“They are fighting. Whether it is the beginning or the end …” Jecks shrugged.
“The beginning,” offered Himar. “Bertmynn’s armsmen still hesitate.”
Without waiting, Anna tried a second spell.
Show me now, and as must be,
any fighting near Elahwa city … .
Anna tried not to wince at the rhyme, but the mirror image shifted, this time to show what seemed to her a pitched skirmish between figures in blue and others in burgundy. To the side of the blue figures with blades were others in blue with bows. Abruptly, a squad of lancers in burgundy appeared, slashing at both archers and armsmen afoot. Anna could tell that most, if not all, of those in blue were women.
As it became clear that few of the freewomen shown by the glass would survive, Anna sang a release couplet, then slowly laid the lutar on the bed.
“It may be different elsewhere near Elahwa,” offered Jecks.
“It might be, but … is it likely?” asked Anna. “I’ll check again before we leave in the morning.”
“The morning?” Himar’s eyebrows rose.
“We should march before Bertmynn can recover. We can’t reach Elahwa before he takes over the city, anyway,” Anna said. You couldn’t reach the other side of the Sand Pass … .
“You should not,” returned Himar. “Let the freewomen weaken him, and let young Hadrenn understand the danger. Your support will be worth more to him.”
“And it will be less costly for you and for our lancers,” added Jecks.
The Regent nodded slowly. What both men said made sense. So why did she feel guilty about not being able to attack Bertmynn before he reached Elahwa? Because women are dying, and they have no one else? Her lips tightened, but she nodded once more. “We leave in the morning.”
42
The Ostfels and the eastern end of the Sand Pass lay a good ten deks to the west and behind the column of Defalkan lancers. On the north side of the narrow road were grasslands, similar to those around Mencha, but more lush. A half dozen deks or so to the south of the road lay a long beige ridge of sand—the westernmost part of the Sand Hills. The air above the dunes shifted and shimmered, sometimes reflecting the sun or something else.
Anna could almost feel the heat radiating from the dunes, and she took another long swallow from the water bottle as she studied the Sand Hills. According to Brill, at one point years earlier the sand had actually blocked the entrance to and the use of the Sand Pass, effectively isolating Ebra from Defalk. Then the Evult had shifted the dunes and begun his plans to invade and subdue Defalk.
Anna frowned. Without the Evult, would the sands shift again?
“What is the worst mistake a lancer can make in battle?” asked Kinor, his voice drifting forward to Anna and Jecks.
“Trying too hard to kill people,” answered Himar.
Anna found herself listening, wondering what the overcaptain would say next.
“Aren’t you supposed to kill the enemy?” interjected Jimbob.
Himar laughed. “If you must and if you can—easily. If your blade skills are good, it is best to let others make mistakes.” There was a pause, as if the former Neserean officer had shrugged. “If you cannot, then by all means attack vigorously so that none will know how little skill you have.”
“ … doesn’t make sense …”
Anna thought the words were Jimbob’s, but she wasn’t sure.
“Perhaps one lancer in fivescore is strong enough and skilled enough to beat down another’s blade. In all other cases, lancers die from their mistakes, and the biggest mistake is being too hasty in trying to kill another.”
Jecks smiled and murmured to Anna. “His words are true.”
“They make sense,” she replied. They’re true in everything … but it’s so hard to be patient when everyone is, failing at you. She wished Skent had heard Himar’s words … or that someone had conveyed them to the all-too-young undercaptain. Another mistake? Another case of haste on your part? Because you need trusted and intelligent officers so badly?
Her eyes went back to the shimmering expanse of the Sand Hills, then to the road ahead, the long road to Synek … and the longer road to bloody Elahwa.
43
“There’s someone riding toward us,” observed Rickel, checking his blade and glancing toward Blaz, who rode on Anna’s left, away from the River Syne, a narrow and placid strip of brown water winding between intermittent low hills. The hills were covered mostly with a mixture of brown and green grass with patches of trees that represented woodlots for the cots that appeared at irregular intervals.
