The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You will be ready?”

  “I’ll be ready.” She paused. “Wait. I’ll need messengers, some sort of way to communicate, and once we get there—”

  Menares held up a hand. “You should talk to Overcaptain Hanfor. He will be coordinating the Prophet’s forces.” The counselor stood. “You have much to do, as do I.” He bowed once more before departing.

  Anna closed the door slowly, rubbed her forehead, then the back of her neck, far too tight and stiff. She didn’t pretend to be a military expert, but what Menares had told her didn’t seem to show any great organization. Either that or, once again, the good old boys were trying to keep her in the dark. She rubbed her forehead and looked around the room for her boots. She definitely needed to see Hanfor.

  But where had she left the boots?

  One was under the bed, the other in the corner halfcovered by laundry she had meant to do. The thought of doing anything else with sorcery sent another stab of fire through her eyes. Who would have thought … ? She started to shake her head, then stopped. Why was it so damned hard just to send one lousy envelope to Elizabetta? She could churn up the subsurface, murder people, and destroy armies, but sending one message to her daughter put her out of commission and ruined her ability to do sorcery.

  Her eyes burned. Stop it! she swore at herself. You can’t change the way this stupid world works.

  After blotting her eyes, she yanked the bellpull, almost angrily, and waited for a page to appear. This time, the unlucky youth was Birke.

  “Birke, do you know where I can find Overcaptain Hanfor?”

  “He stays somewhere in the east quarters.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Birke looked at the floor stones with resignation. “Yes, lady.”

  Anna followed the redhead down the tower steps and into a courtyard filled with the chaos of supply wagons, armsmen seemingly riding back and forth endlessly, dust, and the odor of fresh horse dung. They hugged the hall walls to avoid the riders that seemed to fill most of the space. Over the clicking of hoofs, and the growl of armsmen’s voices, Anna could hear the muffled brawwking of the liedburg’s chickens, although she saw none.

  “Might I help you, Lady Anna?”

  She looked up to see a familiar, black-bearded face mounted on a dark chestnut.

  “We’re headed to see Overcaptain Hanfor.” Anna paused.

  “Over there.” Fhurgen pointed to the open-shuttered building to the east of the hall. “Just walk beside me.” The armsman raised his voice. “Give way. Give way.”

  Anna almost blushed, but Fhurgen knew what he was doing, and she walked straight across the courtyard, faintly amused as the mounted armsmen halted for her.

  Outside the designated door, she turned. “Thank you, Fhurgen.”

  “My pleasure, Lady Anna.” The armsman gave a head bow and turned his mount away.

  Anna walked through the door and into a narrow hallway. Less than five yards back was a closed door with a sentry.

  As she neared, the young armsman looked from the page to Anna, then swallowed, and said, even before Anna could speak. “The overcaptain is expecting you, lady. Might I tell him you are here?”

  Anna nodded. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that Hanfor expected her; it would have surprised her if he had not.

  The guard opened the battered and stained wooden door. “The lady … sorceress is here, ser.”

  “Have her come in.”

  Anna inclined her head to Birke, then to the guard, and stepped into the dark and low-ceilinged room that contained little more than a pallet in the corner, a three-legged table, four stools, and Hanfor’s arms and gear, neatly stacked against the wall on the inside corner.

  The two younger officers with Hanfor stood abruptly, yet stiffly, as Anna entered the small room, stuffy despite the open window.

  “Lady Anna.” Hanfor bowed. “Might I present you two of my officers? Captain Alvar.” He nodded to the short, wiry man with the black hair and beard. “This is Lady Anna.” He turned to the taller and stockier man with curling sandy hair, clean-shaven except for a curling and drooping mustache. “Captain Himar, Lady Anna.”

  “My pleasure, Lady Anna,” responded Alvar. His black eyes showed a trace of a twinkle, and he had a warm voice.

  “My honor,” said Himar, more formally.

