Richina’s hands went to her ears, and Alcaren staggered as if struck, but straightened.
Scattered drumming rose--- and then vanished.
Both the roaring and the screams continued to rise, until their combined din was all that Secca could hear, a roaring shriek that began to drive her to her knees, a roaring so powerful that she could not even lift her hands to block the sounds that prostrated her. Her fingers, trying to hold to the railing, failed, and she could feel her body crumpling, sliding down beside the railing, until she was sprawled on the deck of the Silberwelle.
Lying on the deck, her life being wrung out from within and without . . . she shuddered as the darkness fell across her, sensing that her chest was frozen, that she could neither speak nor breathe.
“No!” screamed Richina. “No!”
Someone was singing, but she could not hear the words.
A voice from far away far, far away--- announced gravely, “The sorceress has left the shadows.”
No! she wanted to scream. I’ll always be in the shadows now. I’ll never live, never love. For she could feel the cold darkness, and the blackness, and the dissonance, all gathered above her, descending....
116
Southern Ocean,
South of Ranuak
The Silberwelle’s sails flap once and then hang from their yards, limp, in the sudden stillness that surrounds the Ranuan trading vessel, a stillness at variance with the roaring and rushing sounds that rumble toward those standing on the deck.
Alcaren’s eyes dart from the massive water spouts that have begun to shred the Sturinnese fleet to the slender, almost-fragile redheaded figure who grasps the railing overlooking the main deck of the Silberwelle. He swallows as he watches her fingers spasm and her body shudder, as if pummeled by forces no one else can see as hear.
As she grasps the railing to steady herself, Richina's eyes are fixed on the white-hulled ships being shattered by the dark spouts, as are those of the ship-mistress of the Silberwelle.
Only the gray-blue eyes of the Ranuan overcaptain see Secca crumple, see her slide down beside the railing, her fingers limp, her eyes closed. Lutar case in hand, Alcaren takes two steps, then rushes toward the fàrward railing and the fallen sorceress.
At the sight of Secca collapsing, Palian turns from the players and the destruction on the sea to the south and begins to scramble up the ladder.
Richina turns, slowly, her mouth opening into a soundless cry.
The redheaded sorceress lying on the deck on her back opens her eyes, then her mouth, as if to speak, then shudders, her eyes wide, seemingly sightless.
Alcaren fumbles open the lutar case, snatches Secca’s lutar from within, and stands over her. He clears his throat and begins to sing, his voice true, but carrying an edge that threatens to overwhelm training and past discipline.
“With my voice and with my song,
Keep her safe and make her strong.
Still within her that darker spell,
so all within her is mended fair and well.
With my voice and with my song.. .”
Palian stops at the top of the ladder and shudders, her eyes flicking back and forth between the sorcerer and the dying sorceress.
Richina moves step-wise toward the pair by the railing, as if uncertain as to what she could or should do even as Alcaren’s voice completes the spell.
A single long note—somehow half-harmonic, half Clearsong, and half-dissonant, half-Darksong vibrates through the air, and the entire ship shivers. Crystalline shard notes slash at those who can hear the Harmonies. Richina and Palian shiver again, as if slashed by unseen knives.
The strings on Secca’s lutar snap, and the metal ends flay Alcaren’s hands and jaw, leaving long red lines. His legs fold under him. He topples forward, like a tree cut with a single swing of an axe, and the lutar drops from his limp fingers and strikes the deck with a single half-melodic thunk that echoes far more loudly than it should.
Richina and Palian stare for a long moment before rushing toward the fallen couple.
“Darksong,” murmurs the chief of players. “Twice.” Tears stream down Richina’s cheeks as she looks helplessly down at both figures on the deck before her.
Palian drops to her knees, her fingers searching for signs of life.
117
In the time just before midmorning, sunlight flowed through the windows of the main chamber of the Matriarch’ s guest quarters, the first sunlight Secca had seen in days, if not in weeks. A warm and light breeze flowed through the partly open end window, bringing in the smells of an early spring.
