The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Well enough, while the water lasts.” Brill shrugged. “Even underground, there’s not much here anymore.” He straightened. “I need to gather the players together. We’ll be practicing in the bigger room.”

  “I think I’ll stay up here. It’s cooler.” She gestured toward the shaded side of the watchtower behind her.

  “For now.” Brill turned.

  After the sorcerer left, Anna sat in the shady corner and began to try to work out some form of chording for her battle hymn. She knew the melody well enough, but trying to develop chords from scratch was another thing. She’d always had music to refer to, and so far, she hadn’t seen any on Erde. If it existed, it was well hidden … for good reason.

  She eased the two folded papers from the belt wallet, unfolded them, and laid them on the bricks beside her.

  The mandolin was out of tune, and the tuning pegs wouldn’t hold unless she jammed them sideways.

  She ran through several vocalises, but her voice was tired, and she felt clumsy, even as she kept at it trying to get clear, get warmed up.

  Then, when she picked up the mandolin again, her fingers fumbled on the strings, and her mind skittered over the words.

  “I have loosed the fateful lightning so the

  darkling ones will die,

  My songs will strike them dead … .”

  She paused and shook her head. It was all so insane.

  What was she doing? Sitting in a brick fort in the middle of a desert, trying to compose or arrange a song that would kill people she didn’t know, except that those people had already tried to kill her.

  How long she spent, she didn’t know, only that her voice was tired, and her fingers ached, and that the sun had almost reached noon and taken the last vestige of shade when she folded up her would-be spells and started down the steps, trying to ignore the low voices from the watchtower.

  “There she goes … sorceress …”

  “ … almost turned one of the captains into charcoal … insulted her …”

  “ … say she killed dozens of dark ones with an arrow through her shoulder, then rode all the way here … .”

  Anna winced. Stories always seemed to grow. Then you were in trouble if you didn’t live up to them, and you were in trouble if you refuted them.

  She eased her way along the upper ramp toward the small room with her gear.

  34

  Anna hugged the shade on the eastern side of the northwest watchtower, still struggling with the chords on the mandolin, trying to forget how hard the bricks she sat on were, or how much her nose itched from the dust raised in the courtyard below.

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a melody.” Daffyd stood there, viola in hand, grinning.

  “It would be easier if you’d been able to finish the lutar.”

  “A melody’s a melody.”

  Abruptly, Anna realized what he was talking about. Players in Liedwahr played melody lines that stood alone, while she was working on supporting chords—the difference between the polyphony of Brill’s players and the mostly homophonic approach of, say, a Beethoven symphony—or a Britten song cycle. Idly, she wondered how Sophie Weiss or Nancy Evans might have done in Liedwahr, then pushed the thought away. She was here, and they weren’t.

  “Lady Anna?” prompted Daffyd.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes, I think about other things. How is the lutar—”

  “I can’t do much here except work on the tuning pegs and smooth things.”

  “Daffyd! We need to work on the battle song,” called Brill.

  The viola player nodded and hurried back to the group.

  Anna set down the mandolin and uncorked her ever-present water bottle, drinking slowly as Brill conducted the eight players. Palian was taking Kaseth’s place, and Daffyd seemed to hold the lead viola position. Liende carried the bass melody.

  After corking the water bottle, Anna went back to the chords, trying to work out the chorus lines of her muchadapted “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” shutting out as well as she could the off-notes of the players, and Brill’s corrections.

  “What’s that dust?” asked one of the lookouts in the tower above Anna. “It wouldn’t be the Ebrans.”

  “Not coming from the west, idiot. The scouts say that the dark ones are moving their lancers up the pass, and there are troops of archers on the trails headed down to us.”

  “That has to be Lord Jecks, then, doesn’t it?”

  “Look for a blue banner with a golden bear.”

  A series of trumpet calls echoed from the west, reverberating off the angled sandstone cliffs east of the hills straddled by Brill’s fort.