  Hanfor nodded, and the two bowed again to Anna and eased out of the room. Alvar bowed once more and shut the door.

  “These are the best I can offer.” Hanfor gestured to the stools.

  Anna sat, gratefully. “We need to talk.”

  “I would agree.” Hanfor’s voice was droll, but not condescending.

  “Menares just told me that I would be leading some lancers out of here tomorrow morning. I’m a sorceress and a few other things, but I’m not a military leader.” Anna paused. “Menares said you were in charge.”

  “Subject to the orders of the Prophet,” the weathered officer answered. ‘But I am the one who will get the blame should anything go wrong. I try to avoid that.”

  “What are the plans, and how do you suggest I handle my part?”

  “I was told you were very effective at the Sand Pass.”

  “So I’m told. But I went where I was told, and I did my best to destroy the enemy.” Anna shrugged. “It worked.”

  “Menares told me that you had wanted the Prophet’s troops marshaled in Pamr? Is that so?”

  “Not exactly … .” Anna explained, without giving details of the spells or their precise hoped-for effect, how she would try to use the river to decimate the Ebran forces, but how that required that Eladdrin stay on the south side of the Chean, and close to the bluffs.

  Hanfor spread out a small map. “Show me.”

  “Here—see, there’s the ford, and the trail runs along here. This map doesn’t show it, but it’s there.”

  The overcaptain pursed his lips, then asked as he straightened from the map on the small table, “So you do not have any real tactical plans?”

  “Heavens, no. I thought that was up to whoever commanded the troops. And I probably messed things up because I’m not a military person.” Anna spread her hands. “I should have come to you sooner, I suppose, but I was trying not to do anything to offend Lord Behlem. A few things have happened, and I’m not used to everything in Liedwahr.”

  “Lady Anna, I had hoped it would be a pleasure to work with you, and it appears as though it will be.” Hanfor smiled, warmly.

  “Why?” Anna tried not to sound skeptical at Hanfor’s pleasure.

  “You know what you need to be effective. You tell me, but you do not insist on how I must create the situation. You do not pretend to know what you do not. That makes my life much easier. It is also much easier on the armsmen.” Hanfor stood and paced to the small window, not looking at Anna. “I can see certain problems, however.”

  “Such as?”

  “You need an escort strong enough to fend off their heavy scouts, yet you will need to be close enough to where you do your sorcery, and you do not wish to be detected. Can you throw a concealment spell?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Anna frowned. “I could test one later today. I have time. What else?”

  “I see that as the single largest problem.” The overcaptain turned. “You can ride, quickly, I hope.”

  “I have learned that.”

  “Can you use spells while riding?”

  “I have used them from the saddle, not while riding.”

  “Hmmm … that should work with that beast of yours. You are taking just the one player?”

  “Daffyd? Yes. I need his support.” And more, but if I had to rely on players like Fiena … forget it.

  “What if the Ebrans do not come near your river, but detect your actions and circle around you?”

  “Then I move back and use what I have. It won’t be as effective, but it should work as well as at the Sand Pass. I have some other spells as well, in case they have some way of stopping what I
used there.”

  “I wish some armsmen thought in those terms.” Hanfor shook his head. “I must think about the best way to work this out. I will talk to you in the morning before you go. Now … you should know the order line—”

  “Order line?”

  “Captain Alvar will be the senior captain, and all orders actually must go through him to the lancers.”

  “So I don’t order anything stupid?”

  “He is a brave man, Lady Anna. And experienced.”

  Anna thought for a moment. Anyone who agreed to serve under a sorceress in this culture was probably brave—to say the least. “Did you choose him?”

  “I told him that you were reasonable, and that you were loyal to those who support you. Was I wrong?”

  “No,” Anna admitted. “I don’t think so.”

  “In his absence, or if something occurs to him, the orders would go through Captain Himar—except for your personal guard under Subofficer Spirda. Spirda answers to you, directly, and I will emphasize that to him again, and to the captains. You will not have trouble there.”

