The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I think so. I can’t put it quite so delicately. Cyndyth would prefer my absence and Lord Behlem’s presence, and he would like a strong first-line defense against any future Ebran attacks on the borders of his new expanded lands. He can reward me and please her and strengthen his position, all at once.”

  “Most precisely. Now … I would appreciate your discretion until the dinner, for there are those among the overcaptains …” Menares shrugged, and his eyes flickered. “You are a woman, if a sorceress.” He heaved himself out of the chair.

  “I understand.” And she did, hopefully far more than Menares understood that she did. She walked with him to the door, opening it. While treachery was still theoretically possible, she doubted that anything would happen to her, not until Behlem could get her out of Falcor, or until more time passed.

  “Thank you, Lady Anna.” Menares bobbed his head up and down. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Menares. I appreciate all the efforts you have made to resolve what could have been a difficult situation.” Anna lied with yet another smile, hoping it didn’t seem too false.

  After she dropped the bolt in place, she walked to her chair and sat down, trying to figure out the situation. If she’d been offered Loiseau while she was in Mencha, she probably would have taken it and never thought otherwise. But this latest turn of events … while she couldn’t say why, she knew it was all a ploy to put her on ice, or worse. Was she being unreasonable? Menares’ explanation made sense; it made a lot of sense, and she might have done the same thing had she been in Behlem’s position. But Behlem was the type not to give up much of anything, and though she had never met Cyndyth, Garreth’s death told her all she needed to know.

  “Aren’t you being unfair?” she asked herself.

  Besides, even if Behlem’s offer were honest, that meant she’d end up killing more and more Ebrans—or someone—while he got the credit and Cyndyth pulled her cruelties on more and more innocents. She’d be the butcher of Mencha, and people like Virkan would become more and more common.

  She had a chance—a slim one—to make a difference.

  “You also have a chance to get thoroughly killed,” she whispered under her breath. The sorceress shook her head. One way or another, she would die if she accepted Behlem’s “offer.” She felt that coldness down to the pit of her stomach, a coldness that was more solid than any form of “proof.”

  She laughed nervously. Anna Mayme Thompson, born off the holler in Cumberland, Kentucky, and here she was, at the center of a mess that involved half a continent in a world she’d never dreamed existed. Even Avery wouldn’t have believed it. He would have wanted proof. Damn proof!

  She looked at the bellpull, then yanked it and waited.

  Birke was the page who responded.

  Anna met him on the landing. “Birke? Have you seen Garreth?”

  “No, Lady Anna.” Birke’s eyes slipped to the floor.

  Cold inside, Anna said, “If you do, would you tell her I’d like to see her.”

  “They said she’s with the Lady Cyndyth, and I’m not allowed up there, Lady Anna.”

  “If you do …” Anna nodded in a perfunctory fashion.

  “Yes, Lady Anna.”

  “That’s all. Thank you.”

  Birke went downstairs slowly, his eyes drifting back to the landing.

  That might confuse someone … maybe.

  Next came Hanfor.

  She took a deep slow breath, then straightened, and opened the tower door. After crossing a courtyard crowded with armsmen cleaning away mud, she found the tall senior overcaptain in the same small room where she had gone before.

  “Lady Anna. I must say I did not expect you.” The overcaptain rose from the stool. A map was spread on the small table, and Anna could hear horses and men through the open window.

  “Did you hear about last night?” Anna dropped onto one of the stools.

  “Last night?” Hanfor’s face showed total confusion.

  “Good, I’m glad you didn’t. Last night some assassins attempted to enter my chamber. I had noted that the door bolt had been weakened, and I repaired it before I went to sleep. They attempted to use a sledge and chisels to snap off the hinges.”

  “The hinges were outside?”

  “At one time, long ago, I suspect that the room was used for other purposes. It is not large.”

  “I forgot. The north tower has those marks, but they have removed the bars from the windows.” Hanfor nodded. “I take it that you were successful in routing them?”

  “I turned them into a pile of ashes. Now, the Prophet is somewhat distressed, so distressed that he has offered me lands. Through his counselor.”

  “A good distance from here, I would wager?”

  It was Anna’s turn to nod. How far could she go? She frowned. “As a matter of fact, you know the lands.”

  Hanfor’s eyebrows rose. “You worry about such a gift horse?”

  “The idea had occurred to me,” Anna admitted.

  “I do not know what to say, Lady Anna.” The overcaptain’s hand touched his graying beard, then scratched the back of his head. The weathered brows knit together for a moment. “You saved many of my men, even me. But I must tell you frankly that I do not know the cause of this mischief, nor do I believe that the Prophet would have anything to do with such an event at this time.”

  “Rumor has it that his consort is jealous of any woman who is the slightest bit attractive.”

  “I could not deny such a rumor,” mused Hanfor, offering a quick grin that vanished.

  Anna forced herself to relax. “What do you like about what you do, Hanfor? Or do you like it at all?”

  Again, the overcaptain looked startled. “I am sorry?”

  “What you do—why do you like it?”

