Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

Anna sang the release couplet, then set down the lutar and blotted her steaming forehead, wondering if the sorcery effectively heated the pool and boosted the humidity in the room. She touched a finger to the water in the pool and nodded. It was almost warm enough to bathe in. Another spell soon, and it would be.

  “So the second set of lancers are on their way somewhere, probably to Elioch or our borders, but Rabyn’s own troops haven’t left Esaria.” Anna nodded. “Let’s take a look at Hadrenn.” She lifted the lutar and sang once more.

  Hadrenn, Hadrenn, Synek’s lord for me,

  show him clear and close to me … .

  The silvered waters of the pool showed a heavyset brown-haired man in a stained green tunic. The left side of his face bore a long reddish scar. Hadrenn stood in a courtyard, apparently resting from practicing or sparring with a blade. The smile he offered the other figure was open, yet rueful.

  Anna concentrated, trying to remember Hadrenn’s face, before she released the image. “I’ll keep checking on him from time to time.”

  “You trust him not? Yet you would consider going into Ebra?” asked Jecks.

  “I trust him more than most people I haven’t met, but it can’t hurt.” She looked toward Himar. “We leave tomorrow. You’ll need to send a messenger to Hadrenn telling him we’re coming.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Why not? If Rabyn decides to attack, it’s better we go into Ebra before he starts to move his troops. It’s farther from Esaria to Elioch than from Mencha to Elahwa, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe three or four days farther, a week if they do not make haste.”

  “Tomorrow,” Anna reiterated. And you hope this isn’t a big mistake, but it’s better to act than react, and you’ve always had to react before.

  38

  WEI, NORDWEI

  The Council Chamber is empty except for the five figures seated around the long black table, a table that shimmers like a perfect black gem in the dim light cast by the oil lamps set in sconces on the dark stone walls.

  “Counselor Ashtaar … junior Counselor Ashtaar … has some information to share with us,” announces Tybra. The black-and-silver seal that hangs from her neck casts darts of light randomly. “You may begin.” The dark-haired council leader nods at Ashtaar.

  “The sorceress has employed her skills to lift gold from the earth and to turn a small portion of it into coins. She has not made that knowledge known. She is now marching her forces toward Synek, presumably to meet with Hadrenn, and thence to deal with Bertmynn.”

  “She will support Hadrenn?” asks a smooth-shaven man in dark green to Tybra’s right.

  “It is more likely that Hadrenn will support her when she defeats Bertmynn, Counselor Virtuul.” Ashtaar’s voice is even, and her eyes remain on Tybra.

  “You seem to think that Bertmynn’s defeat is the likely outcome. Is that not a … hasty … assumption?”

  “Unless she attempts sorcery that will kill her, or unless she is killed by those close to her, I do not see anyone in Ebra defeating her. Those of great talent left when the Evult took power, or served the Evult and died at the sorceress’ spells.”

  “A very careful statement, Ashtaar, regarding Ebra. See you other possibilities, then?” asks Tybra.

  “There is a darksinger in Pamr who has twice evaded her. He is far stronger than she knows, and he has rediscovered the use of the thunder-drums … .”

  “Truly barbaric,” comes a whisper from the left side of the table.

  “ … and young Rabyn is not only building thunder-drums, but he is equally adept with poison and treachery. The young Prophet is training and marshaling large forces. He will doubtless attack the west of Defalk when he discovers the sorceress is engaged in Ebra.”

  “What of his regent, the wily Nubara?”

  “We doubt that Nubara will prevail, but should he, then the sorceress would be free to act at leisure in Ebra.”

  “Has she made no provisions for a possible attack from the west?” asks Virtuul, his tone almost idle.

  “She has called up some levies, and her arms commander is quietly mustering forces to move to Denguic … we think. Rabyn can bring almost three hundred-score armsmen and lancers, with the hundredscore from Mansuur. Defalk could not muster half that, even were all levies called, and they have not been.” Ashtaar waits for the next question.

  “Yet the sorceress is far from stupid,” points out Tybra. “Far from that. Has she not scried what is occurring?”

