The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  Riding down the damp stones of the lane, past the boxwood hedge toward the boulevard, Secca tried to check everything. So did Alcaren, riding slightly forward and to the sorceress’s right.

  Two full companies of SouthWomen blocked the boulevard heading north, and as the gray mare carried Secca through the gates, Captain Delcetta rode forward. “If you don’t mind, sorceress, we would like to ride as shield.”

  “Thank you.” Secca offered a smile, understanding all too well that if any of the supporters of the Ladies of the Shadows wished to act, now would be their last opportunity before Secca tried to deal with the Sea-Priests.

  Richina rode to Secca’s left, and Alcaren to her right, both behind the SouthWomen and their shields. Behind Secca came the players, also shielded by the second company of SouthWomen. Secca felt as though she were almost in a moving box, with lancers all around her. Those nearest her bore silvered shields, held so high that she could barely see the buildings on each side of the boulevard.

  The city area near the harbor held the odors of fish and salt, and all the walls of the buildings—from the chandlery to the weavers—showed an almost even water line at about half a yard above the paved and raised sidewalks. Those flooded streets were empty, except for the lancers, and the players. While it was still just before dawn, Secca wondered if the Matriarch had ordered the streets cleared.

  Looking past riders and shields, Secca’s eyes searched every side street, but all she saw were lancers—regular Ranuan lancers in blue. She could also see that the water was quickly receding, as fast as it had risen, if not faster.

  “The Matriarch had this whole part of the city cleared, didn’t she?” Secca said in a low voice to Alcaren.

  “She did not tell me such, but it appears so.” The overcaptain flashed a brief smile. “It would certainly ensure that the Sea-Priests would know we are trying something.”

  “So that they will attack us instantly?”

  “Not instantly, but once we clear the channel and the shallows.”

  At the open stone-paved plaza between where the boulevard ended and the loading area for the piers began, Wilten was waiting, mounted, looking north. As he saw the SouthWomen, and then Secca, a momentary smile of relief crossed his face. He rode forward toward the sorceress and her escorts.

  “How did it go?” asked Secca.

  “Everyone was prepared. Some mounts got skittish when the water rose around them, and we had to pull a couple out of the harbor. Drysel thinks he lost one lancer, unless he’s hanging onto a pier post or a rock somewhere.”

  “Now it’s our turn,” Secca said. “Make sure everyone gets dry. It’s still winter, even if it’s late in the season and warmer than Loiseau.”

  “That we will, lady. You be most careful.” Although Wilten’s words were addressed to Secca, his eyes rested on Alcaren.

  “We will look after her most closely,” Alcaren said.

  “I am most certain you will,” Wilten said firmly. “And you, Lady Richina, take great care as well.”

  “Thank you, Wilten.” Richina inclined her head.

  With a last nod and smile at Wilten, Secca urged the gray forward once more.

  “The Silberwelle is at the second pier at the end,” Alcaren said.

  “I can see the ship.” Secca reined up at the base of the second long stone pier, now merely covered with a film of water. After dismounting and handing the gray’s reins to Rukor, she unfastened the lutar and saddlebags. Easlon and Dymen scrambled to dismount—as did Richina and several of the SouthWomen.

  Still surrounded by guards and lancers, Secca walked seaward along the pier until she neared the gangway to the Silberwelle.

  “Lady Sorceress!” called a voice. Although the voice was deep and strong, the woman who stepped forward to the railing beside the gangway was less than a span taller than Secca and not all that much broader. Her face was tanned and weathered, and a broad smile showed even white teeth. “Denyst, captain of the Silberwelle.”

  “I’m Secca, and this is Richina. She’s also a sorceress.” As Secca stepped on board, she nodded to Alcaren. “You know Alcaren?”

  “Since he was mayhap knee-high.” Denyst smiled. “Glad to see he’s been put to good use.”

  As he half-bowed to the captain, Alcaren’s smile was somewhere between amusement and relief, Secca judged.

  “He was one of those to persuade me to help you, sorceress,” continued Denyst. “I can’t say any of us much like sailing out to a war fleet.”

