The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “It’s smaller, and there’s but one window and the doors. I was giving Verlya a lesson with the mandolin.”

  “She may need it,” Alya says darkly.

  “The shadow sorceress?”

  “She may come to our aid. Not with lancers, but with what she knows.” Alya’s eyes are dark as she looks to her consort. “How can I refuse if she does? If she does not, we must face the old hard choices. We may in any case.”

  “Do we need her aid? There is no hunger, and no older folk are dying of chill and consumption. We have stores in the granaries—enough for years.”

  “Do we wait until Dumar falls, and the Sturinnese try again? Do you think the Maitre will remove the fleets once he holds Dumar?”

  “Can we break the blockade?”

  “With what? You know what happened the last time. We can protect the channel and keep them from entering, but they can destroy our trade, and in time that will destroy all that is Ranuak.”

  “Will it come to that? With the shadow sorceress in Elahwa?” asks Aetlen.

  “Perhaps not. The shadow sorceress met with Veria,” Alya says.

  “Your eyes say you are worried—most worried.”

  “Veria will speak as she sees. She may well persuade the sorceress to aid us. Or she may let the sorceress make that decision.”

  “You worry that the sorceress will come to our assistance?” Aetlen frowns.

  “I do indeed, for that will lead us down the trail to the true horrors of a sorcery war. We had almost managed to bury the old knowledge.” Alya shakes her head. “Then came the Sturinnese and the great sorceress.”

  “Is it just the old knowledge?”

  “No. The Lady Anna understood beyond the rote spells, beyond the music, and, worse, she has taught at least the shadow sorceress. The spell-poisonings are but the beginning of the horrors.” Alya’s lips twist. “Yet we cannot bury that knowledge, not to any good end this time.”

  “If you kill the shadow sorceress…?”

  “You want your daughters—all daughters—in chains and under the thunder-drums?”

  Aetlen shakes his head.

  “Whatever may come, it is but a question of the least of great evils.”

  “The least of great evils…” Aetlen turns toward the single small window, where he looks into the darkness of an early winter evening for a moment before turning back. “Can you see nothing more hopeful?”

  “I continue to hope, but I cannot say that I see better.” Alya takes a deep breath, and a smile appears on her face. “Let us go have dinner with the girls.”

  Aetlen matches her smile with one of his own, then offers her his arm.

  89

  Still puzzled by her meeting with Counselor Veria, Secca walked slowly up the steps toward her guest quarters. She nodded to Dymen, guarding her door, and stepped inside. Richina looked up from the lutar and the notation, then set aside the instrument and hurried toward Secca.

  “How was the meeting with the counselor?” asked the younger sandy-haired sorceress.

  “Interesting.” Secca paused. “We’re welcome to stay here so long as we wish, all winter if necessary.” She unfastened the damp riding jacket and hung it on the wall peg, with the green felt hat over it. Her eyes went to the window, where fine ice pellets bounced intermittently against the glass. “It looks like we won’t be going west or north anytime soon.”

  “Lady, might you tell me why you found it interesting?”

  “Puzzling, even.” Secca turned away from viewing the falling ice mist, certain she didn’t want to discuss her puzzlement. “Do you feel up to singing some more scrying spells? You might as well get used to doing more of them.” She glanced toward the door. “The players and the overcaptains should be here in a moment.”

  “You’ve summoned them all?” asked Richina.

  “We need to see what we face, and talk over what everyone knows. That will mean a number of spells. We have to see what’s happening in Encora, Narial, and Neserea. You’ve done scrying spells, and now you’ve seen enough away from Mencha to be able to visualize things. I can do the first spell, and you look at what the glass shows, and then try the second spell in that area.” Secca gestured at the cased scrying glass set on the corner of the desk table. “You’ll see.”

  Thrap.

  “Your players and overcaptains, lady,” called Dymen, almost immediately following the rap on the door.

  “Have them come in.”

  Palian was the first into the chamber, and she bowed, and then moved farther into the room, almost to the desk. Delvor followed. Then came Wilten and Alcaren.

