Spellsong 02 - The Spellsong War

by Modesitt Jr, LE

  Farinelli turned his head, but did not protest.

  Anna did give her mount a quick brushing before leaving the stable and heading for the armory and the adjoining practice yard. Jecks carried the lutar, and Anna didn't protest.

  Hanfor was waiting in the shade of the eaves before the armory door, an unsheathed blade in hand.

  Anna took it, and almost dropped it, so much heavier was it than it looked. "Is this a good blade?" She looked to Hanfor.

  "It is a good blade for the average armsman."

  Anna felt the weapon for a time, studied it, and finally returned it. Then she reclaimed the lutar and began to tune it.

  "It would be good if we could obtain blades," said Hanfor. "Yet I know of no sorcerer who has created blades."

  "There are many things she has created not seen before in Liedwahr." Jecks smiled ironically.

  Hanfor laughed.

  "I'm ready. Can you lean the blade against the wall there?"

  The arms commander carefully propped the blade against a niche in the bricks and stepped back.

  Anna strummed the lutar, since she hadn't been able to create a spell that went with the songs that the players already knew.

  "With iron, carbon, and heat be met,

  metal heat and steel be set,

  forge this steel into a blade,

  as good as the finest ever made…"

  Even before she finished the spell, a gray haze appeared beside the first blade, a haze that solidified into a second blade, one appearing nearly identical to the one Anna had modeled it from, except that the hilt was metal, rather than leather wrapped over a tang.

  Hanfor lifted the new blade, hefted it. He frowned. "It doesn't feel quite right. I cannot say why that might be." The arms commander turned to Jecks. "Perhaps we could spar—just the blades against each other."

  "That might be best." Jecks lifted the original blade, leaving his own in his scabbard at his waist.

  Anna watched. While she couldn't tell the moves, she could listen, and Jecks' big blade rang almost in its own true key, while the one she had spellforged sounded somehow flat.

  Abruptly, the new blade shattered, and chunks of metal rained across the practice yard, and Hanfor staggered back, a line of red across his cheek.

  Jecks lowered his blade, brow furrowed, and stepped forward.

  "Hanfor!" Anna ran toward him.

  "It's just a scratch." The gray-bearded arms commander held up the hilt with a smile. "I fear, Lady Anna, that your other spells are more effective."

  "It looks that way."

  Theoretically, there was no reason why her spells couldn't forge a blade. Maybe she didn't know enough about sword construction or smithing to visualize the blade correctly. Or metallurgy… or any one of a thousand things.

  But why could she build bridges? Because stone was more forgiving? Or because she'd seen enough bridges? Or because of her design classes?

  Again… background knowledge seemed to play an important role in the effectiveness of visualization… and spells. And, again, she really didn't know enough, not by a long shot.

  41

  JECKS stepped into the room, followed by Hanfor. "Lady Anna, Herstat has arrived. He will be here in a few moments." Jecks bowed, his eyes twinkling, as though to ask if she felt ready to continue her internal revolution in Defalk, the revolution that would be fueled by her efforts to grant young Jimbob greater wealth and power than his predecessors.

  Great… you're undertaking internal revolution while you've got to put down an obvious revolt and threats of invasion. And you still don't really know what you're doing—except it's already taking a lot of sorcery, and you've barely started. It seemed so strange. She was trying to give a ruler more power when she came from a place where dictators and absolute rulers were considered evil. Except feudal chaos is worse than a strong ruler.

  She offered a pleasant smile. "Would you have Jimbob join us?"

  "I would be most pleased." Jecks bowed slightly and left.

  Anna wondered, if she used Synfal as a headquarters for much longer, whether she should consider refurbishing the old throne room. She shook her head.

  Jimbob, Jecks, and Herstat arrived almost all together.

  Herstat, an older, grayer, and stooped male version of his daughter Dythya, bowed. "Lady Anna."

  "Herstat, it's good to see you again." The regent offered a smile. "I apologize for hijacking you from Lord Jecks and upsetting your life."

