The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Marveling and wondering how much of what Anna had done would last well beyond her death, Secca followed Clayre out and across the corridor. Dyvan followed Secca, while Easlon remained at the door to Secca’s chamber. Clayre opened the door to the scrying chamber, and both sorceresses stepped inside. Behind them Dyvan gulped even before Clayre shut the oak door. Secca smiled. Lanc­ers were not used to sorceresses vanishing from view in plain sight.

  “I added a spell to keep words from leaving the cham­ber."

  "Ears everywhere?" asked Secca.

  "More than I’d like. Anna hated it. I think that was one reason she left Falcon.”

  “One of many.” Secca’s voice was dry. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know me too well.” Clayre laughed, mirthlessly. “Not only is Hanfor dead, but there’s been an attack by Mansuuran armsmen on a coastal town in Neserea. The local lord killed all the attackers, but he’s sent bodies and tunics and a few other proofs from Worlan to Esaria.”

  “And scrolls here?" asked Secca.

  “I assume they’re on the way.”

  "This is your friend Belmar?"

  "Not my friend,” Clayre protested. “He never was. Good-looking through a glass, but never more than that, especially not now.”

  “It seems rather convenient.”

  “All too convenient, but Lord Robero won’t be willing to say that it’s suspicious. There’s no proof. If he says too much, then he’s viewed as wanting to take over Neserea, and Hanfor’s suspicious death is laid his feet—or ours.”

  ‘Then, you haven’t told Robero? Or Jolyn?"

  Clayre shook her head. “I just found out last night, and I wanted to talk to you to see if you knew anything. Jolyn’s at Elheld. Robero has her rebuilding the stables. There’s no harp there.”

  "What did she tell him this time?” asked Secca with a laugh. ‘That the stables were collapsing?”

  “Something like that. Except there was the hint that he’d be compared unfavorably to his grandsire.”

  “She’ll do anything to get out of Falcor”

  “Almost anything,” Clayre amended. “Except she won’t take a consort. She claims that she feels more like an aunt or a mother to anyone her age.”

  “With as many lovers as she’s had—all of them a de­cade older—she should know.”

  “Jealous?” asked Clayre.

  “No,” replied the younger sorceress simply. Somehow ...in some fashion, Secca had always thought there would be someone, but there never had been. Robero had been far too self-centered, wanting someone to adore him, or at least pretend that, while Secca herself had been looking for someone like her father—or Lord Jecks. And after see­ing the closeness between Anna and Jecks, Secca had never wanted to settle for a consorting of convenience, especially not if it meant losing her powers—or some of them—to have children to provide an heir... for what?

  “She’s also going to work on the road from Elheld north to Wendel?”

  "I did suggest that,” Clayre said with a laugh. “The way things are going, we may need more than one way north­ward... or in any direction.”

  “There’s no new trouble in Ebra,” Secca said.

  "No, but Hadrenn’s always been a rotten timber.”

  “Not rotten, just weak,” Secca corrected.

  "They both give way under weight.”

  “With Anna...gone...you think Mynntar will try something ?"

  “You’ve followed him more than we have,” Clayre said. “What do you think?”

  “Mynntar won’t do anything directly against Defalk, but he could attack Hadrenn. Even so, he won’t act unless he can finish whatever it is before we could deal with him.”

  “But with trouble in Neserea...?"

  “He’ll bear watching.” Secca admitted. “We’d best tell Robero about the Mansuuran attack on Neserea. Tell him we just found out now, and that it could be a ploy by anyone, not necessarily by Kestrin.”

  “Kestrin couldn’t be that stupid.”

  “No. But what if someone wanted to show he didn’t control his land?” asked Secca. “That he is weak or inef­fectual? Then what?”

  Clayre winced. “I don’t like that at all.”

  Neither did Secca. “We might as well tell Robero now. I should present myself to his lordship.”

  “You still don’t care for him, do you?"

  “Robero has always been too impressed with Robero, and I worry that without Anna...” Secca let the words trail off.

  "That we’ll have to go through the same trials she did?”

  “Haven’t you thought about it? She was a mighty sor­ceress from the Mist Worlds. How could we know or have the powers she did?"

  “They’ll learn,” Clayre prophesied.

  “We’d best go."

  Clayre nodded, and the two stepped from the reflecting pool chamber.

  Dyvan’s eyes widened as they appeared from what seemed to be an empty chamber, but he did not swallow or gulp as he turned to follow Secca down the steps to the main level and the audience chamber.

  Two guards and a page Secca didn’t recognize waited outside the closed doors.

  "Lady Secca and Lady Clayre to see Lord Robero,” Secca said quietly.

  The two guards inclined their heads slightly, and the shorter one turned and edged the door open. “The lady sorceresses, Lord Robero.”

