The Shadow Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Secca and Richina exchanged glances.

  Alcaren shook his head. "The shallows will break a ship.”

  After several moments, Secca turned her head to Richiña again. "We need to start some vocalises. I don’t know how long it will be after we leave the channel before we find the Sturinnese.” Or before they find us.

  Alcaren nodded slightly.

  The two sorceresses had completed a series of two long, drawn-out, and gentle warm-ups, when the pitching motion of the Silberwelle began to increase.

  “I think we’re out of the channel,” offered Alcaren, straightening in the chair he had taken closest to the hatch door. He swallowed.

  A half-smile flitted across Secca’s face as she recalled Alcaren’s discomfort with sea travel.

  A deep bass rumbling filtered through the hull of the ship, a rumbling that seemed to go on and on. At the sound or sensation, Secca cocked her head. Across from her, Al­caren frowned, also tilting his head slightly.

  Secca glanced at Richina. "Did you . . .?”

  Richina nodded, her face showing apprehension.

  Secca’s eyes went to Alcaren again.

  He shook his head.

  Then, not all that later, the pitching of the ship stopped, almost abruptly, as if the Silberwelle had entered an area of calm water. Alcaren frowned again, then lurched from his chair to the forward porthole where he looked out through the green-tinted thick glass.

  “What . . .?” began Secca.

  “Hold on to the chair. Hold tight!” Alcaren wrapped his arms around one of the circular posts framing the captain’s bunk.

  “Why?” Richina tightened her hands over the carved arms of her chair.

  “Another wave! Hang on!”

  Secca gaped as she felt the deck tilting, the forward bulkhead of the cabin seeming to rise a good two yards above the rear one, and she could feel her feet dangling away from the deck for a long moment.

  Then abruptly, the bow dropped with a lurch, and Secca’s stomach dropped with it, and her boots slummed down on the deck. The light from the portholes vanished momentarily as dark water appeared outside, and then was replaced with foam, and then the grey of day. Despite the closed hatches and the raised coaming of the hatch to the captain’ s quarters, a thin sheet of gray-blue water poured across the wooden deck of the captain’s cabin.

  The Silberwelle continued to ride through a series of maneuvers, combining a slight tendency to corkscrew with irregular pitching of decreasing intensity.

  Secco wasn’t sure which had shocked her more, the fact that the Sea-Priests had been able to use sorcery for another great wave or the fact that Alcaren had sensed the disruption of the Harmonies, as though he were a sorcerer. Alcaren . . . a sorcerer?

  Secca wanted to shake her head even while the ship continued to ride out the aftermath of the wave. A sorcerer! That made sense, and yet, the fact that he had used no sorcery somehow reassured her, but she couldn’t say why. Nor was she ready to struggle with all that implied—not right before a sorcerous sea battle, and not when Alcaren had been trustworthy in all that he had said and done.

  Richina looked pale and Alcaren positively green by the time the hatch door opened to reveal a figure in blue.

  “Selya, first officer. Captain would like you topside.” Selya did not wait for their response, but disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

  Secca took the saddlebags and the cased lutar and headed along the passage to the open main deck. Outside, in the chill sea air, she glanced around. The Silberwelle looked little different, save that all surfaces were wet and water sloshed along the decks.

  Turning, she climbed the ladder to the poop deck, and crossed to the railing around the helm platform where Den­yst stood.

  “Quite a ride there, if l do say so.” said the captain. “Nothing we couldn’t handle, though. Been through worse in the fall storms in the Bitter Sea. Lookout has sighted sails to the southeast. They’re faster, but the wind’s with us. I thought we should let them catch us. Otherwise, they might get suspicious.” She looked at Secca.

  “How long will it take?’

  “A glass, I’d wager.”

  “That would be good. Can you let us know about a quarter-glass before they get in range for their fireshafts?"

  “You want all of them close?"

  “At least a handful,” Secca said. ‘We can’t do spell after spell.”

  "The Matriarch said we might be able to pick up a few ships..."

  “That’s possible--- if the spells go right.”

  Denyst nodded. “Spare crews are on the Schaumen­flucht”

  Secea glanced forward, noting that the swells remained constant, and still almost two yards from crest to trough. About every third swell, a thin spray rose over the bow, but only a little water struck the fo’c’sle, and only within a yard or so of the base of the bowsprit.

  “More sails to the southwest, captain! Looks like a half-score!” came the call from the lookout above.

  “Starboard ten,” ordered Denyst.

  “Aye. Coming starboard ten.”

  “Alcaren . . .” Secca began, then shook her head.

  “You want the players on deck?” Alcaren swallowed as he finished the question.

  “They don’t have to run, but better now than later.”

  “I’ll tell Palian.” The Ranuan overcaptain turned and climbed down the ladder to the main deck, crossing the deck beside the mainmast.

