The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  She also made a point to meet with him there at times, to reinforce his position.

  The tall Defalkan arms commander looked up from his small and battered conference table—the same one he had used in his smaller room below—then started to stand.

  “Sit down. I’ve got another visiting lord, and we’ll have to be charming and entertaining at dinner tonight. You, especially.”

  Hanfor groaned. “I’m still trying to figure out how to cover everything, and Himar’s having trouble with the local smiths. Dissonance, they’re not even smiths, just excuses for smiths.”

  “We’ll have to buy our own, sooner or later, then?”

  “If we can even find one. To find a good weaponsmith is uncertain, not like wagonwrights or the like.”

  Anna dropped into the ancient wooden chair across from the weathered commander. “I’ve been thinking …”

  Hanfor waited. His gray hair was mussed.

  “What about Himar taking a trip, and some force out to Mencha?” Anna asked. “While I’m visiting Lord Jecks.”

  “You want the Evult to have to concentrate on more than one place?” asked Hanfor.

  “That was my thought. Would it work? Do we have enough armsmen to do it and not leave your forces stripped?”

  “Our walls are not exactly overflowing with armsmen, Lady Anna, as I was about to tell you. There are still many who are uneasy about a regency controlled by a sorceress.”

  Anna knew. The liedburg had less than two hundred professional—semiprofessional, really—armsmen, and since her regency was viewed as a continuation of Barjim’s, she had no right even to call up levies until after the liedgeld payments were made.

  “Hmmm …” Anna poured the vinegary wine into the spare goblet, lifted it, then lowered it without drinking. “If I could pry some out of somewhere else?”

  “I have no problem with your idea, but I would have no armsmen left here. You must take fivescore with you.”

  “Threescore should be enough.”

  “Four,” insisted Hanfor. “That leaves only sixscore, and you would have to move that many to Mencha even to get the Evult to spend a few extra moments viewing them in his glass.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” Anna stood. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  As she walked back across the courtyard, followed by Blaz, their booted steps echoing from the stones, she wondered how anything got done in a society where almost everything had to be handled and supervised face-to-face.

  She laughed. And she’d been the one who thought her earth had been too impersonal—now she was trying to run things in an all-too-personal manner.

  116

  The conference room was hot, even with the single window wide open, and the hot air enveloped Anna like an oven. Would winter ever come? Not yet! You need good weather, she corrected her wishes.

  “What should we do about the Matriarch’s demand for repayment?” Anna asked, her eyes going from Hanfor to Menares to Dythya.

  “That was two thousand golds, was it not?” asked the white-haired counselor.

  Was it her imagination, or was Menares thinner? She looked to Hanfor.

  “If the Norweians and Konsstin mount an attack at the same time next year, we will need additional golds. We also need a weaponsmith and iron stocks for him.” Hanfor coughed softly. His weathered face had circles under the deep-set eyes, deeper circles, and his hair was grayer.

  “And?”

  “I do not know what else, lady, save that armsmen, their mounts, and their weapons always take more coin … and more than that.” Hanfor offered a twisted smile.

  Anna scanned the hand-drafted list of liedburg expenses and projected outlays—well over 10,000 golds for the year ahead, with only about 3,500 on hand, but none of the liedgeld had been received, and Dythya’s “guesses” showed that with the harvests of Jimbob’s lands and the liedgeld, Anna should receive around 8,000 golds, although some of it might be seasons in actually arriving.

  She’d arbitrarily decided on a financial year that started with the liedgeld payments, since that date was as fixed as any for receiving revenues, and it was easier not to project from negative numbers.

  Her eyes looked over the numbers again. No reserves for extra materials, and repaying 2,000 golds … that didn’t look good at all, especially since her little expedition would doubtless cost several hundred golds.

  “All right. Menares, draft me a letter to the Matriarch. Tell her that while the debt incurred by Lord Barjim was not of our doing, we will respect that debt, but that it will have to be paid over time. We will send five hundred golds with the scroll as the first payment and as a token of good faith.”

