Shadowsinger (33 page)

“Lady Secca!” came a voice from outside the tent where Secca had tried to rest and regain more strength—and tried not to worry too much about her failure to warn Jolyn earlier.

She sat up and swung her still-booted feet onto the dust-covered stones that had once been the floor of some structure swept away by the
sorcery of the Sea-Priests, or perhaps merely the remnant of an older building revealed by the scouring force of the massive wave. “I'm coming.”

Alcaren, who had been napping on the cot normally used by Richina, shook his head sleepily. “What is it?”

“It's a South Woman officer, ser,” offered Achar from outside the tent.

“Thank you.” Secca stepped outside, followed by a sleepy-eyed Alcaren.

Waiting for them in the brisk early afternoon sea breeze was a South Woman lancer, an undercaptain Secca did not know. “Lady Secca, ser…Overcaptain Delcetta wished you to know that a Ranuan vessel has entered the channel.”

Secca looked to Alcaren.

He grinned. “I did say today.”

She returned the smile. “Tomorrow, I thought.”

“I was wrong.” Alcaren's grin was wider.

Secca turned back to the undercaptain. “Please tell the overcaptain that we'll come down to the pier in a moment.”

“Yes, lady.”

As the undercaptain turned, Secca added, “We'd better have Richina standing by with the lutar, in case this is a trick of some sort.”

“Or we could have her scry the ship,” Alcaren suggested.

Secca rubbed her forehead. “I'm too tired to think well.”

“Do you think we could drop the wards once we're at sea?”

“No.” Secca shook her head, ignoring the additional headache the gesture created.

“Are you upset with me, my lady?”

“I'm just upset. You did most of the ward spellsong, but I'm still tired. At times, I
hate
being small.”

“You are scarcely small,” he replied with a laugh.

“Then why am I always tired?”

“Because you put much energy into everything you do.”

“So do you, but you are not…never mind.”

Alcaren touched her shoulder gently. “Just rest for a moment. I'll get Richina to use the glass. She said she was going to see Palian.”

Don't condescend to me
. Secca cut off the thought before she spoke it.
What's wrong with you? He's never condescending. He worries, and you aren't helping either one of you
. “Thank you.” She managed a smile.

By the time Alcaren returned with the younger sorceress, Secca had
drunk half the water in her water bottle, washed up somewhat, and felt slightly less bedraggled.

Richina carried her lutar, uncased, and inclined her head as she stopped before Secca. “Lady…Alcaren had said…?”

“If you would sing a spell to determine if the ship in the channel is from Ranuak, that would be most helpful.”

While Richina checked the tuning on the lutar, Alcaren retrieved the scrying glass from inside the tent, setting it in the shade of the warehouse wall so that viewing the image called up would be easier.

Then, as Alcaren and Secca watched, the blonde sorceress offered the spellsong.

The glass immediately silvered, then displayed a familiar Ranuan vessel under near full sail, against a backdrop of what seemed to be the island offshore from Narial.

Secca nodded for Richina to let go of the image, and the younger sorceress sang the release couplet.

“It might be a good idea to bring the lutar with you,” Secca suggested. “I don't know that I could warm water with a spell right now.”

“Nor I,” added Alcaren.

While Alcaren replaced the scrying glass in its wraps and replaced it in the tent, Secca looked seaward. At the far end of the channel, she saw a single vessel, sailing northward toward the pier, where a squad of uniformed SouthWomen stood, waiting by the bollards to help tie up the Ranuan ship.

“That's the
Silberwelle
,” Alcaren observed after stepping back out of the tent. “Denyst must be worried that we're not here. That's heavy sail for inshore use.”

“The SouthWomen on the pier should help show her that we hold Narial,” Secca said tersely.

Followed by Achar and Dyvan, Secca, Alcaren, and Richina walked toward the pier where the
Silberwelle
was maneuvering through a tight circle to face offshore before coming to rest at the stone pier. Halfway to where the vessel would tie up, they were joined by Delcetta and Wilten.

“Thank you for sending a messenger,” Secca told the SouthWoman overcaptain.

“We thought you should be among the first to know,” replied the blonde officer, with a warm smile.

“We told the lancers to make ready to embark,” Wilten added. “Though I'd guess it could be today or tomorrow. Or later.”

“That depends on how they want to load us aboard,” Alcaren said. “We'll see.”

The group continued seaward along the pier, walking slowly, watching the
Silberwelle
easing alongside the stone pier, until they reached a spot between the bollards set farthest seaward. There they waited, roughly equidistant between the bollards, close to where the midsection of the ship would be when the docking was finished.

The first line was hurled from the bow, striking the lancer waiting at the rearmost bollard with such force that she took two steps backward before recovering and lashing the line around the heavy timber post.

