Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You are my grandson, but if you are not worthy to become Lord of Defalk, I will work with the Regent and the Thirty-three to find another who is. After this, it will take a great deal of proving for us to find you worthy of more than mucking out stable stalls.” Jecks lifted the boy by one arm. “Stand up. You’re going to take your punishment like a man.”

  “There is one other matter, Lord Jimbob,” Anna said. “Defalk is more important than your vanity, and both your grandsire and I have worked to preserve this land. When you try to play us against each other, you’re showing contempt for what we have worked for, and you’re also showing how unsuited you are. Do you honestly think we don’t talk to each other about you and your skills and abilities?” Anna could feel the withering scorn in her voice that infused her last sentence.

  Jimbob paled. Then he actually bowed his head, but he did not speak.

  Anna had the feeling the youth was so angry and yet so humiliated that he was unable to find words. “I tried to be gentle with you so you wouldn’t be humiliated when I went to Elheld and you questioned me. I guess that was a mistake. I guess you’ll have to learn everything the hard way.” She looked at Jecks. “I’d suggest that you have Arms Commander Hanfor work out his punishment. But make sure Hanfor knows that we’re both serious. If Hanfor has any questions, he can come to me.” Anna paused. “Once you have that taken care of, I’d like to see you and then the counselors in the receiving room.”

  “Yes, Regent.” Jecks’ voice was formal.

  Knowing the pain of a child’s ingratitude, Anna wanted to reach out and hug Jecks, but she merely nodded. What if this doesn’t work? What if Jimbob’s so spoiled that he won’t see? What can you do … who else is there? Anna waited until Jecks and Jimbob started down the wide stone steps before she began to walk in the same direction. She did not look at either guard who followed her, her mind on Elizabetta, almost always grateful, and on Jecks, saddled with an ungrateful grandson.

  Outside the receiving room, Resor was the page waiting. “Good morning, Lady Anna.”

  “Good morning, Resor.” Anna smiled, briefly, at the cheerful greeting, before slipping into the receiving room.

  There, waiting for Jecks, she took the top scroll from the pile, one she hadn’t seen, a scroll bound with intertwined crimson and blue ribbons. From Dumar? She broke the seal and began to read, still standing behind her working table.

  My Lady and Regent,

  I said I would write. I am poor at words, but I will report on what I know. We had some trouble at first with the City Patrol in Dumaria. Now, matters are fine, and I have heard some say that the city is safer than ever.

  We have reclaimed the golds from the ruins of Envaryl. Some were stolen before we found them. We erected the small memorial to Lord Ehara, as you instructed. I have sent five thousand golds under guard, and they will follow this scroll. Lady Siobion has said that for your mercy you deserve the extra thousand for your own use. I leave that to you. She said that few conquerors would have destroyed but one city after all the insults offered by Lord Ehara … .

  After noting Alvar’s signature, Anna set down the scroll. Destroying Envaryl when Ehara had refused to face her—that had bothered her at the time, and it still did. Hanfor had said that such destruction had been necessary. Necessary to leave the mark of Anna’s power, necessary to ensure that all Dumar respected the sorceress and Regent of Defalk.

  But you still deliberately killed innocents … . She frowned. All the other times, either she had killed armsmen or rebels, but she had not directed her sorcery at innocents and armsmen alike. Even the disaster created when her damming of Falche had failed had not been directed at innocents. Does that make a difference? Did you accept Hanfor’s advice because it was easier? Because you were tired and angry? Or because power corrupts, even when you try not to be corrupted? Or because no one respects anyone without power? But needing that respect … isn’t that a form of corruption? Except, that without respect, as you’ve learned, even greater use of force is required. As with Jimbob?

  She took a deep breath.

  “Lord Jecks,” Giellum announced.

  Anna turned toward the door, waiting until it shut behind the haggard-looking Lord of Elheld. “My lord Jecks …” she said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in, but I didn’t want him to put us against each other.” She reached out and touched his arm, then squeezed his hand.