  “At times, I do not. I am the third son, with no lands and no ear for music, though my sire was sure to see that I knew my letters. That helps.” He shrugged. “Except with weapons, my hands are clumsy, and I am not terribly clever. I understand that many men have these problems, or ones like them, and I found I can lead them.” Hanfor’s eyes narrowed. “Why ask you?”

  “I’m a stranger. I’m faced with the problem of trying to sort out what’s right. You must know that it was hard to kill the Ebrans.”

  “Alvar said you were prostrate for more than a day.”

  “It was hard to decide to do it, too,” Anna mused. “If I didn’t kill them, then I’d die, and so would you and a lot of men. If I hadn’t slaughtered the last thousand, who were helpless, then Eladdrin would have escaped. Was that right?”

  “Hmmmm.” Hanfor scratched his head again. “All armsmen must answer questions like that.” He laughed. “The easy answer is that it is better to live than to die. That is as far as most go.”

  “I’m not most people,” Anna pointed out.

  “You are not. You are a sorceress and a warrior and a beautiful woman. That makes it hard.”

  “I appreciate the compliments. I don’t know that I’m either beautiful or a warrior.”

  “But you are, and now you seek justice.” Hanfor shook his head. “I fear you may not find it, not in this world.”

  “I might have a chance, a small one.” Anna looked at the honest, weathered face. “Should I try?”

  Hanfor laughed wryly again. “Do you have any choice? You are who you are.”

  “I suppose not.” His reaction would have to do. She hoped she was reading the overcaptain right. “But it’s scary.”

  Hanfor was fidgeting. Was everyone afraid to be caught alone with her? If only it were for different reasons. Anna rose and bowed slightly. “I did not mean to take so much of your time, Hanfor, but I appreciate your thoughts.”

  “I will do what I can, Lady Anna.” The tall, graying officer bowed.

  “Thank you.”

  Anna walked back toward the north tower, noting that the west side of the courtyard was filled with wagons, supply wagons, possibly for the great feast.

>   “ …’ Ware the roan! Easy there!”

  “ … keep that team back …”

  In between the teamsters’ calls, she could hear the chickens, brawking from the mud-crusted corners of the walls and by the heap of straw outside the stables. At the sight of the stables, she paused, then turned toward the players’ quarters.

  Although the day was marginally cooler than those of the long summer, she still had to fan her forehead as she stepped through the doorway. Daffyd was alone in the small common room practicing a songspell she had not heard, with a melody that seemed vaguely familiar.

  “That’s lovely,” Anna noted.

  “It be no spell, just a tune. Most are longer, and you can make a mistake without a sorcerer yelling. No offense, lady.” The dark-haired player grinned sheepishly as he glanced up, then around. “They say that some folk tried to enter your room last night and you left them a pile of ashes.”

  Anna nodded. “They tried to break down the door.”

  “No one heard?”

  “No one came,” she pointed out.

  “That be strange. Most strange, especially for a sorceress who delivered the Prophet’s victory.”

  “Strange things seem to happen in Erde,” she observed.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are the other players?” she asked.

  “The counselor sent for them.”

  Anna didn’t like that, either, but she wasn’t liking much of what went on in the liedburg. “Do you know why?”

  “Whenever he uses the mirror, he needs them all. So does the Prophet.”

  “For a mirror spell?”

  Daffyd shrugged, then asked, “Are you going to the big dinner?”

  “I’ve been asked. How about you? Do you want me to get you a seat?”

  “That would be nice, but the players made a place for me, and that might be best.”

  “You’re sure.”

  Daffyd nodded. “I don’t like Zealor or some of his ilk. You would have to worry about me then, and you may have to worry about you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I have never trusted the Prophet, and now is no time to begin.”

  Anna laughed at his sour tone. “If you hear anything that I should know, would you let me know?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “And would you play that tune again? I like music that’s not a spell.” She stood and listened, and the young player went through three other songs before he stopped and wiped his forehead.

  “You’re tired?”

  “I practiced all morn.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry.”

  Daffyd grinned. “Would you join me for something to eat?”

  “Of course.”

  “It be but bread and cheese, and dry beef.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  They walked to the small low-ceilinged room where they had eaten before, and Anna heaped her plate with mostly cheese and bread, but, knowing she needed the concentrated protein, she added two slabs of dry meat. Daffyd had several slabs of the dried beef and a warm sour ale that Anna forwent in favor of a vinegary red wine.

  “Lady,” ventured Daffyd, sitting on one side of the wobbly trestle table, “be it safe for you to remain here?”

  Anna finished a mouthful of the stale and almost musty bread before answering. “Everywhere in Defalk is as safe as anywhere else, I think.”

  “That be an odd way of putting it,” mused the violist, his mouth partly full. “Odd and true. But no great comfort.”

  “Life isn’t meant for comfort, sometimes. Especially if you want to do something.” Anna took a tiny sip of the acid-bitter wine. “You just wanted to avenge your father, didn’t you? And you got me, and look where we are.”

  “Never thought I’d be a player for a sorceress in Falcor.”

  “I never thought I’d be one.”

  Daffyd looked at her for a moment. “There be many here who would rather you be more, than less.”

