Shadowsinger

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“I feel such, and Anna warned me never to go against my feelings. When I have, I have regretted doing so. We cannot afford regrets now.” Secca’s voice was cold, almost flat.

  Alcaren lifted the sheet holding the first spell, his lips moving as he whispered the words almost soundlessly.

  Secca could hear the first few lines.

  “Fuse all of heaven’s sun above this land,

  and focus through a lens held by harmonic hand…”

  Then, Alcaren stopped whispering, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the last words of the spellsong. His eyes dropped from the spell to the explanation below that ran half a page on one side, and the full page on the back side.

  When he finished, he looked up. “How can things be split into parts so small that they are no longer what they were, but just…whatever they are?”

  “I could not explain in the way Anna did,” Secca replied. “I think of it so. A spellsong, the way it is sung, is one thing. Yet it is composed of smaller things that are not the song. There is a note on a lutar, and there are many lutars. That note in turn comes from smaller things—the vibration of the string, and the echo from within the instrument. Why is the same not true of a stone or a tree? Perhaps everything is really a vibration of the harmonies, and that is why sorcery works.”

  Alcaren shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “You saw what happened to the Sturinnese crews, did you not?” asked Secca, almost tartly. “When I used that first spell?”

  “It near killed you,” Alcaren countered.

  “It worked, and it was based on what Anna knew. She warned me. She wrote that it was dangerous to the singer; I chose to use it.” Secca pointed to the sheets he had been reading. “Her words say that this one and the other one are pure Clearsong.”

  “Pure Clearsong, but so dangerous that you should be three deks away, and hide behind stone or in an earthen trench the moment you finish the spell?”

  “I would not use it first. I would try the one that destroyed Dolov before it.”

  “But you would use it?” pressed Alcaren.

  “Dear one, what choice have I? If the spell works, and I live, all is well. If I die, and the Maitre dies, Defalk survives, and women will not be chained or enslaved. Only if the Sturinnese survive will we have failed, and that I cannot allow to come to pass.” Secca’s amber eyes blazed. “I cannot.”

  Alcaren glanced down at the sheets of parchment without speaking.

  As Secca watched, he continued to read.

  After a time, he looked up. “The first one, the one that is like unto the sun. The images are easier, and the second one…” He shuddered. “That is even more terrible than the first.” After a moment, he added, “Would that you have to use neither.”

  “I would not use either, were it my choice.” Secca smiled sadly. “I do not know as we are given such choices. Too often, no matter what simpering savants say, there is no real choice. Not if life is to have meaning.”

  Alcaren nodded, and slowly passed back the sheets, while the single oil lamp cast wavering shadows across both their faces.

  124

  Encora, Ranuak

  Alya settles herself upon the blue cushion that is the sole soft aspect of the blue crystalline chair of the Matriarch, then nods to the guard in the pale blue uniform who stands beside the door. “She may enter.”

  A woman in black enters, although the hood of her cloak is thrown back, revealing her lined face. The guard steps outside the receiving chamber and closes the door behind him. Because the day is cloudy, and no direct sunlight falls through the tall windows, the air in the hall seems chill.

  “Greetings, Santhya,” offers the Matriarch.

  The gray-haired and round-faced woman bows, with a gesture only slightly more than perfunctory. “Matriarch.”

  “You requested to see me. Again. I trust that you are well, and your daughter.” Alya’s eyes remain upon the former Assistant Exchange Mistress.

  “We have no complaints about our care while in the towers. The SouthWomen were more solicitous than one could have ever imagined.” Santhya squares her shoulders. “We are far more worried about what is about to happen in Defalk.”

  “As are we all.”

  “Do you not see? Now?” asks the woman in black. “Stura is no more. Half of Trinn is destroyed, and more than a third of Astaal. Esaria is half-molten, half-flooded, and every town and hamlet along the Saris River and the River Saria has been destroyed beyond rebuilding. Already Elioch, Denguic, Fussen, and their keeps have been ravaged. The Sea-Priests have called down the fires of the sun on the land, and the Shadow Sorceress has called up the deep fires of the earth. Between them, they will turn all Liedwahr into ashes.”

