The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I had hoped to reach you before you dealt with the rebels at Dolov, and it appears that I have.”

  “You will have time for that,” Secca said easily. “How was your journey?”

  "Cold but clear. There was a light snow through the Sand Pass, and much snow on the road until we were well into Ebra.” Haddev paused as if Secca’ s words had struck belatedly. “You do not intend to deal with the rebels?”

  “We have another more pressing problem that will not wait,” Secea replied. “The Sturinnese are about to take Elahwa. They have close to ten companies in Dolov. If we ride to Dolov first, we could be caught between two Sm­rinnese forces, If we attack those besieging Elahwa, we have the support of the Free City.”

  Surprisingly, at least to Secca, Haddev nodded. “They take some of the casualties, and you obtain support and gratitude and risk less of your and our lancers.”

  "That is the plan.”

  Haddev’s eyes strayed to Richina once more, and he offered another warm smile as the eyes of the younger sorceress met his. Abruptly, he replied to Secca. “I will do what I can to aid you, for the sorceresses of Defalk have always been friends to Synek.”

  “Indeed they have,” offered Stepan, stepping up beside the heir. “Now. . . perhaps we should see to your lancers, for you have had a long and a hard ride, and tomorrow will not be easy either.”

  "That is most true.” Haddev offered his warm smile to Secca and bowed once more. “Until later, Lady Seeca.”

  “Until later, Haddev.” Secca returned his smile with one of her own.

  The two sorceresses watched as the tall young man re­mounted and rode with Stepan back toward the waiting lancers of Silberfels.

  “He is most charming,” said Richina.

  “Charming... yes, he is. And he is far brighter than his sire, and most able to wield any tool to his own ends.” Secca’ s voice was dry.

  “You do not like him, lady?’

  “I like him very well. He will be a good lord of Synek and a good Lord High Counselor of Ebra” He just won’t be very good for you, Secca wanted to add. She did not, knowing that the younger woman would scarce listen, not with the glow in her eyes.

  “You did not seem totally pleased.”

  “I'm thinking about tomorrow... and what lies before us,” Secca replied. After a moment, she added, “You will need to help with the scrying. We will need some rough maps of where the Sturinnese forces are.”

  “Yes, lady."

  Richina smiled, but her eyes flicked toward the road, and Haddev.

  Seeca repressed a sigh. At least, when she had been young, and in love with love, Robero’s faults had been so obvious that she had not been tempted.

  57

  Nesalia, Neserea

  Two men sit on opposite sides of a square table set in the bay window of a large study. The window over­looks a small walled garden. The table is inlaid and contains a set of game pieces. One set is gold, and each figure is smoothly carved. The other set is bland and each figure has sharp and jagged edges.

  Belmar takes a sip of the amber-tinged white wine. “A very good vintage, Svenmar. From your lands?"

  “The hills to the west.”

  The dark-haired visiting lord looks down at the inlaid game board and the pieces upon it. “That is an old set. You don’t see the gold and black onyx these days.”

  “It has been in the family for too long to trace.”

  “Old families. . . they’re important in Nasasea, even these days. Old families and lineage.” Belmar takes a sec­ond sip of the wine. “Good vintage.” He holds the crystal goblet almost carelessly. "You're a distant nephew of Lord Behlem, aren’t you. . . or some such, anyway?"

  “You only ask the question to raise the point that your lineage is the more direct, I would wager.” Humor tinges Svenmar's voice. "What did you have in mind? if I may ask?”

  “These really are beautiful pieces.” Belmar picks up the black sorcerer and studies the lined face, carved centuries ago, before setting it back on the inlaid wooden table. “What do I have in mind?’

  Svenmar nods politely, then sips from his own goblet, his eyes not meeting those of Belmar, though not seeming to avoid the younger man’s.

  "Lord Rabyn disgraced the proud heritage of Neserea, would you not agree?’ Belmar’s voice is warm, yet almost indolent.

  “He thought he fought to hold his patrimony.” Sven­mar’s tone is cautious.

  Belmar laughs, almost a deep guffaw, humorous and sardonic.

  Svenmar’s eyebrows lift.

  “To this day, peasant mothers tell comely daughters that the shade of Rabyn will come for them if they raise their eyes too high.” Belmar says smoothly. “In less than a year, more than a score of beautiful but poor girls were sold into his service, and most vanished into unmarked graves, and Rabyn scattered golds to their families.” He shrugs. ‘Pleas­ures are one thing, but open contempt purchased with golds is neither wise nor seemly.”

  “That was more than a score of years ago. Belmar.”

  “Ah . . . yes . . .I can see that my words follow a well-worn tract, one you have pondered so long it is most fa­miliar, so familiar that. . . but I digress..."

  “Usually… you are more direct, my friend. You must have had a long journey.”

  “It is never a long journey when those who support you are at its end.” Belmar lifts the goblet once more and seems to take another swallow, a swallow that is barely a sip.

