“I’d better get my lutar and glass ready,” Secca said.
Alcaren nodded, taking a last look at the headland before following Secca aft across the gently pitching deck and through the hatch into the captain’s cabin.
There, Secca laid the glass upon the table and took out the lutar, tuning it carefully. Then, clearing her throat, she sang.
“Show us now and in the light of day
Any who would bar our landing on Stygia ‘s quay
or ships that lie in wait to fight . . .”
The glass remained blank, showing only the reflection of the overhead.
Secca nodded, then gathered both the grand lutar and the leather-wrapped traveling glass. Alcaren picked up his cased lumand and took the glass from Secca. Both had already repacked their saddlebags in anticipation of porting in Stygia, but left them on the doublewide bunk when they left the cabin.
The two climbed the ladder to the poop deck, where Denyst stood forward of the woman at the helm. The captain’s eyes studied the lighter blue waters inshore of the Silberwelle.
“Shallower Than I’d like, but there’s a channel. Narrow, but not so narrow as the East Bay in Encora.” Denyst laughed, once, her laughter cutting through the morning.
“The glass shows no one is there to stop us,” Secca observed.
‘Wouldn’t think so. Not so as this is a place where most would land lancers or the like.”
“Except us,” Secca said.
The three watched as the Silberwelle led the way toward the sthall harbor that was supposed to lie below and betweón the gaps in bluffs to the west of the headland.
Secca could just make out the outlines of dwellings on the grassy bluffs above the harbor when Palian, Delvor, Wilten, Delcetta, and Richina joined them.
Then, from nowhere seemingly, appeared the long-faced chief archer, who bowed. “Should you need us, we stand ready, Lady Secca.”
“Thank you, Elfens. The glass shows no enemies, but we will let you know.”
After a sweeping bow, Elfens descended to the main deck.
“The players stand ready on the main deck, should you need them, Lady Secca,” Palian said.
“Thank you. I don’t think we will, but if we do, we’ll have little notice.”
“Indeed,” murmured Wilten.
Stygia was indeed a small harbor, if it could even be called that. Less than a score of dwellings rested on low bluffs overlooking the ocean. Between the two bluffs was a rocky depression or narrow valley where a small stream entered a semicircular bay, barely big enough for two oceangoing traders. From the rocky base of the western bluff a semicircular breakwater extended. The top of the breakwater was paved in cobblestones, and a narrow stone way led from the foot of the dark stones along the base of the bluff toward a narrow flat stretch of land on the west side of the valley where the stream entered the bay. What looked to be a single warehouse was the only structure below the bluffs.
A trail-like road wound up the west hillside through several switchbacks.
“It’s even smaller than it looked in the glass.” Secca glanced at Denyst.
“Only a bit of chop. We can unload there. Be a while. We can bring but one vessel in at a time.”
Secca looked to Alcaren. “Would you use the glass to see if there are any lancers or armsmen around?"
Without a word, the broad-shouldered Ranuan unwrapped the traveling glass and set it on the deck. Then he took out the lumand. Alter tuning the instrument, he sang.
“Show us now and in clear light
any of Sturinn close enough to fight. . .”
The glass remained silvered, displaying only sky and sails.
Wilten nodded, then glanced toward the small harbor, as did the others.
“Thank you,” mouthed Secca to Alcaren. She should have realized earlier that the overcaptains needed to see that there were no Sturinnese nearby, even if she and Alcaren had already seen that there were none.
Alcaren nodded.
Behind them, Denyst began issuing commands that sounded absolutely meaningless to Secca, but with each command, another set of sails was furled, and the Silberwelle slowed, almost crawling inshore.
"Look!” called Richina. “Someone’s leaving.”
As Secca and the others watched, two figures tumbled from the warehouse, opened a sliding side door, and led out two mounts. Without closing the stable doors, they rode quickly up the narrow road, leaving dust hanging in the air.
"Didn’t like our look, did they?" Denyst laughed.
Secca and Alcaren continued to watch, but could see no other signs of people, even when Denyst brought the Silberwelle in under short sail, the ship barely creeping up to the two closely spaced bollards near the end of the quay.
“First squad!” ordered Delcetta. “Stand by to disembark!”
“Green company! Second squad! Stand ready!” ordered Wilten.
Secca studied the harbor and the single warehouselike structure again, but it appeared empty, as if the two riders who had fled had left it deserted.
From the higher poop deck, Secca and Alcaren watched, with Delvor and Palian—and the players to the seaward side of the ship—all ready for any spellsong that might be necessary. Not only was the long quay empty, but so was the entire area below the bluffs---that Secca could see even be-fore the first squads of lancers from Loiseau and the SouthWomen hurried toward the single warehouse.
In less than half a glass, after the crew and lancers had begun to walk mounts down the gangway and onto the narrow cobbled surface of the quay, Delcetta and Wilten returned.
