Anna swallowed, then checked the lutar’s tuning, even as she mentally rearranged the spell she’d used earlier to scry danger.
“Show from the south, danger to fear,
Gylaron’s threats to me bright and clear . . .”
The words were cramped to that melody, but she hoped it wouldn’t matter too much.
The mirror remained blank, then swirled into a featureless silver, and finally showed an image not of Lerona, but of a mountain hold.
“That be Stromwer,” Jecks said.
Anna frowned. Had her spell failed? Or did Lerona truly pose no dangers? With a sigh, she set aside the lutar and went to the spell folder on the table. With the grease marker, she drafted another version of the spell.
Once she had it in mind, she lifted the lutar and offered it.
“Show me bright and show me clear,
threats from Gylaron for us to fear . . .”
The silver swirling repeated, this time remaining featureless.
A snap filled the silence, and Hanfor looked down disgustedly at the broken marker in his hand.
Anna shook her head.
“Maybe there’s something going on with Dencer.” She distrusted Dencer more than she had Gylaron, or Sargol, even if she couldn’t have explained precisely why.
Jecks shrugged.
“We still haven’t seen Gylaron’s keep,” she said disgustedly. Sometimes, even scrying was dissonantly imprecise. Sometimes? What about most of the time? You’re exaggerating. Still, she’d overkilled bandits, gotten images she hadn’t really wanted, killed singing dark monks instead of armsmen, and nearly killed herself a half-dozen times.
She’d just have to use a direct mirror spell. She strummed the lutar and readjusted the peg for the top string. Then she cleared her throat. She really needed something to drink.
Hanfor held up a hand. “A moment, Lady Anna?”
“When you’re ready.” Anna couldn’t help grinning as the Arms Commander used his belt knife to sharpen the grease marker he used for sketching. Setting down the lutar, she took a sip of the wine from the pitcher on the table, although she really wanted water.
Then she walked to the window and pulled the shutters wide. The fresh air, warm as it was, helped. The fresh earth over the mass graves reminded her of wounds . . . or scars. Would it always be like that?
Hanfor coughed. “Lady Anna.”
“Oh.” She turned and crossed the stone floor to reclaim the lutar.
“Show me now, bright and fair,
Gylaron’s keep as it stands there . . .”
Gylaron’s liedburg rose out of the town of Lerona itself, on a small hillock to the north of the center of the town. The walls were low, no more than five to six yards high, and the gates were wide open.
“No defenses,” murmured Jecks.
Hanfor shook his head. “Some form of treachery?”
Anna released the spell and set aside the lutar. “I don’t think so. The mirror showed us Sargol’s treachery. I just didn’t understand what it meant. Three different spells, and we get nothing. That means that Gylaron isn’t trying anything.”
“Or there is a greater wizard?” asked Jecks.
Anna took a deep breath and went back to the table and spell folder. After a time, she scrawled out another variation of the mirror spell.
Again, she faced the mirror and sang.
“Spells and wizards show me bright
those who aid Gylaron’s fight.”
What filled the antique mirror was a silvery mist, seemingly mixing with a faint steam from the mirror frame. Hurriedly, Anna released the spell. Then she took a hefty swallow of the red wine, followed by another. She sank onto the hard chair, glancing around for something to eat. There was only the pitcher of wine and three pewter goblets.
“Satisfied?” she asked, still holding the goblet, debating whether she should have more wine so early in the day.
Jecks looked down at the sharpness of her voice.
Anna felt both ashamed of her pettiness and angry. Don’t they understand this is work? Why would they? No one on earth understood that an hour and a half recital was work. No one understood the energy it took to teach lessons hour after hour. Why would things be different on Erde?
If she destroyed something . . . that was work. She forced her jaw to unclench and sipped some wine—very slowly, very deliberately.
“Would you like something to eat?” Jecks asked, walking toward the door.
“Yes, please.”
Jecks slipped out of the room.
