Spellsong 02 - The Spellsong War

by Modesitt Jr, LE

  … ice and fire, fire and ice, and will the world end twice…

  Whips of fire flayed men, except they were boys, boys like Mario, boys like Birke and Skent… just boys…

  Horses screamed as flames burst from the saddles on their backs and a hot fire rain fell on ashen valleys and low hills, hills and valleys that had been green, oh so green…

  … fire and ice… ice and fire… mist and flame…

  Some time later, when the sky was dark, Anna found herself wrapped in a blanket, sweating, on her cot. Jecks sat on a stool, as if he had been waiting.

  Her head ached, and her stomach twisted. She struggled into a sitting position. Large unseen hammers pounded at her skull, and knives slashed at her eyes. She closed them. That didn't help. She opened them. They still hurt.

  "How fare you, my lady?"

  "Like shit," she rasped. "As usual, for this sort of thing."

  The white-haired lord extended a bottle.

  She sipped the warm wine, once, and swallowed. Then she took another longer swallow. "Maybe… that will help."

  "Your players are exhausted. The armsmen do not look this way." Jecks' voice was low and bleak.

  "What happened?" Did they capture us? Where are the guards, then?

  "Once again, you have utterly destroyed an enemy," Jecks said quietly.

  "I… didn't plan it that way. They didn't give me much choice."

  "You gave them less, lady." Jecks did not meet her eyes.

  "Wait a moment," Anna snapped, sitting up and letting the blankets fall away. "Here we go again. Ehara sends golds and tries to grab some of Defalk. He sends lancers, and he won't admit it. He won't pledge to keep his hands off, and everyone sits around and says, 'Sorry, Lady Anna, you just don't have the armsmen to stop him.' So I try to make everyone happy and build a dam to suggest I have the power to stop Ehara.

  "Now it's all my fault, and you're saying that I gave them no choices? I gave them plenty of choices. They just weren't honorable choices. That's the problem with your great and 'honorable' Liedwahr, my dear Lord Jecks. If it doesn't involve lots of bloody killing, with dull swords and men on big horses, it's not honorable." Anna laughed harshly, and jabbed a hand at Jecks as he started to open his mouth. "No. You have no right to judge me. Don't you dare to judge me. Every time I try to do something, it's going to offend the Thirty-three. You sit there and look away. Don't upset the lady Anna. She might do something horrible. Don't get the sorceress-woman angry. Well, I am angry! I'm pissed! Do you think I wanted to kill all those men? Do you think I like the smell of blood and burned flesh? You say I gave them no choices. I've given everyone a lot of choices. All my life. And you men, all of you, give me none. 'Do it our way. Do it the honorable way. You can't do it that way, Anna. That would displease someone. That would upset someone.' What about me? I've saved your grandson's ass, and your precious lords' asses, and it's never enough… Everyone looks sideways at me, like I'm going to… explode… Well… you can see it. I'm exploding. I am the unreasonable madwoman. I'm the screaming, wild bitch-sorceress! That's what everyone wants… to learn that I'm unreasonable. That I don't understand. Well… I don't. I don't understand why… why…"

  Anna found herself gasping, her head spinning, suddenly aware that the entire camp was silent. So silent that no one moved. She took one deep breath, and then another.

  Jecks' eyes were on the ground.

  Anna took the bottle he had set on the damp clay and swallowed deeply. Maybe she could drink enough that she could sleep. Whatever she said didn't matter. No one really listened. No one wanted to hear. She took another swallow.

  Lord, she was tired. She sat, shaking from rage and exhaustion, on the edge of her cot, her head throbbing, her eyes seeing dark double images… wondering what had set her off.

  What choice had she had? She couldn't use spells that didn't kill— they were Darksong. Are you any better than any man aroused with bloodlust? She'd gotten angry at the enchanted arrows or javelins or whatever, so angry she really hadn't thought.

  Was Jecks right? That force was the only answer? Or that she had given them no choice? But had they given her any, really? Or was that just rationalization? But no one had ever given her any real choices, just choices that looked like they were real.

  She sat in the twilight and looked through the open tent flaps at the embers of the fire. Her head throbbed still, and her eyes burned, and double hot and cold images danced before them.

