The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  The lightnings lasted longer, and left swathes of burned bodies—of both men and mounts—across the meadow and the slope, but there were still a large number that had turned their mounts. There were also lancers in green lying at the forward edge of the rise—not many, but a good score.

  Richina and Secca watched, but the Sturinnese did not turn and reform immediately.

  Then Richina sat down on the ground…abruptly.

  Secca hurried forward, and offered her water and some bread. “Eat and drink. I will do the next one.”

  “Next one?” Richina’s voice wavered.

  “I fear the Lady Sorceress is correct, young sorceress,” said Stepan.

  Secca hadn’t seen the arms commander ride up, but she nodded.

  “They will reform and attack within less than a quarter-glass,” Stepan predicted. “They know that they must win or they cannot hold eastern Ebra. So they will attack and break, attack and break, until you can cast no more thunderbolts.”

  “Richina cannot cast more for a time.” Secca gestured to Palian and Delvor. “Can you play the flame song again?”

  “We must, must we not?” called back the chief player, with a rueful look upon her lips. “If we are to ride out, that is.”

  “Yes,” Secca admitted.

  “Then we will play.”

  “Stronger than before,” added Delvor, pushing a limp lock of hair off his forehead. “We must.”

  Secca smiled, then let her voice run through a short vocalise, only enough to ensure her cords were clear.

  She watched, her eyes on the trees to the south, where once again the Sturinnese reformed. Even as she did, she had trouble believing that they wanted Ebra so badly that they would charge a sorceress again and again, without even the support of their thunder-drums.

  But the trumpet triplets, wavering more than before, echoed across the lowlands, now completely in morning sunlight, and from the trees came the white-clad lancers, seemingly as many as in any of the earlier attacks.

  “We stand ready,” called Palian.

  “Not until they start to climb the rise,” Secca returned. She had to destroy them all on this attack, because she doubted either she or Richina could handle another spell—and probably the players couldn’t either.

  “Hold your line! Hold till they reach midrise!” ordered Stepan.

  The meadow was covered with white-coated lancers, and more appeared from under the trees, swarming toward the Defalkan and Ebran forces, and Secca realized that the first attacks had been as much to tire her and Richina as anything, with many of the Sturinnese forces held in reserve.

  She wanted to shake her head, thinking about her lack of experience, but it was too late for regrets and might-have-beens. So she watched, slowly raising her arm as the Sturinnese riders neared the base of the rise and started up.

  Then she dropped her arm.

  “Mark!” snapped Palian.

  The players began, not as strongly as before, but true. The chorded harmony of Delvor’s second players seemed stronger, but that might have been by comparison. Secca pushed that thought away and concentrated, not just on the spell, but on visualizing sweeps of lightnings—from the eastern side of the lowland, all across the southern hillside and the camp above, and to the sunlit western and lower end of the valley.

  As the last words and notes faded, a crystalline chord chimed through the air, a chord few heard except Secca and Richina, and perhaps Palian. Then, lightnings exploded around them, across the front of the rise, across the browned grasses before the rise, across the hillside, across the top of the hillside.

  The sky darkened, and the cold wind whipped across Secca and Richina.

  From the corner of her eye, Secca could see several players collapsing, and even Palian staggering, barely hanging on to her violino. Secca just stood there, trying to see through the flashes of light that put holes in her vision.

  “To the rear!” Stepan’s voice boomed out over the wind.

  “To the north!” called Wilten.

  To the north? Secca shook her head, trying to see past the dayflashes that seemed to mix with the last of the lightnings. To the north? She turned, shakily…to see riders in green swirling past to meet a wedge of riders in white.

  “Mount!” snapped Secca. “Into the saddle!” It seemed to take every bit of her strength to get up onto the gray.

  Richina seemed faster than Secca, but both women mounted quickly and turned their horses toward the north and the lines of white-coated lancers who charged toward the back of the rise.

