The Saprano Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "I hear the melody of your music, Evult." Eladdrin offers a last bow, but the image in the pool has vanished, and the harp is silent above the water.

  After wiping his forehead, then easing the soft cloth into the left waist-pocket of his robe, Eladdrin steps into the cool outside the tent, breathing deeply of the damp air that has followed the rains to the east, taking in the scents of the orchards and the fertile fieldsT

  As he steps toward the campfire, the two armed monks slip from the shadows and follow.

  17

  Anna sat at the desk in the eastern workroom, her eyes blank. Why was every. song she could recall a love song? Or a lullaby? Or useless? She refilled the goblet, and took a sip.

  With each day, she felt more and more useless. Yes, she could burn wood objects, and paper, and freeze water or chill it. She could light and snuff candles, and she had two or three spells that might, just might, do something in a battle. She'd pried some more information out of Brill, but each syllable that meant anything was an effort.

  She'd terrorized a poor servant girl into not following her every step—just every other step—and she had another riding outfit, and a casual gown, and a pair of soft leather shoes for wearing around the hall. But the sheets were still scratchy, the mattress lumpy, and each day, she owed more of that intangible debt to Brill—one he clearly didn't want paid with her body, but with the skills he pressed her to keep developing.

  The indirectness was driving her crazy.

  She jerked upright at the rap on the workroom door.

  "Are you ready—?"

  "Not yet." Anna forced a smile. "Would you sit down?" She gestured toward the chair across the desk.

  Brill sat gingerly, his eyes flicking to the window, and then back to Anna.

  "Customs are somewhat different in the mist worlds, or mine, anyway," Anna began. "And I've tried to discuss certain matters with you, but you are so charming that they never get discussed. So I have a few questions, and I'd be even more deeply in your debt if you could bear with me and answer them."

  "I have tried to be most forthcoming."

  "As I know you have," Anna said flatly. "First, in simple terms, if Daffyd and Jenny, who have far less skill than you, could summon me, why can't you send me back to my world?"

  Brill looked at Anna. "Song magic isn't just a sorcerer singing and players playing. The words have to be right, and the sorcerer has to be able to see what he wants. I have to be able to see the fort Lord Barjim wants, almost to feel it. I use the drawings and plans to help create the image in my mind." He shrugged. "Daffyd could bring you here, because he was asking for any sorceress to be placed in a setting he could see. The problem with sending you back into the mist worlds is that you're the only one who can see where you need to go, and you can't send yourself."

  Anna half understood the visualization aspect, but it still bothered her. It had been almost a week, and Elizabetta had to be upset—a totally vanished mother, with no trace whatsoever. "That's almost saying that no one can send me back unless I can show them an image that they can hold to."

  "You must trust them, totally," the sorcerer pointed out. He frowned, then added. "Perhaps you can see why sometimes the smallest of distractions can upset a sorcerer. They should not, but they do. And there is the problem of the burning. Too many attempts, and the fires turn on the sorcerer. That is why my glimpses of the mist worlds have been infrequent and seasons apart, fascinating as I find such glimpses."

  Anna nodded, trying not to swallow at the double impact, as she understood also what Brill was saying about Daffyd's father. And the business of burning—was that why her key had been so hot?

  But she had to get more answers while Brill was sitting still. "Second, what can song magic do to stop the dark ones, and what is it that you want me to do to help you?" Anna held up a hand to cut off Brill. "No more nice fancy statements. Plain and simple."

  "If all women of the mist worlds are like you, I see why the old books caution against summonings." Brill added a slight laugh.

  Anna presented a hard professional smile.

  Brill's laugh died away.

  "I will have to use clearsong if they are near the hills, or darksong, if they are not, to bring destruction on the Ebran soldiers." The sorcerer spread his hands. "Some of my players… darksong would destroy, and that weakens what I can do."

  "What would you like from me?"

  "Any spell or magic that will stop the Ebrans or the dark ones." Brill smiled ruefully.

  Anna understood the smile. He found her attractive, but her possible power even more so. She stood. "Last question. Why do I need guards?"