  "Both Lord Jecks and my daughter your counselor have persuaded me that such minor upsets are to be far preferred over the alternatives." Herstat offered a rueful smile.

  "That may be," Anna admitted. "I'll be honest," she continued. "I have two jobs for you here. One is long-term. One is much shorter. The long-term job is to ensure that Synfal is well-run and that Lord Jimbob understands every aspect of how it is run. I will ensure he spends time here with you. At times, you may have to come to Falcor. If you feel you have trouble with him, then I expect you to let me know. If you cannot reach me, let Lord Jecks know."

  "Might I ask a question, Lady Anna?" asked Herstat.

  "Please do."

  "Much of this could be accomplished at Elheld." Herstat waited.

  "You mean…" Anna shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I didn't explain this well. Lord Jecks is the lord of Elheld; Jimbob will someday hold Elheld, but right now, he is the legal Lord of Synfal. The people have to get used to him, and he has to understand what is involved. You manage people well, and that is something that he must learn…"

  "You think too highly of me," Herstat protested.

  "I know what people say, and what I feel." Anna looked at Jimbob and then at Herstat. "There are a couple of rules I will insist on. First, as I told you earlier, Jimbob, until you are of age, you will never contradict Herstat or question his actions or judgments in any public place. You can certainly ask questions—that's how you learn—but only in private chambers, never where you will be overheard." Her eyes went to the youth. "Is that clear?"

  "Yes, lady." Jimbob nodded, the nod conveying that he understood also that Anna wanted all parties to know the rules.

  "Second, if you strongly disagree with an action Herstat has taken, you will talk first with your grandsire. If he feels it is necessary, he will come to me." Anna turned to Herstat. "You may and should suggest actions to Lord Jimbob. If he fails to learn skills or acts in a way that would hurt the holding, you, or himself, you are to let Lord Jecks know immediately. If you feel that Lord Jecks is unable to deal with the situation, you will come to me. Is that clear?"

  Herstat nodded. "Yes, lady."

  Anna frowned. She really didn't want to tell Herstat how to manage anything. He'd clearly done well enough. "The real point of this arrangement is for you, Herstat, to help Jimbob learn all the aspects of being a lord and landholder." She turned to the redhead. "And to keep you from making too many mistakes."

  "Yes, Lady Anna."

  "Finally, I don't expect you two to come to Lord Jecks or me often." Anna offered a wry smile.

  Herstat nodded. "I am at your wishes, lady."

  "Yes, Lady Anna," said Jimbob earnestly.

  "There's one last thing," Anna said. "No… no more sermons. It's the acting saalmeister—Halde." Her eyes went to Herstat. "He knows how the holding runs as well as anyone could. I've directed him to give you every assistance, and when we're done here, I'll formally introduce you. His problem is that he thinks everyone is like he is. That is, he understands and does what is necessary. I'm sure he gets impatient when people don't understand, or don't want to do their jobs, and I suspect his first thought is to punish. I've asked him to watch you, and learn, and I'm going to ask you to offer quiet suggestions. I'd like to use him elsewhere, but he needs to learn more about people."

  Herstat half smiled. "You do not offer easy tasks, lady."

  "No. None of our tasks are easy." She grinned at Jimbob. "Last set of old people's sayings. Some people will try to flatter you, to
tell you how important you are." She paused, trying to come up with the right words. "How important am I?"

  "You… ? You are very important."

  Anna waited.

  "The most important person in Defalk, lady?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know about that." She opened the green shirt enough to show the still-purpled bruise and scar. "People have tried to kill me, and they almost succeeded several times. Do you know why they didn't, young Jimbob?"

  "You're too strong."

  She shook her head. "I would have died three times, at least, if people hadn't made a lot of effort to save me. I'm not perfect." Is that an understatement! "But I was able to treat enough people well enough that they cared. No one… no one," she repeated, "is strong enough to survive without the help of others. You have to learn how to make others want to help you. It's not something you can order them to do. And even if you could," she finished, "how could they help you if you're too wounded or tired or far away to give them orders?" She didn't know how much, if any of it, Jimbob would retain, but she'd had to try.