  “It is difficult to ascertain what she has scried, but she has done much scrying. That we know. And she left many indications with the Liedfuhr’s envoy that she would finally visit her own lands in Mencha. She took but tenscore lancers there.”

  “So she grows cunning as well,” remarks Virtuul. “No one would suspect she would begin an attack into Ebra with but tenscore lancers.”

  “She took but fifteen when she headed south toward Dumar,” notes Ashtaar.

  “But she picked up additional forces from Lerona, Abenfel, and Stromwer,” counters Virtuul.

  “And she will use Hadrenn’s forces as well,” suggests Ashtaar. “What choice has he, but to follow her?”

  “She is not so much cunning as bold,” declares Tybra. “She gambles that she can defeat Bertmynn quickly and then return to destroy Rabyn, if he should attack.”

  “If she does …” comes the whisper from the left side of the table.

  “If she does, the Liedfuhr will have to decide whether to reach terms with her or hazard his forces against her.”

  “He has pledged not to act.”

  “Has that made any difference before?” asks Tybra dryly.

  II

  LIEDFINSTER

  39

  With the late-afternoon sun at their backs, Anna and Jecks rode eastward along the narrow road, leading the players and the tenscore lancers. Each hoof that struck the ground lifted dust out of the fine soil that had drifted across the road from Mencha to the Sand Pass. Ahead, looming on the horizon, lay the Ostfels.

  Anna blotted her forehead before taking another long swallow from her water bottle. “It’s hard to believe that it could have been hotter here.”

  “It was, my lady,” replied Jecks dryly. “It was, as we both know.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to remember.” Anna laughed and took another swallow from the bottle before replacing it in the holder.

  The ground on each side of the road was covered with intermittently spaced brown grass. Almost level, it rose gradually for several deks to a low hillcrest. As Anna recalled, beyond that crest, the land dropped into the shallow bowl-like valley below the Sand Pass, and in that valley, against the base of the Ostfels and the beginning of the Sand Pass, lay the fort raised by the sorcerer Brill for Lord Barjim—the fort and the now-drained defense reservoir. The fort had been built to guard the Sand Pass—the gateway to southern and eastern Ebra—and it had been the site of Anna’s first battle in Defalk. Not exactly a resounding victory, either.

  The Regent could see tracks in the ground between the clumps of grass, tracks left by fleeing armsmen and pursuing Ebrans a year earlier, tracks that would not vanish anytime soon in the still-dry lands of eastern Defalk, lands dry despite the return of seasonal rains.

  “It will be years before these grasslands recover,” said Jecks.

  “If ever,” Anna replied.

  “If the rains continue, they will. When I was a boy, the grass here was shoulder-high on my mount. I would see that again.”

  “So would I.” Anna blotted sweat out of her eyes once more.

  “You sent that scroll to Lord Dannel?” asked Jecks, somewhat later.

  “I did. I tried to be gentle, but …” Anna shrugged. “If I waited or stalled him, he would be angry because I put him off, and if I don’t change my mind, he’ll be angry.”

  “He will not be pleased.”

  “I know. No one’s ever pleased around here. Save us, but don’t upset anything, and don’t change anything, even
if the reason why we got in trouble was because we wouldn’t change.”

  “Lady … you are hard on them. Change comes not easily to any man.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “But it’s the same everywhere. I had to dismiss the granary attendant because he wouldn’t clean out the granary before it was filled. I destroyed a family because I wouldn’t submit to a man’s advances. Yet these people think it’s my fault. I allow a young woman some little choice in whom she will spend her life with, and you’d think I’d … I don’t know what …”

  Jecks looked away, clearly uncomfortable, and Anna closed her mouth. The handsome lord was still from Defalk, and nothing she said would change matters.

  For another three or four deks, they rode in comparative silence, Anna shifting her weight in the saddle occasionally, and hoping that the Sand Pass fort did lie beyond the hillcrest they approached, and not one even farther along the road.

  “How far does the Sand Pass stretch through the Ostfels?” Behind the sorceress, Kinor’s voice rose over the murmurs of the lancers and the muted thumping of hoofs.