  After a moment, in which Robero must have gestured, for Secca heard nothing, the guard opened the door. Dyvan remained in the corridor with the other two guards. The blocky man in the gilded chair did not rise as Secca and Clayre entered the audience chamber.

  Secca bowed, if just enough to convey respect far the position Robero held.

  Behind and to the left of Lord Robero’s chair was a smaller chair, occupied by a petite blonde woman, even more slender and shorter than Secca. Before her consort could speak, Alyssa rose and stepped forward with a warm smile. “Secca...it’s so good to see you.” She glanced at Clayre. “And you, too, if but since yesterday."

  Rising belatedly. Robero offered the all-too-familiar boyish grin, then brushed back wisps of his thinning mahogany hair. “It is good to see you again. He added quickly. “Both of you.”

  “It is always good to see you and Alyssa, even when the occasion is sad.” Secca was grateful to Alyssa, who served Robero as much as loved him, and who, somehow, quietly, managed to keep him from taking himself as se­riously as he would have liked to do.

  “How...?” asked Alyssa. “She seemed strong last summer.

  “She was working on something. She hadn’t even tried to cast a spell. I found her collapsed by the reflecting pool. Usually, when that happened, she would rest and recover. This time... she didn’t.”

  “We will miss her.” Robero, surprisingly, sounded as though he would, as he reseated himself leaving Secca and Clayre—and Alyssa—standing.

  Secca had to believe that the Lord of Defalk had actually considered all of what Anna had meant to him and Defalk.

  “Do you think... Hanfor’s death...? He was a good and a strong man," Robero said slowly.

  “It could be,” Secca said smoothly. “Clayre and I have just discovered that lancers clad in the uniforms of Man­suuran lancers attacked a town in Neserea.”

  “What town? Were they truly Mansuuran lancers?’ Robero leaned forward in the gilded chair.

  “Worlan,” replied Clayre. “Apparently, the local lord slaughtered them all.”

  Robero shook his head. “That was most convenient for someone. Who was the local lord?”

  “A young holder named Belmar. He had sought the hand of Annayal.”

  “He would prove he is worthy. Most convenient.” The balding lord snorted.

  “A costly way to prove such worth,” offered Alyssa qui­etly.

  Secca held in a faint smile as Robero turned in his chair and raised his eyebrows.

  “As you yourself said last week, dearest,” Alyssa continued almost apologetically, “the cost of maintaining a single co
mpany of lancers is dear. This Belmar must have had even more force at his command to destroy an entire company of Mansuuran armsmen. To maintain such, es­pecially in an out-of-the-way holding, that could not be without cost, could it?”

  “Sorcery, more likely.” Robero looked to Clayre. “Could he have used spellsongs?"

  “He has players, lord. Whether they are good and whether he can use them so... we have not seen.”

  “Why not?” Robero waved away his own question. “I know. Unless you spend all your time following but a sin­gle lord or holder, one cannot be certain. But is it likely?”

  “More likely than his being able to maintain enough armsmen to destroy an entire company to the last man,” conceded Clayre.

  Secca thought either was highly unlikely of itself, but merely nodded agreement.

  “We will have to think upon this. We will talk more tomorrow of it... when you are rested, Secca. And per­haps when you will have been able to learn more, Clayre." Robero smiled and nodded. “I thank you for your diligence in keeping us well-informed.”

  “We look forward to seeing you at supper,” added Alyssa. “You can tell us more about how things are in Mencha and elsewhere in the east”

  Secca bowed, not deeply.

  “Until then, ladies?" Robero continued to smile as the two left the audience chamber.

  21

  Encora, Ranuak

  The golden light of late fall angling through the win­ dowpanes is warm-colored but weak. At the desk sits a woman in a pale blue tunic and trousers. She studies the topmost scroll of the pile before her.

  Thrap. At the knack on the door, she rises from behind the desk, setting the scroll down. “Come in.”

  A second woman enters the study. She has shimmering, short-cut, white hair and is stocky, but not heavy. Her sea-blue tunic and trousers are simple, yet of silk, and the sole piece of jewelry on her person is a collar pin that has been passed from generation to generation. The fine gold wires of the pin represent two sheaves of grain, crossed. Her lined face offers a pleasant smile as she bows. “Matriarch, you requested my presence. I trust you do not mind that I waited until the Exchange closed. I await your wisdom.”

  Alya laughs, gently. “You have far more experience than I, Dyleroy. That is why I have summoned you.”

  “Like your mater. Matriarch, you are modest.”

  ‘I trust I understand my limitations as well as she did.” The comparatively young matriarch, whose blonde hair is but partly silver, smiles self-depreciatingly and gestures to the chairs opposite the simple desk. “You as Mistress of the Exchange know trade far better than I, and you hear what others fear to let me know.”

  “Can you blame them?’ asks the Exchange Mistress with an amused smile as she seats herself.

