The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The sorceress followed the captain’s eyes. While the five Elahw an vessels clearly were increasing speed, the sails of the Sturinnese remained billowed and taut, and the distance between the Sturinnese and the Alycet con­tinued to decrease, if more slowly.

  Were the Sturinnese using wind sorcery backed by drums, as Richina had suggested and Secca feared?

  Whatever the Sturinnese were using, it was allowing the pursuing vessels to close on the Elahwan ships, de­spite the increased speed afforded by Secca’s sorcery-boosted winds.

  ‘We need to run for shore, sorceress.”

  “Do what you think best, captain.” Secca eased to the rail, putting a hand out to steady herself. From there, she studied the oncoming vessels, trying to think of what spell she could use, and how.

  “Starboard thirty!” Weyla ordered the helm. “Bring her round! Easy!”

  “Aye. Starboard thirty. Easy as she goes."

  Richina eased up beside Secca. “They must be using sorcery, too.”

  “I fear so.” Secca looked to the north, where the other Elahwan vessels stretched almost in a line abreast, ex­cept for the northernmost, which had begun to fall be­hind the four others.

  The two sorceresses continued to watch as the white-hulled vessels drew nearer in the Alycet and the other four ships carrying Secca's force.

  Secca ran through another volcalise, trying to fix the spell in her mind--- a spell she wasn’t sure would even work. Yet she knew the Sturinnese had to be closer before any spell would carry to them.

  The five Sturinnese vessels were less than a dek to the east, when Weyla barked an order. "Fire parties on the deck! Fire parties on the deck!” She looked toward Alcaren Wilten, and the two sorceresses. “Best you move forward of the helm. Put the mast ‘tween you and the Sea-Pigs.”

  As Secca slipped to the starboard side of the Alycet, following the captain’s directions, from somewhere be­low appeared nearly a half-score sailors, six men and four women, each carrying two buckets. Of each pair, one bucket held sand. The second was empty but was attached to a long coiled line.

  The Alycet and the Foamsprite, and the two vessels immediately abreast of them, were pulling away from the other Elahwan vessel.

  Weyla shook her head. “Told Ilspeth that rig wasn’t right.”

  “The rig?" asked Seeca.

  “Wavesinger’s rigged for a northern run. Tighter, but you don’t get as much sail in a following wind.”

  “So she can’t use the wind as fully?"

  Weyla nodded. “Afore long, they’ll be using the big crossbows to send fireshafts into us. Could be before we cross the shallows.”

  Secca could see whitecaps ahead, but they seemed distant, more than deks away, and the land beyond was but a thick line on the horizon. Her eyes darted back to the white-hulled pursuers, the closest—one of the smaller schooners—less than five hundred yards aft.

  "Can you offer another spell?” asked the captain. “The flame shafts will be striking soon.”

  Secca tried to gauge the distance. How would she know? Too early and the spell would be wasted. ‘Per­haps...”

  Hissssssss... thunk/

  Secca’s head jerked up at the sound, her mouth open­ing as a flaming shaft slammed into the deck. Before she could utter a word, one of the women sailors had stepped forward, struck the shaft with an iron hammer to knock it loose and flat on the wooden deck, then covered the flames with damp sand from the bucket she carried.

  Hissss...

  Secca ducked, but the second flaming shaft had a!­ready passed a good yard over her head at an angle and plunged into the dark blue waters of the Southern Ocean. A flicker of orange caught her eye. She swallowed as she saw flames begin to climb up the canvas of the aft mast of the trailing Wavesinger. She looked at her companions. Alcaren and Richina looked greenish. Wilten’s countenance was drawn. Even Weyla looked worried.

  Seeca stepped forward and looked down at the play­ers. On the deck below, Palian’s face bore a greenish cast, as did Rowal’s. “The third building song!”

  Secca’s command was echoed by both Delvor and Palian, and both sets of players began to reform, now facing southeast, not quite toward the pursuing Sturin­nese.

  “The third building song . . . on my mark!” Palian’s words were forced.

  “Now!” ordered Secca. On the third bar, the one that began the spell proper, she launched into the words.

  “Come wind and rain, too fierce to fight,

  strike with power, and all storm’s might,

  lightning bolts to cleave day into night...”

  As she finished the spell, Secca could only hope her visualizations of the stormwinds were accurate enough, and that her voice and the tones of the players were strong enough. Yet, even before the echoes of the spell­song died away, the once-clear sky began to darken, and a lightning bolt flashed from above, striking the second Sturinnese vessel.

  Winds whipped through the canvas above her, crack­ing the sails like the whip of a teamster. The Alycet pitched forward to swells that had become waves five yards or more from crest to trough.

  A line of dark rain—almost like a black curtain formed to the south of the ten ships, and began to move northward . . . but too slowly. The leading Sturinnese brig surged before the storm, less then a hundred yards from the Alycet, plunging directly toward the Alycet's stern quarter.

  “Richina--- get me a lutar! Any lutar!” Secca yelled.

