Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “How is the Lord of the Western Marches today?” asked the sorceress.

  Nelmor smiled shyly, almost uneasily. “I must confess, Lady Regent, that when first you told me of your intent, I had some concerns that you had spoken too hastily.” The tall lord looked down at the worn carpet for a moment before meeting Anna’s eyes again. “Yet my sister, may the harmonies keep her, and my daughter, they oft said that a wise man never stood against your word.” He laughed, not quite ruefully.

  Anna wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. After a moment, she replied, “I do my best. It doesn’t always work, but I try.” She added quickly, “Is there anything … ?”

  “You have given much … yet I would beg yet one favor … .” Again, Nelmor looked down before continuing. “It is said you can see whether another lives and where … .”

  “You would like to see Lysara and Tiersen?” Anna hoped that was what the blond lord wished.

  “Ah … if that be possible … or Tiersen …”

  “We can try.” Anna pulled out a sheet of paper that she’d scratched up on one side in trying to draft her scroll to Jecks, and stood by the table, drafting, trying to adjust the simple scrying spell. After a short time, she looked up. “If they are together this will show it. If not, the glass will show two images, one of each.”

  She sang a short vocalise, then lifted the lutar for the scrying spell.

  Show us in this glass, even from so far,

  Tiersen and Lysara as they are

  Show us bright and show us clear … .

  As the notes died away, the mirror silvered, and the mist swirled. Then another mist filled the glass. Anna wondered, momentarily, before the south tower of the liedburg at Falcor appeared. With a heavy fog behind them, Tiersen and Lysara, her red hair shimmering, stood looking out at the city. Tiersen’s arm was around Lysara’s shoulder.

  Although he said nothing, Nelmor swallowed slightly, his eyes on the pair in the glass.

  Anna, not wishing to spend much energy, sang the release couplet, then turned to the lord. “You see? They’re fine.” She was worried about the fog. Did that mean they’d face more rain in heading eastward, not that she had any intention of going directly to Falcor, not with her other problems.

  “They appear happy.”

  Let them, Anna wanted to say. Let them … they’ll have enough worries before long. “They do.”

  A wistful look crossed Nelmor’s face, then vanished, and he bowed. “You have been most kind, Regent, and most fair, and I thank you. We will hold the Marches and serve your bidding.” He bowed again.

  “Thank you, Lord Nelmor.” Anna inclined her head, then waited.

  After Nelmor left, the sorceress walked back to the window. She’d have to return to writing scrolls and calculating, and all the things she hadn’t done while she’d been preoccupied with the Nesereans and the Mansuuran lancers.

  For a time, she stood and looked out the narrow window into a day warmer than the one before, recalling other warm days, days with tender graces that were dead to her and would never come back.

  101

  MANSUUS, MANSUUR

  A low fire burns in the central hearth, and the windows are tightly closed against the northwest wind that whistles around the palace of the Liedfuhr, bringing the chill polar air from distant Defuhr Bay and beyond.

  “Sire …” Bassil bows low before the polished table-desk, behind which sits Konsstin, fingering his brown-and-silver beard as he studies a scroll before him.

  The Liedfuhr looks up abruptly. “That extreme deference means all is not well, Bassil. What calamity has occurred?”

  “Sire … I would not say it was a calamity.”

  “I would. When you bow and scrape so …” Konsstin purses his lips. “Will you tell me, or must I drag it from you, with each word making me less patient?”

  “The sorceress … she has destroyed your grandson and all his forces. As if they were less than ants.”

  “We had discussed this.” Konsstin frowns. “That is not necessarily irredeemable.”

  “So it seemed. The seers watched the battle, and Rabyn used the triple drums and threw Darksong at her. He was strong. Strong enough to cast a shield over much of his camp, despite the fires falling from the heavens. In the end, though, she broke his shields and prevailed, and destroyed utterly all the Neserean armsmen with him.”

  “That surely is not the problem.”

  “She spared your lancers.”

  “The more fool she.”