  After another short silence, she said, "Time to introduce Herstat to Halde." And then to work out the last details of the violence ahead.

  She smiled, instead of taking the long deep sigh she felt like taking. "I hope your trip wasn't too tiring, Herstat."

  "No, Lady Anna. We missed the rains, or most of them."

  "You were lucky," said Jimbob. "We got a whole sky full of rain… for days."

  Anna and Jecks locked eyes, and Jecks nodded almost imperceptibly.

  So far… so good. Until we have to meet Sargol, and Gylaron… and Dencer.

  One problem perhaps solved, and three more to go. Just about the way her entire life had gone.

  42

  AFTER looking back at the solid bridge over the Synor, Anna gave Farinelli a hearty thump on the neck. "We did a good job there, fellow."

  The gelding whuffed, as much of a mutter as anything else. "I know. Bridges aren't your thing." She just hoped she'd be as successful in dealing with the rebellious southern lords as she had been in rebuilding bridges.

  On the flat and dusty road eastward, empty once they were more than a dek from the bridge, Anna shifted her weight in the saddle. She hadn't been riding recently, and she was going to be stiff again. She couldn't keep up with being in practice for much of anything, it seemed. That aspect of her life hadn't changed. It had been like that when she'd been teaching, and it was worse in Liedwahr.

  The road was wide enough for three riders, and Hanfor rode on her left, silent, thoughts hidden behind blank eyes.

  "A solid piece of work, Lady Anna," agreed Jecks from the chestnut he rode beside her.

  "I wish I could do more. Too many of the roads and bridges…" She shook her head. She could only do what she could do, and that wasn't near enough.

  "You will have time," Jecks promised.

  Anna nodded, not convinced. She should have been able to make blades, but the second and third trials had produced no better results than the first. Maybe she just didn't have the right feel for blades.

  Her eyes flicked to the road ahead, the same road she'd ridden weeks earlier, right into an ensorcelled crossbow bolt. This time, she was better prepared, but so probably was Sargol—and Gylaron and Dencer.

  "Good hearty day," observed Jecks, half turning in the saddle and then turning back, as though he'd belatedly realized that Jimbob was not with them. "Not all that hot yet."

  Anna blotted her forehead. She could hardly wait for weather Jecks would call hot. Even with the Evult's drought clearly broken, full summer was on its way, and it promised to be hot—again. Even for Jecks.

  Was there some connection between hot weather and war? Good dry roads? Lack of illness and hunger?

  A puff of dust appeared on the road ahead. As they rode on eastward, Anna could make out the figures of a horse and cart.

  "A peasant heading to market in Cheor, no doubt," suggested Hanfor.

  "There is no one behind him," Jecks said.

  The column neared the distance until Anna could make out the dusty figure of a man seated on the cart seat.

  Abruptly, with a fearful glance toward the armed riders that Anna led, the driver turned his single horse cart down a side lane that was little more than a rutted path between fields filled with green shoots. Anna didn't know the plants, but thought they might be beans of some sort.

  Dust puffed from under the waist-high wheels and from the hoofs of the bony gray horse as the cart bounced southward down the uneven lane and away from the Anna's force.

  "Sargol has spread the word," said Hanfor dourly. "We are here to destroy and pillage." His eyes followed the dust raised by the farmer and his cart.

  "Best we disappoint their expectations," growled Jecks. "Save for Sargol himself."

  "No pillaging," Anna said. "Destruction will be bad enough."

  Hanfor nodded.

  They rode eastward, not speaking, to the sound of hoofs on the dusty clay.

  43

  ENCORA, RANUAK

  THE Matriarch descends the wide polished limestone steps to the floor of the Grain Exchange. Men and women standing around the raised platform in the center watch the tally poles, as the prices are changed periodically. Several glance toward the round-faced and gray-haired woman in pale blue on the stairs, their eyes alternating between the tally changes and the Matriarch.

  A tall thin woman in a sea-blue tunic and trousers steps to the front of the platform, and a gong reverberates through the high-ceilinged space, the tone echoing off the stone walls and columns.

