“He swooned,” the Rider woman explained.
Alcaren looked up at Secca sheepishly. “I did finish the spell.”
Secca wanted to protest that he shouldn’t have done the spellsong, but, looking at him, she knew he’d been right. And so was she—they were being stretched to their limits.
Behind Alcaren were Richina and Anandra. The two youngest sorceresses also were eating, but did not look so pale as Alcaren.
Farther to the south were the players, frantically using cloths to dry instruments and strings. Secca hoped that there had not been too much damage, but usually the players had more time to prepare and had a better idea of what to expect after the spellsong.
“Secca?” The contralto voice was that of Jolyn.
The redheaded sorceress half turned.
“That firebolt. Is that what they used on Denguic?” Jolyn stood by her mount, reins in hand, water from the sudden rain and ice storm oozing from her hair across her forehead.
“And Esaria, and Elioch, and Fussen,” Secca replied, absently blotting away the water she belatedly realized was dripping from her own hair.
Jolyn nodded slowly. “Then we must do what we must, and I will sing with both heart and voice.”
That was as much of an apology—or a reconsideration—as Secca would get from Jolyn, and it was enough. “Thank you.”
Jolyn glanced sadly across the fields, then looked up at the sound of a rider against the silence.
Secca looked to the west and watched as Wilten rode toward her. The overcaptain swallowed once, then again. Like Alcaren, he was pale.
Secca wanted to ask him what the problem was, but she had a good idea, from the yells she had heard just before the funnel cloud had swept across the long field to the west of her force. Instead, she waited.
“The Sturinnese…mayhap five companies, they were charging the green company and overcaptain Delcetta’s second…when the storm struck them…”
“How many did we lose?” asked Secca quietly.
“A score and a half, lady, and there are five who will survive but will not soon fight.”
Secca nodded slowly. “I am sorry.” It’s your fault. You should have checked the glass more often. But everything was a trade-off. If she checked too often and became exhausted, she wouldn’t have the strength left to use the sorcery she needed. Alcaren was physically stronger than she was, but the strain of carrying the wards for nearly two weeks had worn on him as well.
“There are none of Sturinn surviving. Not near here.” Wilten swallowed convulsively. “I would not have any ride west. The grass is pink, and…”
Secca waited again.
“We will have to ride north for a time, Lady Secca. The winds snapped the trees across the road, as if they were kindling. The rain did douse the fire, and so there are steam and smoke, but few flames. If we ride north for a dek or two, we can head eastward once more, or so the scouts say.”
“We need to travel eastward some. Perhaps we can find shelter before dark.”
“That would be good, Lady Secca.”
“Thank you, Wilten.”
Secca watched as the overcaptain turned his mount toward the intact companies still stationed on to the east. Then she looked toward Alcaren, and the others. “We need to ride and find shelter. There will be more attacks.” Of that, she had no doubts.
130
Secca looked at the damp logs half-burning, half-steaming in the open hearth of the cottage. The intermittent flames cast shifting shadows on the plastered walls of the main room, walls that had not been whitewashed in years. The plank floors were gritty with years of sand ground into the wood.
Outside a drizzle, not quite a rain, drifted across the dwellings of the small town of Frowlet. It had been almost dark when Secca’s force had ridden into the quiet lanes. Someone had clearly warned everyone, because the town was empty, but there were coals in the hearths, unshuttered windows, and fresh tracks in the damp clay of the road. Secca felt guilty for driving out the local people, but if she did not succeed in defeating the Maitre, she had no doubts that the folk around Aroch would suffer far more.
Secca cleared her throat and looked around the crowded room. From a small group of five or six people two seasons earlier, her unofficial council had grown to more than a half-score, with all the sorceresses, overcaptains, lords, and chief players—plus Lysara and Valya. With thirteen people in the common room, it was far too close and cramped for Secca’s taste, yet she did not feel right in asking any of them to leave. Everyone stood, most with their backs to the hearth, facing Secca, because the square table in the corner could have held but five or six, and because only a single bench and two stools had been left in the cottage.
