen."
"It felled me all right."
"But not until you could be helped." Brill shrugged. "You might have died
if you'd fallen from the gelding down at the orchards."
Serna scuttled in with the lunch. This time, there were melons again, as
well as yellow cheese, hot apples, and bread. Anna smiled at the server,
and got a fleeting smile in return.
Brill filled his goblet from the wine pitcher. "So what are you planning,
lady sorceress?"
"Who makes instruments? Stringed instruments."
"Kaseth does. I imagine even your young friend Daffyd does. Why?"
"I have an idea," Anna said.
"I thought you might."
She spread the papers on the table. Once she'd been a fair artist, but
that had been years before, and she was guessing at some of the
dimensions and features from what she recalled.
"You have a fine hand. You could have been a scribe or an artist."
"I did some drawing, years ago, but I wasn't talented enough, and I liked
music better."
"Hmmmm…" Brill sipped the red vinegary wine and looked at her drawings.
After a time, and several more sips, he cleared his throat. "It looks
something that partakes of the lute and the violoncello, and something
else I have never seen."
"An acoustic guitar."
The sorcerer looked blank.
"It's like a lute, except it's more powerful and would project more
sound." Anna took another sip of water. "If you want me to be useful,
this would be most helpful."
"You are not even healed yet," Brill protested.
"I'm doing better, and I don't know that the dark ones will wait for me
to recover."
"I have tried to let it be known that you are still at the brink of
death," the sorcerer said blandly. "I had hoped that would encourage the
Dark Monks to take their time."
Anna frowned. "Why? I'd think they'd hurry."
"Anyone with armsmen can take land. Unless the Ebrans destroy those who
can take it back, what good does marching into Defalk do them? It is
better to fight one decisive battle than many that bleed one dry."
Anna thought for a moment, realizing that she had thought that battles
and taking territory were synonymous, and maybe they were, on earth—but
then, she recalled Prof Martin and his lectures about Lee and the Civil
War, how Lee had prolonged the war by preserving his army. "Then
shouldn't Lord Barjim refuse to fight?"
"If he retreats, the Ebrans will take the best fields and the orchards,
and their harvest. He owes half a harvest's worth of coins to the
moneylenders in Encora."
Anna got the impression that Lord Barjim was damned one way or another.
She gathered the drawings up. "What should something like this cost?''
Then she shook her head. "Why am I asking? I don't have any way to pay
for it."
"I would guess that it would cost a gold." Brill set down his goblet. "I
will supply the woods from the players' stocks, and pay for it." He
laughed. "If it helps defeat the dark ones, it is a small price to pay,
and if it does not, then I won't miss it, either. Tell Daffyd, and he
would be better than Kaseth for a strange instrument, that he may use the
seasoned woods." Brill's hands dipped out of sight and returned with
several heavy silver coins. "Best you offer him a silver as a token. I
will send a messenger in your name after we eat." The sorcerer reached
for the bread.
Anna ladled out the hot and tart apples, then took both bread and cheese.
She seemed always hungry, but she wasn't gaining weight. If anything, she
had lost a bit—not nearly what she would have liked—but the trousers
seemed slightly looser. That had to be from the time when she was
unconscious and hadn't been able to eat.
When she finally looked down at her platter and around the table, Anna
flushed, realizing she had eaten almost as much as Brill. Eating that
way, she'd gain everything back!
"I will send for Daffyd," Brill said as he finished the last of his wine
and rose from the table.
"I think I'll be ready to ride in a few days, and then I can go back to
work in the workroom."
"So soon?"
"So long as there's no infection, there's no reason to sit around."
"As you wish, Lady Anna."
Anna drank another goblet of water and watched the empty walls, and
sun-drenched Mencha, for a time. Serna removed ail the dishes except for
the water pitcher and Anna's glass. She'd meant to talk to Brill about
harmony, to ask whether a harmonic spell would work. The Donner-musik
book had implied it was workable. But somehow, she hadn't felt right
about asking—or maybe she wasn't up to a fight, not that she ever was,
when she was still recovering.
"The player Daffyd," Florenda announced finally.
"Have him come in."
Anna stood and waited.
"You sent for me, lady?" Daffyd bowed, deeply enough almost for it to be
sardonic.
"Yes. I did. I didn't know how else to find you, and it's not exactly
wise for me to go riding all over Mencha in my condition." Her eyes
dropped to the wrapped shoulder. "Not yet, anyway. Not since I'm still
weak in the sorcery department."
Daffyd frowned at the word "department."
"I have a favor to ask. I need an instrument made. It's special." Anna
bent over the table and spread out the papers again, ignoring the twinge
in her shoulder and the faint throbbing in her left hand.
Daffyd looked at the drawings. "How big is this instrument?"
"A little more than a yard." Anna started to spread her hands to indicate
hew large, then thought better of it as her shoulder twinged.
Daffyd's eyes rolled. "Six strings? What kind of strings?"
"The four from the cello and the two deepest ones from your viola, except
longer. I'll tune them differently. When can you start?''
"I must find woods, and—"
"Lord Brill said that Kaseth would give you the material from the
players' stocks, and he said you could use the most seasoned woods. I
don't have much I can give you, not yet, but…" Anna extracted one of the
silver coins from her purse.
"Why do you need this… what would you call it?"
"It's not a guitar, not with gut strings, but it should be a lot stronger
than a lute. Call it a lutar." Anna almost laughed, thinking that "lutar"
sounded much better than "guilute."
"I need it for sorcery."
"You haven't asked for a bow."
"It's to be strummed or plucked."
Daffyd frowned. "I've heard of sorcerers using lutes, lady, but they
don't help much because your fingers will touch the strings."
Anna pursed her lips. She didn't like picks, but they might solve part of
the problem. "There might be a way around that. How soon can you do this?"
"It should take a season."
Anna shook her head. "I need something a lot sooner. A lot sooner."
"I can try," Daffyd said. "The seasoned woods will help, but it will not
be as good as I would like if I hurry."
"Daffyd… most times I would agree with you, but this is one time where a
poor instrument is better than none."
The young instrumentalist's eyebrows lifted.
"Go…" Anna laughed. "Listen to your elders."
When the young man had left the salon, Anna stood, gathered the papers,
and walked slowly up to her chamber, accompanied by Florenda. What other
tasks could she devise for the girl?—not too onerous, but ones that would
keep her out of Anna's hair all the time.
She tried not to sigh, wishing that she felt stronger. Still, she
intended to be riding again within another few days. If she had to stay
in the hall much longer, she'd scream— except she wouldn't. She always
tried to be reasonable.
24
Falcor, Defalk
Why does it take your sire, the powerful and wise Lord Jecks, so
dissonantly long to gather his levies? Three weeks more before he can
move them down the Mencha road?" Barjim looks at the half-eaten loaf of
bread on the table between them, then scoops up a handful of the heavily
salted almonds.
The broad-shouldered brunette, whose short hair shows streaks of gray,
brushes the crumbs off the worn leathers that match Barjim's. "Because
it's the only way he can buy you time. You can't be expected to move
against the dark ones without the largest company of your lords' levies."
She.takes a deep swig from her pewter goblet and sets it on the table.
"The dark ones wish to crush us at one blow, and they will wait—for a
time, but not until harvest, or even close to it."
"Alasia, I songpraise the day we were joined—when I'm not cursing it." He
refills his goblet.
"I know. Do you want me to be less than I am? Would that help?" Her voice
is calm, free of edge or bitterness, gentle, but not soft.
"No. You know that. So does half of Liedwahr, unfortunately." After a sip
from the goblet, he asks, "What can I gain from such time?"
"Send a message to your sorcerer, for one. Suggest that he had best use
the time to good advantage."
"I did that already. Twice, as you may recall. He responds that he stands
ready for my summons." Barjim takes another swallow of the harsh wine.
"Can you replace some of the liedburg guards in Denguic with levies in
similar garb, levies from Sudwei, perhaps?"
"That might help. That cripple Geansor won't complain."
"Not with his heir and daughter in the south tower," says Alasia dryly.
"You've never approved of that, but what choice do I have? In any case…"
Barjim pauses and rubs his left temple. "In any case, we could move them
in with the supply wagons over the next week. Behlem wouldn't notice the
difference through a scrying pond, no matter what he claims about being
the Prophet of Music. It's easy to claim that sort of thing with the
Liedfuhr of Mansuur behind you."
"And his coins," murmurs Alasia.
"Those, too." Barjim takes another handful of nuts.
25
"The first battle song—again," ordered Brill.
Daffyd shifted his weight on his stool, his eyes flicking to Anna and
then away, before- he lifted his bow.
From the chair at the side of the practice room, Anna listened as the
eight players followed Brill's gestures. Kaseth, one of the other
violinists, one clarinetist, and the bass-horn player were missing.
Gero sat on a stool in the corner, his eyes on Brill.
Liende and the falk hornist carried the main melody of the short battle
song, and the strings supported them, rather than the other way around,
as it had been in the previous practices Anna had attended. Even so, the
structure still seemed mostly polyphonic, and she couldn't help but
wonder if homophonic music would provide stronger spell support—or even
vocal harmony.
Anna suppressed a bitter laugh. Theory wasn't her bag, and she was
speculating again on what kind of music would cast spells better in a
world she scarcely understood. Avery would have done that, but was she
any better?
Mentally, she tried to construct some verse that would follow the music,
but found she could not—not anything that made sense. She could adapt
something she knew… but creating it from scratch, that she hadn't been
able to do—not yet anyway. Had Brill actually written the battle song—or
inherited it from his father?
After the practice, Anna made her way across the room to Daffyd. "How are
you coming on the lutar?"
"I have the frame done. Do you want the fingerboard rounded like a
violin?"
"Flat, if you can, and…" Anna shook her head. There wasn't any point in
fretting the board, not when she didn't know and couldn't begin to
calculate the intervals. That would make fingering hard, and even harder
on her fingers, but violinists managed it.
"I have also found some of the best spruce for the bass peg and the
sounding peg."
"Good." Anna recalled spruce was supposed to be good for that. "Hardwood
for the front and back?"
"Maple and rosewood."
"How soon?"
"I cannot say." Daffyd closed the case for his viola. "Sooner than I had
thought." He glanced toward the entry hall where Brill and Liende stood.
"Lord Brill said that I should only work on your lutar and my playing."
Anna nodded. So Brill thought her lutar was that important. He hadn't
told her.
Daffyd, Liende, and several of the players followed them back to the
hall, riding discretely behind Anna and the sorcerer.
Brill pointed to the east, and the dark clouds over the distant
mountains. "The clouds—the dark ones are working the weather again. The
eastern rains never reach us."
"… black bastards…"
Anna caught the words but not the speaker, although she thought it might
have been Frideric.
Once they were back inside the hall's wall, Anna led Farinelli into the
cool of the stable and to his stall, almost wishing she could unsaddle
him, but she hesitated to try with her injured arm. She'd never had that
much upper-body strength anyway.
"Let me do that, lady," offered Quies.
"Thank you. I really should be doing it myself by now, but this shoulder…"
"Quite a wound you took," Quies said. "Even left some blood on Farinelli,
more than a little. Good thing you're a strong woman." With quick motions
he undid both front and rear cinches and lifted the saddle off the
gelding.
Anna patted the palomino's shoulder. "Good steady fellow you are."
Farinelli whuffed.
"You want to be fed, I'll bet."
"You've that right, lady. He's a glutton, or would be if I'd let him."
Quies shook his head. "He likes you. Doesn't like many. Albero wouldn't
ride him. Neither would Husto." The stablemaster grinned. "Figured you
two would get along, and I was right."
"I like him," Anna admitted.
"He likes you," Quies repeated. "I like to see that."
With a last pat, Anna headed out of the stable and back to the hall, far
enough behind the others that the courtyard was empty. She could feel the
sweat beading up under the hat, and she swept it off when she stepped
inside the entry hall, where Florenda waited.
Anna repressed a sigh as she climbed the steps to the second floor,
absently peering down the hallway as she stopped at her door. Brill's
rooms lay at the end of the corridor. That Anna knew, though she had
never been there. In fact, the issue had never come up, and in some ways
that bothered her almost as much as if it had.
Was she getting that old? Brill was as old as she was, or close to it.
"Florenda?"
"Yes, lady?"
"I'm going to need some clean clothes."
"They're all clean, or drying, except for what you have on, lady."
"All right." Anna couldn't help but smile. "Go find something to do. Get
me an apple, if you can."
Florenda grinned briefly, then bowed. "I will ask Serna."
"Fine."
As Florenda hurried away, a figure stepped into a doorway at the end of
the hall. Anna thought the woman was Liende, but she wasn't sure.
If so, Brill wasn't going after the young-ones like Florenda. She could
have been wrong, but he didn't strike her as the type to chase a number
of different women at the same time. "Interesting," she murmured.
Her chamber remained cool, and she set the hat on the flat surface in the
robing room, then began to wash up, getting rid of as much dust as she
could. After she blotted her face dry, she returned to the bedchamber
and-stood in front of the window, gazing out the tinted window at the
same clear sky, the same sunbaked view of Mencha, the same dusty and
empty roads.
After a time, she turned to the table and lifted the water pitcher.
Thrap… thrap.
"Who's there?"
Someone answered, but she didn't catch the name. So she walked to the
door.
"Yes?"
"It's Liende, Lady Anna. Might I enter?"
Anna opened the door, then gestured for Liende to come in and to take a
seat at the table. The player took the one facing away from the window,
crossing her trousered legs and showing a pair of pale tan leather boots.
Anna closed the door and took the chair across the table from the other
woman.
"I needed to talk to you," Liende said.
Anna felt tongue-tied. Why did the clarinetist feel this way—because she
was Brill's lover? Or was she? Was Liende worried? "I should have thanked
you earlier," Anna started. "Without your help, I understand I could have
died."
"You are stronger than that, Lady Anna. I was pleased to have been able
to help." The red-haired woman cleared her throat gently. "It is about
Lord Brill… You saw me… and…"
"There's nothing to explain," Anna said. "Lord Brill has offered great
hospitality, and I value his friendship, especially because I'm a
stranger here. But I'm not interested in him, not in a romantic way." She
added, "I also get the impression that he is far more interested in my
sorcery than in anything else I might offer."
Liende gave a gentle smile. "I am not certain about the last, but with
women he is a true noble. He has been with me."
"I can only offer you water. Would you like some?" asked Anna.
"Thank you."
"You know, Lord Brill loves Loiseau."
"Loiseau?" Anna set her own goblet on the table before her.
"That is the name of the hall and holding. That is why he will turn to
darksong against the dark ones. That is why he hopes you can help.
Loiseau is all he really has. He cannot have children. At least, he never
has, and it appears unlikely."
Anna understood that. In a world without modern birth control, if Brill
had no children at his age, he probably never would have them.
"You say Lord Brill is kind," Anna temporized. "Yet Daffyd says that he
killed his father. He says he killed him for humming."
"Some things are true, and that is true," Liende admitted. "But it was
not quite that way."
"I don't understand," said Anna. "Humming?"
"Daffyd did not lie. Lord Brill did kill his father, and Culain hummed
for years. He could not really even hum. There was no music there."
Liende shook her head. "The only melody was in his violino." She lowered
her voice. "The humming was the last note. Brill had stood it long
enough. He couldn't stand it any longer."
"Stand what?" Anna took a long sip from the goblet, wondering what else
she would find out.
"Brill took a fancy to Nyreth—that was Daffyd's mother. She was never
happy with Culain, but she used Brill to buy her way out of Defalk. She
was beautiful even then, and Brill was lonely. All sorcerers are. You are
already, and you will become more powerful and even more lonely.''
Powerful and lonely? Anna wondered if that would be all bad. At Ames, it
had seemed like she was powerless and lonely. -
"You should know how hard sorcery is," Liende continued. "The slightest
mistake in his thoughts, and Brill could destroy his own spell, or what
he strove for… or even himself. That is why sorcerers are so touchy. And
Culain was a hard man. A fair man, but hard. Hard," Liende repeated. "He
beat Nyreth more than once." Liende shrugged. "Brill was gentle. He is
kind in his own way. But Culain kept nagging him silently. Culain kept
humming to annoy him and distract him. He told Daffyd how terrible Lord
Brill was." Liende shrugged.
If what Liende said were so, that put a different light jon things.
Still, Brill had killed Culain. Anna wasn't quite sure what to think.
"What happened to Nyreth?"
"Folks say she's a lady in Elioch, but no one really knows. With a
sorcerer, anything's possible, but when she left, a week later, my cousin
Zania saw her on the long-carriage to the west, and she gave Zania a
silver to keep her mouth shut for a week. That must have been five years
now."
"Why did you agree to be Brill's… lover?" asked Anna.
"Gaelin died four years ago. Brill is gentle, and," Liende touched her
hair, "sorcerers can make you young again, and it stays. Nyreth looked
like first youth—that's why no one recognized her."
"But Brill isn't young."
Liende cleared her throat, then looked toward the closed door. "Those are
the rules. Sorcerers can't do anything for themselves."
Anna pursed her lips. Brill wanted her to make him young—or worse. Every
time she learned something, life got more complicated. That hadn't
changed from earth to Erde. It didn't look like it would, either.
26
Anna struggled to unfasten the cinches and got them both loosened before
Quies entered the stall. "Would you mind, lady," he asked ironically, "if
I did my duties and racked the saddle?"
Anna had to smile. "No. That would still be hard." She added after a
brief pause. "I'm not trying to do your job, but I guess I feel that if I
ride Farinelli, I should know how to take care of him."
Quies racked the saddle with the effortless motion that came of long
practice, and healthy shoulders. "That feeling might not sit so well with
other lords and ladies, excepting Lord Brill, and maybe one like Lord
Jecks."
"They don't have to live with me," Anna said. "I do."
Quies smiled briefly. "Then let me show you how to take off the bridle.
Anyone can fumble a saddle into place."
Anna thought of Farinelli's teeth, but nodded. Good intentions and an
open mouth always led to trouble.
"Horses are just like people. They're not much for others fiddling with
their mouths," said Quies. "Now, watch."
Anna watched.
"You try it now."
She felt like her hands were all thumbs, and reaching up to get the top
over the gelding's ears strained her shoulder. She winced involuntarily,
but managed. Farinelli whuffed, as if to ask that she get it over with,
but, surprisingly, did not toss his head or attempt to nip.
She patted his shoulder. "Good boy."
"He likes you. That helps."
"I like him, and I owe him a lot. He got me back here."
"You did that, Lady Anna. Your mount helped, but you did it. Took a lot
to do that."
Anna flushed. Although she felt she was a survivor type, she'd never
thought of herself as courageous or one of those people who rode into
battle. Then, again, she hadn't. She'd just survived… again, and there
wasn't much sense in taking herself too seriously for that. "Thank you,
but I did what any sensible person would do. I rode to where I could get
help. I didn't fight off people or protect anyone."
"Sense is the last thing most people have with a war arrow through their
chest."
Realizing that Quies would always think her actions were special, Anna
shifted the subject. "Lord Brill said that your son could help me with
learning something about the knife." Anna's fingers touched the hilt. "He
sent them to me, or someone did, but I don't know where to find him."
Quies laughed briefly. "The armory, such as it is, is on the other side
of the stable. He's there now."
"Good. I have some time before the midday meal."
"Nearly a glass," confirmed Quies. "Albero will help. He likes sensible
women."
"Thank you." Anna didn't shake her head. Were, sorceresses not supposed
to be day-to-day sensible?
She tried two doors before she found the armory. The first was a
storeroom filled with barrels, and the second she left sneezing from the
hay or grain she stirred up just in opening the door. The third door
opened into a dim and narrow room.
A redhead with his back to the door sat on a stool pumping a grindstone
with his foot as he sharpened a long blade.
He looked up as Anna entered, then stood and set aside the blade. "Lady."
"I had hoped that you could help me with the knife," Anna said.
The red-haired young man smiled. "If you had not already been wounded,
Lady Anna, I would say that you needed no blade." The smile vanished.
"Times are changing, my sire says, and not for the better."
"So it seems. Where do we start?"
"I cannot teach you the knife in days, or even in seasons. I can help you
enough so that you can stop a desperate or stupid man, or hold off
someone long enough to use one of your spells." Albero eased the
yard-long blade he had been sharpening onto a set of brackets on the side
wall, then stepped out into the open space to the right of the
grindstone. "Take the knife out of the sheath."
Anna struggled for a moment, then wrestled the blade out. She looked down
at the short length of polished iron— or was it steel?
Albero laughed. "That is the first problem. You have to draw your blade
quickly enough to use it."
Anna flushed.
"I do not mean to jest. The simple matters are important. You must keep
the blade oiled and sharpened. Do not use too much oil, just enough that
there is a thin layer, one you can almost not see. Do not touch the edge.
Your fingers will dull it A clean blade draws quickly."
That made sense to Anna.
"Also you must have a sheath that lets you draw the blade quickly. That
one is pretty, but it catches the blade." Albero turned toward the
shelves on the wall to Anna's right. After a moment, he returned with a
battered but stiff black leather sheath. "Let's try this one."
Anna fumbled the softer, tooled leather sheath off her belt and replaced
it with the more functional looking one. The knife slid in and out
smoothly.
"Can you feel the difference?"
She nodded.
"Now… there's holding a blade. How would you hold a blade to strike me?"
asked the armsmaster. Anna shifted her grip and raised the knife. "No! A
good knife fighter always strikes directly—or underhanded. Look." Albero
drew his own dagger, shimmering, wide-bladed. "If I raise the knife… see…
my whole chest is open. If you keep the knife low and between you and the
other, you can always strike." He laughed. "Besides, a low blade says you
know something, and that will make him cautious. And if you use your
stick"—he pointed to the short truncheon that hung from Anna's belt— "if
you use it on his blade, then he cannot hurt you."
"Like this?" Anna asked, shifting her grip on the knife. "Put your thumb
on the flat side there." Albero demonstrated. "Like this."
She held in a deep breath. Why was she learning about knives? Because,
like everything else in her life, from taking the crummy position at Ames
to going deeper and deeper in debt to get Elizabetta and Mario through
college, she had no choice if she wanted to survive. With that thought,
she emulated Albero's grip.
"Good. Now… Your feet are important. You have to keep them far enough
apart so that you are not unbalanced, but you have to be able to move…"
Anna shifted her weight. "Better if one foot be forward of the other…"
The singer tried to follow Albero's instructions, on position, on moving,
on keeping the blade before her. A faint clang of the bell penetrated the
thick stone walls. "That's enough for now, lady. If you just practice
those few things—the drawing, the holding the knife, and those one or two
moves—leastwise no one will just rush you." Albero grinned. "Best you
practice casting spells while you use the knife, too."
Anna had to return the grin. He was right. She hurried back to the main
hall, washed quickly, and scurried down to the salon, where Brill waited.
"I'm sorry." There, she was sorry again. She was always sorry. Why? "I
was learning more about using a knife." She slipped into the chair across
the table from the sorcerer.
"That is wise, as long as you don't spend too much time at it."
"Albero said the same thing," Anna admitted.
"Lord Barjim and the last of his forces will arrive here the day after
tomorrow." Brill rilled his goblet with the vinegary wine, the amber
version, as Serna quietly slipped the serving platters on the table.
More cheese, hot apples, and bread—Brill had warned her about the lack of
variety in fare, and he'd been right.
Anna waited.
"That means putting up tenscore armsmen and Lord Barjim and Lady Alasia,"
the sorcerer continued.
"Where?" ventured Anna.
"Oh… the corner rooms opposite yours at the far end— those have been for
the Lord of Defalk since my father's time. It's easier that way. As for
the armsmen, there's more than enough space in the barracks. When my
grandsire built Loiseau, Lord Donjim's grandsire was always guesting—it
was a way to extend the treasury of Defalk. Barjim's a fairer man than
old Firsah or his uncle, but some of that's because of Alasia. She's Lord
Jecks' oldest daughter, and she handles a blade better than most armsmen.
She rides with him, and he listens to her." Brill shook his head
ruefully. "Good thing, too. Barjim's honest, and fair, but some mules
have more between the ears."
Anna offered the bread to the sorcerer.
"You might be wise to appear in the green gown," Brill mused. "There's
nothing like that here."
"Alasia is suspicious?" Anna asked, refilling her goblet with water.
Lord, she'd drunk a lot of water lately.
"She has to be. Old Gelen can't or won't ride. He'll stay in Falcor and
keep tutoring young Jimbob."
"Gelen?" About the time she thought she understood something about
Defalk, something else popped up.
"Gelen's been one of Barjim's advisors since he was a boy. Between them,
Gelen and Alasia keep him riding the right direction."
Anna frowned. Women behind the man in power always bothered her. They
were often worse than overtly power-hungry bitches.
"How long will they stay?"
"Just overnight. Then we'll all ride east to the Sand Pass to smite down
the dark ones." Brill refilled his goblet.
"You still haven't been very forthcoming about what you expect from me,"
Anna pointed out.
"I expect nothing," Brill said gently. "I hope you can find some way to
use your powers to kill either the dark-singers or their armsmen—or both.
If we do not destroy most of them, like dark locusts they will crawl
across Defalk, consuming everything in their path." His single swallow
from the goblet half drained it.
Anna sipped her water, and then helped herself to the apples. BrUl was
drinking more of the wine each day, and withdrawing more and more.
"I have some spells," she finally admitted. "I can't really test them,
though."
"How true!" Brill's laugh was overloud. "Unlike the dark ones, we must
wait till battle to see if what we devise will work."
Anna wished she could stomach the wine. Instead, she refilled her goblet
with water again. "About harmony— vocal harmony… According to your books,
two voices with the same words, but—"
"Harmonies are too dangerous." Brill shook his head. "If we had worked
together for years, perhaps, but there is no time to ensure that they
would be perfect, and perfect they would have to be."
"Perfect?"
"They would have to be perfect" Brill's voice turned flat, stubborn.
Anna wanted to scream, but she only smiled. "I understand… but would you
think about it?"
"With all else I must consider?" He shook his head.
Anna decided not to push, since he didn't seem likely to listen. "When
you do have more time."
"If that time comes, Lady Anna, then… perhaps." Was he afraid of losing
control, like all men? She managed to keep from shaking her head, just
barely.
27
Anna looked at the words on the paper, mentally fitting them to the
familiar melody she strummed on the mandolin.
"In the terror of the tempest, death is brought between the hills,
with a slashing through the bosom that flattens monks it kills.
As we lived to keep men free, let dark ones fall in rills…"
Anna winced at the word "rills," but she felt the word was Germanic in
origin, and should help—she hoped—in a world where song seemed to have
its roots in a similar tongue.
Finally, she set the mandolin on the desk beside the unused key-harp.
Absently, she wondered why the sorcerers of Liedwahr never developed
something like the autoharp, with chording bars. Then, without a
pianolike instrument, the whole idea of chords seemed almost foreign to
the mostly polyphonic spell music of Erde.
She touched her shoulder. Under her shirt and tunic, the healing wound,
and scars from the ugly stitches, were covered only by a light layer of
cotton. The area around the wound was tender, and much of it remained a
faded purple with a yellowish cast—-but she could move her arm without
more than discomfort, and she could play the mandolin. The small
instrument helped in working things out, far more than the key-harp.
She wished that Daffyd would complete the lutar, but she had the feeling
that it would not be ready by tomorrow, when they would have to leave
with Lord Barjim.
Why had she agreed to go?
She shrugged, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder. What real choice had
she had? She had no funds, no supporters except Brill, and from what she
could tell, most of Erde didn't seem terribly fond of sorcerers or
sorceresses. She was in a medieval-style culture, and she had no real
skill with weapons—or with such crafts as sewing, stitchery, or weaving.
With song relegated to sorcery, she couldn't even sing for her supper, so
to speak, and she certainly didn't feel like being a harlot.
As usual, nothing had changed, even though she had changed worlds. Her
nonself-destructive choices remained virtually nonexistent, and when she
had ideas, like using harmony to amplify magic, the men didn't want to
listen, and she was even more isolated from her children.
Her eyes turned to the window.
In the late afternoon, to the east and north, along the road toward Ebra,
scattered clouds of dust rose, for all that the air was still.
"Soldiers… armsmen… whatever they're called," Anna murmured as she lifted
the mandolin again. What other spells could she devise?
28
Anna glanced out the bedchamber window, but nothing seemed different,
except there were several guards stationed on the walls, there to present
an appearance of watchfulness to Lord Barjim, no doubt, reflected Anna.
She walked slowly back to the mirror in the robing room.
After a quick thrap on the door, which Anna ignored, Florenda opened it
slightly. "Lady Anna, Lord Brill says that Lord Barjim is almost to the
gates."
Anna took a last quick look in the mirror. Brill had suggested that she
wear the green gown, and she understood that. Just like all men beholden
to a higher authority, he wanted to play up his strengths, and Anna was
clearly one of his strengths. When would she be able to be one of her own
strengths? Ever?
She shook her head and bent closer to the mirror. Although the gray and
natural auburn was showing at the roots of her hair, it wasn't that
obvious, not yet, not the way she had arranged her hair, although she
wouldn't be able to conceal the graying and darkening that much longer.
There was something about Erde, though. There had to be. She'd had to
cinch the longline bra into the next-to-tightest hooks, and she didn't
even feel constrained, and she'd been eating heartily enough, more than
heartily enough.
Only the slightest edge of the cotton covering the scab and scar showed.
Thank goodness the green gown wasn't that low-necked.
"My lady!" Florenda called.
"I'm coming." After a last glance in the mirror, Anna turned, left the
chamber, and followed Florenda down the stone stairs, holding the
balustrade loosely because of the high heels. Gero and Brill stood in the
entry hall, waiting.
Brill bowed. "You look both lovely and formidable, Lady Anna."
"Thank you…1 think."
A smile creased Brill's face, one that vanished with the sound of the
bellchime. He nodded to Gero, and the youth darted to the doorway.
"Welcome to Loiseau, Lord Barjim, Lady Alasia," piped the sorcerer's
assistant, as he held the door wide for the pair to enter.
"My lord," Brill offered a bow to the big dark-haired man in a purple
shirt. "Lady Alasia." Beside the broad-faced bulky man stood a
broad-shouldered woman with short, gray-streaked hair, also in purple and
bearing a short black sabre, as well as a belt dagger.
"Lord Brill. I see you are as prepared for war as a sorcerer is."
Barjim's eyes flicked to Anna, his eyes taking in the green gown.
She met the sleepy-looking hooded eyes, angry at the insinuation, and
glad that the heels and her own height, and the shortness of people in
Erde, allowed her to look the Lord of Defalk straight in the eye. After
the briefest of moments, Barjim returned his scrutiny to Brill.
"This is the Lady Anna," Brill explained. "She is a sorceress from the
mist worlds."
Both Barjim and Alasia looked at Anna.
"I am pleased and honored to meet you both," Anna said evenly. "I hope to
be of some help."
"She already has been," Brill said. "The dark ones sent three
spellcasters after her, and they are dead." He paused. "We can discuss
this as we eat. Would you like to refresh yourselves?"
"That would be most kind," said Alasia before Barjim could speak.
"Then, might I escort you to your quarters?" Brill bowed and gestured
toward the staircase. "Lady Anna, would you be so kind as to inform Serna
that it will be a slight while?"
"Not that long," said Barjim. "Eating's a lot better than washing."
"Captain Dekas and Captain Sepko will be joining us, also," said Alasia.
"I had expected them." Brill smiled at Anna and added in a lower voice,
if one loud enough for the others to hear. "And would you take care of
the candles? It would take Serna forever with the lighter, and I did not
get to spell them."
"My pleasure." Anna inclined her head, both to Brill and to Barjim and
Alasia. Alasia returned the nod and smiled faintly. Despite Brill's
description of Alasia as a power behind the throne, Anna found herself
wondering. Alasia seemed almost too plain, common-sensical.
As the three ascended the stone steps, Anna turned and walked slowly to
the grand dining room, where she noted that the table was set for six,
with actual silver cutlery, and bleached cloth napkins set in carved
rings. The goblets were the same crystal, but looked more formal in the
grand dining room than in the salon.
Anna glanced up at the massive crystal chandelier, on which there were at
least three dozen gleaming white candles. For a moment, she studied the
chandelier, trying to form the mental image of all the candles blazing,
before she hummed, trying to get the pitch right, and wishing she'd
brought a pitch pipe. Then, she sang the spell.
"… flame clear in my sight!"
Light gushed through the once dim room.
"Oh… oh....oh…"
Anna turned. Florenda looked whiter than the candles in the chandelier.
"Are you all right, Florenda?"
"Oh, lady… I did not realize…" Florenda turned toward the door to the
kitchen area, where Serna appeared.
"Lord Barjim and Lady Alasia are refreshing themselves," Anna said. "Oh…"
The eight wall sconces remained unlit. "Do those get lit also?" she asked
the white-haired server.
"Usually, Lady Anna." Serna paused.
"Thank you. I'll do them in a moment. I don't think the delay for dinner
will be great. Lord Barjim seemed rather more eager to eat than to wash
up."
"Aye… that's always the case," affirmed Serna, glancing down at Florenda,
who slipped over beside the older woman. In turn, Florenda looked toward
Anna, then dropped her eyes.
"Easy, daughter, powerful sorceress or not, I'd venture she's the same
woman she's always been." Serna patted Florenda's shoulder.
"Your daughter? I didn't know."
"No reason you should, lady."
"She's a good young woman."
"She's that, too, for all that I'm her mother." Serna paused at the sound
of a chime. "Best you light the sconces, Lady Anna. The captains have
arrived. Florenda, you get the big flagons of the good wine. The good
wine. Go, girl!"
As Florenda scuttled off, Serna nodded toward her daughter's departing
figure. "I saw you spell the candles before. She hadn't. Young ones don't
believe their parents, for all the years we have."
Anna laughed. "I know. I have children, too. They're grown."
"You don't look more than a girl, lady."
"The gray's there, if you look closely," Anna said ruefully.
"Let Lord Barjim find that out for himself." At the sound of voices in
the entry hall, Serna raised a hand. "Best I'm back to readying dinner."
As the server vanished, Anna took in the wall sconces, did her best to
visualize them, and repeated the spell.
"Donnermusik…" muttered a voice from the arched entry to the dining hall.
Anna turned and beheld Gero with two men who looked to be in their late
twenties or early thirties. She stepped forward. "I'm Lady Anna." She
hated titling herself, but that was the way this opera played, fantasy
soap opera or not.
"She is a sorceress," Gero announced. "From the mist worlds." As the
youth stepped back, he winked at Anna, who kept her lips tight for a
moment to avoid an amused smile.
"Dekas, captain for Lord Barjim." The black-haired man in the tan shirt
and purple vest bowed.
"Sepko." The blond bowed quickly. He wore a cream-colored shirt with his
vest.
While Dekas was nearly six feet tall, Anna judged, she was taller than
the squat and muscular Sepko.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Anna decided to seize the
opportunity. "Everyone talks in general terms. Can you describe the dark
ones, the Dark Monks?"
Dekas cleared his throat. "Why, Lady Anna?"
"It would help my spellcasting if I knew more." It would help a lot of
things if I knew more, she thought to herself. "How are they likely to
attack?"
"Well…" began the tall captain. "They all wear brown, brown so dark it is
almost black." He shook his head. "How they manage in the sun, I don't
know. First, their singers bring in clouds and a storm, and they try to
lash you with lightning. Then they bring up crossbows while you're still
watching for lightning. After that… well, it could be horse or pikes—it
depends on the lay of the land. That Eladdrin, he's said to be a good
commander, for all that he's a spellmaster, too."
"Sometimes, it gets so dark, you think the sun would set," added Sepko.
Both men turned at the sound of voices and boots echoing off the stone
steps.
"I believe your lord and lady and Lord Brill are arriving," Anna said
easily.
From the shadows of the doorway, Gero offered another wink, and eased
farther from sight.
Anna inclined her head slightly as the three passed under the archway and
into the room. Brill's eyes took in the still-blazing candles, and he
nodded ever so slightly before gesturing to the end of the table closest
to the salon. "My lord."
Barjim waited until Alasia stood by the chair to his left. Following
Brill's faint nod and her feelings, Anna took the chair to the right.
Brill sat beside Alasia, while both captains seated themselves below Anna.
She noted that only Brill offered anyone a chair, and that to Barjim's
consort. Somehow, that didn't exactly surprise her.
The small party took less than a third of the table, and Anna wondered
how often the entire white stone table was ever used.
Almost before the chairs were pulled into place, Florenda set three
flagons on the table—one between the captains, one by Barjim, and one by
Brill.
"Is this the good stuff, Brill?" asked Barjim. "Not that vinegar you
usually drink?"
"This is the good wine," the sorcerer affirmed.
The Lord of Defalk filled his consort's goblet first, then his own. Brill
filled his goblet, and Anna found hers being filled by Dekas.
"Thank you," she murmured.
The tall captain nodded.
Barjim raised his goblet. "For your hospitality, and a good refuge from a
dissonant dusty road."
"Here…" murmured Alasia.
To Anna's surprise, the red wine was actually drinkable.
Serna and Florenda carried in more delicate plates than Anna had seen,
almost porcelainlike white, with only a fringe of the blue Brill
affected. On each plate was a half melon.
"Your melons are always good," said Alasia.
"I like the dark bread," replied Barjim.
"How has your travel been so far?" asked the sorcerer.
"How's travel anytime?" grumbled the big lord. "Saddle's hard. Dust is
everywhere. Someone's mount's always lame. Supply wagons break wheels.
And you know it's going to get worse. Rather not talk about it."
At least he was honest, reflected Anna.
"How do you find Defalk, Lady Anna?" Alasia's voice was self-assured,
firm, yet somehow gentle.
"From what little I have seen, Lady Alasia—"
"Alasia, if you please. We could 'lord' and iady' each other to death
here."
The two captains exchanged glances.
"From what I have seen, people are friendly. They worry and struggle,
just like people anywhere. Lord Brill has been very hospitable and
helpful. Learning your way around an entire new world isn't always easy."
"Nor safe," Brill interjected. "As I mentioned, the dark ones sent three
of their spelled-killers after her. They put a war arrow through her
shoulder."
Anna's eyes involuntarily dropped to her shoulder, and Alasia's followed.
"How long ago?" asked Barjim.
"Two weeks ago, roughly," answered the sorcerer.
"And her hand as well?" asked Alasia. Anna realized the woman didn't miss
much.
"Yes. I was stupid enough to try to stop it barehanded."
"Actually rather amazing," Brill said. "They were under a glamour, and
she felt the arrow and deflected it. She couldn't see it. It still tore
up most of the shoulder."
"And you're walking around?" asked Barjim.
Anna flushed. "I have been for a while. Lord Brill's healers are good.
I've been riding for several days, but Farinelli's gentle."
Brill snorted. "That's what she calls that palomino I bought from your
auction."
"You ride that beast?''
"We get along," Anna said, realizing that Brill was building her up for
all he was worth, and hoping that she could live up to his
image-creation. Again the two captains exchanged glances.
"As a matter of fact," Brill added, "she rode from the orchards all the
way here with a yard-plus arrow through her shoulder. She lost more blood
that some have."
"I believe you've made your point, Brill," said Alasia dryly. "I can see
the outline of the wounds, and they're not small, even after your magic
healing." She turned to Anna. "How did you come here?"
"I was summoned," Anna said. "I never even knew there was a place like
Erde. I have to admit it was a shock, leaving everything behind,
especially my children. It's a good thing they're all grown. Do you have
children?" she asked in turn. "I hope I'm not being forward."
"One, and he's enough," offered Alasia.
"How old is he?"
"Ten, the middle of Neun."
Anna nodded.
"You said you had grown children?" asked Barjim. "I was always given to
understand that sorceresses did not have children or they lost their
powers."
Anna shrugged. "I don't know. I have children, but I can do spells here."
Dekas nodded involuntarily.
"You nod, Dekas?"
"She did not see me, lord. But I was standing in the shadows, and she
sang a few words, with no players, and suddenly every candle here was
lit."
Barjim nodded. "I begin to see why the dark ones sought your death, lady.
Perhaps fortune will actually smile on us again."
"I hope to be of some assistance," Anna answered.
"We will need all of that and more," added Alasia.
"If you will pardon me," Anna said, "could you tell me how many men the
Ebrans will have?"
"Two hundred fifty-score, more or less," offered Alasia. "That's men
under arms. They'll have tenscore dark singers, and those are usually in
two groups, one after the van and one behind the main body."
"If Lord Jecks' levies make it, we'll be lucky to have tenscore," added
Barjim.
"But we have fortifications," pointed out Brill, "and the floodgates."
"Let us hope that they, and your sorceries, are enough. Enough of gloom,"
finished Barjim. "We can do that on the two days' rides ahead. Let's talk
of more pleasant matters. Are you going to send me a keg of this wine
afterwards? This is the best yet." He refilled a goblet Anna had not seen
him empty, then sliced off a chunk of melon and popped it in his mouth.
"I'll send two," Brill answered with a laugh, "since you like it so much."
"One in the fall, and one at midwinter," suggested Alasia. "He'll
appreciate it more."
Anna took some of the melon—the best she'd had so far.
"I appreciate it anytime."
"You appreciate it too much anytime," quipped Alasia. "But it is good.
That I will grant."
Anna agreed by taking another sip. Despite the cool of the room, she
could see the faint sheen of perspiration on Brill's forehead. Why? Was
he uncomfortable entertaining? Was he worried about her performance? Or
was she missing something?
"You are quiet, sorceress," said Alasia.
"I don't know a great deal about Erde or Defalk," Anna answered.
"Tell us about the mist worlds, then."
"I only know of my own. Lord Brill would have to tell you about the
others." Anna paused for a sip of the wine, careful to make it small. "As
I have told him, our magic is different, and it is created these days
through small machines. We have carriages that run without horses, and
metal birds called airplanes that carry dozens of people across our
globe…"
Anna talked for a time, trying to word what she said carefully, never to
say earth had no magic, but pointing out that some of the magic devices
she had brought did not work on Erde.
"That is strange," mused Alasia. "Magic changes from world to world?"
"It seems to," said Anna.
"From what you have said," Alasia continued, "and from what the sorcerer
has said, it would seem that you are more powerful here. Is that true?"
"That's true," Anna said. The woman was perceptive.
"They say there is a price for power," continued Alasia. "What might be
yours?"
Anna swallowed. "I hadn't thought of it quite that way because I've been
trying to learn about Erde—and then I was recovering from the arrow. I
don't know everything, but I can't see my parents again, or talk to my
children." She swallowed again, trying to maintain her composure.
"You are paying a great price, then. I am truly sorry."
Anna covered her surge of emotion by lifting the goblet and sipping
slowly. The other woman seemed truly sorry for her, and not at all
manipulative, the way Brill had hinted, and that sympathy or empathy
smashed through all the barriers she had erected.
"… terrible exile…" came from Sepko, whispered to Dekas.
"… maybe lucky for us, though…"
Anna held the goblet, trying to keep her hands from trembling.
She'd-tried to keep from thinking about her parents, or Elizabetta or
Mario. She'd tried, and one glass of good wine and a sympathetic question
and she was about to come undone.
"How did you manage to ride the palomino?" asked Alasia softly.
Anna swallowed. "I don't know. I liked him, and, somehow, he liked me. We
just fit."
"She talks to him, and he listens," offered Brill.
"Of course," said Barjim. "You talk to your mount. That way he knows he's
special. Treat a horse right, and he'll carry you through the mistuned
drums of the worst storms."
"How big is he?" asked Sepko quietly.
"Big as Rowin, if I recall," said Barjim.
"You're a tall lady, sorceress," said Dekas, "but that's a big horse. You
are fortunate."
In some ways, thought Anna, in some ways. She gripped the goblet more
tightly and plastered a smile on her face as the small talk continued, as
Serna and Florenda removed the melon plates and brought in brown-sauced
meat with flaky white rolls, and the hot apples.
Some of the tightness in her stomach eased, and the cheerfulness in her
voice was forced to her own ears, but she managed to keep smiling as the
dinner went on, to answe/ appropriately, and even to make a witty comment
now and again.
She noted that the sheen on Brill's forehead continued as well.
29
Mencha, Defalk
Cold in here," grumbles Barjim, looking toward the closed window hangings
and then the bed. "Cold as an untrustworthy sorcerer."
"You think that of the sorcerer?" Alasia strips off the purple shirt, and
then the armless chemise.
"Brill? He's got a good heart, but he'll turn under pressure. She will,
too, I'd wager."
"The sorceress, the lady Anna? I do not think so."
"She seems pleasant, but…" Barjim shrugs and looks pointedly toward the
bed.
"Barjim! I know you've had too much good wine, but listen."
"Yes, dear." He slumps into the chair, bare-chested.
"This woman has been dropped into a strange world. She's been shot at and
wounded. She's lost everything, except her sorcery, and that's stronger.
Yet, she's repaying Brill's hospitality by supporting you. How many lords
do you have that have so much a sense of duty?"
"Dissonantly few, frigging dissonantly few."
"I think we need to let my father know about her… just in case. And it
might be wise to offer a few silvers for expenses, just a token."
"Silvers here, silvers there. Don't have many left."
Alasia walks over behind Barjim and begins to massage his shoulders. "I
know. I know. I have a few."
"You like her? You don't like many women," says Barjim slowly.
"Under that fancy gown, she's like me. Any woman who can ride that
palomino and take an arrow—I saw that gash; it's more than a span
wide—she's no backroom sorceress. She's more of a man than fussy old
Brill is." Alasia keeps massaging his shoulders. "Brill does what he can.
He's good at heart, as you say, and he'd be better in a peaceful land."
"Fat chance of that," mumbles Barjim.
Alasia massages his shoulders more gently. "We need to rest"
"Know what I need, woman."
She bends down and kisses his neck, letting her skin touch his. "I know."
30
Under the floppy-brimmed hat, Anna could feel the sweat collecting, and
they hadn't even reached the main road where the main body of Barjim's
forces had drawn up.
Anna shifted her weight in the saddle, wondering how well she'd last on a
long ride. Her fingers slipped over the harness holding the pair of water
bottles before the saddle. There was another set behind her, fastened
over the bedroll and the saddlebags that contained food, clothing, and
the mandolin. She hoped she had enough water, and she wished Daffyd had
completed the lutar. He had brought the pieces, or so he had said. That
bothered her, but she couldn't quite say why.
She rode beside Brill, with the eight players on smaller mounts behind
them, led by Daffyd and Liende. Gero had remained at the hall, because,
according to Brill, he was too young to wield a weapon, and unable to do
sorcery.
Anna smiled to herself, thinking about the contradictions that Brill
embodied—cruel and kind, devious and honest, and who knew what else?
She glanced down the trail to the cloud of dust ahead. Barjim and Alasia
and their host had left the hall less than half a glass earlier. '
"See," observed Brill as the road from Loiseau flattened to join the main
highway, if a rutted dirt road less than five yards wide could be called
a highway. "They're less than a dek ahead."
Anna rubbed her nose, trying to avoid sneezing from all the fine dry dust
raised by the horses before them. "I think I would have liked to have
left with them. Then we wouldn't be breathing their dust."
"I guested them." Brill answered, as if that explained everything.
"Kkkchewww!" Despite her best efforts, she sneezed, hard enough that her
shoulder twinged. Even her hand ached momentarily. "Kkcheww!" Her eyes
began to water, and before long, she'd have reddish mud streaking her
cheeks and probably her riding clothes.
What on earth—or Erde—was she doing, riding to a battle on a strange
planet, while still recovering from being punctured by an arrow? Put that
way, it made little sense. Then, nothing for the past several years had
made much sense. So why would that change?
She rubbed her nose again as their small group drew abreast of the
slower-moving rear guard.
"We'll be out of the dust before long," Brill promised, clearing his
throat.
"I hope so." Anna patted Farinelli on the shoulder, and got a low
whuffling in return.
"Who's the woman with the sorcerer?"
"… say she's a sorceress…"
"… tall for a sorceress…"
"… water-sorceress… look at how much she carries."
"… and that's a beast she rides, big as the lord's mount."
"Quiet," snapped another voice. "She's ridden with wounds that would
leave you stretched on the clay. She's riding a raider horse, too. I
watched her create a bonfire with about five words. You want to mess with
thunder-flame, be my guest, fellow armsman."
Anna turned in the saddle and saw Captain Sepko, already wearing a slight
coat of road dust. "Greetings, captain."
"Greetings, Lady Anna. I hope this ride will not be hard on you."
"Farinelli will take care of me." I hope.
"He is an imposing beast"
"We get along." She patted Farinelli again, then nodded to Sepko, before
easing the gelding more to the shoulder of the road to ride around a
wagon rilled with barrels—water barrels.
"You seem to have impressed the captains," Brill whispered, leaning
toward her with an ease she envied.
"You took care of that," she countered, "with all your tales."
The sorcerer shrugged, pleased with himself, and they continued to ride,
somewhat faster than the armsmen, drawing toward the front of the column.
Anna sneezed again, trying not to wince at the jolt it gave her shoulder.
Dekas led the main body, and he nodded to Anna as, using the edge of the
road, she and Brill eased forward toward the purple banner that marked
the immediate host of the Lord of Defalk, just forward of the main body.
Anna peered eastward, squinting into the low morning sun, and barely
making out another group of horsemen more than a dek ahead on the flat
and dusty road.
"Scouts?"
"That's the vanguard. The scouts are another two deks ahead. They are
most times," said Brill.
Anna reined Farinelli in slightly, to let Brill lead the way toward
Barjim.
"Let the sorcerers through!" called the Lord of Defalk, and the guards
swung their mounts aside slightly.
Anna edged Farinelli up beside Brill's mare, and followed the sorcerer. .
"You look rather… different today," observed Barjim, his eyes falling on
Anna. "More… more…"
"More commonplace?" asked Anna wryly.
The Lord of Defalk flushed enough that his color change was visible
despite the bright morning light and the dust that powdered his face.
"Good for you, lady," said Alasia warmly. "You see, my lord, she is a
real person and not just a pretty image."
"You wear a hat, but it is not warm yet," said Barjim.
"It's warm already, compared to my world." Anna blotted her forehead,
just under the brim of the hat. The dry heat evaporated her sweat
elsewhere.
"She comes from a mist world," added Alasia.
"It will be much hotter before the day is done," Barjim announced.
Anna was afraid of that.
"I see you carry a number of water bottles." Alasia pointed with her left
hand.
"Not all water, I'd wager," said Barjim.
"You do, and you'll lose, my lord," said Brill.
"I lose every time I speak," answered Barjim with a deep laugh.
Anna could sense why Brill liked Barjim. The man was genuine, and didn't
take himself that seriously.
"You're with friends," Alasia said.
"Best I enjoy it. That will not last." The Lord of Defalk frowned. "Do
you think we will see your sire by the day after tomorrow?"
"I would guess so, my lord, but you know what I do."
Anna looked at the road ahead, again, stretching to the low line of brown
hills in the distance, a road that seemed endless already.
After another sneeze, she opened the first water bottle and eased it to
her lips, taking a deep swallow. Then she glanced back, back toward
Loiseau, but the hall was only a smudge on a low hill.
31
With a groan Anna rolled onto her side. Her whole body ached. The thin
bedroll hadn't even softened the ground. Her eyes were gummy, and her
head pounded. Her shoulder didn't seem to ache as much, but that might
have been because everything else ached more.
After prying open one eye, seemingly glued shut with gunk and dust, she
tried the other. In the grayness before dawn, most of the camp still
slept, except for the guards. On the bedroll beside her, Liende snored
softly. Beyond, Brill and Daffyd slumbered. Anna shook her head. How
could anyone sleep? How had she slept at all?
She looked at the saddlebags beside her, and the water bottles. She'd
refilled them the night before, carefully orderspelling the water, since
she didn't trust the look of the barrels. Her mouth was dry, almost
cracked, and she half lurched, half crawled into a sitting position, then
reached for the nearest water bottle.
She sipped slowly. Even more slowly, the throbbing in her head eased.
Defalk was so dry she got dehydrated sleeping, and that was saying
something.
As she shifted the thin blanket that she didn't need, fine reddish dust
rose, and her nose twitched. By gently squeezing it, she managed to keep
from sneezing.
Here and there, across the camp, figures were rising, and Anna thought
she saw movement inside the thin silken tent that housed Barjim and
Alasia. Anna could have cared less about the tent, but she did envy the
two for the cots that went with the tent. Bedrolls and hard ground just
didn't cut it.
"Good morning," offered Liende, her voice low as she sat up.
"It is morning," Anna agreed. She missed coffee, especially on mornings
like this where everything ached, and her stomach turned.
"Do all sorcerers and sorceresses dislike mornings?" asked the red-haired
woman.
"Yes," grumbled Brill without even lifting his head. "They also hate
travel."
Anna looked at the boots. After days of wearing them, they seemed to fit
better, especially around the calves, which didn't bind anymore. She
seemed to be losing weight still, that or her trousers were stretching,
and she couldn't imagine plain cotton stretching.
Anna took another long slow swallow from the water bottle. She felt
sweaty and dirty all over, and they had another long day on the road,
according to both Brill and Barjim. Already, she missed the luxury of the
tub and hot water at Loiseau, and this adventure had barely started.
Given how she felt, she didn't even want to think about how she looked.
Anna shifted her weight in the saddle again, trying to relieve the
soreness that ran from her knees through her lower back. Although the sun
had just set, the air remained still, hot—and dusty.
The ride from Mencha had given Anna a new appreciation of the term "eat
dust." Even near the head of the column the dust was everywhere. She felt
like she had been eating, breathing, and even drinking dust.
"The fort isn't that far." Brill's voice was uneven and raspy.
"How far?" Anna hoped she didn't have to sing or cast spells. The way her
own voice sounded, who knew what the results might be, not that she had
that many spells to cast
"Another five deks, less than a league. It's right at the base of the
hills that guard the access to the pass. You can see the low spot up
ahead there."
Anna nodded, looking to the gentle rolling plains to the north of the
road, half covered with browned grass, a few tumbleweeds, and
sharp-leaved clumpy plants that reminded her of cactus. There was no
sagebrush, although the scene could have come from western Kansas, if not
for the mountains ahead.
"No… we're not in Kansas, Toto," she murmured to herself. Not even in
western Iowa—or anywhere close.
"Lady Anna?"
Anna turned and guided Farinelli back toward Alasia. "Yes?"
"How is your shoulder?"
"It's feeling better than my legs right now," Anna admitted.
"My legs get sore still, after all these years of riding," said the
brown-haired woman.
"Don't let her deceive you, lady," grumbled Barjim. "She was born on a
horse. She'll ride us all into the ground."
"My legs still hurt," said Alasia. "Yours do, too. You won't admit it."
Anna reached for her water bottle again, drinking the last from the one
fastened in front of the saddle, but carefully recorking and replacing it.
For a time, in the reddish purple of twilight, the mountains seemed no
closer, and they were mountains, Anna realized, mountains as high as, and
drier than, the Rocky Mountains, mountains of hard red rock and gray
cliffs.
As the twilight deepened, and the column came to a hill crest that
dropped gently away, suddenly, a red-brick structure loomed ahead,
filling the entire expanse between the two hills that seemed to merge on
each side of the fort with the ridges that guarded the approach to the
higher mountains. Watchfires lit the regularly spaced towers.
"The Sand Pass fort," Brill said.
"You built it?"
"He built it," confirmed Alasia her mount to the right of Farinelli. "In
times other than these, it would be more than enough."
As they rode closer, Anna studied the walls, as precise as those of
Loiseau, if of brick rather than stone, and rising perhaps fifty feet
above the base of the valley.
Cannon? She realized she had never seen any kind of firearms—yet the
precision with which Brill formed things with magic, and the crafting of
blades and other items would argue that they could be made—or was there
something about gunpowder that didn't work?
Erde was like that. She was so preoccupied trying to understand the place
and to figure out what she could do with her talents that things she
didn't happen to be familiar with slipped by. Except they didn't stay
slipped.
She realized that her head was beginning to ache again, and she reached
for the water bottle.
The pale purple banners bearing the crossed spears of Defalk hung limply
in the growing gloom, lit intermittently by the watchfires. The road
arrowed straight toward the middle of the wall. In the gloomy heat of
twilight, Anna could barely tell where the red brick of the ramparts
separated from the sunbaked dirt and the hard and dusty road.
Despite the broad-brimmed hat, her face was red and nearly raw. Defalk
was no place for a fair-skinned singer.
A trumpet sounded, seemingly right behind Anna, and she twitched in
surprise. Farinelli whuffled, and Anna patted his neck automatically,
moistening her lips.
By the time the column reached the walls, the gates were swung open, and
two squads of mounted troops, one on each side of the road, had formed
up. The high brick walls loomed reddish purple in the last glimmers of
twilight.
A trumpet fanfare echoed across the twilight, then repeated.
"I suppose they want to announce to all the dark ones that our lord and
master has arrived…"
Anna held back an ironic smile at Daffyd's hissed comment to Palian, the
only other woman player besides Liende, then guided Farinelli to her
right, easing him behind Barjim's guards as the column narrowed to enter
the gates.
The inside courtyard—or open space—of the fort was no more than twice
that of Brill's hall. At first, Anna thought that the structure was only
a set of walls. Then she squinted through the darkness, broken in patches
by the intermittent light cast from the watchfires and the torches
mounted on brackets at regular intervals along the walls.
The quarters, stables, armories, whatever buildings there were, were
extensions from the outer walls toward the center courtyard.
"Our quarters here are not large," apologized Brill. "We have two rooms
in the quarters section, but they are on the upper level. That should be
quieter and afford more privacy. You and Liende and Palian will share the
smaller one, and the other players and I will share the large one."
Anna nodded, wondering how much privacy there was with so many people
together. She also hoped her legs would bear her weight when she
dismounted—and that there was something to sleep upon besides the
floor—or hard ground. Her stomach growled, and her head ached.
Brill eased his mare around Barjim's guards, and toward the low structure
on the southwest side of the fort. "The stables are there."
Anna followed numbly, her face burning, and her neck, shoulder, back, and
legs all aching.
"Oh, ser sorcerer :.." said a round-faced young man as they neared the
low building.
Anna could tell from the odors they had reached the stable, and she
reined up.
"This is the lady Anna," Brill explained as he dis-mounted. "She's a
sorceress from the mist worlds, come to help us."
Anna didn't feel like a sorceress, but like ground beef or the Erdean
equivalent, and her legs shook after she dismounted. Slowly, she led
Farinelli into the stable, where, surprisingly, the light was provided by
candles with glass mantles.
Somehow, she did get the gelding unsaddled and rubbed down, before
staggering up two flights of brick stairs after the sorcerer, carrying
her gear—gear that felt like lead weights.
Liende and Palian followed her.
The end room was narrow and held six pallets, raised off the floor on
brick pedestals no more than a foot high—or was that two spans? Anna
wondered. However it was measured, the pallets were low, and narrow—and
they looked wonderful. There were two small high windows, both un-glazed
and unshuttered, on the north wall.
"It's not much," Brill said, "but better than the barracks."
"Is there anywhere to wash up?" she asked tiredly as she dumped the
saddlebags and bedroll on the pallet under the back window. Then she
stripped off the floppy hat, trying to ignore the dust that came with it.
"There's a washhouse in the western corner," Brill explained, leading her
back to the doorway and pointing toward a pair of torches. "There."
Anna took a deep breath and started back down the steps while Liende and
Palian arranged their gear.
"So… what captain do you belong to?" leered the armsman by the door to
the washhouse.
Anna looked at the youth. She needed spells to shut up idiots like the
armsman. "I came with Lord Brill and Lord Barjim." That was the best she
could do, but it seemed to be enough as she stepped by him and into the
room. For a washroom it wasn't much, just two awkward-looking pumps, with
spouts and tubs beneath. Each small tub had a lever device that was
probably a drain.
Anna stepped to the far tub and began to pump. A reddish stream of water
poured out. "Damn…" she muttered.
At least, she had the water spell. As she pumped she sang, and the cold
clear water flowed.
There was a gulp from the door that she ignored as she splashed away the
dust and grime from her face and arms as well as she could. She had to
repeat the spell once before she felt halfway refreshed, and she felt
like she'd drunk as much as she'd washed with.
"Lady Anna?"
She looked up to see Brill standing there. Behind him stood Liende,
Palian, and Daffyd. She thought she could see the shadows of the others
out in the courtyard.
"Yes?"
"The water's not that…"
"I took care of it." She lowered the handle again and a stream of clear
icy water gushed out.
Brill moistened his lips, then added, "We're to join Lord Barjim for
dinner. As soon as we can."
She looked down at herself. "Like this?"
"You look better than most of us."
She waited while Brill splashed the worst of the road grime off himself,
and then they walked toward the center section of the eastern wall.
Two guards stood by the closed wooden door.
"Lord Brill and Lady Anna," said Brill.
The older guard nodded and opened the door.
As they stepped through the door, Anna's mouth watered at the smell of
bread, and some form of cooked food, a stew, she thought, and she
swallowed.
The low-ceilinged room held a trestle table and benches. The only light
came from four individual candles spaced down the table. Barjim sat at
the only chair at the head of the table. Alasia, dusty and as
hard-looking as any soldier, sat on his left. Seven men sat at the
benches. Anna recognized Sepko and Dekas. There were two empty places
across from Alasia.
"Sit down, sorcerer, lady sorceress." The Lord of Defalk gestured but did
not rise.
"Thank you," Brill said. Anna forced a smile, and she tried not to slump
onto the bench.
"… sorcerers… useless… better cold iron…" Anna turned to the man with the
salt-and-pepper beard at the end of the table, catching his eyes. She
held them, saying nothing, until the man looked down. She hadn't realized
just how angry she was until that moment.
"One moment, Lady Anna," said Alasia, turning her head toward the foot of
the table. "Captain Firis, apologize to Lady Anna. I won't bother to
explain. I would suggest you talk to Captain Sepko after you leave
tonight, and I suggest you offer thanks to the harmonies for my
intervention."
Firis opened his mouth, then looked at Barjim's hooded eyes, then back at
Anna.
Anna saw the contempt there, and began to think about spells. She could
substitute the word "captain" for "armsman" in the variation on the
candle spell. She hummed slightly, trying to get the pitch right.
Dekas looked at Firis and shook his head sadly. Sepko opened his mouth.
At the sound of the humming, Firis paled. "I apologize, Lady Anna. I
apologize."
"Very wise, Firis." Barjim turned to Anna and Brill. "The stew's rather
good."
Firis looked down, but Anna could sense his anger. At the moment she
didn't care, not after having spent two days riding in dust out of
obligation to Brill… and then to have some… medieval… idiot… insult her
almost before she'd seated herself.
"You might try the wine," Alasia suggested. "It's not quite vinegar."
Barjim's consort smiled.
Brill took the flagon and poured some for Anna and then himself, while
Anna broke off a chunk of bread and ladled the stew across it.
She looked back at Firis. He was still seething, and he glared at her,
his dark eyes burning. She thought she caught the word "Bitch…"
Anna looked at his goblet which was wooden, like hers and the others, and
concentrated on holding image, words, and melody.
"Goblet there, goblet fair,
flame bright in this air."
The goblet blazed into a pillar of fire, illuminating the entire room.
Firis fell backward over the bench, carrying Dekas and Sepko with him.
"Lady Anna… was that not a bit… much?'' asked Barjim, standing.
"No." Anna almost didn't care. "This isn't my world. I've ridden across a
damned desert for two days because—'' She broke off. No sense in
admitting her obligations. "I've been shot because I support you, and I
don't have to take insults from half-educated idiots who don't even know
me." She glared at Firis. "You have no right to be angry at me, and you
have no right to insult me or Lord Brill."
"If you were a man, I'd challenge you," hissed Firis, scrambling off the
floor as the light from the burning goblet died down into a low flame,
his hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Well… Lady Anna?" asked Barjim.
Anna rose. "Perhaps I should go. By your leave?"
Alasia looked at Barjim, mouthing no.
"I think not." Barjim turned to Firis. "I'm not the brightest lord who
ever lived. You know that." He laughed. "You all know that." His face
turned somber. "Whose side are you on, Firis? It's strange. I finally get
a sorceress with power, and she's not in the fort a glass, and you want
to kill her."
"You know, she could have turned you into flame as quickly as that cup,"
Alasia added.
Anna bowed to the captain. "I apologize, Captain Firis. I am tired. I am
not used to riding so far, and the past weeks have been hard. Very hard."
Firis's eyes flicked from Barjim to Anna to Alasia and back to Anna. "You
obviously need not apologize, Lady Anna."
"Lord Barjim needs all his captains," Anna said. "And I am truly sorry to
have upset… this group."
"I would like to point out one matter," Alasia added, turning to Firis.
"When you were wounded at Cheor a spring ago, how would you have felt if
Captain Dekas there had suggested you were useless?"
Firis frowned.
"It is not obvious, but Lady Anna took a full war arrow through both
shoulder and hand less than three weeks ago, from the dark ones. She has
made quite an effort to be here." Alasia spread her hands.
"The dark ones?" asked Firis.
"They are dead," Brill said. "Lady Anna also deflected that arrow
barehanded, or she would be dead."
That was an exaggeration, but it would serve, and Anna did not think a
correction was in order.
Firis bowed his head. "I apologize."
"I am sorry," Anna said. "I really am."
"Sit down, both of you, and eat," ordered Barjim. "I need you both, and
half the problem is you're both starving."
"Might I ask for another cup?" asked Firis sheepishly, with a grin.
Anna avoided a deep sigh of relief as she sat, her legs trembling. She'd
botched that, and without Alasia and Barjim, she'd have been in real
trouble.
"Eat," commanded Brill quietly, "or you'll fall over. You're pale as
snow."
Her head was pounding, and her vision was almost double, but she managed
to take one mouthful, then another. Before she was quite sure how it had
happened, her wooden platter was empty, and she found herself reaching
for the bread.
Brill passed the stew kettle back to her.
While she couldn't quite believe she was still hungry, Anna took seconds,
trying to listen as she did.
"We're still not at full strength," offered the thin, almost dapper man
across from Sepko. His iron-gray hair glinted in the candlelight.
"We had a messenger from Lord Jecks this afternoon, Rohar," replied
Barjim. "He will be here with his levies in less than two days."
"Will the dark ones wait that long, ser?" asked Dekas, after taking a
deep swallow of the amber wine.
"Oh, they will wait. They will." The Lord of Defalk refilled his goblet.
"How many does Jecks have?"
"Twentyscore, or more, and some good archers."
"Solid man, Jecks is."
Anna began to have trouble listening after that, just trying to keep from
yawning and falling asleep at the table. She shouldn't have had the
goblet of wine, not as tired as she was.
By the time she and Brill returned'to the upper level, both Palian and
Liende were asleep and snoring.
"Good night, Lady Anna. You made quite an impression."
"Not a good one, I'm afraid." Anna yawned in spite of herself.
"Quite good, I think. It will help morale."
"What?" She yawned again. "That I insulted a captain, flamed a goblet,
and made an ass out of myself?''
"You showed spirit, and they need that more than anything."
"Good night," Anna said, closing the door. She managed to get her
trousers and boots off, but that was all, before she sank onto the pallet.
33
Anna stepped around a clump of manure as she followed Brill through and
around the groups of armsmen and toward the steps leading up to the
northeast corner watch-tower. Despite the dust and dry climate, the fort
was beginning to smell—the result of too many animals, too many people,
and inadequate sanitation.
The smells didn't help her throbbing head, probably the result of bad
wine, sorcery the night before on an empty stomach, and exhaustion.
Sleeping on the raised pallet had been better than on the ground, but not
much. A breakfast of bread, hard cheese, and dried apples had helped, but
not enough. So had nearly a bottle of cold water, but the spell to clean
and chill it had renewed her headache.
"You need to see how this battle will develop," Brill said over his
shoulder as he trudged up the narrow steps. Carrying the mandolin, she
followed. Somewhere, she needed to find a corner to practice, even to run
through some vocalises. Could she sing separate lines of a spell without
triggering the effect?… How far apart?
There was still so much she didn't know… so much.
As she reached the top of the steps, she stopped by the weathered,
iron-bound door in the side of the tower and asked, "Can you practice a
spell in phrases—without creating something?"
"Serento used to do that. I never have. I'll speak the words, or sing the
pitches with nonsense syllables."
Anna pursed her lips. "Could we try that with harmony?"
"Not now." He shook his head. "If you had come sooner…"
Anna doubted that somehow.
"The players will be here." The sorcerer gestured to a space no more than
five yards square on the western side of the watchtower, protected by the
tower itself on the east, and the crenelated wall on the north. There
were no protecting walls or rails on the inside, and the drop-off was
more than twenty feet. "And I'll stand here." „ Anna nodded. Where should
she stand? She still didn't exactly know what she was going to do, even
though Brill acted as though she did, and she needed to practice,
especially given his clear aversion to considering anything resembling
harmony or joint spellsinging.
After easing toward the outside parapet and stepping into the shade of
the tower, Anna took off her hat, blotting away the sweat that had
collected where the leather inside band had pressed against her hair and
skin.
"See anything?" The low voice came from above, and Anna looked up, but
could see nothing except the crenela-tions of the watchtower.
"Nothing, except some dust on the road to Mencha." A laugh followed. "I'm
in no hurry to see anything coming down from Ebra."
"You said it."
Anna's lips quirked. Like the sentries above her, she wasn't in any hurry
for the Ebrans, or whoever, to show up.
"Where would be best for you?" asked the sorcerer.
"I don't know. I need to practice."
He nodded, and half turned to the west, almost as though he had not heard
her, slowly walking along the parapet, then stopping, and leaning forward
on the bricks of the wall, his eyes turned to the west.
Anna put on her hat and followed him out of the tower's shadow, slowly,
halting beside him.
"Less than ten leagues, and Loiseau might be a world away."
She looked westward, the morning sun at her back. The road climbed up the
low hill they had come down the night before and then seemed to vanish.
"Sometimes it seems that way with lots of things," she answered.
"Sometimes."
They stood silently for a time, and Anna could feel the sweat beginning
to collect under the brim of her hat again, and her hand went to the
water bottle at her belt as her eyes studied the barren terrain. Only a
few stunted and twisted pines, scattered cactus, some sagebrushlike
bushes in the hills, and a few patches of browned grass. Everything else
was rock, sand, or bare dirt.
The fort seemed to be almost in the middle of nowhere. The last hut or
hovel Anna had seen had to have been a league back toward Mencha. The
thinnest of dry streambeds ran along one side of the road that twisted
into the mountains.
The eastern gates of the fort were closed, and the wooden span removed,
so that the road ended on the eastern side of the dry moat that encircled
the entire fort. The western gates were closed, but the bridge spans were
in place. The moat was wider on the north and south sides of the fort,
nearly a hundred yards, and much deeper on the eastern side, with
precisely fitted brick or stone walls.
Anna studied the approach to the pass again. "Why didn't you build the
fort farther uphill? It looks like this ridge wouldn't be that hard to
ride up and circle away from the fort."
"The slopes are sandy, and they slow down mounts." Brill said. "The
ramparts are here because the ground seems solid, and because there
aren't any higher cliffs that the dark ones could shake down on the
walls. Or use to fire arrows into the fort."
Anna supposed everything was a compromise, even warfare, and she nodded
slowly as she looked farther to the northwest, catching sight of a patch
of blue, a small lake that seemed so incongruous in the red-soiled and
dry hills, nestled almost at the northern base of the long ridgelike hill
that ran to within a hundred yards of the fort's walls.
A lake? Why in the middle of nowhere?
Then she recalled the comments about water gates, and studied the
regularity of the moat on the east side. She studied the moat more
closely, finally discovering a circular stone opening, more than ten feet
high, on the south side of the northwest corner. She pointed. "How well
will it work?"
"Well enough, while the water lasts." Brill shrugged. "Even underground,
there's not much here anymore." He straightened. "I need to gather the
players together. We'll be practicing in the bigger room."
"I think I'll stay up here. It's cooler." She gestured toward the shaded
side of the watchtower behind her.
"For now." Brill turned.
After the sorcerer left, Anna sat in the shady corner and began to try to
work out some form of chording for her battle hymn. She knew the melody
well enough, but trying to develop chords from scratch was another thing.
She'd always had music to refer to, and so far, she hadn't seen any on
Erde. If it existed, it was well hidden… for good reason.
She eased the two folded papers from the belt wallet, unfolded them, and
laid them on the bricks beside her.
The mandolin was out of tune, and the tuning pegs wouldn't hold unless
she jammed them sideways.
She ran through several vocalises, but her voice was tired, and she felt
clumsy, even as she kept at it trying to get clear, get warmed up'.
Then, when she picked up the mandolin again, her fingers fumbled on the
strings, and her mind skittered over the words.
"I have loosed the fateful lightning so the
darkling ones will die,
My songs will strike them dead…"
She paused and shook her head. It was all so insane. What was she doing?
Sitting in a brick fort in the middle of a desert, trying to compose or
arrange a song that would kill people she didn't know, except that those
people had already tried to kill her.
How long she spent, she didn't know, only that her voice was tired, and
her fingers ached, and that the sun had almost reached noon and taken the
last vestige of shade when she folded up her would-be spells and started
down the steps, trying to ignore the low voices from the watchtower.
"There she goes… sorceress…"
"… almost turned one of the captains into charcoal… insulted her…"
"… say she killed dozens of dark ones with an arrow through her shoulder,
then rode all the way here…"
Anna winced. Stories always seemed to grow. Then you were in trouble if
you didn't live up to them, and you were in trouble if you refuted them.
She eased her way along the upper ramp toward the small room with her
gear.
34
Anna hugged the shade on the eastern side of the northwest watchtower,
still struggling with the chords on the mandolin, trying to forget how
hard the bricks she sat on were, or how much her nose itched from the
dust raised in the courtyard below.
"That doesn't sound like much of a melody." Daffyd stood there, viola in
hand, grinning.
"It would be easier if you'd been able to finish the lutar."
"A melody's a melody."
Abruptly, Anna realized what he was talking about. Players in Liedwahr
played melody lines that stood alone, while she was working on supporting
chords—the difference between the polyphony of Brill's players and the
mostly hom-ophonic approach of, say, a Beethoven symphony—or a Britten
song cycle. Idly, she wondered how Sophie Weiss or Nancy Evans might have
done in Liedwahr, then pushed the thought away. She was here, and they
weren't.
"Lady Anna?" prompted Daffyd.
"I'm sorry. Sometimes, I think about other things. How is the lutar—"
"I can't do much here except work on the tuning pegs and smooth things."
"Daffyd! We need to work on the battle song," called Brill.
The viola player nodded and hurried back to the group.
Anna set down the mandolin and uncorked her ever-present water bottle,
drinking slowly as Brill conducted the eight players. Palian was taking
Kaseth's place, and Daffyd seemed to hold the lead viola position. Liende
carried the bass melody.
After corking the water bottle, Anna went back to the chords, trying to
work out the chorus lines of her much-adapted "Battle Hymn of the
Republic," shutting out as well as she could the off-notes of the
players, and Brill's corrections.
"What's that dust?" asked one of the lookouts in the tower above Anna.
"It wouldn't be the Ebrans."
"Not coming from the west, idiot. The scouts say that the dark ones are
moving their lancers up the pass, and there are troops of archers on the
trails headed down to us."
"That has to be Lord Jecks, then, doesn't it?"
"Look for a blue banner with a golden bear."
A series of trumpet calls echoed from the west, reverberating off the
angled sandstone cliffs east of the hills straddled by Brill's fort.
"There's a blue banner, but it's all wrapped up."
Anna stopped chording and eased to her feet. Between the sentries, the
trumpets, Brill's players, and the heat, she couldn't concentrate anymore.
"That's it," Brill announced. "Put away your instruments. We'll meet here
in the morning, one way or another."
"That's Lord Jecks," offered Daffyd, from behind Anna's shoulder. "He's
always the last to bring in his levies."
"He does bring them, in person," said Brill as he walked up to them.
"Unlike most of the lords, who only send captains."
Anna looked at the sorcerer quizzically.
"There is an obligation to send levies, but a lord of holdings does not
have to come at every call." Brill shrugged. "Barjim could request their
presence, but most of their captains are better commanders than they
are—except for Jecks and Kysar." The balding man paused, then added, "I
wanted to tell you that we are to eat with Lord Barjim tonight, again."
"The food's better, but…" Anna spread her hands.
"I doubt anyone will insult us." Brill laughed. "You made your point."
"She always does, ser," Daffyd said quietly.
"Yes, Daffyd, and I hope she can with the dark ones." The sorcerer looked
into the low western sun, squinting to make out the oncoming riders, then
turned and headed down the steps.
"He's not happy," said Daffyd.
"Would you be?" Anna wondered if she should have brought up the
possibility of harmony again, before Brill had slipped away, but she had
the feeling the sorcerer would always refuse that possibility.
"I'm not. We'll be lucky to get out of here with our heads attached to
our bodies."
"So why are you here, then?" Anna asked.
"My head wouldn't be attached to its body, lady, if I had not come. What
about you?"
"Did I have any choice?"
The young man shook his head.
"I have to get ready for this latest… command performance." Anna shifted
her grip on the mandolin and started down the narrow steps, keeping to
the inside and away from the unrailed outer side that overlooked the
courtyard.
By the time she reached her quarters, there were three buckets of water
in the middle of the floor.
"I had some buckets brought up to the room," Palian said. "I went down to
the washroom." She shook her head. "They asked me who I belonged to. One
of them pawed me."
"They tried that on me, at first."
"No one would touch you, now, Lady Anna," said the slender violinist.
"There are so many stories…"
"I know." Anna's tone was wry. "I killed dozens of darksingers with a war
arrow twice my size through me after losing all my blood, and then I
hopped on the biggest and nastiest beast in Defalk and rode here without
resting."
Palian laughed.
"It's half true," said Liende from the doorway, where she eased the
wooden door shut behind her. "You lost half your blood, and it was a
full-sized war arrow with a barbed head, and they're more than a yard
long."
"Wait a moment." Anna looked at the buckets, then hummed, and sang the
water spell gently.
The water in all three buckets foamed, then subsided.
"It'll be cool," she added as she pulled off the floppy-brimmed hat and
the armless tunic. "I'm still glad you had the water brought up."
Liende looked at the buckets, then bent and dipped a finger into the
water and licked it. "It's almost a shame to waste such clean water."
"I'll spell more later, if you want," Anna offered, "but I want to clean
up."
"So do I," said Palian.
"It certainly couldn't hurt." Liende stripped off her faded tunic. "But I
don't know how long we'll stay clean." She coughed at the dust from the
garment.
Anna had barely finished getting dressed and into a cleaner tunic when
Brill rapped on the door.
"Lady Anna?"
"I'm coming." Her hair was pinned into a bun, although it wasn't quite
long enough for that, and despite her best efforts she was slowly losing
pins, and she was afraid it would come undone halfway through dinner.
"You look most presentable," the sorcerer said when she stepped out onto
the. third-level walkway.
"Thank you." Anna wasn't sure whether that was a compliment, or a
statement of appreciation that she had tried to look good but hadn't
quite pulled it off.
The dining area was the same low-ceilinged room, except the shuttered
windows were open, and the faintest of breezes fluttered through them.
This time, more than a dozen men, and Alasia, stood around the table when
Brill and Anna stepped inside.
"Lady Anna, who can set hearts afire—along with the rest of you." Captain
Firis bowed, then grinned at her.
Anna couldn't help but grin back at the impulsive young captain, so
willing to kill one moment, and forgive the next. She could appreciate
him without trusting him. "Captain Firis." She turned to the two others
she knew. "Dekas… Sepko."
Then she bowed ever so slightly in the direction of Barjim. "Lord Barjim,
Lady Alasia."
Barjim nodded to the sorcerer and sorceress, but continued to listen to
the redheaded captain who had not turned.
Beside Alasia was a stocky, white-haired man, his leathers still dusty.
Alasia motioned to Anna, and the sorceress stepped toward her.
"Lady Anna, this is my sire, Lord Jecks." Alasia turned from Anna to the
white-haired warrior. "Lady Anna is the sorceress from the mist worlds,
the one who almost turned Firis into a cinder."
"He still hasn't learned that much caution, it appears." Jecks bowed. "My
daughter has told me about you, and I am pleased to meet you."
"I'm pleased to meet you." Anna bowed.
"Let us sit down and get on with the business of eating!" said Barjim,
his voice carrying across the conversations.
Anna followed the command and found herself second down on the right-hand
side, with Lord Jecks on her left, Brill on her right, and another older
man across from her.
"Get the wine moving," Barjim suggested.
Alasia smiled at Anna, then turned to the man on her left, the one across
the table from Anna. "Lady Anna, this is Lord Kysar. He holds the
strongholds and the lands around Pamr. Lord Kysar, this is the lady Anna.
She is the sorceress from the mist worlds I had mentioned."
Anna inclined her head. "I am pleased to meet you, Lord Kysar."
"Just don't tell her she's useless, lord…" A sotto voce whisper crept up
the table. Anna tried not to flush.
"I believe I missed something there." Kysar's voice held the false
heartiness that many big men cultivated, in Anna's opinion.
"Rumors fly all over Defalk about you, lady," added Lord Jecks, kindly.
"Is this another one?"
"It is not a rumor, unhappily, Lord Jecks," Anna admitted. "When I
arrived here, I was tired and not thinking too clearly. One of the
captains made a remark, one I think now that was in jest, but it made me
mad." She forced a shrug. "I overreacted."
Jecks and Kysar looked to Barjim, who, with his mouth full of bread and
lamb curry, nodded at Alasia.
"The lady Anna turned his wooden goblet into a bonfire, and was starting
on a spell to do the same to him," Alasia said. "But she was gracious,
and so was the captain, after a few words."
"And you, daughter, are diplomatically keeping everyone happy." Jecks
laughed.
"My lady Alasia is good at preserving my resources," boomed Barjim. "Get
the wine down to my captains."
"Lord Brill, I believe we last met in Falcor in the spring," offered
Jecks.
"I believe so." Brill poured some wine, first for Anna, and then for
himself. "Did you have any luck with the dam?"
"In fact, I did. It was a good idea, and there was water where you
suggested, but it's taking longer to fill the pond." Jecks broke off a
large chunk of bread, and took but a small sip of wine.
"Without more rain, that will happen."
"More disharmony from the dark ones." Jecks looked at Barjim, then
lowered his voice slightly. "Now that the last of me levies are here,
will they attack at dawn?"
Brill frowned. "Not at dawn, but by late morning, I would guess. They are
already moving the clouds westward. I could see the darkness over the
Ostfels."
"Be a long day tomorrow," Kysar interjected.
Anna felt like every day had been long since she arrived in Liedwahr, but
she nodded and took the smallest sip of wine.
35
Encora, Ranuak
The matriarch settles her considerable bulk into the polished ebony chair
under the awning. Her eyes focus beyond the balcony at the harbor below
the hilltop residence. In the blue-green waters are anchored a handful of
ships, while another handful load at the grain docks.
"What else have you and Veria discovered?" asks the gray-haired woman
after she settles in the oversized chair. "About the disharmonies?"
"They continue, Matriarch," answers the slender brunette. "They center on
the Sand Pass and the new sorceress."
"She is not new, properly," says Ulgar from where he stands in the sun at
the stone railing. "Merely a recent arrival to Liedwahr. And Lord Barjim
will doubtless use her talents in his desperate efforts to fend off the
dark ones."
"Lord Barjim is an honest man," says the Matriarch cheerfully. "An honest
man, a caring man, and entirely the wrong leader for Defalk in these
days. His consort knows this, and she supports him."
"As consorts often do," interjects Ulgar.
"Alya, about the disharmonies?"
"They continue, and all the scriers follow the soprano sorceress."
"How do you know she is a soprano?" asks Ulgar. "Has anyone heard her
sing?"
"Hush, dear," responds the Matriarch. "She is a soprano. The harmonies
demand that she be a soprano, and so she is. Just as the harmonies demand
that Lord Brill and all male sorcerers reject true harmony. Just as the
harmonies demand that poor brave Barjim perish and Lord Behlem succeed
him."
"And what else do the harmonies demand?" Ulgar smiles indulgently as he
turns to let the hot sun bathe his tanned face and short silvered hair.
"That we let them work out the destiny of Liedwahr." The Matriarch leans
back in the big chair with a smile.
"Why did you lend Lord Barjim the golds?" ventures Alya. "The Evult will
scarcely repay them. Nor will Behlem, if he can hold Falcor."
"Two thousand golds are a cheap price to send Barjim and his levies
against the dark ones. If he even inflicts enough damage to slow them for
a year, the coins are well worth it."
"We will be lucky if his poor armsmen can slow Eladdrin for a season,"
points out Alya.
"There is a balance to things, daughter. Matters do balance, and
sometimes it is but a question of knowing when to wait."
"If there is such a balance—''
"Why did we need to send the golds? Because the harmonies work slowly,
and the golds allow them the time to work their will." The Matriarch
leans back in her chair and closes her eyes.
36
Anna stood by the northeastern watchtower. Her eyes flicked from Brill
and the players on the open space behind her and then back to the empty
road that led up to the Sand Pass. The distant pass was already
overshadowed by the red-and-gray bulk of the Ostfels, and by the growing
darkness of clouds that rose out of the eastern horizon to challenge the
mid-morning sun.
From the parapet, Anna squinted out from under the floppy-brimmed hat at
the road, and the hills and ridges that flanked it, but could see nothing
moving—no armsmen, no horses. That motionlessness made the shadows that
darkened the mountains to the east and marched down toward the fort all
the more ominous.
Even the sentries on the watchtowers were silent, as were the archers
stationed at every crenelation along the eastern wall. Anna glanced to
the blank-faced bowman less than a yard from where she stood, but the
archer's eyes remained on the canyon, as did the eyes of all the archers
who ranged the walls.
"You're making ready?" asked Liende, stepping up almost beside Anna. "Can
you help stop them?"
"I don't know. I'll do what I can," Anna said. "But I'm not sure that
waiting to see if a spell will work is 'making ready.' " There was so
much she really wasn't sure about— like why she was so calm when a battle
was about to break out around her.
"You will turn their storms against them?" pursued
Liende, as she fitted the horn's mouthpiece into place. Like Anna, the
clarinetist wore the faded cottons from Brill's hall, and like Anna's,
hers were green, unlike most of the other players, who wore blue.
"No. I don't know about storms." Anna shivered, thinking about the truly
terrible words she had crafted, wondering why she was doing what she was
doing? Was there ever a good reason for destruction? She tightened her
lips. The dark ones had tried to kill her, just because she was alive and
in Defalk. She had the right to try to stay alive, didn't she? But did
that give her the right to use her new talents to kill? Or would they
even work? Was she just a fraud?
Liende stepped back as Brill approached.
"The dark ones have begun their attack." The sorcerer's eyes rested on
the clouds. "Soon we'll see firebolts, stronger than normal lightning."
"How long before we see anyone?" Anna glanced back to the empty road, and
the seemingly empty ridges to the east.
"The storm comes first, with lightnings, then archers, and more
lightnings…" He spread his hands. "That is what I understand, in any
case."
"You don't know?"
The faintest breeze picked up, carrying more sandy dust out of the pass.
Anna's nose itched, and she rubbed it gently. Her eyes itched, too.
"That is what the dark ones did when they took over Ebra. That was more
than ten years ago." Brill did not look at her.
"You mean that for ten years they haven't done anything?" asked Anna.
"They have trained a mass of darksingers, and they have spent the last
year pushing the Whispering Sands and the Sand Hills south into Ranuak,
enough to give them a clear road to the Sand Pass."
Anna shook her head. "I don't think I understand."
Brill glanced back at his players, standing with their instruments,
waiting, and then at the clouds. The sunlight began to dim as the first
edges of gray-and-black clouds touched the edge of the sun. "Ebra was
isolated. That was why no one could help Ketansa when the Evult and his
darksingers came out of the depths of the Ostfels. The mountains are too
rugged in the north and west, and the ocean and the rocky cliffs bar
entrance to most of Ebra, except for Elahwa, and the channel is narrow
there. So the dark ones could raise storms against the ships. The sands
in the south had drifted northward over the years, blocking the Sand Pass
and most passage south to Ranuak, except for the hardiest of travelers.
Besides, the Ranuans look unfavorably on strangers, especially Ebrans,
and they discouraged maintaining the roads when Ketansa repudiated the
cult of the Matriarch."
As the gloom fell across the fort, Brill paused.
"Go on."
The sorcerer studied the road and the hills, then continued. "In the old
times, Ebra and Ranuak were one. That was before the winds changed and
the Whispering Sands grew and joined the Sand Hills and blocked the Sand
Pass to Defalk. They say that deep under the high dunes in the midst of
the Whispering Sands, there is a temple. That was where Wahren cast the
mighty spell to dry the highland swamps of Ebranu. They say he trained
his players for a season, and that it took him more than a year to build
the spell."
Brill shrugged. "Others say that Wahren was only a myth, that the sands
have been there forever. I don't know. What we all know is that a little
more than a year ago, the sands began to move, and mighty storms were
raised, and that the dark ones reopened trade with Sturinn, and most of
that trade was for weapons."
A distant rumble of thunder rolled out of the east.
"We need to make ready, Lady Anna." The sorcerer turned, his eyebrows
lifted as if questioning.
"The dark ones will have to get closer for anything I do to work." Of
that Anna was convinced. Neither the mandolin nor her voice would carry
that far.
"As you wish." The balding sorcerer turned and walked several steps back
to where the players waited. His eyes focused on them, one by one. "Sit
down. The wall will shelter you."
Anna glanced to the northwest, her eyes seeking Brill's lake, wondering
when or how he would employ it—if he could.
"Form up! Wall details!"
"Third mounted—to the gates."
Below Anna, the courtyard swirled with activity. Arms-men scrambled up
along the walls. The western gates opened, and nearly threescore men rode
out, most bearing bows and quivers. Once they were across the bridge, the
timbers were slid back inside the fort and the gates closed, while the
riders split into two groups—one circling north, the other south.
"Woman!"
Anna turned, and the armsman swallowed.
"I beg your pardon, sorceress."
Anna eased herself back beside the base of the tower. "This is all the
space I need now." The walled corner doubtless offered more safety
against arrows, but who knew about sorcery?
The young armsman swallowed, then stationed himself to the left and back
of the archer who had strung his bow and set his quiver on a projecting
brick shelf. The arms-man's fingers gripped the hilt of the long blade,
but he did not draw it.
The clouds were darker now, and the day darkened as they slid across the
face of the sun, a sun that seemed somehow to Anna rather more red than
the sun she knew—but that could have been from the dust that never
settled.
From where the road seemed to vanish over a crest leading up to the pass
itself came a trickle of darkness. Then Anna realized that the darkness
was composed of dark-clad armsmen, with the occasional flash of indirect
light on metal—swords or burnished Shields.
Recalling the comments about archers, her eyes turned to the hill ridge
to the north of the fort, and she watched. Was that an Ebran archer? Then
more figures darted from rocks to rocks to the few gnarled trees, moving
south, toward the point nearest the fort. Anna inhaled, then exhaled, as
she realized she was holding her breath. That wouldn't help singing, not
at all, but she'd never been called upon to do a concert—even a single
song—in the middle of a battle where people were getting killed.
The Ebran forces seemed to pour down the road toward the fort, darkening
the road as the clouds continued to darken the sky.
A single sword of lightning crashed into the hill ridge to the south of
the fort.
"Storm song! Now!" demanded Brill, his voice almost shrill.
The cracking roll of thunder underscored his command.
The players began, and Anna wanted to wince. The stress definitely had an
impact on their tunefulness, either that or their playing from a sitting
position. She checked the tuning of the mandolin, crouching into the
brick-walled corner to shut off the outside noises as much as she could.
Then she tried a vocalise, gently, hoping the dust hadn't dried her cords
too much, that she could clear her voice without too much effort. Her
voice cracked, and she stopped and took a long swallow from the water
bottle at her belt before resuming her warm-up.
The clouds dropped lower, thickening, darkening, until Anna thought she
could almost stretch and touch them.
Crack! Another blast of lightning smashed down, and the entire fort shook.
"Aeeiii…"
"Stand firm! Stand firm!"
"Lightnings…"
Anna turned. The top of the southwest watchtower was gone, leaving
nothing but a mass of brick and dust.
To her right, Brill sang, trying to project his voice over other voices
and the rumblings of the storm that swept down out of the Ostfels.
"… mighty fortress is our song…
… stands against all nature's powers strong…"
Spang! An arrow smashed against the edge of the parapet, then dropped
onto the bricks less than a yard from Anna's feet. The arrowhead itself
was a triangular, serrated, ugly chuck of metal, tough enough that it was
barely deformed by its impact against the hard bricks of the fort.
Flattening herself against the watchtower where the archers from the
north could not see or hit her, she shivered momentarily, thinking that
one of those had gone through her shoulder.
Crack! Another flash of lightning slammed down, this time not far from
where the eastern road ended at the dry moat, and the fort shook.
"Again!" demanded Brill. "It's working!"
Arrows began dropping over the north wall and sleeting into the courtyard.
"Shields up!"
"Under the overhangs!"
The violinist beside Palian, whose name Anna didn't know, crumpled with
an arrow through his chest.
"Keep playing!" ordered Brill, as yet another lightning bolt seemed to
bend away from the fort. He began to repeat his spell.
Anna lifted her head and studied the eastern road, but the Ebran soldiers
appeared to be still more than a dek away, and the rumbling of the storm
would probably limit how far she could project.
"Why aren't you doing anything?" hissed the young armsman.
"They have to get closer!" Anna hissed back. Belatedly, trying to hold on
to her concentration, she started a second vocalise.
The rain of arrows seemed to slow, then stop, and Anna shifted her
position enough to look northward where she saw a handful of mounted
archers, wearing the purple of Defalk, on the ridge.
As she watched, several Defalkan archers went down, and more of the
dark-clad archers began moving down the ridge from higher ground toward
the position taken by the mounted Defalkans.
A few drops of rain darkened the dusty bricks of the fort, then,
suddenly, the few drops became a heavy rain, and then almost a wall of
water, under which the melodies of Brill's players half dwindled, half
squeaked to a stop.
Crack! Another lightning bolt slammed down into the wall right above the
closed eastern gates, and bricks cascaded everywhere.
Whatever the lightnings were, they weren't just electrical energy, and
Anna wished she'd read the Donnermusik book, but vain wishing wouldn't
change the past.
Another wall of water, like a line squall, washed over the fort.
Within moments of the rain's passage, the hail of arrows resumed—and the
bass hornist went down.
Anna looked up the eastern road. Under the cover of the storm, the Ebran
forces had almost reached the dry moat.
"Under the wall there!" Brill ordered the players. "Now!" The sorcerer
scurried up beside Anna and peered toward the dry moat. Below and to the
east, under the hanging dark clouds, the Ebrans were fitting together
siege ladders.
Yet another lightning bolt smashed into the fort, right at the eastern
gates—and then another. Anna grabbed the wall to steady herself as the
entire fort shook.
"Archers! Fire!"
The Defalkan bowmen began to release arrows into the massed Ebran troops,
who immediately lifted heavy round shields
Some arrows deflected into the air; some imbedded in shields, some in
Ebran soldiers, and within a handful of moments dozens of dark-clad
bodies lay on the far side of the dry moat.
Crack!
"Down!" Brill almost flung Anna around the side of the watchtower,
following her and jamming them into the shielded corner formed by the
north wall and the watch-tower wall.
Crack! Crack! Lines of lightning flashed across the entire eastern wall,
slamming the fort with jolts hard enough to jerk Anna back and forth
across the bricks, raising dust everywhere, despite the fort's earlier
drenching. Then another line squall, another instant wall of water,
crashed across the Defalkan fort.
Anna scrambled back into a sitting position and glanced down the wall,
catching sight of Palian, Daffyd, and Liende crouching next to the wall.
Dozens of still figures lay in the courtyard below, and the eastern wall
was riddled with fissures.
In the light rain, Brill scrambled back to the edge of the eastern wall,
and Anna followed more slowly.
Her stomach turned as she saw the blackened body that had to have been
the young armsman who had asked why she hadn't done anything.
One of the gates had fallen forward into the dry moat, arid hundreds of
the Ebrans, if not thousands, swarmed forward into the brick-lined
depression.
Farther up the road, well out of bowshot, a dark-clad group appeared, and
Anna eould hear a low chanting of some sort. The darksingers?
Brill stood behind the parapet that was now only knee-high, and began to
sing.
Anna looked back to his players, but they held on to instruments and
crouched under the protection of the northern wall as more arrows sleeted
into the fort, mainly from the north.
"… sweep forth in power and might!" concluded Brill.
A dull rumbling began, accompanied with a whistling sound.
Anna glanced around, but while the clouds threatened, for the moment
nothing fell from them but light rain. Should she use her spell? The wind
gusted around her, and blew the brim of her hat down across her eyes. She
ripped it off and stuffed it into her belt.
The Ebrans in the dry moat started to run, and Anna looked down to see a
brown-colored wave rumble out of the north side of the moat toward the
invaders. Within seconds, the moat was filled with threshing figures.
Anna swallowed. Most wore armor, and few could swim. A handful struggled
out on the east or south sides, but before long the brown water was
mostly still, where a few items floated, and one or two bodies were
buoyed by air trapped in their garments.
The ground shook again.
Brill straightened and scurried back to the north wall.
Anna's mouth opened. Another wall of soldiers marched around the
dark-clad monks toward the fort.
The ground shook again, and more bricks fell from the walls.
"Power song… the power song," gasped Brill.
Somehow, some way, a melody began, and Daffyd's viola dominated the
intertwined melodies.
Anna shook herself. The world was coming apart around her, and she'd done
nothing. Nothing!
