Secca held herself erect against the faint dizziness that always came with heavy sorcery such as road-building, then walked to her mount, a gray mare, and took out her water bottle for a long swallow, before eating several biscuits from her provisions bag. After eating, she turned and looked at the newly created section of paved road.
Like the sections created before over the years, the roadway itself was exactly eight yards across, and raised almost a third of a yard above the surrounding ground. On each side was a stone rain gutter, and every hundred yards, there was a side drain. The stone roadbed had a slight crown, enough that the infrequent rains of eastern Defalk would run off into the lower rain gutters. Beneath were layers of stone and gravel going almost a yard deep.
“How do you feel, sorceress?” asked Palian.
“Fine.” Secca smiled. “How are the players?”
“We can do another spell, perhaps two.”
“We’ll move up to the end of what we’ve finished here and do another section,” Secca said. “Then we’ll ride north and see how we feel when we reach where the paved section coming from the north begins. I’d like to finish this road before…” She shrugged, not certain what comparison might even be useful. “I’d like to see it finished.”
“We can add another dek or so on our return from Issl and Elheld, can we not?” asked Palian.
“I would think so,” Secca replied. “I’d like to be able to tell Lady Anna that we can have the entire road paved within a few more years.” Generally, a road spell was good for about five hundred yards—half a dek.
“You will.” Palian smiled.
“I hope so.” Secca nodded.
“Players, prepare to mount and ride!” ordered the chief player.
Secca folded the small easel, and turned back toward her own mount.
3
The harvest-time sun was hot and beat down upon the two riders, and upon the column of players and lancers in the green of Loiseau who followed them along the dusty lane that led between two hills, hills covered with hardwoods whose leaves had begun to turn yellow, gold, and deep red. Beside Secca rode Kylar, the stocky and blond heir of Lord Fustar. Kylar, a good ten years older than Secca, wore a nondescript tan tunic and an indifferent smile.
“Why do you remain an assistant to Lady Anna?” His tone was casual.
“I do owe her my life, and my lands.” Secca did not look at Kylar but at the narrow and winding road that paralleled the ancient wooden aqueduct leading farther back into the low hills.
“Your lands?”
Secca smiled, although she felt more like drawing her sabre and spitting the condescending heir to Issl. “I am already Lady of Flossbend.”
“You are that Lady Secca?” He frowned as if he had not made the connection.
“I am that Lady Secca. I have been for many years. Since I was nine.”
“And yet you serve…?”
“I’m also sorceress heir to Loiseau.”
“Oh…you are an ambitious woman.”
“No. I’m still learning,” Secca pointed out. She saw no need to say that she was ambitious, at least in the sense that she wished to rule her own lands rather than surrender them to a consort, and that she had no intention of becoming a brood mare for some brainless lord.
“You are well past the age—”
“When most women have long since consorted and produced heirs?” interrupted Secca gently. “That is true. Some women see that as their calling. Others see arms, or sorcery.”
“Arms? There are few indeed in Defalk.”
“But not in Elahwa or in Ranuak or in Nordwei,” Secca replied. “And there are some lords now in Defalk who have women as armsmen.”
“Because they cannot find men who will serve them, no doubt,” rejoined Kylar. “We have no such difficulties here.”
“I am most certain you do not.” Secca gestured at the low line of earth and rock visible through the passlike opening between two low hills. “Is that the dam your sire mentioned?”
“It is.”
Secca rode along the narrow lane, so close to the maples and oaks that she could almost reach out and touch them, before the lane turned uphill to the east and narrowed even more. Secca found herself riding single file, with Kylar behind her. As she neared the hilltop, she could see an expanse that had once been cleared, but now held low bushes, including blackberries that had long since been picked.
Guiding the mare around the browning and thorny berry bushes, Secca made her way to an area that had been grazed relatively clear, just above a dried mud flat. She reined up and studied the earth-and-rock dam, noting the streaks of dampness on both rock and earth. Then her eyes went to the wooden planks that comprised the beginning of the crude aqueduct.
“My sire would have you repair the dam and the aqueduct to the keep,” said Kylar, reining up beside her.
“I would have to be here longer than I can be for such,” Secca replied politely. “The dam appears to be failing. That I can replace, and perhaps the bridgework to the beginning of the aqueduct.”
“I had understood that you were among the more powerful of sorceresses…” Another shade of condescension crept into Kylar’s voice.
Secca looked evenly at the far taller man. “It would take scores of men more than a season to rip down and replace that dam. I will do so in less than a glass. I cannot do more, for I must leave within a few days, at the command of Lord Robero, and I must arrive at Elheld able to do whatever sorcery he may require.”
Kylar looked from the failing dam to Secca and then back to the packed rock and earth. “I suppose any small aid you could provide would be helpful.”
“I will certainly endeavor to be helpful.” Secca dismounted and handed the gray’s reins to Kylar. “If you would.”
Kylar took the reins with another condescending smile.
Secca turned and walked downhill to where the players had begun to form up on the slope to the east of the ancient structure, above the blue waters held in place by the dam. The sound of tuning began to issue from the strings, the falk-horn, and the woodwinds, and the lutars of the second players.
