The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “Quick…she was…”

  “No force in it…”

  Secca pushed that back. It wouldn’t have been right to use full force on a captain who was just trying to avoid either being struck or striking his commander. She wanted to shake her head. She wouldn’t have had the problem if she had been a man. She’d seen enough lancers try to strike Jecks, Rickel, Himar, and others.

  Drysel feinted, and Secca offered a half-parry, as if she didn’t know his move were a feint, then came over the top of his weapon and forced it down into the bricks before dancing back.

  Still, the young captain avoided striking directly at Secca. If she struck him, under those conditions, she would be unfair, and she might even hurt him.

  So she concentrated on his weapon, deciding to see what she could do to make him look silly, since he was clearly wrapped in his own superiority.

  With his next half-thrust, she ducked and came up under his weapon, putting her full weight, if momentarily, behind her weapon, and taking her hilt against the rattan with enough force to drive the weapon out of his fingers. With a smile she stepped back and beckoned for him to retrieve it.

  Drysel frowned momentarily, flexing his fingers as he retrieved the practice weapon.

  Secca could sense his grip on the rattan blade was firmer, but he was obviously determined merely to defend.

  After another series of engagements, blade against blade, Secca hammered his weapon into the bricks with enough force that, in order to hold the weapon, Drysel went almost to his knees.

  As the captain straightened and stepped back, Secca caught some of the murmurs from the onlooking lancers.

  “…he won’t strike…see…she knows it…”

  “…she won’t either…won’t take advantage…”

  “…trying to disarm him…done it once already…”

  In the next set of exchanges, Secca managed to force Drysel’s blade higher and more to the side, then slammed her blade into the side of his weapon just above the hilt. As Drysel’s practice weapon seemed to bend in his hand and then drop to the bricks, Secca tried to break the momentum of her follow-through, but even so, her rattan slammed into his upper arm.

  She stepped back. “I’m sorry, captain. I was only trying for your weapon, not for you.” As she watched, she could see blood oozing through the fabric of Drysel’s sleeve.

  Drysel concealed a wince. “I know, lady. That was obvious.”

  “I am most sorry,” Secca apologized again.

  “That is all right.” Drysel started to bend to retrieve the rattan weapon, then paused, with a less-well-concealed wince.

  “I didn’t…” Secca stood back, taking a deep breath, wondering what she could say. She shouldn’t have let her temper, even focused into the weapon, get the better of her. Just because she wasn’t big…everyone seemed to think she was fragile.

  “So…you are beating up on your officers, lady?”

  Secca turned to see Alcaren standing there. “I was trying to get some exercise. I’m not used to the rattan, and I didn’t realize…” She broke off as she saw the amused expression in his gray-blue eyes. “Perhaps you would like to take Captain Drysel’s place, overcaptain?”

  “And if I injured our sorceress, then where would I be?” Alcaren shrugged.

  “The same place you are now—waiting in Elahwa.” Secca’s words were as chill as the wind she scarcely felt.

  “I can see you will not accept my deferral.”

  “Not at the moment,” Secca replied.

  “Then, if you will allow me, captain…” Alcaren stepped toward Drysel and scooped up the blade off the gray bricks.

  “Captain Drysel?” Secca said.

  “Yes, lady?”

  “I am most sorry for being overzealous. I would appreciate it if you would have Chief Player Palian look at your shoulder. She is a fair healer.”

  “If you would allow me to watch for a moment before I do?”

  “Of course…but not too long.” Secca turned toward Alcaren, who had not bothered to remove his riding jacket.

  “Limitations, lady?” asked Alcaren.

  “No head thrusts. I might still have to sing, and you might need to give orders.”

  “Most fair.”

  Alcaren was even more cautious than Drysel, parrying Secca’s exploratory cuts, but not attempting to slip by her weapon or begin an attack.