  Looking at the weathered face, Anna was certain she wouldn’t.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  “I do not think so, but we can talk in the morning. I will be there to see you off.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I see off all detachments, Lady Anna.”

  “I’m sorry. I told you I was no military person.” She rose from the too-hard stool.

  “Unlike some, lady, you acknowledge that,” answered Hanfor, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile, as he inclined his head and walked to the door opening it for her.

  “Thank you, overcaptain,” said Anna as she left the small space.

  The sentry remained frozen in place as she left, heading for the courtyard—still bustling with activity. She could still hear the chickens, and she wondered if all the horse hoofs on the stones stirred them up. Was it because travelers meant slaughtered chickens? Anna shook her head and dashed across to the north tower.

  Back in her room, she rubbed her temples and then her neck. A concealing spell? How could she do that? And what if other magic would see through it? Somehow, she had to set it up so that both sorcerers and nonsorcerers could not see where she was—even if she appeared in a scrying glass or pond.

  How?

  Camouflage? She filled her goblet, deciding against cooling her room until she was certain her headache had passed. Besides, she had to work out the concealment spell.

  First, she took a long swallow of the lukewarm water. Then she dragged out the greasemarker and some of the paper Skent had dredged up for her. It could be a long day.

  86

  Anna patted Farinelli and turned in the saddle, looking away from the sun that still almost touched the eastern horizon. Spirda rode at her left, Alvar at her right, and Daffyd to the right of the captain, almost on the shoulder of the road.

  Behind them, the dry road dust rose like a plume, cloaking the few roadside trees in brown, and most of the lancers in the rear of the column. Moving troops by horse in Defalk certainly was easy enough to detect. The dust could be seen from deks or leagues away. They were less than three deks east of the Falche River, and already the heat haze and the dust had cloaked both the stone bridge across the Falche and Falcor, as if they had vanished, as had most of its people over the previous weeks.

  Anna turned her gaze back to the dusty road ahead that stretched into the rising sun. Her eyes squinted against the glare. Her stomach growled; her system had not enjoyed bread and cheese before dawn, especially in the quantities required. Then, she seldom enjoyed anything that early, something Sandy had never understood, with his chirp-bird early-morning chatter.

  She readjusted the battered, floppy-brimmed hat, but the sun was too low for the brim to block all the glare. Her fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger at her belt, then dropped away.

  “The rest of the Prophet’s forces will begin to march tomorrow morning,” Alvar said, drawing his dapple fractionally closer to Farinelli and Anna.

  The sorceress nodded politely, although Hanfor had told her as much as she had saddled Farinelli in the predawn grayness. Absently, she patted the gelding again.

  “They will be two days behind us by the time we reach Sorprat,” Alvar continued.

  “The armsmen on foot?” Anna asked, to give him the chance to explain.

  “Aye, and the supply wagons. The land is too poor to forage, and besides, if we foraged, the locals would shoot arrows at our backs as much as at the Ebrans. Perhaps more, for they fear us less.”

  Anna hadn’t thought about supply wagons. Then, she hadn’t thought about the logistics of waging war in a medieval culture. There was too much she still had not considered, far too much.

  “Kkchheww!”

  At Daffyd’s sneeze, Anna glanced to her right. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, lady, fine, except for the dust.” The player rubbed his nose and sniffed as if trying to stifle a second outburst.

  “Dust—we will breathe plenty of that before we reach Sorprat,” Alvar said with a laugh. “I have been in the rear, and being in the van is better, far better.”

  “Until the arrows fly,” answered Spirda.

  “If they fly,” said Daffyd.

  With that indirect reminder, Anna felt her shoulders sag. Her choices were abysmal. If she were totally successful, thousands of Ebrans would die. If she were unsuccessful, she and thousands of Nesereans and Defalkan levies would die. If she were partly successful, thousands on each side would die. Why did it have to be that way?