  Her eyes still flashing with daystars, Secca did what she could, knowing she could use no more sorcery. She drew the sabre as a Sturinnese slashed down a Defalkan lancer in green and charged toward her.

  Somehow Secca parried the first slash, and used the moment of surprise on the Sturinnese officer’s face—as he realized he was facing a sorceress with a blade—to half-slash, half-thrust, at the left side of his neck.

  More figures in white charged past the thin green line.

  Secca ducked as another slashed at her, her arm numb from the off-center parry.

  Her attacker fell, cut down from behind by Richina.

  Another Sturinnese appeared, glancing from Secca to Richina. Secca thrust, awkwardly, but it was enough to make the lancer defend himself, enough that Richina’s sabre cut deeply enough across his upper arm to disarm him. Secca cut his throat as he opened his mouth.

  Secca urged the gray forward, but Richina had needed no aid to dispatch a third Sturinnese.

  A wave of black lancers appeared, but there were no figures in white left mounted.

  Haddev reined up. “Ladies?” Worry filled his voice.

  Despite the intermittent daystars and the cramping in her abdomen, Secca forced a smile. “We’re fine.” She glanced at Richina.

  The sandy-haired sorceress nodded, if tiredly.

  Haddev glanced at Secca, and the blood sprayed across her trousers and vest, and at the still-bloody sabre in her hand. Then he looked at Richina, who was even more blood-splattered.

  “Your guards…?” asked the heir.

  “They were busy,” Richina said. “We did all right. Lady Secca killed their captain.”

  “Richina was better with her blade. I think she killed three of them,” Secca said, letting the flat tiredness in her voice show.

  Haddev glanced at the heavy sabre carried by the tall younger sorceress, then back at Secca. He started to speak, then stopped as Wilten rode up.

  “Lady Secca?” Wilten’s voice was low.

  “Yes, Wilten?” Secca looked at the overcaptain.

  “It’s Stepan. He and his company…they broke most of the assault from the rear, and killed many…but…”

  “But?” asked Richina.

  Wilten glanced down. “He ended up fighting four of ’em. He got three.”

  Secca nodded slowly, sadly, feeling another kind of numbness. It had been that kind of campaign, and probably mostly her fault, or her inexperience. “There was no other like him. He will be missed. Sorely missed.” More than anyone would know, she suspected. Far more. “More than any would know.”

  She straightened in the saddle. “Make sure that the Sturinnese are not re-forming.”

  Wilten shook his head. “They rode out. There were but five companies or so remaining. The scouts said not a one has turned.”

  For the moment, thought Secca. For the moment.

  She glanced toward the north where a group of Ebran lancers had gathered, doubtless around the fallen Stepan, and urged the gray forward, squinting through the intermittent dayflashes to make her way toward the arms commander.

  68

  By midafternoon, Secca could see clearly most of the time, with only occasional dayflashes, but her head still throbbed. She sat on the edge of the cot in her tent, drinking yet more water and trying to eat more bread and cheese, not knowing when she might have to do more sorcery.

  Richina sat on the other cot, doing the same.
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br />   Secca also thought about Stepan, both as the handsome young man she had looked up to as a child, and as the haggard arms commander who had done his best, perhaps doomed by the inexperience of the sorceress he had served. She shook her head. She should have thought about the Sturinnese attacking from the rear. She could have visualized that, had she just thought. Had she just thought!

  Was that also warfare, she wondered, realizing that she had not done all she should have, and that others had died because of her mistakes?

  The scouts Secca had sent out had reported back. The Sturinnese camp was empty, and there were no signs of the Sturinnese lancers anywhere. A rough count had shown that between Richina’s and Secca’s sorcery and the lancers’ blades, they had slain close to eighty score Sturinnese. Stepan had been right—more than forty companies.

  She had tried a single scrying with the mirror, and before she had almost collapsed, she and Wilten had determined that the Sturinnese were continuing to ride to the northeast. She shook her head, and wished she hadn’t as a sharp pain shot through her skull and her eyes watered. That intensified the cramping, and she just sat stiffly on the edge of the cot for a moment.