Anna sat quietly, drawn into herself, knowing her blood sugar was nonexistent, knowing that she’d regret anything she said, waiting.
Hanfor sat on one of the chests against the stone wall, sketching something, a rough map, perhaps.
Shortly, the door opened again.
“Mayhap, this will help, lady.” Jecks set the basket with the still-warm loaf of dark bread on the table before her.
“Thank you.” She forced a smile, then broke off the end and slowly began to eat.
No one said a word until Anna had eaten for a time. One shutter creaked and swung partly across the window with a brief gust of warm air.
“Gylaron has not paid liedgeld . . . yet he makes no plans,” mused Jecks.
“That be not quite so,” suggested Hanfor. “The glass shows that any plans he makes present no danger. We must still approach Lerona with care.”
Anna nodded, chewing on another chunk of the moist and dark bread, before speaking. “We need to see what Dencer plans.”
“Especially after your glass has shown Stromwer,” agreed Hanfor.
After she had finished most of the loaf, Anna stood and lifted the lutar.
“Lord Dencer, show me then and now,
what he does ‘gainst me and how,
show the scenes both far and near
and show us what one should fear.”
Four scenes appeared, two side by side on the top of the mirror, the other two below. In the top right-hand vision, Dencer stood in his private study, his angular frame looking down upon a younger officer in the crimson uniform of a lancer of Dumar. In the top left side was an image of a group of men digging a large pit. Sharpened stakes were stacked at the side of the excavation.
The third image held no people, just a view of a small circular fort containing a large iron caldron. Below one side of the caldron was a circular stone basin from which ran a polished stone trough. The trough ended in a circular opening in the wall of the small fortress overlooking a narrow gorge.
The last scene, the one on the bottom right of the ancient glass, showed men working to fill nets with rocks. The thick hemp nets were braced with huge round timbers—rough-smoothed treetrunks—and extended over a rocky escarpment overlooking a road. Several sets of the netted rocks were visible. Hanfor sketched and jotted furiously. Jecks’ eyes flicked from image to image. Anna just studied the last three images in turn, until the mirror frame began to smoke and steam. Then she released the image, set the lutar on the chest by the wall beside the mirror, and took a deep breath, finally walking to the window and stepping up to the open air, pushing back a shutter that had swung halfway closed in the light breeze.
The morning air was less fresh, and warmer. After several breaths, she stepped back toward the other two. “Dencer understands sorcery and its limits.”
“All of those defenses are the kind that have an effect from afar, like Sargol’s giant crossbow,” added Hanfor.
“Isn’t there a way to get around those?”
“From what I remember,” mused Jecks, “the town is in a mountain valley, and the keep guards the roads to the valley. The main roads east and west enter the town right under the keep’s walls.”
“It all makes sense,” Anna said. “He could swear allegiance to either Dumar or Ranuak.”
“Not Ranuak,” said the white-haired lord. “They wouldn’t have him. Ehara would. That was a Dumaran lancer Dencer was talking to.”
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“So Ehara tries to gain Dencer’s allegiance, and Sturinn supports Dumar.” She shook her head and sat at the table, picking up the last of the bread. Had she eaten an entire loaf? She snorted, thinking that she probably should have eaten more.
“The Sea-Priests would add all Liedwahr to Sturinn’s rule,” said Jecks.
Hanfor nodded.
Not if I can help it. “The big pot?” Anna asked after swallowing a mouthful of the bread.
“To boil oil, and the stone pipes spray it out over the ‘road that leads to the keep,” said Jecks. “Stromwer is at the foot of the Sudbergs.”
“We’ll have to find a way around those defenses,” Anna offered, “but that will wait until we deal with Gylaron.”
“Will other sorcerers help him?” asked Hanfor.
In for a copper, in for a gold. Anna stood and retuned the lutar.
“Again?” asked Jecks.
“I’d like to see what other sorcerers are working on.” Anna took a deep breath and strummed the strings, then tightened the bottom tuning peg, and restrummed.
