The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Gretslen bows and turns.

  107

  Anna looked out the window into the gray of dawn. She’d never awakened so early so often. Did it come with trying to run a country? She wasn’t so much running it, she felt, as it was running her. Somehow, she had to get a better handle on things. She took a deep breath.

  The view from the room that had formerly been a guest suite beside Alasia’s private study was uninspiring, just the merchant quarters beyond the south wall, but it met Anna’s needs—the bath, a large wardrobe in the bath, and access through a single heavy door with a large iron bolt. The double bed was wider, and there was a writing table, and both a small mirror in the main chamber, and a full-length one in the bath, plus a small conference table with chairs, and two large dressers. The tub still had to be filled by hand, but it did have a drain. The night before, Anna had enjoyed her first bath in weeks, even if it had taken sorcery to heat the water.

  In the courtyard below, another section of officers readied their mounts for the long march back to Neserea. Already, the number of tents in the flat north of the liedburg had been more than halved, and Anna would be happier once the Nesereans were gone.

  The last two days had gone by all too quickly, but she kept feeling as though she were forgetting too many details—far too many.

  She turned to the writing table and the letter upon it—one of the reasons she was up early. If her effects succeeded, she would need to rest.

  The second letter to Elizabetta was brief—from what she felt and what she had learned from the old volumes in the near-abandoned liedburg library, the stronger the sorceress, the greater the heat and power involved with opening what the older volumes called a “weltsperre.” She walked to the table and reread her words.

  Elizabetta—

  From what I am learning and being told, sending these will get harder and harder.

  I have enclosed more gold coins. They are for you and Mario—no one else. I don’t know law very well, but there is insurance for you both. Since there is no body—obviously you will have to wait to collect that. You may have to claim that I have died now. I don’t know. I’m sure you can discuss that with your father—or any attorney if you prefer. The gold is to help in the meantime. I cannot send much, and I may not be able to send more, but I hope this arrives.

  I love you both, and I did not choose to leave you … . All of you were special … .

  The sorceress sealed the envelope and set it on the table before the mirror. She picked up the lutar and began the chording, then the song to call up her daughter’s image. The mists swirled, and Anna could feel heat radiating from the glass as the mirror showed Elizabetta lying in the guest bed, her eyes wide open.

  Anna began to sing the sending spell. She was shaking by the time the envelope vanished, despite the full chording of the spell with the lutar, and the mirror was a flaming mass.

  She set down the lutar, her head ringing, her legs tingling. She took a half step, and felt her legs crumple as the darkness swept across her. Shit … .

  It was full light when she woke again, her head pounding, her mouth dry as though it were stuffed with cotton. Her eyes burned when she opened them, and kept burning, needles jabbing into her skull.

  After a time, she staggered toward the mirror, then stopped. There was no mirror, just charcoal and glassy slag on the stone floor.

  How much longer could she even view her daughter, let alone send messages? Each time it seemed worse, and she’d waited weeks between messages.

  She used the clean water in the washroom basin to wash her face, and she dressed slowly, pulling on the purpleshaded cotton riding trousers and shirt, topped with a darker purple vest she had discovered. She had gathered together some additional sets of shirts and trousers, and those, she had decided, would be her “uniform” as regent—dressier than normal riding clothes. Except for special occasions when she might wear gowns, she wanted a comfortable but half stylish, no-nonsense look, for practical reasons, and since she had gained what support she had from being straightforward.

  Skent was waiting with her breakfast tray when she pulled the bell cord.

  “Just put it on the table there, Skent.”

  “Yes, Lady Anna.” He kept his eyes away from the darkened mass on the floor.

  “I’ll need another mirror,” she said ruefully. “Could you have someone find me one?”

  Skent nodded.

  Anna laid her list beside the tray, ready to read it as she ate and before she met with Menares and Hanfor. While she had managed to cross off some items from the top, she was adding to the bottom faster than she was managing the top—and that was with Hanfor, Alvar, Himar, and Menares all helping. She forced herself to begin eating before she keeled over again.

