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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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WEI, NORDWEI

T
he bright flames of the lamps on the wall scarcely flicker, and no smudge of soot mars the crystal mantles of the brass luminaries. Through the window, points of orange and yellow mark the larger lamps lighting the harbor piers, and the lines of darkness undotted by lamps denote the River Nord and the outlines of Vereisen Bay.

The heavyset seer waits in the chair until the dark-haired woman with her back to the window looks up. The blonde woman in the adjoining chair moistens her lips.

“What have you seen, Kendr?” asks the dark-haired Ashtaar at last.

“The sorceress from the mist worlds … . She is strong … and she has been welcomed by the Prophet Behlem,” answers Kendr.

“We knew she was strong. All the strings of Liedwahr echoed when she called the fires of dissonance down upon the Ebrans.”

Gretslen looks down.

“You are displeased, Gretslen?”

“I am concerned. I did not feel dissonance when the sorceress called the fires.”

“What about you, Kendr?” questions Ashtaar.

“I sensed no dissonance, ser.”

Ashtaar frowns, then asks, “What else have you discovered about the sorceress?”

“She is in a tower in Falcor, in the liedburg, and she has a strange instrument, like a lute, but larger. She practices
with it. People visit her.” Kendr smiles apologetically.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Mightiness.”

“I’m not a mightiness, Kendr, but you may go. I would like a few more words with you, Gretslen.”

The two wait until the seer departs and the door closes.

“Why did Behlem offer her sanctuary?” asks Ashtaar.

“It was his idea alone. We tried to discourage it, and we’ve planted more seeds, especially since the sorceress has been renewed and made young again.”

“Those seeds will take time to grow into trees and bear fruit.”

“I know,” Gretslen admits.

“That’s fine, I think. The battle for the Sand Pass showed that the Ebrans are stronger than the Council thought. So let the sorceress be, for now, Gretslen, whether she be of harmony or dissonance,” says the dark-haired woman. “If she defeats the Ebrans, and Behlem is victorious, then she must be eliminated. Behlem with a sorceress of that power—he would be insufferable.”

“Even with our influence?” asks Gretslen.

“Behlem disregarded our ‘influence’ on this already,” answers Ashtaar ironically.

“We should remedy that, too,” suggests Gretslen.

“Later … if necessary,” Ashtaar agrees.

A
nna studied the clean riding clothes she wore, then yanked the bellpull. Daffyd had intimated that she was a prisoner in a gilded cage. Well … there was no way she was going to spend another day sitting in a tower room practicing lutar and trying to adapt more songs into spells. She’d go mad.

She walked back to the window, standing slightly back from the open shutters and the cooling barrier she had managed. The portcullis had been lifted to admit another troop of horse, and there were more tents in the flat outside the walls. To the north, clouds formed on the horizon—had her efforts reduced the Ebran control over the weather?

Thunk!
“Yes, Lady Anna?” came the voice through the heavy door.

“Come in.”

The redheaded page stepped inside and bowed.

“Birke,” Anna announced, “I’m going riding. Farinelli needs the exercise. I’d appreciate it if you would make the arrangements so that we can leave the liedburg as soon as possible.” She smiled. “I’ll saddle Farinelli myself. It might be dangerous for anyone else.”

“But …”

“If anyone gives you trouble, they can come to me—or to the Prophet’s counselor Menares. It’s not as though I’m going to ride out and attack the Ebrans. All the other captains come and go. So will I.”

Birke gulped. “Yes, lady.”

A smile played across Skent’s face as he stood behind Birke.

Anna stood waiting until the page bowed, and both of the youths left. Then she shut the door and walked back to the window. The portcullis had been lowered again, and the arriving armsmen had vanished somewhere into the castle.

She could have marched down to the stable herself, but that would have created a direct confrontation with the stablemaster, or whoever was in charge, or would put the man in an impossible situation, and she didn’t want to put any of the staff in such a position. She would need every ally she could find. The pages were supposed to carry out her wishes, and she’d provided them with a safe response—she hoped.

She did not have to wait long before the knocker thunked again.

Menares stood at the door, breathing heavily. “I understand—”

“I am going riding. Nothing more. I will not spend all my days in a small tower room. If I am to ride to battle, I need practice.”

“Not all of Falcor is safe … .”

“Fine. Tell me where I shouldn’t go.”

“You need an escort … .”

“All right. A small one. Have them meet me in the stables in a few moments.”

