Shadowsinger: The Final Novel of The Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt

  Lord Robero will no longer even heed his own consort. Alyssa has left the liedstadt and taken the children to Morra and her parents. She had not spoken to Lord Robero in the weeks before she left. The old guard captain—Rickel—asked for his stipend and left Falcor, to serve, I believe, under Lady Alseta at Mossbach. Lord Robero growls at everyone, save me and Arms Commander Jirsit. Jirsit has told him, as have I, that seeking any agreement with Sturinn is foolhardy. Robero’s only response has been that it is better to seek an agreement while he still has sorceresses left than to be forced to agree to anything when he has none.

  I do not know what you will do, but I trust that you will follow your own heart and thoughts. Before Lady Asaro left Falcor, she suggested that the mountain air at Denguic might be refreshing and that she and Lord Kinor would be most pleased to host me. I might indeed find it so…and, of course, I could check the north road to Nordfels, perhaps find some improvements to make there…or travel northward, if necessary, perhaps to visit Lysara…

  Secca slowly lowered the scroll, her face frozen. Travel northward? Anna had never meant her roads as means of flight. Yet if Jolyn is considering fleeing to Dubaria, or even to Nordwei…

  “What is it?” asked Richina.

  Secca forced a shrug. “Lord Robero is most concerned and suggests that, if there is any other way to deal with the problems in Neserea, we should attempt such.” Secca offered a false and lopsided smile. “If not, we are to proceed with great caution. Very great caution.” She snorted. “How does one proceed with great caution against the Sea-Priests?”

  Alcaren laughed, sardonically. “By making sure one can destroy them, I would suggest.”

  “What did the lady Jolyn say?” asked Richina.

  “That she feared Lord Robero was being too cautious.” That was certainly true enough. Secca took a deep breath. “I need to think for a moment.”

  Richina smiled as she replaced the lutar in its case. “I’ll be walking along the pier. Easlon or Dymen can come with me.”

  “Both,” suggested Secca.

  Alcaren looked up from where he was rewrapping the scrying glass and nodded.

  Alcaren and Secca remained in silence for several moments after Richina left.

  “That was not what the scroll said, was it?” murmured Alcaren.

  Wordlessly, Secca handed the scrolls to him, waiting while he sat down on the cot beside her and read them.

  When he had finished, Alcaren bent toward her and whispered in her ear so softly that Secca could barely make out his words. “You are disobeying an order.”

  Secca put her arms around him and replied in a murmur into his ear, “I’ll claim I never received it. If we save his rule, then how can he complain? If we do not…then…does it matter?”

  He pointed toward the scrolls, raising his eyebrows in silent inquiry.

  “Sometimes, messages sent by sorcery arrive charred,” she murmured. “Sometimes, they do not arrive. Robero need not know which.”

  Alcaren offered a crooked smile. “The lady Anna taught you well.”

  But did you learn it well enough? Or are you overreaching yourself and ensuring that Sturinn will turn every woman in Liedwahr into a chattel and slave this year—instead of in five?

  She shivered.

  Alcaren squeezed her in reassurance, but she still felt cold deep inside.

  72

  Secca sat on the end of her cot in the tent, two sheets of parchment in her hand as she let the ink dry. She glanced down at the parchment, a message that should have been sent days before, had she thought. The stained and worn silk panels fluttered in the light breeze of midday. Outside lay a harbor still empty of ships. At the sound of boots, she looked up.

  The tent panel was drawn back, and Alcaren stepped inside. “I wondered where you were.”

  “I’ve been trying to remedy what I should have done sooner. I should have thought of this earlier.” Secca rubbed her forehead. “Dissonance, I’m tired.” She looked up from the parchment she was rereading.

  “Carrying the wards is hard on you,” Alcaren replied carefully.

  “It makes it harder to think, but…” She sighed.

  He laughed. “My lady…you have defeated the Sturinnese when no others could.”

