The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Even your old quarters, Lady Anna—”

  “Fine. Take them. Later, we’ll see.” She paused. “I’m sorry if I hurry. Every day seems like this, and I get edgy by the end of the day. I have a special job I want you to start on.”

  “Me?” The young player’s eyebrows rose.

  “I want you to develop and train a group of players, not less than eight, and no more than fifteen. But I want horns—lots of brass, and the kind that carry. No more than two other string players besides you. The players have to be young—and strong. I don’t care if they’re men or women, but they have to have a clear, strong tone in their instruments, and they have to be in good physical condition. They’ll have to travel, as soon as you have them trained, but I’d prefer you not tell them when, only that travel is expected.”

  Anna waited.

  “For that … you must pay … .”

  “I’ll pay. Just start work on it tomorrow. As soon as you have enough to practice, let me know, and I’ll come up with the arrangements you need to learn—the spell tunes.” Anna paused. “This isn’t something I invented for you to do, Daffyd. It’s important. Very important. It’s so important that I can’t tell you more yet. It’s so important you can’t tell people it’s important. You can tell them I’m busy, that we don’t talk much, or whatever, but not that you’re doing something important.

  “And it must be done quickly. I want a group that can begin rehearsing in a week. No more than two weeks at the outside. Do you understand?”

  The dark-haired player swallowed. “Ah … yes … Lady Anna.”

  Anna smiled. “Good.”

  The smile dropped away after Daffyd left, as she thought of the next meeting with Hanfor, Alvar, and Himar as they tried to figure out the best way to structure the permanent force of armsmen for the regency.

  108

  Anna scuffed her boot across the mold-covered floor and looked at the square-faced man in brown. Her nose wrinkled at the smell from the storeroom, a combination of rot, damp mold, and manure.

  “Jussa, this has to be cleaned before we put any more grain in here.”

  “Never been cleaned before, Lady Anna. My da, he never cleaned it.”

  “And most of the grain at the bottom spoiled, I’d bet. Except that you never went to the bottom except in hard times, and no one complained.”

  That got a blank stare at the ground.

  Anna walked out of the granary area and back into the courtyard, shaking her head. “Why do I have to be the expert on everything? Why don’t people see that clean rooms and clean grain bins make a difference?”

  Behind her, she could sense the wiry Alvar and the stockier Himar exchanging glances, the kind that said, “Here she goes again.”

  She turned. “I want the granary clean before our grain goes in.” She paused, thinking of moisture. “I don’t know if it will work, but talk to Tirsik. See if he thinks that a layer of clean straw at the bottom would help. If he does, tell Jussa to do it.”

  “Yes, Lady Anna.”

  Anna turned, headed for the main smithy, when the horns sounded, announcing someone’s arrival, presumably someone important, a lord probably. She sighed and began to walk toward the portcullis area.

  Behind her, Alvar and Himar shrugged and followed.

  She reached the north side of the courtyard as the first horsemen rode in, an armsman bearing a blue banner with a gold bear, and a white-haired man bearing a huge sword in a shoulder harness.

  “You do me honor, Lady Anna!” shouted Jecks.

  The rest of the guard behind him reined up.

  “I’m glad you came,” the sorceress said quietly. “I have been inspecting granaries. I’d like to wash up while you stable your mounts. Then you could join us for something to eat.”

  “As you wish, Lady Anna,” offered the white-haired and tanned lord.

  The sorceress nodded and left.

  Washing not only got the grime off her hands, but the grit from her eyes, grit carried on the hot wind that had swirled through the courtyard. She swept out of the room she seldom saw except early in the morning and late in the evening, and headed back down to the middle hall.

  Jecks, Hanfor, and Menares were seated at the sides of the table in the hall when Anna entered. All stood.

  “Please sit.” She took the end chair, the one Behlem had used, hoping that it wasn’t a dangerous tradition.