  “She asked for some terms from Relour. He refused. She destroyed him in the night with lightning. The captain next in command—I think that would have been Donbrin—he attacked nearly at dawn. She was waiting, and turned them all into ash.”

  “All hundredscore?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “That is war. I will not have it.”

  “Sire … there is more.”

  “More? How can there be more?” Konsstin stands, towering over the desk. He glares at the black-haired lancer officer. “More, you say?”

  “She spared one force of Nesereans, those besieging Denguic.”

  “She spared them, and not my lancers, when I had sent her golds in good graces?”

  “Her own arms commander rides with the Nesereans, with but a small company of Defalkan lancers, and all are returning to Esaria, or so it would seem.”

  “They turned and left, when she had but a handful of armsmen?”

  “Would you not were you in their boots?” asks the lancer officer. “She has destroyed whole holdings’ worth of lands in both Dumar and Ebra. She has brought the fires of heaven against every force sent to bring her to bay. She has destroyed two Prophets, and two lords of Ebra, and the Lord of Dumar. Would you not retreat, given the chance?”

  “So … Bassil … she has flouted my power, vanquished my grandson, defeated and destroyed my lancers, and rules another land, this time over my daughter’s and grandson’s land.” The Liedfuhr’s hazel eyes flash like lightning, turning black momentarily. “And now her arms commander rides in triumph to Esaria?”

  “No, sire. Less than a single company rides with the sorceress’ own arms commander, and the remainder of the Prophet’s Guard. The sorceress remains in Defalk.”

  “How might that be?” Konsstin’s voice turns lazy, not quite indolent.

  Bassil swallows before he speaks. “It may be that he is the new Lord High Counselor of Neserea, as Hadrenn is of Ebra,” Bassil suggests, finally blotting the sweat from his forehead.

  “Worse and worse … you said this could not happen. A puppet ruler over the lands of my daughter and grandson?”

  “This ruler is no puppet, your seers say.”

  “Oh … some young lord of Defalk, no doubt.”

  “No, sire. An older officer, her own arms commander, one of those from Lord Behlem’s forces. He is from Nesalia, they think.”

  “And how would they know such?”

  Bassil shrugs. “There are messengers coming to you, also, sire. From the sorceress.”

  “Summon the overcaptains, all of them. We must prepare our forces for the march to Esaria.”

  “Do not destroy yourself, sire. Do not destroy Liedwahr.”

  “You presume! This witch has but a handful of lancers left, and no armsmen. I will not be swayed by words. She cannot work spells without lancers to protect her.”

  “Yes, sire. I presume. If you wage a mighty battle against the sorceress, she will defeat you. She will destroy your forces as she has destroyed all the others. And who will rule Mansuur, then? She cannot. No one could have stopped her from ruling Dumar. Or Ebra. Yet she has let the Lady Siobion rule in his late liege’s place. She has restored the old line of Ebra, if with the new free port of Elahwa, and she has apparently placed a distinguished Neserean arms commander on the throne of the Prophet.”

  “What does the woman want?”

  “Security … peace, sire.” Bassil wipes his forehead again. “You should wait for her me
ssengers. Should you then wish war, you will know what she wants and how best to oppose it.”

  “Go!” Konsstin frowns, and his lips are tight. “I will consider your fair words, Bassil.” As the lancer officer bows deeply, the Liedfuhr adds under his breath. “Foul as they may be.”

  102

  Anna glanced out the narrow window of the guest chamber, to the south, but the late-afternoon sky was clear, although she knew from her earlier inspection of the hold that clouds were gathering to the northeast.

  “Arms Commander Himar,” announced Fielmir.

  “Come on in.” Anna turned from the window.

  As always, Himar bowed after entering. “All the lancers and the players are prepared to ride tomorrow.” He raised his sandy eyebrows. “You have not said what you plan, Regent.”