  “If one can believe the maps, we will need to ride almost fifty deks from the fort before we clear the eastern hills of the Ostfels,” responded Himar, “and then more than a hundred to reach Synek.”

  “A long journey with but tenscore lancers,” added Jimbob.

  Does he think lancers grow on trees? Anna tightened her lips, but forced herself not to reply.

  Jecks glanced at Anna, rolling his eyes.

  They both laughed.

  “ … and the Regent took all of Dumar with but fifteenscore lancers,” Himar finished. “That was against more than a hundredscore.”

  Jimbob did not reply, not audibly.

  A few moments later, they reached the gentle hillcrest, and, as Anna had hoped, the shallow valley ahead was the one that held the Sand Pass fort, the redstone-and-brick structure almost blending with the red rock that framed the entrance to the pass itself.

  “Not much farther,” Himar said, adding, “The Regent’s banner to the fore!”

  The walls of the Sand Pass fort had indeed been repaired, although the irregular lines of mortar showed the damage inflicted by the Evult’s dark magic on the stones and brickwork created by Brill’s sorcery, and Anna doubted that the structure could withstand much more than attacks by brigands.

  The gates had been returned to place and were swung back to welcome the Regent. A score of armsmen in leathers and the purple of Defalk were formed up just inside the gateway into the fort. A gray-bearded figure stood before them.

  Although she remembered Hanfor and others talking about the veteran armsman who had come from Mencha once and who was in charge of the fort, Anna had never met him, and she struggled to remember his name.

  “Jerat,” whispered Himar from behind the Regent.

  “Thank you,” Anna murmured.

  “Welcome, Regent and sorceress!”

  “Thank you, Jerat. I am glad to see you and to offer my gratitude for all the efforts you and your men have made to repair the fort. The last time I saw it, it was in ruins.” That’s certainly true.

  Jerat bowed, then looked up. “Regent … we have done the best we can, and we continue to labor.”

  “You have done much,” Anna affirmed. More than enough for a fort that’s outlived its usefulness … you hope.

  “Repairing the fort has helped us add some armsmen as well, Lady Anna. Did you know that we have over twoscore here, and a score could go with you … should you need additional forces.”

  “You have done well, Jerat, and we appreciate that.” Anna managed not to wince at her own words. You’re sounding like royalty … or a politician. She nodded and turned to Himar. “Once everyone’s quartered and settled, perhaps you could review these armsmen with Jerat and see whether it would be better to have them accompany us … or whether they might best be held in reserve to follow us later. I imagine you’ll have to look into the question of supplies and mounts … and other matters.”

  “Jerat and I will discuss this,” Himar said. “And perhaps the Lord High Counselor?” He glanced toward Jecks.

  Jecks smiled politely. “I am at your disposal, Overcaptain.”

  “The stables are on the southeast wall … the ones left. We didn’t try to rebuild the others, collapsed like they were.” Jerat turned and began to walk toward the remaining stables.

  Anna looked over the armsmen as she rode past. They looked like any others she had seen. “He found more than a score of men to train here in the middle of nowhere …” she murmured to Jecks.

  “So it would seem … though some might be Ebran deserters or from our forces.”

  “Still …” Anna mused, “in little more than a season …”

  “If others did as well, you would have a greater force,” agreed Jecks.

  “Maybe we need to do recruiting in the outlying lands,” suggested Anna. Yet another task and job … even if you survive the battles, you’ll be buried by the bureaucracy you’ll have to create to run this place.

  She tried not to groan as she reined up outside the stable, keeping a smile firmly in place.

  40

  ESARIA, NESEREA

  The dark-haired Rabyn slips from the audience chair without looking at the Mansuuran overcaptain and makes his way into the smaller chamber behind the receiving hall, where he steps to a serving table. There he lifts a pitcher and pours a goblet of wine, looking up as Nubara walks slowly into the chamber.

  “Audiences are done for the day,” the youth says. “For that, I am pleased. A charade, but a necessary one, you know?”

  “I understand,” offers Nubara. “Charades are useful to rulers. Most useful, if one would gain the support of the people.”