  “Five hundred golds in return for their reminder.” Hanfor nodded. “That will keep them from getting ideas of invading.”

  Anna hoped so.

  She glanced toward the open window. Before long she would have to go to the middle hall and check on the players’ progress. Another few days, and they would have to leave, and that would be pushing it—a lot. But they could practice on the road, and they had to reach the Ostfels before the winter snows began. And she still hadn’t heard from Lady Gatrune. The loan or rental of Kysar’s—Gatrune’s now—levies would help stretch the liedburg’s armsmen without incurring permanent overhead, if Gatrune and Firis would only agree.

  The sorceress took a deep breath and tried to bring her thoughts back to the accounts and all the details she had to handle before she could head out into the disaster she was about to create.

  117

  The sorceress lifted the scroll from Lady Gatrune off her table and read through it again. She nodded to herself, glad that she had stopped to see Gatrune, and glad that one Captain Firis remained grateful.

  Then she set it aside for later, when she would meet with Hanfor, and looked at the first map that had arrived from Lord Jecks, showing the route along the upper Fal River into the Ostfels.

  For a time, she studied it, trying to get a feel for the geography, until there was a rap on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Anna, it is past the fourth glass of the morning …” offered Blaz.

  “Oh … I’ll be right there.”

  The sorceress rolled the map back up and slipped it into the case, then straightened her tunic and the purple sash that Lady Essan had recommended as a suitable mark of a regent. Anna only wore it in the hall. Outside, it just made her a target, and after her introduction to the assassins of the dark ones, she didn’t need to give them any easier ways of picking her out.

  Then she stepped into the corridor and headed toward the large hall, noting that Virkan had gotten the lamp mantles clean again. Blaz followed, stationing himself at the door to the hall as Anna entered.

  The youngsters gathered there and slumped around the uncovered banquet tables leaped to their feet.

  In the light cast by the two lit wall-lamps, Anna looked out across the pages and girls she knew—Skent, Lysara, Resor, Cens, Barat, Hoede, the pale blonde Ytrude, and Secca, the youngest redhead, sitting on a stool in the corner, her eyes darting to Anna, and then away.

  Too bad Nelmor hadn’t let Tiersen stay, but it seemed that the blonde lord wasn’t about to have all of his heirs and himself in the same place—or something like that. He’d warmed up a little after a long dinner, but he was far too traditional for Anna. She almost shook her head.

  Cataryzna hadn’t returned from Sudwei, if she ever would. Anna still hadn’t heard about Birke. And she worried whether Secca was too young, but Hryding would not have understood if she had excluded the little redhead, and Lord Hryding’s bitchy consort would have made another issue Anna couldn’t afford.

  “Sit down,” she said after a moment, taking a chair and setting it in front of them, then seating herself. “I’m sure you all wonder what terrible reason there is for you all to be gathered here.” Her eyes swept the group.

  She saw a faint nod from Skent, ever the pessimist, but then, he was the only one not a
scion of a lordly house.

  “There’s no terrible reason. Starting tomorrow, part of your day will be taken up with lessons. Dythya will teach you something about numbers and accounts, and if you can learn what she has to offer, you will be better prepared, when the time comes, to manage or oversee your own accounts or those of your lands.” Anna paused. How could she put what she had to say in an acceptable way?

  “Since I have been here, I have seen talent in all sorts of people. There are bright lords and not-so-bright lords; there are bright peasants and dumb peasants. There are bright armsmen and stupid armsmen.” The sorceress paused and looked at Skent. “What does that tell you?”

  “Ah … anyone can be smart or …” Skent faltered.

  “And anyone can be dumb. Right. Some of those who will teach you are not lords or from lordly blood, but they are talented. I hope you will judge them, and all those you meet, by who they are and what they do—not by how or where they were born.”

  “But …” protested Hoede, “you mean I have to learn from a peasant?”

