What frigging spell . . . Think! Think. . . . Her mind seemed blank for ages, but it couldn’t have been that long before she swallowed. The flame spell!
She began to strum the lutar.
“Javelin magic, javelin strong,
turn to flame with this song!”
The stones erupted in a cascade of flame. Liende and the players stepped back from the heat, as did Anna and Jecks and the guards. Hanfor mounted and rode closer to the overlook, surveying the Vale below with only a glance at the burning weapons.
By the time the flames died away, too quickly, it seemed to Anna, even the red stones were dust, and nothing remained of javelin or shield but rust and ashes.
She glanced at the road below, but only a line of dust remained, and the Sea-Priest had ridden somewhere out of sight.
“I’m glad I brought a few other shields,” Jecks said.
So was Anna. “I’m glad you insisted my spelling the shield.”
“I worried about something such as that.” His head inclined toward the ashes. “The Sea-Priests are well-known for their attacks on strong leaders. It is said that was how they brought down the Ostisles—with treachery such as that under a parley banner.”
“The burning . . . it is terrible. . . .” Yuarl, violino still in one hand, stood near the dropoff, pointing out across the Vale with her bow.
Anna edged forward, behind the shields carried by Lejun and Rickel. She could see thin columns of smoke rising across the nearer hilltops below. Of course. . . . Fires just don’t vanish. . . .
Anna wanted to shake her head. How could there ever be peace with a land such as Sturinn where the Sea-Priests would try anything rather than admit that women were people? Where any trickery was acceptable for them, but where an honest attempt not to fight was condemned?
Anna continued to look for the Sea-Priest who had flung the javelin, but even the dust had settled.
“Why not the wizard?” murmured one of the players. “How did he escape?”
Anna knew, but didn’t explain. Her spell had been directed at archers and armsmen, not wizards. She’d gotten what she’d spelled, not exactly what she’d meant, and that had resulted in an angry wizard getting free.
“The Dumaran armsmen are retreating.” Jecks pointed to the northwest, at the puffs of dust.
“We cannot do much from here,” said Hanfor.
“We had best leave before they catch us on that trail,” suggested the white-haired lord.
“They could not reach us quickly, but I would agree with Lord Jecks, Lady Anna,” added Hanfor.
Anna nodded. “We’ll return to where we camped, and then we’ll see how we’ll enter Dumar.” Her vision was blurring, and sparks flashed before her eyes. She needed to eat, and rest.
Jecks exchanged glances with Hanfor, but neither spoke.
Anna could feel herself starting to seethe at the unspoken male questions, but she clamped her lips shut.
99
The dew had barely lifted from the grass along the shoulder of the road, a road churned the day before with the hoofprints of the retreating Dumaran forces, hoofprints since blurred by heavy dew or light rain.
“They retreat now, but Ehara must face you once more before he returns to Dumaria,” Jecks said.
“Politics?” asked Anna.
At the puzzled expression on the white-haired lord’s face that appeared and vanished as fleetingly as it had come, Anna added, “He won’t be able to face his lords or holders unless he does?”
“I would not think so.”
“Do we have any idea where?”
“I would guess that he would attempt to hold the Dumaran hills northeast of where the rivers join.” Jecks shrugged. “There he could make us attack uphill. Or he could make a normal host attack so.”
“That is another three days’ ride, four if not pressed,” pointed out Hanfor, riding to Anna’s left.
“Five—or six,” Anna corrected. “We aren’t leaving hostile towns behind us. Not large ones.”
Jecks and Hanfor’s eyes crossed.
“We need some loyalty here.” Anna slowed Farinelli as the Defalkan column neared the gray stone oblong by the side of the road. The dek-stone was clear enough: Finduma—3 d.
“Are you contemplating more sorcery?” ventured Jecks.
Anna surveyed the terrain. A small hill rose less than a half a dek north of the road and perhaps two deks ahead, apparently overlooking the town itself. The hilltop had been grazed bare, or logged, or something, and grayish dots that were sheep grazed on the intermittent grass and vegetation.