  The Ranuan followed the same pattern as Drysel had, except Alcaren was willing to attack Secca’s weapon, and she was the one who almost lost her rattan blade. After the first set of exchanges, her fingers tingled, and she circled, flexing them as she did, trying to get more feeling back into them.

  Abruptly, Alcaren stepped back. “A moment, Lady Secca, while I remove the riding jacket.”

  Secca nodded, stepping back and taking a deep breath. She noticed that there were more onlookers, mostly SouthWomen, easing forward from the northern wing of the barracks.

  Alcaren finished folding the jacket and stepped forward with a nod, then began a tightly focused series of attacks, always at Secca’s weapon.

  She slipped aside, then managed to strike his weapon with fair force before falling back.

  They circled again.

  Secca could feel the dampness all over her body, despite the chill wind, and she could see the sweat beading on Alcaren’s forehead.

  She feinted, then struck upward under his weapon, but he recovered and came slashing down. She pulled his rattan blade to the side, and almost drove it into the bricks, but, again, he recovered, and was on the attack again, and Secca had to circle back.

  For a moment, they were almost hilt to hilt, but Secca managed to disengage before his superior strength literally lifted her off her feet.

  Even so, he pressed the attack so fiercely that Secca had no choice but to slide his blade. The rattan did not slide as smoothly as did steel, and the effort sent a jolt down her arm. She danced back, barely avoiding a slashing thrust that, while possibly not intended, swept toward her right thigh, then stepped inside and used the comparative roughness of the rattan to help his weapon along.

  While Alcaren staggered for an instant, he was back on balance almost before Secca was.

  They circled again, and Secca began the attack, but had to back off.

  Alcaren returned the favor.

  How many times this continued Secca did not know, only that she wondered how long she could continue. Yet she’d started it, in a way, and she hated to be the one who called the match—if that was what it was.

  Abruptly, Alcaren eased back. “You…are more…dangerous than you look…” he said between gasps.

  “So…are…you.” Secca wished she weren’t breathing so hard, but keeping up with the bigger and stronger overcaptain had taken everything she had.

  “I…am sorry,” Alcaren continued quietly. “I did…not…understand.” He grinned. “I will be…very sore in many places…because…I did not.” He paused. “You have made…your point, lady—pardon…my pun, and I…would humbly…suggest…that…we cease before…you render…me…unfit for…duty.” The grin was strained.

  Secca straightened, still breathing heavily. “I accept…gratefully…your advice…”

  After a moment, she slowly bent to recover the riding jacket, although she was sweating all over, and dared not don it until she cooled off. Then she refastened the sabre and scabbard to her belt.

  Alcaren slowly followed her in reclaiming his own jacket. Then he bowed.

  Secca bowed in return.

  “Like cats…they were…”

  “So alike…because…”

  Secca couldn’t hear the last words, because Wilten moved in front of the South Woman who was talking and stepped toward Secca.

  “Lady Secca?”

  “Yes, Wilten?” Secca smiled politely.

  “It has been some time since I have seen you work with a blade. You use it like the best of lancers now. Even the men saw it.”

  “Yes…the overcaptain and I
did put on quite an exhibition. I trust our form was good enough to inspire the lancers?”

  “It was most inspiring.” Wilten’s smile was warm. “It was also most impressive to the SouthWomen and their captains.” The Defalkan overcaptain laughed. “It matters not to them how impressive we men are, but how impressive you are.”

  Secca nodded. “I do hope they were impressed.” She paused. “If you will excuse me…?”

  Wilten bowed.

  The redheaded sorceress turned and walked across the courtyard toward the main guest quarters building, still carrying the rattan exercise weapon. She was going to be sore in more places than she wanted to count, but no one was going to see that, especially not Alcaren.

  92

  Secca eased into the chair at the conference table that would let her look out the windows to the southwest. She had too many stiff muscles, more than she would have thought after the weeks of riding, but riding and sorcery were not bladework against bigger and stronger men. Her left shoulder hurt especially. At times, she detested being small.

