“You should not spill good wine.” His voice is cold.
“I am sorry, ser. Most sorry, Lord Belmar.” The woman’s bow is almost a grovel.
“Let it not happen again.”
“No, ser. No lord. I will be most careful.”
Belmar does not see the flash in jerGlien’s eyes. Nor does the server.
Neither speaks until the door closes once more.
“Even you accept too much sloppiness in women, Lord Belmar,” jerGlien observes.
“She is not my serving-woman,” Belmar points out. “I would not wish to tell those who support me how to discipline their servants. Not yet. He smiles. "You were saying?"
“The shadowsinger cannot cross the Mittfels until the snows melt. That will be weeks from now, at the earliest. By then, you should have disposed of the lady Clayre and the ragtag remnants of the pretender’s armsmen and lancers.”
“There are still some who refer to her as the Lady High Counselor.” A sardonic smile crosses Belmar’s face. “You do not care for women in high places.”
“No. I do not. No man of Sturinn does. Nor would you, if you but knew the damages wrought by the sorceresses of old. What happened in your petty Spell-Fire Wars is as nothing compared to the Pelaran Devastation.”
“I cannot say I have heard of such,” replies the younger man.
“Why should you have? Does not the world begin and end in Liedwahr?” The Sturinnese laughs, lightly, before lifting his own goblet. “You can worry about the lessons of days past once you have made your own future certain. What will you do to keep the Lady Clayre from striking at you?"
“Strike first, of course, and in a fashion she will not expect. How could I do otherwise?”
“She will attempt the same, I am certain,” points out jerGlien.
“Many attempt; few succeed.” Belmar smiles.
So does jerGlien.
20
The gray light that seeped through the warped shutters meant it was sometime around dawn . . . . . or that the day happened to be cloudy again. Secca doubted it was near dawn as she struggled from under her blanket. She found herself so weak that even the effort to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the narrow double-width bed in the peasant’s cottage left every limb trembling. Her eyes burned, and her head throbbed--- worse, it seemed, than when she had collapsed into a troubled sleep the night before, and, as she glanced around, daystars flashed intermittently across everything she saw.
Neither Richina nor Alcaren was in the small bedroom, although Secca could hear low voices in the larger common room.
As if he had been listening, Alcaren appeared with a cup of a steaming liquid. “I thought you might need this.”
“More of the Matriarch’s brew?” Each word felt as though it rasped from her throat and mouth.
Alcaren extended the chipped crockery mug. “I prevailed upon some that I know to provide us with a score of the brew packets. I could not have done so if the Matriarch did not approve, but I thought it best that I not approach her directly.”
Secca did not reply, instead taking the mug and sipping slowly.
“Richina and I have checked the glass, but we can find no Sturinnese force headed toward us. None from Dumar, either,” Alcaren admitted.
“The weather?" Secca took another small sip of the brew.
“It’s chill and windy. There’s been some sleet at times this morning, but the clouds are thinning.”
Secca nodded.
“Some of the players are as exhausted as you are,” Al-eaten continued. “I took the liberty of saying that it would be unlikely that we would resume our journey to Envaryl until tomorrow.”
“Unlikely?’ The way Secca felt, it was most unlikely, and if many of the players were in similar condition, there would be little point in traveling.
“That way . . .” Alcaren looked embarrassed. ‘Well... you could still tell people we were traveling . . . and that I had been mistaken . . .“
Secca laughed--- and wished she hadn’t as she began to cough.
“Are you all right?” Alcaren stepped up beside her and put an arm around her shoulders to steady her, taking the chipped mug and setting it on the bowed wooden floor.
“I’m tired, and we’ve just started.”
“I’ve just started. You’ve been at this for almost half a year. You can rest for a while. We’re not riding anywhere just yet.”
For a time, Secca leaned against his arm and shoulder, but she couldn’t help wondering how much her weakness would cost them. If only . . . . . if only she were stronger. If only she weren’t so small.
She straightened. “Let me get the rest of my clothes on. If we’re not riding, at least we can see where we’ll be going tomorrow.”
“There’s some bread and cheese waiting for you,” Alcaren said, after giving her a last half hug. “You can eat, and then we’ll see.” He stepped back from the bed and closed the plank door to the common room.
Secca glanced at the single shuttered window, hearing again the moaning of the wind. Spring was supposedly nearing, but the wind sounded like midwinter. With the slightest of headshakes, and another flash of the daystars across what she saw, she threw back the blanket and reached for her boots.
Wind and cold or not, they had to defeat the Sturinnese before more ships and Sea-Priests arrived from the Ostisles.
