“We should head south here.” Himar glanced back past Rickel and Lejun, who had their shields out and now rode directly before Anna, while Blaz and Kerhor rode behind Jecks, Jimbob, and Kinor.
“I’d like to take a last look in the mirror,” Anna said, reining up. “Before we get too close to where Bertmynn is.”
After Anna dismounted, Jecks laid out the mirror on the browning grass by the shoulder of the river road, and she tuned the lutar. Her guards and Jimbob and Kinor remained mounted, providing a circle of protection.
She sang the danger spell … but the only dangers that the shimmering glass showed were Bertmynn’s armsmen and the handful of figures behind them. Why are they a danger? Yet if she didn’t know more, sorcery would offer no answers.
Anna released the image quickly. The less energy she spent on looking, the better, but she also didn’t want to ride into an ambush.
“Still those players,” Jecks said. “Have you a spell? Can you use an arrow spell?”
Does he think you’ve got endless spells memorized? Anna wanted to scream, but forced a long, slow breath instead. “I’m thinking about it.”
What could she use … something along the line of “Heads of arrows, shot into the air … strike Bertmynn’s players there … ?” She needed more, more time, more armsmen, more everything. And just whose idea was this expedition?
Anna recased the lutar and fastened it behind her, but where she could reach it easily. Then she looked back at Liende, past Jimbob and Kinor. “How are the players?”
“Ready for what calls,” Liende replied.
“Good.” Anna remounted. You just hope you are. Then she guided Farinelli down the narrow road after the vanguard. Rickel and Lejun looked nervously from side to side, as did Jecks. Kinor and even Jimbob were studying the road ahead.
Before long, Himar’s first scouts were far out of sight, and the second group more than a dek ahead along the rutted and narrower south road that ran through what seemed to be potato fields. At least Anna thought the low green almost vinelike plants were potatoes. They looked like what Papaw had grown in the marshy lower field by the creek. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that a girl raised in the hollers of the Appalachians had ended up as Regent of Defalk. If you don’t concentrate on what’s ahead … and come up with a spell against Darksong, you won’t be anything much longer.
Jecks had eased his mount beside Anna, and Hadrenn had dropped back to ride easily beside Himar. Fragments of their conversation drifted back to Anna and Jecks.
“ … travels light …”
“ … she’s a warrior, Lord Hadrenn … say Lord Barjim’s consort was like that … and Lady Essan years before …”
Anna smiled, even as she wondered how Himar had picked up the information on Essan and Alasia.
“ … women in Defalk … different …”
“ … comes from the mist worlds … you’ll see … fine iron ’neath that young face … seen what being a sorceress is … glad to be an overcaptain.”
Anna shut out the conversation, still working on some form of the arrow spell. “How about …” she murmured to herself,
Heads of arrows, shot into the air,
strike Bertmynn’s players, straight through there,
rend the spells and those who play …
She needed a last line. Her eyebrows furrowed. Then she nodded, repeating the words and cadences to herself as she rode. When she hoped she had them, she cleared her throat, deciding she’d better start warming up, since she guessed the rest of the ride would take less than a glass, and she needed to be ready. She began on the first vocalise, wondering if she’d waited too long.
“Holly-lolly-lolly-pop …” She had to stop and cough out mucus. Another day when getting clear isn’t going to be that easy. “Mueee … mueee …”
Anna coughed again, but by the time they’d gone several hundred yards, she wasn’t cutting out on every fourth syllable. But you’re not that clear …
Farinelli whuffed once, and then again, as if to comment on the quality of her warm-up.
“I know … I sound like hell.” She patted the gelding absently, and to reassure him, not that he needed reassurance as much as she did.
A scout rode out from where the road had turned eastward into the low trees, an orchard of some type, Anna thought, although the fruit was green. Once he had cleared the orchard by a few hundred yards, he reached the north–south part of the narrow road. From there he brought his mount into a quick trot on the way back north, toward Himar and the main section of Anna’s and Hadrenn’s forces.
Himar signaled for the column to halt, and the orders rippled back along the line of men and horses that extended nearly a dek back toward the River Syne.
Anna edged Farinelli forward, and Jecks kept his mount beside her, until they reined up beside Himar and Hadrenn. Despite the light breeze, Anna found herself blotting a damp forehead to keep perspiration out of her eyes.
“Sers … Regent … they’re drawn up on the hills, to the east here … except we’ll be south of them the way the road goes, and they’re just waiting.”
“Waiting? They don’t have any scouts out?”
“They have some. They are but a dek or so out from the others.”
“Archers?” asked Jecks. “Or crossbows?”
“Didn’t see none, ser. Could be, but not up front or where we’d see ’em.”
“Were there any players tuning?” Jecks persisted.
“No, ser.”
“How far is it to the ridge that faces the enemy?” asked Himar.
“Dek and a half … maybe two deks.”
The overcaptain nodded, then stood in his stirrups. “Four Defalkan companies to the fore! Green, gold, purple, and orange!” Himar ordered. “Two more from Lord Hadrenn’s forces.”
“Nortenn company! Fosternn company!” ordered Stepan.
