Shadowsinger (52 page)

The Rider just smiled as Secca took the lutar from behind the saddle, where she had just refastened it. Secca checked the tuning, and then thought for several moments. Finally, she sang.

The mirror in the heat-darkened frame silvered, then centered on a panoramic view.

Secca looked down into the glass. Smoke swirled from the town where some structure smoldered and others still burned. The keep on the hillside was little more than scattered stones, licked by the intermittent flames of those items that flared in fire from the heat.

Vyasal licked his lips nervously. “I had heard…but to see an image from so far away…”

“It looks like Esaria,” Richina said.

“It felt worse,” Secca mused.

“What about the people?” asked Alcaren.

Secca looked at him, inquiringly.

“That kind of chord…it wasn't pure Clearsong,” he said.

Vyasal's eyes flicked from the mirror to Secca, and then to Alcaren.

Secca tried another spellsong.

The silver of the mirror twisted, and for the briefest of moments filled with hundreds of separate images, all blackened corpses. Then, with a splintering
crackkk!
, silvered glass sprayed across the grass.

Secca looked blankly at the shattered and scattered glass, the fragments glinting in the early-morning sunlight. Scores of scores had died…scores of scores…Falar, Lady Herene's consort, who always had a ready smile, and Uslyn, who had barely become lord of his demesne. Lady Herene and her family had always supported Anna, and now Secca, and once again it seemed as though they had been punished for that support.

Vyasal looked from the shards of glass and then to Secca. “You must do what you must.” A concerned smile appeared. “The mare, she will help.”

“Might you have a mirror such as this one was?” asked Alcaren. “We have a smaller one, but going into battle against the Maitre…”

“A mirror—that is little to supply. There is a sturdy one in the corridor off my chamber.” Vyasal laughed. “I will send for it.” He turned in the saddle and looked at his dark-haired daughter.

“The one with the plain dark wood border?” asked the young woman.

“That is the one.”

As Valya turned her mount and urged the silver-gold stallion into a trot up the hill, Secca glanced at the firegold mare, who had not moved. “Songfire. You're Songfire.” She had never named a mount before, but the mare was not just a mare. That she knew.

Then, she recased the lutar and strapped it behind the saddle. Pointing to the steaming wood frame that had once held a mirror used for scrying, she asked, “Would you mind if we left that…?”

Vyasal laughed. “Ha! Unlike so many, you ask, and for that courtesy alone I would bring every rider in the grasslands behind you, Lady Secca. We will take care of it once you are on your way.”

“Thank you.” Secca remounted Songfire, leaning forward in the sad
dle and patting the mare's shoulder and getting a slight
whuff
in return.

As she settled herself in the saddle, Secca was suddenly conscious that she seemed to tower over Alcaren and Richina, or so it seemed, although her head was probably only a few spans higher than theirs. But after years of being the smallest on smaller mounts, the change seemed enormous.

“You see,” Vyasal proclaimed, “now you have an advantage none can match. You are small, and your Songfire can carry you more swiftly and for longer than any. Even I could not catch you if you had the slightest of starts.” The Rider grinned, clearly pleased with himself as the group rode back uphill.

Secca was more than conscious of Richina's eyes on her back as they neared the stone walls of the Kuyurt. There, by the guest stables, the lancers and players were already formed up. Across a space of fifty yards from them was a line of men and woman in the battle garb of the Riders, with the twin blades in shoulder harnesses.

Secca glanced toward Vyasal.

“Only an honor guard,” The Rider replied. “We could not send you off without showing our support for you.” The emphasis on the pronoun was slight, but it was clear.

Secca felt a chill at Vyasal's words, but turned as Palian rode toward them.

The chief player reined up, and declared, “The players stand ready, Lady Secca.” A knowing smile crossed her face. “Your mount…she is beautiful.”

“A Sorceress Protector who must defend her land against the Sea-Priests must have a mount that declares who she is,” Vyasal said.

