“ … hope it doesn’t rain …”
“ … late in the year for fighting …”
Anna had to wonder, if common wisdom were so against military actions in the late fall, why Rabyn had chosen to invade Defalk. Just because she wasn’t nearby … or as a pretext to lure her into a Darksong trap?
Her left hand brushed the top of the spelled shield once more, but she wondered what new threat Rabyn had developed and whether her sorcery could again prevail. And how many times you can do this.
75
The rain that had fallen on Falcor had extended less than a day’s ride to the west. By early morning of the second day, the land and the road were dry, and the hoofs of the lancers’ mounts were lifting thick red dust from the roadway. Anna’s boots and the part of her green trousers below her knees were coated with red, and she was sneezing more than infrequently. Farinelli’s legs were red as well.
The sun had warmed the day enough that it felt more like late summer than late fall, and Anna found herself drinking more and more water, blotting her forehead all too frequently, and fanning her face occasionally with the floppy hat. She still struggled to remind herself to eat, but the pouch before her knee helped.
Every so often, she reminded herself to touch the shield at her knee, but it remained quiet, indicating no active sorcery nearby.
The fields to the north of the road held stubble, or a few scattered tan stalks—all that remained from the maize harvest, or in some cases, small potato fields that had not yet been harvested. The slightly hillier ground to the south had fewer cultivated fields, and more woodlots, orchards, and meadows or pastures.
A line of trees wound out of the southwest, marking a stream course that angled in a general way toward a low spot in the road about a dek or so ahead of the vanguard. Anna saw a single scout perhaps half a dek ahead of the main column, midway between Anna and her guards and the vanguard. The scout continued to ride eastward. As he neared the first lancers directly ahead of Anna, Himar rode forward to meet him.
The scout reined up, as did Himar. After a brief interchange, Himar turned his mount from the head of the column and rode back, easing his mount around in order to ride alongside the Regent. “The scouts report that there is a stream ahead, Lady Anna, one with a gentle but firm slope to the water.”
“You’d like to water the mounts and give the lancers a rest down there?” Anna gestured toward the patch of green that surrounded the bend in the trees ahead.
“And their mounts.”
“I can use the time to check and see where we should be going and what Rabyn’s forces are doing, and where we should be going once we near Denguic.”
“Do you know how far into Defalk the young Prophet has come?” asked the sandy-haired overcaptain.
“Last night, he was almost two days’ ride south and east of Denguic.” You think … too much of western Defalk looks like the rest of western Defalk.
“More toward Fussen?”
“I think so.”
“I will pass the order to water the mounts.” Himar inclined his head to the Regent before riding past her and her guards. “Stand down for water at the stream ahead. Water by companies, blue company first … .”
Anna turned in the saddle. “Jimbob, Kinor … Liende … I’d like you to join me.” She paused. “Kinor, would you find Himar and ask him as well—once he’s got the watering organized?”
While the lancers watered their mounts, Anna gathered Liende and Jimbob under an oak whose yellow leaves had begun to fall. She propped the travel mirror between two raised and gnarled roots, then began a series of vocalises.
“He sees theeee … .”
Perhaps it was the drying oak leaves, or the residual road dust, but she began to cough immediately and had to stop and cough her throat clear.
Himar and Kinor arrived before she began the actual scrying spell, and Anna motioned for them to join her almost directly before the mirror. “You need to see this,” she told the overcaptain.
Himar nodded.
Anna cleared her throat and lifted the lutar.
Show me now as clear as it can be,
the Neserean forces I would see … .
The image in the travel mirror centered on a rickety bridge across a narrow gorge. On one side were hundreds of lancers, stretching back along the curving road, under both purple and blue banners. The lancers were taking the bridge cautiously, in single file, with no more than two mounts at a time on the span.
“Fussen, I’d wager,” murmured Jimbob.