  “Are you all right, lady?” asked Richina.

  “I have felt better,” Secca admitted. It didn’t help that close to five companies, the survivors of those who had swept in from behind, had escaped. She had the feeling that they would join with those from Dolov, and once again, she would be facing a force more than twice the size of hers, and without an arms commander with the expertise of Stepan.

  Still…there was little she could do at the moment. It would be a day before many of the players could even ride and longer before Secca could count on them for any intensive sorcerous accompaniment.

  “Lady?” called Achar. “Melcar is here.”

  Secca slowly stood and stepped outside into the cold and clear air, into the chill of the north wind that had persisted long after her early morning sorcery.

  Overcaptain Melcar was black-haired, perhaps five years older than Secca, with a blocky build and a square-jawed face. He bowed. “Sorceress-Protector.”

  “Overcaptain.” Secca paused. “I would like to suggest that a half a squad be detached to accompany Stepan…back to Synek. Perhaps a few more if there are some who can ride but not fight.”

  Melcar bowed. “They would be honored.”

  Secca smiled sadly. “He was a good man.”

  “Synek will miss him,” Melcar said slowly.

  “We all will, yet…there is more before us.”

  “What plan you next, lady?”

  “To ride north, to destroy the remainder of the Sturinnese, and then to ensure that Dolov remains loyal to Lord Hadrenn.” Secca looked squarely into Melcar’s brown eyes. “Would you suggest otherwise?”

  The overcaptain shook his head. “From what I have seen of your sorcery, that is best for Ebra.” A faint smile followed before he added, “And for Defalk. It may not be best for any of us.”

  Secca matched his smile with one also faint and ironic.

  Both turned at the sound of a lancer riding across the camp.

  The ranker reined up. “Lady Secca. Overcaptain Wilten sent me. He is escorting a party riding to see you. It is led by one of the Counselors of Elahwa.”

  “Thank you. We will be ready.”

  “I will tell the overcaptain.”

  As the lancer turned his mount, Secca said, “Best you remain, Melcar.”

  The overcaptain nodded.

  Secca turned toward the tent. “You should join us, Richina. We’re having some visitors from Elahwa.”

  The younger sorceress both shivered inside her jacket and squinted as she stepped from the tent into the cold brilliance of the day. “They are quick to pay their respects.”

  “They should be,” said Melcar. He inclined his head to Secca, almost embarrassed. “Excuse me, lady. I spoke—”

  “In haste, and in truth.” Secca laughed, once. “I prefer that to obscurity.”

  Melcar’s brief smile was one of relief.

  At the western edge of the encampment a line of riders appeared.

  The three by the tent watched as the party neared, then reined up. Wilten dismounted, and was followed by two others—a tall woman and a lancer officer in pale blue.

  Wilten bowed to Secca, then turned to the two. “This is Lady Secca, Sorceress-Protector of the East, and her assistant, Lady Richina. Overcaptain Melcar of Synek.”

  Melcar bowed. Secca nodded. Richina offered a slight bow.

  The counselor was tall, well-muscled. Her dark-brown hair was streaked with gray, and fine lines radiated from her eyes. Under a brown riding jacket, half-open, she wore a crimson tunic that bore faint splotches, possibly blood that had not been removed by washing. With her was a lancer overcaptain in the uniform of Ranuak, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, and far too short for his breadth of chest to be handsome. His gray-blue eyes took in Richina, then fixed on Secca for a long moment, before traveling back to the counselor he accompanied.

  Secca repressed a shiver at his brief scrutiny, for it seemed as though he had seen to her core.

  “I am Veria, Second Counselor of Elahwa. We appreciate your efforts, lady, far more than words can convey. We must also apologize for not being able to assist you, but…we did not dare abandon our defense posts with so few lancers remaining to us.” Veria bowed. “A fleet and seventy companies of Sturinnese were more than we had ever expected. Nor had we expected that Lord Robero would hazard lancers and sorceresses against such a large Sturinnese force.”