  Skent remained standing by the table after setting the tray in place. He licked his lips. “Ah … Lady Anna?”

  “Yes?” she mumbled through a full mouth.

  “You remember Lady Cataryzna?”

  “Oh …” Anna hadn’t, not until Skent reminded her. “Yes.”

  “Is there … ?” The page looked at the polished stone floor.

  “I’ve been busy, Skent. I’ll look into it, but I can’t promise anything until I do.” Anna held up her hand. “You’ll be able to see her, maybe more. I can’t do everything at once.”

  “Thank you.” Skent looked both relieved and skeptical.

  Anna wanted to sigh. Everyone wanted something, and they wanted it now! Sorceress or not, she remained but one person, and one with too much to learn. Still, after the door closed and she sat at the table and had a long drink of water, she added Cataryzna/hostages? to the list. After she finished nearly half a loaf of bread, some sliced early apples, and hard cheese, the throbbing in her head had dropped to a dull pounding, and her eyes were only irritated, rather than agonizing.

  She added another item to the list—ford at Sorprat—although she had no idea when she could get to that. After a last swallow of water from her purified stock, she stood, straightened her vest, and, list in hand, headed out.

  Now she had permanent guards by her bedroom, and Fhurgen followed her whenever she left, which was probably a good idea—Hanfor’s—since her mind was flitting everywhere.

  Hanfor and Menares waited for her in the small main-floor receiving hall, now more of a formal conference room with the addition of a large circular table and relatively comfortable chairs. The dais remained, as did a single high-backed gilt chair. Anna didn’t feel all that comfortable in the chair that was effectively a throne, but Hanfor and Daffyd had both suggested that she needed some trappings of power.

  “Lady Anna …”

  “My lady …”

  Anna motioned for them to sit, took her own seat, and laid out the list. “First, what problems have occurred since yesterday?”

  “Tirsik found me this morning. We have but a week’s supply of grain for the horses,” Hanfor said. “He can buy more from local farmers, but … he needs gold.”

  “I should have asked earlier. Gold—is there any? Didn’t Behlem and Barjim have a treasury?”

  “The paychests are in the strongroom,” Menares volunteered. “And there was a small chest for expenses.”

  “Who was in charge?”

  Menares’ face remained grave, blank.

  “You were?”

  “Yes, lady.”

  “Are the chests still there?”

  “The paychests are. I … ah …”

  “—took the small one into personal custody for safekeeping? Do you still have it? Safe, I mean?” Anna asked pleasantly.

  Menares nodded.

  “Hanfor, we’ll need trustworthy guards, and a lock that only you have the key to.”

  “Me?”

  “I can use sorcery, and no one else needs it.” Anna added grain to the bottom of the list.

  “Were there any coins left from Lord Barjim?”

  “Perhaps a score of golds in a small chest.” Menares added quickly, “The
chest and golds are still there.”

  “How much is in those paychests?” Anna asked.

  “Several months, perhaps,” offered the older counselor.

  “Hanfor, tell the soldiers they will be paid for the next month—”

  “When they reach Denguic,” interjected Hanfor. “We need no disruptions here.”

  “All right,” Anna agreed. “Can we get it there for those who have already left?”

  “Those are mostly all foot, and the lancers have to stay with them. The wagons should catch up. That highway’s good, but it’s still six days, maybe seven, by foot.”

  “It’s fair to keep the rest of the gold, isn’t it? According to the way things go here?”

  “You would have the right to keep it all,” said Menares.

  “I think it’s better to pay the armsmen what they are owed, but only that,” Anna said. “That should leave us some to pay our own.” She turned to Hanfor. “How is that coming?”

  “Slowly. It will take time. There are nearly twentyscore who would claim service to you.”

  “How many should we take?”

  “Most of them, except those from the Prophet’s Guard.”

  Anna nodded. “The grain. How many golds does Tirsik need?”