  “A lutar! A lutar!” Richina’s voice rose over the storm, penetrating the whistle of the wind, and the crashing of the bow into heavier and heavier swells. “A lutar for Lady Secca!” The younger sorceress was half­way down the ladder to the mid-deck, swinging one­armed.

  A player staggered and slid toward the blonde sor­cress, thrusting a lutar at her. Richina grasped it, and then struggled up the ladder one-handed.

  Secca tried to move forward to meet Richina, but found her feet sliding, carrying her aft. An arm--- Al­caren’s arm reached out and lifted her toward the rail­ing, which she grasped with both hands to steady herself. Then she made her way forward, hand over hand.

  Richina thrust the dark-bodied instrument at Secca.

  Taking the heavy lutar in her left hand, Secca half-­walked, half-lurched along the side of the taffrail until she stood just to the starboard of the back of the helm platform. The Sturinnese ship was so close that she could see the letters of the name stenciled beneath the bowsprit. She braced herself with one leg against the taffrail, ran her fingers over the strings quickly, hoping the instrument was close to being in tune, cleared her throat, and began the spell.

  “Turn to fire, turn to flame

  all those who stand against our name.

  Turn to ashes, turn to dust...”

  More lightnings flared out of the blackened sky, some so close to Secca that she felt the heat across her face. Screams echoed from the doomed Sturinnese vessel. The smell of charred flesh swept across the Alycet in waves . . .between spray and wind.

  Secca clasped the borrowed lutar with one hand, the railing with the other as the Alycet pitched away from the burning mass that had been, moments before, a proud and dangerous white-hulled warship.

  The black storm curtain swept over the three trailing Sturinnese vessels, and they vanished from Secca’s vision.

  Despite the torrents of rain and wind, the sole re­maining white-hulled ship—one of the smaller war schooners plowed toward the Wavesinger, striking the Elahwan vessel midships, even as the storm curtain swept over both ships.

  Secca watched, trying to breathe as the wind sucked air from her very lungs, but she could not make out either vessel.

  Then . . . suddenly, the air began to clear, the swells to diminish.

  Still hanging on to the railing, Seam glanced out at the circles of debris that appeared and disappeared in the swells. Not a single white-hulled vessel remained.

  “Hard port!” snapped Weyla. “Make for the Wavesinger!"

  The Alycet’s bo
w swung to port, seemingly away from the other Elahwan vessels, before settling on a heading almost due north. The ship seemed more slug­gish, and a crackling and cracking overhead drew Secca’s eyes. The mainsail was almost in two pieces, and four sailors aloft struggled to furl the whipping canvas.

  As the Alycet neared the wreckage that had been the Wavesinger---and the Sturinnese schooner--- Secca could see shattered timbers, shredded canvas, several barrels and more than a few heads bobbing in the water, some attached to immobile bodies. Most of those in the water waved as the Elahwan vessel neared, but there were far fewer heads than had been lancers and crew upon the Wavesinger.

  At the sound of a particularly loud crack, Secca glanced up at the tattered mainsail, and the sailors strug­gling to finish furling it, and then back at the wreckage of the Wavesinger.

  Weyla issued another set of commands, and the Aly­cet slowed, turning somehow into the wind so that the sails went limp. “Get that mainsail furled!”

  As Secca watched, Alcaren wrapped a line over his shoulders, then tied the bitter end to the railing. After making sure there was loose line hanging, he dived into the water. He surfaced and swam strongly toward a limp figure, then swam back toward the Alycet, towing the lancer. One of the sailors lowered a line with a loop in it, and Alcaren slipped the figure into it before swim­ming after yet another struggling lancer.

  One figure dropped below the water as Secca watched, as if dragged down, and did not reappear.

  A small-boat appeared in the water, lowered from the davits on the port side of the Alycet, and the crew rowed toward a group of figures clinging to a wooden hatch cover.

  Richina slipped up beside Secca. “It happened so fast. One moment, they seemed deks away, and then . . . sud­denly, they were just...right there.”

  “All battles are like that, I fear,” offered Wilten. The overcaptain’s eyes remained on the figures in the water. “Some of those are lancers. I think the one swimming there is Drysel.”

  Secca lightened her lips. Drysel. . . her lancers... those who drowned had died because she had wanted to get to Ranuak, and because she had not really been prepared to handle sorcery upon the sea. Why did she have to learn so many things the hard way and so late?

  She wished she could swim like Alcaren—or do something--- but the dayflashes before her eyes told her she could do no more sorcery, even had she known any sorcery that would suffice. So she watched in silence as the other Elahwan ships and their small-boats joined the search.

  The sun hung low above the western horizon before the small-boat returned to the Alycet for the last time, the third officer shaking her head when she positioned the craft under the davits, “None left, captain.”

  As the crew turned the winches that lifted the boat, Weyla walked toward Secca.

  The sorceress turned. “I’m sorry, captain.”

  The older woman gave a slight, but firm headshake. “Risk we all understood, sorceress. Wasn’t all your do­ing. I told Ilspeth she needed to re-rig for the Gulf and southern waters. Didn’t believe me.”

