The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “I see, most honored Belmar,” begins the bearded man, “or should I begin to call you honored Lord Prophet Belmar…”

  “I think such is premature, perhaps by years, honored Ayselin.” Belmar laughs good-humoredly, but his eyes do not laugh with his voice and face.

  “Chyalar has begun to refer to you as such,” Ayselin replies.

  “I was not aware that he thought so highly of the office of Prophet.”

  “He does not. Nor do most in Neserea. That is why he ties your name to such with every opportunity. But then, that is why you sent assassins after him. It is a pity that their success did not match their fees.”

  “Golds are but a tool.” Belmar laughs again.

  “Indeed they are, and that is why I have supplied such to you, but they are not endless, and I would suggest that they be spent with greater return.”

  “While they did not succeed, Chyalar may proceed with greater caution,” suggests the younger holder.

  “Yes…he may suggest to Lady Aerlya that his suit to be consort to Lady Annayal might be well preferred to a forced suit by you.”

  “He is already consorted.”

  “For now.”

  Belmar laughs, delightedly. “What a most wonderful idea! Have her murdered in a way that casts great doubt about the most noble Chyalar and his motivations.”

  “I thought that would appeal to you.” Ayselin nods, then touches his beard for a moment. “You still have not been able to bring the Sorceress of Defalk to bay, for all your sorceries and lancers, and when spring comes, what is there to prevent Lord Robero from sending more lancers or another sorceress or both to the aid of Lady Aerlya? Already, there is word that the Liedfuhr may send fifty companies of Mansuuran lancers to support his niece. With all your sorceries, and a mere forty companies of lancers beholden to you, you cannot fight both Defalk and Mansuur.”

  “We will not have to do such. Lord Robero will do nothing beyond what he has done,” suggests Belmar. “He hoards his lancers, and he spends but two sorceresses—one here and one in the east.”

  “There are two in the east,” jerGlien says mildly.

  “Two…and what have they done in almost two seasons? Propped up a puppet in Ebra, and barely managed to struggle to Ranuak. There they must deal with an indecisive Matriarch and murder attempts by the misguided Ladies of the Shadows.”

  “It is not that insignificant an effort for two women with but a handful of lancers,” suggests Ayselin.

  Belmar shakes his head with a broad and condescending smile. “No. It is not. But does that weakling in Defalk use their actions to his advantage? Does he request lancers from High Lord Counselor Hadrenn? Or even golds?”

  “Lord Robero is overly cautious, but he could well agree to allow his sorceresses to work with the Liedfuhr’s lancers to restore all of Neserea to Lady Annayal. And he would do such in a moment rather than send his own lancers, as well we all know.”

  Belmar fingers his chin, frowning. “There is much to that, and we must ensure that such does not occur.” He glances toward the man in gray. “Is this an area where your masters might provide some suitable mischief, master jerGlien?”

  “They would not wish such an alliance, that is true. Perhaps a fleet sent from the Ostisles to patrol off Defuhr Bay?” He raises his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “You suggest that so readily that it is apparent such has already been planned,” offers Ayselin.

  The Sturinnese shrugs. “It would not be opportune to invade Mansuur at this time, but such a maneuver will keep the Liedfuhr from sending more lancers eastward, for they cannot be recalled quickly.”

  “And it will bring more ships closer to Dumar—and Ranuak,” suggests Ayselin. “Doubtless filled with lancers.”

  “I would not guess what the Maitre plans,” jerGlien replies. “One does that with great risk.”

  “That still will not offer us much assistance,” Ayselin points out.

  “You have been insistent that no lancers or ships from Sturinn enter Neserea. Do you wish that to change?” asks the Sturinnese.

  “No,” Belmar says, “but perhaps a chest of golds for us to raise and arm more lancers. That would be far cheaper for the Maitre.”

  A second shrug follows. “I can but ask.”

  “That is true,” Belmar says politely. “But…if we are better armed, then neither Defalk nor Mansuur will be nearly so interested in what may occur in Dumar—or Ranuak.”

