Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Anna looked at the back of the door as it closed. Are you pushing him away again? Why? Or is it just because you’re a sorceress? She took another deep breath as she walked toward the bathchamber. Her legs were still rubbery, and she probably should eat before long.

  When she had blotted and combed and straightened herself, and checked her face again to ensure that it was not blistering, she left her room, stepping past her guards, and started for the receiving room. Then she turned and headed back along the stone tiles of the corridor, past the door to her own room, striding purposefully until she reached Lady Essan’s door.

  Giellum and Lejun trailed her, then set themselves on each side of the door as Anna knocked, and then stepped inside.

  As Anna entered, the white-haired lady turned in her seat. Her eyes flicked to the middle-aged woman who had started toward the door. “You may go, Synondra.” The firmness in her voice reminded Anna that Lady Essan had once been the consort of the strongest ruler of Defalk in the generations before the unfortunate Lord Barjim.

  “Welcome, Regent.” Synondra bowed to Anna, and then to her mistress. “Yes, Lady Essan.” The maid stepped out of the chamber and closed the door behind her.

  “Lady Essan, I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you.” Anna slipped into the straight chair across from the carved and upholstered rocker that held the older woman.

  “Aye … a while it’s been, sorceress and near-daughter … .” Essan nodded.

  “Yes,” Anna admitted. “It never seems like there’s enough time.”

  “Donjim, always he said that. Said it while he was dying, too.” Essan’s laugh was both harsh and rueful.

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Anna bent forward and took a handful of the salted nuts in the small circular dish. They’d help her falling blood sugar.

  “Do that, daughter-who’d-be.” Essan smiled momentarily. “And what bit of gossip or history might you wish today?”

  Anna couldn’t help grinning at Essan’s knowing tone. “You know Lysara? Lord Birfels’ oldest daughter?”

  “The stately young redhead … aye. Courteous … and well-spoken. She visits me at times. A good head on those shapely shoulders.”

  Anna nodded. She hadn’t known that Lysara visited Lady Essan, but then, there was probably all too much she didn’t know. “Did she tell you that her parents are pushing for a consort for her?”

  Essan frowned. “That she did not. We had talked of her mother. Lady Trien was quite young when she died, and young Lysara wished to know more of her. The daughter is much like her lady mother, I fear.”

  “You fear?”

  “Lady Trien was like you—fearless and far brighter than the men around her. Birfels took her against his family’s wishes. With him, she was almost happy. With another she might have perished.”

  The sorceress nodded slowly. That figured. “Lysara’s stepmother wants to consort her to young Hoede.”

  “That Lady Fylena would, for should aught happen to Birke or the other boy, none would wish Abenfel to fall to Lysara’s consort, were he young Hoede.” Essan laughed harshly.

  “I’m opposing it, but all I’ve promised is to look for a suitable consort.” Anna shook her head before helping herself to another handful of nuts.

  “Finding such may be difficult.”

  “Almost anyone would be better than Hoede, but I’d like to find someone to complement her.”

  “Lord Dannel be a proud man, and one not to cross lightly.”

  “His son’s proud, too, but there’s nothing between his ears except pride.” Anna snorted. “Lysara deserves better.”

  “Ah … well she might, but the old lords will be turning in their graves even afore they are laid in them, and you may have to lay some in those graves, would you support a woman’s cares.” Essan arched her eyebrows. “Would you do such?”

  “I’d rather not, but I might have to,” Anna said. “What would you suggest?”

  “Find her the proper consort, and tell none of her family or his until you tell all, and decree it to be so, and that way all will blame you—as they would anyway.”

  “You’re so encouraging.”

  “You would wish an old lady to deceive?”

  Anna laughed. “You know better.”

  Essan nodded. “Now … what lies ahead for you? You have that restless demeanor.”

  Anna stood. “I have to get ready for the trip to Fussen.”

  “Lord Vlassa’s brats? They still squabble over the lands?”

  “Not exactly squabble. The older one demands I recognize him: the younger suggests that the high-handed style of his brother will ruin all the craftsmen.”