  “Nor do I,” Secca replied. “But we have to do something.”

  “We do. We’ll not sail anywhere if we do not,” Denyst nodded. “Being as this is a short voyage, you sorceresses can have my cabin, and the players can use the mess.”

  Secca glanced to Alcaren.

  “I’ll show Palian and Delvor,” the overcaptain affirmed.

  “They’ll need somewhere to keep their instruments dry until it’s time to play.”

  “The mess will do for that.”

  Secca turned as she caught sight of Palian leading the players toward the gangway. “Here are the players.” She waited until the two chief players were on the deck.

  “Palian is my chief of players, and Delvor is the chief of the second players.” Secca gestured toward the two.

  “Welcome to the Silberwelle.” Denyst inclined her head to the two. “We’d like to be setting sail in less than a glass. Take us three glasses to clear the channel.” Denyst turned to Alcaren. “The overcaptain will be showing you where you’ll be hanging your cloaks.” She turned to Secca. “If you’d not mind…”

  “Go ahead, captain,” Secca said. “Alcaren can get us settled.”

  “Once we’re under way, I’ll find you. There are a few things we need to talk over while we’re headed down the channel.” For a moment, Denyst turned to watch the SouthWomen and lancers walking up the gangway. She looked back at Alcaren. “They’ll have to be quartered in the fo’c’sle bay.”

  “That will be tight.”

  “Put some in the port crew room if you have to.”

  “Yes, ser.” Alcaren nodded.

  Denyst turned aft and climbed the ladder to the poop deck.

  As the Ranuan captain stepped away, Palian looked to Secca. “In what fashion would you like us to proceed?”

  “The Sturinnese may call storms or something upon us. You and the players will wait in the mess room until just before you are to play. That way we may avoid wet strings and soaked players. Richina will summon—”

  “It might be best if I summoned them on your signal,” Alcaren suggested from where he stood to the right, near the railing. “You might need the Lady Richina’s skills.”

  Alcaren’s suggestion made sense, but Secca wondered if she were coming to rely too much on Alcaren. “You’ll summon the players on my signal.” She addressed Palian. “You know the two spellsongs we plan to use, but we still may have to use the long or short flame song.”

  “We understand.”

  Alcaren gestured toward the lancers who were forming up behind Secca and her group on the main deck and then at the players milling by the starboard railing.

  “Alcaren…perhaps you’d best get everyone settled,” Secca suggested. “Then the five of us should meet again. Richina and I will wait here.”

  “With your guards and some lancers.” Alcaren smiled. “I’ll have Dymen take the lutar and mirror and saddlebags to the captain’s quarters so that you don’t have to keep carrying them. If that meets with your satisfaction?”

  Secca nodded.

  Alcaren gestured, and Easlon and Dymen stepped forward, along with a half-score of the SouthWomen.

  Boxed in as she felt, Secca repressed a sigh, but handed the lutar to Dymen, and then the saddlebags.

  As she waited for Alcaren to return and for the Silberwelle to move from the pier, Secca studied the vessel itself. The main deck was higher above the water, and the ship had greater freeboard than the Alycet. The Silberwelle was also a g
ood thirty yards longer and ten wider, clearly a deep-ocean vessel built for long voyages while heavy-laden. The three masts were all square-rigged.

  As had been the case with the Alycet, every surface was smoothed and varnished or oiled, and the brasswork gleamed.

  “It is a beautiful vessel,” murmured Richina.

  “Single up!” came the command from the poop deck. “Harbor rig!”

  “Aye! Harbor rig!”

  Secca watched as the crew, men and women, swarmed up masts and let out canvas, and then cast off.

  Under the light northeast wind, the Silberwelle glided away from the pier and toward the southwest, but long before nearing the shore, eased onto a more southerly heading, in the middle of a channel that seemed deks wide. But even Secca could see the lighter shades of the shallower waters, not all that far to either side of the ship.

  “If you’d join me, Lady Secca,” called Denyst.

  “Why don’t you wait here for Alcaren, Richina?” Secca said.