The second line was thrown to a lancer less than five yards from Secca, who immediately ran forward toward the most seaward bollard and lashed the line there.

“Easy in! Easy in!” came the order from the poop deck.

Secca recognized Denyst's distinctive voice, cutting through the afternoon like a jagged blade.

Slowly, the big oceangoing trader eased up to the pier, drawn in by the winches cranked furiously by the
Silberwelle
's crew. Hempen bumpers festooned the pierward side of the ship, and cushioned the sheathing and timbers as the ship came to rest almost against the bare stone of the pier, stone that had doubtless once been sheathed with softer wood—before the Sea-Priest attack.

“Double up, now!”

Another set of lines went out, so that the ship was doubly held fore and aft.

“Lady Secca, Alcaren! Come aboard!” called the captain.

Secca turned to Richina, and the two overcaptains. “Richina, if you wouldn't mind…standing by here with the lutar…just in case?”

“Not at all, lady.”

“Wilten, if you haven't already, would you send someone to tell the chief players that a Ranuan ship is here?”

Wilten smiled. “I dispatched Garyss a while ago.”

“Thank you. We need to meet with Captain Denyst. I hope it will not be long.”

“We stand ready, lady,” replied Wilten.

“As do we,” added Delcetta.

Secca walked up the gangway, with Richina and Alcaren just steps
behind, almost as soon as it had been extended, noting, once more, how every surface was smoothed and varnished or oiled, and how the brass-work gleamed. They climbed the ladder to the poop deck and found Denyst standing at the railing, watching as her crew checked the lines.

“Wasn't sure we'd find you here. Matriarch was convinced, and so was I, but the other captains…” The wiry yet muscular captain shrugged and smiled simultaneously. “So I got to come in to see.” She paused, looking at Secca's face, and frowning.

“We had a little trouble with Lord Fehern,” Secca said. “He threw burning water at my face and tried to kill me.”

“He is dead,” Alcaren added.

Denyst nodded slowly. “Knowing what I know of his line, I could not say I am surprised.”

“We're glad you're here,” Secca said. “Very glad.”

“Can't say as I am. Not in some ways, leastwise. Wouldn't be here at all, hadn't seen what you did in Encora.” Denyst turned to a taller and more muscular woman. “You've got her now, Elys. I'll be going below with them.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“You know the way,” Denyst said to Secca, gesturing toward the ladder down to the main deck. “Be glad to sit for a bit.”

Alcaren scrambled back down the ladder first, then turned, ready to offer Secca a hand, but she didn't need the aid.

“Thank you,” she murmured as her feet touched the main deck, before they stepped through the open hatch into the passageway leading back to the captain's quarters.

Secca was struck once more both by how compact everything was on the
Silberwelle
, and yet, comparatively how spacious the captain's quarters were, nearly five yards in width and almost as deep. She wished she could just climb into the recessed double-width bunk, set as it was against the forward bulkhead, and go to sleep. Instead, she eased herself into one of the chairs set around the circular table in the middle of the compartment, a chair secured to the deck itself, as was the table itself and all the other chairs around it.

Denyst was the last to enter, and she carefully closed the doorlike wooden hatch behind her before settling herself in the remaining chair at the table. She looked at Secca for a long moment before speaking. “We brought the ships you captured for us last winter—white hulls and all, but we couldn't bring any inshore until you knew they were ours. I thought they could lead the way once we got close to Stura—if we need a decoy.”

“It's a good idea. I wouldn't have considered that,” Secca replied.

“What would we be traveling to Sturinn for? Something like what they did here in Narial?” Denyst's eyes were intent as she studied Secca.

“I'd hoped we could do something like that, except to most of the isles, and not just one port.” Secca was more than shading the truth, but the less said about specifics the better.
Besides, no one would believe what you plan
.

Denyst nodded slowly. “It took every word and every coin the Matriarch had to get you these ships, Lady Secca.”

“I'm not surprised,” Secca replied. “I am surprised at the number.”

Denyst raised her eyebrows. “You've but seen the
Silberwelle
.”

“The glass showed nine others. Were we wrong?” asked Secca with a faint smile.

“Half-score is correct.” Denyst shook her head. “Would that we had more. Another score at least.”

“So far as we can scry,” Alcaren said, “there are no Sturinnese vessels south of the Hoffspitze right now. There may be some small number of ships near Stura, but the last large fleet is in the Bitter Sea.”

“That is better news than I'd have hoped.”

“Once we deal with Stura,” Secca said slowly, “we need to get as close to Neserea as we can. Esaria, if possible.”

“Let us get you to Stura first.” Denyst offered a wintry smile. “You still have the same numbers as when you came to Dumar?”