She gripped the mandolin. If she didn't use her spellsong now, there
wouldn't be anything left to use it for.
The tower and the fort lurched again, and she steadied herself against
the tower one-handed, as massive cracks appeared in the ground beyond the
fort.
With a gulping, guzzling sound, the moat began to drain—and the thousands
of new Ebran soldiers began to march forward.
Anna hummed, wishing she'd done more vocalises, but there wasn't time,
and she'd been too disoriented. She faced the darksingers and the
oncoming troops and began.
"I have sung the glory of the thunder of the sky,
I am bringing forth the voltage so the bolts of death can fly
I have loosed the fateful lightning so the darkling ones will die,
My songs will strike them dead…"
Even by the end of the first verse, the dark clouds were twisting back,
and the lightnings turned, and white bolts flashed toward the dark
singers.
Anna forced herself to keep singing.
Behind her, Brill sang something else, and beneath them the ground
buckled and heaved as Brill's spell and that of the darksingers meshed in
dissonance.
When Anna finished her second verse, she looked up.
Only smoldering flames remained of the darksingers, but the Ebran
soldiers were untouched, although they had halted, if momentarily, still
more than a dek from the shattered Defalkan fort.
Anna turned. The western gates were being opened, and armsmen began to
pour out, scrambling through the moat that was dry again, except in
places, scurrying around limp bodies. Two bridge extensions dropped into
place, and the horsemen followed, heading back west, as if retreating.
Why?
Anna looked back at the eastern side of the fort, a mass of fallen
masonry, gaping holes filled with bodies and loose bricks. Someone led
another set of horses from the stables on the north side, relatively
unscathed compared to the devastation below and to the south of Anna. She
shook her head, and was rewarded with a sharp throbbing.
A handful of arrows whistled past, and she flattened herself against the
watchtOwer, the sole intact section of the fort's upper walls.
"Lady Anna!"
At Daffyd's voice she turned, seeing Brill standing with a heavy arrow
through his chest.
Her legs like lead, she half walked, half ran, crouching, to where the
sorcerer sagged onto the bricks. His eyes were almost blank as she knelt
by him.
"Liende… promised…"
Anna looked around. Liende was still lying on the corner of the rampart,
where Palian struggled to bind or splint the clarinetist's leg, broken by
one of the lightning-thrown stones. Daffyd crouched between the two
groups, keeping his head down as arrows flew over the northern wall
intermittently.
"Liende…"
"She's right over there," Anna said, taking the sorcerer's hand.
"… promised… all I can do…"
Anna bent to catch the words, but could hear only fragments.
"… always golden, always young,
spells always cleanly sung,
from my death, bring her life,
...through all strife…"
"No—" she protested, even as Brill slumped back on the damp bricks of the
fortress that he had built and that was falling with him.
Yet, with his words, her body tingled—that was the only term for it. What
had he done? Why? But had it been for her? He'd called for Liende.
His hand went limp in hers, and his eyes stared sightlessly skyward.
More arrows whispered overhead, and a trumpet call sounded from the east.
Anna scuttled back to the holed and sundered eastern rampart and looked
out. Although no darksingers remained, the dark-clad Ebran soldiers were
hurrying forward, ignoring the sodden bodies in the moat, where only
scattered puddles remained, and stepping around the cracks in the
brickwork and ground.
Overhead, the dark clouds had already begun to thin, and patches of blue
showed to the south, but the Ebrans kept moving westward.
Didn't anything stop the devils?
She looked across the broken Defalkan ramparts, but nothing moved. When
she glanced back to where Brill had lain, she saw nothing but clothes and
an arrow. From where he was helping splint Liende's leg, Daffyd's mouth
opened. So did Palian's.
Anna wanted to shake her head, but she did not, trying to ignore the
tingling that had raced through her body and had begun to subside.
The courtyard below was deserted, except for two armsmen, one struggling
to help the other through the open western gate. Anna could see, farther
to the west, scattered puffs of dust from fleeing soldiers, and one
organized group, under a blue banner, slowly marching to the northwest.
Daffyd and Palian eased Liende toward the steps, but the other players
had vanished, except for the dead violinist and bass hornist. Anna shook
her head. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion… so slowly.
The Ebrans would be inside the fort long before Daffyd and Palian could
get Liende down the steps—and Liende should have gotten Brill's bequest,
not Anna.
The sorceress moistened her lips and picked up the mandolin from beside
the watchtower wall, humming slightly. Then she stood beside the wall,
shielded from the arrows from the north. As the first Ebrans began to
dash through the gaps in Brill's once clean and well-formed brick walls,
Anna began to sing.
"Armsman one, armsmen all,
from flame to ashes shall you fall…
from the strings, from the sky,
fire flay you till you die!"
A crackling bolt flared like a snapping harp string from the still-dark
clouds, whipping across the Ebran soldiers. A second followed the first,
and then a third, and fourth… until the sky seemed hatched with lines of
fire.
Anna winced at the screams that seemed to go on and on, covering her ears
and crouching down by the base of the watchtower, trying not to watch
what she had unleashed.
Her head ached, and her stomach turned, but she could see that Daffyd and
Palian had gotten Liende almost down to the main level. A ray of light
flickered through the clouds, and the air was silent, except for the
moaning of wounded. Anna slowly fumbled open the water bottle and drank,
and drank.
A dull thudding sound echoed through the broken stones, and Anna lifted
her head and looked toward the Ostfels where distant dark clouds still
swirled across the eastern sky. The ground rumbled, and more bricks
toppled into the courtyard.
She peered over the crenelated section beside the watch-tower, the only
tower intact, from what she could see. Like ants, more columns of
dark-clad armsmen wound their way down the road, past the burned bodies
that lay everywhere, toward the dry and cracked moat, and toward the
fort—and Anna.
Her battle hymn had worked on the monks, but not the regular soldiers.
Her burning song had almost floored her, and left hundreds dead, or more,
and that didn't count the thousands swept away in Brill's one-time
torrent. Yet here there were thousands of the Ebrans left, all marching
out of the Sand Pass and down toward the shattered remnants of the fort.
What could she do? She wasn't quick, and she couldn't think. Her head was
already splitting.
Maybe, if she stood close to the edge of the tower, and projected—used
everything with the same spell she burned the armsmen—maybe…
She shut away the sounds of the screams that still echoed in her ears,
and eased herself toward the open space that had been the front rampart.
There weren't any Ebran archers close by, not that she could see, but
some of the dark-clad soldiers were almost at the base of the walls,
winding around the scattered puddles and getting ready to swarm up into
the stronghold. Their blades gleamed in the intermittent sunlight.
A dull thunder sounded, and Anna looked north toward the empty reservoir.
Under the black banners were horsemen—far too many to count, and they
were on the safe side of the disasters Brill had wrought.
"Lady Anna!" called Daffyd, scrambling up the steps and across the
brick-strewn rampart. "We've got to leave. The levies have all deserted,
except for those under Lord Jecks, and they are forming up to fight
outside the fort."
Anna turned to the youth, pointing to the north. "Look. We won't get a
mile." She took a deep breath. "Get the others ready, and get Farinelli
saddled. I'll be there. One more spell." Just one more—that's all I've
got time or energy for—just one.
Daffyd opened his mouth, then backed away as Anna threw everything she
had left into the spell.
"Armsman one, armsmen all,
from flame to ashes shall you fall…"
As she sang, sending her voice across the openness, trying to stay free
while projecting everything she could, trying to visualize lines of fire
striking mounted Ebrans and Ebrans on foot, it seemed as though that
behind the blue-'green sky, behind the nearer hazy clouds that were
disintegrating, giant strings thrummed and cascaded.
Fire—lines of fire—slashed again from the sky, and screams, screams that
went through her like a knife, flayed Ebrans—and her soul.
Without really looking, just visualizing lines of fire, she began to
repeat the awful words and melody, but her knees began to buckle, and the
crescendo that descended carried blackness… and silence, a silence behind
which echoed screams… endless screams.
37
Sand Pass, Ebra
Eladdrin staggers to his feet, putting a hand to his forehead. It comes
away not only bloody, but with flakes of skin, as though his face had
been scorched by the sun.
Slowly, he steps through the black tatters of the tent, and gazes from
the ridge toward the west, toward swirls of dust, and smoke, and
seemingly endless death.
A subcaptain lurches uphill toward him.
The songmaster clears his throat, then waits.
"We have the devils' fort, songmaster. That's about all."
"What happened?" asks Eladdrin.
"You… ser… you must…"
"Tell me what you saw."
"The sorceress, the blonde soprano—her voice was like a giant harp in the
sky and she called the lightnings on the forward darksingers and twisted
them back onto them." The subcaptain swallows.
"And then?"
"Then… twice she called forth something like whips of fire, and the whips
touched everyone in the first army, and they all burned, and then when
the second army attacked… she did it again."
"Where is she?"
"We do not know, ser." The subcaptain hung his head. "We didn't find her
body."
"What is left of the Defalkan forces?"
"From the bodies we found, maybe half survived, but most scattered and
ran. One group retreated to the north—a blue banner with a gold bear. Not
many, say a dozen score. Scattered riders here and there."
"Our forces?" Eladdrin forces himself to ask.
"It's hard to tell, ser, what with all the rocks and the fallen walls."
"Guess, then."
"A third left, maybe less. None of them worth a dissonance." The
subcaptain spits on the rocks to his left. "Everywhere you look, burned
bodies, bodies flayed with whips of fire. I'd flay that bitch sorceress,
and then some."
"Why?" asks Eladdrin tiredly. "We would have killed her. We already tried
once and failed. She has no reason to be kind." He blotted the blood away
from his eyes, looking at the spirals of dust and smoke that swirl over
the end of the Sand Pass. "Still, part of me hopes she is in dissonance's
deepest discords."
"You lost all those darksingers, and… ?"
"I'm excusing no one. We did what we had to do, and she did what she had
to do. There's no room for hatred in war, Gealas. It destroys your
ability. But, if I could hate anyone, I'd hate her." He pauses. "Marshal
up the forces, and find a campsite north of the battle. We'll need to
regroup—and we'll-need a lot of reinforcements." As the subcaptain
leaves, Eladdrin adds under his breath, "A lot… and the luck not to run
into more sorcerers like those two."
II
Wahrwelttraum
* * * * * * *
38
Anna's eyes were gummy, and her head pounded, and someone was talking to
her. She opened her eyes slowly, but could see nothing for a moment. Was
she blind? What had happened? Then points of light wavered irt the
darkness—it was night.
Daffyd was talking.
"Are you all right? Lady Anna, are you all right?"
"I don't know," Anna finally said. "I think I can see. It's dark out,
isn't it?" She was lying on something, a bedroll, that didn't soften the
ground underneath very much.
"It's well after sunset, could be close to midnight."
"Midnight?" It had been around midday, or early afternoon, she thought,
at the end of the battle, except it hadn't been a battle—more like
alternating slaughter. Her lips twisted. Had she really done it? Really
summoned whips of fire? She shuddered.
"Are you all right?" Daffyd repeated.
"What happened? Tell me what happened."
"But are you all right?"
Anna slowly rolled on her side and struggled into a sitting position. Her
head ached. In fact, her entire body ached. She felt like she even had
bruises on her stomach. "No. Do we have any water? Where are we? What
happened?"
Daffyd fumbled and then extended a water bottle—her water bottle. It was
only half full, and Anna drank nearly half of that. The throbbing in her
skull subsided to a dull aching.
"Where are we?" she asked again.
"A little off the foothill road from the Sand Pass to Synope," Daffyd
answered. "A long time ago, before the pass sanded up, this was the main
road between Synek and Sudwei. Now it's not much more than a trail."
"Fine. . . What happened?"
"The weather changed. Lord Geansor got crippled—"
"No. At the Sand Pass."
"You turned a whole lot of the Ebrans into cinders, and then you just
fell down. I barely caught you before you almost rolled off into the
courtyard."
"Great…" muttered Anna. Fainting just because she sang a spell?
"Everyone was so surprised that I carried you down and… anyway, we got
out of the fort. Palian and Liende headed back to Mencha. They said no
one would bother plain old players. I didn't know about that, but I
didn't think that was a good idea for you, not after… what happened."
Anna's ribs were sore, too. "How did you get me here?"
"I couldn't carry you," Daffyd said defensively.
"You didn't drag me, did you?"
"No. I sort of tied you in your saddle. It wasn't easy, and I had to go
really slow. We're not very far from the fort, really."
"Everything hurts," Anna murmured, more to herself than to Daffyd, then
asked, "Why aren't we headed back to Mencha?"
"I'd thought we'd be riding to Synope. We can't be going back to Mencha."
"Why not?" snapped Anna.
"All the darksingers saw you on the walls. Enough of them lived that
they'd be killing you on sight, and, well, without Lord Brill or Lord
Barjim…"
"What happened to Barjim?"
"He was heading out with his guards when one of those thunderbolts
brought the south tower down on 'em all."
Anna recalled the tower falling, but hadn't realized Barjim had been
beneath it—but she should have guessed. There had been too much chaos,
and Barjim—or Alasia— had been too organized to allow that to happen.
"Lady Alasia, too?"
"I fear so. Lord Jecks managed to break through the dark horse, but you
gave them some help." The player's face twisted into a smile. "That was
something. I wish I could do sorcery like that."
"No, you don't," said Anna bleakly, thinking about all the screams that
had echoed in her ears and soul. "You don't."
"That's what Lord Brill said. You sorcerers just don't want anyone else
to learn what you do."
Anna sighed, but that hurt, too. After uncorking the water she drank a
little more. Brill certainly hadn't wanted to share. Would some sort of
harmonic spell have been better? But how could she have persuaded Brill
with so little time when it had been all too clear how little she had
really known?
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
"I'll live." She took another swallow. "Synope? That's where your sister
lives? Delia?"
"Dalila," corrected Daffyd.
"What would happen if we went back to Brill's hall?"
"Even if the darksingers didn't get there first, could you hold it?"
asked Daffyd.
"Hold it?"
"It's a lot of sorcery. He calls forth the water, and keeps it cool in
summer, and warm in winter—"
"He did that all with sorcery?"
Daffyd nodded, a gesture Anna had to strain to see in the dark.
"What will happen if we don't go back?"
"Nothing for a while. Nobody would want it, except another sorcerer, or
sorceress. I guess it belongs to the Lord of Defalk—except we don't have
one right now, unless it's Lord Jecks."
Anna rubbed her forehead, and tried not to breathe deeply. Her diaphragm
was sore, and she wasn't certain that Daffyd hadn't just slung her across
the saddle.
Whhuuuflff.
She smiled as she recognized Farinelli's whuff in the darkness, but the
smile faded quickly. "Why won't people in Synope recognize me? Or ask
questions about a stranger?''
"You could be my other sister," suggested Daffyd. "No one's seen Reneil
in years."
"I'm years older than your sister."
"Not anymore, Lady Anna, not anymore." Anna shivered again, and her eyes
burned. She was glad that Daffyd couldn't see that closely. She was young
again—because a dying sorcerer ^nought she was someone else. She was
young again, in a strange place, where she might never see her children
again. She was young again, in a world she barely understood. The tears
flowed, silently, in the darkness.
39
West of the Sand Pass, Defalk
The harp strums in the darkness of the tent, then whispers.
"Songmaster?"
"Yes, Evult?" Eladdrin rises and faces the instrument centered in the
small pool.
"The sorceress must be destroyed."
"I know. Do you have any suggestions as to how?" asks Eladdrin.
"Songmaster…"
Eladdrin's eyes are fierce as he faces the pool. "Never have I felt such
power—that was more than a league away—and that power was supported only
by a tiny stringed instrument. With a dozen voices like that, we could
hold the world. She destroyed five hundred massed voices—and you order me
to destroy her. I would do so gladly, if I knew but how."
"We may have to use others for that. And do not think of trying to enlist
her. She will break you like an arrow snapped across my knees." The
distant voice recedes momentarily. "I will send another cohort of
darksingers and more armsmen."
"I had planned to take the harvest to resupply."
"This time, until we discover where the sorceress is, you can move
slowly." The words that whisper from the harp stop, then resume. "There
is a sorceress, a travel-sorceress, in Mencha who called the blonde one
from the mist worlds. Ensure that she can call no others. That you can
do, Songmaster."
With a discordant clinging, the harp falls silent.
Eladdrin walks out into the twilight and stares at the distant stars as
they begin to appear. "As if I could move other than slowly…"
40
The next morning was worse. Anna could barely roll over because her
stomach muscles were so sore. Her head felt like it had been used as the
chimes in the 1812 Overture, and her eyes were so gummy that they felt
glued shut. Unseen needles jabbed into her brain every time she moved her
head.
The sun had barely cleared the horizon, but she could feel the heat
building, and she smelled like she'd run a marathon.
And Daffyd was humming to himself, almost tunelessly, as she fumbled with
the water bottle. The two swallows left in the bottle that had been at
her belt weren't really enough. She levered herself onto her knees and
looked around.
The rest of her gear, including the other water bottles, was sitting
almost within reach, beyond the head of the bedroll. From the weight, she
could tell the first two she tried were empty. The third was full, but
why was it always the last place you looked that you found what you
needed?
"Are you awake, Lady Anna?"
"No. I'm still sleeping," she answered after taking a long swallow.
Wisely, Daffyd did not reply.
For a time, she just sat and sipped the water, looking around. Daffyd had
set up camp under a rocky overhang that was several hundred yards uphill
from the winding trail he had said once had been a main road. It didn't
look like it had ever been anything but a trail, but she wasn't exactly
the expert on Erdean roadworks.
The air remained clear, and the sun pounded down. She was glad their
crude campsite remained in the shade.
To the south Farinelli and the mare grazed on the scattered clumps of
mostly brown grass. To the north, Anna thought, there was a thin twisting
plume of smoke—the fires of the Ebrans? Or the burning ruins of the fort?
She looked at her boots, sitting by the bedroll. Finally, she corked the
water bottle and pulled on one, then the other. She tried standing up,
and every muscle in her body suggested that she was well over a century
old. The faded green trousers sagged, and she had to retie the belt even
tighter.
"You should eat something," Daffyd ventured. "There is travel bread and
cheese in the cloth there. I left it out for you."
"Thank you." Anna limped toward it, bending slowly to retrieve the food
off the rock ledge.
The cheese was hard, and the bread stale, but Anna had no trouble eating
everything. Daffyd was packing his gear on the gray mare before Anna
finished off her breakfast with more water.
After beating the dust out of the floppy-brimmed hat that seemed to have
followed her, she went through her saddlebags, but everything was there.
"Did you pack these?"
"No. Palian threw everything in there while I was carrying you down the
steps. I put the mandolin in, though."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Lady Anna."
Anna carried everything over to Farinelli. The gelding ignored her and
kept trying to nibble on anything remotely green.
"I can't get you water unless we get you saddled."
Farinelli kept grazing.
After looking at Farinelli, and wondering if she really wanted to ride
however many leagues it was to Synope, Anna fumbled the blanket in place,
and then the saddle.
As she lifted the saddle, she frowned, realizing that her shoulder didn't
even twinge, that there wasn't even a trace of soreness there. Once she
fastened both cinches, she looked at her left hand—there was only the
faintest thread of a white line there—if that. Hadn't there always been a
line there? She crooked her head and pulled her shirt and tunic forward.
There wasn't even a scab where the arrow wound had been, and she could
tell her stomach was flatter than it had been in years.
She shivered, but Farinelli brought her back to reality with a long
whuffling sound and a toss of his head.
"I know. You're hungry and thirsty."
"What?" said Daffyd.
"We need to find water for the horses." Anna fastened the saddlebags in
place. And for me, before I get so dehydrated I can't function.
"We will."
The sorceress wished she were that certain. Perhaps she could use a
variant of the cool-water spell to bring some to the surface—but she'd
have to be close to where there was water underground, and she was a
singer, not a geologist. She took a deep breath. The needles still
stabbed into her brain, and she knew she was only a singer, when she
needed to be so much more.
41
Anna pulled off her hat, wiped away the thin film of muddy dust that
collected on her forehead, then readjusted the hat, and reached for the
water bottle. Farinelli walked stolidly down the gentle downgrade into
another dry valley, filled with sandy red dirt, a handful of twisted
juniper-like trees, more than a few barren and dead tree trunks, and
scattered clumps of browned grass.
"Is it like this all the way?" she asked.
"I suppose so." Daffyd's voice was hoarse, and he glanced back over his
shoulder. "It didn't used to be this way. There were more trees and
grass."
"Drought," Anna said, half standing in the stirrups to relieve the
hardness of the saddle, except that her legs protested the extra effort.
If the second day on the back road to Synope had been hard, the third had
been even worse,, and it was only early afternoon. They had no travel
food, just the water Anna had been able to call from dry
creek-beds—enough for the horses, and to fill the water bottles.
The sun continued to beat down, and Anna's face felt raw and burned,
despite the hat, and the needle-stabbing headache seemed constant. Her
muscles remained sore, especially around her stomach and in her legs,
since she still wasn't that used to riding, although she.had the feeling,
if she stayed in Erde, that would change.
If? she thought. Brill might have been able to figure out a way to get
her back… and he was dead. Daffyd was bright enough, but, as for
visualizing earth… ? And the business of some people being burned when
they tried it— that was another question. She shook her head, and her
eyes stung, wondering what Mario and Elizabetta thought, won-dering why
she was being so punished for thinking that she just wanted to get
away—anywhere.
She forced a deep breath. Anywhere was where she was. She'd laughed about
the old saying "Be careful what you wish for because you might get it."
It didn't seem quite so funny at the moment.
Daffyd glanced back over his shoulder again.
Anna turned in her saddle to follow his eyes. Was there dust in the air,
not from their slow progress, but from some other traveler? Not many
travelers took the trail they were on. Anna hadn't been able to make out
either a hoofprint or a wagon track, but she was no tracker. "Does anyone
use this road anymore?''
"It's not overgrown," Daffyd said.
"Nothing grows here," Anna pointed out.
"Oh…"
Anna looked back again.
The group that appeared at the hill-crest of the trail behind them,
little farther than a dek back, was more than just a few riders. Anna
squinted. The others were moving at a trot, clearly aimed at catching up
with them.
"There are eight of them," Daffyd said. "They don't look like soldiers."
"What are they?"
Daffyd urged the gray mare to move at a quick walk.
"I take it that means they aren't friendly?"
"They don't have pack animals, and they're trying to catch us. I think
they must be bandits, but I've never seen or heard of any here."
"You told me this was a main road, too," Anna said, urging Farinelli to
move more quickly. "Times have changed, it looks like."
"I didn't know."
Anna snorted. How many times had she heard that from students? Then, are
you any better? You didn't know that wishing to be anywhere else would
lead to this. Why couldn't you have just been happy to stay in Ames?…
Singing for the Founders or whatever, even dealing with Dieshr and her
snide comments from her high position as chair, is better than fighting
battles, starving, and being chased by bandits with no good in mind.
She looked back again. The dust given off by the bandits was rising
higher, as if they had spurred their mounts into a quick trot now that
they were on the flat.
"Can't you do something?" asked Daffyd.
"What do you suggest?"
"Anything. They'll kill us for sure."
Anna's stomach congealed in a cold lump. After an instant of frozen
silence, she asked, "Are you sure?"
"Bandits are killed, even if they spare their victims." Anna twisted
toward the saddlebags, fumbling open the right one, then closing it and
opening the left one in her search for the mandolin. Where was it?
Finally, she lifted the mandolin out and slipped the strap over her neck,
trying to ignore the tightening in her shoulder.
If only Daffyd had been able to finish the lutar—although it really
wasn't either a lute or a guitar—she would have felt happier. The
mandolin was tinny, and it didn't project far enough.
What could she sing? Their pursuers weren't armsmen, and she'd learned
that the words targeting a spell-subject had to be fairly precise.
Bandits, evildoers, villains… what were they?
The pursuing horsemen were closer, perhaps half a dek, and she could see
several bare blades, and at least one bow.
"Aren't you going to do something?" asked Daffyd.
"I'm thinking," she snapped. Only nursery rhymes seemed to go through her
head, like "Sing a song of sixpence …"
An arrow skidded across the ground, leaving a line of dust in the road
thirty yards behind them.
"'Sing a song of .:. what?" she murmured. "Villains?" Then what? It was
hard to think and ride.
Then she had the words. They weren't great, but they just might work.
She began to strum the strings, hoping the mandolin was close enough to
being in tune, but her fingers fumbled and the chords were off, and she
was about to fall off Farinelli because she wasn't good enough to ride
and sing and play all at once.
She reined up and turned Farinelli so she faced the oncoming riders.
"What are you doing?" Daffyd looked back, but didn't slow his mare.
A handful of arrows flew toward her, the closest going by her left
shoulder. Holding back a shiver, trying to keep her voice relaxed—how was
she supposed to do that with people shooting at her?—Anna cleared her
throat and began the simple chords to an even simpler song.
'Sing a song of villains,
stop them as I can;
four and twenty arrows
shoot into each man.
If that is not enough,
then wrap their necks in stringing;
now isn't that a better way
to stop their evil singing?"
Anna winced at the lousy rhyme, but tried to visualize what she had in
mind. Again, she got the sensation of a giant harp vibrating behind the
bright blue sky, and a shuddering wrench of the ground.
Farinelli half whinnied, half whuffled, and Anna patted his shoulder,
then squinted through the sudden dust. She swallowed, trying to keep her
stomach in place. Eight trussed bodies lay on the road, eight bodies that
looked like pincushions.
That was the way her head felt, even more so after the spell.
Behind her, she could hear the ugly sound of Daffyd retching. Do
something, he'd said. They'll kill us. She had, and now he was retching.
Anna turned Farinelli toward the bandits' horses. Queasy or not, she and
Daffyd could use food, coins, whatever the raiders might have. She
swallowed again, but she left the mandolin out, strapped around her neck.
One by one, she went through the wallets. At least with the big belt
wallets, she didn't have to dig through the bandits' pockets.
She noticed something strange. The bandit's quiver was empty, and he had
neither bow nor bow string—yet she had seen both.
After the second bandit, a good-looking blond young man of that sort
vaguely similar to Mario, she did lose it, retching into the dusty dirt
beyond the shoulder of the road. She looked over. Daffyd still leaned
against his gray mare.
She tightened her lips and went back to looting, thinking as she did. No
one asked me if I wanted to be here. No one's providing for me, either,
and Daffyd wanted me to use sorcery. And this bandit wasn't Mario. Mario
wouldn't rob and kill people.
In the end, she had a half dozen gold coins and over a dozen silvers, not
to mention a large handful of coppers. She stuffed most into her wallet,
looking up as Daffyd rode the mare toward her slowly. His face was pale.
"Do you need any help?"
"Yes. Gather all the food and water bottles they had and pack it on two
of their mounts—the two best ones."
"What about the others?"
"Take off their bridles and saddles and let them run."
"They're valuable," Daffyd protested.
"What would happen if we rode into Synope with ten horses?" Anna asked,
proud of herself for thinking about it. She recalled her grandfather's
words, and expletives, about horse thieves. "We can explain two extra
mounts as left from casualties from the battle, but ten?"
Daffyd nodded stolidly.
"Do you need some coins?" Anna asked.
Daffyd shook his head.
Anna walked over to the young player. "Take these, at least, as payment
for finishing that lutar."
"I haven't…"
"You will."
"Yes, Lady Anna." After accepting the two silvers and some coppers and
putting them in his wallet, he slowly rode toward the most distant bandit
mount, and Anna turned to the one nearest her. What does he expect? He's
like a kid whose watched violence on TV, and then he sees it close and
learns what it's like. She shook her head. She had no doubts about what
the bandits would have done to them, to her.
All the bandits' quivers had been empty, she realized. Then she nodded to
herself. Brill had said spells basically rearranged things from nearby
material—probably most of the arrows had been the bandits' own, and the
particolored string they were wound in had probably been their blankets.
Her knees began to shake, and she ate the first food she could find in
the bandits' saddlebags—travel bread so dried that the stale stuff she'd
finished the morning before seemed fresh by corhparison.
What had she become? Killing people with spells, eating barely edible
food, and justifying it?
Her eyes burned… but she continued, to eat, if more slowly, more
deliberately. Shortly, Daffyd joined her, but he did not look directly at
her.
42
Wei, Nordwei
Gretslen slips into the armless wooden chair, her face expressionless
under the short blonde hair, the green eyes intent upon Ashtaar.
"While your reports are quite clear about what the Ebrans are doing,"
begins the spymistress, "I find that I need more explanations for the
Council on what they are not doing. We had anticipated that Behlem's
forces would already be in Fal-cor and that Eladdrin would be at least to
Pamr by now. Instead, the Ebrans, after having crushed the Defalkans and
killed Lord Barjim and his too-capable consort, squat a few leagues
inside the border. Is that not so, Gretslen?'' Ashtaar steeples her
fingers, and her dark eyes flash.
"They have taken Lord Brill's hall and outbuildings in Mencha, and the
surrounding farms and dwellings. The sorcerer's hall is easily suited for
a base of operations, still within ten leagues of the Sand Pass. They are
also rebuilding the Defalkan fort there." Gretslen's tone is level.
"Both are late Lord Brill's masterpieces, no doubt?" Ashtaar frowns.
"What do they do there that is so vital?"
"They have established a continuous resupply from Synek, and they are
rebuilding their forces. Their losses were substantial, as I noted."
"From the purported mist-world sorceress? Any sorceress that powerful
would be transformed to cinders crossing the worldgates. Are you certain
it was not Brill?"
"Lord Brill was dead when more than half the Ebran armsmen were flayed
with fire." Gretslen's eyes flicker to the window, through which she sees
an afternoon storm above the harbor.
Ashtaar's fingers close around the dark oval of polished stone before
her. "The waters could be wrong."
"They could be."
"You do not think so, do you?"
"No, honored Ashtaar."
The spymistress sets down the dark oval no larger than her clenched fist.
"This is troubling. A sorceress that powerful cannot cross from the mist
worlds. There was no sorceress that powerful known in Liedwahr, and there
has not been one that strong since the time of Vereist. You do not know
where she is? How can that be? The waters can surely trace that kind of
power."
"The waters show her image. She is riding, with a single companion,
somewhere in Defalk." Gretslen shrugs. "After the drought, one part of
Defalk looks much like another."
Ashtaar nods. "Then keep watching, and let me know. What of the
travel-sorceress?"
"A team was dispatched the afternoon you requested it, but they have had
to avoid the fleeing soldiers."
"This is vexing, Gretslen. Is the sorceress also the reason for Behlem's
caution?"
"I could not tell you that with certainty, but his seers have used their
waters to scry the battle."
"So this unknown sorceress gives Behlem pause, and nearly destroys the
Ebrans. We don't know who she is, or where exactly she is. We don't know
where her loyalties lie. In the meantime, Eladdrin is wary enough not to
move until he has far more armsmen than he needs, and Behlem has learned
caution." Ashtaar pauses. "Very vexing. Defalk should have fallen easily."
"Most of the armsmen fled as we planned," points out Gretslen.
"Except those of Lord Jecks."
"We could not subvert them, as we noted."
"What is Jecks doing?"
"His forces are quick-marching to Falcor."
"Gretslen…"
"I only scried that a few moments ago," answers the blonde hurriedly.
"What a dissonant mess…". mutters Ashtaar before looking up. "Is there
anything else? Anything else that the Council could spring on me?"
"Well… this sorceress works only with a mandolin, not with players."
"Donner save us… You're certain?"
"Yes, Ashtaar."
"I suggest you consider a method for removing the sorceress. No… don't
send anyone… not yet… but consider it. Consider it carefully." Ashtaar
offers a hard smile.
43
From the hillside to the northeast, where Farinelli carried Anna steadily
down the dusty road that they had reached earlier in the day, Synope
looked like a larger and even hotter and drier version of Mencha. She
checked the rope that ran from her rear saddle ring to the brown mare.
The mare plodded after the gelding, bearing two sets of saddlebags,
filled partly with stale travel bread, some daggers, a few hand tools and
an awl—and two swords. Daffyd led another mare, a piebald one, similarly
loaded.
"Are you sure this wasn't the road you had in mind?" Anna asked for the
second time, or maybe it was the third, glancing at the late-afternoon
sun that hung over the dusty fields.
"Lady Anna… I said I was sorry."
"So am I." Anna wasn't quite sure why she found it hard to forgive
Daffyd. Was it because she hadn't wanted to kill the bandits? Or because
she'd been glad to be able to stop them before they hurt her or anyone
else? They deserved it, a part of her mind said. But you were pleased,
another part said. She took a deep breath. "Daffyd, I don't mean to be
sharp with you, but… I've already done things here that I'm not proud
of." Except you are, in a perverse way.
"Those bandits, lady? You stopped them from killing many people. How can
you say it was something you aren't proud of?"
Anna thought. "If I kill a snake or a mad dog, it has to be done, but
it's nothing to be proud of." There!
Daffyd looked down at the mane of the gray mare. "… sorcerers…
sorceresses…"
There was so much Anna didn't know. She had weapons and tools she didn't
know how to use. She had coins, but what were they worth? "Daffyd?"
"Yes?"
"What are the gold coins called?"
"They're golds, that's all."
"What can you get for a gold or a silver?''
"Things, of course." Daffyd sounded exasperated.
"I meant, what are they worth? How much can you buy with them?"
"Oh… like boots or blades or food?"
Anna nodded.
"A good meal at an inn will cost three or four coppers." Daffyd frowned.
"My last boots cost Brill three silvers. A good horse runs from three
golds up."
"Are there ten coppers in a silver?"
"Of course. Ten silvers in a gold. Always have been, far as I know."
The sorceress's lips tightened.
"You could sell some of those blades, Lady Anna. Not here, but in places
like Falcor or Cheor or maybe Sudwei. They'd bring over a gold each,
maybe more."
"I don't know what we should do." And she didn't. She was carrying,
apparently, a fair amount of coins for a local, plus goods that might be
worth even more. But business wasn't her strongest point, especially in a
strange place like Liedwahr.
The road curved around an orchard. The trees had leathery gray-green
leaves. An olive orchard? Anna didn't know, but Russian olives had those
kinds of leaves, and olives grew in hot climates.
As she rode around the gentle curve, she could see scattered trees lining
what might be a river off to the right, but the road curved back and
continued south and parallel to the river toward the scattered dwellings
that marked the outskirts of greater Synope.
"Is that a river?" Anna pointed.
"The Synor River. It never was very big, and it's smaller now. Even with
the dam, there's barely enough water for the mills." Daffyd fell silent.
"What will your sister say about your showing up with a complete
stranger?''
"Every time I come, she says I should come more often. She doesn't mind
if I bring friends." Daffyd smiled. "After all, I am her little brother."
That didn't exactly reassure Anna. "Where does she live?"
"On the east side, but not so far east as the hills where the mills are."
Anna glanced to the east and the low hills beyond Synope. The Ostfels
were no longer visible on the eastern horizon and had not been since well
before midday, which meant that Synope was farther from the mountains
than Mencha was.
"Does she have, children… a husband, consort?''
"She and Madell have a daughter. Ruetha is three, I think."
"What do they do? She's not a player, is she?"
"No. Madell's. father is a miller, but there hasn't been that much
milling lately."
They passed a small cot on the left side of the road. The door hung open,
and one of the shutters lay on the ground beneath the window. The next
cot had neither windows nor doors.
Farinelli tossed his head and took a side-step.
"I know. You're a hungry and thirsty boy." She patted the gelding's
shoulder, looking ahead to where a wagon stood outside a building. A
youth carried a bench from the building to the wagon.
"That used to be the woodworker's place, but I never met him," explained
Daffyd.
"How long has it been since you were here?"
"Two years, I'd guess," Daffyd admitted.
The woodworker's apprentice looked up at the two riders and their de
facto packhorses. His eyes crossed Anna's, and he took a long look before
flushing and looking away. Then he scurried back into the shop.
Anna pursed her lips, then moistened them. What had' that all been about?
Certainly, the young man had seen women before, even women on horseback.
From what she'd seen in Erde so far, all women who rode wore trousers—
none of the sidesaddle idiocy spawned by the English.
Synope had a central square—of sorts—with a melange of shops clustered
around a dusty red stone platform standing in the middle of an
intersection of an east-west road and the north-south road that had
carried Anna and Daffyd into the town.
Yuril's proclaimed a faded green sign bearing two crossed candles. Under
the sign was a shop with narrow and grimy windows. Beside Yuril's was a
larger building, from which projected a white-painted sign bearing only
line-drawing outlines of a mug and a bowl.
"The Cup and Bowl," offered Daffyd. "Could be the worst food in Defalk,
maybe in all Liedwahr."
A heavyset woman in frayed brown trousers and an over-large tunic that
had grayed from too many washings dragged her daughter away from the
horses. Her eyes went to Anna, and then away, and she pulled the girl
under the narrow porch beneath the sign for Yuril's.
Anna tried not to frown. She knew she was dirty, dusty, and probably had
circles under her eyes that reached to her jaw, but when people looked at
her and then ran, it wasn't exactly encouraging.
"That way," Daffyd pointed to the left.
Anna urged Farinelli around the red stone platform and its chipped
sandstone balustrade that looked like a town bandstand without a roof.
She couldn't imagine a bandstand in Defalk, though.
Two armsmen in soiled light-green tunics, trimmed with purple, stood in
front of another shop—this one with a barrel displayed over the door.
Neither looked away. Both stared at Anna. She ignored the pair, but could
feel their eyes on her back until she and Daffyd were at least another
hundred yards from the center of Synope.
The few shops gave way to houses, almost all of one story, and most were
finished on the outside with a plaster or stucco. Some were gray, others
painted, but the paint on all had faded.
"There it is," said Daffyd, turning the mare down a short lane off the
main thoroughfare—if a dirt strip ten yards wide constituted a main
thoroughfare.
The house to which the young player pointed was similar in shape to that
of Jenny, the travel-sorceress in Mencha, if somewhat longer. The red
dust had stained the outside white stucco or plaster walls a faint pink,
and two weathered wooden benches stood on the warped planks that formed a
porch under the overhanging eaves. The front door was closed against the
late-afternoon heat, as were the four shutters, two on each side of the
door.
The wood had once been painted a bright blue, but the paint had faded and
peeled, giving the house a faintly disreputable look. Behind the house
was a long shed, with an overhanging roof and one side without doors,
showing six stalls. Five were empty.
"Are you sure your sister won't mind?"' Anna asked again.
"She's always saying that I should come more often."
"But I'm an outsider."
"You've saved my life. That counts for something."
"When did I do that?"
"When you talked to Lord Brill, and when you killed all those darksingers
and Ebrans. Otherwise none of us would have lived. And you stopped the
bandits." The violist grinned briefly. "Three times ought to merit some
hospitality."
Anna shook her head.
Daffyd tied the mare and his packhorse to one of the two stone hitching
posts, and Anna used the other.
"Young Daffyd." An angular and wiry man stepped out onto the narrow
porch. "Your sister will be pleased to see you." He looked at Anna.
"Madell, this is the Lady Anna."
Madell bowed deeply, without looking Anna in the eye. "Lady…" He was
barely taller than the sorceress. Despite the superficial respect, Anna
distrusted Dalila's consort, mate, whatever he was. He reeked of trouble.
"Daffyd!" Dalila was pert, if stocky, and short, barely above Anna's
shoulder, and very pregnant. And she bounced off the porch and hugged her
brother.
A dark-eyed, dark-haired girl peered from the doorway.
Daffyd hugged his sister carefully, then disengaged himself. "Dalila,
this is the Lady Anna. She's a sorceress. Fortunately, for you, and
especially for me, she's managed to save my life several times."
"Then we do indeed owe her. You've always needed a saving." Dalila turned
to Anna, and her eyes twinkled, as she gave a head bow. "You are most
welcome to what we have, lady. It isn't much, and certainly not fit for—"
"This is a palace," Anna said. "We've slept in the rocks, and before that
in a tiny room with lots of people in a fort."
"But shouldn't you be paying your respects to Lord Hryding?" The small
brunette held out a hand, and the girl scurried across the porch and
grasped it. "This is Ruetha."
"I don't even know who Lord Hryding is," Anna admitted. She smiled at the
girl. "Hello, Ruetha."
The three-year-old buried her face in her mother's trousers.
"Lady Anna is from the mist worlds," Daffyd explained, "and she hasn't
been here very long."
"The mist worlds, fancy that," murmured Madell, openly disbelieving.
"I summoned her," Daffyd retorted. "Me and Jenny, anyway."
"Then she should surely see Lord Hryding," said Dalila, stroking Ruetha's
dark brown hair.
"She cannot do that now," said Madell. "I know it for a fact that Lord
Hryding is on his way back from Sudwei and will not be in his hall for at
least two more days."
"And how might you know that?" asked Daffyd.
"His saalmeister came to tell us that he would be bringing back Ranuan
grain in his wagons for us to mill."
Anna frowned. Wasn't flour easier to transport than grain?
"You see," Madell expounded, "if we mix the hard winter grain of Synope
with the soft grain of Ranuak, then the flour doesn't spoil as quickly."
"And it doesn't taste so bitter," added Dalila.
"Right now, I'd rather not deal with another lord," Anna admitted.
Dalila studied Anna for a moment, then smiled again, warmly. "I can be
seeing that. Well… you're welcome. You're certainly welcome. It must have
been a hard trip."
Anna nodded. So did Daffyd, but not, she thought, for exactly the same
reasons.
"There are bandits along the back roads, especially now, and you were
carrying some fair-looking goods and horses. Did you see any?" asked
Madell speculatively.
"One group," Anna said. "We managed to leave them behind."
Daffyd swallowed slightly and started to open his mouth. Anna looked at
him, and he closed it. The less Madell knew about her abilities, the
better.
"There are matters you're not talking about, but those are yours." Dalila
smiled.
"There's a lot we're not talking about," Anna admitted. Including the
coins and the weapons in our packs. "We were in the middle of a battle
with the dark ones…"
"Aye, and the words come to Synope even." Dalila turned to her brother.
"The Prophet of Neserea has sent his forces to Falcor, and he is now
traveling after them. Sasia was saying so at Yuril's this morning."
"That's all Defalk needs," snapped Madell. "Another ruler to bleed us all
dry."
"Do you think Lord Barjim was that type?" asked Anna,
"He was better than most," grudged Madell, "and look what happened to
him."
"There is that," Anna agreed.
"Well… we're talking, and your legs are most likely to be falling off,
and you'd need to rub down your mounts and wash up, and then we'd be
pleased to eat." Dalila offered another warm smile.
"Thank you," Anna said. "I do appreciate it."
"You can have the one spare room. Reneil, she had it, but it's been two
years now, and I'd be guessing she'll not be back. Afore long, it'll be
Ruetha's, not that it's large."
"Are you sure?" asked Anna.
"After saving Daffy's miserable neck, you deserve that and more." The
pert brunette gestured. "You be doing what you need, and I be getting
back to the cooking."
Madell followed them out to the shed-stable. "Best four are the stalls in
the middle. Good mounts you got there."
"Lord Brill's finest," Daffyd said ironically as he began to unsaddle the
mare. "It was…" He broke off. "I'll tell you all at dinner."
Anna swallowed. Of course. There were no telephones. No one knew that
Daffyd's and Dalila's father had died. She went to work on Farinelli,
more slowly.
"Fine beast there," observed Madell from the stall wall.
"He was a raider horse, I was told. He likes women, but not men."
Farinelli punctuated her words with a whuffling snort.
After she had him settled, she started on the pack mare, thinner and less
well fed than the gelding.
"Most people wouldn't travel just in a pair these days," said Madell,
eyeing her from the back of the mare's stall.
"We didn't have much choice or much time to pick up traveling companions
with all the Ebran soldiers pouring through the Sand Pass." She was
sweating in the close confines of the stall, and had to wipe the salty
dampness out of the corners of her eyes.
Somehow, despite her tiredness, the saddle was easier to handle. Even the
heavy saddlebags seemed lighter. Was she getting back into some semblance
of shape? When she was finished with the horses, she lifted the
saddlebags, putting a pair over each shoulder and struggling along with
the last set in her arms, following Daffyd back to the house.
"Strong woman, you are," said Madell.
"I do what I have to." Anna liked the man less and less, but, again, she
wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy. She had the feeling that if
she went to the local inn, as a single woman alone, things would be even
worse. Damn! Why were there so many like Madell?
"Here." Madell gestured to the door to the small room.
"Thank you." Anna stepped inside and lowered the saddlebags to the floor
beside the narrow pallet bed. The single window was shuttered.
"I'll be leaving you to wash up." The wiry man smiled.
Anna nodded.
As the door closed, she laid the hat on the peg nearest the door and
walked to the narrow dresser where the washing bowl and the pitcher
stood. On the wall over the dresser was a mirror. Anna wasn't sure
whether she should even look, given the way she still felt, and the way
so many of the people in Synope had looked at her.
Finally, she stepped up to the mirror.
A stranger looked back at her—-a stranger' with blonde hair, not dyed
with streaks of white and auburn showing, but silvery blonde all the way
to the roots; a stranger with firm cheeks and a chin without any signs of
aging; a stranger with no wrinkles, either in the forehead or around her
eyes. A stranger with a thinner face than she remembered ever having.
The stranger looked sunburned, exhausted, and filthy, but the stranger
was young, probably in her mid-to-late twenties. Anna shook her head, and
the stranger shook hers.
"No… no…" Yes… You've paid for it… But had she, really? Really?
She put her head in her hands.
44
Anna tried to half lift, half shrug the damp shirt away from her sweaty
body without being too obvious, then slipped into the end seat on the
bench beside Daffyd. Madell sat at the single chair, at the head of the
table and to Anna's right. Dalila sat across from Anna, with Ruetha by
her side and across from Daffyd.
The sorceress smiled at the dark-haired little girl, but
Ruetha leaned over and hid her head behind her mother's arm.
A tantalizing aroma of spices and hot meat circled up and out from the
large earthenware crock in the middle of the trestle table, but everyone
sat quietly.
Anna waited. Something was going to happen.
"In the name of harmony, let this food pass our lips." Madell nodded as
he finished, and Dalila offered the basket that held a warm loaf of dark
bread to Anna.
"Thank you." Anna broke off the end chunk and then offered the bread to
Daffyd. She still felt hot, even without wearing the overtunic.
Madell frowned ever so slightly, but smiled when Anna turned and
presented him with the basket.
"There's the cider in the pitcher, Lady Anna," said Madell, a slight
emphasis on the word "lady."
Anna half filled her earthenware mug, then sipped the slightly fizzy
amber liquid. It was cider, relatively hard cider. "Good."
Dalila smiled, then added, "And the stew in the big crock is my special."
"It is good," Daffyd added.
Madell ladled out some for Anna, Dalila, and Daffyd, before filling his
own crockery platter.
"There was something you were to tell us," prompted Dalila. "I do not
think it was good, but I would hear it."
"It's about Da," Daffyd began slowly. "The gray mare was his, a gift from
Lord Brill."
"He's dead." Dalila nodded to herself. "He's dead."
Anna glanced from Dalila to Daffyd. They might have been talking about
two different men, from their reactions.
"Yes, he's dead," choked the young player. "Is that all ye have to say?
He's dead. Is that all?"
"Daffyd… I know you loved Da…" Dalila spread her hands, then put her arm
around her daughter. "Be gentle. Ruetha would not understand."
Daffyd shook his. head. "I thought you would be sad."
Dalila handed a small piece of bread to Ruetha, who began to eat.
Madell wore a cynical smile, and helped himself to another chunk of
bread, then some of the stew.
Anna took a small mouthful of the steaming stew, using the carved wooden
spoon by her plate. The stew was more peppery than she would have liked,
and there was a trace, but only a trace, of something like cilantro, not
enough to spoil it for her. She took another mouthful, then stopped.
"I am sad. I am sad for you, Daffyd. Da was good to you." Dalila took a
swallow of cider.
"I never understood," Daffyd said. "You said it was better when Mother…
and you left as soon as you could… but… you never said."
"No. Mother asked me not to before she… left."
"Some family stories are best left untold, are they not, lady?" said
Madell in a quiet voice, leaning his sandy haired head toward Anna.
"Sometimes. Sometimes not." Anna edged ever so slightly along the bench
toward Daffyd.
"Da was good to me," Daffyd said.
"He was, and it's best left that way. None of us be changing the past,
now," Dalila said firmly. Then she offered a soft smile and, with her
free hand, reached across the table and touched Daffyd's wrist. "You be
remembering him as he was to you. No one can take that."
The emotional undercurrents tugged at Anna, and she finally looked back
at Ruetha. This time, the girl didn't hide, but looked solemnly back at
the sorceress.
"Ah… you were saying about the Prophet," Madell finally interjected into
the silence.
"Sasia said that his armsmen had reached Falcor, and that he was claiming
Defalk in order to stop the dark ones."
"What about young Jimbob? He didn't die in the battle," pointed out
Madell. "He's the heir."
"Sasia was sayin' that the young lord was too untried to rule, and
besides, his grandsire made off with him, and that meant the lords had
abandoned the liedstadt."
Madell snorted and took a gulp of cider, large enough that Anna winced,
then swallowed and turned to her. "Did you see how Lord Barjim died?"
"The dark ones destroyed a tower around him with their thunderbolts,"
replied Daffyd. "They sent thousands of armsmen, and archers—"
"Could we be talking of something more pleasant, for now?" asked Dalila,
pointedly glancing down at the wide-eyed Ruetha. "How do you find Defalk,
Lady Anna?"
"Those people I have met—not the dark ones—have been nice. It is hot,"
Anna offered, "much, much hotter than where I'm from. And the air is much
drier."
"It has been hot for the past years, because of the black ones. They've
stolen our rain, and the winter snows, and every year the grain harvests
have been less, the kernels smaller," added Madell.
"And Lord Brill? How was he? He is said to be a great sorcerer. Daffyd
has said much, but I would know what you thought," asked Dalila.
"Yes, what did you think?" asked Madell, with a smile not quite a smirk.
"Lord Brill was most hospitable to a stranger, and very helpful, to the
end. He was a learned man, and I don't think he was ever comfortable in
using his sorcery for warfare. In his own way, he seemed honorable about
most things, but I couldn't say for sure, because I didn't know him that
well or for very long."
"I daresay you knew him better than most," offered Madell. "Being as
you're a sorceress," he added quickly.
"I don't know," Anna said, stifling a yawn. She was tired, but still
hungry, and she took another mouthful of stew, followed with more bread.
The bread was good, though not so good as Serna's, but the stew was far
better than any meat dishes she had had at Brill's hall. And she was
hungry all the time, anymore.
"He was a good sorcerer," Daffyd said. "But… he didn't…" The player shook
his head.
"You're tired, Daffyd," suggested Dalila. "How long a ride was it?"
"Almost four days," answered the young man. "We had to take the old road
because the Ebran armsmen were marching on Mencha."
"A long four days," added Anna, mechanically taking another bite. Her
head ached slightly, still, and her muscles all were tight. She yawned,
covering her mouth.
"Tired you are, lady?" asked Dalila as she rocked Ruetha in her arms. Her
daughter's eyes were closed, and a faint smile crossed the child's lips.
Anna nodded. How long had it been since she had held hers like that? How
long since Elizabetta… ? She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking
very well."
"Have you had enough to eat?" asked Daffyd's sister.
"Yes. It was good."
"Then shoo… You need some rest. Four days in the saddle. 'Course you'd be
tired." With her free left hand, Dalila gestured toward the guest room.
"You just climb into that bed and sleep till you wake. We'll leave bread
and cheese for you. So don't worry. Get some rest."
"Thank you. I will." Anna eased out from the bench, almost stumbling
because her feet felt so heavy, vaguely amused at the pert and motherly
tone from the young woman.
"Now… you be sleeping well, lady," Madell said heartily as he stepped
closer to her, almost grinning.
"I'm very much looking forward to getting a good night's sleep," Anna
said. She turned away from Madell and looked at Dalila. "Thank you again
for dinner. It was the best food I've had in a long time."
Dalila flushed. "You'd just be saying that, Lady Anna."
"I meant it. Thank you." She turned to Daffyd. "Goodnight, Daffyd." And
then to Madell. "Good night."
She stopped in the doorway of the guest room, but someone—Madell, she
guessed—had lit the single candle on the dresser. So she stepped into the
room and closed the door, letting the latch click.
Anna hadn't liked the looks from Madell, or the tone of his words, and
she stopped and checked the door. There was only a simple catch, not a
bolt, nor a lock. She grinned as she saw the simple chamberpot behind the
door, but the smile faded.
What if Madell came after her? Would he, in the same house as his wife or
consort or whatever the term was? Anna snorted. Madell's type well might.
Were men the same everywhere? She shook her head. Brill had been a
gentleman; he'd even tried to give youth to Liende with his death. Anna's
eyes burned for a moment. Nothing ever turned out the way anyone planned.
Her eyes drifted back to the door. She yawned, not wanting to deal with
Madell. But she didn't want to deal with a surprise visitor in the middle
of the night, either.
Her fingers strayed to the truncheon and the knife at her belt, then she
shook her head. Unless she wanted to hurt or kill the man, they wouldn't
do much good, and he was probably physically stronger than she was.
Sorcery? Her lips tightened. Same problem. Assuming she could sing, she
could kill him… but that wouldn't make things any better, especially for
Daffyd's sister. She took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. Why did
things keep getting more complicated? Why?
The room was close, still hot, although some air circulated through the
louvers of the shutters. The single candle fluttered on the narrow
dresser.
All she wanted was to be left alone, to get some rest, but she had a gut
feeling that it wouldn't work out that way.
First, she stacked the saddlebags with the tools in them against the back
of the door. Then, with one eye on the door, she rummaged through the
other set of saddlebags. She had the one gown, not in the best of shape,
that Palian had—bless her heart—stuffed into the saddlebags. But she
couldn't keep sleeping in her clothes. Finally, still watching the door,
she slipped out of the filthy riding clothes and into the somewhat
cleaner gown.
She still didn't have an answer.
All she wanted was for him to leave her alone. Just—go away. Then, she
smiled, and began to call up the words. They were appropriate, and she
didn't even have to change them. She spoke them all the way through
twice, then hummed the melody.
After turning back the covers, she slipped the truncheon and knife under
the corner of the thin pillow, then blew out the candle and stretched out
on the pallet—lumpy like every mattress or bed she'd found in Erde. But
it didn't matter. Her eyes closed almost immediately.
Sccccttcchhh…
Anna woke to the scratchy sliding sound of the door being opened and
pushing the saddlebags. She sat up and pulled the knife from the sheath,
her sleepy hands fumbling as she did. Grasping the truncheon was easier.
She slid to the end of the bed, trying to get her eyes to focus, and to
clear her head.
She was so groggy—and tired. The words? The song? Something about going
away? Why? Why?
Sccctttcchhhh... Now the door was being closed.
She could make out the vague outline of a figure padding toward the bed.
"Oh… you're awake and waiting, lass…" Madell's soft words oozed toward
her.
Her head ached, and she kept trying to remember what she was going to
sing. Why did it take her so long to think when she woke? She wanted to
cry in frustration, even as she edged away from Madell.
"Now… with your fine protector gone, who will look after you, lass?"
Madell whispered, his hands grasping her wrist. "You're no sorceress,
just a pretty trollop pretending to be one. You need a real man…"
Anna tried to think. What were the damned words? Damn! What were they?
Why couldn't she think? Because she was so damned tired?
"The door?" she asked.
His hand relaxed slightly as his head turned toward the door. Anna jerked
away from him, standing and holding the knife low as Albero had taught
her.
"Go away…" she murmured to herself. Finally! She had them.
In the gloom, Madell looked at the shimmering blade, and at the way she
held the knife, and paused.
Anna began to sing as she stood there, trying to keep her weight
balanced, hoping the words would be enough, mentally insisting that they
suffice.
"Go away from my window,
go away from my door.
Oh, please go away from this heart of mine,
and trouble me no more."
Madell stopped short of her, as if he had run into an invisible wall. He
reached toward her a second time, then recoiled.
Anna slashed with the knife, drawing a bloody line across his wrist, but
Madell's lunge stopped short of her again.
"What ha' ye done to me?"
"Not nearly so much as I will," snapped Anna, "if you don't get out of
here and leave me alone."
Slowly, Madell backed toward the door as Anna advanced, still keeping the
knife low. She wanted to kill the bastard.
Madell backed up more quickly, fumbled with the latch, opened the door,
and slipped into the main room, leaving the door ajar behind him. Anna
closed it slowly and pushed the saddlebags back into place.
For a long time, Anna sat on the pallet, trying not to shiver. Did she
shiver because Madell might have assaulted her or because she knew, after
the spell, clumsy as she was, that she could have killed the man?
What was she becoming? Did she have any choice? Why didn't anyone leave
her any choice? Why?
She wanted to scream. Instead, she slipped the knife and truncheon under
the pillow and lay back. Sleep eluded her for a long time, a long time
filled with images of broken walls, and men flayed with fire, and Madell
lusting and panting about "a real man."
45
Anna looked around the empty main room of the house. It didn't seem that
late, but she had slept at last, surprisingly, and longer than she would
have thought possible after the night before. At least Madell didn't seem
to be around, for which she was thankful.
She walked across the wide plank floor toward the table. As Dalila had
promised, a half loaf of bread lay there, along with something folded in
cloth. Anna unwrapped the cloth— yellow cheese. Using her belt knife, she
sliced off several chunks and ate them with an end of the bread. Then she
sliced some more, and ate them. A third set followed. Why was she so
hungry?
She hadn't been that hungry when she was young the first time. Or was it
the magic? She orderspelled the water in the pitcher and poured some into
a clay mug. In the end, she ate more than half of both bread and cheese,
and drank nearly three mugfuls of water—she'd pay for that later, with a
trip to the little house in back.
After hearing humming from the doorway at the end of the house, Anna
edged toward it. The door opened into a room—or addition to the house—the
size of the guest room, and two steps down to a lower level, the ground
actually, as shown by the packed-clay floor. Two big wooden barrels set
above the packed clay floor on square stones filled the space. Ruetha sat
beside the barrel closest to the outside door, and scratched lines—or a
design or picture—in the clay. Then the little girl threw down the stick
and stood.
Dalila walked through the door and poured a bucketful of water into the
barrel farthest from the door, then turned and walked out, not even
looking toward the doorway.
On a crude long shelf on the wall were piled heaps of clothes. Outside,
Anna could hear someone—Daffyd?— chopping or splitting wood. She stepped
down and looked into the tubs. The one closest to the door was empty; the
one farthest about half full.
"Laundry?" Anna asked as Dalila reentered with yet another bucket.
"Washing, aye. I hate it, and there'll be more of it once there's
another." Dalila looked down at her protruding abdomen.
"I never liked laundry that much," Anna said quietly, stepping up to the
end of the table and smiling down at Ruetha, whose face was already grimy.
The little girl smiled back, shyly, then buried her head in her hands for
a moment.
Anna hadn't thought about what washing would require in Liedwahr—-one
step above the riverbank—hot water to be heated on the stove, tubs to be
filled, clothes to be hung on lines. Did Dalila heat an old-fashioned
cast-iron iron on the stove, or were the clothes worn wrinkled?
"I didn't know as ladies worried about laundry."
"The 'lady' business is recent," Anna said. "Sin—sorceresses are far more
common in the mist worlds, and I did my own laundry, but we had magic
machines—everyone did—that gave us hot water… and a few other things."
"That would be nice." Dalila sighed, and reached across the table to
extract a work shirt from Ruetha's grasp. "Could you sing magic like that
here?"
"I don't know." So far, she'd never really used her magic for anything
useful—except for the business of lighting candles and lamps or cooling
and purifying water. "Let me think about it for a moment."
Could she bring water to the two barrel-tubs? With a variant of her water
spell?
Anna walked back to the guest room and retrieved the mandolin, still
puzzling out alternative words for the water spell.
Finally, she stood in the wash room doorway, and sang.
"All day she'll face the laundry's tasks,
and she'll need her casks
of water, clear, pure water…"
Despite the hokey words and the inadequate rhyme scheme, water splashed
in both tubs.
Dalila stopped at the nearer barrel with her bucket in hand, a puzzled
and worried look on her face. "Lady… I'd not ask… but… most times I have
to heat the water for the one barrel."
Anna should have known, but why not try again?
"Do you mind experimenting?" she asked.
"Experimenting? Is that a form of sorcery?" The pert brunette put down
the bucket and picked up her daughter.
"Perhaps. Do you put soap in the tub with the hot water?"
"Aye." Dalila nodded.
"And then you put in the clothes, and use the paddle there to stir and
wash them?"
"Know ye another way?" Dalila's tone was both interested and faintly
sardonic.
"Let's try. Put in the soap, and then the clothes."
As Dalila glanced at Anna, a smile crossed her face. "Perhaps you should
put your clothes in?"
Anna looked down at the stained and dusty shirt and trousers, smiling in
turn. "I should. Do you have a robe— or something?"
It was the younger woman's turn to smile.
Before long, the white clothes—or those that had once been white or
light-colored—were in the front tub, and Anna stood barefooted in the
doorway wrapped in a light linen robe. She hoped Madell didn't show up
too soon, but in the dry heat of Defalk, she suspected that her clothes
would dry soon—assuming her sorcery worked.
For some reason, Blake's The Tyger had kept slipping into her thoughts,
and she found a way to use it.
"Water, water steaming hot,
in the confines of the pot.
Boil and bubble up to clean
the clothes as bright as ever seen."
A wave of heat flared back from the barrel, followed by a wave of steam.
"Mummmy!" Ruetha shrieked.
Dalila swallowed and eased back from the barrel.
Anna wiped her forehead. Had she overdone it—again? She felt tired for a
moment, and she sat on the step from the kitchen into the washroom. She
also realized she was hungry—again.
"Are you all right, lady?"
"I'm fine," Anna said automatically.
"I think not." Dalila stepped around the sorceress into the main part of
the house and brought back more of the bread and cheese.
As Anna ate, wondering why such a short spell of singing should take so
much energy, Dalila went back to the front tub. There, with the wooden
paddle, she lifted out one sodden shirt, holding it as water vapor
steamed away from it. She squinted, then moistened her lips as she
carried it over to the rinsing barrel, where she dunked it before lifting
it out and hand-wringing it. Then she carried the shirt out to the
rope-line hung between two posts behind the kitchen door where she
smoothed it before stretching it and fastening it in place with a wooden
clothespin.
Dalila studied the shirt for a long moment, then walked back into the
washroom.
"There were stains, lady, but they aren't there now, and I never could
get them out."
Anna looked up. "I'm sorry." As she said it, she wondered why she was
apologizing. She'd done the best she could, but her head hurt. Was she
still tired from the Sand Pass battle? Or had she done something wrong?
Dalila scooped up Ruetha and sat on the floor near Anna's feet. "Madell
was angry this morning… He tore off some bread and he left. He was saying
he was worried about the grain, but he was angry." Dalila tightened her
lips. "I'm not fancy the way you are, and I'm not a player like Daffyd,
but I've eyes to see…" The young mother looked imploringly at Anna.
Anna took a deep breath. "Your Madell thought I was something I'm not."
"Aye. I saw the looks… but you… it was plain you were not."
"Some men—" Anna broke off.
"Why was he so angry?"
"Because I told him to leave me alone… and he wouldn't… so I cast a spell
to keep him from touching me." Anna looked down at the table. "I'm sorry.
Perhaps I should go."
"You're still tired, aren't you?"
"Yes," Anna admitted.
"But you used your magic to help me?" Dalila gestured to the tubs.
"I wish I could do more. The song magic here in Liedwahr is new to me.''
Anna glanced down at the three-year-old, who looked back with steady eyes
for a time.
Dalila offered a wan smile. "Best I finish these clothes, and put the
others in."
Daffyd looked in from the doorway between the washroom and the kitchen
end of the main room. He held the ax loosely. "I thought you needed wood
to heat the water."
"The lady Anna heated it," Dalila said, bending down to disengage
Ruetha's hand from the washing paddle that Dalila had momentarily leaned
against the barrel as she wrung out a shirt. The three-year-old grabbed a
dangling lock of hair and pulled, but her mother disengaged her
daughter's grip with a gentle movement and a smile.
"You mean that I chopped this all for nothing?"
"No. It'll be used, little brother. After you and your sorceress friend
leave, there will be many weeks where I need wood." Dalila forced a
smile. "Please, would you split some more?" Dalila added, "Please?"
"As you wish." Daffyd looked from one woman's face to the other. "As you
wish." He picked up the ax and retreated, shaking his head.
Anna slowly finished the remainder of the bread.
"Are you interested in Daffyd?"
Anna's mouth dropped open. "You…" Then the sorceress realized that Dalila
did not see Anna as Anna saw herself. "I had better explain, Dalila. I am
older than I look. I have a son older than you are, and a daughter who is
Daffyd's age. I did have a daughter who was even older, but she died
several months ago."
"Months?"
"Seven or eight weeks ago." Had it been that long? "Daffyd can tell you.
I looked older when I came to Liedwahr, but some magic in the battle
changed me. It was a surprise to me."
"A not unwelcome one, I wager," Dalila said.
"I don't know. Had I looked the way I did, Madell would not have been so
interested. I wonder if any man will take me seriously."
Especially in this culture.
"I had not thought that way." Dalila frowned. "Having Ruetha was not
easy, for all that Hersa said it was a good birth. To raise children, and
then to have one die… and have the chance to start again…" She shook her
head, then offered a brief smile as she reached for another shirt— Anna's.
"I can wring that out." Anna stood.
"Ye be sure of that?"
"I'm sure."
Ruetha began to whimper, and Dalila looked at the barrel still filled
with warm water and clothes.
"You feed her," Anna said, taking her shirt. "I can manage this." She
added, "Enjoy your daughter."
That got a smile of sorts as Dalila retreated to the kitchen. The
mechanical work of lifting out each article from the hot tub and rinsing
it, then wringing it and carrying it out to hang, was almost a relief to
Anna.
As she finished the last of the whitish items and dropped the darker
clothes into the hot tub, Daffyd appeared at her shoulder, looking toward
the kitchen area where Ruetha sat at one side of the table chewing on
more of the dark bread, then back at Anna. He smiled as he looked at the
ground.
Anna had to smile, too, thinking about walking around in a gown with
boots, but she had neither sandals nor slippers.
"What did ye do to Madell?" asked Daffyd, again glancing toward the
kitchen.
"He tried to overpower me last night," Anna said quietly. "I managed a
spellsong, one that demanded that he trouble me no more."
"He hates you, and he'll be telling tales to Dalila, if he hasn't
already."
"We've talked about it, in a quiet way," Anna said. "Madell won't be any
trouble to me." She wondered, though, how much trouble the miller would
cause for Dalila. Anna liked the pert brunette. The problem was that
using spellsong led to using more song. Wasn't there any end to it? Anna
tried not to sigh. "I should go back to Mencha."
"That's where the dark ones will be, as I stand here."
"Stand back," Anna said before repeating the laundry spell. Then she
retrieved a pair of trousers and rinsed them, then wrung them.
"I can do that," said Daffyd.
"So can I. But I can't finish that lutar, and I suspect you're better at
chopping and splitting wood than I am."
"You should go to Falcor," suggested Daffyd, "or, better yet, Elhi. Lord
Jecks would help you."
"I don't know," Anna said. "That doesn't feel right." She didn't even
know why it didn't feel right, but things felt unfinished in Synope,
although she knew she shouldn't stay.
46
In the morning light, Anna sat at the table, her hair damp. Sooner or
later, the way it was growing, she was going to have to cut it, or wear
it permanently in a bun of some sort.
She broke off another piece of bread and offered it to Ruetha. The little
girl grinned shyly.
"You can have some, Ruetha," said Dalila.
"She looks funny," said the daughter.
Anna supposed she did, with damp thick hair that had more curl than she
remembered, but Dalila had said she could use one of the tubs in the
washroom for a bath, and the water spell had gotten her hot water. She
felt cleaner than she had in weeks, even if water were dripping down her
neck onto the collar of the clean shirt. She'd left off the tunic; it was
too hot to wear inside.
She'd blotted herself as dry as she could—Defalk wasn't big on large
towels—but then she suspected that, given the difficulty in getting
water, Defalk wasn't big on washing. In dressing, she'd noticed that she
could almost make out her ribs. Had she ever been able to do that?
"So do you," Dalila pointed out to her daughter, standing at the
worktable kneading dough. Dalila also looked damp, since the brunette had
followed Anna into the tub and given her daughter a good scrubbing.
After the solemn-eyed Ruetha took the bread, Anna— still hungry—broke off
another piece, and slowly chewed through it, occasionally eating from a
small wedge of very hard yellow cheese.
"You will spoil us, Lady Anna. Warm water without fires, and laundry that
does not take all day." Dalila glanced toward the corner of the room
where Daffyd had laid out the pieces of the unfinished lutar. "Daffyd,
you should have bathed."
"There wasn't any point to it. I'll get hot and dirty, and . besides I
have to finish this." The young player slowly eased the backpiece of the
lutar into place. The odor of glue permeated the room, already hot, even
though it was not even mid-morning. "I'll bathe later, if I can persuade
the sorceress to provide the same luxury for me."
"Such industry deserves some luxury," Anna said lightly.
"Well, you said you needed this."
"I do. Or I will. Unfortunately."
"It is unfortunate to be a sorceress?" asked Dalila as she rolled the
dough into a ball.
"I hope not." Anna half forced a laugh. "But it is unfortunate to be a
sorceress who seems to be more regarded for the damage she can create
than the good she can do. Laundry and bathwater are more constructive
than trying to hurt soldiers."
"Mayhap," said Daffyd from the corner, where he was setting some glue
clamps. "Sometimes the soldiers kill people, though, and it's useful to
keep them from killing." He grinned ruefully. "Especially when it's me
you kept them from slaughtering."
"Aye, force has to be stopped with force, and those who can't…" Dalila's
lips tightened.
Anna thought of the slamming door. She had been awake since not much
after dawn when the slamming door had reverberated through the house.
Madell had not been at dinner the night before, and he had left early.
"Is Madell busy with that Ranuan grain?" the sorceress asked blandly.
"He left early, lady."
Anna backed off. "Thank you for the bread. It's good. Everything you cook
is good."
"I doubt it's like that in a great hall."
"No," Anna said. "It's better. I mean it."
That got a brief smile before Dalila turned to Ruetha. "Best you come
here, girl, and give your mother a hug."
Anna swallowed.
"There!" interjected Daffyd, stretching. "That's about "all I can do for
now. A few more days, and we'll see what this beast sounds like." He
turned to his sister. "I'm making a strange instrument for her."
"Oh?"
"She paid me, in coin," Daffyd said.
"And what is it?" Dalila's voice was somewhat warmer, and Anna was
reminded that food was not cheap, from what she recalled, in less
mechanized cultures.
"It is like a lute, with six strings, but the backplate is flat and the
strings tuned lower."
Dalila nodded and began to mix up something else, dismissing both of them
in her concentration.
"Daffyd? Can you remember that mirror song? The one Jenny used."
"I can play the melody, but the words have to change for what you want to
look at."
"That's fine. Does your sister have—oh, we can use the one on the wall in
the guest room." Anna paused.
The two walked into the small room, and Daffyd played the tune twice and
spoke the words for Anna. After several tries she thought she had some
words that would work.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready as you are, lady."
Anna nodded; Daffyd played; and Anna sang.
"Mirror, mirror that I see,
Show now me now who looks for me.
Show them bright, and show them fast,
and make that strong picture last."
As Anna completed the song, and Daffyd lowered the viola, the surface of
the mirror swirled into four quarters.
In the upper right corner was a figure clad in a dark hooded robe,
apparently within a darkened room. In the upper left was a man with
reddish blond hair and a match-, ing beard. He sat in a thronelike chair
before pillars and wore a cream-colored tunic. In the lower right was a
short blonde-haired woman with penetrating green eyes, who seemed to look
straight out of the mirror at Anna. And in the lower left was a
white-haired woman with a thin face in a deep-blue and high-collared
shirt.
For a time, Anna studied the figures, and only the green-eyed woman
seemed aware of the scrutiny. Just before the images faded, she offered a
sardonic smile.
Anna blotted her forehead, damp not just from the unending heat of Synope
and Defalk. "Who were they? I suppose the one in the dark robes was one
of the Dark Monks from Ebra, but what of the others?"
Daffyd wiped the sweat off his forehead before answering. "The older
woman in blue—that's the color of the motherhood, and they run Ranuak.
The blond-bearded man—if I had to guess, that would be Behlem, the
Prophet of Music. He be the one who sent his troops to Falcor. The woman
in green…" He shrugged.
"I'd guess she's from whatever country that surrounds Defalk that the
others aren't."
"Nordwei? Why would the Norweians be seeking you?"
"Why would any of them—except for the Ebrans—be looking for me?" Anna
replied.
"Aye… you are the sorceress."
"Where's Madell?" Anna asked, knowing the answer, but wanting Daffyd's
reaction.
"He left early. Mayhap he never came home. He'd never wish to see your
face again."
Daffyd's words were cool, and that bothered Anna. She pursed her lips.
She didn't like what she felt. Because she'd repulsed Madell, was he
taking his aggressions out on Dalila—one way or another? But what could
she do?
Everything she did led to something else.
The thought nagged at her. She just couldn't go off and leave Daffyd's
sister unprotected. She'd have to think of something. Something that
wouldn't backfire, or lead to something else.
She also needed to do a few other things.
"Daffyd?"
"Yes, lady?"
"We need to go shopping."
"Shopping?"
"I can't let your sister keep feeding us."
"But that's guesting."
"She can cook. I'm spoiled enough that I enjoy good cooking, but can't we
buy some food?"
The young player smiled. "Aye. I don't think she'd mind."
"Besides, I can't afford to get out of shape for riding."
Daffyd shook his head.
47
You can't keep doing this…" The low words seemed to hiss through the gray
of the early morning, and Anna bolted upright in the narrow and lumpy
pallet bed, not that she had slept that well, with nightmares of various
shadowy figures chasing her through improbable settings, none of which
she could remember clearly.
Her head ached, and her eyes were gummy.
"I'll do as I please, woman… and you and that witch won't stop me…"
Anger seared through Anna, and she pulled on her clothes and slipped out
of the guest room and into the main room barefoot, saying under her
breath the words she had composed the night before, repeating them as she
moved, mandolin in hand.
"… your brother, never up to any good… bringing her here…"
As Anna tiptoed through the predawn gloom, Dalila stood on one side of
the table, and Madell on the other, his back to Anna. Daffyd was
presumably still sleeping the sleep of the dissolute young in the small
loft after staying up late talking with Dalila.
Dalila's eyes widened.
Madell turned, his eyes met Anna's only briefly before darting away. "I
was just leaving, Lady Anna."
Anna's finger's caressed the strings.
"Madell wrong, Madell strong,
treat her right from this song.
Madell warm, Madell cold,
gentle be till dead and old."
Dalila's mouth opened, then shut.
Madell swallowed, started toward Anna, then slowly sank onto the bench.
"Why…" he whispered. "Why me? Why did you have to enter my life?"
Anna looked at him, feeling some pity in spite of herself. "I could ask
the same question, Madell. Why did you try to force yourself on me? Why
was I picked up and taken from my own world? Why me?" She swallowed. "I
don't have an answer, except I felt guilty because you were hurting
Dalila because I rejected you."
Madell looked down, and Anna could feel the hatred.
"You should be thankful that I like Dalila. Very thankful," Anna said
slowly. "I could have killed you."
"Better you had. Better you had."
"Let me get this straight. All I have done is insisted that you not
bother me, and that you treat Dalila kindly. You would rather die than
behave decently? Does the ability to abuse women mean that much to you?"
Anna caught a flicker of movement in the doorway to the kitchen area, but
Daffyd ducked back into the washroom before anyone but Anna saw him.
"I have no choice…" Madell said slowly, looking down.
Anna snorted. "I didn't have much choice about coming to your world. I
didn't have much choice about leaving my children behind. Half the powers
in this world are looking for me, and I didn't have much choice about
that." She paused. "You have plenty of choices. You can whimper about
being forced to be decent, or you can learn to live with it." After a
moment, Anna added."
"I didn't compel you to be good to anyone else… but if I find that you're
hurting other people, sooner or later I will find out, and then you'll
find out just how nasty I can really be. Do you understand?''
The miller just sat on the bench, looking at the empty tabletop.
Anna turned to Dalila. "I'm sorry. Every time I try to protect myself or
someone else, then some other person gets hurt."
For a moment, Dalila looked puzzled. Then she nodded slowly. "You do not
like to hurt people, do you?"
"No. In a way, that is why I should have left. But I had nowhere to go…
or I thought I didn't." Anna's eyes went back to Madell. "Within a day or
two, I'll be gone, and I hope you can put things back together."
"But…" protested Dalila, "where will you go?"
"Where I must. Where I must."
48
Itzel, Neserea
After fingering his beard, Behlem touches the silver goblet. The terrace
of the Temple of Music where he sits overlooks the triangle in the river.
Nearly a dek downhill, the Saria and the Essis Rivers join to form the
Sariss. "What do you think of it?"
"Itzel's a pretty-enough place," Menares agrees guardedly. "I prefer
Esaria."
"You just don't like to travel. You'd better get used to it, though.
You'll be headed to Falcor as fast as you can, and then wherever
necessary."
"Wherever necessary?" The older man covers a swallow with a bright smile.
"We need to find the sorceress that Brill brought to Liedwahr, and get
her to support us." Behlem nods. "That's your job, old friend." He lifts
the goblet and takes a small sip.
"Is that wise, ser? To bring someone like that into your… circle?" asks
Menares. "Why would she even consider it?" His goblet remains untouched.
"First, it's very wise. Second, since everyone else wants to kill her,
sooner or later our hospitality will make her either grateful or at least
willing to throw in with us. She's staying in a hovel somewhere at the
moment, and that indicates how few appreciate her talents."
"Those talents could turn on you, ser. You have no idea what this… woman…
is really like."
"I could care less if she's an old hag or a bitch that would make Cyndyth
look like a meek maiden. She destroyed almost half of the darksingers of
Ebra in one battle. Can you find me a sorcerer like that anywhere else?"
"I don't know. Do you want one that powerful?"
"Do you have any better ideas for defeating Eladdrin?"
Menares spreads his hands. "Besides, how would one find her?"
"It shouldn't be that hard. Sorceresses aren't that loved. I'll leave the
details to you, Menares." Behlem smiles. "She is to be treated as if she
were the highest lady in the land. If she's found dead, or maimed, or
injured, you have the choice of death or exile to Ebra or Mansuur."
"Ser?"
"You know coins, trade, that sort of thing, Menares, and scheming.
There's more to you than meets the eye, old friend and tutor. But there
are some things I know. If I can defeat the Ebrans and unite Defalk and
Neserea, and if this sorceress can break the darksingers, then the rains
will return, and Neserea will be more powerful than Mansuur or Ranuak."
"There are a great many ifs there, ser."
"So there are… but you are the one who pointed out my limits. Why are you
so doubtful about my attempts to change them?"
"I remain your servant, my lord."
"Menares, you are no man's servant, not mine, nor even that of the
spymistress of Nordwei. So let us have no false modesty." Behlem raises
his goblet dramatically, but little of the wine actually passes his lips.
"Ser…"
"You are leaving with a detachment of lancers in the morning. I won't be
far behind you." Behlem pauses. "And Cyndyth won't be that far behind
either of us. Nor Rabyn. Nor the couriers from Mansuur."
"Yes, ser." Menares looks at the goblet before him on the white linen
cloth, but does not lift it.
49
We need to go riding," Anna insisted.
"We?" asked Daffyd.
"I need to go riding, and you need to guide me and keep me out of
trouble," Anna said with a laugh, before lowering her voice and adding,
"And Dalila needs us out of her hair."
"Oh…"
"Is there anything else you need to do with the lutar right now?"
"The glue has to set."
"How soon before it's ready to use?" she asked.
"It needs at least a coat of varnish. Might be as I could get some from
Pelnmor. Say… a few days to dry after that."
"We can't stay much longer." Anna frowned. "Or I can't. Perhaps I can pay
my respects to Lord Hryding in the next day or two." She broke off as
Dalila carted Ruetha into the main room.
"Young woman… I cannot set you down for a moment, and you are in the dirt
pouring dust in your hair." Dalila set her daughter on the tabletop with
a thump.
Anna wanted to laugh. Mario had been the same way— into everything all
the time. It was funny, and it wasn't. Instead, she asked, "We're going
out for a while. Is there anything else we could get you?"
"Lady Anna… you are the guest. You brought so many things yesterday…"
"You have been kind and hospitable to a stranger in a strange land…" Anna
tried to conceal a wince. That phrase—hadn't it been the title of one of
those damned science-fiction books Avery had buried his nose in when
she'd tried to talk to him? Avery—Antonio Marsali, the great culture
king, who read more science fiction than opera librettos, and she was the
one living it. The irony was almost too much.
Dalila shook her head. "If only more ladies were as you—" She lurched for
her daughter, who was inching toward the end of the table. "No, Ruetha.
You will be the death of me."
"She is lively," Anna commented.
"Like the sun is bright." Daffyd laughed.
Dalila gave a rueful grin as she picked up her daughter again. "We need
to make bread. You can make a little loaf all by yourself."
Anna's mouth watered at the idea of bread. Why was she always thinking
about food and eating?
"Can I?" came the childish question.
"Yes," answered Dalila.
"Are you certain we cannot get you anything?" Anna asked.
"Not today. I must cook what we have." Dalila smiled over her shoulder.
"And let Ruetha bake her bread."
Anna pulled on the now clean floppy-brimmed hat, and the player and the
sorceress walked out to the rear stables.
Again, the late-morning sun had turned Synope into a dry, hot oven.
Farinelli whinnied as Anna approached.
"Thirsty? Hungry?" she asked, although there was some grain in his
manger. The bucket had some water, but Anna walked to the well for more,
which she orderspelled before pouring into the horse bucket.
"Why must you offer so much to Dalila? Madell has not been kind to you."
Daffyd led the gray mare out into the sunlight that seemed unending.
"I haven't been kind to him, either, I suppose." Anna tightened the
second cinch, straightened up, and untied the leads.
"You cursed him with kindness, did you not?"
"I forced him to be kind to Dalila."
"He has not always been kind. So that is good."
"I don't know." Farinelli whuffled as Anna climbed into the saddle. She
patted his shoulder. "Don't be so eager. Before long, you'll get plenty
of exercise." Then she turned to Daffyd as they rode out of the yard.
"People don't change, and one thing leads to another. I protect myself
from Madell, and he gets angry at Dalila and wants to hurt her. I stop
that, but that doesn't make him less angry. Will he beat his horse?
Someone else?"
Neither spoke as they rode to the end of the lane, and Anna turned the
gelding back toward the center of Synope.
The fine dust rose with each step the gelding took, rising in the still
hot air and hanging for an instant, then clinging to Farinelli's legs,
while some rose enough to irritate Anna's nose.
"Does it ever rain here?"
"Not unless it comes from the north, or sometimes the south. The rains
used to come mostly from the east, and the dark ones—"
"—stopped that," Anna finished.
"What do you know about Lord Hryding?" asked Anna.
"He's supposed to be fair, but he's never gotten along well, so they say,
with either Lord Barjim or his uncle who used to be Lord of Defalk."
"That's a barrel-maker's?" asked Anna as they rode past the shop with the
half barrel mounted above the partly open door.
"That's old Fesrik's. He's some sort of cousin of Madell's. Dalila said
he's been the only cooper in town since the drought began."
As they rode westward, Anna studied the center of Syn-ope, more carefully
now that she was more rested. "What's the stone platform for?"
"Used to be where they made announcements on market day, or where
traveling dramaturges performed. Most towns have platzes, but market days
haven't been much lately, and no one can spare coppers for a dramaturge
or a troupe."
"And Yuril's? What does he sell?" Anna guessed that the green sign
signified something for sale, although she didn't know what the crossed
candles meant.
"Some of just about everything. Most chandleries do. Leather goods,
travel food, bedrolls, candles, of course…"
"What's to the south?" Anna gestured to her left.
"That leads to the bridge, the one over the Synor River, and the road to
Sudwei. Sudwei is at the north entrance to the South Pass. That's the
only real trade road left to Ranuak."
Anna struggled, trying to fit Sudwei into her mental map of Defalk. "You
mentioned some lord there once?"
"Geansor. He was crippled in putting down a peasant uprising. They say
the leaders were paid by those women in Ranuak." Daffyd shrugged. "I
would not know, but I guess he had to be most careful in balancing
between Barjim and the matriarchs, especially since he cannot ride or
lead his levies."
Anna wanted to shake her head. Did it always come down to military
ability?
50
Just after mid-morning Anna and Daffyd rode west past the center of
Synope toward the Synor River—and Lord Hryding's holding. Although it was
far earlier in the day than when she and Daffyd had first entered the
town, or on their previous rides, the town center still looked nearly
deserted.
A single horse stood outside Yuril's, and two women crossed the square
from the Cup and Bowl, wearing hats with brims wider than Anna's as
protection against the endless sun. Each step they took raised a puff of
the fine red dust.
Anna patted Farinelli and could feel the long tail swish behind her,
seeking one of the infrequent flies that bit hard enough to draw blood.
Anna involuntarily raised her hand to brush the unseen insect from the
vicinity of the back of her neck.
She shifted her weight in the saddle. With each hour— or glass—the past
days had felt more and more confining, as if an unseen noose, or
something, were being tightened around her. The mirror images of the four
seeking her hadn't helped that feeling.
His nose itched, and she rubbed it gently.
A yellow dog lay in the shade of an empty water barrel beside a vacant
dwelling, its shutters askew. The dog barely looked up as the two rode
past.
"Will the lutar be ready tomorrow?" Anna asked.
"You ask every day, but… yes, it will be ready." Daf-fyd paused. "What it
will sound like—that I do not know."
"I don't, either, but let's hope it's halfway melodic… and loud."
"Why are you going to see Lord Hryding? I asked before, and you did not
say."
"Call it politics," Anna explained.
"Is that another one of your strange magics?"
"I wouldn't call it magic, but it is an art, one at which I haven't been
as good as I should have been." She looked westward. "Is that it?"
From a distance, the building on the low hill overlooking the river
resembled an Italian or Mediterranean villa, with blank white walls that
appeared to surround a central courtyard.
"Yes, and the banner says that he is home."
As they rode nearer, Anna could make out a low wall, slightly less than
three yards tall, which circled the hall.
Less than a dek farther along, a side road led to a gate in the wall—less
than a few hundred yards from the main road. The unguarded iron-bound
wooden gates were hinged open, and did not look as though they had been
closed in years.
Halfway up the hill on the right side, they passed an orchard similar in
layout to that of Brill's except the trees were those Anna had seen on
the way into Synope.
"Olive trees?"
"That is what Dalila told me."
On the southern side of the road was a long wooden shed, and in the shade
several chickens pecked at the ground. Farinelli whuffed and tossed his
head slightly.
"They're only chickens." Anna patted the gelding.
About fifty yards short of the white-walled villa, a hitching rail had
been provided under a slanted tiled roof, with a stone water trough
beneath as well. A curved stone path ran from the roofed area toward the
hall or villa.
Anna reined up, dismounted, and tied up Farinelli near the middle, where
it would remain shady as the day progressed. She patted his shoulder.
"You stay here. You get water, anyway." After extracting the mandolin
from the left saddlebag, Anna started up the walkway, and Daffyd hurried
to catch up to her.
A young and stocky armsman watched from beside the covered archway that
was presumably the entrance to the villa. There were no windows on the
ground level, and but a few on the second level, all with heavy shutters.
The third level had a number of windows, and several were even open.
The other concessions to defense or the violent nature of Liedwahr were
the thick walls and the crenelated parapets above the walls, although the
highest point on the villa walls could not have been more than ten yards
above the ground in front of the arched entrance.
The two heavy and iron-banded doors to the archway were open, and the
single armsman in a pale green tunic stood in the shade of the curved
roof that projected out from the archway that held the doors.
Anna let Daffyd take the lead.
"This is the lady Anna. She is a sorceress here to pay her respects to
Lord Hryding," Daffyd announced.
"You don't exactly look like a lady," observed the guard. "These days
everyone wants to see Lord Hryding."
Daffyd frowned. "Give him a spell."
The armsman did not quite smirk.
"Are you thirsty?" Anna asked. "Would you like some cold clear water?"
"Sure, and how will you deliver it? With that little sound box?"
Anna strummed the mandolin.
"Since now he's faced this duty's waste
without of a taste of cool, clear water,
shower him now with water cold and clear…"
The equivalent of several gallons of freezing water cascaded over the
armsman.
Anna stepped back, and began to sing the repulsion spell even before the
guard stepped forward.
He bounced almost against the stones.
"Now…" Anna said sweetly, "I could have turned you into a flame, but I
didn't. Do you think I'm a sorceress or not?"
"Calmut!"
Anna looked up. A silver-headed man, dressed in pale green, with a broad
smile on his face, leaned out of the parapet above.
"Yes, ser?" The guard looked up.
"I would be most happy to receive the lady. I also think you need to help
Sestor muck the stables later. I appreciate your checking on the lady's
abilities, but I have to question your brains in trying to attack after
she proves them." The green-clad lord added, "And I appreciate your
forbearance, lady. Loyalty is hard to find these days."
Calmut stepped aside, then opened the door, his lips tight. "Take the
stairs there, all the way to the top."
As Anna and Daffyd started up the wide stone stairs, the guard slowly
retreated to the front door, shaking his head, and the water from his
hair.
The silver-haired lord waited at the top of the steps, a smile upon his
tanned face. "I am Lord Hryding."
Anna bowed. "I am Anna, and this is Daffyd." She felt that Hryding was
honest, though she couldn't have said why.
"Let us go out to the roof garden, and you can tell me why you have
chosen to honor an old man." Hryding gestured down a short arched hallway
that showed greenery and sky at the end.
Anna stepped out of the arched corridor into relative coolness and shade.
An awning stretched from above the arched doorway out to the roof garden,
and a round-faced woman with frizzy, henna-colored hair sat at the round
wooden table under the awning. She was younger than Hryding, in her early
thirties, or younger, Anna judged, since life was obviously harder in
Liedwahr than on earth.
The garden behind the table where the woman sat was small, four yards
wide and a dozen long, bordered by brick-edged flower boxes filled with
red and pink blooms, and containing several small palmlike trees.
Anna looked around. The third level of the hall consisted of rooms
opening onto a tiled terrace that encircled and overlooked the central
courtyard. Each room had both shuttered windows and a louvered
door—probably for ventilation. Beyond the edge of the garden was a
waist-high wall that also followed the terrace all the way around the
hall's upper level, providing a barrier between the terrace and the
two-story drop-off to the courtyard below. Some trees growing up from the
courtyard's lowest level protruded above the wall, and a hint of moisture
suggested to Anna that the lower courtyard might have a fountain.
"This is my consort Anientta. Dear, this is the lady Anna, and her player
Daffyd."
"You are young," said Anientta, nodding her head politely. "What brings
you to Flossbend?"
Hryding picked up a small bell and rang it gently. "Please be seated." He
gestured to the chair beside Anientta, then looked at Daffyd and nodded
toward the empty seat on his consort's right.
Anna slipped into the curved wooden armchair, surprisingly comfortable
despite its lack of upholstery. "Thank you." She turned to Anientta. "I
am new to Liedwahr, and I wanted to pay my respects."
"New to Liedwahr…" mused Hryding. "Your words do have an odd flavor to
them." He took the chair across the table from the three, looking up as a
slim youth in a sleeveless pale green tunic and matching trousers
appeared. "Nerio… some of the cold berry juice, if you please, for all of
us."
The youth bowed and turned, then headed back through the archway.
"From where have you come? Far Sturinn? Or the Western Isles? Or cold
Pelara? You look Pelaran with that blonde hair." Anientta smiled
indulgently.
Anna forced herself to return the smile, even though she disliked the
other woman's condescending tone, "Much farther…"
"She is a sorceress," suggested Hryding. "I had to laugh when she doused
poor Calmut with ice water. He was so angry he tried to jump her, but
Lady Anna was merciful. She just bounced him back a few paces."
Anientta's frown was brief. "A sorceress? Are you perhaps looking for a
patron?''
Anna shook her head. She hadn't even answered the last question. "No. I
am very new here. Do most sorcerers or sorceresses have patrons?"
"Some sorcerers do," Hryding said. "Most sorceresses do. I think the Lady
Peuletar was the last independent sorceress, but she died when I wasn't
much more than a boy. Lord Brill, the harmonies rest his soul, was
independent…" His words stopped, and his eyes sharpened. "I am
unintelligent. Are you the sorceress who was at the Sand Pass battle?"
Anna nodded.
"Is it true that you were summoned from the mist worlds?"
"Yes," Anna admitted. "You can see why I am not familiar with the customs
of your world."
"It was said that you perished with Lord Brill."
"I had some difficulty,'' Anna said, hating to admit the weakness, "and
Daffyd carried me out." She paused as the young server Nerio appeared
with a tray, a pitcher, and four goblets.
As Nerio filled the pewterlike goblets, Hryding cleared his throat and
lifted a goblet. "Would you honor us with your presence here at
Flossbend, Lady Anna, for a few days?"
"I appreciate the offer, Lord Hryding, but it might be best if I did not
impose upon your hospitality—not for long, anyway."
Hryding's face clouded, and he half lowered the goblet.
"I do not wish to offend you," Anna said. "But so far almost every lord
who has offered me hospitality for any lengthy period is dead." That was
true. Although Anna doubted she was exactly the reason, she felt staying
at Flossbend would not be a good idea with Anientta's unspoken hostility,
although the lord's offer was certainly tempting, especially given the
strain created by Madell.
"Surely, one day would not cause great problems?"
"For a day or so I would be most pleased and honored," Anna said, "but
more than that would trouble my conscience."
"We should begin with a midday meal, then."
Anna grinned. "That would be no problem, and I deeply appreciate your
warmth and hospitality."
Again, Anna caught the tinge of irritation or anger from Anientta.
Hryding lifted the bell, and before the echo had died away, Nerio had
reappeared.
"The midday repast for all of us, and the children, and Gestatr and our
guests. Tell Gestatr that I would greatly appreciate his presence. We
will use the west awning."
Nerio nodded and slipped away.
Anna wondered what other people were hidden away— guards and the like.
"How do you find our land?" asked Anientta pleasantly.
"Hot… very dry," Anna said. "I am told that the dark ones have caused the
dryness."
"So say the sorcerers, and, I must admit, I do not recall any years since
my boyhood that were as dry as the last four or five," Hryding said
slowly. "It is hard to believe that they have such power."
"They do," replied Anna, thinking of the massive storm clouds and the
lightnings that had smashed the fort.
"How is it—" began Hryding.
"And the people, what of them?" asked Anientta. "Are we so different?"
"I have not met that many people besides sorcerers, players, and armsmen,
but those I have met seem like people anywhere." Anna turned to Hryding.
"You were asking, lord?"
"Oh… it will wait." The older man smiled pleasantly.
"Are you really from the mist worlds?" asked Anientta.
"Not all of them, if there are more than one. My planet is called earth."
"You were a sorceress there, also?" pursued Anientta.
"Sorcery is not quite the same there, but, yes, I used singing to make my
way."
" 'Make your way'… that is an odd way of saying it. Are not sorcerers
respected there?" Anientta raised an eyebrow.
"Sorcerers and sorceresses are not as powerful as the technology wizards,
not in my land," Anna said carefully. "Our worlds are very different in
that way. The technology wizards build steel birds… that carry hundreds
of men thousands of leagues in the air, or they can destroy whole cities
in the blink of an eye."
"Could not you have brought such magics here? Rather than uncertain
sorcery?" asked Anientta.
"Such technology magic does not work here. I brought a few things, but
they are useless." Anna forced a smile, repeating, "Our worlds are
different."
Anientta opened her mouth, then closed it as a square-faced man with
short-cut black hair walked up and stopped short of the table. His
leathers were worn, but clean, and he wore a pale green sash. A blade
hung from the left side of his worn and broad belt, matched by a knife on
the right. "You sent for me, lord?"
Hryding rose. "I did. Might I present you to the lady Anna? This is my
captain Gestatr."
Anna stood also. She had seen the man before, although she did not know
where, but it had to have been at the Sand Pass fort, since it could have
been nowhere else.
"Lady." Gestatr inclined his head.
"Captain. Did I see you at the Sand Pass?"
"Yes, lady." Gestatr looked at Anna. "Lady… you are the same… and
different, but I cannot say how."
"Battles have a way of changing things," Daffyd suggested.
"That they do, master player. That they do." The captain slipped into the
chair that Nerio had brought. "But the lady appears… more rested…
younger."
Anna and Hryding sat down.
"You were in charge of Lord Hryding's forces…" ventured Daffyd.
Gestatr glanced toward the lord, then nodded. "There were not many of us
there. Synope has one of the lower calls." He laughed, almost bitterly.
"That was what saved us. We were marshaled above the stables, to provide
assistance to larger groups. Afterwards, Captain Firis—he was some lord's
captain—just told us to head home, that our lord would need us in the
days to come." Gestatr laughed. "So we did. No one seemed to want us, and
there wasn't much point in throwing away less than twoscore lives."
"Your call was only twoscore?" asked Anna. Lord Jecks had been required
to bring ten times that.
"Unhappily… no. We had fourscore. Twoscore is what I brought back, and
reckoned us lucky for that after the thunderbolts and the Ebran archers."
Nerio reappeared. "The table is ready, ser."
"Good." Hryding stood.
So did everyone else.
Anna and Daffyd followed the lord and his lady out from under the high
awning and into the sunlight, along the terrace wall. Gestatr walked on
Anna's left.
