Rickel sheathed the blade he had held ready behind Gylaron.
“I am relieved you did not have to use that.” The swarthy lord took a long breath, then looked at Anna. “It is better this way.”
“I’d hoped so,” Anna answered. “It’s better than a battle, isn’t it?”
Rickel nodded solemnly.
“That it is.”
“What else have you concealed?” asked Reylan.
“Not nearly as much as you think,” Anna responded politely. “I don’t work that way.”
Gylaron glared at Reylan and extended an arm. “Might we offer you the hospitality of Lerona?”
Anna glanced toward Hanfor.
“And you, also, Arms Commander.”
“There is much to do, yet,” demurred Hanfor. “I would that I could join you, but you will do well indeed with Lady Anna and Lord Jecks. I am but a poor armsman.”
“Scarcely.” Anna grinned. “He has made it possible for Defalk to survive, yet he would take no credit.”
“Nor will I,” answered Hanfor. “Not until all Defalk is strong and united. Then, I will praise you for changing the world, and I will take my leave for a quiet hill retreat.” A wry smile followed. “By then, I will be old enough to enjoy it.”
“If you finish your duties, Arms Commander, please join us.”
“Thank you.” Hanfor nodded, then turned.
“My players will need refreshment,” Anna said.
“Your arms commander had said such,” Gylaron answered. “They will eat in the hall next to us, if that is agreeable.”
“That’s fine.” Anna nodded and stepped back to Liende. “If you follow us, they’ve set up a meal for all of you in the hall next to us.” Her voice lowered slightly. “The atmosphere might be more cordial there.”
“You risk much,” Liende said.
“I hope not.” Anna shrugged. “I’m doing the best I can.”
The regent followed Gylaron and his consort to the stairs, her own guards seemingly everywhere. Jecks, hand on the hilt of his blade, walked beside her. The small dining hall was down a single flight of brick stairs and fifty yards along a vaulted corridor, lit by intermittently spaced candles set in wall sconces and protected by smudged glass mantels.
The players, led by a page or fosterling of some sort in faded maroon, followed, Kaseth almost beside Liende.
Rickel stationed himself and two others at the door to the small dining hall. Fhurgen followed Anna inside. The rectangular table was set for five, one place at the head, and two on each side. The linens were maroon, and the goblets crystal.
Gylaron gestured toward the head of the table. “Regent Anna.”
“Thank you. We appreciate the effort and the hospitality.”
“Would I be too blunt if I said that we appreciate your forbearance and our lives?” Gylaron’s tone was light, but the dark eyes were somber.
“Honest, I’d say,” Anna said as she sat. Fhurgen slipped behind her and stood before the arras at the wall to her back.
“Our lady the regent is very direct,” Jecks added. “Sometimes, distressingly so. She is not from Liedwahr, and views matters with a different eye, almost always for the best.” He laughed. “It has not always seemed that way at first.”
“Ah . . . yes . . .” murmured Gylaron, with a sideways glance at Reylan.
After a moment of silence that seemed endless, Anna glanced at the pitcher before her. “Is that wine?”
“It is. It is our best, but poor compared to those from the hills of Sudwei and Stromwer.” Gylaron smiled apologetically.
“I suspect it is far better than what comes from my lands.”
“I thought . . .” Gylaron’s eyebrows rose. Then he closed his mouth.
Anna shook her head. “With the death of Lord Brill, I inherited the lands of Mencha, dry and to the east near the Sand Pass. I am also, I have discovered, the Lady of Loiseau, and like you, Lord Gylaron, I find I must pay liedgeld to the Regency.” She smiled wryly. “The domains of Falcor and Cheor belong to Lord Jimbob. I was referring to the vinegar from Mencha, not anything from anywhere else.” Anna smiled inside. At least, she’d gotten that part right.
“Lord Brill had no heirs?” asked Reylan.
“No. And no consort.” Anna poured some of the wine and passed the pitcher to Reylan.
“And you?” The dark-haired woman poured wine for herself and for Jecks.
“My children remain on earth—the mist world.” Anna had to struggle not to squint against the continuing double vision, although the headache had subsided to a dull and muted throbbing.
