The Saprano Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The last thing she recalled was looking at the front entry of the hall, wondering how she could dismount with an arrow through her shoulder, and watching the door open.

  20

  Anna stood on the stage, looking down at the dusty riding clothes she wore. What had happened to her gown? She couldn't sing in front of the Founders' Dinner in riding clothes, not dusty and sweaty. Why, that alone would kill" her chances for tenure. As Music Chair, Dieshr would see to that. How had this happened? Had her injury thrown her back to earth?

  She tried to open her mouth, but found she couldn't, and only a croaking groan issued forth. Then, she turned to walk off the platform, but her feet would not move.

  When Anna finally shook herself awake, her back hurt as well as her shoulder. And her hand hurt. She could feel the sweat and dust matted into her hair. As her eyes opened fully, Florenda stood by the bed, a goblet in her hand. She was still on Erde, and her eyes burned.

  "You must drink, lady."

  Anna drank. Whatever it was tasted like vinegar laced with used crankcase oil and spiced with extra-soapy cilantro.

  "More," insisted Florenda.

  Anna forced herself to take another deep swallow, then closed her eyes for what seemed a moment.

  When she woke again, Florenda sat on a chair, sewing.

  "I'm thirsty," Anna announced.

  But she got more of the oily wine, first, before Florenda let her have water.

  "I must get Liende and Lord Brill." With that the serving girl scuttled from the bedchamber.

  Anna wanted to shake her head, but she had the feeling that her head might not remain on her neck if she did. How could one arrow do so much? And hurt so badly? Bullets… she understood the damage that high-powered guns could cause, but arrows?

  As she reflected, the door reopened, and the woodwind player with the red hair streaked with white entered, followed by Brill and Florenda.

  "You are awake," said the older woman. "Good."

  "I'm afraid… don't know your name," Anna said slowly.

  "I am Liende. Lord Brill asked me to… assist. I had some little training as a healer years ago." The clarinetist offered a warm but crooked smile.

  How do you teel, lady.' asked Brill. The circles under his eyes were deeper yet.

  "I'll live." Anna looked at the dressing across her upper arm and shoulder and the rough stitches in her palm.

  "I'd trust so," he said ironically.

  "You helped heal some of this?" she asked.

  "Some. As I could. Liende's skill helped also."

  Anna frowned. "There was just one arrow. How could it…?"

  Liende laughed gently. "It was a war arrow, and no one thought you would live."

  "I'm glad… to prove them wrong."

  A silence fell across the chamber.

  "I don't understand," Anna finally said. "What did I do? I haven't lifted a hand against anyone."

  "You are here," answered Liende. "You came from the mist worlds, and that'd be the one place that the dark ones fear."

  "But why?" Anna shook her head. She felt so stupid. All she'd been doing was trying to improve her riding and learn something about Erde, and people were trying to kill her. On earth, they wanted to destroy your career or take your job, but most people she knew weren't killers. "I haven't cast a single spell against them… against anyone."

  "I did not think the dark ones would try to strike so soon," Brill answered. "They fear you, and they want you dead before you realize your powers. Wiltur and Frideric killed all three of them, but they wore the dark robes. They cast a glamour and hid there, waiting for you. For the dark ones to send three so far from Ebra—that is a tribute to your powers."

  Powers? Anna wanted to laugh, but that would have hurt. All she'd done was shatter a goblet, light a few candles, turn a few pieces of wood to ashes. Yet some people were telling her she was powerful, and others were trying to kill her.

  Her lips tightened, even as she sank back against the lumpy pillows.

  Erde was no dream. It was different, though, a place where sixty miles was considered a far way, and where arrows could kill.

  She was going to have to learn to be a sorceress, a real one. If she didn't, sooner or later Brill would turn against her or just abandon her; or the dark ones, for whatever reason, would kill her—or both.

  She tightened her lips. She had a lot of memory-searching to do—a lot. Her breath hissed between her lips.

  Except she had to get better, first. Except that she was so tired. Her eyes closed.