In the courtyard below was a central plaza surrounded by a miniature
park, with grass, trees, flowers, and the fountain Anna had predicted.
The group walked halfway around the upper level of the hall until they
stood under a second awning almost directly across the courtyard from
where they had been sitting. The long table, covered with a pale green
cloth, was set for seven, a place at the head, and three on each side.
Hryding stopped behind the head chair and gestured to the place at his
left. "Lady Anna." Then-to the place beside Anna. "Ser player."
"The children?" asked the lord, still standing.
"I hear them," answered Anientta.
The ubiquitous Nerio arrived, following a boy and a smaller girl, almost
as though the servitor were a rear guard.
"This is Kurik." Anientta smiled at the sandy-haired boy. "He's ten. His
older brother Jeron is out riding with my sire today."
Kurik was a square and stocky boy with a too-round face and a spoiled
look about him that Anna didn't like. His smile was perfunctory, and his
bow more so.
Standing at the corner of the table was a petite red-haired girl with
bright green eyes. Like her brother, she wore a pale green armless tunic,
trimmed in silver, and trousers. She was barefoot, while Kurik wore
boots. That bothered Anna. So did the fact that Kurik plopped himself
into his chair beside his mother's place without even a glance at either
his father or mother.
"This is Secca. She is my youngest." Anientta's smile was marginally
tighter.
The redheaded girl nodded, and bowed to her father.
"You may sit," Hryding said. "Everyone… please."
Anna was glad of that. She'd not drunk much of the berry juice, and her
head hurt. Hunger did that to her, and she'd been a lot hungrier of late,
a lot hungrier. She slipped into the high-backed wooden chair, following
Hryding's example.
Secca reminded Anna of Elizabetta, and the sorceress's eyes filled. Anna
swallowed, and looked down. "She's precious…" the sorceress said huskily,
and looked down.
"You are upset by a child?" asked Anientta, drawing her chair up to the
table.
"No—not upset, not that way. I was summoned here… and my children… they…"
Anna tightened her lips and shook her head. Battles she could handle, and
lecherous men, and riding, and wounds—but not children.
"You are so young… so very young."
Anna ignored the condescending tone and blotted her eyes, hating herself
for revealing the pain. "My oldest daughter would have been almost as old
as you, Lady Anientta. My son is twenty-four, and my youngest daughter,
who looked like… Secca here… she is eighteen."
Hryding was the one to swallow. "Even for a sorceress… that is hard to
believe… Your seeming youth…"
"The price was high. Very high, and it wasn't even my choice." Anna
looked down at the neatly arranged apple slices on the plate at her
place, then toward Secca.
Hryding and Anientta glanced toward Daffyd.
"She did not seek it. Somehow it happened when Lord Brill died and the
darksingers were trying to bring down the fort. Lady Anna destroyed the
darksingers close to the fort and almost half the Ebran armsmen before
she could do no more." Daffyd offered a shrug.
"I thought sorceresses could do anything they wanted," Secca announced.
"Oh, how I wish…" Anna smiled at the girl. "You do look like Elizabetta."
"Elizabetta—that's a pretty name. Is she pretty?"
"She is, just like you are."
Secca blushed.
"Ahh…" Gestatr cleared his throat. "I did see part of that, Lady
Anientta. The sorceress stood on the open battlements and threw her own
whips of fire at the Ebrans. She destroyed more than half their forces.
That's why we got away after they crushed the walls. They had to bring up
reinforcements from deks back." He nodded toward Anna. "I saw her fall.
That's why I thought they'd felled her."
"I did fall," Anna said.
"But why, if you are so great?" asked Anientta.
Anna wanted to flame the bitchy lady, who seemed determined to put Anna
down with every word.
"It's like a horse, or a runner, that gallops at full speed. That's
sorcery," Daffyd explained. "You run too long, and you fall. Sometimes,
sorcerers die from trying to do too much. Lady Anna was trying to hold
back the Ebrans by herself after Lord Brill died. She killed so many that
the moat was filled with bodies, but the dark ones kept coming." The
player shivered.
"You must be the most powerful sorceress ever," said Secca.
"I don't think so, young lady." Anna smiled again at the girl.
Nerio had moved silently from one diner to the next as they talked,
filling the goblets, pewter like the ones that had held the berry juice,
with a dark red wine. The two children got splashes of wine, and a second
set of goblets filled with the berry juice.
"To our guests," offered Hryding once the goblets were filled.
Anna took the smallest sip of the wine, then a slightly larger one after
she realized that it was decent, not vinegary like Brill's.
Hryding broke off a chunk of bread, lighter, ryelike, and passed the
basket to Anna. She took some and passed it across to Anientta.
"Surely, you could do good works here, Lady Anna? Would not a patron make
your life more secure?" asked Hryding.
It probably would, but not with your consort's attitude toward me, Anna
thought, saying instead, "Right now, Lord Hryding, most of what I know is
how to destroy, and a number of powerful people are seeking me. Some have
already tried to kill me."
"She took a war arrow through the shoulder several weeks before the
battle for the Sand Pass," Daffyd announced.
"You are more durable than you appear," Hryding said. "Or enchantment
covers your wounds."
"They've healed—with some help."
Hryding raised his eyebrows.
"I know some ways to make healing… antiseptics… and Lord Brill… provided
some help."
"Darksong is dangerous, it's said," mused Gestatr.
"He seldom used it," Daffyd said. "But he felt the Lady Anna would be of
great help — otherwise, why would the dark ones have tried so hard to
kill her?"
"I saw why," added Gestatr. "I doubt that the dark ones have ever taken
such losses."
"So… why are you here?" asked Anientta.
"Where else would I go?" countered Anna politely. "Mencha was about to
fall to the dark ones, and I know no one else in all of Liedwahr, except
for people who died in the battle. Daffyd's sister has been kind enough
to guest me."
"You intend to stay here… ?" Anientta raised her eyebrow again.
"No. I had thought to head back to Falcor." Anna realized how lame her
words might sound, and tried to strengthen them. "I would like to stop
the dark ones. They need to be stopped."
"Why do you not wish to return home… to your children?" asked Anientta, a
skeptical tone in her voice. "You are, still, a mother."
"I would like that—except that I cannot send myself home, and no one I
have yet encountered knows how. Some claim it cannot be done at all."
Anna shrugged. "And if the dark ones win, I have been led to believe that
there will be no way to return."
"You cannot send—"
"Anientta," said Hryding firmly, "even I know that the most basic rule of
sorcery is that a sorcerer—or a sorceress—can do nothing to affect
herself directly. Now that Lord Brill is dead, there are no other
powerful sorcerers in Defalk or anywhere close. Lady Anna's choices are,
perforce, rather limited."
"What would you hope to find in Falcor?" Gestatr's voice was openly
curious.
That is a damned good question, Anna thought., What do I think I'll find
there? "I do not know." She offered a rueful smile. "Except that I feel I
must."
Hryding nodded slowly. "Sometimes, what we feel is indeed what we must
do." Then he smiled. "Enough of this serious stuff. Pass the meat!"
"Might I have more berry juice?" asked Secca, squirming ever so slightly
in her chair across the table from Anna and Daffyd.
"That could be arranged," laughed Hryding, nodding at Nerio, who eased
toward the little redhead.
Anna studied the girl's open face, thinking about how long it had been
since Elizabetta or Mario—or Irenia—had been that young. Irenia… why
Irenia? Why any child or young person?
And why was she getting more and more deeply involved in a war in a place
she'd never even heard of—or dreamed about? Why her?
Anna the sorceress took a sip of the wine, only a sip, and mellow as it
was, the vintage tasted bitter.
51
The faintest breeze ruffled the roof awning, and Anna looked up toward
the end of the garden where Anientta worked on something that seemed to
be cross-stitch. The lady of Flossbend never looked at Anna, but the
sorceress felt a constant scrutiny.
Anna laughed silently. Let Anientta scrutinize. Anna hadn't the faintest
interest in Hryding, except that he seemed a decent sort in a place where
decency was a luxury. Then her eyes went to the little redhead across the
table from her.
Secca stared intently at the game board, then picked up two of the black
stones and placed them in adjacent slots in the lattice to Anna's far
right. "There!"
Vorkoffe was similar to the box game Anna had placed in college, where
whoever got the most boxes completed won, but in Liedwahr the object was
to distribute stones by twos. Five stones completed a lattice.
So far Anna was holding her own. She'd lost the first several games, but
had won the last, not that winning or losing was any great gain or loss,
but she hated to seem incompetent.
Anna spread her two stones, placing them in the lattices at the opposite
corners of the board.
"I don't like it when you do that, Lady Anna." Secca said, with a hint of
a pout.
"No pouting." Anna laughed. "Do you know that when I was your age, every
time I started to pout, or stick my lip out… do you know what my mother
said?''
"What?" Secca grinned. "That must have been a long time ago," she added.
"She said that she could ride my lip all the way to town."
Secca laughed. "Was your mother blonde? Only people from Pelara are
blonde."
"She wasn't blonde. She had reddish brown hair, and she was from a place
called Cumberland, in the mountains."
"Oh… here's father."
Anna turned her head.
Hryding stood in the archway, his eyes nickering from Anna to Anientta,
and then back again. Finally, he walked over, a scroll rolled tightly and
held in his left hand. "Secca… I need to talk to the lady Anna for a
moment. It will only be a moment."
"Promise?"
"I promise, little one." Hryding laughed, and Secca scampered toward
Anientta.
"I beat her, Mommy. I beat the lady Anna!"
Anientta set down her needlepoint.
"Have you ever played Vorkoffe before?" Hryding asked.
"No, but I'm learning."
"I have just received a message—or a proclamation." said Hryding wryly,
"from the self-styled Prophet of Music, Lord Behlem."
"Oh?" Anna's stomach tightened. If Daffyd had been correct, Behlem was
one of those seeking her.
The awning fluttered lightly in a breeze that died almost immediately.
"Some of it applies to me…" The Lord of Synope's words faded as he
unrolled the parchment and began to read.
" 'All lords, regardless of past acts or loyalties, are requested to
accept the sovereignty of Neserea as necessary to protect their lands and
lives from the depredations of Ebra. Lords are requested to offer their
levies and trained armsmen to the Prophet of Music, as they would have to
the former Lord of Defalk…' " Hryding paused, then commented, "A very
polite way of saying that we can keep what we have if we support his
claim to Defalk. The next part is the one of interest to you."
Anna waited.
" 'Further, it is also requested that the sorceress known as the lady
Anna also offer her loyalty, and with that loyalty from henceforth her
standing as a lady of Defalk and Neserea is recognized and affirmed, and
none shall impede her in her travels to Falcor or in the performance of
her duties in support of the lands. Furthermore, any who impede, or
otherwise attempt discourtesy or harm, shall be considered as enemies of
the realms…' " Hryding cleared his throat and paused. "There's not much
more, except flowery words suggesting that Behlem will return Defalk to
its former glory and that we all should be grateful that he and his
armsmen have arrived to save us from the Ebrans."
"Can he?" asked Anna.
"Who knows? His consort is the daughter of the Liedfuhr of Mansuur, and
Behlem has more armsmen than anyone east of Mansuur, except for the
Norweians and, of course, the Ebrans. With his levies and those remaining
in Defalk— and you…" He shrugged.
The sorceress pursed her lips.
"Have you ever met the Prophet?" asked Hryding.
"I don't know who he is, except by title, and a brief glimpse in a
mirror," Anna admitted. "He and his sorcerers have been looking for me."
"I would judge that your value is high, higher than that of his captains
and advisors." The lord rolled up the scroll. "It appears that your
feeling about going to Falcor was correct."
"I didn't know," murmured Anna. "I just felt it."
"I'd not go against your feelings." Hryding laughed gently. "Or you,
lady."
"I don't know that I should just ride into Falcor, but I also wonder if I
have much choice."
"You're wise to be cautious." Hryding scratched the back of his silver
thatch. "I think we might both profit."
"Oh?"
"Please allow me to send at least a few armsmen with you."
"Your losses have been great," Anna said. "How could you spare them?"
"I am not being totally charitable, lady. If you arrive with my guards,
under my banner, then Behlem's armsmen will give your presence greater
credence. Behlem will also look more favorably upon us, I hope. That is
very important, since Synope is poor, and I could not oppose the Neserean
forces." He smiled. "You see. By helping you, I hope to help myself."
"Put that way, Lord Hryding, I would be pleased to accept some few
armsmen—but only a few."
"I had thought three. Two might be enough for you, but they will need to
return, and most ruffians will not attack three armed men."
"You are most generous."
"With this"—he raised the scroll—"I can see that your concerns about
remaining in Synope were well founded. Would tomorrow morning be too
early?"
"I think not," Anna said. Not with your consort following my every move.
"I will need to send a message to Daffyd."
"That can certainly be managed." He turned and raised his voice. "Secca.
You can finish your game."
"Are you done with your business?'' asked Anientta.
Anna winced at the sicky-sweet tone, but answered. "We were discussing my
departure tomorrow."
"The lady's presence has been requested in Falcor—by Lord Behlem,"
explained Hryding as he walked toward Anientta.
"How immensely flattering. His consort must still be in Esaria."
Anientta's teeth flashed.
"I wouldn't know," Anna said. "I've never met him. I've never met anyone
from… his land." She-couldn't remember the name of the country Behlem
ruled. Then she looked down as Secca dashed up.
"You aren't leaving so soon?" asked the little redhead.
Anna wondered if children ever just walked. "I'm afraid I must. Not until
tomorrow."
After reaching the end of the awning, Hryding slipped into the empty
chair beside his consort. "… might be some good out of all of this…"
"… do hope so, dear…"
Anna tried not to bristle at the condescending tone.
"Then we can play some more?" asked the redhead.
"We can,play some more." Anna agreed, conscious of how much she missed
Elizabetta.
52
After washing her hands and face, Anna glanced around the room—taking in
the wide wood-postered bed, the washtable with the delicately curved
legs, the small writing desk, and the two wide windows with inside
louvered shutters and outside solid shutters.
Like the cushion on the stool and the braided rug on the brown tile
floor, the coverlet on the bed, a coverlet she'd never needed, was pale
green.
She looked in the mirror above the washtable. The strange young face, too
thin somehow, framed with blonde hair that was getting too long, looked
back at her. Somehow, she was young—but she didn't look the way she had
when she'd first been young—and it wasn't just the hair. Her features had
retained a certain sharpness—fineness— character—something. The faded
green cottons looked good, if looser than when she'd first worn them.
Anna shook her head. Looking at yourself isn't going to help anything.
She still needed more spells—common, everyday things. She tried to figure
out one for "Mary Had a Little Lamb," saying the words until she had them
worked out.
"Anna had a dark green gown,
dark green gown whose cloth was strong and light
and everywhere that Anna went
the gown stayed pure and bright."
Did she want to try it? She shook her head. If it worked, then she'd have
to bring it with her. Besides, she'd have to be near some cloth or wool
or something, because, according to Brill, sorcery didn't create out of
whole cloth, but reshaped things.
Instead, she took out the stub of greasy pencil and crabbed the words on
the last sheet of paper left from those she'd taken from Brill's hall.
It was so easy to think that sorcery could solve her problems, but when
she actually got down to trying to create spells, it got harder. Was that
because sorcery effectively created absolutes, and life was seldom filled
with absolutes?
Thrap. The knock on the door was almost tentative.
"Yes?"
"Might I enter, lady?" asked Hryding.
"Of course."
The silver-haired lord stepped into the room and paused, leaving the door
wide open behind him. "I wanted to tell you that the armsmen are ready."
"I was just getting ready to come find you." Anna nodded toward the bags
on the floor.
"Your player has also arrived. He's waiting in the stable with my men."
Hryding glanced toward the door. "I did not realize you had packhorses."
"We picked them up after the battle," Anna said. That was true enough, if
misleading, but she did not want Hryding to think she was too powerful.
Sorceress or not, she was learning that using the local equivalent of
tactical nuclear weapons created as many problems as it solved, and
Hryding's armsmen would be far more effective and less disruptive in
getting her in to see Lord Behlem.
"You are resourceful."
"Lucky, I think," Anna said. "I appreciate and thank you for guesting
me." She added with a rueful smile, "Right now, there is little I can do
in return. I am afraid I am still an incomplete sorceress, good at
destruction and a few other things."
"If you go to Falcor with my armsmen as escort, Lady Anna, that will be
more than repayment." With a sardonic smile, Hryding stepped forward and
extended a small leather bag. "You clearly have not had time to gather
what you might need for expenses."
"You are too generous," Anna said, not taking the bag.
"There is little enough there for your trip, and you will be required to
pay any lodging costs for the armsmen. It would not be well for them to
pay for you."
"Thank you. I had not thought of that." Anna nodded, and accepted the
heavy bag. It seemed far too weighty, but just as Hryding would not be
stingy, out of self-interest, neither would he be overly generous, not
with Anientta looking over his shoulder. She slipped it into the belt
wallet.
"Also, here is a scroll. I would be indebted if you would present it to
Lord Behlem. It says that I will be most cooperative." Hryding snorted.
"As though I had any choice at all."
Anna slipped the scroll into one of the saddlebags.
"Let me escort you," said Hryding as Anna lifted the saddlebags.
Through the years with Avery, she'd felt like a gypsy, and as they
stepped out of the guest room, it seemed that even in a strange world,
she was still a gypsy, never getting settled anywhere before some other
circumstance, out of her control, sent her reeling in another direction.
The early-morning sky was bright and clear—as usual— with the sun's heat
already raising mirages on the fields she could see over the upper-level
walls to the west.
As Anna reached the stairs, Secca scurried up, still barefoot.
"I wanted to say good-bye, Lady Anna."
The sorceress looked down at the little redhead. "I'm glad you did,
Secca. I'm glad you did." She grinned. "Next time I might be better at
Vorkoffe." If I ever get a chance to play it again.
"You are good enough. You won the last game."
Secca threw her arms around Anna's legs. "Come back and see us, Lady
Anna."
"I'll try."
"Promise?"
"Secca, I will do the best I can, but we can't always do as we wish in
this world." Or in any other world, either. Anna bent over and awkwardly
hugged the girl.
"If you try really hard, you can," Secca observed.
"I'll try."
"Promise?"
"Promise," Anna conceded.
"Secca! Where are you?" Anientta's voice echoed across the upper terrace.
"I have to go." Secca gave a last shy smile, and dashed off as quickly as
she had come.
"She admires you," said Hryding softly as they continued down the stairs.
"I think she's special. I hope she stays that way."
"Lady?" Hryding paused at the foot of the steps, in the small entry hall
just inside the main-floor archway.
"Yes."
"If… if things go well for you… would you consider fostering Secca?"
"Me?" Anna was flabbergasted.
"I know it is presumptuous. Many foster their sons with other families,
but few consider daughters… Still…"
"Lord Hryding, if I ever can foster any child or young person, Secca
would certainly be one."
"Thank you."
Anna wondered exactly what she'd gotten herself into. Did she want to
raise another daughter? She tightened her lips at the recollection of
Kurik's smugness and insolence, and his shiny boots. Jeron, the one time
she'd seen him, had been even more insufferable.
Calmut looked steadily into the distance as the two walked from the hall.
Anna paused. "Calmut… I don't bite. I just won't be bitten."
"Yes, lady." The armsman's voice was exceedingly polite.
The sorceress wanted to kick him in the shins—or worse. Instead, she
added, "Calmut, there is always someone stronger, someone faster, someone
with more weapons. As long as you put your fate in strength, you will
fail."
"Yes, lady."
Anna gritted her teeth and said nothing.
As Hryding led the way to the stables on the south side of the
white-walled hall, the lord asked, "Why did you say that to Calmut?"
Anna held in a sigh, moistened her lips, and thought for a moment.
Finally, she said, "Lord Hryding, my world was once much as yours, and,
if I am truthful, some parts of it
still are. Often, men rule women by the virtue of brute strength…"
"You are taller and stronger than many men," Hryding protested.
"On my world, the men are larger and stronger. Many are over two yards
tall." Anna paused, then sighed. "I suppose what I think doesn't matter,
but I have a problem with brute force determining life. I know it usually
does, but what I don't understand is why people accept it so easily. Only
one person can be the strongest, and yet it seems that everyone thinks he
can be that person."
Hryding said nothing for several paces, and Anna wondered if she had
offended him deeply.
"When you say something like that, lady, I almost feel as though all Erde
shivers." The lord glanced up at the open stable doors. "Either the muses
of Harmony or the harpies of Discord sent you. I trust in Harmony, but
either way, after you, I fear, nothing will be quite the same."
"I'm one woman." Anna forced a gentle laugh.
"With the powers of Harmony behind you, I suspect." The silver-haired
lord returned her laugh.
Standing beside his gray mare and in front of the two mares serving as
packhorses, Daffyd nodded as they approached. "Good morning, Lord
Hryding, Lady Anna."
"Good morning, Daffyd," Anna responded. "You seem to have everything in
order."
The player nodded.
"Here are your escorts," Hryding Said as they reached the packed dirt
outside the stables. Three men in pale green tunics waited by the stable
door. Each bore a blade and a bow. Anna thought she detected mail under
the tunics.
"This is Fridric." Hryding nodded to a young black-haired man barely as
tall as Anna.
"Stepan."
The sandy-haired man bowed slightly to Anna.
"And Markan." Markan was in his late twenties, clearly older than the
others.
"Markan is the senior armsman," the lord continued, "and is familiar with
the route to Pamr and then to Falcor."
"I am pleased to meet you, Lady Anna." The slender, brown-haired armsman
bowed. His gray eyes twinkled. "I am led to believe that we will have an
interesting trip."
"I hope not," Anna said involuntarily.
Hryding made a sweeping gesture. "Lady Anna, I must leave, but I believe
all is ready, and I wish you well."
"Thank you, Lord Hryding, for both hospitality and advice."
As the lord retreated toward the hall, Anna stepped into the stables,
where Farinelli whuffled in his stall, unsaddled. Anna grinned to
herself. Somehow it didn't surprise her that no one had wanted to groom
and saddle the big gelding.
The sorceress fumbled around until she found a brush. She slipped inside
the stall and patted Farinelli's shoulder. "Are you terrorizing the
stable help again?"
Whuff!
By the time she had the gelding ready to ride and the saddlebags fastened
in place, Daffyd and the three armsmen were ready and waiting.
"I'm sorry." She led the palomino out of the stable into the sun. "It
takes me longer."
Anna glanced at the two laden packhorses, glad that Daffyd had been
willing to take care of those goods. She looked again. Each horse carried
a large bundle tied over the saddle.
"Lord Hryding insisted on supplying travel provisions." Daffyd confirmed.
"Where's the lutar? Did you finish it?"
"It's finished—in the brown canvas case there." Daffyd pointed to the
piebald mare.
Anna pulled her floppy-brimmed hat from her belt and adjusted it, then
mounted. As she started down the road to the hall gates, Markan rode on
her left, and Daffyd eased his mare up beside her on the right. The two
other armsmen fell in behind the pack mares.
The road toward Synope was empty, but bore recent hoofprints and wagon
traces.
"How fast do you wish to ride, lady?" asked Markan.
"I don't have that much experience with riding, but we made it from the
Sand Pass to Synope in a little over three days. Would that be fast or
slow?" Anna asked.
"That is a good pace," Markan reflected.-
"I can handle that." Anna paused, then added, "Before we leave Synope, I
need to make a stop to pay a debt. It's just east of the center of town."
"Lady…" began Daffyd.
"I have to." Anna said. "I wouldn't feel right about it." Even with what
she planned, she still didn't feel right, but didn't know what else she
could do.
Even before they reached the center of the town, Anna wore a fine coat of
dust, and her nose itched. She was squinting as they headed into the sun.
Several dozen individuals filled the central square of Synope as the five
rode past Yuril's.
"I haven't seen that many people here since we arrived."
"Market day," answered Daffyd.
At least a dozen faces turned toward the riders as they passed the brick
stand and headed toward the cooper's shop.
"That's her… the sorceress…"
"Warrens and spades… warrens and spades!"
"Looks almost like a girl."
"Say she's hundreds of years old… buried her grandchildren…"
"Get your spices here! Fresh spices from Mansuur!"
"Bet Lord Hryding's pleased to see her leave."
"Wager that Lady Anientta's even more pleased."
Anna had no doubts about the last.
"People hereabouts don't get that much chance to see a real sorceress,
lady," said Markan.
"They don't see much of anything." Fridric's voice drifted up from where
he rode beside the pack mares.
The white-haired cooper looked up and then away from the group.
Anna tried to rub her nose gently to stop the itching and keep from
sneezing, then guided Farinelli down the narrower lane toward Dalila's
house.
"That's the young miller's house," said Fridric.
"My sister is his consort," explained Daffyd. Anna reined up outside the
long and narrow miller's house, then dismounted. She handed Farinelli's
reins to Daffyd. "I won't be long."
"You don't—" he began.
"I do."
Dalila already had the door open before Anna reached it, and the pregnant
woman stood in the doorway with Ruetha on her hip.
Anna inclined her head. "I never had a chance to thank you properly,
Dalila, and I didn't want to leave Synope without seeing you."
"I only did for you as any friend of Daffyd's…"
"You were gracious and gave me a place to rest and sleep when I knew no
one," Anna said. "That kind of hospitality—it's rare on any world. What
I'm doing probably isn't proper, but it's all I can do right now." She
pressed the silver coins into Dalila's free hand. "These are for you."
"But I couldn't."
"Then keep them safe for the children. They might need them someday."
Anna paused. "And do not give them to Madell. They are for you and the
children."
"But why?"
"Because you offered hospitality to a stranger, because you trusted your
brother." Anna squeezed Dalila's hands, then released, them. "Because you
are a good person when you did not have to be good."
"The harmonies be with ye, lady," Dalila said softly. "Always."
Anna's throat felt thick, but she smiled and offered a head bow. "And
with you."
"Bye…" said Ruetha.
"Good-bye, Ruetha. Take care of your mother."
Anna swung back up onto Farinelli. Markan led her en-tourage back toward
the center of Synope to take the road north and west to Pamr.
"You did not have to do that," Daffyd said as they passed the cooper's
once more.
"I feel better about it." Anna flicked the reins, and Farinelli whuffed.
Sorcery was taking getting used to, and she was realizing that it wasn't
exactly what she had thought it would be. The circles under Brill's eyes
made even more sense now. As did her own thinning frame. She was
beginning to think she needed to eat more, but stuffing herself made her
feel like a hog and a glutton.
"How long to Pamr?" the player asked Markan.
"Three, four days, if the roads are clear," answered the older armsman.
"If the discordant Ebrans are still in Mencha."
Anna wanted to groan—not another four days in the saddle.
53
Anna took the lutar out of the crude canvas case, then sat cross-legged
on the bedroll on the low knoll where they had camped. They had stopped
at sunset, far enough west that the Ostfels had disappeared. In any
direction that Anna had looked all afternoon, she had seen only gently
rolling hills, some few covered with trees, but mostly just fields and
meadows. Many of the fields were clearly un-tended dry soil partly
covered by sparse flowers and weeds. In the gloom barely lifted by
Clearsong—that point of light in the west that was far brighter than
earth's evening star and far dimmer than earth's moon—she could see
Farinelli outlined against the stars. Glancing overhead and then to the
south, she made out the small reddish disk of the second moon—Darksong.
The moons were a discordant reminder that Erde was real. Never would Anna
have dreamed a dream with two moons—they were something Avery or Sandy
would have thought up.
She tightened the tuning pegs and then strummed the lutar's strings. The
tone was… different, not as tinny as the mandolin, but not as resonant as
she would have expected from a guitar.
"That's strange," Daffyd said. "Harsh, it is."
She wondered how he would have heard a true guitar, without the softness
that the gut strings provided.
"I thought sorcerers had to be separate from the music and the players."
Stepan adjusted his thin blanket on the dry grass that seemed to crackle
with each movement.
"I'm told that it works better that way." Anna frowned as she wrestled
with the stiff tuning peg. "Some spells it doesn't matter."
"Stepan," called Markan out of the gloom, "we need some help with the
tieline for the mounts."
"Coming." The sandy-haired young man bounced up and away from Anna and
Daffyd.
"Lord Brill said that it didn't matter with darksong," Daffyd whispered.
"You didn't tell me that before."
"I didn't know you could do darksong."
"I can?"
"Anything that affects living things has darksong in it. The spell with
Madell…" Daffyd's shrug was pronounced enough to be visible in the dim
moonlight and starlight.
Wonderful—she'd have a reputation as a dark sorceress before she ever got
to Falcor. "So now everyone will call me a darksinger?"
"Most sorceresses are considered darksingers, whether they are or not,
lady." Markan folded a blanket and sat down on it.
"Any woman with power is evil," Anna said wryly.
"Except in Ranuak, where men with power are evil. Or Nordwei, where both
men and women with power are evil. Or Ebra, where anyone in a dark robe
has power and is evil." Markan's boyish grin was wide enough to be
visible in the dim light.
A faint breeze swirled through the campsite, and for the first time since
dawn, Anna began to feel comfortable.
Fridric sat down next to Markan.
"Stepan?" asked Daffyd.
"He gets first watch, since we did most of the work on the tieline."
In the silence that followed, since Anna didn't feel like talking,
mentally she reviewed some of the spells she had developed—the repulsion
spell, the various burning spells, the looking-glass spell, the untried
spell to create a gown. Would a gown spell be considered darksong? All
the fabrics she knew came from something living—except polyester, and
somehow that didn't seem likely on Erde.
Anna tried the chording for the burning-spell song.
"That's not quite a melody, is it?" observed Markan.
"No. It's homophonic." Anna felt difficult.
Daffyd and Markan exchanged glances, but Anna kept working on the chords
and the tuning until she had the progression and the fingering the way
she wanted them.
Then she shifted to "Go Away from My Door"—her repulsion spell, but had
to stop after a handful of chords as the lutar slipped out of tune. That
was to be expected with new strings, but it was irksome to keep retuning.
After a time, Markan and Fridric lay down, and so did Daffyd.
Finally, she stopped struggling with the lutar and looked up at the cold
and unfamiliar stars. Was her sun, her earth, somewhere in those heavens?
Was her daughter looking at the same stars from somewhere else?
The stars blurred as her eyes burned with not-quite-shed tears. She put
the instrument back in its case and stretched out herself, the blanket
only across her waist as sleep slowly crept over her.
54
Anna stood in the stirrups, trying to stretch her legs and relieve the
tightness in the muscles above her knees. Either she wasn't riding the
way she should be, or everyone's upper legs were ready to fall off.
The road was a strip of dust rising from packed red clay five yards wide
and stretching from one low hill to the next. To her left was what had
once been an orchard, with over half the trees dead or dying. The stead's
house, visible a hundred yards back from the road, had a sagging roof and
empty, shutterless windows.
"Is it like this all the way to Falcor?" asked Anna.
"For the next day or so," said Markan, "until we get to the Chean River
valley. Lord Kysar built ditches from the river three years ago."
"Didn't the river dry up, too?" Anna brushed away a persistent fly, and
Farinelli's tail swished at the pesky insect.
"My legs are sore," mumbled Daffyd, from the gray mare to Anna's right.
"When do we stop for something to eat?"
"We stopped just a while ago." The senior armsman looked at Anna.
"We can keep going for a while." Anna took off the floppy hat and fanned
her face with it, then replaced it. Despite the long sleeves of the
shirt, and the hat, her skin was still getting burned by the endless sun,
especially the back of her neck.
"Good idea," said Markan.
Fridric and Daffyd both groaned. Anna glanced back. Stepan grinned and
shook his head at the sounds coming from the two youngest riders.
"About the river?" she prompted Markan. "Why hasn't it dried up?''
"It rises in the Ostfels, and the dark ones couldn't cut off the rain
there without hurting Ebra. Both the Chean and the Fal run lower now, and
there's been a spate of fights over the water. Lord Jecks had to raze
Lord Jurlt's hall two years ago." The armsman shook his head. "Wager
there's thousands fewer folk in Defalk now than five years ago, and more
leaving and dying each year. More dust storms with the great west winds."
Anna tightened her lips. Dust bowls because of natural occurrences were
one thing, but using magic to starve a land to death was another. Isn't
it?
"Can't we stop soon?" asked Daffyd.
Anna shook her head. If she could deal with it, the player could.
Her eyes strayed to the east, across barren, weed-filled fields and
another set of collapsing hovels. For some reason, the view reminded her
of the back roads of eastern Colorado, when she'd let Sandy navigate.
"Arms!" snapped Markan.
"What?" asked Daffyd.,
Stepan and Fridric pulled bows from their leather cases and strung them,
following Markan's example.
Anna twisted in the saddle and fumbled with the lutar case, extracting
the instrument more slowly than the armsmen had readied their weapons.
From the southwest a narrow trail joined the main road just past a long
row of waist-high bushes. Anna glanced back down the southern trail.
Three figures on horseback had reined up. The three appeared ragged and
bearded, and only one bore a bow. The burly rider in the center carried a
huge blade in a shoulder harness.
For a time the three studied the larger group, then turned their mounts
back south.
"I suppose this means we can't stop for a while," muttered Daffyd.
"Not unless you want to chance getting robbed or worse," said Markan
ironically.
Daffyd slowly took one leg from the stirrup and awkwardly massaged his
thigh as the gray mare plodded along, carrying him up yet another gentle
hillside.
"They'll bear watching," said Markan. "Might follow and try to take us by
surprise tonight."
"Not another night on the ground?" asked Daffyd, replacing his foot in
the stirrup.
"If we're lucky, we'll reach the waystop below Stendir." Markan snorted,
still turned in the saddle to watch the retreating bandits—if that were
what they were. "Halas is just ahead, and after that, there's Yrean, and
then Poskit. Even in the good years, they didn't have inns, and few live
anywhere near any longer."
"There haven't been many people on the road," Anna said. "Is that because
they all left?"
"Some. This isn't the main road to Sudwei, either. So we won't run across
traders. People are too poor to buy now."
Anna looked back, but the would-be bandits were cut off from sight as
Farinelli started down the far side of the slope. Ahead, the reddish dirt
strip stretched past another set of orchards, these apparently tended,
and toward another rolling hill.
"Might be we could rest at the crest of that next hill," suggested Markan.
"Good," mumbled Daffyd. "If I can stay on this beast that long."
Were they traveling that much faster than they had coming from the Sand
Pass? Anna wondered. Was she stronger because she was younger? Or was
Daffyd just bored by the endless and monotonous nature of the journey?
She wiped the sweat out of the corners of her eyes, then repeated the
acrobatics to replace the lutar in its case before she finally reached
for her water bottle.
55
Anna looked to the north, across rows of corn taller than Farinelli's
shoulders. The river valley was a lot more like Ames, flat and humid,
though much of the humidity had to come from the irrigated fields
extending away from both sides of the road that stretched ahead to the
flat western horizon. With the humidity and the greenery, it was hard to
believe that the drought-struck desolation of Mencha and Synope lay but a
few days ride behind her.
She brushed away another of the flies that had plagued mem from almost
the moment they had descended from the river bluffs on the east side of
the Chean River the afternoon before, even before they had forded the
wide brownish waters outside the little hamlet of Sorprat.
Farinelli swished his tail almost constantly as the five rode almost due
west under the noonday sun, and the flies continued to buzz and circle.
Anna readjusted her battered hat, then turned in the saddle. "How much
farther to Pamr?"
"Unless I miss my guess, that's it." Markan pointed to a brown-and-green
smudge on the horizon, where trees lifted above the greenery of the
endless crops.
"It is," Daffyd confirmed. "I was there a couple of years ago." He
shifted his weight in the gray mare's saddle, wincing.
"Are your legs still stiff?" Anna asked.
"They're stiff, and they've been aching since the first day. I don't know
how you manage."
Anna's legs hurt, too. It was almost torture to walk for the first few
steps whenever she dismounted, but she didn't see much point in talking
about it. What could anyone else do?
"Ouch…" The player swatted vainly at one of the flies. "They bite."
"Hard," Anna agreed. She had a few welts on her neck, and one on the back
of her left hand. "I wonder if we could find out what the dark ones are
doing? Or if the Prophet is going to attack them soon?"
"Or if the Norweians have bought both countries," suggested Daffyd.
"Might be a good idea," Markan said. "Can you use your sorcery?"
Anna frowned. "I could call up images, but I don't know how to get what
they say." She paused. "I also don't know who would give us that kind of
information. Sorcery doesn't do that. Not what I can do, anyway," she
added.
A gray blot on the road ahead slowly grew into the shape of a wagon as
they continued to ride west.
"Could we ask the drivers of that wagon?" Anna asked. "They might know
something."
"We can ask," Markan said. "They might just be local farmers."
By the time they neared the wagon—also headed west— the man beside the
driver had turned in the seat and had a bow ready.
"Off with ye!" snapped the driver. "We don't want trouble."
"Arms!" snapped Markan, and the guard lowered his bow in the face of the
three armsmen.
"We don't want your goods or anything else," Anna said, "except
information. And civility," she added sweetly. "Do you know how far the
Ebrans have marched?''
"Couldn't say. We only went as far as Sorprat. Some say they stopped at
Mencha." The driver spat onto the road, flicking the reins. "Not get us
out there again. Levies running everywhere, except for Kysar's. Some
captain had them in tow. Half decent, they were, but they marched back,
and the others, every time you looked around, some fool was trying to
grab something, even raw carrots."
"Some of them just drooled and plodded along," added the driver's guard.
"Have you heard about Lord Behlem?" asked Markan.
"Some say he's bringing in a regular army. Some say he's goin' to make
Defalk part of Neserea. Who cares? Just leave us and our horses alone.
One lord, another lord… don't make much difference."
As they rode around the wagon team and toward Pamr, Anna kept looking
back. So did Markan, until they were well beyond bow range.
"They weren't very friendly." Anna said.
"No wonder, if there are that many levies and armsmen wandering loose,"
said Stepan from where he rode behind the pack mares.
"It's bad. Probably get worse," Markan mused. "Be better to take the long
south road and then the river trail back."
"Why didn't we go that way?" the sorceress asked.
"It takes twice as long, and we didn't know which might be worse."
That made sense, especially in a world where rapid communications were
nonexistent. Anna kept from shaking her head, and instead looked at the
fields beside the road, now filled with what looked to be some form of
beans.
As she watched, a fat bird, like a golden pheasant, flapped out of the
grass between two fields, and across the road before them.
"Oh… for a net," said Daffyd. "The goldens are delicious."
"Best not say that too loudly, player. Most places they're reserved for
the lords." Markan laughed. "In the light of day, leastwise."
"Lord Brill said they belonged to those who caught them, but he punished
any who took the females or the chicks."
"Wise man," said Markan.
The more Anna traveled Defalk, the wiser Brill sounded—yet he had killed
Daffyd's father in cold blood. She shook her head. Would she seem like
that to others— if she survived?
A well-tended home, with a lane to a barn, stood on the north side of the
road. Two men struggled with shovels on an irrigation ditch beyond the
single-story house.
"KKhhhcheww!" Anna's whole body ached with the force of the sneeze. She
wiped her nose gently and blotted the involuntary dampness from her eyes.
She hated to sneeze like that.
Slowly, as they rode west, Pamr rose out of the fields, a wide clump of
tended trees, overshadowing houses and shops. Anna could see a second
line of trees running from the southeast to the northwest, marking the
turn of the river back toward the west just beyond the town.
The road remained dusty, and Anna tried to avoid rubbing her itching
nose, but she still sneezed intermittently, as did Daffyd and the armsmen.
On the right they neared a fenced field, and Anna smelled the cattle even
before she saw them.
A reddish stone stood on the left side of the road, proclaiming, Pamr—1 D.
"See?" exclaimed Daffyd.
Anna nodded, and kept riding, riding past the small huts and larger
homes, all white-plastered as in Synope, although the walls were more
reddish tan than white. Irrigation didn't do much for road dust, or any
other dust outside the fields.
While none of the houses in Pamr appeared deserted, many had a worn sense
to them. Was that just the nature of homes in a more primitive culture—or
was that because of the hard years? Anna didn't know.
Unlike the chandlery in Synope, the one in Pamr was freshly painted—blue
with white trim—and the sign read Forse. Beside the chandlery on the left
was a cooper's, and on the right was a narrow brick building without any
sign. Across the street was an inn—whitewashed with green trim, and a
sign bearing the picture of a green and well-endowed bull.
Anna reined up outside the chandlery and dismounted, glancing across the
empty street toward the Green Bull, where two bearded men watched. A
wagon creaked down the dusty street and swung into the inn's courtyard.
"Would you like us to come in?" asked Markan.
Anna shook her head. "I'm only going to ask directions."
She stepped inside the building, which reeked of leather and wax and
sweat, and looked at the long counter to the left, on which were
haphazardly piled items, including a mildewed bedroll, several sets of
water bottles, a saddle, and three open boxes of candles of varying
lengths.
"What would you like?" asked the stocky and unshaven man standing in the
dimness by the counter.
"Directions. Which way to Lord Kysar's hall?" Anna forced a pleasant
smile, not an alluring one, but one she hoped was businesslike.
The stocky man stepped forward. "Aren't you a beauty. Sure you aren't
looking for the River's Rest?" He leered.
"I'm looking for Lord Kysar's hall." Anna's voice was cold.
"Why you be looking for that? Old Kysar's dead, and some captain I never
heard of is holding it for his consort. Arrogant pup. Bet he'd like to
see the likes of you. Don't know as you'd like it, not the way those
captains are. Now… I could be real friendly." Another leer followed.
Anna tightened her lips, fighting back the temptation to use some spell
on the chandler, before asking, "It wouldn't be Captain Dekas, would it?"
"One's the same as the other." The leer faded, and the chandler's eyes
took in her riding clothes and the knife and truncheon. "You know that
captain?"
"I know some of the ones that were at the Sand Pass."
"Oh… a favorite, were you?" The leer returned.
"No. I was there." She couldn't say she was there to fight, for all that
she had killed.
"You confuse me, woman. You say you were there, and you don't wear a
blade, but you're not one of their women." The chandler scratched his
head.
"I'd still like to know—" Anna broke off and stepped back toward the
entrance as another man, taller and wiry, stood from a chair behind the
counter and moved toward her, cutting her off from the door.
"Get her… too good—"
Forcing herself to be calm, Anna slipped out the knife as she backed up
and began to sing,
"Go away from my soul;
Go away from my door;
Go away from my body;
and trouble me no more…"
Both men stopped, almost in their tracks.
Anna glanced toward the door, but the tall man had his dagger out. "Shit,
Forse… you picked a friggin' sorceress," he muttered, steadying himself
on the wall, but still blocking the exit from the shop.
The chandler laughed and reached for the bow that sat in the bracket by
his shoulder.
Seething, Anna swallowed, trying to clear her throat, and sang the second
song, as strongly as she could.
"Chandler wrong, chandler strong,
turn to flame with this song!"
As Forse flared into a pillar of fire, the tall man bolted out the door
he had blocked.
"No… aaeeiii…" The chandler groped for the bow, but the flames cascaded
over it as well.
Anna pushed back the door as it swung toward her, and staggered out into
the heat of the day.
"What happened?" asked Daffyd. "What did you do to him?"
"Are you all right, lady?" asked Markan.
"Let's go," Anna choked, tears streaming down her face, as she sheathed
the knife and climbed onto Farinelli, trying to ignore the shaking in her
legs. Why did so many men think that force was the only answer? Why was
she always having to use a violent form of sorcery just to stay alive? Or
enter a store with armed men at her back? She hated Erde! "I'm fine. I'm
fine. This… damned… world is the problem." She turned Farinelli back
toward the central crossroads two blocks south.
The two bearded men who had stood on the inn porch ran across the street,
skirting the armsmen and not looking at the group.
"Let's go!" Anna snapped. She wasn't about to stay around, not with
locals who might be offended that a woman had the nerve to defend
herself. If only she'd had more time . .'. but she hadn't, not with Forse
lifting the bow. The fire spell was all that had come to mind.
The others followed silently. All ignored the screams from the chandlery
that had died quickly.
"You are crying, yet you're angry." Daffyd cleared his throat as he drew
the gray mare up beside Anna and Farinelli.
"I am angry. I'm furious. I tried to be calm. I wasn't even trying to be
a sex object, and it was like they couldn't see it. One of them—when I
used sorcery to push him away—he wanted to kill me with a bow. So I had
to kill him, because I didn't have any other way to stop him."
"You could have run out the door."
"The other one had a knife, and he was in the way." Anna straightened in
the saddle. "Besides, I've run too many times, and I'm not running now.
But I'm angry. Are those my choices? Kill someone or run? Submit to some
dirty beast or kill him? Or scream for armed men so that they can use
force?"
"All men are not like that," Markan said.
Anna sighed. "No. You're right. They aren't, but there are a lot who are.
Too damned many."
"There are too many women who lie and scheme, I'd wager," Markan said
softly.
"No more than—" Anna stopped. What was the point of arguing about it?
Some men were violent. Some women schemed. Both lied, and it seemed as
though they all responded only to force, and she felt trapped between
them. She shook her head. "We need to find Lord Kysar's hall."
She turned Farinelli onto the road that led toward the river, and before
long they were on' the outskirts of Pamr, headed toward a stone-pillared
bridge. Anna saw no sign of a hall or extensive tended grounds, only an
older woman carrying two heavy bundles who trudged along the road. The
woman looked up warily as Anna slowed Farinelli.
"Where would I find Lord Kysar's hall?" .
"You're headed in the wrong direction, girl. He's out the north road.
Best be careful. There's a bunch of armsmen and some levies gathered
there." She looked at the arms-men. "You going to join them?"
"Not that we know of," Anna answered.
"That be good. Wish the old lord had returned. None of this nonsense.
Well, girl… don't just look at an old woman. You got places to go. So do
I."
"Thank you." Anna laughed, much preferring the older woman's approach to
that of the late Forse. She turned Farinelli, and they headed back
through Pamr, avoiding the chandlery. There was no smoke rising, and that
meant at least she hadn't destroyed the building with its chandler.
Lord Kysar's hall was more like Hryding's than Brill's, white-walled and
austere from without, with a lower wall around the immediate grounds.
Even from the road, it was clear that the hall was larger, with more than
a dozen outbuildings. The biggest differences were the dozens of tents
and the camped levies arrayed on each side of the road from. the wall
gate to the hall proper.
A sole sentry stood by the gate, a bow leaning against the dusty
stucco-plaster wall.
Anna rode up to the guard. "I'm the lady Anna. Could you tell me who the
captain is here?"
The soldier looked from Anna, then to Daffyd, and then to the three
armsmen and the pale green banner that Fridric bore. "What business is it
of yours? Whose banner is that?"
"The banner is Lord Hryding's," Anna said firmly.
The soldier looked doubtful.
"Your captain should be the one to deal with the lady Anna," suggested
Markan.
"That's right, boy," said a deeper voice. A grizzled armsman stepped out
of the shade of the gate arch and nodded to Anna, and then to Markan and
Daffyd. "This here sorceress killed a dozen score or more of them
dissonant Ebrans. I was in the fort tower, and I saw it all." The older
man bowed to Anna. "Not as I know your name, lady, but I owe you my life.
So's a lot of us. Captain Firis, he'll be glad to see you."
Anna wondered, but she only said, "Thank you. I don't know your name,
either. You may recall Daffyd. He was one of the players who helped
destroy some of the dark ones. Markan here is a senior armsman from Lord
Hryding in Synope."
The young guard still looked doubtful, his eyes traveling between the
older armsman and Anna.
"Look at the banner, lad." The older man turned back to Anna. "I'm Meris,
lady. You would be wanting to see the captain, would ye not?"
"I had thought it would be useful."
"Aye, and it might, with what we don't know, and all the tales that are
flying about. Follow me. His tent's up yonder. You keep the gate, lad."
The young sentry opened his mouth, and Anna glared at him. If one poor
sorceress and four men could disrupt a small army, then the army wasn't
worth much anyway. She guided Farinelli through the archway and after
Meris who strode briskly along the narrow rutted road.
A small awninglike tent stood beside the road leading up to an ancient
white-walled hall on a hill so slight it was barely a knoll.
"You wait here. I'll be announcing you," Meris stated.
As he marched toward the pair of guards outside the tent, Fridric
murmured to Stepan. "People know her."
"Would you forget her?" Stepan whispered back. Anna tried not to flush.
The young captain with the salt-and-pepper beard practically rushed from
the tent. Then he stood and looked at her. "Lady Anna… more beautiful
than ever." Firis bowed. "And more deadly, I wager."
"Angrier, anyway," Anna said, feeling somehow ashamed as she did.
"I had heard so many stories—that you had escaped, that you had fallen on
the wall holding back the Ebrans, that you had turned half their forces
into charred corpses…"
"Actually," the sorceress said, "in a way, all of those are true. I've
been recovering in Synope as the guest of Daffyd's family"—she gestured
toward the young violist— "and of Lord Hryding. Captain Firis, this is
Markan, representing Lord Hryding."
"You must be tired. At least, you could join me for some refreshments. We
do not have much, but you are more than welcome to what we have."
"Thank you." Anna swung off Farinelli and held on to the saddle for a
moment while her legs readjusted.
"You still have that beast?"
"He lets me keep him around." Anna smiled, then led the gelding a dozen
paces to the rough hitching rail, glancing up at the afternoon sun.
"I'll have water brought for your mounts." Firis turned to Meris. "Could
you see that the water detail brings some buckets here?"
"Yes, captain." "And thank you for escorting the lady Anna. Your name
is…?"
"Meris, ser."
"I'll remember that." Firis laughed. "And not the way most captains do,
armsman."
Meris smiled faintly.
"So will I, Meris," Anna added. "You've been helpful when many would not
be."
"Thank you, lady."
The armsman turned and left, not before a broad smile crossed his lips.
"You two fellows can refresh yourselves here." Firis gestured to Stepan
and Fridric, then led Anna, Markan, and Daffyd through the lower front of
the tent to a portico at the rear, open to a faint breeze on three sides,
where a portable table and a half dozen stools stood.
"I would offer you water, lady, but…"
"Bring some," Anna suggested, "and I'll cool it and purify it. Tired or
not, that I can do." She stood behind one of the stools, not ready to sit
again quite yet.
Firis motioned to a youth. "Some water and two clean pitchers. Also, a
jug of the better wine and some bread." He turned back to the three. "It
will be a moment."
After a moment of silence, Daffyd spoke. "Why would you say Lady Anna is
more deadly?''
"I saw what she did to the Ebrans." Firis tightened his lips and turned
back to Anna. "I am glad you were kind to me. You know, you are being
sought by the Prophet."
"I know. I don't like it. Lord Hryding showed me the proclamation."
"Yet you appear to be headed to Falcor." Firis stopped as the young
orderly reappeared with a grimy-looking bucket and two pitchers.
Anna winced. "Fill the pitchers first."
After the youthful armsman did, she sang the water spell, and immediately
moisture beaded on the outside of both the battered metal pitchers.
Anna's head pounded with the effort, but she said nothing.
"You amaze me," offered the captain, handing the first goblet to Anna,
who drank it all, then perched on the stool.
She waited for the others to drink before she refilled her battered
goblet and took several more sips. With the water alone she felt
refreshed, but her mouth still watered when the orderly reappeared with
two long loaves of bread.
None of the travelers said much until everyone had at least one
good-sized chunk of the bread.
"Would you be willing to tell me why you are here?" Firis finally asked.
"I felt that I needed to go to Falcor. I understood that the Ebrans are
in Mencha—"
"They are. They now hold the walled camp that Lord Brill created for Lord
Barjim." The captain shook his head. "What a waste."
"Then Lord Hryding received that scroll." Anna shrugged. "If I remain
long with anyone, they risk angering Lord Behlem. So… I thought it best
to go meet him. He says he'll oppose the Ebrans."
"I am certain he will." Firis snorted. "And how will we be any better off
under him than under the Evult of the dark ones?"
"From what very little I have seen," Anna said, "almost any ruler would
be preferable to the dark ones."
"Unhappily, you are on the mark." Firis sighed. "But choosing one's
slavemaster is not the best of situations."
Anna didn't have an answer for that. "What are you doing here?"
"I have been asked to support Lady Gatrune and Lord Kysar's son and heir,
young Lord Kyrun, and Lord Barjim was no longer available…" Firis
shrugged. "We all do what we must." He smiled. "I can offer you supper,
and I am sure that we can find a better place for you to rest here than
in Pamr. I suspect Lady Gatrune would be pleased to guest you, and I can
offer food and shelter to the rest of your party."
"That would be welcome," Anna said slowly. "Very welcome." She didn't
like separating from Daffyd and Markan, but if she didn't use and develop
any possible political advantages, her career and life in Liedwahr might
be very short—short indeed.
56
As the sun hung above the western horizon, the distant trees that
bordered the Chean River were black outlines above the fields of a green
so dark that they also appeared black from the low hill. Anna carried her
saddlebags and walked beside Firis.
"You know, Lady Anna, I owe you something, but bright as I am, I cannot
tell you what it is. I can only tell you how it came to be."
"I'm a little too tired for puzzles or riddles, captain, although I hope
I may have been helpful in some way." Anna's legs and feet hurt, and
despite the bread and water, and some cheese, her head still ached. Her
shoulders were as tight as an overtightened timpani, and her neck felt
worse.
"Bear with me, lady. You could have destroyed me, and no one would have
gainsayed your right to do so." Firis laughed softly. "I saw what you did
to my goblet, and the Ebrans, and you could have done that to me. You did
not. You apologized, and you said that Barjim needed all his captains. I
was angry. Though I jested, I was angry. Then I saw you give all that you
had to save people you scarcely knew, and I was one of them, and I had
wanted to slay you." The captain paused short of the tiles of the small
covered archway before the door where another sentry stood. "As the walls
were falling, the black ones advancing, you remained, and I thought.
Rather than flee as so many had, as I had every right to do, because you
stood fast, I gathered all those I could, and I held them together, and
brought them here because most of those I gathered were levies from Pamr.
They—and the lady Gatrune—made me their captain. I accepted, since with
Lord Barjim dead, and my company destroyed, I had nowhere else to be
welcomed." Firis shrugged. "That is why I owe you."
"Captain, I am flattered, and I admit I'm pleased that whatever I did
inspired you, but you had the courage and the abilities to undertake
those duties. No one can take that from you, and they shouldn't." Anna
smiled. "I am glad you are here."
Firis bowed. "If ever I can offer aid, you know where I am."
"You already have. Thank you." She lowered her voice. "Thank you very
much."
The captain stepped up to the sentry. "I am escorting the lady Anna to
see the lady Gatrune."
"She is expecting you, ser." The blonde sentry opened the wide louvered
door that stood behind the open, iron-banded main door^
A young, white-capped woman stood in the small entry hall. "If you would
follow me, captain and lady…"
The serving maid led them down the narrow corridor to a wide set of brick
steps and then up two flights and along another hallway to a room
resembling a salon—except that the northern side was open to the
courtyard below, the only barrier being a waist-high, wrought-iron
railing.
A big-boned woman with white-and-blonde hair stood from the padded
leather chair and stepped forward, the first woman the sorceress had seen
in Liedwahr who was both substantially taller and bigger than Anna was.
"This is the lady Anna," Firis said. "Lady Gatrune."
"Thank you, captain." Gatrune's eyes studied Anna for a moment. "We are
indebted to you, and I am pleased to meet you.'*
"If you do not need me…" Firis said quietly.
"You may go. Thank you."
As Firis slipped away, Gatrune gestured to the leather chair that faced
and matched hers. "You look tired. Please be seated. I would like to talk
with you for a bit. Then you can wash up and change—do not worry. There
are plenty of gowns in your room. And then we will have something to eat.
You look as though you have been starving.''
Anna did not stand on ceremony, but dropped into the chair, easing the
saddlebags to the floor by her feet. Starving? Did she look that bad?
"Would you like some mulled cider?" asked the aging blonde.
"Yes, if you wouldn't mind."
Gatrune poured the amber liquid from the pitcher into an empty goblet
sitting on the low table between the two chairs. Then she refilled the
other goblet and took a deep swallow.
Anna sipped hers, enjoying the faint bite, but fearing that too much too
soon would leave her on the floor.
"I had heard that there was a sorceress at the battle, but until Captain
Firis introduced you, I never would have guessed. You look so young…"
Gatrune extended the enameled wooden tray that held sliced apples.
"I'm not." Anna took several of the apple sliees, eating them between
words as she summarized and sanitized her long tale, beginning with her
arrival and ending with a shrug. "It's proved very disconcerting, and
provided more than a little trouble." Should she tell Gatrune of her
encounter with the chandler? She frowned.
"Your frown says there is more to your tale, and it is not pleasant. I
would not impose."
Anna smiled ruefully. "One lord's consort was convinced I was going after
him, and your local chandler attempted to rape me. I was successful in
defusing the issue with the consort."
" 'Defusing'… a strange word…"
"We reached a rough understanding," Anna amplified. "The chandler was not
so… reasonable. When I stopped him gently—the spell was to keep him from
touching me— he tried to kill me with a bow, since he couldn't touch me."
"That would have been Forse, no doubt. I won't let any of the serving
girls go near the chandlery." Gatrune frowned. "So what did you do?"
Anna sighed. "I turned him into a bonfire. It was the only way I had left
to protect myself after he and his friend barred the door."
"Kysar had always told me that Forse was to be watched, but I had thought
of that in terms of the serving girls or Herene—she is my younger sister,
and ward, now that our father has passed on."
"I'm sorry," Anna said automatically, even as she wondered exactly why
she was sorry.
"You are dangerous." The widow laughed. "So Forse received his due, even
after a warning." She took a sip from her crystal glass. "Many of the men
in Pamr will be distressed, I'm sure. I cannot think of a single woman
who would be."
"But it's sad," Anna said. "Why is it that some people only respect
force?" And why do I have to be the one to apply that force?
"Most of them are men," Gatrune said.
"Is that because they're men, or because they're powerful and don't want
to give up any power? If women were as powerful, would they be any
different?'' Am I any different? If sorcery makes me more powerful, will
I turn out like them?
"I think I might like to find out. Even now, strong as I am, I must rely
on a strong captain, and the fact that I have a brother who is a lord.
That's Nelmor—he holds the estates at Dubaria—they're a good two days'
ride north of Denguic, and the ground is rocky enough that our next
ruler, that so-called Prophet of Music, hasn't bothered even to seek
fealty. The ground won't support much except goats and sheep, but those
in Denguic and Elioch and even Falcor will pay for good goat cheese."
Gatrune laughed. "I prefer cow cheese, personally. That comes from all
the years of making the goat cheese."
"I'm not much for goat cheese." Anna shifted position in the leather
chair. Comfortable as the chair was, every part of her body seemed sore.
"Anyway, with my next dispatch, thanking him for the cheese, and it is
useful, especially for feeding the staff, I will tell him of you, and
that you are to be trusted." Gatrune lifted her goblet. "I can tell who
is and who isn't. Kysar was always surprised, but I've never been wrong
yet, and it's been years." She shrugged. "What good our support will do,
one never knows, dear, these days, but…"
Anna felt dazed by the outpouring, but she nodded. "You trust your
feelings."
"Exactly. Too many people rely on proofs or words. Words are spoken on
the wind; feelings are rooted in the soil and the harmonies." Gatrune
refilled the goblet. "Then there's Firis. He is convinced that he owes
you." Gatrune smiled. "Because he does, and because he returned with
enough levies to protect the hall and holding, Kyrun and I owe you."
"Kyrun is your son?"
Gatrune nodded. "You will meet him later, but don't expect much. He's but
five." The lady of the hall took a long pull from her goblet, then looked
at Anna. "Will you serve Lord Behlem?"
"You must have read his proclamation." Anna was taken slightly aback by
Gatrune's directness.
"I did. I also agreed to his terms, as you will, if I'm not mistaken."
"I am new to this world," Anna said slowly, taking another sip of the
strong spiced cider. "But it would appear that Lord Behlem might be
preferred over the dark ones."
"He doubtless is, but—" Gatrune shrugged. "It won't be easy, especially
for you. No matter how old you really are, and it is hard to believe you
have children as old as my younger sister, you look young, and you are
beautiful, and that will have Cyndyth ready to have you killed, if she
can manage it. If you don't help Behlem, they'll both want you out of the
way. I don't envy you."
"Cyndyth? I beg your pardon… but I am new…"
Gatrune laughed ruefully. "I apologize. Even in this time of sadness, it
is refreshing to talk to a woman who doesn't look over her shoulder for
her lord, and I forget that you do not know everyone. Cyndyth is Lord
Behlem's consort, and she is also the daughter of the Liedfuhr of
Mansuur." With a look at Anna's face, she continued. "Mansuur is the
westernmost country in Liedwahr, well beyond the Great Western Forest,
and about the size of Ebra, Nordwei, Defalk, Ranuak, and Neserea all
together."
"Oh…"
"It's not exactly a great holding, but almost a confederation. I think
that by joining Cyndyth to Behlem he was hoping to induce young Behlem to
join Mansuur. Either that, or have him assassinated, and then move to
annex Neserea in the guise of protecting Rabyn—that's his grandson,
Cyndyth's only child. Something like that. The Norweians oppose Mansuur,
and they've offered some support to Neserea. Even the Matriarch of Ranuak
has been warmer to Neserea—with some caution."
Anna tried to concentrate on Gatrune's words, but she was tired, and some
seemed to slip through her brain without totally registering.
"You're still hungry and tired, and I'm prattling on. It's lonely here,
and Kysar was really the only one I ever could talk to. For all his
bluffness, he was a good sort, and I never thought I'd find a consort."
For a moment, wetness clouded Gatrune's bright eyes—but only for a
moment. The older woman stood. "You need to wash up, and then we'll eat,
and you can tell me about the mist worlds."
Anna had to struggle to her feet as she followed the taller lady from the
salon. She hoped she would last until dinner. Starving? How could she
force herself to eat more? It seemed as though all she did was eat… eat
and ride… and watch her back. She almost tripped as her boot caught the
edge of a floor tile, but she caught herself and continued after Gatrune.
57
As she stood by the arched doorway, her stomach full from the warm bread
and hot spiced apples, Anna wanted to yawn. She did not want to climb on
Farinelli and ride for another two or three days. She just wanted to go
back to bed… almost any bed. How long had it been since she had really
been able to sleep? Even in Ames, if it hadn't been teaching, or
rehearsals, or the job at the Lutheran Church, or…
Gatrune, in garb similar to Anna's brushed and washed riding clothes, was
bright-eyed and smiling, as though she had been awake for hours—glasses,
Anna corrected herself—and the lady of Pamr probably had. Everyone in
Liedwahr rose at ungodly hours-—or should she try to think of them as
dissonant glasses? Either way…
"Here are two scrolls—one's for Nelmor, just in case you run into him
before my messages reach him, and the other is for Lady Essan. You
remember, you were sleepy last night, but she is Lord Donjim's widow, and
she still has friends and influence in Falcor. Don't seek her out at
first, though, because that would set Behlem to worrying, and there's
nothing worse than the suspicions of a young and insecure Prophet."
Gatrune extended the scrolls to Anna, who balanced the saddlebags across
her thigh and slipped them inside.
"I appreciate your kindness, and I will do what I can when I get to
Falcor." Anna glanced toward the shadowed entry hall behind the lady of
Pamr, "I did enjoy sleeping in a real bed, and eating hot food. Inns are
not exactly plentiful on the roads."
"The inn in Zechis is good. Kysar and I stayed there. It is the Black
Pony, and Visula runs it. You might try it." suggested Gatrune, "although
it is a long day's ride."
"A very long day's ride," added Herene. The younger blonde woman offered
a wry smile.
"Thank you. There's a lot I have to learn about Defalk."
"That is true of all of us," replied Gatrune, ruffling Kyrun's hair. The
boy, already tall for his age, stood beside his mother, wearing a
sleeveless tunic and shorts. He was barefoot, and a cowlick gave his
short blonde hair a tousled appearance. He shifted his weight from-one
foot to the other, as though he wished he were someplace else.
Anna grinned down at him. "I'll be gone in a bit, and then you can go
play or do whatever you do."
"Lessons, first," Gatrune said, "then play."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes." Gatrune and Herene spoke simultaneously.
"Yes, Mother." Kyrun's tone was polite, but resigned, without being pouty.
"What you learn in your lessons can be useful later in life." Anna
paused, then added. "Especially when you have to act before you have the
time to learn what you should have learned as a child."
"Remember that," suggested Herene. "Great sorceresses do not come along
often."
A great sorceress? Anna had more than a few doubts about that.
"You are. You will see," predicted Gatrune. "But you need to begin your
journey, and my talking will only make it longer." She nodded toward the
door, and the stable across the expanse of packed earth.
"Thank you… again," Anna said.
"No thanks for what best be done. Don't forget Lady Essan."
"I won't." Anna hefted her saddlebags and headed toward the stable.
Daffyd was leading the gray mare out of the cracked-walled stable that
seemed far older than the hall itself as Anna crossed the packed earth
from the hall. Markan looked up from securing the saddlebags behind his
saddle.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
"Well enough," answered Markan.
"Better than on the road," Daffyd agreed. "Hot food was good, too."
"Better than travel bread or cheese," added Stepan, bringing out one of
the pack mares.
As usual, Farinelli was unsaddled, and whuffed as Anna neared.
"I can't believe you ride that beast, lady," offered the stablehand as
Anna slipped the saddle blanket in place."He like as chased Greize right
out of the stall last night."
"We get along," Anna said, trying to stifle a yawn. "We're both
temperamental." She eased the saddle in place, half realizing that it no
longer felt particularly heavy, then went to work positioning it and
tightening the cinches. Farinelli edged sideways a fraction, then planted
himself as though in resignation. "It's not that bad, old fellow."
As usual, by the time she was ready and had led the gelding out into the
too-early morning sun, everyone else was outside and mounted. Two
brown-and-gold dogs sat by the corner of the stable, both already
panting, with long pink tongues lolling from the corners of their muzzles.
Whhhhunnnnnn… Anna glanced toward the whinny from the stable, but could
see no one and guessed that some mount wanted to say something to
another, or something. With the sun falling on her uncovered forehead,
she found her hand feeling for the floppy hat tucked into her belt.
"Lady Anna." Firis had arrived as well and bowed.
"Captain Firis." Anna returned the bow. "We appreciate your hospitality,
and I wish you well here in Pamr."
"I wish myself well, also," responded Firis, his hand smoothing the
salt-and-pepper beard that made him look . older than his years. "It was
good to see you, lady, and may your journey to Falcor be speedy and free
of difficulty."
"Thank you." Anna looked around. Only she was unmounted. She climbed into
the saddle, with a great deal more ease and skill than just a few weeks
previously.
"Ready, lady?" asked Markan.
"Yes."
Firis offered a half salute as they rode across the packed yard toward
the road leading downhill to the gates.
Anna glanced around. She did not see Meris, but realized Gatrune still
stood by the hall entrance. Anna waved and got a wave in response.
No one spoke for a time as they rode south into Pamr and turned westward
into the center of the town. As the five passed down the main street, the
handful of men standing outside the chandlery, where a grimy white bow
had been placed in the front window, turned toward the horses.
"That's her!" someone shouted.
Three of the men stiffened and glanced toward Anna, as if to step into
the packed dirt of the street, then paused as they saw the armsmen.
"Hail the sorceress!" cried an unseen feminine voice.
The face of the tall, bearded man in the center of the three clouded, and
he raised a clenched fist, looking around quickly for the woman who had
shouted.
Anna turned Farinelli toward him, then reined up. Farinelli snorted
loudly, as if to warn the townsman.
"Don't curse me," Anna said. "And don't raise your hand against me, or
any woman. Your lord is now Lady Gatrune, and her captains will support
her to your death. She was ill pleased with Forse. So was I. Why would
you seek your own death to avenge someone so cruel?" The sorceress waited.
"No woman should raise her hand to a man," sputtered the bearded man.
"Then… no man should raise his hand against a woman. After all, a woman
bore him, and another will bear his children." Anna waited, then added,
"Times are changing, and you should change with them." She flicked the
reins, and Farinelli carried her westward past the chandlery.
"… arrogant bitch!"
Anna ignored the words, much as she would have liked to do more, but some
men would never change, and she couldn't do more for the local women—not
yet. Still, it continued to irk her that what would have been sternness
in a man was considered bitchiness in her.
"… you believe that stuff about her flaying the dark ones with fire whips
now?" whispered Fridric to Stepan.
"… don't understand sorceresses… burned that chandler to a crisp, and she
was crying. Here she's telling them to shape up, or mayhap die."
Put in Stepan's terms, Anna thought, some of her actions were strange,
but how could she explain what she felt without appearing a total
emotion-driven idiot? When she didn't have time to think things out, she
had to go by what she felt. When she didn't, she got into even more
trouble.
"Lady!"
Anna looked up to see a small girl scurrying from a small house toward
her. The barefoot brunette carried a basket and lifted it up to Anna,
even as the girl's eyes flicked back toward the center of town.
Almost instinctively, Anna bent to take the basket.
"Thank you… My mother thanks you, too," whispered the child before she
raced back away from the riders.
Anna's mouth opened, but the girl was gone behind a dusty hedge, and Anna
found herself looking at a dirty gray cat that also immediately vanished
into the roots of the hedge.
"I don't think the chandler was well liked by the women of Pamr," said
Daffyd.
"It would not seem so," agreed Markan.
As she rode, Anna lifted the cloth covering the rush basket. Within were
two round cakes, a coarse weave bag that appeared filled with nuts, and a
waxed wedge of cheese.
What could she do with the basket?
"There's room in the provisions bag," suggested Daffyd. "What's in it?"
"Cakes, cheese, nuts."
Markan helped bring the piebald mare up beside Farinelli, and held open
the provisions sack while Anna eased the basket in place. She slipped the
flowers under the leather strap of her own saddlebags, wishing that she
had a better place to put them.
Between the flowers and the dust, her nose itched again, and they hadn't
even left Pamr.
A quick glance back reassured her that no one was following, but Stepan
shook his head. "No one be following you, lady, not from here."
Was she that fearsome?
Her eyes went to the road ahead as they neared the bridge over the Chean.
Despite the length of the stone span—more than two hundred yards, the
river itself was a narrow strip of brownish water between dry mud flats,
weeds, and sun-dried water plants. A nondescript brown duck paddled
toward the reeds of a small marshy span north of the bridge.
Farinelli's hoofs clacked loudly on the stones of the bridge, and Anna
felt as though she were leaving more than a town where she had spent but
a single night, as though the unknown she had already faced were the
familiar compared to what lay ahead.
58
The sun was still above the western horizon when the five riders passed
the roadstone that declared Zechis a mere two deks ahead.
Daffyd's lips were clamped tightly together, and he swayed in the saddle
of the gray mare. Fridric's and Ste-pan's conversation had died away.
Anna's legs were sore, and the thigh muscles above her knees threatened
to cramp. Her hair felt like it had crawled through a swamp, then been
powdered with dust, and her eyes burned from the road grit.
"A good day's ride, indeed," Markan declared. "We'll like as to be at the
inn before sunset, well before sunset."
Anna pulled her sweat-dampened hat farther down on her forehead to shield
her eyes against the sun as they neared the town. Unlike Pamr, the only
large trees visible in Zechis were those to the north of the town proper
that outlined the banks of the Chean.
Anna glanced at the house nearest the road, shutters askew, walls
brown-splotched and dusty. Nothing moved, except a chicken pecking at the
ground on the west side.
The five rode quietly, the only sounds those of hoofs, harnesses, and
horses occasionally snorting.
Another hundred yards farther into the town, Farinelli danced sideways as
a gray dog growled, straining at a rusted chain that held him close to
the door of a small hut with cracked and dust-smeared plastered walls
that once might have been white.
"Easy, Farinelli… easy." Anna patted the gelding's shoulder.
The dog growled once more, then sank back onto his haunches as the
travelers passed, their dust subsiding in the hot stillness of late
afternoon.
The inn dominated the central square of Zechis. Perched above a roofed
front porch, the sign alone was distinctive, with a painted border of
intertwined black and gold triangles, and an enormous black pony. The
outside walls had been recently whitewashed, and a youth in rags swept
the front steps.
Markan reined up at the railing beside the front steps, and Anna followed
his example, conscious that a quiet had fallen across the handful of men
standing in the shade of the east-facing porch. A heavy man in a gray
leather vest and a shirt that once could have been white openly leered,
while a younger, trimmer man in a sleeveless tunic merely looked.
Anna bowed to the inevitable, and snapped firmly, but not sharply,
"Markan… you and Daffyd come with me."
The player appeared puzzled, but Markan answered crisply, "Yes, Lady
Anna."
The heavy man in gray looked away. Markan's eyes twinkled, but his face
remained stern as the three dismounted and tied their mounts.
Anna let Markan and Daffyd flank her on the way into the inn. Inside, the
main floor was warmer than the porch, and Anna removed the soggy hat.
Behind a narrow counter at the end of the entry way stood a narrow-faced
woman in a brown shirt.
"Looking for lodging?"
"What have you for a party of five?'' Anna asked.
The woman glanced from Anna, then to the armsman and the player. "And who
else?"
"Two more armsmen," Markan said. "My lady travels light."
"You can have the corner place, lady. That's a gold, for the private bed
and the common room. You get a basin and a towel, and common fare for
all."
The no-nonsense manner indicated that was to be expected, but Anna paused.
"Our mounts?" asked Markan. "The usual copper each?"
"For five? That's for hay. If you want grain, say an extra two coppers.
Visula might ask four, but it's late." The innkeeper paused. "That's a
gold and seven coppers… if you want the grain."
Anna managed not to fumble with the wallet, and laid a gold and a silver
on the counter, waiting.
The three coppers came back slowly, as if the innkeeper were expecting
some largess.
The sorceress smiled. "Extra service is paid for after it is rendered… if
it's merited."
Markan's lips stiffened momentarily.
"You won't find better on the whole highway to Falcor, lady. No you
won't!"
"Then I'm sure we'll both be satisfied," Anna answered with a smile.
"You want I should show you the room?"
"Daffyd… you come with me. Will you take care of the mounts and baggage,
Markan?" Anna asked.
"We'll stable them and bring things up." Markan turned to the woman
keeper. "The front comer or the back?''
"Back, a'course. Quieter for a lady."
Anna followed the older woman up stairs barely wide enough for the
innkeeper's broad hips, and down a narrow hall where every plank creaked.
"Here you be."
The room directly off the hall held six pallets of a dubious nature, an
oil lamp on a wall sconce, and a single narrow window.
Through the door from the outer room, Anna stepped into the corner room.
Small, not much more than three yards square, it had a window with the
two-shutter arrangement—-louvers on the inside and heavy open shutters on
the outside. A single worn towel lay folded across the base on the lumpy
narrow double bed that had no pillows. A nightstand containing a basin
and pitcher on one side and a single squat lamp with a sooty mantle stood
between the bed and the window. Two wooden chairs and a cracked and
battered chamberpot completed the furnishings.
"Be bringing up the water soon as I leave."
"I'd appreciate that," Anna said.
The woman sniffed and headed back down the dim hall, the floorboards
creaking under her weight.
"It's not much better than the tents in Pamr," Daffyd observed sourly,
massaging his thighs.
Anna refrained from shaking her head. Compared to the Black Pony, the El
Reno Motel she'd stayed in for Irenia's senior recital had been a
palace—if only she'd known! If the Black Pony happened to be better than
most, Anna wasn't sure she wouldn't prefer a bedroll in the open air to
the rest of the inns. Of course, inns probably had greater appeal before
the dark ones had cut off all the rain and snow.
Markan clumped down the hall and into the room, handing Anna her
saddlebags and lutar case. "Lady… the way you handled Quisa… even Lady
Anientta couldn't have done that." The armsman shook his head and
surveyed the room with a laugh. "Hasn't changed much. It's still better
than most."
Anna carried the saddlebags back into her room and set them in the wooden
chair closest to the window.
"Here's a good solid bucket of water!" announced Quisa.
Markan intercepted it. "Thank you, Quisa."
"You're with that lord down south, aren't you, fellow?"
"Lord Hryding," Markan agreed. "We're headed to Falcor."
"Takes all kinds, it does." Quisa shook her head and waddled back out the
door.
Fridric, provisions bags in hand, had to flatten himself against the wall
to allow Quisa to pass.
Stepan was laughing as he brought in the last of the saddlebags. "I
waited until she came down, but, no, you just had to get up the stairs."
"You were right," Fridric conceded.
"What's in these?" Stepan lifted the two irregular bags. "They clank,
like blades and stuff."
"Blades and stuff," Anna admitted. "I thought they might be worth
something."
"More than in your purse," Markan said. "Could I ask…"
"You can ask." Anna forced a smile.
"Never mind, lady. Better I not know."
"I'm hungry," Fridric said, almost plaintively.
"Best we eat early. Food just gets tougher," Markan suggested.
"I'd like to wash up a little," Anna said.
"Not enough water for all of us," Markan observed, glancing toward Anna's
room.
"I think I can handle that."
Anna washed first, then managed to clean the water in the basin and
bucket twice with the water spell. She sat in the empty chair and looked
out the window while the others washed.
Two armsmen in purple rode past the inn, but neither stopped. A
setterlike dog dashed across the street after something she couldn't see,
and loud voices echoed from the porch.
Her head kept aching, even after she held it in both hands and massaged
her forehead. She finished the water in the bottle Markan had brought
with her saddlebags, and that helped.
"We're ready, lady," Daffyd offered softly.
Anna stood, her legs suddenly unsteady. After two steps, they uncramped
somewhat.
"Can you ward our stuff?" asked Stepan.
"Ward?" she answered.
"Keep it safe."
"Let me think a moment." It took more than a minute, but Anna did come up
with what she hoped would serve.
"Sing, sing a song;
keep them safe to last our whole night long.
Don't worry 'cause it's sure strong enough
for those who don't belong.
Just sing, sing a song."
She rubbed her forehead, which had begun to throb, probably from all the
spells and no food for several glasses. Sorcery on an empty stomach hurt,
she had discovered.
"Strange ward," murmured Fridric.
"Strange or not, it will work," opined Markan.
Anna hoped so.
The entire inn seemed to creak as they walked in single file down the
hall and to the lower level. The public room was half empty, with a large
table in the near comer.
"Take the corner chair, lady," Markan suggested, though Anna had already
decided on that.
The five had scarcely wedged themselves around the circular battered and
grease-stained wooden table before the squat serving woman arrived, her
trousers and tunic brown from a variety of sources beyond the color of
the fabric. "Standard fare?"
"What else is there tonight?" asked Anna.
The serving woman glanced toward the squared arch through which smoke
oozed and lowered her voice. "Nothing anyone should try."
Anna felt the comment was honest. "Standard fare all around."
Markan nodded minutely.
"Drinks? Beer, red stuff about all we got."
"Red stuff?" asked Daffyd.
"Call it wine, but it's half vinegar, so I call it red stuff. Visula's
always on me for it, but… customers like to know." A toothy grin
followed, showing too many blackened teeth.
"Beer," suggested Markan.
Anna agreed, and, after that, so did the others.
"Five more for the drinks," said the server.
"When they come," answered Markan.
Anna wanted to massage her forehead, which throbbed more fiercely. She
needed to eat. Instead, she withdrew, trying to ignore the greasy air,
the odor of sweat and burned meat, and the too-loud conversations.
"Visula thinks he's got the only inn on the road."
"He does, the dissonant devil."
"Who's the lady, there?"
"… three, four armsmen, but she rode in, no carriage…"
"Who cares?… prefer a good blade any day…"
Five tin mugs clunked onto the table.
"Where's your five?" asked the serving woman.
Anna laid five coppers on the wood, which vanished in a different kind of
magic, and pulled one of the mugs in front of her. She studied the
soapy-looking liquid even as Markan took a deep draught.
"Good…"
She didn't quite believe him, and tried a sip. Lukewarm or not, it wasn't
bad. She had another sip.
Stepan swallowed half a mug.
"Lad… easy," cautioned Markan. "The lady Anna isn't about to pay to get
you sick."
Before Anna took a third sip, the serving woman was back with five large
steaming bowls filled with a thick dark liquid leavened with lumps. "Road
stew," she announced, staring at Anna.
Anna got the message, and looked to Markan. The arms-man mouthed "two."
Anna fumbled out a pair of coppers.
With a smile the serving woman swept them away. "Enjoy. The bread's
a-coming. Hot, too."
Within moments, it had—two long black loaves.
Anna glanced around—no cutlery… nothing. Markan had out his own dagger.
Do as the Romans, or whoever, do. Anna ended up spearing the chunks of
meat with her own dagger, nibbling on them, and sopping up the gravy with
her bread.
Her headache began to subside. What was it? She'd had trouble with blood
sugar before, but it seemed even worse on Erde. Was doing sorcery
worsening the effect?
As she ate, around them, the half spoken, half shouted conversations
swirled.
"… a dissonant fool ol' Berfir was…"
"… Prophet'll save us, but that's to keep the Liedfuhr off his ass, not
'cause he gives a single note about us."
Anna looked down at the empty bread basket and the empty bowl. Had she
really eaten it all? Her eyes felt heavy. Maybe the bed wouldn't be too
lumpy. Maybe.
59
With the sun beating into her eyes, low enough that the battered hat's
brim was useless, Anna squinted toward the west and the road that merged
with a red stone bridge.
Moving past her on the left was a wagon drawn by two horses that plodded
stolidly forward and raised road dust that seemed to hang just high
enough for her to breathe. The driver stared at the road without ever
looking at Anna, Daffyd, and the three armsmen.
Anna rubbed her nose gently.
Daffyd sneezed once, twice.
"The dust never ends," Markan said.
The player sneezed again, and so did Stepan. Anna squeezed her nose and
tried not to sneeze as well—and failed. Her eyes watered with the
explosive force of the sneeze.
"… wish we would get enough rain to lay the dust," gasped Stepan.
Anna agreed, but blotted her eyes on her sleeve, then straightened in the
saddle.
A rider wearing a sash of cream and green pounded past the armsman and
toward the east. The sorceress's eyes followed the rider for a moment.
"Prophet's messenger, for all the good it will do him." Markan paused,
then added. "No one will listen, and no one will tell him anything."
Anna smiled ruefully—that sounded familiar, just like academic politics
at Ames or anywhere else.
A small square tower stood at the eastern end of the bridge, door bolted
shut, upper windows shuttered. Dust coated the stones, softening the
harsh red. As Anna's eyes passed over the structure, she wondered why the
small tower had ever been built, since it would have been useless against
any army. A tollhouse that could no longer even pay for itself?
"Up there, three deks or so, is where the Fal and the Chean come
together," Markan said idly as his mount's hoofs clacked on the broad
stones that paved the approach to the bridge.
Wide enough for two wagons abreast, the stone bridge across the Falche
River consisted of three sections. The first ran about a hundred yards
from the east bluff of the river to a wide stone pier built up from a
small island covered with brush and willows. The second section extended
somewhat less than a hundred yards to another stone pier that rose out of
the placid-looking muddy water. The last section stretched from the pier
to the western bluff of the river— and the eastern part of Falcor.
The ruts in the stone pavement testified to the bridge's age, as did the
loose mortar in the railing. A single cargo raft, steered with a tiller
and containing pallets of something, floated south of the span, a dark
brown splotch on the light brown water that shimmered almost silver in
the late-afternoon sun.
As Farinelli carried her off the bridge and onto the rough cobblestones
of the road, Anna studied the small square that consisted of one statue
on a pedestal in a paved area from which five streets branched. Like
every other town she had seen in Defalk, Falcor lacked walls. Was that
because sorcerers could break them down or because the countries were so
far inland that walls were seldom needed? Or for some other reason?
"Which way?" she asked Markan, slowing Farinelli.
"The river road, the one to the left. The liedburg is south of the city
proper." As he spoke to Anna, Markan turned in the saddle and pointed
toward Fridric. "Unfurl the banner."
The streets of Falcor were paved, if dust-and dirt-covered, and the
sounds of the city echoed along the narrow streets.
"Knives sharpened…" Cling, cling! "Knives sharpened…"
" 'Ware the wagon! 'Ware the wagon!"
Anna looked up and saw the chamberpot, reining up Farinelli just before
the sloppy mess splashed into the open sewer that ran along the right
side of the street.
Flies swirled around them, smaller and swifter than the large horseflies
on the highway. The street narrowed more, and an odor compounded of horse
manure, sewage, spoiled food, and kitchen fires drifted around Anna. No
wonder medieval minstrels extolled the countryside.
"Beautiful Falcor…" murmured Anna. Brill's hall seemed impossibly
distant, impossibly clean. As with so many things in her life, Anna was
reminded that the better aspects were often transitory—like Irenia… like
earth itself. She drew herself erect on the gelding, steeled herself for
the ordeal that would come.
The equivalent of a dozen blocks farther south, they reached another
square, containing women, children, and carts drawn up randomly on the
pavement. From several carts the smoke of fowl being cooked on braziers
rose, and Anna was reminded of how Mario had smelled every night the year
he had worked for KFC.
"Roasted fowl! Roasted fowl, two a quarter, two a quarter…"
"… hot fowl rolls… hot rolls…"
"Stenjabs! Get your stenjabs here!"
What were stenjabs? Anna had no desire to find out, and neither Markan
nor Daffyd made any comment.
"Lady? A fowl for your men?"
The sorceress shook her head.
"Probably diseased," Markan said under his breath as they rode from the
open area back onto a street wider than that which had taken them from
the bridge.
The dwellings were larger south of the square, with lower level walls
built of large square red building stones, like brownstones, and only
shuttered entrances on the street level. Up a level were balconies and
windows, and higher, tile roofs.
The street sewers were covered—mostly—with slabs of stone.
As the street sloped downhill, Markan gestured to the castle—the first
real castle Anna had seen—on the opposite hill, overlooking Falcor, with
the Falche River to the left. "The liedburg."
A banner comprised of two cream-and-green triangles, over which was
superimposed a golden trumpet, flew from the staff above the gates.
Anna nodded and took off the floppy hat, using her hands to try to push
her hair into some semblance of order.
"Good idea," said Daffyd.
Don't condescend to me! she thought, but only smiled.
The street widened into an avenue as it flattened in the space under the
liedburg. An expanse of grass a full hundred yards wide surrounded the
castle on three sides, with the eastern side of the bluff overlooking the
river.
Markan slowed his mount at the stone-paved road to the gates.
The walls around the liedburg were not perfunctory, but a full twenty
yards high, made of massive red stone blocks, designed to withstand
sieges. In the flat below the walls on the side closest to the river,
were set up rows of tents, and armsmen lounged in the shade created by
the canvas. Several peered toward Anna and her entourage as they headed
across the open area to the gates.
A full squad of guards in leathers and sea-green sashes was drawn up,
half on each side of the gate. While the gates were open, a network of
bars that resembled a portcullis with a small doorway in the middle
blocked the gate opening.
"We might as well ride on." Anna flicked the reins, and Farinelli stepped
forward, his hoofs loud on the hard stone.
"Who are you?" asked the weathered subofficer who stepped forward when
Anna reined up short of the guards. Then he added less peremptorily,
"Lady?"
"I am the lady Anna. I am here responding to the Prophet's proclamation.
The armsmen escorting me represent the fealty of Lord Hryding, and his
demonstration of goodwill."
"The lady who?"
"The lady Anna," she repeated, forcing herself not to explain. No lady
would explain in public.
"Who is she? Some lord's daughter..."
"… another doxie for Behlem?"
"… got none, not with his consort…"
"… she that sorceress?"
Anna smiled, ignoring the whispered speculations, waiting for the
subofficer's response.
"I cannot say that I…" The subofficer broke off his words with an
embarrassed smile.
"It might be best if you conveyed my message to Lord Behlem," Anna said.
"Just tell him that the lady Anna has arrived, as he requested." There
was no way she was entering the castle or its grounds until Behlem knew
she was there. "I will be happy to wait here."
"It's hot out here, lady. I was only thinking of your comfort." His smile
turned slightly sick looking.
"I've ridden from the Sand Pass to Synope and then here. A little more
sun won't hurt." She smiled and patted Far-inelli.
After a long moment, the subofficer bowed slightly, turned, and made his
way into the shadowed archway and through the door in the portcullis.
"She's got guts..." whispered Fridric, before Stepan jabbed him in the
ribs.
The guards remained drawn up, holding positions loosely at ease, all
except for a graying armsman who stepped forward to take the subofficer's
position. He did not look toward the five riders who waited.
Sitting on Farinelli in the late-afternoon sun, Anna could feel the heat
on the side of her face and her neck, and the sweat in her hair. Her legs
threatened to cramp again, but she held her seat, as if it were a
performance before unfriendly critics—and it well might be.
In time, two green-coated officers, with silver-braid swirls on the
shoulders of their tunics, appeared, flanking a white-haired older man in
cream and green. The subofficer trudged behind.
The whispers rose as the four neared the far side of the portcullis.
"Counselor to the Prophet…"
"… more than pretty she must be …"
"… think old sharp-tongue's in for it now…"
"… she can get the captains here, she's someone…"
The armsman who had taken the subofficer's place stepped back as his
superior stepped in front of the guards.
"Honor… arms!"
Twelve blades flashed in salute.
The white-haired man stepped toward Anna. "I am Menares, counselor to the
Prophet." He bowed, then straightened. "I recognize you from the waters,
lady, and bid you welcome to our temporary abode."
"I am pleased to be here." Anna swung out of the saddle, hoping her legs
would hold. They did. "I have arrived as quickly as possible."
"Your haste is appreciated in these times," Menares said, before lowering
his voice. "If you would all follow me…"
Anna turned and nodded to Markan, and the four dismounted, Daffyd
slightly behind the others.
"Let them enter!" Menares ordered.
"Raise the gate!" said the stockier of the two officers who had
accompanied the counselor.
After a moment, with a creaking series of squeaks, the gate lurched
upward and into the stone grooves behind the heavy wooden gates.
"Return… arms!"
Anna led her entourage forward through the narrow stone archway, hoping
that she was doing the right thing. Farinelli only side-stepped once.
Once they were in the courtyard, Menares turned to Anna again. "The
Prophet will meet with you—only briefly at the moment—but he will receive
you more formally at dinner tomorrow when you have had a chance to rest
and refresh yourself."
And when he's had time to gather everyone to examine me, Anna thought. Or
decide what he really wants to do with me.
Menares motioned to the slender officer. "Namir will ensure your armsmen—"
"—and my player," the sorceress interjected.
"—have their mounts stabled and are refreshed, while I escort you to Lord
Behlem."
"Now?"
"What better time, Lady Anna?"
The sorceress shrugged, finally handing the reins to the Neserean
subofficer. Farinelli neighed and side-stepped.
"Easy," Anna commanded, and the gelding subsided.
With a last look back, and a quick smile at Daffyd, she followed the
white-haired counselor across the courtyard and through a wide double
door. Their steps echoed through the high ceilings of the hall, or
liedburg, echoed off worn and polished stone floors that had no mats or
carpets. The walls were bare red stone, except for sconces holding unlit
lamps set at irregular intervals. The lamp mantles were uniformly sooty.
A sour odor permeated the hall, one that would have been more unpleasant,
Anna suspected, had the climate not been so dry.
At the end of the main hall, Menares started up the grand staircase. Anna
tried not to wince as she lifted her sore legs and feet.
"I must admit that I was… taken by surprise… at your speedy arrival,"
said the older man.
"I didn't see much point in waiting," Anna said. Not since I really had
few choices.
"Sorceresses do not have so much freedom as many surmise," Menares
continued. "Nor do lords."
Anna nodded. Counselors to rulers weren't stupid, not even in backward
realms, not if they survived, and she had better remember that.
They halted outside a set of double doors, where two armed sentries
stood. The one on the right eyed Anna silently.
"This is the lady Anna, the sorceress the Prophet summoned. She has
ridden for the past week to answer his summons." Menares waited.
"As you wish, counselor." The sentry turned and opened the right-hand
paneled door.
Menares gestured, and Anna entered, hoping it was not an elaborate trap,
mentally readying the burning spell, hoping it would not be needed.
The room was long and not much more than five yards wide, with high
shelves on both sides, and a single, man-high window at the far end.
"What do you want, Menares?" The voice came from the end of the long
battered table, where maps were strewn almost haphazardly. A pitcher and
a single goblet stood in the midst of the various sheets of parchment and
paper. In person, Behlem looked even less impressive. Hardly into his
late twenties, the light beard concealed a weak chin and highlighted
shifting watery eyes.
"This is the lady Anna," Menares said, stepping forward into the space at
the foot of the table. "She just arrived with an escort from Lord
Hryding. He's the lord in Synope."
Behlem looked toward Anna, and the watery eyes focused.
Anna could feel her skin crawl, but she smiled. "Greetings, Lord Behlem.
I am here because of your proclamation."
"You are… younger than the waters showed."
"I am who I am," she responded.
"Will you help us against the dark ones?" The Prophet's words were blunt,
almost harsh.
"Yes," Anna answered, equally bluntly. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."
Behlem blinked. Then he nodded, and said more matter-of-factly, "We are
crowded here, Lady Anna, but I believe there will be room for you in the
north tower with some of the other distinguished ladies and envoys."
"And my player?" Anna asked.
"That is easier. There are smaller rooms with my players. All players
seem to enjoy each other's company. Unlike armsmen and counselors." The
Prophet smiled. "Menares will ensure you are both comfortable." He
glanced at Menares. "She had an entourage?"
"Some armsmen from the south. I had thought to feed and quarter them for
a day or two and then allow them to return to their lord with words from
you."
Behlem's hand wandered to his beard again, even as his eyes strayed
across Anna. Then he straightened in the chair. "I am sorry if I appear
preoccupied." He offered a broad smile. "If you would ensure that the
lady's needs are all completely satisfied, Menares, I would be most
grateful." Behlem turned back to Anna. "Have you supped yet?"
"No. We came to the… liedburg… as soon as we reached Falcor." Anna's head
ached, and her legs still threatened to cramp.
"Then perhaps you could use the small hall to feed them before seeing to
their quarters and needs?'' Behlem smiled at the older man.
"Yes, my lord."
"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at dinner, Lady Anna. Surprise us."
Anna suppressed the swallow and returned a smile. "I will try to, Lord
Behlem."
A faint frown crossed Behlem's face and vanished. "Do so. I will see you
after you have settled Lady Anna and her party, Menares."
"Yes, my lord."
The Prophet looked back at his maps, and Anna followed Menares froin the
dim study.
As they walked down the stone steps, Menares asked, "What are your
impressions of the Prophet, lady sorceress?"
"He is preoccupied… perhaps worried about having the resources to do what
he must." That was certainly safe enough.
"What else?"
"He's younger than I had thought."
"So are you. And more beautiful. Perhaps too much so," the counselor
added dryly.
"I am not so young as I might appear, counselor, but I am here to do what
I can to stop the dark ones."
"Why? You come from afar."
"Someone must," Anna said. "And without making this land safe, how can I
ensure my own safety?" She hoped that also struck the right chord, true
as it was. No one was going to feel happy with a sorceress they didn't
feel grateful to—or something like that.
"You see to the heart of matters."
Anna wanted to shake her head, but she followed the counselor back toward
the courtyard.
60
In the courtyard below, another set of messengers had arrived, their
horses' hoofs clacking on the ancient stones. The unwavering sun cast the
shadows of the walls across most of the eastern side of the courtyard.
Anna wiped her forehead and turned from the narrow window back into the
hot confines of the modest tower room. Falcor was more humid than Synope
or Mencha— not so bad as Ames in the summer; but hot and damp enough to
make her uncomfortable. Could she come up with some spell to cool the
place?
Less than four yards square, the stone walls contained a bed somewhere in
width between a double and a twin, perhaps a three-quarter bed like the
one in her grandparents' guest room on the Cumberland holler farm. Every
bed in Defalk seemed to be a different size, but she supposed each was
built individually for the room it was to occupy.
She had a flat dressing table with a mirror that distorted her image
slightly, a stool, a straight-backed armless chair, a large chest, a
washtable, and the ubiquitous chamberpot. There was also a jakes on the
level below her, but the smell outside it was overpowering. A single
braided purple-and-beige rug lay on the floor, its braid frayed and close
to unraveling. The purple coverlet on the bed was also frayed and worn
with remnants of stains that no washing could remove.
A large pitcher of water with a single goblet stood on the chest. She'd
definitely orderspelled the water, especially after the ride through
Falcor. She'd cobbled together yet another spell to rid the room of
vermin the night before, and the immediate headache she'd received had
convinced her that there had been vermin, and that she would be better
using the mandolin or lutar whenever she could.
Still, she had slept better than since she had left Brill's hall, despite
some nightmares where faceless figures in dark robes had chased her
through the night. Were the dark ones still looking for her?
Anna snorted to herself. Had they stopped seeking her? Breakfast had
arrived on a tray, as had a midday lunch, and she had enjoyed both the
attention and the time to relax and practice the chords on the lutar, far
trickier than she had imagined. But she didn't doubt she was a prisoner
of sorts—although the only bolt on the door was on the inside. That
didn't matter for the moment. What was important was getting ready for
the dinner reception, just like for a performance, and that's what it
would be.
Thunnnnkk! The heavy knocker on the tower door clunked.
"Lady Anna."
The two pages who had apparently been assigned to her, as some sort of
disciplinary duty, she suspected, stood there. Their arms were filled
with ill-assorted fabric, with shades ranging from mottled brown to
mottled green.
"Just bring me some cloth, linen and cotton," Anna had said. "Any kind."
Well… they had brought all kinds. "Put it on the bed."
"Would you like anything else, lady?" asked the thin redhead.
Anna ignored the slight overemphasis on "lady," and answered. "Is there a
bathing room in the tower?"