“Almost,” Secca said. “Almost.”

“And the Sturinnese?”

“More than half their forces destroyed,” Alcaren said. “The others fled northward into Neserea and blocked the passes with sorcery.”

“Mayhap you
can
do the impossible, lady.” Denyst drew out a set of papers and laid them on the stateroom table. “Here be the loading plans…”

“You are the expert, Captain,” Secca said. “I will need all the players and their instruments on the
Silberwelle
with me. Otherwise, we accept your plans.”

“After the battle off Encora, I'd thought as much, about your needing your players,” Denyst said musingly. “I'd calculated as much, but we'll be taking but a few of your mounts on the
Silberwelle
. Instead, we'll be carrying more stores.” She offered a crooked smile. “For later, should we need them.” She cleared her throat and went on. “You two will have my cabin here.”

“For such a longer voyage,” Secca protested, “we couldn't…Besides, the last time you promised you wouldn't give up your cabin…”

“Nonsense, lady. My life and that of the Matriarch's are worth more than a few weeks' comfort. You will need rest—that even I can see. I can see the strain of sorcery and battles.” Denyst grinned. “You can't always trust a captain to be selfish all the time. Mayhap, I should be saying that you can trust me to be selfish in a way that be wiser.”

Alcaren laughed.

Secca looked at her consort.

“You will not win this argument, my lady,” he said.

Secca shook her head ruefully, finally admitting, “It has been a long season, and we have not even reached the middle of spring here.”

“Even if the worst occurs, you have bought Ranuak time, perhaps years, but already the cost on you has been high.” Denyst looked from Secca to Richina, and then to Alcaren. “I can see that it has been high for all of you.”

And it will rise even higher
. But Secca only nodded and offered a lopsided smile.

Under a midday sky that was mostly blue, save for scattered puffy clouds, the
Silberwelle
sliced through the low swells of the Southern Ocean's dark blue water. With the wind in her face, Secca stood at the railing just aft of the bow of the
Silberwelle
, her riding jacket fastened against the chill damp air. Beside her was Alcaren.

“You slept till late morning,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“I am still tired, but not so tired as before. What of you?” He shrugged. “I was so tired my body did not even protest that I was aboard a ship.” He laughed.

“You're still tired,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Another few nights of rest, and I will be much better. A good bed helps.”

“That was kind of Denyst.”

“Both kind and practical. That is the way she is.” Alcaren turned and looked steadily at Secca. “Whatever you're—or we're—going to do,
my lady, you cannot maintain the wards until just before you try to sing it.”

“Without the wards, we may not live to sing,” Secca said. “You know that.”

Alcaren waited, but Secca did not say more. Finally, he said, “Ships can only sail so fast. If there are no ships within two hundred deks of us, then none can reach us for a day or more.”

“Sorcery can strike from any distance. Did we not prove that?”

“You did. But what need is there for Richina to be ready to defend us against other ships?”

“You would have her carry the wards?”

“For a few days.”

Secca looked ahead, out across the dark waters to the west.

“We only need a few days to rest up enough for sorcery to defend us,” he pointed out. “Then I could spellsing the fire spell against any ship. If that worries you, I will sing the ward spells with Richina. But you must have rest without the drain of the ward spells. Do you not recall the storm spell you used against the Sturinnese fleet?”

Much as she disliked Alcaren's words, Secca knew he was right.

“We have some time,” she finally said.
Do you have as much as you need?

“The more rest you have before you must do great sorcery, the stronger will be your spells. Also, Richina cannot do the water-storm spells, and there may be yet another fleet that will come to test us when we reach the isles of Sturinn.” Alcaren smiled wryly. “I cannot believe that those of Sturinn will not have some defenses.”

“Nor I,” Secca agreed.

“So you will let Richina—or the two of us—carry the ward spells?”

Secca glanced away from Alcaren's piercing gray-blue eyes, instead turning to watch the swells before the
Silberwelle
.

“My lady?” Alcaren asked softly.

“You are right. Yet it worries me. She is still so young.” Secca sighed.

“Will the Sturinnese let her live if we fail?”

“No. We both know that.”
Why does it have to be this way? Why does it always come back to who can do what to whom?
Secca shook her head.

Alcaren waited, and Secca could feel his eyes on her. At last, she replied, “Tomorrow or the next day. Or perhaps the day after. She will need rest, as well.”

Alcaren nodded.

You risk so much. Yet you risk more by doing nothing
. Secca tried to push the thoughts from her mind.
You can do nothing at this moment. Nothing
.

Alcaren put his arm around her, silently, so lightly that she almost did not notice it at first, and they remained at the railing, looking westward. Toward Stura.