Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I fear Lord Jecks is right, lady.” Liende’s voice was level.

  “If he is, we will need the flame song as soon as he rejects those terms.”

  “We are your players, lady. We will be ready with the flame song.”

  “I’m sorry.” Anna paused, then added, “Thank you.”

  Liende bowed.

  As Anna turned and walked toward Farinelli, the gelding whuffed and tossed his head. “I know. Everyone else is getting saddled and ready to go. You afraid you’ll get left? Or just telling me to get on with it?” She patted his shoulder.

  After saddling Farinelli, Anna folded her jacket and wedged it under the straps of the saddlebags. As she mounted the big gelding, she realized that all the others still wore jackets, while she had on but her shirt and vest. It was cool under the clear sky, but not that cool.

  “How far?” Anna eased Farinelli up beside Himar’s mount, half-amused as her guards and the two young men jockeyed their mounts around behind her.

  “Five deks. They have not broken camp. Not a glass ago.” Himar offered a lopsided smile. “I sent a scout as messenger saying to say that you were readying a message for arms leader Ceorwyn. Best that we not have to chase them, if it be possible.”

  “Thank you. That was a good idea.” Anna nodded. She should have thought of something like that. Even after more than a year, there were so many aspects of being a regent she still had not grasped.

  The sorceress-Regent turned Farinelli and rode back to where Liende sat upon her mount. “Chief player … ?”

  “We are ready, lady.”

  “When we reach Ceorwyn’s forces, we’ll ask for terms. If he rejects them, I may need the players immediately. The flame song,” Anna reminded Liende.

  “As you said, lady, the flame song.”

  “Thank you.” Anna nodded and turned Farinelli back toward the head of the column. She felt stupid, reminding Liende again, but she knew that when the time came, she’d need the song immediately.

  As Anna rode toward Himar, the overcaptain raised his hand, and a double trumpet blast rolled out into the midmorning air. Anna flicked the reins, and Farinelli carried her forward.

  Like the road they had already traveled, the road eastward curved around hills, following the River Syne, with the higher ground to the north, on their left. In the shadows cast by hedgerows and the scattered clumps of trees bordering the fields, dew still glistened on the browning grass and the greener weeds.

  Anna cleared her throat and began a vocalise. Or started to begin one, because the first note triggered a coughing attack. Her struggle against the asthma continued for almost a glass, and perhaps four deks before she managed to clear her lungs and throat.

  “Being a sorceress is not so easy as most would suppose,” Jecks offered.

  “No. Being anything with power isn’t, I guess.”

  Both looked up as a scout in Defalkan purple rode toward the column, slowing and stopping as Himar urged his mount forward to receive the report. After several moments, the overcaptain rode toward Anna and Jecks.

  “The forces of Ceorwyn hold the next rise,” Himar announced. “They await us, and their blades are bright.”

  “Will they attack when we appear?” asked Anna.

  “I do not know.” Himar shrugged apologetically. “They would have seen our scouts.”

  “He will wish you to ask for terms,” Jecks predicted. “He will expect that, and then he will attack or hold fast. He will not turn from you.”

  Anna glanced back, but the players were close, and Liende nodded, as if to signify that they were ready. The sorceress looked forward. “The players will have to dismount quickly, in case Ceorwyn does attack. Can the lancers hold them for that long?”

  “We will hold.” Himar stood in his stirrups, and ordered, “Blades and lances ready!” A triplet from the trumpet echoed his words.

  As Anna rode over the crest of the hill and looked eastward, she could see the burgundy surcoats, set in formation on the hillside opposite her. She reined up, then turned Farinelli back. Jimbob and Kinor pulled their mounts aside to allow her to reach the chief player.

  “Liende, have the players come to the front where I am and dismount and tune. If Ceorwyn rejects our terms, they’ll need to be ready with the flame song at once.”

  “The flame song … Yes, Regent.”

  Why doesn’t anyone see? Anna rode forward and to the left of the road toward a flat section of grass that gave her an unobstructed view of Ceorwyn’s three-deep formation—less than half a dek away. In the depression between the two forces, except for where the road lay, was a line of bushes that marked a sometime stream.