  "Trading is temporarily suspended," she announces, "for this visit of the Matriarch." She extends a hand in a vague gesture toward the older woman. "We would not wish any to be distracted or to lose coins by another's distraction."

  "You are most kind, Abslim," answers the Matriarch as she nears the head of the Exchange.

  "What brings you to our humble Exchange?"

  "Me? The harmonies, I suppose. I had heard rumors that the Exchange was considering a surcharge on handling grain and transactions that involved Defalk. I thought I would come to see for myself."

  A series of murmurs whisper across the polished white floor.

  "The surcharge was begun yesterday. There is much unrest in Defalk."

  The Matriarch nods as she proceeds through and around the traders and toward the trading platform at the south end of the hall. "Are you imposing a surcharge on Ebra? Or Dumar? Or Neserea?"

  There is a moment of stillness.

  "Not at the moment."

  "Ebra has a civil war brewing and no central government. Neserea has a struggle between an outside regent and an underage lord. Dumar has accepted the presence of a Sturinnese fleet. Do not those merit consideration?"

  "We will consider such."

  "Ah… Abslim… why does the Exchange deal so harshly with Defalk?"

  Abslim squares her shoulders. Finally, she speaks. "Is it not true that the sorceress continues the old ways in Defalk? She has announced that the new heir to Synfal will be young Lord Jimbob. She has not allowed any of the consorts to dead lords to become full noble holders in their own rights, but only administrators for male heirs." The tall and thin woman in sea-blue tunic and trousers smiles coldly across the floor of the Exchange. "This lady Anna may be a woman, but she has done little or nothing for women."

  "That may be, although I would suspect you have not stated all that has occurred. Still," muses the Matriarch theatrically, as she steps from the trading floor to the platform, "what has the sorceress to do with the cost of transactions involving Defalk?"

  "It raises their costs," answers Abslim. "Because you are the Matriarch, we have acceded to your request to allow normal credit to the lords of southern Defalk. Now we find that they are in revolt against the very regent who has guaranteed that such loans would be repaid."

  "She never guaranteed more than repayment of past debts," answers the round-faced Matriarch quietly, yet her vo
ice carries, and the whispers die. "She has repaid half of a debt she did not incur. How does that make her responsible for guaranteeing the debts of those who rise against her?"

  "She is the Regent of Defalk."

  "There is no authority in Ebra, but you have no surcharge there," points out the Matriarch. "You have oft said that the price itself knows the problems of trade. Why have you changed that?"

  There is no answer.

  "Abslim, what do you desire?"

  "I desire that the Matriarch use her power and the harmonies to improve the lot of women throughout Defalk, not to impose her wishes through the Exchange."

  "You are imposing your wishes through the Exchange. Banning further loans to Defalk reflected your wishes. Or those of the SouthWomen." The Matriarch smiles.

  "The marketplace is always right," says Abslim.

  The Matriarch shakes her head. "The prices set by the market are right, in the end, but that does not mean you or the traders are right." A gentle smile follows. "You know that, and so do the harmonies." She turns. "I have said what I will say."

  The whispers on trading floor remain low until the round-faced Matriarch has climbed the stairs and vanished.

  Abslim's face remains as cold as the limestone columns, long after trading resumes.

  44

  The dusty road wound around yet another orchard-covered hill, with a narrow strip of bean fields separating road and orchard. The fields appeared to have been recently tended, but nothing moved in the still morning air, warm already, with the sun barely above the trees and low hills.

  The road was empty as well. It had been all the way from Cheor, expect for an occasional dog, one or two farm carts that vanished upon seeing the riders, and a handful of older women in the fields, most of whom slipped out of sight behind trees or hedgerows once the riders appeared.

  Anna sipped the last drops from her second water bottle, then replaced it in the holder. She readjusted the uncomfortable breastplate, hoping she wouldn't need it, but knowing that she should get used to wearing it. Under the light armor that rested too heavily on her, the scar from the crossbow bolt still itched, and the itching was worse because the plate made her sweat more. The slash on her arm itched as well.