Beyond that . . . Nordfels and the paved road that would lead to the Maitre and battles she wished not to contemplate and could not afford not to.
With a deep breath, she gestured to Alcaren, then Wilten. "We need to ride on.”
114
West Pass, Denguic
Three men stand around the camp table on which rests a scrying glass. The Maitre faces the closed door flaps of the tent, while Marshal jerLeng and jerClayne face the Maitre. The faint scent of roasting mutton drifts into the tent from outside, where, in the growing twilight, cookfires have died from blazes into deep banks of coals.
“Your scouts were attacked?" asks the Maitre. “Why do you tell me that? You were told that the Defalkans had abandoned the keep at Westfort. Lord Kinor has always maintained five companies of his own lancers. He is Lord of the Western Marches, and he was placed as such under the recommendation of the evil one. Is it so surprising that they attacked? What were you thinking?”
“No one else has, not in two hundred deks of travel,” points out jerLeng. “Nor have they abandoned a keep.”
"That only shows that they fear us and that they know what sorcery can do.” The Maitre smiles coldly. “That will not save them long. We will still destroy the keep.”
“With no one in it?”
“Do you want them to be able to return to it once we move toward Falcor?”
“We could use it,” suggests jerLeng. “After you destroy this Lord Kinor and his lancers.”
“We cannot use spellsong to destroy every lord in western Defalk,” the Maitre explains, his words deliberate, yet cold. "They have split up their lancers into squads, and all move separately. Kinor has his sons and even his dissonant daughter commanding each group. To use sorcery would require more than ten spells for just the lancers, possibly twice that to find and identify them enough for effective sorcery. It is more efficient to destroy the keep and town with a single spell. In weeks, there will be little for any to eat, and we will not have to worry about attacks.”
The younger Sea-Priest does not move, but his eyes flit from the marshal to the Maitre as each speaks. He clears his throat.
“Yes?” The Maitre’s tone suggests that jerClayne had best have something of value to offer.
“Ser . . . they have also removed all the food from the towns and keeps, and even the peasants are fleeing.”
The Maitre offers a tight smile. “At Denguic and Westfort? Or all through the west?”
“Fussen has done little. Nor Aroch. We have a scroll from Lord Dostal, suggesting that he might be willing to supply us . . . in return for certain conditions.”
“Tell him we’ll spare his precious keep on our march to Falcor,” the Maitre says. “Use those exact words---spare his keep on our march to Falcor.”
“Yes, ser."
A knowing smile plays across the tips of Marshal jerLeng. “What of the Sorceress Protector and the Assistant Sorceress of Defalk?” His eyes travel to jerClayne.
“The Assistant Sorceress of Defalk remains in Dubaria, from what we can tell,” jerClayne replies.
“From what you can tell?" The Sturinnese marshal frowns.
JerClayne sways on his feet, then steadies himself. “Both sorceresses use those strange wards. They cannot be seen directly in a glass, but that limits what sorcery they can use against us.”
The Maitre looks at jerLeng, then jerClayne. After a long moment of cold silence, he speaks. “Tomorrow, we will raze Denguic and Westfort, then travel south to Fussen.”
“What of Dubaria and the keeps to the north?”
“After Fussen, we will see. We may go to Dubaria—or take Lord Dostal’s kind offer.” The Maitre tilts his head, his eyes on jerClayne. “Oh . . . and draft a scroll for me to send to Lord Robero, suggesting that, if he wishes to save his precious title, he had best have his lords supply us.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Once a few keeps come down in fire and rubble, he may be more . . . accommodating . . .” The Maitre smiles once more.
115
The rain of the previous days had vanished, and only scattered and puffy white clouds scudded across the mid-afternoon sky. The wind was stiff, blowing Secca’s hair back from her ears, but warm, as she rode up the. causeway to the keep at Nordlels, following the squad of SouthWomen led by Delcetta.
Acaren studied the ancient stone walls, rising a good fifteen yards above the berms they overlooked. “I’m glad you used the glass. Then again, the walls of Dolov were more impressive.”
“I’d just as soon not create any more destruction in Defalk,” Secca replied.
Whatever else she might have said was halted by a trumpet fanfare as the first riders neared the massive oak gates swung wide in welcome. A second look revealed to Secca that the gates had been chained open, and the chains were both ancient and rusted in place.
Inside, the courtyard was barely large enough for the squad of SouthWomen, Secca, Richina, Alcaren, Secca’s guards, and the players. A tall, dark-haired man attired in deep blue and black, and wearing a black mourning band on his left sleeve stood on a mounting block by the narrow entrance to the keep building. Beside him was the trumpeter, who played a second fanfare as Secca reined up.
“Welcome! Nordfels welcomes the Sorceress Protector of Defalk!” For all his size Lord Cassily had a strong but high tenor voice. Following his words, a broad smile showing large and uneven white teeth appeared on his squarish face.