  “We’re riding straight to Arien. That’s why we need to get moving. We still have a lot to do before the full winter closes in. We’ll take the trading road directly to Cheor, and we’ll stay at Synfal. Then we’ll take the Synor River Road east. All the lancers will come with us—except the purple company—as far as Synfal. Then one company will go north to Falcor along the Falche River Road.”

  “That will leave you with but fivescore lancers.” Himar frowned.

  “I think I can persuade Falar to accompany us.”

  “You have something in mind for him?”

  “We’ll see,” Anna temporized. “He’s a young scoundrel, but an honest one, and I have a thought he might prove useful.”

  “He has near-on twoscore with him, and some are most experienced armsmen.” Himar laughed.

  “I shouldn’t ask about their past lives.”

  “All one has to do is look.”

  “That’s what I thought, but they seem loyal to him. Will they be loyal to me?”

  “So long as you offer hope to him.”

  “I’ll offer to pay them.” Anna nodded.

  “That is even better.”

  “On your way out, would you have one of the guards summon the scoundrel? And Kinor. I have a few things I need to discuss with them—individually.”

  “That I will.”

  Anna stood behind the table, then bent and took a long swallow of water from the scratched but clean goblet.

  What would she do about Mossbach? The Regent shrugged. That depended on what Jecks had found out about heirs. She hoped an answer would be waiting for her when she reached Synfal. Jecks had been right about not saying anything before she’d dealt with Rabyn, but that had left yet another loose end trailing. Then, all Defalk was loose ends. Was that because she’d done everything backward, by dealing with the outside threats before the inside ones?

  She shook her head. Hitler and a lot of tyrants had done the same thing, except that they’d never gotten around to the inside problems, not the real ones. You have to be different. You have to be.

  “Falar to see you, Regent.”

  “Have him come in.”

  The door opened, and the slender redheaded man stepped inside, bowing.

  “You had summoned me, Lady Anna?” Falar smiled, not quite a rogue’s smile, but close.

  “I died.” Anna wanted to get to the heart of the matter. “I have considered several things. First, the succession of Fussen.” She tried to be thoughtful. “I have seen your brother, and I have seen you. It’s fair to say that I like you better. It’s probably fair to say that you’d make a better lord. But … unlike Lord Jearle or Lord Dannel, your brother has not lifted arms against me. He hasn’t done anything that other lords would find offensive.”

  Falar nodded, thoughtfully. “And many lords remain who bridle at the Regency. You wish to make no enemies you need not make.”

  “I think you understand.” Anna smiled. “There is one other thing. I can only suggest, Falar, but I’d like to suggest that you and your armsmen accompany me. We will be traveling to Synfal, and then to Arien, and then to Flossbend. If you choose to come, I will supply your men, and I will pay them.”

  “Do you expect many battles within Defalk?”

  “I do not plan to fight any battles. I may employ sorcery, and it would be good to have lancers and armsmen. I can promise nothing, but I’d like to learn more about you.” Anna laughed wryly. “There’s definitely a shortage of people who are able and whom I can trust.” Are you being too blunt? Probably.

  Those words got a thoughtful nod. “From another I would suspect merely the use of hope to obtain hired blades. Too many speak of your honor.” A crooked smile crossed the young man’s face. “And you have rewarded fairly those who have served you longest.”

  Thank heaven that got across. “I try … and I try to see where people can do what they can do best.”

  “We will come with you. Mayhap my accompanying you will turn my brother’s vaunted good digestion. And curdle his thoughts.”

  “You have an evil mind, young man,” Anna said, not quite succeeding in keeping a straight face.

  “My brother deserves to have his thoughts curdled, but,” pointed out Falar, “if my serving the Regent sours them, then the fault is his.”

  “You have a point there.” Anna added, “I will also pay you what a captain gets. That’s only fair, because that is the job you’ll be doing.”

  “Then I can honestly write my brother and tell him that I have taken paid service with the Regent.” The boyish grin reappeared. “That will sour his thoughts further.”

  “We leave in the morning. You answer to Himar.”