  “Since when do lords or … regents … inspect granaries?” Despite his travel-worn blues, Jecks still reminded Anna of a white-haired Robert Mitchum, and she’d always had a crush on Mitchum. Careful, she warned herself.

  “When they’re trying to get a handle on what needs to be done, and there’s little experienced staff left.” Anna broke off a chunk of the heavy dark bread she liked. These days her bread was fresh, at least. “You might help there.”

  “Me, inspect granaries?”

  Anna laughed. “No, know or lend people who could.”

  Jecks looked at Anna. “Your message said you had defeated Lord Behlem and were acting as regent. Regent for whom? Has that changed? What will you do?”

  Anna met the deep eyes. “I had thought to turn Defalk over to you as regent for Jimbob. You’re the only one worthy of holding it.”

  Hanfor swallowed hard.

  “You cannot do that, Lady Anna. Nor could I accept,” answered Jecks slowly. “As I suspect you already know. But I appreciate the kindness of the offer and the thought behind it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Then Ysel, acting as regent for young Rabyn, will persuade Konsstin to send his armies here. Or the Norweians will propose a partition …” Jecks shrugged. “Or many other things I cannot foresee.”

  “What should I do, Lord Jecks?” Anna asked, still holding a chunk of bread in her hand.

  “Defalk must have a leader who is respected and powerful.” The white-haired warrior laughed. “I flatter myself that I might be respected, but I lack the power to impress any of those on our borders. Only you can claim that. So you must proclaim yourself regent. Or lord.”

  Anna frowned. “I have a better idea.” She smiled.

  “Oh?”

  “You and the other lords request me to act as regent until Jimbob reaches the appropriate age.”

  “Some of us in the north had already discussed that,” admitted Jecks.

  “And you remain as my advisor. At least, for a time.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Lady Anna.”

  Anna hoped so.

  “She does,” admitted Hanfor, his eyes momentarily as gray as his hair.

  “Very hard,” added Menares.

  Anna surveyed the three, each in turn. “I have power, of sorts, and knowledge of a different sort. I am a woman, and whether I like it or not, I would have to fight too many people to rule outright. As I have already told Hanfor, I can have no heirs. So there’s no point in claiming the title of lord. It’s better that I prepare the way for someone who has a blood claim. Even that won’t be easy. It can be done, if you will help.”

  “How could I not help, when you propose restoring my grandson?” Jecks paused. “Do you wish his immediate return to Falcor?”

  “Not immediately. I would like to stabilize things a bit more. In no more than a few seasons, I hope we’ll have everything in place.” Anna lifted her goblet.

  “There is another matter,” Menares coughed, then handed a rolled scroll to Anna.

  The sorceress set down her goblet.

  “It arrived by messenger this morning. I do not know how the witches of the south knew.” The heavyset counselor shook his head.

  Jecks raised his eyebrows.

  The sorceress unrolled the parchment and began to read. After the flowery opening, she read aloud.

  “‘While we applaud the restoration of the lineage of Defalk under the new regency, we would note that the time for harvest is past and that Defalk now owes the Bank of Ranuak two thousand golds … .’” She paused. “There’s more, but it’s
all rhetoric, calling for acting in good faith and suggesting adverse and unnamed consequences if we don’t.”

  “They could be great,” suggested Jecks.

  Anna still wasn’t as clear on relative coinage values as she should have been. She was a singer, not an economist. “How much do we have in the chests?” she asked Hanfor.

  “About four thousand golds—it took almost three thousand to pay the Neserean armsmen.”

  “Do you know how this debt was incurred?” Anna glanced first at Menares.

  “It is said that Lord Barjim had to borrow funds in order to move his small force to the Sand Pass.”

  “He did. I did not know it was that much,” admitted Jecks.

  “Do we have to pay?” Anna asked bluntly.

  “If you do not,” opined Jecks, “then you, or your lords will not be able to buy Ranuan grain.”

