Darksong Rising

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Go ahead," Anna replied with a smile.

  "You might mention that the tribute from Dumar arrived before it was due, and that the debt to the Ranuan Exchange has been paid, so that lords might have greater freedom to borrow there."

  "I'd meant to mention the Exchange debt... but it slipped my mind when I was writing. The coins from Dumar-that will make some happy, and have some asking to have their liedgeld reduced." She snorted and picked up the quill, absently sharpening it before dipping it into the ink. "They ought to have it increased."

  "You are not considering such?"

  "It's not acceptable, but the liedgeld doesn't bring in enough coins to defend Defalk, or build bridges and roads... or much of anything. It's fine, except if you have enemies, droughts, or problems, and from what I've seen Defalk's never been without most of those. So... next year, we'll inch up the liedgeid, and mine will go up more than anyone else's, and you can tell everyone that."

  "Some will not be pleased...." he observed.

  The Thirty-three will never be pleased... not until Defalk returns to a time that never was, that exists only in their memories. "They may not be." She smiled. "So you should be thinking of ways to convince them that they're better off under the Regency with a higher liedgeld. For one thing, they've all held their lands-except for Lord Arkad-and that wouldn't have happened under either the Evult or Lord Behlem. Maybe ... a reminder from the Lord High Counselor?"

  "Do you still intend to go to Ebra?"

  "I am only going to Mencha for certain...."

  "Why... if I might inquire? Your lands do not require attention that urgently." The hint of a smile crossed the lips of the white-haired lord.

  "I have an idea, one that might help Defalk a lot." If it works. "And it won't put anyone in danger."

  "You are not sure it will work?" Jecks raised his eyebrows.

  "If it doesn't, it won't hurt anyone."

  "Saving you." Jecks frowned. "Defalk needs its Regent. Do not hazard yourself."

  "I'll try." Anna paused. "What do you know about Lord Hulber? Of Silberfels?"

  "Less than most of the Thirty-three. The line is old, older than even the Corians, and Hulber has always paid his liedgeld and answered the calls for levies-but never offered more... or less. I have never met him, nor had Barjim or Donjim. Not to my knowledge."

  "Hmmmm... what about his lands?"

  "He is said to have one fertile valley on the Chean, and the rest fit for little but forage for sheep. His consort is the youngest daughter of Lord Clethner's sire, perhaps ten years younger than Clethner. You recall him?"

  "Lord Clethner? I met him at Elheld before I went to Vult."

  "He was impressed with you, and he may have written his sister. How close they are. I would not hazard." Jecks paused, then added, "If you will excuse me.. . this morning Himar and I are instructing both the lancers in the penal detail and the fosterlings."

  "The doublet. I should have realized," Anna said. "Don't let me keep you." Then she asked, "How is Jimbob responding?"

  Jecks shrugged. "He is doing as I expected."

  "Not quite sullen, and going through all the motions without being overtly rebellious."

  "You understand?"

  "Unhappily, yes."

  Jecks bowed again, then turned and left the receiving room.

  Jimbob-what could she do about the spoiled brat he had apparently become? Or had always been? Despite taking the punishment of a lancer penal detail, the youth wasn't listening to Jeccks... and had clearly withdrawn more into himself.

  The problem was that there really wasn't anyone else to inherit Defalk-the acceptability of everything Anna and the Regency were doing rested on the idea that she was doing it to preserve and enhance the succession. Without Jimbob, there was no succession, and without the succession.. . She didn't even want to think about the mess that would occur. Not now.

  She took a long and slow deep breath, and set aside the draft message to the Thirty-three. Next she needed to work on the spell for mining or refining-through sorcery. She reached for another sheet of the rough paper and dipped the quill pen, ignoring the blot of ink that dropped on one corner of the brown paper even before she began to write.

  After what seemed more than a glass, Anna looked at the draft spell... or what was the beginning of it.

  Search, search, search the ground deeply all around, verily, verily, verily, gold will here be found....

  Bring, bring, bring the gold, straightly to the mold, verily, verily, verily....

  But how would she end the spell? She took a deep breath and then a sip from the goblet.

