“And from the north?”
“There are hills that overlook the keep, perhaps as close as a dek, but there is a gorge between them. There are bridges to the east and west, but they are several deks away.” Tiersen frowned. “I do not recall exactly.”
Secca nodded. “It might work.”
“What?” Tiersen looked at Secca.
“What I’m thinking about.” Secca looked to Palian. “Can the players practice later this evening? I may need a spell-song we haven’t used recently.”
“That we can. Today’s ride has not been hard.”
“As can we,” Delvor added.
“Perhaps you should run through the fifth and sixth building spells now—or once they are settled?" asked Secca.
Palian rose. "By your leave?"
Secca nodded, and both chief players left. Then she turned to the overcaptains. “I don’t know about their lancers, but you may have to be prepared to hold those bridges. I will know more later tonight, or in the morning. We will be riding tomorrow.”
After Wilten and Delcetta left, Secca looked into the lined faces of her friends, recalling how youthful Lysara had appeared so many years before, when the now-graying Lady of Dubnia had taken up a blade, almost losing her life to save Secca’s. “You yet look most serious.”
“The Sturinnese are but half the problem,” Tiersen said slowly.
“Robero?”
“He’s still the same Jimbob you called a bully,” Lysara said.
Richina’s eyes widened, as did Valya’s, but neither spoke. nor moved.
“He would rather rule badly by himself than well with aid,” Tiersen added. “Even Alyssa has left him, though she merely pleaded her need for the healthful air of the mountains of the south.”
“We heard something of the sort from Lady Andra,” Secca replied.
“Cassily was most fortunate there,” Lysara said.
“Do you think Anna foresaw this?” asked Tiersen. “That we would be working together?"
Both Secca and Lysara looked at him.
“That was the whole point of Anna’s fostering so many with ability, my dear," Lysara said. “If you recall. Think about where they all are now."
Tiersen shook his head, mock-ruefully.
“Was abandoning Dubaria hard?" Secca asked Lysara.
“Not that hard. Not after Jolyn showed us in the glass what the Maitre did to Esaria. The hard part was sending Lystar and Terlen to Abenfel. Birke insisted that, no matter what happened, they’d be safer there. Lystar didn’t want to go. A year past his score and he wants to fight the Sturinnese on his own.”
“I suppose he points out that you fought?” Secca grinned. Lysara grinned back. “I told Lystar that he could fight once he could find a sorceress to protect him from sorcery and not until. I fear he might.”
“One of Birke’s daughters?" Secca asked.
“Birke says that Bireya is much like Clayre, except she has red hair. She is almost fifteen, and he was thinking of sending her to study with you.”
“Fylena must approve, then.”
“Bireya’s a younger daughter,” Lysara said, “and both Laron and Stefan are strong and healthy. Laron is looking to consort with one of Cataryzna’s daughters.” Lysara grinned. “Her name is Annya.”
Secca swallowed as a sudden emptiness filled her, that sadness she could never exactly, predict when she felt so deeply the loss of Anna.
“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Lysara asked softly.
“At times. Sometimes, I miss her so much. I wonder if she really knew.”
“I’m sure she did. You always wanted to please her so much.” Lysara shook her head. “Seeing you on that raider beast . . ."
“Songfire,” Secca supplied automatically.
“. . . you looked so much like her, yet you’re not. But you had that air, that presence.”
“I’ll never be like her. No one will,” Secca demurred.
“You are her daughter. Not by blood, but in every way that counts, Secca. Even Tiersen saw it.” At the cough from outside the dwelling, Lysara broke off whatever else she might have said.
"Lady Secca,” Gorkon called, ‘There will be food in a glass. Overcaptain Delcetta wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” Secca replied.
Lysara rose, glancing at Tiersen.
“You and your consort could use a few moments’ rest,” said the Lord of Dubaria, “and we need to see to our lancers and the supplies we brought.” He grinned. “You will eat better, even if we are on the run, so to speak.”
Secca returned the smile, warmed by both the presence and words of two old friends.
123
In the dimness of the common room, a single oil lamp oozed light over the sheets of parchment and paper before Secca on the table. Alcaren sat across from her, watching as she pored over them.
Secca nodded and lifted a single sheet, which she set beside two others.
“Which one was that?” Alcaren gestured to the parchment in Secca’ s hands.
“It is a release spell for the wards.”
He frowned.
“If, as the messengers say, Jolyn joins us tomorrow, I will have her sing it, and then have Richina and Anandra take the wards for the next days to allow you and Jolyn to rest. That way, we will have one set of wards guarding us all.”
“Will you have Jolyn sing against the Sturinnese?”
“In some fashion, but she must have some rest. I would have her join us, if I can. There is a greater complement to our three voices with hers, rather than Richina’s.”
