"What of the other sorceresses in Defalk?”
“The others we can wear down . . . or kill through poison, stealth, or golds.” The Maitre shakes his head. “This one . . . if we do not destroy her while we can, she will destroy us and all that Sturinn has built. That must not be, and it will not.” The Maitre’s eyes blaze.
"We will do our part.”
“Good.” The Maitre’s eyes fix on the marshal. “Good.”
71
In the bright and cloudless midmorning, Secca stood before the small tent at the base of a rise that rose to a low crest a mere fifty yards shoreward of the stone piers of Narial---a rise created and scoured down to bare clay by the sorcerous wave of the Sea-Priests seasons earlier. Dwellings and structures remained standing through the upper reaches of Narial, those on the hillsides, but except for the stone bridge spanning the Falche, virtually no structure around the harbor itself had survived. Near the harbor itself, and just seaward of Secca’s tent, were only two crude long buildings, each less than fifty yards in length and but a story high. Built of scavenged bricks and stone, they stood at the base of the one long pier that still had a clear channel to the sea beyond. Both were empty, but from the debris inside, one had served as quarters for some of the Sturinnese, and the other as a warehouse.
Secca had insisted on having her tent erected in the shade beside the more landward of the two, leaving the buildings to the players and lancers. After two days in Narial, although the scrying glass showed no Ranuan ships in the harbor at Encora and a flotilla of ten somewhere at sea, Secca had begun to worry even more about what she could do if the Matriarch had not been able to send ships. The continual tiredness from the drain of the warding spell helped not at all, even if Alcaren had sung it.
Regularly, she continued to scan the harbor and the waters beyond to the south, although she knew that looking would do nothing to make the ships appear or to allay her worries.
“They will be here,” Alcaren said, appearing from behind the uneven brick wall of the warehouse. “They would not have ten ships upon the sea together were they not headed to aid us.”
Secca jumped at his words, but Gorkon did not. Clearly, the lancer had seen Secca’s consort coming, even if Secca had not. Are you fretting so much you cannot even see or hear what is near? "We cannot wait long, not if we are to do what we must before it is too late.” She paused. “Did you have any luck in finding better maps?”
Alcaren held up a small rolled scroll, darkened with age. “I found a section of one, in the papers left to the widow of a merchant captain. She was pleased to let me have it for a silver. It shows Stura, as the main isle and the port there were perhaps a generation or more ago.”
“They can’t be the same now.”
“The buildings may change, but not the land,” he pointed out. “Stura is by far the largest and wealthiest of the isles. That’s from where the Maitre rules. Would you like to see?” He unrolled the short scroll before she could respond.
In spite of herself, Secca had to admire the cartography, and the artistry along the borders as she looked at the partial map.
“These are hard to find,” Alcaren said. “The Sea-Priests have often imprisoned captains or officers who have lost maps.”
“I thought you said you had maps.”
He smiled. “There are maps that show the outlines of the isles, but this one shows more.”
Secca squinted against the glare of the morning sun, taking in the minute depictions of towns and mountains, pausing as she came across a jagged line blocking a stream. “This?” she asked.
“That is a rapids or waterfall. Here . . . that is a volcano, as in the Circle of Fire in Mansuur. There are a number on the north end of the isle.”
“Like the Zauberinfeuer?"
With a smile, Alcaren nodded. “This symbol means a reef shallow enough to strand a ship.”
“You’re pleased with the map?”
“Very much so.”
“I must try another scrying,” Secca said abruptly.
“Cannot Richina? There are no armsmen near, nor any that could reach us soon,” Alcaren said.
Secca knew he was being cautious. There was no sign of any armed force anywhere close, and the surviving Dumarans were happy to provide provisions and leave Secca’s force alone, at least so far.
Almost as if she had been prompted by Alcaren, Richina peered from the tent. “Ah . . . I could do a scrying, Lady Secca. I am well rested now.”
“Why don’t you try?” Alcaren suggested quickly.
Secca almost glared at her consort, but looked away quickly. Why are you so touchy? Wrong time of your season? Or because you’re tired? Or are you feeling guilty about keeping things from them?
Alcaren re-rolled the map carefully, then stepped inside the tent, where, after tucking the map into one of his saddlebags, he began to unwrap the scrying minor.