  “For your words … there … my lady, I am most grateful, I do admit.” A wintry smile appeared.

  “You were right that he shouldn’t have gone to Fussen,” Anna said quietly.

  “I did not mean for this …” Jecks looked down, not meeting her eyes. “I have not taken enough time with him.”

  “The fosterlings play up to him too much, I think,” mused Anna, “especially Hoede, I’d bet. The sooner we send Hoede home to daddy, the better.”

  “Lord Dannel will not be pleased”

  “I’m sure he won’t, but I need Lord Nelmor more than Dannel, especially with that weasel Jearle still trying to suggest, politely, that he get back his title as Lord of the Western Marches. Geographically, it should be Ustal, Jearle, or Nelmor. Who would you have?”

  “You can trust Nelmor, for you have his heirs, and his sister’s support, but none knows how well he can command. Jearle can neither command nor be trusted, and the same is true of Ustal.”

  Sorry mess that is … . “We can wait, but my inclination is to name Nelmor when we have to name someone.”

  “Of the choices you have, he would be the best.”

  But certainly far from ideal. “Alvar is sending five thousand golds, including a thousand as a tribute from Lady Siobion to me personally.” Anna handed Jecks the scroll.

  “You have golds enough to run your lands now. You might consider a saalmeister of your own.”

  “Halde—the young assistant from Cheor?”

  “You could do worse, far worse.”

  “Could you send Herstat a message and ask for his thoughts about Halde?” asked Anna. “I think he would be more open with you.” She smiled. “After all, he was your saalmeister.”

  “He might be less open for that,” replied Jecks.

  “Not if you tell him that his judgment is for my saalmeister.” Anna paused. “I could also ask Dythya to write him. He might be more honest with his daughter.”

  “Then you have Dythya write, and I will write, and we will see.” Jecks chuckled, before reading the scroll slowly. After he finished he looked at Anna. “You chose wisely to leave Alvar in Dumar.”

  “Too bad I don’t have more choices in Defalk.” She took a sip of the orderspelled water.

  “You have more power than any Lord of Defalk in generations, perhaps ever, my lady.”

  “Power doesn’t always allow any better choices. Sometimes, all the time, anymore, it seems, sorcery is the only real tool I have.”

  Thrap. At the rap on the door, both turned.

  “Counselor Menares,” announced Resor.

  “Come on in, Menares. Dythya should be here in a few moments.” Anna turned to Jecks. “Somehow, it always gets back to that,” Anna said. “Which lords fear my power as a sorceress enough to do as requested, and which don’t. If I don’t exhibit power, then none want to honor their obligations. If I do, they complain about my being high-handed.”

  “All lords respond to power, and little else,” Jecks pointed out. “Your being Regent does not change that.”

  “But I can’t ignore their complaints, because—” She broke off as there was a second rap on the door.

  “Lady Anna, the counselor Dythya.”

  “Have her come in.” Anna glanced at Jecks, then Menares. “Time to go over the accounts and the obligations.”

  Dythya bowed as she entered, carrying a stack of scrolls under each arm. “I have the accounts as you requested, Regent.”

  Anna nodded. “Thank you.” It was going to be a long, long day. Even patient Jecks rolled his eyes.


  23

  With the late-afternoon sun shining through the high window behind her, Anna rubbed her forehead and looked down at the conference table and the stacks of scrolls and accounts that surrounded her. Slowly she reached for the pile that held the expenditures for armsmen and lancers—Hanfor’s accounts.

  “Lady Anna?”

  Anna looked up as Menares peered around the door, “Yes, Menares?”

  “Lady Anna … if I might have a word … ?” The gray-haired advisor’s head bobbed up and down as he stood inside the double doors.

  What does the old schemer want? “Of course, Menares.” She gestured to the chair across from her, and Menares closed the door behind him.