  "You need a break."

  Finally, she stood, and made her way out of the chamber and up the stairs to the south wing... and Lady Essan's chamber. Lejun and Kerhor followed her, stationing themselves outside Essan's door when Anna entered.

  The white-haired woman sat erect in the sunlight falling through the window, then turned her head at Anna's presence. Anna still found it hard to believe that she was the widow of the man who had ruled Defalk before Jimbob's father.

  "Lady Essan, I'm sorry. It's been longer than I'd have liked since we last talked." Anna turned the straight chair across from the ancient rocker where Essan sat, then seated herself, looking straight at the older woman.

  "You are the sorceress-Regent, my dear near-daughter...." Essan smiled faintly. "This be a hard land that asks much of those that rule, and most of the glasses of their lives."

  'There isn't much time." Anna admitted. "It always seems that way."

  "Synondra tells me that you and Lord Jecks put Barjim's brat on a punishment detail. Be it true that he spat at your Lord High Counselor?"

  "Yes," Anna admitted.

  "Donjim would have flayed the skin off his back, and considered that merciful."

  "Jecks had him whipped."

  "Good! Feared your Lord High Counselor was getting too soft on the brat" Essan squinted through the sunlight at Anna. "Know ye that young Jimbob has been talking about sending you off to Mencha once he's old enough?"

  "No... but I can't say I'm surprised."

  "Boy doesn't know what strong is. . . or what he owes you." Essan shook her head. "Enough of ungrateful young wretches. You need more like that young Skent. Proper and dutiful fellow he is... make him an undercaptain, you should, then a captain If he has it in him. Then when you consort him to Cataryzna... he'll have the experience and the reputation to hold the lands."

  Anna laughed. "Is there anything that doesn't come to you?" "Leave an old woman her secrets. 'Sides, that be so obvious that I'd have told you if you were not already minded to do so." Essan took a sip of the ever-present apple brandy. "Is there any other gossip or tidbit that this old brain of mine can offer?"

  "You do know more about the past than anyone else I've met in Defalk," Anna smiled.

  "That be because the hard times took all the other old folk." Essan sniffed.

  "What have you heard about Lord Hulber of Silberfels?"

  "There were always rumors... that lineage is strange... mountain folk from before the Corians..." Essan said, almost as if musing to herself.

  Great...Gnomes out of Oz burrowing under the mountains in a world where music creates magic. Anna merely nodded, waiting.

  "... been said once that the old folk were miners... but none have seen such... nor much of their lords...."

  28

  ESARIA, NESEREA

  Rabyn slips into the light and airy workroom. Nubara folows. Both stand and study the three polished drums, each not quite as tall as is Rabyn. The floor has been swept spotlessly clean, and all the tools removed from the workbench and polished before having been set on the shelves adjoining the bench.

  Beside each drum is a high stool, and a pair of wooden mallets is laid on the seat of each stool.

  The gray-haired crafter bows. "They are finished, sire. As you requested. Exactly as you requested."

  "We will be the judge of that." Rabyn barely looks at the older
man as he steps around him and stops by the first drum. His fingers stroke the polished wood, now so smooth that it reflects the dark-haired Prophet's image as if the drum were a mirror.

  Nubara sees his own reflection beside that of the Prophet and smiles, belatedly.

  "I saw that, Nubara," Rabyn says easily.

  The crafter steps back involuntarily.

  "Let us see how these sound." Rabyn takes the mallets from the stool of the drum closest to the workroom door, then seats himself on the stool. He taps the stretched hide that covers the drum frame. A low rolling boom fills the workroom. He nods and slips off the stool, replacing the mallets. After repeating the process with both of the remaining drums, Rabyn returns to the second drum and reseats himself on the stool with a sly, serpentlike smile.

  Nubara frowns, his eyes going from the Prophet to the crafter, who remains standing by the workbench, his head bowed.

  Lifting the mallets, the young Prophet tries one rhythm, then a second. Finally, after several other attempts, he nods to himself, and a driving and thundering, rolling beat fills the workroom. Rabyn begins a chant, not exactly a song, but more than a simple refrain, with a thin tenor that is clear and rises above the thunder of the massive drum.