  “That is true, and I will convey those thoughts,” says jerGlien.

  “As for other plans,” Belmar says, “I had thought perhaps a little sorcery in the vineyards to the east of Itzel might prove useful.”

  Ayselin waits.

  “Well…those who hold those lands, they still support Lady Aerlya and her ill-gotten daughter, and many of their coins come from their vintages…”

  The other two in the library nod as Belmar continues to talk.

  114

  Secca stood on the rear steps of the guest quarters in Encora as Wilten and the two additional companies of lancers rode up the drive between the boxwood hedges toward the guest quarters and barracks. Leading the column was a squad of Ranuan lancers in blue, not the SouthWomen, although the last company in the column wore the crimson and blue riding jackets of the SouthWomen.

  In the late afternoon, a chill winter sun tried to break through the white and hazy clouds that covered most of the sky like a thin layer of gauze. Secca could see Clearsong for a moment, before a heavier and grayer cloud obscured the larger moon.

  As the first squad of Ranuan lancers turned aside, Wilten rode to the steps, where he reined up and half-bowed from the saddle. “Lady Secca.”

  “I am most glad to see you, Wilten.”

  The overcaptain bowed again. “And I you, Lady Secca.”

  “How was the journey?”

  “Longer than one would like, but the weather was mild. The air to the north is warming, and spring may come early.” The overcaptain smiled politely.

  Secca returned his smile with one equally pleasant. “We need to discuss some matters—once you have the companies settled. If you and Overcaptain Alcaren would join me, we have much to do, and little enough time in which to accomplish it.”

  Behind Secca’s left shoulder, Richina nodded.

  “A half a glass, lady?” asked Wilten.

  “I will await you. My chambers are located as they were in Elahwa.”

  With a bow, Wilten turned his mount toward the barracks.

  “He is worried and tired, lady,” offered Richina as the two sorceresses reentered the building.

  “Are not we all?” asked Secca, dryly. “The rebellion worsens in Neserea. The Sea-Priests will hold all of Dumar in a season if we do not act. We must use great sorcery in a land that has already once been prostrated by it, and that land is our sole ally willing to offer more than mere words of concern.” She glanced at Richina. “I would like a moment to myself. If you would escort the overcaptains…?”

  “I would be happy to do so.” Richina inclined her head.

  Secca turned and walked back through the arched door and along the corridor to the stairs, then up to her guest quarters, nodding to Dymen as she entered. Once inside, she walked to the working desk, reaching down and lifting the goblet. The water was warmish, but cleared her throat.

  For a time, she stood alone in the main chamber of the guest quarters, looking toward the harbor where sailors swarmed over the mast of one of the vessels there while they worked on the rigging. Several more ships had appeared from their previously hidden anchorages or ports to tie up in the main harbor, and on all sailors toiled, making ready for the voyage ahead.

  Secca wondered if the sailors did not feel a greater surety in the future than did she, with all the unknowns that surrounded and faced her.

  “Overcaptain Wilten, Lady,” called Dymen. “And Lady Richina and Overcaptain Alcaren.”

  “Have them enter.”

  Wilten stepped into the guest chambe
r, his tired eyes avoiding the stack of brown paper on one side of the small round conference table. He took three steps forward and bowed. Behind him followed Alcaren and Richina, who offered bows in turn.

  “I will not keep any of you overlong. Especially you, Wilten. You have had a long journey, and the one most recent.” Secca did not seat herself.

  “As you must, lady.” Wilten frowned, and his eyes did not quite meet Secca’s.

  Alcaren’s eyes betrayed no surprise, and Richina merely watched Secca.

  “You must know that we are going to try to use sorcery against the Sturinnese. I met with the Matriarch, and we have come up with a plan. A sorcerous plan.” Secca looked directly at Wilten.

  “I can see no other way, lady. That troubles me.”

  “We must strike against their fleet. That was the only way in which Lady Anna drove them from Liedwahr, and it will be the only way in which we can do the same.”