Anna nodded, smiling. Hanfor was certainly obeying orders, and using the lands of Fussen as the area from which he harassed Rabyn. Anna almost would have laughed at the scene, had she not seen young Rabyn’s use of Darksong … and the thoughtlessness with which the young ruler had already used it.
Anna sang the release spell, then blotted her forehead before half squatting to retrieve the mirror and replace it in the leather case. As she straightened, carrying the mirror, she glanced toward Liende.
The chief player brushed back hair that had gotten progressively whiter since Anna had come to Liedwahr, so that now only thin streaks of pale red remained. “He will use more Darksong.”
“I know. That’s why we need to keep riding.” If you can get there in time …
“You have tried to do much,” said Liende. “We will stand ready.” She stepped back and walked toward the tree under which the players waited.
“Thank you.” Anna lifted the lutar and mirror.
Had it been that necessary to help Hadrenn? To stop Bertmynn? To keep the Sturinnese from getting a foothold in Liedwahr? Had it been worth Gatrune’s death? The deaths of scores of her lancers and thousands of others? And yet, what else could she do now—except ride westward and try to stop the Nesereans?
Then what? Even if you win, you don’t have the lancers to take over Neserea. So … will that mean letting the Liedfuhr annex his grandson’s land? She shook her head as she strapped the lutar and mirror behind her saddle, and mounted Farinelli. She’d think of something.
She had to.
76
NORTH-NORTHWEST OF FUSSEN, DEFALK
The dark-haired Prophet of Music paces across the cream-and-blue carpet that comprises the floor of the tent—six paces one way, an abrupt turn, and six paces back the other way. The wall panels of alternating blue-and-cream silk billow in the evening breeze, but the chill wind is not strong enough to flicker the flames of the pair of candles in crystal holders and clear crystal mantles set upon the blue linen of the camp table. Rabyn rips a single large grape from the bunch in the carved wooden bowl beside the nearest candle.
Nubara watches the thin-faced young man, waits and shivers under his heavy cloak of maroon wool.
“We could take them like this!” Rabyn holds the large golden grape up, almost pointing it at Nubara, then crushes it and tosses it aside before licking his fingers clean. “Yet they will not let us near them. Why will they not stand and face us? Because they cannot without the power of the sorceress! Yet Overcaptain Relour cannot seem to bring these cowardly dogs to bay. Nor have you been any help, Nubara.”
“I might add, honored Prophet, that we have twentyscore fewer armsmen—”
“Cowards! All of them! Just because she used Darksong to make them fear her … and now they can’t—or won’t march against her. Some of them were Prophet’s Guards! And you let that happen.” Rabyn glares at Nubara.
“I was not there. I could have done nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter. They can fight against that Defalkan lord. That shows how little she knows. She spent herself on a Darksong spell that is almost useless. We still have thirty times the forces she does, and my Darksong is far stronger.”
Nubara shivers.
“There is no reason we should not destroy her and her handful of armsmen. We have more men, and stronger sorcery.” The thin-faced Rabyn lifts a vial from his wallet. “If we do not engage the Defalkans before the day after tomorro
w, Nubara … you will receive no more of this.”
Nubara blots his pale face, damp despite the chill wind that has strengthened, almost as if in response to Rabyn’s angry tone, and now whips across the camp, fluttering the silk walls that surround the two. “I cannot order the Defalkans to meet you where you will, Lord Rabyn. What you do to me will not affect their commander. Nor will it hinder nor hurry the sorceress. You have told me of how mighty your Darksong is, and displayed to all the world how you can bring down great forests to speed our way across gorge and stream and marsh. The sorceress will come to you, because only she can face you.” Nubara forces a shrug. “Arrange your forces where your Darksong will be the mightiest. Then use it to destroy her. When she is gone, nothing can stand before you, o mighty Prophet.”
Rabyn raises the vial as if to throw it. “You will not mock me, Nubara.”