  “Like as both be right. You needs must recognize the older, and if he be like his father, he will ruin the lands. Donjim had to lean an axe against young Vlassa’s face—he was young in those years. We all were.” Essan smiled. “I prattle on. Go and tend your work, near-daughter, and thank you for remembering me.”

  Anna returned the smile, wishing she’d been able to do that more often with her own mother. Then she slipped out of the chamber and turned back toward the receiving room where Jecks doubtless waited—Jecks and all the scrolls and details she still hadn’t ironed out.

  She took a deep breath. Behind her near-silent steps echoed the heavier boots of her guards.

  13

  Thrap. A knock … more of a tap … sounded on Anna’s chamber door.

  Anna looked up from the seemingly endless pile of scrolls, rubbing her eyes, in the pool of candlelight that fell across the writing desk. Outside, the sky had not quite faded from deep purple into the darkness of night, although she could see the small bright disc of the larger moon—Clearsong—through the window. Darksong, the smaller red moon associated with the ill-regarded and self-destructive sorcery that affected living things, had not risen or had already set. Anna still hadn’t exactly figured out the moons’ periods.

  Who could it be at the door? The guards normally announced anyone, except, sometimes, Jecks, who would announce himself. “Yes?”

  “It’s Secca, Lady Anna. Might I please come in?”

  “Please do.” Anna stood.

  The small redheaded girl peered around the door, then stepped forward past Kerhor, bowed, and shut the door behind her. “I heard you burned your hand and face this morning.” Secca looked at the floor, then extended a small jar. “It’s an ointment. It helps. It helped me when I picked up the kettle from the fire, and I brought it all the way from Flossbend.”

  “Thank you.” Anna took the jar and unstoppered it.

  “Just a little,” Secca advised.

  The Regent dabbed the oily ointment on the reddest part of the back of her right hand, and then at the spot on her cheek that felt tender. She restoppered the jar, and handed it back to the girl. “Thank you. You’d better keep this. I’ll let you know if I need some more.”

  “Sorcery doesn’t work on you when you’re a sorceress. Anyway, you said that sorcery on people is Darksong. So I thought the ointment would help.”

  “It does.” Anna eased herself onto the wide bed and motioned for Secca to climb up as well.

  “This is like Father’s big bed.” Secca sat cross-legged beside Anna, patting the gold-and-green comforter. “Except his is … it was … red and blue.”

  “I’m glad you like the bed. You miss him, don’t you?”

  “I miss him awfully, Lady Anna.”

  “He was a good man. He was good to me.” Anna recalled how Lord Hryding had insisted on supplying an escort to take her to Falcor when she had still been learning sorcery and struggling to understand the strange land that was Defalk. You’re still struggling, and it’s still strange.

  “He was good to lots of folks,” Secca confided. “Sometimes, Mother was not pleased.”

  “I’ll remember that he helped me when no one knew that I would be a regent.” Anna patted the redhead’s shoulder.

  “Did you really use sorcery on Calmut? To put cold water o
n him?” Secca smiled broadly, as though she knew the answer, but wanted to hear the story.

  “I didn’t want to, but he wasn’t going to let me see your father,” Anna admitted. “I didn’t think he’d get so angry.” She fingered her chin. “I should have known, but I wasn’t thinking. That water was cold.”

  Secca giggled. “I wish I could do that someday.”

  “Perhaps you can. We’ll see when you’re older.”

  “I’d like that.” Secca nodded. “You’re leaving tomorrow? For Fussen, Lysara said.”

  “That’s right. We’ll leave early. It’s a long ride.”

  “What are you going to do about poor Lysara? She doesn’t want to be Hoede’s consort.”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “She told me. Her sister Clayre sent her a scroll telling her.”

  “She doesn’t? Has she said anything?”

  “Lysara’s nice. She doesn’t say anything bad about anyone. But I can tell.” Secca squirmed closer to Anna.

  The sorceress put an arm around the girl. “I suppose you can. You watch a lot, don’t you?”