21
By the next morning, the clouds and wind had passed, and the air was clear, if chill, and by midday Secca and her forces had left the near-deserted hills covered only with winter-tan grass and made their way along a road that had widened enough for Secca, Alcaren, and Richina to ride abreast, although some of the time Alcaren was threading his brown gelding along the road’s shoulder in order to ride beside Secca. The higher slopes of some of the hills bore either woodlots, orchards, or the remnants of older forests. The dwellings beside the road had become more numerous, with stubble-turned fields mixed with meadows. Almost all were small cottages--- and all were deserted or firmly shuttered as the lancers of Loiseau and the SouthWomen rode by, the hoofs of their mounts thudding dully on the frozen clay of the road.
Ahead of Secca, a half-dek beyond the vanguard of the column, the road curved through a grassy swale between two hills, then appeared to dip. There, at the point where the road began to descend, Wilten and one of Secca’s captains---Quebar---had reined up and were talking to a pair of scouts.
“That must be where the road drops into the long river valley,” Secca suggested, glancing at Alcaren, riding to her right.
“It should be,” he answered.
“Then we’re not that far from Envaryl, are we?” asked Richina.
“Not if that’s the valley we think it is,” replied Secca, reaching up and readjusting the green felt hat.
“We’ve made good time,” Richina observed.
Nodding, Secca reined up short of Wilten and Quebar. The gray mare whuffed, as if suggesting that it was well past time for Secca to have stopped. Absently, Secca leaned forward and patted the gray’s shoulder, looking at the road that wound down the hill through three switchbacks and then turned almost due north. A thin line of trees marked a watercourse that ran from the horizon where the road seemingly pointed westward toward the foothills and the snow-covered Westfels behind the hills.
“If our maps are right,” Secca said, “those trees could mark the course of the Envar River.”
“That would mean we’re less than thirty deks from Envaryl,” Alcaren said, easing his mount to a halt slightly forward of Secca.
“Lady Secca,” called Wilten, “there is a town below. The scouts say that there are hoofprints on the road below, the kind that lancer mounts make, but they’re headed north, through the town and away from us.”
Following Wilten’s gesture, Secca studied the valley below and the small town—or large village that held close to twoscore dwellings. Already, riders and wagons were moving along the road, northward out of the town alon
g the road.
“They aren’t staying to see whether we’re friendly,” observed Delcetta, reining up to join the informal council at the head of the column.
“No armed force is friendly to them,” replied Alcaren. Secca worried about what that meant. Had Dumar become a land where all sides preyed on the people? So much so that they distrusted everyone on sight? She shook her head, wondering how Fehern---and Clehar before him---had ever let matters get to such a state.
After a moment, she forced a pleasant smile. ‘We’ll probably need to send messengers to Fehern before too long. Perhaps tomorrow, after we’ve had a chance to use the glass tonight and make sure that he still holds Envaryl.”
Wilten nodded.
Delcetta glanced from Wilten to Secca, and then to Alcaren. “Ah . . . tomorrow?”
“You think Lady Secca should wait longer?’ asked Alcaren, his voice mild.
Secca smothered a smile, for she had seen the twinkle in her consort’s eyes.
Delcetta started to speak, then smiled. “Overcaptain Alcaren . . . I would defer to the lady’s wisdom. I trust that the reason for leaving messengers until just before we arrive is to make sure there are no surpnses?"
“The Sturinnese doubtless know exactly where we are,” Secca replied. “If Fehern is less than trustworthy, they will have let him know as well, and there is no reason for us to hazard lancers. If he does not know, why . . ." Secca drew out the pause, “he should be most pleased to see us whenever we arrive.”
Secca wasn’t sure of the logic of her reasoning, but her senses told her it was too early to send messengers, and so far her feelings had been much more accurate than her logic.
“I am most certain Lord Fehern will profess gladness to see you whenever you arrive, my lady,” offered Alcaren.
“But we will send messengers to Lord Fehern?” asked Richina, her eyes going from Alcaren to Secca, then back to the Ranuan sorcerer.
“We will,” Secca affirmed. “We don’t wish to surprise the acting Lord High Counselor too much, but he should not have too much time to prepare.” She smiled more broadly and more falsely. "We would not wish him to spend great effort on welcoming us when the task is to defeat the Sturinnese.”
Richina flushed, belatedly understanding the byplay.
“I wish it were otherwise,” said Secca, her smile turning faintly sad. Richina was still young enough that she had to think to consider duplicity and treachery on the part of supposed allies. Secca had been forced to learn that lesson all too early.
“Best we continue,” she said quietly, but firmly.
22
Before midmorning, well before, the sun had warmed both air and ground enough that neither the breath of mounts nor lancers steamed, and Secca had loosened her green leather riding jacket. It had been two days since they had left the high hills, and Secca could now see Envaryl before them, on the north side of the narrow river that lay less than a dek ahead.
“There’s still no sign of anyone coming out to greet us," observed Richina, riding to Secca’s left. “Do you think our messengers got through?”