  “No,” Anna said. “That’s your choice. You don’t have to learn anything. Where I come from, the teachers give tests. I’m not inclined to do that. If you don’t seem interested in learning, I’ll just send you home and let someone else take your place. And they’ll learn all the new things, and you won’t.”

  “You talked about accounts …” ventured Lysara. “My sire has a clerk.”

  “And I do, and you will. So does Lord Jecks,” answered Anna. “And how will you know if he is managing your accounts well or poorly? If he does it well, you should know enough to reward him so that he will remain loyal and grateful. If he does it poorly, shouldn’t you know?”

  Skent nodded. So did Resor and Cens. Ytrude smiled faintly and briefly.

  “You, young ladies, why do I want you to learn things that have normally been reserved for men?”

  Lysara looked blank, and Anna turned to Ytrude and waited.

  “You want me to answer?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” The sorceress’ eyes flicked across the pages. Skent looked interested, watching Ytrude, waiting for an answer. So were Resor and Cens, again. Hoede and Barat appeared puzzled. Secca just watched, bright-eyed.

  “I am not certain,” Ytrude finally said.

  Anna wanted to sigh, and then scream. Instead, she asked, “Who holds the lands of Pamr?”

  “They were Lord Kysar’s.”

  The sorceress did not grit her teeth, much as she wanted to, but asked, “And who affirmed allegiance to the regency and administers those lands?”

  “Lady Gatrune,” admitted Ytrude.

  “And who is the regent of Defalk?”

  “You are.”

  “Who controls Ranuak?”

  “The matriarchs.”

  “Lady Anna …” Hoede looked down, as if he could not finish the question.

  That was going to be a problem, Anna had realized. Because she was regent, few were going to question her. So she would have to read faces and guess.

  “No, Hoede, I am not suggesting that women will take over Defalk or that there will be many ladies holding lands—but there will be some. I would rather have a strong lady than a weak man, and the people of Defalk need and deserve good leaders. Also, look what happened in many holdings. When a lord dies in battle and his children are young, shouldn’t his consort know enough to administer those lands? Would you want your lands to go to a stranger because your consort wasn’t able to handle them? Or to some distant relative?”

  Barat looked shocked, as if the idea had never crossed his mind, If he has one, Anna thought. The process would be slow, if she got anywhere at all.

  “You will also spend some time in the stables with Tirsik. Most of you know how to saddle and care for horses, and you will do some of that, even you ladies, but I’ve also asked him to talk to you about how the whole stable should be run. I’m sure that some of you know some of what he will say, but I doubt any of you know all that he knows.”

  “I’ll have to saddle my own mount?” asked Lysara.

  “Yes,” Anna answered, “and Cens will probably have to learn about chickens and a few other unmanly things. A good lord or lady should know something about everything, and we’re going to try to have you learn more than you would at home.”

  “Will we learn … magic?” asked Ytrude.

  “I will teach you the principles of magic, and its uses and limits.” That was all she would promise in that area, and even that bothered her. In this culture, too much knowledge too young could create disasters, as Daffyd had already discovered. At least, she hoped he’d learned that magic had special pitfalls, although she wasn’t certain.

  She shifted her weight in the hard-seated chair. Now what? After a moment, she stood. “That’s all for the moment.”

  Behind her, she could feel the mix of puzzlement and interest. Before long, she needed to spend time, a little, at least with Secca … but not too much, or everyone else would be offended.

  From the great hall she headed for Hanfor’s office. Hanfor, Alvar, and Himar were seated around the table when she entered.

  “Just keep your seats,” Anna said as she crossed the room and took the free seat. It was the chair that wobbled, but she wouldn’t be there that long, anyway.

  “You require us?” asked the stocky Himar.

  “Actually, yes.” She turned to Hanfor. “Did you talk to Himar about the possibility of taking armsmen to Mencha?”

  “I did not wish—”

  “Fine. Himar, in another few days, you’ll be headed to Mencha. Alvar, you’ll head up the lancers that go with me to Elhi.” She could feel the light breeze through the window, cooler and refreshing.

