The Shadow Sorceress (29 page)

The farther north Secca had ridden, the more briskly the wind had blown, though not necessarily any colder, and the road had gotten narrower, with the ruts frozen into stiff ridges that jarred riders and slowed mounts. The white birches had slowly given way to firs and pines, and to smaller peasant fields hedged in woodlots that were more like tended forests.

“A fool's errand,” she murmured under her breath, shifting
her weight in the hard and cold saddle. The glass had shown Dolov with but a handful of lancers, certainly no more than two companies. If it were not for the high and thick walls, Hadrenn would have had lancers enough to subdue the holding.

But the walls were there, and the gates were shut, and there was no help but for having to ensure Dolov did not revolt again, nor become a staging point for the forces of the Maitre of Sturinn. Secca took a deep breath. Sorceress-Protector of the East?

At the sound of humming, Secca glanced sideways at Richina. “Do you have it?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Sing it for me, using blank syllables.”

“Now?”

“It will only be a glass—more or less—before we reach the hillside south of the hold. That is what the scouts have reported.”

Richina nodded, then cleared her throat before beginning with the first “la.”

Secca listened.

When Richina had finished, the younger sorceress looked to Secca.

“You have the melody, but you're swallowing the sound some,” Secca said, “and you're not putting the stresses where they will fall when you use the words. Try it again.”

The second time, Secca nodded. “Better. Stronger stresses would help.”

“Do you wish—”

No,” Secca said gently, stopping as she spoke. A pair of riders had appeared over the low crest in the road ahead.

The pair of scouts—in Ebran green—rode southward on the road, toward Secca and the blue and gold standard that preceded her. Melcar and Wilten rode forward of the van to meet the scouts. The four talked briefly, and the scouts headed back northward.

The two overcaptains turned their mounts toward Secca, then swung them around to ride alongside the two sorceresses.

“The keep is but four or five deks farther. You can see it from that second rise in the road ahead,” Melcar explained. “The scouts say that the peasant cots are deserted, and that the keep
is secured, as if for a siege. All the livestock is gone, and the granaries emptied.”

“Did they see any sign of armsmen or lancers? And recent tracks in the road?”

“No, lady.”

Secca liked none of it, and she half-wondered exactly the reason for such defiance. Was it greed for power that ran through Bertmynn's family, down unto his sons? Or was the yoke of Defalk and Synek perceived as too heavy?

She frowned. Hadrenn's small palace in Synek was certainly not the height of luxury, and from the vantage point of Loiseau, Secca and Anna surely would have seen golds or vast amounts of goods coming from Dolov or anywhere in Ebra to Falcor. That hadn't happened, and Robero, while far better off than Hadrenn, was definitely not looting the lands.

“Lady?” asked Melcar.

“Why would they do that? They have few lancers remaining, and Lord Robero's liedgeld is far from heavy. Nor are Hadrenn's tariffs.”

Melcar glanced at Wilten. The Defalkan officer looked back at the Ebran. Neither spoke.

“There's no help for it. We'll press on to see the keep.”

Again, the two overcaptains exchanged glances.

“Yes, Lady Secca.”

Secca offered a smile. “Is there something I should know?”

After a moment, Melcar spoke. “The liedgeld be not popular, and Mynntar told all that they would live better were it not for Defalk.”

Secca nodded slowly. That meant Hadrenn was doubtless saying something similar. “It is not true, but it's far too late to dispel that feeling. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, lady. If you would excuse us…?”

Secca nodded, then turned in the saddle as the two overcaptains eased their mounts away. “Chief players!”

“Yes, lady?”

“We will need to run through the first building spell when we reach Dolov. We will need you to play it several times before we sing the spell.”

The hint of a smile crossed Palian's face, but she nodded.

Secca turned to look at the road ahead as it sloped gently toward the rise. She frowned as she took in the dark clouds that had appeared on the northwest horizon.

“You think we will need that spell?” asked Richina.

“What the scouts have discovered would say yes,” Secca replied.