  21

  Wei, Nordwei

  The woman with the close-cropped golden hair steps into the well-lit room whose single wide window overlooks the harbor piers that mark the well-dredged juncture of the River Nord with the Vereisen Bay.

  The dark-haired woman behind the table, her back to the window, speaks, though her lips barely move. "Sit down, Gretslen."

  The golden-haired Gretslen slips into the armless wooden chair. "You sent for me, Ashtaar?"

  "I did. How are matters going in Esaria?" Ashtaar raises a hand to the short dark hair, then pauses, her fingers going to the polished black wooden oval on the desk.

  "Well enough. Young Behlem is poised to march, once Barjim reinforces his troops to stop the dark ones."

  "How soon?"

  "The dark ones are marshaling in the Sand Pass now, and Barjim has called for his levies. He must wait for Lord Jecks' forces, and it will take more than two weeks for them to be gathered and march the distance from Ehli, say three weeks or more before Barjim gathers east of Mencha."

  "The dark ones could move into Defalk long before that."

  "Eladdrin won't. Then he'd have to chase the lords' forces all over Defalk." Gretslen offers a brief smile. "He'll let Barjim mass his forces—and then destroy them."

  "What about the rumors of this sorceress? The one who supposedly was summoned from the mist worlds?'' Ashtaar laughs. "Mist worlds, indeed."

  "She is reputed to be powerful enough to frighten the dark ones. They sacrificed some of their agents in Defalk to attack her." Gretslen moistens her lips ever so slightly. "No one has seen her before… anywhere."

  "You really don't believe that song sorcery can cross worlds, do you?"

  "I only know that she appeared from nowhere."

  "Are you sure?" presses Ashtaar.

  "We're sure."

  "Kendr said she will die."

  "Kendr is a good seer, but the sorceress is not dead, and she is safe within Brill's hall." The golden-haired woman adds sardonically, "The attack was enough to drive Brill back to darksong to save her."

  "Because it shows her value?"

  "Exactly. Brill was already extremely deferential to her, extremely deferential. That alone indicates that she is more than beautiful, and this attack would confirm it." Gretslen shakes her head.

  "The dark ones are sometimes so stupid."

  "They are powerful, though," answers the blonde one.

  "So is a cyclone, or a tidal wave, and one should fear both, but not because they are smart." Ashtaar's eyes focus on Gretslen. "What if Brill should want another such sorceress?"

  "We have taken steps to stop that."

  "Good." Ashtaar leans back in her chair. "Who else knows of this strange sorceress, or whatever she may be?''

  Gretslen laughs. "Everyone knows, except Barjim. But no one knows anything except that she is an exotic beauty who some claim came through a portal from one of the mist worlds."

  "Even Behlem?"

  "He probably knew before I did," Gretslen admits. "He has sources all over Defalk."

  "That means Konsstin may. And some others."

  "I doubt it. Behlem wouldn't tell him, and Cyndyth wouldn't, not after being effectively sold to Behlem. And if those two don't want him to know, who would risk their necks to tell him? He'll find out within weeks, but he'll be among the last. I don't know about the Matriarch, although I'd guess so. Money has eyes everywhere."

  "So it
does." Ashtaar laughs and raises a hand to dismiss the blonde woman.

  Gretslen rises with a polite smile.

  22

  As the tinted glass of the bedchamber window filtered the worst of the late-afternoon sun, Anna sat at the table with the key-harp, a stack of the tan paper, a pencil, and the inevitable pitcher of water and accompanying goblet.

  Her left shoulder ached, as did her left hand, but her insistence on distilling alcohol from the vinegary wine, and bathing the wounds in it—combined with Brill's initial magic, seemed to have warded off infection. The soreness around the deep slash surprised her, as did the shades of purple and green, and the burning sensation that accompanied cleaning the wounds and the area around them didn't leave her in the best of moods.

  Nor did looking in the mirror and seeing all too many gray and aubum roots at the base of her hair.