  Alcaren nodded.

  “You know, Lady Secca,” Wilten said carefully, “that their ships do not come near the shore, and this will be even more so now that you have destroyed those few of shallow draft that challenged you in the Gulf.”

  “I know. The Matriarch is providing us with ships.”

  “As she should,” said Alcaren.

  “Could she not just provide the ships to carry us to Dumar?”

  “She does not have enough ships to protect us from the warships of Sturinn. Also, that would not destroy the Sturinnese fleet,” Secca pointed out.

  “I see that.” The older overcaptain’s voice was cautious.

  “I intend to take but one company on board the ships—and without mounts. They will be there to protect me and the players and Richina.”

  Wilten’s eyes flicked to Alcaren, then focused on Secca. His brow crinkled.

  “To ensure that all works as it should, we will be preparing to load all lancers the day after tomorrow with their mounts.”

  “All lancers?” asked Alcaren.

  “You will take but one company, but we will prepare to load them all?” followed Wilten.

  “Yes.” Secca nodded. “The Sturinnese have scrying glasses. They will doubtless be watching us closely now that you have arrived. The weather is fair, and the winds would favor us. So they will expect us to act quickly, and that we will.”

  “But they will watch you, and if you do not board a vessel…”

  “We all will be boarding vessels—very carefully. The Sturinnese will doubtless use sorcery to create much disruption in the channel and upon the sea. Their great sorceries are much like mine, and cannot be repeated quickly, and that is when we will strike—with sorcery.”

  “Perhaps I am overly tired, but if you would explain…” said Wilten.

  “We will begin to load the vessels. It is likely the Sturinnese will send a great wave down the channel and into the harbor to destroy ships and delay our departure. The channel is too shallow for a great wave to travel far, and it will break far away from the harbor. There will be flooding, perhaps water several spans deep in the streets, even a yard deep. That sorcery is like great battle sorcery and will tire greatly both the drummers and the Sturinnese sorcerers. When the water from that great wave retreats, I will board the largest of the Ranuan ships, and we will take sorcery to their fleet. They will believe, we hope, that I am traveling to Dumar to stop their conquest. That is why Richina and Alcaren will be with me, and why you will prepare the remaining lancers as if for an overland ride.” Secca shrugged. “That is the plan.”

  “And you will take but one company with you?”

  “That way, it will look as though I am trying to reach Dumar in desperation. Also, there is little point in hazarding the lives of brave lancers to no end,” Secca pointed out. “If I am successful, we will return and embark all within a few days. If I am not, you will return all the lancers to Loiseau when the weather permits and await Lord Robero’s commands.” Secca offered a broad smile. “I do not expect the latter, but I would be a poor sorceress-protector if I did not have orders for all possibilities.”

  Wilten bowed. “As you command, though I would that you take greater protection with you. Another squad, at the very least.”

  “I will consider that, and we can talk tomorrow, when you all have had a chance to consider these plans.” Secca smiled again.

  When the door closed behind the three, the warm and enthusiastic smile faded from the lips of the sorceress as she turned back toward the conference table, and the spell that lay there, underneath a plain sheet of heavy brown paper.

  Secca disliked the expansion of the shadow sorcery, but the songspells involving poisons, such as the one she had used against Mynntar and his captains, required more of the crystals than she had carried with her. Likewise, using a variant of the flame spells would prove too exhausting.

  She bent over the table and uncovered the words of the spell Anna had written years earlier, reading the opening lines slowly. “Infuse with heat, and turn to steam, the water…”

  Shaking her head, Secca paused. When Anna had explained how the spell worked, Secca had been horrified—but, horrified or not, she could see no other alternative for what needed to be done. Secca needed the Matriarch’s support, and the Matriarch needed the ships, and both knew the Sturinnese needed to be stopped, and that could not be done without great sorcery—and more ships for Ranuak.

  Secca straightened and looked, bleakly, toward a setting sun that was turning the hazy clouds into a bloody pink froth.