“Why…lady?”

“I know, but I do not know.” After seeing Richina's puzzled expression, Secca continued. “Bertmynn was furious that the FreeWomen would not accept his rule. Even now, many would rather not speak of all that he did when he took the city. He used not only drums but Darksong in opposing the Lady Anna. His son invited the Sturinnese into Ebra, and the Sturinnese, you know, chain their women. All that, and a closed keep, do not speak of a lord who will ever keep faith with Defalk.”
Or who will respect women
. As the words crossed her mind, she realized that Anna could have spoken them, and Secca was, again, conscious of the emptiness within her.

Richina's eyes flicked toward the rear of the column, then back to Secca.

The older sorceress did not remark upon the gesture. “We will see.” Secca shifted her weight in the saddle.

It was nearly midday when Secca reined up on the rise a good two deks to the south of the keep of Dolov. Between the rise and the bluff on which the stronghold stood was an expanse of low fields, bare brown ground dusted with snow from the night before. The clouds to the north seemed nearer, and perhaps darker.

Secca studied the stronghold, the bluff, and the River Dol to the west. As the glass had shown, and the scouts confirmed, the gates were closed. As she surveyed the land, the four overcaptains gathered around on their mounts.

“The peasants have left, or they are within the keep walls,” Wilten reported.

Secca glanced at Melcar, who had just ridden up. The Ebran overcaptain was smiling.

“Lady…we have a message. It is from the craftspeople from the town to the south, not Rielte, but the other one…the closer
one.” Melcar paused. “Hanlis, that's it. They pledge their allegiance to you and Lord Robero. They even sent a wagonload of provisions.”

“We can use those.” Secca wondered how many wagonloads had gone to Mynntar or his younger brother before she had marched up the river. She also realized that she had forgotten the name of Mynntar's brother.

Secca took another look at the keep, then looked at Melcar. “Send a message. All within must surrender and walk out unarmed within the glass. Otherwise I will pull down the walls around their ears.”

Melcar nodded, too agreeably for Secca. So did Haddev. Alcaren's face revealed neither approval nor disapproval.

Wilten looked at Secca.

“Lady Anna gave Dolov back to Mynntar when his father revolted,” Secca answered the questioning expression. “These are the thanks Defalk gets for that generosity?”

“It is harsh for those who must follow a lord.”

“It is, but it is also harsh for the lancers who have died and need not have perished because a selfish lord was not satisfied with holding what his father held. It is harsh for the mothers and lovers and consorts of those who have died and will die. And for what? Because an arrogant lord wants to revenge an evil father?”

The Defalkan overcaptain turned away from Secca's blazing amber eyes.

“Send a messenger, Melcar,” Secca repeated. “We will ride to the lower ridge beyond bowshot of the keep walls.”

Melcar half-bowed in the saddle before turning his mount.

Less than half a glass later, Secca, Richina, and the players were dismounting on a rise that was barely that, where they looked up to the gray stone walls of the keep.

Richina glanced from the keep to Secca and then back to the players, who were beginning to tune their instruments.

“The wind is not that strong,” Secca observed, walking forward on the rise. “But it will get stronger before long.” Her eyes flicked to the clouds that now covered all of the lower part of the sky to the northwest.

“You think we will need to use your sorcery?” Richina's fingers twisted around each other.

Secca did not reply, instead watching as Melcar and Wilten rode toward her, followed by a squad of lancers in the green of Synek, a green darker than that of her own lancers.

Melcar and Wilten reined up. Although the Ebran overcaptain looked down on the diminutive sorceress, his eyes avoided hers.

Secca waited.

“Lady…?” Melcar's voice was almost apologetic.

“They refused.”

“You do not seem surprised.”

“No one who has not seen sorcery seems to believe that it exists or that it can cause great damage. That was something Lady Anna told me years ago.” Secca laughed once, without mirth. “I did not believe her.”

“They tried to kill the messenger with crossbow bolts, and dared you to do your worst,” Melcar replied slowly.