Gylaron and Reylan exchanged glances.
“Haven’t you heard?” Anna asked. “I thought everyone knew. I have children nearly as old as you, Lady Reylan. . . .” She quickly ran through the story of how she had come to Erde and ended up as regent. “So . . . I have no heirs, and Loiseau will probably go to the next good sorcerer who supports Defalk.” She laughed softly. “It almost seems fated that way.”
“The harmonies,” mused Gylaron.
“So it has seemed,” added Jecks.
A serving girl brought in a large maroon platter, setting it before Anna. Another brought two baskets of still-steaming bread. Anna glanced at the meat and the sauce. Poison? Everyone was eating the same thing. All she had to do was wait for the others. Besides, the glass hadn’t shown treachery, and it had been far more accurate than anything else. Is this what it will always be like? Wondering? Becoming more and more paranoid? She forced a smile and took a healthy serving of the meat and the white sauce, then passed the platter to Reylan. The dark bread looked and smelled good, and she broke off a chunk.
Everyone looked at her. Hoping she wasn’t too paranoid, she took a bite of the bread, then a sniff, and a sip of the wine—easily the best she had tasted in Liedwahr. “This is the best I’ve tasted in Defalk.”
Gylaron smiled at the enthusiasm in her voice. Even Reylan did, momentarily.
“Nuural will be pleased.”
“Not as pleased as I am,” Anna answered, taking another sip.
For a time, the four ate, quietly. Anna was amazed, again, at how hungry she was, and how much she ate. You should be getting used to this. But would she ever?
“You seem reasonable,” ventured Reylan. “Why . . . why . . . Sargol?”
Anna frowned. “Sargol sent his armsmen to ambush me when I was traveling to Synope. I wasn’t even going to Suhl. He didn’t pay his liedgeld, and he brought in two companies of Dumaran lancers—or they came for some reason.”
“Lady Anna suffered two severe wounds from crossbow quarrels,” Jecks said quietly. “The scars are there still, I would imagine.” He inclined his head to her.
Anna pushed back the sleeve of the green linen shirt. A jagged red scar ran along her forearm. “The other is . . . less . . . accessible.” Anna flushed.
“The bolt was enchanted and went through her breastplate,” Jecks explained.
“When someone goes out of his way to attack you, and doesn’t pay liedgeld, and brings in foreign armsmen . . .” The sorceress shrugged. “Then he locked himself in his keep and wouldn’t even talk. I offered terms.” Not exactly the best terms, she reminded herself.
Once again, Gylaron and Reylan exchanged glances.
“Talk to her armsmen, any of them,” Jecks said mildly, breaking off a chunk of bread.
“Ah . . . I could not,” Gylaron demurred. His eyes went to Fhurgen, then to the doorway where the blond and broad-shouldered Rickel stood. Then the Lord of Lerona looked at his wine again.
“Perhaps later,” Jecks suggested. “At your leisure.”
“You would change Defalk,” Gylaron continued, abruptly as if to change the subject. “Or so Sargol said. Yet you affirm Lord Jimbob.”
“Defalk will change, even if I died today,” Anna pointed out. “The only question is whether the people of Defalk benefit or suffer with change.”
“You did not mention the lords.”
&nb
sp; “No. I didn’t. Those lords who understand that times must change and help with that will benefit. The others . . .”
“Will suffer?”
Anna nodded, then added, “Because Defalk must change to survive.”
Gylaron nodded thoughtfully.
“Might I ask what will become of Lord Sargol’s lands?” asked Reylan, a tremor in her voice.
“I have confirmed that his oldest child is the heir. The former chief armsman of Flossbend is running the lands for her for now until she is older. The lady Herene—she is the sister of Lord Nelmor and Lady Gatrune of Pamr—she is coming to serve as guardian for the children.” I hope.
“His daughter is the oldest?”
“Yes. She’s the oldest.”
Reylan smiled. “Some lords will not approve.”
“I’m sure they won’t, but Defalk can’t afford to waste its women.” Anna took another sip of wine.