  "For the same reason as I do. These days people want to kill sorcerers… or sorceresses. And you don't know how to use a blade, either." Brill eased to his feet.

  "There must be something I can carry," Anna suggested. "You carry a sword."

  "Not willingly, and not well. It takes seasons, if not years, to really master a blade."

  Anna frowned. She'd used a sword once, when she'd played Clorinda. She'd been younger then, twenty years younger, and her arms had ached for weeks, and that had been a choreographed fight. "What about a knife?"

  "That's worse."

  "So… what do you suggest, lord and master of the hall Brill?" Anna's eyes flashed.

  The sorcerer looked away.

  Anna waited.

  "A truncheon or a short staff. You should have some personal-protection spells worked out before long, and you won't ever master the blade enough to hold off trained armsmen." Brill added hastily. "I can't, either. So what you need is something to keep people off you enough to allow you to use your voice."

  Anna had to admit that the sorcerer made a sort of sense, even if he were suggesting that she get some personal-protection spells in a hurry. "How about one of each?''

  "It couldn't hurt, just so long as you remember that you really don't know how to use a knife."

  Anna tried to repress the glare she felt at Brill's condescending tone.

  The sorcerer stepped back. "If you hold a knife and a truncheon, that might give you time to use a spell."

  Again, what he said made sense, but she still hated that air of condescension. "How do I get them?"

  "Quies' son Albero is the armorer, as close to one as we have. I believe we have some knives and truncheons. Those would be better."

  "I know. It's been twenty years since I held a sword, and I didn't do well with it then." Anna forced a rueful smile.

  "I had not realized blades were used in the mist worlds."

  "They're not, not normally. I was in grad school, and I played a part that required using a sword. That was a long time ago." Anna's stomach growled. I'm hungry. We can go-"

  "You have no more questions?

  "I have a lot more questions, more than you'll want to answer, but I'm hungry." Anna gestured toward the workroom door.

  Outside the dome building, the midday sun beat through the clear air, as it had every day without fail. Even in the shade of the portico, the air seemed hotter than the day before—as if the atmospheric oven had been eased up a few more degrees. Anna looked down at the empty water buckets for the horses.

  "We refilled 'em twice, lady," said Frideric apologetically. "Gero's gone to get some more."

  Brill glanced to Wiltur. "Any visitors?"

  "No, ser. The roads are clear, mostly, except for a messenger of Lord Barjim's. He was riding toward the Sand Pass."

  "We'll be seeing more of that." Brill untied the mare and mounted.

  "A-feared so, ser."

  As Anna bounced toward the hall, she realized, not for the first time, that she needed more practice riding. Then, again, she needed more practice at everything.

  18

  Encora, Ranuak

  What was that awful disharmony in the chords, Veria?" The round-faced and gray-haired woman offers a cheerful smile as she lifts with both hands the steaming cup that has no handles. "Did you ever manage to find out?"<
br />
  "Which discord, Matriarch?" The black-haired woman at the other long end of the oval ebony table pours her own mmied cider. "Between the Kvult, his Songmaster, Lord Brill, and the constant scrying of the Norweians, there have been more than a few incidences of discord."

  "You could say that," adds the silver-haired man on the short side of the table. "I'd even call it dissonance." He adds another pinch of cinnamon to his cup, then twists the end of his silvered handlebar mustache. "Then, there has been more discord since the effects of ill harmony were discovered. Too bad that we could not have the Prophet and the Evult sing together."

  "Father…" protests Veria.

  "Do not be vulgar, Ulgar," suggests the Matriarch.

  "Accuracy, my dear, accuracy. Not a silver for vulgarity, but golds for accuracy. Isn't that what the counting houses say?" He lifts the cup and slurps his cider. "Too hot. Like Defalk."

  "You make no sense, Father. It is warmer here," says Veria.

  "The warm damp is good for the bones. The dry heat of Defalk turns you into a mummy."

  Mother and daughter exchange glances.

  "Counting houses, dissonance, Lord Barjim—it all be linked with the silver chains of harmony," continues Ulgar.