  Rickel and Lejun, the big shields out, eased their mounts before her, and Jecks slipped his mount to the right of Farinelli as Anna reined up. Himar appeared on her left. Behind them, the players dismounted. Soon, the all-too-familiar near dissonance of tuning began to rise.

  Himar looked at Anna. So did Jecks.

  “Might as well send the herald.”

  Both glanced quizzically at her.

  “The messenger—with the terms I wrote out.”

  The overcaptain nodded, then turned his mount.

  As Himar rode toward the center of the Defalkan formation, Jecks guided his mount closer to Anna. “Best you remember that twice you have offered terms, and that before that the Ebrans invaded Defalk.”

  “You’re telling me that I’m being reasonable.” Reasonable for Liedwahr, anyway.

  “You would let most of Ebra be ruled as it once was. You exert but a light hand, my lady.”

  Anna glanced up at the sound of the trumpet.

  The messenger or herald in purple, one hand steadying the blue parley flag, the base of its staff set in his lanceholder, rode forward. Shielded by Rickel and Lejun, but still mounted, Anna watched from the hillside. To each side, behind the guards, watched Jecks, Jimbob, and Kinor.

  The Defalkan lancer reined up in the depression between the two rises, waiting.

  Shortly, a lancer in burgundy rode down from the formation and halted opposite the Defalkan. The Defalkan lancer extended the scroll. The lancer in burgundy took the document and then rode to the far hillside, disappearing through the line of Ebran lancers reined up in formation.

  The sorceress-Regent blotted her forehead, glancing sideways at Jecks, but the lord’s eyes were fixed on the opposite hill. A single fly buzzed past Anna. Then Farinelli swished his tail, several times.

  Another horse, somewhere behind Anna, whuffed, momentarily breaking the tension and the stillness.

  The lancer in burgundy appeared from the formation, riding slowly back downhill toward the waiting Defalkan scout and the blue parley flag. Ceorwyn’s lancer spoke for a time to the Defalkan, and then the two separated, and the Defalkan lancer rode back uphill toward the spot where Himar and Stepan waited, both mounted.

  In turn, the messenger spoke to Himar.

  Anna watched the lancers in burgundy, but there was no movement among them.

  Stepan and Himar rode slowly back toward Anna. Himar reined up and looked steadily at Anna. “Ceorwyn will acknowledge you as sovereign, but not Hadrenn. And he will fight to the death, even though he be slaughtered by your sorcery before he will allow women to rule in Ebra.”

  “That’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get!” snapped Anna, turning in the saddle. “Chief player, the flame song!”

  “My lady … why will you not accept his fealty?” asked Jecks.

  Anna had almost begun to dismount. She stopped and looked at the white-haired lord. “You know why. Because I can’t hold Defalk … let alone hold Ebra. I’ve got so many dissonant lords at home that I’ll spend years pacifying them after this. And I can’t leave some idiot who’s as bad as the Sea-Priests in charge of the eastern coast of Ebra. They’ve already visited Bertmynn, and this Ceorwyn certainly knows them. I let him take over without a free state in Elahwa, and there’ll be a revolt here the moment I die—and that’s pretty optimi
stic. There might be one long before that. Either way, and a season after that the Sturinnese will be pouring troops through Elahwa—if they wait that long.” Anna looked at Jecks. “Is that what you want for your grandson?”

  She could see Jimbob wince, even twenty yards away, and she realized she shouldn’t have spoken so loudly.

  “You would kill thirtyscore because their commander is a fool?”

  “No,” Anna said softly, “I will kill thirtyscore because they follow a commander who is a fool and because we can’t afford to lose any more lancers to sort it out.” And because you’re tired of everyone else expecting to get their way and for you to be the reasonable one? Except using sorcery to try to kill thirtyscore lancers wasn’t reasonable. Necessary, but not reasonable.

  Jecks’s eyes flicked away from meeting Anna’s eyes directly. “You are Regent, and, again, I thank the harmonies that I am not.” Abruptly, his eyes met hers again.