  Secca looked down at the lutar and saddlebags.

  Richina took both with a smile.

  Secca began another vocalise. “Holly-lolly-pop.. .“ For some reason, she had to stop and cough up mucus, but after the second run-through, her cords felt clear.

  “They’re running under full sail, captain, even the ones coming into the teeth of the wind,” reported the lookout.

  “Sorcery?” asked Denyst.

  “Wind sorcery,” Secca confirmed. She frowned as she realized the implications. The Sturinnese had raised two mighty waves, and each took a sorcerous effort that was similar to fighting an entire battle, at least from the way the Harmonies protested, and yet there were some Sturin­nese strong enough to call up winds to speed their vessels. Just how much sorcery could they do?

  Shortly, Alcaren returned. He glanced at Richina, carry­ing Secca’s lutar. “It might be better if I held this.”

  Secca nodded.

  "Thank you,” said Richina as Alcaren took the lutar. Secca glanced out upon the fleet bearing down upon her three vessels. She could not even count how many, so nu­merous the sails appeared, but she saw no point in using sorcery just to discover numbers.

  “A third of a glass or less before the lead frigate closes, sorceresses.”

  Secca walked to the railing at the edge of the poop deck that overlooked the main deck and called down, “Players! First spellsong will be the third building spell. The third building spell. Less than a quarter-glass.”

  “Run through on the third building spell!” ordered Palian. “At my mark. . . Mark.”

  Although she managed to keep smiling, within herself Secca winced at the first few bars. The pitching of the Silberwelle had definitely affected their playing. But by the fourth or fifth bar, the raggedness smoothed out, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

  She looked up and out off the port side of the ship. Three of the white-hulled Sturinnese frigates were less than a dek away. Another three were closing on the Schaumen­flucht.

  She glanced toward Alcaren. His face was composed, but pale and greenish. Richina’s eyes were still fixed on the nearing Sturinnese vessels.

  Secca closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the first spell she would use, trying not to think too deeply about it. According to Anna’s notes, it wasn’t Darksong because it referred only to water as a substance, and not to any living aspect, but Secca wondered how close she would be coming to Darksong with it. Still...she had promised the Matriarch she would try.

&
nbsp; She stepped back to the railing overlooking the main deck, where the players faced southward, to the port side of the Silberwelle. “Chief players!”

  ‘We stand ready.”

  “Third building song. Now,” ordered Secca.

  “At my mark!” called Palian. “Mark!”

  The opening bars were far smoother than with the run-through, and Secca concentrated on a smooth and free pro­duction, not worrying about actual projection, as she launched into the spellsong.

  “Infuse with heat, and turn to steam,

  the water within the veins and bloodstream

  of each Sea-Priest and all whom they command;

  Boil within their blood right where they stand..."

  An off-key note chimed through the gray skies, fol­lowed by the sound of crystal shattering. Secca blinked, staggered, then went to her knees on the hardwood of the deck, one hand thrust out to keep from falling totally on her face.

  Alcaren had an arm around Secca, and was helping her to her feet almost immediately. Waves of light and dark washed across her vision, and it took all her effort to stand, even with Alcaren’ s support. For a time, she just stood on the deck, unseeing.

  Alcaren and Richina exchanged words. Secca had no idea what the two had said, but Richina moved away and then disappeared.

  Secca tried to make out what was happening around her. Her head was throbbing, and double images flashed before her eyes. Alcaren seemed to be two separate men, one looking at her with kindness and concern, the second leering and sneering simultaneously. She closed her eyes.

  “Lady Secca! Drink this. You must”

  Even Richina spoke in two voices, and Seeca had to struggle to make out the words. She swallowed what­ever Richina tendered, feeling the liquid splash across her cheeks and chin.

  Some of the headache began to subside, and the dou­ble images of those around her seemed to fade slightly, so that each person carried a silvered shadow, rather than a double of their entire self. She blinked again, her eyes watering in light that seemed far too bright, even though the sky was filled with high gray clouds.

  “You need to drink more, my lady,” said Alcaren gently.

  His breath and words seemed close enough to caress her neck, and she wanted to lean back into his arms. Instead, she forced herself to take a longer swallow from the mug Richina held.

  “Dissonance! Lead frigate swept starboard right into the other one!” The words came from the lookout above, sounding very far away. “Looks like none at the helm, captain.”

  Secca shook her head. At least the first spell had worked on one of the Sturinnese vessels.

  “Two of ‘em, like as in irons,” reported the lookout after several moments.

  After taking a biscuit front Alcaren, who was still pale and greenish, Secca slowly ate it, interspersing the biscuit with sips of water to get it down her suddenly dry throat. She looked up as a shadow fell across her, squinting to make out the figure of the captain.

  ‘Whatever you did, Lady Secca, there are five, maybe seven, of their vessels unhelmed,” said Denyst. “The others are regroupmg and starting to close on us once more.”