"Ah… no, Lady Anna."
"Then bring me two large basins of clean water. And some good soap."
Both pairs of shoulders slumped.
"I know. It's a long walk." She smiled. "But I would appreciate it, since
I must appear in court tonight."
"Court?"
"Before the Prophet," the sorceress explained. Every so often she used
some common phrase, and everyone looked blank. It was so like the year
she had studied in London.
The two exchanged glances.
"We could bring a big bucket for your basin," said the redhead.
"If you could get one more basin with the bucket…"
"We'll try, lady," promised the more voluble redhead.
After they left, Anna sorted through the dozen yards or so of assorted
fabric. Some appeared to be cotton, and a small swatch of blue was
something like velvet. All was poor quality.
After picking up the lutar again, she had to spend more time tuning it,
and she probably would every time until the strings finally broke. Three
spells later, two goblets of water, and more retunings than that, she had
a passably decent recital—or court—gown, a dressing robe, and a
nightgown. And still several yards of cloth left.
She'd have to think about what else she needed. In the interim, she
folded the spare fabric and tucked it under the bed.
Shoes? What could she do about shoes? She snorted.
Green suede shoes, instead of blue? Why not?
That worked easily, even if she never had seen green suede heels. The
spell, or her visualization, had even matched the suede with the green of
the gown. She tried not to worry about the source of the leather. At
least her boots remained intact.
Then, reminded of the heat by the sweat on her forehead, and the need for
another goblet of water, she tried a cooling spell, using an offshoot of
the basic water melody.
Mist rolled off the walls, and a hammer slammed through her skull. She
slumped into the chair and massaged her forehead. Maybe enduring the heat
was easier.
She just sat for a time, until another thunk on the door announced the
return of the two youths with the water.
After standing and setting the lutar in the corner by the window, Anna
opened the door.
The redhead gaped at the bed, where the green gown lay, with the shoes
beneath. "Where… lady? Did you bring a seamstress?"
"Sorceresses make their own gowns, didn't you know?"
"It's cool in here." The dark-haired page set the heavy bucket on the
floor. "Cooler than down in the water room." His arms trembled.
"Don't spill the water, lad," Anna cautioned. She paused. "I can't keep
calling you two 'lad' or what have you. What are your names?"
Both swallowed.
"Uhhh…"
Anna shook her head. "Names mean nothing. If I wanted to, I could cast a
spell on you without your names."
"But…"
Anna waited.
"I'm Birke," said the redhead. "My father is Lord of Abenfel."
"Skent. My father was guard-captain of the liedburg." The brightness of
Skent's eyes warned Anna.
"Bear with me," she said. "I have much to learn. I am a stranger here."
"Is it true you're from the mist worlds?" asked Birke. "That's what the
armsmen who brought you said."
"Yes."
"What are the mist worlds like?" Birke persisted.
"I only know my own world. Where I live is cooler than here, especially
in the winter..." Anna paused and looked at Skent, who was holding
himself still and trying to keep his lip stiff.
She touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Don't touch me."'His words were cold and trembling.
"I am sorry," she said. "I don't want to upset you, but I can tell it
hurts."
"How would you know?" burst forth from the dark-haired boy.
"My children are in my world," Anna said. "My oldest daughter died not
very long ago, and it still hurts."
Birke stiffened, but Skent continued to tremble.
"I wanted to hold her…" Anna swallowed, then said quietly, "I never can."
She pulled back into herself. "I'm sorry, Skent. I didn't mean to upset
you."
"That's… all right. You are a lady."
"Can we do anything else?" Birke asked quickly.
"No." Anna glanced to the window. "How long before dinner?"
"They eat when the sun sets," Skent said coldly, the chill radiating from
his words.
"Thank you." She paused. "I need to wash up and get ready, then."
The two slipped out, and Anna did not close the door all the way,
listening to whispers over the steps that slapped down the stone stairs.
"Maybe she is a sorceress…"
"… better act like she is, Skent… she's something, and I wouldn't want to
get in her way…"
"She seems nice… a lot nicer than the others, anyway…"
Anna hoped the story would get around. She needed all the help she could
get, and that might not be enough. Her eyes flicked to the lutar and then
to the heavy bucket of water. She had a lot to do.
Even washing up wasn't that simple. She had to use another spell to clean
the water again in order to wash her hair, but she wasn't going to her
first dinner with the Prophet of Music without looking her best.
The bell in the liedburg differed from that used by Brill, but Anna was
ready, looking out the window toward the sun that touched the tops of the
houses on the west side of Falcor.
Thuuunk. "Dinner will be served, lady," called Birke, his high voice
carrying through the heavy wood.
"I'll be right there." Anna glanced at the mirror and patted her head a
last time, trying to nudge the blonde strands into a better semblance of
order.
Birke gulped audibly as the sorceress stepped into the narrow hallway.
She smothered the smile, knowing that she was treading a fine line, but
the gown was conservative, with slightly puffed short sleeves and a
square-cut neck that did not show any cleavage, even if the cut of the
fabric hinted not quite blatantly that she was feminine.
Skent smiled shyly.
"Are you feeling a little better?" she asked.
"A little, lady."
"Can you two tell me who will be at this dinner?"
Both shook their heads.
"They don't tell us. We have to stay in the tower during the day, except
when we fetch things," Birke explained. "That's why we don't mind going
for water or cloth or things. Not too much, anyway."
"Where is this dinner?" Anna asked, putting out a hand to the rough stone
wall. The last thing she needed was to tumble down the narrow stone steps.
"In the middle hall," said Birke.
"No one uses the great hall," Skent added.
Anna wanted to sneeze as each step seemed to raise more dust. Her eyes
were watering by the time they left the tower and walked along a paneled
side hall—windowless, with only intermittent .lamps. After less than
twenty yards, Birke turned left into a larger corridor, where the sconces
contained larger brass lamps. The lamps on the left side had been lit,
and a page with a striker stood on a stool at the far sconce on the right
side. Anna's heels clicked on the tile floors that had been recently
swept.
Halfway down the corridor, an older page or a young armsman stood before
the pair of guards outside a set of arched double doors.
"That be the middle hall," whispered Skent.
Anna stopped. Now what?
"Giellum, this is the lady Anna. She's the sorceress from the mist
world," explained Birke.
"Lady Anna." Giellum bowed, and turned toward the doors. The guards
opened the doors, and he stepped through. "The lady Anna!"
Anna smiled at Birke and Skent, then straightened and walked into the
formal dining hall. The room was dim, with only three triple candelabra
upon the table lit, a table under the pair of unlit chandeliers that
contained close to twenty men—not a single woman. Within herself, Anna
stiffened, but she kept the smile in place.
"How do you know she's a sorceress?" The single remark from somewhere
near the head of the table hung in the sudden silence.
Before anyone else could speak, Anna sang the candle spell almost loud
enough to shiver the crystal chandeliers— and the room flooded with
light. A quick look up told her that her spell had burned down the top
third of every candle.
About half the jaws around the long table hung down.
"For the moment, will that do?" Anna asked, inclining her head slightly
to the sandy-haired Lord of Neserea.
"Yes. That will do, Lady Anna." Behlem smiled broadly. "Does anyone else
wish to question the lady's capabilities?"
The silence answered the question.
The Prophet gestured to the empty place at his right.
As Anna passed up the table toward the head, she caught a few whispers.
"… Prophet has the luck of the dissonant…"
"… take luck over skill any day…"
"… never seen a sorceress that lovely…"
She kept the professional smile all the way up the table, where at
another nod from Lord Behlem, she took the empty seat to his right,
noting that not one of the men around the table even made a gesture
toward her chair.
"Lady Anna, you have met Menares," the Prophet said after she sat.
Anna nodded across the table to the white-haired counselor, who returned
the nod and gave a half smile.
"This is Hanfor, overcaptain of the Prophet's Lancers." Behlem inclined
his head toward a square-faced officer in the cream and blue that marked
the Nesereans. Hanfor was seated to the right of Menares.
Hanfor's black hair was short and streaked with gray, and his weathered
face offered a professional smile. "I hope you can assist us."
"I will do my best, overcaptain."
"This is Delor, overcaptain of the Mittfels Foot."
"Sorceress." Sitting to Anna's right, Delor was whipcord thin, with black
eyes that glittered beneath balding brown hair.
"Overcaptain," Anna offered her professional smile.
"And this is Zealor, captain of the Prophet's Guard."
Zealor had a sad round face, blue eyes, and short and limp blond hair. He
nodded from the other side of Delor.
Anna returned the nod.
"I am Nitron, overcaptain for the levies." The brown-haired man beside
Hanfor had a sweeping mustache and pale green eyes. His smile was the
type that said, "How can you resist me?"
Delor quietly filled Anna's crystal goblet with dark red wine.
Three servers entered the hall with platters, and a fourth with two
baskets full of bread. Two of the platters went down between Behlem and
Anna, one with slices of beef covered in a brown sauce. The second
platter contained mixture of apples and green beans sprinkled with nuts.
"Eat while the food is warm. It won't be hot because the kitchen is a
long walk." Behlem laughed briefly, then speared a slice of the meat and
dropped it on Anna's plate, then took two for himself. She returned the
favor by ladling some of the apple-bean casserole onto his plate and then
hers.
Several of the younger officers at the foot of the table continued to
stare at Anna, but she forced herself to ignore the scrutiny. She cut and
ate a bite of the meat, glad that at the Prophet's table there was
cutlery, since she had not brought her dagger with her. The hot mint
sauce was spicy enough that Anna's eyes watered after one mouthful, and
she quickly broke off a chunk of bread and ate that, followed by a sip of
the fruity and too-sweet wine.
Then she tried the apples and beans—an odd, but not unpleasant
combination.
"Not bad for Defalk," murmured Menares, after finishing a complete slice
of meat in less than three mouthfuls. "A little on the mild side."
Anna took smaller bites of meat from then on and reminded herself to be
cautious when eating in Neserea.
"Perhaps the lady Anna would be so kind as to tell us in a few words
where she is from and how she came to grace our presence." Behlem lifted
his goblet and punctuated his words with a long swallow.
"As some of you know," the sorceress began after gently clearing her
throat and wondering when her sinuses would stop burning from the spices,
"I was summoned here from earth. It's one of the mist worlds…" She went
on to summarize her tale, careful not to identify Daffyd and Jenny as the
summoners, emphasizing the cold, dark nature of the Ebrans, and
concluding with her trip from Synope.
"Sorcerers tell of wondrously mighty weapons seen in the images of the
mist worlds," said Menares. "Powerful as you are, why have you not
employed such weapons?"
"Because it takes thousands of people to make those weapons on my world
and because that kind of technology magic does not work on Erde." Anna
offered a shrug.
"Does song magic work on your world?" asked Menares.
"Not nearly so well as it does here," Anna answered.
"I am curious," ventured Delor. "Why are you willing to help us?"
Anna paused, thinking, Careful… this is where it gets tricky. "I am
frankly not so interested in helping you as I am in stopping the Ebrans.
In my world, years ago, there was a country like Ebra, whose soldiers
wore black and who decided to try to take over the world. No one tried to
stop them when they were smaller and not so powerful. In the end the
world was devastated and over fifty million people died."
"Million?" asked Zealor.
Anna frowned momentarily, then realized the number was probably
meaningless in a culture where the largest cities were in the tens of
thousands and battles were decided by a few thousand people. "One hundred
thousand—a million is ten times as large."
"You must be… deceived. There are not that many people anywhere."
"The country where I lived had over two hundred million people. Two
others had more than five times as many people."
"They would be crowded together like rats," protested Zealor.
"In some places, they are," Anna admitted.
"The sorceress answered the question, I believe," interjected Menares
smoothly. "It is not that she loves us so greatly, but that she has
already seen in her own world what damage those like the dark ones can
create." He rubbed his chin. "Still… why do you choose to fight? Most
women do not."
"I think I have already shown that," Anna answered. And I'm not about to
admit that I don't have many choices.
"Surely… some would offer protection…" That came from the lower end of
the table.
"When one accepts such protection, the price is high, and the choices
few," Anna answered.
Behlem laughed. "What our sorceress is saying is that, like you,
captains, she prefers to make her own choices and pay for them with her
abilities. We need her abilities, and I would rather pay her than lose
armsmen. Wouldn't you?"
"With almost no support," Menares added, "she destroyed more than half
the Ebran forces in the battle for the Sand Pass, and all of the
darksingers in the pass itself. Eladdrin is yet seeking replacements."
Anna covered her confusion with a sip of the wine. Menares and Behlem
were using the others' questions to sell Anna. Why? She especially needed
to watch the older man, she felt. Menares didn't feel untrustworthy, but
he didn't feel trustworthy, either. He also knew too much. Behlem was
totally untrustworthy, and he'd do away with her as soon as he didn't
need her. So she needed to remain indis-pensible. What a miserable
situation—the worst of university politics combined with magic and
medieval court intrigue.
"I suppose she'll use her sorcery from a safe redoubt while we take the
arrows?" asked Nitron.
"At the Sand Pass, she was as exposed as any armsman," Behlem said
mildly. "Sorcery doesn't work unless the sorcerer's voice can be heard.
Except in the mist worlds," he added with a disarming laugh.
"That works out both ways there," Anna added. "Our weapons can destroy
whole cities, so nowhere is safe in war."
"Barbaric…" said Hanfor under his breath.
All war seemed barbaric to Anna, and arguing about which way of killing
was more or less civilized was an academic exercise. She took another sip
of wine.
"How soon will the Ebrans advance?" asked Delor.
"Not until they are at full strength, and that will be several weeks
yet," said Menares.
"We should attack sooner."
"Good advice," said Behlem wryly, "except that we're not up to strength
yet, and their forces are closer than ours. We also need to get more
support from the local lords."
"Ha! You've got a fat goose's chance of escaping that fire."
"The lady Anna brought us the support of the Lord of Synope, and we have
the support of Pamr and Dubaria—"
"…never heard of them…"
"—and we expect that support to grow with the arrival of additional
forces from Elioch and Itzel." Behlem raised his goblet. "To the defeat
of the dark ones."
Anna managed to drink less than two goblets of wine in the endless
toasts, and the questions that, as the evening proceeded, repeated the
questions already asked, and the answers already given. She also forced
herself to eat far more than she wanted. A good look in the mirror while
dressing had convinced her of that necessity, even while she fought the
impulses that screamed, "You're overeating. You'll get fat." Even though
the words in her mind had sounded like Avery's, she had to fight to eat
what she had.
In the end, though, her steps were steady when, after asking the
Prophet's leave, she stood and walked toward the arched doors.
"Think she'll warm his bed?''
"Not if he's got any brains. Would you want to get caught between her and
Cyndyth?"
Even keeping her face calm as she walked toward the door, Anna seethed.
In some matters, even in Falcor, she had choices. And she would have more.
61
Falcor, Defalk
I had not expected her to be so…" Behlem fingers his beard, as he leans
back in the leather chair.
"So beautiful?" asks Menares.
"How can it be real? Is it a glamour?"
"Her reflection in the wall mirrors is the same as her appearance. Even
with spelled water, her reflection is the same. I took her hand, and it
feels like the hand of a young woman."
"But… how? She looked older in the mirrors."
"She was. She is. She has indicated that she has children older than
Cyndyth."
Behlem looks sharply at Menares. "How did you find that out?"
"From my efforts when you sent me here. Does it matter?" Menares shrugs.
"You wanted the sorceress, and she will assist you."
Behlem fingers his beard and shakes his head.
"Don't even think about it," cautions Menares. "She may be powerful, but
if Cyndyth and Konsstin—"
"I know...But she's beautiful, and she doesn't simper or cringe."
"She is almost old enough to be your mother, no matter how she looks,"
says Menares dryly. "And you need her abilities a great deal more than
you need her body."
"There is that."
"Keep thinking that way, Behlem. Otherwise, Eladdrin will pull Defalk
down around your ears—our ears, I might say."
The Prophet swallows the last of the wine in his goblet. "… never have
what I want… always some problem… What about this Lord Hryding?"
"He lost half his levies and most of his trained armsmen in that battle
for the Sand Pass. He couldn't stop fourscore of your armsmen. So he
escorts the sorceress to you and hopes for your favor. Send back a few
golds and a scroll. He'll support you, and it will cost you almost
nothing."
Behlem nods. "What does it gain me?"
"You can announce tomorrow what you did last night to the captains, that
yet another old lord of Defalk has seen the wisdom of supporting you. If
you can announce one every few days, before long, no one will dare oppose
you, not openly."
The Prophet refills his goblet. "She is beautiful, and it is not just her
appearance."
"You had best hope that Cyndyth does not discover that is how you feel."
"So had you, dear friend. So had you."
You summoned me, Lady Anna?" Daffyd asked, looking at the dusty stones of
the landing where he stood outside Anna's door.
"I just asked if I could talk to you." Anna shrugged. "Before I knew it,
the pages were running off, and I guess they dragged you up here." She
gestured to the chair by the table. "Why don't you sit down? Would you
like some water?"
"Ah… yes."
Anna could see the dampness around his forehead. She handed him the extra
goblet. "It's clean."
"Your room is cool." Daffyd finished the entire goblet in two long
swallows. "That was good. Thank you."
"I've had time to work up a few more spells. I don't know that I could
take it if it were as hot as it was when I got here." She refilled the
goblet. "I figured that if Brill could cool rooms I ought to be able to
find a way, and I did. It's so hot here."
"It's hotter here than in Mencha. It always is this time of year, and it
gets hotter until harvest time."
"How are your quarters?"
"I have a small room to myself, and it's got a window. That's something.
I managed to get some spare strings, too. One broke when I was practicing
yesterday."
"How are the players?"
"They're players," Daffyd shrugged. "Most aren't as good as I am, or
Liende or Kaseth, or even Jaegel. Lord Brill had the best. This bunch
only knows a few dozen spell tunes."
"Who do they play for?"
"Lord Behlem."
"He knows sorcery?" Anna asked, puzzled. If Behlem knew sorcery, why did
he need Anna?
"Most rulers know a few spells. Even Barjim learned a few, but they're
simple. Anyone can learn a spell, I guess, but what good is one spell, or
even a few? And people who aren't sorcerers can't always sing the spells
right, even the ones they know."
And they probably can't match their singing well with the players unless
it's very simple, Anna thought, then asked. "Do you need anything?"
"No. We're fed well, and we can practice, and walk around the courtyard.
It's boring, though." He looked at Anna. "Was this a good idea, Lady
Anna? There's no locks here, but…"
"We'll have to see," she answered. "I couldn't do much in Synope."
The player finished his second goblet of water.
"See who you think would make a good players' group." Anna held up her
hand. "I don't have anything in mind, yet." She poured herself another
drink. Even with the coolness of the room, it was dry, and she needed a
lot of water.
"You know, Dalila really liked you," Daffyd said slowly.
"I like her. I don't care much for Madell."
"I never did, either. But she had to get away, and he was interested. Ma
worried about Lord Brill."
Anna shook her head. From what Liende had said, Daffyd's mother probably
worried that Brill would be interested in Dalila instead of her, and she
wanted out more than her daughter had.
"I don't know," the violist finally said. "You think you know things, and
then you don't."
"We all find that out," Anna said with a half-bitter laugh. "We all do."
63
Wei, Nordwei
The bright flames of the lamps on the wall scarcely flicker, and no
smudge of soot mars the crystal mantles of the brass luminaries. Through
the window, points of orange and yellow mark the larger lamps lighting
the harbor piers, and the lines of darkness undotted by lamps denote the
River Nord and the outlines of Vereisen Bay.
The heavyset seer waits in the chair until the dark-haired woman with her
back to the window looks up. The blonde woman in the adjoining chair
moistens her lips.
"What have you seen, Kendr?" asks the dark-haired Ashtaar at last.
"The sorceress from the mist worlds… She is strong… and she has been
welcomed by the Prophet Behlem," answers Kendr.
"We knew she was strong. All the strings of Liedwahr echoed when she
called the fires of dissonance down upon the Ebrans."
Gretslen looks down.
"You are displeased, Gretslen?"
"I am concerned. I did not feel dissonance when the sorceress called the
fires."
"What about you, Kendr?" questions Ashtaar.
"I sensed no dissonance, ser."
Ashtaar frowns, then asks, "What else have you discovered about the
sorceress?"
"She is in a tower in Falcor, in the liedburg, and she has a strange
instrument, like a lute, but larger. She practices with it. People visit
her." Kendr smiles apologetically.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Your Mightiness."
"I'm not a mightiness, Kendr, but you may go. I would like a few more
words with you, Gretslen."
The two wait until the seer departs and the door closes.
"Why did Behlem offer her sanctuary?" asks Ashtaar.
"It was his idea alone. We tried to discourage it, and we've planted more
seeds, especially since the sorceress has been renewed and made young
again."
"Those seeds will take time to grow into trees and bear fruit."
"I know," Gretslen admits.
"That's fine, I think. The battle for the Sand Pass showed that the
Ebrans are stronger than the Council thought. So let the sorceress be,
for now, Gretslen, whether she be of harmony or dissonance," says the
dark-haired woman. "If she defeats the Ebrans, and Behlem is victorious,
then she must be eliminated. Behlem with a sorceress of that power—he
would be insufferable."
"Even with our influence?" asks Gretslen.
"Behlem disregarded our 'influence' on this already," answers Ashtaar
ironically. "
"We should remedy that, too," suggests Gretslen.
"Later… if necessary," Ashtaar agrees.
64
Anna studied the clean riding clothes she wore, then yanked the bellpull.
Daffyd had intimated that she was a prisoner in a gilded cage. Well…
there was no way she was going to spend another day sitting in a tower
room practicing lutar and trying to adapt more songs into spells. She'd
go mad.
She walked back to the window, standing slightly back from the open
shutters and the cooling barrier she had managed. The portcullis had been
lifted to admit another troop of horse, and there were more tents in the
flat outside the walls. To the north, clouds formed on the horizon—had
her efforts reduced the Ebran control over the weather?
Thunk! "Yes, Lady Anna?" came the voice through the heavy door.
"Come in."
The redheaded page stepped inside and bowed.
"Birke," Anna announced, "I'm going riding. Farinelli needs the exercise.
I'd appreciate it if you would make the arrangements so that we can leave
the liedburg as soon as possible." She smiled. "I'll saddle Farinelli
myself. It might be dangerous for anyone else."
"But…"
"If anyone gives you trouble, they can come to me—or to the Prophet's
counselor Menares. It's not as though I'm going to ride out and attack
the Ebrans. All the other captains come and go. So will I."
Birke gulped. "Yes, lady."
A smile played across Skent's face as he stood behind Birke.
Anna stood waiting until the page bowed, and both of the youths left.
Then she shut the door and walked back to the window. The portcullis had
been lowered again, and the arriving armsmen had vanished somewhere into
the castle.
She could have marched down to the stable herself, but that would have
created a direct confrontation with the sta-blemaster, or whoever was in
charge, or would put the man in an impossible situation, and she didn't
want to put any of the staff in such a position. She would need every
ally she could find. The pages were supposed to carry out her wishes, and
she'd provided them with a safe response—she hoped.
She did not have to wait long before the knocker thunked again.
Menares stood at the door, breathing heavily. "I understand—"
"I am going riding. Nothing more. I will not spend all my days in a small
tower room. If I am to ride to battle, I need practice."
"Not all of Falcor is safe…"
"Fine. Tell me where I shouldn't go."
"You need an escort…"
"All right. A small one. Have them meet me in the stables in a few
moments."
"Your actions might be considered…"
"Menares, you're a smart man. You know, and I know, that the Prophet
needs me, and I need the Prophet. But I'm not a bird in a gilded cage.
Besides, it wouldn't hurt the Prophet's image to have me riding around.
It will give the impression that people are joining him by choice, not
force. Oh, and I'd like one of the pages to accompany me, probably Skent
this time. He needs to get out."
"Lady Anna…"
"Menares, it's much safer for you and Behlem to have me perceived as
willful and independent."
"Still…"
"Do you want me to have to resort to sorcery? Do you think I won't?"
"I will have an escort as soon as possible." The heavy shoulders dropped.
"I would appreciate your not trying to leave the castle without them. We
might need the portcullis at some point. Or the walls."
"Thank you. I'm not about to do anything foolish." Not too foolish,
anyway, besides riding in a strange town in an impossible world under the
indirect and questionable protection of an unloved conqueror. Except I
can't allow myself to be seen as his creature or his captive, and I can't
allow them to intimidate me.
Anna permitted herself a tight smile as the counselor's heavy footsteps
and labored breathing echoed back up the tower staircase.
Before she had taken a step back into her small room, two sets of
footsteps raced up the stairs. She opened the door before Birke could
lift the knocker.
"Lady…" panted the redhead, "the counselor said we were to get you ready,
that he would send word to the stablemaster—''
"I know. He just left." Anna glanced at Skent. "Did he tell you that one
of you will be accompanying me on my rides?"
"No, lady."
"Today, it's Skent's turn. Tomorrow, it will be yours."
"But… Virkan said we weren't supposed to leave the liedburg,'' said Birke.
"It won't be for that long. You can tell Virkan that both Menares and I
feel one of you should go." Anna smiled. "If Virkan gives you any
difficulty, or tries to make your life harder with things like extra
duties or less food, let me know. I'll find out anyway, but telling me
immediately will stop such nonsense immediately."
The two pages exchanged glances again.
She had the feeling Virkan would be a problem from the shiver that went
through Skent.
"Just a moment. Wait right there." Anna went to the dresser and rummaged
through her scraps of paper until she found the notes on the "kindness"
spell she had used on Madell. The two names even had the same number of
syllables.
Then she uncased the lutar, retuning it quickly, not that it needed much
since she'd practiced earlier. Vocalises were just about the only thing
she dared sing full volume on Erde.
Both pages swallowed as she stepped onto the landing outside the door.
"Let's find Virkan."
The two exchanged glances.
"Don!t worry. I won't turn him into ashes. We're just going to put a stop
to this nonsense. Let's go."
Birke led the way, down to the lowest level of the tower, and then
through a musty narrow tunnel that ran south,
Anna thought, under the main section of the hall. Finally, they halted
outside a room that looked to be under the foundations for the hall's
main grand staircase—or something that required an equally imposing
footing.
"The lady Anna wished to see you, Virkan." Birke's voice trembled.
"Oh… up to no good again, Birke. Trying to use your exalted position to
get out of work. Or is it worse this time?"
Anna stepped through the doorway, ignoring the sour smell that filled the
room. Sitting in an old wooden armchair before a battered table, almost a
caricature of the English butler, Virkan looked like Anna had supposed,
pudgy, but not fat, with deep-set weasellike eyes that shifted from one
side of the small lower room to the other.
"No. I am taking Skent and Birke with me on my rides— one at a time, of
course, so that one will be left in the tower, but I was led to believe
that you would be displeased." Anna smiled, lifting the lutar into
position.
"Displeased, my lady? We are only here to serve." Despite the smile, the
words were empty sounding, false. Anna could tell that Virkan was the
type that would always present a cheerful and pleasant front while
abusing people who couldn't resist. And all the men in the liedburg would
ignore the problem because they thought anything less than whip-welts was
acceptable.
"So am I," Anna said, letting her fingers caress the chords. "So I
thought I'd help the Prophet a little." Then she sang:
"Virkan wrong, Virkan strong,
treat all right from this song.
Virkan warm, Virkan cold,
gentle be till dead and old."
The lutar's chords and Anna's voice slammed through the small,
stone-walled room, and, halfway through the song, the pagemaster
staggered up as if to reach for Anna, then slumped into the chair.
"You have cursed me…" His voice was instantly hoarse.
"No more than you deserve," Anna said quietly. She could see the
desperation behind his eyes as she watched every scheme, every cruelty
being weighed and denied by the spell. "You will be kind to everyone.
It's really no different from a command from the Prophet or Lord Barjim,
except you can't weasel your way around it." She nodded. "Good day,
Virkan." Then she turned. "Skent, you and I will head for the stable.
Birke, I forgot the case for the lutar. Would you fetch it, and meet us
at the stable?"
"Yes, Lady Anna." Birke bowed and scurried off.
Anna followed Skent back up the steps to the main floor.
"You look discouraged, Skent," Anna offered as the silence persisted.
"You upset Birke, Lady Anna, maybe as much as Virkan." He paused.
"Sorcery is scary."
"I didn't mean to scare you, but I could tell that Virkan would punish
you and that neither one of you would admit it"
"That frightened me, too."
"That's not sorcery. I saw that because I have children. My son is
twenty-four, and he got that look every so often." Anna laughed, thinking
about how transparent Mario had been.
Skent swallowed as he held the outside door to the courtyard. "Is that
true? Really true? You look as young as Lady Cataryzna."
"I take it you like her?"
"She's beautiful. Not as beautiful as you," Skent added.
"I'm sure she is beautiful, and you don't have to worry about flattering
my ego, young man." She almost winced as she stepped into the heat of the
courtyard. Why was Birke so upset? Should she ask, or just listen over
the next few days? She decided on listening.
The stables were within the southwest corner of the outer walls, and Anna
could smell straw, horses, and manure, although the odors were mild, and
the packed-clay floors swept clean.
The page led her to a small room just inside the doors, where he held the
door and bowed. "Tirsik, this is the Lady Anna."
The stablemaster was probably younger than Anna, but looked older, with
short graying hair above a wrinkled forehead. The blue eyes twinkled, and
his right arm was shorter than the left and seemed permanently crooked.
He bowed as Anna stepped inside, still carrying the lutar. "Lady Anna."
"Stablemaster," Anna returned.
"Of sorts." He grinned. "You're the one riding the beast."
"Farinelli? The big palomino?"
"The beast," Tirsik affirmed. "We feed him and water him, but the stall's
a mess. Won't let no one in. Hisse got slammed leading him in and
unsaddling him, had to scramble up the wall."
"I'm sorry. I'm taking him out today, and from now on, I'll make sure I'm
here to groom him and ride him every day. It's taken a little time to
work things out. I'm new to Falcor."
"You from Neserea?"
"No. I'm from a distant place, but most recently I've been living in
Mencha and Synope."
"She's the sorceress," Skent volunteered.
"Oh… my pardon, lady." Tirsik bowed again. "I did not know. You are the
one from the mist worlds?"
"Yes. But I'm still a real person." She forced a laugh. "And I need help,
just like everyone else who rides a horse."
"If you ride the beast," Tirsik returned with his own laugh, "I don't
know what help I can give."
"You feed and water him." She inclined her head to Skent. "Skent here,
and on alternate days, Birke, will be riding with me. They'll need
mounts, if that's possible."
"We can do that." The words were slow, not quite questioning.
"I've already met with Virkan and Menares."
"She has," Skent confirmed.
"You have great powers of persuasion, then."
"I appealed to their better nature."
Tirsik raised his eyebrows.
"Virkan, I am confident, will have a much better nature from now on." Of
course, he'll hate me to the end of his days, but if the spell holds, he
won't be able to do much, and who knows, he might actually find being
kind works.
"If that be so, lady, many will be grateful." Tirsik looked at Skent.
"Get your boots, imp."
"Yes, Tirsik." Skent*grinned and was gone.
"Happiest I've seen him in weeks." Tirsik stepped toward the door. "Let's
see to your beast."
Even before Anna reached the stall, Farinelli started snorting and
whufflirig. She set the lutar carefully on a bale of hay. "Yes, I'm
coming," Anna told the gelding as she opened the stall door.
"You must have ridden a lot," Tirsik said, staying outside.
"Not for years until recently. We just get along." She patted the
gelding's flank and scratched his forehead as Farinelli turned to her.
The gelding whuffed violently and edged her toward the stall wall. Her
boot hit something sharp, sharp enough that she could feel it through the
heavy leather.
After bending down, she extracted what looked to be a four-pointed metal
star, bigger than her fist, with cruelly sharp points. Anna glanced at
Farinelli, then called, "Tirsik."
"Yes, lady?"
"Why is this in Farinelli's stall?" She gingerly handed the object to the
stablemaster.
"Dissonant bastards," muttered the stablemaster. "Can you check his
hoofs?"
"Why?"
"That's a caltrops."
"What?"
"Foot soldiers use them, scatter them around to stop horse troops."
Anna swallowed, then moistened her lips. Why would someone try to lame
Farinelli? To get at her? Anna shook her head, then began to ease her way
around the stall— carefully with the slippery footing underneath.
Surprisingly, to her, Farinelli let her lift each foot. Each appeared
uninjured. "His hoofs are fine."
"Good. None of my people would do that. Not to any animal, and certainly
not to one this fine." Tirsik's voice was edged. "We'll check all the
stalls."
Anna began to brush the gelding.
"Looks like some armsmen coming," commented Tirsik.
"Oh… I'm supposed to have an escort. Menares doesn't want someone to
attack his prize sorceress. I told him a small escort."
"Subofficer walks like he's got a burr under his saddle."
"He probably does. Proud warriors don't like protection details." Anna
snorted, looking for the saddle blanket. She patted Farinelli, hoping he
wouldn't throw off the blanket, and eased out of the stall.
"Subofficer Spirda, Lady Anna." The words seemed forced out of the stiff
young officer's mouth. His tanned face registered disapproval, even to
the blond hair and brush mustache.
"I am pleased to meet you, Spirda." Anna inclined her head gravely. "I'll
be a few moments, since I'll need to finish saddling Farinelli." She
could see the thoughts in his mind—She names horses; what am I doing here?
"Naming horses is one of my many peculiarities," the sorceress added.
"Along with carrying my own weight." She stepped back into the stall,
where she slipped the saddle off the rack and onto Farinelli, who
whuffled. "Easy… you'll get some exercise, plenty of exercise before
we're done."
"That one's not what she seems, officer," said Tirsik wryly. "Not a one
of my men that beast will let near."
"A disguised unicorn? I doubt that," said Spirda.
"You want the bay mare, boy?" asked Tirsik, looking at Skent who had
hurried up.
"If you please, ser."
"The page is coming?" asked Spirda.
"Yes, ser," Skent said. "The sorceress said. I had to."
"Sorceress…"
"Ser," offered Skent politely, "she filled the middle hall with light in
instants, and she turned useless cloth into the finest gown, and her room
is cooler than the deepest cellars of the hall."
"You saw all this, boy?"
"Yes, ser."
"Hmmmm…"
Behind the stall wall, as she tightened the saddle cinches, Anna frowned.
Spirda sounded like another man who needed both cultivating and watching.
As she led the big palomino out of the stall, Birke appeared, breathless.
"Here's your case, Lady Anna."
Tirsik offered, and Anna handed the reins to the stable-master. "Easy,
Farinelli."
The gelding whuffed, but remained planted as Anna quickly retrieved the
lutar and put it in the case, then strapped the case to the empty
saddlebags. .She took the water bottle, and handed it to Birke. "I'm not
as organized as I should be. Can you fill this quickly?"
"Yes, lady." The redhead dashed off.
Anna frowned. Fear from the youth, she didn't want. She turned to Spirda
and smiled. "I'm pleased to meet you, Officer Spirda. I apologize for
imposing on your time, and that of your men, but the Prophet's counselor
felt…" She shrugged.
"The instrument? I understood this was to be a ride."
"It is." She glanced down to his belt and the rapier he wore. "You are an
armsman, and you wear your weapon on your belt. I'm a sorceress. I'd
prefer not to use mine.
That is why you are here, and why the lutar is in its case. I will use it
if I have to."
Spirda frowned, and Anna wanted to sigh. Had she gotten the biggest dunce
in Behlem's forces? Probably, and that meant explaining.
"What the sorceress means," Tirsik interjected with a smile, "is that
sorcery's often not too… particular-like, I'd guess you'd say, officer. I
heard that this lady killed at least a couple thousand Ebrans. I don't
suppose that the Prophet would want her having to kill a few thousand
folks just to fend off a few brigands."
Anna could see the light dawning, dimly. "Officer Spirda," she said
gently, "we are just going on a ride. I need the exercise. The Prophet is
convinced I need a certain amount of protection. For me to do what I can,
I need to see more of Defalk. Right now, that means Falcor." She smiled
again, feeling that she was smiling too often, as she had at Ames, and
before, until her face felt like it would fall off. Why couldn't she just
spell out the situation? Because she was dealing with people, and people
didn't like truth. Once she'd thought it was only women—before she met
Dieshr—but women were just as bad, and often more vicious.
"All right, lady. We will accompany you. Let us get our mounts."
You don't have any choice, but if that's the way you want to save face,
for now, we'll leave it like that, Anna thought, saying, "Thank you.
Skent and I will wait for you in the courtyard."
Tirsik smiled sadly and briefly as the Neserean officer turned and
marched off. "Need to get you on that bay quick, Skent."
"Yes, ser."
Anna led Farinelli out of the stables and into the still-shadowed corner
of the courtyard. Two armsmen working a grindstone in the shade of the
wall glanced up, specula-tively, then went back to their labors. She
tried to look at the inside of the liedburg in a more analytical fashion.
From what she could tell, the general plan was simple— the hall sat in
the middle of the walls, with towers attached to each comer of the four
walls. The working aspects of the castle, such as the stables, were built
inward from the outer walls, and the irregular space between the hall and
the expanded walls formed the de facto courtyard. Guards walked the upper
section of the outer walls, but without much conviction.
Anna, again, got the impression that Falcor, and Defalk, were just too
tired from drought, whatever, to put up much resistance. Behlem had
apparently just marched in and taken over.
Skent arrived first, leading out the bay mare. "Tirsik let me take the
bay. Birke says she's steady. I didn't get to ride much this last year,
not like he did."
"Why was that?"
"He's the son of a lord. They get to ride more often."
There was more, but Anna didn't press, especially as Birke hurried back
with the water bottle. "Thank you, Birke. I appreciate it." She took the
bottle and slipped it into the leather holder hanging from the front of
the saddle.
Birke nodded.
Spirda and two armsmen rode up almost immediately. So Anna climbed into
the saddle with a grace she wouldn't have believed weeks earlier, and
eased Farinelli alongside Spirda's chestnut.
"Whenever you're ready, Officer Spirda."
Spirda nodded stiffly and eased the chestnut into the sun and toward the
portcullis gate.
"Spirda, Prophet's Guard, escorting sorceress, the lady Anna."
The portcullis lifted, and Anna nodded to the gate officer. "Thank you."
the officer did not smile, just studied her. Anna stared back until his
eyes fell.
Another set of guards were drawn up outside the portcullis, but only one
or two even looked up as the six rode out. Was that because no one was
interested in anyone free enough to ride out!
As Farinelli's hoofs clicked on the stone—and the gelding almost
pranced—Skent rode on her immediate left, and Spirda on her right. The
other two armsmen, bored looks on their faces, rode behind.
She turned to Skent. "If we go south, where will the road take us?"
"Through the merchants' quarter, Lady Anna, and then back to the fork in
the highways. One crosses the south bridge and goes on to Sudwei, the
right fork follows the river to Cheor, and then down to Abenfel. I
haven't gone that far, but that's what Birke says, and he's from Abenfel."
Anna turned Farinelli left at the end of the causeway, with the castle to
her left and a row of structures to the right. Her eyes focused on the
shops across from the lied-burg, a strange mixture—a perfumery beside a
tailor, and then a cooper, and a bootmaker, and then the inevitable
chandlery.
"Officer Spirda, where are you from?"
"Zeltos."
"Where is Zeltos? You have to remember that I'm new to Liedwahr."
"It's a trading town south of Itzel."
Anna waited.
"Itzel is where the Essis and the Saria Rivers join. Once it was the
capital of Neserea." Spirda closed his mouth.
"First woman I've seen riding out of there," came a comment from under a
purple awning at the right edge of the street.
"Got a page, too."
"Discord! The whitecoats might actually be human."
"Pretty woman, though."
"Do you come from a military family?—I mean a family where use of arms is
the practice?" Anna eased Farinelli around a pushcart bearing baskets.
"All Neserean men are skilled in arms," Spirda said stiffly, his mount
following Anna's. Skent went around the other side of the cart.
"I'm sure. That wasn't quite what I meant. You're a leader, and often
families have a tradition of producing arms leaders." Anna patted
Farinelli because she could sense he was getting edgy with the
combined's'treet traffic of pedestrians and carts.
"Oh…" Spirda paused, and Anna could almost feel a thawing at the
recognition/compliment. "No. My uncle was a subofficer with the old
prophet, but my sire is a merchant. I was never meant to peddle carpets.
So I joined the Guard."
"I got the impression the other night that the Guard is special, but no
one said much. Probably they thought I knew."
"The Prophet's Guard is the oldest company-at-arms in Neserea, and it
takes much skill to be accepted."
"I'm complimented that the counselor felt I needed such talented escorts.
I didn't know." Anna tried not to retch, but subtlety clearly wasn't
within Spirda's reach.
"The Guard gets the special assignments."
"Do you guard the Prophet in battle?"
"Not all of us, but some Guards are always around him, except when he
does sorcery."
Sorcery? Behlem did sorcery? He didn't feel like he did sorcery, but
Daffyd had indicated that anyone could do a few spells, if they
practiced, and were ready to take the risks.
At the end of the liedburg grounds to the left, they continued down the
street, with structures now on both sides, with a higher noise level.
"… best spices in Falcor…"
"Fresh fowl! Get your fresh fowl…"
"…told Alastor that flour would go to five silvers! Think he'd…"
Anna wanted to put her hands to her ears as they eased down the street.
Despite the noise, when she saw the cloth merchant, and the deep green
velvets, she wanted to stop, but decided that the Erdean equivalent of
shopping wasn't a good idea—not on the first ride with the stiff-necked
Spirda.
"It's better a block down," Skent said loudly. "In three, the way's clear
to the bridge and square."
Anna hoped so, and offered another smile to Spirda. More politics! Would
she ever be free of politics? It didn't seem to matter where she was; the
need for politics continued!
65
"… the gown stayed pure and bright!"
Anna set down the lutar and looked at the deep-blue gown on the bed—neck
cut low enough to sing, high enough to get the message across that she
wasn't looking for anyone, with quarter-length sleeves loose enough to
let her move, yet like nothing she'd seen on Erde.
In some ways, she hated creating gowns… but it was like performing for
the University president—sorceress or singer, she had to keep up
appearances.
She glanced in the mirror, struck by the contrast between her riding
clothes and the gown—and by the thinness of her face. She felt like she
were stuffing herself, making sure she ate seconds, and everything on the
trays the pages brought. But her clothes were looser. In the beginning,
the idea of youth and eating anything hadn't seemed so bad… but now, it
was almost as though she couldn't eat enough. She was more muscular, but
she still looked too thin, bordering on anorexic. Could she order extra
food?
Nothing she did seemed to be enough. She took a deep breath.
Still, she'd been riding for the past three days, and even Spirda had
become almost friendly. The two pages seemed to enjoy it, and she had a
better idea of what Falcor was like—and what it had once been.
Although it was hard to tell, she sensed that perhaps a quarter of the
structures in the small city were empty, and that some had been vacant
for what seemed years.
She shook her head.
The knocker thunked.
"Yes?"
Not recognizing the voice, Anna opened the door.
Menares stood there. "Might I have a word with you, Lady Anna?"
"Of course. Please come in."
As Anna closed the door, the heavy, white-haired counselor took one of
the wooden chairs, sat, and wiped his forehead. "Your rooms are cool."
"One of the benefits of sorcery. I can cool a small room; I'm not sure
about a larger one. Would you like some water? It's cold and pure."
"Another benefit of sorcery?"
"A necessary one. Defalk is dry, and I need to drink a lot of water." She
filled the spare goblet for Menares, and refilled her own before sitting
down across from him.
"You are attending the dinner this evening?"
Anna's eyes flicked to the gown.
"I see you are. More sorcery?"
"Of course. I don't sew that well."
"You should be aware that the last of the Ebran reinforcements have
started out from Synek." Menares took a sip of the water, then a long
swallow. "I never thought water would taste so good."
"Thank you." She paused. "How long before they reach Mencha?"
"About two weeks." The counselor paused. "There are nearly ten thousand
in the last contingent."
"We're outnumbered?"
"Greatly. I was wondering just how effective your sorcery is."
"It's not that effective." Anna tightened her lips. "Do you have any maps
of the land between Mencha and Falcor?"
"A number," admitted the counselor. "But you are not a field commander."
Anna shook her head. "That is not why I need them. I have some ideas of
how I might apply magic in some areas." Actually, I have no ideas at all,
just feelings, but I'll have to trust them. She paused. "That might mean
fighting somewhere of our choice, though."
"After what the mirrors showed in the Sand Pass, Lady Anna, most
commanders would listen if you could assure them that fighting on this or
that hilltop would grant them a victory they could not otherwise assure."
"I may have to ride out to Zechis or Pamr," Anna cautioned.
"You will have to take a larger escort," countered Menares.
"For something like that, I'd need one," Anna admitted. She stood and
refilled his goblet.
"Were I younger…" the counselor began.
"Remember, counselor," she cautioned, "I'm not that much younger than you
are. I was just a beneficiary of a sorcerous accident."
"Would that such an accident befell me."
Anna frowned. "Would you really want to be young in a place where you
could never see family, friends, or do what you loved fully and freely?"
The white-haired man tugged at the uppermost of his double chins. "Hmmmm…
that is a point." He sipped more of the water. "Yet… it is almost a
pleasure just to be here. Cool… with a beautiful woman."
Anna laughed, softly. "What else do you want, you devious schemer?"
"Me? The truthful counselor of the Prophet? Devious?"
"You." The sorceress sipped her own water and waited.
"You see… I worry about the Prophet. Everyone around him has only seen
how easily Defalk fell…"
"Without Lord Barjim and his consort, I suspect, Defalk was already
defeated, or at least Falcor was."
Menares's eyes widened. "How…"
"You can feel a lot when you walk or ride through a city." Anna looked
toward the window, and the afternoon shadows on the walls. "Falcor is
dying, or something." She looked back to the white-haired man. "You were
saying?"
"Be careful, Lady Anna. The Prophet needs you. I know he needs you, but
few others understand that need." Menares eased his bulk out of the
chair. "Alas, I must go." He bowed. "Might I visit again?"
"Of course." Anna inclined her head. "Of course."
"Until dinner." Anna waited until he was down the stairs before summoning
Skent to get some water so she could wash up. She missed having a
tub—even a real shower would be heaven—but neither was going to happen
soon.
She also hoped the dinner would not be long, that she would not be the
subject of more sexual speculation, and that she would not have to
demonstrate sorcery. She also feared all three would come to pass.
66
Her suspicions had all come to fruition, and despite absolutely gorging
herself the night before, a decent night's sleep, breakfast, and a good
ride, Anna still had a nagging headache, and the desire to turn Delor
into the Erdean equivalent of a toad.
As if nursing sour white wine all evening, and fending off the innuendos
of the not-so-good overcaptain Delor had not been enough, someone had
searched her room while she had been at dinner. There was no way to lock
the tower door from outside, and they certainly knew by now that she had
a packful of assorted arms, and" spells of sorts scrawled everywhere,
although she doubted many could use them, given modern English spelling
and cryptic musical notation.
The whole idea made her seethe, though she certainly should have expected
it—even sooner. It was almost as bad as university politics. Worse, in
some ways, because the locals had this idea that everything was all right
unless they were caught red-handed. She shook her head. That wasn't just
an Erdean problem, but one she'd seen everywhere, and more often in men
than women.
Thunk!
"Coming!" She wrapped the light robe around her and walked to the door,
where she unslid the bolt, opened the door slightly, and peered through
the slit.
A slender youth—a page Anna hadn't met, she guessed— stood outside on the
landing.
"Lady Anna?"
"Yes?"
"The lady Essan will receive you following the midday meal." His message
delivered, the boy straightened, waiting for some response.
"I would be pleased," Anna said. "I'm new here, and I do not know where
her chambers are."
"Oh… that is easy, lady. She has the quarters on the highest level of
this tower. She removed herself there when the lord Behlem occupied the
liedburg."
"I'll be there."
The page still stood on the landing.
"Convey to Lady Essan that I will be at her quarters following the midday
meal."
"Thank you, Lady Anna." The page scurried up the stone steps.
Anna closed the door.
Why did Lady Essan want to see her? What should she wear? Somehow riding
clothes didn't seem appropriate, nor did the gowns she had created for
Behlem's dinners.
In the end, she went back to. spells and sorcery to come up with a looser
set of trousers she could wear with her boots and a light overtunic—both
in green. That effort left her perspiring, made her headache worse, and
exhausted her stock of unused cloth. l
She left her riding clothes on and made her way down to the courtyard. As
she passed the lower door, both Birke and Skent leaped to their feet.
"Lady Anna!"
"I promised I'd meet Daffyd, my player, where they have the midday meal."
"That's over by the stables." Birke wrinkled his nose.
"You'd do that?" asked Skent.
"Why not? He helped me when there was no one else."
The two pages looked at each other.
"My turn," said Birke.
"All right."
Anna let Birke take the lead, but looked back and gave Skent a smile just
before she stepped out the door into the hot courtyard.
"It's really not far," Birke said with a grin, "but we can't leave the
tower unless we're on an errand or escorting you or Lady Essan, or Lady
Cirsa."
"How's Virkan?"
"He's much better, lady. He's not really the same person, but we're not
complaining." Birke stopped, as did Anna, while a squad of Neserean
armsmen rode in front of them through the courtyard and toward the
liedburg's gate.
Had she been right to lay a geas on Virkan? She knew he needed
controlling, and that nothing short of sorcery or death would stop the
man from terrorizing people who couldn't protest—but that sort of defense
wouldn't have stood up in court. But she wasn't in court; she was stuck
in a place where power ruled. And you're becoming just like them. Was she?
Birke guided Anna around the horse droppings and toward the stable. "It's
good to be able to ride again, and the Prophet even let me send a scroll
to my sire. I told him about you, and about riding. You don't mind, do
you?"
"Heavens, no." Anna laughed,
"It's not quite like it was when Lord Barjim was here, but it's getting
there. We still don't have lessons like we used to, but Galen's gone."
"Galen?"
"He was Jimbob's tutor, as well as counselor to Lord Barjim, but he
managed to take Jimbob out of the liedburg before the Prophet arrived.
Some armsmen clattered out of here in the middle of the night, and the
Prophet's forces were here in the morning." Birke stopped as the
dark-haired Daffyd stepped from the shadowed doorway ahead.
"I'm glad you could come, Lady Anna." Daffyd bowed.
"She keeps her word," Birke said. "By your leave, Lady Anna?"
The sorceress and the player watched as the redhead hurried back toward
the north tower.
"I'm hungry," Daffyd confessed.
"Then lead on, master player," Anna said lightly.
"We're there," he said, turning and opening the weathered door. The room
had two trestle tables in it, and four long benches. The rough-planked
ceiling was low enough that Anna could have reached up and touched it.
Three men and a woman sat at the tables, the three men in one group, and
the woman alone. All looked up as Anna and Daffyd entered.
"You don't mind bread and cheese, with beer?" asked the violist.
"That's fine. I can't stay too long, though. I have another command
performance."
"Lord Behlem?"
"Lady Essan. She's important, but I don't remember quite why." .
"She's the widow of Lord Donjim. He was Lord Barjim's uncle and the Lord
of Defalk before Barjim." Daffyd pulled at his chin. "Do you know why she
wants to see you?"
"Not a clue. I hoped you might know. You know more about Defalk than I
do. But you're hungry."
"Let me introduce you to Fiena. Just sit down and I'll get you a platter."
"Make it a lot, please," Anna said. "Twice as much as you'd eat."
Daffyd's eyes widened.
"Sorcery. If I don't eat like a stuffed horse, I lose weight."
"If you say so." Daffyd gestured toward the woman sitting at the table
nearest the stone wall—clearly part of the exterior wall of the liedburg.
"Fiena, this is the lady Anna. Fiena is the lead string player for the
Prophet."
"I am most honored." Fiena, a strawberry-blonde with wide blue eyes and a
pinched face, sat with her back to the wall. Her eyes went to the platter
before her, filled with wedges of yellow brick cheese and a large chunk
of dark bread, then back to Anna as the sorceress eased herself onto the
bench across from the string player. "You do look so young, lady.
Everyone said that, but it's hard to believe until you see."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Anna said blandly, deciding she didn't
really trust the blonde. "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Esaria. Most of us are. There's a players' school there. It's
the only one in Liedwahr, they say."
"There was one in Elahwa once," Daffyd interjected as he set a platter
before Anna and another to her right. Both were filled with bread and
cheese, Anna's overflowing in all directions. "The dark ones destroyed
it."
"Where did you hear that?" asked Fiena.
"Lord Brill." Daffyd slipped back to the serving table.
"Oh, he was the one who failed." Fiena gestured vaguely.
"He was very successful in many things," Anna said gently, taking a
good-sized mouthful of bread, then breaking off a generous chunk of
cheese.
"I suppose so," answered Fiena. "I don't know much about Defalk."
Daffyd set a tumbler before Anna and another before his own plate.
"How many players are there with the Prophet?" Anna asked.
"Just eight of us. That's more than enough. He can only do small spells.
They say his sire was a great Prophet."
"That was Mikell," Daffyd explained. "Even Lord Brill admitted he was a
great sorcerer. That's why the Norweians assassinated him."
"He died in his sleep," said Fiena.
Daffyd shrugged. "Lord Brill said he was killed, that no one but a
Norweian assassin could bring down that great a sorcerer."
Anna felt like she was following a tennis match, with her head traveling
back forth. She tried to concentrate on forcing more food into her system.
"I don't know much about Nordwei." Fiena dismissed Nordwei with a gesture
that reminded Anna of too many over-the-hill divas, or Mozart's
prototypical Madame Gol-dentrill. "I do know that it is impossible for
assassins to have killed Lord Mikell."
"How did you get to be a player?" Anna decided to change the subject.
"Was anyone in your family a player?"
"My father was the lead string player for Lord Mikell." Fiena shrugged.
"I was the youngest daughter. I would far rather be a player than the
consort of a flax merchant."
Did that mean that her father had had too many daughters? "How many
sisters did you have?" Anna asked.
"Four. Grendee is the consort of Dene—"
"Dene was the son of Lord Mikell's brother," Daffyd added.
"Sort of a duke," mused Anna.
"Duke?"
"Never mind." Anna took a healthy swallow of the beer. "It means
something like the brother of a lord."
Fiena shook her head minutely, stopped her intermittent eating and looked
at Anna silently for a moment, before saying, "I don't know much about
foreign words." The string player dismissed foreign words with the same
gesture that she had dismissed Daffyd's speculations about Mflcell's
death.
"I take it that most players do not have consorts," Anna offered.
"Not women. It disturbs the harmonies." Fiena looked at Anna's platter.
"You eat like a sorcerer. All of you eat so much and are so thin."
Anna broke off another piece of bread and chewed it slowly, along with
some of the hard cheese. What Fiena said about women players didn't make
sense. Liende had been Brill's lover, as had Daffyd's mother. She looked
toward Daffyd.
His mouth full, the young violist shrugged.
Anna took a long sip of beer, then asked, "What is Esaria like?"
"Esaria is beautiful, with white stone buildings on the hills, and wide
bridges over the Saris. It's the oldest city in Liedwahr, and scholars
come from across all of Erde, even from far Sturinn, to study at the
Temple of the Prophet." Fiena smiled faintly. "Each season has its
beauty, and no other city is beautiful in all seasons. That is why the
Prophet chose it, and why it has endured."
"What makes Esaria so beautiful?'' Anna pressed.
"Just everything."
"Is there anything in Falcor that resembles Esaria?"
"I haven't seen much of Falcor. I didn't bother." Fiena dismissed Falcor.
Anna took a last mouthful of bread. Had she eaten the entire platter of
cheese and bread? She felt still hungry, and yet as though she could not
swallow another morsel. She finally nodded to Daffyd before rising and
turning to Fiena. "It was nice to meet you, Fiena."
"It was pleasant to meet you, Lady Anna, but I hope I didn't offend you.
I don't know much about sorceresses." Fiena smiled her faint smile.
Anna returned the smile.
Daffyd gulped the last of his meal and scrambled after Anna.
"Are they all like that?" she asked Daffyd after they left the room and
stood in the courtyard.
"Like what?"
"Never mind," Anna said.
"Fiena's nice, once you get to know her."
"I'm sure she is." Nice and empty-headed. The sorceress stepped back as
two messengers guided their mounts toward the stable. The faint brawwking
of chickens echoed through the courtyard and the heat of the day.
"Sometimes, Lady Anna, I do not understand you."
"I'm sorry, Daffyd. It's hard to explain. Just because, by some fluke, we
speak a language that is similar, we don't see things in the same way.
It's not your fault." She paused. "I need to go meet with Lady… Essan."
"You should be careful. She is very clever."
Anna nodded, instead of snapping out at the condescension in his tone,
then added, "I'll talk to you later."
Her boots echoed on the stones as she walked back to the north tower.
Back in her room, she washed quickly, then slipped into the new tunic and
trousers, combed her hair again, swearing as she broke one of the comb's
teeth. She hadn't seen any combs in Defalk. Then, she hadn't seen a lot
of things, but she couldn't go around trying to create everything through
sorcery. After more than a few spells, especially spells without the
lutar, the headaches started, the ones that carried needles that stabbed.
The sound of hoofs caught her ear, and she walked to the window. Another
troop of horse was gathered outside the portcullis gate, reminding her
that she remained in the middle of a war on a strange world.
You'd better find out where those maps Menares promised you are, and get
to work. The Ebrans aren't going to wait forever.
After a last look in the mirror, she left her room, still troubled that
she had no way to lock it, not that it mattered, she supposed, since
Behlem's people would certainly be able to force their way into any
place. Anna took the steps up to the upper level slowly. She didn't want
to arrive panting.
The white-haired woman who opened the heavy tower door was neither stocky
nor frail, and stood nearly as tall as Anna, though her face was heavily
lined.
"Lady Essan, I am Anna." The sorceress inclined her head.
"You are tall," said Essan. "Too tall for a blonde woman from Mencha.
Please come in." She stepped aside and gestured toward the pair of chairs
covered in embroidered upholstery. Between the chairs was a polished
table of dark wood, on which rested a pewter pitcher, two goblets, and a
platter containing nuts.
Anna stepped into the tower room, the same size as hers, and bowed. "I am
pleased to meet you."
"Yet you did not seek me." The words were not quite acerbic as Lady Essan
closed the door and walked stiffly toward the chairs with the pillow on
one side of the seat.
Anna followed and waited for the older woman to sit before extending the
scroll. "The lady Gatrune suggested that I not be too forward."
"How do you know Gatrune, if you are such a stranger?" Essan unwrapped
the scroll and slowly read it.
"I had met her consort, Lord Kysar, at the battle for the Sand Pass. When
I passed through Pamr later, I stopped to pay my respects. I didn't know
that he had died. That was when I met Gatrune."
"That's what she says. Foolish woman. She believes what people tell her."
Essan gestured to the pitcher. "Help yourself, as you want. Don't if
you're not thirsty. Makes no difference to me."
"Thank you." Anna eased into the chair across from the older woman.
"Olive butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Here you are, young and
beautiful, and half the tower's running scared of you. Some nonsense
about your coming from the mist worlds. They look in those fancy waters
and mirrors, and anything they don't understand belongs to the mist
worlds." Essan snorted. "You look normal enough, too normal to come from
a mist world, and you talk like we do, except for that odd accent. So
where are you really from?"
"A world called 'Earth.' They say it's a mist world, but I couldn't tell
you. In some ways, our worlds are similar. In others they are very
different."
Lady Essan stared straight at Anna as the sorceress spoke, then leaned
forward and took a sip from her goblet. "You believe what you say. Why
should I?"
"Because it's true. I wish it weren't." Anna smiled wryly. "At least, in
some ways."
"According to the legends, no one can be transported without wanting it.
Why did you want to come here?''
Essan's blunt frankness was disarming in some ways, and Anna found
herself answering in the same spirit. "My daughter was killed recently,
and I thought things couldn't get much worse. Just when I thought that,
apparently, a sorceress in Mencha was asked to summon a sorceress from
the mist worlds, and I found myself in a totally strange world."
"Your daughter…" mused Essan. "Some have insisted you are near as old as
I am, and enchanted to look younger. How old was she?"
"Irenia was twenty-eight." Anna poured some of the amber liquid from the
pitcher, trying to guess whether it was cider, wine, or something worse.
Essan nodded to herself. "You have other children?"
"Two. I miss them." And I need to do something, somehow …
"Sorcery does not work, or it works weakly in your world—is that not
true?"
"That's true," Anna admitted. "How did you know?"
"You are said to be powerful, and too many people have seen your sorcery
for that not to be true. Yet you are not arrogant, and you are most
careful. You work miracles with sorcery, and often forget, or do not
think to use the simplest spells. Why do you not use your mirror to view
your children?"
Anna barely kept her jaw in place. She hadn't even thought of that. She
should have, but it just hadn't occurred to her.
"If you are powerful here, yet are not familiar with simple spells, and
have little pride in sorcery…" Lady Essan shrugged. "Then sorcery is not
strong on your world." She laughed once, twice, harshly. "The hopes of
Defalk lie in the Prophet of Neserea and an unknown sorceress. I am
almost glad Donjim did not live to see this."
Anna took the smallest of sips from the goblet—and was glad she had. The
liquid was something like a strong apple brandy that seared her tongue.
With the amount that Lady Essan had sipped already, Anna wondered how the
woman could talk, let alone be so lucid.
"So… how might I help you?" asked the older woman. "Gatrune thinks I
should."
"I did not come seeking help," Anna said.
"Why did you offer your services to the Prophet?"
"I didn't see many other choices. I also disliked the Ebrans."
"Not many as do like them, but that's no reason for a stranger to stay."
"I don't like running." I've had to run too often because I've never had
any power.
"I like you, girl. Except you're not a girl. How old are you?"
"Forty-seven," Anna admitted.
"Young enough. You don't know enough, Anna." Essan cackled. "No, you
don't. No one told you about youth spells, I'll wager."
"No one had a chance. This was a death spell."
"That harmonizes. Brill'd be noble to the end, the dissonant noble fool."
Essan paused to munch several of the nuts. "Youth spells mean you stay
young until you die. You live a little longer because you're healthy,
maybe even twenty years longer, but one day, young as you look, you die.
Very sudden-like. Me, I prefer the natural state. It'd be too long that I
have been around anyway, and being young and pretty isn't always what it
could be. Men," Essan snorted, "if you're pretty, they think you have no
brains. And if you let it be known that you do, then you're uglier than a
wall-eyed goose, and more dangerous than a pointed blade. So… woman-girl
from the mists, ask me questions."
"What I don't understand is how Lord Behlem took over Falcor so easily."
Anna tried the nuts, found that they were salted and spiced almonds, and
that she remained hungry.
"That is not difficult to explain." Essan adjusted an embroidered pillow
behind her back. "Defalk has not been blessed with a solid lineage of
lords for generations and it is a difficult land. I had three children.
Niedra died in childbirth. Senjim was killed in the first peasant
uprising in the south, not the one ten years back—the first must be
thirty years now. Carlon—poor boy. He never was quite right, for all that
the sorcerers tried, even Lord Brill. So Barjim was the best of the lot,
even if his father was a scoundrel. Barjim was honest, and people liked
him. We got him to take Jecks' bright daughter, old maid or not, as his
consort. All that work… and for what?" Essan refilled her goblet.
"Doesn't he have a son?"
"Jimbob? Aye, and Jecks has him safe, for now, but Jimbob has no
guardsmen beyond those of his grandsire. I remain near a prisoner, and
the old lords of Defalk needs must acknowledge Behlem… as you must,
powerful as you may be." Essan added more of the applelike brandy to her
goblet.
"And if Jimbob could become lord?"
"He's yet far too young, and at the mercy of his counselors he'd be, for
Jecks would not live to see him safe."
"What will happen if the Prophet can stop the Ebrans?"
Essan sipped more of the brandy and shrugged. "Who might say? Behlem is a
trickster, but some say Menares understands what Behlem does not, and
Menares is beholden to the north." The older lady laughed. "Behlem knows
that well, yet can find no better counselor. It be that way ever.
Donjim's best counselor was Werum, and he was beholden to Konsstin."
Anna wanted to shake her head. It seemed like everyone was tied to
someone else, and everyone pretended it wasn't so—just like university
politics—or opera companies.
"That would be why all fear you, Lady Anna. No ties have you, and power
that will grow. Yet ties you will need. Choose those ties carefully."
Essan set down the goblet and stood. "I be a meandering old lady, and you
are gracious, for all your strangeness." She yawned. "Time for my rest."
Anna got the hint and stood. "You were most gracious to receive me, and I
appreciate your kindness and your insights." Exactly what they mean is
going to take a little time to sort out.
"Nonsense. I enjoy the company. Do come and see me again." Essan eased
toward the door.
Anna walked across the purple-and-gold braided rug to open the door for
herself. "I will, and thank you."
As Anna stepped out onto the landing, Lady Essan smiled faintly, then
added. "Someday, I hope you can meet Jimbob. He has the cleverness of his
mother and the honesty of his sire."
"I hope so," the sorceress answered, before turning and heading down the
stone steps to her own quarters. The coolness felt welcome, and she stood
back from the window for a time, enjoying it and watching the gate, and
thinking about all that Lady Essan had told her while pretending to offer
nothing.
She could see Elizabetta—maybe. She could try, in any case. But she
needed to think about the Ebrans, too, and what she should do, and a
dozen other things. She rubbed her forehead. She shouldn't rush into
anything, but looking at maps wouldn't hurt.
Her eyes went back to the portcullis. No one had departed or arrived, and
after a bit, still thinking about Elizabetta, she stepped back and
reached for the bellpull.
Skent arrived alone.
"Lady Anna?"
"Did you know Lord Barjim's son Jimbob?"
"Yes, Lady Anna."
Anna studied the page, hoping to read more from the dark and serious
eyes. "Would he have made a good page?"
"Lord Barjim made him work with us. He even got punished," Skent said. "I
got to ride some then, too."
Anna felt like nodding to herself. At the very least, young Jimbob had
gotten some discipline, and Skent did not seem to dislike the heir
apparent
"Skent? Does Menares have a page?"
"He has three. There's Cens and Barat and Hoede."
"Good. Wait just a moment." The sorceress went to the table and found a
blank sheet of paper, one of the few remaining from those she had brought
from Mencha. She wrote out her request, then rolled the paper up and
handed it to Skent. "This is for Menares. I need some maps he promised.
Can you make sure he gets this?"
"Yes, Lady Anna." The dark-haired page nodded somberly. "Barat owes me."
After Skent left, Anna pulled out the lutar and began to practice. She
still wasn't as familiar with the instrument as she knew she would have
to be, not by a long ways.
She managed to ignore the voices from the courtyard, the hoofs on stone,
and the occasional horn call. She still hadn't figured out the purpose of
most of the horn signals.
She managed to struggle through her revised battle hymn twice, and had
gone back to work on adaptations of burning spells, when the door knocker
thumped.
Thunk!
She set the lutar aside and went to the door where Skent and a second
page stood on the landing. Each carried an armful of scrolls.
"Your maps, Lady Anna. The counselor only asks that they remain in your
rooms."
Anna laughed. "I can promise that." She held the door wide. "Put them on
the bed."
"It's cool here," said the other page.
"I'm Lady Anna. And you are?"
"This is Barat, lady."
Barat bowed deeply.
"I appreciate your helping Skent, Barat, and convey my thanks to
Counselor Menares."
"Yes, lady." The round-cheeked Barat looked up at Anna. "Did you use a
spell to get it so cool here?"
Anna nodded. "It's much cooler where I'm from."
"Me, too. My sire's lands are in the south Mittfels, and the snow doesn't
melt until the trees are green in the lowlands." Barat paused. "It's nice
here."
"Thank you."
With a slow long breath, Barat bowed again, as did Skent, before the two
left the room.
Anna stood with the door ajar as the two headed down the steps.
"… she's pretty!… so lucky, you two are…"
A faint smile crossed Anna's lips as she closed the door. She replaced
the lutar in the case and unrolled the first scroll. She had a lot of
studying to do.
67
Anna looked into the mirror, wishing she had a clear pool of water, much
like the one Brill had used. But she had no way to have either a clear
pool or a harp, and the wall mirror would have to do. She hoped it would
work. The sorceress ran through the two sets of vocalises with the lutar,
then brought out the scrap of paper with the words and notation for the
spell.
She cleared her throat, once, twice, took a sip of water, and then began
the spell, trying to mesh the lutar with the words.
'Mirror, mirror…"
The mirror surface shivered into a silvered darkness, reflecting nothing
of the tower room. In the midst of the shimmering darkness, an image
appeared, first as a small point of light, then expanding to fill the
dark wooden frame that held the silvered glass.
The image was clear—too clear.
Elizabetta sat on the deck of the New Hampshire house, across the white
table from A very—Antonio. Even through the shimmer of the mirror, Anna
could see that Elizabetta had been crying, and Avery was talking. He was
always talking, trying to rationally turn everyone to his way of thinking.
Anna watched, but the two just talked, and Paulina didn't appear. The
light dimmed, and the shadows around her daughter and former husband
deepened as the two figures talked, as Avery smiled and offered yet
another statement, and as Elizabetta frowned and tried to hide her
disagreements.
From what Anna could see, Elizabetta was protesting, saying something
like, "She wouldn't do that… it's not like her… something's happened…"
The sorceress bit her lips. That bastard! Avery was trying to convince
her daughter that Anna had run off. What could she do? Could she?
She couldn't send herself, and Daffyd couldn't send her back, and she
couldn't reach Jenny—not with Mencha in the Ebrans' hands.
No one she'd talked to even knew another living sorcerer, and Brill
hadn't been exactly encouraging about her being able to return to earth.
He'd once muttered something about transport between Erde and the mist
worlds creating fires, but when she'd pressedVhe'd just shaken his head,
and then they'd had to fight the Ebrans, and Brill had been dead before
she'd been able to get a straight answer.
The mirror seemed hot, heat radiating off the silvered surface, the heat
growing…
She looked around, then tried to improvise, as the heat beat from the
mirror surface at her.
"End this view with a song,
for the heat's too strong."
A crack! followed, slashing across the glass, leaving it blank.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Why was everything so fucking difficult?
Her eyes welled up with tears, and when she could see, the mirror still
bore the crack, splitting the reflection of a stone-walled tower room.
She wanted to scream. Instead, she walked past the bed, and the heaps of
map scrolls, out the door onto the narrow landing and up the stairs to
the top of the tower.
Elizabetta… Elizabetta… so near, and so far. An image in a mirror, yet a
world away, and Avery, the snake, telling her that Anna had willfully
abandoned her! All Anna had wanted to do was get away from the nastiness,
the pettiness of the university politics—and she'd made the mistake of
saying that at the worst possible time. But that seemed to be her lot in
life—saying or doing something at the worst possible time. She hadn't
wanted to leave Elizabetta, but the spell hadn't heard that.
She was breathing hard when she reached the open roof of the tower,
blotting her eyes, and trying to stop the tears.
The sun was a red ball touching the horizon that cast long shadows across
Falcor. Anna crossed the ancient tower stones to the north side and
peered out over the parapet at Falcor, still blotting her eyes. Only a
handful of chimneys smoked, fewer each night, Anna thought. While the
dwindling fires might reflect the late-summer heat, Anna suspected that
they also reflected a slow diminution of the population as more and more
people slipped out of Falcor, fearful either of Behlem or the Ebrans—or
both.
With each daily ride, the sorceress saw fewer souls on the streets, more
shuttered windows, and yet no one else remarked on the changes. Did they
fail to see them, or fear to report them to the Prophet?
"Probably the latter," she murmured to herself. No one liked to report
bad news to the ruler—just like the department chair, she reflected as
she used the tear-soaked cloth to blot her forehead.
The hot air of twilight reminded her of Brill. She'd been able to
duplicate some of his spells—cooling her room, seeing Elizabetta in the
mirror, lighting candles—but so many she had not. Anna laughed, a sound
both soft and harsh. How many spells had he created about which no one
knew? Were they still there at Loiseau, somewhere in his notes? Would one
be able to return her to Ames? Or anywhere on earth?
Anna shook her head.
She couldn't hope that, not now, not with the Ebrans gathering their
forces. What could she do to stop them? Eladdrin, according to Menares,
was almost ready to move westward, and more of the darksingers, younger
ones, were arriving daily from the training stronghold in Vult to replace
those Anna had destroyed.
Water? Could she do something with water? Brill had said that water was
hard to handle, and perhaps they wouldn't expect that. There was a place
where the main road crossed the small river—the Chean—near Pamr. The
whole curved section of the river valley there was low. The irrigation
ditches proved that.
The sorceress pulled at her chin. What could she adapt? And how? She
gazed out at the small city—or town—then stopped and turned.
A girl stood on the last step leading out onto the tower, almost frozen
as Anna moved toward her.
"You can come up," Anna said, stepping toward the thin-faced young woman
who clutched something to her chest.
"I didn't know anyone was here. I'd… better go." The dark-haired girl
started to turn.
"Please don't go. I'm Anna."
"I… know… Lady Anna. I am Garreth. Birke warned me, but he didn't think
you'd be up here."
"Warned, Garreth? I'm not a monster." Anna didn't have to force a smile.
"Please come up." She paused, looking at the drawing board that the girl
held tightly. "Do you draw?"
Garreth glanced around. "I'm not supposed to, not now. The lady Essan
says that drawing girls and singing boys will come to no good end."
"I don't know," Anna mused. "I used to draw, but I sang better than I
drew, and there wasn't time for both. Do you like to draw?" She stepped
back, afraid that she was crowding Garreth, and motioned for her to step
onto the stones of the tower.
"Oh… sometimes." The brunette stepped out of the stairwell, but at an
angle to avoid nearing the sorceress.
Anna shook her head and laughed, gently. "You'll have to do better than
that to hide it. That's what I would tell my teachers, and the whole time
I was saying inside that I liked singing more than anything."
"You're truly, truly a sorceress." Garreth tilted her head as if trying
to see Anna in a different light.
"That's not sorcery," the sorceress explained. "I was young once, and I
remember."
"Birke said that you were old. You do not look old." Garreth's deep-set
green eyes narrowed slightly in the red light of sunset.
"I am older than I look," Anna admitted. "It wasn't my idea. It happened
in the battle for the Sand Pass." Her eyes fell to the drawing board. "I
won't press you, but could I see what you're working on?" She shook her
head. "Around here, it seems no one has time for beauty."
"It's not beautiful. It's awful."
"I doubt that. Could I? I won't say anything."
"Birke did say you keep your word. He said you would die before you would
break it. That be important to him."
"I know."
Garreth slowly lowered the board. A single sheet of paper lay there, held
in place by leather triangles glued to each of the four corners of the
wood. On the paper was a half-completed view of Falcor, as seen from the
north side of the tower. Anna took a quick breath. "It is lovely. You are
an artist."
"It be not my best."
Anna smiled, even more warmly. "Your best must be very good."
Garreth blushed, ever so slightly.
"What do you do here?" Anna asked. "Are you a page?"
"Dissonance, no, lady. My mother was the maid to Lord Donjim, and I help
Lady Essan. I am too young to be a proper maid, and the lady needs but
one. Yet she tells Lord Behlem that she needs us both. Synondra is her
real maid. She be quiet."
Anna studied the girl, noting the deep-set and hooded eyes. Had Barjim's
uncle had those eyes?
"Everyone says I have his eyes, those of Lord Donjim. Lady Essan has been
good to me. Elsewise… I would have nowhere to go."
Anna nodded, a glimmer of an idea in her mind. She would have to see, and
it might take time.
The evening bell rang, reminding her that she was expected for dinner
with the Prophet and his senior captains and overcaptains. Why on some
nights and not others? Or was it that the Prophet didn't offer full
dinners to everyone every night? She didn't know, only that Birke had
brought her the invitation—or summons.
Her eyes flicked eastward, catching the dim red spot that was the moon
Darksong—hanging just above the horizon. Darksong… she hoped it wasn't
too much of an omen. "Garreth… I must go. I enjoyed talking with you, and
I hope I'll see you again."
"You eat with the Prophet?"
"Sometimes. Tonight is one of those times."
After hurrying back down to her room, Anna briefly enjoyed the cool while
she washed and donned the dressier tunic and trousers she had created for
meeting with Lady Essan. Somehow, she felt the time for gowns was past,
at least for now.
Then she used the bellpull to summon a page—Birke this time.
"You are ready, lady?" gasped the youth as she stood waiting for him on
the landing.
"Sometimes I can be early, Birke." She nodded to the steps, and added,
"I've decided that I should dine in more… functional clothes."
"Yes, lady." The redhead started back down the tower steps.
"I noticed that more armsmen in Neserean colors have been arriving," she
said, ignoring his unvoiced disapproval of her garb.
"They have had to quarter some of them outside the liedburg. That's how
many have arrived. Are we going riding tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? Probably." After that, who knows? I really need to go back to
Pamr and study the river, and I'll have to argue with Menares about it,
tomorrow, since it's not something to be done publicly.
"I'm glad I can ride again. Did I tell you that they even let me send a
scroll to my sire?"
"You told me the other day. I'm glad." She paused. "Are you the oldest,
Birke?"
"The oldest son? Of course. I need be here so my sire would not declare
fealty to Ranuak or Neserea. But Wasle is only two years younger."
"I see."
None of the lamps in the wall sconces were lit in the corridor leading to
the middle hall, and they walked through the gloom almost silently.
"We're here," announced Birke, to both Anna and to the guard at the door.
"The lady Anna," announced Giellum after opening the door to the middle
hall.
Anna smiled back at Birke, then stepped into the gloom of the middle
hall. She'd refrained from lighting the chandeliers since the first
dinner, especially given the late-summer heat. This time, she had arrived
before Behlem, and the senior armsmen stood in groups around the table.
Nitron, the dashing captain of the Prophet's Guard with the sweeping
mustaches, stood in a corner with some of the captains Anna had not met.
The sorceress nodded politely to Hanfor and to Zealor, who stood together
near the middle of the single long table. Both shifted their weight from
side to side, uneasily. That bothered Anna, since neither had seemed that
nervous at previous dinners. Hanfor inclined his head slightly more than
a perfunctory nod, while the sad-faced Zealor offered a bow. Anna smiled
briefly.
"Lady Anna?"
Near the head of the table, and Behlem's vacant high-backed chair that
was not quite a throne, a wiry man with graying hair stood beside
Menares. The counselor beckoned to Anna, and the sorceress walked toward
the pair.
"Lord Vyarl, this is the lady Anna," offered Menares. "She is the
sorceress from the mist worlds that Lord Behlem had mentioned."
"From the mist worlds? Are they all as young and beautiful?" asked Vyarl.
Anna was slightly taller than Vyarl, and she smiled her professional
smile before answering. "While I appreciate the compliment, I am rather
older than I look. My people are like yours—good-looking and
not-so-good-looking." After the briefest pause, she added, "I am a
stranger here, and I'm not familiar with you, or your lands."
"Lord Vyarl is the Rider of Heinene," explained Menares. "He holds the
grasslands to the east of the Mittfels and north of Denguic—the
counterpart, in a way, of the High Grasslands of Neserea."
"Except we do not suffer raiders to use ours as refuge." Vyarl's voice
bore a hint of anger and humor.
"The lady Anna rides one of the raider beasts," Menares said smoothly.
"Oh?"
"Farinelli's a palomino gelding. They say he was a raider mount, but I
wouldn't know."
"Can anyone else ride him?" asked Vyarl, almost intently.
"He won't let anyone else in his stall," Anna admitted.
"And he is tall?"
"The tallest mount in the stables, I think," Anna answered, wondering why
Vyarl was so interested in Farinelli.
Vyarl pursed his lips, but only momentarily, then inclined his head. "You
are most fortunate, lady. He sounds superb."
"He is. I hadn't ridden for years, but riding him has gotten to be a
pleasure."
Another frown crossed Vyari's face and vanished.
"You have not worn a gown this evening, I see, Lady Anna," offered Delor,
gliding up, almost snakelike. "I had taken you briefly for a Ranuan…
envoy."
Anna could feel the words contained double connotations, but had no ready
answer. "The time for finery has passed," she finally said.
"Ah, you are announcing that you are a warrior…with real weapons."
Delor's eyes glittered.
"I'm not one for announcements, overcaptain."
"But I am," declared Behlem, striding in to stand by the head of the
table. "It is past time to dine!" The Prophet gestured to the place at
his right. "Lady Anna." Then he gestured to the seat to his right. "Lord
Vyarl."
Even as they sat, servers were appearing around the Prophet, with
platters containing slabs of meat smothered in a cream sauce and baskets
of bread.
Vyarl looked from Behlem to Anna, then pulled on his chin. He said
nothing, but broke off a chunk of bread and served himself two large
slices of meat. Anna followed his example, except she didn't bother with
politeness, and took three, then watched as Hanfor, to her right, filled
her pewter goblet.
"Thank you, overcaptain."
"My pleasure, Lady Anna." The faintest twinkle appeared in the green
eyes, although Hanfor's weathered face bore no smile.
"Lord Vyarl," the sorceress began, "as I am sure you know, I am new to
Liedwahr. What can you tell me about your lands?"
Vyarl's lips curled into a smile; then he laughed. "You know not what you
ask when you offer a rider that much of a chance to boast. Still… you did
ask." He moistened his lips with the dark red wine in his goblet. "The
grasses in Heinene are the deepest in all of Liedwahr—or they were until
the dark ones began to meddle with the weather, but they remain tall, and
they stretch from just north of Dubaria to the Nordbergs. A sea of grass,
designed for long-legged mounts and their riders. The gazelles slip
through the grass so silently and so swiftly that only the sharpest of
ear and the fleetest of horses can seek them."
"What about the grass snakes?" asked Menares.
"They are large, also, but they avoid riders, unless one is stupid enough
to ride over one."
"How large?" asked Anna.
"I have one skin that is five yards long, but Fiesar swears that he has
seen a snake twice as large." Vyarl offered a wry grin. "If he had, we
would have few gazelles, and less of all game."
"Has fire become a problem?" mused Anna.
"In the south, near Dubaria, but the taller grass does not burn easily.
The weeds do. So fire is our friend. So far."
Anna understood. Even the toughest grasses needed some rain.
"How is your research faring, lady?" asked Menares.
"I'd like to see you tomorrow after my ride."
"Good," said Behlem. "The last of the Ebran reinforcements are gathering
in Synek."
"Now that the Ebrans are moving.'.. you had said the time had passed for
finery, Lady Anna," interjected Delor, his fingers toying with the base
of the pewter goblet. "Yet women have so many weapons… and even finery
can be a weapon."
Anna eased the smallest of sips of the wine past her lips. "I rather
doubt that the cut of your uniform, Captain Delor, or whether I might
wear a gown, would impress the dark ones—or slow their advance an
instant."
A guffaw came from the foot of the table, and Delor's face darkened for
an instant before he answered. "Finery has doubtless created many delays."
"It probably has," Anna admitted, "but not for the winning side."
The guffaw was louder, followed by a hissed, "Best you cease while you
can, Delor."
Anna took another sip of the dark red wine, ensuring that it was small,
much as she felt like gulping it. The idea of riding to Pamr didn't sound
that bad at all, not at all.
68
Mencha, Defalk
The harp strums from the middle of the pool, and Eladdrin nods to himself.
"Songmaster? I see you have made the sorcerer's work yours." The pool
shows a hooded and shadowed figure in a dark room, seated behind a small
table beside a pool larger than the one Eladdrin has turned to his own
use.
"Not exactly."
"What of the sorceress?"
"She is in Falcor, under Behlem's protection in the liedburg," admits the
Songmaster. "She intended to return here, for she left her gown."
"A gown? Why does that concern us?"
"It is unlike anything I have seen. Even the material is otherworldly."
"You have no doubts she is from the mist worlds?"
"None. That concerns me."
"You are in control. Do what you must." There is a pause. "What of the
travel-sorceress?"
"She is dead, but…"
"What?" The words are chill, yet sing.
"She was killed before we reached her—it had to be the Norweians."
Eladdrin looks down at the dusty tile floor of the domed building.
"Who killed her matters not, not this time. The other sorcerers and
sorceresses in Defalk would not try such a spell, if they knew it, and
the strange sorceress will not try to bring another."
"You think not, honored Evult?"
"If she has ethics, she cannot bring another until she knows more. If she
has no ethics, she will not bring another to share her power, not until
she is secure in it." The harp offers a discordant whisper of tones, a
parody of a stringed laugh.
"She meets with the Prophet, and she has the freedom of Falcor."
"She has freedom until she defeats us or falls to us. You will ensure the
latter. While you finish your preparations for the attack on Falcor, send
a detachment of archers and horse to shadow her, to kill her if they can.
Perhaps they will succeed. If not, they will worry her—and that arrogant
Prophet."
"What of the Norweians?"
"I will send a flood down their River Ost as a warning. That will occupy
them for a time. Do not worry about that. Worry about destroying the
Prophet and adding Defalk to our domains."
"Yes, Evult."
After the strings have ceased their whispers and the images have left the
waters of the pool, Eladdrin walks from the dusty workroom out into the
twilight. For a time, he studies the lifeless hall that had once belonged
to a sorcerer, a hall Eladdrin has yet to fully fathom or to return to
functioning as it once had.
69
Whhhnnnn! Anna paused, short of Farinelli's stall, then jumped back as
she saw a shadowy figure, and a hand slammed across her mouth.
She staggered back, dropping the lutar case as her own right hand grabbed
for the dagger, her left pushing the arm and hand back away from her. She
swallowed, trying to sing the repulsion spell, but she couldn't. As the
knife finally cleared the sheathe, she kept backing up, swallowing and
trying to get enough saliva to sing.
The bigger figure lunged again.
Anna choked out the words of the spell, and the armsman staggered, but
kept moving toward her, thrusting a hand toward her mouth again.
Whhhnnnnn!
As she vaguely remembered, she brought the dagger up and toward the
biggest target she knew—the diaphragm, right under the ribs—and thrust as
hard as she could.
"Oooffff... " Even with the deep thrust and the knife in his guts, the
armsman's right hand pinned her left, and his hot acrid breath cascaded
across her face.
She twisted and yanked the knife more, and managed to bring up one knee
into the man's groin. With a stunned look, the attacker staggered back.
Instinctively, Anna held tight to the knife, watching as the unfamiliar
blond and bearded armsman clutched at his guts, before crumpling, his
hand grasping toward the stall wall as his feet slid out from under him.
After a moment, he lay face-up, his mouth moving with a low series of
moans, his feet twitching.
"Get her!"
Anna cleared her throat, and turned, keeping her back to Farinelli, and
this time, she sang the burning song, on tune. Both soldiers went up in
flame. She slashed the forearm of the one in front, the dark-haired one,
to keep him from clutching her even as he burned. Then she danced back,
her stomach turning.
The straw on the floor began to smolder under the burning bodies, and she
tried the water song, visualizing water spilling across the corpses and
straw.
The words were enough to stop the flames and convert the straw into a
sodden mess—and the odor of manure, charred meat, and burned straw was
enough to turn Anna's legs nearly to jelly. For several moments she just
stood, one hand holding the stall wall.
"What… ?" Tirsik came trotting from the far end of the stable. He looked
at Anna, then at the three bodies— two charcoaled bundles, and one lying
face-up, still moaning. Tirsik's eyes went to Anna and the bloody knife.
His mouth opened and closed.
Whhhnnnnnn! offered the gelding, from behind her. Anna thought that
horses didn't whinny except to other horses, but it sounded like one. She
wondered why she was thinking that, even as she half turned, looking down
at the bloody knife almost as though she had not seen it before. "Mmmmm!"
A muffled sound stopped both the stable-master and the sorceress.
Anna turned back toward Farinelli, but Tirsik found Birke, bound and
gagged, just inside the empty stall adjoining Farinelli's.
The stablemaster lifted the youth to his feet, ripped off the gag, and
slashed the cording. "Now… what happened, young fellow?"
Birke's eyes widened as they took in the destruction and death, fixing on
the bloody dagger Anna still held. She glanced down at the blade.
Tirsik handed her a rag, and the sorceress wiped the blade clean, slowly,
looking back at the wide-eyed dying armsman, whose moans grew louder. How
had she managed it?
Tirsik let go of Birke and knelt by the bearded man. "Who sent you?"
"Hurts… so much…" gasped the young armsman. "Didn't tell me…"
"Who sent you?"
"—'Elmat… said… he did…" The eyes widened, and the body slumped.
Tirsik stood, shaking his head, before turning to Birke. "What happened?"
"I came down to saddle the bay. They were by the stall, and the big one
grabbed me."
Tirsik nodded. "Subofficer came in to ask me about re-shoeing a horse.
Asked me to look. So's I wouldn't be around, I'd guess."
"I came in to saddle Farinelli." Anna took a deep breath and pointed to
the dead man. She supposed she should do something, but she didn't know
what, and she didn't feel all that charitable. "He was waiting behind the
empty stall door there. Farinelli warned me enough, but I couldn't get a
spell off quickly enough for him. Those two were slower." She looked at
Birke.
Birke put his hand to his head, then winced.
"Got a stiff lump there." Tirsik peered at the boy's skull. "Don't like
these things happening in my stable."
"Neither do I." Anna looked up as Spirda and his men approached. The
young subofficer's mouth opened soundlessly.
"You aren't going to ride now, are you?" asked the stablemaster.
"I need fresh air," Anna said. I'm not going to be intimidated. I won't
be. "Especially now."
"What… ?" began Spirda, turning toward the dead figure in Neserean colors.
"Looks as though someone doesn't want the sorceress to be successful,"
Tirsik said dryly.
Birke massaged his neck gingerly.
Anna sheathed her dagger and went to reclaim the lutar case, and to
saddle Farinelli. Was she being a fool to ride?
Probably. But she'd be a bigger fool to show fear—or the terror that
she'd pushed to the back of her mind. Even the nastiest of university
politicians hadn't tried to murder her, except occupationally.
"Them's think she's a normal weak woman… they'll be sorry…" muttered
Tirsik.
Anna hoped so. She picked up the lutar case, trying to ignore the mixed
stenches of blood, death, charred meat, and sodden straw. She swallowed
the bile in her throat and straightened, her fingertips brushing the
dagger hilt. Her head ached, and she wanted to rub it, but didn't.
70
After unsaddling and grooming Farinelli, Anna marched across the
courtyard to the tower, the sound of her boots echoing from the stones
with each determined step. Her tunic and hair were plastered to her, and
she smelled worse than the stable.
After the attack in the stable and before her ride, she'd been startled,
afraid, and angry. Now, she was just angry. As she had ridden down the
Falche River with her escort, she'd been thinking. The whole attempted
murder in the stable had had nothing to do with the Ebrans. It reeked of
someone like Delor, of jealous male egos, or jealous females—but so far
she didn't know of any females, except Hryding's bitchy consort, who'd be
that jealous.
Back in her room, she stripped off her sodden riding clothes, and
splashed herself as clean as she could, before drying and donning the
other clean riding clothes. Then she yanked the bellpull and waited for a
page by the door.
When she heard steps, she opened the door. A dark-haired youth trotted up
the stone steps.
"Take me to Menares," Anna told Skent before he had even reached the
landing.
The dark-haired page gulped.
"Now. He knows I'm coming." He just doesn't know why. Anna closed the
tower door behind her.
"Did you really kill that armsman with a dagger?" Skent asked as they
went up the broad red stone staircase.
"I didn't have much choice." And I was lucky, because he wanted some fun,
I think, first. She repressed a shiver. Lucky, because her attacker had
thought of her as a sex object? Or wanted to terrify her? Would the next
time be a straight murder attempt? Could she afford a next time?
The hot outside air had seeped into the hall itself, despite the thick
stone walls, and outside of Anna's room, the rooms and corridors were
scarcely cooler than the oven outside. She wondered why she'd even tried
to clean up, as perspiration oozed from every pore. She'd never been one
for medieval romances or fantasies, and the heat and lack of modern
bathroom facilities reinforced her predisposition—except she was stuck in
the real-life equivalent, with no apparent way out.
A squat blond youth in Defalk purple sat on a stool by the closed
two-panel wooden door, blotting his forehead with a ragged square of
cloth. He jumped up as he saw Anna and Skent.
"Cens," began Skent. "The lady Anna… She… is here… ah… to see…"
Cens's eyes darted from Skent to Anna. He swallowed before finally
saying, "I'll have to ask—it might be a moment—he is meeting with
Overcaptain Hanfor…"
"What I have to discuss should not take long."
"I will have to ask, lady."
Anna nodded. "I'll wait."
Cens slipped behind the door, and Anna thought she heard voices, although
they were cut off as soon as the page closed the door behind himself.
In moments, Cens reappeared, sweat beaded up all across his forehead. "He
will be but a moment, Lady Anna." The blond page's eyes darted to Anna's
belt dagger, then to the floor.
Scarcely had the page finished speaking than the door opened behind him,
and he eased to the side.
Hanfor's weathered face and graying dark hair appeared in the doorway.
The overcaptain bowed. "Lady Anna. I am pleased to see you." His mouth
crinkled, and his eyes sparkled. "Although it was certainly distressing,
I have taken the liberty of informing my captains and officers about this
morning's incident. I have also suggested that I would not be so swift
and kind as you—were there to be any further such incidents."
"Thank you, Overcaptain Hanfor. I will do my best to ensure such
incidents also do not recur. The Prophet will need all his armsmen."
"My thoughts as well, Lady Anna." He nodded, then turned and strode down
the dim corridor.
"My lady…" Cens gestured to the still-open door.
Anna stepped through, letting the page close it behind her. The room was
long and narrow, with closed doors at each end. Five narrow and high
windows dotted the long outside wall, their shutters open, but the air in
the room remained still, with the faint odor of perspiration.
Menares .stood behind a small circular table on which rested a pitcher
and three goblets. There were three straight-backed chairs drawn up
around the table.
The sorceress wondered who the third man had been, and why he had not
exited with Hanfor.
"Please… If you would…" The graying counselor gestured to the chairs
across from him.
"I won't be long." Anna sat.
"Lady Anna… I heard about the incident in the stable… The Prophet was
most distressed…" Menares eased himself back into his chair.
Menares was playing both sides against the middle, Anna felt, but she had
no real proof, only her feelings. How far should she push it?
"I am certain he was distressed," Anna said sweetly.
"And others were probably distressed by its failure."
The counselor's face froze. "Lady Anna…"
"Menares," Anna cautioned. "I am well aware that there are some within
the Prophet's circle that would feel no grief at my death or
disappearance. Such as Delor."
The faint widening of Menares' eyes, and his look away told her all she
needed to know.
"But," she emphasized, "that is not why I am here. I have been studying
the maps and thinking, and I need to go back to Pamr to study the area."
"The maps are not enough?"
"Sorcery doesn't work on maps. It works on people or land or the sky, but
not on the maps. As Lord Behlem pointed out last night, it won't be long
before the dark ones march on Falcor. If we fight here, we'll lose." Anna
had no logical reason for her conclusion, but it felt right, and she had
to go with her feelings.
"Lose?"
"Lose. That's why I need to go back to Pamr. That's where all the roads
from the east meet." Anna waited.
"You would need an escort…" mused the counselor. "I do not know."
"I am here to help the Prophet defeat the dark ones. I cannot defeat them
without knowing the land where we may fight—or finding the best place for
a battle. You pointed that out already."
"I am the Prophet's counselor, but I command no armsmen."
"You are too modest," Anna said. "You command more than armsmen."
"I can only promise that I will bring the matter to the attention of the
Prophet."
"Menares, honored counselor, I plan to leave the day after tomorrow. I do
hope you will discuss it with Lord Behlem before you have to explain my
departure." Anna smiled.
Menares blotted his forehead. "I will bring it to his attention this very
afternoon."
"I knew I could depend on you, Menares." Anna stood and smiled.
"Ah… thank you, Lady Anna."
Skent had left already when the sorceress stepped back into the corridor.
Cens stood stiffly by the door.
"Good day, Cens."
"Good day, Lady Anna." The youth's words were stiff, formal, as if he
were afraid to say anything to her.
He probably was, reflected Anna as she marched back toward the tower.
Back in the cool of her tower room, Anna washed her face in the basin of
fresh water that Birke or Skent had brought, then blotted herself dry.
She still felt sticky all over.
Thunk.
"Just a moment." After pushing her hair back out of her face—and it
needed cutting—Anna answered the door.
Wearing a pale purple sleeveless tunic over a white shirt, and trousers
that matched the tunic, Lady Essan stood on the landing. "I had hoped for
a moment with you."
"Please come in." Anna waited, then closed the door behind Essan.
"This looks more like a sorceress's room—or a warrior's," said Essan,
settling herself into one of the wooden chairs. "Then again, despite your
looks, Lady Anna, it is becoming apparent that you are a warrior." She
paused. "Birke told me you were attacked in the stable, and that you
killed one Neserean with your dagger and two with your spells. Is his
tale true?"
Anna nodded.
"It is cool here, cooler than anywhere in the hall." Essan smiled, then
leaned forward. "I am old, and I can say what ' I wish. Can you leave the
liedburg?''
"I'm leaving for a time tomorrow," Anna said. "I need to see what I can
do to stop the Ebrans, and that means traveling east again."
"I would suggest that you take your time. The field is far less dangerous
than Falcor. All liedstadts are perilous. It seems to come with their
glamour."
"I think I'd like to change that," Anna snorted.
"If you can change that, Lady Anna, you will indeed be the greatest
sorceress or lady in the history of Liedwahr." Essan straightened, as if
she were about to leave.
"I met Garreth the other night. She seems very talented, in her drawing
at least. She was quite complimentary about you, and your efforts to help
her."
"I pay my debts." The lady Essan's face could have been carved in stone,
for what Anna could read at that moment.