  She glanced toward the robing room, where Florenda had delivered a third riding outfit, this one in an even lighter green. She asked the girl for a gown, even sketched a rough outline, but she'd have to come up with something else for Florenda to do before long. Requesting too many clothes was wasteful, and probably put her even more in Brill's debt.

  No matter where she was, she was in debt in some way or another.

  Her eyes dropped to the paper before her, but her mind kept veering off. How had she gotten to Erde? What had she been thinking? The words rolled back to her—"I'd just like to run away... anywhere. Anywhere!''

  The tears welled up in her eyes, and she blotted them angrily with the cloth in her good right hand. What was it— be careful about what you wish for or you may get it? Erde was certainly anywhere other than Ames, but she was still dancing to everyone else's tune.

  She blotted her eyes again and then picked up the paper. She needed something strong. What about a hymn? Or something? She needed a hymn for battles. Then she smiled. That one she knew, and there must be some set of words that would do what she wanted. She had time, and she would get the words right!

  Brill wanted a sorceress, and the dark ones wanted to kill her. Her lips tightened. She'd repay both—somehow!

  23

  Anna carried the sketches down to the salon for the noon meal, arriving, as was becoming the case more frequently, before Brill. Even though her left shoulder and hand had healed enough to use the key-harp for short periods of time, the instrument seemed almost worse than useless. Not only was the key-harp frustrating her, but it had no power of projection.

  She sat on her side of the table and poured more water.

  Serna peered in.

  "He's not here yet," Anna said pleasantly. "You know, I like your bread." She smiled. "I hope it's yours."

  Serna nodded, then vanished.

  With the faint whispering of boots, the sorcerer appeared, wearing the hard, faded-blue clothing that was his working apparel, but his boots were still those of gleaming blue leather.

  "You have that certain look upon your face, Lady Anna." Brill bowed before pulling out the heavy blue-lacquered chair. "Before you begin, how is your shoulder?"

  "It doesn't hurt at all with small movements, or gentle ones, and it's still itching. So it's healing." She offered a rueful smile. "How's Farinelli? He probably helped as much as anyone."

  "Quies says that he misses you." Brill shook his head. "You do have a way, Lady Anna. Wiltur was impressed, also. He said you threw up your hand to deflect the arrow from your throat or heart, and that you didn't cry out. You just rode back to the hall with a wound that would have felled many armsmen."

  "It felled me all right."

  "But not until you could be helped." Brill shrugged. "You might have died if you'd fallen from the gelding down at the orchards."

  Serna scuttled in with the lunch. This time, there were melons again, as well as yellow cheese, hot apples, and bread. Anna smiled at the server, and got a fleeting smile in return.

  Brill filled his goblet from the wine pitcher. "So what are you planning, lady sorceress?"

  "Who makes instruments? Stringed instruments."

  "Kaseth does. I imagine even your young friend Daffyd does. Why?"

  "I have an idea," Anna said.

  "I thought you might."

  She spread the papers on the table. Once she'd been a fair artist, but that had been years before, and she was guessing at some of the dimensions and features from what she recalled.

  "You have a fine hand. You could have been a scribe or an artist."

  "I did some drawing, years ago, but I wasn't talented enough, and I liked music better."

  "Hmmmm…" Brill sipped the red vinegary wine and looked at her drawings. After a time, and several more sips, he cleared his throat. "It looks something that partakes of the lute and the violoncello, and something else I have never seen."

  "An acoustic guitar."

  The sorcerer looked blank.

  "It's like a lute, except it's more powerful and would project more sound." Anna took another sip of water. "If you want me to be useful, this would be most helpful."

  "You are not even healed yet," Brill protested.

  "I'm doing better, and I don't know that the dark ones will wait for me to recover."

  "I have tried to let it be known that you are still at the brink of death," the sorcerer said blandly. "I had hoped that would encourage the Dark Monks to take their time."

  Anna frowned. "Why? I'd think they'd hurry."

  "Anyone with armsmen can take land. Unless the Ebrans destroy those who can take it back, what good does marching into Defalk do them? It is better to fight one decisive battle than many that bleed one dry."