  “He said that Jisplir had been giving him two golds a week.”

  “Menares, when we’re done, you get the expense chest and meet Hanfor in the pay strongroom.” She turned to Hanfor. “Is this all right for now? You can’t do it all forever, but … for a few more days?”

  “A paymaster?” Hanfor sighed. “Responsible for the treasury of a whole land?”

  “It’ll make a good story someday.”

  “You are a slavemaster, Lady Anna, but I will do it.” Hanfor grinned.

  “Next …” Anna looked at the list.

  They met until nearly midday, when Anna stopped. “That’s more than enough. First, take care of the gold and the armsmen’s pay, then the grain, and the payments to the cooks for supplies …”

  When Hanfor started to stand, Anna smiled. “There’s something else.”

  “My lady, we cannot rebuild a land in a day.”

  “This is simple. There are a number of women—hostages of sorts—housed in the south tower. They should have the freedom of the hall.” Anna rubbed her forehead. “Bring them—no, have someone else bring them here first, though.”

  “That we can do.” Hanfor nodded slowly. “I feared you would ask for the market square to be rebuilt.”

  “Perhaps we should,” the sorceress offered, deadpan.

  Hanfor looked slowly at her. Finally, the weathered face split into a grin. “You can be wicked, Lady Anna.”

  “Not me.”

  The de facto chief of staff and armsmen shook his head. “I’ll have Himar take care of the women.”

  “Right after I grab something to eat.”

  The sorceress wolfed down some cold beef tucked between black bread, some cheese, an apple, and more water, before returning to the receiving room.

  Four women stood up from around the table as she entered.

  “Lady Anna …”

  “Sorceress …”

  “Lady of Defalk …”

  “Please sit down.” The sorceress walked to the dais and took the gilt chair, still not comfortable in what amounted to a throne, but trusting in Daffyd’s and Hanfor’s sense of the proper for Defalk. Then she studied the four women.

  One was young and had straight blonde hair, square-cut just above her shoulders. Close beside her sat a narrow-faced and square-chinned woman in dark brown. Cataryzna and her aunt? Another woman, almost as young, but red-haired and freckled, sat on the far side of the table. The fourth was brown-haired and very pregnant.

  “Which of you is Cararyzna?”

  “I am,” answered the blonde.

  “You are her aunt?” Anna asked.

  “Yes. I am Drenchescha,” said the narrow-faced woman.

  The sorceress turned her glance to the redhead.

  “Lysara.”

  “I am Wendella,” volunteered the pregnant woman. “My consort is Dencer.”

  Anna nodded. How Behlem or Barjim had gotten the woman was one question, but it certainly explained Dencer’s nervousness when the sorceress had met the lord. “You have all been hostages. I do not know all the reasons, but I do know some. You will have to remain in Falcor for at least a time, but I see no reason that you should be confined to the south tower. Your quarters will remain unchanged, but you now have the freedom of the hall, if you wish. I would ask that you remain within the walls.”

  “Do you intend to keep us hostage?” asked Drenchescha.

  “Until this morning, I only knew that you and Cataryzna were being held, and, honestly, I have been trying to undo the mess I found here.”

  “Why are you flying Barjim’s banner?” questioned Lady Wendella. “He kept me here by trickery.”

  Even if she were pregnant, Wendella and her attitude bothered Anna. “I’m inclined to believe that was in response to Lord Dencer’s trickery, but I will look into it. As for the banner, I am acting as regent for young Lord Jimbob, and the banner is the best we can do at the moment.” Anna didn’t miss the knowing glance that passed between Lysara and Cataryzna, but she turned to the redhead. “Why are you here?”

  “I am the daughter of Lord Birfels of Abenfel.”

  “You’re Birke’s sister?”

  “Half sister,” Lysara corrected.

  Anna wondered why Birke never mentioned his sister, or had the glances between the two pages been a warning to Skent not to mention Lysara? Things just kept getting more complicated. The sorceress stood. “I was reminded of your situation only this morning, and I cannot do everything at once, but I did wish to give you a greater degree of freedom.”