“According to the scrying glass and to the scouts sent out by Lord Kinor, Lord Tiersen, and by Wilten and Delcetta,” Secca began, “the Maitre’s main force could reach Aroch by midday tomorrow. The Sturinnese have repaired the breaches in the walls and have scouts and picket lines around the town and keep. They have close to twenty companies at Aroch. There are only a few scouts to the north, but the two bridges across the gorge are already heavily guarded.”
“Do you think they will attack us tomorrow?” asked Tiersen. “Or are they still too far from Aroch?”
“Tomorrow would seem most unlikely,” Alcaren replied. “They do have fifteen or twenty companies at Aroch, but only a few sorcerers and but one drum cart. They would have to ride twenty deks or more and they would only outnumber us by less than two to one. Their drum carts would slow them as well if they took their sorcerers. The Maitre’s force has close to fifty companies and several sorcerers, but they would have to reach Aroch, then immediately ride north for almost twenty deks, again with the drum carts.”
“We will have to use the scrying glass more often as we near Aroch,” Secca added. “We can expect more attacks like the one yesterday once all the Maitre’s forces are settled in Aroch.”
“Why will they gather all together?” asked Tiersen.
“For the same reason that we are,” Secca replied. “To protect against sorcery from a distance. If we are together, one or two sorceresses can handle the wards, and the rest of us can use sorcery against them. If we split up, then most of the sorceresses will have to spend their efforts protecting against sorcery.”
Both Wilten and Delcetta nodded knowingly.
“That means that they sent out that young sorcerer to die,” Jolyn said. “They had to know he could not have defeated us.”
“His attack cost us near-on a company and a half,” Delcetta pointed out.
“They want to exhaust us,” Secca said. “They almost did at the battle for Elahwa. It was close. Richina and I could hardly stand. Their last charge came from all sides. I didn’t see the lancers from the rear. If they had had another ten companies, they would have taken us. Once they are ready, they will send as many attacks as they can mount, and as close together as possible.”
“Should we just back away, and let them hold Aroch?” asked Jolyn.
Secca frowned. “I think not. I could not tell you why, but that feels most wrong.”
“It would certainly strengthen those in Defalk who urge that we treat with the Sea-Priests,” said Kinor. “It would also leave Dumar and Neserea open to mischief, either from Mansuur or even from Nordwei.”
“Not immediately,” Secca pointed out. “They will wait some weeks, but if we do not show Defalk as strong and able, all will scramble to treat with the Maitre—or to take any lands they think they might hold.”
“Defalk is not strong and able,” pointed out Lysara, from the corner by the hearth. “Its sorceresses are. Defalk cannot afford to have you seen as unable or unwilling to deal with the Maitre, not if we wish to avoid unending battles in the years to come.”
Secca feared that Lysara was all too close to the truth. Even if they did prevail, unless they could utterly destroy the Sturinnese, they would be fighting skirmishes and visiting every lord in Dumar, Neserea, and Defa
lk for years and years to come just to keep order. It was certain Lord Robero could not. “That may be, but we need to work on the spells as well.” Secca looked to Palian. “Did the players have a chance to practice the sixth building song?”
“We practiced for almost a glass tonight. We will practice in the morning before we ride.”
“And the first building song?”
“They know that one well, and we ran through it but once.”
“We will try that first when the time comes,” Secca said. “If they can shield against it, then we will use the sixth building spell.”
“You have not used that spell before, Lady Secca?” asked Palian, the faintest trace of a smile betraying that she already knew the answer and wanted Secca to elaborate.
“No. It is more terrible than any you have seen or heard.” Secca paused, then looked at Wilten, Delcetta, and then at Tiersen and Kinor. “We will need spades and mattocks. These spells will have to be sung where the spellsingers and players can immediately take shelter behind berms and walls of earth.”