“You stood before my people. Were you not afraid someone would attack?” asked Gylaron.
“I worried about it,” Anna admitted, squinting and trying to decide which image before her was the real one of Gylaron. Damned double vision. . . .
“I would not have stood as a stranger before such,” offered Reylan.
“She has stood before the Dark Monks, before assassins, before the Prophet of Music, before Sargol’s archers . . . before many,” said Jecks.
Gylaron shook his head. “You look young, but your words are not. Nor your actions. Sargol was right to fear you.” He smiled sadly. “What would you have with me?”
“I told you. Do your duty to the regency and meet your obligations as a lord of the Thirty-three.” Is that so hard to understand?
“I fear I do not understand.” Gylaron pulled at his chin. “Surely . . . no lord of reason would dispute such a call . . . and yet many—or some . . .”
Anna felt like exploding. Here we go again . . . “There must be some mistake, Lady Anna . . . you must have done something wrong . . . Why, no reasonable man would ever rebel if you had been logical and reasonable. . . .”
She slowly unclenched her jaw. “Lord Gylaron, there has never been anything hard about what I asked. I haven’t asked anything special of you or other lords. I haven’t asked anything that other lords haven’t demanded before I ever came to Defalk.”
Gylaron looked down, with that blank male look of incomprehension, combined with fear—fear that she was an unreasonable and illogical woman who would explode on the spot.
And she felt like exploding, which would do no good whatsoever. She swallowed another sip of wine, then stood. “I am sorry. For some reason, I feel rather . . . unsettled. I beg your leave.” She forced a bright smile, one she scarcely felt. “If you will excuse me. . . . Perhaps Lord Jecks can answer your questions better than I can right now.”
Fhurgen followed her out.
“You were kind,” the guard said once they, were in the corridor.
“I can’t afford to lose my temper at every pigheaded lord in Defalk,” Anna said bleakly, taking careful steps to ensure her balance against the inaccuracies of double sight and the distraction of her pounding headache. “There aren’t enough people who know anything as it is.”
For a moment, she stood in the dim corridor. Now what?
A page bowed. “Lady Anna, regent and sorceress? Would you like to go to the guest quarters?”
“Yes, thank you.” Why not? Maybe Jecks can smooth things over.
52
Sitting on a straight-backed chair before the writing table in the guest chamber and leaning forward, Anna massaged her forehead. Her eyes were closed, shutting out the strange double images—hot and cold. The harmonious and disharmonious sides of life? She should have eaten more, and held her temper better. But she was so tired of men who either didn’t understand or pretended not to understand. Or, when confronted, immediately suggested that the misunderstanding had to have been her fault. Was she oversensitive? Probably.
She looked up at the knock on the door to the guest chamber.
“Lady Anna,” announced Fhurgen, “Lord Gylaron to see you.”
Anna stood warily, trying not to blink as the dark-skinned lord stepped into the room. Fhurgen followed, his blade unsheathed.
“I offer my apologies, Lady Anna.” Gylaron bowed, deeply. “I fear there have been many false tales traveling Defalk.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Anna paused. Jecks had clearly smoothed things over. What could she say? “Sometimes . . . truth is harder to swallow than false tales, and my strangeness . . . the fact that I don’t know Defalk as well as you do . . . that can lead to misunderstandings.”
“Lord Jecks explained. I did not know how many arrows you have taken for Defalk and those you lead.” The swarthy lord shook his head. “You are not as you look.”
“Lord Gylaron, I am much older. I didn’t look for what happened to me.” She paused, gauging his expression. “I have no heirs here on Erde. I never will.”
“He told me that as well. That clears another fog.” His face wrinkled. “Yet . . . why would you not add my domains to Lord Jimbob’s?”
“Lord Jimbob will need more than Falcor to raise the coins a leader of Defalk must have. He shouldn’t ever have more than that, but especially not as young as he is. Too much power corrupts.”
“You would judge that?”
