The child leans forward in the chair to take one of the glazed almonds from the dish on the table.
“Just a few,” says Alya.
“Yes, Mother.”
A half-smile crosses the man’s face before his eyes return to Alya. “You are disturbed by the news from Synek?"
The Matriarch frowns. “I would have been surprised if Mynntar had prevailed, oven with the aid of the Sturinnese. I worry greatly about the use of Clearsong to poison Mynntar.”
“Did he not deserve it?” asks Aetlen.
“He did...That is not the difficulty. I fear we shall see much more and different uses of spellsongs in the seasons ahead. Now is not the time for shadow sorcery. Not with the Ladies 0f the Shadows visiting me, and recalling the horrors of the Spell-Fire Wars.”
“You worry about them?"
“Their worries are the same as mine—but they will not see that the evils of not using sorcery may be even worse than the horrors of using it.”
“You expect the new Sorceress-Protector to abandon what has worked so well for more than a score of years?” asks Aetlen.
“No. She acted then as she needed, but I fear she will yet try more subtle shadow sorcery,” replies the Matriarch, smiling at her daughter even while she eases the dish of almonds out of reach of her youngest.
Alcaren wearing the pale blue of the Matriarchy, but with insignia neither of an officer nor a ranker-- sits in the straight-backed chair by the door, eyes flicking from the Matriarch to her daughter and then to her consort He stands and slips to the second-story window, studying the way below, then the dark clouds beyond the harbor. His fingers curl around the hilt of the sabre, then uncurl, as if willed to do so.
“Because she does not understand that shadow sorcery is fully effective only after great power has been displayed?’ Aetlen’s voice is dry as he brushes back white-blonde hair that shows neither the white nor the silver of aging.
The Matriarch nods.
“Mother?” asks the girl, who would stand perhaps to the Matriarch’s shoulder, “why couldn’t you bring another sorceress from the Mist Worlds, the way they once did in Defalk? One who had great power?’
Alya frowns. “It is not that simple, Verlya. Knowledge is a form of Harmony. The great sorceress Anna was not a sorceress when she came to Liedwahr. She was a singer of songs, for songs do not have the power in the Mist Worlds that they do here. Even so, she was most fortunate to have survived the trip. Such a trip would kill a knowing sorcerer or sorceress.” The Matriarch smiles. ‘We were most fortunate that she was who she was. I would not gamble on such. I could not.”
“Are the other sorceresses like her?”
“No. No person is like unto another. Nor are sorceresses. There are three, and they are all powerful, but most different. The eldest is the Sorceress of Delalk, and she is most like the sorceresses of old, and finds herself in a world where such is most dangerous. The second would be a sorcerer, for she uses men as men have used women, and she feels the currents of power among the lords. The third, and the youngest, she is the shadow sorceress, much as the great sorceress was, and should she ever emerge into the full light of Harmony, she also will change Liedwahr, perhaps far more than the great sorceress. Yet she would hug the shadows close.”
“Why does she stay in the shadows?’
“Because for many years, the shadows have allowed her and the one who taught her to shape the future of Defalk and of Liedwahr unseen and more gently.”
“I would not like my future changed from the shadows,” states Verlya. “Not by a sorceress.”
“That will change, for a time.” The Matriarch sighs. “It wth change so much that all will yearn for the shadow days.”
“I won’t,” avers the girl.
‘We shell see,” temporizer the Matriarch.
“Indeed we shall,” adds Aetlen.
By the window, Alcaren frowns, ever so slightly, as hIs gaze returns from surveying a harbor far too empty of vessels.
49
Secca walked to the window, where she stared out into the cool and clear early morning, a day bidding to be warmer than those just previous: How long would the weather hold? Did she dare cross Ebra to Dolov? Did she dare not?
A dull thump filled the room, and both Richina and Secca turned.
On the desk where Secca had been studying the maps was a tarnished bronze cylinder. From it rose the odor of hot and oiled metal and the smell of parchment being heated.
“Who sent it? asked Richina. “Lady Clayre?"
Secca pulled on the leather riding gloves that she had laid on the corner of the dressing table, then swiftly lifted the bronze tube off the maps, but not before a rectangular browned shape had darkened the parchment.
Quickly, the small sorceress pried open the copper tube, and extracted the parchment, and then a second sheet, sealed in blue, and a third with its seal and blue ribbons slightly scorched. All three were browned from the heat, but not so much that she could not read the words of the unsealed one.
Dearest Secca
I would not send these such were matters not most amiss. Clayre already has been required to use the flame sorcery against one rebellious holder in Neserea in order to support Annayal. Many of the Neserean holders have pledged to restore the Prophet of Music yet without revealing their names...or who they would install as prophet.
