Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “The players are better, except for Yuarl. She struggles with a fever.”

  Anna felt guilty. She hadn’t even known that the thin violino player had a fever.

  “It was better that we found a drier place for her. She slept well,” Liende continued.

  “I’m hoping that we won’t need the players for a few days,” the sorceress said. Or longer. “We might … but I’m still hoping. Can they ride?”

  “Even Yuarl will ride.”

  “We need to get to Westfort before the word spreads,” Anna said. “Before the Nesereans decide they can leave.”

  Hanfor raised his eyebrows. “Who might tell? None of the Mansuurans survived. Nor did any of the Nesereans who were with Rabyn.”

  “Jearle or the Nesereans might have a seer.” Anna moistened her lips. “You both know what I have in mind. I don’t want to fight another war, especially this year. I want to talk to the Neserean captain before he understands he has the largest force of armsmen left.” She frowned. “That’s probably the largest body of armsmen in one place south of Nordwei and east of the …”

  “The Westfels,” supplied Hanfor. “But they could not stand to your sorcery.”

  “No armsmen can,” Liende added. “Not while you can sing and we can play.”

  “If they would support Hanfor, it would make life in Liedwahr a lot more pleasant,” Anna said. And life in Defalk as well.

  “They may not,” demurred Hanfor.

  “You just don’t want the headaches you’ve seen me face,” Anna suggested, with the hint of a smile.

  “No armsman of judgment would, lady.” Hanfor snorted.

  “Still …” mused Anna, “we have to get it across that they’ve got a choice between a civil war or an invasion by Mansuur if they don’t support you. Do they want that?”

  Hanfor shrugged. “I would say not, but seldom do armsmen make such choices.”

  “All we can do is ask.” Anna glanced through the open tent flap toward the tielines where Farinelli was tethered. “How soon before we can be ready to ride?”

  “A half-glass, perhaps a bit longer.”

  “Then let’s get started.” Anna paused. “I’d better talk to Lord Nelmor and Falar, too. I’ve probably been neglecting them.”

  Anna packed up saddlebags and mirror and was taking apart the cot when Nelmor and Falar arrived. She motioned both inside.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been more careful to keep you both informed of what has been happening.” She looked apologetic. “Sorcery takes a lot out of me, and I don’t always consider how others feel. Especially people like you, who have been very supportive and helpful.”

  “Regent,” Nelmor began, “you and your arms commander have been most courteous.”

  “Most courteous, and with the strain you have faced,” added Falar, spoiling the serious words with the hint of his smile.

  “Thank you both.” Anna paused. “There is one last group of Nesereans in Defalk. They’re besieging—or camped around Westfort. That’s where we’re headed. It’s not even ten deks from here.”

  Nelmor nodded. “I had known we were close, but with the mist and the rain …”

  “I’m going to try to persuade them to leave peacefully,” Anna said, “but I’d like you two to accompany me, if you would.”

  “For ten deks … to see the end of this war? After this whole season?” Nelmor shook his head. “I would scarce miss that chance, especially saving that the journey back to Dubaria lies that way as well.”

  Anna looked to Falar.

  The redhead grinned. “Fussen and Ustal would not welcome me any sooner.”

  “Thank you both.” Anna inclined her head. “We’ll be riding out in less than a glass. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, but I didn’t know for sure until a bit earlier myself.”

  “We will be ready, Regent, and glad of it,” said Nelmor, smiling broadly.

  Falar nodded.

  As she watched the two walk away from the tent, Anna wanted to shake her head. She was usually good at reading postures, and both men had seemed pleased. Why, she wasn’t certain, but it was better to have done something right and not understood all the reasons why than the other way around.

  She looked at the remaining food in the basket and groaned, but she broke off another chunk of bread and slowly chewed her way through it. “You can finish the bread … you can.”

  The sun had barely risen when Anna guided Farinelli back onto the road westward. Rickel and Lejun rode before Anna, while Hanfor rode beside her. Kinor and Himar rode behind them, and Anna’s remaining guards rode between them and the players. The mounts’ hoofs echoed dully on the partly frozen road clay, and the light and chill wind blew out of clear northern sky, so clear that it seemed as much green as blue.

