Shadowsinger (5 page)

“If I might ask,” ventured Todyl, “what is your hold like?”

Secca smiled. “Neither Flossbend nor Loiseau is terribly large, just enough to support a small household and the lancers.”

“Lancers?” asked Carenya.

“The four companies of lancers in green are hers, not Lord Robero's. She supports them and pays them,” Alcaren said quickly. “My lady is sometimes too modest.”

“Your lands cannot be that small, then,” suggested the trader.

“We do as we must in these troubled times,” Secca replied, not really knowing how she could answer the implied questions without being deceptive in some way or another, or revealing more than she had any desire to divulge.

Nedya hurried into the sitting room, bearing a tray on which were five mugs. Steam drifted from all five. She deftly set a mug before Secca, then before Alcaren. “Only because this is special,” she told her brother with the hint of a smile.

“I'll do the same for you,” he whispered back.

“You'll wait a long time, but I'll hold you to it.” Nedya handed mugs to her parents, then sat on the stool at the end of the low table, cradling the mug between both hands.

There was a long silence.

“Besides fight battles,” asked Nedya abruptly, “what does a sorceress of Defalk do?”

Secca smiled. “Until the last two seasons, I had never fought a battle. In Defalk, sorcery is used to make life better for people. We build roads and bridges, sometimes buildings. Last fall I repaired an old dam and part of the aqueduct that provided water to the people of Issl. I have used sorcery to discover where a well might be dug.”

“That does not sound too taxing,” observed Carenya.

Secca tilted her head, wondering how she could explain. Finally, she
began. “In one day, a sorceress and her players may be able to use sorcery to build one dek, perhaps two deks, of stone-paved road. That much sorcery will exhaust them. Defalk had no paved roads outside of Falcor when the lady Anna became regent. Today, there are more than a thousand deks of roads in Defalk. There is even one that travels most of the west of Defalk, from Nordfels to Denguic.” She paused. “It would take scores of men to build and pave a dek of road in a day. While sorcery can do such faster, it takes much effort and skill.”

“The roads improve travel and trade,” mused the trader.

“We also have had to build bridges and fords,” Secca added.

“Defalk had been the poorest of lands since the Spell-Fire Wars,” reflected Carenya, “but now…”

“Matters are better now,” Secca pointed out, “but Defalk is still far from wealthy. It has been more than a score of years since the terrible drought, and the land has still not fully recovered. Even my orchards do not produce what they did in the first years of Lord Brill.”

“You could have been a trader, lady,” replied Carenya with a slight laugh. “Nothing is as good as it could or should be.”

“How will you get to the ceremony?” asked Nedya quickly, as if to preempt another question by her parents. “It's a long walk from the guest quarters to the Matriarch's.”

Secca glanced at Alcaren, who met her inquiry with raised eyebrows. Then, he finally shrugged.

“I would guess that we'll ride,” Secca replied. “I haven't seen any carriages or coaches in Encora.”

“There aren't any,” Nedya said. “Unless you count the wagons with benches.”

“It's an old custom,” explained Todyl. “The Mynyan lords used carriages shielded with sorcery. No one has ever used a coach since.”

Secca nodded slowly. Just as she thought she understood Ranuak better, something like the matter of carriages popped up. Then, she should have guessed from the tailoring of the gown sent by the Matriarch.

Wondering how many other surprises she would discover in the course of the afternoon, Secca smiled and asked Carenya, “How did you become a trader?”

“That was easy enough. Once I could stand, my mother put me on the deck beside her…”

Secca nodded and continued to listen.

While the sun shone through a high and thin haze, the chill breeze out of the northeast reminded Secca that, even in Encora, the season was not yet spring. She and Alcaren rode at the head of the column, preceded only by four of the Matriarch's guards, and followed immediately by Wilten and Richina, with a company of lancers in the green of Loiseau bringing up the rear.

Wearing her green leather riding jacket over the blue gown was practical, if not terribly elegant, but Secca had no alternatives, besides freezing. She shifted her weight in the saddle of the gray mare, then glanced sideways at Alcaren, riding beside her in the darker blue dress uniform of an overcaptain of Ranuak—a much warmer outfit than the blue consorting gown Secca wore under the riding jacket.

“I've never seen that uniform,” she said.

“Neither had I, until yesterday. It was a gift from the Matriarch. She said she owed more than a uniform to me, but that the uniform would have to do for now.”

“She wants you consorted and out of Ranuak,” Secca suggested, “and she might gift her favorite cousin more—once you're safely away.”

“Her problem cousin is more accurate,” Alcaren replied. “But I'm about to become more your problem than hers. Are you ready for that?”

“More than ready. You've already been the problem. We're past that.” Secca smiled, broadly, trying to conceal some of the nervousness she felt.