  "You do not have to be obscure, dear." The Matriarch adjusts one of the wooden clips that keeps her iron-gray hair neatly in its bun. "We all know the links."

  "I don't," protests Veria.

  Ulgar lifts one silvered eyebrow and looks to his consort.

  "We lent Lord Barjim the golds he requested so that he could buy enough supplies from us to move his forces from Denguic and Falcor to the Sand Pass. He will use his sole sorcerer—''

  "That was it, Mother—Matriarch," Veria corrects herself and continues. "He has two sorcerers. Or rather, Lord Brill has a sorceress. That was the disharmony. Someone opened a weltsperre—"

  "Call it a 'worldgate,' daughter. Pretention does not become you," suggests Ulgar, putting yet another pinch of spice into his cup.

  "Yes, Father." The slightest edge tinges her words. "Someone opened a worldgate and brought her through. She is blonde, a soprano sorceress, I think."

  "You think?"

  "Ulgar… let her finish."

  Veria drops her head, then continues. "The dark ones have set their assassins on her, but they have not reached Mencha."

  "I said it was all linked," points out Ulgar.

  The Matriarch smiles, still cherubic. "She must be a strong sorceress to have created such discord."

  "The scriers do not know her strength, but Eladdrin, the spymistress of the north, and Lord Behlem all use their mirrored waters to watch her."

  "The better to keep them occupied."

  "Matriarch?" asks Veria. "What will you tell the others about the shifting of the sands?"

  "What I have said before. Matters balance, and they will again. The Evult has strained the chords of Liedwahr, and they will redress the harmonies, and before too long."

  "Then why did you agree to lend Barjim two thousand golds? He cannot repay them."

  Ulgar slurps his tea, and both women wince.

  "Sometimes, one must buy time while the harmonies regroup." The Matriarch smiles and stands.

  19

  Anna's fingers struggled with the key-harp as she tried to keep the words of the aria in mind.

  "Donde lieta usci al tuo grido d'amore, torna solo Mimi al solitario nido Ritorna un'altra volta a intesserfiniti fior!"

  Paper flowers! Love! All the arias she'd learned were useless! And she didn't know Italian well enough to make most of them meaningful in the crazy world that was Erde. Or enough German. French she knew better, but she wondered if the French melodies would work that well in a Teutonic-musicked world.

  Anna wanted to scream and crumple the heavy paper up into a ball. Instead, she refilled the goblet with water, and slowly drank it all. Then she stood and walked from the workroom.

  Once in the entry hall, she glanced toward Brill's workroom, but the door was closed, and Gero was nowhere in sight. She slipped out through the front door, her boots heavy on the stone, and into the mid-afternoon heat.

  "I'm going to ride down to the orchards," she announced, checking the water bottle fastened to Farinelli's saddle. She had to keep reminding herself to drink in the dry heat.

  "More than a few folks on the road, lady," offered Wil-tur. "Some even stopped under the trees down there."

  "Don't see them anymore," added Frideric.

  Anna patted Farinelli on the shoulder, then mounted. It seemed easier, but she'd had some practice over the days. She eased the gelding out of the shade and into the sun, adjusting the floppy-brimmed hat as she did.

  Wiltur glanced at Frideric, then mounted with a fluid grace that Anna envied.

  "Do I really need guards?" Anna asked.

  "You more than most, Lady Anna," answered Wiltur. "You're beautiful and a sorceress, and that's enough to have a lot of folks after you." The guard with the silvered hair and graying stubbly beard smiled, not that the smile improved his appearance much, not with the long scar across his left cheek.

  "You're kind," laughed Anna, "but my son's as old as Frideric."

  From his position by the dome building's door, Frideric looked quickly toward her, and then away.

  "You must have been young," replied Wiltur. "Very young."

  "Young enough," Anna said, her fingers going to the truncheon at the left side of her belt, and then to the knife, before she flicked the reins, and Farinelli started down the winding trail toward the orchard below.

  Wiltur edged his mount up beside Anna's. "Hottest day of the year so far."

  "It feels that way."