  “She likes Tiersen; I think he likes her, but he’s shy.” Secca yawned. “I like Lysara. Maybe that’s because we both have red hair.” Secca yawned. “She’s nice.”

  “You’re tired. I’ll walk back to your room with you,” Anna said.

  “You don’t have to.” The redhead yawned again.

  “I’d like to.” It’s been too long since someone wanted you to walk them to bed, or tuck them in.

  “You’re the Regent,” protested Secca, stifling a yawn.

  “That means I can walk you to bed if I want to.” Anna smiled as she slipped off the bed and took Secca’s hand. The two walked out into the stone-floored corridor, and with the padding of Secca’s feet, Anna realized the girl was barefoot. Behind them, discreetly, followed Rickel and Kerhor.

  “You … the guards … follow … everywhere …” Secca said, trying not to yawn.

  “That’s part of being a regent.”

  “Father … he said … you’d be good … .”

  “You’re too tired.” With a smile, Anna reached over and swept up Secca, carrying her up the stairs, amazed at how little the ten-year-old weighed.

  “Father … he did that.”

  Anna swallowed as she concentrated on the steps. Secca’s room was in the south tower, one level up, little more than a single-windowed cube with a bed, a chest, and a narrow armoire. Anna set Secca on the bed.

  “It’s not very big, but it’s big enough for me, and it’s all mine,” the girl said as she pulled back the coverlet on the narrow bed. Another yawn followed. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “So long as I’m Regent, and, if I’m not, you can come to Loiseau with me.”

  “Good.”

  Anna eased the covers around the little redhead. “Good night, Secca.”

  “Good night, lady. Thank you for thinking of Lysara.” The small voice was sleepy. “Tiersen’s nice, you know. He just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Sleep tight,” Anna managed to say softly, holding back the tears. “Sleep tight.”

  Rickel’s and Kerhor’s footsteps echoed dully on the floor stones as Anna made her way back to her room—her lonely room.

  For a time, she stood by the window, looking out in the darkness toward the Falche River, her eyes resting on Clearsong, glad, absently, that the red point of light that was Darksong was not in that night’s sky. The faint murmur of insects rustled out of the darkness, and a light breeze ruffled her short hair.

  With a sigh, she turned and walked to the desk. She sat and dipped the quill, beginning to write.

  My dear lord Birfels,

  I have received your scroll about Lysara, and I deeply appreciate your concerns, and those of your consort, about your daughter. She is attractive, intelligent, and most perceptive, and she is the daughter of a most noble and respected house. For these reasons, and many others, I do not believe that a match between Hoede and Lysara would be in Lysara’s interests, in your interests, or in the interests of the Regency. True to my word, as I promised in Abenfel, I am pursuing a more suitable union, and one with which I trust you will find no fault. Because this will take several weeks, I ask for your patience and forbearance … .

  Anna paused. What of the other daughter—Clayre? She didn’t deserve Hoede, either, and Anna had no doubt that Fylena would transfer the match to Clayre, if only to push Anna into finding a better consort for the younger daughter of Lady Trien. After a moment, she continued writing, the quill scratching in the puddle of light thrown by the candles in the midst of the growing darkness of her chamber.

  Because Lysara will soon be consorted, I also offer an invitation for Clayre to come to Falcor, where she will be most warmly received. As I am doing for Lysara, I will also pursue available opportunities for Clayre, once she has had a chance to learn more about Falcor and what the future holds for Defalk.

  Anna couldn’t threaten, but hopefully, by making the offer, she could remove Clayre from Abenfel. Fylena might not be quite so eager to pair off her second stepdaughter to whoever might be available at the moment, not with the suggestion that Hoede was unsuitable and the promise of a better match.

  When Anna had added more compliments and flowery language, she signed the second scroll, leaving it unsealed for Dythya to have Skent copy it. The dark-haired page could be trusted to keep matters to himself. That she had learned and was glad for. Then, Skent’s like you. He doesn’t come from a long line of prickly nobles.

