“Menares received a message from Wei.”
“The last message from Wei led to the problems with Dumar,” Anna said slowly.
“I thought you might see it that way.”
“We can’t afford to do much for Hadrenn.”
“If you do not …” Jecks let the silence drag out.
“I know. Then we’ll be back to having unfriendly neighbors on both the east and the west borders, with the inscrutable traders of Wei breathing down on us from the north. I suppose the Ranuans will be unhappy if we don’t support these … freewomen.”
“That I could not say.”
“What else?” Anna asked, knowing there had to be more bad news.
“The Rider of Heinene has asked for aid. The wet spring caused the grass to grow far higher than in past years, and there was a fire that swept half the grasslands.”
“So they have no forage?”
Jecks nodded.
“You bring such cheerful news, my lord. I take it you’ve got more of the same?”
“You recall Lord Vlassa?”
“He was the Lord of Fussen, the one whose twin sons were fighting over the lands?”
“Ustal and Falar have both raised armsmen, and each has sent a scroll requesting that you recognize him. You did say I should read scrolls … .”
“I did. Go on.”
“Falar is the younger by a fraction of a glass, and he wrote that, should you not support him, and should he prevail, he will consider seeking support for his ‘just’ claim elsewhere.”
“Let me guess,” Anna hazarded. “Ustal has the … traditional right to the lands, and he’s some sort of idiot, or wastrel, or something?”
“Ah … why do you suggest such?” Jecks raised his eyebrows.
“Because, for a younger son to go to such lengths would mean he’s either an idiot or he has a just claim. If he can raise armsmen, that means people are putting themselves on the line for him, against tradition. Most folks won’t. That suggests that Ustal has more than a few faults—of some sort.” Anna took a bigger sip of wine than she’d intended before asking, “Can Menares or Dythya or someone find out what Ustal’s faults are? In the meantime, you send back a scroll to each saying that I’m returning from Pamr and will look at the claims as soon as I return.”
Jecks smiled. “You will gain two weeks by that.”
“If that.”
“Oh … and the weapons smith, the one who was a wheelwright, he was killed in a tavern brawl.”
“And we’re back to having no one in Falcor who can forge weapons?” Anna refilled her goblet, knowing she shouldn’t be drinking so much so quickly, but she’d taken a little over a week to repair something that needed to be fixed, and the moment she’d left, things had started to get worse. She paused. “Was the brawl an accident?”
Jecks shrugged. “I would say so, but one could not rule out foul play.”
“No … not when we need an armorer to hold off enemies on half our borders.” Anna forced herself to take a small sip of the wine.
“Hanfor has suggested you create the position of Armorer of Defalk and offer a ten-gold bonus for an experienced smith.”
“Twenty,” said Anna. “Ten to be paid after the first two weeks, and ten after the first year. Send scrolls everywhere.”
“Tomorrow, I will talk to Hanfor.”
“Well … since we’re discussing problems, there’s one more.”
Jecks waited.
“There was this youth … at the chandlery …” Anna swallowed. The one in the pools in your seeking spells, the one who wants your destruction … “Shit!”
Jecks’ mouth dropped open.
“It’s hard to explain. Come with me.” She pushed back her chair and started for the door, and Jecks rose, following.
Lejun and Kerhor followed them back up the stairs, first to Anna’s chamber, where she grabbed the lutar, and then to the scrying room, the room that had once been a guest chamber and now held only a mirror pool and a writing desk—and candles in wall sconces. The two guards stationed themselves outside the door, while Jecks lit the candles and Anna tuned the lutar.
“You think you will see something now?” Jecks gestured toward the darkness beyond the closed shutter.
“Enough,” grunted Anna, struggling with the tuning pegs.
A single vocalise was enough to clear her cords, enough for the simple spell she sang, at least.
Of those with power of the song
seek those who’d do me wrong
and show them in this silver cast
and make that vision well last.
As it had been the last time she had used the spell—there were three images, but one was different. The blonde seer from Nordwei was in one silvered circle. The second contained a dark-haired and thin-faced youth in an ornate cream-and-green tunic, lounging at a table beside a less than fully clothed young woman. His face was familiar, though Anna had never seen it, and so were the cream and green.
“Neserean colors there …” murmured Jecks.
“That has to be Rabyn,” concluded Anna. “He looks more like his mother.”
“He’s acting like his sire.” Jecks’ voice was dry.
“It’s the other one—the one in brown.” Anna gestured toward the young man at the battered-looking writing table. “He was watching me in Pamr, and I knew I’d seen him. I just couldn’t place where I’d seen his face.”
“A chandler’s son?”
“He’s the chandler’s son. He has to be. You remember? The one who tried to kill me with a bow in Pamr when I was on my way to meet Behlem?”
“That was before you became Regent,” Jecks pointed out.
“He uses Darksong. The whole chandlery felt twisted when I looked at it, but I thought it was me.” Anna sang the release couplet.
Let this scene of scrying, mirror filled with light,
vanish like the darkness when the sun is bright … .
Jecks tilted his head sideways. “He uses Darksong, and he’s opposing you, but he’s only a chandler.”