  “There’s a blue banner, but it’s all wrapped up.”

  Anna stopped chording and eased to her feet. Between the sentries, the trumpets, Brill’s players, and the heat, she couldn’t concentrate anymore.

  “That’s it,” Brill announced. “Put away your instruments. We’ll meet here in the morning, one way or another.”

  “That’s Lord Jecks,” offered Daffyd, from behind Anna’s shoulder. “He’s always the last to bring in his levies.”

  “He does bring them, in person,” said Brill as he walked up to them. “Unlike most of the lords, who only send captains.”

  Anna looked at the sorcerer quizzically.

  “There is an obligation to send levies, but a lord of holdings does not have to come at every call.” Brill shrugged. “Barjim could request their presence, but most of their captains are better commanders than they are—except for Jecks and Kysar.” The balding man paused, then added, “I wanted to tell you that we are to eat with Lord Barjim tonight, again.”

  “The food’s better, but …” Anna spread her hands.

  “I doubt anyone will insult us.” Brill laughed. “You made your point.”

  “She always does, ser,” Daffyd said quietly.

  “Yes, Daffyd, and I hope she can with the dark ones.” The sorcerer looked into the low western sun, squinting to make out the oncoming riders, then turned and headed down the steps.

  “He’s not happy,” said Daffyd.

  “Would you be?” Anna wondered if she should have brought up the possibility of harmony again, before Brill had slipped away, but she had the feeling the sorcerer would always refuse that possibility.

  “I’m not. We’ll be lucky to get out of here with our heads attached to our bodies.”

  “So why are you here, then?” Anna asked.

  “My head wouldn’t be attached to its body, lady, if I had not come. What about you?”

  “Did I have any choice?”

  The young man shook his head.

  “I have to get ready for this latest … command performance.” Anna shifted her grip on the mandolin and started down the narrow steps, keeping to the inside and away from the unrailed outer side that overlooked the courtyard.

  By the time she reached her quarters, there were three buckets of water in the middle of the floor.

  “I had some buckets brought up to the room,” Palian said. “I went down to the washroom.” She shook her head. “They asked me who I belonged to. One of them pawed me.”

  “They tried that on me, at first.”

  “No one would touch you, now, Lady Anna,” said the slender violinist. “There are so many stories … .”

  “I know.” Anna’s tone was wry. “I killed dozens of darksingers with a war arrow twice my size through me after losing all my blood, and then I hopped on the biggest and nastiest beast in Defalk and rode here without resting.”

  Palian laughed.

  “It’s half true,” said Liende from the doorway, where she eased the wooden door shut behind her. “You lost half your blood, and it was a full-sized war arrow with a barbed head, and they’re more than a yard long.”

  “Wait a moment.” Anna looked at the buckets, then hummed, and sang the water spell gently.

  The water in all three buckets foamed, then subsided.

  “It’ll be cool,” she added as s
he pulled off the floppy-brimmed hat and the armless tunic. “I’m still glad you had the water brought up.”

  Liende looked at the buckets, then bent and dipped a finger into the water and licked it. “It’s almost a shame to waste such clean water.”

  “I’ll spell more later, if you want,” Anna offered, “but I want to clean up.”

  “So do I,” said Palian.

  “It certainly couldn’t hurt.” Liende stripped off her faded tunic. “But I don’t know how long we’ll stay clean.” She coughed at the dust from the garment.

  Anna had barely finished getting dressed and into a cleaner tunic when Brill rapped on the door.

  “Lady Anna?”

  “I’m coming.” Her hair was pinned into a bun, although it wasn’t quite long enough for that, and despite her best efforts she was slowly losing pins, and she was afraid it would come undone halfway through dinner.

  “You look most presentable,” the sorcerer said when she stepped out onto the third-level walkway.

  “Thank you.” Anna wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment, or a statement of appreciation that she had tried to look good but hadn’t quite pulled it off.