  Jecks sat on the stool, equally silent, eyes still averted.

  Inside, Anna continued to seethe. Don't judge me… You have no right to judge me…

  Outside, only the faintest of murmurs filled the damp night.

  Finally, Anna reached for the blankets, knowing she would collapse if she did not lie down again, wondering if she had pushed Jecks too hard… wondering…

  107

  THE warm rain, slightly heavier than a mist, fell around the Defalkan riders as they continued westward out of the valley, out of yet another valley of dissonance, chaos, fire, and death. Anna took a breath of damp air. The rain had deadened the odor of burned meat and death. She glanced ahead at the churned hoofprints in the mud of road, far less dense, far fewer than when Ehara had fled the Vale of Cuetayl.

  Hanfor rode next to her while Jecks rode behind, not surprisingly, since Jecks had not spoken to her since the night before, and she wasn't about to speak to him.

  "On to Dumaria," she murmured, more to herself than to Jecks or Hanfor.

  The sorceress glanced over her shoulder past Lejun and Rickel to where Liende rode before the players, all looking as tired and bedraggled as Anna felt.

  So much for your ideas of not having Liende play for battles… so much for so many ideas. She took a slow deep breath. You've got to relax some. Then she shrugged her shoulders and bent her head forward, trying to stretch out the tightness.

  "We will need to cross the river somewhere," Hanfor said, "to reach Dumaria."

  You don't think I know that? Anna bit back her first retort, then swallowed before speaking. "One way or another, we'll manage. We always do." Anna supposed she could use her marvelous sorcery to build a bridge—or find a ford. She felt like laughing, but held back the feeling, knowing it was close to hysteria. "Ehara has to find the ford or bridge he used."

  "If he does not," added Alvar, riding slightly ahead of Anna, "then he must face us again, and now our forces outnumber his."

  "He will find a ford," predicted Hanfor, wiping away the rainwater collecting on his brow.

  Anna glanced down. The lower part of her trousers and her boots, where not protected by the leather of the stirrup guards, were mud-splattered once more. The sky seemed to lighten, and she hoped that meant the rain was passing. Then, the way things were going, it could mean a lightening before a heavier rainfall.

  Her eyes went to the road ahead, the one taken by Ehara. She had defeated his forces twice. Close to five thousand Dumarans were dead. The two major cities were flood-ravaged wrecks… and she still had to keep pursuing and fighting.

  Won't it ever end? Do I have to destroy every last chauvinist in power on the fucking planet? And if I do that, will I turn every one of their sons into a fanatic? But if I stop now… nothing's resolved… nothing at all, for all the deaths…

  Was that how all conquerors felt, rationalizing killing with more killing?

  She still felt like yelling at Jecks—or breaking down and sobbing. Neither would help. Instead, she took another deep breath and looked at the muddy road ahead.

  108

  WEI, NORDWEI

  ASHTAAR'S fingers run over the oval of black agate briefly before she steeples her fingers on the polished surface of the desk and waits for Gretslen to seat herself in the straight-backed ebony chair that has replaced the older chair.

  The blonde seer sits, clears her throat gently, then begins. "My congratulations on your selection to the Council."

  "Thank you, Gretslen. The sorceress?"

  "The
sorceress has destroyed the last of the lancers of Sturinn, and all save one of the Sea-Priest sorcerers. She has chased Ehara out of the northeast of Dumar. Ehara has less than twentyscore armsmen from more than ten times that number."

  "They are dead? Or wounded? Or deserters?"

  "All of them are dead. Kendr and I could not discern any deserters through the reflecting pools. There could be a very small number."

  "You are cautious. Good. Where is the sorceress now?"

  "On the eastern bank of the Falche, north of Dumaria. She cannot cross the Falche without risking her forces. The rains have swollen it mightily, and her earlier sorceries ripped away the bridges."

  "Gretslen?" asks Ashtaar deliberately. "Why do you dislike the sorceress so much that you blind yourself to what she can and cannot do?"

  "Mightiness?"

  "You heard me. Why do you hate her so much? Because you think you could do so well in her boots?" Ashtaar laughs, and the laugh is hard and cruel. "You would have failed long before now. You are neither ruthless enough, nor compassionate enough."