  “What if we leave the hall?” asked Wendella. “What then?”

  Anna frowned, then turned and sang softly, hoping she was not breaking the form too terribly:

  “Wendella all too snide,

  never go the walls outside,

  unless I give you all my leave,

  and my pardon you receive.”

  The sorceress smiled. “You do not have my pardon or my leave.”

  Wendella flushed. “You’re no better than either of those … men. You’re a singer. A darksinger.”

  Again, Cataryzna and Lysara exchanged glances.

  “Defalk cannot afford treachery on its southern borders,” answered Anna. “I tried to act in good faith, and you’ve attacked and accused me.” She shrugged. “And the spell will hold as long as you live. So it wouldn’t do much good to try to kill me, would it?”

  Hatred poured from Wendella’s eyes, before she looked away from Anna.

  After the group had left, Anna sat for a time in the chair, collecting herself, glad she had a few moments before Lady Essan arrived. She thought she could work with Lysara and Cataryzna, but she’d need to talk with them alone, and she had neither the time nor the knowledge she needed.

  “Lady Essan.” Giellum made the announcement, while Skent brought in the tray with the goblets and the amber brandy.

  “Thank you,” Anna murmured to the page. She wondered if Skent had thought up the brandy or Lady Essan. Lady Essan, probably.

  Anna rose and walked toward the older woman, leading her toward the nearest two chairs by the ancient, if slightly battered, inlaid wooden table.

  Anna poured some of the amber brandy into the other’s crystal goblet.

  “My, and being served by a regent.” Essan took the goblet and sipped.

  The sorceress refrained from wincing. “Acting regent,” she said mildly.

  “Careful you are being, and that be good.”

  “It wasn’t careful to take on Behlem.”

  “What would you have of me?” asked Essan. “Not that you be needing much.”

  “I said you would be as my mother, and, while I may not always be able to take your counsel, I value it.” Anna waited, then added
, “I would also like to ask if you would wish to return to your former quarters.”

  “The tower steps, though I walk them seldom, are hard on my bones.”

  Anna nodded.

  “What else have ye on your mind?” Essan laughed, almost a cackle. “Even devoted daughters have ideas.”

  Anna grinned briefly. “Some questions.”

  “Ask, sorceress-regent. For what I know I will answer.”

  “Lady Wendella?”

  “A true wench, even more devious than her consort. A tongue like a viper. Rumor has it she poisoned her own sister, who was betrothed first to Dencer. Her sire was Lord Mietch. He held the lands north of Abenfel. His eldest, Mietchel, now holds them.” Essan took another long swallow of the brandy.

  “Abenfel—why both Birke and Lysara?”

  “Lord Birfels had two consorts. Lysara was by his first, and most beloved. After Lady Trien died, he consorted again for sons. Birke is his eldest, but a younger son—his name I forget—lives at Abenfel.”

  “So Barjim needed both as insurance?”

  “Insurance?”

  “Surety.”

  “Exactly.”

  Anna paused for a swallow of water. “Did Lady Alasia manage the finances of Defalk—the coins—for Lord Barjim?”

  “None other. Who else could he trust, besides Jecks? And Lord Jecks wanted no part of Falcor. What else?”

  Anna plugged through her list of questions. At least there was someone who knew where some of the skeletons lay.

  When Essan left, Anna sent Skent for Daffyd. Her head was beginning to pound again. More water and nearly half a loaf of dark bread helped, but Skent rapped on the door even before she finished.

  “The player Daffyd.”

  She rose from the conference table and swallowed the last mouthful of bread.

  “Lady Anna.”

  “Sit down.” She motioned him to the table. “I haven’t forgotten you. You’re in charge of the regent’s players. We’ll work out some suitable payment for you, and you can have your own quarters in the hall proper—something not too grand, but nothing dingy, either.”