“I can’t use a loyalty spell . . .”
“You did so at Stromwer,” pointed out Jecks.
“I almost didn’t live through that, and the next time would be worse. The backlash is . . . exponential.”
Jecks frowned again, briefly, and Anna was left with the feeling of strangeness . . . of being in a culture where certain terms and ideas just didn’t exist.
“The mirror shows no dangers, neither Sturinnese nor Dumaran armsmen,” said Jecks. “What have you in mind?”
“I don’t want Dumar to ever again present a threat to Defalk or Jimbob,” Anna said. “Ever” or “never” are dangerous words. “Not for a while, anyway.”
“I would have your armsmen take the town and request provisions. Then we should ride on,” suggested Jecks.
Hanfor reined his mount up. “The scouts say there are no armsmen. The town is shuttered.”
“Jecks thinks we should provision here, and leave them alone otherwise.”
“I would do the same. One never knows when provisions will be short, and country folk love best those leaders they see the least of.”
Anna smiled at Hanfor’s words. While she didn’t like the idea of leaving a potentially hostile town behind her, again, the alternatives were worse, and Finduma was small.
She turned in the saddle and gestured to Liende, riding at the head of the players and behind Anna’s guards. “Chief player?”
Liende urged her mount onto the shoulder of the road and around the guards. “Yes, Lady Anna?”
“Lord Jecks has suggested that we request provisions in Finduma, and then ride on.”
Liende swallowed. “Ah . . . after the Vale . . . ?”
“The Sturinnese died there, not people of Liedwahr. I’d be surprised if most people in . . . Finduma . . . here, even care that much. Most people don’t care who rules, as long as their lives don’t change.” Anna hoped she were right, but with a force as small as hers, a little less than five hundred, she couldn’t leave garrisons in every town that might be disloyal.
“Liende . . .” Anna said gently. “I’m trying to protect Defalk with as little loss of life as possible—on both sides.” How many other leaders have said that, and then killed thousands? “I want the players to stand ready in case something happens, but I don’t think it will.”
“That we can do.” Liende smiled wanly. “We will stand ready.”
“Thank you.”
Liende eased her mount back toward the players.
“Your players have experienced more than they expected,” said Jecks.
“Haven’t we all?” Anna shook her head, then coughed from the road dust, omnipresent despite the intermittent rains.
“Let me send a company into the town,” Hanfor said. “And the wagons.”
“We’ll wait here,” Anna said, “and try the seeking spell.”
As the arms commander rode off, Jecks looked at the sorceress. “It matters not to garrison Finduma, but have you thought of what you must do when you reach the Falche, and the larger towns?”
“The same as all other conquerors. Ask for surrender and allegiance, and destroy the town if it’s not forthcoming.” Anna found the words bitter in her mouth.
“That rests most heavily on your sorcery and players.”
“I’m relying almost entirely on my sorcery and players.” Anna laughed softly and ironically. “What else do I have?�
�
“If you destroy the Sea-Priest and Ehara, all will bow when you pass. And after?”
“I could build another dam,” Anna ventured. “Would Dumar want that?”
“Lady, you are terrible.”
“Terrible”? “I suppose I would have to make sure that whoever stays in charge here knows that.” You’re planning for something that might not even happen . . . You have to defeat Ehara and destroy most of his army. . . . A chill settled over her. “That’s something to worry about later. First, we need to deal with Ehara.”
“And the Sea-Priests.”
Anna gestured to Liende. “Let’s try that new seeking spell, the one like the flame spell.” Anna coughed, found her second water bottle, and swallowed a little before replacing it, dismounting, and beginning a vocalise. “Polly, lolly, polly . . .”
“Warm-up tune,” announced Liende as the players started to tune.
On the road behind and before Anna and the players, the Purple Company formed a line, mounts and riders facing Finduma. While Jecks unfastened the mirror and laid it out, Anna forced her thoughts onto the seeking spell, concentrated on the words and humming the tune as the players became less ragged and the strains of the warm-up tune merged into an actual melody.
