Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Anna’s eyes narrowed, and she concentrated on studying each dwelling or shop they neared, wondering if she should uncase the lutar. In your own land? In a town held by your strongest supporter?

  A bearded man peered out of the open window of what looked to be a cabinetry shop, then jerked his head inside as he caught sight of Anna. Firis was right, she decided, more than right, but there was little she could do about mere chilliness toward the Regency, especially when she could only speculate about the cause. The chandler? Her killing of the man who had tried to assault and kill her hadn’t raised any coldness the year before.

  Anna took a deep breath. She needed to know more, but she still didn’t know enough to use her scrying glass to find it out. The problem with asking questions was always that you needed to know a good part of the answer before you could frame a decent question.

  At the junction of the road from the north with the unnamed main street of Pamr, Anna turned Farinelli right—toward the bridge over the Chean River that lay more than a dek beyond the west end of town.

  On the left side of the street was the inn—the Green Bull—and the well-endowed animal on the sign was portrayed graphically in green. On the right side … Anna stiffened slightly as she saw the repainted blue and white of the chandlery—the one where she’d been forced to incinerate Forse. In the doorway stood a figure in brown. As the dark-haired youth or young man—somehow familiar—met her glance, Anna wanted to shiver at the coldness in his eyes.

  She held her eyes firmly on him until he lowered his gaze. Only then did she blink, for the building almost appeared to have two images—as though she’d used Darksong magic. One image appeared deep brown and brooding black, shadowed, the other a bright white and deep blue and weathered. She blinked again and studied the chandlery. There were still two images.

  “Rickel—do you see the chandlery there? Do you notice anything strange about it?”

  The blond-haired guard frowned as he looked to the right. “The wood has been painted recently, and the door looks to be new.”

  Anna wanted to sigh, but only answered. “Thank you. The door has been painted in the past year. They had a fire there.”

  “That young fellow—he’s watching you,” added Himar.

  “I imagine he is. I had to kill the chandler last year. He might be his son.” And he probably hates you. “Before I became Regent. He tried to kill me.” When he couldn’t rape me.

  “Not a wise idea,” observed Himar.

  “I didn’t have much choice.” At least, you didn’t think you did then.

  Anna glanced at the houses on the left side of the street, but no one appeared outside, unlike the year before, when a girl had brought her a basket of gifts in thanks. She thought she could see figures—women—watching from the windows, but no one appeared outside.

  “Quiet town,” suggested Himar.

  “Too still by far.” The murmur from Liende was barely audible, and Anna agreed with the chief player’s words.

  The unnatural quiet remained for the last dek out of the town. It almost seemed to Anna that not even the birds sang until she had almost reached the stone bridge that spanned the Chean River. Two things bothered her about Pamr. Of those who had watched her, none had come out to see the Regent, and most were women. The handful of men had looked away. Not spit or expressed open dislike, but just looked away. Then, there had been the feel of the chandlery—something like Darksong—and the man who had watched. She knew the face was familiar, and that she should have recognized him. But she hadn’t, except for knowing that he had to be some relative of the late Forse.

  Does that lack of recognition come from having to meet and remember too many people in too short a time? Should you have stopped and investigated?

  Anna knew she couldn’t stop and deal with everything that felt wrong, but there was that nagging sense that she should have recognized something about the son of Forse, that she knew him from somewhere. Clearly, there was something about Pamr, despite Lady Gatrune’s hospitality, that felt wrong. Then … what doesn’t these days?

  6

  PAMR, DEFALK

  The two young and bearded men watch as the column passes along the main street westward, back toward Falcor, one in the doorway of the chandlery, one from the window beside the door, half-hidden by the shutters.

  Once the last armsman rides past the chandlery, and then past the coppersmith’s porch, the older of the two men steps back into the store. “The bitch sorceress! Our beloved Regent. With such a pretty face, so innocent-looking, as if she had no evil on her soul.” He snorts as he looks at his brother. “So evil! She is evil, and none see it. But they will … they will. Oh … they will.”