“Of those with power of the song
seek those who’d do me wrong
and show them in this silver cast
and make that vision well last.”
She studied the images in the glass. They were the same as the last time she’d used the spell—the blond seer from Nordwei, the hawk-faced Sea-Priest, and the young black-bearded man.
The Sea-Priest—if he were the same one—sat across a table from Ehara, his eyes bright even through the silver of the glass. The hatred that burned on the faces of both the Sea-Priest and the unknown young man still disturbed her. Were the Sea-Priests that fanatically against women in power?
The intense young man—he wore nondescript brown clothing, not the colors of a sorcerer and not the livery of any of the neighbors or enemies of Defalk. He stood in what seemed to be some type of storeroom. Yet her sorcery indicated that he had power and was an enemy. But who was he?
“Do you recognize the younger man?” She released the spell and replaced the lutar in its case.
“No.”
“He wears a tradesman’s browns,” said Jecks.
She’d have to keep tabs on the unknown young man, but she was tired, and her spells indicated that he wasn’t associated with any immediate danger. Still . . . she’d have to remember. Nonimmediate dangers left untended usually became immediate at the worst possible time.
“The Sea-Priest schemes with Ehara.”
“Everyone schemes,” Anna snorted.
Jecks cleared his throat, and Anna turned.
“Perhaps it will do no good, but would you not consider sending scrolls to Gylaron and Dencer suggesting that their defiance of the Regency is unwelcome and requesting their allegiance?”
“And their liedgeld?” Anna asked ironically. “It can’t hurt, and I suppose it would set better with the other lords if at least I asked.”
“That it would.”
“You don’t think they’ll agree?”
“I would think not,” said Jecks. “Yet, they had not heard of what befell Suhl.” He shrugged. “There is a chance.”
“Would you draft what you think we should say?”
“That . . . that I can do.”
“Thank you. I should have thought of it.” Anna turned to Hanfor. “How soon will your scouts have their reports on the roads?”
“By nightfall.”
“Can we march on Gylaron by two days after tomorrow?”
“We could march the day after tomorrow, but two days would be better.”
“Let’s plan on it. Unless we get a total downpour.” She paused. “Or Gylaron decides to return to the fold.”
That got another blank expression from Jecks.
“Rejoin the Regency.” Anna stood. “I’m going to check a few things around the keep.”
Both men rose.
When she left the chamber, Fhurgen and Rickel stepped from their post at the door. Both marched behind her down the dim corridor.
She eased open the nursery door and stepped inside alone, as quietly as she could. Dinfan sat at a table with her back to the door, and the nurse sat on a stool looking at the girl.
“. . . your ma, she was from Fussen. That be where your cousins struggle to see who will be lord.” The nurse looked up, her eyes widening.
Anna shook her head, and motioned for the woman to continue.
“Ah . . . she be . . . the elder. . . .”
Dinfan turned, holding a chunk of bread. Her wide eyes fixed on Anna, those eyes so alike, and so unlike Irenia’s. “Did you know my mother?”
“No, Lady Dinfan. I did not.”
The nurse stood and bowed. “Regent.”
“She called me lady, Bregha. She called me lady.”
“You are the lady of Suhl,” Anna said gravely.
“Indeed you be,” added Bregha.
“Ma, she was lady of Suhl.”
“She was, but she did not hold Suhl. If you study and learn, you will.” Anna smiled faintly, turning to the nurse. “Does she know her letters?”
“Some.”
“We will find someone to help with that. The Lady Herene will be her guardian, and she can help her with her letters. It may be several weeks.”
The nurse bowed.
“Take care, Dinfan.” Anna smiled.
Dinfan offered a faint smile in return.
As she left, Anna shook her head, ignoring Fhurgen’s frown as he fell in behind her. Would every child always remind her of her own, blocked as she was from even using sorcery to see their images?
“Do you know where Liende might be, Fhurgen?”
“In her quarters on the second level, lady. Beyond the back stairs.”
