Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, lady?” Jecks bowed deeply as he entered the receiving room.

  “How would you suggest we get rid of that idiot Hoede? Or will that cause another great uproar among the distinguished northern lords?”

  Jecks’ face blanked at the bite in the phrase “distinguished northern lords,” but he replied smoothly, “Ah … his sire might be somewhat displeased … but you are the Regent.”

  “Can’t we just tell the good lord Dannel that Hoede is better fitted for direct instruction on his father’s lands? Or that he seems to have more ability with weapons than with a quill? Or something like that?”

  “He has little ability with a blade,” Jecks pointed out. “Even Lysara, slight as she is, would kill him, although they have never sparred.” He paused. “Well you might talk to Lady Essan. She has seen much about consorts and joinings.”

  Thinking about Lady Essan, the white-haired widow who remained in the liedburg, brought a smile to Anna’s lips. Essan had ridden to battle, although the lords of the Thirty-three would scarcely have wanted to admit that a woman and consort of the Lord of Defalk—even two generations back—had done so.

  Anna nodded. She’d had all the fosterlings tutored with weapons, but she and Jecks had decided that in the beginning, the young women would only practice with other women or with the armsmen or officers designated as instructors. Anna had informed all the lords of daughters that she was requiring that the young women understood arms in the unlikely event that they were required to defend their lands in the absence of their consorts. Then she’d told Jecks to make sure that the girls got as tough a course of training as they could handle.

  Some, like Cataryzna, whose father had been crippled in battle years before, understood immediately. Others, like the shy Ytrude, had had to be coaxed through everything in the beginning.

  “Well,” Anna reflected, “I will talk to Lady Essan, but Hoede still has more ability with a blade than a quill or a book.”

  “Best you tell his sire that, then, since it is the truth. And since you think so poorly of northern lords.”

  “Oh, my dear lord Jecks, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the situation. Lord Birfels’ consort Fylena wants Lysara consorted out immediately, and that knothead Hoede is the only one available … .”

  “What about Tiersen?”

  “Even that would be better, but I have no idea whether the two would even talk to each other. Or whether Nelmor would consider it.” Anna wondered why she hadn’t thought of Tiersen. Is it because you’ve disliked Nelmor’s attitude toward women and the Regency?

  “Nelmor needs a consort for Tiersen. That is true—save he would set his lance on Geansor’s daughter.”

  “Cataryzna? She’s off-limits.”

  Jecks’ eyes twinkled. “I know that. You have plans for young Skent. Perhaps you should bring him with you to Fussen.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. What about Jimbob?”

  “He should remain here.”

  “You don’t want his name tied up in the succession mess?”

  Jecks shrugged. “Is there reason for him to be so immersed?”

  “No,” Anna admitted.

  “When would you leave for Fussen, my lady?”

  “How about the day after tomorrow? This isn’t going to go away, and it will only get worse if we don’t do something.” Anna sighed. “Do you think we should take a few more days and visit Lord Nelmor?”

  “That could not hurt.” Jecks flashed the warm smile that crept into Anna’s heart.

  Why do you lash out at him? He’s always stood by you. “You are coming, you know, High Lord Advisor?”

  “I had hoped so.” The second smile was even warmer, then faded. “I know you do not have a high opinion of Lord Jearle … but it would not hurt to stop there as well, and his keep is but a few deks off the road from Fussen to Dubaria.”

  Anna nodded reluctantly. “And it will help make the western lords feel better.”

  “It will not harm you.”

  “What do I tell him about being Lord of the Western Marches? Or not tell him?”

  “Say there is much to be considered, and that is why you are planning to visit his keep.” Jecks smiled. “Besides, if you dislike him, you can ask for more grain and supplies for your travels. Supplying such is his duty to the Regency.”

  “We’ll consider that part. Will you have Menares write some flowery scrolls to Ustal, Jearle, and Nelmor, announcing that we will be visiting them?”

  “I will so instruct Menares.”