  “There is still much I do not know. Everything has happened so quickly, and I’ve been so tired that I haven’t been thinking. We need to send a message with the warding spellsong to Jolyn.”

  Alcaren’s mouth opened, and he shook his head. “That…I did not think, either.”

  “I know,” Secca said tiredly. “If they can strike at us, what is to stop them from striking at anyone who is not warded? We should have done it days ago, but the glass shows she is fine, and if we hurry, there will be no harm done.”

  “You cannot send it,” he pointed out.

  “Richina can send it. She must.” Secca extended the sheets of parchment. “The second one is the spellsong.”

  Alcaren took the sheet from her and began to read.

  Secca stood and moved so that she could see what she had written as he read it.

  Dear Jolyn—

  We are in Dumar, and awaiting ships from the Matriarch to take us to Neserea…

  “Clever,” Alcaren said. “You would send it as if we had not received the others, and you have even written it so that Richina would not know.”

  “Richina should read it before she sends it,” Secca replied.

  He nodded and returned to reading her words.

  …we hope they will arrive in the next few days.

  The Sturinnese forces and their sorcerers are riding northward into Neserea. We have discovered that they now have developed a spellsong that can strike from a distance. It is strong enough to kill unprotected lords or sorceresses. I have attached the warding spell that will protect you from such sorcery and also limit the abilities of the Sea-Priests to see you in a glass. The warding spell lasts until it is attacked, and then it must be resung. Be warned that this spell takes most of your strength just to hold.

  The Sturinnese are not yet thinking about you, it would appear, but I have few doubts that they will as time passes, and I would not wish you to be unprotected. I would strongly suggest that you keep Anandra with you, and that one of you sing the ward spell and hold it for a week, and then the other. Whoever holds the ward spells will have little ability besides a few scrying spells.

  We will try to let you know once we have arrived in Neserea…

  Alcaren looked up. “Do you think she will use it?”

  “Could I say more?” asked Secca.

  “Not that you dare,” he reflected. “Nor any words that would do any good.” He handed the parchment back to her. “Richina was walking on the end of the pier. I will find her.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Alcaren stepped from the tent, Secca pulled the tarnished bronze tube from beneath her cot. You should have thought about this earlier. She massaged her forehead once more, trying to reduce the dull aching. Anna tried to show you, to let you know. A bitter smile crossed her lips. Why is it that you don’t begin to understand until it’s too late…or almost so?

  She had no answers for her own questions, only the hope that the warding spellsong would reach Jolyn in time.

  73

  “Lady Secca!” came a voice from outside the tent where Secca had tried to rest and regain more strength—and tried not to worry too much about her failure to warn Jolyn earlier.

  She sat up and swung her still-booted feet onto the dust-covered stones that had once been the floor of some structure swept away by the sorcery of the Sea-Priests, or perhaps merely the remnant of an older building revealed by the scouring force of the massive wave. “I’m coming.”

  Alcaren, who had been napping on the cot normally used by Richina, shook his head sleepily. “What is it?”

  “It’s a South Woman officer, ser,” offered Achar from outside the tent.

  “Thank you.” Secca stepped outside, followed by a
sleepy-eyed Alcaren.

  Waiting for them in the brisk early afternoon sea breeze was a South Woman lancer, an undercaptain Secca did not know. “Lady Secca, ser…Overcaptain Delcetta wished you to know that a Ranuan vessel has entered the channel.”

  Secca looked to Alcaren.

  He grinned. “I did say today.”

  She returned the smile. “Tomorrow, I thought.”

  “I was wrong.” Alcaren’s grin was wider.

  Secca turned back to the undercaptain. “Please tell the overcaptain that we’ll come down to the pier in a moment.”

  “Yes, lady.”

  As the undercaptain turned, Secca added, “We’d better have Richina standing by with the lutar, in case this is a trick of some sort.”

  “Or we could have her scry the ship,” Alcaren suggested.

  Secca rubbed her forehead. “I’m too tired to think well.”