“You're worried still.” His voice carried the understated concern that it had taken her seasons to recognize.

“A little. In a way, I'd given up hope of finding a consort I could love. Getting that feeling back…”

“I know.” Alcaren laughed gently, warmly. “I do know. I didn't expect to find myself drawn to you. Then…I couldn't lose you, and I didn't realize it until I had to act.”

“I know. I'm glad.” Secca appreciated both his words and the warmth behind them.

The last half-dek of the avenue leading to the Matriarch's palace was lined with lancers—women lancers in the red and blue of the SouthWomen. As Secca and Alcaren rode past, each SouthWoman lifted her sabre in salute, holding it unwaveringly long after the couple had passed.

“They don't have to…” Secca murmured.

“They do,” replied Alcaren in a low voice, leaning toward her. “The Council of SouthWomen will ask the Matriarch to allow all five companies of the SouthWomen to accompany you to Dumar.”

“They told you this?”

Alcaren shook his head. “They were talking about it from the day after the battle with the Sea-Priests. All of the SouthWomen lancers are packing, and all have made arrangements for others to handle their crafts or work.”

Secca swallowed.

“You have become their champion, and they will follow you where they would follow no other.”

“Me? I'm not even from Ranuak.”

“All have seen your work with a blade, and all know that you have slain Sea-Priests with both sorcery and blade.”

Secca smiled, ruefully. “You told them?”

Alcaren shook his head. “Delcetta did. Since the time of the Great Sorceress, they have felt they failed, and they would follow you to redeem themselves.”

Secca still felt strange hearing Anna referred to as the Great Sorceress. “Redeem themselves for what? What they did created the Free City, and that began to change everything in Ebra.”

“Only because Anna defeated Bertmynn and forced the Ebrans to recognize the city as a place of refuge. They feel they owe both of you.”

Even after Alcaren's brief explanation, Secca couldn't say she understood, but she wasn't going to pursue it on her consorting day.

Following the Matriarch's guards, they turned their mounts toward the gateless opening in the bluish white granite walls that encircled the Matriarch's palace and grounds. Over the ungated entry rose a high stone arch. Above the keystone of the arch was set a single white-bronze fire lily. Inside the walls, the stone drive curved toward the three-story dwelling set in the middle of a park with wide expanses of grass and irregularly spaced low trees. Under the portico waited another set of
four guards in the pale blue uniforms of the Matriarch, standing on the steps above the long carriage-mounting block.

“You will let me assist you in dismounting, my lady, will you not?” asked Alcaren. There was a smile in his tone of voice, as well as upon his lips.

“This time.” Secca was smiling as well.

After dismounting, Secca took Alcaren's arm, and they walked past the small honor guard and up the three wide stone steps to the archway into the small palace. Richina followed silently.

Once in the square foyer inside, Secca removed her riding jacket and handed it to Richina. The younger sorceress took off her own jacket, revealing her simple traveling gown of rich green, then passed both jackets to Gorkon, who had followed them inside, with Wilten. Richina led the way up the single staircase, not overly wide, perhaps three yards, but broad enough for Secca and Alcaren side by side, even with Secca's blue overskirt.

“I hope your family is here,” murmured Secca.

“Father wouldn't miss it, and neither would Mother and Nedya. They've probably been here for a good glass.”

When Richina reached the landing at the top of the steps, the younger sorceress stepped forward toward the open doorway into the Matriarch's formal receiving hall, where the consorting would take place. The Matriarch's two daughters, both in white trousers and tunics, flanked the doorway, each carrying a sprig of fir about two spans long, each sprig wrapped in white ribbon. The two girls bowed gravely to Richina, and then more deeply to Secca and Alcaren.

“Have them enter,” called the Matriarch.

As Secca stepped into the formal receiving hall, past the two girls, walking slowly beside Alcaren, her eyes went first to Alya, standing on the dais before the blue crystalline chair-throne, a throne sparkling with an inner light that created an aura around the Matriarch. The diffuse light from the from the floor-to-ceiling windows on each side of the chamber somehow emphasized the warm bluish aura.

Alcaren's parents stood on the left side of the receiving room, their backs to the long windows, while a slender man with blond-and-silver hair, presumably the Matriarch's consort, stood by himself on the right. He was attired entirely in white, except for a dark blue belt and matching dark blue boots.

Both Carenya and Nedya wore white tunics with lace collars over dark blue trousers, while Todyl wore a blue tunic over white trousers. All three wore crimson leather belts.

Richina stepped forward, and then moved to the right, beside the Matriarch's consort, before turning to face Carenya.

Secca and Alcaren stopped two paces short of the dais and the Matriarch.

Alya smiled warmly. “I would like to say that I never would have guessed that this consorting would come to be. I cannot tell you, and all those here, how happy I am that you two have found each other, and happiness in each other.” She paused. “The ceremony is simple.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, the Matriarch glanced out across the modest formal hall. “Do any here have any objection to this consorting?”

