The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Put that way, Lord Hryding, I would be pleased to accept some few armsmen—but only a few.”

  “I had thought three. Two might be enough for you, but they will need to return, and most ruffians will not attack three armed men.”

  “You are most generous.”

  “With this”—he raised the scroll—“I can see that your concerns about remaining in Synope were well founded. Would tomorrow morning be too early?”

  “I think not,” Anna said. Not with your consort following my every move. “I will need to send a message to Daffyd.”

  “That can certainly be managed.” He turned and raised his voice. “Secca. You can finish your game.”

  “Are you done with your business?” asked Anientta.

  Anna winced at the sicky-sweet tone, but answered. “We were discussing my departure tomorrow.”

  “The lady’s presence has been requested in Falcor—by Lord Behlem,” explained Hryding as he walked toward Anientta.

  “How immensely flattering. His consort must still be in Esaria.” Anientta’s teeth flashed.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Anna said. “I’ve never met him. I’ve never met anyone from … his land.” She couldn’t remember the name of the country Behlem ruled. Then she looked down as Secca dashed up.

  “You aren’t leaving so soon?” asked the little redhead.

  Anna wondered if children ever just walked. “I’m afraid I must. Not until tomorrow.”

  After reaching the end of the awning, Hryding slipped into the empty chair beside his consort. “ … might be some good out of all of this …”

  “ … do hope so, dear … .”

  Anna tried not to bristle at the condescending tone.

  “Then we can play some more?” asked the redhead.

  “We can play some more.” Anna agreed, conscious of how much she missed Elizabetta.

  52

  After washing her hands and face, Anna glanced around the room—taking in the wide wood-postered bed, the washtable with the delicately curved legs, the small writing desk, and the two wide windows with inside louvered shutters and outside solid shutters.

  Like the cushion on the stool and the braided rug on the brown tile floor, the coverlet on the bed, a coverlet she’d never needed, was pale green.

  She looked in the mirror above the washtable. The strange young face, too thin somehow, framed with blonde hair that was getting too long, looked back at her. Somehow, she was young—but she didn’t look the way she had when she’d first been young—and it wasn’t just the hair. Her features had retained a certain sharpness—fineness—character—something. The faded green cottons looked good, if looser than when she’d first worn them. Anna shook her head. Looking at yourself isn’t going to help anything.

  She still needed more spells—common, everyday things. She tried to figure out one for “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” saying the words until she had them worked out.

  “Anna had a dark green gown, dark green gown

  whose cloth was strong and light

  and everywhere that Anna went

  the gown stayed pure and bright.”

  Did she want to try it? She shook her head. If it worked, then she’d have to bring it with her. Besides, she’d have to be near some cloth or wool or something, because, according to Brill, sorcery didn’t create out of whole cloth, but reshaped things.

  Instead, she took out the stub of greasy pencil and crabbed the words on the last sheet of paper left from those she’d taken from Brill’s hall.

  It was so easy to think that sorcery could solve her problems, but when she actually got down to trying to create spells, it got harder. Was that because sorcery effectively created absolutes, and life was seldom filled with absolutes?

  Thrap. The knock on the door was almost tentative.

  “Yes?”

  “Might I enter, lady?” asked Hryding.

  “Of course.”

  The silver-haired lord stepped into the room and paused, leaving the door wide open behind him. “I wanted to tell you that the armsmen are ready.”

  “I was just getting ready to come find you.” Anna nodded toward the bags on the floor.

  “Your player has also arrived. He’s waiting in the stable with my men.” Hryding glanced toward the door. “I did not realize you had packhorses.”

  “We picked them up after the battle,” Anna said. That was true enough, if misleading, but she did not want Hryding to think she was too powerful. Sorceress or not, she was learning that using the local equivalent of tactical nuclear weapons created as many problems as it solved, and Hryding’s armsmen would be far more effective and less disruptive in getting her in to see Lord Behlem.

