The Saprano Sorceress

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "That we do not know." Menares shrugged. "The armsman belonged to the Mittfels Foot."

  "That's Delor."

  "Someone could have suborned his men."

  Anna considered, then shook her head. "I don't think so. Do you, really?"

  "I could not say. I really could not." Menares wasn't about to admit what he knew, but his reactions and body posture had already told Anna what she needed to know.

  "There is no dinner tonight, since the Prophet will not be eating with his captains," Menares volunteered as he slowly eased his bulk out of the chair.

  Anna tried not to swallow. The statement meant more than the words conveyed… but what?

  "I would like to remain, Lady Anna. I have not been more comfortable in days, but…" The white-haired counselor shrugged.

  "I understand." Anna walked to the door and held it open, standing back as Menares half walked, half waddled onto the hot landing.

  Once the echoes of Menares' footsteps had faded, Anna closed the door, yanked the bellpull and waited. This time, Birke appeared.

  "Birke, I need you to find my player, Daffyd. Would you ask him if he would come here for a bit?"

  Birke glanced down the stone steps, then cleared his throat. "Yes, lady."

  "Good."

  After the page left, she closed the door, wondering once more why she had to act like a bitch to get anything done. And why Menares had been told to let her know that Behlem would not be at dinner. Finally, she nodded. The problem was hers to resolve. Hers alone. Delor could try to kill her again and again, and Behlem would do nothing—unless she either went to his bed or begged for His mercy… or both.

  She took a deep breath, and began to look for a scrap of paper. Do you want to do this? Do you have any real choice?

  Anna actually had the spell complete before Daffyd thunked. After setting the paper aside, she crossed the stone floor and opened the door, motioning him in.

  "It's cold here." The dark-haired player shivered as he sank into one of the chairs.

  "It's comfortable." Anna turned the chair to face Daffyd. "Tomorrow, we're riding back to Pamr. I'm sorry I didn't give you much warning, but I just persuaded Menares and Behlem that it was necessary."

  "You want me to go?" asked Daffyd, a hint of a boyish sulk in his voice.

  "Yes. I trust you, and you know more about Defalk than any of the Neserean officers who'll be with us. I need to see how I can turn things to help us."

  "You haven't talked to me that much lately."

  Anna held in a sigh. Why was it that men required so much emotional hand-holding? Either that, or lots of power to reassure themselves?

  "Daffyd, I have been very busy trying to keep from getting murdered. If you didn't hear, this morning three armsmen tried to kill me in the stable."

  "This morning? What happened? You look all right."

  "I almost wasn't. I managed to stab one with my dagger, and I got free long enough to use a spell on the other two." Anna frowned. "This happened in a castle where I'm supposed to be safe. Then, earlier, someone tried to cripple Farinelli by dropping those iron pointed things into his stall."

  "Caltrops?" The player shook his head. "I don't understand. The Prophet needs you."

  "That may be, but someone doesn't agree. Of they don't care."

  The young player glanced toward the door. "Do you think Behlem… ?" He shook his head.

  "No. Not yet, anyway. He needs me now, and he's an opportunist. But I trust him about as far as I could throw Farinelli."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "You're not…" Anna shook her head ruefully.

  Daffyd grinned.

  "Why do I stay here? Work with them? Because the alternative is worse." A lot worse, if what I feel is right. And she had to trust her feelings. They were about all she could trust, from what she'd experienced of Liedwahr. She stood and stretched. "I need to prepare some things. I'll see you in the morning, right after breakfast."

  "That's all?"

  Anna really wanted to sigh. She didn't. "Daffyd, I'm sorry if I haven't had more time to talk, but it's hard trying to learn all these things you grew up with and I didn't. It's also hard being a sorceress in a place that's… very different. We'll have more time on the way to Pamr."

  "Do you want me to bring my viola?"

  "I think that would be a good idea, don't you?"

  The player nodded.

