The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “‘We,’ my lady?” asks Nubara.

  “You are the envoy of the Liedfuhr to the Prophet, and the Prophet—and the sorceress—are in Falcor. How could you possibly deal with the sorceress from here? Or serve the Liedfuhr?” Even white teeth delicately crush the almond, and Cyndyth takes another sip of wine. “You will serve the Liedfuhr, will you not, by ensuring that the next battle of this sorceress is her last battle?”

  “I serve the will of the Liedfuhr.” Nubara’s forehead is even brighter with sweat.

  “I am so sure you do, Nubara.” Cyndyth smiles slowly, showing white teeth framed by reddened lips. “So very sure that you will not misunderstand his will in this. We leave tomorrow.”

  77

  Anna dried her just-washed face, then straightened her last clean set of riding clothes. Again, the night before, they had ridden late to reach Falcor, and she had probably overslept, but at least a covered tray of bread and cheese had been waiting when she rose, a heaping tray, thankfully. From Skent, she suspected.

  She looked at the pile of the floor and the two buckets of water beside them. With a sigh, she took out the lutar. Sorcery to do laundry? Was it worth the headache it would cause? What else could she do? The last time she’d asked for it to be done, the clothes had been returned brushed clean of dust and dirt, but still stained and smelly.

  After too long a time, and the headache she had anticipated, Anna hung the two sets of trousers, tunics, and shirts around her room, as well as twice that many undergarments. The idea of her room looking like a Chinese laundry bothered her, but not so much as dirty clothing.

  She put the lutar away and sat down to a goblet of water and the one chunk of bread left over from breakfast. Almost before she finished the bread, she jerked the bellpull, and waited.

  Birke arrived almost immediately.

  “Birke? I’d like to talk to Garreth.”

  The page swallowed.

  “Don’t worry. I just want her to draw something for me.” Anna held in a grin. “Do you like her?”

  “She draws well,” answered the page.

  Meaning yes, Anna inferred.

  “I also need you to take a message to Counselor Menares. I have a message from Lord Jecks to the Prophet.”

  “You have a message from Lord Jecks?”

  “To the Prophet,” Anna added. “I’ll be either here with Garreth or upstairs with Lady Essan.”

  “You do not intend to come directly?” Birke’s brows lifted.

  “That would waste my time and his.” Anna smiled. “Garreth first.”

  “Yes, Lady Anna.”

  Anna said nothing, though she could sense the youth’s disapproval. Would he disapprove of every contact she made? She shook her head as she closed the door to the landing.

  Even before the sorceress had finished her second goblet of purified water, the door knocker thunked, announcing Garreth.

  “Birke said you had requested my presence,” said the thin-faced brunette, her eyes on the stones of the landing before the door.

  “Please come in.” Anna motioned to a chair, but the young woman barely sat on it, almost perching on the edge. Garreth’s eyes wandered around the room, glancing at the garments draped around.

  “Laundry,” explained Anna.

  The brunette frowned. Anna didn’t explain, feeling that she’d come across as arrogant and condescending if she attempted to discuss cleanliness, especially since the room had gotten dusty in her absence.

  “Your room is cold. How be it so?”

  “Sorcery,” Anna admitted. “Erde gets too hot to be comfortable for me.”

  Garreth shivered, but said nothing.

  “I had a request of you,” the sorceress finally said. “Could you draw a picture of me, say on the tower, with some of Falcor behind me? It doesn’t have to be fancy, but something that’s recognizable as me.”

  Garreth frowned, ever so slightly, her green eyes slightly hooded.

  “I’d pay you for it,” Anna added. “I don’t have that much coin, but … would. a silver or two help?”

  “It is not that, Lady Anna. I not be that good.”

  “You’re better than most of the pretenders who call themselves artists.”

  A faint smile flitted across Garreth’s lips and vanished.

  “I would also consider it a great favor.”

  “If you would explain that to Lady Essan …”

  “I would be happy to—very happy.”

  “How big?” ventured the brunette.

  “It must be small, to fit in an … a packet.” Anna framed a space with her hands. “And soon, if that’s possible.”