  Anna could see the sadness in his hazel eyes, a sadness for which she had no real answer, except that she knew that compassion on her part now would be far more costly later—and that was no answer. Perhaps that was Jecks’ weakness—that he could not do what needed to be done when there was the faintest chance that he might be wrong and many would die. And yours? That when you get cornered and pushed, you lash out? Without speaking, she dismounted.

  “Again,” Jecks said, turning to Jimbob and Kinor, “you will guard the Regent. She is Defalk.”

  “Yes, ser,” the two affirmed.

  Anna wasn’t certain she liked Jecks’ tone in referring to her as Defalk, but she did not look back as she strode to the space that the guards had opened facing the other hill and the burgundy-coated lancers of Dolov.

  The lancers on the other—higher rise—made no movement, either to charge or retreat. Anna swallowed. Must you do this? She swallowed again. What choice do you have? You didn’t ask for the moons of this forsaken world. You asked for limited allegiance and a place women could go and not be slaves.

  The sorceress cleared her throat and took a last solid look at the line of doomed lancers less than half a dek from her. Idiots … male idiots … and you’re a female idiot for not finding a way out.

  “We stand ready, Regent,” Liende called.

  “The flame song!” Anna forced coldness into the command.

  “The flame song … Mark!” Liende’s voice was hard, the hardness of discipline forced over emotion, but the spell melody was solid.

  The sorceress put her concentration on the image of flames falling across the three-deep lines of the burgundy-clad lancers—and especially on Ceorwyn—and on keeping her voice open and full.

  Those of Ebra who will not be

  loyal to the Defalkan Regency,

  let them die, let them lie,

  struck by fire, struck by flame … .

  Once more, the chords of harmony shivered the sky, and the ground.

  As Anna watched lines of fire fall across the opposite hillside—and a single huge firebolt sear the center, she could sense a tension … something underlying the spell, almost like an overstrained and fraying string on a too-tightly strung harp or violin.

  Because you know it’s wrong—unharmonious … dissonant?

  With the muted screams that rose from the wall of fire less than half a dek away, that unseen string broke—and slammed into her.

  Darkness rose around her on her hillside as the fires died on the slopes opposite her, and she could feel herself toppling forward under the backlash of overstressed harmonies that centered on her.

  54

  ESARIA, NESEREA

  Nubara stands in the corner of the stone-floored room that had once been a workroom, as the thunder of the drums buffets him. Reflections glitter off the smooth finish of the drums, reflections showing the motions of the three drummers, and the timekeeping motions of the Prophet of Music who directs the three who sit on the high stools, a pair of mallets wielded by each.

  The three drummers with their mallets watch Rabyn, and their motions follow his direction, yet each drum has a different voice, and the three separate voices combine in a thunder that seems to shiver the plaster-covered stone walls of the Palace of Music.

  The Mansuuran officer squints, shakes his head, for a shimmering, and barely visible blue nimbus surrounds the blue-clad Prophet of Music.

  Craccck! A floor stone splits, and a wavering line runs for several yards around and through the solid paving stones of the workroom.

  Rabyn does not even turn his head. “Heavier! Drum three! Faster, like I showed you! Don’t make anyone wait!”

  Sweat pours down the face of the drummers as they follow the tempo set by the Prophet who is no longer youth, but not yet man.

  Sweat darkens the blue tunic worn by Rabyn, and his face glistens with perspiration. His eyes are hard.

  55

  The gray of morning seeped into the silk tent, then the brighter light of dawn itself. Anna slowly pried open her eyes. Jecks lay under a single blanket, snoring lightly, practically against the tent wall.

  At his snoring, Anna found herself smiling—until she tried to raise her head. While she didn’t have the double images engendered by the use of Darksong, a flash of lightning with the impact of a sledge drove her back onto the rolled blanket that served as a pillow, and tears streamed from her eyes.

