Shadowsinger: The Final Novel of The Spellsong Cycle

by L. E. Modesitt

  Secca turned to the merchant in brown and gold. “Once we have determined that no ill lies within the palace, you may go. However…we lay upon you the requirement for providing us with adequate supplies. I expect the first wagonload of provisions within a glass of the time you leave. In rough terms, we will need a week’s supplies—for now—for…” Secca cocked her head and tried to rough out the numbers mentally. “For twenty-five-score lancers and players and their mounts.”

  The merchant swallowed.

  “We have driven the Sturinnese from all of Dumar.” Secca smiled. “I do not think provisions for such a small number are an excessive burden. Do you?”

  “Ah…no, Lady Sorceress.”

  Secca’s voice hardened. “I do not think that any of you wish to anger me—or Lord Robero—over such a minor matter.”

  “Oh, no, Lady Sorceress. There will be provisions, and they will arrive quickly.”

  Secca smiled. “Good. It would be much easier on everyone if those who are familiar with provisioning supplied us. If we have to come seeking them…”

  “You will want for nothing…” stammered the merchant.

  “Good.”

  Secca watched silently as lancers began to reappear and to report to Delcetta and Wilten. Before long, Wilten rode up to Secca. “The palace is empty. So are the barracks. The furnishings are mostly here, but anything of greater value has vanished.”

  “We’ll stay here then, with appropriate guards.” Secca gestured toward the merchant. “They will be bringing provisions within the glass, and those provisions will be good. If they are not, inform me immediately.”

  “That I will, Lady Secca,” Wilten promised, with a sidelong glance at the merchant.

  The man paled, momentarily, then swallowed. “All will be the best we have. The best we have, you understand.”

  “You may go,” Secca said.

  “You will inform us…Lady Sorceress?”

  “For now, you will consider Lord Eryhal as Lord High Counselor, and that he is traveling to return to Dumar. Neither I nor Lord Robero would wish to see any more unrest in Dumar. Matters should proceed as though Lord Eryhal were already here.” Secca paused. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Lady Sorceress.”

  “Good. You may tell the others, and then you had best start to deliver what we require.”

  The man bowed from the saddle once more, as awkwardly as the first time.

  Secca watched as he eased his mount toward the half-score of other merchants still under guard. The merchant began to speak even before he halted his mount, and soon an animated conversation was occurring, punctuated with looks back at Secca.

  “They did not expect that, Lady Secca,” said Richina, still holding the uncased lutar at the ready. “Are you still tired?”

  “As we have been…as we have been,” replied Secca dryly.

  Slowly, the gaggle of merchants began to ride away from the palace. Several looked back over their shoulders.

  “Was that wise, to let them go?” asked Richina.

  “I do not know, but they have seen what the lady Anna did, and, if necessary, one of us can provide a demonstration of sorcery.”

  “They will supply provisions,” Alcaren prophesied. “They will do so, and find a way to make coins as they do.”

  Secca flicked the reins gently to ease the gray mare into a walk toward the main entrance, where Wilten and a number of lancers were waiting. Once there, she dismounted slowly, trying to hide her tiredness, and methodically untied her lutar and saddlebags.

  Alcaren took the scrying mirror, while Easlon took charge of their mounts.

  Secca walked through the entry hall, a space nearly twice as broad as that of Loiseau, if with ceilings but a third as high. The walls were bare, but marks and unfaded paint showed where hangings and paintings had been removed.

  “Wilten was right. Someone has stripped the palace,” Secca said.

  “It could have been anyone, from Fehern to the friends of our merchant acquaintance,” suggested Alcaren.

  “Or all of them,” added Richina.

  “How many more will ask the same question before we reach Narial, about the next Lord High Counselor, do you think?” Secca turned to Alcaren.

  “If the lords do not ask it, they will doubtless think it. Do you think it was wise to suggest Eryhal?”

  “They need to think that someone will be taking control, and he is the only one that sounded reasonable.” She paused, then frowned. “It is time for us to send a scroll to Jolyn. Or it will be just before we reach Narial. I did not wish to do so earlier.”