“In a hurry,” suggested Blaz, as both guards reached for the large shields they carried to protect Anna for enough time to allow her to use her spellcasting.
Anna squinted into the low, late-afternoon sun, looking to see if she could discern any sign of Synek, but all she saw was the rider, and a good dek farther up the road, on a hillcrest to the west, another group of riders, two of whom appeared to be the scouts Himar had sent out ahead of the main column. She readjusted the floppy brown hat, but the sun was too low for the hat to help much.
“Ready arms!” ordered Himar. “Bowmen, first squad!”
Jecks drew his blade and eased up beside Anna.
Anna turned in the saddle and slipped the lutar out of its case. She glanced back at Jimbob and Kinor, both of whom had drawn steel, and then at the small round shield in the open-topped case at her knee, spelled against weapons directed toward her—an idea Jecks had forced upon her when they had begun the campaign in Dumar, but one that had proved its value more than once. Then she began to check the lutar’s tuning as Rickel and Blaz eased forward so that they could lift the shields to protect her.
A rider in a green tunic neared, one hand on his mount’s reins, and a second empty hand held clear of mount or the long blade he bore in a shoulder harness. “Greetings!” came the call as he reined up. “Regent and sorceress … Lord Hadrenn sent us to escort you to his hold.” The black-haired lancer gestured. “My squad waits with your scouts.” He paused, looking flustered, then extended a gold ring to Rickel. “My master’s seal ring … to … so that …”
Anna took the ring from Rickel. “I will be happy to return it to Lord Hadrenn.”
As Hadrenn’s escort turned his mount, Anna slipped the ring into her wallet, but kept one hand on the lutar as they rode uphill and westward. Below, along the river, those few trees not uprooted or buried in piles of clay were bent over, almost touching the uneven ground on the lower riverbanks. The leaf patterns were uneven, with some trees having but few leaves at all, and one or two having full leaves, although touches of red and yellow were beginning to appear.
When the riders reached the hillcrest on the packed-clay road, Anna finally saw Synek on the far bank and to the northwest. At the next dip in the road, a crude timber bridge spanned the narrow river—the only bridge Anna could see looking either up or down the river, and clearly placed there because of its location on the narrowest part of the Syne.
“We must cross here,” announced the guide. “Perhaps some of your force, then my squad, and then the Regent and players, and then the remainder of your lancers …”
Anna touched the shield at her knee, but it remained still, without vibration.
“Two companies first,” suggested Jecks.
Anna nodded.
“Purple and gold companies to the fore!” ordered Himar.
Anna, Jecks, Jimbob, Kinor, and Liende and the players gathered to one side of the clay-packed causeway leading to the bridge as the two companies crossed and formed up on the northern side. Then Jecks and Blaz started across, and it was Anna’s turn.
The bridge flexed, alarmingly to Anna, under Farinelli’s weight, even as they took it in single file with no more than two mounts on the structure at a time. On the north side, as she waited for the remainder of the long line of lancers, Anna retuned the lutar, her eyes flicking along the north river road every few moments. Except for her
escort and her own force, both roads remained empty.
Skent led his company—the cyan company—across the bridge with a show of confidence. Anna just hoped the young man was not too confident.
Once all had crossed, and they rode slowly back westward toward Synek, Anna studied the southern riverbank, the one that showed the most damage—more than half the area within a hundred yards of the water had not been repaired or rebuilt, and pile after pile of bricks and debris filled the ground. In a few places, dwellings and shops, seemingly rebuilt from the yellowish bricks, rose in clumps.
Anna swallowed. While she had not meant to visit such destruction on Synek … she had. The most damning obituary, someone said, is: “She meant well.” You meant well, and did worse. Yet what else could she have done?
“There is Lord Hadrenn’s hold.” The guide gestured to a structure built of tan stone and yellow brick, not even so large as Loiseau, set on a hilltop perhaps a dek to the north of Synek. “We take the next lane.”