Finally, Anna looked at Liende.
“We are ready, lady.”
Anna nodded.
“On my mark . . . Mark!” Liende gestured. Then the clarinet-like woodwind joined with the other players’ instruments.
Anna sang.
“Find, find any Dumaran close to here,
an armsmen bearing his weapons hard and near . . .”
After she finished Anna watched the glass, but it remained blank silver, not reflecting, a sign that no armsmen—or none with arms—remained in Finduma.
“They can get ready to ride.” Anna nodded to Liende.
“Prepare to ride.”
Jecks helped Anna replace the glass in its leather padding and back on Farinelli.
“In some towns, you will have to use that spell often,” he observed.
“I know. Why do you think I want the players to do it? It’s simple enough for the lutar, but . . .”
They sat in the hot sun for a time longer. Anna took the gray cloth from her belt and blotted her forehead and neck, then readjusted the floppy brown hat that had definitely seen better days.
Alvar rode up to the pair. “The arms commander says that we may proceed.”
“Thank you.” Anna flicked Farinelli’s reins.
The road curved slowly to the left, toward the southwest. Fifty yards ahead on the right was a rutted lane, its center filled with dark green vinelike weeds, that led toward the hill overlooking Finduma.
As the column of riders passed onto the lane, Anna glanced down the road toward the first roofs of the town a dek or so away. How did you end up invading another country? Because someone else invaded first . . . that’s why.
She wasn’t sure that her answer was all that good, not sure at all.
Baaaa . . . aaahhh . . . The sheep lined across the road slowly moved away under the not-too-gentle prodding of the vanguard.
A man with a long staff barreled out from behind the cot to the left of the road, then came to a halt as he saw the armsmen and the pale blue banner of Defalk. His eyes went from the armed men to the banner, and then to the scattered sheep on the slope.
“Ah . . . your pardon, sers. . . .”
“We won’t be long,” Anna said politely. “We’re just passing through.”
At the sound of the sorceress’s voice, his eyes went to her, and the sheepman paled, backing slowly away until he was out of sight behind the cot.
“Your reputation precedes you, lady,” said Jecks.
“I’m not sure I like whatever that reputation is.”
“Better to be feared than disrespected.”
That was what Machiavelli had written, or words to that effect, but they’d just been words when she’d read them in college. Somehow, it was different when the words applied to her.
Anna twisted in the saddle to extract the lutar.
“You expect trouble? I doubt any here will stand against your spells. Not in such a small town.”
“I hope not.” Anna’s fingers went to the lutar she had wrestled from the case, almost absently tuning the instrument as they neared the first of the houses on the outskirts of the hamlet.
The road into Finduma remained empty—and dusty. The town was more like a hamlet, with less than fifty houses, half lining the road to Dumaria and the remainder scattered among sparse pastures and the few intermittent tilled patches of ground. A narrow stream ran along the south side of the main road, punctuated by scattered willows and something else—tamarisk trees?
As the column neared the first houses, a woman glanced up, saw the armsmen, and fled from her wooden washtub, scooping up a toddler tied to a line around her waist. The weathered door slammed as the first of the riders passed the first small umber-brick house with the straw roof.
“She does not seem overly joyed,” said Liende, riding on Anna’s right.
“Would you be?” answered Anna.
“Aye, and it would be an incautious woman to remain out with strange armsmen passing,” observed Jecks.
A brown-and-white dog ambled out across the dirt of the main street, then scurried behind a wooden shed at the sound of hoofs.
A rail-thin and bearded man stood on a wooden porch in the shade of a signboard so faded that Anna couldn’t make out the letters. The narrow building itself was of the umber brick and had a cracked and faded red-tile roof. The man looked like he wanted to spit in the street as the sorceress rode past, but his face twisted, and he took a deep breath.
“Peace to you,” Anna said, wondering what other phrase she could have used.