"I'm sorry," Anna said.
"You, thank the harmonies, had nothing to do with it. Men can be such
fools." Essan frowned. "Just remember that, although I doubt I'll have to
tell you."
"I take it that you have no problems if I spend some time with Garreth?"
"That would be your choice. She is a sweet girl, and talented. I have no
difficulties with what she is." Essan eased herself erect. "Much as I
would like to stay, you have much to do—as do all young people." The
older woman shook her head as she walked—her posture erect, proud— toward
the door. "It is easy enough to see your experience, yet it is hard not
to think of you as young."
After she closed the door and started down the tower steps, Anna frowned.
Had she always seemed young, or was it Brill's spell? And Garreth—what a
difficult situation for Lady Essan.
71
Falcor, Defalk
Menares bows as he steps onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
"Now what?" asks Behlem cheerfully. The Prophet does not rise from the
chair and the stack of scrolls on the table before him. His face is damp,
and he scratches his beard. "Is this about the lady Anna?"
"Yes, your honor. She came to see me."
"I suppose she wanted vengeance of some sort. Women usually do."
"No." Menares stops opposite the table. "She only mentioned the incident
in passing, to say that was not why she came to see me."
"Sit down. Do you know who did it?"
"The one she killed was from Delor's company," Menares says. "Shall I
have Delor executed?"
"No." Behlem shakes his head. "Tell her that the armsman was from Delor's
company, and tell her that we do not know whether Delor was behind it, or
whether someone suborned his man. Then… we will watch." He takes a long
swallow from the goblet and pushes aside a scroll. "What did she want?"
"She is insisting that she ride back to Pamr," Menares says smoothly.
"She says that she needs to study the land there to defeat Eladdrin."
"And you want her here where you can watch her? Did you refuse her
request?"
"I told her that such travel might be unwise, but that I would consult
with you."
"Oh, Menares, old friend…" Behlem laughs. "So cautious you are. If you
were only that cautious for the right reasons. This woman needs us. She
could bring the whole liedburg down around us. Don't you know that?"
"If she can," replies Menares, his voice carrying the faint hint of
sourness, "why hasn't she, with all the restrictions she clearly chafes
under?"
"Because she is as old as she says she is, not as she appears. She knows
a sorceress, especially a sorceress, cannot hold off an entire land, no
matter how powerful she is." Behlem refills his goblet, his eyes on the
portcullis, which has been lifted to allow a troop of riders to enter.
"But… if she is that powerful… and you win… then what will you do? Can
you afford to have her near?"
"No. But I will not ford rivers before I reach them. One way or another,
she will not remain near." Behlem smiles and fingers his beard.
"Talk to her this afternoon. Send Spirda and a full squad with her, and
remember to tell her that her attacker belonged to Delor. Also…" Behlem
frowns. "I believe I will sup alone tonight, rather than in the hall."
"Oh… you suspect Delor will make trouble?"
"He could. He could." Behlem shrugs, his eyes on the portcullis as it
drops back into place. "Is there anything else new?"
"No, ser."
"Good. Will you tell the page to bring me more of the wine on your way
out?"
"Yes, ser."
72
Anna set the lutar aside and glanced out the window into the hot
mid-afternoon. On the one hand, she hated feeling cooped up. On the
other, she hated walking out into the oven that the liedburg became every
afternoon. Even, ] the ramparts were empty, as sentries hugged the few
shadows. The banner of Neserea hung limply from the flagstaff that rose
above the wall that surrounded the portcullis gate.
She glanced back at the lutar on the bed, surrounded by scraps of paper
on which were jotted words and musical, notations that represented
potential spells. She rubbed her neck and shook her hand to loosen her
fingers, fingers that had developed calluses from the lutar practice over
the past weeks.
The heavy knocker on the tower door thunked twice.
After taking a deep breath, the sorceress crossed the floor and opened
the door.
Menares stood on the landing.
"Come in, counselor." Anna held the door, then closed it behind the
heavyset advisor.
"It is so pleasant here."
"I'm glad you find it so."
After settling himself into the wooden armchair, the counselor cleared
his throat. "The Prophet and I have discussed… your scouting mission…"
"He's agreed," Anna said, tired of the circumlocutions. "What sort of
escort will I have?"
"Ah… Officer Spirda and a full squad. I trust that will be sufficient?"
"I would hope so. We'll leave right after breakfast."
Menares nodded.
"Also, you should know that I won't take the pages, but I will take my
player. He has experience with what players can handle, and I'll need
that."
"You did not mention…"
"Menares… I would like it if you would stop thinking about why I
shouldn't do something and help me do it." She paused.
The white-haired Menares coughed and cleared his throat again, then
shifted his bulk on the chair, which creaked. His fingers touched the
short white beard.
"And I'll need some golds," Anna said. "I'll be looked to for food and
lodging, and since I'm not from Liedwahr, I don't have resources."
"Then perhaps you should not—"
"I'm offering assistance you couldn't buy with all the golds in Liedwahr,
and not only are you trying to hinder my efforts to help Behlem, but
you're quibbling about lodging costs."
"The treasury is not… boundless, Lady Anna."
The sorceress stood and walked to the bed, lifting the lutar off the
coverlet. Then she eased to the window, before turning back and facing
Menares. Her fingers strummed across the strings. "How much are two
thousand armsmen worth? A handful of captains?"
The counselor's eyes flicked from Anna's face to her fingers and back
again. "I think we could spare a few golds, Lady Anna."
"A dozen would be about right. You can have them ready in the morning
when we leave." She nodded absently, chording the background for the
water spell. "Who was behind the attempt to kill me?"
"That we do not know." Menares shrugged. "The armsman belonged to the
Mittfels Foot."
"That's Delor."
"Someone could have suborned his men."
Anna considered, then shook her head. "I don't think so. Do you, really?"
"I could not say. I really could not." Menares wasn't about to admit what
he knew, but his reactions and body posture had already told Anna what
she needed to know.
"There is no dinner tonight, since the Prophet will not be eating with
his captains," Menares volunteered as he slowly eased his bulk out of the
chair.
Anna tried not to swallow. The statement meant more than the words
conveyed… but what?
"I would like to remain, Lady Anna. I have not been more comfortable in
days, but…" The white-haired counselor shrugged.
"I understand." Anna walked to the door and held it open, standing back
as Menares half walked, half waddled onto the hot landing.
Once the echoes of Menares' footsteps had faded, Anna closed the door,
yanked the bellpull and waited. This time, Birke appeared.
"Birke, I need you to find my player, Daffyd. Would you ask him if he
would come here for a bit?"
Birke glanced down the stone steps, then cleared his throat. "Yes, lady."
"Good."
After the page left, she closed the door, wondering once more why she had
to act like a bitch to get anything done. And why Menares had been told
to let her know that Behlem would not be at dinner. Finally, she nodded.
The problem was hers to resolve. Hers alone. Delor could try to kill her
again and again, and Behlem would do nothing—unless she either went to
his bed or begged for His mercy… or both.
She took a deep breath, and began to look for a scrap of paper. Do you
want to do this? Do you have any real choice?
Anna actually had the spell complete before Daffyd thunked. After setting
the paper aside, she crossed the stone floor and opened the door,
motioning him in.
"It's cold here." The dark-haired player shivered as he sank into one of
the chairs.
"It's comfortable." Anna turned the chair to face Daffyd. "Tomorrow,
we're riding back to Pamr. I'm sorry I didn't give you much warning, but
I just persuaded Menares and Behlem that it was necessary."
"You want me to go?" asked Daffyd, a hint of a boyish sulk in his voice.
"Yes. I trust you, and you know more about Defalk than any of the
Neserean officers who'll be with us. I need to see how I can turn things
to help us."
"You haven't talked to me that much lately."
Anna held in a sigh. Why was it that men required so much emotional
hand-holding? Either that, or lots of power to reassure themselves?
"Daffyd, I have been very busy trying to keep from getting murdered. If
you didn't hear, this morning three armsmen tried to kill me in the
stable."
"This morning? What happened? You look all right."
"I almost wasn't. I managed to stab one with my dagger, and I got free
long enough to use a spell on the other two." Anna frowned. "This
happened in a castle where I'm supposed to be safe. Then, earlier,
someone tried to cripple Farinelli by dropping those iron pointed things
into his stall."
"Caltrops?" The player shook his head. "I don't understand. The Prophet
needs you."
"That may be, but someone doesn't agree. Of they don't care."
The young player glanced toward the door. "Do you think Behlem… ?" He
shook his head.
"No. Not yet, anyway. He needs me now, and he's an opportunist. But I
trust him about as far as I could throw Farinelli."
"Why would you do that?"
"You're not…" Anna shook her head ruefully.
Daffyd grinned.
"Why do I stay here? Work with them? Because the alternative is worse." A
lot worse, if what I feel is right. And she had to trust her feelings.
They were about all she could trust, from what she'd experienced of
Liedwahr. She stood and stretched. "I need to prepare some things. I'll
see you in the morning, right after breakfast."
"That's all?"
Anna really wanted to sigh. She didn't. "Daffyd, I'm sorry if I haven't
had more time to talk, but it's hard trying to learn all these things you
grew up with and I didn't. It's also hard being a sorceress in a place
that's… very different. We'll have more time on the way to Pamr."
"Do you want me to bring my viola?"
"I think that would be a good idea, don't you?"
The player nodded.
After Daffyd left, Anna didn't know whether to shake her head or scream.
She was old enough to be his mother, and looked young enough to.be his
girlfriend, and the poor boy was confused. No matter what she did, he'd
be confused.
She picked the lutar back up, running through the chords again, then the
words, but never both together, and never singing the words.
When the sun had almost touched the horizon, Anna took another deep
breath, then lifted the lutar, and slipped out of her room into the heat
of the tower steps.
Although she passed two armsmen and a page she did not know, none said a
word to her, all three looking away as she strode determinedly toward the
middle hall.
"Lady Anna… ah… there is no… accompanied dinner… this evening…" stammered
the young armsman standing outside the doorway.
"I know. I didn't come for that." Anna smiled, but the smile felt cold,
colder than university professionalism. "I take it the captains and
overcaptains are eating now?"
Giellum swallowed. "You can't enter."
"Do you announce me, or do I turn you into charcoal?" Anna's fingers
flicked across the strings of the lutar.
The young armsman's eyes widened, then he croaked. "Ah… a moment, lady."
He swung the door open.
"The lady Anna."
She almost wanted to smile as his voice cracked, but she wasted no time
stepping inside, halting, and surveying the table to make sure Delor was
there.
He was. The overcaptain bolted upright at the table, his blade clearing
the sheath, his face twisted in anger.
Anna sang.
"Delor, killer, now you learn…
from flame to ashes shall you turn…
from the strings, from the sky,
fire flay you till you die!"
Delor leaped from the far side of the table, flicked out his blade,
grasping a dagger in the other hand, and charged across the tile floor
toward the sorceress even before she finished the spell.
Cracckk!!!
Anna flicked the last chord from the lutar strings and dodged.
Delor stopped in his tracks as one line of fire slammed his body, then a
second. Although he went down after the second, he didn't begin to scream
until the fifth or sixth fire-lash cut away fabric and flesh.
Except for Delor's screams, the miniature lightnings and the crackling of
flame, the hall was silent. With his death, only heavy breathing remained.
Anna swallowed, and stepped up toward the horrified faces around the
table; She noted that Behlem was not present. Nor was Menares. She turned
to Hanfor.
"Unlike some, I don't hire innocents to do my killing. And I don't hide
behind a smile and witty words. I didn't kill Delor just because he tried
to kill me. I also killed him because he was stupid. How do you feel
about a captain who would try to kill the best weapon his lord may have?
How many of you will die if I am not there?" You're setting yourself
up…but what choice do you have? You have to stop this assassination shit
before it gets anywhere. "Do you want to play stupid masculine games or
do you want to survive?"
Hanfor stood. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "I
appreciate your directness, Lady Anna. If they stop to think, many others
may do so as well."
"Thank you." The sorceress bowed and turned, giving Delor's corpse a wide
berth as she left the hall.
"… stupid… He was so stupid…"
"… you still dream of bedding her, Diuse?"
"… colder than the top of the Ostfels…"
"… more of a man than Delor…"
"That is most frightening..."
Anna kept her lips tightly together as she walked back to the tower, and
up the stone steps to her cold empty room. She didn't even dare to try
the mirror to see her daughter, not until she'd thought that out more.
She'd been given youth, and beauty back, and power— and it was getting
more and more evident that the price was high—higher than she could have
dreamed. She had the. sickening feeling, unfortunately, that she had only
begun to Pay-Why… why was it so fucking difficult? She was already being
called a bitch and worse. Yet, if Behlem had been
Delor's target, the overcaptain would have been tortured to death in the
most grisly way without anyone thinking an ill thought of the Prophet. So
why was she the bitch? The cold stones that surrounded her gave no answer.
73
The day was gray when Anna woke, her eyes gummy, her nose stuffed. For a
time, she lay on the lumpy bed, but her thoughts kept drifting back to
the dream, a dream where she searched through an unfamiliar house, a
house hotter than an oven. She was looking for Irenia, Mario, and
Elizabetta. She hadn't been able to find them, but she'd just had to keep
looking, going back through closets overflowing with clothes into which
she could no longer fit, toys the children hadn't used for years, and
stacks and stacks of music written in a notation she'd never seen. After
a time, she forced her eyes open.
Finally, she sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. The gray
outside was that of morning before sunrise. All that searching in her
dream—it meant she had to see them—Mario and Elizabetta, anyway. She
swallowed, and her eyes burned, at the thought of Irenia. No magic would
let her see Irenia again.
She stood and padded to the window. The sun had not lifted itself above
the horizon, but the eastern sky was pink. Time to dress… and then time
to try another spell.
Once she had her riding clothes on, she turned to the mirror and began to
sing, first focusing the spell on Mario.
"Mirror, mirror…"
Nothing happened, except a brief swirl of white across her own reflection
in the cracked and shimmering glass.
Had she lost her ability? Or did a cracked glass spoil the effect? She
swallowed, then walked.around until she located the greasy pencil and
began to scrawl. After that came the lutar.
"Mirror, mirror with cracks in glass,
remove the fissure with this pass,
Make it shine smooth and fine…"
The glass misted, and reappeared—blemish-free. But the frame was still
heat-warped and dark. She ate some stale bread and repeated the effort to
see Mario. Again, there was the swirl of white—and nothing.
The sorceress walked back to the table and swallowed half a goblet of
water, and chewed some of the bread left from the night before.
Then she tried again, with the same result.
She paced to the window, then back to the mirror. What about Elizabetta?
Her heart pounding, Anna studied the mirror for a time before she sang
the second spell.
"Mirror, mirror…"
This time this swirling white mists in the mirror cleared to reveal
Elizabetta sitting in her bedroom in the Colonial. Her red hair was
unkempt, and around her were piled heaps of clothes. Elizabetta's eyes
were red, and she was looking at the open cardboard boxes on the floor.
Anna felt her own eyes fill with tears, but she just watched as her
daughter sat on the rumpled tulip quilt that Anna's mother had given
Elizabetta for her tenth birthday.
The sorceress squinted as Elizabetta said something. Was she asking
"Why?" or swearing?
After a moment longer, the redhead jerked herself upright and began to
fold clothes, almost savagely, before stuffing each item into one of the
boxes.
Again the heat poured from the glass, far sooner than before, and Anna
sang the release spell quickly. Watching that distant image just twisted
her stomach tight up inside herself.
She shook her head, tiredly, and massaged her neck and then her temples.
Spells weren't infallible, nor was she, as she had discovered in the
stable.
The door knocker thunked.
"Who's there?"
"Menares," came the answer.
Anna slid the bolt quietly and eased the door ajar, one hand on the hilt
of the knife, but the counselor was alone. "Come in."
The older man stepped inside, fingering his white beard as he glanced at
the empty saddlebags and the water bottles. "You are still intending to
scout out the area around Pamr?"
"I don't know any other way."
"Last night…" Menares looked into Anna's eyes.
Anna looked back, and the counselor's eyes fell.
Finally, she said. "You and Behlem set that up cleverly."
"My lady… how could you suggest… Delor was a fine commander. He will be
sorely missed."
"By whom? The Ebrans?" She shook her head. "If I hadn't done something,
every egocentric officer in the Prophet's army would have thought he
could try to kill me, in order to do Delor one better. Now that I have
acted, you and Behlem are figures of great temperance and moderation,
forced to put up with a mad sorceress for the sake of Defalk and Neserea."
Menares did not meet her eyes. "Perhaps it is best that you leave Falcor
for a few days." .
Anna had her doubts. In her absence, the two would probably concoct
enough rumors to ensure no officer felt safe within a mile—a dek, she
corrected herself—of her.
"Menares, you are a wise man. I hope you can assure both the Prophet and
his captains that I am a reasonable woman." She forced a smile. "I am
sure you can find some way to get across the idea that…" She paused. "Let
me put it another way. If it had been the Prophet that Delor's man had
assaulted, how long would Delor have lived?"
"Not long," admitted Menares.
"I even gave Delor some time to make amends. Did he?"
"Captains are not usually given to making amends, Lady Anna."
"Not to women, you mean? Perhaps they should reconsider their ways. That
wasn't the point, though. I was hoping you could find a way to explain to
the captains and overcaptains that I am a most reasonable woman." She
smiled again. "Especially when people are reasonable in return."
Another silence filled the tower room.
"How long will you be gone?" the counselor finally asked.
"As long as it takes, and not a moment longer." Anna looked at the
leather bag in Menares' hand. "I presume those are our travel expenses?"
The counselor nodded and extended it. "There are fifteen golds."
Anna tucked the bag into her overflowing wallet. "I'll return any that
aren't needed." She looked at the saddlebags. "I do need to pack these
and be on my way."
"I'm certain you do, lady." Menares smiled tightly as he turned toward
the door.
After seeing him out, she slid the bolt into place and resumed her hasty
packing—not that she was taking that much besides the lutar, spare riding
clothes, a towel, and soap. There wasn't that much in Falcor she could
take.
When she was through, Anna glanced at the saddlebags and the water
bottles by the door, then yanked the bellpull.
Before long, both Skent and Birke stood on the landing.
"I'd like some help with these."
"You're leaving today?" asked Skent.
"I'll be back." Unfortunately. "Before too long."
The two glanced at each other.
Anna could read the unspoken thoughts. "If you're wondering whether I'm
really leaving because of the mess last night, the answer is no. I'd
arranged this before last night. Of course, it probably won't hurt that
I'm out of view for a few days."
"I'm glad Delor's gone," Skent volunteered.
Birke smirked, and Skent added quickly, glaring at the redheaded page,
"He was mean. Once he kicked Cens."
Birke looked away from Skent, and then down at the stones of the landing.
What was that about? What was she missing? Anna wondered.
"Let's go." Anna lifted the lutar case. The two followed her down the
stairs and across the morning-shadowed courtyard to the stables.
In the gloom inside the stables, Tirsik stood. Beyond him, Daffyd
struggled with the saddle to his mare.
"Good morning, Lady Anna." Tirsik smiled. "He's been fed, seeing as I
heard you'd be riding out early."
"Thank you." Anna turned to the pages. "Just leave the bags by the stall.
I'll load them once I get Farinelli saddled." She smiled. "Keep things in
order while I'm gone."
Skent smiled and nodded. Birke nodded soberly. Then they walked toward
the stall. Anna looked back to the stablemaster.
"The one worships you. The other fears you," said Tirsik.
"I hope I treat them the same."
"Oh, you do, lady. I've watched. But Skent comes from an armsman's stock,
and he's seen the worst. Young Birke, his sire's a lord, and the lords of
Defalk haven't held much for strong women. Armsmen need strong women, but
lords fear them." The wiry stablemaster laughed. "I talk too much. Best
you be getting ready."
"I appreciate your words, Tirsik. I'm a stranger, and they help."
"Are we still going?" asked Daffyd, loudly.
"Why not?" Anna smiled brightly as she turned.
"I heard… last night." The player glanced toward the central hall
structure.
"That doesn't change anything. I talked with Menares this morning."
Daffyd shook his head. "The armsmen won't be happy."
"Spirda is a lancer. He reports to Hanfor," Anna pointed out.
Daffyd shrugged, an expression that did not signify full agreement.
Anna walked to the stall, where Farinelli neighed."Good morning to you,
beast. You seem to be the only one besides Tirsik who's pleased to see me
this morning." The gelding neighed again.
"Except you just want to be groomed." She laughed as she slipped into the
stall, setting her feet carefully. The area still held the faintest
residual odor of charred meat and straw. Anna tried not to think about it
as she brushed the palomino, then saddled him, and strapped her gear in
place.
Farinelli almost pranced as she led him from the stables out into the
courtyard where Daffyd waited, a sober expression fixed in place. He
shook his head minutely as Anna rechecked the saddle.
"Why are we riding to Pamr?" Spirda asked, as he led his mount into the
courtyard and stopped beside Anna.
"So I can figure out some way to stop the Ebrans before they kill you,"
answered Anna. She wanted to apologize for being short with the clueless
young subofficer, but she didn't. She was tired of explaining and
apologizing.
"But the Prophet…"
"The counselor and the Prophet have already agreed." Anna turned to
Farinelli and checked saddlebags, water bottles, and the lutar case a
last time before mounting.
Daffyd scrambled into his saddle, as did Spirda.
Anna slowly eased Farinelli across the stones of the courtyard toward the
portcullis gate.
Except for the half squad of duty guards, there were no armsmen moving in
the tents beyond the liedburg walls. The horses in the temporary corral
stood almost motionless.
Even in the meanest stretch north of liedburg, the early-morning light
fell on streets that were all but deserted.
A wisp or two of smoke drifted from a handful of scattered chimneys, and
Anna had to guide Farinelli to the east side of the street to avoid an
enthusiastic maid dumping chamberpots. But far too many shutters were,
fastened tight, or ripped open and hanging askew on iron brackets.
Spirda rode stiffly behind Anna and Daffyd, but Anna was in no mood to
cheer anyone up. How could she figure out how to use a river and land to
stop the dark ones? And did her inability to see Mario mean something
terrible? Or that she was losing her talent for sorcery? Or that, as
Brill had intimated, too much trying to see the mist worlds—her
earth—would cost too much? Or start a raging blaze?
She straightened in the saddle and pushed the thoughts away. She had to
do what she could do.
74
The endless sun beat down on Anna, oh the dusty road as she led the
riders up the long incline from Sorprat and the ford aoross the Chean
River. Sweat oozed into her hair and down onto her brow no matter how
often she used the soggy square of cloth that once had resembled a
handkerchief.
At the top of the incline, where the road flattened into a dusty strip
heading eastward toward Mencha, Anna turned Farinelli back west for a few
paces, along a narrow path wide enough for perhaps two horses. There she
reined up and studied the road. The main road from Mencha and the east
swung down through the cut in the hillside to the ford—essentially a
stone causeway over which a handspan of brown water flowed. On the low
hill on the north side of the river stood the handful of houses that
represented
Sorprat. On the south side, where Anna, Daffyd, and the armsmen had
reined up, the dry river bluffs were empty, except for. an abandoned
stone watchtower less than fifty yards across the road from Anna. The
watchtower offered a clear view of both ford and town, and the flat
highway that stretched through scattered brown grass, creosote bushes,
and bare reddish ground toward the eastern horizon. Anna edged Farinelli
slightly closer to the bluff edge and leaned forward in the saddle,
trying to study the curve of the river.
"Still waters run deep…" The song's words echoed in her thoughts and were
gone. The Chean. might run smoothly, but it certainly wasn't deep, and
that was part of her problem.
"Why are we headed out this way?" asked Daffyd. "No one is stupid enough
to fight a battle with their backs to a cliff."
Anna wanted to glare at the player. Too often, he was still the
condescending undergraduate who hadn't figured out how much he didn't
know. "You're right, but I don't know the road. I need to check it out."
Daffyd looked puzzled. "Check out?"
"Look at it." Anna paused, then continued, absently patting Farinelli on
the neck. "If the Prophet's forces are in Pamr, how will Eladdrin bring
his troops?"
"He'll take the high road along the bluff here," answered Spirda from
Anna's right. "He wouldn't want to put them on the exposed low ground
down there, especially since he knows you're a sorceress. They'd be
sitting geese for archers, too."
Anna would not have called the narrow dusty trail that wound
westward—almost paralleling the curves of the river itself—a road,
although perhaps it had been a highway once, before the rains had ceased.
The trail was flat, level, and ran through low brush and brown grass,
leaving any who traveled it visible for deks or leagues… or whatever. Her
eyes flicked back downhill to the Chean River, a thin line of brown water
almost lost in wider banks that announced it had once been far greater.
As Spirda had said, the Ebrans certainly would not wish to lead their
troops downhill into the ford—even if they knew the area contained no
troops.
What if Behlem drew up his forces as though to defend Pamr—a good part of
a day's march farther west? With their water-scrying, the Ebrans would
certainly know where the Prophet's forces were.
Anna frowned. The Ebrans could take the narrow trail that once might have
been a road and follow the river to hold the high ground—and they
wouldn't have to worry about mud or rain. Even so, how near would they
stay to the river? She rubbed her forehead.
"Spirda? If Hanfor were leading his troops, how close would he stay to
the river?''
"It's hard to say." The subofficer pursed his lips, then scratched the
back of his head. "He'd want to see the river and the plain there. I
don't know, but I'd bet he'd pretty much follow this road we're on. You
can see riders from a long ways, and there's higher ground on this side
as you get toward Pamr."
Anna looked at the bluffs—they seemed to be normal clay and soil, not
sandstone or the redstone of the Ostfels. Could she turn the bluffs into
something more dangerous? She remembered listening to Sandy and his
endless lectures on aquifers and groundwater and sinkholes. But could she
create something that the Ebrans couldn't see? Couldn't sense? Something
that seemed natural even to magic sensors?
"We'll be here awhile." Anna took out the second water bottle, uncapped
it, and swallowed a good third of it before she replaced it. Even with
the bedraggled floppy-brimmed hat and the long-sleeved shirt, she felt
the sun beating through her.
Spirda looked surprised.
"I need to do some prep work. Just make sure we're not disturbed." She
slowly dismounted, handed Farinelli's reins to the subofficer, and began
to unstrap the lutar.
"Daffyd?"
"Yes, Lady Anna?'' The player eased the mare over beside Spirda.
"I'm going to need some help," She pulled out several scraps of paper and
the battered greasemarker that she'd lugged all across Defalk. "After I
figure out the right kind of spell."
Daffyd nodded and began to dismount. Spirda gestured, and one of the
other armsmen, older, black-bearded, rode closer. "Take these, Fhurgen."
The subofficer handed Farinelli's reins to the bearded man. In turn,
Daffyd handed the mare's reins to the older armsman. Anna set the lutar
case beside the road, and began to hum, trying to match what she had in
mind to the melody. She sat on a patch of ground between two bedraggled
creosote bushes that seemed clear of ants and insects, pushing the hat
back slightly, her back to the mid-afternoon sun.
She was probably crazy to be out in the heat, but she felt there wasn't
that much time. So she just kept drinking lots of water.
The first line didn't work, and she scratched it out. "What's she doing?"
whispered Fhurgen to Daffyd. The other armsmen just watched, and Anna
could feel all the eyes on her. She wanted to shake her head.
"Creating a spell… I think," the player muttered back. Anna glared at
them. It was hard enough without intrusions. Both men closed their
mouths, but she caught the exchange of glances. More unspoken shit about
moody or bitchy women. Men were creative or eccentric, but women were
difficult or bitchy. She snorted, ignoring the second set of glances,
forcing her thoughts back to the spell rhyme. Her neck burned by the time
she had the four verses she needed scrawled out on the paper. Her knees
creaked as she stood.
"All right," she said, turning her head toward Daffyd, who was blotting
his sweating face. "You can tune the viola. I'm just about ready to try
this."
"That's good. I'm hot."
"So am I." Her back was soaked where the shirt and tunic had rested
against her skin.
As Anna brushed off her trousers, and began to tune the lutar, and Daffyd
th§ viola, Spirda rode back toward the ford, not more than fifty yards,
before announcing loudly. "There's no one coming."
Although the sorceress felt like telling Spirda that such announcements
were unnecessary, that she could see that herself, she just nodded and
finished tuning the lutar. Then she cleared her throat and ran through a
set of vocalises. Her throat was dry, and she stopped for more water
before resuming.
Finally, she turned to Daffyd again, catching him wiping his forehead.
"Here's the song." She hummed the round, once, then again. "Can you do
that?"
"Of course. It's a simple tune."
"I won't be playing the same thing," she pointed out. "The chords are
harmony."
Daffyd nodded again, and fiddled with his bow.
The sorceress looked toward the river, cleared her throat, nodded to
Daffyd, and began.
"Cut, cut, cut your bed
deeply through the ground
easily, easily, easily,
with water yet unfound.
"Leave, leave, leave the road
covered by the ground…
"Carve, carve, carve
deep beneath the ground…"
Despite the support of Daffyd's playing, by the time she strummed the
last chord, Anna had to sit down—abruptly— on the dusty clay of the road,
her head swimming, and her skull throbbing. The lutar lay beside her, and
stars flashed across her eyes.
A low rumbling, or groaning, filtered up through the ground, and little
puffs of dust burst upward along the road.
"Are you all right?" asked Daffyd, kneeling beside her.
"I need something to eat," she admitted. "And drink."
Fhurgen eased his mount back as Daffyd rummaged through the saddlebags of
his mare before returning to Anna with a chunk of bread and her water
bottle.
"Here."
First, she drank, and then began to chew the stale bread.
Spirda rode slowly back to the two. Even through the sparkles of her
intermittent vision, Anna could see the sub-officer was pale.
"The river's gone. It's just gone. What did you do?"
"It's working for us," she answered, her mouth partly full. She took
another long swallow of warm water. It still tasted good. She broke off
another piece of bread and put it in her mouth.
The ground trembled once more. Anna smiled faintly.
"Now what, Lady Anna?" asked Spirda.
"We wait awhile." The images in front of her eyes still sparkled, and she
turned to Daffyd. "I need more bread and some cheese."
He nodded and went back to the saddlebags.
Anna kept eating, as more small puffs of dust rose along the line of the
road.
Daffyd's mare whinnied, and Farinelli sidestepped, drawing the reins held
by Fhurgen tight. The other armsmen rode in tight circles on edgy mounts.
Daffyd glanced from Anna to the armsmen and back to Anna. She had to
force herself to finish all the bread and cheese. She felt like a hog.
Was that the way anorexics felt—as though normal nourishment were
stuffing them? Yet her dietary needs were far from normal, and she could
tell she was too thin—but how on Erde could she keep eating all the time?
"You keep it up or you'll die, either from starvation or because you
can't do sorcery," she mumbled to herself.
Spirda rode back and forth, to look at the river, then back to survey the
sorceress and the player, then back to the river. While he rode, and
Daffyd fidgeted, Anna made her way through almost another half loaf of
bread before the sparkling motes before her eyes died away. She had to
have been hungrier than she'd thought—either that or her spell-casting
involved a great deal more than she had considered. She felt ready to
retch before she felt strong enough to stand.
The faint groaning and the dust puffs continued.
In time, when she felt matters had proceeded long enough—and she had no
way of knowing, but had to trust her feelings—Anna finished the water
bottle and stood, lifting the lutar. Her fingers touched the gut strings
once more. She nodded and looked at the younger player. "We need to do it
again."
Daffyd raised both eyebrows, but extracted his viola and bow from their
case.
Anna waited until he nodded, and then she cleared her throat and repeated
the second version of the song that had started as a nursery-rhyme round.
"Leave, leave, leave the road
covered by the ground…
"Hold, hold, hold the road
firm above the ground…"
Spirda eased his mount back toward the road cut to the ford, watching
until after Anna and Daffyd had finished. Then he rode back to the
waiting squad—and to Daffyd and Anna.
"The river's back, but it's even muddier," announced the subofficer.
"It may be for a while," Anna conceded. "It may be." She felt exhausted,
and hoped she was up for the long ride back toward Pamr. Slowly, she
walked toward Farinelli, and even more laboriously, fastened the lutar
and case in place, then mounted.
"What did you do?"
"Enough, enough." She hoped it had been enough, and that it would hold,
and that Eladdrin would indeed follow the course of apparent common
sense. So much was based on hope, and so often hope was disappointed.
Anna took a deep breath and turned Farinelli back toward the ford and the
still-shallower and-muddier Chean River. She'd have to eat again, before
long, and she hoped the churning of her overstressed stomach would
subside by then.
75
Looking ahead to the bridge across the river, Anna reflected that the
Chean River wasn't even a river, but more like the Platte in August—a
thin stream lost in wide banks cloaked in browning vegetation. Because of
all the irrigation in the river valley, the Chean carried less water than
it had at Sorprat.
The sorceress had not slept well the night before, perhaps because they
had stopped short of Pamr and bedded down in an abandoned barn, perhaps
because her digestive system was having trouble coping with all the food
her sorcery demanded, or perhaps because she continued to worry about her
sorcery itself. She was relying on what she felt, and after her failure
to scry Mario in the mirror, she'd begun to wonder. Was sorcery as
reliable as it had seemed? Had she accomplished what she had tried with
the river bluffs—or was she deceiving herself? Had her earlier successes
been based on her ability? Or had she been lucky? Or was sorcery just
unreliable in trying to view an earth based on technology? That didn't
even deal with what she knew about people. Too many in authority—like
Avery or Behlem—-demanded proof for others to justify their actions,
while conveniently ignoring it for their own. Proof that Virkan was
abusing people, proof that Delor would have kept trying to kill her—and
the only proof of that would have been her death.
There remained so much she did not know. She took a long, slow breath,
and let it out equally slowly, trying to settle her churning stomach. Her
eyes drifted northward, drawn by… something. She squinted as the morning
sun caught the corner of her eye, but despite the glare she could see a
line of armed horsemen waiting silently on the low hill above the green
fields of some sort of beans.
"Lady…" said Spirda softly. "To our right…"
"I see them. Let's keep riding." The bridge wasn't that far ahead.
Anna glanced to the bridge, then back to the hill. A single rider rode
slowly downhill aj an angle, so that he would cross the meadow ahead to
Anna's right and meet them on the road.
"One rider," said Daffyd.
"They want something," affirmed Spirda.
Again, Anna wanted to strangle them both for stating the obvious as
though she had no brains at all. Instead, she contented herself with a
single word. "Obviously."
A low guffaw came from one of the armsmen riding behind. Fhurgen? Or one
of the others—Hirreno, perhaps? She couldn't tell without looking, and
she didn't need to, since whoever it was happened to be laughing at the
self-officiousness of Daffyd and Spirda.
She checked the larger body of riders motionless on the hill beyond the
irrigated bean field. They had not moved. By now, Anna, Daffyd, and the
squad of armsmen were closer to the stone bridge across the Chean than to
the armed riders. As they neared the mown meadow, the single rider,
wearing a blue sash and bearing a white banner, trotted toward the squad.
"What is your pleasure, lady?" asked Spirda.
Anna studied the weathered but thin face of the man who rode ever closer.
Except for reins and banner staff, his hands were empty.
"Let him close enough to speak."
The rider, clearly unsure of his reception, reined up a good twenty yards
from Anna and her group.
"I bear a message for the lady Anna."
Anna eased Farinelli away from the others only slightly. "I'm Anna."
"The lord Jecks begs your indulgence and would like a word with you." The
rider bowed.
"Should you?" asked Spirda. "He hasn't declared his allegiance to the
Prophet."
"That might be a good reason to meet him. I talked with him before,
briefly, and he seemed honest."
"Seemings are not always truths."
"I'll risk it." Anna turned to the messenger. "I'll meet him on the open
meadow there. Alone. Everyone else must stay well away from us."
"No arms," hissed Spirda, behind Anna.
"I will bear no arms, except my knife, and I trust that Lord Jecks will
also bear no arms."
"He will be alone." The messenger nodded. "Without his blade or bow."
"He is keeping his armsmen well beyond bow range," said Spirda. "He must
want to speak with you badly."
"Very badly," added Daffyd.
Anna watched as the messenger urged his mount up the low hill and as a
single rider eased away from the mounted armsmen there. As Jecks rode
downhill, Anna eased Farinelli into the middle of the meadow and reined
up.
The stocky white-haired rider drew up a few yards from Anna, keeping his
bare hands in plain view.
Farinelli whuffled, then sidestepped.
"Easy… easy…" Anna patted his shoulder.
"Lady Anna." The white-haired man inclined his head. "I took this risk in
the hopes that you would not employ your sorcery to destroy me. It is a
risk, from what I hear, but at my age, you discover that everything is a
risk."
"What you do want?" Anna asked. "I'm sorry if I'm too blunt, but I know
little about you, except that we spoke briefly before the battle of the
Sand Pass, and that you seemed honest. The few common people who knew you
thought you kept your word."
Jecks smiled briefly, an open smile that Anna liked, although she kept
her distance, her eyes occasionally checking the horsemen on the ridge.
Spirda had said they were well out of bow-shot, and she hoped he was
correct.
"I have heard the same about you, and also that you are a sorceress who
has great power, and dislikes using that power."
He wouldn't have said that if he'd been around Falcor lately, thought
Anna. "The situation here seems designed to force me to employ everything
that I know," she admitted aloud. And much that I don't, she added to
herself. It isn't Kansas, Dorothy, or even Ames, Iowa.
After a puzzled look, Jecks added, "You, and Lord Brill, served Lord
Barjim in trying to stop the dark ones. You may recall that my daughter
was his consort."
"I recall." Anna had liked Alasia, certainly a point in Jecks' favor.
Jecks nodded. "I managed to recover half my forces from the battle. The
dark ones were reluctant to pursue after your efforts. Instead of
returning.directly to Elhi, I rode to Falcor and escorted my grandson
from the liedstadt to his ancestral home—where he now remains."
Anna could feel her forehead knitting in puzzlement. "What do you want
from me?"
"Might I ask why you have chosen to serve the Prophet Behlem? If you
would not mind telling me?'' Jecks offered another wry smile, looking
much younger than the silver-white hair initially had indicated.
The sorceress pursed her lips for a moment, scanning the horizon again,
but neither her squad nor Jecks' horsemen had moved. "I didn't see anyone
else trying to stop the dark ones. After that battle, I felt someone had
to. Those people are… They're evil," she concluded, much as she hated to
pin that label on anyone.
"Why do you feel you must fight them?" Jecks asked.
"Humor me, please, with these questions. I am an old man, trying to
protect his only grandson."
Jecks, for all the white hair, didn't look that old, probably not any
older than Anna was, and he was stocky, muscular, and doubtless quite a
fighter. In fact, Anna concluded to herself, he was a lot more attractive
than any of the men she'd seen so far, clean-shaven, honorable, and
willing to stand up for what he believed in. Plus… he seemed to have a
wry sense of humor, or something like it.
"I saw terrible things in my world, and they only got worse because no
one would stand up to stop them. There, because magic was different, I
could do nothing. Here I can." She laughed, not quite harshly. "You might
say that life has called my bluff."
"Thank you, Lady Anna." Jecks bowed his head. "I would beg your leave to
talk with you again. The Prophet sent a messenger, but I would reply
first through you. You may tell the lord Behlem that while I will not
join his forces, I will not fight him, and I will do all that I can to
hold back the dark ones." The older lord offered a more wintry, but still
open smile. "Florenda, the player Liende, and Albero wish to be
remembered to you. It was their idea that I speak with you, and I am glad
I heeded it. A good trip back to Falcor to you, Lady Anna."
"I will tell the Prophet, and I will do my best to persuade him of your
goodwill."
"I would not deceive you, lady. I bear neither goodwill nor evil will for
Lord Behlem. I wish to save Defalk." Jecks inclined his head, then turned
his mount toward the east.
What was that last bit all about? wondered Anna. She shook her head as
she eased Farinelli back toward her squad.
"Will you destroy them?" asked Spirda as Anna reined up Farinelli.
"No. He had a message for the Prophet, and the Prophet should hear that
message and make his own decision." Anna reached for her water bottle.
Suddenly, her throat was dry, and she was thirsty. Since Jecks had agreed
to fight the dark ones, she didn't believe that Behlem had so many
armsmen that he could afford to spurn the offer. Still, she wasn't sure,
and she wasn't about to blurt it out.
"The Prophet may not be pleased."
Anna finished drinking and eased the water bottle into the straps, then
nudged Farinelli enough to start the gelding on their interrupted course
toward the bridge. "The Prophet has requested allegiance, and Lord Jecks
has asked me to deliver his reply. The Prophet should make his own
judgment on Lord Jecks." And he'd be a fool to take on a fight he doesn't
need to right now.
Spirda rode silently beside Anna, frowning. The sorceress ignored his
displeasure, wishing the subofficer would grow up. Then, she reminded
herself, Spirda had not seen or felt that dark massed power of the
Ebrans, and some people learned only from what they experienced
personally. Was she like that? She hoped not, but self-delusion was the
easiest of all deceptions.
76
Esaria, Neserea
The raven-haired woman leans forward, stopping short of where the top of
the low-cut pale green gown would reveal too much to the officer in the
maroon uniform of a lancer of Mansuur. "You have followed the dispatches
from Falcor?"
"Yes, my lady Cyndyth." The officer remains erect, his voice polite,
formal.
"Is it true that this sorceress who has joined the Prophet killed many of
the darksingers at the battle for the Sand Pass?" Cyndyth leans back in
the dark polished wooden armchair that is not quite a throne, her green
eyes the same shade as the brocade trim of the chair's head-high
upholstery.
"So it is said, my lady."
"And she has joined the Prophet's forces in Falcor?"
"Yes, my lady."
Cyndyth lifts the crystal goblet, sips the pale red wine, then replaces
it on the silver tray that sits upon the table to her right. Long slender
fingers lift a candied almond from the silver dish on the tray. "Is she
beautiful?"
"She is said to be young and blonde." The lancer's forehead crinkles ever
so slightly as he adds, "Yet it is also said that she has children as old
as you are, my lady."
"Does she have scars, great gashes on her skin?" asks Cyndyth. "I heard
the dark ones nearly killed her."
"The dark ones seek her, or so says the counselor Menares, and she was
thrown from the walls by their attack. Yet she lives."
"You do serve the Liedfuhr, do you not?"
"As I must, Lady Cyndyth. As my family has ever." A faint sheen of
perspiration coats the officer's forehead.
"And you know that my father is ever vigilant?"
"The vigilance of the Liedfuhr is legendary."
Cyndyth laughs, softly, throatily, and lifts the goblet for another sip
of the wine. "It is legendary. You are so comic, Nubara. So formal. So
careful."
"I understand my duties, lady, and do my best to fulfill them."
"So you do." Cyndyth's voice turns lazy, slow, as she continues. "A
sorceress who is young and blonde… a battle against the dark ones that
must be won… and after that?" She shrugs and a smooth-skinned shoulder is
momentarily uncovered. "Once the mighty Eladdrin is vanquished, will the
Prophet need a sorceress? Will the Liedfuhr?" She straightens in the
chair and reaches for another almond. "Oh, you might wish to inform my
sire that we will be departing for Falcor."
" 'We,' my lady?" asks Nubara.
"You are the envoy of the Liedfuhr to the Prophet, and the Prophet—and
the sorceress—are in Falcor. How could you possibly deal with the
sorceress from here? Or serve the Liedfuhr?" Even white teeth delicately
crush the almond, and Cyndyth takes another sip of wine. "You will serve
the Liedfuhr, will you not, by ensuring that the next battle of this
sorceress is her last battle?''
"I serve the will of the Liedfuhr." Nubara's forehead is even brighter
with sweat.
"I am so sure you do, Nubara." Cyndyth smiles slowly, showing white teeth
framed by reddened lips. "So very sure that you will not misunderstand
his will in this. We leave tomorrow."
77
Anna dried her just-washed face, then straightened her last clean set of
riding clothes. Again, the night before, they had ridden late to reach
Falcor, and she had probably overslept, but at least a covered tray of
bread and cheese had been waiting when she rose, a heaping tray,
thankfully. From Skent, she suspected.
She looked at the pile of the floor and the two buckets of water beside
them. With a sigh, she took out the lutar. Sorcery to do laundry? Was it
worth the headache it would cause? What else could she do? The last time
she'd asked for it to be done, the clothes had been returned brushed
clean of dust and dirt, but still stained and smelly.
After too long a time, and the headache she had anticipated, Anna hung
the two sets of trousers, tunics, and shirts around her room, as well as
twice that many undergarments. The idea of her room looking like a
Chinese laundry bothered her, but not so much as dirty clothing.
She put the lutar away and sat down to a goblet of water and the one
chunk of bread left over from breakfast. Almost -before she finished the
bread, she jerked the bellpull, and waited.
Birke arrived almost immediately.
"Birke? I'd like to talk to Garreth."
The page swallowed.
"Don't worry. I just want her to draw something for me." Anna held in a
grin. "Do you like her?"
"She draws well," answered the page.
Meaning yes, Anna inferred.
"I also need you to take a message to Counselor Menares. I have a message
from Lord Jecks to the Prophet."
"You have a message from Lord Jecks?"
"To the Prophet," Anna added. "I'll be either here with Garreth or
upstairs with Lady Essan."
"You do not intend to come directly?" Birke's brows lifted.
"That would waste my time and his." Anna smiled. "Garreth first."
"Yes, Lady Anna."
Anna said nothing, though she could sense the youth's disapproval. Would
he disapprove of every contact she made? She shook her head as she closed
the door to the landing.
Even before the sorceress had finished her second goblet of purified
water, the door knocker thunked, announcing Garreth.
"Birke said you had requested my presence," said the thin-faced brunette,
her eyes on the stones of the landing before the door.
"Please come in." Anna motioned to a chair, but the young woman barely
sat on it, almost perching on the edge. Garreth's eyes wandered around
the room, glancing at the garments draped around.
"Laundry," explained Anna.
The brunette frowned. Anna didn't explain, feeling that she'd come across
as arrogant and condescending if she attempted to discuss cleanliness,
especially since the room had gotten dusty in her absence.
"Your room is cold. How be it so?"
"Sorcery," Anna admitted. "Erde gets too hot to be comfortable for me."
Garreth shivered, but said nothing.
"I had a request of you," the sorceress finally said. "Could you draw a
picture of me, say on the tower, with some of Falcor behind me? It
doesn't have to be fancy, but something that's recognizable as me."
Garreth frowned, ever so slightly, her green eyes slightly hooded.
"I'd pay you for it," Anna added. "I don't have that much coin, but…
would a silver or two help?''
"It is not that, Lady Anna. I not be that good."
"You're better than most of the pretenders who call themselves artists."
A faint smile flitted across Garreth's lips and vanished.
"I would also consider it a great favor."
"If you would explain that to Lady Essan…"
"I would be happy to—very happy."
"How big?" ventured the brunette.
"It must be small, to fit in an… a packet." Anna framed a space with her
hands. "And soon, if that's possible."
"I could come back this afternoon, when Lady Essan rests."
"Good." Anna smiled, and stood. She still needed to see Essan, preferably
before Menares and Behlem. "Is Lady Essan in now?"
"She usually be in, Lady Anna." As she stood, Garreth's voice was polite,
but Anna felt stupid. Where would the widow of the former Lord of Defalk
go?
"I'll talk to her now."
". "Then I will return to my corner."
Anna waited until Garreth's steps died away down the tower steps before
she headed up toward Essan's room. The stairwell was hot and close, even
before mid-morning, and smelled faintly of urine and worse from the jakes
on the level below Anna's quarters. She wrinkled her nose, but kept
climbing.
She paused outside the lady Essan's room, then rapped on the door.
"Yes? What is it?"
"It's Anna, Lady Essan."
The older woman opened the door. "You have returned safely. Do come in."
Essan turned to the stocky woman with white-streaked black hair. "You may
go, Synondra."
Synondra bowed her head, first to Lady Essan, and then to Anna, as she
stepped out of the room.
Anna followed Essan toward the pair of purple upholstered and embroidered
chairs. The polished table held the small silver platter, empty except
for a few of the almonds, and the same pewter pitcher and paired goblets.
"What happened on your journey, sorceress woman-girl?" Essan settled
herself into the chair with the pillow. "Have you found a way to defeat
the dark ones and thus ensure Defalk as a province of Neserea?"
Anna wanted to wince at the bitter undertone.
"Don't mind me, Anna." Essan lifted her goblet. "I am old enough to say
what I please—in my own small quarters, anyway."
Anna still didn't know how to answer. After a moment, she spoke. "I might
have created something that will help defeat the Ebrans, but until I try
it, how will I know?" She forced a shrug, feeling slightly dishonest as
she did. "Even if it does work, will that ensure that Lord Behlem can
hold Defalk?"
"I would wager, naive-wise woman, that whether the Prophet holds Defalk
rests solely upon you." Essan popped one of the two remaining almonds
into her mouth and pointed to the remnant. "The last is for you."
"Go ahead," Anna said. "I'm not hungry now." Not too hungry, and I need
to let my stomach settle, if it will.
"I hope you enjoyed the ride," Essan went on. "The liedburg staff, those
left from earlier days and not rooted out, have made you into a warrior
hero. Your knife has grown to a yard in length, and you destroyed half
the stable in your fury. You also cursed all the Prophet's captains—
those that you did not burn to ashes—and even the Prophet has doubled his
Guard against you."
"Oh…"
"These things happen. Harmony knows they need a champion, and now even a
sorceress from the mist worlds will do. Until you win and they discover
you are a woman," Essan added dryly.
Two quick raps sounded on the door, and a frown crossed Essan's wrinkled
forehead. "Not even up here is there peace, not with that clown of music
in the hall."
Anna started to stand, but Essan waved her back to her seat. "I would get
it. You are a guest, and small as my kingdom is, guests answer no
summonses."
Anna held in a grin as Essan marched to the door.
"It's Birke, Lady Essan. Is Lady Anna there? The Prophet wishes to see
her now."
"She is here, young Birke, and I will tell her."
"Thank you, Lady Essan."
Anna could hear Birke's steps on the stones of the tower stairs before
Essan closed the door.
"Oh, the Prophet wishes to see you." The white-haired woman's eyes
twinkled. "Even Donjim at his drunkest was not that peremptory. But then,
you did not present yourself at his chamber and wait and wait upon his
pleasure."
"I don't do that anymore."
"You have experienced more than that youthful face shows. What it does
not indicate… your voice does. Best you be careful with that tongue."
Essan smiled as she warned Anna. "Still… you should not keep our present
lord and master waiting too long."
Anna wasn't certain she held back the grin as she stood, "I appreciate
your thoughts, Lady Essan."
"Another thought, sorceress. For all your age you are far too honest to
play with power." The older woman shook her head. "Yet Defalk could ill
afford to lose such honesty—it is so rare. Best you be on your way. Lord
Behlem is not long on patience, especially with women."
Anna nodding, thinking as she walked toward the door that few men in
Liedwahr seemed to be patient with women—or anyone else.
"We must hurry," Birke insisted as Anna stepped out onto the landing.
"The counselor was very insistent."
"That may be," Anna said, "but it won't do anyone any good if we fall
down the stairs and kill ourselves." She steadied herself on the rough
stones of the stairwell wall.
Once they reached the main corridor beyond the tower, Birke began to walk
faster and faster. "Counselor Menares said to hurry, Lady Anna."
After taking the wide steps and heading halfway back along the unlit
hallway where the glass mantles on the wall sconces for the candles were
smudged and dusty, Birke stopped short outside a doorway. An armsman
stood on each side, and a page by the door handle.
Birke bowed to the older, black-haired page. "Seckar, announce to the
Prophet that the lady Anna has arrived in response to his summons."
Seckar eased the door open. "The lady Anna."
"About time!" came from beyond the door.
The sorceress thought the Prophet's voice sounded more petulant than
commanding, but she stepped past Seckar.
Behlem sat in a high-backed wooden chair placed on a dais. Menares sat on
an armless chair on the floor level, but rose as Anna entered. The
Prophet did not. His hand touched his beard briefly, then dropped to the
padded arm of his chair.
The receiving room was hot and smelled of sweat. The row of high windows
on the left-hand side all remained closed. Anna wanted to wipe her
forehead. Instead she bowed slightly. "I came as soon as I received word."
"Where were you earlier this morning?" asked Behlem.
"We returned last night. I sent word to Menares right after I rose." Anna
bowed toward the white-haired counselor.
"Time is important, Lady Anna. The last of the Ebran reinforcements are
in the Sand Pass," Menares said. "In two days they will be in Mencha, and
in four Eladdrin will be on his way to Falcor—unless he heads north to
Elhi first." The counselor looked to the Prophet.
Behlem fingered his reddish blond beard, but shook his head.
"What have you to offer the Prophet?" asked Menares, reseating himself.
Neither man suggested Anna sit, and there was no chair obvious.
"I believe I have a way in which I may be able to cripple the armies of
the dark ones."
"What does it require? Masses of gold?" Behlem's voice remained high and
sarcastic.
"No. All you have to do is mass your forces somewhere in the neighborhood
of Pamr, enough so that Eladdrin will take the trail south of the river
rather than cross into the river valley."
"He would not cross the ford in any case," snapped the Prophet.
Anna shrugged. "You know the military terms. If he travels the bluff
trail, then I have a chance of hurting his forces."
"A chance? You wish me to commit my forces on a chance?''
"My lord," offered Menares smoothly, "the ford is two days from Pamr,
more for large bodies of armsmen." The counselor turned to Anna. "You
intend to be near the ford, with a small guard?"
"Yes."
"The sorceress is willing to put herself in danger, while your armsmen
are not." The counselor shrugged. "That does not seem so bad a bargain."
Behlem fingered his beard. "Perhaps not. We must discuss this and
consider it." His eyes hardened. "Subofficer Spirda reported that you met
with a Defalkan lord. You did not mention this."
"That was one of the reasons I wished to speak with you."
"Oh… now you tell me." Behlem's lips curled.
Anna forced herself to remain calm, even as she could sense the
withdrawal into her shell, the professional calm, the Plexiglas shields
of the soul drop around her.
"You haven't given me much chance to explain anything," she said
reasonably. "It wasn't a meeting. He had a large body of troops, and we
spoke for a few moments in an open meadow."
"That is what Spirda said," ventured Menares.
"Menares…" said Behlem warningly.
"Lord Jecks asked me to convey a message to you in response to your
message."
Behlem raised his eyebrows. "What was his message?"
"He said that he would not fight you and that he would fight the Ebrans."
"But he would not support our claim to Defalk."
"No."
"And you let him live?" asked the Prophet silkily. "You let him offer
such insolence and live?"
"Whether to kill him or not isn't my decision, Lord Behlem. I didn't see
much point in trying to kill someone who is a potential ally against the
Ebrans."
"You forget yourself, Lady Anna," snapped Behlem.
Menares put a hand on the Prophet's sleeve, but Behlem shook it off. "I
am the Prophet. You are a stranger. You know nothing of Defalk or
Liedwahr. How can you tell me what is wise?"
"I have seen the dark ones," Anna said, forcing herself to remain calm,
even though Behlem reminded her of all too many arrogant graduate
students. "I have fought them. You have not."
"You did not defeat them."
Anna remained silent, seething.
"No…" added Menares slowly. "Yet she destroyed more darksingers than
anyone ever has, as you yourself have said, my lord. And she killed
several thousand Ebran armsmen—more than our armies have."
Behlem twisted toward the older man, then smoothed his face. "And?" he
asked Anna. "Why did you let him live?"
The sorceress couldn't quite believe that the Prophet had heard nothing
of what she had said—like so many junior DMAs who thought their
doctorates counted for more than a lifetime of experience. She rephrased
her answer. "Lord Jecks has agreed not to fight you, and he has agreed to
fight them. You lose nothing."
Behlem fingered his beard. Finally, he looked directly at her. "Have you
told anyone?"
"No. The message was for you. All I told Spirda was that you had
requested Lord Jecks' alliance and that I was asked to deliver his reply."
"Are you sure of that, Lady Anna."
"I'm sure," Anna said coldly, "and when I say something is true, it's
true."
Behlem's eyes smoldered, but his fingers brushed the beard again.
Menares swallowed, easing back from the Prophet.
Abruptly, Behlem laughed. "So! Well, nothing's changed. He isn't a
friend, and he isn't an enemy, and he won't attack, and you told Spirda
the decisions were mine. There are worse things."
Anna waited.
After a moment, Behlem nodded. "You may go. We will discuss your idea."
His eyes went to Menares.
The sorceress got the message and bowed. "By your leave." Then she turned
and left, opening the door for herself on the way out, barely managing
not to slam it.
In his childish way, Behlem was dangerous, paranoid. He'd baited her just
to see if he could find a reason to distrust her, and then he'd almost
tossed her out.
He'd learn. Anna knew what battles to fight, and when, and Behlem's turn
would come.
In the meantime, she wanted Garreth to start drawing. With the way Avery
was behaving and the agony on Eli-zabetta's face, Anna had to do
something—or try. Her instincts—Brill's cautions—told her that her
communications with earth were likely to be very limited.
78
Mencha, Defalk
The songmaster rises from the table in the salon as the lancer officer
enters through the unused main dining area. The officer glances around
and shakes his head.
"Opulent for a mere wizard," notes Eladdrin. His eyes focus on the spare
figure, in the dusty gray black uniform. "What did you find, Ghurey?"
"Begging your pardon, Songmaster…"
"You found nothing?"
"We found traces of horses. We got the tale from the local farmers, but…"
The dark lancer with the line of blacker braid across his shoulder
shrugs. "The blonde bitch rode out to Sorprat and crossed the ford. She
rode up to the top of the bluffs, and she stayed there for maybe a glass.
Then she rode back." Ghurey smiles. "We did find out something else
interesting, though."
"Oh?"
"She met with a local lord—Jecks—outside of Pamr. They met in a meadow,
just the two of them. Then she rode back to Falcon"
Eladdrin rubs his temples, then shakes his head.
"You think, ser, she was expecting to meet him at Sorprat? He's from
Elhi, and Sorprat's two days' ride closer than Pamr."
"It's hard to believe she rode four days for a short meeting in a
meadow." Eladdrin drawls out the words. "You are certain there was no
sorcery at the ford?"
"None so as I could detect. The highway was sound, and the stones of the
ford were firm. We tested 'em with spells and iron rods. Not that I liked
to running forces along any road with a sorcerer or sorceress around."
Ghurey shifts his weight from one dusty boot to the other.
Eladdrin nods. "What about the river?''
"How could you tell? It's running water. Your darksingers didn't feel a
thing." Ghurey pauses, then asks, "Can you say when we be heading out?"
"Not long. Not long." The Songmaster smiles, briefly. "Thank you."
"Sorry we found nothing."
"You did what you could."
"Thank you, ser." The lancer bows, turns, and makes his way through the
dim structure toward the heat beyond.
After the other leaves, Eladdrin turns to the small mirror basin he has
set up in the corner, and after doing the necessary, studies the image in
the waters again, but the shimmering waters only show the road up from
the ford at Sorprat and the river bluffs that have not changed in years,
only brown grasses and empty spaces to the east, only a farming valley to
the west.
The Songmaster shakes his head again.
79
Anna shifted on the stool as Garreth worked on the sketch.
"Most sorcerers or sorceresses would not wish their likeness to be
taken," said the young woman, pausing to study Anna intently before
dipping the fine-pointed stylus in the ink again.
"I can see why."
"It's so pleasant here," Garreth said, glancing from Anna to the paper
before her again.
Anna nodded.
"Virkan is even nice now." Garreth paused. "Birke says that you bespelled
him. Is that true?"
"I put a spell on him that told him to be kind to people."
"It be unfortunate you could not do that to more souls."
"That would not be a good idea. I only did it because Virkan was hurting
people. Doing it still bothers me. I don't like meddling with people."
Garreth shook her head minutely, but dipped the stylus again.
Anna wondered if the young woman disapproved of Anna's qualms or Virkan.
The sorceress suspected that Garreth would like more than a few people
bespelled, as if that kind of sorcery would solve anything. It was only
another kind of force, and force always led to force.
"How soon can you be finished?" Anna asked after a time.
"It is almost done-—a poor likeness, but you had stressed speed, lady."
Anna walked over and looked down at the board. She couldn't help smiling
as she saw the face Garreth had drawn—almost a young face, yet one with
character, with features carrying the refined sharpness of experience,
the character that never showed in the faces of those truly, young—but a
face that was too thin.
She shook her head ruefully.
"You do not like it? I should have taken—"
"No. You did a good job. Especially for just two sessions. You can take
more time on another one, but I need this one sooner rather than perfect."
" 'Sooner rather than perfect'?" Garreth laughed. "When you speak suchly,
it is easy to tell that you are a stranger."
Thunk.
With the rap on the door, Anna crossed the room and opened it.
Cens stood outside. He bowed. "Lady Anna, the Prophet has requested your
presence at a more formal dinner honoring Lord Dencer this evening. He
has requested that you attire yourself appropriately." As the page
finished repeating the words, his face reddened.
"Thank you, Cens. The words aren't yours, and I know that. You may tell
the Prophet or Menares that I will be there." Anna smiled.
Cens looked at the stones of the landing, then looked up. "Thank you,
Lady Anna."
She waited until he had turned and started down before closing the heavy
door. She felt like slamming the iron bolt closed or screaming. Instead,
she walked to the window and looked out at the heat of midday. Beyond the
walls of the liedburg, Falcor looked dusty, even more deserted. A pair of
crows flapped across the sun-bleached sky away from the river.
Dress appropriately indeed! That was nothing more than a request that she
look more feminine, and a not-so-subtle power play.
"You look displeased," offered Garreth.
"I'm not exactly overjoyed to be ordered into what I wear," Anna said
wryly as she turned.
Garreth's face went blank.
"I know, Garreth. It seems small enough to you, when you worry about
being cast aside, or worse. But it's not as small as it seems. What would
you feel if the lady Essan told you she did not like what you wore?"
"Oh…"
"Lord Behlem likes to control all those around him. That can't be a
secret, can it?" Anna forced a grin.
Garreth gave a quick smile, then dipped the stylus in the ink again as
Anna sat back on the stool.
In time, the young artist set aside the stylus and corked her ink bottle.
"That be what I can do this way."
Anna uncramped herself from her perch on the stool and stood, stretching.
"Thank you."
Garreth eased the small drawing off her board and laid it gently on one
of the few clear spaces on the bed. "This should dry for a time."
Anna studied the images again, amazed at how closely tüe woman resembled
her, and yet how different the sorceress was from the singer she had
been. Then she turned and fumbled in the belt wallet until she came up
with a pair of silvers that she pressed into Garreth's hand. "These
aren't enough, but I hope they help."
"Lady… I could not."
"Garreth, your work is worth that. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Save the silvers until you need them. I hope you don't, but I doubt that
either Lady Essan or I stand highly in the Prophet's liking."
"He respects you, lady. All know that," protested the artist.
"Respect and liking are not the same." Anna's eyes flicked to the
picture. "I like it."
"I be glad."
"Me, too. Now, I have to worry about appropriate attire."
"You could use a maid, lady."
"I probably could," Anna answered, ignoring the implication, "but that's
something that will have to wait."
Garreth bowed.
"I'll put you first, if you still want it, when the time comes," Anna
added as the younger woman's hand touched the door. "I'm not making too
many long-range plans at the moment."
"Thank you, Lady Anna." Garreth's voice was warmer.
After the girl left, Anna went back to the bed and studied the picture.
The ink needed to dry a bit, but it would do. As she had requested,
Garreth had drawn her sitting on a stone bench on the tower roof, with a
sketchy view of Fal-cor behind. Now… if Anna's planned sorcery worked…
She glanced to the door, then to the two gowns hanging from the pegs in
the corner. "Attire yourself appropriately!" Chauvinist pig!
After a deep breath, she slipped out into the heat of the landing, and
began to climb the stairs. When she reached the upper level, Anna knocked
on the door. Synondra opened it fractionally, started to speak, then
stopped as she recognized Anna. "She… was resting, Lady Anna, but I will
see if she will take company." The door shut, then reopened immediately.
"Anna…come in, if you don't mind a rumpled old lady. Synondra, go play
for a bit."
Synondra looked at Anna and mouthed, "Not too long."
"I saw that, Synondra. I won't keep Anna that long, but she be a stranger
here. She will listen because I have not yet bored her to death." Essan
waved toward the door again.
Synondra bowed. "I will be back before long, ladies."
"A stubborn woman she be," groused Essan. "Stubborn."
Anna smiled. To deal with Lady Essan required stubbornness and then some,
she suspected.
As the door closed, the older woman looked at Anna. "What need ye?"
"I've been summoned to a more formal dinner as sorceress and who knows
what else because a Lord Dencer is here."
"Behlem cannot awe him with his own power." Essan nodded. "Dencer lords
Stromwer, and those are the southernmost holdings in Defalk. If need be,
he could pledge to Ranuak, and that would give the Ranuans a foothold
west of the Ostfels."
"I have been requested to attire myself appropriately." Anna slipped into
the unoccupied chair.
"What did you do to Behlem?" asked the older woman. "Pretty as you are,
he only has you in his company when your power is vital, and Behlem has
bedded every pretty skirt in the hall."
"He could not bed me," said Anna ruefully, "except by great force." And
maybe not even then, I hope.
"So… he does place his power above his bed," cackled Essan. "At least,
sometimes. He should listen to his counselor more often." She shrugged.
"If he did, he would be stronger still."
Anna wondered. Menares was playing a deeper game, but for whom she did
not know, not yet. "I wore trousers to his last dinner."
"Ha! Sorceress girl… I would wager that he did not like. Like as to
telling him you were equal to any man. No, he would not be pleased."
Essan laughed again. "Anna, I like you. A woman such as you could rule
Defalk, and far better than those dunces, save perhaps Jecks, and he is
wise enough to know he cannot hold Defalk by mere skill at arms."
Anna just looked at the wrinkled countenance.
"Some device you might need, but," Essan shrugged, "you could do it. And
if ever you have the chance, woman, you take it, or the harmonies and I
will haunt you eternally."
"I doubt I'll ever have a chance like that."
"You being here says the times are changing and the tunes are new." Essan
refilled her goblet with the strong-smelling brandy. "You use your skills
to see your children?"
"It was hard. I may not be able to do it many times." Anna nodded. "Yet…
I worry."
"A mother you be not, if there is no worry. They will endure, though,
without you, and if they could not, you could not save them, like as we
would that it were other."
Anna still worried.
"An' ye still worry. That be always the lot of us who bear. Not that
worry helps." Essan took a deep swallow from the goblet. "Not that it
helps, sorceress woman, not that I need tell you."
The sorceress agreed there.
"Ye be here now, and here be where ye must stand. Poor Barjim. Always was
he wishing it were otherwise. Otherwise it is never, and we must live the
melody played. Even you, sorceress. Even you." Essan fell silent.
"The melody played…" mused Anna, in the silence that followed.
The door creaked, and Synondra peered in. "Lady Essan… you needs must
rest."
"Rest? Rest be all I have left." She winked at the sorceress, then added.
"Visit an old woman again."
"I will," Anna promised as she stood. "I will."
As the sorceress walked back down to her own room, she felt the tower
shudder, as if the ground beneath were a string vibrating in sympathy
with a massive chord plucked from the depths of Erde. Sweat beaded
instantly on her forehead, and her hand went out to the stones of the
wall. The wall was warm and firm.
She paused on the stone steps for a moment, but all was hot and still,
without a trace of motion. Had she imagined the tremor?
She shook her head. She had felt something, even if she couldn't identify
it.
80
Anna set down the pen and capped the ink bottle, laying the sheet aside
to dry. As the note lay on the table, she read the note once more, her
eyes skipping across the words.
Elizabetta—
This will not seem believable, and I do not know how else to reach
you—magic here works through song, but it is strange…
I can send this, but I cannot send myself. Sometimes, I can watch you, in
a sort of magic mirror— like the time you sat on the deck of the New
Hampshire house and told your father—I think—that I wouldn't willingly
leave you. I wouldn't, and I didn't. I was summoned by a sorceress… and
now I am stuck here. So far, I have found no way to return…
I love you and Mario, and I miss you both terribly, and I do not know if
this is the right thing to do. I do not know if I can ever figure a way
back from here, and it is a terribly savage place in many ways.
Yet I can't just let you think that I left you willingly. I don't know if
this will reach you, but I must try.
For whatever reason, I cannot seem to see Mario. My "magic window" does
not show everything I wish, and I may not be able to do this much longer.
Please tell him that I am well, and that I love him, as I love you.
I leave it to you whether you tell your father. I worry that if you do
tell him he will accuse you of being irrational and making it all up
because you could not face my disappearance, but you must do what you
think is best for you…
If this letter does reach you, and if I can see it… I will try again, but
if I do not, it will be because I cannot, not because I have not tried.
Once she was certain the ink was dry, Anna folded the letter and slipped
it back into the envelope, along with the gold and silver coins, her
watch, and the small drawing of her on the tower.
Then she took out the lutar, and began to sing the mirror song.
All that appeared in the mirror was a towel on the lake beach, and the
mirror frame began to smolder. Anna closed off the spell hastily, and
sank onto her bed.
She sighed. She hoped Elizabetta was swimming, or water-skiing, or
whatever, although she had the sense that it should be fall in New
England, or close to it. For whatever reason, the spells did not show
matters well around water, which Anna found abstractly amusing since she
could use spells to purify and cool water.
She slipped the envelope under her pillow. While there was really no
place in her room safe from search, she didn't want to leave it out in
plain sight, either.
She paused to look out the window. To the west rose a high plume of dust,
whipped higher by the late summer— or was it early fall?—winds. No,
Falcor certainly wasn't in Iowa—or Kansas.
Her cool-air shield/spell protected her room, but she could hear the
whistling of the rising winds, and see dust and small pieces of wood
swirling through the courtyard below.
She watched for a few moments as the dust turned the late-afternoon sun
red, nearly blood-red. Then her eyes went back to the gowns in the
corner. Two, and once she had had dozens. Yet the dozens had not brought
her control of her own life.
She shrugged. Neither had the two, and she needed to eat. She hated
having to eat all the time, even more than she'd hated never being able
to eat without gaining pounds.
Why was life like that—always on the extremes?
81
Wei, Nordwei
The dark-haired woman stands at the window to the north, its shutters
drawn back despite the chill of early fall, and looks down from her
hillside vantage point at the swirling brown, debris-filled water that
surges into Vereisen Bay and has flooded the dock district and the
warehouses.
At a discreet cough, she turns.
"Honored Ashtaar? You requested my presence?" asks the heavyset Kendr.
"I did. Please come here."
"As you wish, your mightiness." The seer with the plaited muddy-brown
hair waddles forward on thick legs.
Ashtaar opens her mouth, then closes it, and waits for Kendr to reach the
window.
"This wasn't normal." Ashtaar gestures through the open window to the
expanse of water that covers the lower sections of Wei. "I sent you a
message."
"Yes, honored Ashtaar. I received it."
The spymistress gestures to the armless chair that sits on the far side
of the high table she uses as a desk. "Sit down." She closes the shutters
before seating herself.
Kendr waits.
"Did you find out how it happened?"
"It was the Evult, I think," offers the seer. "The ice is gone from the
peaks above the headwaters of the River Ost."
Ashtaar's fingers slip around the polished finish of the dark agate oval.
"How did this happen without a warning?"
"The sorceress from the mist worlds."
The spymistress shakes her head. "What does that have to do with the
Evult?"
"The sorceress is powerful, and many of her spells shake the harmonies,
even the earth deep beneath. She has done something to the Chean River, I
think, but I cannot see what that might be."
"The Evult?" prompts Ashtaar.
"We cannot trace every great sorcery… not and obey the duties the Council
has laid upon us."
"Why not?"
Kendr pales and her mouth moves silently. Finally, she stutters, "I…
none… of us… is that strong."
"Do we need more seers?"
"We have needed more seers for seasons, your mightiness."
"I know. I know." Ashtaar waves away the comment. "You say you are not
strong enough. How does this excuse your failure to discover that the
Evult was planning mischief?"
"The blonde sorceress had sung many spells—she was trying to see the mist
worlds, we think—and when another blow to the harmonies rang through the
waters, I had no strength…"
"And you thought, foolish seer, that it was the blonde sorceress again?"
"Yes, Ashtaar." Kendr looks to the floor.
"Then, you feared to tell me?"
Kendr does not answer.
Ashtaar's fingers tighten around the black agate oval, and her lips clamp
together. She stares at the seer, but the heavyset woman does not lift
her eyes to the spymistress.
"Kendr?"
"Yes, your mightiness?"
"We all get tired. We all can make mistakes when overtired. If you ever
let your fear of one failure lead you to make another or fail to tell me
in a timely fashion, you will indeed learn that I am 'your mightiness.'
Do you understand me?"
"Yes, honored Ashtaar."
The spymistress looks toward the door, her fingers still tight around the
black agate oval.
Kendr backs out of the room.
82
After struggling through yet another medieval-style sponge bath, where
she wondered once more about using sorcery to create a bathroom, Anna
studied herself in the mirror. In addition to the youthfully idealized
mature face, still too thin, she also had little body hair, except in the
more obvious places, and what she had was fine and so blonde it was
almost transparent. She'd originally thought that might have been a
temporary result of the youth spell, but only the hair on her head grew.
Then, there was another troubling thing. While Anna clearly had the body
and physical attributes of a young woman in her mid-twenties, she hadn't
had a single period since she'd been in Liedwahr. First, she'd thought it
was stress, but everything else was normal, except her cycle. She didn't
have one, and she didn't have an explanation… unless… unless…
Brill's sorcery had frozen her physically so that she'd never have a
cycle… and, young body or not, no chance at children. She wasn't sure she
wanted to bring children into Liedwahr, and she certainly hadn't met
anyone she would have wanted to love or father them—but she would have
liked the choice! And it didn't look like she was going to get that,
either.
She took a long slow breath and looked from the mirror to the two gowns
once more.
In the end, she donned the green one, the more modest of the two, though
neither was as daring as the recital gown that still lay in Loiseau,
probably moldering, or plundered by the Ebrans.
Skent answered the bellpull, his eyes wide, and they . headed down the
stairs toward the middle dining hall.
Did she really look that good? Anna wanted to shake her head—his reaction
had to be a youthful crush.
"How is Cataryzna?" she asked.
The page blushed.
"All right, young man. I won't embarrass you too much. Will I ever get to
meet her?"
"She lives with her aunt in the south tower. That's the guarded one."
"I take it that her father is important?"
"Geansor is the Lord of Sudwei, and Sudwei is the gate to the South Pass."
Anna frowned. So Geansor was the key to the main trade route to Ranuak?
Why was Cataryzna so valuable as a hostage, apparently for both Barjim
and Behlem, when women didn't count for that much? "I find it hard to see
why a daughter—"
Skent stopped and turned, lowering his voice. "Lady Anna…" He looked up
and down the tower staircase.
"She's a hostage. I understand that. But why her? Doesn't Lord Geansor
have any sons?"
"Lord Geansor was… wounded in the peasant uprising when she was small.
She was his firstborn, the only one that lived. He can have no more
children. The lord's only brother was killed by raiders two years ago."
Anna understood. Cataryzna was literally the only blood relative or
possible heir, and that meant she would be married off—probably as soon
as the mess with the Ebrans was resolved. She shuddered at the thought of
a world where a young girl was effectively imprisoned, if in a golden
cage, until she could be imprisoned by marriage once more. Then, much of
earth had been like that—and some still was. She put a hand out to Skent
and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Skent. Does she like you?"
The page forced a nonchalant shrug. "Who could say? I only deliver meals
and such when Hestyr is ill or on other errands."
The sorceress could tell. Love had found a way, and that love seemed
hopeless to both.
"Don't worry yet," she cautioned, as she continued down the steps toward
the main level. "Nothing will happen for a time."
"Lord Behlem was talking of consorting her with Overcaptain Delor." Skent
grinned. "You didn't know, did you?"
"No." Now that strange exchange between Skent and Birke the day she had
left made sense. Of course, so did Behlem's plan to marry Cataryzna to
Delor, because an officer would owe loyalty to Behlem more than would any
lord from Neserea. Anna snorted. Barjim probably had worked out something
similar with one of his own trusted officers. Men! "But I understand
more." Anna forced a smile, hating what she was about to do, even if it
was true. "You know, I'm the only one who would oppose what Behlem has in
mind."
"You would?" Skent's tone was skeptical.
"I don't believe women should be barter chips in power games." Anna
laughed harshly. "At least, we ought to have the right to barter
ourselves." After all, wasn't that what she was doing? The thought left
the taste of bile in her mouth.
Skent pursed his lips, but said nothing, and Anna let it ride. There was
nothing she could do at the moment.
Only half the lamps in the long corridor to the dining hall were lit, and
the air remained hot and dusty as Skent and Anna approached the double
doors where Giellum stood, flanked by two armsmen with drawn blades. Both
wore Neserean cream and blue, and Anna wished she had wom her dagger, and
brought the lutar. Instead she smiled at Giellum.
The younger armsman swallowed and eased open the left-hand door. "Lady
Anna."
Anna nodded to Skent and stepped into the dining hall, again lit only
dimly by three candelabra upon the single long table.
"My lady!" called Menares from beside the head of the table. Beside him
stood a tall and gangly man whose thinning hair was far too long, with a
lock dangling forward over his left eye.
As Anna stepped forward, the handful of officers eased away, almost as if
she were a leper, and the man beside Menares pushed his hair off his
forehead. Ignoring the officers, she walked the length of the table and
stopped a few yards short of the counselor.
"Lord Dencer, this is the lady Anna, the sorceress from the mist worlds,"
Menares said. "Lady Anna, Dencer is the Lord of Stromwer."
Dencer inclined his head ever so slightly, enough to convey his
impression that Anna was far beneath him.
"I'm pleased to meet the lord who holds the key to the south," Anna lied,
wishing she could simply incinerate the condescending bastard.
"Lady Anna is the sorceress who destroyed much of the Ebran forces at the
Sand Pass."
"A pity she could not destroy them all."
"I don't recall seeing you there, Lord Dencer," Anna said smoothly. "Were
you engaged in important business elsewhere? Perhaps in Ranuak?"
Menares swallowed a gulp almost soundlessly, then turned at the sound of
a chime to see Behlem, resplendent in a new or refurbished tunic of blue
and gold.
"Lady Anna, would you be so kind as to light the chandeliers?" asked the
Prophet, his voice smooth.
"It would be my pleasure." Anna put even more butter in her words than
Behlem had in his. She wanted to toast both the supercilious Dencer and
the Prophet, the first for his arrogance and Behlem for his cavalier use
of her as a tool. Instead, she cleared her throat and sang the candle
spell, projecting as much force as possible and visualizing the blaze of
light.
The sudden illumination was almost as good as a bank of flashbulbs, Anna
felt, and the paleness of Lord Dencer reflected the effectiveness of
Behlem's ploy.
"Thank you, Lady Anna," said the Prophet. "We should be seated while the
food remains warm."
"Rather impressive," admitted the Lord of Stromwer. "Yes… rather
impressive."
"And without players," added Menares as he sat down beside Lord Dencer
and across from Hanfor, who had slipped into the seat to Anna's right.
"Congratulations," whispered Hanfor, his lips not moving, the words
barely reaching Anna as he poured her wine.
"Thank you, overcaptain."
"It is surprising to find a… sorceress of such power… in the hall of… one
such as the Prophet of Music," said Dencer. "How did you come to be here?"
"It was not exactly my idea," began Anna, as she quickly summarized her
arrival in Mencha and her encounters with the Ebrans, concluding with, "…
and Lord Behlem seems to be the only leader with both the resources and
the desire to stop the dark ones."
"The lady Anna is too kind," said Behlem ironically. "Far too kind, but
her talents allow her the luxury of kindness."
"I give you only your due," Anna answered graciously, adding, "You are
the sole lord who has stepped forward against the dark ones."
Behlem's fingers touched his beard, and a smile flitted across his mouth
and vanished as he said. "We must also defeat them."
"Indeed you must," added Dencer, brushing a longish lock of mostly brown
hair off a sweaty forehead. "If Defalk is to remain intact."
"Defalk will remain intact," promised Behlem, "especially with your
assistance and that of Lady Anna."
Dencer smiled blandly and lifted his goblet.
"Your player said that in an earlier skirmish with the Ebrans you took a
war arrow full through the shoulder and yet within weeks you fought at
the Sand Pass." Hanfor smiled with his last words.
"Is that true?" asked Dencer.
"Mostly. It wasn't a skirmish. It was an ambush." Anna paused as the
surcoated servers slipped the platters and the baskets of bread onto the
long table.
"He also said you deflected the arrow barehanded or you would have been
killed," added Hanfor.
"Yes. I was unfortunate enough to try that. Those arrows hurt.'' Anna
lifted her goblet and took the smallest of sips.
From his position on the table below Hanfor, Zealor grinned and
whispered, "Especially if you live through them."
"You do not look as so many women warriors do," offered Dencer, his tone
neutral.
"Ha! Tell that to Delor's kin, or the armsman she gutted with a dagger."
Anna couldn't tell who had offered the sotto voce comment, but she could
see that Behlem was caught between amusement and anger.
"Ah… you seem to have garnered quite a bit of respect," Dencer finally
replied.
Anna speared two thick slabs of meat, then held the platter for Hanfor.
As usual, she was hungry, as she had been the entire time in Liedwahr.
She hoped her stomach wouldn't churn all night, either from the
nourishment she needed or the politics she loathed.
"The lady Anna is highly respected," interjected Menares. "She has even
scouted and served as an envoy for the Prophet since her arrival in
Falcor."
"Enough of this talk of arms," ordered Behlem with a laugh. "Everyone
will want to tell a tale, and we will never eat."
Dencer smiled again, faintly and falsely, and served himself two slabs of
meat.
"Since I am a stranger here," Anna began, "I know little of Defalk. Tell
me-about Stromwer." She didn't bat her eyelashes, but she might as well
have. Still, what she didn't know would fill a book, and it wouldn't hurt
to thaw Dencer out of his shock. She might also learn a lot, and
everything helped.
Hanfor nodded minutely, and Anna took a small sip of wine, knowing she
needed to keep the sips small indeed over the long evening. Then she
forced herself to take another slab of the meat.
83
Encora, Ranuak
The Evult unleashed the headwaters of the Ost. Much of Wei was flooded,"
reports Vena. "The entire trading area will have to be rebuilt." She
seats herself on a low cushion to the left of the Matriarch's chair.
"He is a little man. Every time his plans are thwarted, he wants to
destroy something," observes the Matriarch. "He will have to unleash
something even worse on Defalk before long."
"Why? People still flee Falcor, and the border lords must buy our grain.
Each week the land suffers more from the heat, and the harvest would
hardly repay a third of what you loaned Barjim and lost."
"She never loses," points out Ulgar. "You only lose when you stop
playing."
Vena's eyes flicker to the silver-haired consort who is bent over a board
filled with pieces. "Father… this is not a game."
"It is not… not exactly, but he is right, dear," says the Matriarch, her
round face still cheerful. "Lord Behlem plays the Lord of Defalk now, and
he still holds the soprano sorceress."
"I'd say she holds him, though neither knows it," opines Ulgar.
"None of this makes sense," protests Veria.
"Oh, it doesn't make sense; but the parts of the harmonies are there, and
there will be a harmonic resolution. That's why the Evult is only making
matters worse with all his fussing and fuming."
"Mother—''
"Matriarch, dear. We are speaking officially." The Matriarch offers a
serious face for a moment, but the smile returns to the cherubic cheeks
as she speaks. "Eladdrin will fail against the sorceress because he
expects her to fight, and she will not, not on his terms. That will upset
the Evult even more, and he will fly into a rage, and do something even
more dissonant, and that will strengthen the rebounding harmonies.
Really, it is quite clear."
"What about the golds?" pursues Veria.
"I do not know, but a debt is a debt, and it will be paid one way or
another."
Veria looks to her father, but he only smiles.
84
Even before she washed or dressed, Anna was at the mirror, lutar out and
envelope in hand, the envelope heavy with her letter, the gold and silver
coins, her watch, and the small drawing.
"Mirror, mirror…"
This time the image was clear. Elizabetta was alone, standing in front of
the dresser in the guest room at A very's vacation house, rubbing her
eyes. Anna didn't wait, but strummed the lutar and began the spell,
hoping, somehow, that it would work.
"Bring this to my daughter, in her land,
Deliver it safely to her hand,
let her know that I love her…"
The envelope vanished, and the tower room around Anna shivered, as though
a distant chord had been plucked on a gigantic harp and reverberated
through the entire tower, through all of Falcor. Yet Anna sensed she
alone felt that chord.
Her head ached, and sharp needles stabbed through her eyes. Still, Anna,
though her head was pounding, started to repeat the first spell, but the
words caught in her throat as cracks rippled across the mirror and flames
flickered along the wooden mirror frame.
She barely managed to empty the water basin across the burning wood
before her knees shivered into jelly, and she half staggered, half fell
toward the bed.
85
When Anna woke again, her head ached, and her whole body ached, and her
room was hot and dusty from the hot wind coming through the window. She
could barely open gummy eyes and struggle upright.
Drinking nearly an entire pitcher of water—slowly, so slowly—helped
reduce the headache. After easing the cloth-covered breakfast tray from
the landing, she began to eat. The stale bread and hard cheese helped,
and, by the time she had finished, she only felt like Farinelli had
ridden over her, as opposed to an entire army.
Ignoring a too-damp forehead, she looked to the window, no longer blocked
by the unseen cooling filter she had earlier ensorcelled into place, then
to the blackened and sagging rectangle that had been a mirror. She'd have
to get another. Apparently, sending even the smallest package to earth
had taken tremendous effort. Anna shivered, despite the heat. Everyone
said she was the strongest sorceress around, and if she had that much
trouble… She shivered again, then forced herself to her feet.
She needed clean water, and she needed a mirror. Slowly, she reached for
the bellpull, and then shuffled to the door.
When she opened the door for the page, Skent's mouth opened as he saw the
wall past her shoulder.
"These things happen to sorceresses," she said. "I need a new mirror—an
old one—any kind of mirror—immediately, and I need more water."
"Yes… Lady Anna."
"I'm sorry, Skent. It's hard, sometimes." She stepped aside. "Could you
take what's left of the mirror?"
Skent just gawked for a moment.
"Not all spells work the way they should. People forget that." She rubbed
her forehead. "And, if you wouldn't mind, could you bring me something
more to eat?"
The page almost shook his head, but looked dumbly at the spidered lines
and the blackened frame of the mirror before he stepped toward it.
After Skent left, Anna sat down and drank some more water while she
waited for the wash water, the food, and another mirror. From the way she
felt, she didn't even want to consider how she looked.
Before long Birke brought the wash water, and a small tray of dried
apples and bread.
"Thank you."
The page nodded and backed away.
When she had eaten some of the apples, she spelled the water.
Laboriously, she washed and began to pull on her clothes.
She stood dressed but barefooted in the middle of the room, forcing more
of the rubbery apples past her lips, when the knocker thunked.
"Yes?" She half walked, half staggered toward the door.
"It is Menares, Lady Anna."
She suppressed a groan and opened the door.
With a smile, the white-haired counselor marched into the chaos of the
room and looked around. "What mighty sorcery have you tried this
morning?" asked Menares pleasantly.
"What?"
"Lady Anna, I am not powerful, but I am not without wit. You appear as
though you have wrestled with dissonance. Your room is hot, and your
composure is less than perfect." The counselor smiled. "And your page has
removed a burned mass of glass and wood."
"Trying to bridge worlds," Anna admitted. "It takes more effort than I
thought."
"Were… you successful?" Menares's eyes narrowed.
"Not so much as I would have liked." Anna didn't want to say more. So she
walked to the table and took another swallow of water. "What did you have
in mind?"
"Since you will lead the vanguard, the Prophet wanted to inform you that
you will leave at dawn tomorrow."
"What is the vanguard?"
"You will have some two companies of lancers, in addition to Subofficer
Spirda and your personal guard."
"A company?" asked Anna.
"Five squads."
Anna tried to calculate mentally, then just approximated— something like
one hundred and fifty mounted armsmen.
"You will be ready?"
"I'll be ready." She paused. "Wait. I'll need messengers, some sort of
way to communicate, and once we get there—"
Menares held up a hand. "You should talk to Overcaptain Hanfor. He will
be coordinating the Prophet's forces." The counselor stood. "You have
much to do, as do I." He bowed once more before departing.
Anna closed the door slowly, rubbed her forehead, then the back of her
neck, far too tight and stiff. She didn't pretend to be a military
expert, but what Menares had told her didn't seem to show any great
organization. Either that or, once again, the good old boys were trying
to keep her in the dark. She rubbed her forehead and looked around the
room for her boots. She definitely needed to see Hanfor.
But where had she left the boots?
One was under the bed, the other in the corner half-covered by laundry
she had meant to do. The thought of doing anything else with sorcery sent
another stab of fire through her eyes. Who would have thought… ? She
started to shake her head, then stopped. Why was it so damned hard just
to send one lousy envelope to Elizabetta? She could churn up the
subsurface, murder people, and destroy armies, but sending one message to
her daughter put her out of commission and ruined her ability to do
sorcery.
Her eyes burned. Stop it! she swore at herself. You can't change the way
this stupid world works.
After blotting her eyes, she yanked the bellpull, almost angrily, and
waited for a page to appear. This time, the unlucky youth was Birke.
"Birke, do you know where I can find Overcaptain Hanfor?"
"He stays somewhere in the east quarters."
"Fine. Let's go."
Birke looked at the floor stones with resignation. "Yes, lady."
Anna followed the redhead down the tower steps and into a courtyard
filled with the chaos of supply wagons, arms-men seemingly riding back
and forth endlessly, dust, and the odor of fresh horse dung. They hugged
the hall walls to avoid the riders that seemed to fill most of the space.
Over the clicking of hoofs, and the growl of armsmen's voices, Anna could
hear the muffled brawwking of the lied-burg's chickens, although she saw
none.
"Might I help you, Lady Anna?"
She looked up to see a familiar, black-bearded face mounted on a dark
chestnut.
"We're headed to see Overcaptain Hanfor." Anna paused.
"Over there." Fhurgen pointed to the open-shuttered building to the east
of the hall. "Just walk beside me." The armsman raised his voice. "Give
way. Give way."
Anna almost blushed, but Fhurgen knew what he was doing, and she walked
straight across the courtyard, faintly amused as the mounted armsmen
halted for her.
Outside the designated door, she turned. "Thank you, Fhurgen."
"My pleasure, Lady Anna." The armsman gave a head bow and turned his
mount away.
Anna walked through the door and into a narrow hallway. Less than five
yards back was a closed door with a sentry.
As she neared, the young armsman looked from the page to Anna, then
swallowed, and said, even before Anna could speak. "The overcaptain is
expecting you, lady. Might I tell him you are here?"
Anna nodded. Somehow it didn't surprise her that Hanfor expected her; it
would have surprised her if he had not.
The guard opened the battered and stained wooden door. "The lady…
sorceress is here, ser."
"Have her come in."
Anna inclined her head to Birke, then to the guard, and stepped into the
dark and low-ceilinged room that contained little more than a pallet in
the corner, a three-legged table, four stools, and Hanfor's arms and
gear, neatly stacked against the wall on the inside corner. The two
younger officers with Hanfor stood abruptly, yet stiffly, as Anna entered
the small room, stuffy despite the open window.
"Lady Anna." Hanfor bowed. "Might I present you two of my officers?
Captain Alvar." He nodded to the short, wiry man with the black hair and
beard. "This is Lady Anna." He turned to the taller and stockier man with
curling sandy hair, clean-shaven except for a curling and drooping
mustache. "Captain Himar, Lady Anna."
"My pleasure, Lady Anna," responded Alvar. His black eyes snowed a trace
of a twinkle, and he had a warm voice.
"My honor," said Himar, more formally.
Hanfor nodded, and the two bowed again to Anna and eased out of the room.
Alvar bowed once more and shut the door.
"These are the best I can offer." Hanfor gestured to the stools.
Anna sat, gratefully. "We need to talk."
"I would agree." Hanfor's voice was droll, but not condescending.
"Menares just told me that I would be leading some lancers out of here
tomorrow morning. I'm a sorceress and a few other things, but I'm not a
military leader." Anna paused. "Menares said you were in charge."
"Subject to the orders of the Prophet," the weathered officer answered.
"But I am the one who will get the blame should anything go wrong. I try
to avoid that."
"What are the plans, and how do you suggest I handle my part?"
"I was told you were very effective at the Sand Pass."
"So I'm told. But I went where I was told, and I did my best to destroy
the enemy." Anna shrugged. "It worked."
"Menares told me that you had wanted the Prophet's troops marshaled in
Pamr? Is that so?"
"Not exactly…" Anna explained, without giving details of the spells or
their precise hoped-for effect, how she would try to use the river to
decimate the Ebran forces, but how that required that Eladdrin stay on
the south side of the Chean, and close to the bluffs. Hanfor spread out a
small map. "Show me."
"Here—see, there's the ford, and the trail runs along here. This map
doesn't show it, but it's there." The overcaptain pursed his lips, then
asked as he straight-ened from the map on the small table, "So you do not
have any real tactical plans?"
"Heavens, no. I thought that was up to whoever commanded the troops. And
I probably messed things up because I'm not a military person." Anna
spread her hands. "I should have come to you sooner, I suppose, but I was
trying not to do anything to offend Lord Behlem. A few things have
happened, and I'm not used to everything in Liedwahr."
"Lady Anna, I had hoped it would be a pleasure to work with you, and it
appears as though it will be." Hanfor smiled, warmly.
"Why?" Anna tried not to sound skeptical at Hanfor's« pleasure.
"You know what you need to be effective. You tell me, but you do not
insist on how I must create the situation. You do not pretend to know
what you do not. That makes my life much easier. It is also much easier
on the armsmen." Hanfor stood and paced to the small window, not looking
at Anna. "I can see certain problems, however."
"Such as?"
"You need an escort strong enough to fend off their heavy scouts, yet you
will need to be close enough to where you do your sorcery, and you do not
wish to be detected. Can you throw a concealment spell?''
"I don't know. I've never tried." Anna frowned. "I could test one later
today. I have time. What else?"
"I see that as the single largest problem." The over-captain turned. "You
can ride, quickly, I hope."
"I have learned that."
"Can you use spells while riding?"
"I have used them from the saddle, not while riding."
"Hmmm… that should work with that beast of yours. You are taking just the
one player?''
"Daffyd? Yes. I need his support." And more, but if I had to rely on
players like Fiena… forget it.
"What if the Ebrans do not come near your river, but detect your actions
and circle around you?"
"Then I move back and use what I have. It won't be as effective, but it
should work as well as at the Sand Pass. I have some other spells as
well, in case they have some way of stopping what I used there."
"I wish some armsmen thought in those terms." Hanfor shook his head. "I
must think about the best way to work this out. I will talk to you in the
morning before you go. Now… you should know the order line—''
"Order line?"
"Captain Alvar will be the senior captain, and all orders actually must
go through him to the lancers."
"So I don't order anything stupid?"
"He is a brave man, Lady Anna. And experienced."
Anna thought for a moment. Anyone who agreed to serve under a sorceress
in this culture was probably brave—to say the least. "Did you choose him?"
"I told him that you were reasonable, and that you were loyal to those
who support you. Was I wrong?"
"No," Anna admitted. "I don't think so."
"In his absence, or if something occurs to him, the orders would go
through Captain Himar—except for your personal guard under Subofficer
Spirda. Spirda answers to you, directly, and I will emphasize that to him
again, and to the captains. You will not have trouble there."
Looking at the weathered face, Anna was certain she wouldn't.
"Is there anything else?" she asked.
"I do not think so, but we can talk in the morning. I will be there to
see you off."
"You don't—"
"I see off all detachments, Lady Anna.v
"I'm sorry. I told you I was no military person." She rose from the
too-hard stool.
"Unlike some, lady, you acknowledge that," answered Hanfor, his lips
twisting into a sardonic smile, as he inclined his head and walked to the
door opening it for her.
"Thank you, overcaptain," said Anna as she left the small space.
The sentry remained frozen in place as she left, heading for the
courtyard—still bustling with activity. She could still hear the
chickens, and she wondered if all the horse hoofs on the stones stirred
them up. Was it because travelers meant slaughtered chickens? Anna shook
her head and dashed across to the north tower.
Back in her room, she rubbed her temples and then her neck. A concealing
spell? How could she do that? And what if other magic would see through
it? Somehow, she had to set it up so that both sorcerers and nonsorcerers
could not see where she was—even if she appeared in a scrying glass or
pond.
How?
Camouflage? She filled her goblet, deciding against cooling her room
until she was certain her headache had passed. Besides, she had to work
out the concealment spell.
First, she took a long swallow of the lukewarm water. Then she dragged
out the greasemarker and some of the paper Skent had dredged up for her.
It could be a long day.
86
Anna patted Farinelli and turned in the saddle, looking away from the sun
that still almost touched the eastern horizon. Spirda rode at her left,
Alvar at her right, and Daf-fyd to the right of the captain, almost on
the shoulder of the road.
Behind them, the dry road dust rose like a plume, cloaking the few
roadside trees in brown, and most of the lancers in the rear of the
column. Moving troops by horse in Defalk certainly was easy enough to
detect. The dust could be seen from deks or leagues away. They were less
than three deks east of the Falche River, and already the heat haze and
the dust had cloaked both the stone bridge across the Falche and Falcor,
as if they had vanished, as had most of its people over the previous
weeks.