There are two fleets from Sturinn. One has already landed lancers and armsmen in Dumar, east of Narial, and they are moving toward Dumaria. As you know, Narial itself lies prostrate from the massive wave we think the Sea-Priests created through sorcery...
Secca shook her head, recalling the anguished chord that had awakened her in the night. Why hadn’t she used the reflecting pool sooner to seek out the cause? Because she’d been so exhausted? It had only been a day later, and she had sent a message to Lord Robero. She moistened her lips, hoping her carelessness would not come back to plague her, not any more than it already had.
Lord High Counselor Clehar is raising all his armsmen and lancers. There is no way I can reach Dumar in time, and you and Clayre are already well away from Defalk. So Lord Robero has requested I remain in Falcor...
The second Sturinnese fleet appears to be sailing toward Elahwa. Lord Robero would suggest that you offer your assistance to the Free-Women, once you have dealt with the last of the threat from Mynntar. He and I feel that Ebra cannot stand if Elahwa falls to the Sea-Priests...not unless all of us go eastward...With Sturinnese lancers landing in Dumar, and rebellion in Neserea...
The writing seemed to blur for Secca, but she knew the letters had not blurred. She looked blindly toward the closed window, as the dark wooden walls seemed to press in upon her.
“Lady! What is it?’
Rather than speak, Secca extended the message to Richina.
While Riehina read the first, Seoca unsealed the second, the one with her name on the outside, and with Roboro’s seal.
Most honored Sorceress-Protector of the East,
The Assistant Sorceress of Defalk has informed me that a Sturinnese fleet is nearing the Free City of Elahwa. She has also informed me that you have removed the vast majority of the would-be usurper’s forces. Therefore, I would request that you ensure the loyalty of Dolov, as you see fit to do so, and with the support of the Lord High Counselor Hadrenn. I have enclosed
a sealed scroll strongly suggesting that he offer you all support within his power.
Secca’s lips turned up in a faint smile. That wording read of Jolyn’ s not-so-light hand. The half-smile vanished with the next words she read.
Upon completing that task, I would suggest that you offer your assistance to the FreeWomen of Elahwa, should they still be resisting the Sturinnese. If the city has fallen, it might be best to see what can be done to dislodge the Sea-Priests before they can reinforce their position...
In short, approaching winter or not, bad weather or not, she was headed eastward in an effort to stop matte
rs which were already less than wonderful from turning into a complete disaster, if they had not already.
“I should have known. I should have used the glass more.” Secca shook her head. “Yet looking at the memories of reflections will not suffice.”
“What are you going to do?’ asked the younger sorceress.
"Take Lord Robero’s scroll directly to Lord Hadrenn.”
“He will not be pleased.”
“I’m not sure Lord Hadrenn has ever been pleased.” Then, she reflected, in his position, she supposed she would not have been either. Hadrenn was a local lord who was not fitted for more, in a time when a greater man would have been welcome. Except all those who would have been greater had opposed Anna, and now Secca had to find a way to rescue a weak land with a weak lord. Without sorcery and without Stepan, it would have been impossible from the beginning.
Secca picked up the scroll, then glanced at Richina. “You need to practice the vocalises, the ones with the ‘eees,’ because you’re still swallowing your voice too much. I hope I won’t be long.”
“Yes, lady.”
Secca stepped from the guest chambers, and Mureyn, an older lancer, followed her down the corridor. Duryl, the other lancer, whom Secca did not know except by name, remained at the door.
The pair of guards standing outside Hadrenn’ s study stiffened as Secca marched toward them.
“Lady Sorceress...” The taller guard began.
“Tell Lord Hadrenn that what I bring him will not wait long.”
The two exchanged glances, then the taller guard rapped on the door, and cased it open a fraction. “Sire...the Lady Secca. She says that it requires much haste.”
Apparently, Hadrenn said nothing, but only gestured, for the guard opened the study door, bowing to Secea as she stepped inside and closed the heavy oak door behind her.
Hadrenn did not stand from behind the ornate and ancient desk, its wood so darkened by age that it appeared almost black. The dark green velvet hangings framing the tall windows behind the desk were drawn so closely together that only a slit of light passed into the study, and the four branched candelabra on the corner of the desk dropped only a small pool of light across the ledger before the Lord High Counselor.
“I was reviewing the liedstadt accounts. There is little to spare. It was not the best of harvests, and the need to use the lancers has cost more than we had set aside. Then there are the death golds for those men you flamed..." Hadrenn gave a dramatic sigh.
“You will need to find more golds, I fear, Lord Hadrenn” Secca extended the sealed scroll.
Hadrenn studied the blue wax of the seal and the blue ribbons, whose edges were browned by the heat of its sorcerous transmission. “How did you come by this? And why did you not present it sooner?” He scowled.