Secca eased the gray mare forward. “Lord Cassily.” The tall dark-haired lord bowed as Secca reined up. “Lady and Sorceress Protector, we are most pleased to see you.”
“We are glad to see you, Lord Cassily,” Secca replied, “though we will not be staying long.”
“I had thought not.” Cassily’s smile faded into a somber, almost stern expression. “Not when I considered your message.” He paused. “We had received a scroll from Lord Robero . . . He had not heard of the death of my sire until a few weeks ago. Yet you knew . . .”
“I cannot say that I have heard much from Lord Robero,” Secca replied. “We have been far beyond Defalk since last fall.” She offered a smile she hoped was not too false. “I had used the glass, and it showed you. Since your father was not a young man . . .”
“You have not been in Defalk since harvest? Lord Robero did not mention such.” Cassily smiled more warmly. “But I am chattering here when I should be allowing you to settle yourself in to refresh yourself before we eat.” He cleared his throat. “My keep is small . . . and I do not have proper barracks, but we have the drying rooms we use for the apples, and I have had them swept, and the kitchen has prepared a hearty meal for all your companies. We did bring in some women from the town to help . . .”
Secca did not quite relax, but the burly lord’s demeanor was at least accepting, if holding a heartiness that seemed slightly forced. ‘We are most grateful, and we will tariff you as little as possible, Lord Cassily. I know from Lady Jolyn that you are an honorable and honest lord. She has spoken most highly of you."
“She is a most . . . remarkable lady.”
Secca laughed gently, and disarmingly, she hoped. “That she is.” She half turned in the saddle and gestured. “This is my consort Lord Alcaren of Ranuak; Lady Richina, my assistant sorceress; Palian, my chief of players. . .“ When she had finished introducing the chief players and the over-captains, she added, “Without Overcaptain Delcetta and the support of Ranuak, we would not now be here.”
"Then we thank them as well.” Cassily beckoned, and from the handful of figures on the steps behind him, a slender and gray-bearded man slipped forward. “Anseln is my saalmeister, and he will take all care to see that you and your party are settled in as much comfort as we can offer. We look to see you at table and to hear all that has come to pass since you left Defalk.”
Secca inclined her head. ‘We appreciate your hospitality and look forward to sharing what we know and what lies ahead for you and Defalk.”
Fo
r the briefest moment, the hint of a frown crossed the lord’s face.
Secca wasn’t about to tell Cassily everything, but what she would tell him would be more than enough to leave him quite sobered.
116
Mansuus, Mansuur
Bright sunlight from the first clear day in over a week poured through the Liedfuhr’s study windows. Kestrin stands in front of the desk, away from the light that warmed the heavy fabric of his winter tunic too much-for comfort, listening to Bassil. As he stands listening, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“We have three score of the catapults ready, and more than tenscore of the oil vessels with fuses.” Bassil inclines his head.
“And sorcerers . . . or even sorceresses?” asks the Liedfuhr.
The graying lancer overcaptain shakes his head. “The seers have found none in Mansuur, and the glasses do not lie.”
“Have them look for children who have the talent.”
“They have. There are scores of those.”
“But no one to teach them.” Kestrin sighs.
“Nor do we have more than a handful of players.”
“Can it be that hard? It looks and sounds so simple.”
“Does a perfect circle look difficult, sire? Yet how many can draw one? Does blade work look difficult when shown by an expert lancer? Does---"
“Enough! You have made your point, Bassil. You always do.” Kestrin frowns, half-turning from the older man. “There is another problem. The shadowsinger was in Morgen, and she did not even know that Aerfor was there?"
“Aerfor is no longer there, sire,” Bassil says. “The Norweians must have smuggled her aboard one of the Ranuan ships just before they left Lundholn.”
“What? And you did not tell me?"
“I did not know until this morning, when the seers discovered she was on a ship. They had great difficulties . . ."
“Why?"
“Upon the ocean . . .”
“No. Why would they put her . . .” Kestrin’s fist slams the desk. “Of course! They did not want her and Eryhal to remain in Nordwei, and also the farther they are from the Maitre the more difficult sorcery would be, especially on the ocean when the Sturinnese have no ships.” A smile of relief crosses his face, but then fades. “Make sure that they follow her to make sure she is safe.”
Bassil nods. “The Council of Wei thinks the sorceress will triumph.”
Kestrin shakes his head. “That I doubt. They do not know, any more than do we. What that cunning old Ashtaar does understand is that by saving Aerfor, she can gain my gratitude and possibly that of the shadowsinger. She can also preserve the claims of both Erybal and Aerfor, and perhaps keep Defalk from taking over Neserea and Dumar outright if the sorceresses can defeat the Maitre. That would be why she did not tell the sorceress.” He pauses. “It galls me yet that I must hope that they do.”
“From gall, one can recover,” Bassil says mildly.
Kestrin laughs. “Always the practical one, Bassil.”