Anna turned her gaze back to the dusty road ahead that stretched into the
rising sun. Her eyes squinted against the glare. Her stomach growled; her
system had not enjoyed bread and cheese before dawn, especially in the
quantities required. Then, she seldom enjoyed anything that early,
something Sandy had never understood, with his chirp-bird early-morning
chatter.
She readjusted the battered, floppy-brimmed hat, but the sun was too low
for the brim to block all the glare. Her fingers brushed the hilt of the
dagger at her belt, then dropped away.
"The rest of the Prophet's forces will begin to march tomorrow morning,"
Alvar said, drawing his dapple fractionally closer to Farinelli and Anna.
The sorceress nodded politely, although Hanfor had told her as much as
she had saddled Farinelli in the predawn grayness. Absently, she patted
the gelding again.
"They will be two days behind us by the time we reach Sorprat," Alvar
continued.
"The armsmen on foot?" Anna asked, to give him the chance to explain.
"Aye, and the supply wagons. The land is too poor to forage, and besides,
if we foraged, the locals would shoot arrows at our backs as much as at
the Ebrans. Perhaps more, for they fear us less."
Anna hadn't thought about supply wagons. Then, she hadn't thought about
the logistics of waging war in a medieval culture. There was too much she
still had not considered, far too much.
"Kkchhewwf'
At Daffyd's sneeze, Anna glanced to her right. "Are you all right?"
"Fine, lady, fine, except for the dust." The player rubbed his nose and
sniffed as if trying to stifle a second outburst.
"Dust—we will breathe plenty of that before we reach Sorprat," Alvar said
with a laugh. "I have been in the rear, and being in the van is better,
far better."
"Until the arrows fly," answered Spirda.
"If they fly," said Daffyd.
With that indirect reminder, Anna felt her shoulders sag. Her choices
were abysmal. If she were totally successful, thousands of Ebrans would
die. If she were unsuccessful, she and thousands of Nesereahs and
Defalkan levies would die. If she were partly successful, thousands on
each side would die. Why did it have to be that way?
Her mouth twisted. She could bemoan her situation, but the days ahead
were no time to be self-sacrificing. She'd done that, and with little
enough to show,' in her years in academia.
She leaned forward and thumped Farinelli's shoulder again.
87
Wei, Nordwei
Yes Gretslen?'' Ashtaar motions the blonde woman into the room. Through
the open window at her back come the sounds of hammers, saws, and the
scattered curses of carpenters and masons beginning the rebuilding of the
dock quarter.
Gretslen stops opposite the table and waits.
"You may sit." The dark-haired woman's fingers fold around the polished
oval of black agate. "What have you to report?"
"Both the Ebrans and the Nesereans are moving toward Pamr. The Prophet
has nearly eight thousand of his best armsmen, plus a number of Defalkan
levies. Eladdrin has about ten thousand under arms, as well as his
darksingers." Gretslen shifts her weight in the hard chair.
"What of the blonde sorceress?"
"She rides ahead of the Prophet's forces, perhaps two days."
"Alone?"
"With a personal guard and several companies of crack lancers."
"Behlem must put great stock in her." Ashtaar laughs softly. "Or he needs
her and mistrusts her."
Gretslen does not answer the observation.
"Can you detect any spellcasting?" pursues the spymistress.
"Before the sorceress left, she nearly rent the chords of harmony. She
opened a small gate to the mist worlds, briefly. We could not see what
was involved or why."
"And she is well enough to ride?" Ashtaar asked.
"She was walking later that day."
Ashtaar's fingers tighten on the polished rock. "You are certain? No
burns? No fire?"
"Very certain, honored Ashtaar. She is mighty and knows it not."
"I would like a written report on this matter. By tonight."
"Yes, Ashtaar."
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"Eladdrin is trying to seek out the sorceress, also."
"The man is no fool. He knows his greatest danger. What else?"
"The lady Cyndyth is traveling to Falcor with the envoy from Mansuur."
"And?"
"That is all… but we will continue to scry."
Silence seeps across the room, blotting out the noise from the city
repairs.
Her fingers still caressing the black agate oval, the spy-mistress's eyes
focus on the door behind the blonde woman, and she says quietly, "That is
all. The report. By tonight."
"Yes, honored Ashtaar." Gretslen eases out of the room, not quite
backing, but not turning away from the spymis-tress either.
88
Anna rode closer to the dozen armsmen who sweated and toiled in the heat
with the small spades. She felt almost guilty as they worked, but she
wouldn't have lasted an hour—a glass, she corrected her thinking—digging
in the heat of Defalk.
Her eyes turned eastward, down the gentle rise that was barely
perceptible to the highway from Mencha. To her left was the road cut down
to the Sorprat ford. She studied the waist-high sun-browned grass in
front of the trench—she'd insisted that no one walk or ride on the
down-rise side— and then the trench itself.
"That's deep enough," Anna said to Alvar, after inspecting the trench.
Even Farinelli and several mounts would fit into the sloped end-ramps
angled into the center part of the excavation, and with the spell, she
hoped Eladdrin would not see them—at least until it was too late.
"Clean it up, square it out," ordered Alvar. "Then mount up." The captain
turned in his saddle toward Anna, as if to speak, then paused.
In the slightest of breezes, a few stalks of brown grass whispered, not
enough to cover the mutterings from the trench.
"… glad she is pleased… not the one digging…"
"… sshh… you want to be up here with her… when the dark ones…"
"… better dig than die, Fifard___"
Anna pursed her lips, then waited for Alvar.
"I still do not fully understand the need for a trench."
The sorceress didn't, either, but her feelings told her it was necessary,
and she'd learned years ago that every time she disregarded her feelings
she ended up in trouble. Here trouble meant death.
"What is the difference between this grassland and that?" Anna gestured
from where the trench gaped to the grasslands more to the south of the
bluffs. "Or those?"
"None, save their closeness to the river."
"And if I am not on the ground, but beneath it, and the dark sorcerer can
tell only that I am surrounded by grass and dirt, how will he know where
I am?"
"He will not." Alvar nodded. "But if you sat in the grass, would he know,
either?"
"Captain Alvar, sometimes you have to follow your feelings. This time I
have to follow mine." She gave a slight shrug, watching as the last of
the armsmen scrambled from the trench, then turning in the saddle to ease
the lutar out of its case.
"Now?" he asked.
"A concealment spell." Anna took a deep breath and began to strum, then
to sing.
When any trace of the displaced grass and the trench vanished, gasps
whispered from the squad of armsmen waiting on the west side of the rise.
"Your orders?" asked Alvar.
"We head back to the others," said Anna. "We will camp at least four deks
west—over those rises there. Even if the sorcerer sees us in his glass
now, he will not know exactly where I will be later. Then, when they
near, Daffyd and I and a few riders will come back here."
The captain frowned.
"How can we protect you?"
"By not being too close." Anna turned Farinelli westward, toward where
Captain Himar held the main body of Anna's company.
She hoped she wasn't being too brave, or too foolhardy, but what seer
could miss two companies of lancers? And what would Eladdrin think if
they were perched on top of the ford?
89
West of Mencha, Defaik
Eladdrin studies the mirror on the ground, though the image wavers.
Finally, he packs the mirror into its leather case and straightens.
"Ser?" asks the mounted subofficer.
"Behlem seems to have split his forces. Half are on the north side of the
river, to the east of Pamr. The others are on the south side, on the high
ground at the southernmost bend in the river." Eladdrin eases the leather
case into the oversized saddlebag and swings up onto the black. "The
sorceress is somewhere in the grasslands, but she could be anywhere
within fifty deks of either army. She's probably in front of them
somewhere, but close enough to retreat after she's done her worst."
The subofficer looks at the Songmaster inquiringly.
"No, Gealas, I cannot discern where she is. She has used a concealing
spell. While it reveals its use, she is in the middle of brown grasses
that could be anywhere in Defalk."
Gealas nods. "Which way should we go?"
The Songmaster blinks, then looks to the west, away from the mid-morning
sun. "We do not have to decide yet. They are more than a half day from
the ford, no matter which way they go." Eladdrin flicks the reins and
heads toward the fronUof the long black column. "We will attain the ford,
and pause, and scout."
When the subofficer catches up and settles his mare into a trot beside
the Songmaster, he finally asks, "Why would the Prophet split his forces?"
"They are split now, but they will not be when we meet. The Prophet is
drawn up defensively. If we go north and cross the river, then he can
pull back the southern forces and cross the river at Pamr to support the
northern body. The same of the northern forces if we go south."
"What is the point in that?"
"The point," explained Eladdrin, his voice slightly hoarse, "is that half
his forces are well rested and dug-in no matter what we do, and that we
will have to come to him."
"That does not sound like the Prophet."
"Oh, it does. Remember, this is not his land, Gealas. He can sacrifice
territory to save soldiers, as he could not do in Neserea. He also has
some local levies. He fights us where his own people are not harmed and
makes us work. The bulk of the harvests are beyond the river valley, or
in it. He is guessing that we will not take the ford, and he is probably
right. Going down in that kind of lowland against a sorceress is
dangerous. That's why she's out from their forces, to try and trap us if
we do. But we won't."
"What do you mean?"
"Suppose we take two days to cover a long half-day march, then stop
several deks away. We are in no hurry, and perhaps I can find the
sorceress. She is not a warrior, no matter how powerful she may be."
Eladdrin snorts and flicks the reins. "In any case, no sorceress alone
can stop our forces."
Gealas nods again.
Eladdrin's eyes focus on the clear western horizon.
90
Despite the heat that had seeped into the chest-deep trench where she and
Daffyd—along with Spirda, Fhurgen, and another armsman named Mysar—had
waited since early morning, Anna could smell a shift in the weather, a
hint of something like fall.
Whhnnnnn! From the north end of the trench came the sound of Farinelli's
displeasure, echoed by a similar sound from one of the mares.
"Quiet!" hissed Anna.
Whhhnnnn!
She sang the word, lingering over the syllables, and surprisingly, the
horses quieted.
Beyond Daffyd, to her left, she could see Fhurgen jab Mysar in the ribs.
The younger armsman handed a copper to the black-bearded man. Anna felt
amused and irritated simultaneously.
"How much longer?" whispered Spirda, leaning toward her from her right,
his breath smelling of something like garlic.
Anna shrugged. "I don't know, and I'm not about to use another spell. If
Eladdrin is close, he might be able to tell where we are."
The sun inched higher, and over the faint and intermittent whispers of
the grass came the calls of something like a meadowlark. The sorceress
smiled, recalling the time she and the children had spent a week in the
Garrisons' cabin in Estes. So long ago… so far away.
She swallowed and looked up at the grass that hung on its brown stalks,
still in the mid-morning heat—so still, as if the world were hanging on a
thread, waiting for her to act.
Anna snorted. Delusions of grandeur! She was a singer, lucky enough to
have talent, and hardworking enough to have mastered technique and
repertoire, and those talents enabled her to cast spells, not manipulate
worlds.
Daffyd sniffed, stifled a sneeze, and rubbed his nose. Was he allergic to
grass, wondered Anna, or getting sick?
Perhaps another glass passed before Anna readjusted her hat once more,
blotting away the sweat that gathered under the band and oozed onto her
forehead. Her hair was damp as well, and she wanted a bath or a shower.
Washing her hair in a basin left it feeling still unclean, but
cleanliness wasn't high on the priority lists in Defalk.
She cocked her ears. Was that a dull thudding, a rumbling in the soil?
"Something out there," hissed Fhurgen.
Spirda eased past the mares and partway up along the earthen ramp,
peering through the grass. After a time, he slipped back. "There are a
good four companies of lancers, but they've halted back a dek or so."
Anna eased past the blond officer, careful not to make contact with him
in the narrow confines of the trench. While he wasn't her type, she still
didn't want to convey any ideas. Except for a few like Alvar and Hanfor,
most of the arms-men seemed so young. Then, they were. People on Erde
lived fast and died young, except for lords and ladies. Lord Jecks was
probably the only one near her age. He was almost like a white-haired
Robert Mitchum. She'd liked the actor, thought he was sexy, and so was
Jecks. She pushed away the thoughts and concentrated on the present.
She studied the distant horsemen, and the two drooping black banners.
They were on the fringe of the area she had prepared, but only on the
fringe, and they clearly waited for someone or something.
The sun climbed higher, and the horsemen waited, and Anna readjusted her
hat and blotted her forehead and neck, and Daffyd sniffed. The two
armsmen looked at each other, and Spirda rocked from one foot to the
other, and the grass hung limply in the hot air.
Then a single horn sounded, and the horsemen turned toward the ford,
letting their mounts walk slowly toward the bluff. They were within a dek
of the concealed trench before the first dark figures of the main body
appeared on the eastern rise of the highway.
"What's she waiting for?" whispered Mysar.
"For all of them to get close enough to destroy them!" hissed Anna at
him. She shouldn't be whispering, she realized. So she eased the lutar
from the case, and began to check its tuning, as quietly as she could.
Following her example, Daffyd took out the viola and did the same.
A whisper of wind ruffled the grasses and was gone, and Anna shivered,
sensing the unnaturalness of that seeking wind and feeling vindicated
that she had insisted on the trench. A grim smile appeared and vanished.
To the east of her vantage point, the horse troops reined up again, this
time at the top of the bluffs, a good half-dek east of Anna, at the
beginning of the road cut down to the ford. Several dismounted and
stretched, walking around and pointing to the river and the valley,
talking, although she could not hear their voices.
The next set of horsemen, leading the main body, became more than
outlines, became real men in black, bearing sabres. Some had lances. From
the concealment of the trench, Anna looked through the browned grasses at
the oncoming mass of armsmen. The dark ones had even more troops than she
had seen at the Sand Pass. In the van were the dark horse, hundreds of
them, followed by a long column of foot, then wagons, dozens of wagons,
followed by more foot.
Anna wanted to shake her head. The Ebrans were too strung out. She hadn't
realized how far a marching army would stretch along the road, especially
a large one.
"Dissonance! How many are there?" murmured Daffyd.
"There might be five hundred-score." Spirda wiped his forehead.
Ten thousand troops? Could she? Anna swallowed, thinking about what ten
thousand troops would do to Pamr, and Gatrune and Firis—or Falcor. Could
she not?
"Lady?" ventured Spirda.
Anna shook her head.
Another sweep of the dark, seeking wind ruffled the grasses and passed,
and yet more horn signals echoed across the grass toward the bluffs. With
the signals the scouts who remained afoot remounted, and formed their
mounts into two rough lines.
A square of black banners borne by black-coated arms-men appeared. The
column split to allow the bannered group to advance.
Eladdrin? Anna swallowed, then turned to Daffyd and motioned. She eased
up toward the south end of the trench, hoping the concealment spell would
hold, stopping where the excavation was only knee-deep.
The wind swirled around her, and several of the banner-bearers turned
toward them.
"Now! The sinking song."
Daffyd stroked the bow, twice, then began the song, and Anna chorded the
lutar, trying for the maximum volume, not belting, but full-voiced opera
technique, launching into the first spell, the one that she hoped would
neutralize the Ebrans. Neutralize? her mind asked. She pushed away the
nagging thought, and concentrated on spellcasting, matching lutar and
voice with Daffyd's viola.
"Sink, sink, sink the land
deeply through the ground
easily, easily, easily,
mud is all around.
"Churn, churn, churn the rocks…"
Even before she hit the second stanza—and her perverse mind insisted on
pointing out that spells were strophic— the ground trembled—once, twice,
and then even harder.
BBbrrrrrrrrrr…
She shifted her feet and kept singing.
At least two squads of horsemen galloped toward her, but they seemed to
move in slow motion, and several horses stumbled, throwing riders, as the
ground swayed under them.
Still, five or six riders thundered toward Anna and Daffyd.
Spirda ran past Anna, his blade out, followed by Fhurgen, who carried a
sabre in each hand. Both staggered as the ground rumbled and lurched, and
another Ebran rider went down.
Anna could sense some sort of activity around the Ebran black banners, a
gathering of power, but she kept her voice and mind on the spellsong,
concluding with a perfect on-key finale.
"… swirled underground!"
A massive chord seemed to vibrate both through the ground and across the
clear blue-green heavens, even casting a nickering shadow over the sun
momentarily. Anna's ears rang with that timeless, yet instantaneous,
vibration.
Then the grasslands seemed to whirl around her, and a ground wave rippled
the grass and the soil as it spread outward from somewhere to the east of
Anna, just as though it had been caused from the impact of a stone on a
quiet pond.
RRRRUuuuuuurrrrrr…
That rending, grinding roar paralyzed Anna's hearing, as the second set
of ground waves rumbled across the grasslands and brought her to her
knees. Somehow, she kept from going all the way down and crushing the
lutar. Hammers slammed at her skull, and the ground kept trembling.
Somewhere before her, Spirda slashed at an oncoming Ebran armsman who had
struggled off a fallen mount, while Fhurgen flailed through the grass
toward the blonde subofficer.
Anna tried to rise from her knees, but had to put a hand out as another
tremor raced through the ground. She blinked as she realized that the
grasslands ended not more than thirty yards in front of her. They just…
ended.
A vast chasm, more than a dek long and slightly narrower in width,
centered on where the highway to Mencha had been and ran down where the
road cut to the ford had been, so that water from the Chean was already
oozing into the depressed area, across the mass of mud and grass-covered
patches of earth that filled the sinkhole.
Slowly, her head pounding, and her ears ringing in the aftermath of the
subsidence of her massive sinkhole, Anna struggled to her feet.
In front and to her right, Fhurgen slashed at the Ebran lancer, who had
not even seen the second armsman. The Ebran's blade dropped, and he stood
for a moment, then wavered, before crumpling into the waist-high grass.
The sorceress forced herself to walk toward the edge of the bluffs and to
study the mess. She swayed as she looked down and out across the
churning, bubbling mass of mud and chunks of grassland that bobbed in the
mud. On the intact sections of land below, especially near the eastern
side of the depression, armsmen on foot scrambled away from the gooey
mass, only to find themselves facing sheer, if crumbling, dirt walls.
Perhaps a thousand troops, or more, seemed to have survived the drop of
her undermined sinkhole.
On the far side of the depression, a fewscore armsmen, mostly on foot,
scrambled eastward through the grasslands and along the highway, back
toward Mencha.
Slowly, she glanced down at the lutar she had not even been aware that
she carried, then, despite her headache, lifted it and touched the
strings. "The river song, Daffyd."
There was no answer, and Anna turned. The player stood a dozen steps
behind her, his mouth open, his eyes wide.
"We need the river song," she repeated.
"But…"
"The river song!" Again, her feelings drove her. While the men below were
pawns, Eladdrin might be among them, and she could not chance his escape.
After a moment, Daffyd, his eyes not meeting hers, lifted the viola and
began to play, raggedly.
"We have to do better than that. Start again!" Anna hated herself for the
hardness in her voice, but she didn't have that many reserves left, and
she didn't want to fight yet another battle with the Ebrans.
As Daffyd started the melody over again, Anna's fingers touched the lutar
strings, and she began to sing, letting her voice fill the troubled air.
"Ol' man riber…"
She tried to visualize the mighty power of the Mississippi, a brown
torrent filling the banks of the Chean, sweeping into the vast circular
sinkhole that lay before her, swirling and covering all that lay there.
The ground trembled yet again, and shivered, and shivered. With that
second shiver, her feet slipped, but she kept chording, kept singing, her
thoughts firmly on that image of a brown torrent.
Almost… almost, she could sense the waters rising and plunging toward the
circular sinkhole that adjoined the river where the ford had been.
Screams rose from the sinkhole, but Anna shut them out, singing…
"… he just keeps roiling along…"
Her voice and chording were alone. Daffyd had stopped playing midway
through, but she had to finish, had to get to the end of the section. She
gave the lutar a last strum, and tried to swallow. She couldn't, so dry
were her mouth and throat. She licked her lips, but even her tongue was
woolly and dry.
Swwwussssssl
A thin sheet of spray, almost like fine rain, cascaded across her, and
the screaming ended, as if choked off. A second, heavier, sheet of water
slammed across her, half spinning her around, and she staggered backward
three or four steps before she could catch her balance, standing,
gasping, thrusting the lutar out like a balance pole for a moment to
steady herself.
A last, finer spray flared from the crumbling cliff edge less than twenty
yards in front of Anna, then subsided.
The sorceress forced herself back toward the muddy caldron, where she
gazed into her own hell—or discord, or dissonance. Already, the waters
were draining from the oval sinkhole, pouring back into the Chean,
carrying timbers, dead horses, and unmoving uniformed figures. Anna could
feel the odor of death building, though she knew it had to
be her own imagination. Her eyes narrowed against the burning and the
knives that jabbed into her skull, and she turned, putting one foot
before the other as she trudged, slow step after slow step, toward
Farinelli.
She automatically stepped around the dead Ebran lancer, who lay sprawled
face-up, and past Spirda.
The blond officer staggered up and away from the spot in the grass where
he had been bent double, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and
tottered back toward the trench and the mounts, slightly behind Anna. His
complexion was pale underneath his tan.
Mysar stood, unmoving, where he had since the first spell, his face
blank, his mouth unmoving. Anna stopped and let Spirda catch up. "We need
to mount up, I think," Anna suggested to the blond subofficer. Her
stomach was twisted inside out, and half the time she kept her eyes
closed because, everywhere she looked, they hurt. Several large hammers
pounded at her skull, and her cords felt trashed, though she had not, in
terms of concerts and recitals, sung that much—not at all. "Mount up… Oh,
yes, lady." Spirda turned toward the immobile Mysar. "Mount up, Mysar."
The lancer shuddered, then slowly closed his mouth, turned, and walked
toward the trench and his mount.
The hot sun, oblivious to the deaths and destruction, had already begun
to dry the muddy splotches that dotted Anna's clothes, and the dampness
created by the sprays from surges of water into and out of the sinkhole.
Daffyd was mechanically easing his viola into the case, but his fingers
trembled as he did. Anna led Farinelli into the grass west of the trench
and looked across the grasslands to the south and west. They seemed
unchanged—hot and dry and dusty. She turned back to Farinelli and rested
against the big gelding's shoulder for several moments. Farinelli
whuffed, but did not move. Then Anna straightened and lifted the lutar to
pack it into its case.
"Anything I can do, Lady Anna?" Fhurgen practically groveled toward her
as Anna fastened the lutar case on Farinelli's back.
"No. Not now. Not now. We need to tell Alvar—and the Prophet—of their
great victory." And mine—all the destruction was mine.
"Great victory, lady, a great victory." Fhurgen marched back toward his
horse.
It took Anna two attempts to mount, her legs were so wobbly and her
balance so uncertain. Why? Because of the magnitude of her sorcery?
Her mass murders was more like it, yet, once again, what could she do?
Like Hitler, like so many others, the Ebrans were determined to force
others to their will. She had the means to stop them. How could she
refuse?
As Farinelli carried her westward, her eyes drifted northward from the
trail, to her right where the Chean, swollen to twice its former size by
the muddy outflow from Anna's devastation, carried dark splotches that
could have been everything from houses shattered in Sorprat to dead
arms-men and their mounts.
Anna swallowed. She hadn't meant to hurt the people of Sorprat, and the
sinkhole hadn't reached them, but the backlash of her raised torrent had,
smashing houses like a giant sledge and spreading mud out into the river
valley. Her mouth filled with bile, but she swallowed again.
Then she steadied herself in the saddle and urged Farinelli westward,
closing her eyes to shut out the pain of seeing, ignoring the pounding in
her skull, trying to shut out the memory of the screams and the vision of
mud-flattened Sorprat.
The five rode westward in silence.
91
Alvar and a squad of lancers met Anna halfway back to the camp. Anna
reined up Farinelli. The gelding dropped his head and began to graze.
Anna let him.
"What happened?" The captain's eyes traversed the group. "Are you all
right, Lady Anna?"
No. My head is splitting. I'm hot and sick inside, and I don't want to be
here, and I'm tired of the killing, and see no way out. "I'm tired. The
Prophet has his victory." She could feel herself slump in the saddle, and
she was afraid almost to move, for fear she would topple out of the
saddle.
"I saw the river rise and fill with bodies." Alvar fixed on Spirda.
"The Ebrans are dead, all but a score. Those are running toward the east.
They will never fight again." Spirda's voice was flat, dead.
Anna could feel the perspiration dripping down her face, oozing into her
hair, but she didn't care.
"Never," echoed Fhurgen.
Mysar said nothing, and Daffyd kept his eyes on his mare's mane.
"There are none left?" Alvar asked.
Of the six armsmen behind him, a young redhead smirked.
"Do not laugh," said Fhurgen, his voice on the edge of cracking. "Ride
east. Ride until you see a huge hole filled with mud. There lie the
Ebrans. Ride back, and then laugh.
Then laugh."
"Terrible… terrible…" muttered Mysar. "She is terrible."
"Is it as they say, Subofficer Spirda?" asked Alvar.
"No. It is worse." Spirda shook his head slowly. "Best you see for
yourself."
"You are sure there are no Ebrans?"
"Not alive. Not west of the ford."
"You come with me, Spirda," Alvar insisted. "Lady Anna, please ride to
the camp with the player and your two armsmen. The rest of us will rejoin
you before long."
Anna nodded. She did not have to go east to the ford. She knew what was
there. Yes, she knew.
She watched blankly as the captain, his escort, and Spirda headed
eastward again, back along the grass-bordered river trail, back along the
trail above the death-swollen Chean.
"Lady?" offered Daffyd. "You must ride to the camp."
Ride to the camp? Of course, she must ride to the camp. Anna barely
lifted the reins, and Farinelli raised his head and began to walk
westward again, along the narrow trail toward the vanguard's camp. Her
ears still rang with the chords she had struck from within Erde, and all
that she heard was muffled and distorted by that ringing.
Daffyd rode silently beside her. Occasionally, he massaged his temples or
his neck with his free hand. Anna could not have lifted either hand.
Farinelli walked steadily, and she just rode.
As they neared the hills that should be familiar, Daffyd looked up and
said something that Anna missed—or couldn't hear, but since he kept
riding, so did she. She had to ride to camp.
Daffyd glanced at Anna, beyond her to her left. She turned her head, and
it was an effort.
There, Alvar drew his horse abreast of Farinelli. His swarthy face was
immobile, and the two rode for nearly half a dek, to the lower slopes of
the gentle hills, before the captain spoke. "I apologize, Lady Anna. I
did not know."
"You don't have to apologize, Alvar," Anna said slowly, trying to force
each word out against the overpowering fatigue that tugged at her. "You
did what you thought best. So did I."
"I cannot believe… I cannot believe… but it is there, where there were
only grasslands this morning at dawn." Alvar kept looking over his
shoulder and then ahead to the grassy hilltop. "Now… now there is but mud
and death, a new lake rilled with death… cannot believe…"
Anna could believe. She was getting good with death. Then she saw the
tents. They looked familiar.
At some point as they neared the vanguard's camp, she could no longer
hold off the darkness.
92
Lady Anna, Lady Anna…"
Anna swam up through the darkness, trying to recognize the voice. Mario?
But she wasn't a lady. No, she hadn't been lucky like Kiri.
"Lady Anna… please wake up. You need to drink." A drink was the last
thing she needed, the very last thing. Her head throbbed, and her mouth
was dry. What had she done?
White needles stabbed through her eyes as she opened them, and her
stomach wanted to turn over, or inside out, or something—and probably
would have, had there been anything in it. She was lying on a narrow cot
of some sort in a small tent, but she closed her eyes before she saw
more. Seeing hurt too much.
"Please drink." The voice of a young man wavered in and out of her
hearing.
Water slopped across her mouth and she licked it, realizing that despite
the tightness in her stomach, she was thirsty.
"Here." Something was placed in her hands.
Her fingers recognized the water bottle, and she struggled into a
half-sitting position, her eyes still closed. Someone helped her. Then
Anna took a long sip from the water bottle, then another. She said
nothing, but slowly sipped her way through the water.
Memories flicked into place: Irenia's death, the fundraiser she'd never
made, Daffyd and Jenny, Brill, the Sand Pass fort, Farinelli, Behlem, and
all the sorcery. All of it.
"Be you better?" asked the voice she recognized as Daffyd's.
"A little," she croaked.
"You've slept almost a day and a night," Daffyd explained. "But you must
wake up. The Prophet is no more than a glass away."
"A glass?" Anna said, her voice still rasping. "Shit… I feel like shit."
"You destroyed all the Ebrans—almost all, anyway, and the Prophet is
moving his forces to Mencha. That is what Alvar says."
When she finally set aside the bottle, Anna squinted through slitted
eyes. Seeing still hurt, but she could see, sort of.
"We did manage to get a bucket and some water for you to wash in." Daffyd
pointed.
Anna nodded, then said, "I need to pull myself together."
"I told you that."
If she hadn't been still so exhausted, she would have… done something,
preferably naggingly annoying, if she could have thought of it. Instead,
she waited for him to leave.
Alone in the tent, she used the water to remove the worst of the grime,
especially from her face and hair. Heaven, what she wouldn't have given
for a hot bath, even in the heat of the tent.
She pulled on the second set of riding clothes, thankful she had used
sorcery to clean them before she had gone to die ford, and then her
boots. She couldn't have sung "Come to Jesus" in whole notes, or any
other way.
She stuffed her dirty clothes into the empty saddlebag and fastened it.
Her stained and battered hat lay on her gear. She bent and picked it up,
then folded it into her belt. She felt like gritting her teeth every time
she bent over, because the headache intensified and her stomach cramped.
Her trousers were even looser. Shit! She was going to die of anorexia
even while she was stuffing herself.
The lutar seemed fine, but she left it in its case by her saddlebags.
"Lady Anna?" called Daffyd from outside the tent.
"Yes?"
"I brought you some cheese and bread."
"Come in."
Anna sat on the cot and ate slowly, deliberately, drinking more water.
The food helped, reducing the pounding inside her skull to something
less, but more than a dull ache. She still had to close her eyes
periodically to relieve the pain associated with seeing, and she had to
force herself to eat every scrap of enough food for two people, telling
herself that she didn't want to die of starvation, and wanting to laugh
at the terrible irony of it all.
A horn call echoed across the camp. Anna struggled to her feet.
By the time the blue-and-cream banners reached the center of the camp,
Anna was waiting.
"Lady Anna;'' offered Behlem from the gilded saddle on the palomino
stallion, a mount nearly as big as Farinelli. "We understand that you
have delivered the Ebrans to us."
"Most are dead, Lord Behlem. A handful may have escaped."
"How large a 'handful' might that be?"
"Less than twoscore." Anna waited.
"We are grateful." The Prophet nodded. "Would you join us? We ride east
to Mencha to remove the yoke of Ebra from all of Defalk."
Anna wouldn't have phrased it quite that way, but she nodded. "It will
take a moment to get my mount."
Behlem frowned.
"She collapsed after vanquishing the Ebrans," volunteered Alvar.
Beside and slightly behind Behlem was Hanfor—weathered face and graying
hair. The tall overcaptain nodded for Alvar to continue.
"It was a great sorcery, Lord Prophet. You will see," asserted the wiry
and dark-bearded captain.
"I will see, and I do hope it was great."
Anna looked around. She had no idea where Farinelli was. Daffyd, standing
by the tent where she had lain, pointed to the right.
Anna walked over to where he was tethered. Someone had gotten the
gelding's saddle off, but that was all. While Daffyd gathered her gear
and lutar, Anna gave Farinelli a quick grooming.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not at full voice, fellow." Even talking to her mount
created a throbbing in her skull.
The gelding whuffled.
While it seemed like it took forever, Anna was saddled and mounted beside
Behlem before long.
"It would have been better had you been ready," the Prophet said mildly.
"I was not made aware of your desires, Lord Behlem," Anna countered. "But
I am here."
Behlem snorted. Beyond and behind him, several horses back, Anna caught
sight of Daffyd's quickly suppressed smile. She hoped the player was
laughing at Behlem and not at her.
Behlem nodded, and the entourage resumed, while behind them Alvar
supervised the packing of the camp. Anna wondered if she should have
pleaded illness. No—without visible signs, that would have been regarded
as a womanly weakness, and she couldn't afford that.
After they had covered several deks in relative silence, Behlem looked
toward Anna. "So we will see this evidence of destruction?"
"It's right ahead." Anna pointed toward the depression.
The Prophet stood in his stirrups as they rode closer to the ragged edge
of the sinkhole.
"That? That hole? Or is it a muddy lake?"
Anna repressed a sigh.
From his mount on the other side of the Prophet, Hanfor said smoothly,
"You can see where the road was sheared off up there. And the river has
filled the pit, but you can see all the bodies." He paused. "And smell
them."
Anna tried to ignore the sour stench, faint as yet, but certainly the
result of mud, water, death, and the unending heat of Defalk.
"There are quite a few bodies," Behlem finally admitted. "It is a pity
that the road and the ford were destroyed."
Despite her headache, Anna wanted to throw sorcery at the spoiled brat.
What did he expect? Then she pursed her lips and looked at him, catching
the half-smile. She understood. He was beginning the political effort to
discredit her. She'd seen it before, at the university, where other
professors who felt threatened always found little faults with what she
had done, generally right after she'd accomplished the impossible.
"Once the ground settles," she said, forcing a smile, "we can rebuild the
road and the ford."
" 'We'?" asked Behlem pointedly.
"Daffyd and I."
"Why not now?"
"Because I would have to do it again later," Anna said. "There are
limits, you know?"
Behlem smiled. "I would have to take your word for that."
"Please do."
"All our forces are on the south side of the river," interjected Hanfor
blandly. "So we will not need the ford anytime soon."
"I would hope not, overcaptain. I would hope not." The Prophet smiled.
"Well… we have seen the sight of a most glorious victory, and we must
push on to secure the border." He nodded sharply at Hanfor, then flicked
the reins.
Anna followed his example, since she was clearly expected to ride close
to Behlem, and be subjected to periodic indirect abuse.
If only she felt better.
They continued eastward, and the sinkhole vanished behind into the
seemingly endless grasslands and scattered trees, the abandoned steads,
and the clumps of dying trees that had once been woodlots.
In time, the knives and chisels driven by massive unseen sledges returned
to pound through Anna's skull, but she forced her knees against the
saddle, holding herself erect as she rode beside Behlem toward Mencha.
How long can I trust him? Not long at all.
Her cords were tight, and if she had to sing, she'd have nothing, no
protection at all. She needed rest, and she couldn't afford to let down
her guard at all.
She'd destroyed the Ebran forces, and she had no way to protect herself,
except that Behlem didn't know that, and she couldn't let him know.
III
Verlusttraum
* * * * * * *
93
Vult, Ebra
The silvered waters shimmer and show a blonde woman on a palomino, the
waters imparting the only light to the darkened room, casting a faint
glow on the face hidden in the black cowl.
"Never…" murmurs the man in the dark cloak.
He gestures, and a chime rings—once, twice, three times.
In a few moments a second cloaked figure enters. "Yes, Evult?"
"Yurelt, you are Songmaster now. Summon the master-singers, and the
horns."
"As you wish, Evult." Slightly lifted shoulders accompany the
acquiescence.
"We will bring down the storms and the ice upon Defalk! Upon those who
accepted that wench of the mists."
"Now, Evult? Now… when we have lost… so much?'' stutters Yurelt.
"Now! Once we have shattered her city, then your charge is to rebuild our
forces. You must destroy the blonde sorceress." The deep-set eyes burn
toward the younger man—burn so much that his face is bathed in light.
"Yes, Evult." Yurelt swallows.
"Bah… it is simple, so simple that brilliant Eladdrin could never have
thought of it. First, she cannot be in more than one place, and we will
ensure she must be in Falcor. Second, she must sleep. Third, without her,
no armsmen of Liedwahr can stand against us. Fourth, we are not bound by
honor. Do you understand?"
Yurelt nods. "Whatever it takes, I must send men from so many places and
locations that she cannot sense them all—""
"Not yet. First, we must raise the fires of the earth, and the mighty
storms. Then, after the devastation, you must move the eastern army to
Synek, to make her worry about our forces. Then…"
"Then," Yurelt agrees. "Then."
94
When Behlem's vanguard had reached Loiseau, Anna had stabled Farinelli
quickly and headed toward the hall. She laughed to herself as she climbed
the dusty stone steps in the late-afternoon gloom. That was one advantage
with the big gelding. Few would bother him or try to move him.
The captains and overcaptains were gathered around Behlem in the back
courtyard. She hadn't been invited and had decided against crashing.
Anna opened the door and glanced around the bedchamber. Surprisingly,
almost everything was as she had left it, except for the heat and dust.
The one exception was her green recital gown, and it lay upon the bed.
She crossed the chamber and peered into the robing room, noting the spare
sets of riding gear. She could use them.
As she crossed back into the main chamber, she heard steps through the
open door.
"Lady Anna?" Hanfor peered inside. "Oh…"
"This is my room. Does the Prophet intend to dispossess me here?" As she
spoke, Anna wished she hadn't been quite so sharp. Hanfor had been more
than fair. "I'm sorry."
"Ah… I think you are entitled to your own room." Hanfor stepped inside
and shut the door. "More than entitled. A sorceress of your statute
certainly ranks with senior officers." The weathered face offered a tight
smile. "I will note that this is yours. There are more than enough rooms
for the Prophet and the overcaptains." He grinned. "One of the chores of
the senior overcaptain is quarters—because senior officers listen to no
one lower."
"Brill's suite is at the end of the corridor," she offered. "It would be
appropriate for the Prophet."
"Most appropriate," Hanfor agreed. "Thank you."
Anna inclined her head. "Thank you."
Hanfor paused, then added, "Do not get too comfortable."
"You don't think I should stay here?" Anna asked. "I suppose I'm as much
Brill's heir as anyone these days."
"The Prophet has already claimed the hall," Hanfor noted dryly. "He
wishes it were in Falcor, instead of the liedburg. We will be leaving for
Falcor tomorrow or the next day."
Anna frowned.
"The lady Cyndyth is there already. She has requested the Prophet's
presence, and yours. Since her sire is the Liedfuhr of Mansuur, Lord
Behlem is most cautious."
"I take it Mansuur is powerful."
"Perhaps mightier than Nordwei." Hanfor nodded. "I must finish my survey
and chamber assignments. My duty— to avoid further difficulties." He
bowed again.
After Hanfor left, Anna walked around the room, too hot really, but she
decided against trying her cooling spell yet. She still had the vestiges
of a headache, and she needed to save her ability to spellcast,
especially with Behlem—and , possibly his consort—out to get her.
She slumped into the chair and looked at the blue-tinted windows.
There came another rap on the door.
"Yes?"
"It's Daffyd."
"Come in."
The player slumped into the room, pausing to close the heavy door.
Anna blotted her forehead, glancing at the empty pitcher on the table
before her. She needed more water. She always needed water.
"They killed her," Daffyd said slowly, as he walked toward Anna.
"Killed who?" Will it never stop? "Sit down and tell me." Anna gestured
to the other chair. Her legs hurt.
"Jenny." Daffyd dropped into the heavy blue iron-framed chair.
The sorceress frowned, then lowered her voice. "Why would Behlem—"
"It happened weeks ago. No one knows who. It could have been the dark
ones. There were two strange riders— that was what Lisbey told me. Some
say they rode horses with brass on the harnesses."
"That doesn't sound like the dark ones." Anna rubbed her forehead.
"The Norweians use brass that way." The young player shook his head. "But
why? Why Jenny?"
In the pit of her stomach, Anna knew. Jenny had proved she could summon a
sorceress from the mist worlds, and someone wanted no more sorceresses
that powerful.
Anna wanted to laugh, an urge almost hysterical. Were they after her? Who
in this godforsaken world wasn't?
Lord! It never ended. Never.
"I'm sorry," she offered. "You liked her."
"I liked her well enough. But she didn't do anything. She didn't do
anything."
"Except fetch me," Anna said.
Daffyd's mouth opened. "They would kill her for that?"
"No. Someone killed her because they did not want another sorceress in
Liedwahr or Defalk."
"But you're already here."
"I can be killed, Daffyd. People have already tried. If Jenny could bring
more…"
"I never thought…" The dark-haired young man looked down. "I wanted Brill
dead, 'cause of what he did to Da. Brill's dead, and things are worse
than ever."
Anna nodded. Both she and Daffyd had gotten ill-chosen wishes, and she
had effectively lost her family, while he had lost his father, perhaps
his sister because of Anna's spell on Madell, and now a close friend.
95
The morning sun beat down on her back, and the shadows of the banners
borne behind her flickered across her and Daffyd. Three rows of horse
ahead, Behlem rode with Hanfor to his right and Zealor to his left.
Anna couldn't believe that she was riding back across Defalk once again.
Still, she'd appreciated two nights' sleep on a bed, and the chance to
think about spells. From what Hanfor said, she'd need them:
The whole time at Loiseau, Behlem had dined alone, and basically avoided
her, and the rest of the senior captains. He had merely left word that he
had "matters to consider." Matters to consider? Anna almost snorted out
loud as she rode. He couldn't eat with his senior captains and exclude
Anna without seeming ungrateful. So he was conveying, indirectly, the
message that the power that had delivered him was not to be trusted.
She patted Farinelli on the neck and reached for the water bottle, having
to reach under the thin cloth bag that held her green recital dress. Why
she had brought it, she wasn't sure, only that her feelings said she
should. Was that her unwillingness to abandon good clothes? She didn't
think so.
"All you do is drink," said Daffyd.
"Mayhap that is what is necessary for her spells." Spirda, on her left,
pushed back a lock of blond hair. "I would drink the entire Saris River
if it gave me even half her powers." He wiped his forehead with the back
of his hand. "This Defalk is hot for harvest time."
"Most of the harvest is in now," Daffyd noted. "Except for that…" His
eyes strayed to the north, across the Chean River, whose waters were both
thinner and more reddish brown than ever.
Anna understood. Her efforts against the Ebrans had created the
unintended side effect of washing out many of the lower-lying
fields—although the worst of the damage had been confined to the area
within a day's ride of the ford and where poor Sorprat had once stood.
Now the river ran with even less water, although Anna wasn't quite sure
why. Had she messed up the groundwater, or was her sinkhole lake draining
off some of the flow?
"Then it is hotter than it should be," said Spirda. "Why have the rains
not returned if you defeated the Ebrans, Lady Anna?"
"Their forces are gone, not their sorcery," Anna pointed out.
"Then what is to prevent them from rebuilding?'' Spirda scratched the
back of his neck, then wiped his sweating forehead again. "Must we
destroy their entire land?"
"I don't know," Anna admitted. "I'm a stranger here, remember, and I
don't know exactly why the Ebrans do what they do." Inside, she was all
too afraid she did, that they were like all the other tyrants in her own
earth's history who continued until they were destroyed. Was there really
something to the obsolete idea of a national character? Some countries
just changed tyrants, without changing anything else. Was Ebra like that?
Or were all people like that deep inside, wanting whatever people would
let them take? Here she was, using enormous powers she'd never dreamed
possible. Some would have said she was already abusing those powers.
Would she do even worse? She shivered, even as she perspired, and sweat
and road dust mixed on her forehead.
"They will try again," Daffyd predicted dourly.
Anna looked forward toward where the Prophet was riding. Hanfor had
pulled away from the Prophet and was turning his horse, probably for one
of his periodic inspections up and down the column. In his absence,
Zealor had drawn his mount closer to that of the Prophet, and bent closer
to Behlem.
The sorceress didn't like Zealor's whole body position, particularly his
drawing closer to Behlem so soon after Hanfor had ridden away. Zealor,
she felt, was Delor with more brains, and with Behlem wary of her already…
Was she getting paranoid? Had she always been paranoid, but not
recognized it?
She shook her head.
"Is something wrong, Lady Anna?" asked Daffyd.
"No, nothing," she lied, knowing there was nothing the young player could
do. "Nothing."
96
Anna shifted her weight in the saddle and readjusted her soggy hat. Then
she glanced over her shoulder. The dust raised by the horses and the
supply wagons not only reached back to Zechis, but was probably choking
the arms-men on foot, enough that some might have wished to be among
those few who had been left to garrison Loiseau and to rebuild and
garrison the Sand Pass fortifications.
"Lady Anna?"
The sorceress turned in the saddle as the wiry Alvar eased his mount into
the moving column. Spirda held back his horse, and let the dark-bearded
senior captain ride in beside Anna.
"Captain Alvar. How are you?"
After a glance ten yards farther up the road, where Behlem rode with the
overcaptains, followed by his personal guards and armsmen bearing
cream-and-blue Neserean banners, Alvar offered a guarded grin. "Right
well, lady. Unlike some, I am uninterested in fighting when it can be
avoided. And unlike others, I do not mind if someone else garners the
credit." He paused, then added, "In your case, it may not entirely be a
credit."
Anna smiled, but bristled inside momentarily before realizing that
Alvar's words were not meant exactly as spoken. "So you think destroying
the Ebrans did me little credit." She tried to warm her smile.
"For me, I would give you great credit." He shrugged, a hand brushing the
black beard. "There are those who find a victory without arms and offered
by a… sorceress… less than desirable."
"In short, they find a woman's solution degrading to their honor. Were
you assigned to support my efforts because of your 'practicality'?" asked
Anna, lowering her voice slightly.
"Overcaptain Hanfor understands," answered Alvar.
"But the Prophet and some of the others do not?"
"Like as I said; Lady Anna, the overcaptain and I, we see things much
alike."
"I like your viewpoint," the sorceress answered. "But it doesn't seem
that common here."
Alvar glanced down at his mount's mane.
Anna wondered, then spoke, "For what it's worth, I appreciate your
support. And I'd like you to know that… what I did… it wasn't easy for
me, and I did it because there didn't seem to be a better way. But," she
was the one to look down, "most of the Ebrans were people like us, I
think."
"That is what makes war hard," Alvar said, black eyes somber.
"Who's that?" asked Daffyd, gesturing toward a rider on the road ahead.
Anna turned.
"Someone is riding hard," observed Alvar, standing in his stirrups. "It's
one of our messengers. From Falcor, I would wager." He snorted. "The lady
Cyndyth has stubbed her toe. Or wants to execute the cook for
mispreparing fish."
"Lord Behlem! Lord Behlem!" The rider, apparently smeared with what
seemed to be dried mud, reined up short of the Prophet, barred from
nearing more by Zealor and Behlem's guards. The messenger's mount was
lathered and clearly almost run into the ground.
Anna peered over the crowded mass, trying to hear the messenger.
"A wall of water—a torrent—never so much—the entire Fal River—half of
Falcor is no more. The liedburg is whole, but water covered the courtyard
knee-deep. The lady Cyndyth bid me find you."
"Our men?" asked Hanfor.
"All are safe, save one squad on patrol."
Behlem turned in the saddle and motioned to Anna. She rode forward
slowly, reining up short of the Prophet, aware that the entire column was
slowing behind her.
"I am told that a great river flood has destroyed much of Falcor. What do
you know of this?" Behlem fingered his beard.
"Nothing."
"Why not?" Behlem gestured vaguely over his shoulder. "Your… work…
devastated the crops east of Pamr. Yet you know nothing about the river
torrents that have struck Falcor?" The calculated irony of his tone was
loud enough to carry to the captains around him.
"Lord Behlem," Anna said.carefully, "I spent all my power defeating the
Ebran forces. I couldn't have detected anything afterwards." She paused,
then added, "You can see that my use of the rivers only went a day's
ride."
"That is true," offered Hanfor.
Zealor's eyes slitted.
Behlem's eyes went to Anna. "Yet you did not warn me?"
"I did not know. I cannot be everywhere."
"You are a sorceress."
"You are a Prophet, Lord Behlem, yet you did not know."
Behlem stiffened in the saddle, and his eyes blazed. After a moment of
silence, he said, harshly. "Go, sorceress… I must think."
Anna eased Farinelli out to the shoulder of the road, letting the
Prophet's imperial party resume their ride, before she edged back to
Alvar, Daffyd, and Spirda.
Before they had covered another dek, a tall officer in. Neserean blue
rode along the shoulder studying faces. Then he motioned. "Lady Anna."
"Hanfor."
The overcaptain turned his horse so that it matched steps with Farinelli,
and Spirda and Alvar nodded and dropped back.
"I could not help but overhear. It took me a bit to persuade Lord Behlem
that I needed to check with my officers." He shook his head slowly.
"Never has a ruler been delivered a triumph so absolute."
"He does not seem pleased," Anna pointed out.
"Those in power, they fear power," Hanfor said. "You are powerful."
"And a woman," Anna said dryly.
"He was most wroth when you pointed out his limitations."
"I shouldn't have, but he's trying to devalue me every chance he gets."
"Half his guards snickered. While your words were true…" Hanfor shrugged,
concern mirrored on the weathered countenance.
"I know." Again… more politics. Those in power wanted to fault her for
not saving them from one disaster when she'd been busy doing what they
wanted somewhere else—like department chairs who wanted her to perform
and teach full loads and then complained that she hadn't published enough
or warned them that some instrumental professor was dissatisfied and had
left with no notice—as if she had anything to do with it.
Hanfor gave a quick smile and eased his mount out of the column, heading
rearward.
At least, Anna reflected, a few people respected her. There were always a
few, but they never seemed well-placed enough, or powerful enough, to
save her from her own straightforwardness.
Farinelli whuffed, and she patted his shoulder. "Easy there, big fellow.
Too bad more men don't have your soul."
She could sense Daffyd raising his eyebrows, but she didn't care, not at
the moment.
97
Wei, Nordwei
Did you personally scry what she did to the dark ones?" Ashtaar glances
toward the dark agate shape on the wood surface before her, but her hands
remain on table, fingers steepled.
"She buried most of Eladdrin's forces in liquid mud, and then she cast a
flood over the rest. Perhaps two-score survived." Gretslen shudders. "The
woman is a monster."
"Do you think she must be killed, then?" The spymistress winces ever so
slightly at the barrage of hammers and metal-working that the wind
carries up from the harbor, where the rebuilding continues.
"Is there any question, honored Ashtaar? Can we allow that sort of
twisting of Erde's chords?"
A frown momentarily flickers across the dark-haired woman's face,
followed by a bland smile.
"You think we can?" asks the blonde.
"You question whether we should allow her that power and, yet, by
suggesting that we curtail her use of it—does that not suggest equal
arrogance on our part?" The spy-mistress's fingers reach out for the
black agate oval.
"We seek but harmony…"
"For our tune," answers Ashtaar. "Let me ask you a question, Gretslen.
What happens if we try—and fail?" She smiles brittlely. "And a second
question. How comfortable will the Prophet be with such power at his
elbow?''
"Neither he nor his consort will be happy… if they survive."
"Do we care?"
"But she is a monster, and you do not care. I see now the wisdom of the
strictures. How could anyone bury armsmen in liquid mud?"
"You are young, and still innocent in some ways. Most died more quickly
than from blade wounds. Is it more glorious to kill a man with a blade?
Why? Is he any less dead?"
Gretslen's eyes harden, but she does not speak.
"No," Ashtaar continues. "Let others draw her wrath, and they will. The
Evult has already visited his devastation upon Elhi and Falcor, and he is
taking steps to rebuild."
"The floods? The Evult? Kendr said nothing."
"I bid her keep silent. When he saw the destruction of his armies, he
released all the heat under the Ostfels west of Vult, and caused the
storms to gather."
"Monsters to the south of us, wherever we look," mutters the blond.
"Each of them would say something similar about those to the north of
them," notes Ashtaar. "Your job is to scry, and to report. To communicate
and to follow orders."
"Yes, Ashtaar."
"You do not have to face the Council. Be thankful you don't." Ashtaar
smiles self-deprecatingly. "And try to remember this conversation before
you have to."
Gretslen glances at the polished floor.
"Now… send word to your 'influence' in Falcor that the dark ones killed
the travel sorceress."
"But…"
"Who else knows the killers were ours? Let the Evult take the blame. Oh,
and make sure that your friend knows about the massacre of Synek—and that
the tale is told to the sorceress."
"That was five years ago," observes the blond.
"Do as I say. She feels as well as thinks. We must use that."
98
Not more than a dek to the river," Spirda observed. "Don't see the old
toll booth," Daffyd added from where he rode near the right shoulder.
"Some of the trees are down."
From where she rode, almost directly behind the Prophet's guard, Anna
couldn't see all that much directly ahead, although she recalled that the
east bank was slightly lower than the west, at least where the bridge was.
Before long, the vanguard slowed, and Anna peered through the heads and
banners before her, using the advantage of Farinelli's height. She tried
not to gape. The stone bridge across the Falche was no more. Only the
foundation piers remained, and those massive blocks had been twisted in
their bases. The river bed was nearly empty, an expanse of mud where,
with the endless sun and heat, the stench of dead animals, vegetation—and
people—was already beginning to rise.
Anna swallowed, hard, looking across the devastation, as die lead lancers
picked their way down through a trail already packed through the mud.
Farinelli carried her after the Prophet and his guards, the gelding
setting his feet almost delicately, if firmly.
Why? What had caused such a flood? It couldn't have been her sorcery, not
unless there were links she didn't understand. The effects of her
muddling with groundwater and whatever had died out long before Zechis.
From her studies of the Defalk maps, the Fal River rose in the northeast,
in the Ostfels between Ebran and Defalk, far from the Chean's headwaters.
Had the legendary Evult raised the flood somehow in retaliation for her
destruction of the Ebran army? Did that mean even more destruction and
bloodshed? How much, and how soon? She tried not to shiver, despite the
late afternoon heat.
In the square beyond where the bridge had been, the pedestal' stood
without its statue. Around the buildings on each side of the two streets
closest to the river—of the five branching off the square—were piled
branches and timbers and barrel staves and other debris, but a narrow way
had been forced through the river road barricade.
As she passed into the shadows where the dampness of mud and worse
lingered, Anna looked to the left side of the street, where a barefoot
woman in soiled trousers rolled up to the knees and a mud-smeared tunic
dumped a basket of muddy water into the street where the open sewer had
once been.
Her dark eyes flicked toward the slow-moving column.
"… western bastards… your fault…"
Only a comparative handful of people toiled in the mud. As she rode past
the cross-street beyond the trading quarter, Anna looked westward. The
slight grade was enough that the buildings more than a few hundred yards
west appeared untouched.
"Just in the river plain," she murmured to herself.
The liedburg, its eastern side buttressed by its rocky promontory, sat
above a sea of cracked and drying mud that filled the depression between
it and the city. The walls showed watermarks less than a yard high beside
the portcullis gate. Armsmen struggled to brush off the mud from the
collapsed tents and re-erect them on the flat. That indicated to Anna
that the liedburg had only been touched by backwaters or something like
them.
Menares stood just inside the gate, in soiled trousers, supervising the
squads of armsmen who continued to carry out baskets of mud from the
courtyard.
The column lurched to a halt as Behlem stopped and spoke to the
counselor. Anna strained to hear the interchange.
"Lady Cyndyth suggested I was in charge, and that I had best be out
here." The heavy-set older man shrugged. "It was easier."
"And quieter," muttered Alvar from his mount beside Anna.
She turned. Alvar smiled blandly, as if he had said nothing.
"What does Cyndyth look like?" Anna asked.
"I have not seen her at close quarters, lady, but she has raven hair, and
her lips are very red, and she is slender." Alvar's words were low, and
he glanced nervously toward Behlem and the courtyard beyond.
The sorceress was beginning to dislike Cyndyth, and she had never met the
woman.
After reining up when the Prophet's party entered the stables and blocked
the doorways, she eased Farinelli toward the western wall enough to get
into the shadow. Then she glanced sideways toward Daffyd. The player
shrugged expansively and rolled his eyes.
Not too much later, when Behlem had dismounted and paraded into the hall,
followed by Menares, neither man looking in her direction, Farinelli
carried Anna to the stables. She was glad the Prophet hadn't lingered,
and from Alvar's sigh as the sandy-haired ruler had departed, she
gathered she wasn't the only one.
Anna dismounted by the doors, led the gelding into the stable, and
half-smiled. The stable floors had already been cleaned and fresh straw
laid. Tirsik fussed with two stable boys in a corner.
"If it be taking a warren to muck out the corner stalls, then be taking a
warren—" The wiry stable-master glanced toward Anna as she stopped with
Farinelli, trying to stretch out the stiffness in her legs and thighs.
"How is your beast,
Lady Anna?" Tirsik's eyes remained on the sorceress.
"He's in better shape than I am." Anna laughed, genuinely pleased to see
Tirsik.
"His stall is clean. I made sure it was one of the first. After those for
the Prophet, of course," the stablemaster added as Spirda and Daffyd
appeared behind Anna with their mounts.
"Of course," said Spirda flatly.
Anna looked sideways at Tirsik as Spirda led his mount toward the rear of
the stable.
"Poor lad," said Tirsik. " 'Tis hard to see your idols tarnished. I will
wager he will recover."
A strange look passed across Daffyd's face, and Anna wanted to nod.
"You, too, Daffyd?" she asked softly. "Have I tarnished your images of
what sorcery and sorceresses are all about?"
"No… no."
"I think that probably means 'yes.' I'm sorry."
"I had best get her stalled," Daffyd temporized. "Others are waiting." He
led the mare away.
"I was not hinting of you with Spirda," pointed out Tirsik.
"I know," Anna said as she led Farinelli toward his stall and as the
stablemaster walked with her. "But the same is true of Daffyd. He created
this image of the perfect beautiful sorceress—and I'm not. I don't fit
his woman image or his mother image, and he's upset and doesn't know
why." As she spoke, Anna wondered why she did, except that she had to
tell someone, and Tirsik would tell no one. That she could feel.
"Aye. You understand. Unlike some."
"Stablemaster!" came a shout from the doors.
"Take care of yourself and that beast." Tirsik nodded and walked quickly
back toward the front of the stable.
Anna unsaddled Farinelli, and carefully set the awkward bag containing
the green recital dress over the stall wall, along with the saddle-bags.
The lutar case went above the manger. Then she forced herself to take the
time to groom Farinelli thoroughly.
Once the gelding was as clean as she could get him, she lifted her gear,
throwing the saddlebags over one shoulder, the wrapped gown over the
other, and carrying the lutar case in her right hand. She struggled
through the heavy horse traffic in the courtyard.
"… stop pushing, Girsto!"
"… easy with that beast…"
"… way for the sorceress! Give way for the sorceress…"
That might have been Fhurgen, but Anna couldn't see. Whoever it was, she
was grateful as she slipped through the double column and made her way
along the wall to the north tower of the hall.
"Lady Anna… you… returned." Skent hopped off the stool and looked at the
stones of the tower floor as Anna stepped inside the lower entry. "Oh…
might I help you?"
"Yes. The saddlebags." She kept the lutar and the gown bag.
Her room was hot—like everything else in Defalk, but not so hot as when
she had left. Perhaps fall was coming. And unlike the courtyard, the room
didn't smell muddy— just dusty. Anna set the lutar on the narrow bed and
glanced around, frowning after a moment. Although she couldn't say why,
the room felt different, as if things were not quite where she had left
them, as though everything had been examined and then replaced, not quite
perfectly.
She sighed. That somehow figured, and she couldn't do much about it
immediately. The sorceress turned to the page. "Set them on the floor
there. Can you get me some water—lots of it?''
"Ah… the flood, the wells are bad," Skent said.
"I don't care if it's dirty. Just not too muddy—and plenty. All right?"
"Yes, Lady Anna."
"How have things been?" she asked.
"Quiet, mostly, except in the main hall."
"The Lady Cyndyth?" guessed Anna.
"She brought her own pages. They sent Resor here to the north tower. The
others are cleaning a lot, like sculls. It be better here, I think."
Skent looked down.
"Cataryzna?"
"She be fine, I think."
"I take it you haven't had much chance to see her?"
"Not since you left." Skent shifted his weight from one foot to the
other. "Best I get your water, Lady Anna."
"All right." Something was bothering the youth—that was clear—but he
wasn't ready to say.
After Skent departed, Anna first hung out the recital gown, then looked
through things. The writing paper, and some spells were arranged under
the stone paperweight more neatly than she had left them, but all seemed
to be there. Her gowns were hung off-center. The pallet on the bed had
been shifted, not that she'd hidden anything there, but someone had
checked.
Was she getting paranoid?
Thunk!
"Lady Anna, I got two buckets." As he stepped into her room, his eyes
went to the green gown hanging from the wall pegs. "Oh, that be
beautiful!" Skent struggled in with two large buckets of water, which he
set on the stone floor beside the wash table. "These be as clean as I
could get. And I have to go because Virkan says all the pages have to get
the big dining hall ready."
"Thank you." Anna paused. "Ready for what?"
"There's a big dinner planned for the night after tomorrow night. Virkan
said it was a victory dinner." Skent brushed his longish dark-hair back
off his forehead. "Cens told me that you destroyed the Ebrans all alone."
The page lowered his voice. "Is that so?"
"I had some help from Daffyd—and Spirda, and captain Alvar, and
overcaptain Hanfor," Anna said.
"But you did most of it?"
The sorceress nodded reluctantly.
"I don't understand—" Skent stopped, almost embarrassed.
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing, lady. I guess I do." Skent glanced at the floor. "I needs
must be going."
"You mean why Lord Behlem gets the victory dinner?" Anna laughed. "Isn't
that always the way it goes?"
"Lord Barjim was fairer." Skent's eyes do not meet Anna's.
"He probably was. He seemed straightforward. I liked Lady Alasia, too."
"She kept Jimbob trued to the stone." Skent's eyes drifted toward the
door, and he added, "I will be late."
"Go ahead. I won't tell anyone you told me about the dinner. It was
supposed to be a secret, wasn't it?"
"You… thank you." Skent flashed a grin of relief and edged toward the
door.
"Go."
So she wasn't supposed to know about the dinner. What else wasn't she
supposed to know?
After unpacking the saddlebags and stacking them in the corner—the tower
room lacked closets, the closest thing being the wall pegs and hangers
that were sufficient only for her two gowns—Anna looked at her smudged
visage in the wall mirror. Lord, she was a mess.
Thunk!
Now what? Anna resignedly walked to the door and opened it. "Lady Essan…"
"Might an old woman trouble a young sorceress for a moment?"
Anna had trouble not grinning, and stood aside as Essan swept into the
room wearing her purple trousers and a light purple shirt. Anna shut the
door and turned.
"You have obviously been undertaking items of a less than lady-like
nature." There was a twinkle in Essan's eyes. "Otherwise, the
liedburg—the staff, I mean—for proper people would not stoop to such
gossip—would not be buzzing so about the blonde sorceress. To think that
your burying all those awful Ebrans in mud deprived the Prophet of a
glorious victory, and that you did not fall to your knees and beg
forgiveness. Well," mock-huffed Essan, "I am but an old woman, but you
mark my words, there will be trouble, not that anyone listens to an old
has-been who rattles around the distant north tower and only listens to
what the pages and maids say." Essan settled herself into one of the
chairs.
"People will talk," Anna agreed, sitting down across from the older woman.
"And Nelmor, Gatrune must have told you about him, he was kind enough to
send his boy Tiersen as a messenger. You know, Nelmor's daughter Ytrude,
she is the water's own image of Gatrune. Tiersen, I was talking of him,
he said that his father—that's Nelmor, and he has holdings at Dubaria—why
Nelmor said that he was a dutiful lord and pledged to the Prophet, seeing
as how Lord Behlem held the liedstadt. Tiersen told me his sire hoped
someday that Defalk could be proud again, and, imagine this, that he
would even rather see a woman or a stranger who had laid his life on the
sword's sharp edge for Defalk than one who claimed his power by lineage
or by consortship." Essan shook her head. "Imagine that, the widow of
Lord Donjim being told such. And a widow who had pledged to Lord Barjim."
"Imagine that," echoed Anna, her mouth dry.
"There be others that feel that way, too. Strange times, Lady Anna, these
be most strange times." The older woman's eyes grinned behind the somber
facade. "Then, too, they have been inspecting the towers. Some folks,
servitors of the Lady Cyndyth, I would imagine, peered through every
room, like as not so she can reorganize it all. Changes everywhere. They
even took my poor Garreth, not even telling me for what, just that the
Lady Cyndyth needed her, and I have not seen her since." Essan's eyes
were cold, but she continued. "I would be hoping that they would not turn
out an old lady, or worse, but who have I to turn to? I came down the
stairs soon as I heard you are returned, and I prattle on, and you have
not even had a chance to prepare yourself for all that will come with the
victory."
Anna wanted to wince at the slight hardening in Essan's last words, but
she only nodded. Clearly, these walls had ears, or the lady thought they
did, as did Skent. "I've enjoyed your company, and your insights from the
beginning, Lady Essan, even if I am a stranger and a woman. I do feel for
the land, and it was hard for me when I saw the destruction from the
river." She bowed her head momentarily. "I had not thought… about all
that has befallen you, the widow of a great lord, and I feel blessed that
you have shared your thoughts with me." How could she get across what she
was trying to say without giving it totally away?
"I must leave you to… whatever… whatever sorceresses do." Lady Essan
rose, her face blank, and Anna knew she had to say more, somehow, even as
she stood.
"My children, you know, are far, far away," Anna began, "but I
understand, and perhaps I can act as your daughter, as you would have her
act now." Anna smiled. "But you'll have to keep acting like a mother.
There's too much I don't know, and even adopted daughters need guidance,
especially now. I hope I can live up to Nelmor's expectations. I'll
certainly try."
The light in Essan's eyes told Anna that she had been understood, even
before Essan stopped by the door. "You be sure that I be no old woman,
badgering and bothering you?"
"If you did not talk to me, how would I learn about Defalk? Or the
liedburg?"
"Much you have to do, sorceress-girl. Much, but don't you worry. I'll be
back, and it is good to see you in health. See that you stay that way. I
will tell you that though you were mine." Essan nodded affirmatively and
opened the door. "Now get that pretty face clean." Her eyes went to the
recital gown. "And wear that gown when you want all eyes on you."
"I hope so," Anna answered ambiguously.
After she watched the older woman climb up the stairs, firmly but slowly,
Anna closed the door.
She needed to clean up—quickly—and then to develop and cast some sort of
protection spell—or something. And that was just the beginning. The Lady
Essan had made it clear—very clear.
One thing was very clear. She was running out of time. She had to do
something—either leave or fight, and she really wasn't a fighter.
Anna laughed. She hadn't been a fighter, but something about Erde had
changed her from being a survivor to a fighter. Was it that the worst had
already been done to her children? That her actions couldn't be used
against them?
So be it. She would fight Behlem. But in her own way and on her own terms.
99
Falcor, Defalk
You could not keep that uniformed fop Nubara…" Behlem breaks off and
paces across the corner of the room, brushing away a spider web that has
tangled in his reddish-blond beard. He pauses by the window, pushing the
shutters wide. "Double moons, to boot."
"How would you have me do that?" asks Menares, ignoring the Prophet's
comments about the ominous moons. "You wish to offend the Liedfuhr?"
"You don't consider the doubled moons a problem?"
"The moons are not in our control, Lord Behlem." Menares pauses, then
adds deliberately, "I was… surprised to see the sorceress."
"What would you have me do? My own officers, except Zealor, worship the
bitch. She put herself out in front of the army, almost got killed by
some lancers, and destroyed dissonance-near the entire Ebran force. And
you want me to have her executed, if I could? For what? I should have let
her have that sorcerer's hall and pensioned her off, but no, I had to
listen to your advice about all Defalk rising with her." The Prophet
turns from the window and steps toward the table. "What on Erde was I
thinking about?"
"Replacing one danger with a greater one," murmurs the white-haired
counselor.
"I am supposed to believe that?" Behlem ignores the nearly-empty goblet
and lifts the bottle to his lips.
"You are the Prophet. You can do as you wish." Menares shrugs. "You will
anyway, once you have heard me."
"Go ahead."
"You have noted how respected she is, and how few she knows. Some already
love her, except that they do not love her, but her image. Who respects
and loves the Evult? Yet none know him, just his image. Eladdrin was the
only Ebran respected, and the sorceress has vanquished him. If you left
her in Mencha, even if she helped you again, even if she defeated all of
Ebra and laid it at your feet, a season, a year, from now who would be
respected? You—or her?"
"Why are matters so complex?"
"Because you are a ruler," replies Menares. "You know that. Things are
simple for a fanner or a peasant."
"Fine. What do I do now?"
"Let events take their course."
Behlem's eyes flicker to the door at the side of the room. "Already?"
"Cyndyth saw Lady Anna this afternoon, but I believe her mind was made up
already."
The Prophet's tongue licks his lips. "And if her schemes fail?"
"How can you lose? You had no part in it, and there never is anything to
link them to her."
"She will inform Konsstin that it is once again my fault, and his
assistance will halt," Behlem points out.
"Only for a time. He cannot afford to stop aiding you, not when he wishes
you to take the brunt of the effort in destroying the Evult and weakening
Nordwei."
"You don't have to live with her. I had thought by undertaking this
campaign… perhaps get some peace, some affection without politics and
more politics."
"She knows that. Why else would she be here?" Men-ares toys with his
goblet but does not lift it.
"Enough. She is waiting, and she will need her say." Behlem shakes his
head. "Enough."
Behlem walks to the side door without looking back.
Menares smiles sadly and looks at his own untouched goblet. Then he
stands.
100
Anna looked out her window, craning her neck. She smiled. Clearsong and
Darksong—the twin moons— were close together, one silvered gold, one dark
silvered red. Two moons—the idea still fascinated her, even while it
reminded her that Erde was far different from earth.
Voices rumbled from the walls, carried in the night stillness.
"… dissonant moon near the other… an omen of bad things…" . "Bah… happens
every year or so…"
"… tell you, that was when they killed Mikell…"
"… died in his sleep…"
"… tell you…"
The sorceress yawned. She felt paranoid, as though she were using sorcery
for every little thing. She'd even sung a spell over the rather dry and
boring beef pie Skent had brought her for dinner. She could have sought
out the players and eaten with them, she supposed, but that sent the
wrong signal, somehow.
Omens, deaths, what else? She stiffened, turning from iflfi the window
toward the sole flickering candle in its mantle on the table.
Garreth! What had Essan meant about Garreth? She'd been so absorbed in
trying to read through the words and frame the right kind of response,
and then to hurry and come up with spells for what lay ahead that her
concerns about the girl had been submerged.
For a moment, she thought, then mentally figured the words, before she
faced the mirror and lifted the lutar.
She cleared her throat and sang.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall
show me Garreth from this hall,
where she is or last did lie
if she live or if she die."
The mists swirled across the mirror, then revealed a patch of bare earth
covered with weeds flattened by the river. Anna thought the space might
be the land sloping to the river to the southeast of the hall, but the
location really didn't matter.
Her eyes burned, and her jaw clenched for a moment. Why hadn't she paid
attention sooner? Except… it wouldn't have mattered.
She turned from the newer mirror, with its painted green frame, laid the
lutar on the bed, and walked to the window. The light wind, cooler now
than when she had left Falcor, ruffled her hair, hair that had more
natural curl than it had ever had before. Another image of Brill's?
She shook her head, thinking again that she had the gift of youth because
she had gone to Brill's side when he died—she and not Liende, and from
that much else had flowed. And she was here in Falcor because two
innocents—Daffyd and Jenny—had tried the impossible. If ever there had
been a case of fools rushing in where angels feared to tread… but they
had, and Jenny was dead, and Daffyd in the middle of intrigue that made
Brill an angel by comparison.
Anna pulled the handkerchief from her belt and blew her nose. She
sniffled too much when she was upset. Why had they killed Garreth?
Because the poor girl was associated with both Anna and Lady Essan?
Because of what she might know?
Garreth had been seated there, and drawn Anna on a stool, even doing the
background so that Elizabetta would know something about where Anna was.
And now Garreth, who had wanted little except to be safe, was dead.
Anna glanced to the door where the bolt was drawn. It seemed to fade in
and out in the flickering light from the candle.
What else did Anna need to worry about? Her eyes went to the door, and
she carried the candle as she crossed the floor.
Anna studied the sliding bolt on the door, closely, first inside, then
outside. She nodded. Maybe she was paranoid, but there were two small
holes in the wood on the outside, and a thin slit between them, just
enough that something slender could open the bolted door from outside
silently.
That needed to be remedied, but she needed to redesign the bolt first.
Brill had said that inanimate materials were easier.
Before long, she had a drawing of a double drop bolt— strong enough that
it would take several men and a battering ram some time to break down the
door. She hoped that would be all she needed.
Next came the first spell.
She grinned as she completed the last words,
"… iron hard and fixed in place!"
As she set the lutar on the bed, her eyes straying to the window and the
almost locked moons, she had to wonder. Should she just leave? Why was
she tempting fate to stay in a hall where the walls had ears and where
who knew how many souls plotted against her?
Because she would be on the run… and because… be-cause she was tired of
running. What was the point of youth and a new world if she just repeated
the old?
Anna took a deep breath and reached for another piece of paper. Not
running was getting complicated, and her head was beginning to ache again.
Before too long, she wrote out another set of simple words, based on the
fire spell, then worked on memorizing them, not that they were much
different, but she might well need them in a hurry.
Then she laid the striker by the candle, the words there as well, with
the lutar on top of its case and waiting.
She hoped she needed none of them, and feared she would.
She did not sleep, not at first, not with her thoughts of poor Garreth,
possibly tortured, and her own imagination about shadowy figures creeping
up the steps and pounding down the door. In time, she dropped into the
darkness.
Clang! Clang!
The reverberations of the hammers, or whatever they were, woke her out of
a nightmare where she kept riding, and riding, and found nowhere to rest.
Her whole body was drenched in sweat, and now… now someone was trying to
break into her room.
Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the striker.
Clang!
"… get on with it…"
"… boys'll keep it clear long enough… bitch… center it, frig it!"
As the candle flamed, she lifted the lutar, and let her fingers caress
the strings, clearing her throat, and hoping, just hoping she could make
trembling hands, and trembling voice work.
Clang!
The first note told her she wasn't lucky. Her throat was clogged with
mucus, and she coughed it clear.
Clang! The door shivered.
Anna ran through a quick vocalise, stopping halfway through to cough up
more junk. Shit! Shit! Shit! What a time for an allergy attack!
"What was that?'' muttered the voice beyond the door.
After another set of coughs, she sang, chording the simple structure to
match her spell.
"Attackers there, attackers strong,
turn to ashes with this song.
Be you right or be you wrong,
death take you all along."
"Aeiii!…"
The tools dropped on the stones of the landing. The screams did not last
long, but Anna only half-dozed the rest of the night, the candle burning,
the lutar at hand.
The tower remained silent, eerily silent, as though abandoned, and Anna
dozed, and woke, and dozed.
101
Falcor, Defalk
T'he raven-haired woman shakes Behlem's shoulder.
"Wha…" He blinks and tries to open his eyes, although the sun has barely
cleared the horizon, and the room is dim, its shutters closed tightly.
"We need to talk, dear consort and Prophet." She wears a silk robe of
dark bloodred, tucked in to show a narrow waist and more than ample
breasts.
"At this glass?" he groans, dropping his head .back on the sheets.
"What I do not understand, Behlem," says the raven-haired woman, almost
languidly, as she perches on the foot of the bed that had once belonged
to the lords of Defalk, "is why you always think you can deceive me when
you go off and leave me."
"Deceive you?" He struggles up into a sitting position. "What on Erde are
you babbling about. I told you everything."
"In the middle of the night, some… intruders… entered the north tower.
They were apparently bent on some mischief with your dear sorceress."
Behlem rubs his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"There were screams, I am told, but they were not from the sorceress. I
was led to believe that she was unprotected." Cyndyth smiles. "After last
night, I almost believed you, until this morning."
"You used your father's… resources, and they failed?" Behlem laughs. "The
resources of the great Konsstin failed?"
"You would be wise to remember, consort dear, that he is paying for the
arms and supplies for this expedition." Cyndyth shifts position, and her
eyes smolder. "In the interests of everyone's safely, I inspected many of
the lock-bolts throughout the liedburg, rustic place that it is. The
sorceress's was singularly inadequate. "Yet…" Cyndyth shrugs. "So I would
like to know why you warned her."
Behlem shakes his head, almost sadly. "I did not. I would wish I had,
just to see you frustrated, dear plotting consort, but had I, your tame
seers would know already."
"You slept with her."
"I would rather sleep with a grass-snake." The Prophet grins momentarily.
"As pretty as she is? Have you lost all manhood?"
"Cyndyth, I have no idea what happened to your assassins, but I saw what
she did to Delor, as I am certain Menares informed you. I had no desire
to end up as he did." Behlem shrugs and sits up farther in the bed.
"Since you would be displeased at the results and since I would also, I
did not think that you would mind."
"Good. Then you will not mind our devising a way to remove her?"
Behlem holds up a hand. "Only one stipulation. That her removal be
quietly handled —after the victory dinner. Her demise before it would not
set well with many of the captains and their troops. She must appear… low
on the table, below all the overcaptains and senior captains. And I will
delicately suggest that her victory, while welcome, created significant
additional problems that are entirely her fault."
"You worry about peasants?"
"They have more weapons than we do, Cyndyth, and even the densest of them
will suspect us—especially after this botch of yours."
"Mine? I had nothing to do with it."
"Yours. Now go get something else to chew on and let me get dressed and
talk to Menares. We will work out something quiet—perhaps in Mencha. I
will give her the sorcerer's hall, as compensation, despite her failings."
"You what?"
"Then she will have to travel there. The dark ones will be waiting, to
avenge their losses. Something like that. Now… go find someone else to
annoy." Behlem staggers to his feet.
Cyndyth smiles as she sways toward the door.
102
Lady Anna?"
"Yes?" the sorceress answered without unbolting the door. Despite washing
up, eating, and dressing, she still felt tired.
"It's Menares. Might I come in?"
"You and who else?"
"There is no one else here." A pause followed. "Do you think anyone else
would dare?"
After using the mirror spell to verify that Menares was indeed alone, and
feeling untrustworthy about it, Anna opened the door.
Menares stepped in slowly, glancing around. He licked his lips.
"I won't incinerate you, Menares," Anna promised, closing and bolting the
door behind the counselor.
"I would… appreciate that."
"I've never wanted to kill anyone here," she added. "That's why it's so
hard to understand why so many people want to kill me."
"Lady Anna… the Prophet is distressed." After another sweep of the room,
his eyes halting on the uncovered lutar on the bed, the counselor settled
into one of the chairs.
"Menares, I'm distressed. Do you think I enjoy having people trying to
break into my room in the middle of the night?" Anna paused, then sat on
the bed beside her instrument. "Do you know who they were?"
"No, Lady Anna. No one is missing from the Prophet's retinue." Menares'
eyes flickered, and Anna knew a lie would follow. "It could have been the
dark ones. At Synek, when they came, the streets were filled with bodies
and they hacked to death those who would not follow."
"These didn't feel like dark ones," Anna said.
"There is no way to tell. They had blades and daggers and coins in their
purses. Everything else…" The counselor shrugged.
"And some sort of hammer and chisel?" prodded Anna.
"Ah… how did you know?"
"When someone takes a hammer to an iron hinge, it is loud." Anna smiled.
"I also found it interesting that no one came to investigate until Skent
brought my breakfast tray and found the… remains. Was he supposed to find
mine?''
"Lady Anna, I swear I had nothing to do with this." The white-haired
counselor licked his lips. "And the Prophet is most unhappy about
this…occurrence."
Anna almost nodded. She believed most of his statements. There had been a
massacre in Synek, and Menares had known, or suspected, someone was out
to assassinate her, but had had nothing to do with it, and the Prophet
wanted her out of the way, but more subtly, and probably after his
victory dinner.
Lord, how many people wanted her dead?
"Can't you find out who they were?" she asked.
"Lady Anna," the white-haired counselor said with a shrug, "you did not
leave much except their leathers and their weapons. And their tools."
"I'm sure they would have left little of me, Menares." Anna smiled
coldly. "What do you want?"
"To reassure you, and to offer a solution mutually agreeable to you… and
everyone, I hope."
Anna didn't like the term "solution," because it meant she was a problem,
and she'd already had enough experience with being a problem. Dieshr had
been a wonderful Music Chair, forever offering "solutions"—each one of
which either had or would have isolated Anna more, like suggesting that
Anna give up her non-credit performance classes because she was "working
too hard." That would have left her students unprepared for their
performances in recitals, and in turn, that would have allowed Dieshr to
fault officially their preparation by Anna.
"Lady Anna?" asked Menares.
"Sorry. I was thinking. Your solution?"
"It is the Prophet's solution. He has been thinking and reconsidering the
situation as well. He is granting you the estates and hall of the late
Lord Brill, in recognition and recompense for your services."
Anna managed to keep her jaw in place. Just like that? After earlier
insisting that they would be his? "That's most gracious," she said
slowly. "I had understood that he would retain them.''
Menares looked toward the door and lowered his voice. "The Prophet and
his consort both agree that you should be rewarded and that you should
take possession soon after the victory celebration. In fact, he and the
Lady Cyndyth would like to meet with you in the hall slightly before the
dinner to convey his appreciation and respect."
Anna was beginning to see all the elements of the "solution." She allowed
herself a deep breath, trying to consider how to respond. Clearly, the
Lady Cyndyth had it in for Anna, and the assassins of the night before
had probably been her doing, and that had upset Behlem, who couldn't
afford to have anything happen to Anna just yet. Behlem liked things
smoothly and quietly done, at least in public, and he just avoided Anna
when he feared matters would not be smooth.
"Lady Anna?" asked Menares nervously.
"I'm sorry," Anna lied. "Loiseau is such… such a… gesture. It's hard to
believe." And things too good to believe usually were.
"Lady Anna, might I be frank?" The counselor's eyes flicked around the
room. "You have done much for the Prophet. And you are beautiful. And
powerful. Mencha is near the border, and you would doubtless use your
abilities to protect that border. The lady Cyndyth is most devoted to her
consort, and would also wish that he not be any more… committed to
spending time away from Falcor—or preferably Esaria—than absolutely
necessary." The white-haired man offered a smile. "So you see…"
"I think so. I can't put it quite so delicately. Cyndyth would prefer my
absence and Lord Behlem's presence, and he would like a strong first-line
defense against any future Ebran attacks on the borders of his new
expanded lands. He can reward me and please her and strengthen his
position, all at once."
"Most precisely. Now… I would appreciate your discretion until the
dinner, for there are those among the overcaptains…" Menares shrugged,
and his eyes flickered. "You are a woman, if a sorceress." He heaved
himself out of the chair.
"I understand." And she did, hopefully far more than Menares understood
that she did. She walked with him to the door, opening it. While
treachery was still theoretically possible, she doubted that anything
would happen to her, not until Behlem could get her out of Falcor, or
until more time passed.
"Thank you, Lady Anna." Menares bobbed his head up and down. "Thank you."
"Thank you, Menares. I appreciate all the efforts you have made to
resolve what could have been a difficult situation." Anna lied with yet
another smile, hoping it didn't seem too false.
After she dropped the bolt in place, she walked to her chair and sat
down, trying to figure out the situation. If she'd been offered Loiseau
while she was in Mencha, she probably would have taken it and never
thought otherwise. But this latest turn of events… while she couldn't say
why, she knew it was all a ploy to put her on ice, or worse. Was she
being unreasonable? Menares' explanation made sense; it made a lot of
sense, and she might have done the same thing had she been in Behlem's
position. But Behlem was the type not to give up much of anything, and
though she had never met Cyndyth, Garreth's death told her all she needed
to know.
"Aren't you being unfair?" she asked herself.
Besides, even if Behlem's offer were honest, that meant she'd end up
killing more and more Ebrans—or someone— while he got the credit and
Cyndyth pulled her cruelties on more and more innocents. She'd be the
butcher of Mencha, and people like Virkan would become more and more
common.
She had a chance—a slim one—to make a difference.
"You also have a chance to get thoroughly killed," she whispered under
her breath. The sorceress shook her head. One way or another, she would
die if she accepted Behlem's "offer." She felt that coldness down to the
pit of her stomach, a coldness that was more solid than any form of
"proof."
She laughed nervously. Anna Mayme Thompson, born off the holler in
Cumberland, Kentucky, and here she was, at the center of a mess that
involved half a continent in a world she'd never dreamed existed. Even
Avery wouldn't have believed it. He would have wanted proof. Damn proof!
She looked at the bellpull, then yanked it and waited.
Birke was the page who responded.
Anna met him on the landing. "Birke? Have you seen Garreth?"
"No, Lady Anna." Birke's eyes slipped to the floor.
Cold inside, Anna said, "If you do, would you tell her I'd like to see
her."
"They said she's with the Lady Cyndyth, and I'm not allowed up there,
Lady Anna."
"If you do…" Anna nodded in a perfunctory fashion.
"Yes, Lady Anna."
"That's all. Thank you."
Birke went downstairs slowly, his eyes drifting back to the landing.
That might confuse someone… maybe.
Next came Hanfor.
She took a deep slow breath, then straightened, and opened the tower
door. After crossing a courtyard crowded with armsmen cleaning away mud,
she found the tall senior overcaptain in the same small room where she
had gone before.
"Lady Anna. I must say I did not expect you." The overcaptain rose from
the stool. A map was spread on the small table, and Anna could hear
horses and men through the open window.
"Did you hear about last night?" Anna dropped onto one of the stools.
"Last night?" Hanfor's face showed total confusion.
"Good, I'm glad you didn't. Last night some assassins attempted to enter
my chamber. I had noted that the door bolt had been weakened, and I
repaired it before I went to sleep. They attempted to use a sledge and
chisels to snap off the hinges."
"The hinges were outside?"
"At one time, long ago, I suspect that the room was used for other
purposes. It is not large."
"I forgot. The north tower has those marks, but they have removed the
bars from the windows." Hanfor nodded. "I take it that you were
successful in routing them?"
"I turned them into a pile of ashes. Now, the Prophet is somewhat
distressed, so distressed that he has offered me lands. Through his
counselor."
"A good distance from here, I would wager?"
It was Anna's turn to nod. How far could she go? She frowned. "As a
matter of fact, you know the lands."
Hanfor's eyebrows rose. "You worry about such a gift horse?"
"The idea had occurred to me," Anna admitted.
"I do not know what to say, Lady Anna." The overcaptain's hand touched
his graying beard, then scratched the back of his head. The weathered
brows knit together for a moment. "You saved many of my men, even me. But
I must tell you frankly that I do not know the cause of this mischief,
nor do I believe that the Prophet would have anything to do with such an
event at this time."
"Rumor has it that his consort is jealous of any woman who is the
slightest bit attractive."
"I could not deny such a rumor," mused Hanfor, offering a quick grin that
vanished.
Anna forced herself to relax. "What do you like about what you do,
Hanfor? Or do you like it at all?"
Again, the overcaptain looked startled. "I am sorry?"
"What you do—why do you like it?"
"At times, I do not. I am the third son, with no lands and no ear for
music, though my sire was sure to see that I knew my letters. That
helps." He shrugged. "Except with weapons, my hands are clumsy, and I am
not terribly clever. I understand that many men have these problems, or
ones like them, and I found I can lead them." Hanfor's eyes narrowed.
"Why ask you?"
"I'm a stranger. I'm faced with the problem of trying to sort out what's
right. You must know that it was hard to kill the Ebrans."
"Alvar said you were prostrate for more than a day."
"It was hard to decide to do it, too," Anna mused. "If I didn't kill
them, then I'd die, and so would you and a lot of men. If I hadn't
slaughtered the last thousand, who were helpless, then Eladdrin would
have escaped. Was that right?"
"Hmmmm." Hanfor scratched his head again. "All armsmen must answer
questions like that." He laughed. "The easy answer is that it is better
to live than to die. That is as far as most go."
"I'm not most people," Anna pointed out.
"You are not. You are a sorceress and a warrior and a beautiful woman.
That makes it hard."
"I appreciate the compliments. I don't know that I'm either beautiful or
a warrior."
"But you are, and now you seek justice." Hanfor shook his head. "I fear
you may not find it, not in this world."
"I might have a chance, a small one." Anna looked at the honest,
weathered face. "Should I try?"
Hanfor laughed wryly again. "Do you have any choice? You are who you are."
"I suppose not." His reaction would have to do. She hoped she was reading
the overcaptain right. "But it's scary."
Hanfor was fidgeting. Was everyone afraid to be caught alone with her? If
only it were for different reasons. Anna rose and bowed slightly. "I did
not mean to take so much of your time, Hanfor, but I appreciate your
thoughts."
"I will do what I can, Lady Anna." The tall, graying officer bowed.
"Thank you."
Anna walked back toward the north tower, noting that the west side of the
courtyard was filled with wagons, supply wagons, possibly for the great
feast.
"… 'Ware the roan! Easy there!"
"… keep that team back…"
In between the teamsters' calls, she could hear the chickens, brawking
from the mud-crusted corners of the walls and by the heap of straw
outside the stables. At the sight of the stables, she paused, then turned
toward the players' quarters.
Although the day was marginally cooler than those of the long summer, she
still had to fan her forehead as she stepped through the doorway. Daffyd
was alone in the small common room practicing a songspell she had not
heard, with a melody that seemed vaguely familiar.
"That's lovely," Anna noted.
"It be no spell, just a tune. Most are longer, and you can make a mistake
without a sorcerer yelling. No offense, lady." The dark-haired player
grinned sheepishly as he glanced up, then around. "They say that some
folk tried to enter your room last night and you left them a pile of
ashes."
Anna nodded. "They tried to break down the door."
"No one heard?"
"No one came," she pointed out.
"That be strange. Most strange, especially for a sorceress who delivered
the Prophet's victory."
"Strange things seem to happen in Erde," she observed.
"Yes."
"Where are the other players?" she asked.
"The counselor sent for them."
Anna didn't like that, either, but she wasn't liking much of what went on
in the liedburg. "Do you know why?"
"Whenever he uses the mirror, he needs them all. So does the Prophet."
"For a mirror spell?"
Daffyd shrugged, then asked, "Are you going to the big dinner?"
"I've been asked. How about you? Do you want me to get you a seat?"
"That would be nice, but the players made a place for me, and that might
be best."
"You're sure."
Daffyd nodded. "I don't like Zealor or some of his ilk. You would have to
worry about me then, and you may have to worry about you."
"You think so?"
"I have never trusted the Prophet, and now is no time to begin."
Anna laughed at his sour tone. "If you hear anything that I should know,
would you let me know?''
"Most certainly."
"And would you play that tune again? I like music that's not a spell."
She stood and listened, and the young player went through three other
songs before he stopped and wiped his forehead.
"You're tired?"
"I practiced all morn."
"Oh… I'm sorry."
Daffyd grinned. "Would you join me for something to eat?"
"Of course."
"It be but bread and cheese, and dry beef."
"That sounds wonderful."
They walked to the small low-ceilinged room where they had eaten before,
and Anna heaped her plate with mostly cheese and bread, but, knowing she
needed the concentrated protein, she added two slabs of dry meat. Daffyd
had several slabs of the dried beef and a warm sour ale that Anna forwent
in favor of a vinegary red wine.
"Lady," ventured Daffyd, sitting on one side of the wobbly trestle table,
"be it safe for you to remain here?"
Anna finished a mouthful of the stale and almost musty bread before
answering. "Everywhere in Defalk is as safe as anywhere else, I think."
"That be an odd way of putting it," mused the violist, his mouth partly
full. "Odd and true. But no great comfort."
"Life isn't meant for comfort, sometimes. Especially if you want to do
something." Anna took a tiny sip of the acid-bitter wine. "You just
wanted to avenge your father, didn't you? And you got me, and look where
we are."
"Never thought I'd be a player for a sorceress in Falcor."
"I never thought I'd be one."
Daffyd looked at her for a moment. "There be many here who would rather
you be more, than less.''
Anna swallowed. Even Daffyd? "I am a woman, Daffyd, and your sister's
consort had troubles with that."
"He was no true man."
At the creaking of the door, Anna glanced up to see a handful of players
filing into the room. Fiena was the second one, and, as Anna's eyes fell
on the strawberry-blonde, the Prophet's player looked down.
"Aye, an' we know where that mirror looked," muttered Daffyd. "Strange
times, indeed."
The five other players gathered at the far end of the second table,
eating silently, while Anna and Daffyd quickly finished their food.
Outside, Daffyd nodded and said, his voice muffled by the continuing
traffic in the courtyard, "Best ye do what needs to be done. No sense in
being… well… the great mountain cats must die in their own skins.
Sorceresses, too."
"Thank you." Anna thought she knew what he meant. She had lots of
cheerleaders, but then, she'd always wanted to be onstage, rather than in
the audience. Now, she had little choice.
As she walked toward the tower, more supply wagons, and more yelling
teamsters, seemed to appear, but Anna saw no familiar faces among the
Neserean guards posted around the courtyard.
Skent nodded as she entered the tower and gestured to the sandy-haired
page beside him. "Lady Anna, this is Resor."
"You're from the main part of the hall? Skent had said you were working
here now."
"Yes, Lady Anna." Resor measured Anna with his eyes, appraisingly, yet
warily.
"You wonder how one small woman can create consternation?" She tried to
keep the laugh light.
"Not many as would call you small, Lady Anna, either in stature or
deeds." Resor nodded his head. "Some say you have claimed Defalk as your
home, having no way to return to your own."
"They do?" Anna smiled. "What do you think, Resor?"
"I would beg your indulgence, Lady Anna."
The sorceress pondered for a moment, then responded. "There are sayings
where I come from. 'Home is where the heart is.' And 'Actions speak
louder than words.' I hope I have acted correctly." Anna turned and
started up the stairs.
"… no answer…" muttered Resor
"Has she ever raised a hand against any of Defalk?" asked Skent. "Ever?"
"Oh…"
Skent was too bright and too vocal, Anna reflected. Still, he had spunk,
and he'd managed to survive. Both said something. She walked past her
landing and up to the top level, where she rapped on the door.
"Who be it?"
"Anna."
Essan opened the door herself.
Anna raised her eyebrows.
"Now they have gone and taken Synondra. They say that the lady Cyndyth
needs her—as if I do not?" Essan snorted, but her eyes were damp. "Come
in, if the mess will not bother you. I am old, too old for cleaning and
other such foolishness." She trudged back to her chair and sank into it.
Anna had not been able to halt her stiffening at the mention of Cyndyth
and Synondra, but she slipped into the room, closed the door and made her
way to the other chair. What could she say? Especially with all the
players and Menares around a mirror, scanning the whole liedburg? "I just
wanted to thank you for your courtesy the other day." She paused, then
added, "I will have to repay your warmth and courtesy in another way, but
as would your daughter I will."
"Now… do not go upsetting an old woman." Tears seeped from the corners of
Essan's eyes. "You are a gracious lady, taking care to talk to me when
few will, and you being from afar."
Gracious? It was more a cross between being stubborn, a damned fool, and
terrified. "You are too kind, lady."
Essan's eyes crossed to the wall mirror, then back to Anna, before the
older woman took a handkerchief and blew her nose, loudly. Then she said,
"1 am sickly, and tired, and you are kind to look in on me. Best you go
before you catch my malady."
"As you wish, lady." Anna rose. "Perhaps I can come again before long and
call upon you or your friend Nelmor."
"He would be glad, I am sure. Now… off with you."
Anna bowed and left, gently closing the door and walking down to her own
quarters. This time the room appeared untouched, but she dropped the new
bolt in place, then walked to the window. She looked out, down at the
portcullis gate and the rows of tents beyond the walls. Thousands of men,
and she thought spells would work?
The sorceress smiled. Was that to cover the fears within, the fear of
what she must do, and what she might become?
103
Faicor, Defalk
You are sure she plans nothing?" Behlem paces across the sitting room,
resplendent in his formal blue-and-cream uniform.
"We have exhausted all your players using the mirror to watch her every
move. Yesterday, she went to see Hanfor. He was scrupulously polite and
excused himself after but a few moments. She ate with her player, and
they talked of nothing. She passed a few words with the pages, and then
stopped to see Lady Essan, who rather bluntly suggested that the
sorceress leave, even after Lady Anna made overtures to her."
"And today?"
"Much the same. She practiced upon her instrument, but said no spells.
She made another overture to Lady Essan, which was rejected. She ate with
her player, and they talked of music that was not linked to
spells—apparently that is possible in the mist worlds, even with words.
She groomed her mount, walked around the upper battlements of the north
tower, then washed up—"
"How does she look out of those riding clothes?" Behlem grinned.
"She is beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as the lady Cyndyth, in a
different way." Menares flushes, then clears his throat. "Then she washed
up and cast a small spell to clean and press that green gown she brought
back from Mencha—"
"So she plans to wear a gown tonight," muses Behlem. "Good."
"You ordered her to," points out the counselor.
"She is obeying. That is good." Behlem paces toward the window again. "So
I will inform everyone that she is leaving on the following morn to
rebuild the old sorcerer's place —Loiselle or whatever it's called. Will
that be enough?"
Menares spreads his hands. "Even if the assassins fail, they cannot be
traced to you—or Cyndyth—and she is out of here. If she survives, you
call on her to repulse the next attacks of the Evult. She will." Menares
shrugs. "You cannot lose, sire. She either dies or replaces thousands of
arms-men."
"What if she throws in with Ebra?" The Prophet pauses by the shuttered
window.
Menares laughs. "She cannot. The Evult hates her, and he hates women.
Those lands are surrounded by your holdings in Defalk, and only Ebra is
close."
"I still worry about the old man, and the lord-pretender." Behlem turns
toward the center of the room and fingers his beard again.
"Lord Barjim's brat is twelve years old, and Lord Jecks has all of
tenscore in armsmen and levies. Remember, Jecks sent a messenger and met
with her in a open field without weapons. That does not sound like they
are exactly close. Also, the lady Anna is clearly from a place where
intrigue is seldom practiced. She is most straightforward, even blunt."
"That seems apparent." Behlem straightens his uniform. "It nears the
glass when we formally bestow the lands upon the lady Anna."
"And your officers will understand that the private presentation,
announced later at the dinner, effectively terminates her service as the
equivalent of an armsman."
