The ShadowSinger

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He stood and began the scrying spellsong, accompanying himself on his lumand.

  “Show us now and in this sun’s light

  any Sea-Priests near that we might fight...”

  Before he had finished, the glass in the middle of the table began to display images, and by the time the last note had died away, there were more than a dozen in the silvered glass.

  “Look quickly,” Secca prompted. She didn’t want Al­caren to have to hold the image long, not when she would need all the sorcerous support he could provide in the days ahead.

  The images all showed land-based forces, ranging from armsmen in formation to lancers waiting in loose ranks out­side a barracks. There were some men in green-and-white uniforms in what looked to be harbor-side forts, and others drilling on an open green field.

  “No ships,” offered Denyst. “Strange for the Sea-Priests, isn’t it?”

  Alcaren glanced to Secca. “That’s true. Let me try another one.” He pursed his lips and thought for a moment, before singing a second scrying spellsong:

  “Show us now and in this sun ‘s light

  any ships near that we might fight . . .”

  The mirror remained blank.

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t have some ships, but there aren’t any warships or ships with armsmen aboard,” Secca explained.

  “You have sent a few to the bottom,” Denyst acknowl­edged with a laugh.

  “There is still a large fleet in the Bitter Sea,” Richina added.

  Secca nodded to Alcaren. He sang the release couplet, then slipped the lumand onto the double bunk behind where Palian stood and reseated himself.

  Secca eased the map in front of Denyst, pointing. “How long before we can reach this end of Stura?"

  “Late tomorrow afternoon, if the wind holds.”

  “How close can we come to this point, off the mountain here?”

  “In these waters, hard to say.” The captain tilted her head slightly. Don' t have good charts. Might be able to get within half a dek. If there’s a reef, could be as far as three deks.”

  Secca frowned. ‘We really need to be about a dek away.”

  “You need us to be dead in the water?” asked the captain.

  “No. It would be better if we were moving, because, if the spell works we’ll need to get away quickly. Also . . . we really don’t need any other ships close by us. They can’t help with the sorcery, and we don’t need to worry about them.”

  “You might create another storm?" Denyst raised her eye­brows.

  “It could be worse,” Secca admitted. “It might not be, but it could be. No one has ever sung this spell. The accom­paniment has been played, but the words have not been sung.”

  “Could anyone else—” began the captain.

  “It’s a Mist World spell,” Secca said quickly.

  Most of the faces around the table, even Richina’s, ex­pressed a degree of puzzlement.

  “The people of the Mist Worlds know more about worlds---not just our world,” Secca replied. “Without that knowledge, the spell would not be possible.”

  Skepticism replaced puzzlement on Denyst’ s face.

  “You can explain to me,” Secca began, “how a ship is built, and why the sails are set so. Could you do that, and could anyone build a ship like the Silberwelle, if you did not know how the winds blow and the oceans flow?”

  Denyst frowned.

  “Do you recall the spell that destroyed the crews of the Sturinnese ships in the battle off Encora?” Secca pressed.

  “I recall that it nearly killed you as well.”

  “Have you ever seen sorcery that kills scores without de­stroying anything around them? That spell was Lady Anna’s, and it worked because she knew something that we did not This spell is based on something like that”

  “You don’t want it used again?”

  “This is a different spell, and I’d rather not use it at all,” Secca admitted, “but I have nothing else that will serve.” Nothing that you have been able to find or write.

  “Your face says that more than your words, Lady Sor­cemss,” Denyst say dryly. “Mighty as this spell must be, would you mind if we were set on a seaward course when you sing it?”

  Secca shook her head. “That would be best. The other ships should be at least five deks farther at sea.”

  “That we will arrange.” After a moment, Denyst added, “We’ll be in the channel by sunset today or a glass before. Thought we’d stay at the edge of being able to see the isle of Stura itself, leastwise until after midday tomorrow.” The captain leaned back in her chair.

  Secca looked to Palian. “Can we do another run-through in, say, half a glass?”

  “We will be ready.” Palian’s voice was grave. Secca suspected it would be far graver if Palian under­stood the impact of the spell. Would the players play it well if they knew? Secca wondered, not for the first time.

  88

  Secca found her hands tightening around the port-side railing of the poop deck. She loosened one hand, lifted it, and flexed it, then the other. In the light afternoon air, even under full sail, the Silberwelle seemed to be creeping northwestward away from the center of the forty-dek-wide channel between Stura and the smaller isle of Trinn. The sky was deep blue and cloudless, and the rays of the late-afternoon sun were summer-like, so much so that Secca had taken out her green felt hat to protect her face. With the heat of the sun, the air smelled less salty, but Secca still felt itchy, as she had for most of the voyage, despite her use of song-sorcery to come up with the occasional bucket of fresh water for washing.