  “Hanfor had said that you would be going to Elhi at some time,” affirmed the swarthy, wiry captain. “I assume Spirda will be coming.”

  “And nine players.”

  “Ah … Lady Anna … I recall concluding that we had no armsmen to accompany Himar to Mencha.” Hanfor touched his beard.

  “I still agree with you, but I received a message from Lady Gatrune earlier this morning. She will support us. We would still need several squads. Could you spare two?” the sorceress asked.

  “Would she be willing to offer us enough armsmen to make … an impression?” Hanfor glanced at Anna and raised his eyebrows.

  “According to Lady Gatrune, Captain Firis will lend Himar some considerable fraction of the Pamr levies for three weeks, provided we pay for their food and travel expenses.”

  “That is not cheap,” said Hanfor.

  “But it won’t cost that much, and we don’t have to worry about hiring mercenaries that we might not be able to pay in the future.”

  Hanfor fingered a beard that was getting more white than gray, seemingly by the week. “That might work. It would certainly give the … the Ebrans something else to worry about.”

  “That’s all we can hope for, right now.” Anna looked at Himar. “You don’t mind taking levies to Mencha, perhaps doing a little maintenance on the hall there, as if you were getting ready for a larger force to follow?”

  “That would be no problem, and the squads I took from here would be happy to be on the move, I think.”

  “Good. Plan to leave in a week.” Anna stood. “That’s all I had, for now.”

  The three exchanged glances as she left, and she could sense the combination of puzzlement from Himar and Alvar and amusement from Hanfor.

  As she marched back to the receiving room, she felt her mind splitting in different directions—maps, routes, the accounts system that still wasn’t the way she wanted it, the chaotic state of her proposed private schooling for the sons and daughters of the lords—and her continued inability even to see her daughter for even a moment—not if Anna didn’t want to destroy every glass in the liedburg and risk fatal cuts from flying glass even before she finished the spell.

  “Shit … .” muttered the sorceress. “Shit … .”
/>
  118

  Anna took another sip of water and a mouthful of bread as she studied the scroll again, hoping that it didn’t say what it did.

  … will always remain loyal to Lord Barjim and to his son Jimbob, and have great sympathy for the task which you have undertaken. While Lord Jecks and other respected lords of Defalk have reluctantly endorsed the expediency of a prolonged regency, as have I, some concerns remain about the continuity of such an arrangement … . Defalk has a long and glorious tradition … upheld even recently by the bravery of Lord Barjim and Lord Jecks, not to mention the sacrifice of Lord Kysar and others … .

  The words rambled on for pages, saying nothing overtly damaging, but clearly implying that the writer was not exactly pleased about the way Defalk was being governed, since all the great warriors and leaders of the past had been great men.

  The signature was not a signature, but a sealmark, a name written beside it—that of Arkad, Lord of Cheor.

  Anna snorted. The last thing she wanted to do was visit Lord Arkad of Cheor, but in some way she had to put an end to such garbage, preferably without putting an end to the writer. The clearly illiterate writer? She paused. Did Lord Arkad even know what his scribe had written?

  She sighed. That was another problem in a semiliterate society. How much power was really held by talented and scheming subordinates, like Virkan had been? She didn’t like the idea of such a weaseling message coming from someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—sign his name personally.

  The sorceress cut a wedge of cheese—a late breakfast for another day that was likely to be all too long. But she had so much trivia to attend to before she left on the day after tomorrow, and she wanted to spend some time with Lady Essan, getting the equivalent of a briefing on Lord Jecks, Jimbob, and the situation in Elhi. Even eating enough to keep from wasting away took more time than she wanted to spend.

  Hanfor wanted to discuss last-moment details about what supplies she would need, and she still needed to talk to Tirsik about how to handle his training in stables, horses, and the like for her pampered darlings, some of whom couldn’t bear the thought that their underlings knew more than they did.