  The dining area was the same low-ceilinged room, except the shuttered windows were open, and the faintest of breezes fluttered through them. This time, more than a dozen men, and Alasia, stood around the table when Brill and Anna stepped inside.

  “Lady Anna, who can set hearts afire—along with the rest of you.” Captain Firis bowed, then grinned at her.

  Anna couldn’t help but grin back at the impulsive young captain, so willing to kill one moment, and forgive the next. She could appreciate him without trusting him. “Captain Firis.” She turned to the two others she knew. “Dekas … Sepko.”

  Then she bowed ever so slightly in the direction of Barjim. “Lord Barjim, Lady Alasia.”

  Barjim nodded to the sorcerer and sorceress, but continued to listen to the redheaded captain who had not turned.

  Beside Alasia was a stocky, white-haired man, his leathers still dusty. Alasia motioned to Anna, and the sorceress stepped toward her.

  “Lady Anna, this is my sire, Lord Jecks.” Alasia turned from Anna to the white-haired warrior. “Lady Anna is the sorceress from the mist worlds, the one who almost turned Firis into a cinder.”

  “He still hasn’t learned that much caution, it appears.” Jecks bowed. “My daughter has told me about you, and I am pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Anna bowed.

  “Let us sit down and get on with the business of eating!” said Barjim, his voice carrying across the conversations.

  Anna followed the command and found herself second down on the right-hand side, with Lord Jecks on her left, Brill on her right, and another older man across from her.

  “Get the wine moving,” Barjim suggested.

  Alasia smiled at Anna, then turned to the man on her left, the one across the table from Anna. “Lady Anna, this is Lord Kysar. He holds the strongholds and the lands around Pamr. Lord Kysar, this is the lady Anna. She is the sorceress from the mist worlds I had mentioned.”

  Anna inclined her head. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Kysar.”

  “Just don’t tell her she’s useless, lord … .” A sotto voce whisper crept up the table.

  Anna tried not to flush.

  “I believe I missed something there.” Kysar’s voice held the false heartiness that many big men cultivated, in Anna’s opinion.

  “Rumors fly all over Defalk about you, lady,” added Lord Jecks, kindly. “Is this another one?”

  “It is not a rumor, unhappily, Lord Jecks,” Anna admitted. “When I arrived here, I was tired and not thinking too clearly. One of the captains made a remark, one I think now that was in jest, but it made me mad.” She forced a shrug. “I overreacted.”

  Jecks and Kysar looked to Barjim, who, with his mouth full of bread and lamb curry, nodded at Alasia.

  “The lady Anna turned his wooden goblet into a bonfire, and was starting on a spell to do the same to him,” Alasia said. “But she was gracious, and so was the captain, after a few words.”

  “And you, daughter, are diplomatically keeping everyone happy.” Jecks laughed.

  “My lady Alasia is good at preserving my resources,” boomed Barjim. “Get the wine down to my captains.”

  “Lord Brill, I believe we last met in Falcor in the spring,” offered Jecks.

  “I believe so.” Brill poured some wine, first for Anna, and then for himself. “Did you have any luck with the dam?”

  “In fact, I did. It was a good idea, and there was water where you suggested, but it’s taking longer to fill the pond.” Jecks broke off a large chunk of bread, and took but a small sip of wine.

  “Without more rain, that will happen.”

  “More disharmony from the dark ones.” Jecks looked at Barjim, then lowered his voice slightly. “Now that the last of the levies are here, will they attack at dawn?”

  Brill frowned. “Not at dawn, but by late morning, I would guess. They are already moving the clouds westward. I could see the darkness over the Ostfels.”

  “Be a long day tomorrow,” Kysar interjected.

  Anna felt like every day had been long since she arrived in Liedwahr, but she nodded and took the smallest sip of wine.

  35

  ENCORA, RANUAK

  The matriarch settles her considerable bulk into the polished ebony chair under the awning. Her eyes focus beyond the balcony at the harbor below the hilltop residence. In the blue-green waters are anchored a handful of ships, while another handful load at the grain docks.