  “It will be a long and cold winter,” predicted Hanfor.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t start too soon. There’s a lot I need to do before snow or freezing rain starts to fall.”

  “Regent—I fear there will always be more for you to do than glasses in which to do such tasks.” Hanfor shook his head. “Two years I have known you, and yet you find there is more that you must do, for all that you have done, yet all Liedwahr is changed.”

  Not near enough. “I haven’t done that much.”

  Anna ignored the barely concealed snort from Jimbob, riding behind her.

  “Some would say that you have all too much,” Hanfor responded, “those such as Lord Ehara, Lord Behlem, Lord Bertmynn, Lord Rabyn …” A lopsided grin appeared.

  “The names change, but not much else does,” countered Anna.

  “More than you think, I would venture.”

  “Much more,” came a murmured assent from one of the two young men riding behind Anna. Jimbob, she suspected.

  As the sun struck the frost that coated the grass and the trees, mist began to form and rise, giving the land an almost-surreal look. Anna took in the beauty, leaning forward in the saddle and patting Farinelli on the neck. “We don’t see many mornings like this,” she whispered, just looking out silently as the gelding carried her onward.

  The mist and the apparent stillness before her reminded her of New England, in the days when she had been married and much younger, and far more innocent. For a moment, she had to close her eyes. Then she straightened and looked westward.

  The lands around Westfort still lay in darkness when Anna reined up on the road crest and looked out over the valley at the keep, standing like a sunlit isle above the long morning shadows.

  Anna turned in the saddle. “Liende! Have the players ready. The long flame song. I hope we don’t have to use it, but I’m not trusting anyone right now.”

  “Yes, Regent.” The white-haired player turned in her own saddle. “Dismount and prepare to play. The tuning song.”

  “Raise high the Regency banner!” ordered Hanfor.

  The Regency banner rose on the ridge to the south of where the Nesereans were camped. The discordant sounds of violinos, woodwinds, and the falk-horn rose around Anna, but she continued to watch the camp below.

  “There’s a banner being raised over the keep gate,” announced Jimbob.

  “And on the tower,” added Kinor.

  Anna glanced at the two Westfort banners. She could not make out the details of either, but the gates of Westfort remained closed.

  A rider in blue spurred his mount toward the tent in the center of the Neserean camp. Within moments, he turned and rode up the hill, bearing a white banner. The Neserean camp began to bustle, with riders seeking mounts and armsmen scurrying into formation.

  Behind Anna, the tuning grew.

  Lejun and Rickel eased their mounts forward. They had unstrapped and now bore the oversize shields they used to protect Anna.

  As the sole rider neared the Defalkan force, Hanfor nodded to Himar. The overcaptain and a pair of lancers rode forward toward the scout or messenger who bore the white banner.

  Himar spoke to the lancer but for a moment, and then
gestured in the direction of Hanfor and the sorceress.

  Anna turned. “Jimbob … Kinor … if you would wait here …”

  “Yes, Lady Anna.”

  “Let’s see what they want,” Anna suggested.

  “Their lives,” Hanfor responded, “else the banner would be blue.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Preceded by her guards, Anna and Hanfor rode along the road to where the messenger waited. Anna reined up a good eight yards from the messenger, and Rickel and Lejun closed in front of her, leaving just a narrow opening with the shields.

  “Lady … sers … .” the messenger stammered, “my captain begs of you your wishes … and your mercy.”

  “We’d like to meet with him here—alone,” Anna announced firmly. “Immediately.”

  “Yes, lady … sorceress … Regent …” The Neserean swallowed. “Be there aught else to say?”

  “I will not use sorcery if we reach an agreement,” Anna said. “Unless his armsmen leave their camp. If they move, then I will destroy them if I must.”

  “I’ll be telling him all that … quick as I can, great Regent.” The scout turned his mount and started downhill with his mount moving at a gait faster than a walk and slower than a trot.

  “They know something,” Anna said as she watched the Neserean scout ride back down to the camp, where ranks continued to form. Her eyes went back uphill, where her players went on with their tuning.

  “They fear you, and they fear the worst,” Himar said.