  Gretslen does not respond.

  "Since you will not ask, I will tell you." The spymistress's fingers caress the black agate oval again. "She will do what must be done, because she has suffered enough, and knows the consequences if she does not. She suffers because she knows too well how hard her actions fall, and she will struggle to balance them, and she will fail. Yet she will struggle well enough that most of the people she rules will forgive her and follow her. Those who do not…" Ashtaar shrugs. "They will essay her destruction, and perhaps one will succeed. You have great ability, and you believe that force always succeeds. It does, but not all force is obvious."

  She smiles. "Thank you. You may depart. Please keep me informed."

  "Thank you, Mightiness. We will do our best." Gretslen's voice is even, and she rises, and bows, then turns and walks gracefully to the door.

  109

  DUMARIA, DUMAR

  THE Sea-Marshal glances up from the drums as Ehara steps into the small room off the armory. Heavy wrappings cover his arms, and his dark hair is short and frizzled. One of the burns on jerRestin's cheeks oozes a reddish fluid.

  "Yet more sorcery?"

  "What else would you suggest, Lord Ehara? My own iron quarrels burst into flame. Iron—flaming—before I could even approach the bitch. Yet she used no sorcery to seek me."

  "She is braver than most lords." Ehara's voice holds a touch of amusement. "She rode into a trap, and turned it on us."

  "You and your men did not move quickly enough."

  "Neither did you, Sea-Priest, but you escaped. Most of my men did not, and another score who did drowned in trying to cross the Falche."

  "It took all my sorcery to hold off the sorceress's fires." JerRestin looks at his arms. "I was not entirely successful even so. I did lower the waters at the ford."

  "Yes. Not enough."

  "Enough to leave the sorceress on the eastern side. She will not risk the river with such a small body of armsmen."

  "Her twenty-fivescore no longer look so insignificant, and I am confident she will find her way across, if she has not already." Ehara looks pointedly at the drums. "You labor at more sorcery?"

  "We have lost more than forty fine ships to the first attack of the sorceress. I have lost over three thousand of the best lancers, dying in agony. A handful of us remain, and I can never return to Sturinn. Not with such disgrace. I can but atone."

  Ehara's heavy eyebrows lift.

  "The sorceress will die. She has power, but not cunning. She must live to succeed. I must die to succeed."

  "Then you had best die soon, and well, Sea-Marshal, for my armsmen are few and thin." Ehara's booming laugh rings hollow. "She has foiled you twice. What will be different a third time?"

  "She has used her glasses before attacks. This time, I will be along the line of march, well away from any battle site, in the most innocent of settings. You will be farther westward…"

  "I should retreat… leave Dumaria defenseless, and open to those barbarians of the north?"

  "She will not sack a defenseless city. She has never done that. She will pursue you—and me."

  "My Siobion? My heirs?"

  "Leave them. She has yet to kill an heir."

  Ehara frowns. "I should listen to a man who is already dead?"

  "You can listen or not." The Sea-Marshal binds the last of the drums into the framework. His lips are tight together between words, as though each movement, each word, is agony. "You cannot defeat Defalk while she lives. After I die, one way or the other, you are no worse off."

  "That is the first true statement from you since you came to Dumar." Ehara's lips twist.

  "Watch how you call upon truth, Lord Ehara. The harmonies have a way with those who would make truth their handmaiden." The Sea-Marshal's eyes glitter. "I, above all, have learned that. So will the sorceress."

  110

  ANNA glanced up through the rain that continued to fall, and then down at the swollen Falche, as it swirled around and over the piles of rock and masonry that had once been bridge abutments and piers. Despite her jacket, and her sodden felt hat, she was soaked through, and the wind had turned cooler, if not cool enough to chill her— yet.

  Downhill from where she sat on the big gelding, Hanfor received another scouting report. Beside her on his mount sat Jecks, stolid and silent in the late-afternoon damp, silent as he had been since the slaughter in the hills.

  Anna turned in the saddle and glanced at the white-haired lord, then turned away. "Lady Anna?" She turned back. "Yes."