Valya reappeared on her mount, carrying an oblong object, wrapped in a brown blanket of some sort, and rode toward Secca and her father. Alcaren intercepted her and took the replacement mirror, further wrapping it in the leathers, before he eased his gelding beside the raider mare Secca rode. There he leaned over and fastened the new scrying mirror behind Secca's saddle.

“Lancers ready!” called out Wilten.

“SouthWomen ready!” came from Delcetta.

Secca nodded and eased Songfire toward the front of what would be a column. Vyasal rode beside her on the left, with Alcaren on the right, and Valya and Secca riding directly behind them. Secca had barely to touch the reins to signal the firegold mare to stop.

Vyasal eased his mount closer beside Secca, and leaned toward her. “I trust you with my daughter and my heir. I would trust you with my
life. All those in Defalk who think beyond their petty appetites would trust you, for you will not fail us, Sorceress-Protector.” He straightened, and proclaimed loudly, “Go in victory!”

The riders mounted as an honor guard repeated the cry. “Go in victory.”

Secca swallowed, thought for a moment, then replied, “With your support and your faith, we will bring victory and peace to Defalk once more.”
You hope you can
. Even with the doubts inside her, she smiled as she touched the reins, and Songfire carried her toward the road that led southward—toward Dubaria and Fussen and the Maitre. And toward all those who had already died…and those who would.

East of Fussen, Defalk

The Maitre, jerClayne, and Marshal jerLeng sit on stools around the camp table under the silk canopy of the Maitre's tent. A single oil lamp offers dim but adequate illumination, casting shadows across the faces of all three.

“The Shadow Sorceress is traveling south. She has passed the grasslands and enters the hills to the south of Heinene. She has added no lancers from either Nordfels or from the raider chief.” JerClayne pauses. “Not in any numbers that we can see.”

“That would show that even the western lords are less than fond of a woman with power,” points out the Maitre. “Or that they do not trust her not to lose their lancers in battle.”

“I would that your scrying could show more,” says the marshal.

“Her wards keep us from seeing her directly, or those close to her,” replies the younger Sea-Priest, “just as ours keep her from seeing the Maitre or us when we are close to him.”

“Doubtless she heads for Dubaria,” the Maitre observes. “She can have Dubaria.”

The younger Sea-Priest and the marshal wait.

“We have an invitation of sorts, do we not? From Lord Dostal of Aroch?” A hard smile curls across the lips of the Maitre.

“You would leave Dubaria?” asks jerLeng.

“Only for now. Only for now. If we ride directly to Aroch, we are closer to Falcor, and she must come to us to save the liedstadt. So we will go there and let her come to us. Then we will see.”

“See what?” questions jerLeng.

“Aroch controls the access to Falcor. It is time to draw Lord Robero into this. Holding Aroch will let us do so. From there we will send emissaries to Falcor. We will threaten to destroy Falcor unless Lord Robero orders the Shadow Sorceress to allow us to return to Neserea unmolested.”

“Why would he do such when Stura is in ruins and we have no fleet?”

The Maitre smiles crookedly. “Does he know such? Neither sorceress is near him, and your scrying has shown that he paces and frets. There are no message tubes upon his desk. We do have sorcery and close to one hundred companies of lancers. He can muster less than a score, if that.”

“So he thinks that he is likely to lose all unless he treats with us…”

“We can hope that he sees matters in that light. From what we have seen, it is most likely.”

“Still…will she not come after us?”

“If she obeys one order, she will obey another. If she obeys neither, then we will level Aroch and move on Falcor. Either way, she will get no support from Lord Robero, and he will get none from her. We will destroy them each in turn.” The Maitre leans forward. “You, jerLeng, will take thirty companies and leave early in the morning to take advantage of the good Lord Dostal's invitation. I will send a younger sorcerer with you, should it be necessary to destroy a section of the wall or the gates.”

The marshal nods. “And…what of Lord Dostal?”

“Once you have the hold well in hand…the usual. Leave the women, restrained suitably, of course. We will need serfs and servants in the years to come.”