Anna was glad that Skent’s cyan company hadn’t been called forth, but Himar was only being a good commander, by not putting a green subofficer forward in his first true battle.
“Be ready to hold the hillside there, the front of the ridge, should the enemy attack before all our forces are assembled,” declared Himar.
Anna turned. “Liende, have the players ready to dismount and play.” The words felt dry in her mouth. “Once we get to the slope opposite the enemy.”
“Yes, Regent.”
The sorceress turned back to study the lane leading to the orchard, her eyes lighting on the fruit. Something she didn’t recognize … were they greenages? Or just green plums? Or were they the same? Back to vocalises.
“Mueeee … oueeee … oueeee.” She coughed again, but by the time they resumed their ride and passed the last of the plum trees—where the road ended—and started across the browning grass on the eastern end of the long orchard, she’d stopped cutting out and could concentrate more on warming up without worrying about choking.
“Be ready to dismount and play,” ordered Liende from behind.
“Remember,” Jecks ordered Jimbob and Kinor, “you are to remain with the guards to protect the Regent. She is Defalk.”
“Yes, ser … .”
“Yes, ser.”
Anna continued to warm up even as she studied the ridgeline along which they rode eastward toward a shallow depression too small to be a valley—a depression covered with browning grasses bending slightly in the crisp fall breeze. Beyond the ridge they traveled and across the expanse of golden brown grasses, the burgundy tunics of Bertmynn’s lancers and armsmen stood out like fresh blood against the grass and the green of the trees behind the far hill on which those lancers and armsmen were arrayed.
“Still, he waits,” said Jecks quietly.
“Somebody has to wait.” Why … why are you so edgy?
The sound of mounts died away as Himar and Stepan finished arranging their companies on the low ridgeline.
Anna estimated the distance—less than a third of a dek—a shade over three hundred yards, and the
air was almost still. Her spells would carry that far. And the spells of his players, if they are players, will carry back, too.
Her eyes rested on the burgundy tunics, and then on the purple tunics and those in green on her side of the field. They’re going to die … some of them—many of them—if you’re successful. And why? Because you don’t want to keep fighting and because Bertmynn wants power? Are you any different? Anna pushed that thought away.
“Set up to play as close to the front here, as you can.” The sorceress swung out of the saddle and handed the reins to Blaz, stepping forward onto a slight knoll that would give her a bit more height.
Behind her, players scrambled out of their saddles, and into position, as they prepared instruments and began to tune. Anna blinked in the noon sun, trying to take in Bertmynn’s forces on the rolling rise while the familiar cacophony built, and then began to subside.
A slow drumbeat rolled across the space between the two forces … long and dull, and the tone seemed to freeze the day for a moment.
“Drums!” Jecks’ voice hissed across the distance between them. “Not players … but drummers. Battle drums!”
Anna frowned, worried as much by Jecks’ tone and the disgust and horror he conveyed as by the low drumrolls. Can you adapt that spell to drums? Do you need to? How soon?
“You must spell against the drums,” Jecks insisted.
“We stand ready, Regent,” Liende called.
You can do only one thing at a time. Anna shook her head, pulled her thoughts away from the slow rhythm of the drumbeats, and tried to make sense of the burgundy lancers and armsmen moving down the opposite hillside and across the shallow depression—less than two hundred yards east and perhaps three yards lower than the rise on which Anna and her players stood.
“Ah …” Why is it so hard to think? “The flame song!”
“The flame song,” Liende repeated. “On my mark.”
“Go!” Anna tried to ignore the sounds of trumpets, the dull clang and clunk of weapons, and the continuing roll of the drums from behind Bertmynn’s forces. She concentrated instead on the spell she would have to use.
“Mark now!” called Liende.
Anna waited for a moment, then began.
Fill with fire, fill with flame
those weapons spelled against my name …
Fill with fire, fill with flame …
Lines of fire crisscrossed the eastern part of the field, yet the lancers and armsmen in burgundy continued to advance, despite perhaps a third of them falling under the spell fires.
“Why don’t they stop?” muttered Jimbob.
Why don’t they … so many are dying … but they keep coming … Anna shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, trying to escape the feeling of walking through mud—or quicksand.
Anna squinted. Was there a haze covering the grass? Was the grass burning somewhere?
Next, the burgundy armsmen marched forward, armsmen alone, without lancers, their steps seemingly matching the two … or three-toned … drumbeats. The lack of horse bothered Anna, though she knew she was no military strategist.
Himar stood in the stirrups, his voice loud and clear. “Bowmen! To the east, to the lancers in red. Nock your arrows.”
The volume of Himar’s orders shook Anna, like cold water, and she turned and gestured to Liende. “Once through—the first arrow song.”
As the music rose, in tune, Anna began to sing, each word a terrible effort against the very air that seemed to congeal around her.
These arrows shot into the air,
the head of each must strike one armsman there
with force and speed to kill them all,
all those who stand against our call!
Anna dropped her arm, half-conscious of the thrumming of shafts released. Her limbs felt as though they were clad in lead.
