Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Hadrenn arrived first, smiling. “I had thought that Gestatr might join us, as my commander.”

  “That would be good,” Anna said, smiling and turning as the dark-haired and square-faced Gestatr neared. “I’m glad to see you again, Gestatr. Frideric and Markan send their best”

  The man who had been Lord Hryding’s captain nodded. “Lady Anna … it appears that we both have come far since last we met.”

  Anna could sense the puzzlement from Jecks and some of the others. “Overcaptain Gestatr … or arms commander … he was the lead armsman for Lord Hryding of Synope during the years when the Evult ruled Ebra. Because his family had served the previous lords of Ebra, his first allegiance has always been to his homeland, and he returned when he had the chance.” Anna looked at Gestatr. “I hope I got that right … but that’s what I heard.”

  Gestatr inclined his head and returned the smile. “Lord Hryding had said you would not forget much, and you have not. My grandsire was the arms commander for Lord Julenn, Lord Hadrenn’s grandsire.”

  As the well-muscled Gestatr slipped into place beside Jecks, Anna noted that his once-jet-black hair was shot with white. Or didn’t you notice that in Synope? She sat down, ignoring the frown from Jimbob as the youth realized that Gestatr sat above him at the table. Anna suspected Jecks had managed that … somehow.

  A serving girl poured pale, amber-tinged wine into the silver goblets.

  “A toast!” Hadrenn lifted his goblet. “To the Regent!”

  “To the Regent.”

  Anna lifted her goblet in acknowledgment, but did not drink. When the goblets were lowered, she responded, “To Lord Hadrenn and his hospitality.”

  Everyone but Hadrenn drank to her toast, but the young lord lifted his goblet in response.

  Large platters of beef covered in a brown sauce appeared, as did casserole dishes of sliced and roasted potatoes. Anna took her usual enormous helping, forcing herself to wait until most had a chance at being served before she took the first bite. Despite the sauce, the meat was dry, but she was hungry enough that it didn’t matter too much.

  “Perhaps … Regent Anna,” suggested Hadrenn, “you could begin by telling us how you came to be Regent.”

  Anna took another mouthful of potatoes before she replied, ignoring the glance at her less-than-supremely-endowed chest, still glad that the gown was comparatively high-necked. “It’s rather simple, Lord Hadrenn, but I’ll be happy to tell that story. A rather strange combination of spells on both the mist world and on Erde combined to bring me to Mencha, near the hold of the sorcerer Brill …” Anna cut down the tale to close to the bare essentials, concluding with, “ … and I found myself Regent of Defalk.”

  Hadrenn pulled at his thick, but short-trimmed brown beard. “It is said that you have killed men, not only with sorcery, but with a blade.”

  “One,” Anna answered. “With a dagger.” Because you were stupid and careless …

  “And that you have been wounded innumerable times, but saved by sorcery …”

  Anna laughed. “I’ve been wounded badly twice, and no sorceress can save herself through sorcery. I had to heal the hard way.”

  “She took a war arrow in one shoulder, and iron crossbow bolts in the chest and arm,” interjected Jecks.

  Hadrenn shook his head. “Most do not survive one such wound.”

  “I’m a survivor,” Anna replied. A better survivor than a fighter, still …

  “And you are here … surely not merely to visit,” suggested Gestatr.

  “No … we’re not here just to visit.” Anna nodded toward Jimbob. “I also thought Lord Jimbob should meet you, Lord Hadrenn.”

  “I still find it hard to believe that you brought the heir with you.” Hadrenn’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  “Lord Jecks and I felt he should experience matters more directly. That’s hard to do with a tutor in Falcor.”

  “Ah … I could see that.” Hadrenn refilled his silver goblet.

  Anna took a sip of the wine, which had begun to taste metallic. Wine was better in glass, even poor wine—much better.

  “If I might inquire about Markan and Frideric …” ventured the black-haired Gestatr after another silence.

  “Markan is now the lead armsman at Suhl …” Anna began, after finishing the rest of the beef on her platter, then taking a sip of the amber wine. She explained how the two had left Flossbend after Lord Hryding’s death. “ … and Frideric was overseeing the stables and mounts and arms supplies of the hold. Lady Herene is there to serve as the guardian of the heirs.”