Palian turned toward Secca. “Lady Secca.”
“I’ve made some word changes to the second building spell, but the melody will be the same,” Secca told the chief player. “This will take as much as a long section of road. It could take more.”
“We will be ready shortly.” Palian smiled.
“Thank you.” Secca stood beside the chief player and waited, not wanting to go back anywhere near Kylar for the moment.
Shortly, the sounds of tuning faded, and Palian turned to Secca. “We stand ready.”
“At your mark, then,” Secca said.
“The second building spell, at my mark,” Palian said, her voice firm. “Mark!”
Secca waited for the opening bars, then launched into the spellsong itself.
“…replicate with measured stones.
Place them in their proper zones…
Set all firm, and set all square,
weld them to their pattern there…
…lock each block in solid place
so no water goes beyond its proper space…”
Even before the spell was complete, gouts of steam flared upward, white against the blue-green of the clear sky. Rowal and several other players stutter-stepped backward, while the far older Delvor and Palian merely exchanged knowing glances.
As her last notes faded into the afternoon, a wave of faintness and dizziness swept over Secca, and she knew she had pushed harder than she should have. For several moments, she stood facing the narrow gorge, watching as the clean lines of sorcery-dressed and -formed stone replaced the irregular rock and earthen berm that had been the older dam. A graceful arched chute now carried water—water that steamed as it streamed down the hot stone and flowed into the old wooden aqueduct. She also observed that the water level had dropped several feet—doubtless as a result of the stone taken from beneath the reservoir by
the spellsong.
Secca gave a small smile of success before turning and walking back toward the gray mare, where she lifted the water bottle from its saddle holder and took a long swallow. Then she reached for the provisions bag and extracted a biscuit.
“Doesn’t seem all that hard,” offered Kylar from where he had remained mounted, watching the entire spellsong.
“It’s not,” Secca said politely. “Not after a score of years of training and practice. Just like blade handling doesn’t look very hard when the person using it is an expert.”
“You just sang.”
Secca took another swallow of water, debating whether to answer. Finally, she looked up again at the stocky blond heir. “Each one of those stones in that dam weighs between five and ten stone. It takes work to move them, even with sorcery. The players might be able to do that twice today. They wouldn’t be able to play another spell for several days.”
“What about you?” A glint glittered in Kylar’s bloodshot eyes.
“I’ve trained longer. I could sing several more spells, even without the players.” Secca smiled politely. “Enough to kill a few armsmen, but not enough to destroy a large force.”
She turned and walked back down to where the players were casing their instruments.
“Will that be all, Lady Secca?” asked Palian.
“It’s more than either Lord Fustar or his heir deserve, but manners require the effort.”
A faint smile crossed Palian’s lips. “It was always that way, even from the beginning, when Lady Anna first came to Liedwahr.”
“I recall, young as I was.” Secca could remember most of those days, and she had no desire to relive them—not at all. “I suppose we should have everyone mount up. We’ll need to ride back to the keep.”
The chief player nodded, then turned. “Prepare to mount.”
Secca walked back to the gray, taking the reins from Kylar. “Thank you.” She offered a pleasant smile, then mounted.
Once the players appeared ready, Palian lifted a hand.
Secca turned her mount. “If you would not mind, Kylar, we can return to the keep.” She let the stocky man lead the way down the narrow trail, then forced herself to draw abreast of his mount as they passed through the gap in the hills.
“You have many hardwoods here.” Secca gestured toward the red-leafed maples. “Do you have crafters for the wood?”
“No.” Kylar shook his head. “My sire allows the master-crafters from Falcor to cut a wagonload of the oldest timber every few years.”
“For golds, I imagine.”
“Why else?” The stocky heir laughed.
“What do your tenants grow?”
“Corn, mostly. We have a mill, and there is no other for deks.”
“So you collect more golds from that?”
“Not so many as we might, for my sire lets the tenants keep a fourth part for themselves. He is far too generous, and they know it not.” Kylar frowned as his eyes strayed to the south, beyond the ancient brownish walls of Issl, still more than a dek away.
“What else feeds your prosperity?”
“Our wool. Few have flocks and fleeces of such quality as do we…”
Secca nodded, listening as Kylar waxed on.
Before long, the road had widened and neared the beginning of the causeway leading to the gates of the keep. Kylar reined up, and Secca followed his example, as did the players and the company of lancers from Loiseau that followed the column.
“Sorceress, if you will pardon me…” Kylar offered a diffident half-bow from the saddle. “I needs must attend to another matter before the evening meal.”
“I look forward to seeing you then,” lied Secca with a smile. “I know you will deal with what must be dealt with great skill.”
“One would hope so.” With a broad smile, Kylar turned his mount and began to ride westward toward the hamlet that held the cots of many of Fustar’s tenants.
Secca continued riding toward the causeway.
Palian edged her mount up beside Secca’s mare. “You do not care for him.”
“Is it obvious to all?”