  “Then, why did you nothing, Farsenn?” asks the younger. “You have spoken against the sorceress. There she was. But a handful of armsmen rode between you and her, and you did nothing. I had most of my drums ready.”

  “Now is not the time, my brother.” Farsenn smiles. “She has not suffered enough, and she will suffer.”

  “You mean that you are not yet skilled enough to stand against her?” Giersan raises his eyebrows. “When then? She will be back in Falcor, Farsenn. Her power grows daily. Even the Liedfuhr of Mansuur has acknowledged her Regency.” Giersan rubs his forehead, then uses the maple mallet to tap the single drum that rests on the wooden floor beside him. He cocks his head and listens to the sound.

  “Do you not see? Do you not care? I saw the blazing pyre she made of our father! A man, a worthy man, our father, and she turned him to ashes! A woman, a lowly bitch from beyond dissonance, and she destroyed him on a whim!” snaps the chandler in brown. His voice rises almost into a screech. “We suffered from the fire that burned half the merchandise. Did she offer a coin? A condolence? Did she even look back?”

  “I wasn’t there,” points out the drummer.

  “You didn’t have to be. I was, and I saw, and she will suffer!”

  Giersan shrugs. “As you say.”

  “I do say. I will say.” Farsenn glares at his younger brother. “And she will suffer.”

  The drummer nods, then looks at the wooden floor. The silence between them lengthens.

  “How are the other drums coming?” asks Farsenn, long after the sound of hoofs has died away.

  “They are almost ready. But even with eight, I can only play simple melodies.” Giersan runs his fingertips over the wood of the drums.

  “Simple will be enough.” The young chandler in brown smiles, and his eyes fix on an image none can see but him. “More than enough. Far more than she will expect.”

  7

  Still dusty from the ride, Anna sank into the upholstered wooden armchair beside her bedchamber’s small working desk table. The room was dim, lit but by the single taper on the desk and one candle in the wall sconce inside the heavy oak door. Her stomach growled, and she wondered which she wanted more—food or a hot bath.

  Her eyes flicked to the wall, and the black rectangle etched there. A different, deeper pain burned through her. How long … how long before you can try to see Elizabetta again? Tomorrow? It’s been almost a season, and Brill said you could look across the mist worlds occasionally. The last time she’d tried to use her sorcery to see her youngest child, the mirror had exploded. Anna had been most fortunate that the knife-sharp glass fragments had not killed her. But you have a pool now … water doesn’t explode the way glass mirrors do.

  Her eyes flicked to the door as she heard the rap on the wood and Lejun’s announcement.

  “Lord Jecks is here, Lady Anna.”

  “Have him come in.” Anna straightened in the chair. Tomorrow … when you’re more rested, then you can see about Elizabetta.

  The white-haired and clean-shaven Lord of Elheld smiled as he stepped into her chamber. “You returned sooner than I thought, my lady Regent.”

  “A certain lord suggested that if I had to repair a ford, I had better do it quickly and get back to the important business of being Regent.” She gestured
to the other straight chair, the one beside the writing desk.

  “I do not recall being so incautious as to say anything such as that.” Jecks raised his eyebrows as he settled gracefully, if slightly gingerly, into the chair. The pallor had left his face, although his outdoor tan had faded and a trace of gauntness had left his face five years older than it had been. The smile he bestowed on Anna was as devastating as always, but she managed to avoid swallowing or overtly betraying the attraction she felt.

  “My dear lord Jecks, you didn’t need to voice a word.” Anna rose. “I’m dusty and tired and hungry. I’m going to take a bath. Would you like to join me for dinner in a while? I won’t be long.”

  “I would be most pleased. Then I can tell you what has transpired in your absence.”

  “Not much, I hope.”

  “You may have been correct in feeling that the time was right to repair the ford at Sorprat.” His lips quirked into another smile.

  “Things are getting worse someplace. I can tell that.” She gestured toward the door. “Let me get cleaned up. I’ll see you in the small dining hall.” She paused. “You wouldn’t mind sending a message to the kitchen, would you? I don’t think I did.” She offered a rueful smile. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I would be most happy to ensure we are fed, my lady.” Jecks rose and bowed.