  She glanced toward the window, not that there was much to see, since the clear skies of the previous day had been replaced with gray clouds and a drizzling rain.

  “I wish I could have seen you sparring with Captain Drysel and Overcaptain Alcaren,” Richina said. “Drysel’s whole arm is black, and there’s a slash that will take weeks to heal.”

  Secca winced. “That was an accident, and bad blade work. I never meant to strike him. He was being kind and refusing to engage anything but my blade. So I was trying to disarm him.”

  “He said that.”

  “How do you know? You said you weren’t watching.”

  “I was working with Palian and the players when he came in to have her look at his arm. He was most uneasy. Palian told him not to worry, that you were far better with a blade than most lancers, and that your size meant nothing.”

  “It does, though. I have to work harder with a blade, and I can’t do as much sorcery as Anna could before I get tired.” Secca shook her head. “Size has its advantages. If you learn to sing as well as I do, then you will have the strength to do more sorcery. Lady Anna thought she was small, but she was not.” Anna hadn’t understood what small was, Secca thought.

  “How could she think that?” asked Richina. “Only a handful of women are taller than she was.”

  “I asked her that once. She said that in the Mist Worlds, she was a small woman, and that many women were near two yards in height, if not taller.”

  “They must be giants there.”

  “She was strong…” Secca mused. “Her warhorses…all of them raider beasts. None but her or a few favored ostlers could handle the first.” As she recalled Anna, she could feel again that gaping emptiness, and she swallowed.

  “Despite your size, lady, you are strong,” Richina said quietly.

  With her sore muscles, Secca felt anything but strong as she gazed out into what seemed endless rain.

  Suddenly, there was a dull clunk, and the odor of hot metal filled the main chamber.

  Secca glanced around. On the working desk, not two yards from the conference table, rested a bronze cylinder that had not been there moments before.

  Richina was the one to use her riding gloves to lift the bronze cylinder before it scorched the table desk.

  “Careful…” The appearance of the message cylinder had Secca even more worried.

  Slowly, Richina extracted the contents of the cylinder—three parchment scrolls. Two were unsealed, the third was beribboned in blue and set inside the second.

  Secca began with the first scroll, one from Jolyn, she confirmed by a quick look at the signature at the bottom.

  Dear Secca—

  I have been watching your progress through the glass and relaying what I have seen to Lord Robero. He was pleased with your defeat of the Sturinnese, but concerned about the retreat of their ships to the south. I was also surprised that he was so pleased about your destruction of the keep at Dolov…

  Secca nodded. She could see why Robero would be pleased.

  Clayre is having great difficulty with Belmar. The Neserean sorcerer travels quickly, and from place to place. He knows what a glass will show, and what it will not, and often remains separated from his lancers and his players. He has a group of players, and uses four thunder-drums as well. He has taken the keep at Sperea through some kind of treachery, and most recently, just two days past, he destroyed the hold of one Jysmar, near Netzla…Why he did so is unclear, unless Jysmar opposed Belmar’s efforts to claim the seat of the Prophet of Music. Lord Svenmar has declared his support for Lord Belmar, as have several other holders in the south of Neserea.

  Lady Annayal has refused to consider a consorting until Belmar is removed as a threat, and the Liedfuhr of Mansuur has moved more than fifty companies of lancers to the western border of Neserea. He has sent a scroll, which took more than four weeks to reach Lord Robero, asserting that he had no intention of attempting to conquer Neserea, but that he would not see his sister’s daughter lose her birthright for lack of armed support.

  Lord Clehar was killed in the early battles in Dumar against the Sturinnese, and his brother Fehern has taken on his title and duties. He did not tell Lord Robero, and I fear that Clehar had died before I had dispatched the last scroll to you through sorcery. I discovered this only within the past week, when Lord Robero received a dispatch from the Council Leader of Wei. Leader Ashtaar wrote that Nordwei has sent all its fleets out of the Northern Ocean for fear that they might be trapped there over the winter.