  “Thank you, lady …” As he took the proffered seat, the heavy and gray-haired counselor cleared his throat, once and then again. “Ah … uhm … what I have to say might be considered presumptuous, and I do not mean it to be taken such in the slightest … but I have had some modest experience in observing the ways of rulers in Liedwahr … .”

  Anna nodded for the older man to continue.

  “It is just … Lady Anna … that I overheard your words to Lord Jecks about … about the lords of Defalk … and at that time … it would not have been my place to offer any words … not in public … but I have reflected … and I trust … that in revealing my observations in private …”

  Roundabout as Menares often was, seldom had he been so indirect. Anna caught herself managing to keep from clicking her nails in impatience. “I will keep your observations between us.”

  “Ah … thank you.” Menares cleared his throat again. “You had remarked that you felt that few listened to you, except to obviate the threat of magical force which you could bring against them … and you offered some words about how many of the Thirty-three and even lords throughout Liedwahr responded but to the power of your sorcery.”

  “I did.” Anna wondered where Menares was headed, but tried to keep her eyes off the stack of paper that represented what she needed to spend on armsmen. And what you really don’t have, even with the golds coming from Dumar … if they arrive.

  “You may recall that Lord Jecks pointed out that all men respond to power. You said that you yet need worry about their complaints … .” Menares paused, glancing at the Regent for a moment before going on. “Yet the real complaint to which they will not give voice is that your power is greater than theirs. Even Lord Behlem had once told me that the lords of Defalk revered their customs only insofar as those customs and traditions enhanced their power.” Menares gave a wry smile. “I doubt that much has changed since his death.”

  “I doubt it,” Anna acknowledged.

  Menares continued, speaking more smoothly, “Men are willful. Women may also be willful, but there are few in power, save you and the Matriarch of Ranuak. Lords and rulers talk about reason, and about the need to solve disputes without the use of force, but they require such methods not because they admire them, but because all forms of power are limited, and the use of force must be reserved for times when no other method can be employed. They are jealous, my lady, because you are not bound by their limitations.

  “They cannot match the force you can muster with your song magic … so they will try to weaken your resolve to use it, and thus weaken you and Defalk, by claiming that you rule but by force of magic. Yet all rulers maintain their reign by force. They cloak their force and call its differing manifestations by various terms. Some, as do the Norweians, talk of the necessity of trade. Others, such as the Sturinnese, talk of the freedom of the seas. Lord Behlem insisted he was but the manifestation of the will of harmony. The Ranuans purchase their power with golds … .”

  He’s right … money is a kind of force—economic force. So is trade … so even is the ability to logically persuade—you could call that intellectual force. Avery was great at that … . Anna found her nails clicking together and clasped her hands under the table to stop the mannerism.

  “The great lords talk of harmony and of the need for agreement and peace, but all the words and the maneuverings—they rest on the armsmen and the golds they control.”

  Politics is really only a system for legitimizing the use of force in the minds of the people—or in the minds of the lords of the Thirty-three … . “You’ve thought about this,” Anna said. “But I must worry about whether the people feel there is truth in what they’ve charged. I have used force. I’ve used a lot of force. They know I have this power. So why do they require me to use force?”

  “Force is distasteful to the people,” Menares replied. “To some people. If you always use force, then some of the lords believe that you will be less popular with the people.”

  “That could happen. Easily,” Anna said. “I worry about it.”

  “Worry you must, but worry most about not using your powers, my lady. Few powerful rulers lose their lives and kingdoms, but many have failed for lack of use of their powers.”

  Was life that brutal—or that direct—when you stripped away the façades of society? She nodded. Almost all people wanted things their own way. Societies developed because the weaker needed protection against the strong. Ruling elites developed ways to attain their goals without unnecessary brutality. She laughed, almost bitterly. Dowries and marriage—a bartering of women—little more than economic coercion … the indirect use of force to reduce women to commodities by male power brokers.

  Menares swallowed. “I have spoken more … perchance than I should … .”