  “Good. He writes flowery scrolls well.” Anna took a sip of the spell-cleaned water. “Then there’s the problem in Ebra. Hadrenn is practically begging for more coins we don’t have, or armsmen.” She took a deep breath. “I wonder if Ebra will always be a problem.”

  “What would you do?”

  Anna frowned. “I can’t do anything about it, except for sending him a few more golds, but I worry about the mess in Ebra. Menares said something about Bertmynn sending troops to Elahwa to take over the city from the people. I tried to find out something in the scrying pool the other day. He’s loading barges with armsmen, but I don’t even know who holds Elahwa.” Anna looked at Jecks.

  “There are rumors … you recall the blades you tried to purchase?”

  “Yes. Some trader bought them.”

  “They were sent to Elahwa—by the South Women.”

  Anna sighed. “So the Matriarch is trying to grab some territory, too?”

  “No. The South Women and the Matriarch—”

  “Oh … Lady Essan told me something about that. The South Women are the radicals … .” Anna wanted to smile at the puzzled look that crossed Jecks’ face when she used political terms from Earth. “And they sent the blades … to these freewomen that Hadrenn wrote me about in his scroll? Does that mean they’re trying to set up a land for themselves?” Lord, all you need is a bunch of Liedwahran radical feminists with blades starting another conflict to complicate things.

  “I do not know.” Jecks frowned. “The South Women keep matters to themselves.”

  Anna nodded. “Another thing to keep track of. We ought to send a few golds to Hadrenn. How many, do you think?”

  “A hundred, if you can spare them.”

  “Will you take care of that before we leave for Fussen?”

  “That I will.”

  “Thank you.” Anna didn’t have to force the smile.

  11

  DOLOV, EBRA

  “What news, Ceorwyn?” The blond man in the burgundy tunic smiles warmly as the gray-haired figure in battle leathers steps across the time-polished stones of the north wall of Castle Dolov.

  “What we expected, Lord Bertmynn,” answers Ceorwyn. “A Ranuan trader slipped past the Shoals of Discord, and ported in Elahwa. The cargo was grain from Encora—grain and blades supplied by the South Women to the freewomen. The freewomen now hold both the north and south sides of the river—and perhaps three leagues west along the river.”

  “The Matriarch, for all her talk of peace and harmony!” Bertmynn’s smile vanishes with his snort. “Yet she sends cold iron to arm those rebel women.”

  Ceorwyn shakes his head. “No … your seer—Lessted …”

  “Lessted. What says he?” asks Bertmynn, an ironic cast sliding across his smile.

  “The arms came against the will of the Matriarch. The old woman struggles with her own Mercantile Exchange as well as with the South Women. That is why she will throw what support she can into allowing the Sorceress of Defalk generous terms in repaying the debts incurred by Defalk in years past.”

  “Better yet if the bitches of the south are disunited. Still, I like it less that the Matriarch speaks well of the … sorceress.”

  Ceorwyn nods.

  Bertmynn turns and rests his elbows on the sun-warmed stone of the rampart, looking westward and downhill across the city to the wharves that line the eastern shore of the River Dol. He fingers his curly blond beard before asking, “Are the barge
s ready?”

  “Not before weekend, sire,” replies the armsmaster. “Or perchance later.”

  “I had thought as much. Promises come easy, but actions lag those promises.” Bertmynn stretches, and his near-two-yard height becomes more apparent, even beside the tall and muscular Ceorwyn.

  “The bargemasters would not act until they received the advance golds you promised.”

  “We have enough golds to take the city before winter. Hadrenn cannot wage a winter war, and both the Sturinnese and the Liedfuhr will supply us.” A wry smile crosses Bertmynn’s lips, and even his clear blue eyes smile. “Especially now that cousin Hadrenn has thrown in with the sorceress.”

  “He would claim you left him no choice,” points out Ceorwyn.

  “I would have left him Synek and even Vault … .”

  “All that is left of Vult is the Zauberinfeuer—and it continues to spread its lava across what was once a fertile valley.”

  “Proof enough that the Regent-sorceress is evil, do you not think, Ceorwyn?”

