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Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.

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BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

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Hanfor’s black hair was short and streaked with gray, and his weathered face offered a professional smile. “I hope you can assist us.”

“I will do my best, overcaptain.”

“This is Delor, overcaptain of the Mittfels Foot.”

“Sorceress.” Sitting to Anna’s right, Delor was whipcord thin, with black eyes that glittered beneath balding brown hair.

“Overcaptain,” Anna offered her professional smile.

“And this is Zealor, captain of the Prophet’s Guard.”

Zealor had a sad round face, blue eyes, and short and limp blond hair. He nodded from the other side of Delor.

Anna returned the nod.

“I am Nitron, overcaptain for the levies.” The brown-haired man beside Hanfor had a sweeping mustache and pale green eyes. His smile was the type that said,
“How can you resist me?”

Delor quietly filled Anna’s crystal goblet with dark red wine.

Three servers entered the hall with platters, and a fourth with two baskets full of bread. Two of the platters went down between Behlem and Anna, one with slices of beef covered in a brown sauce. The second platter contained mixture of apples and green beans sprinkled with nuts.

“Eat while the food is warm. It won’t be hot because the kitchen is a long walk.” Behlem laughed briefly, then speared a slice of the meat and dropped it on Anna’s plate, then took two for himself. She returned the favor by ladling
some of the apple-bean casserole onto his plate and then hers.

Several of the younger officers at the foot of the table continued to stare at Anna, but she forced herself to ignore the scrutiny. She cut and ate a bite of the meat, glad that at the Prophet’s table there was cutlery, since she had not brought her dagger with her. The hot mint sauce was spicy enough that Anna’s eyes watered after one mouthful, and she quickly broke off a chunk of bread and ate that, followed by a sip of the fruity and too-sweet wine.

Then she tried the apples and beans—an odd, but not unpleasant combination.

“Not bad for Defalk,” murmured Menares, after finishing a complete slice of meat in less than three mouthfuls. “A little on the mild side.”

Anna took smaller bites of meat from then on and reminded herself to be cautious when eating in Neserea.

“Perhaps the lady Anna would be so kind as to tell us in a few words where she is from and how she came to grace our presence.” Behlem lifted his goblet and punctuated his words with a long swallow.

“As some of you know,” the sorceress began after gently clearing her throat and wondering when her sinuses would stop burning from the spices, “I was summoned here from earth. It’s one of the mist worlds … .” She went on to summarize her tale, careful not to identify Daffyd and Jenny as the summoners, emphasizing the cold, dark nature of the Ebrans, and concluding with her trip from Synope.

“Sorcerers tell of wondrously mighty weapons seen in the images of the mist worlds,” said Menares. “Powerful as you are, why have you not employed such weapons?”

“Because it takes thousands of people to make those weapons on my world and because that kind of technology magic does not work on Erde.” Anna offered a shrug.

“Does song magic work on your world?” asked Menares.

“Not nearly so well as it does here,” Anna answered.

“I am curious,” ventured Delor. “Why are you willing to help us?”

Anna paused, thinking,
Careful … this is where it gets tricky.
“I am frankly not so interested in helping you as I am in stopping the Ebrans. In my world, years ago, there was a country like Ebra, whose soldiers wore black and who decided to try to take over the world. No one tried to stop them when they were smaller and not so powerful. In the end the world was devastated and over fifty million people died.”

“Million?” asked Zealor.

Anna frowned momentarily, then realized the number was probably meaningless in a culture where the largest cities were in the tens of thousands and battles were decided by a few thousand people. “One hundred thousand—a million is ten times as large.”

“You must be … deceived. There are not that many people anywhere.”

“The country where I lived had over two hundred million people. Two others had more than five times as many people.”

“They would be crowded together like rats,” protested Zealor.

“In some places, they are,” Anna admitted.

“The sorceress answered the question, I believe,” interjected Menares smoothly. “It is not that she loves us so greatly, but that she has already seen in her own world what damage those like the dark ones can create.” He rubbed his chin. “Still … why do you choose to fight? Most women do not.”