  Once the heavy door closed, Anna slid the bolt and walked to the bathchamber adjoining her bed and work chamber. The water—lukewarm—was already in the tub. Slowly, she tuned the lutar, then sang.

  Water, water, in the bath below,

  both hot and soothing flow … .

  Once she had the water not quite steaming, and a. headache from doing the spell on an empty stomach, she replaced the lutar in its case and plopped into the high-sided tub, spilling water onto the stone floor of her bathchamber. “Damn …” slipped from her lips.

  Anna pushed away the irritation at her clumsiness and concentrated on washing her face with the square of rough cloth. When she’d been a student in Europe, washcloths had been hard to find, and they weren’t exactly common in Defalk, necessary though she found them for removing road dust and other grime—especially since deodorants weren’t in the primitive chemical repertoire of Erde, and perfume was hard to come by, even for a regent.

  Then, everything was hard to come by in impoverished and beleaguered Defalk, although it was getting slightly less difficult, thanks to the golds she’d added to the treasury through subduing a few unruly lords—and Dumar. The battles in Dumar might well have been easier than the problems she still faced. Jecks’ very presence upon her arrival indicated his concern for her—and his concern for Defalk and the Regency for his grandson Jimbob. What was the problem? Something wrong in Dumar? Or with the lords of the Thirty-three? Or Neserea? Or … the list of possibilities was all too depressingly long. Probably some Defalkan lord …

  She washed and dressed quickly——choosing a plain green gown, since all but one of her limited workday clothes—trousers, shirts, and vests—were filthy. Amazing that you’re the ruler of a land and your wardrobe is less than when you were an assistant professor of music.

  Jecks was waiting outside the door, talking to Giellum and Kerhor—the two duty guards.

  “ … and it’s still spouting flaming rock …” The white-haired lord broke off his words as he saw Anna. “Lady …”

  “Yes, I look almost human without the road dust all over me, Lord Jecks.” She inclined her head to the guards in turn. “It’s good to see you both. Did you get some rest while I was gone?”

  “Ah … some, Lady Anna,” admitted the black-haired Kerhor. “Except Lord Jecks and Arms Commander Hanfor had us drilling every day.”

  “Many glasses,” added Giellum, his voice mock-mournful.

  “They needed the practice,” Jecks said, “and they don’t have the time when you’re around.”

  “I hope you worked hard and learned something,” Anna temporized.

  “Both Lord Jecks and Arms Commander Hanfor strike hard.”

  Anna winced. She doubted Jecks had any business teaching arms yet. “You were out there with a blade?” she asked him, as they turned the corner and headed down the stone stairs to the lower floor and the small dining hall. “You’re not—”

  “I am mostly healed, my lady, thanks to your sorcery, and I will not sit around the liedburg and be thought a useless old dodderer.”

  “Even when you were barely moving you were worth more than a dozen men who can’t do anything but swing those blades.”

  “That is not the way the young ones see it.” Jecks laughed sardonically.

  The way Defalk was, Anna suspected he was all too right. “Do I work them too hard? Should we recruit some more?”

  “That might be wise, especially if you insist on traveling all over Liedwahr.”

  The small dining hall was set for two—with two three-branched candelabra providing the light. Jecks waited for Anna to sit. Courtesy in Defalk did not extend to seating women, merely allowing the highest or most noble to sit first.

  A serving girl Anna did not recognize hurried in with a basket of fresh-baked bread, followed by a figure she did. “Dalila!”

  The once-stocky and now-petite brunette smiled as she set the crockery casserole dish on the pottery tile serving as a trivet, then bowed. “Regent.”

  “I didn’t expect you …” Anna had worked out the arrangements for Daffyd’s sister to teach the younger children in the liedburg and to help Meryn in the kitchen, but that had been before she had left Falcor to deal with the uprising in southern Defalk and the attack from Lord Ehara of Dumar. Lord … you lose track of things … Sometimes, Anna felt she couldn’t keep track of half of what was going on.