  “I could come back this afternoon, when Lady Essan rests.”

  “Good.” Anna smiled, and stood. She still needed to see Essan, preferably before Menares and Behlem. “Is Lady Essan in now?”

  “She usually be in, Lady Anna.” As she stood, Garreth’s voice was polite, but Anna felt stupid. Where would the widow of the former Lord of Defalk go?

  “I’ll talk to her now.”

  “Then I will return to my corner.”

  Anna waited until Garreth’s steps died away down the tower steps before she headed up toward Essan’s room. The stairwell was hot and close, even before mid-morning, and smelled faintly of urine and worse from the jakes on the level below Anna’s quarters. She wrinkled her nose, but kept climbing.

  She paused outside the lady Essan’s room, then rapped on the door.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “It’s Anna, Lady Essan.”

  The older woman opened the door. “You have returned safely. Do come in.” Essan turned to the stocky woman with white-streaked black hair. “You may go, Synondra.”

  Synondra bowed her head, first to Lady Essan, and then to Anna, as she stepped out of the room.

  Anna followed Essan toward the pair of purple upholstered and embroidered chairs. The polished table held the small silver platter, empty except for a few of the almonds, and the same pewter pitcher and paired goblets.

  “What happened on your journey, sorceress woman-girl?” Essan settled herself into the chair with the pillow. “Have you found a way to defeat the dark ones and thus ensure Defalk as a province of Neserea?”

  Anna wanted to wince at the bitter undertone.

  “Don’t mind me, Anna.” Essan lifted her goblet. “I am old enough to say what I please—in my own small quarters, anyway.”

  Arina still didn’t know how to answer. After a moment, she spoke. “I might have created something that will help defeat the Ebrans, but until I try it, how will I know?” She forced a shrug, feeling slightly dishonest as she did. “Even if it does work, will that ensure that Lord Behlem can hold Defalk?”

  “I would wager, naive-wise woman, that whether the Prophet holds Defalk rests solely upon you.” Essan popped one of the two remaining almonds into her mouth and pointed to the remnant. “The last is for you.”

  “Go ahead,” Anna said. “I’m not hungry now.” Not too hungry, and I need to let my stomach settle, if it will.

  “I hope you enjoyed the ride,” Essan went on. “The liedburg staff, those left from earlier days and not rooted out, have made you into a warrior hero. Your knife has grown to a yard in length, and you destroyed half the stable in your fury. You also cursed all the Prophet’s captains—those that you did not burn to ashes—and even the Prophet has doubled his Guard against you.”

  “Oh …”

  “These things happen. Harmony knows they need a champion, and now even a sorceress from the mist worlds will do. Until you win and they discover you are a woman,” Essan added dryly.

  Two quick raps sounded on the door, and a frown crossed Essan’s wrinkled forehead. “Not even up here is there peace, not with that clown of music in the hall.”

  Anna started to stand, but Essan waved her back to her seat. “I would get it. You are a guest, and small as my kingdom is, guests answer no summonses.”

  Anna held in a grin as Essan mar
ched to the door.

  “It’s Birke, Lady Essan. Is Lady Anna there? The Prophet wishes to see her now.”

  “She is here, young Birke, and I will tell her.”

  “Thank you, Lady Essan.”

  Anna could hear Birke’s steps on the stones of the tower stairs before Essan closed the door.

  “Oh, the Prophet wishes to see you.” The white-haired woman’s eyes twinkled. “Even Donjim at his drunkest was not that peremptory. But then, you did not present yourself at his chamber and wait and wait upon his pleasure.”

  “I don’t do that anymore.”

  “You have experienced more than that youthful face shows. What it does not indicate … your voice does. Best you be careful with that tongue.” Essan smiled as she warned Anna. “Still … you should not keep our present lord and master waiting too long.”

  Anna wasn’t certain she held back the grin as she stood. “I appreciate your thoughts, Lady Essan.”

  “Another thought, sorceress. For all your age you are far too honest to play with power.” The older woman shook her head. “Yet Defalk could ill afford to lose such honesty—it is so rare. Best you be on your way. Lord Behlem is not long on patience, especially with women.”

