The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I know. But I would not hazard both senior command­ers and both sorceresses. And you and your men know the land far better than do Wilten’s.”

  “That is true.” Stepan laughed softly. “But he knows not me, and all officers distrust that which they do not know.”

  “You guarded me once, and did so well,” Secca pointed out. She paused. “Did you counsel father to send me to Falcor?"

  “No. That was his decision. I agreed with it, but then I was only a lead armsman in a small holding, and no one asked me. And you were a girl child to be married off to some old lord when the time came. Now, you are a pow­erful lady and a sorceress, and I am an old arms com­mander.”

  Secca shook her head. “Not so old.”

  “Then why do I feel old?’ asked the silver-haired man.

  “Because you remember me as a child, but that does not make you old.”

  Stepan was the one to shake his head.

  Secca smiled faintly.

  “Yusar, lead on,” Stepan ordered as he and Secca neared the front of the line of lancers. “No words, no torches.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Secca glanced over her shoulder, back at the camp that seemed so small for an effort to stop a revolt and whatever else might be brewing. Clearly, she wasn’t the battle sor­ceress that Anna had been. Just as obviously, she had to stop Mynntar. With the players in the shape they were in, they couldn’t take another battle like the last-- not soon.

  Spell-singing and battle-spell-singing were definitely different.

  Yusar led the column along the main road for less than a dek before turning northward on a trail so narrow that there was barely room for a single mount in the space between an ancient hedgerow and an empty ditch, partly filled in places with a few patches of slush and dark and stagnant water.

  They followed the hedgerow for only about half a dek, before turning eastward again, across a sodden meadow where each hoof seemed to squush, but the meadow was narrow. On the far side, there was a wagon path beside a rail fence that led up a long and gradual incline. A dek farther on, and Secca could see a dark mass learning to the east.

  Overhead, high in the sky by itself, hung the tiny disk of Darksong, surrounded by starpoints of white that almost seemed redder with Darksong nearby. Superstition or not Secca didn’t care for doing the kind of sorcery she had in mind under the red moon. Then, perhaps the red moon was chastising her. She shook her head.

  Stepen eased his mount back toward Secca and said in a low voice, "Their camp is on the far side of the woods, only about half a dek. On all other sides are open fields, and their sentries look down.”

  Yusar reined up where the path turned back south beside the woods, and the lancers reined up as well.

  “This is as close as we dare go..." Stepan said quietly

  Secca dismounted.

  The arms commander eased his mount toward Secca and silently took the gray's reins.

  Secca unfastened the lutar and set the case on the damp grass beside the narrow path, in front of the gray, before turning back to her mount She opened the top of the right saddlebag and took out the five bottles, setting them in a row on the clay and opening each in turn. Then she re­moved the lutar from its case and checked the tuning, as quickly and as quietly as possible.

  Finally, she took a silent deep breath and faced east­ward, toward the camp that she knew was on the far side of the small forests--or overly ample woodlot.

  Two chords to get the feel, and then she sang the spell, trying to visualize what she needed to happen.

  “Seek and carry through this night’s air

  crystals strong to Mynntar, camped o’er there.

  Take this heavy stuff, infuse through song,

  within the blood and sinew strong,

  within the brain and heart to dwell

  so no other battles will he live to tell…

  Then distribute all the rest

  through the blood of his captains best...”

  As the words and chords died away, Secca swal­lowed, then quickly recased the lutar in the darkness. She could hear nothing, nor had she felt either harmony or dissonance. She bent down and glanced at the bottles, lifting one in her gloved hand. It felt lighter. Leaving the bottles, she remounted.

  ‘We can go.” she whispered to Stepan.

  “Good. . . hear voices coming,” he hissed back.

  Secca wasn’t sure that she did, but was more than happy to ride back down the path, and then along the hedgerow until they were on the main road, headed westward toward their encampment.

  A good half-glass passed on the return ride before some murmurings of the lancers who escorted her were loud enough for Secca to discern.

  “What she do...?"

  “Doesn’t seem happy..."

  “Mayhap.... didn’t work..."

  “Mayhap it did... and tomorrow we’ll be paying for it..."

  Neither Secca nor Stepan spoke until the lights of the cookfires of the camp were again visible. “Might I ask...?" ventured Stepan.

  “I used sorcery to try to slay Mynntar and his cap­tains. The spells took far less effort than calling forth flames or lightnings or directing arrows against thunder­drums”

  “If it works... then his lancers might retreat.” Stepan sounded dubious. “Or they might attack from anger.”

  “One way or another, it should help, if only to re­move good leaders.” Secea hoped for more than that, knowing the players would not be at their best on the morrow.