  Hadrenn frowned. “Sargol revolted, and you let his children keep the lands?”

  “The oldest child is eight, Lord Hadrenn. Their guardian and tutor is indebted to me.” Anna shrugged. “You would have me disinherit every lord who questions? How then would I be different from the Evult?”

  Gestatr laughed, easily. “You see, my lord, why many would have her as Regent for the years to come. Lord Hryding entrusted her with his daughter.” He turned toward Anna.

  “Secca is well. She’s with the other fosterlings in Falcor, and has made friends with several. She is a very determined young lady,” Anna said, without looking at Jimbob, “and believes, as did her father, in doing right.” After a moment, she continued, “Markan said that Stepan had joined you here.”

  “He has, and he is captain over the levies of the north.”

  Anna nodded. “And how have you found Ebra since you returned?”

  “Ebra was once rich, with the most fertile of lands. Now … farming is a struggle, and none are rich. Here … the lands have held their strength … .”

  Anna finished her meal as first Gestatr, and then others, talked. She spoke seldom, and only to ask a question that prompted another’s stories.

  When it was clear all had finished, Anna turned to Hadrenn. “We have some things to discuss,” she said pleasantly. “Himar, Lord Jecks and I, and you, and Gestatr. A more private meetting.”

  “You have just arrived …”

  Anna’s eyes were cool. “Lord Hadrenn … your hospitality and your greetings are most welcome … and generous. But much as I appreciate your hospitality and the beauty of Ebra, it’s best that we do what needs to be done quickly.”

  Hadrenn swallowed, as if he were trying to hold back a flush of anger.

  “I am here to aid you. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, but we must work quickly.” Anna smiled warmly.

  After only a momentary hesitation, Hadrenn rose, as did Anna, and the group followed the Lord of Synek down the corridor, boots and shoes scuffing the hollowed and worn yellow bricks in the dim light of candles in scattered wall sconces. The private study was small, the green carpet laid over the yellow-brick floor faded and worn.

  Rickel and Kerhor stationed themselves at the study door.

  “You are not … as others … of Defalk,” Hadrenn said slowly, standing by the small carved desk, glancing toward the closed door.

  “I’m not like either the lords of the Thirty-three, nor like most women of Liedwahr,” Anna acknowledged. “If I were, you’d be facing Bertmynn alone, and you’d lose. From what the mirrors tell me, he lost almost as many armsmen in taking Elahwa as you have.” Anna knew she was being too blunt, but her guts told her that flattery and indirection would have been lost on Hadrenn.

  “That is doubtless true.” Gestatr nodded. “When Bertmynn’s strength became known, I suggested, and Lord Hadrenn agreed that an alliance … a fealty to Defalk … was our only hope.”

  “I understand that Bertmynn slaughtered almost all the freewomen.” Anna’s voice was flat.

  “Many escaped into the marshes, and they say that some are gathering in the northern part of the Sand Hills to await forces from Ranuak,” suggested Gestatr smoothly.

  “I doubt there will be any forces from Ranuak,” Anna answered. “There do not appear to be any lancers or armsmen moving northward. There are no more ships in the harbor at Encora, either.”

  “I see
…” murmured Hadrenn. After a moment, he added, “Still … Regents do not risk their sorcery and their forces for naught … .”

  “No … they don’t,” Anna agreed, forcing herself to wait, meeting Hadrenn’s deep brown eyes, but making sure that her eyes did not waver and that they promised nothing.

  “What do you wish? The fealty of all of Ebra?”

  “That’s a start,” Anna agreed.

  “This land is poor, and you have already ravaged it once, lady. That was justified, but there is little left to take.”

  “Beyond liedgeld, I don’t want any more golds,” Anna said. “I want some other conditions.”

  “That is good.” Hadrenn gestured around the ancient room. “As you can see, golds are not plentiful.”

  “What might Defalk wish?” asked Gestatr.

  “Let’s talk about what you’d like first,” suggested Anna. “What do you want?”

  “To hold and restore my family’s lands and patrimony. Is that not obvious?”