“We try, sire. Even in times such as these.”
117
The banquet hall was traditional Corian, a long room with a polished gray stone floor and ancient oak-paneled walls, with bronze lamps set in wall sconces. The table itself was a good ten yards in length, although places were set only on the half closest to the hearth. Lord Cassily sat at the head, in a throne-like chair upholstered in dark blue velvet. Secca sat to Lord Cassily’s right, and to his left was Cassily’s consort Andra, the very much younger woman he had taken as a consort almost a year before, after Jolyn had broken off her dalliance with Cassily. Beside Andra was Alcaren, with Richina beside him.
When the servers had filled the rose-tinted crystal goblets with a dark red wine, Cassily rose and lifted his own. “To the Sorceress Protector and all her company and friends.”
“To the Sorceress Protector . . .”
Secca smiled politely, reminded how little she enjoyed the formal dinners and ceremonies, but gratified that Cassily seemed honestly glad to see her, especially after the sobering sights she had beheld in the scrying glass before she and Alcaren had descended to the hall for dinner.
“Thank you,” she murmured as the lord reseated himself. “It is good to be here, and back in Defalk.”
“It is good that you are here.” The burly lord shifted his weight in the large chair, then paused as one of the serving boys eased before him a platter of sliced beef, covered with a brown sauce and toasted nuts of some sort.
Secca started to lift her goblet, but then stopped as Cassily served her three large slices of the beef before serving his consort, and then himself. With a knowing smile, he looked at Secca as he handed the platter to Alcaren. “I trust that you will be needing that, and perhaps more?"
Secca returned the smile, catching herself before referring to Jolyn. “Sorcery leaves one famished, and we have traveled far.” She did lift the goblet and take the slightest sip of the wine, while Alcaren served Richina, then himself. “You had said you had news.” offered Cassily.
“Not much of it is good,” Secca admitted. “We sent a message scroll to the Lady Jolyn, and Lord Kinor and Lord Tiersen have cleared their keeps. The scrying glass shows that Kinor has attacked some. Sturinnese patrols, but that has not slowed them. The Maitre has used sorcery to level the keep of Westfort. Not one stone remains upon another.”
Andra’s mouth opened, just fractionally before she closed it.
“That is why you warned them to leave their holds?" asked Cassily.
“That is also why I do not wish to take any of your armsmen and lancers, now, save for perhaps a few as scouts and to send back messages.” Secca took a sip of the wine, then went on. “Sorcery is limited and cannot be used endlessly. If lancers and Lords and ladies are scattered and spread throughout the lands, while the Sturinnese can destroy buildings and keeps and some lancers...”
“So . . . should they march north, we should do the same?" Cassily’s mouth tightened. “Abandon all that we have?”
“The glass shows that both Kinor and Tiersen live, as do most of their followers and lancers. None of those who holed themselves within their keeps in Neserea survived
their destruction under the sorcery of the Maitre.”
Cassily nodded, slowly and reluctantly, more that he had heard Secca than he necessarily agreed. “Do you know which way they ride?”
“They are camped in Denguic. I would wager that they will level it as well once they move on, but I cannot tell in which direction they will ride until they do. If I know in the morning, I will tell you.”
"We will send scouts southward. They could ride with you for a time.”
“And return with news to you, although, I would guess,” Secca said, “that you will not see the Maitre’s forces this far north.” Not unless we fail.
“Unless Defalk falls, you mean?” Cassily’s smile was knowing and off-center.
“I am most hopeful that will not happen, but you are fortunate that he attacked from the west.”
“Perhaps that makes up for the years when the Suhlmorrans attacked so often from the south.” The burly lord laughed, ruefully. “My sire’s forebears would not have called it fortunate, but we will take what fortune we can.” He took a swallow of the wine. “And offer all that you can use in the fashion you see most fit.”
A foreboding silence fell across the table.
“You’re Lord Mietchel’s daughter?” Secca asked Andra, who was but two years older than Richina, from what Secca recalled. It was an awkward question, because she very well knew the answer, and Andra doubtless knew that Secca knew, but Secca wanted Andra to give her an opening.
The younger woman smiled gently, but warmly. “His very youngest, as he has so often told all who would listen. He also says that I am more like his sister than him. Or than Alyssa.”
“That would seem to be quite a compliment,” Secca replied. From what she recalled of Andra’s aunt, the Lady Wendella, that meant t
hat Andra was probably a bit headsirong behind the pleasant front. But then, Andra’s older sister was Lord Robero’ s consort, and while Alyssa presented a demure and charming front, she definitely had a mind of her own, enough that she had left her consort behind to visit her parents.
"We both have been known to express our views when it would have been better that we had not,” Andra admitted.
Lord Cassily laughed. “You still do, my lady, and doubtless always will.”
Secca nodded. Since Cassily hadn’t been able to hold on to Jolyn, he’d tried to find a forthright woman like her, or so it seemed.
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