  “His brother might follow the same course, a season hence.”

  “We’ll have to go to Dolov, one way or another,” Secca pointed out.

  “You would slay both?’

  “If need be,” Seeca admitted. “If I can.”

  “You seem displeased, Lady Sorceress.”

  “I am. Not at you, but because of what I must do.”

  “Ever always was war such,” Stepan replied. “And failing to act soon has always meant more who die and more who suffer.”

  “So it is said.” Secca wondered, but did those who began wars, like Mynntar, or his father before him, ra­tionalize their actions in the same way?

  Was war always like this? Where each side used what it could, Mynntar pressing and slaughtering under weather that inhibited sorcery, and she, using sorcery and poison under the cloak of night?

  Did it have to be? In Anna’s later years it had not, but had that been because she had used such overwhelming force in the early years that none wanted to displease her and provoke her to call forth such again?

  Secca took a deep breath.

  Stepan glanced at her, but did not comment.

  44

  Mansuus, Mansuur

  The snow drifts past the study windows, almost lazily, and so infrequently that none has collected on the rail­ings without, nor on the meadows or barn fields across the gray waters of the Toksul River from the palace. Chill radiates from the glass panes, and heavy maroon hangings have been drawn across all of the windows, except for the two wide frames behind the Liedfuhr’s desk

  Kestrin stands before the desk, and the papers on it, reading the scroll that Bassil has just placed in his hands.

  “What does your sister write that no one else will?" asks Basil after a time.

  “How—because there would be no one else who would wish me to know the morass in Neserea?"

  “Exactly, sire.” Bassil bows slightly.

  When he finishes rereading the lines again, Kestrin shakes his head. “She suggests that this Belmar bribed the armsmen, and then he ambushed them, to prove the need for a strong Lord High Counselor... or, more likely, a return to a Prophet of Music. There are rumors that he knows sorcery, but no one is willing to say such.” He turns and looks out at the intermittent snow flakes. "Belmar him­self cannot have the golds to bribe an entire company and two levels of officers. . . and that means the Sea-Priests. What a disaster...”

  “And what of Captain Cyrn and Overcaptain Tein?"


  “I can’t believe that they thought I wouldn’t find out.”

  Bassil clears his throat.

  “They knew that I would, and they still. . .?" Kestrin swallows. “They don’t think I will punish them because they think it will look like I’m covering up my own in­competence?’

  “Captain Cyrn is dead. You cannot punish him more,” Bassil points out. “And if you punish Tein..."

  “All my offlcers will think that I’m making him the scapegoat. If I do nothing, then it will appear as thought am weak-willed." Kestrin smiles coldly. “Better I be con­sidered vicious and spiteful than weak. Continue with the plans for a public execution. Oh... and even if we have to plant the coins, make sure someone finds a hoard of golds somewhere in the overcaptain’s possessions.”

  “I think we can do that, sire, and it is probably the best that can be done at present” Bassil bows and waits.

  “So..." Kestrin draws out the word. ‘We have the Sea­Priests trying to weaken me, and to foment discord and rebellion in Neserea... and who knows what else in Lied­wahr. The lord holders of Neserea are petitioning that Annayal consort to someone suitable—immediately. They fear that if she does not, the rule of Neserea will go to a scion of Dumar... or worse, that I will move armsmen into Neserea, and that, in time, I will annex the land.” Kestrin snorts. “As if any of the three sorceresses would allow it.”

  “Are they strong enough to stand against Mansuur?" asks Bassil.

  “Who knows? That is not the question, and you know it, wise overcaptain Bassil. How many lords of Defalk have died of accidents, strange fluxes, or otherwise in their beds, who went to sleep in the flush of health?”

  “You think they have stooped to such? Those most hon­orable ladies?” Bassil’s eyes contain a grim glint.

  “Honorable? That is such a noble-sounding word, and it conceals more violence and dishonesty than any other. As for them, I doubt there is little to which they would not stoop to save Defalk-- and Liedwahr from a bloody and prolonged war.” Kestrin smiles. “Just as you—or I would find it difficult not to do the same were Mansnur so threatened.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “What I must. As will you.”

  Bassil nods slowly.

  Outside, the first flakes of snow that foreshadow winter drift by the glass.

  45

  The sound of a trumpet echoed through the thin silk panels of the small tent. Secca bolted upright, barely managing to keep from tipping over the narrow cot on which she had been sleeping, fitfully and far from easily.

  She blinked, rubbing gummy eyes. Outside it was barely light, a good half-glass or more before dawn, she judged, as she fumbled for tunic and trousers and boots.

  “Lady...that was the alarm.” Richina said.