“They have lost more than ten score lancers, and the Sturinnese have departed. Yet they would defy you?” Wilten shook his head.

“They did not see their lancers destroyed,” Secca pointed out. “Nor the Sturinnese defeated. At best, they have heard stories that they did not wish to believe.” She laughed harshly. “Were I more cruel, I would leave maimed and broken bodies so all could see and hear what sorcery can do.”

“I cannot believe that they would dare a sorceress…” Melcar swallowed. “…to do your worst.”

Richina's eyes flicked from Secca to Melcar and back again.

“We will do our worst. We cannot risk lancers when we need not.” Secca looked to the younger sorceress. “Best we act before they attempt something, and before the weather turns upon us.” She had no idea what those in the keep might try, but she saw no point in allowing them the time. She turned toward Palian and Delvor. “Players. The first building spell…run through it so Richina and I can mark it together.”

Both chief players nodded.

Richina swallowed, then shook her shoulders to relax.

Secca returned her study to the keep—gray and cold and silent.

“The first building spell,” Palian called out. “On my mark…Mark!”

Secca sang with the players, not the words, but just the single syllable “la.”

After several bars Richina joined her.

When the last note died away, the red-haired sorceress looked once more at the taller and younger one. “You sound ready.”

“Yes, lady.”

A dull and distant rumbling echoed from the dark clouds to the north.

Secca gestured to Palian. “When you are ready, Chief Players.”

Palian responded with a curt nod, then lifted her bow. “The first building spell…on my mark…Mark!”

The sounds of both first and second players melded into the opening of the spellsong.

Both Secca and Richina faced the keep. Secca concentrated not just on the words, but on the images of the keep crumbling into rubble.

Richina's voice was true, if tentative, but by the third measure, both voices meshed and hurled forth from the low rise toward the silent and hulking keep.

The sky overhead began to darken from the first words that the two sorceresses sang, and more dull rumblings drifted out of the approaching clouds.

A triplet of chimes cascaded across the lowlands, chimes Secca knew were unheard except by the two sorceresses and the chief players, and the darkening sky left the sun dimmer and ever dimmer, until it was lost behind featureless gray clouds.

With the darkness came lightnings, yellowish bolts flashing toward the keep, bright against a purpled horizon. Then a deep rumbling groan issued from somewhere deep beneath the ground. The land rippled, the waves of soil and earth beginning at the base of the rise and heading northward. With each ripple, the rise beneath Secca's feet shivered, and she had to spread her feet to keep her balance.

Secca felt as though a dull knife had cleft through her skull. She struggled to see the keep of Dolov, but unseen needles stabbed at her eyes, and tears that burned like vinegar streamed down her cheeks.

Richina's knees seemed to buckle, and the younger and taller sorceress sat down on the winter-browned and snow-dusted grass.

Behind her, several players also sat down, involuntarily, but one—Britnay—simply pitched forward. Somehow, Palian managed to break her fall and save the violino.

Still squinting through the stabbing pains in her eyes, Secca struggled to watch the results of the twin-voiced spell.

To the north, the walls of the keep began to tremble, and puffs of dust spurted forth from between the ancient stones. The walls began to shake with each set of ground waves that rippled up the bluff to the base of the keep.

Another set of lightning bolts imprisoned the structure in a momentary cage of yellow-white, then slowly, the walls buckled, stones cascading outward, seemingly in a motion as slow as winter-congealed molasses, yet as inexorable as the fall of an axed tall pine.

The impact of the stones raining down away from the bluff shook the rise where Secca watched. Another set of lightning forks flared, so brightly that Secca blinked, and dayflashes blurred her vision.

When she could once more see, only heaps of small stones and gray dust remained on and around the bluff that had held a keep but a fraction of a glass before.

“…Harmonies save us…” said someone behind Secca, but she did not turn, as she still looked almost blankly at the gray devastation. While a few words had not been sung as strongly as
Secca might have liked, the effect had certainly been powerful enough. More than powerful enough.