  “How long?”

  “Another half-glass.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Secca began to eat the second biscuit offered by Alcaren.

  “Lady, you cannot do more sorcery. I can use the flame spell against them,” Richina offered. “I can.”

  “Not yet.” Stepping slightly away from Alcaren, Secea took another swallow of water, reaching for an­other biscuit. “I can do one more spell, if that is not enough, then you will, have to use the flame spell. Tell Palian to be ready with the first building spell. The first building spell.”

  “As you wish, lady.” Richina did not turn toward the players, but remained looking at Secca.

  “Let her do the flame spell, my lady,” Alcaren whispered. “She must try herself, and whatever she does will leave less for you.”

  Secca opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she spoke. “Richina . . . perhaps you should try the flame spell on the nearer vessels.”

  “Yes, lady.” A trace of a smile flitted across Richina’s face, then, vanished.

  A glance passed between Richina and Alcaren, but Secca ignored it. She would still have to handle the storm spell . . . somehow. The flame spell wouldn’t reach far enough. Nor would the wind spell she had used against the Sturinnese before. And Richina had not the feel for the storm spell.

  The Sturinnese recovered quickly. Before long, un­less Richina could destroy the Sturinnese ships, both she and Secca would have to fight off the effects of the thunder-drums, as the Sea-Priests neared the Silber­welle.

  "Chief players!” called Richina. “The short flame spell."

  “Standing ready with the short flame spell.”

  Richina watched as the white hulls of the Sturinnese closed. “On your mark, chief player!”

  "The short flame spell. Mark!” called Palian.

  When the second bar of the accompaniment began, so did Richina’s spell.

  “Turn to fire, turn to flame

  All ships here with Sturinn' s name. . . .

  turn to ashes, on this sea.. .“

  As the younger sorceress’s words finished, a curtain of flame flared southward, wrapping itself around the nearest two vessels, and the bow of a third. In moments, the three were blackened hulks.

  Secca's eyes went from Richina, now holding the rail for support, to the remainder of the seemingly endless white-hulled vessels, watching as those untouched by the first two sets of spells, once more turned toward the Silberwelle.

  Secca nodded to Alcaren, squinting to make the two images she saw of him into one. "Tell Pahan I will need the first building spell.”

  “Can you do this?" whispered Alcaren, leaning to­ward Secca.

  “I must . . . .All is lost if I cannot."

  Alcaren looked directly at Secca. Even through the silvered, half-double images that were those of but one man, she could see the concern on both his faces. Then he turned and called out loudly, “The Lady Secca will be using the first building spell. The first building spell.”

  ‘We stand. ready with the first building spell,” came back Palian’s reply.

  A flaming quarrel flew toward the Silbenvelle, falling short, and plunging into the blue-gray waters fifty yards off the ship’s quarter. A heavy vibration filled the air, and then died away.

  The dissonant drums! In moments, they would begin to support the Sea-Priests. She had so little time.

  “Be but a few moments before they’re in range, sor­ceresses!” called Denyst.

  Secca took a deep breath and stepped up to the railing above the main deck. “The first building song. Now!”

  “The first building song,” repeated Palian. “At my mark. Mark!”

  Secca pushed the headache, the wavering vision, the double images, even that of Alcaren holding the lutar case and watching her, all out of her mind and concen­trated on the spell, on the words, on meshing with the melody that rose from the players below.

  She began to sing, and she was the spell that rose from the Silberwelle.

  “Water boil and water bubble,

  like a caldron of sorcerers’ trouble...

  build a storm with winds swirling through

  in spouts that break all ships in two . . .”

  Secca managed another breath between the stanzas, knowing that she needed at least two complete stanzas to build the spell fully.

  “Ocean boil and ocean bubble,

  crush to broken sticks of floating rubble

  ships crewed by those in Sea-Priest white

  and let none escape the water’s might...”

  As the last notes died away, a silence seemed to creep across the afternoon. The swells around the Silberwelle flattened, and the gray light filtering through the hazy clouds dimmed even more, until the sky was almost black and silent.

  From somewhere in the distance came a low and growling rumble
, followed by a high-pitched whistling whine, before the two sounds merged into a rushing and roaring torrent.

  Secca tottered, her hands on the railing, trying to hold herself erect as a series of black columns reared out of the suddenly flat waters of the Southern Ocean. Each waterspout column split into two, one silver and one black, just as each player on the deck seemed to have doubled, and each sail and white hull.

  The spouts moved slowly, inexorably, toward the white hulls, touching one, then another, and as each dark spout touched a Sturinnese vessel, that ship dis­integrated into splinters flying in all directions. With each disintegration, the screams unheard by few others— that Secca understood--- reverberated inside her skull, until she wanted to lift her hands to her ears to block out the sounds of death and destruction.