  “What will you tell her?” asked Richina.

  “That because the passes are yet blocked, we are arranging passage to Neserea by ship.”

  “Neserea?” asked her consort. “I thought—”

  “I don’t think it is necessary to mention details such as a side trip to Sturinn along the way. After all, we do intend to return to Neserea. We will still have to deal with whoever is fighting there. It is most likely to be the forces of Sturinn.”

  Alcaren shook his head. “Lord Robero will not be pleased.”

  Behind him, Richina shook hers as well.

  “If…if he knows we will head to Neserea,” Secca replied, “it may keep him from seeking terms from the Sturinnese or the Liedfuhr.”

  “Do you think so?” Alcaren frowned.

  “I can hope.”

  You’re hoping far too much…and about far too many things. Secca pushed that thought away as they headed up the wide marbletiled steps to the second level, following Gorkon and Dymen.

  Since the main chambers had been thoroughly plundered, the most habitable chamber was a large guest chamber on the end of the second floor, around a corner and out of the way. Secca smiled as she saw the bathchamber.

  Alcaren grinned as he beheld her smile.

  Secca flushed. “Later, you lecherous consort.”

  “Me? How do you know I was thinking anything like that?”

  Secca turned even redder.

  Alcaren burst into laughter, and, after a moment, so did Secca.

  Once the doors were closed, with lancers posted in the corridor outside, Alcaren stepped to the window that overlooked the rear gardens, shaking his head.

  Secca stepped up beside him.

  Below the window was a boxwood hedge maze, and in the center of the maze was a fountain, with spray playing over the figure of a man. Even in the hazy sunlight, the spray glistened. Beyond the hedge maze was a circular marble pool, its edges outlined in shimmering red tile. The pool overlooked a lawn, evenly cut and deep green, bordered by topiary trees, each sculpted into the semblance of an animal.

  Secca could make out several horses, a falcon, a dolphin, and a team of oxen.

  “There is nothing like this splendor in Encora,” Alcaren said.

  “Nor in Falcor,” Secca replied, taking out her lutar and tuning it.

  “Spellsinging?”

  “I would like some warm water for the bath.” She arched her eyebrows.

  65

  Southwest of Nesalia, Neserea

  The Maitre stands before a large map laid upon a dining table in a long walnut-paneled room. The only illumination is provided by a three-branched candelabra set to one side of the map. He does not look down as he listens to the two men who stand across the table from him.

  Neither of the younger Sea-Priests meets his eyes, as the taller one continues to speak.

  “Maitre, we have followed the Sorceress Protector, as you requested. She is continuing southward. She has left Dumaria, and is nearing Narial. We have no vessels there or nearby.”

  “Narial?” For a moment, the Maitre frowns. Then he nods. “She is not to be underestimated, jerEstafen. She knows that we have no vessels in the south, and she also knows that she cannot reach anywhere quickly by land. This is most true in late winter, and in early spring when the mud is everywhere. She will take to the waters. There are no ships from other lands in Naria
l now. So she must expect a vessel from somewhere.” He smiles, and the expression is less than friendly. “Doubtless from the bitch Matriarch.”

  “We have been able to find none.”

  “You have not the ability…” He shakes his head. “Even had you such, that would be a waste of sorcery.”

  The younger Sea-Priests wait.

  “Have you and jerHalin perfected the spell to cast a sorcerous javelin through the mists at her—the way in which she struck at Lord Belmar?”

  “Yes, ser. We have the spell, and the players have practiced it for the past two days. We gave you—”

  “I have it.”

  “That we can do, if we can use a half complement of players and drummers.”

  The Maitre nods. “Do it quickly, before she erects wards. Take all necessary precautions. She may be a woman, but she has strength you might well envy.”

  “We will accord her the respect she deserves.” JerEstafen bows.

  “Indeed, Maitre,” adds jerHalin. “Though…if we find no wards…?”