“Until I became a sorceress, I was only a teacher and a singer,” she replied.
Jecks shook his head. “You were always a sorceress and a Regent.”
Anna frowned. Does that mean what you think it does?
“He is only a chandler who would be a darksinger.”
“We—I—still have to do something about him.”
“You can’t do anything about it tonight,” Jecks pointed out reasonably. “Tomorrow, you can send a messenger to Lady Gatrune and have her people find out the man’s name and what they know about him.”
That made sense, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Once again, it was looking like what she could do wouldn’t solve the problem. “Tomorrow,” she agreed. “And I’ll have to look for Bertmynn and see what he’s doing … and those Mansuuran lancers …”
Tomorrow … will every tomorrow always be filled with more tasks than you started yesterday with?
8
As the sunlight poured through the liedburg window, Anna struggled up into a sitting position in the bed. Her eyes were gummy, and her head ached. Too much not very good wine last night. Not a good idea, either, with more problems today.
As she took a slow deep breath and swung her feet to the side of the bed, the black-etched rectangle on the wall—the visual representation of the last time she’d been able to see her daughter through her sorcery—strobed at her. She closed her eyes again and just sat on the edge of the bed. You can kill, and create great bridges, and rule a country, but you can’t use sorcery to see your daughter.
After a moment, she found herself correcting that thought. You weren’t able to see her for a while, but it’s been more than a season since you tried. Brill said it could be done across the gap between the mist worlds and Erde infrequently—not never.
She padded to the bathchamber, where she washed up and then dressed in her remaining clean green working trousers and shirt. After pulling
on the brown-leather boots, she trudged to the door and opened it. Blaz and Rickel were the guards.
“If you would … please … have someone bring me some breakfast.”
“Yes, Lady Anna,” Rickel answered.
“Thank you.” She closed the door and went to the writing desk, rummaging around until she found a sheet of parchment.
What do you say to a daughter a world away, a daughter growing up without you … . She dipped the quill carefully, and began to write.
“No … that’s not …” She scratched through the words, knowing she couldn’t afford to crumple the parchment. She’d just have to use one sheet for drafting, and then recopy.
A second beginning wasn’t any better. Nor was a third, and she set the parchment aside at the knock on the door.
“Dalila, Lady Anna, with your breakfast.”
“Come on in.” Anna stood as the brunette brought in the tray—on which were piled a wedge of yellow cheese and fresh bread, a lopsided peach, and a large pitcher of water.
“We didn’t cook anything, lady. If you want more …” Dalila waited.
“This is fine.” Anna smiled. “How are the children?”
“Ruetha is doing well. I am letting her learn letters with the older bairns. I hope you do not mind … .”
“That’s fine. When she’s older, she can learn numbers from Dythya as well.”
“You would let her … ?”
“Of course.” Anna wanted to frown. “Dythya doesn’t come from lordly blood. She got where she is because she’s able. I want the same to be true for Ruetha and Anadra and all the young girls in the liedburg.” And throughout Defalk—as much as possible.
“I would want that. Yet …” Dalila left the question unvoiced.
“How long will that be possible?” asked Anna. “So long as I’m Regent, and if I’m a good one, a long time after that.”
“You will be Regent for many years.”
“We’ll have to see.” Right now, it doesn’t look all that promising.
“You will.” Dalila bowed, turned, and slipped out the door.
Before eating, Anna did take the precaution of taking out the lutar and orderspelling the water. She found she finished everything, even gnawing the peach down to the pit. As she sipped another goblet of water, the headache faded, then vanished. Dehydration or low blood sugar or both.
After setting aside the tray, Anna wrote out the letter to Elizabetta, slowly, carefully, then wrapped the four golds she took from her wallet in old parchment and placed them in the crude envelope.
With a deep breath she stood. Carrying the lutar and envelope, she walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out. “I’ll be working across the hall.”
“Yes, Lady Anna.” Rickel nodded, and he and Blaz followed her, resuming a guard position around the scrying room’s door.
Anna closed the door, stepped forward, and glanced at the silvered waters of the pool. She set the envelope on the worktable. After retuning the lutar, and running through two vocalises, she lifted the lutar, and began to sing.
Bertmynn, Bertmynn, Lord I’d see,
show his forces now to me … .
The image in the silvered waters of the pool was that of a quay, where several barges were tied, and where men in brown carried barrels toward the barge in the foreground. At the side were several armsmen, almost lounging. The fact that there were buildings and greenery in the distance beyond the gray of the water confirmed to Anna what Jecks had said about Bertmynn loading on the River Dol.
After a time, she lifted the lutar again.
Rabyn, Rabyn, Lord who’d be,
show his grandsire’s lancers now to me … .
The second image was less useful than the first, showing a column of lancers garbed in maroon and riding along a dusty road. Still, the length of the column indicated the lancers were on the move, possibly toward Elioch, and probably confirming the information that Jecks and Menares had gathered.
Now what? Anna released the second image and took a deep breath. First, you do something for you. After a moment, she lifted the lutar a third time.