  Anna nodding, thinking as she walked toward the door that few men in Liedwahr seemed to be patient with women—or anyone else.

  “We must hurry,” Birke insisted as Anna stepped out onto the landing. “The counselor was very insistent.”

  “That may be,” Anna said, “but it won’t do anyone any good if we fall down the stairs and kill ourselves.” She steadied herself on the rough stones of the stairwell wall.

  Once they reached the main corridor beyond the tower, Birke began to walk faster and faster. “Counselor Menares said to hurry, Lady Anna.”

  After taking the wide steps and heading halfway back along the unlit hallway where the glass mantles on the wall sconces for the candles were smudged and dusty, Birke stopped short outside a doorway. An armsman stood on each side, and a page by the door handle.

  Birke bowed to the older, black-haired page. “Seckar, announce to the Prophet that the lady Anna has arrived in response to his summons.”

  Seckar eased the door open. “The lady Anna.”

  “About time!” came from beyond the door.

  The sorceress thought the Prophet’s voice sounded more petulant than commanding, but she stepped past Seclcar.

  Behlem sat in a high-backed wooden chair placed on a dais. Menares sat on an armless chair on the floor level, but rose as Anna entered. The Prophet did not. His hand touched his beard briefly, then dropped to the padded arm of his chair.

  The receiving room was hot and smelled of sweat. The row of high windows on the left-hand side all remained closed. Anna wanted to wipe her forehead. Instead she bowed slightly. “I came as soon as I received word.”

  “Where were you earlier this morning?” asked Behlem.

  “We returned last night. I sent word to Menares right after I rose.” Anna bowed toward the white-haired counselor.

  “Time is important, Lady Anna. The last of the Ebran reinforcements are in the Sand Pass,” Menares said. “In two days they will be in Mencha, and in four Eladdrin will be on his way to Falcor—unless he heads north to Elhi first.” The counselor looked to the Prophet.

  Behlem fingered his reddish blond beard, but shook his head.

  “What have you to offer the Prophet?” asked Menares, reseating himself. Neither man suggested Anna sit, and there was no chair obvious.

  “I believe I have a way in which I may be able to cripple the armies of the dark ones.”

  “What does it require? Masses of gold?” Behlem’s voice remained high and sarcastic.

  “No. All you have to do is mass your forces somewhere in the neighborhood of Pamr, enough so that Eladdrin will take the trail south of the river rather than cross into the river valley.”

  “He would not cross the ford in any case,” snapped the Prophet.

  Anna shrugged. “You know the military terms. If he travels the bluff trail, then I have a chance of hurting his forces.”

  “A chance? You wish me to commit my forces on a chance?”

  “My lord,” offered Menares smoothly, “the ford is two days from Pamr, more for large bodies of armsmen.” The counselor turned to Anna. “You intend to be near the ford, with a small guard?”

  “Yes.”

  “The sorceress is willing to put herself in danger, while your armsmen are not.” The counselor shrugged. “That does not seem so bad a bargain.”

  Behlem fingered his beard. “Perhaps not. We must discuss this and consider it.” His eyes hardened. “Subofficer Spirda reported that you met with a Defalkan lord. You did not mention this.”

  “That was one of the reasons I wished to speak with you.”

  “Oh … now you tell me.” Behlem’s lips curled.

  Anna forced herself to remain calm, even as she could sense the withdrawal into her shell, the professional calm, the Plexiglas shields of the soul, drop around her. “You haven’t given me much chance to explain anything,” she said reasonably. “It wasn’t a meeting. He had a large body of troops, and we spoke for a few moments in an open meadow.”

  “That is what Spirda said,” ventured Menares.

  “Menares …” said Behlem warningly.

  “Lord Jecks asked me to convey a message to you in response to your message.”

  Behlem raised his eyebrows. “What was his message?”

  “He said that he would not fight you and that he would fight the Ebrans.”

  “But he would not support our claim to Defalk.”

  “No.”

  “And you let him live?” asked the Prophet silkily. “You let him offer such insolence and live?”