  “Do you think we could drop the wards once we’re at sea?”

  “No.” Secca shook her head, ignoring the additional headache the gesture created.

  “Are you upset with me, my lady?”

  “I’m just upset. You did most of the ward spellsong, but I’m still tired. At times, I hate being small.”

  “You are scarcely small,” he replied with a laugh.

  “Then why am I always tired?”

  “Because you put much energy into everything you do.”

  “So do you, but you are not…never mind.”

  Alcaren touched her shoulder gently. “Just rest for a moment. I’ll get Richina to use the glass. She said she was going to see Palian.”

  Don’t condescend to me. Secca cut off the thought before she spoke it. What’s wrong with you? He’s never condescending. He worries, and you aren’t helping either one of you. “Thank you.” She managed a smile.

  By the time Alcaren returned with the younger sorceress, Secca had drunk half the water in her water bottle, washed up somewhat, and felt slightly less bedraggled.

  Richina carried her lutar, uncased, and inclined her head as she stopped before Secca. “Lady…Alcaren had said…?”

  “If you would sing a spell to determine if the ship in the channel is from Ranuak, that would be most helpful.”

  While Richina checked the tuning on the lutar, Alcaren retrieved the scrying glass from inside the tent, setting it in the shade of the warehouse wall so that viewing the image called up would be easier.

  Then, as Alcaren and Secca watched, the blonde sorceress offered the spellsong.

  “Show us now and in day’s clear light,

  the closest Ranuan ship to our sight…”

  The glass immediately silvered, then displayed a familiar Ranuan vessel under near full sail, against a backdrop of what seemed to be the island offshore from Narial.

  Secca nodded for Richina to let go of the image, and the younger sorceress sang the release couplet.

  “It might be a good idea to bring the lutar with you,” Secca suggested. “I don’t know that I could warm water with a spell right now.”

  “Nor I,” added Alcaren.

  While Alcaren replaced the scrying glass in its wraps and replaced it in the tent, Secca looked seaward. At the far end of the channel, she saw a single vessel, sailing northward toward the pier, where a squad of uniformed SouthWomen stood, waiting by the bollards to help tie up the Ranuan ship.

  “That’s the Silberwelle,” Alcaren observed after stepping back out of the tent. “Denyst must be worried that we’re not here. That’s heavy sail for inshore use.”

  “The SouthWomen on the pier should help show her that we hold Narial,” Secca said tersely.

  Followed by Achar and Dyvan, Secca, Alcaren, and Richina walked toward the pier where the Silberwelle was maneuvering through a tight circle to face offshore before coming to rest at the stone pier. Halfway to where the vessel would tie up, they were joined by Delcetta and Wilten.

  “Thank you for sending a messenger,” Secca told the SouthWoman overcaptain.

  “We thought you should be among the first to know,” replied the blonde officer, with a warm smile.

  “We told the lancers to make ready to embark,” Wilten added. “Though I’d guess it could be today or tomorrow. Or later.”

  “That depends on how they want to load us aboard,” Alcaren said. “We’ll see.”

  The group continued seaward along the pier, walking slowly, watching the Silberwelle easing alongside the stone pier, until they reached a spot between the bollards set farthest seaward. There they waited, roughly equidistant between the bollards, close to where the midsection of the ship would be when the docking was finished.

  The first line was hurled from the bow, striking the lancer waiting at the rearmost bollard with such force that she took two steps backward before recovering and lashing the line around the heavy timber post.

  The second line was thrown to a lancer less than five yards from Secca, who immediately ran forward toward the most seaward bollard and lashed the line there.

  “Easy in! Easy in!” came the order from the poop deck.

  Secca recognized Denyst’s distinctive voice, cutting through the afternoon like a jagged blade.

  Slowly, the big oceangoing trader eased up to the pier, drawn in by the winches cranked furiously by the Silberwelle’s crew. Hempen bumpers festooned the pierward side of the ship, and cushioned the sheathing and timbers as the ship came to rest almost against the bare stone of the pier, stone that had doubtless once been sheathed with softer wood—before the Sea-Priest attack.