  “You are resourceful.”

  “Lucky, I think,” Anna said. “I appreciate and thank you for guesting me.” She added with a rueful smile, “Right now, there is little I can do in return. I am afraid I am still an incomplete sorceress, good at destruction and a few other things.”

  “If you go to Falcor with my armsmen as escort, Lady-Anna, that will be more than repayment.” With a sardonic smile, Hryding stepped forward and extended a small leather bag. “You clearly have not had time to gather what you might need for expenses.”

  “You are too generous,” Anna said, not taking the bag.

  “There is little enough there for your trip, and you will be required to pay any lodging costs for the armsmen. It would not be well for them to pay for you.”

  “Thank you. I had not thought of that.” Anna nodded, and accepted the heavy bag. It seemed far too weighty, but just as Hryding would not be stingy, out of self-interest, neither would he be overly generous, not with Anientta looking over his shoulder. She slipped it into the belt wallet.

  “Also, here is a scroll. I would be indebted if you would present it to Lord Behlem. It says that I will be most cooperative.” Hryding snorted. “As though I had any choice at all.”

  Anna slipped the scroll into one of the saddlebags.

  “Let me escort you,” said Hryding as Anna lifted the saddlebags.

  Through the years with Avery, she’d felt like a gypsy, and as they stepped out of the guest room, it seemed that even in a strange world, she was still a gypsy, never getting settled anywhere before some other circumstance, out of her control, sent her reeling in another direction.

  The early-morning sky was bright and clear—as usual—with the sun’s heat already raising mirages on the fields she could see over the upper-level walls to the west.

  As Anna reached the stairs, Secca scurried up, still barefoot.

  “I wanted to say good-bye, Lady Anna.”

  The sorceress looked down at the little redhead. “I’m glad you did, Secca. I’m glad you did.” She grinned. “Next time I might be better at Vorkoffe.” If I ever get a chance to play it again.

  “You are good enough. You won the last game.”

  Secca threw her arms around Anna’s legs. “Come back and see us, Lady Anna.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Promise?”

  “Secca, I will do the best I can, but we can’t always do as we wish in this world.” Or in any other world, either. Anna bent over and awkwardly hugged the girl.

  “If you try really hard, you can,” Secca observed.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” Anna conceded.

  “Secca! Where are you?” Anientta’s voice echoed across the upper terrace.

  “I have to go.” Secca gave a last shy smile, and dashed off as quickly as she had come.

  “She admires you,” said Hryding softly as they continued down the stairs.

  “I think she’s special. I hope she stays that way.”

  “Lady?” Hryding paused at the foot of the steps, in the small entry hall just inside the main-floor archway.

  “Yes.”

  “If … if things go well for you … would you consider fostering Secca?”

  “Me?” Anna was flabbergas
ted.

  “I know it is presumptuous. Many foster their sons with other families, but few consider daughters … Still …”

  “Lord Hryding, if I ever can foster any child or young person, Secca would certainly be one.”

  “Thank you.”

  Anna wondered exactly what she’d gotten herself into. Did she want to raise another daughter? She tightened her lips at the recollection of Kurik’s smugness and insolence, and his shiny boots. Jeron, the one time she’d seen him, had been even more insufferable.

  Calmut looked steadily into the distance as the two walked from the hall.

  Anna paused. “Calmut … I don’t bite. I just won’t be bitten.”

  “Yes, lady.” The armsman’s voice was exceedingly polite.

  The sorceress wanted to kick him in the shins—or worse. Instead, she added, “Calmut, there is always someone stronger, someone faster, someone with more weapons. As long as you put your fate in strength, you will fail.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  Anna gritted her teeth and said nothing.

  As Hryding led the way to the stables on the south side of the white-walled hall, the lord asked, “Why did you say that to Calmut?”