  Heed, heed, heed, the beating of the drum; break, break, break the heart whose end has come...

  The crafter's eyes widen and he swallows, then drops to his knees, clutching at his chest, gasping for air.

  ... turn, turn, the body into dust!

  The rolling thunder that has filled the room dies away, and Rabyn carefully climbs down from the stool and replaces the mallets. "You will have the workbench and the woods removed, will you not, Nubara? And you will make sure that no one touches the drums."

  "Ah... yes, honored Prophet" The Mansuuran officer licks his lips. "I... did not know you could do... such." He looks at the heap of dust on the workroom floor. He swallows. "Did you not promise...?"

  Rabyn laughs. "I promised to pay him well, and in gold. For his dislike of me, I have paid him. The golds will go to his ugly daughter, and she will be freed. So will her mother. You will tell them that he developed the bloody flux and a pox, and we had to burn his body. I promised him five golds. Give them ten... with great care."

  "Yes, honored Prophet."

  "Remember, Nubara, I am a ruler who keeps his promises." The serpentlike smile follows. "All of them." Rabyn strokes the side of the drum, lovingly. "A most wonderful drum, and it will do exactly as I wish."

  Nubara looks down at the pale paving stones of the workroom floor, then lifts his eyes to the Prophet, meeting the younger man's glance evenly. "With drum and Darksong, best you be most careful of what you wish, Prophet"

  "I always am sure of that, Nubara. Just like my mother was. Always."

  29

  Anna slowed as she heard voices in the side corridor leading to the receiving room. She glanced back at Lejun and Rickel. The taller blond Rickel nodded and slowed.

  The Regent listened. A small high voice reached her ears- Secca's.

  "... she's not like that. She worries about everyone. You just worry about you. Lords can't do that. They have to worry about everyone."

  Anna waited.

  "You're too young to say things like that, Secca." The older youth's voice held a sneer. "You're being silly."

  Anna wanted to slap Jimbob for the patronizing tone, but instead remained silent, waiting to see how Secca would handle the heir.

  "You're like all boys. When someone's right, and you don't like it, you tell them they're silly. Or you hit them."

  Anna couldn't help but grin.

  "I do not," replied Jimbob.

  "You would," Secca insisted. "You're afraid of Lady Anna and your grandsire."

  There was silence in the corridor.

  "A lot you know," Jimbob finally answered.

  "You could be nicer. You should be if you want to be the lord like your father was."

  "I'll be lord. It doesn't matter what you think."

  "It matters what Lady Anna thinks, and if you don't get nicer, you'll never be lord."

  "Nice people don't win battles," snapped Jimbob. "Lady Anna isn't always nice. She's killed scores and scores of people. You just see her here in Falcor. It's different in battle. All the lancers say so."

  Have you become two people... nice when it suits you and ruthless the rest of the time? Anna frowned. If you wanted to survive, did you have any choice?

  "She's only nasty when people like you make her that way! I don't have to talk to you." The sound of small footsteps headed toward the corner.

  Anna waited and let Secca run almost into her. "Secca! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

  Secca stopped, and looked up. Her eyes were bright, but not tearing. "Lady Anna." She bowed. "I have to get my scrolls for figures. Dythya said we had to bring them every day."

  Anna smiled. "Don't let Jimbob get to you. He's having trouble understanding that just because he's the heir doesn't mean that the rules are any different for him."

  "He said... you weren't always nice."

  Anna looked straight into the redhead's amber eyes. "Sometimes, I've had to do things that weren't what I wanted. You will, too. We all do the best we can. When you can do something better-or nicer-and you don't, that's when you get in trouble." Like you have...

  Secca smiled shyly, then bowed again. "I should go, Lady Anna."

  Anna watched as the redhead scurried down the corridor. Then she turned and headed toward the staircase. The receiving room was empty when she reached it, except for another pair of guards, Kerhor and Blaz-and the dark-haired Skent, who waited as the duty page.

  "Skent? Would you see if Lord Jecks and Arms Commander Hanfor could meet with me shortly?"