  115

  The predawn gray seeped into the main chamber where Secca checked the sheaf of spells she had readied. She doubted she would have the time to check them again, or even use any except the first two, but she slipped them into the saddlebag anyway.

  Moments earlier, as she had finished dressing, she had heard the first companies of lancers riding toward the harbor, and that had meant she needed to head down to the lower level and to play her part.

  Abruptly, the very air began to shiver around Secca, or so it seemed, and then an anguished chord rattled through her. She glanced toward the windows, but they were not shaking. A wry smile crossed her lips. The wrenching of the Harmonies was an indication that the Sea-Priests had indeed called up their great wave. The smile vanished as she wondered if Alcaren and the Matriarch had been right—that the wave would not greatly damage Encora.

  She forced herself to the window to watch.

  For a long time, nothing happened. Another company of lancers rode out of the guest quarters, and then a third.

  Secca squinted. A silver-gray was filling the lower part of the drive—water! Rushing water. From the guest quarters windows she watched as grayish water flooded up the drive from the harbor, then seemed to stop. The water was only a bit more than hock deep on the trailing mounts of the next lancer company to leave the guest barracks.

  To the south, she could see masts swaying…but only swaying. She hoped that the Matriarch’s judgment about what a great sorcerous wave could do to Encora had been correct. She watched for several moments longer, but the water across the drive got no deeper, and, in fact, seemed to be slowly receding.

  With a nod to herself, she picked up her saddlebags and lutar, and then the traveling scrying glass. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. There Gorkon took the mirror and saddlebags and followed her down the wide stairs. Richina, who had been watching from her doorway, scurried to catch up.

  Secca had barely stepped through the archway above the rear steps to the guest quarters when Alcaren rode up the paved lane, his mount spraying water from the puddles remaining. The Ranuan overcaptain had a grim smile on his face.

  “The wave wasn’t that deep, was it?” Secca asked.

  “No. It was just what you and the Matriarch had hoped for. The Sturinnese raised the ocean, but the shallows spread it thin.”

  Secca gestured toward the south and the damp streets and puddles between her and the harbor. “This was scarcely like what happened to Narial
.” She still couldn’t quite believe the difference.

  “Of course not. Great waves can break over the land only when there are deep waters and narrow shallows. Here the shallows stretch for tens of deks, and widen as they near Encora, so the great waves break far from the harbor, and the harbor level rises but little. The Matriarch warned those in the coastal towns to move to higher ground. While there was doubtless much damage in Nerula and Gherste, we can hope few lives were lost.” Alcaren paused. “As you and the Matriarch discussed, such sorcery is most difficult, and now that the waters are receding, we should hasten to the piers before the Sturinnese can refresh themselves.”

  “I am ready now.”

  “So am I,” added Richina.

  “If you would summon the players, Richina,” Secca requested.

  “Yes, lady.” Richina turned and hurried across the damp stones, her boots occasionally splashing water.

  Secca turned full to Alcaren. “Is it likely that they could raise yet another wave while we are in the channel, or just leaving it?”

  “It is possible. Anything is, but they have never done so two times on the same day.”

  “Let us hope they do not today,” Secca said as she stepped toward the gray mare that Rukor was leading from the stable.

  At the end of the long courtyard that separated the wings of the barracks, the players were gathering and mounting, strapping instruments in place. Secca watched for a moment before she saw Palian’s gray-haired figure, and Delvor chivvying the second players into order. Richina began to hurry back across the courtyard, this time mounted and riding around the players, and the last company of lancers—and the squad of Alcaren’s SouthWomen that would also accompany Secca.

  After fastening the saddlebags with spells and her cased lutar in place, Secca half-climbed, half-vaulted into the saddle, then turned to wait for Palian and the players.

  Palian was already riding from the barracks courtyard toward Secca, raising her hand. “We stand ready, lady.”

  “Then let us go.” As Secca replied and turned the gray back toward the harbor, the sky was turning a brighter gray—not orange, for the heavens held the same hazy formless clouds that seemed to be almost constant through the winter in Encora.