  Anna thought about the lords Hryding, Dencer, and Geansor, and about the deserted condition of Falcor, and about the ravished harvests along the Fal and Chean rivers. “Does anyone know what the debts supposedly owed by Defalk are?” She dragged out something from her conversation from Behlem and added, “And how much is due and owed in liedgeld or other fees?”

  “The liedgeld is due at the start of winter, roughly five weeks from now,” said Jecks. “It differs from lord to lord.”

  Anna managed a wedge of cheese, some of the meat, and a sip of water before pursuing the liedgeld. “How many lords are liable?”

  “Why … all of them.”

  Anna repressed a sigh. “I’m a stranger, remember, Lord Jecks. I do not know how many lords there are in Defalk. I have met perhaps ten or fifteen, but are there twenty-five or a hundred?”

  “Thirty-three. There have always been thirty-three.”

  “Do you have any idea how much the average—”

  “Herstat handles my coins. I do not know.”

  “Is Herstat dependable and honest?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Does he have an assistant?”

  “Of course.” Jecks looked warily at Anna.

  “Is he honest?”

  “It is his eldest daughter, and she is most honest.”

  “Good. I would like the use of her services, since Alasia handled the liedstadt accounts, and there seems to be no one left. Would that trouble you too much, Lord Jecks?”

  “No.” Jecks offered a wary and wry smile. “Will I have any of my lands and people left when you are done?”

  “I only need those you can spare.” Anna offered what she hoped was a demure smile.

  Hanfor put a hand to his mouth to cover a smile.

  Menares kept his face blank.

  Anna picked up her goblet and drank before returning her gaze to Lord Jecks. “If you do not mind, Lord Jecks, my first task for you as my advisor is for you—and Herstat’s daughter—to develop a budget—”

  “Budget?”

  “Sorry. I want to know what Defalk owes and what people owe us. I want an estimate of what the next year will cost, you know, running the liedburg, paying armsmen, repaying loans, debts, and what other revenues we might receive.”

  “I am not a sorcerer, lady.”

  “No. But you know what it costs you, and with your knowledge, I am sure you and the young woman can put it all on paper.” Anna looked at them. “Surely, you don’t expect me to make decisions when I don’t know what they cost?”

  “Costs—you … That sounds like a merchant’s approach,” offered Hanfor.

  “Menares?” Anna asked. “Isn’t Nordwei the most powerful land in this part of Liedwahr?”

  “Why … certainly now, although Ebra …”

  “Don’t you think the Norweians know to the last copper what their ships and armsmen cost?”

  “Absolutely,” said Jecks. “All laugh at them.” Was his smile more like Sean Connery’s? Anna wondered absently. She forced her thoughts back to coins.

  “Of course,” pointed out Menares.

  “Gentlemen,” offered Anna. “Doesn’t that say something?” She smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t want to have Hanfor recruit armsmen and have them leave about the time Ebra or someone attacks because we could not pay them. Or have lords decide to pledge allegiance to Ranuak because I was forced to raise the liedgeld or lean on them for heavy use of levies. All of you know more about the details, I am sure, but how can I support you if I have no idea where the money comes from and when?”

  The three exchanged glances.

  “Next … does anyone know how much grain we can expect from Lord Barjim’s holdings—I mean, young Lord Jimbob’s?”

  The afternoon was going to be long, Anna reflected, as she studied their faces. Every afternoon would be, for a time. She had too much to learn, far too much.

  109

  ENCORA, RANUAK

  Ulgar’s fingers fly across the fretboard of the mandolin, yet each note resounds individually, without slurring. He finishes with three gentle chords that draw all the notes he has played together in both a resolution and a promise.

  “You play well, dearest,” offers the Matriarch. “Then, I have known that for years. You would make a great player, or even a sorcerer.”

  “I would rather not pay those prices.” Ulgar slips the mandolin into its case, and places the case in the cabinet on his side of the large bed. “Most do not live that long, and those that do seldom sleep—not well, anyway.”