  Once the door closed behind Alcaren, Secca gestured toward the table. “We have some matters we should talk over.”

  With a look at the five chairs set around the table, Richina slipped into Secca’s bedchamber and returned with a stool.

  “I can take that, Lady Richina,” Alcaren offered.

  “I am younger,” Richina countered with a smile.

  Alcaren returned the smile of the younger sorceress with one of his own. As Richina settled herself in the stool, the Ranuan’s eyes shifted to Secca, to whom he offered a rueful and knowing expression.

  Secca almost laughed, for Alcaren’s face clearly expressed dismay—exaggerated and overdone, but still dismay—at the thought that he was too old to take a stool.

  The others seated themselves—Secca with Richina on her left, Palian beside Secca, Delvor flanking Richina, and the overcaptains across the table from the sorceresses.

  Secca glanced from one face to the next before speaking. “I have not mentioned to you what I discovered last night, except to Richina,” Secca began. “The sorcerer Belmar has begun to use greater powers, even calling upon thunder-drums and possibly Darksong. Last night, he brought down an entire keep in Neserea with sorcery. From what we have already discovered, he intends to bring down Lady Annayal and to become the next Prophet of Music.”

  “From where did this sorcerer appear?” asked Alcaren.

  “He is the holder of Worlan, a coastal town mainly to the west of Esaria. We think that he has been taught sorcery by the Sturinnese,” Secca said.

  “Can what we do affect aught there?” asked Wilten. “With this weather,” he added, gesturing toward the window, “there is little enough we can do.”

  “Yet everywhere we gaze,” Palian said slowly, smoothing back her gray hair unconsciously, “there are the Sea-Priests. They sent lancers and thunder-drummers to support Mynntar. They attacked Elahwa. They ravage Dumar, and now we learn that they are behind the revolt in Neserea.” She looked at Wilten, seated beside her. “Do you think such is mere chance, overcaptain?”

  “Ah…no, chief player. No. I but questioned what we could do in this time of winter.” Wilten shifted his weight in the unpadded wooden chair.

  “We will not do anything today, or tomorrow, or perhaps longer,” Secca said. “The horses are worn and thin. So are the lancers and players. Now is the time to think and plan.” She gestured toward the glass in the middle of the table. “To think and plan, you need to see what we can see in the glass.”

  Secca rose and took the lutar from its case, tuning it slowly. Her eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the fine ice pellets had stopped falling, but the mist seemed to be thickening, cloaking the lane to the avenue with a white fog. She finished tuning and began the first spell-song.

  “Show us now and in the glass

  what with Belmar comes to pass…

  As Secca completed the spell-song, the mirror silvered, then revealed the dark-haired holder and sorcerer standing in a library of sorts. Behind a desk sat a heavy-set and older man wearing a rich burgundy tunic. Belmar was smiling as he spoke. The older man frowned.

  “The other is not happy,” Wilten said.

  “We do not know where this is,” Delvor murmured.

  Secca took the grease pencil and scrawled a line on the rough brown paper before her, then eased it in front of Richina. As Secca seated hersel
f, the younger sorceress stood and cleared her throat, then took Secca’s lutar and sang the modified spell.

  The mirror showed a low villalike structure set before low hills. Long rows of dark sticklike objects seemed to fill the fields behind the structures that formed three sides of a square around the villa itself.

  “Those are vineyards.” Palian pointed to the wooden trestle poles. “That has to be in the Ferantha Valley.”

  Secca frowned, trying to recall the Neserean geography. “That’s east of Sperea and south of Elioch, isn’t it?”

  Alcaren nodded.

  With his nod, Secca was most conscious, again, that Alcaren had not watched the glass on the table desk, but had concentrated entirely upon her, and then upon Richina, as each had sung the scrying spell. The Ranuan was all too familiar with far too many things, from geography in lands where he had not traveled—or said he had not traveled—to herbal remedies for overextended sorceresses.

  “It is south of Elioch,” Palian affirmed.