  "Perhaps I should return to Falcor… if you find my presence so distasteful."

  "I don't find your presence distasteful. I'm just tired of being judged when I'm the only one doing anything and everyone else is coming up with reasons not to do things."

  "I did not presume—"

  "Lord Jecks… you did presume, and you have presumed all along. Not so much as the other lords, but you have judged, and I hate being judged that way." Anna met his eyes. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, and I'm sorry I did. But I was tired." She paused. "I know you were tired, too. Let's leave it at that. We still have a lot to do."

  "As you wish."

  I don't wish. I just wish you'd stop silently judging me.

  Hanfor finished listening to the scout, then turned his mount and rode back up the road to Anna.

  "The scouts can find no bridge, not within fifteen deks north or south of Dumaria," reported Hanfor. "The river is too high to ford."

  You don't think I see that? "Then we'll have to make a bridge," Anna declared.

  Jecks glanced at her through the light rain.

  "We're going to rest, and eat, and then we're going to build a bridge. I'm not crazy, my dear Lord Jecks." Anna gestured downhill at the swirling gray-blue water of the Falche where it lapped at the end of the road and the ruins of the old bridge. "We're going to lose armsmen if we have to ford that." And my swimming isn't much better than a dog-paddle for survival.

  "We could wait," suggested Hanfor.

  "For what? Rain lasts forever here. Besides, then we'll have to chase Ehara farther. I want to get this mess over. Lord—the harmonies only know what problems have happened in Defalk." And whose fault is that, with your chasing Ehara?

  Anna ignored the self-recrimination, wiped water off the back of her neck, and turned Farinelli back eastward until she covered the dozen or so yards separating her from the players. Fhurgen, Rickel, and Jecks followed.

  Liende inclined her bare head as the regent reined up.

  "Liende? Do the players recall the building song, the one we used for the bridge at Cheor?"

  "Once we have learned a spell, Lady Anna, we can always recall it." Liende paused. "But… with the rain…"

  "We have one tent—mine. You'll have to huddle together, but I trust it can be done."

  Liende nodded. "With cover, we can play."

  "Good." Anna turned in the saddle. "Fhurgen,
we need to set up my tent beside the road, with the front facing where the bridge was."

  "Yes, Lady Anna," answered the bass-voiced and dark-bearded guard.

  "It's not for me. The players need shelter so that we can sing a spell to build a bridge. That might get us out of this rain."

  "Yes, lady." The guard grinned. Beside him, so did Lejun. Behind them, Kerhor, bare-headed with black hair plastered against his skull, nodded.

  "You would spend sorcery on Dumar?" asked Jecks slowly, evenly.

  "Why not? We need the bridge, and I did destroy the one that was here." Anna laughed, holding it to a chuckle, rather than yielding to the hysterical shriek she felt like loosing. "I said Liedwahr needed better bridges."

  "You did say such," Jecks admitted.

  "I would have liked to do more in Defalk, but things have a way of getting out of hand." Like life… and would you stop questioning everything I do that's different?

  "They do, my lady."

  Anna nodded, then watched as Fhurgen and Rickel quickly began to erect the tent, whose once-white panels now appeared tan-and-pink, depending on which dust from where had worked its way into the fabric. The tan-and-pink turned dark where the rain streaked the silk.

  Beside her, Jecks watched impassively, his eyes straying toward Anna occasionally.

  Once the panels were in place, the players crowded under the silk and began to extract instruments and true, bumping into each other with almost every movement. Yet no one complained.

  Was that because she watched? Or because musicians on Erde were less spoiled than the students of earth?

  Fhurgen found another pole and strapped the front flaps to it, creating another oasis free of rain. He gestured, and Anna dismounted.

  As the players tuned in the crowded confines of the tent, water dribbling off the silk, Anna stood under the extended front flap and sang the melody, using nonsense syllables, but thinking the words.

  As the players completed their warm-up, she cleared her throat gently, eyes on the roiling water at the base of the hill where the road vanished under the muddy torrent. On the far side a causeway began in midair and extended across flooded fields to a gap in the bluff—the same bluff that, some twenty deks south, bordered the upper part of the city of Dumaria.