“I am not mocking you, honored Prophet.” The voice of the Mansuuran officer is thick, ragged, and tired. “You are the mightiest darksinger of the ages, but your sorcery cannot reach beyond the sound of your drums. So the sorceress must come to your drums. I cannot change that. You cannot change that. You can watch me die, and it will change nothing.”
Rabyn lowers the vial, not quite pouting. “You will address me with respect. You will, or nothing will save you.”
“Yes, honored Prophet.”
“You will send scouts to determine if the sorceress will soon arrive, and from where.”
“Yes, most honored Prophet.”
“And you will find another small blonde girl for my enjoyment.
Nubara bows deeply. “As you command.”
“I want one who will do exactly as I wish.”
“I will endeavor to find such, lord Prophet.” Nubara shivers, drawing the cloak tighter about himself.
“I knew you would, Nubara. You may go.” Rabyn smiles, and his white teeth shimmer like the icebergs of the far south. “Do not keep me waiting.”
“I will do as I can, lord Prophet.” Nubara moves slowly from the tent, shivering more violently as he steps into the cool twilight wind.
77
Anna finished the vocalise and glanced around the hilltop clearing that lay less than fifty yards to the south of the road they had traveled from Falcor. To the east, the morning’s white puffy clouds had turned darker and begun to climb into thunderheads. To the west, the skies still appeared clear, and the midafternoon sun was pleasantly warm, if with a hint of chill in the breeze out of the west. Before her, propped against a fallen tree, was her traveling mirror. Absently, she adjusted and tuned the lutar once more.
Himar, Liende, Jimbob, and Kinor stood slightly behind the line of her shoulders, waiting for her to begin. Anna cleared her throat a last time, then began the scrying spell.
Mirror, mirror, on the ground,
show me lancers to be found,
those of Rabyn whom I seek … .
The glass of the traveling mirror silvered over. The shimmering surface slowly evaporated to reveal a narrow stream that had cut a gorge perhaps three yards deep and ten yards wide. Yellow- and red-leafed bushes were scattered along the sides of the streambed at the bottom of the gorge. On the left side of the stream two companies of lancers had reined up. As Anna and the others watched, arrows arched over both the stream and gorge. Yet, after the sprinkling of arrows, only a single lancer in maroon clutched his arm. Another flock of arrows followed, but Anna could not see any but the single casualty among the Mansuurans. Hanfor told you that his bowmen weren’t that good without your spells.
The maroon-clad lancers wheeled away from the gorge by the stream, leaving a score or so of riders in blue. Abruptly, a large pile of planks appeared beside the gorge, raising gouts of dust.
Anna, Himar, and the others continued to watch. A stack of wide planks appeared. She blinked. Had the stand of pines behind the lancers vanished?
“Darksong …” murmured Liende. “He is using Darksong.”
“Darksong,” Kinor repeated in a lower whisper.
Jimbob looked from Kinor to Liende, and then to Anna, but the heir did not speak.
Anna nodded to herself. Of course, to make planks from trees meant handling living things, and that was Darksong. How long can he use Darksong? The answer came quickly enough. Long enough to use it against you, and anyone strong enough to level forests, young as he may be, is someone to worry about.
She sang the release spell, then lowered the lutar, leaving the mirror propped against the tree stump.
Himar cleared his throat, firmly, if quietly.
“Yes, Himar?”
“Might there be any way to determine exactly where the Nesereans are?”
“Of course.” Of course … how else will you figure out what you need to do? She was tired and not thinking as clearly as she should have been, despite her efforts to eat and drink regularly. “Let me think about how to phrase that.”
“I will get my sketching board.” The overcaptain turned and began to extract the rough brown paper, the grease marker, and a polished oak board from his overlarge saddlebags.
Anna slowly figured out how to change the spell, but slow as she felt, she was finished and waiting for Himar to nod before she tried again.
Mirror, mirror on the ground,
show us where might be found
the lancers in maroon and in blue
with a map that’s fair and true … .
A map that shows our men as well,
and how to reach the enemy we must fell.