  Secca hid a frown. Had there been seventy companies? How would she ever know? And if there had not been that many in the battle…where were the others? “We did what we thought best, Lady Veria—”

  “Veria, please. When it is appropriate, please convey our thanks to your lord for your efforts, although we will certainly do so as well.”

  “That I will.” In time, and only after she dealt with Dolov and the Sturinnese. Secca massaged her forehead, then, absently, tugged the sabre belt back into position.

  The unintroduced lancer overcaptain’s eyes followed the gesture, then, almost belatedly, took in the blood splotches on her sleeves and trousers. The faintest of smiles appeared, almost as if of approval, before vanishing.

  “You have blade training as well, Lady Sorceress?” asked Veria, gently, apologetically.

  “My…mentor…Lady Anna—she insisted that all whom she trained be as skilled as possible with knife and sabre.” Secca’s smile was wry. “I had not quite understood the reasons for a sorceress to know such, not until today.”

  “So you killed some with a blade as well as sorcery?” Veria laughed. “Good.”

  The Ranuan overcaptain nodded.

  “There wasn’t much choice,” Secca pointed out, abruptly conscious that everyone around her seemed to tower over her, except for the blue-eyed lancer overcaptain who was but a head or so taller. “We lost the arms commander of Synek and many others.”

  “There seldom is much choice in such.” Veria’s tone was wry. After a moment, she asked, “What will you now?”

  “Five companies of the Sturinnese are riding northward to meet with reinforcements from Dolov.” Secca shrugged. “I cannot leave them to ride where they will.”

  The Ranuan overcaptain leaned forward and murmured something in the counselor’s ear.

  For a moment, Veria frowned, then nodded. She smiled as she addressed Secca. “There is little we can yet offer you, for our stores are few and our losses grievous, and the Sturinnese ships remain yet off the port. That is, for now at least. Overcaptain Alcaren would offer his two companies of SouthWomen to aid you in dealing with the Sturinnese as a partial recompense for your willingness to look beyond your own borders and needs.”

  “That is most generous…and welcome,” Secca said immediately, even as she wondered at the reasons behind the offer—and her own quick acceptance.

  “They would, of course, be under yo
ur direct command.” Alcaren’s voice was a smooth baritone, a voice that carried without effort. “Through me, but under your direct orders.”

  Secca understood Alcaren’s offer. The SouthWomen would not accept the command of an outsider—and usually not from any male officer.

  Veria smiled, as if she understood Secca’s puzzlement. “Alcaren was the chief personal guard of the Matriarch.”

  “Just one of them,” the broad-shouldered officer added apologetically. “We were the last sent from Encora to aid Elahwa. We have suffered far less. We would not wish the Sturinnese to remain anywhere in Liedwahr.”

  “Neither would we,” Secca pointed out.

  Veria cleared her throat.

  Secca turned, waited.

  “We can bring some supplies,” Veria said. “We have taken the liberty of sending a few wagons already so that you will not have to forage or go hungry in following the Sturinnese.”

  “We are most grateful,” Secca said. “If the weather permits, we will begin tomorrow.”

  “It should be most clear,” Veria suggested.

  There was another period of silence before the counselor spoke again. “There is little else we can say, except that we are most grateful and that you are always welcome in Elahwa.” She bowed slightly. “We will send what more we can in rations and supplies.”

  “Thank you.” Secca inclined her head.

  “And Overcaptain Alcaren will brief you on his lancers.” Veria bowed again. “I should go.”

  “We thank you,” Secca said again, not knowing exactly what else she could say.

  The five watched as Counselor Veria walked back toward her mount.

  As the counselor rode away, accompanied by little more than a squad of woman lancers in red, Alcaren turned to Secca. “My lancers are SouthWomen.”

  “I understand. Would you prefer to billet them close to me, or on one side of the camp?”

  Alcaren tilted his head slightly, then smiled. “They would be honored to be billeted close to a sorceress-protector.”