  “You could have pledged to Bertmynn and received that.” Anna waited.

  “I think not. Long has there been a sharpened blade between our houses.”

  Anna nodded. “So you wish to have all of Ebra, if it is possible.”

  The round-faced lord chuckled, uneasily. “I would not hazard so much … .”

  “You have the right of it,” said Gestatr. “Lord Hadrenn would like the position his grandsire held. He cannot hold that without your aid. What would you have us do to obtain such assistance?”

  Hadrenn looked hard at his arms commander.

  “My lord, one does not deceive this lady. Not if one wishes her aid.” Gestatr’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “Gestatr and his family have seldom steered us wrong,” Hadrenn said slowly. “What must I do?”

  “First, you have been constant in what you have said. When matters are settled in Ebra, I would like to confirm you as the Lord of Ebra—except I’d prefer a title more along the lines of High Counselor.”

  Hadrenn nodded slowly. “And you want Ebra’s friendship for the harmony of the ages.” A faint smile crinkled his lips.

  “That, too, but there are a few other conditions,” Anna said.

  The smile vanished.

  “Once Bertmynn is defeated, I think Ebra should be organized into three lands under you—the demesne of Synek, the demesne of Dolov, and the demesne of Elahwa. Third, I want Elahwa to be rebuilt as an open-port city—under the rule of the freewomen, but they must acknowledge you as their high counselor. Fourth, I require a thirty percent surtax on all goods from Sturin. Half the tax goes to Falcor, and half to you. And last, I require that Ebra honor and extend the post-courier system we have adopted in Defalk to carry scrolls throughout the land.”

  Hadrenn pulled at his short, square-cut beard. “All your … conditions … save one … are well within reason.”

  “You have trouble with the freewomen,” Anna said. “I understand that. However, if you want my support, and if you want trade and grain and coins from Ranuak, you must allow the freewomen to rule Elahwa as a sanctuary for women who do not wish to be bartered as goods.”

  Hadrenn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That will not sit well with some.”

  “I’m sure it won’t.” Anna’s smile was hard. “Do you want me to remove Lord Bertmynn?”

  “How … how can I accept a demesne … even one acknowledging me …”

  “How about pointing out that it cost Bertmynn something like fifteenscore armsmen to take Elahwa, and that you’d be facing rebellion there every generation? How about suggesting that it might be better to have a place for women who don’t fit than having both the Matriarch and the sorceress angry at Ebra?”

  “Those thoughts might be most convincing, my lord,” suggested Gestatr. “And who else would oppose more strongly any attempts at invasion by the Sea-Lords?”

  “There is that …” mused Hadrenn.

  “You can tell a few trusted supporters that I strongly urged you to do this … strongly enough that you had no choice.”

  “Why?” The brown eyes conveyed puzzlement. “You would allow me to say such?”

  Jecks smiled. “It is to your advantage. As Gestatr has said, do you think the freewomen will allow another land to use Elahwa as a port for conquering Ebra? Do you not think that you will obtain better trading terms from Ranuak?”

  Hadrenn shook his head, then smiled ruefully. “I cannot but accept your terms, sorceress and Regent. Not all will be happy, and even though I order such for Elahwa, all will know whence came the idea.”

  “That may be,” answered Anna, “but in time the credit, and the benefits, will be yours.” Now … all you have to do is win battles and get back to Defalk before Rabyn decides to march through Denguic. She held back a yawn. It had been a long day, just one of many to come.

  46

  ELAHWA, EBRA

  “You will answer my questions.” Bertmynn smiles as he looks down at the figure tied and spread-eagled on the broad dark wooden table in what had recently been an inn. Slowly he draws the dagger and studies it.

  The figure bound to the table is a woman, who wears a blue undertunic, her dirty sandy hair cut short as any armsman’s of Bertmynn’s. The pattern of sweat, dirt, and blood on the fabric indicates she had once worn some type of plastron. A narrow cut, scabbed over, runs from below the corner of her mouth to a point short of her left ear.

  “Where did you bitches find archers?”

  “ … can’t answer what … don’t know …”

  “Those archers … where did they come from?” Bertmynn fingers the knife suggestively.