“I’m most certain that they did,” replied Secca. “The glass showed them in comfortable quarters. Fehern was still holding the city. Still, we can’t very well just ride into Envaryl. If necessary, we’ll stop short of Envaryl on the south side and wait.” Her amber eyes flashed. She didn’t like the idea of waiting on Fehern, especially not when she was hurrying to his aid.
Alcaren and Delcetta rode back from a point before the vanguard, where they had halted briefly to talk to the scouts and Wilten. As they neared Secca, Alcaren eased his mount around and rode to Secca’s right. Delcetta rode behind Alcaren.
“The scouts haven’t seen any pickets or patrols,” Alcaren said. "There aren’t that many tracks on the road, either.”
“Less than two deks from the city?” Secca shook her head. “If no one does greet us, we’ll stop on this side of the river.” There would be no sense in crossing a bridge and then having to fight---if it came to that---with a river at their back.
“That was also what Wilten felt,” Alcaren said dryly.
“If you would tell him that we agree with his recommendation . . .?”
Alcaren laughed.
“Have him bring one company of lancers from Loiseau to the fore, and have Overcaptain Delcetta do the same.” Secca felt strange passing the order through Alcaren when Delcetta was riding right behind him, but since that was the way she herself had set up the chain of command, it would have been worse immediately to bypass Alcaren. “Oh . . . Elfens and the archers as well.”
Alcaren turned in his saddle, gracefully as always, and said quietly, “If you would, Overcaptain, once we near the bridge?”
“Yes, ser.” A faint smile played around Delcetta’s lips, one of repressed humor and understanding.
Alcaren eased his mount forward along the shoulder of the road, back past the vanguard and toward Wilten. After that he rode back to talk to Elfens, whose archers rode behind the players.
Less than a glass had passed when Secca reined up on the hint of a rise beside the road, perhaps two hundred yards short of the river and the bridge that crossed it. The Envar River was narrow, less than ten yards across, although the darkness of the water suggested that it was several yards deep. The stone span that crossed the river was narrow and ancient, wide enough for but two mounts side by side: The stones, originally reddish, had faded to pink, and the lower levels, just above the water, bore brown and bleached-out green moss, moss that was doubtless under water in spring and early summer, when the river’s water level was higher. The ground around the river and upon each side of the road looked to have been recently cultivated, and the stubble from the previous harvest had been turned under.
There were more than a score of cottages within a dek of where they had halted, but all were set back from the road, and built upon low stilts, suggesting that the river flooded the flatland. As with all the other farm cottages they had passed, the dwellings and outbuildings were shuttered tight.
Secca turned in the saddle, looking for Palian then called, “Have the players get their instruments ready, so that they can play, quickly if necessary.”
“Yes, lady.” Palian’s smile was knowing, not quite grim.
Delvor merely nodded.
“Players dismount!” Palian called. “Dismount and stand ready to play.”
“Dismount and tune!” echoed Delvor.
“Gold company to the fore!” ordered Wilten.
“Second company to the fore!” Delcetta’s voice cut through the hubbub like a stiletto through rotten meat.
Secca glanced northward across the narrow river. Envaryl presented an odd picture. Dwellings and structures sprouted in groups, seemingly without pattern, except that there were often low hills covered in tan grass and brush between the groupings. A number of the buildings—those whose walls were not plastered—were built of stones of different sizes and colors. On the far side of the river, between the river and the buildings, there was a low hill, or a regular long ridge, covered with the winter-tan grass that grew everywhere in western Dumar and with intermittent brush and trees. A good four yards high, never less than three, nor more than five, the ridge extended east and west of the road, running straight as an iron crossbow quarrel.
From the saddle of the gray mare, after taking her lutar from its case behind her saddle, Secca tuned it. A half smile flitted across her face as she could see Richina starting to follow her example, but she spoke quickly, if evenly, “I’d rather you not show your lutar, Richina.”
Richina looked up, startled.
“I’ll explain later,” Secca said.
“As you wish, lady.” The younger sorceress frowned.
Secca knew she’d have more than a little explaining to do. Still holding her own instrument, she studied both the city and the regularity of the ridge. Then she nodded.
"You’re nodding,” Alcaren said, half-inquiring
, as he eased his mount closer to hers.
“Look at that long straight hill,” she said. “Closely.”
“There’s a lot of stone under the bushes and trees. The trees aren’t very tall, either.”
“That was the city wall,” Secca explained. “I’d heard that Anna had turned the city into rubble. I never expected to see it. That’s why the city is the way it is. It’s not as big as when she destroyed it, and those who live there mined the ruins for the stones.”
“She destroyed the entire city?” asked Alcaren.
At Alcaren’s question, Richina’s head lifted, as if she had heard for the first time about Anna’s efforts against Envaiyl.
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