  “Ah, yes, the people, the dear people.” Rabyn takes a second goblet from the back of the table, set slightly apart from two others, and fills it, then extends the goblet. “You look thirsty, Nubara, even if I did all the speaking.”

  “That is your role as Prophet.” Nubara takes the goblet.

  Rabyn smiles across the small chamber and lifts his glass, drinking. After a moment, he replies. “The Prophet of Music has many roles.”

  “All rulers do.” Nubara takes a sip from the wine goblet, then frowns, looking at the dark liquid.

  “One of those roles is to make sure they continue to rule,” Rabyn says easily, setting his goblet on the back of the table.

  Nubara’s hands begin to shake, and he barely manages to set the goblet on the serving table.

  “You see … Nubara … you should pay attention to me.” Rabyn’s smile is hard, almost dispassionate.

  The officer pales, trying to speak before his knees buckle, and he slowly collapses into a heap on the polished white tiles of the floor. Rabyn watches, seemingly waiting, until the lancer overcaptain convulses. Then the youth kneels and rolls Nubara onto his back. Rabyn takes a small vial from his wallet and lets several drops ooze into the Mansuuran officer’s mouth.

  The convulsions slow, and Rabyn stands, stepping back and watching, his dark eyes cold and intent.

  After several convulsive movements, Nubara slowly sits up. Then he stands, if shakily. “What … you serpent … what have you done?”

  “Careful, Nubara.” Rabyn steps back, holding up the vial. “This will only last a week … and none but I know the way to formulate more.”

  “If you would explain … Prophet …” Sweat begins to pour from Nubara’s forehead, and he shudders.

  “I did not trust you, Nubara … so I took steps to introduce … certain ingredients into your diet … they have damaged your body. You will die within a day without the antidote. The damage is forever; the antidote is temporary.” Rabyn’s smile is hard. “You will need several drops every few days.”

  “You are truly your mother’s son,” Nubara’s voice is rasping. “Truly …”

  “I am indeed, and do not ever forget that. You will not forget, not if you wish to live. Nor wi
ll that bitch sorceress.” Another smile crosses Rabyn’s youthful face, a countenance that suddenly appears far older, far more cruel. “Now … shall we plan the attack on Defalk?”

  Nubara looks down, if momentarily, before he raises his eyes. “I believe such an attack is most unwise, Prophet.”

  “Will you assist me? Or do you wish to die?”

  Nubara takes another deep breath. “I will assist you.”

  “I thought you would see reason, Nubara.” Rabyn smiles once again.

  41

  “Come in.” Anna stepped back from the pine-planked door to let Jecks and Himar enter the chamber that had once been meant for Lord Barjim. It was larger than the room she had once occupied at the Sand Pass fort with three other women, but spare, containing little more than a large bed, whose frame had been roughly repaired with pine splints over the light oak, a few chairs, a wash table with bowl and pitcher, a small writing table with a single stool, a chamber pot, and a plank with hanging pegs nailed to the brick wall.

  The traveling scrying mirror rested upon the writing table, and the uncased lutar lay across the lower corner of the bed.

  “You wished to see us?” A humorous glint tinged Jecks’ hazel eyes.

  “I did.” Anna let Himar close the door before she asked, “We still have two companies of bowmen, right?” We’d better …

  “They can shoot arrows. Most would be useless without your spells to guide the arrows,” Himar said. “Years it takes to make an archer.”

  “We’ll need their arrows, though.” Anna pursed her lips. “Before we talk, we need to see what’s happening in Ebra.” If we can. She motioned toward the mirror on the table, then turned and reclaimed the lutar. She checked the tuning, cleared her throat, and began what she hoped would be the last vocalise.

  Her cords clear, she began the scrying spell.

  Bertmynn, Bertmynn, Lord I’d see,

  show his forces now to me …

  As the last notes of the spell died way, the mirror silvered over, and then presented an image of armsmen in leathers and burgundy tunics advancing across a recently harvested grain field. One armsman staggered, flailed as an arrow went through his neck, then slowly crumpled. Those behind and beside him continued to trot forward with bared blades.