  After Daffyd left, Anna didn't know whether to shake her head or scream. She was old enough to be his mother, and looked young enough to.be his girlfriend, and the poor boy was confused. No matter what she did, he'd be confused.

  She picked the lutar back up, running through the chords again, then the words, but never both together, and never singing the words.

  When the sun had almost touched the horizon, Anna took another deep breath, then lifted the lutar, and slipped out of her room into the heat of the tower steps.

  Although she passed two armsmen and a page she did not know, none said a word to her, all three looking away as she strode determinedly toward the middle hall.

  "Lady Anna… ah… there is no… accompanied dinner… this evening…" stammered the young armsman standing outside the doorway.

  "I know. I didn't come for that." Anna smiled, but the smile felt cold, colder than university professionalism. "I take it the captains and overcaptains are eating now?"

  Giellum swallowed. "You can't enter."

  "Do you announce me, or do I turn you into charcoal?" Anna's fingers flicked across the strings of the lutar.

  The young armsman's eyes widened, then he croaked. "Ah… a moment, lady." He swung the door open.

  "The lady Anna."

  She almost wanted to smile as his voice cracked, but she wasted no time stepping inside, halting, and surveying the table to make sure Delor was there.

  He was. The overcaptain bolted upright at the table, his blade clearing the sheath, his face twisted in anger.

  Anna sang.

  "Delor, killer, now you learn… from flame to ashes shall you turn… from the strings, from the sky, fire flay you till you die!"

  Delor leaped from the far side of the table, flicked out his blade, grasping a dagger in the other hand, and charged across the tile floor toward the sorceress even before she finished the spell.

  Cracckk!!!

  Anna flicked the last chord from the lutar strings and dodged.

  Delor stopped in his tracks as one line of fire slammed his body, then a second. Although he went down after the second, he didn't begin to scream until the fifth or sixth fire-lash cut away fabric and flesh.

  Except for Delor's screams, the miniature lightnings and the crackling of flame, the hall was silent. With his death, only heavy breathing remained.

  Anna swallowed, and stepped up toward the horrified faces around the table; She noted that Behlem was not present. Nor was Menares. She turned to Hanfor.

  "Unlike some, I don't hire innocents to do my killing. And I don't hide behind a smile and witty words. I didn't kill Delor just because he tried to kill me. I also killed him because he was stupid. How do you feel about a captain who would try to kill the best weapon his lord may have? How many of you will die if I am not there?" You're setting yourself up…but what choice do you have? You have to stop this assassination shit before it gets anywhere. "Do you want to play stupid masculine games or do you want to survive?"

  Hanfor stood. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "I appreciate your directness, Lady Anna. If they stop to think, many others may do so as well."

  "Thank you." The sorceress bowed and turned, giving Delor's corpse a wide berth as she left the hall.

  "… stupid… He was so stupid…"

  "… you still dream of bedding her, Diuse?"

  "… colder than the top of the Ostfels…"

  "… more of a man than Delor…"

  "That is most frightening..."

  Anna kept her lips tightly together as she walked back to the tower, and u
p the stone steps to her cold empty room. She didn't even dare to try the mirror to see her daughter, not until she'd thought that out more.

  She'd been given youth, and beauty back, and power— and it was getting more and more evident that the price was high—higher than she could have dreamed. She had the. sickening feeling, unfortunately, that she had only begun to Pay-Why… why was it so fucking difficult? She was already being called a bitch and worse. Yet, if Behlem had been

  Delor's target, the overcaptain would have been tortured to death in the most grisly way without anyone thinking an ill thought of the Prophet. So why was she the bitch? The cold stones that surrounded her gave no answer.

  73

  The day was gray when Anna woke, her eyes gummy, her nose stuffed. For a time, she lay on the lumpy bed, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the dream, a dream where she searched through an unfamiliar house, a house hotter than an oven. She was looking for Irenia, Mario, and Elizabetta. She hadn't been able to find them, but she'd just had to keep looking, going back through closets overflowing with clothes into which she could no longer fit, toys the children hadn't used for years, and stacks and stacks of music written in a notation she'd never seen. After a time, she forced her eyes open.