  Anna thought for a moment, realizing that she had thought that battles and taking territory were synonymous, and maybe they were, on earth—but then, she recalled Prof Martin and his lectures about Lee and the Civil War, how Lee had prolonged the war by preserving his army. "Then shouldn't Lord Barjim refuse to fight?"

  "If he retreats, the Ebrans will take the best fields and the orchards, and their harvest. He owes half a harvest's worth of coins to the moneylenders in Encora."

  Anna got the impression that Lord Barjim was damned one way or another. She gathered the drawings up. "What should something like this cost?'' Then she shook her head. "Why am I asking? I don't have any way to pay for it."

  "I would guess that it would cost a gold." Brill set down his goblet. "I will supply the woods from the players' stocks, and pay for it." He laughed. "If it helps defeat the dark ones, it is a small price to pay, and if it does not, then I won't miss it, either. Tell Daffyd, and he would be better than Kaseth for a strange instrument, that he may use the seasoned woods." Brill's hands dipped out of sight and returned with several heavy silver coins. "Best you offer him a silver as a token. I will send a messenger in your name after we eat." The sorcerer reached for the bread.

  Anna ladled out the hot and tart apples, then took both bread and cheese. She seemed always hungry, but she wasn't gaining weight. If anything, she had lost a bit—not nearly what she would have liked—but the trousers seemed slightly looser. That had to be from the time when she was unconscious and hadn't been able to eat.

  When she finally looked down at her platter and around the table, Anna flushed, realizing she had eaten almost as much as Brill. Eating that way, she'd gain everything back!

  "I will send for Daffyd," Brill said as he finished the last of his wine and rose from the table.

  "I think I'll be ready to ride in a few days, and then I can go back to work in the workroom."

  "So soon?"

  "So long as there's no infection, there's no reason to sit around."

  "As you wish, Lady Anna."

  Anna drank another goblet of water and watched the empty walls, and sun-drenched Mencha, for a time. Serna removed ail the dishes except for the water pitcher and Anna's glass. She'd meant to talk to Brill about harmony, to ask whether a harmonic spell would work. The Donner-musik book had implied it was workable. But somehow, she hadn't felt right about asking�
��or maybe she wasn't up to a fight, not that she ever was, when she was still recovering.

  "The player Daffyd," Florenda announced finally.

  "Have him come in."

  Anna stood and waited.

  "You sent for me, lady?" Daffyd bowed, deeply enough almost for it to be sardonic.

  "Yes. I did. I didn't know how else to find you, and it's not exactly wise for me to go riding all over Mencha in my condition." Her eyes dropped to the wrapped shoulder. "Not yet, anyway. Not since I'm still weak in the sorcery department."

  Daffyd frowned at the word "department."

  "I have a favor to ask. I need an instrument made. It's special." Anna bent over the table and spread out the papers again, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder and the faint throbbing in her left hand.

  Daffyd looked at the drawings. "How big is this instrument?"

  "A little more than a yard." Anna started to spread her hands to indicate hew large, then thought better of it as her shoulder twinged.

  Daffyd's eyes rolled. "Six strings? What kind of strings?"

  "The four from the cello and the two deepest ones from your viola, except longer. I'll tune them differently. When can you start?''

  "I must find woods, and—"

  "Lord Brill said that Kaseth would give you the material from the players' stocks, and he said you could use the most seasoned woods. I don't have much I can give you, not yet, but…" Anna extracted one of the silver coins from her purse.

  "Why do you need this… what would you call it?"

  "It's not a guitar, not with gut strings, but it should be a lot stronger than a lute. Call it a lutar." Anna almost laughed, thinking that "lutar" sounded much better than "guilute."

  "I need it for sorcery."

  "You haven't asked for a bow."

  "It's to be strummed or plucked."

  Daffyd frowned. "I've heard of sorcerers using lutes, lady, but they don't help much because your fingers will touch the strings."

  Anna pursed her lips. She didn't like picks, but they might solve part of the problem. "There might be a way around that. How soon can you do this?"

  "It should take a season."