The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  ‘The city is on the east side of the river...to the south,” Secca pointed out. “They have circled it.”

  "They don’t have any forces on the other side?” asked Haddev.

  ‘There’s little point to that,” replied the arms master.

  “They want the port. Once they take the city, they care not if the FreeWomen flee. There is but a single narrow bridge, and if the Sea-Priests destroy it, then they cannot be easily attacked. Their ships hold the Gulf.”

  “They do not fear reinforcements coming across the bridge?”

  “Who would come?" asked Stepan. "The Ranuans have sent what they can. We cannot reach there easily, not from the north with the river cliffs there.”

  “Oh. . so that is why the bridge stands yet?’ asked Haddev. “Because it is difficult for the Sturinnese to reach, and affords little more aid for the defenders?’

  Secca decided she wanted to reprimand Haddev like an apprentice who tried to show off. She didn’t, but sang the release spell gently, then looked up, first at Wilten, then at Stepan.

  “What do you suggest?’

  "The Sturinnese have the hills to the north and east of the port,” Wilten said slowly, “but there are low rises that surround the city itself.”

  “So to get to the defenders, they have to ride down and then up?” asked Secca. “That’s why they haven’t broken through yet?”

  “I would judge so.” replied Stepan.

  Wilten nodded.

  “The glass shows that there are rocky hills farther to the east,” Secca offered.

  “It would be hard to circle the barriers and to attack from the east or the south,” Stepan pointed out.

  “Coming from the north, we could get close enough for sorcery, though,” Secca said. “if we had the wind behind us, and their fences would make it almost as hard for them to attack us.”

  "Perhaps...“ Stepan fingered his chin.

  How far are we from their camp?

  “Twelve to fifteen deks, I would say.” Stepan frowned. “A half-day’s ride to a camp from which we could attack?

  “I’ll check what they’re doing in the morning,” Secca said. “We should meet again then.”

  “That would be best.” Stepan paused. “They do not look as though they had been fighting today, or even yesterday. Yet they had no scouts sent to the north.”

  “They do have mirror glasses similar to ours, I think,” Secca said.

  ‘We must do what we can, but I like that not.”

  Neither did Secca. As the days went by and winter ap­proached, there was more and more she disliked. Yet... if the Sturinnese had an entire winter to fortify Elahwa--­and Dolov--- the problems she faced now would be insig­nificant compared to those of the next spring and summer.

  60

  Elahwa, Ebra

  Five figures stand on the low tower of logs, hastily constructed on the northeastern-most corner of the equally hurriedly created defense works. They all look out into the early morning haze that clings to the edge of the hills, and is dark gray and thick farther north, filling the lowlands to the north like a dark ocean.

  “Why do they not attack?’ asks the square-faced over-captain, a stocky woman in a crimson tunic splattered with mud and blood. “Surely, they would not halt their assaults because we received another two companies of lancers, SouthWomen or not.”

  The taller councilwoman, whose black hair is streaked with silver and cut short, laughs, then nods toward Al­caren. “No. While the good overcaptain is more than wel­come, his arrival is not what has given the white pigs pause. The Sorceress-Protector of Defalk is riding south with close to fifteen companies.”

  “The sorceress died half a season ago,” points out the other and more junior Elahwan overcaptain.

  “This is the shadow sorceress, the one she trained.” Veria continues to study the hills to the north and east.

  “How will she help?’ asks the overcaptain of the Rant­uan companies. “She is young.”

  “She has already destroyed more than fifty score—thirty of the eastern lord’s men and twenty score Sturinnese.” Veria pauses. “She looks yet a child but holds more than a score and a half of years.”

  “Another unaging one?” asks Alcaren.

  “No. She will age.” A quick smile flits across Veria’s lips. “As will we all before this is done.”

  “She does not come with the eager blessing of Lord Robero, I would wager,” suggests the Ranuan

  overcaptain.

  “It matters not, so long as she comes and attacks. They fear her.” Veria gestures toward the heavy ground fog. “Or respect her power. That fog is not natural.”

  “They did not fear an entire city. . . yet an untried sor­ceress with half their numbers? The senior FreeWoman overcaptain’s voice carries a touch of disbelief.

  “You might recall that her mentor was untried, too,” replies Veria evenly. “I raised the same questions you now do. I was wrong. I survived because I was.”

  The muscular overcaptain’s eyes elude Veria’s. So do those of the other women overcaptains.

  Alcaren nods. “Do you wish us to hold and wait?’

  “Yes. This sorceress is strong, but she is inexperienced and untried in such a large battle. The Sturinnese have prepared and learned. They are wily. They will try to force her to exhaust herself so that she cannot attack them. They will attempt to keep her from giving any support to her lancers—and then they will attack. Perhaps then, we can also attack, with Overcaptain Alcaren's companies leading the way.” Veria inclines her head to the younger over­captain.

  ‘When?’ asks Alcaren.