  “Shit …” she murmured under her breath. They can murder thousands of women who just wanted to be free and not even get a headache, and you do the same thing to those who did it and you can’t even sit up. And you even offered them terms, if they’d just let the women who survived rule themselves.

  “Lady?” At her slightest word, Jecks rolled out of his blanket and stood by the cot.

  “I’m here.” Her voice was raw, hoarse.

  The white-haired lord brought her the water bottle from the narrow camp table and held it to her lips, watching as she did.

  “Today … you must rest,” he said.

  “ … don’t think I have much choice, do I?”

  “You cannot use so much sorcery so often, my lady,” Jecks said.

  Tell me about it. “I can see that.” But it wasn’t the sorcery, but the guilt … the backlash … or something. “Why … why … wouldn’t they accept terms … not as though … I was going to make anyone a slave …”

  “You are a woman, and they have not seen your power.”

  Anna took another long swallow of water.

  “In time, they will understand,” Jecks insisted.

  How much time and how many deaths? And will anything really have changed once you’re gone?

  Anna closed her eyes again.

  56

  The next morning, Anna sat on the edge of her cot for a long time, her head in her hands, before she dared to stagger up and retrieve the water bottle. Finishing off the water bottle helped some, as did eating too much of the hard cheese and biscuits. Finally, ignoring the dull and throbbing headache, she stepped out of the tent into a morning that felt far too bright for her physical condition.

  Jecks turned quickly, but his smile was professional enough to tell her that she looked about the way she felt—like horse droppings flattened by a long column of lancer mounts. “Good morning, my lady.”

  Lejun and Kerhor both nodded, and a half dozen yards to their right, Kinor and Jimbob watched warily.

  “It is morning.” Anna admitted, “I think.” The sky was a hazy white, not quite gray. Another result of sorcery … or guilt about sorcery? She stopped herself from shaking her head, knowing it would fall off. At least, it felt like it might.

  The matted grass was damp, and the acrid odor of the cookfires drifted toward her on the light breeze. Her stomach turned at the scent of something cooking. Cheese and biscuits had been better, but even they had settled uneasily.

  “You should not ride today,” Jecks said.

  “With Rabyn probably at Elioch?” She raised her eyebrows. “I couldn’t ride yesterday. That cost us a day already.”


  “You cannot do anything if you reach Denguic exhausted.” Jecks met her eyes with concern in his own hazel orbs.

  “I know, but we can shorten today’s ride and the next day’s if I get tired, but we can’t push the horses to make up that distance once I get recovered, not if the lancers need to fight.” She snorted. “No matter what I try, it seems that we still need men with sharp blades and strong arms.”

  A greater hint of cookfire smoke and the fainter odor of burned grass filled Anna’s nostrils, and with those reminders of the impact of her sorcery, her stomach turned and churned even more as she stood before her little tent. Another set of battles … thousands more men dead … will it ever end? Can it ever end?

  She took a deep breath. “We need to talk to Hadrenn. There’s no point in dragging this out.”

  Jimbob and Kinor slipped back and toward where Liende had gathered with the players a good fifty yards to the south.

  “Now?” Jecks looked at her, then nodded. “I will have him summoned.” The white-haired lord slipped past the tent and walked swiftly toward another tent with a green pennant set before it.

  Anna started after Jecks, then stopped, and shrugged. She hadn’t meant to have Jecks chase down the young lord of Synek.

  It seemed but a few moments later when Jecks returned with Hadrenn beside him. Both men stopped well short of the Regent.

  “Sorceress and Regent.” Hadrenn inclined his head. “You have destroyed Bertmynn. What can I say to express my gratitude?”

  “We all did what needed to be done. I’m glad we could help you.” Anna forced a smile she didn’t really feel.

  “All Synek is grateful … .” Hadrenn let his words slide into silence.

  “And that will help erase some of the unpleasant memories of last year?” Anna offered an ironic smile.

  “It cannot but help, and I will ensure all know.”

  “Does Bertmynn have a son or daughter?” asked Anna.

  A look of puzzlement appeared in Hadrenn’s deep brown eyes. “I have heard he has two sons … but those are words on the wind.”