  "Is it this hot where you come from?"

  "In some places, Wiltur. It's not as dry."

  "When I was a young fellow, it wasn't this way. My folks had a small holding out on the Synope road, ran sheep." The guard coughed. "My brother Uthor got the place. Thought he was the lucky one. All the grass went, and Falinya died when the heat fever came three years ago. His boy died too. She was a pretty one, Falinya was, and Eber looked like her."

  "What happened to your brother?"

  "Sold the place for a handful of coppers—no water—and he left to go to Falcor. Been more than a year, and haven't had any word."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Thought he was the lucky one. Me and Biel, least we got a solid cot below the hall, and enough food for us and the girls. Brill's not a bad lord, leastwise, long as you keep your, mouth shut. Doesn't take the girls the way they say his sire did, and the ones that like him, well, they say he treats 'em well. Strange, though, seeing as he's never taken a consort, and none of the girls have children." Wiltur coughed again, looking back toward the hall.

  "You're trying to tell me that Lord Brill's a good sort, especially compared to a lot of lords?" Anna asked.

  "I've not seen many lords, but, after a while you get to hear. Know other lords' guards like to come with their lords when they visit." The grizzled guard cleared his throat.

  Anna looked to the hills in the east, distorted by the heat lines that wavered across the plains all the way to the horizon. She eased Farinelli to die edge of the trail to avoid a dust-filled hole. Her nose itched, and she rubbed it gently. "I take it some of the other lords are best avoided?"

  "Avoided, aye, if you can. They say that Lord Genrica beds every maid on his lands 'fore she can have another. That's not as bad as old Jylot, though. Lord Barjim had to have his hall pulled down around him." Wiltur shook his head. "He had dungeons, and they smelled like a renderer's, and it weren't from sheep nor cows."

  Anna winced, then unfastened the water bottle and forced herself to take a drink. As Farinelli carried her down and around the curve in the road, she could see the empty irrigation pond. This time, even the bottom of the pond was dry and cracked from the heat.

  "Are there others as good as Brill?"

  "Some… so they say. Lord Jecks—his hall's on the big hill above Elhi. Peddle
rs say he's fair, and he even gives each maid raised on his holding a dower." Wiltur laughed. "Without tryin 'em, so to speak. His levies, they say he's good, and that means he doesn't mess with their women, and takes only his fair share of the harvests."

  Even from beside the empty pond, Anna could see the fine dust on the small leaves of the apple trees, and on the cracked branches of the dead trees. Almost a third of the orchard seemed to be dead or dying, despite Brill's sorcery to bring water to the trees.

  Downhill, at the end of the row of trees that the Brill's road paralleled on its course down to the main road, Anna thought she saw another pond, then realized the image was some sort of mirage.

  "Quiet, here," said Wiltur.

  As Farinelli stepped past the beginning of the trees, Anna could feel the hair on the nape of her neck prickling, and she turned in the saddle, looking west past the dusty apple trees, squinting against the afternoon sun. She could see notning, ana sne scanned me apparently empty orcnara.

  Farinelli whuffed and side-stepped, his hoofs raising dust. Anna's nose itched, but she fought the urge.

  "Lady—" began Wiltur.

  Although she couldn't say why, Anna threw up her free arm—and fire slashed across it. Another line of pain slammed into her shoulder. Dumbly, she looked down at the shaft in her upper arm.

  "Guards!" Wiltur yelled, as he spurred his horse away from her and toward two figures that began to run between the gnarled trees. "Frideric!"

  Somehow, Anna clung to the gelding's mane with her uninjured hand as Farinelli side-stepped, and she turned him uphill. She had to get help.

  Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a horn, and the damned thing kept blowing and blowing, horribly off key. She wanted to laugh at herself for thinking about it when her shoulder hurt so much.

  Wave after wave of pain slammed through her, but she kept riding, kept hanging on as Farinelli plodded up the trail back toward the hall. Behind her, the horn sounded again, and somewhere there were horses, lots of horses, but she was afraid to look, afraid that she would lose her balance on Farinelli as the gelding carried her back to the hall.