  “I know. Get dressed.” Secca finished throwing herself into her riding clothes and green leather jacket After belt­ing on her sabre, she scrambled from the tent, past the pair of lancer guards.

  Wilten was half-running, half-scurrying through the grayish gloom toward her. “The Ebrans...those under Mynntar, that were under Mynntar...they’re forming up and preparing for battle..." stammered the overcaptain.

  Forming up? How could they, without officers? Secca’s hand went to her mouth, recalling the exact words of the spell. She had killed the best of Mynutar’ s officers, not all of them. While she had, wanted to spare as many as pos­sible, the effect was likely to be the opposite.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Arms Commander Stepan’s scouts.”

  Richina staggered from the tent into the predawn gray, glancing at Wilten, then at Secca.

  “Richina.. . find Palian and Delvor, and tell them we need to have the players ready to ride and play.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  “Don’t forget your sabre!”

  Richina nodded and turned.

  “You intend to give battle?” asked Wilten.

  “Why not? It will take them a glass or more to reach us, and we can take the hill to the east long before that. The wind will be at our back.”

  "Then why do they attack now?” questioned Wilten.

  “To catch us by surprise, I’m sure. It isn’t even dawn." Palian and Delvor walked swiftly toward Secca and Wil­ten. Trailing them was Richina.

  “They are attacking, lady?” asked Palian.

  “It looks as such,” Secca admits. “Are your players able to play a strong flame song?”

  “Once, perchance twice.”

  “That may suffice.” Secca turned to Wilten. “If you would form up our lancers. Leave the camp. Just form up.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  Secca ignored his dubious tone, turning to retrieve her luar in case more was needed than the players could pro­vide. Then she hurried to the tieline behind the tent where she began to saddle the gray. When she had finished, and as she was mounting, Richina scurried up with cheese and bread.

  “You must eat as you ride, or you will not have the strength you need.”

  “Thank you.” Secca looked down. “Get some for your­self and then join me. But eat.”

  Richina grinned and held up another loaf. “Yes, lady.” Secca smiled, then glanced to the south where the play-ers scurried to and fro, almost like ants.

  “Just your instruments!” snapped Palian. “Now!” The chief player glanced up. “Lady?”

  “Join us at the banner when you are ready.”

  Palian nodded, then turned to her players. “Lances and shafts don’t wait until you’re ready! Mount up now.”

  Secca eased the gray forward toward the column where Stepan’s lancers seemed to be forming. Behind them, In less ordered array, were the lancers of Loiseau. Secca frowned, but said nothing as she rode along the column toward the standard bearer, another young lancer. This one she knew, although it took her a moment to come up with the lancer’s name. “Good morning, Achar.”

  “Good morning, lady?’ Achar bowed his head.

  “Greetings,” offered Stepan. “I see your players are pre­paring to follow you.”

  “And you,” said Secca as she reined in the gray, who promptly side-stepped before halting. “Thank you for the warning."

  Stepan nodded. “I set scouts last night”

  “You thought this would happen, didn’t you?"

  “I had fears.” Stepan looked through the gray light. “Those armsmen who have no qualms about striking a man down from behind in battle muster great anger when they see their officers and comrades struck down by what they cannot see.”

  Secca paused, not sure what to say for a moment, before replying, “Each side says its cause is just, and that justifies any weapon and tactic, but it is unfair for the other side to use such tactics and weapons?"

  “Of course,” Stepan said dryly. He glanced back at the lancers forming up. “You think this is wise?"

  “No battle is wise, I’m learning.” Secca shifted her weight in the saddle. “Some are less unwise than others. Whoever is leading their forces is doing it to try to take command of the forces or for revenge. He’s also not going to be their best commander.” At least, Secca hoped that had been the result of her spellsong of the previous night “It’s dry, and the wind will be behind us, and we can take the high ground.”

  ‘If they do not attack?"

  “Then we wait and see.”

  Stepan nodded slowly, then turned and stood in his stir­rups. "First company forward!” He reseated himself. “Best there be a van.”

  “You have more experience than do we, and I defer to you."

  Stepan laughed. "Most of it is more than a score of years behind me.”

  “Better than none,” Secca suggested.

  “You will have more than you wish before this is over, I fear.”

  “So do I.”

  Stepan glanced over his shoulder. “Your players are rid­ing this way.”

  ‘Palian has experience. She was with Anna through all the early wars.”

  “She sounded like a m
ost irate officer.”

  “Players do have a feeling that they are . . . not com­mon,” Secca ventured.

  “In battle, all are common.” Stepan gestured. “Hold for the players, then follow!” He turned back and eased his mount, a gelding that was neither smooth-coated nor shaggy like a raider beast, forward toward the road.