  Except for the nine Ranuan ships, the channel was empty. A brief look in the scrying glass earlier in the morning had shown no ships anywhere in the isles, except for three mer­chant vessels tied up at the port of Stura, four others at various other piers, and a number of fishing craft almost everywhere. To the west, the dark line that was the shore continued to become more distinct, but Secca could not make out the landmarks that Denyst and the lookouts reported

  Secca flexed her hands again.

  Alcaren smiled at Secca’s impromptu exercise, but did not speak, his eyes looking aft to the sails of the other ships, now east of the Silberwelle, their courses diverging from that of the Silberwelle with every moment. For nearly two days, the Silberwelle had tracked the coastline of Stura, a land far too large in Secea’s mind to be called an isle.

  After a time, she eased toward the helm platform, near where Denyst stood.

  “How long?" Secca looked to Denyst.

  “Another glass and a half, I’d judge, less if the wind picks up, and more, if it dies off. Looks to stay the same. The channel’s so calm it’s almost eerie.”

  “Can you tell how close we can get?"

  “Not yet. If it’s like this, with no reefs, we can get within a dek and still be in deep water.”

  “That’s important?"

  “In deeper water, the Sea-Priests could not raise a wave that would be more than a swell.”

  Would they raise a wave that could damage their own isle? Secca laughed to herself, realizing how stupid the question was. The Sea-Priests fought to the bitter end when cornered in Liedwahr. Why would that be any different in Sturinn?

  “They may not have sorcerers here who can do that, but I agree. I’d rather not chance that.” Secca frowned. “But they would have to travel to the shore opposite where we are. They don’t know where we’re headed, and we’re not going to be stopping or anchoring.”

  “That’s much to my liking, sorceress,” Denyst said cheer­fully. “Much.”

  “Thank you. I need to tell the players to get ready.” Secca nodded and turned away.

  “How long?" asked Alcaren, as Secca stepped back to­ward the railing.

  “A glass and a half, if the wind stays as it has. Could you tell Palian . . .?” Secca laughed. “What am I going to do? Stand here and wait?” She walked forward, turned, and climbed down the ladder to the main deck.

  A
bout half the players were in shaded spots on the main deck, and Secca found Palian and Delvor deep in conver­sation near the starboard side in a patch of shade created by one of the lower sails. Delvor was nodding in agreement to whatever Palian said.

  Both glanced up, almost guiltily, as Secca neared.

  “Lady Secca,” Palian said.

  Delvor bowed, and then straightened and pushed back his forever-flopping lank brown hair. “Lady.”

  “The captain thinks we will reach our destination for sor­cery in about a glass and a half,” Secca said. “I thought the players should start to make ready for a last run-through in about a glass. Is that satisfactory?”

  "Perhaps a bit before,” Palian replied. “I have some—still---who find preparing on a ship challenges their ability. Then, everything challenges the ability of one of them.”

  Secca smiled sympathetically. She had no doubt that the chief player was referring to the hapless Bretnay.

  Palian glanced at Delvor, then looked to Secca. “Delvor and I were talking over some matters. If you and I could repair to the upper deck . . .?"

  “Of course.” Secca wondered what the two had been dis­cussing and hoped that it wasn’t a problem with the fifth building song or the players. But then, she hoped it wasn’t a major problem of any kind. There are going to be more than enough of those.

  Delvor nodded and stepped away, and the two women crossed the deck, angling aft past the mainmast. Secca ges­tured for Palian to precede her up the ladder to the poop deck. They moved to the railing a good five yards from where Alcaren stood.

  Palian looked at the sorceress. “You never did intend to land on any of the isles of Sturinn, did you, Lady Secca?”

  “No.” Secca eased the water bottle from her belt and took a swallow, looking toward the dark shore on the western horizon, a shoreline that neared and became more distinct with every fraction of a glass that the Silberwelle sailed northwest through the channel and toward the isle of Stura.

  “I know not what sorcery you plan,” Palian said slowly, “save that it will be terrible, and it will create for you the very problems that it did for Lady Anna.”

  “Does not all great sorcery create problems?” Secca glanced toward the horizon, then shook her head. “I am sorry, Palian. Those were unkind words, and unkindly said. I am worried. What do you mean?”

  “You are much more like her than you would admit, lady.”

  Palian would know. Of all in Liedwahr, she would know. “Others have said that, and perhaps because I looked up to her, I have become more like her than I would see.”

  “If your sorcery works, you will destroy Stura. That I know, for you would not risk close to a third of a season upon the open sea for anything less. If you succeed, every man on the face of Erde, saving your consort and the hand­ful that know you, will wish you consigned to eternal dis­sonance. You will be required to use sorcery more than you ever wish for years to come, and after that, every accident and misfortune in Liedwahr will be laid to your name. Men will whisper your name to sons in hatred for generations.”