  “I am loath to call any ruler who has saved her land evil, sire. Best you know that.” Ceorwyn looks up as he faces his lord, but his dark brown eyes are clear and steady.

  “Yet you serve me.”

  “I owe you, sire. But owing you and following you does not mean I should abandon my judgment.” Ceorwyn smiles ironically. “By overthrowing the Evult, the sorceress has granted you the chance to reclaim the lands of your great uncle. She has also freed her own people, and retained the old succession by choosing to act as Regent for young Jimbob. It is also said that she avoids the use of Darksong, though she has the power to call upon it. Few of power such as hers would act so.”

  “Ceorwyn … honest and forthright.” Bertmynn smiles broadly, shaking his head as he does. “Yet you serve me. What other cautions have you?”

  “Beware the Sturinnese. You saw how they promised friendship to Lord Ehara of Dumar. Yet they risked no more ships when the sorceress destroyed their fleet and hounded Ehara to his death. Nor did they send armsmen or ships against Defalk in retribution. Best you be most careful, sire. Lord Ehara thought the Sturinnese were his allies also. He lies dead in the ruins of Envaryl, and Dumar pays tribute to Defalk, and Sturinn does not act.”

  “The Sturinnese will aid us. Who else will they aid?”

  “They will aid you so long as the coins are few, and you make life unpleasant for the sorceress … and no longer. Should you defeat Hadrenn early on, you will see no more coins from either the Liedfuhr or the Maitre of Sturinn.”

  Bertmynn laughs. “You would counsel me against attacking my posturing cousin?”

  “I would not counsel you against attacking him, sire. I would counsel you against doing so until you have no other pressing concerns. But before the sorceress learns of what you may plan.”

  The blond-haired lord gestures southward, toward where the river vanishes between the green hills. “That is our plan. I am glad it pleases you. I intend to hold Elahwa—freewomen or no. The sorceress will do naught about that. Nor will the Ranuans.”

  “The Ranuans will not act.” Ceorwyn touches his iron gray beard. “That is true. The sorceress is less certain. It is said that she marched on Dumar when Ehara declared that he would put every woman in Dumar in chains before he would pay damages to Defalk.”

  “I believe in women in their place, well in their place, Ceorwyn, but I’m not fool enough to suggest chains for them. Even in the most discreet of talks or … anything.” Bertmynn straightens and walks back from the battlement. “The sorceress is astute. She will scarcely attack us while Hadrenn lies between the borders of Defalk and our forces. Not with the Liedfuhr and his grandson and the lancers of Mansuur threatening her western border. And not with the older lords of the Thirty-three chafing against the rule of a woman.”

  Ceorwyn nods. “Best it should remain so.”

  “It will. It will. Let us attend the barges.”

  The north wall of Castle Dolov continues to soak in the heat of the summer sun long after the sounds of two sets of boots taking the narrow stone steps have died away.

  12

  In the early-morning light that but seeped through the west window of her scrying room, Anna looked at the envelope on the desk beside the pool, an envelope containing another envelope within it. Parchment is supposed to be fire-resistant … they bake filet of sole in it … and you have two heavy layers around the letter.

  After three vocalises, and after coughing up more mucus than she had in a while, Anna strummed through the chords of the spell twice. She glanced at the envelope on the writing desk once more, then at the blank waters of the scrying pool. Finally, she began to sing the spell with lutar accompaniment.

  Bring this to my daughter in her land,

  Deliver it safely to her hand,

  Intact and without a burning flame

  Bring it whole in word and frame … .

  As she finished the song, Anna concentrated on visualizing the letter at Elizabetta’s fingertips, and upon making the words and melody and visualization match.

  The entire scrying pool exploded in steam even before Anna struck the final chord and finished the last note. Small geysers erupted upward into the dim white plaster of the ceiling and sprayed in all directions. The heat radiating from the water turned the air into a steam bath, and large bubbles of steam burst from the vanishing water of the pool.

  But the envelope was gone!

  Lutar in hand, Anna wrenched open the heavy door with the other and staggered out of the steam and boiling water and into the liedburg’s wide stone-walled corridor. Her back was soaked with near-boiling water.