  “Whether to kill him or not isn’t my decision, Lord Behlem. I didn’t see much point in trying to kill someone who is a potential ally against the Ebrans.”

  “You forget yourself, Lady Anna,” snapped Behlem.

  Menares put a hand on the Prophet’s sleeve, but Behlem shook it off. “I am the Prophet. You are a stranger. You know nothing of Defalk or Liedwahr. How can you tell me what is wise?”

  “I have seen the dark ones,” Anna said, forcing herself to remain calm, even though Behlem reminded her of all too many arrogant graduate students. “I have fought them. You have not.”

  “You did not defeat them.”

  Anna remained silent, seething.

  “No …” added Menares slowly. “Yet she destroyed more darksingers than anyone ever has, as you yourself have said, my lord. And she killed several thousand Ebran armsmen—more than our armies have.”

  Behlem twisted toward the older man, then smoothed his face. “And?” he asked Anna. “Why did you let him live?”

  The sorceress couldn’t quite believe that the Prophet had heard nothing of what she had said—tike so many junior DMAs who thought their doctorates counted for more than a lifetime of experience. She rephrased her answer. “Lord Jecks has agreed not to fight you, and he has agreed to fight them. You lose nothing.”

  Behlem fingered his beard. Finally, he looked directly at her. “Have you told anyone?”

  “No. The message was for you. All I told Spirda was that you had requested Lord Jecks’ alliance and that I was asked to deliver his reply.”

  “Are you sure of that, Lady Anna.”

  “I’m sure,” Anna said coldly, “and when I say something is true, it’s true.”

  Behlem’s eyes smoldered, but his fingers brushed the beard again.

  Menares swallowed, easing back from the Prophet.

  Abruptly, Behlem laughed. “So! Well, nothing’s changed. He isn’t a friend, and he isn’t an enemy, and he won’t attack, and you told Spirda the decisions were mine. There are worse things.”

  Anna waited.

  After a moment, Behlem nodded. “You may go. We will discuss your idea.” His eyes went to Menares.

  The sorceress got the message
and bowed. “By your leave.” Then she turned and left, opening the door for herself on the way out, barely managing not to slam it.

  In his childish way, Behlem was dangerous, paranoid. He’d baited her just to see if he could find a reason to distrust her, and then he’d almost tossed her out.

  He’d learn. Anna knew what battles to fight, and when, and Behlem’s turn would come.

  In the meantime, she wanted Garreth to start drawing. With the way Avery was behaving and the agony on Elizabetta’s face, Anna had to do something—or try. Her instincts—Brill’s cautions—told her that her communications with earth were likely to be very limited.

  78

  MENCHA, DEFALK

  The songmaster rises from the table in the salon as the lancer officer enters through the unused main dining area. The officer glances around and shakes his head.

  “Opulent for a mere wizard,” notes Eladdrin. His eyes focus on the spare figure, in the dusty gray black uniform. “What did you find, Ghurey?”

  “Begging your pardon, Songmaster …”

  “You found nothing?”

  “We found traces of horses. We got the tale from the local farmers, but …” The dark lancer with the line of blacker braid across his shoulder shrugs. “The blonde bitch rode out to Sorprat and crossed the ford. She rode up to the top of the bluffs, and she stayed there for maybe a glass. Then she rode back.” Ghurey smiles. “We did find out something else interesting, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “She met with a local lord—Jecks—outside of Pamr. They met in a meadow, just the two of them. Then she rode back to Falcor.”

  Eladdrin rubs his temples, then shakes his head.

  “You think, ser, she was expecting to meet him at Sorprat? He’s from Elhi, and Sorprat’s two days’ ride closer than Pamr.”

  “It’s hard to believe she rode four days for a short meeting in a meadow.” Eladdrin drawls out the words. “You are certain there was no sorcery at the ford?”

  “None so as I could detect. The highway was sound, and the stones of the ford were firm. We tested’em with spells and iron rods. Not that I liked to running forces along any road with a sorcerer or sorceress around.” Ghurey shifts his weight from one dusty boot to the other.