  Alcaren had turned from his all-too-common position at the railing and slid closer to the conversation in his quiet way, so unobtrusively that neither had noticed until he nod­ded sadly and spoke. “She is right, my lady."

  “Because I use sorcery?" asked Secca, fearing she knew the answer, but wanting someone else to say it. "Or because I have not created death and destruction with blades and bows, or tilling salt into croplands? Or slaying the firstborn of my enemies with bloody blades?"

  “Men hold great honor in using their strength to defeat other men,” Palian said. “Some women also take pride in the strength of their men. With your sorcery, you make their strength of arms as less than the cries of a newborn babe.”

  Secca laughed, mirthlessly. “Anna said the same, if in different words. Yet it is honorable for a strong-thewed man to slay scores who had the misfortune to be born less endowed with strength and muscles, and dishonorable for me or Alcaren or Richina to slay with song. People take with great willingness the roads and bridges we have built, or the fords, and the wealth that has flowed from them. A sword builds no bridges and creates few golds. Nor will all the men and their blades or all those slain by blades build what we have built.”

  “I did, not say what people feel is right, my lady,” Palian replied gently. “But from this day on, you can trust none you know not well, and perhaps not some of those.”

  “So I must follow in her footsteps in this as well?" asked Secca.

  “Had you any choice, in truth?” replied Palian. “You would do what is right, but what is right accomplishes noth­ing in our world, save when it is backed with great force.”

  “A right venal world it is,” Alcaren said, dryly, “and har­mony unsupported is inadequate.”

  “You two are so cheerful,” Secca said, forcing a laugh. “Yet you are right, and I will heed your observations, even as I wish it were otherwise."

  "We all wish that, lady,” Palian replied, “but wishes have not the weight of blades or spells. Delvor also feels as do I, and we wished you to know that. So I think do Wilten and Delcetta, but they have not spoken to us so directly.”

  “You’re right.” Secca inclined her head. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

  “I need to ready my errant players.” Palian offered a wry smile and a parting nod, then headed forward to the ladder and descended to the main deck.

  “She is right, my lady,” Alcaren said quietly.

  “I know she is right,” Secca admitted. “I told her that, but I do not have to like what is so.”

  “You will have to do great sorcery in Neserea as well. The remaining Sturinnese will fight beyond their death. They know that, if you live, Sturinn’s way will die out in time. If you die, nothing will change, and in a generation, two at the latest, another Maitre will return to invade Lied­wahr.”

  “There are other sorceresses,” Secca .protested. “Jolyn is strong, and Anandra and Richina could also be most pow­erful in time.”

  “There are other sorceresses. There is none like you.”

  “You say that because you love me.” She grinned. “Or lust after me.”

  “I do indeed,” he replied with a smile, “but my words are true, and you know they are true.”

  “You believe them true,” Secca admitted.

  “Why do you have such trouble in believing them?” he asked. “Are there others who can raise storms and bridges or topple holds?”

  “There are. Belmar did some of that. So have the Sturin­nese. They use their drums to create storms and fog and raise great waves.”

  “They are many. You are one.”

  “As Palian just told me, that is going to be a problem.” If you survive for it to be a problem. She smiled at Alcaren. “As you become more accomplished, it will be one for you as well, my love.”

  He nodded soberly. “Though I will never be able to do what you do.”

  “Do not say that yet.” Secca took a swallow from the water bottle and replaced it in her belt holder, cleared her throat, and began a vocalise.

  Alcaren stepped away and cleared his throat, following Secca’s example with a vocalise she had crafted for his deeper voice.

  One good thing about the salt air was that her cords felt clearer, and it took less time for her to warm up. By the third vocalise, she was as ready as she would be.

  Alcaren still had trouble with warming up, since he’d had to learn the vocalises from Secca, and they were far from second nature to him, but he finally turned to her. “I am ready, my lady.”

  From the main deck rose the sound of the players begin­ning to tune. Secca glanced forward, listening for a moment, then looked back toward the large isle once more.

  “Lady Sorceress?”

  Secca turned to see Denyst standing there.

  “Not so much time as I’d thought. There’s a reef.” Denyst pointed to the left. “The line of breakers there. Looks to be not quite a
half-dek offshore. The darker water to this side, that shows that there aren’t any shallows, but those breakers directly ahead, that’s where the reef turns. Comes out farther on the other side of the bight. Means you’ll be closest on this end. I can bring us closer inshore here, but only for about a quarter glass, and then I’ll have to run due north, near-on straight out to sea.”

  “Less than a quarter glass before the second turn after the first?”

  “Give or take a bit.”

  “Then turn in, and we’ll sing as soon as we can set up when the ship’s steady.”