  “Not today,” replies Veria. “They cannot attack through their own fog. They seek time to prepare spells, and per­haps to wait until the white companies at Dolov can ride to attack the sorceress from behind.”

  Alcaren glances to the north, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

  61

  Secca held the gray mare reined in on the edge of the rocky ridge that overlooked a valley more than two deks wide—a valley filled with fog. The hills were mainly forested, mostly with white birches and firs. To the far southwest, she could see the glint of sunlight on water, on the arm of the Gulf of Discord that formed the shallow harbor serving Elahwa. The city itself was but a blur of light and dark splotches, and the river bridge was out of sight presumably on the western side of the hilly part of the city that Secca could barely make out.

  Even in the mid-afternoon, under a run that gave little warmth, Secca's breath was a white fog, and the same white fog issued them the nostrils of the mounts, blown gently southward over the valley.

  Stepan pointed at a nearer hillside, close to three deks to the south. “You see... their encampment lies on the hills above the fog. The white banners..."

  From her earlier looks at the Sturinnese encampment, Secca didn’t recall any fog, or lakes that would create such fog. “How would we best attain a position high enough to use sorcery?” She paused and added, “If the fog lifts.”

  “There is a wind out of the north. It will get stronger at night,” Wilten said. “That should blow out the fog by morning.

  Stepan studied the valley, then drew out the maps he had drawn from Secca's scrying of the area. Finally, he pointed. “The higher ground leads to that ridge to our left. If we follow it west . . .there. . .we will be on the rise to the north of their encampment . . . there . . where the trees show out of the mist.”

  “If the wind holds,” Secca mused aloud, “then our spells will carry to them. Even so, with their drums, we’ll have to use the arrow spell first.” She glanced back at Palian, reined up several yards to the north.

  The chief player nodded.

  ‘We can hold a charge, perhaps two, Lady Secea, but they have many more lancers than do we,” pointed out Wilten.

  “I know.” Everyone has more lancers than does Defalk, thought Secca. All Defalk has is three sorceresses and a few assistants... and far too many stubborn lords even yet.
More lancers would have been better. Secca still wasn’t certain she agreed with Anna’s insistence that the liedgeld not be raised too much at any one time, or Anna’s concerns about what she had called infrastructures, rather than arms and armsmen "We will have to sing the spells quickly.”

  “I will have the players warm up before we ride,” Palian said. “That will help them be ready sooner.”

  For a moment longer Secca looked out across the foggy valley and the hills before looking back at the older arm commander. “You’ll post scouts here?” Secca asked Ste­pan. ‘We can’t keep using the glass if either Richina or I have to use sorcery tomorrow?’

  “I will have many scouts,” Stepan said with a smile that faded as be added. “And so will they, I would wager.”

  Secca nodded, then eased the gray around, to start back to the adjoining high meadow where her forces had set up camp. She ignored, for the moment, the looks passing between Richina and Haddev, though she would talk to the girl before evening. Well before evening.

  62

  Before dawn, Secca woke with a start at hearing distant thunder, except the sound wasn’t thunder, but some­thing far more regular, more rhythmic.

  “The drums..." she murmured to herself as she scram­bled upright and pulled on her riding clothes, and jacket, and her sabre.

  Not once as Secca dressed in the darkness did Richina stir.

  Secca shook her head. The younger sorceress thought Secca had not heard when she had left and when she had returned. While Secca had cautioned Richina before they had eaten the night before, obviously the young woman had dismissed the cautions. Just as obviously, she had de­cided to try not to let Seeca know.

  By the time Secca was out of the tent, Stepan was al­ready walking toward her through the darkness that was beginning to show faint graying above the firs to the east. The sound of the thunder-drums had already faded away.

  “Do you know---" she began.

  The older man, his face drawn and haggard, shook his head. “Fog... the thunder-drums have created a wall of fog. It fills all the valleys around their encampment. It is like a wall of darkness."

  “Your scouts?"

  ‘They can see if anyone leaves the fog, but no one has. Otherwise, they are useless."

  Secca nodded abruptly. “Let me get my glass.”

  When she returned to the tent, Seeca did not make any attempt to be quiet.

  “What... is it, lady?" asked Richina sleepily.

  “If you hadn’t been so besotted with Haddev and gotten some sleep last night, you’d know,” Secca replied tersely, just short of snapping. “As I told you before, he doesn’t understand you. He just sees you as a prize, and if you give yourself to him, you won’t be. You’ll either bear more heirs than you can stand, or, if he’s wise, he’ll discard you. Either way, it’s going to hurt. If you care for him, it will hurt even more.” She paused in the entrance to the tent. “Oh . . . the Sturinnese have used the thunder-drums to stop the wind and create more fog.”

  She stepped outside, carrying the lutar she had not bothered to uncase and the mirror, realizing she shouldn’t have been so curt with Richina—and also realizing that she should have started the younger sorceress on scrying the Sturrinese. She shook her head. Once again, her nature had gotten in the way of what she should have done.