Gray clouds filled most of the afternoon sky, with occasional patches of blue. The wind came and went, as did quick pattering rain, never enough to more than dampen the dust on the road stones before the rain stopped and the sun shone, if briefly, before another series of gusts and more showers scudded over the low and rolling hills that were mostly forest. While some of the scattered cottages had small fields ready to be tilled, most of the open ground was pasture, and here and there were some flocks of sheep.

Secca had the green felt hat tucked in her belt but preferred not to wear it. She bent forward slightly in the saddle and patted Songfire on the shoulder, still marveling that she was riding a raider beast and enjoying it.

Abruptly, she straightened as she saw riders coming from the south along the great western road. She squinted to make them out, then relaxed as she saw the green uniforms mixed with several of blue and crimson. Some of the lancers Wilten and Delcetta had sent out as scouts were returning.

“They must have something to report,” Alcaren suggested.

“I hope it's good.” Secca shifted her weight in the saddle. As she continued to ride southward along the western road, she watched as Wilten finished talking to the scout.

Then the overcaptain turned his mount and headed around the vanguard and back toward Secca and Alcaren. Wilten eased his mount around and rode beside Secca. “The scouts have returned with a messenger from Lord Tiersen. His forces are scattered through the lands ahead, but he will meet you at a small hamlet several deks farther to the south.” The overcaptain frowned, wrinkling his forehead. “The hamlet is called Sedak. It has a sawmill, and is in the woods a dek to the east of the road.”

“Where it is more difficult to scry,” Secca noted.

“I would judge so, lady.”

“Have they had any trouble with the Sturinnese?”

“They attacked a scouting party,” Wilten reported. “None of the Sea-Priest lancers survived, but Lord Tiersen lost some of his lancers.”

“Not too many, I hope.”

“The messenger did not say.”

“Send back a messenger to tell Lord Tiersen we will be there shortly.”

Wilten nodded, if dubiously.

“The glass showed no Sturinnese near here this morning. They cannot have reached here yet, and we have more than enough lancers and sorceresses to deal with anything else,” Secca pointed out.

“You will let us send out an advance squad?”

“Of course. You have my leave. Remember…” Secca shook her head. Wilten wouldn't know what she was thinking. “Tiersen and his consort saved my life when I was a child. She almost died in doing it. I owe them greatly.”

Some of the stiffness left the overcaptain's face.

“Tiersen is a good lord, and he will help us in any way he can,” Secca added. “Your squad should be careful, but I would doubt that the dangers lie with him.”

Wilten bowed. “I will accompany them.”

“Thank you.” Secca wasn't about to countermand that decision by Wilten, not when doing so would have implied that all she had just said was false or misleading—and it wasn't. “Tell Lord Tiersen I look forward to seeing him as soon as we arrive.”

“That I will, Lady Secca.”

As Wilten rode back toward the vanguard, Alcaren laughed softly. “He still trusts not those he does not know.”

“Better that than trusting blindly,” Secca replied.

As they rode the next dek of the road, Secca did notice that she saw no flocks in the meadows and no smoke from chimneys. She glanced back over her shoulder. Had it been that way for a time, and she hadn't noticed, or was there a change as they neared Dubaria?

While the road was smooth and level, it did wind around the hills, and when they rode around another gentle curve, they came to a crossroads of sorts. There two lancers had reined up, one a SouthWoman and the other in the green of Loiseau. The lane led eastward into a heavy forest.

Delcetta, who had taken over command of the vanguard in Wilten's absence, rode back to Secca. “They say that the hamlet is a dek to the east.”

“We might as well follow the lane, then,” Secca replied.

“I would send the vanguard at least a half-dek ahead,” counseled the SouthWoman overcaptain.

“As you see fit, overcaptain. I will also uncase my lutar.”

“I trust we will need neither,” Delcetta replied, “yet I would be prepared.”

Secca waited until the vanguard was almost out of sight on the lane that rose slowly along an ancient ridge, then urged Songfire forward. While the mare's ear's lifted slightly for a moment, she seemed relaxed.

The lane had been cut through ancient oaks, whose trunks were a good fifteen yards back from each shoulder of the clay track. The heavy trunks and the towering crowns overshadowed the entire lane, and in the gloom the air was colder and far damper.