“From deks away?” asked Wilten.
“Yes. From deks away.”
Wilten looked down. Delcetta did not. Tiersen shifted his weight from foot to foot. Kinor nodded slowly.
“We will use the glass in the morning before we ride out, and let you all know what we have seen.” Secca forced a smile. “Until then.”
She watched as the others began to file out, then gestured to Jolyn. “Once they leave, we will need to practice, using blank syllables.”
“Ah…in a few moments?”
“Are you well?”
Jolyn smiled uncomfortably. “I hope to be. It is not the best time of my season.”
Secca nodded. “A little later? A half-glass from now?”
“That would be better.”
The older blonde sorceress slipped out of the cottage, and Secca turned to the two younger sorceresses and Valya. “You may remain here, if you wish, so long as you are quiet.”
“Thank you…if it truly would not bother you, lady?” asked Valya.
“If you are quiet,” Secca replied with a smile, “you may enjoy the fire.”
Richina and Anandra grinned, and Richina began to drag the bench in front of the hearth.
Secca walked over to Alcaren, who had commandeered one of the stools and sat facing a fire that had mostly stopped hissing, his lumand held loosely in one hand, a single sheet of paper in the other.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Tired,” he admitted. “But better than yesterday.” He smiled at her. “You know that sorcery is also like exercise?”
“Exercise?” Secca frowned.
“When we first did the wards, and the Sea-Priests sent sorcery against us, neither of us could do much more than hold those wards. Now…”
Secca nodded slowly. What Alcaren said was true. Yet that opened another box of dangers. Did that mean that she had to offer ever-stronger spells to maintain some sort of superiority over the Sturinnese—or whoever might try to follow the Sea-Priests? That there would be someone, should they succeed, of that she had no doubts.
“I have been studying the spellsong,” Alcaren continued, “and I have played out the melody and sounded out the note values. It is not difficult…not too difficult.” He paused. “I worry that after tomorrow we will face attack upon attack.”
“So do I. Yet…if we wait, they will only strengthen their hold on Aroch. With the exception of the Maitre, I do not believe their sorcerers are as strong as we are, but there are more of them, and in time…”
“They will either prevail or keep us spending every moment containing them. So we must be prepared to do what we must.”
Secca worried that doing just that would leave everyone exhausted before they could establish themselves on the hills to the north of Aroch…before they could sing a spell that would change Liedwahr forever—either because they would fail, or because they would succeed.
131
The mist and rain of the previous days had vanished, and the late-morning sky was clear. The day was also cold, as if a touch of winter had blown in with the northerly winds that had swept out the clouds. The column was now riding nearly directly south, toward Aroch, or more properly toward a hamlet about two deks to the north of the gorge that protected the rear of the keep.
As a splatter of something struck Songfire’s shoulder, Secca glanced down at her legs. Although the road was only slightly muddy, the vanguard had churned the road somewhat, and Secca would have hated being at the end of the column. Still, she had far less of the stuff splattered across her legs. She smiled—another advantage of riding a raider beast. Then, perhaps Richina and Valya, who were riding directly behind her, might be receiving a greater amount of mud thrown from Songfire’s hoofs.
Secca looked up to see Wilten riding toward her, along the shoulder of the road. With him was a lancer in the bluish green tunic of Defalk. Secca frowned, then nodded.
“A messenger?” asked Alcaren from where he rode to her left.
“It has to be, and I’d guess we won’t like what it says,” Secca replied. “Not if it’s coming from Lord Robero.”
“Lady Secca,” began Wilten even before he reined up short of where Secca had halted Songfire, “the undercaptain bears a message scroll from Lord Robero, and he insists that he must deliver it to you personally, and take a response from you back to Lord Robero.”
“Lady Secca.” The undercaptain bowed in the saddle, then extended a scroll circled in blue ribbon.
Wilten intercepted the scroll, then eased his mount closer to Secca before passing the scroll to her.
Secca took the scroll.