  “Without wards…still she…” The Maitre breaks off his words with a smile. “I leave the matter to you two. How you handle it will determine…much.”

  “We will handle the matter, ser.”

  “I am most certain you will.”

  The Maitre does not look at the map on the table until he is once more alone.

  66

  Secca shifted her weight on the stool set before the table, then began to write again, using the grease marker to complete the draft of the scroll. She and Alcaren had taken the largest room in the inn in the town of Stafaal, not that the chamber was especially spacious, measuring as it did all of four yards square. The room held but a narrow double-width bed, a wash table, and the narrow writing table where she sat beside the window. The sole lamp was set in a tarnished bronze bracket-sconce on the wall beside the bed.

  Behind her, Alcaren sat on the end of the sagging bed and studied a much-used map of the Western Sea that he had found in the local chandler’s shop.

  In time, as the sun was nearing the western horizon, Secca finished the last lines of the scroll and stood, leaving the grease ink to dry on the rough brown paper. After stretching, she walked to the second-floor window, where she looked out on the dusty street below. The only figures visible were the lancers posted as patrols and sentries, and most of the windows in the shops and dwellings were dark, as if those inhabitants who had remained did not wish to call any attention to themselves.

  Secca could understand that. Stafaal was less than a full day’s ride from the port of Narial, near where the Sturinnese had stormed ashore behind their great wave of destruction.

  Finally, she turned. “Will you read it?”

  “I will. I’m sure it’s fine.” Alcaren set down the map and stood, also stretching before stepping toward the table beside the unshuttered window. He picked up the two sheets of rough brown paper.

  Secca eased herself around behind her consort so that she could look over Alcaren’s shoulder as he read the scroll.

  Dearest Jolyn,

  As you may have seen in the scrying pool, while Lord Belmar has perished, his forces are now commanded by the Sturinnese. Those of Sturinn who were here in Dumar have used mighty sorcery to block all the passes into either Defalk or Neserea. With all the forces of Sturinn now in Neserea, too much is at stake for us to wait for the ice to melt or to exhaust ourselves attacking mountains and solid rock with sorcery. For this reason, we have ridden south and are attempting to engage passage for our forces on vessels that will take us to Neserea…

  “You write of the mighty sorcery of the Sea-Priests?” asked Alcaren, looking up from the scroll. “This is obviously for her to give to Lord Robero.”

  “Of course,” Secca agreed. “But it will be more convincing as a personal note from me to her. There will be a small scrap of parchment inside which will suggest that if Lord Robero is uncertain of my meaning or actions that Jolyn should feel free to share the scroll with our dear lord.”

  Alcaren nodded, and his eyes dropped back to the scroll, before he looked up. “You didn’t say who killed Lord Belmar.”

  “I do not wish Robero to know that.” Secca shrugged. “I cannot say why, but it is best that he not know.”

  “He or Jolyn may guess.”

  “I doubt it. Has anyone ever used sorcery to kill over that distance? Why would either Jolyn or Robero even consider it?” Secca’s voice was cold, almost bleak.

  The trace of a frown crossed Alcaren’s forehead as he lifted the sheets of brown paper and resumed his perusal of her draft message.

  …for now that there are no Sturinnese forces left elsewhere in Liedwahr, we must attack those remaining in Neserea before the Maitre can send another fleet. I am hopeful that in some fashion we will be able to contain the Sturinnese fleet that is somewhere to the north or northwest of Liedwahr…

  “Somewhere to the northwest?” Alcaren rolled his eyes and laughed. “By now, they must be well into the Bitter Sea, if not almost to Esaria.”

  “I’m not about to let Robero know that I know that.”

  “I can see why, but he’s shrewd enough to think that you know that.”

  “Is he?” Secca raised her eyebrows. “Two seasons ago, he was trying to find me a consort so that I’d be happy. He still half thinks of me as naive little Secca.”

  “Do you think so? Or is that a pose to minimize your influence?”

  Secca laughed mirthlessly. “Does it matter? If it’s truly a pose, he is trapped with it. How can he suddenly say that the naive little sorceress is devious and deceiving him? Who will believe him?”