“I think I have already shown that,” Anna answered.
And I’m not about to admit that I don’t have many choices.

“Surely … some would offer protection …” That came from the lower end of the table.

“When one accepts such protection, the price is high, and the choices few,” Anna answered.

Behlem laughed. “What our sorceress is saying is that, like you, captains, she prefers to make her own choices and
pay for them with her abilities. We need her abilities, and I would rather pay her than lose armsmen. Wouldn’t you?”

“With almost no support,” Menares added, “she destroyed more than half the Ebran forces in the battle for the Sand Pass, and all of the darksingers in the pass itself. Eladdrin is yet seeking replacements.”

Anna covered her confusion with a sip of the wine. Menares and Behlem were using the others’ questions to sell Anna. Why? She especially needed to watch the older man, she felt. Menares didn’t feel untrustworthy, but he didn’t feel trustworthy, either. He also knew too much. Behlem was totally untrustworthy, and he’d do away with her as soon as he didn’t need her. So she needed to remain indispensible. What a miserable situation—the worst of university politics combined with magic and medieval court intrigue.

“I suppose she’ll use her sorcery from a safe redoubt while we take the arrows?” asked Nitron.

“At the Sand Pass, she was as exposed as any armsman,” Behlem said mildly. “Sorcery doesn’t work unless the sorcerer’s voice can be heard. Except in the mist worlds,” he added with a disarming laugh.

“That works out both ways there,” Anna added. “Our weapons can destroy whole cities, so nowhere is safe in war.”

“Barbaric … .” said Hanfor under his breath.

All war seemed barbaric to Anna, and arguing about which way of killing was more or less civilized was an academic exercise. She took another sip of wine.

“How soon will the Ebrans advance?” asked Delor.

“Not until they are at full strength, and that will be several weeks yet,” said Menares.

“We should attack sooner.”

“Good advice,” said Behlem wryly, “except that we’re not up to strength yet, and their forces are closer than ours. We also need to get more support from the local lords.”

“Ha! You’ve got a fat goose’s chance of escaping that fire.”

“The lady Anna brought us the support of the Lord of Synope, and we have the support of Pamr and Dubaria—”

“ …never heard of them …”

“—and we expect that support to grow with the arrival of additional forces from Elioch and Itzel.” Behlem raised his goblet. “To the defeat of the dark ones.”

Anna managed to drink less than two goblets of wine in the endless toasts, and the questions that, as the evening proceeded, repeated the questions already asked, and the answers already given. She also forced herself to eat far more than she wanted. A good look in the mirror while dressing had convinced her of that necessity, even while she fought the impulses that screamed,
“You’re overeating. You’ll get fat.”
Even though the words in her mind had sounded like Avery’s, she had to fight to eat what she had.

In the end, though, her steps were steady when, after asking the Prophet’s leave, she stood and walked toward the arched doors.

“Think she’ll warm his bed?”

“Not if he’s got any brains. Would you want to get caught between her and Cyndyth?”

Even keeping her face calm as she walked toward the door, Anna seethed. In some matters, even in Falcor, she had choices. And she would have more.

FALCOR, DEFALK

“I
had not expected her to be so …” Behlem fingers his beard, as he leans back in the leather chair.

“So beautiful?” asks Menares.

“How can it be real? Is it a glamour?”

“Her reflection in the wall mirrors is the same as her appearance. Even with spelled water, her reflection is the
same. I took her hand, and it feels like the hand of a young woman.”

“But … how? She looked older in the mirrors.”

“She was. She is. She has indicated that she has children older than Cyndyth.”

Behlem looks sharply at Menares. “How did you find that out?”

“From my efforts when you sent me here. Does it matter?” Menares shrugs. “You wanted the sorceress, and she will assist you.”

Behlem fingers his beard and shakes his head.