An effort had been made to fill in the worst of the potholes on the side road, and to cut back trees and bushes, some of the saw cuts so recent that Anna could smell the odor of pine resin and other saplike odors.
The hold itself lacked a separate wall for fortification, but the windows on the lowest level were infrequent, small, and iron-barred. Otherwise, the mansion appeared more like an English country estate, but without either lawns or gardens. Several outbuildings flanked the dwelling hall, and one was newly built of old yellow bricks.
Armsmen’s and lancers’ quarters, no doubt.
“This is Lord Hadrenn’s family home and birthplace,” explained the guide.
The man who rode out alone down the road from the mansion toward them was stocky, almost overweight, for all that he was probably less than thirty years old, Anna estimated. He was already mostly bald, and a scar ran from the side of his nose to below his right ear. Anna recognized him from her efforts at scrying him.
“Regent and sorceress?” His voice was surprisingly uncertain.
“Yes, Lord Hadrenn. I’m Lady Anna, Sorceress and Regent of Defalk.” Anna gestured. “This is Lord High Counselor Jecks; Lord Jimbob, heir to Defalk; Liende, my chief of players; and Overcaptain Himar.”
Hadrenn inclined his head deeply. “To bring such … you honor me. You honor Synek.” When he looked up, Anna noted that his eyes were deep and brown, almost cowlike except for the intentness and concentration they held.
“There is much to do,” Anna temporized.
The young lord bowed again. “Lady Regent, I cannot say I expected you to come to my aid … even after your messenger arrived.“
Anna smiled politely. “I am here … and we need to talk about what we should do. After we are settled and somewhat refreshed.”
At her shoulder, Jecks nodded.
44
ENCORA, RANUAK
The blonde woman taps on the study door, a door slightly ajar.
“You may come in, Alya,” responds the Matriarch.
Alya slides through the door and closes it behind her, if gently and nearly silently. “You have heard, Mother?” Her eyes focus directly on the round-faced Matriarch, who wears gray and black, not the usual garb of brighter colors.
“About the fate of the freewomen in Elahwa?” The Matriarch looks up from the sheet of parchment on the table-desk and nods somberly. “Your sister still lives. Beyond that, I do not know.”
“Did you … have to … send her?”
The Matriarch looks up at her older daughter with eyes that are reddened, and ringed with black. “What would you have me do? Should my own daughter not follow the rules of harmony, the laws of Ranuak?”
“Why … why didn’t Veria listen?”
“Because she could not accept that harmony is paid for again and again, endlessly. Or that harmony requires what it will and not what we wish. You see this. Even the sorceress from the mist worlds understands this.” The Matriarch offers Alya a sad smile. “She does not know how dearly she will pay.”
“She will pay … most dearly,” interjects Ulgar from the corner of the study. He has been so still that Alya had not even noted her father’s presence. “Even now, the young Prophet of Music gathers his forces to assault the western lords of Defalk.”
“He is proving more cunning than his sire … and less perceptive,” says the Matriarch. “All too many will suffer for that.”
“The Regent of Defalk will turn back, then? When she has barely begun to march into Ebra?” Alya’s voice is almost flat.
“Since young Hadrenn has pledged to her, she remains in Defalk,” explains the silver-haired Ulgar. “And she will not turn back.”
“Father … you know what I meant.”
“Yet your father is correct,” answers the Matriarch, “for what was western Ebra is now Defalk, as well may be all of Ebra.”
“Why did the sorceress wait so long?” asks Alya plaintively. “Why did she stop to use sorcery to wrench gold from the ground?”
“Without that gold, daughter, the sorceress could not afford to march to Elahwa. Who would lend her the coins? Certainly not the Exchange. And how would she guarantee them? Nor could she let the Thirty-three know of such resources before she marched, or they would demand that she use the coins to reduce their liedgeld.”
“Men …” Alya’s voice is close to a sigh.