These arrows shot into the air …
As her words ended, she looked at Himar, but the overcaptain continued to study the field, where fifty or so more red-clad Ebrans had fallen.
“We have not enough archers, Regent. Shall we loose shafts again?”
“Again!” Anna commanded. She blinked, as for a moment, she had seen double. But you’re not using Darksong. “The arrow song! Again!”
The players began the spell tune once more, and Anna forced her thoughts and visualization, concentrating on the image of arrows striking burgundy-clad figures, but even the images seemed to skitter out of her mind. Drawing on the years of recitals, she slowly reinforced her concentration with each word.
These arrows shot into the air,
the head of each must strike one armsman there … .
Anna finished the spell, finding herself almost gasping. That shouldn’t happen … what’s happened to your breathing? You never had problems breathing.
Jecks seemed to be guiding his mount toward her, but his progress was slow, as if something were holding him back.
The drums sounded louder, heavier, reverberating across the shallow valley, building and echoing, and the ground seemed to shiver with each drumroll. A smokelike pall rose out of the grass, like a ground fog rolling toward Anna and her forces—and the first line of burgundy armsmen reached within yards of the Defalkan lancers.
“Stop the drums, lady!” Jecks called. “The drums …”
A single trumpet burst rose from somewhere beyond the fog. Anna looked stupidly into the growing grayness. Adding to the drumbeats were the thundering hoofs of lancers.
Anna squinted and blinked, her eyes trying to focus, to make sense out of the conflicting images that assaulted her.
Out of the grayness charged burgundy lancers, sabres slashing at the near-motionless Defalkan lancers. Each blow struck by the burgundy-clad lancers seemed to fell a lancer of Defalk or Synek.
“The drums! Use a spell to direct shafts to the drumskins … .” yelled Kinor, riding toward Anna, yelling, blade out in a guard position. Yet even the young man’s progress appeared glacial, as he called again, “A spell to the drums!”
Kinor’s words fell around Anna, as she struggled to comprehend what he meant. Anna felt as though she were dragging herself out of a pit. What do you have to lose? Each word was labored as she forced it out, deliberately. “Liende, the arrow spell! Now! Himar, have them loose more arrows, any arrows!”
The players’ first notes were almost cacophonous, but by the end of the first bar they joined, and the grayness that had covered the field began to shred.
Heads of arrows, shot into the air,
strike the drumskins, straight through there,
rend the drums and those who play …
for their spells and Darksong pay!
As the last notes of the spell shimmered in the heavy air, the drumbeats from the far hillside wavered, faltered, and then died away.
Even without the support of the drums, the burgundy lancers had already fought their way through two ranks of Anna’s and Hadrenn’s lancers before the effects of the Darksong lifted and the defenders began to raise blades.
Kinor and Rickel abruptly appeared before Anna, mounted, to head off a single burgundy lancer who had broken through and charged toward the Regent. Blaz and Lejun converged as well, and bright blades slashed.
Anna dropped back several paces, turning toward Liende. One player lay sprawled on the ground.
“Another set of arrows … the arrow spell again …!” Anna demanded.
Anna timed the music and lifted her voice toward the east.
These arrows shot into the air,
the head of each must strike Lord Bertmynn there—
Anna dropped her hand, and sensed the release of the arrows.
—with force and speed to kill him dead,
for all the treachery he’s done and led.
Light-headed and off-balance, she did not move as the dozen or so arrows flew eastward, but tried to catch her breath, watching.
A single pillar of fire flared just forward of the smoldering ashes that had bee
n drums.
Abruptly, a trumpet blast sounded, and the front section of the burgundy lancers lurched forward.
Anna swallowed. There were still twice as many lancers in red as those in purple and green. Or more. She blinked. There were still two groups of burgundy lancers—or was one group turning, disappearing over the back of the ridge? Her eyes burned.
“The flame song!” She tried to keep her voice calm, but her remaining lancers could not hold against twice their numbers—or more.
“The flame song, at my mark! Mark!” Liende’s voice was ragged, hoarse, and the agony in her words tore at Anna.
Yet, from somewhere, a spell melody rose—true and clear, but thin, as if carried by less than half the players. Even so, the first bars were ragged, before the clarity of the strings lifted the horn and woodwind into a fusion.
Anna forced her full concentration into the spell itself, while trying to make her voice open and free with full concert projection.
Those of Ebra who will not be
loyal to the Defalkan Regency,
let them die, let them lie,
struck by fire, struck by flame … .
This time, as had happened at Envaryl, the chords of harmony shivered the sky, and the ground. The wailing that should have been a counterpointed chord followed, except that strangely harmonic as the wailing felt, once more, nothing matched, not intervals, not key or scale or anything—the second time Anna had heard harmony that approximated pure dissonance, again a sound that no one else seemed to hear.
She wanted to cover her ears, but the sound knifed through her like a series of needles that burned every nerve in her body. Behind her, there were screams, and she knew that awful sound had struck through the players as well.
Before she could turn, she could feel her legs collapsing, could sense figures moving toward her, and she wanted to tell them, I’ll be all right.
Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 26