  "Yes, Lady Anna."

  Once inside her de facto office, Anna sorted through the scrolls that represented what she needed to do, beginning with the last draft of her proposed "newsletter" scroll. After reading it and nodding, she set it aside for the copying she had to set up by the fosterlings. Before you go off anywhere.

  Her thoughts drifted to young Farsenn and his drums, and she shook her head before she finally picked the scroll that held the summary of accounts. She scanned Dythya's latest summary-not so bad as previously, not with the three thousand golds from the Liedfuhr and the four thousand from Dumar. Almost enough to do what you'd planned... Except that there were more needs-like forage for the grasslands people, or what seemed like the tenth petition for lower taxes on the merchants of Falcor, and the fifth for lower tariffs on the rivermen.

  Then... she needed to do something about Secca's mother, the lady Anientta, who had probably poisoned her consort... and about the succession in Fussen ... or did she? You're becoming like all those bureaucrats on Earth... stalling because any decision is worse than none.

  She took a deep breath and reached for the water pitcher. After filling her goblet and taking a deep swallow, she sharpened the quill and began to add to the list of tasks that she needed to address.

  Anna was still adding to that list when Jecks and Hanfor arrived. She set aside the quill and waited until the two men were seated across the conference table from her. "I'm thinking of taking tenscore armsmen and going to Mencha... and if nothing happens while I'm there, going on into Ebra."

  Hanfor nodded slowly. "You remain worried about the Sturinnese?"

  "I'm worried about someone like Bertmynn. who'll accept Sturinnese coins." And having to pick up the pieces later, at a higher cost.

  "What have you seen in your pool?" Jecks asked.

  "Bertmynn is about to head downriver toward Elahwa, if he hasn't already. It looks like he wants to take over the city and port there."

  "Would it not be wiser to wait. . . to see the results in Ebra?" questioned Hanfor. "Or do you wish to call a hundredscore levies now?"

  Anna shook her head. "I don't think so. Calling the levies before Rabyn does anything will only reduce their useful time of service. We can't wait on Ebra, eit
her. Dolov wasn't affected by my sorcery against the Evult. Synek was more than half-destroyed, and Elahwa was partly destroyed. The freewomen are trying to do something in Elahwa, and Bertmynn's against that. I'd like to stop him, or if I'm too late, attack him before he gets more arms and armsmen from Sturinn."

  "You cannot defend all of Liedwahr," Hanfor said slowly.

  It does sound like that's what you're trying to do, doesn't it? Anna paused, then reached for the goblet. It was empty.

  Jecks refilled it from the pitcher, then looked at Hanfor. The grizzled veteran nodded, and Jecks filled all three goblets.

  "Let us say you are successful," Hanfor finally continued after a swallow from the goblet before him. "You destroy Lord Bertmynn. You are two weeks or more at a hard ride from Falcor. If the Nesereans attack? What would you have me do without levies?"

  "I think we should call up some levies, preferably enough to make up a force for you to train... perhaps somewhere near Dubaria or Denguic. Not too many, though."

  "And?"

  "If we do so, then.. ' Anna paused, thinking, before concluding, "then Rabyn will have to move more armsmen to Elioch or the West Pass, and that will take time."

  "You still may not return that quickly," Jecks pointed out. "What would you have your arms commander do if the Nesereans do cross into Defalk?"

  "Defend Defalk." Hanfor offered a half smile. "Preferably with some effect."

  "If you can manage it, Hanfor, have Rabyn attack Fussen," Anna said dryly. "And put Lord Ustal in charge of an attack on their center... or wherever, If that doesn't work, try to slow them down without losing too many levies. Give up territory rather than men. We can get the territory back, but not the armsmen."

  Jecks laughed. 'That will not make your western lords pleased."

  Nothing will please them except the world not changing. "It may not come to that." Except it will, because most men in Liedwahr instinctively believe that over time no woman can keep defeating men.

  "I think I will draw up plans for a retreat through Fussen." Hanfor's lips quirked. "I doubt not that you will succeed in Ebra, but success takes time."