  “All too true.” Svenmar waits.

  Belmar sits more erect, not suddenly, but gracefully. Yet the change is if a dog had become a wolf, yet without changing its coat or markings. “You have seen the tall man in gray, have you not?’

  "The one who seems like a shadow?’

  “He is a Sea-Priest.”

  “You talk of Rabyn’s evils.” Svenmar shakes his head. “The Sea-Priests have not the good of Neserea at heart, if hearts they have at all.”

  "They do not have our good at heart, with that I agree. But their enemy is Defalk, and the sorceresses who com­mand its lord from the shadows. And…well…one must use the tools at hand. One must also learn from the past.”

  Belmar smiles again. “I have not made the mistakes that did... say, the Lord of Dumar. Master jerGlien is the sole Sturinnese ever to set foot in my holding, or anywhere in Neserea at my beck. All my lancers... did you know that I now have fifteen companies?’ The dark-haired lord pauses.

  “No. I cannot say that I am surprised.”

  “Ah.. you are perceptive. You would not be. As I was saying, all fifteen are solid Nesereans. No mercenaries. No Sturinnese. And they have been trained by the best, not for a season or so, but at least a year. and for the finest, almost five. I did not bring my archers, for this is a friendly visit, nor all of my players, nor my small corps of thunder-­drums...Oh...I do have trouble following a single thought.” Belmar smiles broadly. “But then, I have thought long and hard for many years about what may transpire if, perchance, young Annayal were to follow the example of Ranuak.”

  “Why don’t you suggest that you would make a most desirable consort?" Svenmar smiles. “You are not ill-­favored, nor ill-landed. Or do you worry that the Lady Aerlya did not hesitate to call in the demon sorceress against Hureln?”

  “You call her lady?”

  “Unlike the sorceresses you dislike, she does come from a long and noble line and has not usurped lands rightfully belonging to a brother or uncle.

  “As do you,” Belmar points out.

  “Almost as long and distinguished as yours. Belmar.”

  “Distinction must be, alas, often supplemented.” Belmar again picks up a figure from the board this time the gold sorceress. He smiles, if faintly.

  “Supplemented? A rather odd word, my friend.”

  “If a noble bolder such as you were to offer a suggestion that consorting were to find favor with the noble holders of the south..."

  “Ah. . . and what of Chyalar?"

  Belmar shr
ugs. “He has no sorcerous abilities, and his sire is ailing. With but three companies of lancers. Even you have more than he.”

  “Come now.” Svenmar laughs. “You cannot bring arms to bear against us all.”

  “I would not do that to you, my friend.” Belmar sets the sorceress back on the board. “Of course, if a certain letter were made public, about closing the wagon road to Sperea...but that was years back. And some other scrolls, per­chance...” There is the briefest of pauses before he asks, “How is your dear consort Twyla?"

  “Perhaps a letter might be just as well in these troubled times.” Svenmar forces a smile. “And the lancers of Wor­lan might be able to spend far more time, say, near Itzel?”

  “They might indeed.” Bélmar smiles and lifts the goblet. “This is indeed a remarkable vintage.”

  “I am glad you find it so.” Svenmar lifts his own goblet and touches its rim to his lips, but does not drink.

  58

  A fine cold mist drizzled out of formless gray clouds, clouds that made it seem still like dawn, though it was a good glass past that and time for the sun to have risen. There was only the slightest touch of a breeze, and that was out of the south. Secca studied the clouds, but could see no movement.

  “Richina... I’ll be back in a moment." Hoping that the drizzle would lift, Secca walked away from the tent that Richina and the lancers were striking. The two younger lancers, Dyvan and Achar, followed her.

  As Secca neared the archers, Elfens stepped forward and offered a deep bow. "Lady Secca.”

  “Elfens. I just wanted to see how you and your archers were doing. There was one who took a shaft in the thigh..."

  "Weald is riding, and can use his bow. Sore, that he is.” Elfens cocked his long face. “You will need us against the Sturinnese in Elahwa?"

  I would think so. They will have thunder-drums.” Secca flashed a wry smile. “I might even be able to re­member the need for the arrow spell.”

  ‘We will be ready, lady.” Elfens offered another of the sweeping bows that would have been a mockery from any­one but the long-faced archer.

  Another thirty yards past the archers, close to a small copse of bare-limbed birches, Secca found Stepan talking to several of the Ebran captains.

  The sandy-and-silver-haired arms commander stopped and turned toward Secca. "Lady. We are almost ready to ride."

  “Finish what you must, arms commander. I need but a moment.”

  As she waited for Stepan, Secca’s eyes traversed the camp, noting that Wilten had the lancers from Loiseau froming up, as did Haddev the company in motley black from Silberfels. The tall heir made a striking figure in the saddle, she had to admit.