  “Only Stura has been destroyed beyond rebuilding,” the Matriarch answers evenly, “and it will take a generation to replace the warships the sorceress has destroyed. That can scarcely be a concern for you or for the Exchange.”

  “Ships must have goods to trade, and one cannot trade goods between lands that are poisoned and devastated, where the ground is so seared plants will not grow and where the forests have been turned to ash so there is no timber for building or for firewood. The Maitre and the Shadow Sorceress have yet to meet. When they do, all Liedwahr will suffer.”

  “Only if the Maitre prevails.” Alya’s voice remains level. “If the lady Secca prevails, then you will thank the harmonies, and well you should.”

  “If she does not?”

  “You will get your wishes—or part of them. For no woman in Liedwahr will ever be a sorceress again, and there will be little sorcery, save by the Sea-Priests.”

  “With Sturinn ravaged?”

  “People create their lands; lands do not create people. If the Maitre prevails, Lord Robero will surrender, and the Sea-Priests will control not only the Western Sea, but Neserea, Defalk, and Dumar. Within ten years, Nordwei will fall, and Mansuur will fall when the Liedfuhr attacks, for he will, if he sees the power of Sturinn growing in Liedwahr.”

  “You see no choice? We must be enslaved or suffer the second set of Spell-Fire Wars? You cannot believe that,” Santhya insists.

  “Did the first Matriarchs have a choice? A true choice?” replies Alya. Her eyes are cold as they rest upon the Lady of the Shadows. “Tell me that they did. If you can. Honestly.”

  Santhya does not raise her eyes.

  125

  The clouds of the days previous had given way to a clear day, but a cooler one, with a brisk wind out of the northeast. Secca wore her riding jacket, but had left it unfastened as Songfire carried the sorceress along the narrow clay track that wound—generally—southeast through the rolling hills and toward Aroch. Although it was barely midmorning, Secca stood in the stirrups and stretched. Beneath her, Songfire whuffed, but did not break gait.

  Because Secca had asked the players to run through the sixth building spell twice before they left the hamlet of Sedak, they had not gotten as early a start as either Secca or Alcaren would have liked, and that would delay their meeting with Kinor, Jolyn, and Anandra. But there were only so many glasses in the day, Secca reflected, and sleep was one need that could not be neglected or cut short, not if the best spellsinging were needed, and it would be before long.

  She glanced to Valya, riding to her left. “When did you get your mount?”

  “Stormwind? He is but five, and I raised him. I had thought to see if he would take the lady Anna as his rider, but—” Valya laughed. “He had other ideas.”

  “Did you know Anna?” asked Secca.

  “I saw her once, when I was but six,” Valya reminisced. “She was riding a mare like your…Songfire, and she was far taller than I had thought. She looked so young that I first thought she had yet to be consorted, until I saw her eyes.” The Rider heir shook her head. “I never forgot those eyes. They were deeper than blue.” She looked at Secca. “Your eyes are like that, too. They are amber, but they are more amber than amber, and there is fire in them.”

  Fro
m behind Secca, where he rode with Richina, Alcaren laughed softly. Secca thought she also heard Lysara laugh, although the lady of Dubaria rode with Tiersen behind Richina and Alcaren.

  “My father thought so when you rode up to the Kuyurt,” Valya added, “but after you dined with them, he and my mother said you were the Great Sorceress’ daughter, because no one else’s eyes looked that way, and they have both met the other sorceresses.”

  Secca wasn’t sure how she could respond. Finally, she said, “The lady Anna was the one who raised me and cared for me after I left my own hold. I was eight, and she taught me all she could.”

  “Even the blade?”

  Secca laughed. “Anna could only use a knife, and she insisted that I would know more.”

  “You are like a Rider woman,” Valya mused. “We are all taught the same, boys and girls. My father says that all mounts must be ridden well, whether by men or women. No one has threatened us in ages, because we all ride and all use the shortswords.”

  “Until now,” Secca said. “The Sturinnese would chain all women.”