“Women are no better. Consider Abslim. Like those of the Defalkan Thirty-three, she considers the weight of coins first and sees what she will see, and not what is there to see.”
“Still … I would that the sorceress could have reached Elahwa before the dog of the north.”
“Your sister could not expect to be rescued by the very ruler she condemned,” points out Ulgar. “Not even by the twisted laws of Darksong.”
Alya draws a long, slow, and silent breath.
45
Anna smoothed the green traveling gown into place, checking the cinches at her waist, far smaller than she had ever thought to see again, centered the link necklace, wiggled her toes in the loose sandals, then glanced around the guest chamber—a single large room without bathing facilities, although an older brass tub had been dragged in and hurriedly polished, then surrounded by screens. A pair of ancient porcelain chamber pots glazed with a faded rose pattern rested in the far corner of the room away from the tub, the writing desk, and the four-postered bedstead and its array of netting.
The windows bore no glass, only heavy outer shutters and louvered inner ones, both sets oiled at some time in the distant past, but not recently.
No wonder Hadrenn needs help. She couldn’t help but consider the wisdom of her decision to support the young lord of Synek. Except, as always, the alternatives appear worse, especially with Ebra under the heavy male thumb of Bertmynn … so you will accept the lighter thumb of Hadrenn?
She winced as she considered the scenes of Elahwa she had called up in the mirror. You couldn’t have gotten there in time, even if you’d gone straight from Pamr. But if you’d decided earlier … As she opened the door, she shook her head. You can’t live on “ifs.”
Four guards were stationed in the brick-floored and dusty hall outside Anna’s door—Rickel, Lejun, Kerhor, and Blaz. Anna raised her eyebrows.
“This hold is less secure,” answered Rickel. “Both Lord Jecks and the overcaptain agree.”
“I wouldn’t dispute either on that.” Anna offered a short, wry laugh, then managed to contain a sneeze. She’d definitely need a bit of sorcery before she slept in the guest bed, or she’d be so allergenic she’d spend the entire night sneezing, and that would weaken her voice for days. That was something she certainly couldn’t afford.
“I am gladdened that you would not.” Jecks stepped from the door down the hall, wearing the blue dress tunic that served the same purpose as Anna’s gown. He bowed, then smiled as he straightened. “As always, you are most beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” Anna’s lips curled, and she leaned forward and murmured alm
ost into his ear. “I look more like a boy than a woman.”
“No one would mistake your beauty for other than it is—”
“What? That of a tightened bow, of a woman most solitary and stern?” Anna couldn’t resist the paraphrase of Yeats, though she doubted she was any Maude Gonne. Or Helen. Then … do you really want to be?
A momentary frown crossed the white-haired lord’s face, then vanished. “Lord Hadrenn will be most astonished.”
“He might be, but for all the wrong reasons.”
Followed by both Rickel and Kerhor, Anna and Jecks descended the main staircase, its wooden balustrade rails polished by generations of hands, toward the central foyer. Before they reached the wide steps below the landing, the stocky Hadrenn hurried toward them, now wearing a green-velvet jacket of sorts over a mostly white-silk shirt. He stood, waiting as the two descended, his eyes taking in all of Anna, just a fraction short of pure lechery. “Ah … Lady Anna.”
“Remember, Lord Hadrenn,” she said, lightly, “I have children of your age.”
“One … would never know that.” The scar on the left side of his face turned pinkish, then faded. “You are an ornament to any company, any land, any table.” He gestured toward the age-darkened double doors of the dining hall. “The hall … and the poor best we have … await you and your company.”
Anna managed not to wince at the thought of being an ornament as Jecks slipped beside her, not quite possessively, offering his arm. She took it, squeezing his muscled forearm, if lightly and briefly, before leading the way toward the dining area. Again, both Rickel and Kerhor flanked them.
The dining hall, while large for a private home, was smaller than the main dining hall at Loiseau. Anna stood behind the seat at the end of the table, with Jecks to her left, and waited for Jimbob, Kinor, Himar, and Liende to join them.
Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 23