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Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.

The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle (41 page)

BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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A
fter unsaddling and grooming Farinelli, Anna marched across the courtyard to the tower, the sound of her boots echoing from the stones with each determined step. Her tunic and hair were plastered to her, and she smelled worse than the stable.
After the attack in the stable and before her ride, she’d been startled, afraid, and angry. Now, she was just angry. As she had ridden down the Falche River with her escort, she’d been thinking. The whole attempted murder in the stable had had nothing to do with the Ebrans. It reeked of someone like Delor, of jealous male egos, or jealous females—but so far she didn’t know of any females, except Hryding’s bitchy consort, who’d be that jealous.
Back in her room, she stripped off her sodden riding clothes, and splashed herself as clean as she could, before drying and donning the other clean riding clothes. Then she yanked the bellpull and waited for a page by the door.
When she heard steps, she opened the door. A dark-haired youth trotted up the stone steps.
“Take me to Menares,” Anna told Skent before he had even reached the landing.
The dark-haired page gulped.
“Now. He knows I’m coming.”
He just doesn’t know why
. Anna closed the tower door behind her.
“Did you really kill that armsman with a dagger?” Skent asked as they went up the broad red stone staircase.
“I didn’t have much choice.”
And I was lucky, because he wanted some fun, I think, first
. She repressed a shiver. Lucky, because her attacker had thought of her as a sex object? Or wanted to terrify her? Would the next time be a straight murder attempt? Could she afford a next time?
The hot outside air had seeped into the hall itself, despite the thick stone walls, and outside of Anna’s room, the rooms and corridors were scarcely cooler than the oven outside. She wondered why she’d even tried to clean up, as perspiration oozed from every pore. She’d never been one for medieval romances or fantasies, and the heat and lack of modern bathroom facilities reinforced her predisposition—except she was stuck in the real-life equivalent, with no apparent way out.
A squat blond youth in Defalk purple sat on a stool by the closed two-panel wooden door, blotting his forehead with a ragged square of cloth. He jumped up as he saw Anna and Skent.
“Cens,” began Skent. “The lady Anna … She … is here … ah … to see …”
Cens’s eyes darted from Skent to Anna. He swallowed before finally saying, “I’ll have to ask—it might be a moment—he is meeting with Overcaptain Hanfor … .”
“What I have to discuss should not take long.”
“I will have to ask, lady.”
Anna nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Cens slipped behind the door, and Anna thought she heard voices, although they were cut off as soon as the page closed the door behind himself.
In moments, Cens reappeared, sweat beaded up all across his forehead. “He will be but a moment, Lady Anna.” The
blond page’s eyes darted to Anna’s belt dagger, then to the floor.
Scarcely had the page finished speaking than the door opened behind him, and he eased to the side.
Hanfor’s weathered face and graying dark hair appeared in the doorway. The overcaptain bowed. “Lady Anna. I am pleased to see you.” His mouth crinkled, and his eyes sparkled. “Although it was certainly distressing, I have taken the liberty of informing my captains and officers about this morning’s incident. I have also suggested that I would not be so swift and kind as you—were there to be any further such incidents.”
“Thank you, Overcaptain Hanfor. I will do my best to ensure such incidents also do not recur. The Prophet will need all his armsmen.”
“My thoughts as well, Lady Anna.” He nodded, then turned and strode down the dim corridor.
“My lady …” Cens gestured to the still-open door.
Anna stepped through, letting the page close it behind her. The room was long and narrow, with closed doors at each end. Five narrow and high windows dotted the long outside wall, their shutters open, but the air in the room remained still, with the faint odor of perspiration.
Menares stood behind a small circular table on which rested a pitcher and three goblets. There were three straight-backed chairs drawn up around the table.
The sorceress wondered who the third man had been, and why he had not exited with Hanfor.
“Please … If you would …” The graying counselor gestured to the chairs across from him.
“I won’t be long.” Anna sat.