“No one’s here, lady,” reported Delcetta.
Behind her, Wilten nodded. “They may be reforming at the end of the road, at the top of the hill.”
“It looks like the houses have been abandoned,” suggested Delcetta. “They wouldn’t want to face the armsmen carried on eight vessels.”
"With the Sea-Priests,” Wilten replied, “it is better to be certain.”
"We’ll check the glass to see if there’s anyone there,” Secca said.
"Would you like me to do that?" murmured Alcaren.
“If you would,” Secca replied.
Alcaren again took up the lumand.
“Show close and clear the houses on the hill,
and armsmen or lancers near them still…”
.
All the glass showed was vacant-looking dwellings, not a single lancer or armsman, and not even a single person of any sort.
Secca looked to Wilten, then Delcetta. “Let us be thankful that there are no armsmen here. There will be enough battles to come.”
14
The late-afternoon wind moaned out of the north, and the sun hung just above the lower Westfels. Trying not to shiver in a green lçather riding jacket that felt all too thin against the wind, Secca looked to the west, beyond the hills with bare-limbed trees to the Westfels behind them, still covered with snow, except where patches of trees rose above the snow or where the rock was too steep to hold snow or trees.
Then she turned her eyes back to the frozen dirt road her forces traveled. The high plains stretched for deks before them, filled with winter-browned grass that had faded into a pale tan and had yet to be supplanted by the green shoots of spring.
“It should not be this cold,” said Alcaren, riding beside her.
“You think the Sturinnese have used sorcery on the weather?” asked Richina from where she rode directly behind them, beside Wilten.
“This ground has not seen snow,” replied Alcaren. “Otherwise, the grass would be more matted and flattened. Yet the wind blows chill enough to have frozen the road.” He looked sideways at Secca. “Could you do such sorcery?”
“Not without much effort and study, and perhaps not then, but the Evult did, with the massed voices of his Dark Monks. That was how he created the years of drought that almost conquered Defalk. It could be that the Sturinnese could do such with voice and drums.” She paused be
fore continuing. “I would think they would have to be much closer to the Westfels to create that kind of sorcery. It may be that we face merely unseasonable cold.”
“Most unseasonable,” confirmed Alcaren, his eyes going to the road ahead.
A pair of riders—one a SouthWoman in crimson and blue and one a lancer of Loiseau in green--- rode back toward the vanguard of the column. Wilten eased his mount onto the shoulder of the road, and after inclining his head to Secca, rode ahead to join Delcetta in meeting the scouts.
‘What do you think?” asked Alcaren.
“The scouts have seen little, else they would be hurrying,” replied Secca.
“According to the glass, the Sturinnese have just left Dumaria on the river road to Envaryl. They may not even reach Fehern’ s forces, such as they are, before we do.” Alcaren frowned. “I like that not.”
“Nor I.” Secca shook her head. “Yet the glass shows nothing untoward in Envaryl, save that the disguised Sea-Priest still advises Fehern.”
“Would that we knew exactly how he advises Fehern.” Alcaren snorted.
“He will offer what appears in Fehern’s advantage, but is not. We just do not know how he couches such advice.” Secca broke off as Delcetta and Wilten rode back and swung their mounts onto the shoulder of the road to ride alongside Secca and Alcaren.
“The scouts report that there is a hamlet less than five deks ahead,” Wilten reminded Secca. “It is empty.”
That didn’t surprise Secca. Every town or hamlet they had entered in the, three days since they had left Stygia had been hastily abandoned. “Will it provide enough shelter against the cold and wind?”
“There are several large barns and a half-score of dwellings,” Delcetta added. “It will be cramped, but all will be out of the weather. The scouts say there are some animals that are stragglers from those the peasants drove away with them.”
“If you can round them up, go ahead,” Secca said.
As Delcetta and Wilten nodded and rode back to the vanguard, Secca shook her head. While she disliked foraging off those who had little, circumstances were leaving her little choice. But then, it seemed that very little in dealing with the Sturinnese left her much choice.
“Lady?” asked Richina, easing her mount forward. ‘Why do the Dumarans flee us? We have done them no ill.”
“Not in more than a score of years,” Secca replied. “But Lady Anna did invade Dumar, if not this part of the land.”
“Peasants fear any lancers. Almost always, they will lose stock and provisions. They might well flee before Fehern’s forces as well,” Alcaren added.
“Even in Ranuak?" asked Secca with a laugh.
"We have far fewer lancers,” he countered. “And . . .there is so little fertile land that the Matriarch cannot countenance such. We must trade or fish for our sustenance, and that is why all appreciate what you did to break the blockade.”
“Even the Ladies of the Shadows?" pressed Secca.
“They are governed by fear, and little more.”