“It would be hard to find someone hidden here with a glass,” Alcaren pointed out.

“I'm certain Tiersen—or Lysara—thought about that,” Secca replied.

After less than a dek, the lane curved to the south and began to descend. Abruptly, the ancient trees ended, revealing a clumping of buildings set against a hillside, where an older building overlooked a millpond and millrace. Below the mill was a long lumber barn, and Secca could smell damp sawdust.

Wilten's advance squad was drawn up before another group of riders, headed by a tall and muscular blond figure.

“Secca!” The call came from the muscular blond man.

“Tiersen!” Secca replied, grinning in spite of herself as she rode toward the dwellings of the hamlet behind the SouthWomen. The lancers eased aside as Secca neared Tiersen and his lancers.

Favoring Secca with a broad smile, Tiersen noted, “I see you've taken to riding raider beasts.” Even after more than a score of years, the Lord of Dubaria retained the same lankiness he had possessed as a youth.

“Songfire was a gift from Lord Vyasal.” On the mount behind the Lord of Dubaria, Secca recognized another figure, although the red hair was now streaked with gray. “Lysara!”

“You haven't changed at all,” Lysara offered.

“Not in some ways,” Secca replied. “I'm still small.” She paused. “I didn't tell you, not directly.” She gestured to Alcaren. “This is Alcaren. We were consorted by the Matriarch in Encora at the turn of spring.”

“By the Matriarch,” said Tiersen with a laugh. “I am impressed.” He smiled openly at Alcaren. “Welcome to the lands of Dubaria, such
as they are. If Secca chose you, you must have many talents. She is very choosy; she even turned down the Lord of Defalk.”

Alcaren glanced toward Secca.

Secca flushed, in spite of herself.

“She did,” Lysara insisted, with a mischievous grin. “She even once told him he was a worthless bully.”

“I doubt that I can compare to the lord of a land,” Alcaren said.

“He doesn't compare to you, my love,” Secca replied. “Not in any way.”

Tiersen cleared his throat.

The others looked to him.

“I saved the largest dwelling in the hamlet for you and your immediate party,” Tiersen offered.

“Thank you.” Secca felt confused by all the crosscurrents. “Oh…you recall Palian, and Delvor. They head my players. And Richina, and this is Valya, the oldest daughter of Vyasal.”

“It has been years since we have seen Palian and Delvor,” Lysara said, “but it is good they are here.”

Palian returned the pleasantry with a nod.

“We have seen both Richina and Valya, if a few years back, when they were neither so old, nor so beautiful and capable,” Tiersen said.

“It is a good thing you added the word ‘capable.'” Lysara laughed.

“I am slow, but over the years I have learned,” Tiersen replied. “Now…can we escort you to your dwelling, such as it is, and dismount? We have been riding since before dawn.”

Both Lysara and Secca laughed. Secca turned in the saddle toward Wilten and Delcetta. “Can you work out some arrangements for all the lancers?”

“They say the lumber barn is mostly empty,” Wilten called back. “We will manage.”

Delcetta nodded.

Secca hoped so, but there was at least some shelter.

Less than half a glass passed before a group of ten was crowded around a too-small table in the common room of the dwelling that Tiersen had commandeered for Secca. Besides Secca and Alcaren, Tiersen and Lysara, and the two younger women, Palian and Delvor had joined them, and last, Wilten and Delcetta. Richina and Valya stood, while the others sat on the battered wooden benches, except for Secca, who perched on a stool.

“We have been trying to protect the road to Falcor by ambushing their scouts and foraging parties, but we pulled back when they sent
thirty companies east,” Tiersen said. “Jolyn sent a messenger—she's with Kinor now—saying that they had a sorcerer with them and to be careful.”

“Thirty companies? Where are they headed?”

“To Aroch, it would appear. Dostal was in favor of at least talking to the Sturinnese.” Tiersen frowned. “Klestayr was cruel, but even he wasn't that stupid. His son…”

“Is a fool. He's always been one,” Lysara said. “I warned Ruetha, but she wanted to leave Falcor no matter what.”