"Exactly." Behlem smiles. "So does Cyndyth."
The counselor nods. "That is good."
"You do not know how good. No… do not respond, Menares. Not a word."
Behlem's hand touches the gold hilt of the ceremonial blade.
104
After running through a full set of vocalises, Anna took down the green
recital gown from the corner wall pegs. She didn't have to struggle into
it. She didn't even need the longline bra. In fact, she had wondered if
the gown would be too large, but it wasn't—even though she knew she was
slimmer. Was she more muscular? Or had she subconsciously tailored it
with her cleaning-and-pressing spell? After dressing, she tried more
vocalises, but the gown let her breathe easily, unlike when she had worn
it in Ames,
She looked in the mirror, but couldn't see any real difference. The gown
fit, almost perfectly, and she knew it would have the desired effect. Her
eyes dropped to the open note on the table.
She was to meet with the Prophet in the small receiving hall—the note
from Menares was quite specific—and then proceed to the main hall for the
dinner. She was not to approach the Prophet during the dinner itself. One
way or another, that would not be a problem.
Beside the open note was a sealed one, with the name Hanfor on the
outside. What it said was simple enough, just requesting that the
overcaptain meet the sorceress outside the small receiving hall following
her meeting with the Prophet in order that she might express her
gratitude in an open and proper fashion.
Thunk!
"Coming."
Anna turned and picked up the lutar case, careful to hold it away from
the gown's skirts. The sealed sheet was in her other hand. When she
opened the door, the dark-haired page stood on the landing. His eyes
widened as Anna stepped out.
"Ah… Lady Anna. You…" Skent blushed.
Anna touched his shoulder. "You are good for a lady's ego. Thank you."
She paused, "Would you please carry this for me?"
The page looked at the lutar case, then took it, even as he said, "Of
course."
"Is Birke below? Or Resor?"
"They both are."
"Good. I have a message for Birke to deliver." Anna went down the stairs
carefully, although she wore the green dress slippers she had created,
rather than the heels. She wasn't used to heels anymore, and the gown
didn't drag with the slippers—another change? Or was she somewhat taller?
Both Birke and Resor gaped as had Skent when she turned the corner and
came down the last steps to the main level.
Anna handed the folded and sealed sheet of paper to the redhead. "This is
to be delivered directly and immediately to Overcaptain Hanfor. You are
to hand it to him directly. Dire consequences will befall you or anyone
else if it does not go to his hand. Remember," Anna smiled, "it is from a
sorceress."
Birke looked at the envelope and gulped.
"Thank you, Birke." Her voice softened, and she offered a smile, though
her heart was pounding, as it always had prior to a performance, and this
was going to be quite a performance if she could pull it off.
"… is beautiful…" murmured Resor.
"… got to get going…"
The sorceress hoped Birke would have no trouble finding the overcaptain,
but if he did not, she would go solo.
For once, all the lamp mantles in the hall's corridors were clean and
shimmered with the flames of trimmed and lit lamp-wicks. Armsmen in clean
uniforms were positioned at every corner, standing stiffly—or relatively
stiffly, Anna reflected.
A pair of guards and the ubiquitous Giellum were drawn up outside the
small receiving hall.
Anna smiled at Giellum. "Is the Prophet ready?"
"He said to show you in, lady."
"A moment." Anna turned to Skent. "This case is important, young man. You
wait right here with this until I summon you. It probably won't be long."
She forced a smile. "Certainly no longer than until the dinner itself
will begin. It is part of the ceremony after I meet with the Prophet.
Don't go anywhere." Anna looked over at Giellum. "Make sure he doesn't,
Giellum. The Prophet would be displeased, and so would I."
Both nodded.
"As soon as the doors open, you be ready with this. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lady Anna." Skent nodded seriously, tightening his grip on the
brown leather handles.
"Good." Anna glanced at Giellum.
The young armsman and de facto herald opened the door. "The lady Anna, as
summoned by the Prophet, Lord of Defalk, Sovereign of Neserea, and
Protector and Prophet of Music."
Anna blanked her face and entered the long and narrow room.
Behlem stood before a high-backed and gilded wooden chair. A raven-haired
woman sat in gown of brilliant blue in a lower-backed but also-gilded
chair to the left of Behlem's. Cyndyth's eyes fixed on Anna as the
sorceress stepped forward and as the door closed behind her. On the right
side of the dais stood Menares, in dark Neserean blue. On the left,
beside Cyndyth, stood Hanfor, in a formal blue uniform.
Behlem smiled broadly as Anna approached. She stopped and curtsied—a la
Metropolitan Opera, Anna reflected to herself, all style and no heart.
She stood and waited.
"Menares has informed you, Lady Anna, that you are gifted, for your life,
the estates and lands of the late Lord Brill?"
"Your grace is most kind," Anna murmured, her heart pounding, almost
hoping that Behlem would provoke her, wondering if she could do what was
necessary if he did not.
"This strikes me as a most reasonable compromise," Behlem continued. "You
have rendered me service in your efforts against the Ebran forces, but
those services have been costly in other ways." The Prophet provided a
condescending smile, the kind she hated.
"First, the road to Mencha and the only good ford across the Chean have
been greatly damaged. Second, the flow of the river has diminished and
that has reduced the harvest. Third, there is the devastation to Sorprat
and to Falcor itself."
Anna waited. Hanfor's face was weathered stone. Menares looked grave, as
if trying to emulate some great jurist. Cyndyth smiled, faintly,
triumphantly.
"I would talk about the devastation wrought by the great flood. Could you
not have stopped this?" asked Behlem. "They say you are the greatest
sorceress in the history of Liedwahr."
"Your trust in my abilities is most touching, your majesty," Anna said
with a smile, but not taking her eyes off either the Prophet or Cyndyth.
"I am one person. I cannot be in two places at one time."
"Then it is for the best." Behlem nodded. "I would request that, tomorrow
morn, you make your way to Mencha to take possession of your holdings.
You may take all that you require, and your player, and any of your
personal guard that may choose to accompany you. Like all lords, you will
pay liedgeld, but because your lands have been neglected, not until after
the next harvest."
"Is that all?" Anna asked.
"All? You have been rewarded, rewarded beyond the dreams of most singers
or sorceresses." Behlem looked incredulous. "Do not press me, sorceress."
"Nor me…" murmured Cyndyth.
Menares shook his head minutely…
Anna sighed, hummed one note, and sang, full-voice:
"Prophet strong, prophet wrong,
turn to flame with this song.
Singing turn, music burn,
die the death you've earned!"
"No! You bitch!" Behlem stumbled forward, his right hand groping for the
ceremonial blade for a moment before he began to tear at his uniform.
Then slowly, like a falling tree in a forest fire, he toppled slowly.
Even as she stepped to her left, Anna felt like retching, both at the
shrieks of agony, and the stench of burned meat. Instead she gathered
herself together, as cold inside as Behlem was hot, hummed again and sang.
"Scheming lady, scheming wrong
turn to fire with this song.
Your schemes have you burned,
die the death you've earned!"
Cyndyth stared for a moment, then opened her mouth, rising and lurching
toward the sorceress, but she, too, flared into flame, and then toppled
into a burning charcoaled heap.
Anna swayed, but managed to stay on her feet, swallowing the bile in her
throat.
The old advisor—Menares—opened his mouth.
"Don't," Anna croaked.
Menares shut his mouth.
Anna turned to the overcaptain. "Will you serve me, Hanfor?"
Hanfor stood for a long moment. "Do you threaten me, lady?"
"No. I am asking, because you have ability, and because I'd rather there
not be any more killing and deaths. Defalk has had enough, and there's no
one left capable of commanding armsmen here."
"I will serve you," Hanfor bowed, "so long as I do not have to lead
troops into Neserea."
"Thank you." Anna appreciated his wording. "I suppose you had best gather
the officers immediately in the main dining hall. Do not mention the
Prophet yet. I will announce that."
"What… of me?" Menares croaked.
"Come along, and say not a word," snapped Hanfor, touching his blade.
Anna opened the door, and motioned Menares out, glancing at Hanfor. She
let him close the heavy door.
"Let no one enter," Hanfor ordered Giellum.
The young armsman's eyes flickered, and his nose twitched, and he
swallowed. "Yes, ser."
Across the hall, Birke stood looking around, note in his hand. Then he
rushed for Hanfor and pressed the paper into the overcaptain's hand.
Hanfor glanced at Anna. She smiled briefly, then took the lutar case from
Skent, as Hanfor opened and read the note, which he then tucked into his
belt.
"The Prophet has commanded that all enter the dining hall," Anna said
quietly. She took the lutar case and extracted the instrument, then
handed the case back to Skent.
As she walked toward the open double doors thirty yards down the
corridor, she could hear low voices, and voices not so low. Her mouth was
dry, and her heart pounded. Was it murder? Of course it was. Was it
necessary? Lord, how many people justified themselves that way? She kept
walking.
The great hall was already half filled with the Prophet's officers when
Anna walked to the dais. Holding the lutar, she glanced around, waiting.
"…beautiful…"
"… beautiful like a sharp blade with no hilt… no matter how, you handle
her… get sliced six ways to market…"
"… never seen her in a gown… looks different…"
"… like her better in the field…"
More officers entered, then Hanfor, and the doors closed. Hanfor moved
across the room, and the officers parted as he neared Anna. He offered a
quick bow. "They are all here, I think."
"Thank you. Stand behind me. Please."
The weathered officer frowned, but obeyed.
Anna's fingers flicked three loud chords, and the murmurs died. Would she
have enough time before someone charged, or would her reputation hold
them at bay? She slipped into Rosina's words quickly, almost effortlessly.
"Ma se mi tocano dov'e il mio debole,
sarouna vipera, sa ro,
e cento trapole
prima di cedere
faro giocar, faro giocar…"
Then she followed up with the revised version of the spell used on both
Virkan and Madell.
"Captains here, captains strong,
keep me safe with this song.
Captains warm, captains cold,
faithful be till dead and old."
Even before she stopped singing, Zealor stepped forward, trembling, and
opened his mouth. Then a violent shaking took him, and he collapsed on
the floor writhing. Soon… he was still.
Anna nodded. So much hate that his system could not stand the conflict.
She turned to the others. "As I am sure some of you know, Delor attempted
to have me killed. Don't believe that I didn't understand that Behlem
kept others around to try again once I had defeated the dark ones."
She paused. She was sounding stupid, getting ahead of herself, and her
mouth was Still like cotton. "The lord Behlem had requested I leave
Falcor and planned to have me killed once I left tomorrow. He and his
consort killed and tortured innocent women. She set at least two
assassins after me. Yet I never opposed him. Not until today. All rulers
do some terrible things, but Lord Behlem would have become little
different from the Evult of Ebra." She swallowed. "Those of you who know
me, you know I do not like killing. Those who know me know I do not speak
in fancy phrases. I have done what I thought best. I killed many to save
you, and I have destroyed the Prophet and his Consort to save Defalk and
perhaps Liedwahr. I don't know, but I have done what I felt was right."
Silence filled the hall, the silence of men stunned beyond immediate
belief. Men who could not believe a woman was cold-blooded and direct
enough to kill their ruler and face mem.
The sorceress looked out across the faces of the officers, seeing Alvar's
swarthy face, and Spirda's strained pale face. "I do not intend you harm,
as most of you must know by now. There are some who have meant me harm,
and the spells were to keep them from harming me. Any of you may leave,
with your armsmen, but I command those who do depart to leave Defalk and
never to return, save with my written permission.
"Now," Anna gestured to the tables, "there was a victory. You have paid
for it. Best you enjoy it." She turned to Hanfor. "It is time I leave the
hall."
"Lady Anna!"
A swarthy figure made his way through the stunned officers—Alvar.
"I be no lord. I be no overcaptain. I captained the lead lancers. I
watched the lady Anna stand in a dirty trench with a player and three
guards and face ten thousand Ebrans alone. I watched her almost die from
that effort, and I watched Lord Behlem insult her.
"I talked to others. They watched her stand on a broken wall and try to
hold back the Ebrans when all others fled. She near died then, too, and
was carried away cause she spent herself to save others." Alvar coughed.
"I be from Firscor, and for generations, my folk be there. I never saw a
lord put himself in front of his men one time. The lady did twice. That
be all I have to say." He knelt.
Anna's eyes burned, but she took Alvar's hand and insisted he rise.
"Lady Anna… Lady Anna…" The murmured words were not a booming
acclamation. Neither were they bitter, but an acknowledgment that she was
Lady Anna, worthy to be called such.
"Eat and enjoy it," Hanfor said. He turned to Alvar. "It's your job to
get them not to waste good food. I will return shortly."
"Yes, ser." Alvar smiled. "You heard the overcaptain!
To the tables."
As Anna and Hanfor stepped into the corridor outside the hall, followed
by a dazed -looking Menares, Giellum knelt, as did the two pages. The two
guards looked to Hanfor.
"The lady Anna holds Falcor," Hanfor said, "and all the Prophet's
officers support her. You guard her, with your lives, or I'll have them."
The two young guards blinked. "You heard them acclaim Lady Anna." The
guards' faces relaxed. "Lady Anna."
Anna turned to Skent and Birke, still kneeling. "Up. You need to spread
the word. Just what the overcaptain said. I hold Falcor. No more, no
less."
As the two pages scurried off, and as overcaptain, the sorceress, and the
white-haired counselor walked toward the receiving room, followed by the
two guards, Hanfor said, "Neatly done, my lady. Are you going to claim
any special title? The Sorceress of Defalk?"
"No."
Hanfor's face blanked.
"It's not time for a woman to be lord, not officially. Young Jimbob will
have to be lord."
"He is but a child." Hanfor stroked his beard. "Yet your words about
women have a bitter wisdom."
"This poor land doesn't need another lineage." Anna looked at Hanfor. "My
children are worlds away, and I can have no more. For now, I am acting as
regent—in the absence of anyone in the lineage of Defalk." Anna smiled.
"Do you mind serving an acting regent, Hanfor? I will release you…"
"I will stay. My life would be worthless in Neserea." The weathered face
cracked into a smile. "Matters here will be interesting, anyway."
"You will have much to do. We need to summon Lord Jecks… and take care of
all sorts of details, such as the transport and burial of Lord Behlem and
Lady Cyndyth." She nodded toward Menares. "It might be best if most of
the armsmen, particularly the Prophet's Guard, were returned to Esaria as
soon as possible to ensure the safety of Rabyn. Isn't he the Prophet now?"
"Ah… that would have to rest on the lords of Neserea, Lady Anna," mumbled
Menares.
"You would know better than I, but shouldn't young Rabyn be offered some
protection?"
"I would be happy…" stuttered Menares.
Anna shook her head. "Your assistance will be needed here, Menares. And I
suspect you will be far safer here. Far safer." She paused, shaking her
head. "There's so much, and I don't know where to start. I feel you're
playing a deeper game. I don't know who else is involved, but I'd suggest
you tell me. Before I use sorcery to find out." Her eyes bored into his.
"The Council of Wei… they… my sister… the story is long…"
Hanfor's mouth opened, then closed with a smile.
"You work for me," Anna said. "Hanfor and me. Or you leave tonight for
Wei."
Menares gulped and looked down the corridor. "I work for you… Lady Anna."
"Do not forget it. Ever."
"No, Lady Anna."
"Do you intend to take the lord's quarters?" asked Hanfor.
"Not tonight. Maybe not ever."
The overcaptain raised his eyebrows.
"I'm too tired to worry. My own quarters are comfortable enough, and,"
Anna smiled, "I can defend them." Her fingers tightened around the lutar.
"Later, I might get a room with a bath. Later. I haven't slept much
lately."
"That will not get any better," offered the overcaptain.
"No. It won't. But I hope other people will sleep." She turned toward the
north tower, and Hanfor turned with her.
"You left some confused officers," he pressed.
"I know. I'm not demanding loyalty. They gave it to the Prophet. Most of
them should go back to Neserea and defend his son. He's their duty now."
"Can I tell them that?"
Anna rubbed her forehead. "Yes. I should have thought of that. I should
have. There's so much I should have thought about."
"You have made a start, and that is more than most." Hanfor inclined his
head, with a look at Menares who tagged along like a lost old dog. "You
can't think of everything, lady."
I'm going to have to, especially now. Especially from now on.
After Hanfor left, with the two guards remaining outside her door, Anna
shook her head. Why? She still didn't know exactly why. Was she
power-hungry, just like every other woman who protested loudly that only
men were? Or was she just tired of reacting when she had the chance to do
more?
She didn't know, really, and she might not ever. We all deceive
ourselves, with the best of motives.
In time, she slept, most uneasily, waking and wondering how many things
she had forgotten and left undone, then dozing.
105
Anna stood at the tower window in the stillness of dawn. Could she have
somehow just exiled the two? Then the officers would have remained loyal.
Loyalties were more personal than national on Erde, and only death
dissolved them. Sandy had argued that modern war was insane, that
thousands died because no one would kill a madman who happened to be a
ruler. But Behlem hadn't been a madman. He and his consort had just
wanted to kill Anna, or use her until she died for their purposes.
She shook her head and looked out beyond the walls at the lines of tents
in the gray light. Now what?
Messengers to Lord Jecks, and to all the lords announcing her temporary
regency. Should she invite them to Falcor? Was she prepared? Would they
come?
First… Jecks.
And what about all the armed Nesereans? How could she disarm that
situation? Should she rely on the officers she had ensorcelled? That
didn't feel right.
Anna turned back to the basin. She heard occasional clankings and that
meant she had guards. With a sigh, she yanked the bellpull.
Rather than stand in a thin gown on the landing with two strange guards,
she waited until the door knocker thunked.
Resor and Birke and Skent all stood on the landing, crowded indeed with
three pages and two guards.
"How about some buckets of water and some breakfast?"
"Yes, Lady Anna!" The three chorused before departing on their errands.
The guards, if they looked at her disheveled state, did so so
surreptitiously that she did not notice.
After eating and washing, and dressing in clean riding clothes, she sent
Skent to request Hanfor's presence. While she waited she began to draft
her letter to Lord Jecks. That had to be handled quickly so that the
message was traveling while she attended to other matters.
Hanfor was punctual, and she had barely finished her proposed note to
Lord Jecks before he arrived, with another thunk of the knocker.
"How did it go last night?" Anna asked, after she had closed the door,
and gestured toward one of the chairs.
"Well enough," Hanfor shrugged, sitting on the front edge of his seat.
"You were right about not being there. Most appreciated the freedom to
talk. Except they whispered at first, as if Alvar or Spirda or I might
overhear something."
"And?"
"They are still confused."
Anna shook her head. "From what I've read, and heard, this sort of thing
happens here. Why are they confused? Behlem tried to conquer a neighbor,
and he didn't succeed. The sorcery might be new…"
"It be not that. They are not used to that kind of directness from a
woman. Ladies are either not heard, or they are like Cyndyth or the
bitches of the south."
Anna raised her eyebrows.
"Ranuak," he explained. "They spent much time talking to Himar. He
confused them more, the honest wright, for he confirmed what Alvar said."
"Will they go home peacefully?"
Hanfor snorted. "All will go home peacefully. Only poor officers would
want a fight against a sorceress. But Konsstin will hate you. Nubara will
see to that."
"Nubara?" Again, Anna felt in over her head, with names she had never
heard.
"He was Konsstin's envoy to Neserea. He came to Falcor with Lady Cyndyth,
but he and his retinue left at dawn this morning. In great haste, I might
add."
Anna nodded. "The assassins?"
"I would expect so."
"How is Menares?"
"He appears wrung and plucked with dissonance. He will obey you, though,
for no others would have him."
"If his deviousness serves me, fine, but I'll need other counselors,
too." Anna brushed back the blonde curls that were getting far too long.
"And what about Behlem? Shouldn't the bodies go back to Neserea?"
Hanfor nodded. "I put Himar in charge of that. That detail of lancers
will leave this afternoon, but he will stay. He asked to. The sooner the
coffins are out of Defalk, the better."
"All of their personal servants go also," Anna added. She handed the two
sheets of paper to Hanfor. "I thought I would send this to Lord Jecks.
What do you think?"
"It is not—"
"Hanfor. How can we work together if you're not free to be honest with
me?"
The overcaptain read slowly, and Anna thought, wondering about what else
she had forgotten. She needed to act quickly, before people got ideas,
while they were still stunned.
Perhaps some sorcery in parts of Falcor—to rebuild some of the damage
from the floods?
"Will he believe you?" asked Hanfor.
"We have met twice. I could have destroyed him the second time, and the
Prophet would have preferred that I did. He knows that."
"Then… he may come. But if he does not?"
"I must go to him."
"You feel strongly."
"About some things." About a lot of things, these days. Or is it that I'm
letting myself feel strongly?
Hanfor waited.
"That leaves one problem—how to deal with the armsmen. I think I should
talk to them."
"That could be dangerous. What do you gain?"
"Respect."
"Is respect for those who will soon be gone worth the risk?" asked Hanfor
gently.
"That's not it. If I stand up to all those armsmen, then…" Anna shrugged.
She couldn't explain, but somehow it was important, and not just to her.
It had to do with the people of Defalk and the armsmen who would guard
the liedburg and… everything else.
"What will you do if one expresses open disrespect? Best you think of
that. And the Prophet's Guard…" Hanfor paused, then said. "Many are like
Zealor."
"A compromise," Anna said. "All except the Prophet's Guard? I ride
Farinelli, and I carry the lutar."
Hanfor frowned again.
"It's a feeling, and it's important."
"I would not go against strong feelings," answered Hanfor in his dry
voice. "Not those of a sorceress."
Anna smiled, briefly.
"There is a question of the banner," Hanfor offered.
"Banner?"
"Whose ensign shall the liedburg fly? Do you wish to design one?"
"No." Anna frowned. "Is there one of Lord Barjim's?"
"That would not be proper——-He no longer lives."
"Was one ever designed for Jimbob?"
"I would not think so."
"All right. Put a black border on Lord Barjim's and fly it. Would that
work?"
"For a time."
"And have someone design one for Jimbob, and then have them add whatever
device is necessary to indicate a regent for him."
Hanfor nodded slowly. "You remain tied to that view?"
"I feel that it's right, and that it will work."
"Will Lord Jecks and the other lords accept that?"
"I don't know," admitted Anna, "but it seems they would prefer that to
losing everything."
"Lords are not always reasonable," said Hanfor.
"That's true. We'll wait and see. Now… what about seeing the armsmen?"
"You still believe—"
"Yes."
Hanfor shrugged. "Then I would do it quickly, without notice."
"Fine. I'll meet you in the stable shortly. Or is that too soon?"
"Lady Anna, the sooner this idea is past, the happier I will be." Hanfor
rose, and Anna escorted him to the door.
Open disrespect? What could she do?
For a time, she pondered, then finally jotted down something on a scrap
of paper. She tried the chords, and said the words, separately, several
times before she was satisfied.
Then she gathered the lutar into its case and stepped out onto the
landing. Anna carried the lutar, feeling almost self-conscious with the
pair of guards tramping down the stone steps behind her.
It got worse as she crossed the courtyard. Although there were but a
handful of armsmen, and Behlem's players, standing about, all
conversation ceased. She could hear the echo of her boots and those of
the guards, and it seemed like every eye was on her.
She'd thought that the attention a ruler received might be like being
onstage, but she didn't like the idea of being onstage all the time.
You'd better get used to it, she told herself as she entered the stable.
"Lady Anna." Tirsik almost went to his knees.
"Enough," she said softly. "I'm the same Lady Anna I always was. How's
Farinelli?"
"He is as usual—feisty to the rest of us."
"Good. I think." Anna paused and drew the stablemaster aside. "Hanfor is
looking for good Defalkan armsmen. We need them. Do you know of any?"
"Me?"
"Tirsik, I've tried to tell everyone. I am an acting regent only, regent
for young Jimbob. Defalk belongs to Defalk. Now… I'm going to groom
Farinelli."
Why was it that no one ever believed what she said?
Farinelli whuffed and pranced sideways, as she set the lutar aside and
opened the stall door.
"It's only been two days," Anna remonstrated, as she ran the brush across
her mount's shoulder.
The gelding whuffed again.
"All right."
The time seemed caught in molasses, and grooming Farinelli took forever,
but Hanfor had barely arrived with Spirda and a full squad of guards when
she led Farinelli out of the stables.
"… more of a lord than any of them…" murmured Tirsik.
She doubted that, even as she appreciated the sentiment.
"The officers are drawing up the ranks now," Hanfor announced. "They were
not told why. I thought that was better."
If he were right, Anna reflected it certainly was. If not, it made no
difference.
Somewhere, in the corner of the courtyard, as various armsmen and
Behlem's players still watched silently, a chicken brawwked. Anna wanted
to laugh. Only the chicken had the right outlook. Life went on, and
chickens brawwked, and the sun turned things hotter, and sometimes the
wind blew, no matter who held what city or liedstadt.
She mounted and rode toward the gate, Spirda pale-faced and to her left,
Hanfor to her right, the squad behind,
The portcullis was up, and Anna turned Farinelli across the cracked and
dried ground that had been mud.
"The first group there."
Anna's eyes followed Hanfor's gesture.
She reined up Farinelli in front of the next line of tents, her eyes
going to the walls of the liedburg, and then to the loose formation of
men.
"Armsmen! Ranks!"
Several armsmen slouched. One, at the end, spit on the ground.
Anna picked up the lutar, concentrating on the two.
"Armsmen lax, armsmen strong,
turn to order with this song.
Armsmen lax, armsmen bold,
respect and fear my hold!"
Both men stiffened, and Anna could sense, the fear, fear from more than
the two.
"I could have turned you two into ashes. I didn't, but I could have. Ask
around. Ask what happened to Lord Behlem, or Captain Zealor, or Captain
Delor. I don't sneak around. I also don't kill people for no reason, but
I will be obeyed.
"Some of you may have seen me before. Some may not. You have heard, or
been told that I hold the liedburg, and that your officers respect my
claim. I am not asking you change your loyalties or theirs. I am telling
you face-to-face that times have changed. I risked my life to stop the
Ebrans, and that saved many of your lives. I could treat you as I did
them. I will not. You invaded our land. That choice was not yours, but
the Prophet's. He has paid for that. Too often the everyday armsman pays
for others mistakes. Instead, you will have to march home, without dying
in a battle you did not choose. I'm telling you that because you deserve
to hear it from me." Anna nodded, and waited a moment, trying to gauge
the reaction. "That's all."
"… guts… where they find her…"
"… keep her and the dissonant Prophet…"
"… nervy bitch…"
"… shit… four weeks marching for shit…"
Anna couldn't expect to like all that she heard, but she wished, knowing
that it was a futile hope, that the armsmen would see that she was as
straightforward as anyone. She pursed her lips and turned Farinelli
toward the next line of tents.
"One down," murmured Spirda, his eyes raking across the tents.
Fhurgen and Mysar followed, the rest of the squad behind.
Anna looked over the next row of blank faces and wanted to scream.
Maybe Hanfor was right. Maybe, but she had to try. Her mouth was dry as
cotton, and she swallowed as she drew up Farinelli for another
performance, another duty.
106
Wei, Nordwei
What is it now?" asks Ashtaar. "Gretslen, my lady. She insists that she
must see you now." The words tremble from the guard's mouth.
"Show her in." Ashtaar set the bed tray aside and props herself up with
the pillows, then straightens the coverlet.
Gretslen steps into the bedchamber, eyes downcast.
Ashtaar waits.
"I fear great troubles, honored Ashtaar." Gretslen's voice is hard, hard
with the effort of suppressing uneasiness.
"Don't tell me your fears, not so early in the morning. Tell me the
facts."
Gretslen swallows. "Last eve, from what I scried, the blonde sorceress
killed Lord Behlem and Lady Cyndyth and now holds Falcor."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, Ashtaar."
"How did a stranger who knows no lords, bears no blade, and beds no man,
manage this feat? With what sorcery did she manage this extraordinary
occurrence?" Ashtaar's voice is dry.
"I do not know. I have tried to discover how, but there were no great
spells, and no large chord tremors." Gretslen licks her lips. "There are
always tremors around her, all the time, and we cannot…"
"I understand that. No large disruptions of the harmonies?"
"None."
"And she holds Falcor?"
"The ensign of Lord Barjim flies, bordered in black, and already Neserean
armsmen and wagons march westward."
Ashtaar shakes her head.
"It is most puzzling, and we cannot determine how this occurred. Her
chamber remains a small tower room, and yet the overcaptain of the
Nesereans serves her, as does Lord Behlem's counselor."
"Your influence remains, then?"
"I do not know. That mirror is shattered."
The spymistress raises her eyebrows.
"She has discovered our influence, I fear."
The spymistress smiles. "It is extraordinary, and unforeseen, but to our
advantage. Rather than Behlem uniting two countries into one stronger
land, we have a stranger ruling Defalk, and that is bound to create more
dissension. She must still face the Evult, who is gathering yet another
army, and she has an occupying army she must see out of Defalk—leaving
with no defense but her sorcery, and she cannot be in more than one place
at a time." She laughs. "Unforeseen, but not unfortunate. Not
unfortunate. Now go." Gretslen bows and turns.
107
Anna looked out the window into the gray of dawn. She'd never awakened so
early so often. Did it come with trying to run a country? She wasn't so
much running it, she felt, as it was running her. Somehow, she had to get
a better handle on things. She took a deep breath.
The view from the room that had formerly been a guest suite beside
Alasia's private study was uninspiring, just the merchant quarters beyond
the south wall, but it met Anna's needs—the bath, a large wardrobe in the
bath, and access through a single heavy door with a large iron bolt. The
double bed was wider, and there was a writing table, and both a small
mirror in the main chamber, and a full-length one in the bath, plus a
small conference table with chairs, and two large dressers. The tub still
had to be filled by hand, but it did have a drain. The night before, Anna
had enjoyed her first bath in weeks, even if it had taken sorcery to heat
the water.
In the courtyard below, another section of officers readied their mounts
for the long march back to Neserea. Already, the number of tents in the
flat north of the liedburg had been more than halved, and Anna would be
happier once the Nesereans were gone.
The last two days had gone by all too quickly, but she kept feeling as
though she were forgetting too many details—far too many.
She turned to the writing table and the letter upon it— one of the
reasons she was up early. If her effects succeeded, she would need to
rest.
The second letter to Elizabetta was brief—from what she felt and what she
had learned from the old volumes in the near-abandoned liedburg library,
the stronger the sorceress, the greater the heat and power involved with
opening what the older volumes called a "weltsperre." She walked to the
table and reread her words.
Elizabetta—
From what I am learning and being told, sending these will get harder and
harder.
I have enclosed more gold coins. They are for you and Mario—no one else.
I don't know law very well, but there is insurance for you both. Since
there is no body—obviously you will have to wait to collect that. You may
have to claim that I have died now. I don't know. I'm sure you can
discuss that with your father—or any attorney if you prefer. The gold is
to help in the meantime. I cannot send much, and I may not be able to
send more, but I hope this arrives.
I love you both, and I did not choose to leave you… All of you were
special…
The sorceress sealed the envelope and set it on the table before the
mirror. She picked up the lutar and began the chording, then the song to
call up her daughter's image. The mists swirled, and Anna could feel heat
radiating from the glass as the mirror showed Elizabetta lying in the
guest bed, her eyes wide open.
Anna began to sing the sending spell. She was shaking by the time the
envelope vanished, despite the full chording of the spell with the lutar,
and the mirror was a flaming mass.
She set down the lutar, her head ringing, her legs tingling. She took a
half step, and felt her legs crumple as the darkness swept across her.
Shit…
It was full light when she woke again, her head pounding, her mouth dry
as though it were stuffed with cotton. Her eyes burned when she opened
them, and kept burning, needles jabbing into her skull. After a time, she
staggered toward the mirror, then stopped. There was no mirror, just
charcoal and glassy slag on the stone floor.
How much longer could she even view her daughter, let alone send
messages? Each time it seemed worse, and she'd waited weeks between
messages.
She used the clean water in the washroom basin to wash her face, and she
dressed slowly, pulling on the purple-shaded cotton riding trousers and
shirt, topped with a darker purple vest she had discovered. She had
gathered together some additional sets of shirts and trousers, and those,
she had decided, would be her "uniform" as regent—dressier than normal
riding clothes. Except for special occasions when she might wear gowns,
she wanted a comfortable but half stylish, no-nonsense look, for
practical reasons, and since she had gained what support she had from
being straightforward.
Skent was waiting with her breakfast tray when she pulled the bell cord.
"Just put it on the table there, Skent."
"Yes, Lady Anna." He kept his eyes away from the darkened mass on the
floor.
"I'll need another mirror," she said ruefully. "Could you have someone
find me one?"
Skent nodded.
Anna laid her list beside the tray, ready to read it as she ate and
before she met with Menares and Hanfor. While she had managed to cross
off some items from the top, she was adding to the bottom faster than she
was managing the top—and that was with Hanfor, Alvar, Himar, and Menares
all helping. She forced herself to begin eating before she keeled over
again.
Skent remained standing by the table after setting the tray in place. He
licked his lips. "Ah… Lady Anna?"
"Yes?" she mumbled through a full mouth.
"You remember Lady Cataryzna?"
"Oh…" Anna hadn't, not until Skent reminded her. "Yes."
"Is there… ?" The page looked at the polished stone floor.
"I've been busy, Skent. I'll look into it, but I can't promise anything
until I do." Anna held up her hand. "You'll be able to see her, maybe
more. I can't do everything at once.''
"Thank you." Skent looked both relieved and skeptical.
Anna wanted to sigh. Everyone wanted something, and they wanted it nowl
Sorceress or not, she remained but one person, and one with too much to
learn. Still, after the door closed and she sat at the table and had a
long drink of water, she added Cataryzna/hostages? to the list. After she
finished nearly half a loaf of bread, some sliced early apples, and hard
cheese, the throbbing in her head had dropped to a dull pounding, and her
eyes were only irritated, rather than agonizing.
She added another item to the list—ford at Sorprat— although she had no
idea when she could get to that. After a last swallow of water from her
purified stock, she stood, straightened her vest, and, list in hand,
headed out.
Now she had permanent guards by her bedroom, and Fhurgen followed her
whenever she left, which was probably a good idea—Hanfor's—since her mind
was flitting everywhere.
Hanfor and Menares waited for her in the small main-floor receiving hall,
now more of a formal conference room with the addition of a large
circular table and relatively comfortable chairs. The dais remained, as
did a single high-backed gilt chair. Anna didn't feel all that
comfortable in the chair that was effectively a throne, but Hanfor and
Daffyd had both suggested that she needed some trappings of power.
"Lady Anna…"
"My lady…"
Anna motioned for them to sit, took her own seat, and laid out the list.
"First, what problems have occurred since yesterday?"
"Tirsik found me this morning. We have but a week's supply of grain for
the horses," Hanfor said. "He can buy more from local fanners, but… he
needs gold."
"I should have asked earlier. Gold—is there any? Didn't Behlem and Barjim
have a treasury?"
"The paychests are in the strongroom," Menares volunteered. "And there
was a small chest for expenses."
"Who was in charge?"
Menares' face remained grave, blank.
"You were?"
"Yes, lady."
"Are the chests still there?"
"The paychests are. I… ah…"
"—took the small one into personal custody for safekeeping? Do you still
have it? Safe, I mean?" Anna asked pleasantly.
Menares nodded.
"Hanfor, we'll need trustworthy guards, and a lock that only you have the
key to."
"Me?"
"I can use sorcery, and no one else needs it." Anna added grain to the
bottom of the list.
"Were there any coins left from Lord Barjim?"
"Perhaps a score of golds in a small chest." Menares added quickly, "The
chest and golds are still there."
"How much is in those paychests?" Anna asked.
"Several months, perhaps," offered the older counselor.
"Hanfor, tell the soldiers they will be paid for the next month—"
"When they reach Denguic," interjected Hanfor. "We need no disruptions
here."
"All right," Anna agreed. "Can we get it there for those who have already
left?"
"Those are mostly all foot, and the lancers have to stay with them. The
wagons should catch up. That highway's good, but it's still six days,
maybe seven, by foot."
"It's fair to keep the rest of the gold, isn't it? According to the way
things go here?"
"You would have the right to keep it all," said Menares.
"I think it's better to pay the armsmen what they are owed, but only
that," Anna said. "That should leave us some to pay our own." She turned
to Hanfor. "How is that coming?"
"Slowly. It will take time. There are nearly twentyscore who would claim
service to you."
"How many should we take?"
"Most of them, except those from the Prophet's Guard."
Anna nodded. "The grain. How many golds does Tirsik need?"
"He said that Jisplir had been giving him two golds a week."
"Menares, when we're done, you get the expense chest and meet Hanfor in
the pay strongroom." She turned to Hanfor. "Is this all right for now?
You can't do it all forever, but… for a few more days?"
"A paymaster?" Hanfor sighed. "Responsible for the treasury of a whole
land?"
"It'll make a good story someday."
"You are a slavemaster, Lady Anna, but I will do it." Hanfor grinned.
"Next…" Anna looked at the list.
They met until nearly midday, when Anna stopped. "That's more than
enough. First, take care of the gold and the armsmen's pay, then the
grain, and the payments to the cooks for supplies…"
When Hanfor started to stand, Anna smiled. "There's something else."
"My lady, we cannot rebuild a land in a day."
"This is simple. There are a number of women—hostages of sorts—housed in
the south tower. They should have the freedom of the hall." Anna rubbed
her forehead. "Bring them—no, have someone else bring them here first,
though."
"That we can do." Hanfor nodded slowly. "I feared you would ask for the
market square to be rebuilt."
"Perhaps we should," the sorceress offered, deadpan.
Hanfor looked slowly at her. Finally, the weathered face split into a
grin. "You can be wicked, Lady Anna."
"Not me."
The de facto chief of staff and armsmen shook his head. "I'll have Himar
take care of the women."
"Right after I grab something to eat." The sorceress wolfed down some
cold beef tucked between black bread, some cheese, an apple, and more
water, before returning to the receiving room.
Four women stood up from around the table as she entered. "Lady Anna…"
"Sorceress…"
"Lady of Defalk…"
"Please sit down." The sorceress walked to the dais and took the gilt
chair, still not comfortable in what amounted to a throne, but trusting
in Daffyd's and Hanfor's sense of the proper for Defalk. Then she studied
the four women.
One was young and had straight blonde hair, square-cut just above her
shoulders. Close beside her sat a narrow-faced and square-chinned woman
in dark brown. Cataryzna and her aunt? Another woman, almost as young,
but red-haired and freckled, sat on the far side of the table. The fourth
was brown-haired and very pregnant. "Which of you is Cataryzna?"
"I am," answered the blonde. "You are her aunt?" Anna asked. "Yes. I am
Drenchescha," said the narrow-faced woman. The sorceress turned her
glance to the redhead. "Lysara."
"I am Wendella," volunteered the pregnant woman. "My consort is Dencer."
Anna nodded. How Behlem or Barjim had gotten the woman was one question,
but it certainly explained Dencer's nervousness when the sorceress had
met the lord. "You have all been hostages. I do not know all the reasons,
but I do know some. You will have to remain in Falcor for at least a
time, but I see no reason that you should be confined to the south tower.
Your quarters will remain unchanged, but you now have the freedom of the
hall, if you wish. I would ask that you remain within the walls."
"Do you intend to keep us hostage?" asked Drenchescha.
"Until this morning, I only knew that you and Cataryzna were being held,
and, honestly, I have been trying to undo the mess I found here."
"Why are you flying Barjim's banner?" questioned Lady Wendella. "He kept
me here by trickery."
Even if she were pregnant, Wendella and her attitude bothered Anna. "I'm
inclined to believe that was in response to Lord Dencer's trickery, but I
will look into it. As for the banner, I am acting as regent for young
Lord Jimbob, and the banner is the best we can do at the moment." Anna
didn't miss the knowing glance that passed between Lysara and Cataryzna,
but she turned to the redhead. "Why are you here?"
"I am the daughter of Lord Birfels of Abenfel."
"You're Birke's sister?"
"Half sister," Lysara corrected.
Anna wondered why Birke never mentioned his sister, or had the glances
between the two pages been a warning to Skent not to mention Lysara?
Things just kept getting more complicated. The sorceress stood. "I was
reminded of your situation only this morning, and I cannot do everything
at once, but I did wish to give you a greater degree of freedom."
"What if we leave the hall?" asked Wendella. "What then?"
Anna frowned, then turned and sang softly, hoping she was not breaking
the form too terribly:
"Wendella all too snide,
never go the walls outside,
unless I give you all my leave,
and my pardon you receive."
The sorceress smiled. "You do not have my pardon or my leave."
Wendella flushed. "You're no better than either of those… men. You're a
singer. A darksinger."
Again, Cataryzna and Lysara exchanged glances.
"Defalk cannot afford treachery on its southern borders," answered Anna.
"I tried to act in good faith, and you've attacked and accused me." She
shrugged. "And the spell will hold as long as you live. So it wouldn't do
much good to try to kill me, would it?"
Hatred poured from Wendella's eyes, before she looked away from Anna.
After the group had left, Anna sat for a time in the chair, collecting
herself, glad she had a few moments before Lady Essan arrived. She
thought she could work with Lysara and Cataryzna, but she'd need to talk
with them alone, and she had neither the time nor the knowledge she
needed.
"Lady Essan." Giellum made the announcement, while Skent brought in the
tray with the goblets and the amber brandy.
"Thank you," Anna murmured to the page. She wondered if Skent had thought
up the brandy or Lady Essan. Lady Essan, probably.
Anna rose and walked toward the older woman, leading her toward the
nearest two chairs by the ancient, if slightly battered, inlaid wooden
table.
Anna poured some of the amber brandy into the other's crystal goblet.
"My, and being served by a regent." Essan took the goblet and sipped.
The sorceress refrained from wincing. "Acting regent," she said mildly.
"Careful you are being, and that be good."
"It wasn't careful to take on Behlem."
"What would you have of me?" asked Essan. "Not that you be needing much."
"I said you would be as my mother, and, while I may not always be able to
take your counsel, I value it." Anna waited, then added, "I would also
like to ask if you would wish to return to your former quarters."
"The tower steps, though I walk them seldom, are hard on my bones."
Anna nodded.
"What else have ye on your mind?" Essan laughed, almost a cackle. "Even
devoted daughters have ideas."-
Anna grinned briefly. "Some questions."
"Ask, sorceress-regent. For what I know I will answer."
"Lady Wendella?"
"A true wench, even more devious than her consort. A tongue like a viper.
Rumor has it she poisoned her own sister, who was betrothed first to
Dencer. Her sire was Lord Mietch. He held the lands north of Abenfel. His
eldest, Mietchel, now holds them." Essan took another long swallow of the
brandy.
"Abenfel—why both Birke and Lysara?"
"Lord Birfels had two consorts. Lysara was by his first, and most
beloved. After Lady Trien died, he consorted again for sons. Birke is his
eldest, but a younger son—his name I forget—lives at Abenfel."
"So Barjim needed both as insurance?"
"Insurance?"
"Surety."
"Exactly."
Anna paused for a swallow of water. "Did Lady Alasia manage the finances
of Defalk—the coins—for Lord Barjim?"
"None other. Who else could he trust, besides Jecks? And Lord Jecks
wanted no part of Falcor. What else?''
Anna plugged through her list of questions. At least there was someone
who knew where some of the skeletons lay.
When Essan left, Anna sent Skent for Daffyd. Her head was beginning to
pound again. More water and nearly half a loaf of dark bread helped, but
Skent rapped on the door even before she finished.
"The player Daffyd."
She rose from the conference table and swallowed the last mouthful of
bread.
"Lady Anna."
"Sit down." She motioned him to the table. "I haven't forgotten you.
You're in charge of the regent's players. We'll work out some suitable
payment for you, and you can have your own quarters in the hall
proper—something not too grand, but nothing dingy, either."
"Even your old quarters, Lady Anna—"
"Fine. Take them. Later, we'll see." She paused. "I'm sorry if I hurry.
Every day seems like this, and I get edgy by the end of the day. I have a
special job I want you to start on."
"Me?" The young player's eyebrows rose.
"I want you to develop and train a group of players, not less than eight,
and no more than fifteen. But I want horns—lots of brass, and the kind
that carry. No more than two other string players besides you. The
players have to be young—and strong. I don't care if they're men or
women, but they have to have a clear, strong tone in their instruments,
and they have to be in good physical condition. They'll have to travel,
as soon as you have them trained, but I'd prefer you not tell them when,
only that travel is expected."
Anna waited.
"For that… you must pay…"
"I'll pay. Just start work on it tomorrow. As soon as you have enough to
practice, let me know, and I'll come up with the arrangements you need to
learn—the spell tunes." Anna paused. "This isn't something I invented for
you to do, Daffyd. It's important. Very important. It's so important that
I can't tell you more yet. It's so important you can't tell people it's
important. You can tell them I'm busy, that we don't talk much, or
whatever, but not that you're doing something important.
"And it must be done quickly. I want a group that can begin rehearsing in
a week. No more than two weeks at the outside. Do you understand?"
The dark-haired player swallowed. "Ah… yes… Lady Anna."
Anna smiled. "Good."
The smile dropped away after Daffyd left, as she thought of the next
meeting with Hanfor, Alvar, and Himar as they tried to figure out the
best way to structure the permanent force of armsmen for the regency.
108
Anna scuffed her boot across the mold-covered floor and looked at the
square-faced man in brown. Her nose wrinkled at the smell from the
storeroom, a combination of rot, damp mold, and manure.
"Jussa, this has to be cleaned before we put any more grain in here."
"Never been cleaned before, Lady Anna. My da, he never cleaned it."
"And most of the grain at the bottom spoiled, I'd bet. Except that you
never went to the bottom except in hard times, and no one complained."
That got a blank stare at the ground.
Anna walked out of the granary area and back into the courtyard, shaking
her head. "Why do I have to be the expert on everything? Why don't people
see that clean rooms and clean grain bins make a difference?"
Behind her, she could sense the wiry Alvar and the stockier Himar
exchanging glances, the kind that said, "Here she goes again."
She turned. "I want the granary clean before our grain goes in." She
paused, thinking of moisture. "I don't know if it will work, but talk to
Tirsik. See if he thinks that a layer of clean straw at the bottom would
help. If he does, tell Jussa to do it."
"Yes, Lady Anna."
Anna turned, headed for the main smithy, when the horns sounded,
announcing someone's arrival, presumably someone important, a lord
probably. She sighed and began to walk toward the portcullis area.
Behind her, Alvar and Himar shrugged and followed.
She reached the north side of the courtyard as the first horsemen rode
in, an armsman bearing a blue banner with a gold bear, and a white-haired
man bearing a huge sword in a shoulder harness.
"You do me honor, Lady Anna!" shouted Jecks.
The rest of the guard behind him reined up.
"I'm glad you came," the sorceress said quietly. "I have been inspecting
granaries. I'd like to wash up while you stable your mounts. Then you
could join us for something to eat."
"As you wish, Lady Anna," offered the white-haired and tanned lord.
The sorceress nodded and left.
Washing not only got the grime off her hands, but the grit from her eyes,
grit carried on the hot wind that had swirled through the courtyard. She
swept out of the room she seldom saw except early in the morning and late
in the evening, and headed back down to the middle hall.
Jecks, Hanfor, and Menares were seated at the sides of the table in the
hall when Anna entered. All stood.
"Please sit." She took the end chair, the one Behlem had used, hoping
that it wasn't a dangerous tradition.
"Since when do lords or… regents… inspect granaries?" Despite his
travel-worn blues, Jecks still reminded Anna of a white-haired Robert
Mitchum, and she'd always had a crush on Mitchum. Careful, she warned
herself.
"When they're trying to get a handle on what needs to be done, and
there's little experienced staff left." Anna broke off a chunk of the
heavy dark bread she liked. These days her bread was fresh, at least.
"You might help there."
"Me, inspect granaries?"
Anna laughed. "No, know or lend people who could."
Jecks looked at Anna. "Your message said you had defeated Lord Behlem and
were acting as regent. Regent for whom? Has that changed? What will you
do?"
Anna met the deep eyes. "I had thought to turn Defalk over to you as
regent for Jimbob. You're the only one worthy of holding it."
Hanfor swallowed hard.
"You cannot do that, Lady Anna. Nor could I accept," answered Jecks
slowly. "As I suspect you already know. But I appreciate the kindness of
the offer and the thought behind it."
"Why not?"
"Then Ysel, acting as regent for young Rabyn, will persuade Konsstin to
send his armies here, Or the Norweians will propose a partition…" Jecks
shrugged. "Or many other things I cannot foresee."
"What should I do, Lord Jecks?" Anna asked, still holding a chunk of
bread in her hand.
"Defalk must have a leader who is respected and powerful." The
white-haired warrior laughed. "I flatter myself that I might be
respected, but I lack the power to impress any of those on our borders.
Only you can claim that. So you must proclaim yourself regent. Or lord."
Anna frowned. "I have a better idea." She smiled.
"Oh?"
"You and the other lords request me to act as regent until Jimbob reaches
the appropriate age."
"Some of us in the north had already discussed that," admitted Jecks.
"And you remain as my advisor. At least, for a time."
"You drive a hard bargain, Lady Anna."
Anna hoped so.
"She does," admitted Hanfor, his eyes momentarily as gray as his hair.
"Very hard," added Menares.
Anna surveyed the three, each in turn. "I have power, of sorts, and
knowledge of a different sort. I am a woman, and whether I like it or
not, I would have to fight too many people to rule outright. As I have
already told Hanfor, I can have no heirs. So there's no point in claiming
the title of lord. It's better that I prepare the way for someone who has
a blood claim. Even that won't be easy. It can be done, if you will help."
"How could I not help, when you propose restoring my grandson?" Jecks
paused."Do you wish his immediate return to Falcor?"
"Not immediately. I would like to stabilize things a bit more. In no more
than a few seasons, I hope we'll have everything in place." Anna lifted
her goblet.
"There is another matter," Menares coughed, then handed a rolled scroll
to Anna.
The sorceress set down her goblet.
"It arrived by messenger this morning. I do not know how the witches of
the south knew." The heavy set counselor shook his head.
Jecks raised his eyebrows.
The sorceress unrolled the parchment and began to read. After the flowery
opening, she read aloud.
" 'While we applaud the restoration of the lineage of Defalk under the
new regency, we would note that the time for harvest is past and that
Defalk now owes the Bank of Ranuak two thousand golds…' " She paused.
"There's more, but it's all rhetoric, calling for acting in good faith
and suggesting adverse and unnamed consequences if we don't."
"They could be great," suggested Jecks.
Anna still wasn't as clear on relative coinage values as she should have
been. She was a singer, not an economist. "How much do we have in the
chests?" she asked Hanfor.
"About four thousand golds—it took almost three thousand to pay the
Neserean armsmen."
"Do you know how this debt was incurred?" Anna glanced first at Menares.
"It is said that Lord Barjim had to borrow funds in order to move his
small force to the Sand Pass."
"He did. I did not know it was that much," admitted Jecks.
"Do we have to pay?" Anna asked bluntly.
"If you do not," opined Jecks, "then you, or your lords will not be able
to buy Ranuan grain."
Anna thought about the lords Hryding, Dencer, and Geansor, and about the
deserted condition of Falcor, and about the ravished harvests along the
Fal and Chean rivers. "Does anyone know what the debts supposedly owed by
Defalk are?" She dragged out something from her conversation from Behlem
and added, "And how much is due and owed in liedgeld or other fees?"
"The liedgeld is due at the start of winter, roughly five weeks from
now," said Jecks. "It differs from lord to lord."
Anna managed a wedge of cheese, some of the meat, and a sip of water
before pursuing the liedgeld. "How many lords are liable?"
"Why… all of them."
Anna repressed a sigh. "I'm a stranger, remember, Lord Jecks. I do not
know how many lords there are in Defalk. I have met perhaps ten or
fifteen, but are there twenty-five or a hundred?"
"Thirty-three. There have always been thirty-three."
"Do you have any idea how much the average—"
"Herstat handles my coins. I do not know."
"Is Herstat dependable and honest?"
"Extremely."
"Does he have an assistant?"
"Of course." Jecks looked warily at Anna.
"Is he honest?"
"It is his eldest daughter, and she is most honest."
"Good. I would like the use of her services, since Alasia handled the
liedstadt accounts, and there seems to be no one left. Would that trouble
you too much, Lord Jecks?"
"No." Jecks offered a wary and wry smile. "Will I have any of my lands
and people left when you are done?"
"I only need those you can spare." Anna offered what she hoped was a
demure smile.
Hanfor put a hand to his mouth to cover a smile.
Menares kept his face blank.
Anna picked up her goblet and drank before returning her gaze to Lord
Jecks. "If you do not mind, Lord Jecks, my first task for you as my
advisor is for you—and Herstat's daughter—to develop a budget—"
"Budget?"
"Sorry. I want to know what Defalk owes and what people owe us. I want an
estimate of what the next year will cost, you know, running the liedburg,
paying armsmen, repaying loans, debts, and what other revenues we might
receive."
"I am not a sorcerer, lady."
"No. But you know what it costs you, and with your knowledge, I am sure
you and the young woman can put it all on paper." Anna looked at them.
"Surely, you don't expect me to make decisions when I don't know what
they cost?"
"Costs—you…That sounds like a merchant's approach," offered Hanfor.
"Menares?" Anna asked. "Isn't Nordwei the most powerful land in this part
of Liedwahr?"
"Why… certainly now, although Ebra…"
"Don't you think the Norweians know to the last copper what their ships
and armsmen cost?"
"Absolutely," said Jecks. "All laugh at them." Was his smile more like
Sean Connery's? Anna wondered absently. She forced her thoughts back to
coins.
"Of course," pointed out Menares.
"Gentlemen," offered Anna. "Doesn't that say something?" She smiled. "I
certainly wouldn't want to have Hanfor recruit armsmen and have them
leave about the time Ebra or someone attacks because we could not pay
them. Or have lords decide to pledge allegiance to Ranuak because I was
forced to raise the liedgeld or lean on them for heavy use of levies. All
of you know more about the details,
I am sure, but how can I support you if I have no idea where the money
comes from and when?"
The three exchanged glances.
"Next… does anyone know how much grain we can expect from Lord Barjim's
holdings—I mean, young Lord Jimbob's?"
The afternoon was going to be long, Anna reflected, as she studied their
faces. Every afternoon would be, for a time. She had too much to learn,
far too much.
109
Encora, Ranuak
Ulgar's fingers fly across the fretboard of the mandolin, yet each note
resounds individually, without slurring. He finishes with three gentle
chords that draw all the notes he has played together in both a
resolution and a promise.
"You play well, dearest," offers the Matriarch. "Then, I have known that
for years. You would make a great player, or even a sorcerer."
"I would rather not pay those prices." Ulgar slips the mandolin into its
case, and places the case in the cabinet on his side of the large bed.
"Most do not live that long, and those that do seldom sleep—not well,
anyway."
The Matriarch sets aside the scroll she has been reading and rubs her
forehead. While her face is as round as ever, the somberness of her eyes
removes any cherubic impression. "The prices of such power are high. I
feel for the soprano sorceress."
"Why did you send her that demand for payment, then?" Ulgar sits on the
left side of the bed, pulls off a silken slipper and massages his right
foot.
"The debt must be paid, one way or another. She must know all her debts.
Otherwise, how can she address them? Debts off-key the harmonies more if
they are hidden or
ignored, and if she chooses to ignore them, then her harmonies will turn
dissonant."
"You are sometimes cruel, dear," Ulgar reflects.
"No… I would be cruel if I did not let her know the debt existed. If she
does not pay, the exchange will stop selling grain in Sudwei, and then
more will suffer." She rubs her forehead again. "She can postpone paying,
if she will acknowledge it, without too great a consequence, but if she
tries to repudiate it, she and her people will suffer— the debt is that
of Defalk, not of Barjim."
"That seems harsh. She seems to be acting in good faith. She did not have
to uphold young Jimbob's claim." Ulgar lays his vest on the chair and
begins to unbutton his wide-sleeved silk shirt.
"The harmonies do not care about faith or belief. You know that. That is
something that neither the Evult nor Beh-lem have understood. Any use of
sorcery creates dissonance, and, in time requires greater dissonance for
harmonic resolution." The Matriarch takes the scroll from the coverlet
and lays it on the table.
"I am for harmonic resolution," Ulgar offers with a smile.
"Then snuff the lamp…"
110
In the gray predawn light, the only time Anna was likely to have time to
herself, she strummed the lutar, cast the looking spell, and studied the
mirror—the third mirror since she'd come to Falcor. She was seeing why
sorcerers used water pools, but she'd never had time to set one up.
Elizabetta lay reading on the bed. A large white square sat on the foot
of the bed, propped up by the stuffed white tiger that had come off the
love seat in Anna's bedroom in Ames.
Even through the faint heat waves that rippled across the mirror, Anna
could make out the word Mom! on the envelope. She swallowed and blanked
the image immediately, noting that the wood frame of the mirror was
literally steaming.
The sorceress sat down at the table. What could she adapt? The spell she
had used to send her messages? She began to write, slowly, striking out
words and substituting.
The sun had cleared the horizon by the time she took out the lutar and
began to play. She ran through the chords twice, then spoke the words.
She stopped and changed a phrase, and tried again.
"Better."
Finally, she was ready to try. She cleared her throat and sang.
"Bring my daughter's letter from her land;
deliver it safely to my hand, as she knows that I love her…"
As she struck the last chord, the entire room seemed to rock with a
second unseen, unheard chord that shivered the sky outside.
Clinnnk!
Anna threw up her arms as the wall mirror shattered and sprayed glass
across the room, staggering back, feeling— knowing that she was the only
one affected, as if that chord were almost a magic harmonic directed at
her.
She did not make the bed before she went down.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
What was the noise? Between the pounding in her head and the thumping
somewhere in the room, Anna had trouble figuring out the sound, and when
she opened her eyes they burned. . Thump!
"Lady Anna! Lady Anna!"
Slowly she rolled over onto her knees, then levered her way up the
footboard of the bed until she stood tottering.
"Lady Anna!"
"Just… a moment…" she croaked.
"Lady Anna! Lady Anna!"
She finally recognized Daffyd's voice. Ignoring the throbbing in her
skull, she forced her voice louder. "I'm all right. Just a moment."
A look down showed cuts and dried blood across her forearms below the
three-quarter-length sleeves of her riding shirt. Glass shards from the
wall mirror lay across the polished floor, and the outline of the mirror
was literally burned into the stones of the wall. Only ashes—on the
floor—remained of the frame and glass.
When she opened the door, Daffyd gaped. So did the guards behind him. Did
she look that awful?
"I could feel something… something… terrible," he stuttered.
"A little sorcery backlash…" she said. "It was more than I planned. I
need to get cleaned up—again."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'll be fine. Send up some breakfast, and tell Menares and Lord Jecks
that I will be delayed."
She closed the door and walked slowly—very slowly— toward the bathroom,
but she stopped as she saw the white oblong on the bed.
Elizabetta's letter? Had it gotten through? She picked it up. The edges
of the envelope were almost brown, as though they had been scorched, but
the letter was there. The letter was there. Her fingers trembled as she
opened it and began to read, forcing her eyes, burning as they did, to
pick out the words.
Mom—
Everyone would say I'm crazy to try this, but they didn't see your
envelopes arrive. They don't know, and they don't know you.
I had already showed the first coins to Mr. Asteni, and he said the gold
one was solid gold, but he'd never heard of Neserea, and he wanted to
know if that was some new African country. I didn't tell him…
Mario's nice about it, and he's fine. I don't know why you can see me but
not him because he's doing great. He worries that I'm crazy. I'm not, am
I? I mean, writing letters to answer letters that appear by magic is
strange, but it isn't crazy. And I knew you wouldn't just go off, no
matter what Dad said about your going off the deep end…
I guess it must be hard, magic or not, to send these. I couldn't read
part of the second letter, because it was sort of charred. Are you sure
you didn't get burned when that wizard pulled you where you are?
Anna had to stop reading because she couldn't see… but at least
Elizabetta knew. At least, she knew.
After closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she picked up the letter
again.
I got permission to take off the fall semester without losing my
scholarship—I told them I'd come back if it made a difference, but the
dean was understanding, for once, and I'm working at the Homestead until
Christmas. Dad and Paulina are back in New York, and it's nice to have
the space, but I MISS YOU!!!!
Anna swallowed, and sniffled, and blotted her eyes with her sleeve, and
noted the dried blood flakes that rubbed onto her sleeve. She'd take care
of them in a minute.
I don't know if this letter will reach you, and if it does, if I can send
another. So I wanted you to know that I love you, and that, even if we
did argue sometimes, that wasn't because I didn't love you. It was
because I was trying to be me, and you're a hard act
to follow. Irenia and I talked about it, a lot, and you're the kind of
person who draws up tight inside when you're hurt. You don't bleed or
gush. You get formal and professional. Dad never understood that, and I
think Sandy did, but he couldn't understand why. Irenia and I understood,
but sometimes it was still hard, and I'm sorry that I sometimes didn't
make more of an effort. It's hard to say everything in a letter, and
especially when you're not a letter-writer, but this is the only way I'll
get to say it. You were there when it counted, and you cared, and I even
remember when I got the chicken pox, and you left the audition in San
Francisco that you might have won to come home because Dad said he had to
open at the Met.
There are a lot of other memories, good ones, and I'll always hold on to
them.
Anna didn't realize she was sobbing until one of her tears dropped on the
I love you—always scrawled above her daughter's signature.
In the end, she sat on the bed clutching the letter, and letting herself
cry, knowing, as only her guts could tell her, that the black-etched
rectangle in the wall stones signified the closure of all her portals to
the mist worlds.
111
Even by midday, when she forced herself to march into the receiving room
where Daffyd, and lunch, waited, Anna felt like she'd been run over by
Farinelli. She looked worse than she felt, with several scratches across
her left temple, and more than a few across her hands and arms. None of
the cuts were deep, but several hurt, if not as much as her aching head,
and heart.
"You look better, Lady Anna," offered Daffyd as he stood.
"I look like shit. And I feel worse."
Daffyd's mouth opened, then closed.
"That's all right." The sorceress pointed to the table. "Sit down. We
need to eat. I do, anyway. My blood sugar's so low it wouldn't register."
Daffyd looked blank at the reference, but she didn't bother to explain.
She sat at the back side of the conference table, where she could see
both doors, and immediately broke off a chunk of the dark bread. As she
did, a head peered inside. Anna motioned. "Resor, bring in whatever we
have besides the bread. I hope we have something else. Lots of it."
"Beef and onions and peppers," said the page, setting the platter midway
between Anna and the player.
The sorceress nodded and finished her bread before serving herself. Were
regents supposed to be served? Not this one.
After several mouthfuls, she swallowed and cleared her throat. "How are
you coming with the players?"
"I have seven, lady, and soon… You did say you would pay…"
"Fine. You need silvers?"
"A silver a week for each." The young player nodded.
"And two for you?" Anna grinned.
Daffyd tried to shrug nonchalantly.
"I'll get them to you later today or in the morning." Anna stuffed more
of the meat into her mouth. She was hungry, and then some, but that was
clearly the result of sorcery. After eating for a time, and letting
Daffyd eat, she resumed. "I hope to have the songs ready for you in the
next day or so. Then we can practice, and I hope you'll be able to
rehearse them a lot when I can't."
"Me?"
"Why not? What am I paying you for?" She asked deadpan.
"Lady… oh… you jest."
"Not entirely. Once you know a song, you ought to be able to get it put
together. I won't have that sort of time, not the way Lord Brill did."
Anna snorted. "I don't have enough time to get organized, let alone do
anything." She took a deep breath. "You'd better go. I need to work on
spells before I get interrupted again."
Daffyd nodded and rose.
"Daffyd, I'm not displeased or upset. I am busy and frazzled."
"Yes, lady."
She wasn't sure he understood, but then, men always expected women to
understand. It was different when they had to, even as young men.
As Daffyd left, the sorceress called, "Resor! Someone?"
Skent peered in. "Yes, lady?"
"Can you cart off the platters and plates?"
Skent started to gather them up.
"How is Cataryzna?" Anna asked playfully.
The dark-haired page blushed. "Fine, lady. She is appreciative, but she
would like the freedom to return home."
"I know. Matters aren't that simple, though, as I keep discovering."
"Wendella—she hates you, and she tells everyone how awful you are."
"Am I?"
"No, lady. Even Drenchescha thinks you are fair. She told Wendella she
was lucky to keep her head. She wouldn't have been near so charitable.
That shut her up for a time."
That would change, Anna knew, and probably before she had a solution.
"Thank you, Skent. I'll think about it." That she could promise.
As the door closed, Anna pulled the paper and ink stand before her and
began to jot down song ideas—she had to come up with something quickly so
that Daffyd could get his players practicing.
She had managed only a few ideas when there was a gentle thump on the
door and Birke peered in. "Lady Anna, Lord Jecks is here with Dythya."
"Have them come in." She set aside the spells and stood. Who was Dythya?
"Dythya, this is the lady Anna," offered Jecks. Anna could not help but
note that his blue tunic was stained. "She is Herstat's daughter…"
Dythya was older than Anna had anticipated, in her mid-thirties,
dark-haired, with a touch of gray, and solid but not overweight. Her gray
eyes were appraising as she bowed. "Lady Anna, I am at your service."
"I hope so. Did Jecks tell you about my needs?"
"He said you had no one to do the accounts for the liedburg."
"Or the liedstadt. I also want to set up a budgeting system, where we can
estimate what future revenues and expenditures may be."
"How—"
"A simple system to begin with, but I have no idea right now what we owe,
what we may owe, or even what many things I would like to do might cost.
How can I plan when I don't know what anything might cost?"
Dythya looked to Jecks, who nodded.
"My lady," said Dythya, "I can tell you how much you have spent and
where. Or I can find out. Beyond that, one must foresee the future."
"If you can figure out the past, I can show you how to plan for the
future." Anna paused. "What kind of numbers do you use?"
"Numbers?"
Anna pointed to the chair across the table. "Sit down. If you would also,
Lord Jecks?'' As the two took chairs, she pushed the ink stand and a
sheet of paper across the table. "Write the numbers, digits, from one to
twenty there."
Dythya wrote.
It was as bad as she feared. They weren't exactly Roman numerals, but
they weren't Arabic either, and it didn't look like there was either a
decimal system or place value.
Would she have to reinvent double-entry bookkeeping? She only had the
faintest idea of how it worked. Why was everything so hard?
"We have a lot of work to do, Dythya, including a better system of
numbers that will make it a lot easier." I hope.
The sorceress lifted the bell on the table and rang it. It bothered her
to be summoning people hither and yon, but the bell made more sense than
yelling.
Birke opened the door. "Yes, lady?"
"I would like to see Menares for a few moments."
Birke bowed and closed the door.
Anna turned to the white-haired lord. "Lord Jecks, how have you had young
Jimbob tutored?"
"As best I could, lady. He learns his numbers from Herstat, his
horsemanship from Hylar, his letters from Restak…" Jecks frowned. "Why
ask you?"
"I am going to offer more regular instruction to some of the children of
the lords."
"Here in Falcor?"
"Where else?"
"Why… lessons are the prerogative of the lords. They always have been.
Who else would know what their offspring would need to learn?"
"Oh, I don't intend to force this down anyone's throat. Not directly. And
I intend to see that instruction is offered to young women as welL" Anna
looked up as the door opened.
"Menares for the lady Anna."
"Take the other seat, Menares."
"Yes, Lady Anna." The white-haired counselor looked around the table
warily, then eased his bulk into the remaining chair.
"Have you found out who taught young Lord Jimbob when he was here?" asked
Anna.
"Tirsik taught him about horses, and his mother taught him his letters
and numbers. Someone named Isosar taught him heraldry and emblems and the
basics of tactics. I believe he was the sire of young Skent. One of Lady
Alasia's maids taught him about manners."
Anna winced at what was considered education.
"We will be doing more here, in the future."
"That may not go well," cautioned Jecks.
"Did Barjim save his son's land—or did I? I am a woman, you know."
"Very much so." Jecks offered a smile, but his eyes did not quite
appraise Anna.
For a moment, Anna was most aware of the near sexual tension between
them, but she knew where that could lead, and now was not the time.
"Defalk is too poor to waste half its talent and brains. Lord Barjim
would have failed before he started without your daughter."
"I have been so told," Jecks said.
Menares and Dythya looked from Anna to Jeeks and back again, following
each speaker, but offering nothing.
"Knowledge is power, or so it's been said… in the mist worlds. Since we
don't have much of any other kind of power, we'd better use what we can.
I intend to add all the knowledge I can."
"You have other reasons for such instruction, I would wager," suggested
Jecks.
"Of course." Anna smiled. "They will be closer than if raised on their
own lands or fostered in a single other hall." The smile vanished.
"They'll also have a better idea of whom to respect and whom not to."
"You are a dangerous woman." Jecks shook his head.
So did Menares. Dythya smiled faintly.
"Menares? Dythya?"
"Yes, lady?"
"Two things. Menares, first, find Hanfor and dig up twenty silvers from
him. Get them to Daffyd so that he can pay the players. Then, you two
find a quiet corner and some paper. I want you to come up with two
lists—one that gives all the possible expenses we have faced or could
face. The second list should show all the sources of revenue that the
liedburg has, or might have. Then come back here."
The two looked at each other.
"Just do it. I'll explain when you return."
Both nodded.
"You are even more dangerous than I thought," Jecks said with a laugh.
"When neither of those two can think ahead of you…" He shook his head.
Anna waited until the door was closed.
"I intend to destroy the Evult."
"How could you do that? And why? You have destroyed his armies."
"The Evult is putting together more darksingers and another army. I
intend to put a stop to him now."
"I have heard of and seen your powers, Lady Anna, but you risk everything
you have gained by such an effort." Jecks frowned. "You do not have the
coins to send an expedition into Ebra, and the Evult will not return to
Defalk for another year."
"In time to ruin next year's harvest, if we have one. We need rain, and
we won't get it without destroying the Evult. Besides, I have another
idea." Anna forced a smile she did not feel. While her body felt less
sore after eating, her head still throbbed. Why was it that even trying
the littlest spells across the worlds cost her more than far larger
efforts on Liedwahr? Another one of those physical laws she had never
learned, she supposed. It made sense, but she didn't have to like it.
Jecks raised his eyebrows.
"It will take only a small expedition."
"If it is small, you will have to lead it," the white-haired man pointed
out, "and that is dangerous."
"Not as dangerous as suffering another year of drought followed by
another invasion. And I can get halfway there without anyone knowing. No
one will expect it. I can visit your lands without suspicion. Wouldn't
everyone expect me to make such visits? I'll let it be known that I
intend to visit many lords." Anna shrugged. "You're right, though. It's
not reasonable. It's not prudent—but, as the saying goes, it's better
than the alternatives. And there's another thing. Everyone is watching.
Sooner or later, someone else will try. We cannot fight more than one
enemy at once."
"No… we have few arms and fewer armsmen and only one sorceress," admitted
Jecks.
"I intend to move quickly, within the next few weeks."
"That be awfully soon, and close before winter."
"We are surrounded on all sides," Anna pointed out. "But if Ebra is
rendered permanently helpless, that will stop one threat, and from what
everyone says, that will buy a lot of time. Neserea, even under Konsstin,
cannot do anything until next year. I don't know about Nordwei."
"The Norweians like to plot carefully. They will wait, I think." Jecks
fingered his chin. "You have not said how you will accomplish this."
"I want maps showing the shortest feasible routes from Elhi to Vult and
to Lake Aulta."
"Surely you do not think armsmen could travel the Ostfels? In late
autumn, when the snows begin to fall?"
"I have a plan. Let's leave it at that." Anna smiled tightly. "Can you
come up with the maps?"
The older lord shook his head. "No one has ever tried such a…"
"Lord Jecks," the sorceress said tiredly, "unless the Dark Monks are
totally destroyed these senseless battles will go on and on."
"You destroyed their entire army at the river."
"They lost their best… general… and they're already rebuilding. Even if
the Evult were killed, the system would create another. That's what
systems do. Isn't that what's happened all over Liedwahr? You kill a
despot and get another. I bought a year, perhaps two, and then I'll have
to do it again. I won't live forever. Do you want your grandson to suffer
his father's fate?"
"You talk as though he will live to be lord."
"He will be," insisted Anna. "I intend to see him married, to Secca or
one of the other suitable fosterlings." Anna finished the last of the
water in her goblet.
Jecks rubbed his forehead. "You walk to tunes unplayed and spells uncast,
as if they were already ringing in the air."
"Can you get me maps? Good maps? Can your scouts find me what I need?''
Anna asked again.
Jecks bowed his head. "We will make your maps."
As the white-haired lord left, Anna wanted to scream. What was it with
these people? Couldn't anyone look ahead? Didn't anyone believe that
anyone else kept their word?
In the meantime, she had to give arithmetic lessons, develop a rough
budget outline, meet with Hanfor, and come up with tunes for Daffyd's
players, not to mention setting up a school, figuring out what sort of
answer to give the Matriarch of Ranuak, and a dozen other items she
hadn't even gotten to yet.
The meeting with Hanfor would be long, because she had to ensure that the
armsmen—or some of them—could be used for some work around the liedburg,
maintenance, and the like. She didn't have the coins to pay any
good-sized force that was limited just to occasional battles. Yet she
didn't want maintenance workers who carried arms.
Later, she should talk to Lady Essan, if for no other reason than to see
where else she might have made a mistake or overlooked something. She
hoped there weren't too many mistakes or oversights… but she wouldn't
have bet a clipped coin—or an off-tune key-harp—on it.
112
Anna walked to the single high rear window in the receiving room, where
the base of the sill was nearly chest-high. She needed to rearrange the
place, put the receiving/conference area somewhere with more ventilation
and light. She sighed—another item for the list.
Outside, in the oblong between hall walls and the outer walls, the sky
remained clear and blue. While the daytime temperatures were more
moderate than before the harvest, in most places in the U.S., the day
would have had people headed to the beaches or the pools.
After a last look at the blazingly clear fall sky, she walked back to the
table where the scrolls were laid out for her signature—at least Menares
had a decent hand and didn't mind acting as a scribe-secretary. The row
of scrolls sat there—for Secca, for Kyrun, for Cataryzna, for Nel-mor's
daughter Ytrude, for Birke and his sister, and the rest generally worded
to various lords, inviting them to consider sending a child to Falcor for
the opportunity to study under her and various other experts.
Then she shook her head—all for what… so she could try to bring some
stability to a place that had never had any? And how many lords would
accept? She had to try, even if it meant fostering a child from every
major and minor lord in Defalk, or if it meant only a handful.
She smiled grimly. That handful would get every advantage she could give
them.
She also had to decide about Cataryzna. Should Anna send the girl home?
While she had made an offer to Lord Geansor, would he see it as a veiled
threat, or seize the opportunity to bring her home? Skent had told her
that the crippled lord seldom traveled.
If Cataryzna loved Skent, perhaps Anna could set up a match between the
two. Skent would more likely be loyal to Anna, and thus Jimbob, either
through fear or gratitude, and that might keep some other ambitious lord
from consolidating holdings. The last thing she or Jimbob needed was a
growing barony or the equivalent on Defalk's southern border.
Anna wanted to shake her head. She was thinking like Machiavelli. Then
she smiled bitterly. Why not? She had the problems that the old
Florentine had addressed.
A squeaking sound caught her ear, and she walked back to the window. A
wagon laden with grain and pulled by two bony horses creaked through the
courtyard.
With a sudden gesture she turned and walked to the door, opening it.
Skent, Birke and the guards stiffened.
"I'm headed to the granary. Skent, you come." She didn't have to tell the
guards. Both followed.
The glass mantles along the main corridor had been polished, and the
floor mopped and wiped dry. She sniffed. Did the place smell cleaner? She
hoped so.
As she stepped into the courtyard, the armsmen practicing blades in the
exercise square stiffened.
"Lady Anna!"
"Keep practicing," she called.
"You heard the sorceress!" snapped Himar, offering a half salute to her
before he turned back to his charges.
The sorceress nodded in return and walked along the walls. One of the
ubiquitous chickens hopped onto the shafts of a cart drawn up beside the
wagon shop and brawwked twice.
Anna passed the open door where the wagonmaster struggled with a harness.
"Good day, Mies."
"Good day, Lady Anna." The brawny man shook his head. "Armsmen, they
never take the time…" His eyes dropped to the leather in his hands.
Anna looked at the wagon that stood by the granary.
Both the teamster and the granary man looked at Anna, then looked down.
When Anna stepped into the granary, the floor was still dirty, and damp
in spots where the clay had been scooped out over time, and the storage
area smelled more like manure than grain.
Stepping back out into the sunlight, the sorceress turned to the hauler.
"You'll have to wait to unload." Then her eyes went to the square-faced
man in brown. "I told you to have this clean. That was a week ago. Parts
of it are damp, even wet. And it still stinks."
The square-faced man looked at the floor. "Da never…" he muttered.
"I don't care about your da… and what he did or didn't do." Anna looked
at the sullen figure. "Is there any reason why you haven't cleaned this?"
The man looked at the dark moldy floor.
"Have you been sick? Did you have to do repairs on something else?"
"No…" mumbled the man.
Anna shook her head, trying to hold back the anger.
"Never did before…"
That did it. The words almost leapt into her mind, and she squared her
shoulders and sang.
"Grainman wrong, grainman strong,
Forever leave this place with my song!"
"No… You can't."
"Some would have had you killed. I'm just sending you away." Anna glanced
at Skent. "Find me Alvar or Himar or Spirda. No, Himar's conducting arms
practice. Try Spirda first. Tell him that I need a dozen men to clean up
at least part of this so that they can start to unload the winter's
grain."
"Yes, Lady Anna."
The teamster fidgeted on his seat, and his eyes were downcast.
Anna fumbled in her purse and turned to the granary man. "I don't want it
said that I'm totally heartless. You've worked for a long time here, and
that merits something, but you won't change, and we have to change."
The man looked bewildered as she stepped up and pressed two golds into
his hand. "There are places to live in Falcor or elsewhere. Use these
until you can get settled. But you must be out of the liedburg by the day
after tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Yes, lady." The brokenness of his voice tore at her, but she steeled
herself. If she let people disobey or refuse to change their ways, then
all the lives that had been spent already would have been lost for
nothing. She had to keep that in mind. She had to.
Anna turned and headed back toward the receiving room and the scrolls she
still had not signed and dispatched, hoping that she had time before she
wrestled with the accounts and Menares again.
113
Anna squelched a yawn. How long since she'd had a decent night's sleep?
She'd tried again the night before to use the mirror to see
Elizabetta—but all she had gotten was the damned white mists and another
splitting headache. Had the letter been her last contact? It couldn't be…
could it?
She forced her thoughts back to the conference table.
Menares scratched his head. "I am too old for this. Where the number goes
is as important as what it is?''
Anna wished she knew more about explaining place value. A year of
teaching fourth grade twenty-five years earlier wasn't enough.
"Oh, Menares," snapped Dythya, " Tis not that difficult. Where you put
words when you speak changes their import. Each position you put the
number to the left increases its value tenfold. You can have two eggs or
two-score eggs—it is the same thing."
Anna was glad that Dythya understood. She even had grasped the idea of
double-entry bookkeeping, although Anna had a feeling that Dythya's
bookkeeping would require as much learning on Anna's part as the would-be
accountant's.
"I'd like to categorize what we spend coins on."
They both looked blank.
Anna scrawled on a piece of paper. "Look. We buy food. That could be
eggs, meat—"
"You slaughter from the herds of the liedburg," interjected Menares. "And
we have chickens."
Anna kept forgetting that examples not rooted in the clear and factual
reality didn't work. "Weapons," she said. "We buy weapons. Hanfor says we
do. I know we have bought pikes, blades, and some spears."
"You wouldn't, if you had a weaponsmith."
"We do, and, Menares," Anna said sweetly, "that is a good point. Why
don't you send out word that we need one?"
"I should talk…" mumbled the white-haired counselor.
"So," Anna pushed on, "I want numbers, how much we spent, for pikes, for
blades, and for spears. Then I want a number that sums the three. I want
all the expenditures set up like that, with subtotals gathered for each
general grouping."
"Like families of costs, almost," mused Dythya.
Anna sighed. All she had wanted was a way to track what was spent so that
they could project future costs. Did local lords just spend what they had
and then tax or take from their landholders? She wanted to shake her head.
"If you did that for several years," Dythya went on, "you might learn
enough to guess about the years ahead."
Most accountants would have winced about the term "guessing," but it was
close enough for Anna. "That's one of the reasons. Another reason is that
we'll have a record of what we were charged, and…"
"You can see if they are trying to cheat you. You would not have to rely
on your memory." Dythya nodded. "Can I show my father these ideas?"
"Absolutely—after we get them working."
"Lady Anna," said Menares, "are you sure you do not come from Ranuak? You
sound like their traders."
"Most people who are successful in managing coins are similar to others
who are successful." Anna just hoped she would be successful in handling
finances. Avery had always said she had no head for figures, even more so
after he became the great Antonio, but that was the king of the
comprimarios. No one had any head for figures and analytical thought but
Avery.
"Do you know what I want, now?" she asked.
"Yes, Lady Anna." Dythya bowed her head.
"Yes, Lady Anna."
"Fine. Take all the papers and get to work. By tomorrow I want to look at
all the accounts of the liedburg, laid out the way I told you."
"Tomorrow?" blurted Menares.
Even Dythya looked grave.
"The day after tomorrow, then."
The two nodded.
After they left, Anna picked up the scroll that had arrived by messenger
earlier in the day and glanced through it. The bottom lines were the
important parts.
 … we recognize that your regency has restored the Defalk we had hoped
would always be, and therefore, so long as you stand as regent behind
Lord Jimbob, we stand fully behind you, and offer our honor, our
arms, and our levies in support of your regency.
The signature was that of Nelmor. Pretty clear, Anna reflected, and her
guesses had been on target. The chauvinistic lords of Defalk would
support a female as regent for an underage lord, only if she were
powerful, a sorceress, and a regent, and some, unlike Nelmor, were
balking at that. If her expedition succeeded—when, she corrected
herself—she needed to visit some of them, like Lord Fustur, whose
holdings bordered the Nordbergs—and Nordwei, in the north.
She rerolled Nelmor's scroll, with its flowery words, and veiled
references to Gatrune. She snorted. Nelmor didn't even want to admit in
writing that he might have listened to his sister.
Then she stood and left the conference room, taking the stairs up to the
second floor of the main hall, heading north until she reached Lady
Essan's door.
"You can wait out here, Blaz," she told the guard.
"Yes, Lady Anna."
She rapped on the door to the corner suite, almost a duplicate of her two
rooms, except Essan's were on the north end of the hall.
"Yes?" asked Synondra.
"Lady Anna to see Lady Essan."
The door flew open. "Oh, she was resting, but she will certainly see you."
"No… I can come back."
"Stop your protesting, sorceress-lady, and come in and see an old woman,"
snapped Essan.
Anna grinned and stepped into the room. The white-haired woman had her
feet up on a stool, and despite the warm temperatures—Falcor still
remained as hot as late spring in Ames—a lap robe over her legs.
Anna eased into the chair across the low table.
"I do be liking my old haunts," offered Lady Essan.
"I'm glad." The sorceress paused. "What do you think of Lord Nelmor?"
"He be good-hearted enough, not so as you would know at first meeting."
"He listens to his sister, but won't admit it in public?"
Lady Essan laughed. "He listens to his lady, as well, and she is
quick-witted, but in public she is silent, and all credit is his."
Anna chuckled, but her heart wasn't quite in it. For a moment, silence
filled the chamber.
"You be going off to do something desperate, before long?" asked Essan.
"Why do you say that?"
"I been around long enough to see the signs. Your temper is sharp, and
you rush from one matter to another. Everything must be done now. You
insist-on hiring tutors, and you have that poor Menares copying and
recopying the liedburg accounts. You have your arms commander straining
his wits to guess what battles he must fight in the year ahead, and you
are trying to order iron stocks and find a weaponsrnith, but you find
time to insist on a clean granary." Essan smiled. "They say women are
sentimental, but neither Donjim nor Barjim could release the granary
keep."
"I didn't want to," Anna admitted, "but I could tell Jussa wouldn't
change. He'd just hang his head and do it the same old way, and the grain
would spoil. I talked to Tirsik and asked him." She gave a sharp laugh.
"He told Jussa to do something like that nearly ten years ago."
"That be what I mean, sorceress-lord-lady. You feel, but you do what
needs to be done. Do you want to tell this old heart what great venture
you plan?"
"I'd rather not give any details. Let's say I'm planning a surprise for
the Ebrans."
"I will ask no more." Lady Essan nodded. "You are decisive, willing to
risk everything for the proper outcome. Harmonies! I wish I were young
again, and could ride with you."
"You rode with Donjim?"
"Often. I remember the first peasant uprising, save that it was none of
that. They had fresh-forged blades from Ranwa, and some even had
breastplates, and they said they were peasants. I carried the shorter
twin blades. Saw no sense in a shield that was as heavy as I was, and I
was a mite in those days, even after childbearing…"
Anna leaned back to listen. She deserved some time just to listen to
someone who didn't need something, want something, or wasn't scheming.
114
Anna looked up from the revisions to her spellsongs at the knock on the
door.
"Lord Birfels of Abenfel to see you," announced Giel-lum, stepping inside
the room. "He is the sire of the page Birke," added the young armsman in
a lower voice, "and Lysara."
"Show him in."
Anna stood and moved toward the center of the room, her eyes shifting
toward the high-backed gilt chair on the dais, the chair she avoided
whenever possible. She still hated the idea of guards never more than a
few feet from her, and she tried to make them appear as ceremonial as
possible, but there still were some people she was sure didn't take
kindly to a woman regent who came from beyond Erde. Her mouth creased
momentarily. And there were crazies everywhere.
The man who stepped through the door looked hard at Anna, then bowed. His
red hair was liberally streaked with white, and his ruddy complexion was
blotched from too many years in the sun. "Regent Anna."
"Lord Birfels."
"My son did not lie when he said you were beautiful."
"Birke is generous," Anna said.
"Generous? I think not. Even Lysara said you were beautiful." The older
man smiled wryly. "I am here to visit them, and to escort Lysara home for
a brief visit." He paused. "She will return for your schooling. She told
me that she has already learned more about numbers in the past few weeks
from that woman who does your accounts than she has in all her life."
Birfels shrugged. "How can I offer her more? Besides, she is safer here,
as is Birke."
"Here? With an upstart regent?" Anna motioned to the table. "Please be
seated."
Birfels took the chair closest the door, then replied. "An upstart would
declare herself Lady of Defalk and start with executions. I have spent
the morning talking to the people of the liedburg… You are a sorceress.
They say you are concerned about everything, and when you released a man
for a terrible failure, you did not execute him, but sent him off with
enough coins so that his family would not starve." The red-haired lord
smiled coldly. "Yet Lysara and Birke also said you were fair,
considerate, and—" Birfels paused.
"—vindictively just against those who are evil."
Anna wasn't sure she liked being considered vindictively just.
"I am here, simply, to offer my allegiance to you as regent for young
Jimbob."
"I appreciate your support."
"What would you say if I asked you to release my son?"
"I will not retain him here if you need him," Anna said slowly. "I would
prefer that he, or one of your offspring, son or daughter, remain here in
Falcor. As Birke may have told you, I have resumed tutoring for those
fosterlings—"
"Birke said that." Birfels shook his head. "He said that you insisted
that they all learn to write, and to read, and learn other things. I
cannot say I understand it all."
"I have a few things in mind, Lord Birfels. First, the world is changing.
The more knowledge those who will be lords and ladies hold, the better
they will serve themselves and their lands. Second, they will come to
know each other, and that will help knit Defalk together more tightly.
Third, the more they see beyond their lands—before they are responsible
for their lands—the more objective they will be later." Anna shrugged. "I
hope, at least."
"I could leave Lysara, rather than Birke?"
"Yes. Or both, or neither. That is your choice. In time, I believe that
people will come to realize that the rule of a wise lady is preferable to
that of a fool who rules merely because he is a man."
"Some believe that already." Birfels' tone was cool.
"I did not say that would happen now," Anna said, forcing her voice to
remain warm, "but half of Defalk is women, and Defalk stands against much
of the world. Our enemies use the skills of their women. Can we afford to
do less?"
Birfels bowed his head briefly. "Some would say that such a course would
leave us little different from them."
"I believe," Anna answered, "that those who lead should be the best
because they are the best, not because they are either men or women."
"You have daughters?"
"I have a daughter and a son—but they're on earth— the mist world, and
neither will benefit from what I do here."
"I must think for a bit, Lady Anna, before I decide about Birke. It is
clear that Lysara will benefit. I do not know about my son."
"Think as long as you want," the sorceress responded. "I like Birke, but
I will neither reward him nor punish him because of that liking. Nor will
I reward nor punish you because of it." She rose from the table.
"I respect you, Lady Anna. I am not prepared to like you, or what you
represent."
"I appreciate your honesty, Lord Birfels, and that you said what you
felt. I hope, in time, you will find it easier to like what I stand for."
Birfels bowed.
Anna inclined her head in return.
After the red-haired lord left, Anna sank back into her chair at the
table. How many more interviews and meetings would it take? How many more
years before some of them recognized that women were people, competent
people? Or would her success, if she were successful on the coming
expedition, make the lords even more wary?
She had no choice, not as she saw it. She rose. Time for more work with
Daffyd and the players.
115
This arrived by messenger, Lady Anna." Skent bowed as he offered the
scroll.
"Thank you." She paused. "Has Birke left?"
"He rode out this morning." The dark-haired page paused, as if to speak,
then closed his mouth.
"Was he all right?"
"His sire was pleased."
That meant Birke wasn't totally happy about something. Anna hoped the
stiff-necked redhead would be back, but she had her doubts, especially
after meeting Lord Birfels. "Thank you, Skent," she repeated. After the
page left her alone in her receiving room, she broke the red wax seal,
unrolled the scroll, and began to read.
Lady Anna—
I apologize if the title is not correct, but word is slow to reach the
south. I have received your invitation and messages from both Cataryzna
and Drenchescha. They both confirm that you immediately gave them the
freedom of the hall.
From my own sources, I have learned that you have kept your word in all
matters. This is a rare trait in these days, and especially for one so
powerful. While I would like to have Cataryzna come home to visit as soon
as possible, I also feel that her future would be better assured in
Falcor under your guidance. I do not say this to spirit her away, for I
know that my defenses would avail me little against you. I assure you
that she will return after her visit. I do wish to see her, but my
ability to travel is most limited.
I recognize your power and appreciate your efforts to return Defalk to
order and to the eventual hand of young Lord Jimbob…
The precise signature read Geansor. The sorceress nodded, then lifted the
bell. "Skent? Would you ask if Lady Cataryzna and her aunt are free to
see me?"
"Now?"
"If they can."
Skent stood rooted there, and Anna took pity on him.
"It's nothing to worry about, but it's only fair you learn it from
Cataryzna. She should hear first." If she doesn't already know. "Now… go,
you imp."
Skent gave the sorceress a quick grin. "Yes, Lady Anna." He was still
grinning as he left the room.
While she waited for the two, the sorceress pulled out the first listing
of Dythya's "families of costs" and began to read where she had left off.
Some made sense. The accountant—that was how Anna thought of Dythya, for
want of a better local term—had managed to get all the crop revenues in
one category. But on the expense side, there were too many
categories—cooperage, baskets, pots were listed separately and in totally
separate parts of the list, as were cutlery and glassware. She jotted a
note to create sub-categories for domestic operations of the liedburg, as
opposed to similar costs for Hanfor's forces. She wanted to know what it
cost to maintain the liedburg proper, in comparison to the armsmen.
She lifted the quill pen and began to write—laboriously, since the ink
took forever to dry, and the slightest brush of her hand turned whatever
she touched to illegibility. She hadn't gotten even through reorganizing
the major cost categories the way she wanted them before Giellum knocked
and then pushed the door ajar.
"The ladies Cataryzna and Drenchescha, responding to your summons, Lady
Anna."
"Send them in." Anna sighed and stood, moving toward the chair on the
dais. Everything ran into everything else, but she had to remember to
deal with people first. She could reorganize lists while others slept.
Cataryzna, blonde as ever, and the narrow-faced Drenchescha eased into
the receiving room. Anna did not invite them to sit, instead standing on
the dais beside the gilt chair and looking down at the two.
"When we last talked, you asked me what I would do about your situation.
I have decided. As you know, I have mentioned your continuing lessons
here in Falcor, and I sent a message to that effect to your father,
Cataryzna." Anna lifted the scroll. "I have received a message in
return." Her eyes surveyed the two, and she smiled faintly. They were not
surprised, which meant that they also knew, one way or another. That
didn't surprise her, either. Despite the lack of modern communications,
everyone seemed to know everything. "Your father has requested that you
visit him immediately for some period of time. He also feels that after
that visit you should return here for lessons."
Anna cleared her throat. She was talking as much now she was a regent as
she had when she'd been teaching, or so it seemed. "You should make
arrangements for your trip home, if your sire has not already. If you
need an escort, I can find some worthy armsmen to accompany you."
"You mean it?" burst out the blonde.
"Yes." Anna held up her hand. "If you return, and that must be your
choice, you will have not only the freedom of the liedburg, but of
Falcor—with one stipulation. Since you are a young woman, whenever you
leave the liedburg, you must have adequate companionship and a guard for
your own protection. If your father wishes, you may bring a guard back of
his and your choosing. I only ask that such a guard be devoted to you and
physically able to defend you."
"You cannot defend her in Falcor?" asked Drenchescha.
The sorceress looked coldly at the pinched face of the aunt. "I can
guarantee her safety within these walls. In any liedstadt, there are
thieves and brigands. While I will do my best to ensure everyone's
safety, a few precautions don't hurt. I cannot be everywhere."
Cataryzna laid a hand on her aunt's arm. "The regent is far more
forbearing than either Lord Barjim or Lord Behlem."
Drenchescha glanced at her niece, but the blonde's eyes were steady.
Anna suspected that Lord Geansor was also a determined man. He had to be
in this society, to hold his lands together while crippled.
"Cataryzna… if you need any assistance, please let me know. I would
appreciate knowing exactly when you intend to leave and if you need any
escorts."
The blonde bowed. "I will, Lady Anna. And thank you. My sire will be most
pleased."
After the two had departed, Anna tucked her accounting list away and
headed for the middle hall—trailed by the ubiquitous Blaz. She hoped that
Daffyd's players were still there and she would be able to determine
their progress. The acoustics weren't all that bad in the middle hall,
unlike the great hall where the hard plaster threw echoes every which way.
After the rehearsal, she had to meet with Hanfor to go over the plans for
the trip to Elhi—and beyond. She glanced at the wall lamps—the glass
mantles were dirty again, and the floors were dusty. She needed to talk
to Virkan. Actually, she needed a lord chamberlain or a liedburg butler
or something like that. Maybe Lady Essan would have a suggestion.
Anna opened the middle hall door and tried not to wince at the
inadvertent squawk from one of the horns. The young redheaded player
looked guiltily at Daffyd, then at Anna as he lowered the horn—something
shaped like a cross between a Wagner tuba and a French horn, but with
less elaborate tubing, and a slightly bigger mouthpiece than a French
horn.
"Sorry… Lady Anna," said Daffyd.
"I am most sorry," said the offender.
Anna held back a smile. "That's all right, Ristyr. So long as you don't
make that sort of mistake when we go to Elhi."
Glances went around the group.
"Elhi?"
"It's cold up there already."
"… told us we'd travel."
Anna let the comments roll around the hall for a moment, then spoke. "We
have some work to do for Lord Jecks— that's where Lord Jimbob is staying.
I'll be visiting a lot of the lords in the next year. So will you." She
nodded at Daffyd. "Let's hear the battle hymn."
"Battle hymn," repeated Daffyd.
Feet shuffled, and the players repositioned themselves— Anna had insisted
that they play all pieces standing, since that was likely to be the case
in the wilds of the Ostfels.
As they dropped into the melody, Anna hummed along, testing her ears
against the players.
"Too slow!" Anna interrupted. "After the first measures, you're dragging.
The tempo is upbeat! And the spell won't work if I have to slow down or
try to drag you with me." She nodded to Daffyd, whose forehead had begun
to shimmer with perspiration. "Again, from the top. Keep it moving!"
Getting the tempo right all the way through took nearly half a glass—and
for a three-verse spellsong that lasted less than four earth minutes for
all three verses. Except, this time it had to be perfect for what Anna
had in mind. She was hoarse, as if she were teaching music appreciation
to meet general-ed requirements once again.
"All right. You'll need to work more on that. Now… the fire spell."
That was even shorter—and worse, although how a twenty-second tune could
be that bad, Anna didn't understand. She was beginning to have more
sympathy for orchestra conductors—they had to get hours' worth of
performances right.
The sorceress was soaking wet by the time she dismissed the players.
Daffyd waited until the others had left before he spoke. "You were hard
on them."
"Daffyd, I'm not asking a lot. I want five spellsongs. I want them
perfect. All together, they don't last longer than a third of a glass—if
that. I've had to learn hours'— glasses'—worth of songs, and sing them
perfectly almost without breaks."
"The horns—they say it is hard on their lips."
"Their chops…" muttered Anna. The French horn professor at Ames had
always been talking about his chops and who had the chops. With a glint
in her eye, she looked straight at the young violist. "What's the
difference between a horn and an onion?"
"What?"
"At least you cry when you chop up an onion."
Daffyd just looked puzzled.
"Never mind. Just get them to play. There's not much time left." She
paused. "Do you need more silver?"