  “Lady?’ Stepan stepped toward the red-haired sorceress. “It may seem odd, for the moment, but I wanted your opinion.” When everyone else is so busy they aren’t lis­tening, she added to herself. ‘What is Verad like?

  “Verad?” The surprise was evident in the older man's voice.

  “Isn’t that Haddev’s younger brother?"

  The older arms master shook his head, almost as if still puzzled.

  “You do not have good feelings?”

  “It is not that” Stepan smiled ruefully. “It is so seldom one asks about the younger son.”

  “I need to know.”

  ‘When a sorceress asks a question such as that. . .” He paused, then said, “Verad is sixteen, and he is diligent. He will never be so skilled at arms as Haddev, for he is a span shorter and more slight of build, but he rides well, and can hold his own with a blade. I am told he writes well, and is more skilled with his calculations. He is the one who has come to assist his sire with the accounts.”

  “Do people like him and trust him?’

  “After they come to know him. He is less outgoing, and slow to warm to those he does not know.”

  Secca nodded. She understood that. “I will not ask why you inquire.”

  “It’s not that important.” Yet, Secca added to herself. “I have met Hadrenn and his consort, I have exchanged a scroll or two with his consort’s brother, but about Verad I know nothing, and, as Sorceress-Protector of the East, I thought I should. Lady Anna greatly valued your judg­ment, and so do I.”

  “Lord Hadrenn is fortunate to have two sons so able,” Stepan pointed out.

  “Does he have any daughters? I didn’t see one?’

  “That you might not have. Seryla is but nine. She also is said to be favored by the Harmonies, but only have I seen her ride. She rides well for one so young.”

  “And Haddev?" she finally asked.

  Stepan shrugged. “You have seen him. He smiles easily, rides well, and is well trained in the blade and with a bow. He speaks with a fair tongue.”

  Secca laughed softly. “I see.”

  Stepan raised his eyebrows. “Perchance you do.”

  “He may make an effective lord, but not precisely one like. . . say, my father or Lady Anna?’

  “Well said, Lady Sorceress.”

  "Let us hope this journey will offer him new insights.”

  “I fear his eyes are on other conquests”

  “I have noticed that, too.”

  Stepan laughed. “I have noted your notice. You missed little as a child, and you miss less now.”

  “You’re still a most charming man, Stepan.”

  “Charm counts for little in battle or in planning for one.” Stepan glanced toward his lancers, who were mounting and forming into a column.

  “Or many,” Secca added. “But we have one more day. That’s what the glass shows.”

  "Will they see us in their glasses?”

  “They may,” Secca admitted, “but we have not turned south.”

  “Until a glass from now.”

  “I will watch what they do,” Secca promised. “I’d best leave you to your men and duties. Thank you.”

  “Once we are in formation, I will join you.” Stepan bowed, then turned.

  “Thank you.”

  Secca walked quickly through the mist, a mist that seemed finer, and perhaps lifting, back toward where Ri­china waited with their mounts.

  “The tent is on the pack horse, lady, and we are ready to ride,” said the sandy-haired younger sorceress.

  “Thank you, Richina. I was checking with Elfens and Stepan.” Secca picked up her own saddlebags.

  “Ah... lady?”

  “Yes?’

  “Haddev would ask your leave to accompany us for a short time, before he returns to his lancers.”

  “He may, for a bit.” Secca nodded. “You may tell him.”

  “Thank you, lady.”

  Secca watched as Richina swung into the saddle of her mount with a long-legged grace. Secca’s legs were far too short for such grace, except on a very small mount, and Secca envied those who possessed it, as she had once en­vied Anna’s grace, for all of Anna’s protestations that she was not graceful.

  For but a moment, Secca’ s eyes burned, and she felt empty inside.

  Then, she shook her head and straightened. She watched Richina ride toward the lancers in black motley, and a faint smile crossed the lips of the older sorceress, a smile of amusement tempered with concern...and regret. Then she began to strap her own gear in place behind the saddle of the gray mare.

  59

  In the late afternoon, Secca and her unofficial council clustered in a circle on a low hillside in the center of the camp. The smoke of cook-fires drifted across the group, along with the smell of mutton roasting, sheep purchased all too dearly. Secea was thankful she’d recalled Anna’s observation that wars required coins. Yet she wondered if those she had brought, seemingly enough for a liedburg treasury, would even last another three weeks.

  She forced her attention back to the mirror on the ground and the spell that held .the image that shimmered on the silvered surface.

  "Those are picket lines, and they have cut limbs and woven them into fences.” Stepan pointed.

  The image that Secea had called up in the glas
s also showed earthworks, spaced at intervals along the woven fir-limb fences, behind which were tents and mounts on tie-lines, and cook-fires. Secca studied the image, as did Ste­pan, Wilten, Palian, and, not quite indifferently, Haddev. Richina studied Haddev, if covertly, but obviously enough that Secca could feel it.

  “Those are to the north, are they not?’ asked Haddev.

  Stepan nodded.