“Don’t even think about it,” cautions Menares. “She may be powerful, but if Cyndyth and Konsstin—”

“I know … . But she’s beautiful, and she doesn’t simper or cringe.”

“She is almost old enough to be your mother, no matter how she looks,” says Menares dryly. “And you need her abilities a great deal more than you need her body.”

“There is that.”

“Keep thinking that way, Behlem. Otherwise, Eladdrin will pull Defalk down around your ears—our ears, I might say.”

The Prophet swallows the last of the wine in his goblet. “ … never have what I want … always some problem … What about this Lord Hryding?”

“He lost half his levies and most of his trained armsmen in that battle for the Sand Pass. He couldn’t stop fourscore of your armsmen. So he escorts the sorceress to you and hopes for your favor. Send back a few golds and a scroll. He’ll support you, and it will cost you almost nothing.”

Behlem nods. “What does it gain me?”

“You can announce tomorrow what you did last night to the captains, that yet another old lord of Defalk has seen the wisdom of supporting you. If you can announce one every few days, before long, no one will dare oppose you, not openly.”

The Prophet refills his goblet. “She is beautiful, and it is not just her appearance.”

“You had best hope that Cyndyth does not discover that is how you feel.”

“So had you, dear friend. So had you.”

“Y
ou summoned me, Lady Anna?” Daffyd asked, looking at the dusty stones of the landing where he stood outside Anna’s door.

“I just asked if I could talk to you.” Anna shrugged. “Before I knew it, the pages were running off, and I guess they dragged you up here.” She gestured to the chair by the table. “Why don’t you sit down? Would you like some water?”

“Ah … yes.”

Anna could see the dampness around his forehead. She handed him the extra goblet. “It’s clean.”

“Your room is cool.” Daffyd finished the entire goblet in two long swallows. “That was good. Thank you.”

“I’ve had time to work up a few more spells. I don’t know that I could take it if it were as hot as it was when I got here.” She refilled the goblet. “I figured that if Brill could cool rooms I ought to be able to find a way, and I did. It’s so hot here.”

“It’s hotter here than in Mencha. It always is this time of year, and it gets hotter until harvest time.”

“How are your quarters?”

“I have a small room to myself, and it’s got a window. That’s something. I managed to get some spare strings, too. One broke when I was practicing yesterday.”

“How are the players?”

“They’re players,” Daffyd shrugged. “Most aren’t as good as I am, or Liende or Kaseth, or even Jaegel. Lord Brill had the best. This bunch only knows a few dozen spell tunes.”

“Who do they play for?”

“Lord Behlem.”

“He knows sorcery?” Anna asked, puzzled. If Behlem knew sorcery, why did he need Anna?

“Most rulers know a few spells. Even Barjim learned a few, but they’re simple. Anyone can learn a spell, I guess, but what good is one spell, or even a few? And people who aren’t sorcerers can’t always sing the spells right, even the ones they know.”

And they probably can’t match their singing well with the players unless it’s very simple,
Anna thought, then asked. “Do you need anything?”

“No. We’re fed well, and we can practice, and walk around the courtyard. It’s boring, though.” He looked at Anna. “Was this a good idea, Lady Anna? There’s no locks here, but …”

“We’ll have to see,” she answered. “I couldn’t do much in Synope.”

The player finished his second goblet of water.

“See who you think would make a good players’ group.” Anna held up her hand. “I don’t have anything in mind, yet.” She poured herself another drink. Even with the coolness of the room, it was dry, and she needed a lot of water.

“You know, Dalila really liked you,” Daffyd said slowly.

“I like her. I don’t care much for Madell.”

“I never did, either. But she had to get away, and he was interested. Ma worried about Lord Brill.”

Anna shook her head. From what Liende had said, Daffyd’s mother probably worried that Brill would be interested in Dalila instead of her, and she wanted out more than her daughter had.

“I don’t know,” the violist finally said. “You think you know things, and then you don’t.”

“We all find that out,” Anna said with a half-bitter laugh. “We all do.”

BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle

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