Anna could hear the woodwind player’s practice from well down the corridor. She rapped on the door, and the notes stopped.
The chief player opened the door, horn in hand.
“Lady Anna.” Liende looked rested, more rested than Anna felt.
“Liende, you look more rested.”
“Several days’ sleep has helped.” A wry grimace crossed the older woman’s face.
“That’s good. Unfortunately, I have some work for you. I’d like you to keep the players working on those songs. I may have one more for you in a day or so.”
“Kaseth cannot play yet.”
“I understand. He collapsed. But you and the others can start, can’t you?”
Liende nodded. “Kaseth, he has more experience, and he can learn more quickly.”
“There will be a gold bonus for each of the players for this past battle. Two for you. That’s when we get back to Falcor.” While they had found somewhere over fifteen hundred golds in Sargol’s storeroom, the amount left after deducting the past due liedgeld would be less than a thousand, and most of that had to be left in Markan’s care to run the holding. Another reason why Sargol hadn’t paid? Then why hadn’t he asked for relief? Male pride? Damn male pride! Anna swallowed, trying to get her thoughts back in line, and added, “We aren’t carrying lots of golds with us.”
“Your word is more than good, lady.” Liende smiled. “All the players know that, and it will be better to have their golds safe.”
“Good.” Anna hoped they all felt that way, and still would after their ever-extended journey was over—if it ever ended. “We’ll be leaving for Lerona three days from now. I don’t know what we’ll need. We may not have to fight . . . and we may.”
“We know you will do what is necessary, and no more.”
“Thank you.” Anna smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s hard on you to be away from Kinor and Alseta, but I appreciate it.”
“I can return to them.” Liende smiled sadly. “You have lost yours, and . . . I wish it were otherwise.”
“So do I.” Anna swallowed. “Thank you.” After a moment, she turned and started toward the stables. She still had Farinelli to groom.
Anna had hoped not to have to us
e Liende in battle. That hadn’t worked. She’d hoped not to have to kill off so many Defalkan armsmen. That hadn’t worked. She’d hoped not to have to continually rely on sorcery . . . but pitched battles took armsmen and equipment she lacked . . . and so the list went.
48
That’s her. . . .” hissed a young voice from the darkness beyond the stall where Anna saddled Farinelli. “The regent.”
“Looks too pretty to be a regent.”
“That’s ’cause she uses sorcery. Bet without it, she’d be ugly.”
Anna smiled, then called back toward the two unseen stable boys. “I look the way I am, boys.”
Scurrying feet and the rustle of straw were the only answer.
Anna led Farinelli out of the stables, hoping that Markan could find a good stablemaster. She’d ended up mucking Farinelli’s stall at Suhl because the big gelding hadn’t let anyone else near, not that there had been many souls left in the keep after her magic.
Fhurgen waited outside, already mounted, his dark eyes flicking from side to side. Rickel stood guard on his mount a dozen yards across the courtyard, his eyes more toward the open gate.
Anna checked her four water bottles, the lutar case, and the leather pack that contained her spell glass, then swung easily into the saddle.
Farinelli whuffed once, and she patted his neck, glancing toward the stables as Jecks led out his mount. The white-haired lord was still muscular, if slightly stocky, and still handsome.
If only . . . If only what?
“Lady Anna’?”
The sorceress turned toward the armsman approaching on foot. “Markan.”
“Lady Anna . . . you know we would ride with you,” Markan offered, his eyes momentarily traveling past Anna to the players and the armsmen mounted up along the length of the courtyard. Behind him, Fridric nodded.
“I know. But many can ride with me. I’m asking more of you, Markan. Much more. I’m entrusting you with the heir of Suhl, and with the lady Herene, once she arrives. You must keep them safe, and you must ensure that all here respect and love the Regency and the reign of Lord Jimbob to come. That’s not easy.” Building things is much harder than destroying them. That was becoming all too clear.
“I will do my best.”
“I know. You need to find a lot of people . . . including a good stablemaster.” Anna shook her head.
The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 33