The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “What if they ignore our fleets? Then what?” asks the Lady of the Shadows. “Will you turn your seers into sor­ceresses? Or offer the sorceresses of Defalk, golds to use their fire-spells to repeat the bitter lessons of the Spell-Fire Wars?”

  “Then we attack and sack an undefended staging port in the Ostisles---without sorcery.” Ashtaar continues to smile. “Make no mistake. We will be the next victim if Dumar and Ranuak fall, for we need the seas to prosper, unlike Defalk and Mansuur, and when the Maitre removes the traders of Ranuak, then he will have even more war­ships to use against our fleets and traders. Do you wish that? Any of you?”

  There are frowns around the table, but none will speak to the Council Leader.

  79

  Secca glanced around the corner of the public room of the Copper Pot, a room guarded by her lancers and containing only officers, the two chief players, both sor­ceresses, and Haddev. A low moaning confirmed that the wind still blew, although the snow had stopped falling be­fore it became more than knee-deep. The scrying mirror lay in the center of a square dark oak table.

  The red-haired sorceress picked up the lutar, checked the strings, and began the spell.

  “Show us now, for all to see

  where the Sea-Priests’ vessels now may be...”

  The mirror's surface flashed a blank and dull silver before clearing to reveal a line of ships with a coastline in the backgrounds One of the white-hulled vessels was alongside another dark-hulled and smaller ship.

  Secca glanced to Alcaren.

  “That is south of the west channel passage,” con­firmed the Ranuan overcaptain.

  With a nod, Secca sang the release spell. She had no desire to hold any image longer than necessary, since she knew she would have to call up at least several more.

  The public room remained silent, with everyone looking at her.

  “How near are the ships to Encora?" Secca prompted, looking at Alcaren again.

  “Southwest of Encora, perhaps twenty deks.” Alcaren frowned. ‘They have set up a blockade of Encora They would find it difficult to take the city, or to use their storm magic against it.”

  “Why would they do that?” asked Haddev. “That is, if they cannot take the city?’

  “It isolates both Dumar and Ranuak,” Secca found herself replying. “The Ostlels and the Sudbergs are im­passible in winter. I do not imagine the Westfels are much better. The only way to reach either land is by sea. There are no sorceresses in Dumar now, and all of us are in places where we are blocked by mountains or the ocean.” Secca had to wonder if the unseasonably early and heavy snows were the result of some form of thunder-drum weather magic.

  “Do we know for certain that the Sturinnese are win­ning in Dumar?” asked Wilten. “We have had no mes­sages and no news.”

  Someone snorted, Delvor, Secca thought.

  Wilten flushed, but kept his eyes upon Secca.

  “I can try to see with the glass,” Secca said, lifting the lutar once more.

  “Show us now, and in clear sight,

  where in Dumar do they fight,

  those of Sturinn…”

  The scene in the mirror showed a single squad of lancers in white in what appeared to be the square of a small town. Although the image was small, Secca could make out at least two figures in red lying on the muddy ground.

  “Small forces...not good," murmured Wilten.

  Secca understood that. If the Sturinnese could send single squads out without hesitation, in at least part of Dumar, the Suirinnese had greater control of the land than did the Dumarans.

  After everyone had looked closely, she released the image.

  “Can we even return to Mencha now?" asked Ri­china, slightly too wide-eyed.

  Secca managed to swallow a smile, letting her eyes go from Melcar to Wilten, and then to the young Had­dev, who had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Alcaren had joined Secca’s force. “I have great doubts, but it might be best to view the Sand Pass, so that all could see.”

  Wilten nodded.

  Sécca cleared her throat, then began the simple scrying melody.

  “Show me now and with great care

  the Sand Pass where we would fare.

  the winter’s road we’d dare...”

  The mirror offered a view of the eastern side of the Sand Pass. Everywhere was snow—snow on the ever­greens, snow on the birches, and snow so deep that not a stalk of grass nor a low bush protruded from the cov­ering of white, snow so deep that the road could have been anywhere.

  Secca let everyone study the image before singing the release couplet.

  “I don’t think we’re about to return to Mencha by the Sand Pass at any time soon,” Secca said dryly. Al­ready, her impetuous decision to bring down Dolov in a heap of stones was looking worse and worse. At least, had she merely slaughtered the inhabitants, she and her forces could have had a place to winter over while reestablishing some authority across eastern Ebra— some-thing that Hadrenn had been less than effective in doing, it was becoming all too clear. “And we can do little more in Ebra,” Secca said slowly, looking toward Melcar, then continuing. “As we can, we will travel south to Elahwa. There we will see what there is to be done, either to see if we can arrange passage to Dumar or await some message from Lord Robero. We cannot stay here. The town cannot support us for long.”

  The Ebran overcaptain swallowed.