  “I do. . . privately, but even if I did so publicly, would it change matters?” Alya sits and eases the scrolls to one side of the desk.

  “Not if you would remain strong,” concedes Dyleroy.

  “What did you wish to discuss? Certainly not your cousin Alcaren.”

  Alya lips curl into a wry expression. “Need I? Your daughter handled him well enough.”

  “For now. But you cannot keep him from sorcery... can you?”

  “I have trained him, because the alternative is worse. After all, my father was a sorcerer, though few knew it.”

  “Your father was a modest and most remarkable man. All Ranuak is poorer for his absence. Alcaren needs must go far even to behold his memory. If I might ask, what will you do?”

  “If I can, find him a proper consort, who will check his impulsiveness because he would protect her.”

  “And how will you manage that?”

  “It does not seem possible, does it?” The Matriarch laughs. “As my mother once said, we must trust the Har­monies. Trust and watch.” She pauses. “That was not why I requested your presence.”

  “I had thought not.” Dyleroy smiles.

  “We have lost another ship. The pattern is the same.”

  “Near a hazard, such as the Shoals of Discord? In dark­ness?’ asks the Exchange Mistress. “Often on the routes to the Free State of Elahwa?”

  “That makes near-on a half-score. Those are the ones I know of.” Alya raises her eyebrows. “I would suspect that other traders would not disclose such losses.”

  “Your suspicions are well-founded.”

  “With the recent death of the sorceress, this bears the hidden hand of the new Maitre of Sturinn.”

  “The well-hidden hand.”

  “The young Liedfuhr has followed his sire’s policy of keeping Mansuur strong and well-armed. The Council of Wei has built a fleet as well-equipped as that of Sturinn. . . and we are the weakest of those who must rely in part on trade and the bounty of the sea. Yet I cannot command that fleets be built,” points out the Matriarch.

  “Nor can I, Matriarch,”

  “It would seem there is little I can do,” offers Alya, “save suggest that our traders sail in pairs when out of sight of land.” Her lips twist. “Most will be loath to do such.”

  “You can but suggest, as will I.”

  “Young Mynntar has supposedly invested in vessels. He has near-on a half-score—they resemble those of the Stu­rinnese. Hadrenn has none.”

  “You doubt the possibility of coincidence?" Dyleroy laughs softly. “Or that they are truly his?”

  “Let us say that those of Dolov—and its lords—have never been known for their love of the sea, but well-known for their opportunism.”

  “You believe that those vessels are captained and crewed by those of the Sea-Priests?”

  “1 would be most surprised were it otherwise.” the Ma­tiarch replies.

  “Has your sister relayed any of this to you?" The Exchange Mistress bows her head. “It is not my busi­ness..."

  “Veria has. That fuels my concerns.”

  “And mine also.” Dyleroy moistens her lips, ever so slightly.

  “There is yet another matter,” Alya says slowly. “The Ladies of the Shadows.”

  “I have heard nothing.” Dyleroy frowns. “You know their goal?”

  “Do not most? To prevent the use of sorcery by any means anywhere in Liedwahr.”

  Dyleroy chuckles. “Given the horrors of the Spell-Fire Wars, a most worthy goal, if somewhat impractical in these times.”

  ‘They are especially adamant that no man should know sorcery."

  “Have they threatened Alcaren?" asks Dyleroy.

  “Not directly, but I have received a note expressing their concerns.” Alya shakes her head. “I fear that we will have little choice in the years ahead.” She smiles faintly. “You can do little with the Ladies of the Shadows save listen, but I would be pleased if you would do that.”

  “I will do what I can, as I can.”

  “Thank you. I would ask no more.” Alya rises, gracefully.

  “Not at present, at least, Matriarch.” Dyleroy inclines her head as she stands. “I hope you do not have to request more.”

  “That would be best.” Alya nods, and steps toward the study door. “I did want to share my concerns with the Exchange. I would not wish that the honored traders feel I was less than concerned about their losses.” She pauses, her hand on the door lever. “Especially when a time of change lies before us all.”

  “The Exchange recognizes your concerns, Matriarch, and we will do what we can.”

  The two women exchange knowing smiles before they part.

  22

  Clayre looked across the corner of the table in the small dining hall. On her platter were only a few crumbs of the crusty bread. She took her second apple from the bas­ket and began to slice it. Richina broke off another chunk of bread, then carefully cut a wedge of cheese. Secca sipped the heavy ale that neither Richina nor Clayre liked.

  “Do you know any more... now?” asked Clayre.

  “About what?” replied the petite sorceress. “Why would I know more now?”

  “I never quite understood
all that Anna did out there,” Clayre mused. “Or all that you’re doing. Even through the pool images, I can sense you’re often exhausted, on the edge of dissonance.”

  “I’m just trying to carry on her work. That’s all.” Secca took another chunk of bread, although she would have to force herself to eat it.