  Secca nodded at Richina, who sang the release couplet.

  “So Belmar is raising the south of Neserea against Lady Clayre and Annayal?” asked Wilten.

  “Most successfully, it appears,” Secca suggested.

  “You have dealt with a rebellion and with sorcery,” pointed out Delvor. “You are suggesting that matters are different in Neserea?”

  “They must be,” replied Palian, “or Lady Clayre would not be having such trouble.”

  “There are large differences,” suggested Alcaren slowly.

  Those around the table looked to the Ranuan.

  “The Evult attacked Defalk, and the Lady Anna destroyed all his forces and buried a goodly section of the northwest under molten rock. Bertmynn rebelled several years later, and the Lady Anna thoroughly destroyed all his forces. Mynntar rebelled, and even with Sturinnese aid, the ladies here have destroyed his forces.” Alcaren paused, glanced around the table as if to see that the others were waiting for a conclusion. “The Prophet of Music and his ill-favored son were defeated on Defalkan soil, not in Neserea, and none returned to tell of the disaster, save the few who supported Lord High Counselor Hanfor. Three times has Ebra been crushed. Never has such happened in Neserea. Also, Neserea is far larger than Ebra and far richer. Even were a rebel to conquer Lord Hadrenn, what would he gain? Whereas in Neserea…”

  The nods went around the table.

  “There is little we could do in Neserea, even were the passes clear,” Secca observed. “The difficulties there show why we will receive little help from Defalk or the other sorceresses.”

  “It is but a rebellion,” Wilten said.

  “That may well be,” Secca replied, “but this rebel would make himself Prophet of Music, and both of his predecessors attacked and invaded Defalk. Those attacks are certainly upon the mind of Lord Robero.”

  “Too much.” The murmur was so low that Secca could not determine who said it, save that it could not have been Alcaren, not from the half-smile and nod on his face.

  “That may be, but that is as it is,” she replied. “Dumar is the problem. It has always been the weakest of the southern lands.” Secca stood and took the lutar once more, clearing her throat before singing.

  “Show us now and in this glass

  where Dumar’s battles now come to pass…”

  The mirror split into six separate images—and in all cases showed the white-coated Sturinnese moving forward, seemingly against no forces whatsoever. Secca watched closely, concentrating on holding the images as she did.

  The others half-rose from their seats and also watched.

  In the middle image, one of the lancers pitched from the saddle with a long war-arrow through his neck.

  After a time, Secca sang the release couplet, set down the lutar, and reseated herself, ignoring the renewed rattling of ice pellets against the window.

  “Whoever leads the Dumarans,” Alcaren said, “he is trying to avoid large battles. That is all he can do.”

  “Attack and run before they can bring the thunder-drums into play,” Wilten added with a nod. “Use arrows from afar and arch them into the lancers.”

  “That will but slow them,” Alcaren pointed out.

  “Perhaps they hope Lord Robero will come to their aid,” suggested Palian.

  “No one else can,” Delvor added.

  Alcaren raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.

  “Do we know…who holds Dumar, or what remains of it?” asked Palian.

  Secca shook her head. “The last word we had was that Lord Clehar was mustering his forces, and that was many weeks ago.” She took out the grease pencil again and scrawled a few more words on the paper, then slipped it to Richina.

  The younger sorceress rose and took the lutar.

  “Show us now and as you must

  the one who leads and seeks Dumar’s trust…”

  The sole image in the glass was that of a younger, dark-haired and sharp-featured man in a crimson tunic astride a dark chestnut. Secca did not recognize the man, although he appeared similar to Lord Clehar. “That’s not Clehar.”

  “It is not surprising,” Palian pointed out. “Clehar was gathering his forces when last we heard, and he planned to lead them himself. He had no sorcerers or sorceresses, and his forces were much inferior to those of the Sea-Priests.”

  Secca nodded to Richina to sing the release couplet.

  “They still hold out against the Sturinnese,” Delvor said.

  “How long?” asked Wilten. “For another season?”