  “You have appeared out of the mist,” Hanfor laughed and gestured eastward, where curtains of fog rose into the clear sky. “No force has ever stood against you—”

  “That’s not true. The Evult’s force ran right over me at the Sand Pass, and Sargol’s big crossbow damned near killed me. So did Bertmynn’s Darksong—that was too close, and I think if you hadn’t come up with that night attack against Rabyn, we’d have been in big trouble.” Anna shivered.

  “They do not know such,” Hanfor pointed out.

  The three, and Anna’s four guards—Rickel, Lejun, Blaz, and Fielmir—watched the camp below as the Neserean scout rode back to the central tent. Within moments, it seemed, two Nesereans were headed back up the gentle hillside.

  A single officer accompanied the lancer with the white banner back up the hillside to where Anna and the others waited.

  The ginger-bearded officer with silver clips on his collar reined up and bowed in the saddle. “Regent, I am Yerril, captain of the Prophet’s Guard. You would not be here, save the Prophet is dead or vanquished.”

  “He is dead. So are all those who were with him,” Hanfor affirmed.

  “All of them?”

  “They would not accept terms, even after the deaths of the Prophet and the overcaptain of the Mansuuran lancers. They attacked us, and the Regent had no choice but to destroy them,” Hanfor explained blandly.

  “What terms did you demand?” The captain glanced from Hanfor to Anna. Despite the chill, his forehead was damp with sweat.

  Anna did not answer immediately, but glanced down toward the valley. The Neserean forces were formed into ranks, both of lancers and foot armsmen, but the ranks had not moved. She looked back at the Neserean officer. “Captain Yerril, you may recall Hanfor?”

  “Yes, Regent. Yes, ser.”

  “Hanfor is from Neserea. I have a choice for you, Captain. A simple one. The same one I offered the Mansuuran lancers. I didn’t think it was unreasonable, especially since Neserea and Mansuur invaded Defalk.”

  “Regent?”

  “You have a choice. You can leave Defalk and go back to Neserea to tell everyone that the Prophet is dead, and that you couldn’t do anything about it, and that you still haven’t, which will probably mean that the Liedfuhr of Mansuur will take over Neserea in the next year, or you can support a Neserean to be Lord High Counselor of Neserea. Which do you want—a Neserea governed by a Neserean, or a civil war leading to a land ruled by the Liedfuhr?

  The sweat beaded on Yerril’s forehead. “I’d not wish to displease either the Regent … or the Liedfuhr, either.”

  “If you will support Hanfor, who was an overcaptain, was he not, then I will support Neserea’s independence from the Liedfuhr.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Regent … why do you need us? Why put a choice like that on a poor captain?”

  “I don’t need you,” Anna said. “Neserea does. I don’t want to rule Neserea. I didn’t want to rule Dumar, and I haven’t. I didn’t want to rule Ebra, and I haven’t. I have enough to deal with in Defalk—but I can’t if I’m always fighting some idiot who wants to invade us. So I want Hanfor to rule Neserea and be friends with Defalk—and I’ll support him against the Leidfuhr.” If you have to.

  Yerril frowned.

  “You don’t have to believe me.” Anna nodded toward Hanfor. “I’m leaving Hanfor to talk to you. He’ll let me know your choice.” She smiled. “I will support Hanfor against the Liedfuhr. I may not support any other ruler that appears in Neserea.”

  Yerril’s swallow was audible, but Anna did not offer a response. Instead, surrounded by her guards, she turned Farinelli back toward the Defalkan lines. Rickel and Blaz kept the shields high until they were a good hundred yards up the hill and away from the two Nesereans.

  Kinor and Jimbob urged their mounts toward Anna, but the sorceress motioned for them to stop, and called to Liende. “Have the players stand ready with the long flame song.”

  “Standing ready, Regent.”

  “Have them do a short tune,” Anna added.

  “Yes, Regent.” Liende grinned.

  Anna hoped that message would be clear to Captain Yerril.

  “Regent?” ventured Kinor.

  Jimbob raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.

  “They’re considering whether to support Hanfor for Lord High Counselor of Neserea,” Anna said blandly.