  “No. We will not be chained. We will fight. We may die, but we will not be chained.” The absolute certainty in the young woman’s voice was chillingly matter-of-fact.

  “I wish that more felt that way,” Secca replied instantly. Once the words were out, she wondered. If everyone feels that way about their way of life…is that not how we got into this war of devastation? Except, as Alcaren had said, neither Secca nor the Riders of Heinene had tried to force their way of life on others, or at least not until others had attacked them first.

  126

  Secca glanced to the west, where, in midafternoon, scattered thunderclouds had begun to form. Even now, in late afternoon, she could see none of the mist below the clouds that would have indicated rain. Rain was the last thing she needed, not with the Maitre’s lancers using the stone-paved main road eastward and her forces using the back roads because, from where she was, the good roads ran in the wrong directions. Is that symbolic of something? Secca shook her head. Thinking in that way lies madness.

  Delcetta rode back from the vanguard. As she neared Secca, the South Woman overcaptain smiled. “Lady, the scouts report that the sorceress Jolyn and the lord Kinor are waiting at the crossroads ahead. They await you rather than double-track the road.”

  “Do we know how far it may be to a place where we can find shelter—of sorts?”

  “Lord Kinor’s messenger says that a glass to the east on the crossroad is a hamlet that has some barns and outbuildings. He also said to tell you that while it belongs to Lord Dostal, Lord Dostal is now unable to protest.”

  Secca winced. She feared she knew exactly what Kinor meant.

  Delcetta turned her mount alongside Secca. “You are close to Lord Kinor and Lord Tiersen, are you not?”

  “We spent several years together in Falcor when we were younger. They are almost a half-score of years older than I am, though. Why?”

  “Lord Tiersen watches you as though you were a younger sister, and so does his consort. I would wager that Lord Kinor will do the same.”

  Secca smiled, somewhat in rue. “That may be.”

  “The Great Sorceress chose better than she knew,” suggested Delcetta.

  “I don’t think she ever knew,” Secca replied. “She understood and felt how matters should be without having to think or know. At times, I wish I could trust what I felt as well as she did.”

  “You trust yourself more than you know,” Delcetta replied, before heading back toward the vanguard and the head of the column.

  The damp clay road ran, for once, straight through a set of fields still showing the stubble of the fall before, untilled and unplanted. On the far side of the field, there was a hedgerow that doubtless marked the crossroad that led eastward.

  Just to the north of the hedgerow was a line of mounted figures. As the vanguard, followed by Secca and those around her, drew closer, Secca could make out individuals. Kinor’s once-flaming red hair, like Lysara’s, was no longer red, except his was a thick thatch of brilliant white, almost as striking as red might have been.

  Kinor caught sight of the column and turned his mount northward, riding ahead of his lancers and everyone else. He rode on the shoulder of the road, half in the fields, until he saw Secca. Then he grinned, rode forward, and eased his mount around, joining her. “You’re still small and red-haired, but you’re riding a raider beast.”

  “A gift of Vyasal.” Secca gestured behind her. “Valya is riding with us. You might recall Richina.”

  Kinor bowed in the saddle. “You have grown into a full sorceress, Richina, and we are most glad to see you. You, Valya, have changed little in a season, except for the battle gear.” He glanced at Alcaren.

  “This is my consort, Alcaren. Alcaren, this is Kinor. He used to tease me, many long years ago.”

  “I am happy to meet you.” Alcaren inclined his head. “Anyone she recalls fondly as teasing her must indeed be special.”

  In answer to Kinor’s unspoken question, Secca continued, “Alcaren was one of the overcaptains sent by the Matriarch to aid Elahwa. He is also a sorcerer, and he saved my life, and almost lost his. The scars on his cheeks are a memory of that. Oh…he is also a cousin of the Matriarch.”

  Kinor shook his head, then smiled at Alcaren. “She would find the only lord in Liedwahr who is both a warrior and a sorcerer. She always did have high standards.”

  Alcaren laughed softly. “She insists that I am more than I am.”

  Kinor laughed in return, far more heartily. “Secca never made anyone into more than they are. Ask Lord Robero if you have the chance.”