  “Double up, now!”

  Another set of lines went out, so that the ship was doubly held fore and aft.

  “Lady Secca, Alcaren! Come aboard!” called the captain.

  Secca turned to Richina, and the two overcaptains. “Richina, if you wouldn’t mind…standing by here with the lutar…just in case?”

  “Not at all, lady.”

  “Wilten, if you haven’t already, would you send someone to tell the chief players that a Ranuan ship is here?”

  Wilten smiled. “I dispatched Garyss a while ago.”

  “Thank you. We need to meet with Captain Denyst. I hope it will not be long.”

  “We stand ready, lady,” replied Wilten.

  “As do we,” added Delcetta.

  Secca walked up the gangway, with Richina and Alcaren just steps behind, almost as soon as it had been extended, noting, once more, how every surface was smoothed and varnished or oiled, and how the brass-work gleamed. They climbed the ladder to the poop deck and found Denyst standing at the railing, watching as her crew checked the lines.

  “Wasn’t sure we’d find you here. Matriarch was convinced, and so was I, but the other captains…” The wiry yet muscular captain shrugged and smiled simultaneously. “So I got to come in to see.” She paused, looking at Secca’s face, and frowning.

  “We had a little trouble with Lord Fehern,” Secca said. “He threw burning water at my face and tried to kill me.”

  “He is dead,” Alcaren added.

  Denyst nodded slowly. “Knowing what I know of his line, I could not say I am surprised.”

  “We’re glad you’re here,” Secca said. “Very glad.”

  “Can’t say as I am. Not in some ways, leastwise. Wouldn’t be here at all, hadn’t seen what you did in Encora.” Denyst turned to a taller and more muscular woman. “You’ve got her now, Elys. I’ll be going below with them.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “You know the way,” Denyst said to Secca, gesturing toward the ladder down to the main deck. “Be glad to sit for a bit.”

  Alcaren scrambled back down the ladder first, then turned, ready to offer Secca a hand, but she didn’t need the aid.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as her feet touched the main deck, before they stepped through the open hatch into the passageway leading back to the captain’s quarters.

  Secca was struck once more both by how compact everything was on the Silberwelle, and yet, comparatively how spac
ious the captain’s quarters were, nearly five yards in width and almost as deep. She wished she could just climb into the recessed double-width bunk, set as it was against the forward bulkhead, and go to sleep. Instead, she eased herself into one of the chairs set around the circular table in the middle of the compartment, a chair secured to the deck itself, as was the table itself and all the other chairs around it.

  Denyst was the last to enter, and she carefully closed the doorlike wooden hatch behind her before settling herself in the remaining chair at the table. She looked at Secca for a long moment before speaking. “We brought the ships you captured for us last winter—white hulls and all, but we couldn’t bring any inshore until you knew they were ours. I thought they could lead the way once we got close to Stura—if we need a decoy.”

  “It’s a good idea. I wouldn’t have considered that,” Secca replied.

  “What would we be traveling to Sturinn for? Something like what they did here in Narial?” Denyst’s eyes were intent as she studied Secca.

  “I’d hoped we could do something like that, except to most of the isles, and not just one port.” Secca was more than shading the truth, but the less said about specifics the better. Besides, no one would believe what you plan.

  Denyst nodded slowly. “It took every word and every coin the Matriarch had to get you these ships, Lady Secca.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Secca replied. “I am surprised at the number.”

  Denyst raised her eyebrows. “You’ve but seen the Silberwelle.”

  “The glass showed nine others. Were we wrong?” asked Secca with a faint smile.

  “Half-score is correct.” Denyst shook her head. “Would that we had more. Another score at least.”

  “So far as we can scry,” Alcaren said, “there are no Sturinnese vessels south of the Hoffspitze right now. There may be some small number of ships near Stura, but the last large fleet is in the Bitter Sea.”