  “Everyone,” replied Alcaren. “They’ll believe him because they’ll believe anything bad about a woman and a sorceress, even if it contradicts what they thought yesterday. Robero is also cunning enough to blame me. You were just fine until you married the creature of the Matriarch. Now you’ve been corrupted, and can’t be trusted.”

  Secca sighed. “You’re probably right. It doesn’t say much for people, but I’d not wager against you.” She motioned for him to keep reading.

  He lifted the papers once more.

  …If you would convey to our lord that it is only through this effort that we have any real chance of halting the Sturinnese. Although our efforts are a slim reed, they are better than no reed at all. While we are traveling, we can but hope that the Liedfuhr’s forces can defeat or delay the Sturinnese…

  At the end, Alcaren looked up. A sad smile crossed his lips.

  “Have I left anything out?” Secca asked.

  “Not for what you intend.”

  “Would you mind finding Richina?”

  Alcaren shook his head and slipped out of the room.

  Secca turned back to the window, looking out at the near-deserted street in the twilight. Alcaren was doubtless right in his skepticism about Robero. The Lord of Defalk might have taken a new name when he had come to power, but not much else had changed about the boy with whom she had grown up.

  Was she wagering too much on untested sorcery?

  She laughed again, a low sound more for herself. Not to try what she planned would doom Defalk and Liedwahr to eternal rule by Sturinn. And it would mean her death, if not worse.

  She took a long and deep breath, feeling once more the tiredness, the exhaustion created by the energy drain of the protective spells. Not for the first time since she had cast them, she wondered if they would work, and even if they were necessary.

  At the sound of the door opening behind her, she turned as Alcaren ushered Richina into the cramped room.

  The younger sorceress bowed. “You wished something of me, lady?”

  “We need to send a scroll to Jolyn.” Secca looked to Richina. “Can you do such?”

  “Is there any reason it would be harder than usual?” Richina frowned.

  Secca studied the younger sorceress. “How tired are you?”

  “A little,” confessed the blonde sorceress, “
but I would rather do it tonight, for then I could be rested in the morning for whatever might be needed.”

  “I hope nothing will be needed, and that there are Ranuan vessels awaiting us.”

  “The glass shows that a half-score of vessels are somewhere on the Southern Ocean.”

  “Let us hope that they are heading for Narial.” Secca paused. “I have written a draft of the scroll. The one on parchment should be ready in less than a glass.” She extended the draft to Richina. “Here is what I’ve written.”

  Richina took the sheets and began to read. When she had finished, she looked up, waiting.

  Secca moistened her lips. “Is there anything else you think that we should tell Jolyn—or Lord Robero?”

  Richina tilted her head to the side, then wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I cannot think of anything that I would add.” After a moment, she went on. “Do you wish to send the message before we know that we will actually be sailing?”

  Secca shook her head. “No. I would rather wait, but I dare not. If there are any Sturinnese ships to the west, and they choose to sail into the harbor at Narial to bring armsmen or sorcerers against us, you must be rested and able to work sorcery. Likewise, if there are other Sturinnese forces, you must be strong. We dare not send such a message once we are at sea, for it may not arrive—and there is always the possibility of an attack.”

  “Even if we see none in the glass?”

  “What if they have warded ships in the manner as the Sea-Priest in Neserea is warded?”

  Richina nodded slowly.

  “So, if you would send it tonight? I will call you when it is ready.”

  “Yes, lady.” Richina bowed. “By your leave?”

  “You may go.”

  Once the door closed, Secca and Alcaren exchanged glances.

  “It would be better to wait,” Alcaren finally ventured.

  “It would be,” Secca admitted, “if we were not carrying the weight of wards. But we are, and we do not live in a perfect world where all can be done in the manner that is best.” She hoped that the manner she chose was just not the worst. After a moment, she added, “We both need sleep, and we will not get it soon until I write the final message on parchment. Could you perhaps find some cheese, or biscuits, or something?”