  Her mouth twisted. She could bemoan her situation, but the days ahead were no time to be self-sacrificing. She’d done that, and with little enough to show, in her years in academia.

  She leaned forward and thumped Farinelli’s shoulder again.

  87

  WEI, NORDWEI

  “Yes Gretslen?” Ashtaar motions the blonde woman into the room. Through the open window at her back come the sounds of hammers, saws, and the scattered curses of carpenters and masons beginning the rebuilding of the dock quarter.

  Gretslen stops opposite the table and waits.

  “You may sit.” The dark-haired woman’s fingers fold around the polished oval of black agate. “What have you to report?”

  “Both the Ebrans and the Nesereans are moving toward Pamr. The Prophet has nearly eight thousand of his best armsmen, plus a number of Defalkan levies. Eladdrin has about ten thousand under arms, as well as his darksingers.” Gretslen shifts her weight in the hard chair.

  “What of the blonde sorceress?”

  “She rides ahead of the Prophet’s forces, perhaps two days.”

  “Alone?”

  “With a personal guard and several companies of crack lancers.”

  “Behlem must put great stock in her.” Ashtaar laughs softly. “Or he needs her and mistrusts her.”

  Gretslen does not answer the observation.

  “Can you detect any spellcasting?” pursues the spymistress.

  “Before the sorceress left, she nearly rent the chords of harmony. She opened a small gate to the mist worlds, briefly. We could not see what was involved or why.”

  “And she is well enough to ride?” Ashtaar asked.

  “She was walking later that day.”

  Ashtaar’s fingers tighten on the polished rock. “You are certain? No bums? No fire?”

  “Very certain, honored Ashtaar. She is mighty and knows it not.”

  “I would like a written report on this matter. By tonight.”

  “Yes, Ashtaar.”

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Eladdrin is trying to seek out the sorceress, also.”

  “The man is no fool. He knows his greatest danger. What else?”

  “The lady Cyndyth is traveling to Falcor with the envoy from Mansuur.”

  “And?”

  “That is all … but we will continue to scry.”
/>
  Silence seeps across the room, blotting out the noise from the city repairs.

  Her fingers still caressing the black agate oval, the spymistress’s eyes focus on the door behind the blonde woman, and she says quietly, “That is all. The report. By tonight.”

  “Yes, honored Ashtaar.” Gretslen eases out of the room, not quite backing, but not turning away from the spymistress either.

  88

  Anna rode closer to the dozen armsmen who sweated and toiled in the heat with the small spades. She felt almost guilty as they worked, but she wouldn’t have lasted an hour—a glass, she corrected her thinking—digging in the heat of Defalk.

  Her eyes turned eastward, down the gentle rise that was barely perceptible to the highway from Mencha. To her left was the road cut down to the Sorprat ford. She studied the waist-high sun-browned grass in front of the trench—she’d insisted that no one walk or ride on the down-rise side—and then the trench itself.

  “That’s deep enough,” Anna said to Alvar, after inspecting the trench. Even Farinelli and several mounts would fit into the sloped end-ramps angled into the center part of the excavation, and with the spell, she hoped Eladdrin would not see them—at least until it was too late.

  “Clean it up, square it out,” ordered Alvar. “Then mount up.” The captain turned in his saddle toward Anna, as if to speak, then paused.

  In the slightest of breezes, a few stalks of brown grass whispered, not enough to cover the mutterings from the trench.

  “ … glad she is pleased … not the one digging …

  “ … sshh … you want to be up here with her … when the dark ones …”

  “ … better dig than die, Fifard … .”

  Anna pursed her lips, then waited for Alvar.

  “I still do not fully understand the need for a trench.”

  The sorceress didn’t, either, but her feelings told her it was necessary, and she’d learned years ago that every time she disregarded her feelings she ended up in trouble. Here trouble meant death.

  “What is the difference between this grassland and that?” Anna gestured from where the trench gaped to the grasslands more to the south of the bluffs. “Or those?”