After a pause, she looked at Secca. “Do you, Secca, Lady of Loiseau and Flossbend, enter this consorting of your own free will, without coercing another, and without coercion by any other being, and in joy, hope, and honesty?”

“I do.” Secca felt a lump in her throat, and, somehow, she wished Anna could have been there to see the ceremony, and…somehow…she felt sad that her mentor had never felt able to consort to Lord Jecks.

“Do you, Alcaren of Encora, enter this consorting of your own free will, without coercing another, and without coercion by any other being, and in joy, hope, and honesty?”

“I do.”

Alya looked to Secca once more. “If you would repeat after me…”

Secca nodded.

“I, Secca, in the sight and song of the harmonies, offer myself as your consort, forsaking all others. I accept you and no other as my consort for so long as shall the harmonies declare, through all times of trouble, all times of joy, and the times that are neither.”

“Alcaren, if you would repeat after me…”

Alcaren smiled and squared his shoulders ever so slightly before repeating the words. “I, Alcaren, in the sight and song of the harmonies, offer myself as your consort, forsaking all others. I accept you and no other as my consort for so long as shall the harmonies declare, through all times of trouble, all times of joy, and the times that are neither.”

After just a moment of silence, Alya raised her left hand, drawing a circle in the air.

Secca could see the faintest shimmer of a blue orb hanging before the Matriarch for a long instant before Alya again spoke.

“As Matriarch of Ranuak, I declare you are consorts in body, in spirit, and in harmony.”

Secca turned toward Alcaren, lifting her head slightly as his arms went around her ever so gently. Their lips met.

Someone sighed.

As she and Alcaren embraced and kissed before the Matriarch, Secca could feel a sense of warmth—and peace—flow over them, and she didn't want the moment to end.

Envaryl, Dumar

The sharp-faced man in the crimson tunic of the Lord High Counselor of Dumar stands with his back to the low coals in the hearth of the villa's study. “A cold winter this has been. Few have seen one this chill.”

The man in gray nods. The two other men, one wearing the uniform of an overcaptain, the other the gold collar insignia that proclaim him an arms commander, do not.

“We watch, and yet your glass, Elyzar, it shows nothing,” continues the Lord High Counselor.

“The glass shows what is, Lord Fehern. It does not show what we wish,” replies the sorcerer.

“I do not see why the Sturinnese do not move against us,” offers the arms commander. “The roads are firm. The mud is gone, and yet they advance not. Or so slowly that they might be a giant tortoise.”

“That may be, Halyt,” says Fehern. “That indeed may be, but they hold all of our lands save this miserable western province. They rode quickly enough in the fall. Now, they do not. Can your glass tell us why, Elyzar?”

“It can show what happens. It does not show what is in men's hearts.” The broad-shouldered sorcerer fingers his neatly trimmed and square-cut black beard.

“It is clear that they wait for something,” states Arms Commander
Halyt. “Could it be that they fear the Liedfuhr will strike them from the north?”

“Kestrin won't do that.” Fehern snorts. “He worries far more about his sister and her daughter. My dear younger brother Eryhal should have consorted with the elder. Then, there would be less support for this Belmar.”

“One cannot undo what is done, lord,” offers Elyzar unctuously. “One can but take the opportunities offered to change the future.”

“We can't do anything about Neserea,” points out Halyt. “We needs must prepare for the onslaught here.”

“How…with more quick skirmishes that kill Sturinnese, but scarcely stop them? Or do you have a score of sorcerers or thirtyscore companies of lancers coming to our aid from somewhere?” Fehern laughs hollowly. “Not a word, and not a single lancer from that old woman of Defalk. All these years we have sent tribute and fealty, and what do we receive in our time of trouble? Not a thing. A sad thing it is when the best ruler of Defalk was a woman and but a regent. She was more a man than the men of Defalk.”

“All the mountains are too deep with snow…” murmurs the overcaptain.

“Now…but were they that deep when the Sturinnese landed in Narial? When aid would have truly helped?”

Neither officer speaks for a time.

Fehern looks hard at the sorcerer. “Your glass has no answers as to why the Sturinnese tarry. Do you, Elyzar?”

“They wait for something, lord. It could be that they think that waiting will gain them more than attacking.”

“We have supplies, more than enough. What we do not have is sorcerers who can do battle work and lancers adequate to stop the white tide. You know that.” Fehern glares at Elyzar. “So must they.”

“They must know something.” Halyt laughs heartily. “Otherwise, we would see them on the river road.”

“They must. But what?” Fehern turns from the sorcerer, cocking his head slightly. “What could it possibly be?”

Elyzar offers an enigmatic smile, but does not reply.