  “Meryn was feeling ill, but Assolan is watching Ruetha and Anadra.”

  “How are you getting along with Meryn?”

  “Very well,” answered Jecks. “We’re getting some new dishes, I’ve noticed.” He inclined his head toward the casserole. “Is that one of them?”

  “Yes, ser. This is the stew you liked, Regent.”

  Anna could feel her mouth water. “That’s wonderful.” She smiled at Jecks. “You’ll like it.”

  “I’ve liked all the new dishes. It was one of the few pleasures left for a time.”

  Anna looked at Dalila. “Are you sure you’re doing all right?”

  “Oh, yes. Dythya has me teaching letters to some of the smaller children in the liedburg.” The pert brunette offered Anna another smile, then turned and slipped from the dining hall.

  “That one … she’s another that would lay her life in front of a charger for you.”

  Anna didn’t argue, only nodded. You took refuge in her home, and after you rejected the forceful advances of her consort, he left her penniless and friendless, and his brother took everything because Dalila was a woman unable to hold property. You made her brother your chief player, and he died fighting the Evult. And now, because you pay her for cooking and teaching, she thinks you’re wonderful. Defalk needed more feminism than one sorceress and Regent could ever supply.

  Anna poured herself some of the maroon wine, then filled Jecks’ goblet.

  “Thank you, lady. It is unusual to be served by a ruler.”

  “Just remember that.” Anna broke off a chunk of bread, then served two huge ladlefuls of the stew. “What was so urgent that you were waiting for me?”

  “I would not say it was terribly urgent, and it should wait until you have eaten. You are most pale,” Jecks said.

  “It has been a while since I ate. Midday, I think.”

  “What if you had to sing a spell?”

  “I’d have been in trouble.” Anna took a mouthful of the stew, the spices muting the taste of the strong mutton. The second mouthful she accompanied with a chunk of the dark bread. Dark bread—they had it, and that meant someone was indeed getting molasses from Dumar—or had recently. Did that mean that Lady Siobion was keeping the agreement? And that all was well with
Alvar, the captain Anna had made overcaptain and armsmaster of Dumar both to aid Siobion’s regency and to ensure Dumar’s compliance with the terms of surrender, even if Anna had been careful not to call them precisely that.

  “You carry provisions,” he said gently, not quite suggesting that she was a fool not to have eaten them. “What happens to those who travel with you if you cannot protect them?”

  “I know. I should have eaten more.” She continued to eat the stew and bread, also slicing a peach, and thin wedges of white cheese. When she had cleared her plate—twice—she looked up. “Now … what’s the problem?”

  “It is not a … difficulty … yet. Not all of them.” Jecks held the wine goblet but did not take a swallow.

  “All of them?” Anna’s stomach tightened. “Start with the worst.”

  “None is pressing, yet …”

  “Go on.”

  “All of the Mansuuran lancers in Neserea will soon be sent to Elioch. Those are the reports.”

  “How many is that?” You need to get busy with your scrying pool.

  “Fiftyscore. And either young Rabyn or Nubara has formed a new force—the Prophet’s Lancers. According to Arms Commander Hanfor, the new Prophet can muster at least another two-hundred-score lancers and armsmen.”

  A trained Neserean army of more than five thousand men—and she had perhaps three hundred pledged to her, plus the levies of the Defalkan lords—if they heeded the call. Still, she’d destroyed more than that in the war with Dumar. And look what it did to you and Jecks. “There’s more.”

  Jecks shrugged, almost apologetically. “The South Women have sent arms to Elahwa, and Lord Bertmynn is assembling men and boats on the River Dol, as if he will be using the river to ferry men there.”

  “The Ranuans wouldn’t sell us arms, but they’ll send them to Elahwa?”

  “To the freewomen there. They revolted.”

  “That’s a good way to get slaughtered.” Especially in this world … and you’re supposed to support Hadrenn to pull them out? “How did we find that out?”