  Secca blushed, but was gratified to see that Alcaren was flushed as well.

  Another rider eased up almost behind Kinor—Lysara. “Kinor?”

  The white-haired lord of the Western Marches turned in the saddle. “Yes? Oh…Lysara, I didn’t see you.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’m not as striking as Secca. I just wondered. Where is Asaro?”

  “I insisted she take the children to Mossbach.”

  “Good.”

  “Kinor!” called Tiersen. “If you have a moment, I need a few words.”

  Kinor inclined his head to Secca. “If you would not mind?”

  “Go,” Secca replied with a smile. “We’ll all be together for some days yet.”

  As Kinor slowed his mount to fall back beside Tiersen, Lysara rode up to Secca. She leaned forward, and murmured, “Asaro is not well, and even Jolyn could do nothing. Since Kinor cannot fight that, he will fight the Sturinnese. Be most careful in what you ask of him.”

  “Thank you,” Secca murmured, still looking for Jolyn and Anandra.

  Lysara let her mount fall back beside that of her consort.

  They had almost reached the crossroads before Jolyn and Anandra rode forward to meet Secca. This time, as mounts and riders mingled, in exasperation, Secca suspected, Wilten raised a hand. “Column halt!”

  Delcetta echoed the command, as did Palian.

  In the mix of mounts and riders, Jolyn reined up opposite Secca, with the thin and gray-eyed Anandra slightly back of her.

  “I am glad to see you.” Jolyn’s brown eyes swept across the column stretched behind Secca. “Those aren’t all yours?”

  “They all serve her,” Alcaren offered.

  Almost as if she had not seen the officer in the Ranuan uniform, Jolyn stared at Alcaren, taking in the pale blue of Ranuak.

  Secca shook her head ruefully. “Jolyn, this is Alcaren. We were consorted by the Matriarch at the turn of spring.”

  Jolyn’s mouth opened. “And you never told anyone?”

  “I didn’t want Robero to know at first and then…well…somehow, I never got around to it,” Secca confessed.

  “What does he have that all the others didn’t?”

  Secca smiled at Jolyn’s all-too-customary bluntness.

  “He’s a sorcerer, and he almost died saving my life because he loves m
e,” Secca replied just as bluntly.

  “A Ranuan sorcerer?” Jolyn laughed. “How…?”

  “He was an overcaptain sent to relieve Elahwa, and he is a cousin of the Matriarch. She was pleased that she could consort us and send him off somewhere that people didn’t mind male sorcerers.”

  Jolyn’s eyes ran over the younger sorceress, then turned to Alcaren. “She looks happier than in years. You must be treating her well. Just don’t let her order you around too much.”

  “Like you do?” countered Secca.

  “I treat men well. At least for a time,” Jolyn conceded with a smile.

  As Secca studied the older and taller blonde sorceress more closely, she could see that Jolyn’s face was pale, ashen, and her eyes red and sunken in black circles. “As soon as we can find a suitable place to stop this afternoon, you need to sing the release spell for the wards,” she blurted.

  “I look that bad?” Jolyn’s deep contralto voice carried an ironic twist and humor at odds with her exhausted appearance.

  “Worse,” Secca replied. “Richina and Anandra can carry the wards together for the next few days. We need you to get some food and rest.”

  “I could not rest easily,” Jolyn replied. “Kinor insisted that while he could not stop full companies of lancers, he needed to kill all stragglers and scouts. So I had to accompany him, as did Anandra.”

  “But she was not carrying the wards.”

  Jolyn offered a quizzical look.

  “We’ve been singing some of the spellsongs together. It makes for a stronger spell.”

  “Dissonance,” murmured the older blonde sorceress. “I could sense you were doing something different. Is it safe?”

  “Anna thought so. She tried to get Brill to do it years ago. Don’t you remember her talking about that?”

  Jolyn raised her eyebrows. “No. I don’t think she ever did.”

  “Oh…”

  “We have much to talk about, but it should wait for later,” suggested Jolyn.

  Secca nodded. “We’d better sort out this mess and get riding so that we’re not caught in the middle of nowhere in the dark.”