“It was sent by sorcery,” Secca stated. “In a bronze tube lined with special fabric. It appeared in my room moments ago.”
“You can send such? Why then do any use messengers?” Hadrenn shook his head.
Secca took a slow breath. “It takes a sorcerer or a Sorceress. Sending one small tube will take all the sorcery she can muster for a day, perhaps two. Would you prefer the battle won? Or the road built?”
“For such as you do, we would do better with more sorceresses,” Hadrenn offered, not quite growling.
“Defalk has more sorceresses than ever it has had, and we have worked hard, but four could not send all the scrolls a ruler would need, and then we could do little else.”
“So... this scroll is most important?”
“I would judge so.”
“You know what it states?”
“Not the words, Lord Hadrenn, but I believe Lord Robero makes a request for your support against the Sturinnese and in securing eastern Ebra under your control.”
Hadrenn studied the scroll again, stll not breaking the seal. “It has been scorched.”
“That happens when sent by sorcery, even within bronze. Some messages, if sent when a sorceress is too tired or sent too far, arrive as little more than cinders.”
“Sorcery..." After a brusque headshake, Hadrenn broke the seal and began to read, his lips mouthing the words. Finally, he looked up, his head outlined by the light from the windows, but his face in shadow.
“The Sturinnese are about to attack the Free City--or so your lord says,--- and I am to offer all that l can in your support, excepting levies.” The Lord High Counselor lifted his hands. “I am recalled as to why I dread the visits of sorceresses. What choice have I? If I support you not, then I will have neither the backing of Defalk nor my lands. Yet... in supporting you, at the least I impoverish my folk and risk losing what it has taken long years to build.
Secea could not find much sympathy for Hadrenn within herself, even as she spoke. “We of Defalk did not, foment this, Lord Hadrenn. Nor does Lord Robero desire your lands.”
“Both I know. Both I understand. Yet. . .” The balding lord twisted the scroll in his hands then glanced down at the desk, before looking up at Secca. “Stepan and the lancers will accompany you until you need them not, and you may request aught that you need from Frengal and him.” A ghastly pale smile crossed the Lord High Counselor’s face. “Let us devoutly hope for the support of the Harmonies as well.”
"Thank you.” Secca understood how little Hadrenn wished to be where he sat. She doubted he understood how little she wished to be where she stood. "We will depart tomorrow, the weather permitting.”
“As you will, Sorceress-Protector. As you will.”
“As we must,” Secca replied, bowing slightly before she turned and left.
50
Encora, Ranuak
The mother and the father and two daughters sit around the oval dining table that could seat at least another four people. The table is lit but by a single candle. Outside, the cold rain pelts on the windows and the roof.
“You’re worried about Veria?” asks Aetlen, finishing the last bite of a stew that had filled but half the small bowl before him.
“Veria... and Encora,” replies the Matriarch. “We know that the Sturinese will lay siege to Elahwa, yet we’re still losing trading vessels. Even ships from Wei are no longer porting here. Prices of all goods are going up, and there are some grain futures that the Exchange will not trade, at any price.”
“Mother, why will you not send more lancers to help the FreeWomen?” asks the thin and older dark-haired girl.
The blonde daughter Verlya pauses in lifting a goblet. Her eyes flicker from her mother to her older sister.
‘We have already sent ten companies, Ulya. What am I to do if the Sturinnese turn their ships south and sail to attack Encora? They can reach us in less than a week if the wind is right, and if their fleet is in the channel. The lancers will need to ride back and it will take almost twice that for them to return. And they will not be fit for battle for another week if they make such haste.”
“You could send Alcaren,” Verlya says. “The SouthWomen would go with him.”
Alya’ s mouth opens, if for but an instant. “Where did you hear that?”
Verlya flushes. “I shouldn’t say, I guess. Should I?"
“You overheard Alcaren talking to someone?"
“No, mother. It wasn’t Alcaren. He wouldn’t do that.”
“I’ll bet it was Scyda,” suggests Ulya. “She was complaining the other day that the SouthWomen could make a difference.”
AIya cocks her head, as if in thought, then glances at her consort.
“Do you know what the Sorceress-Protector will do?’ asks Aetlen.
“Whatever is best for Defalk, I am sure. That may not be best for Elahwa or us.” Alya’s lips twist. “Then it may be, but it is not something we can count upon, not in these times."
“She will not harm us, will she?’ questions Verlya.
“That is most unlikely, but she is young, as sorceresses go--"
“Like Alcaren?’ interrupts Ulya.
Alya laughs.
“In a way. In a way. But he would rather use a blade or a lance, while she prefers indirect spells.”
“That’s why he’s the head of your guard,” Verlya announces.
Aetlen and Alya exchange a quick glance before smiling at each other.
Alya laughs, ruefully. “Why not? If the SouthWomen would have him... then..."
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