“Is there anyone else who can?” Anna asked bluntly. “I can’t pass anything on. I have no ties to anyone. I could be wrong, but I saw how Lord Barjim couldn’t raise the coins or armsmen necessary to save Defalk. I also saw how Lord Behlem squandered golds. I think a ruler should be somewhere between.” She smiled. “What do you think?”
“I think . . . Lady Anna, that I am fortunate to retain my head and my lands. I will not trouble you more.”
“Lord Gylaron . . .” Anna tilted her head slightly, wondering if that would be too flirtatious even as she did. “I will always be here to answer honest questions. I will do my best to preserve Defalk. I make mistakes. Even sorceresses do. If you have a question, if you have a concern, I will answer. I may not always agree, but I will answer.”
“Lord Jecks told me how you spent golds to gain seed corn for the south. I would that I had known.”
That, and Gylaron’s opening words, were all the apology she would ever get, but they were enough. “When you have pressing needs, let me know.”
“I thank you, lady. And Reylan would thank you as well, were she here.” Gylaron smiled. “We would see you at the evening meal.”
“I will be there,” Anna promised.
After Gylaron had left, Anna walked to the window. She didn’t wait long before Jecks arrived.
“How did you manage that?” Anna asked warily.
“I did what Rickel suggested. I had him put on armsman’s greens. Rickel took him around. He talked to armsmen. Anyone and anywhere he wanted. Then he came back and we talked some more.” Jecks smiled, and his eyes twinkled.
“So he doesn’t believe I’m the bitch from dissonance any longer?” Anna walked toward Jecks, seeing the lines around the eyes, the fatigue.
“He has . . . a healthy . . . respect for you,” Jecks answered.
“Like Birfels? He respects me, but can’t stand what I’m doing.”
“Gylaron is distressed that his world will be changed. I did persuade him, as did his consort, that his situation is far better than it would have been under anyone else, including Lord Ehara or the Liedfuhr of Mansuur. Or the Evult.”
“I’m so flattered.” Anna snorted.
“Lady Anna . . . nothing had changed in Defalk for generations. Then came the drought, and the Evult. Everyone expected that, once the rains returned, so would the good days of the past.”
“They weren’t that good,” muttered Anna.
“That matters not. For the lords, they think those days were good.”
“So they’re upset now?”
“Not all. Some see beyond their noses and fields.” Jecks smiled. �
��Those like Clethner who live with their backs to Nordwei, or Nelmor, who sees the sun set over Neserea.”
“I don’t know. I’m not a very good politician. The older I get, the harder it gets to smile and pretend to be a good little girl. To pretend that it’s all my fault that they don’t understand. To pretend that I didn’t make it perfectly clear when I spelled it out in words a five-year-old should understand.” Anna walked back to the window and looked down at the courtyard, where several score of her armsmen stood or sat under the shade of overhanging battlements. “I never was that good.”
“Give them time. Like Gylaron, they will see that all you bode for Defalk is good.”
“Do I? Really? I wonder.” She turned again. “You’re tired, and what I did didn’t help. Can you get some rest before supper, or dinner, or whatever?”
“Supper, here in the south,” Jecks said.
“Will you get some rest?” she asked again.
“I will have some food sent to you,” Jecks said. “You did not eat.”
“I couldn’t.” She met his eyes. “Please take care of yourself and get some rest.”
“As my lady commands.”
“I don’t command you,” Anna said with a smile. “I doubt anyone’s ever commanded you.”
“Not until now, lady.” Jecks bowed.
“You’re impossible.”
“Just ancient.”
“You’re not that, either. Now go get some rest, and let a poor sorceress think about how she can avoid swallowing her boots again.”
Jecks bowed once more, and Anna shook her head, ruefully, as Jecks departed, graceful, muscular, and far more understanding than most of his peers. Most? How about all of them?
53
MANSUUS, MANSUUR
Rain rattles against the shutters of the large study, and a warm mist seeps in from the darkness outside and around the louvers. Konsstin paces back and forth in front of the wide desk table piled with scrolls, lit with a five-branched candelabra.
Thrap. The knock on the door is diffident, almost timid.
“Yes?”
The door opens, and Bassil peers in. “You sent for me, sire?”
The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 35