  “Not past midsummer, I would guess,” offered Alcaren. “Unless they have assistance. Perhaps not that long.”

  “We cannot reach them from here,” Palian stated. “Not unless we cross Ranuak, and, even were we welcome, that would take almost until spring.”

  “We aren’t deciding anything today,” Secca said. “I just wanted you all to see what we could bring forth in the glasses. We also need to see what is happening in Encora and where the Sturinnese ships are. If they have left…then we could travel by sea.”

  “They will not have left,” said Alcaren firmly.

  “You are doubtless correct, overcaptain,” Secca replied, standing and lifting the lutar once more, “but we should at least check the glass to see.”

  At Secca’s words, a smile flitted across Richina’s face.

  Alcaren also smiled, almost ruefully, as Secca began to sing.

  “Show us now, for all to see

  where near Encora sail and found may be

  the ships of Sturinn…”

  The mirror obligingly displayed the picket lines of ships beyond the channel that Secca had come to recognize all too well. After singing the release song, she moistened her lips and turned to Alcaren. “They seem to be there, yet. Overcaptain, as you know Encora, if you would explain…”

  “I have told Lady Secca this before,” Alcaren said. “The channel from the port harbor is most narrow, and bordered by rocky shoals. Beyond the channel, the water is shallow for many deks seaward, and the Sturinnese sail the deeper waters beyond that. There are ways for coastal ships of shallow draft to avoid the war vessels, but not for the large traders of greater draft. There are large…there are many defenses along the channel, and all in Encora, men and women, are trained in the use of blades and bows. Encora could be taken from the sea, it is true, but the costs would be so high as not even the Sea-Priests would wish such.”

  “So they would prefer to take Dumar first?” asked Wilten.

  Alcaren nodded.

  “Ranuak can hold out for perhaps years, but it can offer little help to Dumar. Is that how you would say matters stand, overcaptain?” asked Secca.

  “From what I have seen, that is so.”

  “Were we intent…were we intent on taking the fight to the Sturinnese in Dumar, would the Matriarch allow us passage? Would we be welcome? How would we be received?” asked Secca.

  “I cannot speak for the Matriarch, Lady Secca. I am but an overcaptain
, and not one of those most favored. I would think we would be well-received, but those are but my feelings.”

  “With all our lancers except yours men?” questioned Palian.

  “There are companies of men in the Ranuan lancers, and their officers are also men,” Alcaren pointed out.

  “I presume our welcome would be greater the shorter our stay?” Secca studied the Ranuan.

  Alcaren laughed. “Not…” He paused. “That is most likely so.”

  “I see.” Secca nodded. After a moment, she stood. “There is little else we should discuss at the moment. I would ask that you all consider what we have seen and what has been said. We will meet tomorrow. I will inform you.” She smiled. “Thank you all.”

  As the others stood, Secca nodded toward the Ranuan. “Overcaptain Alcaren…if I could have a few moments more of your time?”

  Richina glanced at Alcaren, then at Secca.

  “If you would practice those spells in your room,” Secca said gently, “we’ll go over them later.”

  “Oh, yes…lady.” Richina bowed and turned.

  Secca waited until the door closed behind Delvor, the last to leave, before gesturing for Alcaren to reseat himself. “I need to know more about Ranuak—and about you.” She slipped back into her chair.

  “What would you like to know?” Alcaren took the chair directly across the table from Secca.

  “You have said that the Matriarch could spare but ten companies of lancers, and then two more with yours. Yet you just said that all were trained in arms, and that it would be costly for Sturinn to take Encora.”

  “Both are true. There are but a few more than twenty companies of lancers maintained by the Matriarch. Their pay comes from the tariffs from the Exchange and from tariffs on goods passing through the port. That is all that the tariffs will support. A good lancer is worth many men and women with blades and bows. But in the streets of a city, where a lancer cannot turn or charge easily and where there are thousands of men and women, a hundred companies of lancers might fail—unless the city were reduced to rubble by sorcery.”

  “And so long as the channel is defended, the thunder-drums cannot get close enough?”