  The Matriarch sets aside the scroll she has been reading and rubs her forehead. While her face is as round as ever, the somberness of her eyes removes any cherubic impression. “The prices of such power are high. I feel for the soprano sorceress.”

  “Why did you send her that demand for payment, then?” Ulgar sits on the left side of the bed, pulls off a silken slipper and massages his right foot.

  “The debt must be paid, one way or another. She must know all her debts. Otherwise, how can she address them? Debts off-key the harmonies more if they are hidden or ignored, and if she chooses to ignore them, then her harmonies will turn dissonant.”

  “You are sometimes cruel, dear,” Ulgar reflects.

  “No … I would be cruel if I did not let her know the debt existed. If she does not pay, the exchange will stop selling grain in Sudwei, and then more will suffer.” She rubs her forehead again. “She can postpone paying, if she will acknowledge it, without too great a consequence, but if she tries to repudiate it, she and her people will suffer—the debt is that of Defalk, not of Barjim.”

  “That seems harsh. She seems to be acting in good faith: She did not have to uphold young Jimbob’s claim.” Ulgar lays his vest on the chair and begins to unbutton his widesleeved silk shirt.

  “The harmonies do not care about faith or belief. You know that. That is something that neither the Evult nor Behlem have understood. Any use of sorcery creates dissonance, and, in time requires greater dissonance for harmonic resolution.” The Matriarch takes the scroll from the coverlet and lays it on the table.

  “I am for harmonic resolution,” Ulgar offers with a smile.

  “Then snuff the lamp … .”

  110

  In the gray predawn light, the only time Anna was likely to have time to herself, she strummed the lutar, cast the looking spell, and studied the mirror—the third mirror since she’d come to Falcor. She was seeing why sorcerers used water pools, but she’d never had time to set one up.

  Elizabetta lay reading on the bed. A large white square sat on the foot of the bed, propped up by the stuffed white tiger that had come off the love seat in Anna’s bedroom in Ames.

  Even through the faint heat waves that rippled across the mirror, Anna could make out the word Mom! on the envelope. She swallowed and blanked the image immediately, noting that the wood frame of the mirror was literally steaming.

  The sorceress sat down at the table. What could she adapt? The spell she had used to send her messages? She began to write, slowly, striking out words and substituting.

  The sun had cleared the horizon
by the time she took out the lutar and began to play. She ran through the chords twice, then spoke the words. She stopped and changed a phrase, and tried again.

  “Better.”

  Finally, she was ready to try. She cleared her throat and sang.

  “Bring my daughter’s letter from her land;

  deliver it safely to my hand,

  as she knows that I love her … .”

  As she struck the last chord, the entire room seemed to rock with a second unseen, unheard chord that shivered the sky outside.

  Clinnnk!

  Anna threw up her arms as the wall mirror shattered and sprayed glass across the room, staggering back, feeling—knowing that she was the only one affected, as if that chord were almost a magic harmonic directed at her.

  She did not make the bed before she went down.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  What was the noise? Between the pounding in her head and the thumping somewhere in the room, Anna had trouble figuring out the sound, and when she opened her eyes they burned.

  Thump!

  “Lady Anna! Lady Anna!”

  Slowly she rolled over onto her knees, then levered her way up the footboard of the bed until she stood tottering.

  “Lady Anna!”

  “Just … a moment … .” she croaked.

  “Lady Anna! Lady Anna!”

  She finally recognized Daffyd’s voice. Ignoring the throbbing in her skull, she forced her voice louder. “I’m all right. Just a moment.”

  A look down showed cuts and dried blood across her forearms below the three-quarter-length sleeves of her riding shirt. Glass shards from the wall mirror lay across the polished floor, and the outline of the mirror was literally burned into the stones of the wall. Only ashes—on the floor—remained of the frame and glass.

  When she opened the door, Daffyd gaped. So did the guards behind him. Did she look that awful?

  “I could feel something … something … terrible,” he stuttered.

  “A little sorcery backlash … .” she said. “It was more than I planned. I need to get cleaned up—again.”