Silver pool, silver pool, it’s scrying time for my child silver pool, silver pool …
Even before she strummed the last chord, the silvered waters wavered into an image—her red-haired Elizabetta driving in a green car Anna didn’t recognize, a faint smile on her face. Anna smiled in return. She’s all right.
Then the water of the pool began to boil, and gouts of steam burst upward.
Anna jumped back, forcing the release couplet. Even after the image faded, the pool continued to boil and bubble, the roiling subsiding slowly.
Elizabetta is all right, though … that’s what’s important. But the tears that rolled down Anna’s cheeks contradicted her words as she slumped against the heavy oak door, sobbing silently. Why … why? Why can’t you even get a look at your daughter for more than an instant without the whole universe striking back at you … why?
She picked up the envelope with the unsent letter and stepped out of the heat and humidity of the scrying room into the hallway, half carrying, half dragging the lutar with her. The eyes of both Rickel and Blaz widened as the steam and water vapor swirled out behind her.
“Lady … Regent?” stammered Blaz.
“I’ll … be … all right.” She walked across the hall and slipped quickly into her own chamber, sliding the bolt behind her, then dropping the unused envelope on the writing desk.
In the bathchamber, she looked into the mirror. Red face—blotchy as if burned—probably from the steam, wet cheeks … “You look like shirt …” Then … you feel like shit, too. You couldn’t even send the letter … not even one small letter.
She looked back into the mirror, into the too-thin face, at the golden silver-blonde hair that belonged to a teenager and framed blue eyes that had seen too much. She blotted her face with cool water, and kept blotting. There were times when having makeup would have still been a help, youth spell or not.
Finally, she returned to the writing desk and tucked the envelope into the drawer. Just try to send it … with another note … maybe you can tell her to write something and that you’ll try to recover it with sorcery in a few weeks … would that work? Who knew what would work? Even all of Brill’s books offered little and rather incomplete guidance.
She gathered herself together, then stepped back into the corridor and headed down to the receiving room, and the business of the day. Based on what Jecks had already offered the night before, a long week awaited her. Another long year … more likely. She reclaimed the lutar case and carried the cased instrument down the stairs.
Once in the receiving room, already warm, with its single high window, Anna looked at the pitcher of murky water. After a sigh, she took out the lutar and orderspelled the water. Without water—clean water—she wouldn’t get through the day. Then, she poured a goblet, and took a swallow, before settling into the chair behind the table. She lifted the bell and rang it.
A dark-haired page—Skent—peered in. “Yes, Lady Anna?”
“Skent … it’s good to see you. Ah … will you see if Counselor Dythya is free to meet with me?”
“Yes, lady.” The door closed.
Anna picked up the first scroll in the pile. It was from Lord Birfels of Abenfel. She began to read.
… You may recall when you were in Abenfel, Lady and Regent, that we had discussed the possible consorting of Lysara with Hoede, the son of Lord Dannel of Mossbach …
“In short,” Anna murmured to herself, “we intend to marry off Lysara to Hoede immediately unless you come up with a better match. And better means someone with more lands and golds, not brains.” She wondered if Dannel was as thickheaded as his youngest son. The problem was simple enough, but simple didn’t mean solvable. Anna had started a school for fosterlings in the liedburg, which functioned as a combination capital and administrative center. Many of the lords of the Thirty-three regarded the fostering school as more of a
matchmaking opportunity. Lysara was beautiful and bright, and would be totally miserable consorted to the stubborn, arrogant, and thickheaded Hoede. Unfortunately, Anna didn’t have the faintest idea of who might be a better match. You mean you haven’t had time to think about it.
What could she say? She set aside Birfels’ scroll and picked up the next one—from Vyarl, the Lord and Rider of Heinene. She read quickly, but the scroll said little more than what Jecks had told her the night before about the grasslands and the fires.
The next scroll was from Hadrenn, the self-styled Lord of Synek, whom she’d made one of the Thirty-three earlier in the year, effectively expanding Defalk’s borders a good hundred and fifty deks eastward and probably increasing the territory under the Regency by close to twenty percent. If he and you can hold it against Bertmynn.
Hadrenn’s words were to the point.
… the golds you have sent have allowed me to increase my armsmen by tenscore, but the usurper Bertmynn receives many more golds from both the Maitre of Sturinn and the Liedfuhr of Mansuur … . Already, Bertmynn’s forces move south to take Elahwa from the Council of the Freewomen … .
That meant that Ebra was split into three factions—the freewomen apparently held the port city of Elahwa and at least some of the surrounding area; Bertmynn held the northeastern third; and Hadrenn the western third. Who or what the freewomen were was another question to which she needed an answer. Anna nodded and set the scroll in the pile that required her to do something … when she could figure out what.
The next scroll was from Ustal, the elder son of the late Lord Vlassa of Fussen. Anna began to read, then winced, and forced herself to continue.
The Regent in Falcor,
Greetings from Ustal, the son and sole heir of Lord Vlassa of Fussen. For many years, Fussen has paid liedgeld it could sore afford, and received nothing in return, save drought, disruption, and the loss of levies at the Sand Pass. Thus, as heir to Lord Vlassa, I must insist that the Regency use all its powers to ensure the rightful and traditional succession in Fussen.
Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 5