  Finally, she sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. The gray outside was that of morning before sunrise. All that searching in her dream—it meant she had to see them—Mario and Elizabetta, anyway. She swallowed, and her eyes burned, at the thought of Irenia. No magic would let her see Irenia again.

  She stood and padded to the window. The sun had not lifted itself above the horizon, but the eastern sky was pink. Time to dress… and then time to try another spell.

  Once she had her riding clothes on, she turned to the mirror and began to sing, first focusing the spell on Mario.

  "Mirror, mirror…"

  Nothing happened, except a brief swirl of white across her own reflection in the cracked and shimmering glass.

  Had she lost her ability? Or did a cracked glass spoil the effect? She swallowed, then walked.around until she located the greasy pencil and began to scrawl. After that came the lutar.

  "Mirror, mirror with cracks in glass, remove the fissure with this pass, Make it shine smooth and fine…"

  The glass misted, and reappeared—blemish-free. But the frame was still heat-warped and dark. She ate some stale bread and repeated the effort to see Mario. Again, there was the swirl of white—and nothing.

  The sorceress walked back to the table and swallowed half a goblet of water, and chewed some of the bread left from the night before.

  Then she tried again, with the same result.

  She paced to the window, then back to the mirror. What about Elizabetta? Her heart pounding, Anna studied the mirror for a time before she sang the second spell.

  "Mirror, mirror…"

  This time this swirling white mists in the mirror cleared to reveal Elizabetta sitting in her bedroom in the Colonial. Her red hair was unkempt, and around her were piled heaps of clothes. Elizabetta's eyes were red, and she was looking at the open cardboard boxes on the floor.

  Anna felt her own eyes fill with tears, but she just watched as her daughter sat on the rumpled tulip quilt that Anna's mother had given Elizabetta for her tenth birthday.

  The sorceress squinted as Elizabetta said something. Was she asking "Why?" or swearing?

  After a moment longer, the redhead jerked herself upright and began to fold clothes, almost savagely, before stuffing each item into one of the boxes.

  Again the heat poured from the glass, far sooner than before, and Anna sang the release spell quickly. Watching that distant image just twisted her stomach tight up inside herself.

  She shook her head, tiredly, and massaged her neck and then her temples. Spells weren't infallible, nor was she, as she had discovered in the stable.

  The door knocker thunked.

  "Who's there?"

  "Menares," came the answer.

  Anna slid the bolt quietly and eased the door ajar, one hand on the hilt of the knife, but the counselor was alone. "Come in."

  The older man stepped inside, fingering his white beard as he glanced at the empty saddlebags and the water bottles. "You are still intending to scout out the area around Pamr?"

  "I don't know any other way."

  "Last night…" Menares looked into Anna's eyes.

  Anna looked back, and the counselor's eyes fell.

  Finally, she said. "You and Behlem set that up cleverly."

  "My lady… how could you suggest… Delor was a fine commander. He will be sorely missed."

  "By whom? The Ebrans?" She shook her head. "If I hadn't done something, every egocentric officer in the Prophet's army would have thought he could try to kill me, in order to do Delor one better. Now that I have acted, you and Behlem are figures of great temperance and moderation, forced to put up with a mad sorceress for the sake of Defalk and Neserea."

  Menares did not meet her eyes. "Perhaps it is best that you leave Falcor for a few days." .

  Anna had her doubts. In her absence, the two would probably concoct enough rumors to ensure no officer felt safe within a mile—a dek, she corrected herself—of her.

  "Menares, you are a wise man. I hope you can assure both the Prophet and his captains that I am a reasonable woman." She forced a smile. "I am sure you can find some way to get across the idea that…" She paused. "Let me put it another way. If it had been the Prophet that Delor's man had assaulted, how long would Delor have lived?"

  "Not long," admitted Menares.

  "I even gave Delor some time to make amends. Did he?"

  "Captains are not usually given to making amends, Lady Anna."