  Anna swallowed. Even Daffyd? “I am a woman, Daffyd, and your sister’s consort had troubles with that.”

  “He was no true man.”

  At the creaking of the door, Anna glanced up to see a handful of players filing into the room. Fiena was the second one, and, as Anna’s eyes fell on the strawbeny-blonde, the Prophet’s player looked down.

  “Aye, an’ we know where that mirror looked,” muttered Daffyd. “Strange times, indeed.”

  The five other players gathered at the far end of the second table, eating silently, while Anna and Daffyd quickly finished their food.

  Outside, Daffyd nodded and said, his voice muffled by the continuing traffic in the courtyard, “Best ye do what needs to be done. No sense in being … well … the great mountain cats must die in their own skins. Sorceresses, too.”

  “Thank you.” Anna thought she knew what he meant. She had lots of cheerleaders, but then, she’d always wanted to be onstage, rather than in the audience. Now, she had little choice.

  As she walked toward the tower, more supply wagons, and more yelling teamsters, seemed to appear, but Anna saw no familiar faces among the Neserean guards posted around the courtyard.

  Skent nodded as she entered the tower and gestured to the sandy-haired page beside him. “Lady Anna, this is Resor.”

  “You’re from the main part of the hall? Skent had said you were working here now.”

  “Yes, Lady Anna.” Resor measured Anna with his eyes, appraisingly, yet warily.

  “You wonder how one small woman can create consternation?” She tried to keep the laugh light.

  “Not many as would call you small, Lady Anna, either in stature or deeds.” Resor nodded his head. “Some say you have claimed Defalk as your home, having no way to return to your own.”

  “They do?” Anna smiled. “What do you think, Resor?”

  “I would beg your indulgence, Lady Anna.”

  The sorceress pondered for a moment, then responded. “There are sayings where I come from. ‘Home is where the heart is.’ And ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ I hope I have acted correctly.” Anna turned and started up the stairs.

  “ … no answer …” muttered Resor

  “Has she ever raised a hand against any of Defalk?” asked Skent. “Ever?”

  “Oh …”

  Skent was too bright and too vocal, Anna reflected. Still, he had spunk, and he’d managed to survive. Both said something. She walked past her landing and up to the top level, where she rapped on the door.

  “Who be it?”

  “Anna.”

  Essan opened the door herself.

  Anna raised her eyebrows.

  “Now they have gone and taken Synondra. They say that the lady Cyndyth needs her—as if I do not?” Essan snorted, but her eyes were damp. “Come in, if the mess will not bother you. I am old, too old for cleaning and other such foolishness.” She trudged back to her chair and sank into it.

  Anna had not been able to halt her stiffening at the mention of Cyndyth and Synondra, but she slipped into the room, closed the door and made her way to the other chair. What could she say? Especially with all the players and Menares around a mirror, scanning the whole liedburg? “I just wanted to thank you for your courtesy the other day.” She paused, then added, “I will have to repay your warmth and courtesy in another way, but as would your daughter I will.”

  “Now … do not go upsetting an old woman.” Tears seeped from the corners of Essan’s eyes. “You are a gracious lady, taking care to talk to me when few will, and you being from afar.”

  Gracious? It was more a cross between being stubborn, a damned fool, and terrified. “You are too kind, lady.”

  Essan’s eyes crossed to the wall mirror, then back to Anna, before the older woman took a handkerchief and blew her nose, loudly. Then she said, “I am sickly, and tired, and you are kind to look in on me. Best you go before you catch my malady.”

  “As you wish, lady.” Anna rose. “Perhaps I can come again before long and cal
l upon you or your friend Nelmor.”

  “He would be glad, I am sure. Now … off with you.”

  Anna bowed and left, gently closing the door and walking down to her own quarters. This time the room appeared untouched, but she dropped the new bolt in place, then walked to the window. She looked out, down at the portcullis gate and the rows of tents beyond the walls. Thousands of men, and she thought spells would work?

  The sorceress smiled. Was that to cover the fears within, the fear of what she must do, and what she might become?

  103

  FALCOR, DEFALK

  “You are sure she plans nothing?” Behlem paces across the sitting room, resplendent in his formal blue-and-cream uniform.

  “We have exhausted all your players using the mirror to watch her every move. Yesterday, she went to see Hanfor. He was scrupulously polite and excused himself after but a few moments. She ate with her player, and they talked of nothing. She passed a few words with the pages, and then stopped to see Lady Essan, who rather bluntly suggested that the sorceress leave, even after Lady Anna made overtures to her.”

  “And today?”

  “Much the same. She practiced upon her instrument, but said no spells. She made another overture to Lady Essan, which was rejected. She ate with her player, and they talked of music that was not linked to spells—apparently that is possible in the mist worlds, even with words. She groomed her mount, walked around the upper battlements of the north tower, then washed up—”

  “How does she look out of those riding clothes?” Behlem grinned.

  “She is beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as the lady Cyndyth, in a different way.” Menares flushes, then clears his throat. “Then she washed up and cast a small spell to clean and press that green gown she brought back from Mencha—”

  “So she plans to wear a gown tonight,” muses Behlem. “Good.”