  “As you wish, lady.”

  Secca turned and climbed the ladder. Denyst stood several yards to the left of the helm platform, itself raised above the upper deck.

  “Most have not talked of this, but the Sea-Pigs could raise another wave as we clear the channel,” suggested Denyst.

  “Alcaren said they couldn’t create as large a wave here.”

  Denyst laughed. “Not so large as elsewhere, but it might be a good ten yards from crest to trough just beyond the channel. Hit us sideways, and we’d go over.”

  “Oh…”

  “In the open sea, wouldn’t be near as big, and a good ship’d hardly notice it, just a big even swell.” Denyst laughed. “Well…we’d notice it, because the sea flattens, but any good ship mistress could handle it. They do it offshore, and it’d break at the end of the channel, and that’s where it’s dangerous. Once beyond the shoaling, the break would lift everything maybe two yards in foam and water.”

  “What would you suggest?” asked Secca.

  “I’ve told the others to hang back. Silberwelle will be battened down. If the wind holds, two-three deks shy of the channel end, we’ll pile on full canvas and race for the open water. There’s but a one-or-two-dek space where a great wave could break.”

  “That’s why everyone should be below?”

  Denyst nodded.

  “Including us?”

  “You won’t be doing us much good, lady, if you’re washed overboard before we get to the Sea-Pigs.” The captain offered a humorous smile, as she continued, “And I wouldn’t stand well with the Matriarch if I allowed that to happen.” She turned to watch as Alcaren climbed up the last few steps of the ladder and crossed the poop to the two women.

  “Captain.” Alcaren bowed. “All the lancers and players are settled.” He turned to Secca. “Your chief players have begun the tuning and practicing.”

  “Thank you,” Secca said.

  “Before long, in the next glass or so, best you settle yourselves in my quarters,” suggested Denyst.

  “We will,” Secca promised. “Could we stay up here for a bit, though?” She thought Alcaren would appreciate the fresh air as well.

  Denyst nodded.

  Secca eased to the starboard railing and gazed out to the west. The vessel had already passed the ancient harbor where she had practiced her sorcery. She pointed back to the northwest. “Is the old harbor about there?”

  “I think so,” he replied. “It’s hard to see from the channel.”

  A jetty and a breakwater—all that remained of a harbor once created and maintained by mighty sorcery. She shook her head and studied the coast and the dark rocks, rocks that began to lighten as the orange ball that was the sun rose out of the Eastern Sound.

  The wind seemed to strengthen as the Silberwelle sailed farther from Encora itself, and spray began to mist over the bow.

  The sun stood well over the isle that formed the eastern side of the channel when Alcaren looked toward Denyst, then touched Secca’s arm.

  “I know. It’s time,” she said.

  Richina waited on the main deck as Secca and then Alcaren climbed down the ladder.

  “We’re headed below,” Alcaren said. “It could get very rough when we start to leave the channel.” He gestured for Richina and Secca to enter the doorlike hatch he held open. “The captain’s quarters are the farthest aft.” After Richina eased past him, he smiled and looked at Secca. “You’re fortunate that Denyst likes you. Not every ship mistress would offer her quarters.”

  Secca smiled. “I think I am fortunate that she likes you.”

  Alcaren flushed. “Ah…”

  “Oh…you knew her before?” Secca wondered if Denyst had been a former lover, knowing that it was none of her affair, yet…She pushed the thought away.

  “No…not as a friend or acquaintance…She is one of my mother’s closest friends.” The Ranuan shook his head. “I had not thought to presume…but she offered the Silberwelle, and it is one of the largest and most sea-worthy, and she is noted for surviving storms that have sunk other vessels.”

  “We are both fortunate.” Secca hoped the captain’s abilities and fortune would continue. With a smile, she turned and eased toward the hatch door, suddenly aware of how close the broad-shouldered overcaptain was, but she slipped past him without flushing and made her way along the narrow passageway. While she did not have to duck, anyone much taller would need to be most careful.