The bearded man nodded, reluctantly.
The center of the town was an enlarged crossroads without a central square or a statue. A handful of two-storied brick buildings sprawled along the main road. Anna spotted the faded crossed candles of a chandlery, and the three wagons lined up before it. Around the square were stationed armsmen with bared blades. Another ten or twelve formed a line into the chandlery.
Hanfor gestured, and Anna turned her mount toward the weathered veteran.
“Do we have enough golds to pay for this?” asked Anna as she reined up.
In turn, Hanfor glanced at Jecks.
“We have some . . .”
“But we really shouldn’t use them?” she asked. “All right. Promise to pay. We’ll have to send them later.” Her eyes fixed on Jecks. “We need to keep our word on this.” Then she turned to Hanfor. “Keep a record of what we take and what it is worth.”
“Yes, Lady Anna.”
“I mean it.” Her words were firm, almost cold. In the end, all she had was her word. She’d learned that a long time ago, and that was one thing that hadn’t changed. And it wouldn’t.
100
The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows, and Anna pulled down the brim of the floppy hat. Her shirt was soaked, as was the inside band of the hat, and her hair felt gummy and sticky.
The air was still, without even a hint of a breeze. The road bore the traces of the still-retreating Dumaran armsmen. Anna’s last scrying with the mirror showed Ehara and his forces nearly at the Falche, another day and a half from where the Defalkan forces slowly rode westward.
Anna chewed the bread slowly as Farinelli carried her toward the low sun. She glanced back over her shoulder as the column passed the dek-stone. Her eyes blurred as she tried to focus on the words.
Hrissar—2 d.
Hrissar was a large town with five squares, lots of granaries, and no hills. She’d blanketed the place with so many armsmen-seeking spells that she felt her eyes were swimming, but she’d found nothing. Even the local armsmen had been conscripted and dragged off by Ehara, and the shutters and doors to the town were closed.
After four days of riding, and using enemy-seeking s
pells, in every town near or along the main road, she was tired. So were the players.
“You cannot keep casting spells such,” said Jecks quietly. “Not if you must cast a large spell when we meet Lord Ehara.”
“I know. I know,” said Anna tiredly, wiping stale dark crumbs from around her mouth before she reached for the water bottle. “I’ll have to get some rest tonight and take it easy tomorrow, but there aren’t that many towns between us and the river.”
“They are small enough that you need not spell them now. Hrissar was the only town worthy of the name.”
“I know that, too.” The sorceress not only knew it, but felt it. She was so tired she could also feel the drain of the enchanted shield, a spell Jecks had practically demanded she renew as soon as they had camped the second time outside the Vale of Cuetayl.
“You are the sole force of Defalk,” Hanfor said mildly.
“Now,” she answered. “Now.” Somehow, some way, she had to build an army worthy of the name. She couldn’t keep riding from border to border and beyond. Had conquerors like Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan felt that way? Oh . . . more delusions of grandeur? You’re a great conqueror now?
The sorceress pushed away the nagging thoughts, reaching instead for the remaining water bottle.
“Have you considered the spell against ensorcelled weapons?” pressed the white-haired lord.
“Lord Jecks,” Anna said wearily, “in the last year I have had to develop and learn dozens—scores—of spells. Today, we scoured a small city. Right now, my brain is frazzled, and I couldn’t come up with another if Ehara or the Evult appeared on the road in front of us.”
“. . . ‘frazzled’ . . . betimes, she speaks strangely. . . .” The murmur from a guard somewhere behind Anna, a guard whose voice she didn’t recognize, filled the comparative stillness.
The squeaking of a provisions wagon drifted from the east on a sudden puff of wind that cooled the sweating sorceress momentarily, then stilled.
“More than betimes I speak strangely,” Anna said hoarsely. “More than betimes. Dissonance, I’m strange all the time. Who else would be riding through Dumar in this heat? Mad dogs and Englishwomen?” She laughed.
The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 53