Secca looked down at the scroll before her on the conference table, her eyes skipping over the lines she had struggled to write, struggled because with each word, she fought another battle, one having little to do with the words before her.
. . .were most successful in destroying all but a handful of the Sturinnese ships in the Southern Ocean. According to the scrying glass, there are less than a half-score such vessels remaining, and four have turned there sails toward the Ostisles...
. . .were able to remove the crews from six vessels and make the ships available to the Matriarch in recompense for the losses suffered by Ranuak, both in supporting us and otherwise . . .
She shook her head. ‘Writing this is hard.”
“Writing anything might be a little harder than usual,” pointed out Richina. “After all, you did so much sorcery you almost died, and that was less than a week ago.”
Although Secca knew better--- she had died, or had come so close as to make little difference—she did not correct the sandy-haired young woman.
At the thrap on the door to the guest quarters, Secca sat up straighter in the armchair pulled up before the conference table. She laid aside the quill with which she had been writing to Lord Robero.
“Overcaptain Alcaren, ladies,” called Rukor. “If the Lady Secca can receive callers."
Secca swallowed, her eyes going to the door.
Richina looked to Secca.
“I’ll . . . I’ll see him,” Secca finally said.
“Have him enter,” Richina said quickly, standing and striding toward the door, as if to make sure that Secca did not change her mind.
Secca turned her head at the sound of hoofs on the long drive outside the windows of the guest quarters, although she could not see the drive from where she sat at the table. As the door opened, she looked back toward the broad-shouldered figure who stepped inside.
“Come in,” said Richina belatedly, holding the door wide. “She is much better.”
Secca felt as though a bolt of Clearsong had shivered through her heart and thoughts, freezing her where she sat for a long moment.
Richina closed the door, her eyes on Secca.
Secca felt all eyes were on her, from everywhere, even though there were but three of them in the chamber.
Alcaren stepped toward the armchair, and Secca could see that the red welts on his cheeks had begun to fade. The overcaptain swallowed, his eyes full on Secca. “I did not want to intrude until you were well enough ...I brought this for you...something to take with you,” he offered, stopping just short of where Secca sat and extending a rose, the perfect white bronze rose with an iron stem, so delicate-appearing it seemed the slightest breeze would rip off the petals.
“It is beautiful.” Secca hesitated, glancing down at the uncompleted scroll, then turning her eyes back to Alcaren.
“Like you, it is far stronger than it appears,” said the sorcerer/overcaptain gently.
Secca did not speak for a moment, a moment she knew was as fragile as appeared the rose Alcaren held. What words could she offer? How could she say what she felt?
“Though it is not so beautiful,” Alcaren murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear the words.
Secca wanted to reach out, to draw him to her. instead, she looked into Alearen’s gray-blue eyes. ‘Thank you. . . for the rose. . . for my life. . . for ev
erything.” But thanks were not enough. Could she say more? How could she not? And yet. . . what? How?
Alcaren looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes to Secca’s amber ones. The faintest of smiles showed at the corners of his lips.
The silence drew out, as eyes met eyes. “You. . . no one. . .“ Secca felt as though each word tripped over the one previous. ”I wish I had ...seen... sooner.”
“I saw you had,” he answered slowly. “I was unsure If I should come . . .after that. I was not well . . .either
. . . at first, and then. . ."
Secca ignored Richina’ s puzzlement, concentrating on Alcaren, trying to find the words, trying to step from behind the years of walls so carefully built. “I’m... glad . . . you did. I do not know . . . if I would have had your courage.”
“My lady. . . . I could do no other.”
Secca laughed, softly, warmly. "I did not mean your saving me . . . although that was a sacrifice no one could expect . . . and most courageous.” Her eyes dropped to the rose for a moment before meeting his gray-blue eyes again. “I meant coming here.”
"That . . . was harder. I thought of coming yesterday.”
“I thought of seeking you,” Secca said slowly. “I was not brave enough.”
“You nearly died,” he offered with the smile that warmed her. “Few would question that bravery.”
“You couldn’t say . . . could you?’
“I feared you saw,” he replied. “I thought you might guess every time looked at you.”