Richina followed him and began to tune her lutar. Reluctantly, Secca stepped into the tent to join the other two, waiting until the younger, sorceress was ready to begin the spell before moving around to where she could see the glass that Alcaren had placed on the ground between the two cots.
After pulling on the copper-tipped leather gloves, Richina finished tuning, and sang through a single vocalise before clearing her throat and looking at Secca.
Secca nodded, and Richina began the spell.
“Show the ships that sail to meet us here,
as if upon a map with Narial so clear...”
The image in the scrying glass was fuzzy, distorted, and almost impossible to discern. All three studied the glass.
“They’re less than a day’s sailing from here. We probably couldn’t even get this image if they weren’t close to the coast,” offered Alcaren.
“Can you be certain?” asked Secca.
“Not until tomorrow,” he replied with a grin.
Secca wanted to shake her head. She knew he was trying to be cheerful, but all she felt was tired and worried. “You can sing the release couplet, Richina.”
As the younger sorceress released the image, Secca sat down on her cot and looked at Alcaren, still standing just inside the tent. “Aren’t you tired?" Even before the words were out of her mouth, she saw the dark circles under his eyes, and the tightness around his eyes, and she realized that he was at least as exhausted as she was.
“I try not to dwell on it.”
A thumping, half-clanging sound filled the tent. Secca turned to see a brass tube rolling across the packed clay between the cots.
Alcaren pulled on his riding gloves and scooped it up, wrenching the top off and extracting the scrolls inside before dropping the tube back on the packed ground. “It was almost glowing.” The gloves came off quickly, and he handed the two scrolls to Secca.
The longer scroll was fastened with ribbons and seals, and was, presumably, from Lord Robero. Secca opened it first and began to read.
The Lady Secca, Sorceress Protector of the East, Lady of Mencha and Flossbend, Greetings and best wishes from Falcor, and our deepest appreciation for restoring the lands of Ebra, Elahwa, and Dumar to the oversight of Defalk. You have accomplished what many believed impossible, and for that all in Defalk must be grateful . . .
Secca didn’t like the opening words at all. Fulsome praise from Robero was but honey before the vinegar.
. . . You are, with the untimely death of Lady Clayre from the sorcery of Lord Belmar, the sole force capable of holding off the Sturinnese forces in Neserea. Defalk’s very survival depends on you. For this reason, I must request, order if I must, that you return to Falcor as expeditiously as possible, returning as closely as possible by a route through Stromwer, so that all Defalk can be assured that you will return in safety...
She managed to keep a faint smile on her face as she continued reading, even as her stomach was clenching at the words before her.
. . . Any sea voyage, even to Neserea, is fraught with too great a hazard, both to you
personally, and to Defalk as a land. You must not embark on such, but return immediately before the situation becomes intolerable....
With all that you have done, against near-impossible odds, none will think less of you, and many will think more of you for exercising prudence in defending your land...
Secca forced herself to keep reading to the end and to the even more flowery conclusion. Then she carefully re-rolled the first scroll and read the second and shorter scroll.
Dearest Secca,
I hesitate to send these, yet know I must, if only sothat you know how matters be here in Falcor.
A handful of the older lords, led by Ebraak and Fustar, have been catering favor with Robero, suggesting that the only way that he can rule in his own right is with the backing of Sturinn, because only Sturinn can free him of the domination of the sorceresses. You will be happy to learn that Lord Ebraak died of a wasting flux on his way back to Nordlels, although Lord Robero does not yet know this.
Secca shook her head. Lord Cassily would probably be a better lord than his father, but Secca had to worry about Jolyn’s motives, for she doubted Ebraak had died accidentally and coincidentally. Are yours any more pure? She took a deep breath and continued reading.
Others, such as Dostal and Nerylt, have urged him to talk to envoys of the Maitre, saying that talking can do no harm. Those who have suggested opposing Sturinn, such as Lord Kinor and Lord Birke, Lord Robero will not see. There are murmurs that others have his ear, and I have used what means are at my disposal to seek out who they may be. He has met with men I do not know, but the pool shows little, save that they dress well and that they have oft lodged with Lord Ebraak.
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 spell-song 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 re-sung. 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 hol
d 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?”
"Cou1d 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.”
The ShadowSinger Page 33