  “I did not mean to suggest that your lancers would accompany us,” Secca responded. “You and your lancers have been most helpful, Overcaptain Melcar. Your duties and charges lie within Ebra. You may remain here or return to Synek as and when you see fit.”

  “We would not wish to be seen in any fashion less than supportive,” offered Melcar.

  “I understand that, and so will Lord Robero,” Secca pointed out. “Doubtless there will be other obligations in the future, and I know that Ebra will respond as it always has.” She smiled, hoping it wasn’t too false, then turned her gaze to Haddev. “Your support has also been most helpful, Haddev, but your uncle’s lancers should not be traveling so far from Silberfels, and not in what looks to be a cold and long winter. While I cannot com­mand, I would suggest that you have them return to Synek as you can and winter over there. Or... you could use them here to hold Dolov.”

  “There is no lord in Dolov,” Haddev offered neu­trally.

  “That is true. Your father has two sons, has he not?" Secca raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, lady.”

  “I cannot command or even recommend, but were both keeps to be held by those friendly to Lord Robero, he might well let matters stand. At the least, he would be well disposed toward you and your sire.”

  “There is that,” mused Haddv. “Perhaps I should remain, and ensure that all goes as it should. At least, until he receives my scroll.”

  Richina glanced to the tall heir, but Haddev avoided her eyes.

  "Melcar, Haddev. . . once you discuss matters with your captains, if you would inform me of your plans?’ Secca offered another smile. “I will be here, discussing our travel.”

  Once the two Ebrans had left, Secca glanced to Al caren. “You have traveled here. What can we expect?”

  “The weather will be better in the south along the coast,” Alcaren replied. “The snow does not stay so long or so deep when one nears Elahwa.”

  “Can all the players travel in this weather?” Secca turned to Palian.

  “If we have another day or two of rest. Britnay is still fevered and weak, but she is young, and will recover soon. Rowal’s lip is healing. He can travel now, but he will have trouble playing.” A crooked smile flickered across the face of the chief player. “I fear we will not soon see Loiseau, will we, lady?”

  “I have my doubts,” Secca admitted. “We—and you—may play for all of Liedwahr.” Her eyes went to Delvor.

  The chief of second players brushed back lank brown hair and gave a smile even more sardonic than that of Palian. “All my players are tired, but
well.”

  Secca gestured toward the closed shutters. “You will have at least another day of rest. Perhaps two or three.”

  “Is going to Elahwa wise, lady?’ asked Wilten.

  “I have my doubts, Wilten,” Secca replied, “but we can do little good here, and only create more resentment by remaining. The FreeWomen do have some obligation to us, and should Lord Robero have some charge for us, we need to be where we can carry it out.”

  Wilten and Alcaren both nodded, the former dubiously, the latter knowingly.

  Even though she had known Alcaren for but a few weeks, Secca almost wished he were the one commanding her lancers, but she knew also that such a feel­ing needed to be resisted until she knew more about the mysterious overcaptain. Much more.

  80

  Light was beginning to seep through the closed shutters of the small and musty room in the Copper Pot when Secca opened the door and stepped inside. The almost greasy yellow cheese and cold bread that had been her breakfast sat heavily in her stomach, and the cold water, and the spell to clean it, had left her feeling slightly queasy.

  Richina had left the public room before Secca, without explaining, but Secca feared she knew where the young sorceress had gone.

  Melcar’s scouts had returned the evening before, saying that local traffic had packed the roads southward, and the way appeared clear for at least several hamlets. Each day that had passed had left Secca feeling more and more agitated, although the mirror showed only the same scenes in both Encora and Dumar. Something was telling her that she needed to be headed southward, and she recalled all too clearly Anna’s observations on feelings—that they were ignored only to the greatest of regrets.

  After Secca’s announcement at dinner, Melcar had decided that he would begin his return to Synek when Secca departed, accompanying her so far south as to where the river roads diverged. In turn, Haddev declared he would remain in Hanlis to begin preparations for rebuilding the keep at Dolov. In turn, Melcar had agreed to leave one company of lancers with Haddev.

  With a deep breath, Secca bent to check the leather wrappings on the traveling scrying mirror once more. She moved from the mirror to repacking the saddlebag that still contained a score of small bottles, bottles she feared would be useful yet.

  The door opened. Secca stood quickly and turned as Richina stepped inside, closing the heavy door quickly be­hind her. The older sorceress waited.

  “He didn’t even say good-bye. Not really,” Richina said slowly. “He just smiled. He wished me well. He said I would be a great sorceress some day. Then he kissed my hand.” After a moment she added, “That was all.”

  “It upsets you?’

  “It shouldn’t. You told me this would happen.” Richina sniffed and looked away. “You said it would.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier. It still hurts,” Secca said gently.