  Kinor looked sideways at Anna. “Will you destroy them if they refuse?”

  “No. They can’t fight against me, and destroying them would make things worse in Neserea. But I want them to think I might. If they don’t back Hanfor, that will leave Neserea without a ruler, and probably create a civil war there, just like there was in Ebra. I hope it doesn’t happen that way, because we don’t have enough armsmen to go into Neserea.” Not with idiots like Tybel and Beltyr stirring up trouble in Defalk. “And I’d just have to leave Neserea alone right now, and then go back next year or the year after. Or sooner, if the Liedfuhr decided to invade.” Anna shrugged. “If they decide they want Hanfor, then that would make it harder for the Liedfuhr.” There’s certainly no guarantee of common sense here, but maybe armsmen will be brighter than lords.

  Kinor nodded.

  “Hanfor’s coming this way, lady,” Jimbob broke in.

  Himar remained with Yerril as Hanfor rode uphill toward Anna. The arms commander was smiling, not an open smile, but one more rueful.

  “He agreed?” asked the Regent as Hanfor reined up.

  “Captain Yerril has one condition, Lady Anna,” Hanfor said with a laugh. “You will not find it onerous.”

  “What condition?”

  “He wishes you to commit to a scroll your support of Neserea against the Liedfuhr if they accept me as their … Lord High Counselor.”

  “How did you get him to agree?” Anna asked.

  Hanfor shrugged. “I told him the truth. That you had restored Lady Siobion in Dumar and Lord Hadrenn in Ebra. That you would oppose either Sturinn or Mansuur, and that you had given the Mansuuran lancers the choice of leaving Neserea independent of Mansuur or dying, and that they would not release their hold on Neserea so that you destroyed them.” The weathered veteran laughed. “He was far more accepting when he learned that there were no other armsmen left in Neserea, save his command.”

  Anna frowned. “These are the Prophet’s Guard. Whatever happened to their commander? He was in Falcor.”

  “That was Gellinot. Young Behlem had him removed because he retreated from
Defalk. He was executed, later, very quietly.”

  The sorceress shook her head. She hadn’t cared much for Gellinot, from what she recalled, but to kill a man for retreating when there were no options and nothing to gain …

  “And Rabyn, he put his cousin Bertl in charge … but somehow in the siege here, one of Jearle’s arrows went through his throat.” A grim smile crossed Hanfor’s face. “From behind him.”

  “Congratulations, Lord High Counselor,” Anna said.

  “I did not ask for this, you know.” A wintry smile crossed Hanfor’s face.

  “I know.” Anna’s smile was half-sad. “I didn’t really ask to come to Liedwahr, either.”

  “Came you did, Lady Sorceress, and this poor world will not be the same. Better, I think, but not the same.” An ironic laugh followed. “The ruler of Neserea … or counselor … a common armsman. Who would have thought it?”

  “An armsman,” Anna countered, “but scarcely common.”

  “I was in great disfavor, you know,” Hanfor continued. “I was being punished when Lord Behlem assigned me to work with you against the Evult. He hoped Alvar, Himar, and I would be killed.”

  “Hanfor?” Anna eased her mount closer to the grizzled veteran.

  “Yes, Regent?”

  “You don’t have a consort, do you?” she asked in a lower voice.

  “No.” A look of puzzlement crossed the veteran’s face.

  Anna grinned. “Two will get you three that you’ll have offers waiting you, and one will be from the Liedfuhr.”

  Hanfor returned her grin with a wry smile. “That wager I would not take. Not against your scrying.”

  “You will have to take one,” Anna pointed out. “So take the one that will make you happiest.”

  Hanfor nodded. “And you … lady … what of you?”

  “Sorceresses don’t get consorts. Not in Liedwahr. Not if they want to put everything back together.”

  “Do not …” Hanfor broke off, then resumed in a voice not much above a whisper. “I would not be presumptuous, lady … but there is one who loves you … .”

  “I know,” Anna said softly. “I know. I did not say that I couldn’t seek happiness. Thank you.”

  Anna and Hanfor both smiled, ignoring the half-bemused expressions on the faces of the two young men.