  “Yes, Regent.” Falar bowed, spoiling the gesture with yet another roguish grin.

  Anna managed—barely—to keep a straight face.

  The next person waiting to see Anna was Kinor, and he bowed twice on the way into the guest chamber.

  Anna looked at Kinor. As much as he had aged over the campaign, he was still painfully young for what Anna had thrust upon him. But he was perceptive, intelligent, and loyal, and there were few indeed among the Thirty-three who met those criteria.

  “Kinor … I think you know. I’ve given you a lot to handle. It’s going to take everything you have to hold Westfort. I could give you a lot of advice. I won’t. I’ll tell you the three things that I think are most important. First, if something seems wrong, or people seem to be doing something in a strange way … before you do anything or order anything or change anything, find out why they’re doing it the way they are.” She paused.

  Kinor nodded.

  “Second, if you don’t know about something … ask. And ask quickly. People will often forgive what you don’t know when you first start something. They won’t later. And last, don’t give the impression of being indecisive. If you’re not sure about something, ask for opinions, then say you’ll think over what everyone has said. Then do something. Either announce that matters won’t change, or that you want it done a certain way, or, if you have to, say that it’s my problem, and send me a scroll, and tell everyone you have.” Anna laughed. “Just make sure it is my problem.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  “Dutral and the purple company are here to support you until spring. That’s about a third of a year.” Anna paused. “I wish I could offer more, but I can’t.”

  “That is much, Lady Anna. I know how few lancers you have, and you can ill spare even those.”

  “I can ill spare losing Westfort, either,” Anna pointed out. “If you have any questions for me, you’d better think of them between now and tomorrow morning. That’s when we leave.”

  Kinor did not protest. “I had thought so when Himar summoned me.” He paused. “I thank you for all you have done. Though it would be ill done, I would ask one last favor.”

  Anna nodded.

  “Should aught happen to me … I would think Alseta is much like you, and could well run a keep. And she is my closest heir.”

  “I don’t want you to think about that,” Anna replied. “I will consider your request … if I have to, and not before.”

  “That be all I could ask.”

&nbs
p; Anna was touched by Kinor’s request—thinking about his younger sister, and probably as a way to provide for Liende. Would Mario have done the same in Kinor’s boots? Anna hoped so, but she wouldn’t ever know.

  Kinor bowed.

  “And Kinor? You’d better work on building up your own force of trusted armsmen. I wouldn’t rely completely on those who served Lord Jearle.”

  “Dutral and I have talked about such.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Anna stood silently as the young lord bowed a last time and departed.

  The door clicked shut, leaving her alone.

  Anna hoped she hadn’t leaned too hard on Kinor about the armsmen, but Defalk wasn’t exactly the most peaceful of lands. She laughed to herself. If it had been peaceful and medievally oppressive, she’d never have become Regent, and probably nothing in Liedwahr would have changed. She was making some changes … and if she could hang on, there would be more. And more sorcery and destruction.

  Violence has been the sire of all the world’s values? Who had said that? Anna shook her head. Another line she did not remember—only those she had sung seemed locked with their authors inside her thoughts.

  Her lips curled. If she were a character in one of Avery’s novels, her problems would be all over. She’d defeated all the enemies outside of Defalk, and everyone would fall at her feet worshiping her for her power and skill. She snorted. Life didn’t work that way, not even in strange worlds where there was magic. There were always people intriguing, and others with problems, and not enough money—or golds.

  She glanced at the table—empty except for a few sheets of parchment she had saved in case she needed to scrawl out any last-moment scrolls. She had no doubt that she’d be writing something even before dinner.

  103

  The rain beat out of the north, mostly across the backs of the riders, but it was cold, almost like liquid ice, and some dribbled off of Anna’s battered brown felt hat and down her neck. The oiled-leather jacket she had borrowed from Westfort—or been given by Kinor, who’d taken great pleasure in the act—was beginning to soak up the rain despite its oiled surface. And Farinelli was starting to whuff and toss his head.