"I did guess,” Secca admitted. “I was afraid to believe it” She looked up at Alcaren.
“As was I,” he replied.
At the click of the door opening, both turned their heads, as did Richina.
Another figure stepped into the room, just ahead of the announcement by Rukor. “The Matriarch of Ranuak.”
Alcaren turned. “Matriarch?”
Alya laughed, gently, as she approached the pair by the table. “I had not thought to find you together, but that is as it should be.”
Secca could not help but smile at the slightly puzzled expression and knit brows displayed by Richina.
“The sorceress understands, Alcaren, and so does your heart, if not your mind,” said the Matriarch.
“It never ends, does it?” said Secca, fighting for a way to say what she needed to without the Matriarch saying it for her. “No matter how mighty the battle and how great the victory?"
Alcaren’s eyes flicked to Secca then back to the Matriarch.
“No.” Alya shook her head. “The rebellion burns hotter yet in Neserea, and the Sturinnese still hold Dumar, and they will send more fleets. And if you destroy those, as did your predecessor, you will still have to fight battles in sunshine and shadow.”
“More battles? The lady . . .“ Alcaren began.
“The lady needs you,” Secca managed to blurt out, her mouth dry, before anyone, anything, could stop her, before someone else spoke for her.
Alcaren turned to Secca, the gray-blue eyes wide, his lips parted slightly.
“You’re the first in years to give without asking, without expecting,” Secca said. “And no one has ever risked so much for me.”
“I had not...” Alcaren turned to the Matriarch. “If the lady will let me serve her, I would ask your leave to be released from your service?”
Alya laughed. “Separating you two would be worse than your mixing Clearsong and Darksong. Far worse, and there is no way you can remain in Ranuak, not now that the world knows you are indeed a sorcerer. Though I will keep the Ladies of the Shadows in the towers until you are both departed.”
“But . . . you said I could never be a sorcerer,” Alcaren replied.
“Not in Ranuak,” Secca said gently. As Alcaren turned to her, she felt the moment freeze, everything becoming as still as it had upon the Silberwelle just before the waterspouts had destroyed every Sturinnese ship, before the recoil had killed her, and before Alcaren had offered his spellsong and life to save hers. She had to make it clear to everyone, but especially to herself. "Liedwahr and Defalk need you.” She swallowed and repeated, “So do I.” She felt even more defenseless than she had on the Silberwelle as dissonance had swooped down on her. But she waited, hoping. Hoping she had not waited too long already.
“I had hoped...” he began, bending toward her, his eyes bright.
Secca lifted a hand, reaching out and touching his cheek. “I had not even dared to hope . . . not for so long.”
“Nor I.” Alcaren's right hand took her left, his fingers entwining with hers, as he set the perfect rose on the table and lifted her from the chair into his arms.
Her arms went around him, as the sunlight fell across them, and, outside, the first sounds of spring murmured in the midmorning air.
TOR BOOKS BY L. E. MODESITT, JR.
THE SPELLSONG CYCLE
The Soprano Sorceress
The Spellsong War
Darksong Rising
The Shadow Sorceress
Shadowsinger
THE SAGA OF RECLUCE
The Magic of Recluce The Towers of the Sunset
The Magic Engineer The Order War
The Death of Chaos Fall of Angels
The Chaos Balance The White Order
Colors of Chaos Magi’i of Cyador
Scion of Cyador
THE ECOLITAN MATTER..
The Ecologic Envoy The Ecolitan Operation
The Ecologic Secession The Ecolitan Enigma
Empire and Ecolitan
(comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)
THE FOREVER HERO
Dawn for a Distant Earth
The Silent Warrior
In Endless Twilight
Of Tangible Ghosts
The Ghost of the Rereleter
Ghost of the White Nights
TIMEGODS' WORLD
The Timegod
Timediver's Dawn
The Green Progression
The Parafaith War
The Hammer of Darkness
Adiamante
Gravity Dreams
The Octagonal Raven
Archform: Beauty*
*forthcoming
The Shadow Sorceress Page 55