"It might help."
"Fine. Tell them they each get a silver bonus if I'm pleased the next
time. I'll tell Dythya to have the silvers ready."
"It is that important?''
"It's that important," Anna affirmed. She touched his shoulder. "I know
I'm being difficult, but you'll understand why when the time comes."
"If you say so, Lady Anna."
"Believe me. Believe me."
She left the bewildered player and headed back down to the receiving hall
and the accounting lists she still had not had time to revise. Outside,
the pre-sunset shadows from the west wall had cloaked the courtyard in
gloom.
Before she had even dipped the quill in the ink, Giellum was knocking.
"Lady Anna, there's someone to see you. A lord, and he has his daughter
with him."
"Send them in." The sorceress sighed and stood, not caring that she was
still perspiring or that the room remained too warm for her.
The two stepped into the receiving room. Both wore still-dusty riding
clothes, but the big-boned blond lord held a floppy cap in his hand. The
daughter, also taller than Anna, still wore a green scarf that set off
the fine blonde hair. Both had straight, strong noses, more fitting on
the father than the daughter.
The blonde man bowed. "Lady Anna, my sister Gatrune bid me see you."
Anna tried not to frown. Who would he be? She didn't nod, either, as she
guessed. "I don't know all the names I should, but would you be Lord
Nelmor? And Ytrude?"
Nelmor bowed. "At your service."
Anna gestured to the table. "Please sit down." She rang the bell and
waited for a response.
"Yes, Lady Anna?" asked Resor.
"Some pastries, if we have any, and something to drink—perhaps some of
the apple brandy that Lady Essan favors and some cold water for me."
Resor nodded.
"You do not favor the brandy?" asked Nelmor, easing himself into a chair.
"Not if I want to function." Anna studied the girl while Ytrude sat. As
Essan had said, Ytrude was almost a younger version of Gatrune, except
Anna thought her features were finer, even with the strong nose. "You
look like your aunt."
"Many have said so, Lady Anna." The brown eyes darted away from meeting
those of the sorceress.
"What might I do for you, Lord Nelmor?''
"You had sent a scroll to me, and so had Gatrune." Nelmor shrugged.
"Also, I have spoken with Lady Essan, and she favors you and your regency
greatly. I fear that Dubaria is… somewhat distant, especially for
Ytrude." The big blond man stopped with a smile.
The sorceress wanted to kick him. The oaf wasn't about to ask for
anything, and he was setting up Anna to ask or state something, and she
was too tired to play courtly word games. "In short, you can't offer a
good education for your daughter; there's no one suitable nearby for a
match; and your sister is pressuring you to let Ytrude come to Falcor and
study with me?"
Nelmor's brown eyes turned flat. "Mayhap I misunderstood."
Anna smiled, professionally, bright and hard. "Lord Nelmor, I ask your
pardon if my words offend. I am a stranger. I do not always know the
polite way to say things, and I have all too often found that attempting
to be blandly polite creates more confusion than understanding. I am
attempting to provide a better education for the children of Defalk's
lords. I am also attempting to rebuild the ability of the regency to
protect its people. I am more interested in actions than words. So, if I
offend, pardon me, but understand that I act from the best reasons."
After a pause, she added, "I am also tired, because my predecessors left
a mess—or as you would say it, a mighty dissonance."
The faintest of smiles creased Ytrude's face, and Anna wanted to hug the
girl for it. Instead, she waited.
Nelmor turned to Ytrude. "The choice be yours, daughter."
Anna really wanted to kick Nelmor, because he was washing his hands of
the situation.
Resor slipped through the door with a large tray, bearing two pitchers
and three goblets. Behind him, Skent bore a platter of pastries.
"Please, help yourself." Anna smiled more warmly.
Nelmor's eyes went from Anna back to Ytrude, and then to the pitcher. He
filled a goblet all the way to the top. Anna took the pitcher and asked,
"Wine or water, Ytrude?"
"The wine… if you please, Lady Anna."
Anna half filled the girl's glass with the wine, better than vinegar, but
not much, and refilled hers with water. "Would you like to stay here for
a time, and see if you like it?"
"Ah," reflected Nelmor with a smile. "A trial. That might be best."
"I would… like that," Ytrude said slowly, her eyes darting to her father
and then back to Anna.
Poor girl's never had a real choice, thought Anna. "You can stay now, or
you can return at your leisure."
"Your ways are strange, Lady Anna," Nelmor said after draining half his
goblet. "You suggest, in a veiled way, I have no choice, yet you offer my
daughter a choice."
"I do not deal in veiled words, Nelmor," Anna said. "They cause trouble.
I offered you an honest choice, both for Ytrude and Tiersen—that is your
son's name?"
"Tiersen—yes." Nelmor refilled his goblet and eased a pastry into a
hamlike hand.
Anna nodded to Ytrude. "Please have one. You must be hungry after such a
long ride."
The blonde girl took the smallest, eating it in quick small bites, as if
she could not believe she were allowed to do so.
"Gatrune said you were not like other women," offered the big man. "She
said that even her armsmen respected you." He swallowed the pastry in one
huge bite, jaws moving ponderously.
"I can see you have had a long journey," Anna said. "I would be most
pleased to have you join us for the evening meal. There we could continue
our discussion."
"Thank you. We would be honored." Nelmor smiled.
"While you refresh yourself, I, unfortunately, must attend to a few other
needs before dinner." Anna forced a smile as she stood. "I look to see
you later."
Nelmor took the hint and rose. After a moment, so did Ytrude.
The sorceress waited until they had left before she hurried through the
hall, across the courtyard, and up the open steps in the east-wall
quarters, with Blaz hurrying along behind his regent. While her guard set
himself outside the door, Anna stepped into the largest room in the east
barracks. Hanfor had insisted on a space there, rather than a space in
the hall proper, as a measure of his independence. Anna had agreed, but
insisted that he take the largest space for his de facto command center
and conference room.
She also made a point to meet with him there at times, to reinforce his
position.
The tall Defalkan arms commander looked up from his small and battered
conference table—the same one he had used in his smaller room below—then
started to stand.
"Sit down. I've got another visiting lord, and we'll have to be charming
and entertaining at dinner tonight. You, especially."
Hanfor groaned. "I'm still trying to figure out how to cover everything,
and Himar's having trouble with the local smiths. Dissonance, they're not
even smiths, just excuses for smiths."
"We'll have to buy our own, sooner or later, then?"
"If we can even find one. To find a good weaponsmith is uncertain, not
like wagonwrights or the like."
Anna dropped into the ancient wooden chair across from the weathered
commander. "I've been thinking…"
Hanfor waited. His gray hair was mussed.
"What about Himar taking a trip, and some force out to Mencha?" Anna
asked. "While I'm visiting Lord Jecks."
"You want the Evult to have to concentrate on more than one place?" asked
Hanfor.
"That was my thought. Would it work? Do we have enough armsmen to do it
and not leave your forces stripped?"
"Our walls are not exactly overflowing with armsmen, Lady Anna, as I was
about to tell you. There are still many who are uneasy about a regency
controlled by a sorceress."
Anna knew. The liedburg had less than two hundred
professional—semiprofessional, really—armsmen, and since her regency was
viewed as a continuation of Barjim's, she had no right even to call up
levies until after the liedgeld payments were made.
"Hmmm…" Anna poured the vinegary wine into the spare goblet, lifted it,
then lowered it without drinking. "If I could pry some out of somewhere
else?''
"I have no problem with your idea, but I would have no armsmen left here.
You must take fivescore with you."
"Threescore should be enough."
"Four," insisted Hanfor. "That leaves only sixscore, and you would have
to move that many to Mencha even to get the Evult to spend a few extra
moments viewing them in his glass."
"Let me see what I can do." Anna stood. "I'll see you at dinner."
As she walked back across the courtyard, followed by Blaz, their booted
steps echoing from the stones, she wondered how anything got done in a
society where almost
everything had to be handled and supervised face-to-face. She laughed.
And she'd been the one who thought her earth had been too impersonal—now
she was trying to run things in an all-too-personal manner.
116
The conference room was hot, even with the single window wide open, and
the hot air enveloped Anna like an oven. Would winter ever come? Not yet!
You need good weather, she corrected her wishes.
"What should we do about the Matriarch's demand for repayment?" Anna
asked, her eyes going from Hanfor to Menares to Dythya.
"That was two thousand golds, was it not?" asked the white-haired
counselor.
Was it her imagination, or was Menares thinner? She looked to Hanfor.
"If the Norweians and Konsstin mount an attack at the same time next
year, we will need additional golds. We also need a weaponsmith and-iron
stocks for him." Hanfor coughed softly. His weathered face had circles
under the deep-set eyes, deeper circles, and his hair was grayer.
"And?"
"I do not know what else, lady, save that armsmen, their mounts, and
their weapons always take more coin… and more than that." Hanfor offered
a twisted smile.
Anna scanned the hand-drafted list of liedjburg expenses and projected
outlays—well over 10,000 golds for the year ahead, with only about 3,500
on hand, but none of the lied-geld had been received, and Dythya's
"guesses" showed that with the harvests of Jimbob's lands and the
liedgeld, Anna should receive around 8,000 golds, although some of it
might be seasons in actually arriving.
She'd arbitrarily decided on a financial year that started with the
liedgeld payments, since that date was as fixed as any for receiving
revenues, and it was easier not to project from negative numbers.
Her eyes looked over the numbers again. No reserves for extra materials,
and repaying 2,000 golds… that didn't look good at all, especially since
her little expedition would doubtless cost several hundred golds.
"All right. Menares, draft me a letter to the Matriarch. Tell her that
while the debt incurred by Lord Barjim was not of our doing, we will
respect that debt, but that it will have to be paid over time. We will
send five hundred golds with the scroll as the first payment and as a
token of good faith."
"Five hundred golds in return for their reminder." Hanfor nodded. "That
will keep them from getting ideas of invading."
Anna hoped so.
She glanced toward the open window. Before long she would have to go to
the middle hall and check on the players' progress. Another few days, and
they would have to leave, and that would be pushing it—a lot. But they
could practice on the road, and they had to reach the Ostfels before the
winter snows began. And she still hadn't heard from Lady Gatrune. The
loan or rental of Kysar's— Gatrune's now—levies would help stretch the
liedburg's armsmen without incurring permanent overhead, if Gatrune and
Fins would only agree.
The sorceress took a deep breath and tried to bring her thoughts back to
the accounts and all the details she had to handle before she could head
out into the disaster she was about to create.
117
The sorceress lifted the scroll from Lady Gatrune off her table and read
through it again. She nodded to herself, glad that she had stopped to see
Gatrune, and glad that one Captain Firis remained grateful.
Then she set it aside for later, when she would meet with Hanfor, and
looked at the first map that had arrived from Lord Jecks, showing the
route along the upper Fal River into the Ostfels.
For a time, she studied it, trying to get a feel for the geography, until
there was a rap on the door.
"Yes?"
"Lady Anna, it is past the fourth glass of the morning…" offered Blaz.
"Oh… I'll be right there."
The sorceress rolled the map back up and slipped it into the case, then
straightened her tunic and the purple sash that Lady Essan had
recommended as a suitable mark of a regent. Anna only wore it in the
hall. Outside, it just made her a target, and after her introduction to
the assassins of the dark ones, she didn't need to give them any easier
ways of picking her out.
Then she stepped into the corridor and headed toward the large hall,
noting that Virkan had gotten the lamp mantles clean again. Blaz
followed, stationing himself at the door to the hall as Anna entered.
The youngsters gathered there and slumped around the uncovered banquet
tables leaped to their feet.
In the light cast by the two lit wall-lamps, Anna looked out across the
pages and girls she knew—Skent, Lysara, Resor, Cens, Barat, Hoede, the
pale blonde Ytrude, and Secca, the youngest redhead, sitting on a stool
in the corner, her eyes darting to Anna, and then away.
Too bad Nelmor hadn't let Tiersen stay, but it seemed that the blonde
lord wasn't about to have all of his heirs and himself in the same
place—or something like that. He'd warmed up a little after a long
dinner, but he was far too traditional for Anna. She almost shook her
head.
Cataryzna hadn't returned from Sudwei, if she ever would. Anna still
hadn't heard about Birke. And she worried whether Secca was too young,
but Hryding would not have understood if she had excluded the little
redhead, and Lord Hryding's bitchy consort would have made another issue
Anna couldn't afford.
"Sit down," she said after a moment, taking a chair and setting it in
front of them, then seating herself. "I'm sure you all wonder what
terrible reason there is for you all to be gathered here." Her eyes swept
the group.
She saw a faint nod from Skent, ever the pessimist, but then, he was the
only one not a scion of a lordly house.
"There's no terrible reason. Starting tomorrow, part of your day will be
taken up with lessons. Dythya will teach you something about numbers and
accounts, and if you can learn what she has to offer, you will be better
prepared, when the time comes, to manage or oversee your own accounts or
those of your lands." Anna paused. How could she put what she had to say
in an acceptable way?
"Since I have been here, I have seen talent in all sorts of people. There
are bright lords and not-so-bright lords; there are bright peasants and
dumb peasants. There are bright armsmen and stupid armsmen." The
sorceress paused and looked at Skent. "What does that tell you?"
"Ah… anyone can be smart or…" Skent faltered.
"And anyone can be dumb. Right. Some of those who will teach you are not
lords or from lordly blood, but they are talented. I hope you will judge
them, and all those you meet, by who they are and what they do—not by how
or where they were born."
"But…" protested Hoede, "you mean I have to learn from a peasant?"
"No," Anna said. "That's your choice. You don't have to learn anything.
Where I come from, the teachers give tests. I'm not inclined to do that.
If you don't seem interested in learning, I'll just send you home and let
someone else take your place. And they'll learn all the new things, and
you won't."
"You talked about accounts…" ventured Lysara. "My sire has a clerk."
"And I do, and you will. So does Lord Jecks," answered Anna. "And how
will you know if he is managing your accounts well or poorly? If he does
it well, you should know enough to reward him so that he will remain
loyal and grateful. If he does it poorly, shouldn't you know?"
Skent nodded. So did Resor and Cens. Ytrude smiled faintly and briefly.
"You, young ladies, why do I want you to learn things that have normally
been reserved for men?"
Lysara looked blank, and Anna turned to Ytrude and waited.
"You want me to answer?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." The sorceress' eyes flicked across
the pages. Skent looked interested, watching Ytrude, waiting for an
answer. So were Resor and Cens, again. Hoede and Barat appeared puzzled.
Secca just watched, bright-eyed.
"I am not certain," Ytrude finally said.
Anna wanted to sigh, and then scream. Instead, she asked, "Who holds the
lands of Pamr?"
"They were Lord Kysar's."
The sorceress did not grit her teeth, much as she wanted to, but asked,
"And who affirmed allegiance to the regency and administers those lands?"
"Lady Gatrune," admitted Ytrude.
"And who is the regent of Defalk?"
"You are."
"Who controls Ranuak?"
"The matriarchs."
"Lady Anna…" Hoede looked down, as if he could not finish the question.
That was going to be a problem, Anna had realized. Because she was
regent, few were going to question her. So she would have to read faces
and guess.
"No, Hoede, I am not suggesting that women will take over Defalk or that
there will be many ladies holding lands—but there will be some. I would
rather have a strong lady than a weak man, and the people of Defalk need
and deserve good leaders. Also, look what happened in many holdings. When
a lord dies in battle and his children are young, shouldn't his consort
know enough to administer those lands? Would you want your lands to go to
a stranger because your consort wasn't able to handle them? Or to some
distant relative?"
Barat looked shocked, as if the idea had never crossed his mind, If he
has one, Anna thought. The process would be slow, if she got anywhere at
all.
"You will also spend some time in the stables with Tirsik. Most of you
know how to saddle and care for horses, and you will do some of that,
even you ladies, but I've also asked him to talk to you about how the
whole stable should be run. I'm sure that some of you know some of what
he will say, but I doubt any of you know all that he knows."
"I'll have to saddle my own mount?" asked Lysara.
"Yes," Anna answered, "and Cens will probably have to learn about
chickens and a few other unmanly things. A good lord or lady should know
something about everything, and we're going to try to have you learn more
than you would at home."
"Will we learn… magic?" asked Ytrude.
"I will teach you the principles of magic, and its uses and limits." That
was all she would promise in that area, and even that bothered her. In
this culture, too much knowledge too young could create disasters, as
Daffyd had already discovered. At least, she hoped he'd learned that
magic had special pitfalls, although she wasn't certain.
She shifted her weight in the hard-seated chair. Now what? After a
moment, she stood. "That's all for the moment."
Behind her, she could feel the mix of puzzlement and interest. Before
long, she needed to spend time, a little, at least with Secca… but not
too much, or everyone else would be offended.
From the great hall she headed for Hanfor's office. Hanfor, Alvar, and
Himar were seated around the table when she entered.
"Just keep your seats," Anna said as she crossed the room and took the
free seat. It was the chair that wobbled, but she wouldn't be there that
long, anyway.
"You require us?" asked the stocky Himar.
"Actually, yes." She turned to Hanfor. "Did you talk to Himar about the
possibility of taking armsmen to Mencha?"
"I did not wish—"
"Fine. Himar, in another few days, you'll be headed to Mencha. Alvar,
you'll head up the lancers that go with me to Elhi." She could feel the
light breeze through the window, cooler and refreshing.
"Hanfor had said that you would be going to Elhi at some time," affirmed
the swarthy, wiry captain. "I assume Spirda will be coming."
"And nine players."
"Ah… Lady Anna… I recall concluding that we had no armsmen to accompany
Himar to Mencha." Hanfor touched his beard.
"I still agree with you, but I received a message from Lady Gatrune
earlier this morning. She will support us. We would still need several
squads. Could you spare two?'' the sorceress asked.
"Would she be willing to offer us enough armsmen to make… an impression?"
Hanfor glanced at Anna and raised his eyebrows.
"According to Lady Gatrune, Captain Firis will lend Himar some
considerable fraction of the Pamr levies for three weeks, provided we pay
for their food and travel expenses."
"That is not cheap," said Hanfor.
"But it won't cost that much, and we don't have to worry about hiring
mercenaries that we might not be able to pay in the future."
Hanfor fingered a beard that was getting more white than gray, seemingly
by the week. "That might work. It would certainly give the… the Ebrans
something else to worry about."
"That's all we can hope for, right now." Anna looked at Himar. "You.don't
mind taking levies to Mencha, perhaps doing a little maintenance on the
hall there, as if you were getting ready for a larger force to follow?"
"That would be no problem, and the squads I took from here would be happy
to be on the move, I think."
"Good. Plan to leave in a week." Anna stood. "That's all I had, for now."
The three exchanged glances as she left, and she could sense the
combination of puzzlement from Himar and Alvar and amusement from Hanfor.
As she marched back to the receiving room, she felt her mind splitting in
different directions—maps, routes, the accounts system that still wasn't
the way she wanted it, the chaotic state of her proposed private
schooling for the sons and daughters of the lords—and her continued
inability even to see her daughter for even a moment—not if Anna didn't
want to destroy every glass in the liedburg and risk fatal cuts from
flying glass even before she finished the spell.
"Shit…" muttered the sorceress. "Shit…"
118
Anna took another sip of water and a mouthful of bread as she studied the
scroll again, hoping that it didn't say what it did.
… will always remain loyal to Lord Barjim and to his son Jimbob, and have
great sympathy for the task which you have undertaken. While Lord Jecks
and other respected lords of Defalk have reluctantly endorsed the
expediency of a prolonged regency, as have I, some concerns remain about
the continuity of such an arrangement… Defalk has a long and glorious
tradition… upheld even recently by the bravery of Lord Barjim and Lord
Jecks, not to mention the sacrifice of Lord Kysar and others…
The words rambled on for pages, saying nothing overtly damaging, but
clearly implying that the writer was not exactly pleased about the way
Defalk was being governed, since all the great warriors and leaders of
the past had been great men.
The signature was not a signature, but a sealmark, a name written beside
it—that of Arkad, Lord of Cheor.
Anna snorted. The last thing she wanted to do was visit Lord Arkad of
Cheor, but in some way she had to put an end to such garbage, preferably
without putting an end to the writer. The clearly illiterate writer? She
paused. Did Lord Arkad even know what his scribe had written?
She sighed. That was another problem in a semiliterate society. How much
power was really held by talented and scheming subordinates, like Virkan
had been? She didn't like the idea of such a weaseling message coming
from someone who couldn't—or wouldn't—sign his name personally.
The sorceress cut a wedge of cheese—a late breakfast for another day that
was likely to be all too long. But she had so much trivia to attend to
before she left on the day after tomorrow, and she wanted to spend some
time with Lady Essan, getting the equivalent of a briefing on Lord Jecks,
Jimbob, and the situation in Elhi. Even eating enough to keep from
wasting away took more time than she wanted to spend.
Hanfor wanted to discuss last-moment details about what supplies she
would need, and she still needed to talk to Tirsik about how to handle
his training in stables, horses, and the like for her pampered darlings,
some of whom couldn't bear the thought that their underlings knew more
than they did.
She snorted. That—in a society where some lords could barely write and
others questioned the wisdom of learning how.
She also wanted to hear what Hanfor and Menares had been able to find out
about events in Neserea. Perhaps their information would enable her to
make sense out of her own scrying efforts.
"Lady Anna… the overcaptain and the counselor." Skent bowed as he
delivered the message.
"Have them come in." She swallowed the last of the water in the goblet
and refilled it before standing. With the weather returning to the hotter
days that had ushered in the harvest weeks earlier, a warm breeze blew in
through the high rear window. '
"Lady Anna…" murmured Menares, barely loud enough for her to hear.
"Lady Anna—" Hanfor clipped off the salutation briskly.
"Sit down." She reseated herself and waited for them to settle around the
conference table before she asked, "What do you know about what's
happening in Neserea?"
"Nubara seems to be acting as regent for Rabyn," offered Menares.
"Nubara—he's the one who set the assassins on me?"
"Ah…" coughed Menares. "He was close to Cyndyth, but…"
"That's good enough for me," said Anna. "Why is it unexpected that he is
regent?"
"We had thought that Ysel would be regent, but it appears that the
Liedfuhr has insisted on Nubara…" The heavy white-haired counselor
shrugged. "Ysel would have been more… temperate."
"Ysel has disappeared," said Hanfor dryly. "As many do when Konsstin
becomes involved." The weathered over-captain glanced at Menares. "Better
you took service with Lady Anna."
"That I can see," replied Menares. "Still… one never thinks it might
happen."
"I can't detect any armsmen headed in our direction from there," Anna
said. "Not with a glass. Would Nubara send them now?"
"Not now," said Hanfor. "Even he would have to consult with Konsstin, and
I would wager that Konsstin would not wish to start a war with a
sorceress with winter coming on."
"You are hard on glasses, Lady Anna," offered Menares. "You might
consider a pool."
"After I return from my visit to Lord Jecks, I'll consider it." Anna
regretted not letting Menares in on the full details of her "visit," but
she still didn't fully trust Menares.-He wouldn't act against her, but he
might pass on information, and the more information that was out, the
less the chance of her efforts providing a surprise to the Evult. Her
expedition couldn't be a surprise once she neared the Ebran border, but
no army could catch her if she could reach Ebra before the Evult knew,
especially not where she was headed. Hanfor's suppositions about Nubara
and Konsstin reinforced her determination to try to defeat the Evult
immediately. She could not fight on two borders at once.
"Is this visit wise?" asked Menares. "You have not had a chance to
complete…"
"I know. Things aren't really nailed down here, but I am the regent, and
if I don't visit young Lord Jimbob pretty quickly, the other lords are
going to start saying that I'm really trying to be lord or master of
Defalk in my own right. We just got a scroll from Lord Arkad of Cheor
pretty much suggesting that."
"Some say he is a windy soul," offered Menares.
"Perhaps," agreed Anna, "but what he says, others are thinking."
Hanfor nodded.
"You have met with many lords—even Lord Nelmor recently," said Menares.
"There's a difference between their coming here and my visiting them. I
visited Lady Gatrune, and now we have the use of her levies—some of them.
We also have a pledge of support from Lord Hryding, and he even sent his
daughter to join us."
"When did that come?"
"Last week, with her, I think," Anna answered. Absently, she remembered
that she hadn't groomed Farinelli, either, and that seemed to be one of
the things that she couldn't delegate. Tirsik could partly clean the
stall, but none of his stable boys, and no one else could so much as
touch the palomino, only hold the reins once he was bridled and saddled.
She smiled faintly, trying to pay full attention and to shuttle
everything else she needed to do to the back of her mind—again.
119
Anna led Farinelli out into the courtyard, her eyes once more checking
the saddlebags and the extra water bottles, her left hand touching her
belt and overlarge belt wallet, and then her knife.
Hanfor waited in the long shadows and gloom of dawn, his fingers going to
his trimmed salt and pepper beard. Behind him, Alvar stood on the stones
of the courtyard, reins in hand.
Anna could sense the mounted lancers of Alvar's company beyond the
portcullis, waiting for her and the players.
"You didn't have to see us off," Anna began as she stopped short of
Hanfor. Then she smiled. "You're the armsmaster of Falcor and arms
commander of Defalk. You have to, don't you?"
"It would be remarked upon—not favorably—if I failed to be properly
respectful to the regent of Defalk." The older-looking man smiled wryly.
"Never let it be said that I am not respectful." The smile dropped. "I
cannot say I am pleased to remain here while others bear the brunt of
what must be done."
"I know." Anna looked at her commander. "But if you accompany me,
especially with armsmen…"
"I understand, and I agree. I do not like it. You are wagering on
surprise and your own powers. I can only hope to the harmonies that they
will be enough."
"They have been before, but this will probably be the last chance. If
this works, then every movement I make will be followed through all the
scrying ponds and glasses of Liedwahr, and the fishbowl will be even
worse."
"Fishbowl?"
"Everyone will watch—forever. Also, I can't fight the Evult and Nubara
both next year. We know that. So I have to go." Anna shook her head. "And
how could I leave anyone else in charge? Everyone knows you are honest
and that you represent me. The armsmen will obey you, and even Lady Essan
wishes that her consort had had a commander such as you." She shrugged.
"That means you're the one."
"Such an honor I had not expected." The commander accented "honor"
slightly, and followed his statement with a gentle laugh.
"You earned it."
"I must be more careful in the future." Hanfor lowered his voice. "Do
take care, lady. Much rests on you, much more than you wish to believe."
The sorceress didn't need that reminder. It was easier to believe she was
just a stranger who had a few useful talents. "I also don't need such
honor."
Hanfor smiled briefly.
A light breeze, almost cool, wafted down from over the walls, and she
hoped that the Ostfels would not be too cold. Was she totally insane to
try her campaign?
Not totally, but what else could she do? The Evult continued to rebuild
the Ebran armies, and enlist more and more souls into the massed
darksingers. As time passed, more and more would be pressed on Anna and
her regency.
Anna mounted Farinelli, then bent forward in the saddle and patted his
shoulder, getting a whuff in response. "I know. You're ready for more
exercise than I've been giving you. We both may be getting more than we
want before it's over." She looked around the courtyard as the gray sky
lightened.
The players were already mounted, as was Daffyd. As she surveyed the
group inside the walls, Alvar and Spirda vaulted into their saddles.
"The regent's players are ready, Lady Anna," said the young violist.
"Are you ready, lady?" asked Alvar.
"Let's go," she said, and flicked the reins, urging Farinelli toward the
raised portcullis, with Daffyd, Alvar, and Spirda closing up behind her.
Once they were outside the liedburg walls, the rest of the lancers eased
their mounts in behind Anna, and the sound of hoofs echoed from the
stones of the road.
A few faces peered from a handful of windows in Falcor as the regent's
party rode northward through the still mostly deserted city. The
sorceress wanted to shake her head. She had so much to do.
Could she use sorcery to rebuild the bridge across the Falche? And the
ford at Sorprat?
Those would have to wait—but not long, because the Falche would regain
its normal flow by the spring runoff, if she were successful. Nothing was
likely to wait, not long enough, anyway. She tightened her lips, then
forced herself to relax.
She patted Farinelli, which somehow helped, and continued to study
Falcor, from the red dust in the corners where walls and ground met,
overlying dried mud, to the cracking and unrepaired mortar, to the broken
and dangling shutters on too many windows.
120
Anna readjusted the floppy-brimmed hat. Disreputable as it looked, even
after some sorcerous cleaning, it was comfortable and did the job.
Besides, any hat worn on the dusty roads of Defalk would end as a worn
and dirty mess.
The cool breeze still blew out of the north, and the sun still shone
through clear blue-green skies, and the dust still rose from the hoofs of
the horses. The one better thing about being regent was that she didn't
have to eat anyone else's dust.
She studied the road ahead—a long arcing curve to the east, following the
course of the almost-empty Fal River.
"I take it the river was once much larger?'' Anna asked Daffyd, who rode
directly to her right.
"Much larger. Even two years ago, well after the rains stopped, the water
covered the center there, the sandy part." The player pointed to the sand
flats where only a thin trickle of brown water had etched a narrow
curving channel in the middle of the river bed. Dried grasses, broken and
bleached tree limbs lay scattered across the depression that had once
held a far larger and mightier river.
"It is not much of a river now," observed Alvar.
"No," Anna agreed. From what she could tell, most of the flow of the
Falche River at Falcor now came from the Chean River—and she hadn't
exactly helped that.
Somehow, as her explorations of the upper Fal with her glass had
shown—she had no problems scrying so long as she confined her attempts to
Erde—the Evult had created the flood that had rampaged down the Fal by
melting off most of the snowpack of the Ostfels around the headwaters.
Since the headwaters weren't that far from Vult, the Evult's action might
make Anna's efforts easier—there certainly wasn't any snow to block
them—not yet.
"It is sad," Alvar said.
Beside him, Spirda nodded.
The sorceress repressed a smile. From all his initial complaining about
providing a protection detail, the blonde sub-officer had certainly
changed, and Anna doubted that he would ever willingly give up his
position. She found it interesting how she had less trouble with the
professionals than with the amateurs, but that had been true back on
earth. She had developed great relationships with conductors and
performers—it was only the academics who were mediocre performers, and
often worse teachers, who created the problems.
She chuckled to herself as she reached for her water bottle. Some things
didn't change.
The chuckle stopped as she looked along the seemingly endless red clay
road that stretched to the northeast horizon, bordered on the left by
empty lands filled with browned grass, bleached weeds, and dust, by empty
peasant cots, and by low hills crowned with dead and dying trees.
After two full days, they still had not reached Ohal, the small hamlet
supposedly two thirds of the way to Elhi.
She opened her water bottle and drank, slowly, then stoppered it, and
replaced it, before patting the palomino. "A long ways to go, fellow. A
long ways."
That was true in more ways than one. She straightened in the saddle and
blotted her forehead.
121
That'd be Elhi, I wager," offered Alvar.
Anna glanced from the red clay of the road and to her left at the Fal
River, still but a muddy trickle winding through sun-bleached
devastation, and then beyond the river to a collection of structures
rising above the river farther to the east.
Closer to the regent and her lancers and players, on the north side of
the river, were what appeared to be wharves, long stone piers that had
survived the Evult's flood—except even the base of the stone pillars
stood at least two yards above the thin line of water that ran through
the river bed. A closer look revealed to Anna that some of the piers had
been planked, and that the planks had been ripped away. The irregular
piles of debris—branches, boards, and mud— above and behind the piers
represented the remains of warehouses, Anna surmised.
The river docks were yet another measure of how much Defalk had suffered
from the magic of the Ebrans.
"Dissonant mess," said Spirda, his voice rising above the dull clop of
hoofs.
Anna brushed away a fly—once, twice. Now that the breezes had subsided,
and the temperature was higher, the flies were back, and they were
horseflies with a nasty bite.
"This poor land." Alvar shook his head and glanced sideways at Anna.
What had she gotten herself into? Had she had much choice? She nodded.
Everyone had choices, but she couldn't stand back, in the way she felt
Brill had, and let things go to hell—or dissonance.
She glanced eastward along the road as Farinelli continued to carry her
at an even pace.
Upstream, to the right of where the river docks stood, were a set of
redstone piers—all that remained of the bridge that had led into Elhi. A
rough path or trail, as at Falcor, wound down through the river bed and
then up to the town. On a low rise, north of the town itself and barely
visible above the roofs of Elhi, rose another set of low walls,
presumably those of Elheld, Lord Jecks' hold.
As the sorceress reined up at the top of the path through the river, she
turned to Alvar. "It's probably time to bring out the regency banner. We
don't need to have someone thinking we're another invasion force."
"Some may think that with the banner," said Daffyd.
"The regency banner!" called the swarthy captain.
"Ready arms," called Spirda.
"Ready it is," answered Fhurgen.
A young armsman trotted up beside Spirda, riding on the shoulder of the
road, and unfurled the purple oblong that bore the golden crossed spears
of Defalk—-the basic design of Barjim's ensign—with a golden crown
beneath. The only indication of the regency for Jimbob was an R under the
crown. If he wished, Jimbob would only have to remove the R to have a
banner derived from his sire's, yet his own.
Farinelli picked his way down the trail and back up onto the dried mud
that covered the stone pavement that led to the washed out bridge.
Anna looked at the bridge, wishing she could repair it with sorcery. She
shook her head. Not now. Not yet. Using that much power would only
further alert the Evult and call attention to where she was. Better that
she keep any demonstrations of her abilities minimal until she had dealt
with Ebra.
The line of riders followed the main street past structures that seemed
mostly abandoned structures—until Anna could see the central square
ahead. By then, the shutters of the structures hung squarely, and even a
few had been painted recently.
The central square of Elhi, like that of Synope, squatted around a dusty,
oblong redstone platform with a balustrade that ringed the two short
sides and one long side. Another roofless town bandstand, Anna thought,
easing Farinelli along the street on the north side of the square.
The handful of people in the square just stopped. A thin, white-haired
woman pointed toward the banner.
"… the sorceress… the regent…"
"… what's another one? Won't stop the dark ones… no sense in getting
hopes up…"
Anna understood, but wanted to wince. Instead, she forced herself to
study the square as Farinelli carried her onward.
Chandler proclaimed a dull black sign bearing two crossed candles. Under
the sign was a Shop with recently washed and white-trimmed windows. To
the south of the chandlery was a smaller building, with an open door, but
no signs. Across the square from the chandlery was an inn, with a sign
bearing a golden bear, clearly an attempt to curry favor with Lord Jecks.
Some things didn't change, Anna reflected.
A tall and lanky woman in calf-length gray trousers and a gray work shirt
hurried across the square toward the regent. Her feet were bare.
"Welein… she be mad!"
"… little enough to lose…"
The woman began to run, ignoring the comments from the other townspeople,
then stumbled to a halt several yards before Farinelli.
The sorceress reined up, even as she could sense Spirda's and Fhurgen's
blades being raised. "Let her talk." Behind her, the clop of hoofs died
away as the lancers halted their mounts.
The lanky and barefoot brunette offered a rough bow, but her gray eyes
immediately met Anna's. "Lady? You are the new regent?"
"I am."
"You are said to be a sorceress. Can you not bring back the rains and the
river? My sons have died, and my consort has fled. You say you are the
lady of Defalk. You must do something, or we cannot be your people." The
gray eyes were firm, fixed on Anna, who scarcely felt regal or like a
regent.
"You're right." That was easy enough, but what else could she say?
Especially without promising more than she could deliver or without
tipping off the Evult?
The woman waited in the dusty stillness of the square, and Anna felt like
the whole world was filled with people holding their breath, looking to
her.
Finally, she spoke. "The dark sorcery took years to bring down Defalk. I
am working to undo that evil, but I cannot undo those evils all at once."
Anna fumbled in her wallet, then came up with a silver. She eased
Farinelli toward the woman who watched, eyes still cold and gray. "I hope
this will help until times are better." She extended the coin. "You may
take it or not, as you wish, but you have my word that I have not
forgotten what must be done." The sorceress continued to look at the
supplicant.
After a moment, the woman reached out and took the silver, her eyes still
on Anna. "For good or evil, regent or lady, you have given your word. If
you keep it, none will ever gainsay your rule. If not, no sorcery will
save you."
The sorceress nodded. "I agree."
After a moment, the woman stepped back. "Harmony be with you, lady."
"And with you," Anna answered, feeling as though everyone in the square
had begun to breathe again. She flicked the reins, and Farinelli whuffed
as he stepped forward.
Two workmen in soiled trousers and ragged shirts stacked barrels in front
of the cooper's, less than a dozen yards away. Neither even looked up as
the column resumed its walk through the streets of Elhi toward Jecks'
hold.
"The people despair, but they hope," said Alvar quietly. "You cannot
afford to disappoint them."
"The people are fickle," Daffyd said. "Once they cheered Lord Barjim, and
some even cheered Lord Behlem."
"Some are. Some aren't," Anna said, thinking about the bleak gray eyes of
the barefoot woman, a woman younger than Anna, yet who had suffered more,
far more, and who had to put her faith in a stranger and a sorceress.
The houses beyond the square seemed newer, and were, as in the south,
generally finished on the outside with a plaster or stucco. Some were
gray, others painted.
Beyond the north end of Elhi, where the houses began to spread, and where
more abandoned cots appeared, the fields swept upward from flat
bottomland filled with stubble or recently-turned dark earth to higher,
hillier fields, most of which were covered in browned grass or weeds.
Thinking once more about what lay ahead, Anna turned in the saddle toward
Daffyd. "How are your players doing?"
"Well enough. "Well enough, though they question, and I have no answers."
"We'll have answers before too long." Unfortunately… unfortunately.
"I await them, but I fear those answers," answered the young player.
So do I. "We can't avoid them."
"I would rather not rush to find them." The corners of Daffyd's mouth
curled into a sardonic smile.
The sorceress glanced over her shoulder, seeing both the dust and the
line of horsemen that stretched all the way back into the town. Had she
ever dreamed she would be leading such a group?
Her head went from the lancers to the banner at her right and to the
well-kept road ahead that curved to the right and then back to the left
as it wound up to the hall.
Although dusty, the road to the hall was well kept, and Anna could see
where potholes had been filled and tamped smooth. The fields had been
turned or harvested, and the wooden fences, if darkened by weather,
remained sound, with occasional cross-beams of newer and lighter-colored
wood.
The well-maintained red stone walls, which ran about half a dek on a
side, were short for a Defalkan hall, Anna judged, no more than four
yards high—enough to present a defense against casual attacks and to
create an impression of strength—and well away from the central hall—at
least a hundred yards.
The iron-bound wooden gates were open, and two guards stood in the shade
of the arch as Anna reined up.
Both guards bowed.
"Welcome to Elheld, regent and lady," offered the shorter, gray-haired
armsman. "Lord Jecks awaits you in the hall."
"Thank you. We appreciate the welcome." Anna offered a smile, hopefully
warmer than merely professional, despite her weariness. "Lord Jecks is
known for his fairness and hospitality."
"He is a good lord," acknowledged the greeter.
With another smile, Anna eased Farinelli through the gate.
The outbuildings, also of red stone, were set about twenty yards inside
the walls and paralleled them all the way around the red stone barrier,
except directly behind the gates.
By the time Anna reached the front of the hall, the white-haired Jecks
stood on the long columned portico that extended the length of the hall
front. The hall's combination of squared-off stone pillars, heavy stone
walls, and red stone conveyed to Anna an impression of a cross between
Egyptian and Southern antebellum architecture.
Beside Jecks were a heavyset and clean-shaven man with jowls and
iron-gray hair, and a boy with mahogany-colored hair, already broad
shoulders, and a strong-boned face.
"Greetings, Lady Anna. We are honored that the first visit of the regent
is to Elheld." Jecks offered a bow, respectful, but not mocking.
"You're the one who honors me, Lord Jecks." Anna dismounted and, reins in
hand, stepped forward toward the boy.
"Lord Jimbob?"
"Lady Anna." The boy bowed. "My grandsire tells me that I have much to
thank you for."
"You may not thank me so profusely," Anna said wryly, "once you take your
patrimony in hand. Enjoy being young while you can."
Jecks laughed. "I have told him that, but he is serious beyond his years."
Anna wondered what child wouldn't be, given his parents' death, and given
the possibility that he could have been killed by Lord Behlem.
"This is Gelen, Jimbob's tutor and counselor." The white-haired Jecks
inclined his head toward the heavy man. "Gelen, this is Lady Anna, the
regent who has reclaimed Jimbob's patrimony."
Anna turned. "Alvar commands the lancers who accompanied me." She
gestured toward the swarthy officer, who had dismounted and bowed. "And
Daffyd is the leader of the regent's players. He was with us at the Sand
Pass."
Daffyd bowed. "I'm honored, Lord Jecks."
"I am pleased your head player has experienced the full might of the dark
ones—and survived," replied the Lord of Elheld.
"Surely you do not intend magic…" began Gelen.
"The Lady Anna has assured me," Jecks said smoothly. "But if Defalk needs
her magic, what good are her players if they are in Falcor and she is
here?'' He motioned to a stocky figure in a blue-and-gold tunic.
"Tunbar?''
"Ser."
"Captain Alvar commands the regent's lancers. If you would ensure that
their mounts are taken care of and that they are quartered in the
barracks…"
"Captain." Tunbar bowed to Alvar.
"The players will guest in the hall. Captain Alvar… you are most welcome
in the hall… or the barracks…" Jecks' voice was neutral, yet concerned.
"I must insist, however, that you dine with us, as will the subofficer
who is the regent's personal guard chief. And of course, the chief of
players."
The sorceress wanted to smile. She could still learn a lot from Jecks.
"Thank you, ser," responded Alvar. "Best I quarter with the lancers, if
there is a suitable space."
"There is, better than some rooms in the hall, captain," offered Tunbar.
"Leastwise, Captain Sepko always said so. And there's one for the guard
subofficer, too."
A faint smile crossed Spirda's face
"Might we spend a few moments in conference, Lady Anna, before you
refresh yourself for dinner?" asked Jecks.
"That might be best," Anna said. If the older lord requested such a
meeting, he had his reasons. "But I will have to groom Farinelli first."
A frown crossed young Jimbob's face, then vanished.
Jecks laughed, and he turned to the boy. "The palomino may be a gelding,
Jimbob, but he is a raider warhorse, and none can touch him save the lady
Anna. She may look like a delicate lady, but more than a few have died at
her hand."
Anna wanted to wince at that, but she understood, and only nodded
slightly.
"How many, Lady Anna?" asked Jimbob.
"Best you ask how many thousands," answered Jecks.
"No. I don't mean with sorcery in battle."
"She killed one man with that dagger at her belt," said Daffyd. "Three
attacked her. They all died. She also rode two deks with a war arrow all
the way through her shoulder."
"I saw the scars," Jecks confirmed. His eyes blazed at the boy.
"I apologize… if I have offended, Lady Anna." Jimbob bowed again.
"Jimbob," Anna said slowly. "Some women are weak, and so are some men.
Other women are strong, and so are some men. Never assume that a woman is
weak because she is a woman."
"Some have, and they are all dead," added Alvar. "She has stood on a
broken wall and faced the Ebrans when all around her were fleeing. She
walked into a hall, after killing the Prophet of Music barehanded, and
faced down all the officers of Neserea."
"If you can do that, without an army at your back, as she did," added
Jecks, "then perhaps you will deserve to inherit what she has saved for
you. You may excuse yourself until dinner."
"By your leave, Lady Anna? My lord?" Jimbob bowed, and Anna could sense
the anger and humiliation.
"Jimbob…" Anna's voice was gentle. "You will be a ruler, and we all want
you to be a good ruler. Your sire's greatest strength was his willingness
to see things as they were. When he met me, he greeted me as an equal,
and I wanted to help him for that kindness. To my knowledge, he was
always that way, and that is why he almost accomplished the impossible.
He might have, if I had known then what I know now, but I was too new to
Liedwahr." Anna paused. "He was a good man, and he would want you to be a
good man also." After a moment, she added, "You have my leave, and I look
forward to seeing you later."
The boy bowed, and Anna could still sense tears close to the surface. So
she bowed slightly in return and waited until he turned and left. After a
moment, Gelen eased away.
"Lady Anna?" asked Alvar.
"Please do what you have to, Alvar. You, too, Daffyd."
She waited until Tunbar and Alvar began moving the lancers away, and
Daffyd and the players followed.
"I can see why you are effective, lady." Jecks chuckled. "Jimbob will
remember what you said, and after a bit, realize that you mean well."
"I hope so."
"Let us get your mount stabled." Jecks turned and began to walk around
the east side of the hall.
Anna walked after him, leading Farinelli to the stable— another stone
building as dry and clean as Tirsik's, if longer and narrower.
Farinelli's stall was in the front, and larger than all but a handful.
There were two pages waiting as well.
"Did you have a baggage beast?" asked Jecks, as Anna began to unstrap the
lutar, the saddlebags, and the light but bulkier bag that contained a
single green gown—not the recital gown, but one of those she had created.
"No. There's one gown, slippers, and riding clothes."
"You travel like a warrior, too, like my own daughter. I'll have to tell
Jimbob that." He turned to the pages. "Take these to the great guest
quarters."
"Not the lutar," Anna corrected.
Jecks nodded to the pages.
Anna set the lutar case aside, then unfastened the saddle and laid the
saddle on the rack. Jecks straightened it, and Farinelli neighed.
"I know," Anna said. "You're hungry, but you need grooming." Then she
answered Jecks. "I liked Alasia. I wish I'd had a chance to know her
better."
"She said you might save Defalk."
Not soon enough for her, if I do, Anna thought. "I tried."
"You still seem to be trying."
Anna gave a short laugh as she began to curry Farinelli.
Later, once the gelding was settled, they crossed the stone-paved expanse
back toward the hall, and in the twilight, Anna could hear chickens. All
halls seemed to have chickens—chickens and dust.
She stifled a sneeze, half shaking her head. "It's so dusty here." The
lutar case seemed heavy, but that was because she was tired.
"We had dust before in the summer, but not like this."
Like Brill's hall, Elheld was clean, with only a light coating of dust on
the stone floor, and the lamp mantles shone, as if they had been polished
for her arrival. They probably had been.
Jecks opened the heavy wooden door and beckoned. "This is my workroom."
Anna stepped inside. The room was comparatively small, especially for a
lord, no more than five or six yards square. A desk table sat before the
open double windows at the right end of the study. The area directly
before the door contained a small circular table and four carved wooden
chairs.
"It's not meant exactly for comfort."
"That's fine." Anna sat in one of the four chairs, setting the lutar by
her feet.
"I'm told you prefer water after riding." The lord poured some from a
pitcher into the goblet before Anna. "This has been orderspelled. Hyutt
can do some small spells, but that is about it." Then he filled his own
goblet and sat.
"Thank you." Anna drank most of the goblet in two swallows. "I get
thirsty here."
"How was your journey?"
"I had not realized how hard the Evult's revenge fell on you and your
lands," Anna admitted.
"It was close enough to harvest that we did not lose too much. Three
weeks earlier and we would have lost most of the crops." Jecks offered a
wintry smile. "You can see why I have mixed feelings about your…
expedition. If you fail, all will be lost for Jimbob. But if you do not
try, within another two years, perhaps sooner, all will be lost for
De-falk. You are a stranger, and you have never seen Defalk as I have
known it most of my life—with fertile fields, wide-leafed trees and
orchards on the hills, rivers filled with green water, towns and hamlets
filled with laughing and happy souls.
"Even young Jimbob finds it hard to remember, for half his life has been
spent in this parched land, and that is the half that he remembers."
"I take it that tonight is purely social?"
"It would be expected." Jecks nodded. "And, unlike many lords across
Liedwahr, I have no complaints with my liege. Complaints are usually the
business of such visits," he added. "I have taken the liberty of inviting
a neighbor, Lord Clethner. Will that displease you?''
Anna refilled the goblet and shook her head.
"I also have a favor to ask, a small one." His eyes twinkled slightly.
"Oh?"
"I would like you to light the candles."
Anna nodded. "You think a small demonstration would be in order?"
"Clethner—and even Jimbob—have trouble believing what they cannot see."
"I can manage that. Even the Evult wouldn't be surprised, if he's
watching."
Jecks rose and walked to the table. There he lifted a cylindrical leather
case and carried it back to Anna. "Here are the maps you requested. They
are the best we have."
"Thank you."
"How long will you stay?" Jecks reseated himself.
"How long should I stay?" Anna countered.
"Some great lords inflict themselves on their loyal retainers for weeks."
Anna winced. "I can't wait much longer. How about two days?"
"With a promise to return shortly… that would suffice. Clethner will
praise my luck. He has already been here two days, waiting to meet you."
"Just my luck."
"And his." Jecks glanced toward the window.
"It must be getting late. I need to get ready. I would like some water…"
"The tub is filled." Jecks smiled. "I have heard."
"Thank you." Anna rose. "Until dinner." Jecks rose also. "Until dinner,
Regent Anna."
122
Anna stretched, after having enjoyed the first hot bath in four days, and
wrapped the dressing gown around her, brushing her hair back away from
her face. In the dry air of Defalk, the hair she had cut short of
necessity would dry quickly—she hoped.
Then she walked from the bathing chamber into the main room and studied
the single gown she had brought. The simple green dress lay across the
purple coverlet of the triple-width bed.
The sorceress turned and, for a moment, stood at the window, looking out
across the lands shrouded in shadow, toward a reddish purple sunset that
faded into dark gray and purple as she watched. Both moons were visible,
but separated by half the width of the sky, with Darksong nearly at the
zenith, its reddish glow like an ember in the sky.
Clearsong was almost an evening star, a point of light above the horizon.
She turned back toward the dress on the bed, then dropped into the big
easy chair, wondering if Alasia or Bar-jim had preferred the chair,
trying not to think about so many things, from Mario and Elizabetta to
the expedition ahead, from the questions the disapproving presence of
Gelen to the questions posed by Jimbob. Had the tutor set up the boy?
Sooner or later, she'd have to do something about that—assuming she were
around to do it. And then there was the question of why Jecks had stated
her accomplish-ments so clearly, even to the point of nearly humiliating
his grandson. Was there more there than ensuring that Jimbob didn't get
an inflated opinion of himself?
Anna wanted to shake her head. Right now, she didn't need those kinds of
complications—and there was no reason to look farther, at least not until
she dealt with the Evult, assuming she could, and she returned.
Finally, she rose and began to get ready.
She had dressed, and brushed her hair, and added what little makeup she
had when the rap on the door was followed by a feminine voice. "Lady
Anna?"
"Yes?"
"Lord Jecks would like to know if you are ready to join us, or if he
should hold the dinner for a time?''
"I'll be there shortly."
She put on the faintest hint of lipstick—too much wouldn't be good in
this culture and it didn't hurt to stretch her meager two tubes—checked
her image in the glass, and headed for the door.
Fhurgen smiled as Anna stepped out of the room.
"You have guard duty?"
"I volunteered, lady." The dark-haired guard paused. "That was a kind
thing you did out front. With the boy."
"I don't know, Fhurgen. I don't want him automatically thinking women are
weak, but I also didn't want him humiliated before me, and he still might
resent me."
"He has time to learn."
I hope so. "It's hard to learn some things when you're young and
powerful, and Lord Jecks doesn't want him to get too big for his
britches." Anna turned toward the grand staircase and Fhurgen followed.
Jecks was waiting at the foot of the staircase, with a broad smile.
Definitely like Sean Connery, she decided. His eyes took in Anna, all of
her, and she almost found herself blushing as the tanned and white-haired
warrior extended a hand.
"It is hard to believe you are the same regent who rode in on a mighty
mount."
"I feel better," she admitted.
"Are you hungry?"
"Very."
Jecks escorted her along the short hall to the first door on the right,
where Alvar waited. Fhurgen stationed himself by the door, his hand close
to the hilt of his blade.
"This is a mighty hall," Alvar noted, his wiry frame bowing to Anna as
she entered the dining room.
"Not so mighty in these days," answered Jecks dryly.
Anna looked to the chandeliers, unlit as Jecks had indicated.
"Would you honor us, Lady Anna?" Jecks stood back and raised his voice in
asking, as if to make an announcement with his question, with only the
slightest twinkle in his eye.
"I would be honored, Lord Jecks." The sorceress smiled, hummed, hoping
she had the pitch right, and sang the candle spell, with concert vigor.
Obediently, the chandelier blazed.
Jimbob's mouth opened, but the redhead shut it quickly, his eyes flicking
to his grandfather as if to ask whether Jecks had seen his astonishment,
then to Gelen, standing beside the young lord. Gelen's eyes widened, but
only momentarily.
The whipcord-thin man who had moved from beside the dining table until he
stood behind and to the right of Jecks nodded, as if to affirm to himself
that the Regent of Defalk was indeed a sorceress.
"Thank you, Lady Anna. May you bring light—and rain—back to our lands."
Anna inclined her head slightly. "I'll do the best I can."
"Knowing you, that will be good indeed."
The sorceress wanted to squirm at what she viewed as a setup, but only
smiled politely.
Jecks stepped back and gestured to the thin man with the lank brown hair.
"Lady Anna, might I present Clethner, Lord of Nordland?"
"I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Clethner."
"Clethner, Lady Anna. I am a plain man." Clethner bowed. "You are most
impressive in person." His eyes glittered, and Anna stiffened inside.
"People expect a regent to be impressive, I've gathered." She nodded
politely.
"This is a small dinner, Lady Anna, in keeping with the times." Jecks
gestured. "Besides those you know, and Lord Clethner, I have also asked
Herstat to join us, since I thought you might like to meet him."
"His daughter has been very helpful."
"She has written her sire that you have been most effective in
reorganizing the accounts, and that you have suggested major improvements
in holding accounts." Jecks shook his head slightly, reminding Anna once
again of the combination of Robert Mitchum and Connery.
Careful… you can't think like that, not now.
"A sorceress who can improve accounts and who is deadly with both spells
and daggers, and who rides a raider beast no one else can touch?"
Clethner laughed, a gentle laugh. "You are the stuff of legends, Lady
Anna."
"I doubt that." I couldn't be, not a country girl from Cumberland,
Kentucky.
"If you would do the honor?" Jecks inclined his head toward the table.
Anna smiled and eased herself toward the table, finding she was seated at
the head, with Jecks at her left, and Jim-bob at her right. Clethner sat
beside Jecks, and Alvar beside Jimbob, with Daffyd flanking Clethner and
Spirda flanking Alvar. Gelen was seated beside Daffyd and Herstat beside
Spirda.
"Before we begin… although it is not customary, I would like to propose a
toast for the honor we have in our regent visiting us." Jecks lifted his
goblet. "To the regent! To her success in restoring Defalk to health and
honor."
"To the regent," echoed the others.
Anna worried more about the honor part than the health part. Honor among
men was a nebulous concept, often continually redefined. She held back a
snort. She should complain, when all too often she'd found women—like
Dieshr—had no concept of honor at all. Either way, restoring honor was a
chancy business.
The whole business of being a regent was chancy, and getting chancier.
She smiled.
123
Vuirr, Ebra
As the echoes of the mirror-pond spell die away, the white mists give way
to the image of a blonde woman in a green gown, seated at the head of the
table.
"That is not Falcor," observes Yurelt, unaware of the sidelong glance the
Evult bestows upon him.
"She guests at Lord Jecks." The Evult nods. "What does that tell you,
Songmaster?"
"She is trying to gain his support? Or strain his purse and hospitality.
Perhaps she has need of coin, and is letting Jecks support her and some
of her forces? Why, she is no different from Lord Behlem."
"All possible," admits the cloaked leader of the Dark Monks. "But she is
more devious than that, I fear. She will strike at us, as soon as the
roads clear in spring."
"She will not be ready. Defalk is in ruins. Falcor is a shambles. She
destroyed the roads and the ford across the Cheor." Yurelt shakes his
head.
"She will be ready, and we must be ready before her." The Evult smiles,
but only white teeth show from under the dark hood. "I will melt the
winter snowfall and cast down more floods—down both the Cheor and the
Fal, and you will march even as those floods ravage Defalk."
"She is beautiful," says Yurelt.
"She is evil, and older than you. She may be older than I am. Do not be
misled by appearances. She is resourceful." The hood turns as if he
shakes his head. "It is too bad this has gone on so far, and we have few
choices. I would almost like to see her take on the Liedfuhr. Would that
not give the mighty Konsstin fits?" A harsh laugh follows. "Or those
plotting fools in Wei."
"Why can you not wait?" asks the Songmaster.
"Because she has declared herself our enemy, and she will not believe any
envoy we send. Besides…" The Evult does not finish the sentence.
"She is a woman?"
The Evult touches the harp strings, and ripples cross the pond,
fragmenting the image of the blonde soprano. "I want your supply lists
and your march plan for the spring two weeks from today. No later."
"Yes, Evult." Yurelt bows.
124
On the third morning after leaving Elheld, as Anna and her expedition
rode first eastward, and then more toward the north, the dark smudges on
the horizon slowly grew taller, and more distinct, until the outline of
the Ostfels rose clearly above the brown and dusty hills of eastern
Defalk. The riverbed dwindled to the point where it no longer dwarfed the
thin line of water that wound down from the mountains, and scattered
junipers began to dot the sloping banks of the Fal.
In time, Anna could see patches of brown where evergreens, or some trees,
had died, almost like she imagined might be the impacts of acid rain.
From each side of the river stretched deks and deks of browned and bent
grass. Close up, Anna could see the grass consisted of clumps separated
by reddish dirt, but the more distant grass appeared unbroken.
She shook her head. Even the grasslands were slowly dying. Her eyes
lifted to the Ostfels. Were there clouds to the east of the tallest
peaks? Anna squinted, but she could not see any. What she did see was
that the peaks to the northeast were rocky and barren, while the taller
peaks to the south bore some snow cover.
A faint smile crossed her lips. Had the Evult used warm rain or something
to melt the snow cover to fuel the flood that had devastated Elhi and
Falcor? Perhaps she wasn't so insane to try to strike now. By spring
there would be more snow.
"We are going over those?" Daffyd asked again.
"Yes. According to Jecks there is a trail, an old road, but it's narrow."
Anna upstoppered the water bottle and drank, then replaced the bottle and
patted Farinelli on the neck.
"Had I not seen what you did to the Ebrans before, I would say this is
foolhardy." Daffyd volunteered.
"It is foolhardy," Anna admitted. "Totally foolhardy. It's just that not
doing anything is even worse. You've seen Defalk. The whole land is
dying. I'm hoping to surprise the Evult in his lair… his den… whatever."
"Do you know he is there?"
"So far." When Anna had used the glass the night before, only briefly,
very briefly, the shadowed figure had been in Vult, eating at a dark
table, alone.
She also had the feeling that he would still be in his den, and she had
to trust the feeling, not that she had any intention of getting too close
to that den. The idea behind the battle hymn—rivers of fire, not
water—that should let her spells create their havoc from farther away.
She winced. If the spells worked, there would be havoc. If not… another
kind of havoc. War, whether through technology or magic, created havoc,
but she had to wonder why arms were regarded as more acceptable. Or are
you self-justifying again?
She patted Farinelli absently. Why was it always so hard to figure out
what was truly right—and still survive?
"I'm sore," said Iseen, one of the horn players, as she tried to stand in
her stirrups. Then she called to Alvar, who rode to Anna's left.
"Captain, isn't it about time to water the horses?"
Alvar grinned at Anna, who smiled back, then shrugged.
"In a while, lady player. We will need a more gentle slope down to the
river."
"In a while, he says…" muttered Iseen, just loud enough for Anna to hear.
"All those silvers… too good to be true… now we know."
"Stop mouthing, Iseen. You were told you would travel. Did you expect a
carriage?"
"They sound like lancers," observed Alvar. "Nothing is ever quite the way
they would like it."
"Nothing ever turns out quite the way any of us would like it," Anna said
dryly. "It's just that the young ones feel that they deserve it that way."
Daffyd frowned, but Anna ignored the expression. The chief player had
found that out already, but he still didn't like it. Neither did she.
125
Wei, Nordwei
The spymistress steps into the tower room where Gretslen sits before a
mirror pool, chanting. The blonde does not falter, but finishes the
spell, and watches the clear waters gather white mist, before silvering
and displaying an image.
Both women watch the image.
A long line of horsemen ride up a road flanked by woods filled with dry
and dying evergreens. To the left of the column is a gorge, through which
trickles the thinnest of streams.
"Where?" asks Ashtaar.
"The upper Fal, on the ancient road to Vult." Perspiration beads on the
blonde woman's forehead. "They are nearing the outer pass, and the
weather barrier set by the Evult."
"She is brave."
"Foolhardy!" Gretslen continues to study the image in the glass, her eyes
on the palomino and his rider—who leads the winding column. "She risks
everything."
"Perhaps… and perhaps not. Now, what has she to lose? A land that dies as
she watches? Neighbors who speculate which bones to pick clean? Lords
looking for allegiances elsewhere?"
Gretslen starts on her stool, and the image wavers and then dissolves in
ripples. "You sound fond of this… sorceress… this abomination."
"I only try to see things as they are, Gretslen, not as I wish to see
them. This sorceress… this regent… whatever you wish to call her… she
does not think as we do."
"Her thoughts will not stop the Evult from crushing her," points out
Gretslen.
"She has lost everything dear to her, from what your influence reported.
And even your source, you may recall, severed his ties with us—mostly
politely, most reluctantly, but most firmly. He fears her power. Yet what
restrains that power? All she has is her beliefs. She must do what she
feels is proper… and with no children to protect… Defalk is her child…
and she will gamble to ensure it survives long after her death." Ashtaar
looks up from the pool that is now only clear water. "If her
foolhardiness pays off, then Ebra may be the land suffering the long dry
years indeed."
"She has overreached."
"That could be. We should hope so, but now that she is almost within
Ebra, there is little enough we can do—or should. Keep watching, as you
can." Ashtaar nods and turns.
"Yes, most honored Ashtaar."
Ashtaar's lips tighten, but she does not turn her head as she steps
through the door and onto the landing above the stairs.
126
Anna readjusted the floppy hat and the unfastened oiled leather jacket
and shifted her weight in the saddle. A cold mist—not quite rain—fell
from featureless gray clouds that dwindled into nothing over the high
pass that lay more than two days and a dozen leagues behind them.
The sorceress glanced back along the road that wound along the
mountainside down from the pass, then at the gorge to her left. In the
base of the gorge was a brook, already almost as wide as the diminished
Fal had been at the point where Anna and her expedition had entered the
Ostfels. Above the brook were scattered firs and pines— healthy firs and
pines, growing out of rocks and crevasses.
Her lips tightened, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, looking
forward. Just ahead, the road curved right around a jutting spire of
rock. Beyond the rock spire rose a sheer cliff, stretching at least
several hundred yards straight up.
Beside the sorceress rode Alvar, bareheaded, but smiling. The road was
little more than a rock-and-clay track scratched out of the mountainside
and capable of holding but two horses abreast, even though Jecks' maps
had indicated that it had once been part of the northern land route to
Ebra in centuries past.
"The mist feels good," said the lancer captain.
"It feels cold," answered Daffyd from his mare.
Anna agreed with Alvar. "You've gotten too used to that dissonant heat in
Defalk."
Farinelli slowed as he neared the tight curve around the red stone spire,
and Anna peered forward, abruptly reining in the gelding.
"Halt!" ordered Alvar his hand in the air, and his voice echoing back
along the rocky gorge. "Halt!"
"Now what?"
"No one said anything about rain…"
Anna stared at the sheer drop-off where the road ended. Near the end of
the cliffs to the right, she could see where the road resumed, but there
was no road, not even a pile of rubble, connecting the two points. The
entire mountainside had peeled away, leaving just a vertical extent of
rock connecting the two points.
"Now what?" asked Daffyd. "We'd have to go back leagues to find another
road."
And that road won't lead where I need to go, thought the sorceress.
"The rock below is more than fifty yards down," added Alvar. "We might be
able to lower horses and people, but there is no way to cross the jumble
of rocks… no way to climb up on the other end."
"More sorcery," Anna sighed, hating the idea. Any sorcery she could use
would be like setting an alarm and alerting the Evult. Then, he might
already know, and retracing their steps and trying another route would
certainly alert the Dark Monks' leader, if he weren't already waiting.
For a time, she sat on Farinelli, thinking. What song could she adapt?
Not "The Long and Winding Road." A long and winding road was the last
thing she needed. "On the Road Again"?
She smiled and began to formulate possible spells.
"What is she doing?"
"…just sitting there in the mist…"
"… nowhere to go, and she is looking into the sky?"
Anna ignored the players' comments. After a few more mumbled verses, or
semiverses, she dismounted and took out the lutar, then handed
Farinelli's reins to Alvar. "Would you?"
"If you can repair the road, I can hold reins." The swarthy captain's
face showed no sign of humor, except for the glint in his eyes.
"Let's hope I can." She walked toward the point where the road ended
abruptly, then stopped a yard short of the drop-off and looked down at
the tumbled red rock. In places, weather-stripped fir trunks protruded,
indicating that the avalanche had occurred some years earlier.
After tuning the lutar and running through several vocalises, she spoke
the words slowly, trying to fix them in her mind. Then… she lifted the
lutar and began to strum, adding the words of the spell, trying not to
hear Roger Miller in her mind.
"Fix the road again…"
As the words and chords tumbled out, rock dust spewed from the cliff
ahead, and the mountain beneath the road trembled. Anna finished the
spell, and stepped back from the swirling dust.
The sense of a chord on a giant harp vibrated across the slopes, and a
groaning rumble endured long after Anna's words had died away. A dull
throbbing pounded at Anna's skull, and she closed her eyes. That didn't
help. When she opened them, the misting rain had begun to strip away the
curtain of rock dust.
Instead of ending at a sheer drop-off, the road now continued, easing to
the right and following a newly-cut shelf that extended almost half a dek
along the sheer cliff that had once seemed impassible, continuing the
descent from the pass behind them.
"Dissonance!"
"… begin to see why she's regent…"
"You still want to complain, Iseen?"
Anna walked back toward Alvar and Farinelli.
"Most impressive—again—Regent Anna," offered the lancer captain.
"Thank you." She rubbed her temples with her left hand, still holding the
lutar in her right, trying to massage away the worst of the headache, and
understanding once more the strain involved in handling both words and
instrumental support.
She took a deep breath. If the Evult hadn't known that Anna was headed
into Ebra, then he certainly would by. now. That was the bad news. The
good news was that they were only a day or two from where she wanted to
be.
I hope it's the good news, she thought as she wiped the mist off the
lutar and slipped it back into its case. Her eyes stabbed, and her
stomach churned.
"I'll need something to eat." As if she weren't always eating, always
stuffing herself, and always on the brink of starvation and/or collapse.
127
Vult, Ebra
The image in the pool reveals an empty mountain road, almost like a stone
shelf cut from the rock of a sheer cliff, that connects two sections of
older, time-worn highway.
The hooded figure studies the image for a time, then shakes his head,
barely moving the dark hood.
The faintest glissando shimmers across the strings of the harp on the
pedestal in the mirror pool, then fades as the Evult lifts the bell.
Shortly, another figure in dark robes, unhooded, appears.
"We seem to have underestimated the foolhardiness of the sorceress,"
rasps the Evult.
"I feel the harmonies ring. What has she done?" asks Yurelt.
"Repaired the rift in the old highway to Elhi. I am about to summon her
image again, and I wished you to be here so that you may ready your
forces, Songmaster." The older man laughs, then cuts off the laugh and
begins to chant.
In the pool at his feet the white mists swirl and then disclose a woman
in oiled leathers and a worn, floppy-brimmed hat, riding through a light
rain that leaves the clay-and-rock roadway glistening, slick looking.
Another chant, and the mirror pool reveals a view, as if seen by a bird.
"There—she has already reached the upper ponds. Three more days, and she
could enter Vult." The Evult pauses. "But she will not have three days."
Yurelt waits.
"She must descend the ramp road to at least the third river falls for her
voice, powerful as it is, to reach even the outskirts of Vult. Her voice
may surprise us yet. You will take no chances. Set your traps just above
the first valley falls. Not even the harmonies could touch Vult from
there. I will move to the third falls. Think upon how you may best trap
them, and we will meet again after evening meal."
"Yes, Evult." Yurelt bows.
"In her haste, she has opened Defalk to us." The Evult laughs again.
"Even by next spring, no one will have risen to challenge us. The traders
of Nordwei and the cowards of Ranuak will grasp a few bones from the
corpse of Defalk, but by next harvest we will hold both Defalk and
Neserea. You see, our tradition and our ways are beyond the loss of great
commanders. Patience and the way will triumph, unto the centuries."
Yurelt's eyebrows rise fractionally.
"Yes. She had no patience, and her haste was her undoing," concludes the
Evult. "Her undoing."
128
Vult shouldn't be that far ahead." Anna's eyes went to the curve ahead,
where there was a break in the scattered firs and pines that flanked the
road on both sides.
Despite the sunlight, a cool dampness filled the late morning. In the
light breeze, she enjoyed the fragrance of the pines, the first time she
had smelled them in ages. There hadn't been any evergreens to speak of in
Ames, and Defalk " was so mummified that the trees had no scent at all.
Even the withered berries on the few Defalkan junipers remaining had no
scent.
"We have been riding downhill for leagues," Daffyd added from behind Anna
and Alvar. "And the road is not that good."
"What do you expect from an abandoned highway? Also, the Ostfels are not
exactly a small mountain range, friend player. Even Vult is in the
middle, with leagues of rocky peaks to the east. You can see the taller
peaks there." Alvar gestured.
"Too many mountains," Daffyd said with a slight grin.
"How are your players doing?" Anna asked. "It may not be too long before
I'll need them."
"They are ready, once we stop," the violist answered.
"Lady Anna," said Alvar in a low voice, bending in his saddle toward the
sorceress, "you have been saying that all morning."
"The maps aren't as good as I'd like." The sorceress flushed. She still
hated not being certain of things—like where she was—especially now that
everyone looked to her. Yet, once again, she was partly at the mercy of
someone else—Jecks' scouts and maps—and she hated that, too.
"No maps are that good," said Alvar.
"They need to be better."
"Honored regent, if you live another ten centuries, you will still be
attempting to improve the world."
The sorceress eyed the wiry captain, then grinned. "I suppose so."
As they neared the curve in the mountain road, the trees thinned. After
slowing Farinelli, Anna eased the gelding to the left side of the road
and over some low bushes out onto a rocky outcrop, perhaps five yards
square, that jutted out from the road and the pines that clung to the
steep slopes below the road.
"Halt! Rein up!" ordered Alvar. Then he eased his mount almost up beside
Farinelli, reining up slightly back to allow the sorceress an
unobstructed view.
For a time, Anna studied the valley below. While the river still followed
the road, the water—easily five yards wide—was nearly fifty yards below
the roadbed, and tumbled through the valley that was not quite a gorge.
Less than two deks to the southeast and several hundred yards lower, the
rushing water smoothed into an almost lakelike surface. Even farther
east, hidden in the hills and trees into which the river wound, a
waterfall of some sort existed, sending a mist of spray into the morning,
a misty fog barely visible above the endless evergreens.
Overhead, the scattered clouds were white and gray, scudding southward in
a brisk cool breeze that ruffled Anna's hair as she sat on Farinelli on
the outcrop—a breeze much stiffer than the barely moving air that favored
the tree-lined and uneven ancient road behind her.
The sorceress attempted to match the terrain below with the small map she
held, turning it and then comparing inked images to the reality of green,
and brown and gray, that stretched out to the northeast.
Two gray stone towers—barely pinpricks above the trees—stood near the
fork where the river the road had followed joined another.
"I think that's Vult," Anna said as Alvar reined up beside her.
"Almost a day's ride."
Anna shook her head. "We're almost near enough now." She folded the map
and replaced it in her belt wallet.
The lancer captain frowned, then leaned forward in his saddle. After a
moment, he gestured to the south. "There are the armsmen of the dark
ones," added Alvar, pointing to the line of brown that rose from the
valley floor, an exposed section of road no more than a league away. .
Anna had to strain to see the dark dots that represented a long column of
horse winding upward along the lower sections of the old road that would
eventually reach the Defalkan group. She glanced around. The outcrop
where she had reined up was just about the only clear vantage point on
the road—at least that she could see.
Farther down the road, the trees thickened enough that she would be
unable to see the Ebran forces until they were practically on top of the
small Defalkan force.
"How long before they get here?" she asked.
"A glass," opined Alvar. "Less, if they push their mounts. Should we make
ready?''
"Just a moment," the sorceress temporized. What should she do? Was she
close enough?
An even colder wind gusted out of the north, accompanied by the faintest
of brass chords. Anna glanced up, and, even as she watched, the scattered
clouds began to darken, to expand, massing in the north above the
sharp-toothed Ostfels. On the slope below the outcrop where she sat on
Farinelli, the suddenly stronger wind whistled through the dark firs,
bending the tops of their crowns.
"It is not dry, like Defalk." Daffyd eased his mare up beside Alvar.
"Defalk was green like this once."
Anna hoped it would be again. Her eyes went to the Ebran horse, but they
seemed no nearer, and then to the sky, her ears still on the rising wind.
"Oh…"
Alvar glanced up, following Anna's inadvertent comment.
The clouds, now all gray and darkening toward black moment by moment,
covered more than half the sky. The late-morning sunlight dimmed as the
spreading blackness cut off Anna's view of the ice-covered peaks beyond
Vult to the east.
For better or worse, Anna decided, she had lost any real options.
Besides, if the Evult's magic could reach her, hers should be able to
reach Vult. She hoped.
"Players!" Anna snapped, turning Farinelli and riding back onto the road
so that she faced her expedition, an expedition that seemed pitifully
small compared to the endless lines of Ebran horse. "There!" She pointed
back to the rocky outcrop that jutted out from the curve in the road, the
spot where she had reined up shortly before and from where she had
surveyed the valley. She hoped that the outcrop had a solid rock base,
solid enough for what she had planned. But she had no more time, not the
way the Ebrans were moving, and the black clouds massing.
"Players!" reiterated Daffyd. "On the point, ready to play!"
Anna motioned to the players, then turned to Alvar. "Get half the lancers
down the road. I hope they won't be needed, but—"
"Purple company! Purple company! To the standard."
Anna hadn't seen the regency banner unfurled, but it flapped in the
gusting wind that blew colder with each mo-ment, and the young armsman
who bore it joined up with Alvar, then trotted down the road, followed by
Defalkan lancers.
At the edge of the road, the players struggled off their mounts, some
moving stiffly, others more fluidly, all grasping for instruments.
"Green company! Green company! Hold the uphill road! Hold the uphill
road!" Alvar's voice was strong and carried, despite the whistling of the
wind.
The mounts of the purple company clattered past the dismounting players.
"Fhurgen!" ordered Spirda. "Get the players' mounts up there! Out of the
way. You too, Mysar!" The blonde subofficer rode toward Anna.
As she dismounted, Anna handed Farinelli's reins to Spirda, then hurried
out toward the end of the outcrop, trying to clear her throat. Once
again, she felt like she was being hurried, caught not totally prepared,
and it wasn't anyone's fault but her own stupidity.
You idiot! Of course, the Evult would just let you ride up and try your
magic! Idiot!
Behind her, Spirda started to ease the palomino after him back up the
road, following Fhurgen and Mysar. Farinelli whuffled, then neighed,
sidestepping but trailing the subofficer, who slowed, then stood in the
stirrups and half turned toward the sorceress, shouting, "Do you want the
lutar?"
"No. Leave it on Farinelli."
Spirda nodded and gestured toward Fhurgen. "Tie the mounts there."
As her guards tethered the players' mounts to a pine branch that extended
along the downhill side of the road up from the outcrop, Anna stopped
just short of the end of the point, running through a vocalise as she
took another look at the valley and tried to clear her mind, easing the
written spells from her wallet. She hadn't wanted to trust her memory
totally, but she hoped she wouldn't have to look at the words, that she
could focus her mind on the images she wanted to call forth.
Evert in the space clear of the evergreens that flanked the road, the day
hafl turned more like twilight as the black clouds continued to spread
and churn. The wind on the point was nearly a gale that lashed around her.
Idiot! Talk about spellcasting with disruptions!
The players scurried into position, their eyes straying toward the
darkening clouds, their hair blown by the increasingly bitter wind. Iseen
blotted an eye, as though dust or grit had lodged there.
"Warm-up song! Warm-up song!" called Daffyd, struggling with tuning pegs
even as he spoke.
Anna turned from the group and tried not to wince, either at their sounds
or at the sight of the Ebran forces trotting up the road. The Ebran van
had vanished into the trees, but that meant the dark riders were just
that much closer. She hoped—always hoping—that Alvar could hold them off
until she did what she had to—and that it worked.
The sorceress forced herself to take a deep breath, forced herself to
wait as the discord behind her began to resemble music.
"Warm-up song—one more time!"
Cracccckk! A single yellow lightning bolt struck the road a dek farther
downhill from Anna's force, sending a faint vibration through the rocks
and soil. With the lightning bolt came another of the underlying bass
chords, so deep that the air groaned.
The sorceress and regent hoped the Evult had struck his own lancers, but
doubted she'd be that lucky.
No casualties from friendly fire here. The fire isn't at all friendly,
not here.
The sorceress turned to Daffyd. "The hymn! Have them do it once—that's
all the more warm-up we'll have time for."
"The hymn… now!" Daffyd snapped, his voice rising slightly. "One and two…
and…"
The sound was ragged, but not too bad. Anna hoped— prayed—it would
suffice as she turned her back to the wind, and, after clearing her
throat, tried another vocalise.
Crracck! The second lightning bolt was less than a half dek away, and the
groans and rumbles were even more pronounced—and a deep, counterpointed
chord, somehow harmonically dissonant, rumbled beneath everything.
You can't have harmonic dissonance, insisted part of Anna's mind. Except
in modern music, and that doesn't count here. She pushed away the
thoughts.
A blackish yellow pallor, darker than twilight, cloaked the valley,
almost as though a dome had capped the area. In the deepening gloom, the
long lines of mounted Ebrans continued to ride up toward the pitifully
small Defalkan contingent.
The wind cut through Anna's leathers like a knife, and ripped her hat off
her head as she turned back to the players. Her eyes followed the
battered felt as it fluttered out beyond the outcrop.
Craaacckkk!!! The blinding yellow bolt struck less than two hundred yards
below the outcrop, and the hiss of stream from the river momentarily
drowned out the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the firs as
they bent in the wind, a wind that smelled metallic, foreign, sorcerous.
Anna blinked away the glare and the momentary blindness and cleared her
throat. "The hymn. Now!"
"One…" shouted Daffyd, easing his viola under his chin and gesturing with
the bow.
The raggedness cleared after two bars, and Anna sang, sang as though it
were the Met or Carnegie Hall or Covent Garden, with all the years of
training that had never been fully utilized.
"I have sung the terror of the power of all sounds,
I am bringing forth the magma from the deeps where it resounds,
I have loosed the fateful tremors of the plates beneath the grounds.
My songs will smash the earth.
Glory, glory, halleluia; glory, glory, halleluia;
Glory, glory, halleluia; my songs will smash the earth!
"In the terror of the tremors, death is freed from all its locks,
with a slashing through the hillsides that flattens trees and rocks.
As I spelled to keep men free, let us see Vult fall in shocks.
My songs will smash the earth.
Glory, glory, halleluia; glory, glory, halleluia;
Glory, glory, halleluia; my songs will smash the earth!
"With the rising of the waters, streams are loosed from all their banks,
and their torrents through the hillsides will drown the darkest ranks…"
Even before she had finished the last chorus—strophic-spell, some part of
her mind insisted—that great harp behind and within the world had
vibrated with a frequency so deep it felt like her bones had been
jellied—harmonic, yet disharmonic.
Crracck! The bale-yellow lightning slammed the mountainside less than a
hundred yards away, and Anna started to put her hands to her ears to shut
out the pain.
Yet, powerful as the lightning was, painful as the blast of sound and
energy was, she could sense a finality, a desperation. She blinked and
turned back to the players.
Daffyd held his viola and bow, staring past her toward the still-swirling
and dying clouds, as if he expected the world to end.
Iseen's mouth hung open, her horn almost dangling from her hands, and,
beside her, Ristyr's eyes bulged.
In the background, Anna could hear blades ringing, and shouts, as if
through a muffled curtain. Were the Ebrans upon them?
"The fire song! The fire song!"
Daffyd looked blank.
"The fire song, damn it!" Anna shrilled.
"The fire song!" Daffyd repeated.
The notes were more ragged, but they would have to do. There was no more
time, not with all the mounted Ebrans hacking at Alvar and his lancers.
Anna sang—sang as if it were the last song.
'' Armsmen brown, armsmen black,
not flame nor ashes shall you lack…
from the strings, from the sky,
fire flay you till you die!"
Crackling bolts—golden red—flared like snapping harp strings from the
still-dark clouds, whipping across the evergreens, a line of endless
down-pointed fireworks raking the long road down to the valley. A second
line of fire followed the first, and then a third, and fourth… until the
sky seemed hatched with lines of fire.
And yet the ground beneath heaved and groaned, and the rocks shrieked.
Anna's arms fell to her sides, as she stood there dazed. Too battered
even to wince at the screams that seemed to go on and on, too stunned to
cover her ears, too flash-blinded to see what she had unleashed.
Before her, Daffyd staggered, and two others staggered and went to their
knees, as the ground rumbled and shuddered, with a shrieking grinding
from deep beneath the rocks that went on and on and on.
The rumbles and the shudders made those that had occurred around the
Sorprat sinkhole seem like nothing. Small cracks ran down the middle of
the narrow road, and dust puffed into the air above the cracks.
Anna could vaguely hear horses neighing, some screaming, but those sounds
were lost in the deeper shrieks and rumbles of the earth itself. The
entire world seemed to vibrate, the clash of harmony and disharmony
shaking the very bones of the earth.
The sorceress shifted her weight, trying to keep from being toppled. She
looked eastward toward the valley. Had the clouds stopped rising?
Anna swayed on her feet as the earth rolled under her, and as a fissure
split the bottom of the valley in a jagged line that crept uphill, back
toward the river below the outcrop where she stood. Both the red glare
and the heat from that chasm seared her face, and she staggered back and
threw up her hand.
A wall of flame, blue and red, wavered out of the chasm's depths, growing
and fountaining with each instant, and the fallen trees vaporized into
ashes as the almost living fire marched down toward the toppled
gray-stone towers of Vult and up toward Anna.
As she braced herself against the tremors that continued to shake even
the solid rock of the mountain beneath her, Anna's mouth dropped open as
she saw curtains of steam rise, ghostly white against the swirling black
sky, from both rivers as their waters poured into the rising wall of
golden red magma that welled out of the earth in dozens of spots.
The wind dropped from a northern gale to intermittent gusts from the
southeast carrying waves of chill and waves of heat, sulfur, and ozone,
all swirled together, and carrying the odor of steamed vegetation and
steamed meat.
Oh Lord, no, thought the sorceress as her stomach churned at the
sickening odors that she had created, as she choked back the bitter bile,
and straightened, despite the needle-knives that stabbed at her eyes and
the hammering through her skull.
Down the valley, the dark pines began to fall, row by row, impossibly
uphill, as though scythed by an invisible blade that left none standing.
The screaming of a horse overrode the other cries and shrieks.
Farinelli? Anna turned and staggered toward where she thought the
palomino might be.
WWHHHUMMMP!!!!!
The shock wave threw Anna flat across the trail, skiddiftg her on her
back toward the boulders on the mountain side of the trail.
She struggled to her knees at the edge of the road, and lurched upward.
No one else could calm Farinelli. No one.
Another rending shriek of tortured rock bombarded her ears as the
sorceress took another step through the unearthly haze of powdered rock,
of steamed vegetation and fire-flayed armsmen, of dust, and sulfur, and…
WWHHHUMMMP!!!!! WWHHHUMMMP!!!!!
The two massive ground shudders lifted her into the air, and she half
turned, throwing her hands out before her as the boulders seemed to fly
toward her, ever so deliberately, ever so slowly.
Yet she could not even find time to open her mouth before she could feel
the impact, the white-fired pain cascading up her outstretched arm like
the most dissonant of chords slamming through her whole body.
Then there was silence… and darkness.
129
Encora, Ranuak
"You see," offers the Matriarch. "The harmonies are re-knitting."
"The entire world shuddered. The winds screamed, and the sea smashed the
front line of shops in the harbor." Black-haired Veria frowns. "Vult is a
pile of molten rock and steam. The north of Ebra is devastated, and most
of Synek has been washed away by the rains and melted snow and ice. The
Evult has been destroyed, as have all the dark-singers, and almost all
the dark armsmen in Liedwahr. That is harmony?"
"I would call that dissonance," says Alya coolly. "Dissonance the like of
which Erde has never seen."
"If your mother and matriarch says the harmonies are rechording," says
Ulgar, "then they are."
"Father… saying it is so does not make it so," protests Veria.
Alya looks toward the round-faced, gray-haired woman and offers the
slightest of shrugs, as if to indicate that there is little point in
arguing the issue.
"Might I point out, daughters, ever so humbly as a worthless old male
whose views are doubtless beneath notice, that the soprano sorceress
called upon Harmony, has attempted to rebuild Defalk, and renounced
immediately any thoughts of building a dynasty. Might I also point out
that the rains have begun to return to Defalk and that the sorceress has
survived, while the Evult did not."
"How long will she linger?" asks Veria.
"She will live, and prosper. The harmonies will see to that," offers the
Matriarch.
"Mother… you keep making these grandiose statements, and you never
explain."
The Matriarch ignores the slip in salutation, instead offering a warmer
smile before speaking. "The sorceress has acknowledged Defalk's debt
justly, not as hers, but as one for which she assumes the
responsibility." The round-faced matriarch smiles even more broadly.
"Since when did either Lord Behlem or the Evult acknowledge anything? The
sorceress acknowledged her debt to Lord Barjim, and she was willing to
put herself in the way of dissonance. We will rebuild a few shops, and
the harmonies will not fail her—or us."
Ulgar coughs, hiding a grin with the hand that covers his mouth.
130
She's so good with young voices …" Young voices, young voices… what about
older voices? What about opera? What about.…
"Could you not have stopped this? You are the greatest sorceress…"
Greatest sorceress… greatest sorceress… greatest sorceress…
"I MISS YOU!!!"
Miss you, too, littlest redhead, miss you, miss you…
Something jolted Anna, and she moaned. She didn't mean to moan, but she
did. She tried to open her eyes, but even attempting to lift her eyelids
sent lances of pain through her skull, and the darkness came up and
swallowed her.
What's a furl… furl…furl?
"There is the question of the banner." Whose banner… whose?
"Will we learn magic?"
No such thing as magic, except there is.
"Can you not bring back the rains and the river?" Can you not… not… not?
"Most impressive—again—Regent Anna.'' Most impressive… impressive…
What was impressive? Going out and getting yourself killed?
She could feel her body being moved, somehow, and again, the pain was
enough to drive her under—for a time.
"Drink… lady… drink." Each word out of the darkness echoed in her ears,
each syllable burning, boring like a dull dentist's drill into her skull
and train.
She drank, she thought, though she could not feel anything but a hot
liquid spilling across her face. Hot liquid and soft sounds that burned
through her ears and into her brain.
131
In time, Anna recognized where she was—in the great guest quarters in
Lord Jecks' hall, and for the time that flowed around her, she drank and
ate mushy stuff and dozed—it hurt too much to sleep, really sleep.
Her right arm was encased in the medieval equivalent of a splint, a
leather-and-wood contraption that weighed on her stomach if she rested it
there, and hurt, besides making her feel lopsided, in any other position.
Finally, she could stay awake—sort of.
The door opened.
"You are awake," offered the white-haired lord, standing at the foot of
the triple-wide bed. Beside him stood Alvar, with what looked to be burns
across half his face.
"Partly." She winced. Even her own words hurt her ears. So did the sight
of the injured captain.
"The women—they were reluctant to let us in. Even the healer. She rode
from Ohal when she heard you suffered." Jecks shook his head, then
gestured to the grayness outside the half-open window. "Do you see the
rain? We have had no rain in more than four years." He laughed. "I feel
for you, lady."
"It's not that bad," lied Anna. Her mouth felt like it had been lined
with mildewed blankets. She didn't even want to think about the havoc she
had unleashed, not yet.
"Between the spells from Lord Brill and the healer, you will heal. That
is not why I pity you." Jecks looked at her thoughtfully. "You have done
the impossible, and your people—they have claimed you, now—will expect
that and more. You are the destroyer of dissonance, the savior of the
land, lady and sorceress, great Regent of Defalk."
Destroyer, that was about right. The greatest destroyer in history…
because there were no other options, but who would remember that? You
will…. She closed her eyes.
"They will expect miracles and more," Jecks reiterated.
Anna groaned. "Forever, I suppose."
"No… thank the harmonies. I do not know exactly what sort of spell
rendered you forever young, Lady Anna," said Jecks, "but even an old
warhorse like me knows that no spell creates immortality. Did you think
you could not be killed… to attempt such a massive destructive spell in
the midst of the Ostfels?" He shook his head, still looking like Robert
Mitchum, Anna thought. "Such youth spells only mean that you will remain
young until you die. Because you have more vitality you may live a decade
or two longer, but you will still have a human life-span. That, you will
find, may be all too long." He shrugged. "Then perhaps your youthful
energy will support you. I am only glad that it is you, and not me."
Alvar nodded.
Anna coughed, wincing at the shock through her chest and arm. "What
happened… afterward? Spirda? The players?"
Alvar swallowed, moistening his lips. "Vult is… no more. All… The whole
valley steams with the fires of dissonance. The rivers… they became
torrents with the melted snow and ice and the mighty rains." He shook his
head. "Synek is mostly gone. Even half of Elawha was destroyed. The
mountains still shake, and a new peak rises, a volcano. They call it
Zauberinfeuer."
Anna struggled with the word. Zauberflotte was a magic flute—Mozart; so
"Zauberinfeuer" had to be a magic fire, didn't it? "The players? Your
lancers?"
"About half the purple company survived, and most of the green company."
The wiry captain swallowed again. "The outcrop where the players… It
split off the mountain."
Anna's eyes burned even more. "All… of them?"
Alvar nodded.
"Even Daffyd."
The slightest of affirmations followed. "Spirda and Mysar, too. Fhurgen
dragged you clear."
"Is he all right?"
"He will be."
The sorceress closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. Both men
waited. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You are tired, regent, and I talk too much, but I too wanted you to know
that I am in your debt, and all you need do is ask." The Lord of Elheld
bowed. "We are all in your debt."
"All of us." Alvar bowed.
Anna blinked, or thought she did, and the two were gone. On the breeze
that drifted in from outside, she could smell the dampness, even hear the
rain. Was there ever such a price for rain?
And Daffyd? Had a man ever paid so much to revenge his father? Without
even really getting it?
As she lay on the pillows, the pain still pounding through her skull, and
her broken arm still throbbing, questions flooded her mind.
Too tired to even lift her good left hand, she hurt too much and was too
awake to sleep. She closed her eyes. That way, they didn't hurt, but her
thoughts continued to spin through her mind.
Magic was far from easy, but even with all the constraints, there should
have been more than three sorcerers in Defalk. Why weren't there more
sorcerers, or sorceresses? Once she'd gotten the hang of it, sorcery
hadn't been that difficult.
After a while, the answer floated out of the depths inside her, and she
could have kicked herself—except that would have hurt even more, and she
was tired of pain. It was so obvious. It wasn't the lack of a good voice,
or of intelligence, or even knowledge. The limit was the lack of human
kindness.
If any song could potentially invoke magic, training a voice could be
potentially fatal, given the ungrateful nature of most students—literally
murder. Also, given the consequences of a bad spell, and the arrogance of
many gifted youngsters, trying to learn sorcery alone could be equally
fatal. That limited sorcery to those with strong natural voices, the
ability to craft words, and match them to music—and there just weren't
many who could do that—even on earth. Add in the need to visualize the
results of a spell… you couldn't even create an iron chair without
knowing what it looked like.
That left few enough with the talent. But from whom could they learn?
Without teaching, few would go beyond the rote of sorceresses like poor
Jenny, and no one with any brains would touch a potentially ungrateful
student. Here, sorcerers had to have brains and power… so they didn't
have to teach the ungrateful.
Kindness, consideration… the ultimate limits, because they were so very
rare in their deepest forms.
She wanted to laugh, but it would have hurt too much. You talk of
kindness, of consideration… after the thousands you've killed?
She sank deeper into the pillows. Sorceress, savior, and regent—she was
trapped in what she had created, and then some—and every part of her body
still hurt. Her soul… she didn't even want to consider that, not anymore,
not given the deaths that rested on her.
132
Wei, Nordwei
The two women watch the mists clear, and the vision appears.
A blonde woman sits carefully upon a palomino and rides slowly down a
wide street. Her right arm is heavily bound, but she smiles. Flowers and
grains of rice rain upon her, as do cheers.
Behind her, a white-haired lord rides, his eyes shifting from her to the
redheaded youth who rides beside him, but the lord's eyes linger more
upon the regent than upon his grandson.
"How?" whispers Gretslen, her eyes on the shimmering water. "How? She was
helpless, and they carried her back. She could not have lifted a hand in
her own defense, and Lord Jecks, and Nelmor, and even stern Birfels stood
by her, and they all carried out her wishes when she could sing nothing,
spell nothing. She is a stranger, and made no secret of it. She is a
sorceress, and she did not hide it in a land that has killed sorceresses.
She shivered the world, almost rent it in twain with her sorcery, and
they hail her as a deliverer."
"Because…" Ashtaar offers slowly, "because we have not seen enough good
in the world and did not recognize it."
"Good? She is nearly an absolute ruler, and you call her good?" questions
the blonde. "She brought fire upon the Ostfels and drowned two cities in
fire and floods, and that is good?"
"She raised harmony against disharmony, and the conflict rent the world.
There is a difference." The spymistress shrugs. "We thought she wanted
power like Behlem, or that because she sought to help people she would be
weak like Barjim. She has already begun to bind together the lords by
raising their younger children and providing them with more learning than
Defalk has seen ever before. She has returned the rains to the fields,
and she does not raise taxes or levies. She treats everyone fairly and
does her best to destroy greed and evil. She raises the honest lords to
power, and keeps her word. She is the Liedfuhr of the North, and she
would not have the title. Do you have a better definition of a good
ruler, Gretslen?''
The image in the shimmering waters vanishes.
"I can explain it to you well enough," says Ashtaar wryly. "Explaining it
to the Council may be more difficult."
"They will not see her as good, but as a threat."
"Goodness in another ruler, especially when successful, and backed with
great power, is about as threatening a danger as they could imagine. Nor
would I wish to be her." Ashtaar forces a smile to hide the shiver that
takes her.
The golden-haired Gretslen frowns.
Ashtaar smiles sadly. "You will learn, as has she."
133
Anna stood in the twilight on the east tower, looking out toward Mencha,
toward Loiseau, away from the invisible webs that spun in and around
Falcor, understanding once more Brill's attachment, and wondering if she
would ever be able to return there for more than a brief visit—at least
in the ten years or so before Jimbob could rule in his own right.
She had Brill's papers, and she could even decipher the crude codes and
some of the spells and doubtless would learn more in the seasons and
years ahead.
A yard or so away, a redheaded figure leaned against Ihe parapet and
gazed through the cold mist toward the Fal River, already more than the
trickle it had been just weeks earlier, but still dwarfed by the banks it
had yet to refill.
The boy turned. "Lady Anna?"
"Yes, Jimbob?"
"Can I go down to the fire? With grandsire?" He grinned. "I am not from
the mist worlds."
"Go join your grandsire. I'll be down in a while."
"Will you be all right?"
"I just need time alone."
"By your leave?"
"You have my leave."
The redhead bowed. "I will have your cider ready. With all that funny
spice in it. And more nuts and cheese. Grandsire says you must eat more."
"Go."
"I hear and obey, honored Regent." With a last grin, the youth turned,
his steps hard on the damp stones.
Anna looked out through the gray and damp, through the rain that was
slowly revitalizing Defalk. For the first time in her life, she had
power, real power. For the first time in her life, she could direct at
least some of her own destiny. And yet she could not, not without
considering the destinies of others, not being who she still was.
She thought of Jecks and smiled, briefly. She even could have the local
equivalent of Robert Mitchum or Sean Connery—and perhaps she would, in
time. In time… if he would, and that was far from certain in a world,
like any, where little indeed was certain, even for a woman of power.
For now… she shook her head slowly, thinking, letting the cool mist
shroud her.
What had it all cost her? Her life on earth. Her son and daughter, for
she was dead to them, and their lives went on. Every time she glanced at
the black-etched rectangle on her chamber wall, she was reminded of that.
And there was young Daffyd, who had given her the lutar, helped and
trusted her. Brill, who had given her youth in body again. Innocent
Jenny, killed by the dark ones to prevent her from summoning another
sorceress. Spirda, the young players, all the innocents swept away by the
fires and floods she had unleashed. Even the guilty, like Delor and
Behlem, had marked her, in anger for giving her no choice, and in regret
that she had found no other way than the force she deplored—and continued
to use.
The list was long… and she had the feeling it would get longer… no matter
what she did, and how hard she tried. No matter what amends she tried to
make, no matter how many years Brill's spell sustained her.
Dropping her head in her hands, in the cool damp misting rain of early
winter, Anna, destroyer of dissonance, savior of the land, Lady and
Sorceress, Regent of Defalk, wept, silently, and in great shuddering sobs.
And the cold, soft rain fell. Cold and soft, like sorrow, the mists of
Defalk shrouded the sobbing sorceress.
In time, she would go to the hearth below, her face clear, her voice
clear.
Now.... with the silvered rain that had cost so dearly, she wept.