  “What else have you and Veria discovered?” asks the gray-haired woman after she settles in the oversized chair. “About the disharmonies?”

  “They continue, Matriarch,” answers the slender brunette. “They center on the Sand Pass and the new sorceress.”

  “She is not new, properly,” says Ulgar from where he stands in the sun at the stone railing. “Merely a recent arrival to Liedwahr. And Lord Barjim will doubtless use her talents in his desperate efforts to fend off the dark ones.”

  “Lord Barjim is an honest man,” says the Matriarch cheerfully. “An honest man, a caring man, and entirely the wrong leader for Defalk in these days. His consort knows this, and she supports him.”

  “As consorts often do,” interjects Ulgar.

  “Alya, about the disharmonies?”

  “They continue, and all the scriers follow the soprano sorceress.”

  “How do you know she is a soprano?” asks Ulgar. “Has anyone heard her sing?”

  “Hush, dear,” responds the Matriarch. “She is a soprano. The harmonies demand that she be a soprano, and so she is. Just as the harmonies demand that Lord Brill and all male sorcerers reject true harmony. Just as the harmonies demand that poor brave Barjim perish and Lord Behlem succeed him.”

  “And what else do the harmonies demand?” Ulgar smiles indulgently as he turns to let the hot sun bathe his tanned face and short silvered hair.

  “That we let them work out the destiny of Liedwahr.” The Matriarch leans back in the big chair with a smile.

  “Why did you lend Lord Barjim the golds?” ventures Alya. “The Evult will scarcely repay them. Nor will Behlem, if he can hold Falcor.”

  “Two thousand golds are a cheap price to send Barjim and his levies against the dark ones. If he even inflicts enough damage to slow them for a year, the coins are well worth it.”

  “We will be lucky if his poor armsmen can slow Eladdrin for a season,” points out Alya.

  “There is a balance to things, daughter. Matters do balance, and sometimes it is but a question of knowing when to wait.”

  “If there is such a balance—”

  “Why did we need to send the golds? Because the harmonies work slowly, and the golds allow them the time to work their will.” The Matriarch leans back in her chair and closes her eyes.

  36

  Anna stood by the
northeastern watchtower. Her eyes flicked from Brill and the players on the open space behind her and then back to the empty road that led up to the Sand Pass. The distant pass was already overshadowed by the red-and-gray bulk of the Ostfels, and by the growing darkness of clouds that rose out of the eastern horizon to challenge the mid-morning sun.

  From the parapet, Anna squinted out from under the floppy-brimmed hat at the road, and the hills and ridges that flanked it, but could see nothing moving—no armsmen, no horses. That motionlessness made the shadows that darkened the mountains to the east and marched down toward the fort all the more ominous.

  Even the sentries on the watchtowers were silent, as were the archers stationed at every crenelation along the eastern wall. Anna glanced to the blank-faced bowman less than a yard from where she stood, but the archer’s eyes remained on the canyon, as did the eyes of all the archers who ranged the walls.

  “You’re making ready?” asked Liende, stepping up almost beside Anna. “Can you help stop them?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll do what I can,” Anna said. “But I’m not sure that waiting to see if a spell will work is ‘making ready.’” There was so much she really wasn’t sure about—like why she was so calm when a battle was about to break out around her.

  “You will turn their storms against them?” pursued Liende, as she fitted the horn’s mouthpiece into place. Like Anna, the clarinetist wore the faded cottons from Brill’s hall, and like Anna’s, hers were green, unlike most of the other players, who wore blue.

  “No. I don’t know about storms.” Anna shivered, thinking about the truly terrible words she had crafted, wondering why she was doing what she was doing? Was there ever a good reason for destruction? She tightened her lips. The dark ones had tried to kill her, just because she was alive and in Defalk. She had the right to try to stay alive, didn’t she? But did that give her the right to use her new talents to kill? Or would they even work? Was she just a fraud?