“Your actions might be considered …”

“Menares, you’re a smart man. You know, and I know, that the Prophet needs me, and I need the Prophet. But I’m not a bird in a gilded cage. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt the Prophet’s image to have me riding around. It will give the impression that people are joining him by choice, not force. Oh, and I’d like one of the pages to accompany me, probably Skent this time. He needs to get out.”

“Lady Anna …”

“Menares, it’s much safer for you and Behlem to have me perceived as willful and independent.”

“Still …”

“Do you want me to have to resort to sorcery? Do you think I won’t?”

“I will have an escort as soon as possible.” The heavy shoulders dropped. “I would appreciate your not trying to leave the castle without them. We might need the portcullis at some point. Or the walls.”

“Thank you. I’m not about to do anything foolish.”
Not too foolish, anyway, besides riding in a strange town in an impossible world under the indirect and questionable protection of an unloved conqueror. Except I can’t allow myself to be seen as his creature or his captive, and I can’t allow them to intimidate me.

Anna permitted herself a tight smile as the counselor’s heavy footsteps and labored breathing echoed back up the tower staircase.

Before she had taken a step back into her small room,
two sets of footsteps raced up the stairs. She opened the door before Birke could lift the knocker.

“Lady …” panted the redhead, “the counselor said we were to get you ready, that he would send word to the stablemaster—”

“I know. He just left.” Anna glanced at Skent. “Did he tell you that one of you will be accompanying me on my rides?”

“No, lady.”

“Today, it’s Skent’s turn. Tomorrow, it will be yours.”

“But … Virkan said we weren’t supposed to leave the liedburg,” said Birke.

“It won’t be for that long. You can tell Virkan that both Menares and I feel one of you should go.” Anna smiled. “If Virkan gives you any difficulty, or tries to make your life harder with things like extra duties or less food, let me know. I’ll find out anyway, but telling me immediately will stop such nonsense immediately.”

The two pages exchanged glances again.

She had the feeling Virkan would be a problem from the shiver that went through Skent.

“Just a moment. Wait right there.” Anna went to the dresser and rummaged through her scraps of paper until she found the notes on the “kindness” spell she had used on Madell. The two names even had the same number of syllables.

Then she uncased the lutar, retuning it quickly, not that it needed much since she’d practiced earlier. Vocalises were just about the only thing she dared sing full volume on Erde.

Both pages swallowed as she stepped onto the landing outside the door.

“Let’s find Virkan.”

The two exchanged glances.

“Don’t worry. I won’t turn him into ashes. We’re just going to put a stop to this nonsense. Let’s go.”

Birke led the way, down to the lowest level of the tower, and then through a musty narrow tunnel that ran south,
Anna thought, under the main section of the hall. Finally, they halted outside a room that looked to be under the foundations for the hall’s main grand staircase—or something that required an equally imposing footing.

“The lady Anna wished to see you, Virkan.” Birke’s voice trembled.

“Oh … up to no good again, Birke. Trying to use your exalted position to get out of work. Or is it worse this time?”

Anna stepped through the doorway, ignoring the sour smell that filled the room. Sitting in an old wooden armchair before a battered table, almost a caricature of the English butler, Virkan looked like Anna had supposed, pudgy, but not fat, with deep-set weasellike eyes that shifted from one side of the small lower room to the other.

“No. I am taking Skent and Birke with me on my rides—one at a time, of course, so that one will be left in the tower, but I was led to believe that you would be displeased.” Anna smiled, lifting the lutar into position.

“Displeased, my lady? We are only here to serve.” Despite the smile, the words were empty sounding, false. Anna could tell that Virkan was the type that would always present a cheerful and pleasant front while abusing people who couldn’t resist. And all the men in the liedburg would ignore the problem because they thought anything less than whip-welts was acceptable.

“So am I,” Anna said; letting her fingers caress the chords. “So I thought I’d help the Prophet a little.” Then she sang:

“Virkan wrong, Virkan strong,
treat all right from this song.
Virkan warm, Virkan cold,
gentle be till dead and old.”

The lutar’s chords and Anna’s voice slammed through the small, stone-walled room, and, halfway through the
song, the pagemaster staggered up as if to reach for Anna, then slumped into the chair.

“You have cursed me … .” His voice was instantly hoarse.

“No more than you deserve,” Anna said quietly. She could see the desperation behind his eyes as she watched every scheme, every cruelty being weighed and denied by the spell. “You will be kind to everyone. It’s really no different from a command from the Prophet or Lord Barjim, except you can’t weasel your way around it.” She nodded. “Good day, Virkan.” Then she turned. “Skent, you and I will head for the stable. Birke, I forgot the case for the lutar. Would you fetch it, and meet us at the stable?”