Wilten looked to Secca, as did the messenger.
“I will read Lord Robero’s message, and then I will decide whether there needs to be a return message.”
“Your pardon, Lady Secca. Lord Robero asked for a response.”
“I’m most certain that he did, Undercaptain,” Secca replied politely. “At the very least, I will need to read his message and consider it.” She paused. “You may go.” Secca looked to Wilten. “Perhaps the undercaptain could ride with you or overcaptain Delcetta in the vanguard for the moment.”
Wilten smiled in return. “That might be best.” He nodded to the square-bearded but young undercaptain. “Shall we ride up to the vanguard, Undercaptain?”
“Yes, ser.” Both words were filled with fatalistic resignation.
“Undercaptain,” Secca said, “Lord Robero may punish messengers who do not tell him what he wishes to hear. I do not. You may go,” she repeated.
Once the two had turned their mounts back southward, Secca broke the seal on the scroll and untwisted the long blue ribbons. With a slow deep breath, she began to read.
Sorceress Protector Secca—
You were ordered to secure Dolov, and then aid Elahwa. You aided Elahwa, and then destroyed Dolov. You were ordered to aid the Lord High Counselor of Dumar, and help him defeat the invaders. You killed him, and failed to destroy all the invaders, allowing them to invade Neserea and devastate it. You were ordered to return to Defalk, in order to protect the land, and you did not do so, but took a ship to Neserea, arriving too late to save Esaria, or indeed, any of the towns in the northern part of the country, and also allowing an invasion of Neserea by the Liedfuhr of Mansuur because Defalk had not honored its commitment to protect Neserea and the Lady High Counselor.
For all these reasons, and others which we need not enumerate herein, we have been required to treat with the Maitre of Sturinn and reach an accommodation in order to prevent further devastation and depredation of Defalk…
Secca took another long and deep breath, forcing herself to read the remainder of the lines written on the parchment.
As Lord of Defalk, I must insist that you honor the agreement reached between Defalk and Sturinn and do not attack the Sturinnese forces as they return to Neserea. Further, once they are withdrawn, I must insist that you ret
urn to your ancestral lands, and turn over the demesne of Mencha to a suitable successor to be named appropriately…
Secca snorted, then turned in the saddle and thrust the scroll at Alcaren. “When you finish it, Jolyn should read it as well. But no others.”
Alcaren read silently, his face expressionless until he finished the scroll. “He has lost his mind.”
“He never had much of one,” suggested Jolyn, as she eased her mount forward to take the scroll from Alcaren.
“No. He has lost his scorceresses.” Secca smiled wanly. “Do you not see? Jolyn left Falcor before we reached the Ostisles. We have sent Robero no messages.” Secca turned to Jolyn. “Have you?”
“Why would I have done that? He would not listen to aught I said.”
“He believes that all Sturinn will descend upon him.”
“Send him a message and tell him otherwise,” suggested Richina, who had also eased her mount forward to hear what was occurring.
“Let Jolyn read the scroll,” Secca temporized. All too conscious of those pressing their mounts nearer to hear what was happening, she stood in the stirrups. “We have received a message from Lord Robero. He does not seem to be aware of what has happened, and we will be considering how to answer his scroll in a way that benefits the people of Defalk.”
No one moved away.
“That is all!” Secca said loudly, not quite snapping. “We still must deal with the Maitre and the Sturinnese. Let us ride on.” After gesturing to Wilton, she settled back into the saddle, then eased Songfire forward.
Slowly, the column began to move.
Jolyn rode forward and passed the scroll back to Secca, who tucked it inside her green leather riding jacket.
“You will not obey,” Jolyn said.
Secca steeled herself inside. “I think not. Nor will we respond. Any response that is good for Defalk will merely enrage Lord Robero. We will do what we must against the Maitre. Then we will decide how best to reply to Lord Robero. The undercaptain can remain with us for the time.”
Shadowsinger Page 53