“And you do not wish Richina to sing one of the terrible spells?” Alcaren murmured, inclining his head toward the smaller room where the two young women had retired, Ostensibly to sleep, but more probably to share stories.
“I would prefer not. I would rather have her, Valya, and Anandra well back from the players.”
“The spells are that deadly?”
Without speaking, Secca passed two sheets across the battered wooden table to Alcaren.
He took them, looked at them, but did not immediately begin to read the words. Instead, his eyes went back to Secca.
“Those two are the only ones that look to have the power to break through the wards of the Maitre,” she explained. “Read them. Anna also wrote notes explaining each. Those are the words below the spell itself. Tell me which spellsong you prefer. You will have to sing them with us if they are to succeed.”
“Did she say that?”
Secca shook her head.
“But you know so?”
“I feel such, and Anna warned me never to go against my feelings. When I have, I have regretted doing so. We cannot afford regrets now.” Secca’s voice was cold, almost flat.
Alcaren lifted the sheet holding the first spell, his lips moving as he whispered the words almost soundlessly.
Secca could hear the first few lines.
“Fuse all of heaven’s sun above this land,
and focus through a lens held by harmonic hand...”
Then, Alcaren stopped whispering, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the last words of the spellsong. His eyes dropped from the spell to the explanation below that ran half a page on one side, and the full page on the back side.
When he finished, he looked up. “How can things be split into parts so small that they are no longer what they were, but just . . . whatever they are?’
“I could not explain in the way Anna did,” Secca replied. “I think of it so. A spellsong, the way it is sung, is one thing. Yet it is composed of smaller things that are not the song. There is a note on a lutar, and there are many lutars. That note in turn comes from smaller things---the vibration of the string, and the echo from within the instrument. Why is the same not true of a stone or a tree? Perhaps everything is really a vibration of the harmonies, and that is why sorcery works.”
Alcaren shook his head. “I do not know.”
“You saw what happened to the Sturinnese c
rews, did you not?" asked Secca, almost tartly. ‘When I used that first spell?”
“It near killed you,” Alcaren countered.
“It worked, and it was based on what Anna knew. She warned me. She wrote that it was dangerous to the singer; I chose to use it.” Secca pointed to the sheets he had been reading. “Her words say that this one and the other one are pure Clearsong.”
“Pure Clearsong, but so dangerous that you should be three deks away, and hide behind stone or in an earthen trench the moment you finish the spell?”
“I would not use it first. I would try the one that destroyed Dolov before it.”
“But you would use it?" pressed Alcaren.
“Dear one, what choice have I? If the spell works, and I live, all is well. If I die, and the Maitre dies, Defalk survives, and women will not be chained or enslaved. Only if the Sturinnese survive will we have failed, and that I cannot allow to come to pass.” Secca’s amber eyes blazed. “I cannot.”
Alcaren glanced down at the sheets of parchment without speaking.
As Secca watched, he continued to read.
After a time, he looked up. “The first one, the one that is like unto the sun. The images are easier, and the second one..." He shuddered. ‘That is even more terrible than the first” After a moment, he added, ‘Would that you have to use neither."
“I would not use either, were it my choice.” Secca smiled sadly. “I do not know as we are given such choices. Too often, no matter what simpering savants say, there is no real choice. Not if life is to have meaning.”
Alcaren nodded, and slowly passed back the sheets, while the single oil lamp cast wavering shadows across both their faces.
124
Encora, Ranuak
Alya settles herself upon the blue cushion that is the sole soft aspect of the blue crystalline chair of the Matriarch, then nods to the guard in the pale blue uniform who stands beside the door. “She may enter.”
A woman in black enters, although the hood of her cloak is thrown back, revealing her lined face. The guard steps outside the receiving chamber and closes the door behind him. Because the day is cloudy, and no direct sunlight falls through the tall windows, the air in the hall seems chill.
“Greetings, Santhya,” offers the Matriarch.
The gray-haired and round-faced woman bows, with a gesture only slightly more than perfunctory. “Matriarch.”
“You requested to see me. Again. I trust that you are well, and your daughter. Alya's eyes remain upon the former Assistant Exchange Mistress.
“We have no complaints about our care while in the towers. The SouthWomen were more solicitous than one could have ever imagined.” Santhya squares her shoulders. ‘We are far more worried about what is about to happen in Defalk.”
“As are we all.”
“Do you not see? Now?" asks the woman in black. “Stura is no more. Half of Trinn is destroyed, and more than a third of Astaal. Esaria is half-molten, half-flooded, and every town and hamlet along the Saris River and the River Saria has been destroyed beyond rebuilding. Already Elioch, Denguic, Fussen, and their keeps have been ravaged. The Sea-Priests have called down the fires of the sun on the land, and the Shadow Sorceress has called up the deep fires of the earth. Between them, they will turn all Liedwahr into ashes.”