“Yes, Lady Anna.” Birke bowed and scurried off.

Anna followed Skent back up the steps to the main floor.

“You look discouraged, Skent,” Anna offered as the silence persisted.

“You upset Birke, Lady Anna, maybe as much as Virkan.” He paused. “Sorcery is scary.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I could tell that Virkan would punish you and that neither one of you would admit it.”

“That frightened me, too.”

“That’s not sorcery. I saw that because I have children. My son is twenty-four, and he got that look every so often.” Anna laughed, thinking about how transparent Mario had been.

Skent swallowed as he held the outside door to the courtyard. “Is that true? Really true? You look as young as Lady Cataryzna.”

“I take it you like her?”

“She’s beautiful. Not as beautiful as you,” Skent added.

“I’m sure she is beautiful, and you don’t have to worry about flattering my ego, young man.” She almost winced as she stepped into the heat of the courtyard. Why was Birke so upset? Should she ask, or just listen over the next few days? She decided on listening.

The stables were within the southwest corner of the outer
walls, and Anna could smell straw, horses, and manure, although the odors were mild, and the packed-clay floors swept clean.

The page led her to a small room just inside the doors, where he held the door and bowed. “Tirsik, this is the Lady Anna.”

The stablemaster was probably younger than Anna, but looked older, with short graying hair above a wrinkled forehead. The blue eyes twinkled, and his right arm was shorter than the left and seemed permanently crooked. He bowed as Anna stepped inside, still carrying the lutar. “Lady Anna.”

“Stablemaster,” Anna returned.

“Of sorts.” He grinned. “You’re the one riding the beast.”

“Farinelli? The big palomino?”

“The beast,” Tirsik affirmed. “We feed him and water him, but the stall’s a mess. Won’t let no one in. Hisse got slammed leading him in and unsaddling him, had to scramble up the wall.”

“I’m sorry. I’m taking him out today, and from now on, I’ll make sure I’m here to groom him and ride him every day. It’s taken a little time to work things out. I’m new to Falcor.”

“You from Neserea?”

“No. I’m from a distant place, but most recently I’ve been living in Mencha and Synope.”

“She’s
the
sorceress,” Skent volunteered.

“Oh … my pardon, lady.“Tirsik bowed again.”I did not know. You are the one from the mist worlds?”

“Yes. But I’m still a real person.” She forced a laugh. “And I need help, just like everyone else who rides a horse.”

“If you ride the beast,” Tirsik returned with his own laugh, “I don’t know what help I can give.”

“You feed and water him.” She inclined her head to Skent. “Skent here, and on alternate days, Birke, will be riding with me. They’ll need mounts, if that’s possible.”

“We can do that.” The words were slow, not quite questioning.

“I’ve already met with Virkan and Menares.”

“She has,” Skent confirmed.

“You have great powers of persuasion, then.”

“I appealed to their better nature.”

Tirsik raised his eyebrows.

“Virkan, I am confident, will have a much better nature from now on.”
Of course, he’ll hate me to the end of his days, but if the spell holds, he won’t be able to do much, and who knows, he might actually find being kind works.

“If that be so, lady, many will be grateful.” Tirsik looked at Skent. “Get your boots, imp.”

“Yes, Tirsik.” Skent grinned and was gone.

“Happiest I’ve seen him in weeks.” Tirsik stepped toward the door. “Let’s see to your beast.”

Even before Anna reached the stall, Farinelli started snorting and whuffling. She set the lutar carefully on a bale of hay. “Yes, I’m coming,” Anna told the gelding as she opened the stall door.

“You must have ridden a lot,” Tirsik said, staying outside.

“Not for years until recently. We just get along.” She patted the gelding’s flank and scratched his forehead as Farinelli turned to her. The gelding
whuff
ed violently and edged her toward the stall wall. Her boot hit something sharp, sharp enough that she could feel it through the heavy leather.

After bending down, she extracted what looked to be a four-pointed metal star, bigger than her fist, with cruelly sharp points. Anna glanced at Farinelli, then called, “Tirsik.”

“Yes, lady?”

“Why is this in Farinelli’s stall?” She gingerly handed the object to the stablemaster.

“Dissonant bastards,” muttered the stablemaster. “Can you check his hoofs?”

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

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