Shadowsinger (29 page)

Wei, Norawei

The faintest of taps echoes from the door to Ashtaar's small audience chamber and private study. Ignoring the sound, Ashtaar coughs once then twice, into the green cloth and takes a sip from
the beaker on the corner of the polished ebony of the table-desk, a surface that contains neither scrolls nor papers.

Finally, she replies. “You may enter.”

The heavyset and dark-haired seer steps inside and bows, once, and then again, nervously. Her eyes dart around the dimly lit chamber and finally fix on the front of the desk, and not upon the silver-haired woman seated behind it.

“Sit down and calm yourself, Escadra,” Ashtaar says tiredly. “I do not torture or kill messengers for the truth of what they bring. I do get angry with those who attempt to hide truth from me or from anyone on the Council.”

“Yes, Leader. Yes, Leader.” Escadra's eyes still do not light upon Ashtaar, but upon the surface of the desk just before the older woman.

Ashtaar gestures for the seer to begin her report, then sits back in her straight-backed chair ever so slightly, the fingers of one hand lightly caressing the time-and-finger-worn ovoid of dark agate.

“The lord Belmar is dead, slain by sorcery, and the Sea-Priests have moved all of their forces that remained in Dumar northward into Neserea. They sealed the trade pass and left Dumar before the Shadow Sorceress could reach them.” Escadra swallows. “Yet the lancers of Lord Belmar follow the Sturinnese toward the Liedfuhr's forces in the Great Western Forest. They are Nesereans, and they follow a Sturinnese, and willingly so. I am reporting what we have seen. The Shadow Sorceress is riding away from Neserea, southward, and quickly.” The chunky seer looks helplessly at Ashtaar. “That is what has happened, Leader Ashtaar, by the harmonies.”

“What of the Lady High Counselor and her mother?”

“They remain in Esaria, but only the palace guard remains faithful. Even so, none will yet move against the palace.”

“Not yet.” Ashtaar lifts the green cloth to her mouth and covers it, then coughs once. She lowers it to her lap, then takes a sip from the beaker. “The Sturinnese fleet?”

“Their sorcerers are melting the ice, but they must clear many deks—”

“How many?”

“We cannot tell. Ice is still water, Leader.”

“You can tell whether it seems like a great deal or not a great deal.”

“I would guess perhaps fifty deks, but that is a guess.”

“Another two weeks at least, then, perhaps three,” muses Ashtaar.

“Leader?” Escadra's voice is tentative.

“Yes?”

“I…none of us understand why the Shadow Sorceress—”

“Nothing is as it seems, not when sorcery and the Sea-Priests are involved,” Ashtaar explains, her words measured. “Most of Belmar's lancers were doubtless Sturinnese or mercenaries hired with Sturinnese gold, but mercenaries posing as Nesereans. He was a fool not to guess such, but all of us can be deceived into seeing what we wish to see. That said, their loyalty is to Sturinn, or its golds. The Shadow Sorceress is young as sorceresses go, but she is anything but a fool. Belmar is dead, doubtless by Sea-Priest sorcery. It matters not how that happened. He would have died sooner or later, when it served Sturinn's interests. You say the passes are blocked. Even if the Shadow Sorceress could use sorcery to open them, what would it gain her?”

“She could pursue the Sturinnese.”

“Could she catch them?”

“Oh…”

“The Sturinnese plan that they will hold all of Neserea before she can reach them. They also plan that she will be held from attacking them by the very mountains. She knows both, I wager. There will be ships at Narial, I wager, and she will sail to Esaria, arriving there far more swiftly than if she fought her way through the spring mud of southern Neserea. The Sea-Priests will be slowed, even with their sorcery, by that very mud, and by the need to deal with the Liedfuhr's lancers. Also, how can anyone deliver a message to the Shadow Sorceress while she is at sea?” Ashtaar laughs, a sound more like a cackle. “The real question is whether that spineless idiot in Falcor has enough sense to do nothing.”

Escadra's eyes widen, but she says nothing.

“He doesn't do anything well. What he does best is nothing, and that is what he should do now. But we cannot count on that.” Ashtaar coughs again into the green cloth, this time repeatedly. It takes several sips from the beaker before she can continue. “After you leave, have a messenger summon Marshal Zeltaar for me, if you would.”

“Yes, Leader.” Escadra finally meets the dark eyes of the older woman.

“I'm not dead yet, Escadra, and I can still think. Now…go fetch the marshal.”

“Yes, Leader. Right away, Leader.” Escadra rises and backs out of the study.

Ashtaar forces herself to take another sip from the beaker.

The closer Secca's forces came to Dumaria, the emptier and more deserted the road seemed to become, with few tracks in the clay, despite the clear and cloudless sky. The hovels, cottages, and dwellings that could be seen from the main road were shuttered and silent, without even the thin plumes of smoke that might have signified someone inside.

Had frightened farmers and their families been huddling inside? Or had they fled when the Sturinnese had swept through, fearing yet to return? Secca wondered.

“Empty, is it not?” asked Alcaren.

Under a hazy sky, the rolling hills had subsided into a flat plain, with untilled fields on either side of the road. A good dek ahead, on the west side of the large plateaulike hill that held Dumaria, were what looked to be two white stone gateposts, tall enough that they were clearly visible, but there was no gate attached to either post, nor walls or earthworks. Behind the gates was a gently rising slope, on top of which were trees and dwellings.

“That must be Dumaria, according to the maps and the scouts,” Secca observed.

“The scouts say that the city is half-empty, but there are few signs of destruction or fire, and the Sturinnese have been gone from here for nearly half a season,” Alcaren said. “One wonders why.”

“There are riders heading toward us.” Secca pointed.

As they watched, Wilten and a squad of lancers rode forward to meet the handful of men on horse who approached. After both groups halted and a brief exchange ensued, Wilten turned and rode back toward the vanguard and Secca.

Secca turned in the saddle. “Richina, perhaps you should bring out your lutar and stand ready with the short flame spell.”

“Yes, lady.”

“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 Mansuur 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 parklike 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 uncased 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 marbletiled 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.