The mirror obligingly offered what appeared to be a detailed topographical map, almost like the ones she’d studied so many years ago in geography. The Defalkan forces appeared to be represented by a pulsing purple dot on the left side of the depiction. Those of Rabyn appeared in maroon and blue, with a larger blue-and-maroon dot closer to her forces, and a smaller blue dot to the north.
Himar began to sketch, and Anna tried to figure out the geography. While she couldn’t determine from her crude maps exact locations, Rabyn’s forces were in three locales—some around Denguic, providing Jearle the excuse not to take any action; some to the north of Fussen, as if holding the main road between Falcor and Denguic; and a larger maroon-and-blue dot pulsed to the southwest of Fussen—probably about due west of the small town where Ustal’s brother had established himself—Sudborte, was it? Except that Anna had to guess about that because the mirror “map” didn’t show holds or towns. Then her spell hadn’t mentioned holds or towns. Or Hanfor’s forces, and she hadn’t mentally concentrated on thinking about them either.
“The Nesereans are to the southwest, my lady Anna, and I would say he is near-on a day away.” Himar continued to sketch with rapid strokes of the grease marker.
Anna’s head was splitting by the time Himar finished sketching and looked up. The overcaptain opened his mouth.
Anna spoke first. “I know,” she said tiredly. “We have to find Hanfor and his forces. I need some water, and some time to come up with a better spell.” No wonder fantasy novels on Earth talked about books of spells—and those fictional characters didn’t have to juggle words and match the music. She straightened. But they weren’t real singers, either.
It took several wedges of cheese, a half a loaf of bread, and half a water bottle before the worst of the headache subsided. Then it was nearly another half-glass and well into twilight before she had a spell she thought would do.
When she lifted the lutar and began her voice cracked. Dryness, dust … something was aggravating her allergies and asthma, and those were one thing Brill’s youth spell hadn’t helped, probably because she’d had the allergies when she’d been young the first time, and youth spells didn’t take way what had been there before.
She cleared her throat and started again.
The mirror image was on a larger scale, less detailed, and showed not only Hanfor’s forces, but a blue dot near what Anna felt was Denguic—the twentyscore Nesereans with their nominal siege of Jearle’s hold. Twentyscore for
a nominal siege, and you’re bringing a third of that against what—two hundred fifty—score?
She forced her eyes back to the map image. Hanfor was southeast of Fussen, positioned in a way to move to harry either group of Rabyn’s forces. But to join up with the arms commander’s forces would entail at least a half day’s ride on the part of either Anna or Hanfor.
Anna almost shrugged. Did it matter now? She and Hanfor were well positioned to block any eastward advance by the Nesereans. That’s assuming that Rabyn’s forces and his Darksong don’t flatten you.
She rubbed her forehead, concentrating on holding the last map image, and waiting for Himar to finish sketching out his maps—or adding to the ones he’d already drawn. She motioned to Liende, Kinor, and Jimbob.
“We might as well make camp here. There’s a stream below, and there’s no point in pushing on today.”
“I will tell the players,” Liende responded in a low voice, nodding. “You should not be traveling farther if you do such laborious scrying.”
That had occurred to Anna. Had Jecks accompanied her, he certainly would have let her know that. As well as a few other things.
She forced herself to take another deep swallow of water.
78
ENCORA, RANUAK
“You summoned me, Matriarch?” The tall and thin woman stands in the doorway of the formal receiving room, a room empty except for the round-faced Matriarch, who yet wears black, rather than her more customary bright colors.
The Matriarch stands by the clear blue crystal chair of the Matriarchy, upon the low dais, but makes no move to seat herself.”I did, Abslim. If you would close the door and join me?”
Abslim steps forward, bows once, not quite perfunctorily, and shuts the carved ebony door without a sound. Against the sea-blue of her tunic, the sheaves comprising the golden pin on her collar radiate a light more than a mere reflection from the sunlight streaming in through the clear glass of the closed windows that flank each side of the hall.
Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 37