  “How...“ Richina shook her head. “I told myself this would happen. I could see it. When he looked at me that day.”

  ‘When you used the sabre to save me,” Seeca said.

  “His eyes opened, and he saw . . .“ Richina stopped and swallowed. “He saw me, and he didn’t like what he saw.”

  “I know.” Secca’ s voice was low.

  “Is that what happened between you . . .” Richina did not finish the sentence.

  “No. It never got that far,” Secca replied. It never has. Is that because you have seen too many men back away?

  Another silence, cold as a still winter night, filled the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Secca said again.

  “There’s nothing else to say. Nothing.” Richina bent over the narrow cot bed and folded her spare riding trou­sers. She slid them into a saddlebag. Then she reached for the shirt she had washed in ice cold water two days before and folded it. She did not look at the older sorceress.

  Secca smiled faintly, sadly.

  81

  Secca looked southward, her breath white in the chill morning air, squinting against the glare of sun on snow. The road was already packed in the middle, where the snow compacted by hoofs and feet followed the contours of the ruts established far earlier. The only sounds were those of hoofs and the breathing of mounts, and the oc­casional jingle or clink of a harness.

  After three days on the road, they were still short of the river junction and the better road toward Elahwa that they would find there. If the road remained frozen they might make Rielte by the end of the day, which would provide some better lodging for the lancers—even if within ware houses.

  At some point, they would leave the snow behind, be cause the mirror showed the roads into Elahwa were only damp, not even muddy, but without better knowledge and names, Secca could not use the mirror to find where that might be, not without exhausting herself.

  For the time, Richina rode with Wilten, in front of Secca and Alcaren. Behind Secca were Delvor and Palian, and then the remainder of the players. Melcar rode farther back, with the Ebran lancers.

  “If both sun and chill prevail, without wind, we will be favored by the Harmonies,” offered Alcaren.

  “At least until we get out of the snow.”

  “I have been told that there is usually little snow south of where the rivers join,” replied the Ranuan over-captain.

  “You seem to know a great deal about Ebra,” Secca said.

  "Far more than a over-captain of lancers from Ranuak should?” A light laugh punctuated his words. “Is that the edge on your blade?”

  “Yes.” Secca didn’t feel like verbal fencing.

  “I was not intended to be an over-captain. As I have told you, my mother wished me to be a trader. Such must learn all about the lands where they trade, and she would tell me all she knew, and then ask me.” Alcaren’s voice turned dry. “Often I ate but bread and water.”

  “If you didn’t learn?”

  “I was stubborn.”

  Secca smiled. “You learned. That is clear. And you are skilled and intelligent. So why aren’t you a sea captain, or an officer learning to be one?”

  Alcaren did not reply, and Secca turned in the saddle. “Over-captain?”

  A crooked expression, neither grin nor smile, appeared on Alcaren’s face. “The sea and I . . . we did not agree. No matter how many voyages I accompanied my mother...” He shook his head. “I did not wish to do what made me most uncomfortable.”

  Secca suppressed a laugh. Somehow, the thought of the competent over-captain as a seasick trader was so incon­gruous. “So... your mother let you become a lancer?”

  “No. She turned me over to my father, saying that if I were not fit to be a trader then I could at least learn to create beauty.”

  “He was a sculptor, you said. Did you make any stat­ues?"

  “A few. Mostly, I bent chisels and destroyed good blanks of stone. He could scribe a perfect circle with a stick of charcoal, then cut it perfectly. I could not.” Al­caren shrugged. “I could make neither happy.”

  Secca had the feeling, once more, that Alcaren had left much unsaid. Far too much. “So you took up the blade, then?”

  “I had some skill there, and that seemed a better thing to do than attempt to be a miserable trader or an untalented artisan.”

  “I see. What else do you do?” asked Seeca.

  “Like most good Ranuan men, I can play some on a mandolin, or my lumand, enough to provide pleasant din-ner music.”

  She laughed politely. Again, true as the words them-selves sounded to Secca, she still felt as though something were missing. “The more you say. overcaptain, the less I feel I’ve learned.” She paused. “Have you any brothers or sisters?’

  “A younger sister only. She will be the trader. Already, she thinks in terms of casks and kegs and barrels, and yards and spans, and golds and silvers, and whether there is drought in Ebra or ice monsoons in Pelara.”

  “And what do you think about?”

  “I wonder now how I find myself talking to a sorceress on a snow-covered road in Ebra.”
<
br />   “I suppose that is strange,” Secca admitted, “but the Ma­triarch is a sorceress, it is said.”

  “She is, but not in the way that you are.” Before Secca could respond, the Ranuan rushed on, as if he had been waiting for an opening. “That sorcery... what you used to destroy the keep of Dolov. . . I did not know that two voices could do such.”