  The captain’s quarters were spacious—for a vessel—nearly five yards in width and almost as deep, with a recessed double-width bunk against the forward bulkhead, a series of built-in chest cabinets against the rear, and a round table in the middle of the room. Secca noted that all the chairs around the circular table were fastened to the wooden deck, as was the table itself. Alcaren, or Dymen, had placed the lutar in a net-covered open wooden bin fastened to the bulkhead with brass-studded heavy leather straps.

  “Why did the captain want us in here?” asked Richina.

  “She thinks that the Sturinnese may try to bring another great wave against us as we leave the channel before we can get to the safety of the open seas,” replied Alcaren.

  “Safety of the open seas?” Richina looked puzzled.

  “The safest place for a ship in a storm is well away from the coast and from the shallower waters right off the coast,” Alcaren explained. “A truly safe harbor, such as Encora, is best. After that, the open seas are to be preferred.”

  Secca and Richina exchanged glances.

  Alcaren shook his head. “The shallows will break a ship.”

  After several moments, Secca turned her head to Richina again. “We need to start some vocalises. I don’t know how long it will be after we leave the channel before we find the Sturinnese.” Or before they find us.

  Alcaren nodded slightly.

  The two sorceresses had completed a series of two long, drawn-out, and gentle warm-ups, when the pitching motion of the Silberwelle began to increase.

  “I think we’re out of the channel,” offered Alcaren, straightening in the chair he had taken closest to the hatch door. He swallowed.

  A half-smile flitted across Secca’s face as she recalled Alcaren’s discomfort with sea travel.

  A deep bass rumbling filtered through the hull of the ship, a rumbling that seemed to go on and on. At the sound or sensation, Secca cocked her head. Across from her, Alcaren frowned, also tilting his head slightly.

  Secca glanced at Richina. “Did you…?”

  Richina nodded, her face showing apprehension.

  Secca’s eyes went to Alcaren again.

  He shook his head.

  Then, not all that later, the pitching of the ship stopped, almost abruptly, as if the Silberwelle had entered an area of calm water. Alcaren frowned again, then lurched from his chair to the forward porthole where he looked out through the green-tinted thick glass.

  “What…?” began Secca.

  “Hold on to the chair. Hold tight!” Alcaren wrapped his a
rms around one of the circular posts framing the captain’s bunk.

  “Why—” Richina tightened her hands over the carved arms of her chair.

  “Another wave! Hang on!”

  Secca gaped as she felt the deck tilting, the forward bulkhead of the cabin seeming to rise a good two yards above the rear one, and she could feel her feet dangling away from the deck for a long moment.

  Then abruptly, the bow dropped with a lurch, and Secca’s stomach dropped with it, and her boots slammed down on the deck. The light from the portholes vanished momentarily as dark water appeared outside, and then was replaced with foam, and then the gray of day. Despite the closed hatches and the raised coaming of the hatch to the captain’s quarters, a thin sheet of gray-blue water poured across the wooden deck of the captain’s cabin.

  The Silberwelle continued to ride through a series of maneuvers, combining a slight tendency to corkscrew with irregular pitching of decreasing intensity.

  Secca wasn’t sure which had shocked her more, the fact that the Sea-Priests had been able to use sorcery for another great wave or the fact that Alcaren had sensed the disruption of the Harmonies, as though he were a sorcerer. Alcaren…a sorcerer?

  Secca wanted to shake her head even while the ship continued to ride out the aftermath of the wave. A sorcerer! That made sense, and yet, the fact that he had used no sorcery somehow reassured her, but she couldn’t say why. Nor was she ready to struggle with all that implied—not right before a sorcerous sea battle, and not when Alcaren had been trustworthy in all that he had said and done.

  Richina looked pale and Alcaren positively green by the time the hatch door opened to reveal a figure in blue.

  “Selya, first officer. Captain would like you topside.” Selya did not wait for their response, but disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

  Secca took the saddlebags and the cased lutar and headed along the passage to the open main deck. Outside, in the chill sea air, she glanced around. The Silberwelle looked little different, save that all surfaces were wet and water sloshed along the decks.