  “Is she . . .?”

  Weyla shook her head. “Second said she was drag­ging lancers topside, then got caught in something. Went down with the Wavesinger.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No one made us take you, sorceress. We all wanted the risk golds. Besides, first time in a year that any caught by the Sea-Pigs have come clear.”

  “I cost you a ship.” Secca glanced up at the main mast, where the tattered mainsail had been furled. “And more.”

  “This is war, Lady Secca. You lost half a company. and all their mounts.” Weyla smiled grimly. “I would trade a sail for my life and my ship any day, and one ship for five Sturinnese.” Weyla smiled grimly. “None will reach us afore we make port at Ilygot. Maybe not even for weeks.”

  Secca hoped not. She wondered if trading one ship for five would be enough, given the vast Sturinnese fleets she had seen in her glass. Again . . . her lack of experience had cost everyone dearly, no matter what the Elahwan captain said.

  “ ‘Sides, this way, with those Sea-Pigs gone, and them having no other shallow water vessels, we can slip back along the coast and pick up your other lancers, neat as you please. Also be a while afore they try the Gulf.” The captain gestured toward the helm. “Best we get on with it. Be a bit tricky coming in after dark” With a brisk nod, Weyla turned and moved toward the helmsman.

  Secca returned the nod. She felt numb, far number even than after the land battles that had killed many more lancers on both sides.

  Alcaren re-appeared, wearing a dry set of blues, doubtless his only other uniform. His face was almost as pale as Secca felt hers was. He looked at her with eyes that seemed to look within her. "Few could do what you did.”

  “I did not know.” She shook her head. "I acted too late.”

  “It is difficult to cast spells on a moving deck, and more so to do it in a storm, as you did with the last spell.”

  “You’re kind,” she replied, “but I almost failed, and many died because I was slow and did not understand."

  “Most of us live because of you.” His voice was firm. She shook her head a second time, turning away from him and looking aft, back toward the wreckage that still marked her failure, and the watery grave of half a com­pany of lancers, good mounts, and too many sailors.

  Alcaren stepped to the taffrail, standing beside her, not speaking.

  Secca was grateful for his presence, and for his ac­ceptance of her need for silence.

  They stood there, without speaking, as the Alycet swung southwest once more, leading the way toward Ilygot...and Ranuak.

  99

  As dawn seeped past the closed shutters into the small inn room, Secca turned over, to avoid facing the light. Even with her eyes closed, her head ached, and dayflashes seared through her skull. The light strengthened.

  Finally, the sorceress sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. The floorboards were cold . . .and gritty. Sitting in the gray light that seemed far brighter than she knew it was, she used her left hand to massage her forehead and then her neck. Her head still ached, and her eyes burned, whether she opened them or closed them. But headache or not, Secca was a person who woke early, and once awake, seldom if ever could return to slumber.

  She could smell the harbor of Ilygot, the dampness of a winter mist, the odor of fish decaying somewhere. Slowly, she stood and tottered toward the basin and pitcher on the side table. She began to wash, reflecting on the day before, and upon her slowness in reacting to the Sturin­nese. Had it been thunder-drums upon the other vessels, drums she had not heard, or had it simply been because she had been attempting sorcery under most unfamiliar conditions?

  Weyla and the three other Elahwan captains had man­aged to rescue slightly more than half the lancers aboard the Wavesinger, and most of the crew, simply because they had been topside. The losses had not been nearly so great as in some battles, but they still bothered her because she knew they could have been avoided by a more experienced sorceress.

  She snorted quietly to herself. The only problem was that there weren’t any sorceresses or sorcerers who were more experienced in warfare—except among the Sturin­nese, who never seemed to stop fighting somewhere.

  After she pulled on her riding clothes. Secca pulled back one shutter and looked downhill at the empty piers. The Alycet and the other Elahwan ships were gone. Although Weyla had told Secca that she would sail before dawn, to catch the land breezes, Secca somehow felt regretful and alone.

  From the adjoining narrow bed came a groan as Richina turned over. “How . . . lady . . . it is most early.”

  Secca did not reply for a moment, finally closing the shutter and turning. “I was too uncomfortable to sleep longer. You can sleep for a bit. I’m going down to get something to eat.”

  She sat on the edge of the narrow bed and pulled on her boots, then stood and reclaimed her riding jacket. All her clothes felt clammy and chill, and her head still t
hrobbed.

  After opening the door, she stepped into the narrow hall where Rukor and Dymen stood. “Lady Richina may be a while yet.”

  Rukor smiled. “I will accompany you, lady.”

  Secca descended the staircase, a passage so small that her shoulders almost brushed both walls, and stepped out into the foyer off the public room. The odor of bread and grease wafted toward her, and she swallowed.

  With Rukor standing guard behind her, Secca debated entering the small public room, empty as it was save for Wilten, her own officers, and Alcaren. The two over-captains had been sitting at a corner table, and, upon seeing Secca, Alcaren rose and bowed in her direction.

  Secca stepped forward.

  “Good morning, lady.” Alcaren’ s voice was cheerful.