  “No … you haven’t. I’m glad to have your words, Menares. I really am. You’ve reminded me of some pretty basic truths, and regents and rulers sometimes need reminding.” She offered a smile. “Even we forget what we shouldn’t.” Or never had to think about except in political science classes years ago.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  Anna rose. “Thank you, Menares.”

  After the old counselor left, Anna sat, looking down at the stacks of accounts. Her lips tightened. When I became Regent, there were no coins: so that form of power wasn’t available. Nor was the power of politics, because I’m a woman, and most lords disliked or distrusted women with power and insisted on my proving that I had power and knew how to use it. They were the ones who required I use force. They wouldn’t do anything except bicker among themselves until I did—and then they complained

  Why was it always different for women when they got power? Dieshr had schemed her way to being chair of the music department at Ames, and the moment she retired, the men would be at her throat. Of course, there, position and control of funds had been power. Anna tightened her lips. Someone like the Liedfuhr of Mansuur could use coins instead of force. The Norweians had trade, and fleets of ships. As Regent of a land that had yet to recover from nearly a decade of drought, what resources did she have? None—except her powers as a sorceress—and every time she used them, some lord or another whined or whimpered that all she could do was destroy something.

  No one talked about the bridges she’d built, or the drought she’d ended, or the peace she’d brought to Defalk itself.

  If this were a book, male readers would be complaining that all this sorceress does is fry people … but it’s not, and I haven’t been able to come up with any better alternatives—and neither have my male advisors. So … the only sin of which I’m really guilty is a failure to use my power in differing ways? Anna laughed, but the sound was hollow in the receiving room.

  24

  Leaning over the conference table that served as her working desk, Anna rubbed her forehead and her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping that well … wondering about what was happening in Ebra, in Pamr, in Neserea, and with who knew how many lords of the Thirty-three. She couldn’t keep up with it, even with scrying sorcery, not without being totally exhausted all the time. And there was the underlying strain of wondering whether she’d waited long enough before trying to retrieve any message Elizabetta might have written. If you try too early … you’ll destroy anything she has written with fire … to
o long, and she’ll lose hope … faith … whatever … .

  Anna took a deep breath and glanced toward the woman sitting across the table—Dythya—waiting patiently for Anna to refocus her attention on the problems involved with governing Defalk itself. The accounts for the liedstadt—what passed for a national government—were her responsibility—and a general disaster. Even with the four thousand golds sent from Dumar, the treasury didn’t hold really enough golds to do more than scrape by.

  “How much will it cost to arm and maintain another tenscore lancers?” Anna asked.

  “Almost a thousand golds for arms and mounts, and another thousand each year for wages and food,” answered Dythya. “That is, if the weather is good, and food is not dear, and if there is no horse fever.”

  “We’ll still have to spend several hundred each year for replacement arms and mounts … .” mused Anna. “Yet the Liedfuhr can casually send fiftyscore lancers to Neserea. That has to cost him as much as us … say something like five thousand golds a year or more.” That’s like a quarter of your total budget … and you think you can build Defalk into an independent power?

  Anna massaged her forehead again before a thought struck her, and she pulled a gold coin from her belt wallet and examined it, slowly. The image struck on the coin was that of a woman, and the lettering, though worn, read “Mutter Harmonie.” Anna smiled, wondering if Mansuuran coins held the legend “Vater Harmonie,” except that “harmonie” was feminine. She shook her head. Stop woolgathering … “Defalk doesn’t make … mint … its own coins, does it?”

  “Not for generations. It’s said Lord Jecks has a gold piece that was struck by the last Corian lord, and Lord Mietchel has several Suhlmorran pieces.”

  Anna fingered the small heavy coin for a time, then nodded, looking at the gray-haired counselor, “Dythya … ?”

  “Yes, Lady Anna?”

  “Do you know if there was ever any place in Defalk where gold was once mined?” Anna knew that no such mines existed now, but that didn’t mean that there hadn’t been mines at some time.