Palian laughed. “No. I have known you from the time when you would turn red at trying to utter a falsehood. Few others would see the signs, I would wager.”
“What do you think of the honorable Kylar?”
“Less, if possible, than do you,” replied Palian dryly. “He reminds me too much of lords like Dannel and your uncle.”
Secca nodded. Both had tried to have her killed as a child. “We need to prepare for dinner. You and Delvor will be above the salt at table.”
“I hope the food is good,” Palian said.
“It will be better than travel fare, and more honest than the conversation that accompanies it,” Secca replied.
Both women smiled as they neared the open gates of Issl.
4
Secca sat to the left of Lord Fustar, a man ancient, thin-faced and beak-nosed, with thin wispy white hair. The lord’s green eyes were intent as he turned to the sorceress. “I know I have said this before, but it is indeed a pleasure to have you in Issl.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he added, “You have not said why you offered your skills to rebuild an old lord’s dam or why you present these old eyes such a feast.”
Secca inclined her head slightly before replying. “Lady Anna would have liked to have been here to offer her best wishes, but she could not. She also felt it was best that I come to know all the lands in the north and east. I have never been to Issl before.”
“Ah, yes…the Sorceress-Protector. I have but met her a bare handful of times, and always she looks the same. She will doubtless see us all go and still preside over the defenses of the east.” Fustar laughed, but the laugh turned into a wheezing cough. He reached for the goblet and took a small swallow of the wine. “Dissonant time when wine’s best used to kill a cough.” He shook his head as he set the goblet down.
“She was granted the appearance of youth after she crossed from the Mist Worlds,” Secca said, “but not immortality.”
“She seems to have such.”
“She says she will die as do we all.”
“That…that will be interesting,” cackled Fustar. His eye flicked toward the figure striding through the door. “Here comes our wayward heir. Much longer and he would have been eating scraps.”
“I beg your pardon, ser, for coming to table late.” Now wearing a shimmering purple silk tunic, Kylar approached the table and offered an indifferent bow, then turned his eyes upon Secca. “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Secca.” His tone was overly hearty, the cheerfulness forced.
Upon closer inspection, Secca could see that his thick hair was as much silver as blonde, and that fine lines radiated from the slightly bloodshot eyes. “You look well in purple, Kylar,” she replied politely.
Kylar settled into the empty seat across from Secca. “I had a matter to attend to, except someone had already taken care of it.” His eyes flicked lazily toward his father, but did not actually meet the gaze of the older man.
“Ah, yes…the peasant’s woman, wasn’t it?” asked Fustar mildly.
“She seems to have vanished, along with the peasant. I cannot imagine what happened.” Kylar filled his goblet from the pitcher on the table, then inclined his head to Secca. “Would you like more, lady?”
“Not for a bit,” Secca demurred. “Until we eat.”
“I cannot understand why a peasant would leave his cot…or how anyone could suffer such to happen.” Kylar looked at neither Secca nor his father, using his knife to spear two slabs of meat from the platter tendered by the serving woman, then his fingers to seize and break off a large chunk of the rye bread in the basket to his left.
Secca also took two hefty slabs of the mutton, knowing she needed at least that much food after the day’s sorcery, and hoping she could force it all down.
“Peasants do leave, you know. That happens when they obtain coins and a chance at something they see as
better.” Fustar sipped from the pewter goblet.
“Or when they fear they have done wrong,” suggested the son. “I had thought, ser, that the peasants deserved a lesson. They should not have been hunting the pheasants. Those are reserved for us.”
“Kylar, do you think that they like a good fowl any less than do we?”
“But…they are peasants.”
“Yes…they are. They eat; they drink; and they piss just like we do.” Fustar offered a dry and cackling laugh.
“They are little better than trained animals.”
“They must be somewhat better.” Fustar smiled politely. “Else you would not be so wroth at one leaving the lands. Or was it his consort you wished to discipline?”
“That he would have understood.”
“I am certain he understands now. He did not remain here to receive such punishment.”
“How…?” Kylar shakes his head in disgust. “How…”
“It might be better just to let the matter lie, Kylar.” Fustar’s voice was again mild, deceptively so, with but the slightest accent upon the words “let the matter lie.”
Kylar offered another indifferent nod. “As you wish, ser.” His eyes glittered for but a moment before he turned to Secca. “How are you finding Issl, lady?”
“Your sire has been most instructive and kind,” Secca replied.
“He has always enjoyed instructing others,” Kylar said, continuing after the slightest of pauses, “Have you seen the mews?”
“No, I have not.”
“The falcons are Kylar’s pride,” observed Fustar. “Along with his daughters.”
“You have several daughters?” asked Secca.
“Seven,” admitted the stocky heir. “As you doubtless have heard, my dear Tressa did not long survive the last.”
Secca had heard that, and more, considering that Tressa was his second consort, and that Kylar had approached several other lords of the Thirty-three for the hands of their daughters. “I was most sorry to hear that.”
“As were we all,” said Fustar. “But enough of sadness.” He raised his goblet. “To the lady and sorceress who graces Issl.”
The Shadow Sorceress: The Fourth Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 2