  The roads to Stromwer are blocked with deep and early snow, and there is no way through the Sudbergs or even through southern Neserea and across the lower Mittfels.

  Be most careful in whatever you decide.

  Secca moistened her lips, then set Jolyn’s scroll aside and picked up the second one, the one with the blue seal of Defalk with the scrawled signature of Robero at the bottom. Secca smoothed it out slowly, fearing the worst as she began to read the words set upon the parchment.

  Sorceress-Protector of the East,

  Know you that the snows have left us prisoned within walls of winter, and there is no manner in which the Assistant Sorceress of Defalk can reach Dumar. Either treachery or the Sea-Priests have killed Lord Clehar. His brother Fehern has taken over his duties, although we have received no word of such, perchance because of the weather, but, given that his death was before the worst of the storms, the failure of the one who now acts as Lord High Counselor of Dumar to inform us is more likely to reflect more than the death in battle of Lord Clehar…

  The Sturinnese now hold Narial and Dumaria. The sole major city holding out is Envaryl, and it is unlikely to withstand the Sea-Priests into summer unless Dumar receives aid.

  While we have grave concerns about the current Lord High Counselor of Dumar, we have even greater concerns about the growing power of Sturinn in Dumar. For this reason, we would request that you consider most carefully and seriously how you might undertake an effort to assist Dumar. With the rebellion and destruction in Neserea, the Lady Clayre cannot now leave that land. Even if she desired, she would have to gather forces and travel southward for nigh on two weeks or more through the rebellious south of Neserea and then through the high snows of the southern Mittfels.

  We trust in your enterprise and judgment. In the event that you will need such, I have also requested that Lady Jolyn enclose a scroll for the Matriarch of Ranuak. The scroll suggests that all Liedwahr is at risk, and requests her assistance in aiding you as she sees fit. You may use this or not, as you see fit.

  Our hopes and best wishes are with you.

  Secca shook her head. That Robero would even consider a scroll to the Matriarch was the strongest sign of all that all was less than well and getting worse.

  “What is it?” asked Richina.

  “Best you read them both. I would rather not repeat their words,” Secca replied. “Don’t open the third one. That’s from Lord
Robero to the Matriarch, should we need such.” She passed the two opened scrolls to the younger sorceress. “I’ll need to meet with the overcaptains and chief players, and then with Counselor Veria.”

  “Is it bad, that bad?” asked Richina.

  “It might be worse.” Secca glanced out into the gray and rainy day, considering how fate and the Harmonies—or Discord—often left one with few choices indeed.

  93

  Outside, the midafternoon clouds were darkening, as if the misting rain were about to turn into a colder and heavier downpour. Inside the guest quarters at Elahwa, seated at the table with her back to the windows, Secca shifted her weight in the chair, ignoring the twinge in her left shoulder, and glanced across the faces seated around the conference table—two overcaptains, two chief players, and one sorceress besides herself. The logs set in the hearth previously had died into a wall of red-banked coals that provided a gentle and welcome heat to the room.

  “I called you all together because we have just received some scrolls from Defalk. By sorcery.” Secca gestured toward the now-cool and empty message tube in the middle of the conference table.

  “From your countenance, Lady Secca,” began Palian, “it would appear that the news is not the most welcome.”

  “Perhaps it would be best if I passed the scrolls around, and each of you can read them,” Secca suggested. “When you are done, then we will discuss what we may do.” Secca handed both scrolls to Palian, who sat to Secca’s left.

  Secca could have read the scrolls aloud, but felt they had more impact if each person read them, and she was fortunate that Anna had insisted all chief players and officers had to be able to read. Also, Secca could watch each person as he or she read the scrolls. Palian nodded slowly several times, then passed the missives to Delvor with a faint smile. Delvor absently brushed back the lock of lank brown hair that had been falling across his forehead for as long as Secca could remember, but his face remained impassive as he in turn passed the scrolls to Wilten.