“Only Stura has been destroyed beyond rebuilding,” the Matriarch answers evenly, “and it will take a generation to replace the warships the sorceress has destroyed. That can scarcely be a concern for you or for the Exchange.”
“Ships must have goods to trade, and one cannot trade goods between lands that are poisoned and devastated, where the ground is so seared plants will not grow and where the forests have been turned to ash so there is no timber for building or for firewood. The Maitre and the Shadow Sorceress have yet to meet. When they do, all Liedwahr will suffer.”
“Only if the Maitre prevails.” Alya’s voice remains level. “If the Lady Secca prevails, then you will thank the harmonies, and well you should.”
“If she does not?”
“You will get your wishes—or part of them. For no woman in Liedwahr will ever be a sorceress again, and there will be little sorcery, save by the Sea-Priests.”
"With Sturinn ravaged?”
“People create their lands; lands do not create people. If the Maitre prevails, Lord Robero will surrender, and the Sea-Priests will control not only the Western Sea, but Neserea, Defalk, and Dumar. Within ten years, Nordwei will fall, and Mansuur will fall when the Liedfuhr attacks, for he will, if he sees the power of Sturinn growing in Liedwahr.”
“You see no choice? We must be enslaved or suffer the second set of Spell-Fire Wars? You cannot believe that,” Santhya insists.
"Did the first Matriarchs have a choice? A true choice?” replies Alya. Her eyes are cold as they rest upon the Lady of the Shadows. “Tell me that they did. If you can. Honestly.”
Santhya does not raise her eyes.
125
The clouds of the days previous had given way to a clear day, but a cooler one, with a brisk wind out of the northeast. Secca wore her riding jacket, but had left it unfastened as Songfire carried the sorceress along the narrow clay track that wound---generally--- southeast through the rolling hills and toward Aroch. Although it was barely midmorning, Secca stood in the stirrups and stretched. Beneath her, Songfire whuffed, but did not break gait.
Because Secca had asked the players to run through the sixth building spell twice before they left the hamlet of Sedak, they had not gotten as early a start as either Secca or Alcaren would have liked, and that would delay their meeting with Kinor, Jolyn, and Anandra. But there were only so many glasses in the day, Secca reflected, and sleep was one need that could not be neglected or cut short, not if the best spellsinging were needed, and it would be before long.
She glanced to Valya, riding to her left. ‘When did you get your mount?”
“Stormwind? He is but five, and I raised him. I had thought to see if he would take the Lady Anna as his rider, but---" Valya laughed. “He had other ideas.”
“Did you know Anna?” asked Secca.
“I saw her once, when I was but six,” Valya reminisced. “She was riding a mare like your . . . Songfire, and she was far taller than I had thought. She looked so young that I first thought she had yet to be consorted, until I saw her eyes.” The Rider heir shook her head. “I never forgot those eyes. They were deeper than blue.” She looked at Secca. “Your eyes are like that, too. They are amber, but they are more amber than amber, and there is fire in them.”
From behind Secca, where he rode with Richina, Alcaren laughed softly. Secca thought she also heard Lysara laugh, although the lady of Dubaria rode with Tiersen behind Richina and Alcaren.
“My father thought so when you rode up to the Kuyurt,” Valya added, “but after you dined with them, he and my mother said you were the Great Sorceress’ daughter, because no one else’s eyes looked that way, and they have both met the other sorceresses.”
Secca wasn’t sure how she could respond. Finally, she said, "The Lady Anna was the one who raised me and cared for me after I left my own hold. I was eight, and she taught me all she could.”
“Even the blade?”
Secca laughed. “Anna could only use a knife, and she insisted that I would know more.”
“You are like a Rider woman,” Valya mused. ‘We are all taught the same, boys and girls. My father says that all mounts must be ridden well, whether by men or women. No one has threatened us in ages, because we all ride and all use the shortswords.”
“Until now,” Secca said. “The Sturinnese would chain all women.”
“No. We will not be chained. We will fight. We may die, but we will not be chained.” The absolute certainty in the young woman’s voice was chillingly matter-of-fact.
“I wish that more felt that way,” Secca replied instantly. Once the words were out, she wondered. If everyone feels that way about their way of life...
is that not how we got into this war of devastation? Except, as Alcaren had said, neither Secca nor the Riders of Heinene had tried to force their way of life on others, or at least not until others had attacked them first.
126
Secca glanced to the west, where, in mid-afternoon, scattered thunderclouds had begun to form. Even now, in late afternoon, she could see none of the mist below the clouds that would have indicated rain. Rain was the last thing she needed, not with the Maitre’s lancers using the stone-paved main road eastward and her forces using the back roads because, from where she was, the good roads ran in the wrong directions. Is that symbolic of something? Secca shook her head. Thinking in that way lies madness.
The ShadowSinger Page 55