  She would have liked to have had the equivalent of a trusted secretary, but Skent and Dythya were the only two besides Jecks who could write and whom she could fully trust. Secretaries, now?

  Anna laughed softly and blew out the candle on the writing desk, trying not to think too much about a small redhead in a small tower room. And an older redhead worlds away.

  But her eyes still burned.

  14

  With the midmorning sun on her back and a light breeze in her face, Anna absently patted Farinelli and glanced along the dusty road that led westward, toward Denguic—and Fussen. Jecks rode to her right, smiling and cheerful as he had been since dawn.

  You would be attracted to one of those morning people … .

  Immediately behind her rode Skent and Himar. Behind them rode Liende and the players, and then a solid tenscore lancers, spaced loosely enough that the column stretched back toward Falcor for close to half a dek.

  “The next town is Ciola,” Skent told the overcaptain in a low voice. “That’s where Tirsik used to get horses for my father. It’s been a while since I’ve been there.”

  “What kind of horses did your father prefer?” Himar’s tone was polite.

  “He liked steady mounts, ser. He said that too many young lancers were more interested in proving themselves to the horse than being lancers.”

  Himar laughed. Beside Anna, a smile crossed Jecks’ face.

  “The trip will do him good,” Jecks said. “Especially if he doesn’t try to use that blade at his side.”

  “How good is he with it?” Anna kept her voice low.

  “Better than most his age, and not half so good as he thinks. He’s a shade better than Tiersen, and much better than Kinor and Jimbob. But Skent has three years on Jimbob, and Kinor, for all his height and strength, hasn’t handled a blade before.”

  “How is Jimbob doing? I haven’t talked to him much lately. Dythya and Menares say that he does his lessons, but that he’s quiet. That bothers me.”

  “He wanted to come. I told him he couldn’t go everywhere, and that there were reasons why it would be best that he did not accompany us this time.” Jecks shrugged. “He was not pleased. He worries too much about what the other young people think.”

  “They all do at that age. He’ll get over it.” You hope … it took a long time for Mario, and Avery never did. “If people think he has anything to do with whatever I decide …” Anna let the wo
rds trail off.

  “Then the hard feelings will rest on him. That is one reason why he should not be here. Also, we would have to worry about him. Feelings will run high in Fussen.”

  “Do you know if any lords have declared support for one or the other of Vlassa’s sons?” Anna half stood in the stirrups, then settled back into the saddle.

  “No one has told me.” Jecks offered a crooked smile. “These days they tell me far less than they once did.”

  “Because you’re close to me?” Anna readjusted the floppy brown hat before continuing. “Or because Jimbob is the heir?”

  “Both, I would say.”

  “Tell me about Fussen … anything you know.” Anna reached down for her water bottle.

  Even without the parching dryness of previous years, she still needed more water than most people to keep from getting dehydrated.

  Jecks cleared his throat before speaking. “Vlassa was a hard man. All said he was fair, but hard. It was said that he never spoke well or ill of Rylenne. She was his consort, but no one else was ever allowed a single ill-chosen word about her. He was a man of few words on the handful of times I saw him.”

  “Lady Essan suggested that he was hard to handle as a young lord—at least for Lord Donjim.”

  “That may well have been, but I did not know him when he was first lord. Later, under Barjim, he paid his liedgeld and sent his levies, but always under a captain.” Jecks fingered his chin. “The same captain. Lorensil, I believe. A firm arms-leader, but he smiled, unlike Vlassa … the lands around Fussen are hilly, and only the valleys are good for cropping. There’s a sawmill, and much of the timber for Falcor came from there …”

  Anna nodded and listened.

  15

  MANSUUS, MANSUUR

  “What reports have we from Elahwa?” Standing behind the empty silver chair, his large hands resting on its back, Konsstin’s eyes narrow as he studies the raven-haired officer who waits before him in his private study.

  “Your seers believe that Lord Bertmynn’s barges are loaded and ready to depart for Elahwa. Three Sturinnese ships anchored off the coast close to Dolov—”