“Fear is a dangerous mistress,” mused Secca, wondering, as she often had since the attempt of the Ladies to assassinate her, how the fruits of sorcery could possibly be as bad as the enslavement of every woman in Liedwahr in chains that a Sturinnese victory would bring. How could any sorcery she might use create something that bad?
15
The dwelling was that of a more prosperous peasant farmer, constructed mostly of fired mud bricks, with a large common room that formed an “L” with the kitchen, and a separate bedroom that held two beds, a large one, and a small cot-like one set against the wall. Despite the chilly air, the cottage held the odor of dirt, rancid grease, and mold.
In the common room, seven figures gathered around the long and battered wooden table, with its two wooden benches. On one side were Secca, Alcaren, and Richina. Holding her lutar, Secca stood between and behind Alcaren and Richina, who sat on one bench. On the other bench sat the two chief players and the two remaining overcaptains.
The fire in the wall hearth took the chill off the room, but little more, as the wind howled around the cottage. A single candle sat in a battered holder in the middle of the table, beside the traveling scrying glass set there. The room was dim in the late afternoon, where, outside the cottage, high gray clouds brought twilight even before the sun had set behind the Westfels. Inside, the puddles of light cast by the fire and the sole flickering candle barely lifted the gloom.
All seven studied the image in the glass, which showed a force of perhaps two companies of Sturinnese. The riders wore heavy white leather jackets with fur-lined caps. Despite the cold, and with no visible orders, they rode in formation, exactly two by two. Another group of riders followed the main body, with packhorses behind them.
In the dimness Secca squinted at the glass. The objects carried by the packhorses appeared to be cylindrical. She moistened her lips.
“Those are quivers lashed behind their saddles,” Alcaren said, gesturing toward one of the riders, “and those are bows covered in oilskins.”
“The riders are archers, and they’re followed by a small group of drummers and players.” After a moment, Secca added, “They’re headed toward us, but they came out of Narial, it seems.”
When the others had studied the image for what seemed long enough, Secca sang the release couplet, then turned from the glass on the rough wooden table and walked toward the window, halting as she realized that the inner shutters were solid wood, and closed. Even with both inner and outer shutters closed, cold air seeped into the small cottage. She turned, still holding the lutar in her left hand, and nodded slowly. “We’ll need spells, new ones.”
“Even with your current spells, lady, they cannot stand against you and nine companies of lancers,” Richina replied.
“That is not their intent,” Alcaren said. “They do not intend to get closer than a dek, if that.”
Richina glanced from Alcaren to Secca, then back to the broad-shouldered. overcaptain and sorcerer. “But how can they . . ."
“The arrows,” Secca said. “They will use drums and Darksong to guide the arrows against us.”
“They must know you can stop that,” protested the younger sorceress.
“Do they?" asked Alcaren. “Lady Secca has not shown any sorcery that carries that far, not on land, and not against an enemy she has not seen on a battlefield. Besides, it will cost them little to try, and could cost us dearly.”
“It will also reveal what we can do and cannot do,” Secca said slowly, “before they must face us in a full battle.”
“Not if none of them escapes,” said Palian, her voice flat.
The sorceresses and Alcaren looked to the chief player. Palian remained silent, her eyes meeting Secca’s.
“It is hard to project the firesong that far away,” Richina said.
“There must be other spells,” Palian said, her eyes remaining on Secca.
Secca said nothing, but Palian continued to hold her eyes.
Richina glanced from Secca to Palian and back again. Delvor looked down at the table. Wilten appeared to be looking at no one and nothing, while a faint smile played across Delcetta’s face. The faintest furrow appeared on Alcaren’s brow.
“There may be,” Secca finally temporized, thinking of the notes she had taken from the sealed strong-room two seasons before, notes she had not wished to study again. “There may be”
Palian nodded. “One seldom regrets trying; one always regrets not having tried.”
“Unless one dies because of either trying or not trying,” Alcaren said, his tone conveying an archness that Secca could tell was meant to provoke a bit of levity. “The problem is that you often don’t know which is better?”
Secca laughed, softly, but without humor. “I know which is better, but it’s not much better.”
“Anything is better than allowing the Sea-Priests to take Liedwahr,” Palian said mildly.
Wilten cleared his thro
at.
Everyone looked at the Defalkan overcaptain. “Ah . . . you talk of spells. I have simpler questions. How far away are these archers, and do you plan that we should ride to meet them or wait here where we have shelter?”
Alcaren laughed, a sound open and without bitterness. “You’re right, Wilten.” He looked to Secca. “A day and a half, I would say. What do you think?”
“About the same.” Secca looked to Delcetta and Wilten. “You suggest we let them come to us, and let our lancers and mounts rest?”
“If you can perform sorcery near here,” replied Delcetta. “The hills to the east . . . would they suffice?”
The ShadowSinger Page 8
