The ShadowSinger

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“Palian?”

  "We stand ready to dismount and play.”

  Wilten slowed his mount as he neared Secca. “Lady Secca, they are a deputation from the Merchants’ Council, welcoming you to Dumaria and beseeching you to treat the city and its inhabitants kindly.”

  What else would you do? Secca forced a smile. “I will speak to one of them as we ride.”

  “I will have him escorted with lancers, if you would not mind.”

  “That would be fine. Richina also has her lutar ready.”

  “I will tell them that as well.” Wilten smiled grimly and turned his mount back toward the deputation.

  “Wilten has little love for them,” mused Alcaren. “They must have been less than courteous.”

  “Or excessively so,” suggested Secca.

  Alcaren laughed.

  Before long, three figures rode along the dusty road to­ward Secca and her entourage---a heavy man flanked by two lancers. Both lancers had their sabres unsheathed. The older man looked from one to the other as he rode, then realized he was nearing Secca and reined up abruptly. He bowed awkwardly and deeply in the saddle.

  “Lady Secca, Sorceress Protector of Defalk. Know that we supplicate you,” offered the heavyset man in a dark brown leather jacket trimmed in golden braid. ‘We know that nothing can stand before you, and we offer freely once more our allegiance to you and to Lord Robero. Know that we surrendered unwillingly to the Sea-Priests, and only when we were abandoned by Lord Fehern. We will lead you to the palace. It too stands open to you, as does all Dumaria.”

  “Thank you,” Secca replied. “I trust you will not mind if whatever you say is heard by those around me.” She ges­tured for the merchant to ride so that Alcaren remained be­tween her and the merchant as the column resumed its progress toward Dumaria.

  They had traveled less than fifty yards when the man fi­nally spoke once more, his tone of voice uncertain. “Lady Secca, you know that there is no Lord High Counselor in Dumar.”

  “That is true, but there will be,” Secca replied. “I am most certain that there will be. Lord Eryhal and Lady Aerfor have escaped the Sturinnese and are well.”

  The merchant’s eyes widened. “Eryhal---he was said to be much like Lord Clehar, save that he was considered more thoughtful.”

  “I cannot say what Lord Robero will do,” Secca said, “but I would think it likely that he would wish a Lord High Counselor both loyal to Defalk and in favor with the lords and people of Dumar. Also, the Liedfuhr of Mansaur might be better disposed toward Lord Eryhal.” She turned in the saddle and leaned forward to fix her eyes on the man. “How would your lords feel about Eryhal?”

  “The landed lords . . . there are none left here in Dumaria, and they seldom speak to merchants.” The merchant laughed nervously. “I venture that there will be none returned to Dumaria until they see from which quarter the summer wind blows.”

  After they rode past the white stone gate pillars, the road continued straight for two hundred yards before angling to the right and winding up the slope toward a line of leafless trees. From behind the trees rose a white-marbled palace. As the vanguard turned uphill, Secca could see that the winding way that climbed the hill was also empty, as ap­peared to be the large and impressive homes that flanked the road.

  Across a small park-like space, Secca could see a fountain shaped like a spray of marble flowers standing in the middle of a scallop-shaped pond, but the fountain was not spraying water. Around the pond was a garden, where short green bushes alternated with larger leafless ones. The way into the grounds was barred by a pair of iron gates, as were the lanes into most of the dwellings along the avenue. Not a soul appeared on any of the well-trimmed grounds.

  “The wealthy have indeed departed,” said Alcaren.

  “Along with a few others,” Secca replied.

  Beside Alcaren, the merchant nodded, quickly and jerkily. There were no dwellings up the hill, near the top, where the avenue widened and leveled out A hundred yards farther east was an arched iron gate that straddled the road, but both sides of the gate were swung back. Beyond, past the winter-brown grass of the grounds, lay the marble palace.

  As the vanguard and those with Secca rode through what once had to have been the royal park of Lord Ehara, and later his successors, such as Fehern, Secca took in the trimmed topiary displaying a range of game animals, a low boxwood hedge maze, and two marble fountains.

  When they neared the palace building, Wilten gestured to the vanguard. “Companies halt!”

  In turn, Secca and Alcaren and the others reined up on the smooth-joined paved road less than two hundred yards from the palace.

  With the lancers halted, Wilten rode back to Secca. “With your permission, Lady Secca, I would have the lancers search the building and grounds before you enter.”

  “Please go ahead.” Secca smiled. “If our merchant friend is correct, there should be no one here.”

  Wilten nodded and turned his mount, then reined up and stood in the stirrups. “Purple company. Search the grounds. Green company, the first floor.” He turned to Delcetta, who had reined up several yards away.

  “Second company, the second floor, third company, the upper floor,” ordered the SouthWoman overcaptain.

  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 un
cased 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 marble-tiled 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 Narial 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.” JerEstalen 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 them selves.

  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 . . .