  “ … don’t know …”

  Bertmynn bends over slightly, easing aside fabric with the sharpened tip of the short blade, pressing firmly, then twisting. Blood wells around the point. “Where do you think they came from? Defalk?”

  “ … don’t know … didn’t know we had archers …”

  “Come now … do not take me for a simpleton.” Bertmynn’s smile turns crooked, and he twists the blade.

  The woman’s body twitches, but she does not speak.

  The Lord of Dolov lifts the dagger and wipes it on her tunic, before leaning forward once more to part the fabric. He stops and straightens at the rap on the door, watching as it swings open to reveal a gray-haired man in a stained burgundy tunic, who stands waiting in the half-open doorway.

  “Yes, Ceorwyn?”

  “I have discovered what you sought.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Ceorwyn glances at the bound woman.

  “It does not matter. She thinks she will not talk. So I will turn her over to the First Foot for their pleasure. They lost the most men. They should enjoy themselves.” Bertmynn sheaths the dagger. “Well?”

  Behind him, the woman’s eyes turn cold, then fill with hatred.

  “Ser … your seers report that the Regent of Defalk is marching down the river road from Synek, and that lancers and armsmen loyal to Hadrenn accompany her.” The gray-haired Ceorwyn bows slightly to Bertmynn.

  “Are the drums ready?”

  “Two are prepared. She is four days ride to the west … or five.” Ceorwyn’s eyes avoid the bound figure on the table.

  “How many lancers and armsmen?”

  “She has perhaps fifteenscore lancers, and another fifteenscore armsmen in green.”

  “hose are Hadrenn’s.” Bertmynn frowns. “Fifteenscore is less than half of what he has raised.”

  “It is said, ser, that she took but fifteenscore lancers into Dumar. She returned with fourteen score, and Ehara and the Sturinnese lost twenty times her force, and every city on the Falche River.”

  “Ebra is not Dumar. I am not that dunce Ehara.” Bertmynn snorts. “No woman will prevail in Ebra.” He turns and his eyes go to the bound woman. “As you will discover.”

  The faintest smile crosses the captive’s lips.

  “You will not mock me.” Bertmynn’s hand crashes
against the woman’s cheek. The captive remains silent, and her face becomes impassive, but rage pours from her eyes.

  “Yes … rage if you will, but rage you will but against the dying of the light.” Bertmynn laughs. “No sorceress will save you … or your frail deeds. Or your freewomen—those few that remain uncaptured.”

  The Lord of Synek strides out of the room and out onto the porch that overlooks the river quays of Elahwa. Ceorwyn follows silently.

  “Twentyscore armsmen lost here … who would have thought it …” Bertmynn mutters. “Who possibly would have thought a gaggle of geese, of untrained women, of green archers … twentyscore?”

  “The sorceress’ forces are well trained, and all have seen battle,” Ceorwyn says.

  “No … they have seen her battle,” corrects Bertmynn. “And how the lords of Defalk could let a woman …” He shakes his head. “They have betrayed their own heritage and will indeed suffer.”

  Ceorwyn does not respond, but remains in the shadow cast by the overhanging eaves.

  “Dissonance … that I should be required to call upon Darksong to hold my own lands.” Bertmynn’s lips tighten, and he looks northward at the calm and nearly still waters of the river. “But better Darksong than a woman ruling over Ebra. Better anything than that.”

  47

  The River Syne wound through the sun-splashed rolling hills of mid-Ebra, and the road to Elahwa followed the slightly higher hills on the south side of the river, though there was a lane or dirt track on the north side that she could see occasionally across the river. The air was moist, and Anna had felt as though her tunic and trousers were perpetually soaked, half-steamed. She blotted her forehead, then reached for the water bottle, looking at the winding road before her. Riding ahead of the main body—if behind the scouts—were the two standard-bearers, one bearing the purple banner of Defalk, with the crossed spears with the crown and the R beneath, and the other bearing a green banner with gold blades crossed over a sheaf of grain.

  Hadrenn rode to Anna’s right, a large hand-and-a-half blade in a shoulder harness, and a shortsword in a scabbard. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his round face, and his tunic was splotchy with the dark stains of sweat.