  "Not to women, you mean? Perhaps they should reconsider their ways. That wasn't the point, though. I was hoping you could find a way to explain to the captains and overcaptains that I am a most reasonable woman." She smiled again. "Especially when people are reasonable in return."

  Another silence filled the tower room.

  "How long will you be gone?" the counselor finally asked.

  "As long as it takes, and not a moment longer." Anna looked at the leather bag in Menares' hand. "I presume those are our travel expenses?"

  The counselor nodded and extended it. "There are fifteen golds."

  Anna tucked the bag into her overflowing wallet. "I'll return any that aren't needed." She looked at the saddlebags. "I do need to pack these and be on my way."

  "I'm certain you do, lady." Menares smiled tightly as he turned toward the door.

  After seeing him out, she slid the bolt into place and resumed her hasty packing—not that she was taking that much besides the lutar, spare riding clothes, a towel, and soap. There wasn't that much in Falcor she could take.

  When she was through, Anna glanced at the saddlebags and the water bottles by the door, then yanked the bellpull.

  Before long, both Skent and Birke stood on the landing.

  "I'd like some help with these."

  "You're leaving today?" asked Skent.

  "I'll be back." Unfortunately. "Before too long."

  The two glanced at each other.

  Anna could read the unspoken thoughts. "If you're wondering whether I'm really leaving because of the mess last night, the answer is no. I'd arranged this before last night. Of course, it probably won't hurt that I'm out of view for a few days."

  "I'm glad Delor's gone," Skent volunteered.

  Birke smirked, and Skent added quickly, glaring at the redheaded page, "He was mean. Once he kicked Cens."

  Birke looked away from Skent, and then down at the stones of the landing.

  What was that about? What was she missing? Anna wondered.

  "Let's go." Anna lifted the lutar case. The two followed her down the stairs and across the morning-shadowed courtyard to the stables.

  In the gloom inside the stables, Tirsik stood. Beyond him, Daffyd struggled with the saddle to his mare.

  "Good morning, Lady An
na." Tirsik smiled. "He's been fed, seeing as I heard you'd be riding out early."

  "Thank you." Anna turned to the pages. "Just leave the bags by the stall. I'll load them once I get Farinelli saddled." She smiled. "Keep things in order while I'm gone."

  Skent smiled and nodded. Birke nodded soberly. Then they walked toward the stall. Anna looked back to the stablemaster.

  "The one worships you. The other fears you," said Tirsik.

  "I hope I treat them the same."

  "Oh, you do, lady. I've watched. But Skent comes from an armsman's stock, and he's seen the worst. Young Birke, his sire's a lord, and the lords of Defalk haven't held much for strong women. Armsmen need strong women, but lords fear them." The wiry stablemaster laughed. "I talk too much. Best you be getting ready."

  "I appreciate your words, Tirsik. I'm a stranger, and they help."

  "Are we still going?" asked Daffyd, loudly.

  "Why not?" Anna smiled brightly as she turned.

  "I heard… last night." The player glanced toward the central hall structure.

  "That doesn't change anything. I talked with Menares this morning."

  Daffyd shook his head. "The armsmen won't be happy."

  "Spirda is a lancer. He reports to Hanfor," Anna pointed out.

  Daffyd shrugged, an expression that did not signify full agreement.

  Anna walked to the stall, where Farinelli neighed."Good morning to you, beast. You seem to be the only one besides Tirsik who's pleased to see me this morning." The gelding neighed again.

  "Except you just want to be groomed." She laughed as she slipped into the stall, setting her feet carefully. The area still held the faintest residual odor of charred meat and straw. Anna tried not to think about it as she brushed the palomino, then saddled him, and strapped her gear in place.

  Farinelli almost pranced as she led him from the stables out into the courtyard where Daffyd waited, a sober expression fixed in place. He shook his head minutely as Anna rechecked the saddle.

  "Why are we riding to Pamr?" Spirda asked, as he led his mount into the courtyard and stopped beside Anna.