  Stepan’s face was grave as Secca neared. He took the mirror from her, but he did not speak, although his eyes flicked to the tent.

  “I suppose I was harsh, but she doesn’t understand, and he certainly doesn’t.” Secca laughed, without joy or mirth. “She will think I neither understand nor care."

  The arms commander nodded. "Few could consort with a sorceress. Fewer still should.”

  The two walked through the damp chill to the campfire. To the south, wisps of dark fog swirled lazily into the graying sky, but the wind was even lighter than the after­noon before, despite Wilten’s prediction that it should have strengthened

  Secca’s fingers felt clumsy as she tuned the lutar, and it took her longer than usual—or it felt that way. Before she ­finished a pair of vocalises, Wilten, Palian, and Delvor had joined them. Haddev stood well back. Richina did not ap­pear.

  The scrying song was short.

  “Mirror, mirror, on the ground,

  show us where Sturinn‘s forces may be found..." .

  The mirror obliged with an image of the Sturinnese camp from above, a camp strangely quiet, given the drums of earlier. Cook-fires were blazing with the early high flames that indicated a time before food would be cooked and served. Mounts remained unsaddled and upon tielines run from posts to trees.

  Secca quickly tried another spell, one seeking the thunder-drummers. But they were clustered around a cookfire, warming their hands.

  A third spell got her a Sea-Priest looking at a mirror. As she released the last spell, all too aware of the daystars flashing before her eyes, she wondered if the Sea-Priest were watching her in his mirror. Her fingers shook on the lutar as she lowered it.

  “You ate not this morning, did you?” asked Palian, Secca shook her head, squinting against the flashes of light.

  The chief player stepped away from the campfire. “Lady... they wait, and they must have a reason for such,” offered Wilten.

  “Either they wish to force us to attack in poor con­ditions, or they expect aid,” Secca suggested. “Or both."

  “How---"

  “In a few moments, I will try the glass again,” Secca said tiredly.

  “Lady. . . here is some bread.” Palian stepped for­ward.

  “Thank you.”

  After eating several chunks of bread and some yellow cheese just short of molding, and drinking nearly half a water bottle, Secca stood and lifted the lutar.

  “Mirror, mirror on the ground,

  show us what aid for Sturinn may be found,

  whether by ships upon the sea

  or lancers riding from where they be..."

  The mirror silvered, then displayed a line of lancers riding down from a hold on a bluff. A misty fog rose from the heated surface of the glass, momentarily dis­torting the image presented in the cold predawn light.

  “The Sturinnese lancers at Dolov,” murmured Stepan, “Still, they are six days away, perhaps a week.”

  “But they do not expect more help from the ships,” Palian pointed out.

  “We have a little time for the fog to lift or be blown out,” Stepan said. “If it will..."

  “Let me think,” Secca said slowly. As well as Stepan, she knew that the Sea-Priests could hold the fog for days if the weather remained calm.

  She recased the lutar, and picked up the traveling mirror, then walked slowly back toward her tent.

  Richina stood before the tent, fully dressed. She bowed. “I am sorry I displeased you, Lady Secca.”

  The formality of her tone showed more anger than contriteness to Secca. The older sorceress motioned for Richina to follow her into the tent. There Secca slid the lutar and mirror onto the ground cloth under the cot. She straightened, then sat slowly on the cot, before ges­turing to the younger woman to sit on her own cot.

  After a moment of quiet, Secca sighed and looked at her charge. “Richina...” Her voice was soft, gentle, sad. “Do you think that I am not a woman? Do you think I have never felt what you feel? Do you think that I do not see how comely Haddev is? Or how warm was the smile of Lythner?"

  Richina did not reply. Her eyes were bright with un­shed tears, but Secca was uncertain whether those tears were more of anger or of unhappiness.

  “Do you think I do not care about you?" asked Secca.

  “You sounded so angry.”

  “I suppose I was. I wished to spare you from what will happen with Haddev, and you did not listen... but we do not spare ourselves. Sorceresses and women do not.” Her laugh was half-gentle, half-ironically self-mocking. “Why should you be any different from me, or from Lady Anna? Or Clayre...or Jolyn?”

  “You...I thought...”

/>   “You think I do not favor men?’ Secca shook her head. “I do not favor men who would use me, or hide their fear of me with a smile. I do not favor men who seek me only to provide an heir or lands they could not get otherwise. And for me...then whom does that leave?"

  “Oh. . . lady...“ Richina swallowed. “You sounded so cold... I am sorry.”

  “You think it not, but I would spare you what I can. I suppose none of us can spare another, not as we would wish..."

  “He is gentle, lady, and has asked nothing of me.”

  “That may be.” Secca hoped that was true, for all of their sakes. “You cannot afford to give of yourself, not until we have done what must be done. Remember what one road spell cost you.”