Secca looked at the mirror on the table. “We should see where the Maitre and the other Sturinnese lancers are.” After leaving the table and returning with the lutar, she quickly tuned it, then sang the seeking map spell.

The dark-bordered mirror displayed a map of western Defalk, showing the Sturinnese in two places, the larger body being on the main road perhaps fifty deks west of Aroch, and the smaller body perhaps twenty deks from Lord Dostal's keep.

The second spell, focused on the easternmost Sturinnese, showed a column of lancers in white riding along the stone road to Falcor.

“More than twenty companies,” suggested Alcaren. “Could be thirty.”

Secca pointed. “That's a drum cart. Just one, though.”

“They're sending a sorcerer, then?” asked Lysara. “Poor stupid Dostal.”

Tiersen glanced to Secca.

“There's nothing we can do,” she said. “It's a good two-day ride from here, maybe three.”

“Two and a half,” Tiersen replied. “If it doesn't rain. The stone roads go the longer way and are a hard four and an easy five.”

“We'll still have to go to Aroch,” Secca said. “Let them take it. We'll bring it down around them.”

“If it doesn't rain,” said Delcetta. “If it does, they could be gone.”

Secca frowned. “Perhaps. They may want us to come to them.”

“So that they can fight where they want?” asked Lysara.

“What is the land like there?” Alcaren looked at Tiersen.

“The keep overlooks the town from the north, and the land slopes down. To attack the keep from the main road, you have to ride uphill.”

“And from the north?”

“There are hills that overlook the keep, perhaps as close as a dek, but there is a gorge between them. There are bridges to the east and
west, but they are several deks away.” Tiersen frowned. “I do not recall exactly.”

Secca nodded. “It might work.”

“What?” Tiersen looked at Secca.

“What I'm thinking about.” Secca looked to Palian. “Can the players practice later this evening? I may need a spellsong we haven't used recently.”

“That we can. Today's ride has not been hard.”

“As can we,” Delvor added.

“Perhaps you should run through the fifth and sixth building spells now—or once they are settled?” asked Secca.

Palian rose. “By your leave?”

Secca nodded, and both chief players left. Then she turned to the overcaptains. “I don't know about their lancers, but you may have to be prepared to hold those bridges. I will know more later tonight, or in the morning. We will be riding tomorrow.”

After Wilten and Delcetta left, Secca looked into the lined faces of her friends, recalling how youthful Lysara had appeared so many years before, when the now-graying Lady of Dubaria had taken up a blade, almost losing her life to save Secca's. “You yet look most serious.”

“The Sturinnese are but half the problem,” Tiersen said slowly.

“Robero?”

“He's still the same Jimbob you called a bully,” Lysara said.

Richina's eyes widened, as did Valya's, but neither spoke nor moved.

“He would rather rule badly by himself than well with aid,” Tiersen added. “Even Alyssa has left him, though she merely pleaded her need for the healthful air of the mountains of the south.”

“We heard something of the sort from Lady Andra,” Secca replied.

“Cassily was most fortunate there,” Lysara said.

“Do you think Anna foresaw this?” asked Tiersen. “That we would be working together?”

Both Secca and Lysara looked at him.

“That was the whole point of Anna's fostering so many with ability, my dear,” Lysara said. “If you recall. Think about where they all are now.”

Tiersen shook his head, mock-ruefully.

“Was abandoning Dubaria hard?” Secca asked Lysara.

“Not that hard. Not after Jolyn showed us in the glass what the Maitre did to Esaria. The hard part was sending Lystar and Terlen to Abenfel. Birke insisted that, no matter what happened, they'd be safer
there. Lystar didn't want to go. A year past his score and he wants to fight the Sturinnese on his own.”

“I suppose he points out that you fought?” Secca grinned.

Lysara grinned back. “I told Lystar that he could fight once he could find a sorceress to protect him from sorcery and not until. I fear he might.”

“One of Birke's daughters?” Secca asked.

“Birke says that Bireya is much like Clayre, except she has red hair. She is almost fifteen, and he was thinking of sending her to study with you.”