  Anna held in a sigh, moistened her lips, and thought for a moment. Finally, she said, “Lord Hryding, my world was once much as yours, and, if I am truthful, some parts of it still are. Often, men rule women by the virtue of brute strength … .”

  “You are taller and stronger than many men,” Hryding protested.

  “On my world, the men are larger and stronger. Many are over two yards tall.” Anna paused, then sighed. “I suppose what I think doesn’t matter, but I have a problem with brute force determining life. I know it usually does, but what I don’t understand is why people accept it so easily. Only one person can be the strongest, and yet it seems that everyone thinks he can be that person.”

  Hryding said nothing for several paces, and Anna wondered if she had offended him deeply.

  “When you say something like that, lady, I almost feel as though all Erde shivers.” The lord glanced up at the open stable doors. “Either the muses of Harmony or the harpies of Discord sent you. I trust in Harmony, but either way, after you, I fear, nothing will be quite the same.”

  “I’m one woman.” Anna forced a gentle laugh.

  “With the powers of Harmony behind you, I suspect.” The silver-haired lord returned her laugh.

  Standing beside his gray mare and in front of the two mares serving as packhorses, Daffyd nodded as they approached. “Good morning, Lord Hryding, Lady Anna.”

  “Good morning, Daffyd,” Anna responded. “You seem to have everything in order.”

  The player nodded.

  “Here are your escorts,” Hryding said as they reached the packed dirt outside the stables. Three men in pale green tunics waited by the stable door. Each bore a blade and a bow. Anna thought she detected mail under the tunics.

  “This is Fridric.” Hryding nodded to a young black-haired man barely as tall as Anna.

  “Stepan.”

  The sandy-haired man bowed slightly to Anna.

  “And Markan.” Markan was in his late twenties, clearly older than the others.

  “Markan is the senior armsman,” the lord continued, “and is familiar with the route to Pamr and then to Falcor.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Anna.” The slender, brown-haired armsman bowed. His gray eyes twinkled. “I am led to believe that we will have an interesting trip.”

  “I hope not,” Anna said involuntarily.

  Hryding made a sweeping gesture. “Lady Anna, I must leave, but I believe all is ready, and I wish you well.”

  “Thank you, Lord Hryding, for both hospitality and advice.”

  As the lord retreated toward the hall, Anna stepped into the stables, where Farinelli whuffled in his stall, unsaddled. Anna grinned to herself. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that no one had wanted to groom and saddle the big gelding.

  The sorceress fumbled around until she found a brush. She slipped inside the stall and patted Farinelli’s shoulder. “Are you terrorizing the stable help again?”

  Whuff!

  By the time she had the gelding ready to ride and the saddlebags fastened in place, Daffyd and the three armsmen were ready and waiting.

  “I’m sorry.” She led the palomino out of the stable into the sun. “It takes me longer.”

  Anna glanced at the two laden packhorses, glad that Daffyd had been willing to take care of those goods. She looked again. Each horse carried a large bundle tied over the saddle.

  “Lord Hryding insisted on supplying travel provisions,” Daffyd confirmed.

  “Where’s the lutar? Did you finish it?”

  “It’s finished—in the brown canvas case there.” Daffyd pointed to the piebald mare.

  Anna pulled her floppy-brimmed hat from her belt and adjusted it, then mounted. As she started down the road to the hall gates, Markan rode on her left, and Daffyd eased his mare up beside her on the right. The two other armsmen fell in behind the pack mares.

  The road toward Synope was empty, but bore recent hoofprints and wagon traces.

  “How fast do you wish to ride, lady?” asked Markan.

  “I don’t have that much experience with riding, but we made it from the Sand Pass to Synope in a little over three days. Would that be fast or slow?” Anna asked.

  “That is a good pace,” Markan reflected.

  “I can handle that.” Anna paused, then added, “Before we leave Synope, I need to make a stop to pay a debt. It’s just east of the center of town.”

  “Lady …” began Daffyd.