  “My lady!” Lejun reached out and dragged her farther away from the cascading steam.

  Anna stared down, dumbly, at her reddened right hand. Her face felt hot, almost burning. Beside her, Blaz and Lejun looked from her to the thick, smokelike steam pouring from the half-open door and the puddles of steaming water on the floor stones outside the scrying room.

  Jecks appeared from somewhere, his hazel eyes wide as he surveyed the slowly subsiding steam. Then his gaze snapped to Anna.

  Anna took a slow breath. She thought she hadn’t inhaled any of the steam. You hope not. She’d read about what live steam did to lungs. “I need cold water! Quickly.”

  Lejun dashed down the corridor.

  Jecks’ eyes followed Lejun, then snapped back to Anna. “Mighty sorcery, my lady. Mighty indeed. Are you well?” Was there the faintest quiver in that firm voice?

  “I think so.” Her knees were rubbery, and her eyes blurring slightly. Anna found that she was clutching the lutar all too tightly. All you tried to do was send a letter! One letter to your daughter. Just one!

  She walked quickly, but almost mechanically, into her own chamber, where she dropped the lutar on the bed as she lurched toward her bathchamber. There she began to splash cool water across her face for several moments before groping for the washcloth and holding it across her forehead until it warmed.

  She had almost run through the water in the pitcher when Lejun reappeared with a full bucket.

  “Thank you.” She plunged her hands into the bucket.

  After a time, she could tell the cold water had helped, although her forearms and the back of her hands were still blotchy and red. She walked slowly into the main chamber, where she sank into the chair behind her writing desk, knocking off a scroll she didn’t bother to pick up as it rolled across the worn rug.

  After bending and replacing the scroll on the desk next to the others, Jecks sat down in the other straight-backed chair, his warm hazel eyes on her. “Might I ask …” Jecks inclined his head toward the closed chamber door, in the direction of the scrying pool.

  “I was sending a letter … a scroll … to my daughter.”

  “Across to the mist world?”

  “Yes.” Anna nodded. She could feel the tears welling up, but held them back, back behind the invisible barriers she’d learned to erect so many years
before. Rather than try to say more, she nodded.

  “Are you most certain that you are well?”

  “I feel all right. Except I’m burned a little.” She looked down at her hands.

  Jecks shook his head slowly. After a time of silence, he said, “You are not what you seem. I see a woman who looks young, but has children nearly so old as mine and who is wiser than I am. I see a lady who speaks well, and appears beautiful, yet who can wreak greater destruction than this Erde has ever beheld.” He laughed, not quite ruefully. “Just when I can tell myself that you are not that different from the women of this land, then … you prove otherwise.”

  Anna wasn’t sure that she wanted to prove otherwise. “I’m a woman like many others.”

  “No. You are not like any others. There is none close to you. And for that, I am most grateful, if sometimes startled.”

  Does it have to be this way? Can’t I be reassured and be held and still be strong?“I’m still a woman,” Anna insisted, “and all I wanted to do was send a message to my daughter.” Like any other mother.

  “Do you know if … she received your scroll?”

  “I can’t tell. I sent the letter somewhere.” Anna reached for the half-full goblet of water on her writing desk and swallowed it in two quick gulps. “I’ll try to summon her answer in a few weeks. Then I might know. After that”—she gestured toward the closed door and the scrying room beyond—“it’s clear I can’t try it often.”

  Jecks nodded somberly. “You best might wait longer … after such as today.”

  Anna refilled the water goblet and took another swallow. “We’ll see.”

  “Do you still wish to leave for Fussen on the morrow?”

  “We might as well. The burns won’t be that bad. They’re not forming welts. Maybe I can do something about the succession in Fussen, and reassure Nelmor and Jearle, and … whatever else will help the western lords.” Anna stood slowly. “I need to put myself back together. We still have a lot to do before we go. If you’d meet me in the receiving room in a bit … ?”

  “Of course.” Jecks rose as she did.