  “I have to,” Anna said. “I wouldn’t feel right about it.” Even with what she planned, she still didn’t feel right, but didn’t know what else she could do.

  Even before they reached the center of the town, Anna wore a fine coat of dust, and her nose itched. She was squinting as they headed into the sun.

  Several dozen individuals filled the central square of Synope as the five rode past Yuril’s.

  “I haven’t seen that many people here since we arrived.”

  “Market day,” answered Daffyd.

  At least a dozen faces turned toward the riders as they passed the brick stand and headed toward the cooper’s shop.

  “That’s her … the sorceress …”

  “Warrens and spades … warrens and spades!”

  “Looks almost like a girl.”

  “Say she’s hundreds of years old … buried her grandchildren …”

  “Get your spices here! Fresh spices from Mansuur!”

  “Bet Lord Hryding’s pleased to see her leave.”

  “Wager that Lady Anientta’s even more pleased.”

  Anna had no doubts about the last.

  “People hereabouts don’t get that much chance to see a real sorceress, lady,” said Markan.

  “They don’t see much of anything.” Fridric’s voice drifted up from where he rode beside the pack mares.

  The white-haired cooper looked up and then away from the group.

  Anna tried to rub her nose gently to stop the itching and keep from sneezing, then guided Farinelli down the narrower lane toward Dalila’s house.

  “That’s the young miller’s house,” said Fridric.

  “My sister is his consort,” explained Daffyd.

  Anna reined up outside the long and narrow miller’s house, then dismounted. She handed Farinelli’s reins to Daffyd. “I won’t be long.”

  “You don’t—” he began.

  “I do.”

  Dalila already had the door open before Anna reached it, and the pregnant woman stood in the doorway with Ruetha on her hip.

  Anna inclined her head. “I never had a chance to thank you properly, Dalila, and I didn’t want to leave Synope without seeing you.”

  “I only did for you as any friend of Daffyd’s …”

  “You were gracious and gave me a place to rest and sleep when I knew no
one,” Anna said. “That kind of hospitality—it’s rare on any world. What I’m doing probably isn’t proper, but it’s all I can do right now.” She pressed the silver coins into Dalila’s free hand. “These are for you.”

  “But I couldn’t.”

  “Then keep them safe for the children. They might need them someday.” Anna paused. “And do not give them to Madell. They are for you and the children.”

  “But why?”

  “Because you offered hospitality to a stranger, because you trusted your brother.” Anna squeezed Dalila’s hands, then released them. “Because you are a good person when you did not have to be good.”

  “The harmonies be with ye, lady,” Dalila said softly. “Always.”

  Anna’s throat felt thick, but she smiled and offered a head bow. “And with you.”

  “Bye …” said Ruetha.

  “Good-bye, Ruetha. Take care of your mother.”

  Anna swung back up onto Farinelli. Markan led her entourage back toward the center of Synope to take the road north and west to Pamr.

  “You did not have to do that,” Daffyd said as they passed the cooper’s once more.

  “I feel better about it.” Anna flicked the reins, and Farinelli whuffed. Sorcery was taking getting used to, and she was realizing that it wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be. The circles under Brill’s eyes made even more sense now. As did her own thinning frame. She was beginning to think she needed to eat more, but stuffing herself made her feel like a hog and a glutton.

  “How long to Pamr?” the player asked Markan.

  “Three, four days, if the roads are clear,” answered the older armsman. “If the discordant Ebrans are still in Mencha.”

  Anna wanted to groan—not another four days in the saddle.

  53

  Anna took the lutar out of the crude canvas case, then sat cross-legged on the bedroll on the low knoll where they had camped. They had stopped at sunset, far enough west that the Ostfels had disappeared. In any direction that Anna had looked all afternoon, she had seen only gently rolling hills, some few covered with trees, but mostly just fields and meadows. Many of the fields were clearly untended dry soil partly covered by sparse flowers and weeds.