“Lady Anna … I heard about the incident in the stable … The Prophet was most distressed … .” Menares eased himself back into his chair.
Menares was playing both sides against the middle, Anna felt, but she had no real proof, only her feelings. How far should she push it?
“I am certain he was distressed,” Anna said sweetly.
“And others were probably distressed by its failure.”
The counselor’s face froze. “Lady Anna …”
“Menares,” Anna cautioned. “I am well aware that there are some within the Prophet’s circle that would feel no grief at my death or disappearance. Such as Delor.”
The faint widening of Menares’ eyes, and his look away told her all she needed to know.
“But,” she emphasized, “that is not why I am here. I have been studying the maps and thinking, and I need to go back to Pamr to study the area.”
“The maps are not enough?”
“Sorcery doesn’t work on maps. It works on people or land or the sky, but not on the maps. As Lord Behlem pointed out last night, it won’t be long before the dark ones march on Falcor. If we fight here, we’ll lose.” Anna had no logical reason for her conclusion, but it felt right, and she had to go with her feelings.
“Lose?”
“Lose. That’s why I need to go back to Pamr. That’s where all the roads from the east meet.” Anna waited.
“You would need an escort …” mused the counselor. “I do not know.”
“I am here to help the Prophet defeat the dark ones. I cannot defeat them without knowing the land where we may fight—or finding the best place for a battle. You pointed that out already.”
“I am the Prophet’s counselor, but I command no armsmen.”
“You are too modest,” Anna said. “You command more than armsmen.”
“I can only promise that I will bring the matter to the attention of the Prophet.”
“Menares, honored counselor, I plan to leave the day after tomorrow. I do hope you will discuss it with Lord Behlem before you have to explain my departure.” Anna smiled.
Menares blotted his forehead. “I will bring it to his attention this very afternoon.”
“I knew I could depend on you, Menares.” Anna stood and smiled.
“Ah … thank you, Lady Anna.”
Skent had left already when the sorceress stepped back into the corridor. Cens stood stiffly by the door.
“Good day, Cens.”
“Good day, Lady Anna.” The youth’s words were stiff, formal, as if he were afraid to say anything to her.
He probably was, reflected Anna as she marched back toward the tower.
Back in the cool of her tower room, Anna washed her face in the basin of fresh water that Birke or Skent had brought, then blotted herself dry. She still felt sticky all over.
Thunk.
“Just a moment.” After pushing her hair back out of her face—and it needed cutting—Anna answered the door.
Wearing a pale purple sleeveless tunic over a white shirt, and trousers that matched the tunic, Lady Essan stood on the landing. “I had hoped for a moment with you.”
“Please come in.” Anna waited, then closed the door behind Essan.
“This looks more like a sorceress’s room—or a warrior’s,” said Essan, settling herself into one of the wooden chairs. “Then again, despite your looks, Lady Anna, it is becoming apparent that you are a warrior.” She paused. “Birke told me you were attacked in the stable, and that you killed one Neserean with your dagger and two with your spells. Is his tale true?”
Anna nodded.
“It is cool here, cooler than anywhere in the hall.” Essan smiled, then leaned forward. “I am old, and I can say what I wish. Can you leave the liedburg?”
“I’m leaving for a time tomorrow,” Anna said. “I need to see what I can do to stop the Ebrans, and that means traveling east again.”
“I would suggest that you take your time. The field is far less dangerous than Falcor. All liedstadts are perilous. It seems to come with their glamour.”
“I think I’d like to change that,” Anna snorted.
“If you can change that, Lady Anna, you will indeed be the greatest sorceress or lady in the history of Liedwahr.” Essan straightened, as if she were about to leave.
“I met Garreth the other night. She seems very talented, in her drawing at least. She was quite complimentary about you, and your efforts to help her.”
“I pay my debts.” The lady Essan’s face could have been carved in stone, for what Anna could read at that moment.
“I’m sorry,” Anna said.
“You, thank the harmonies, had nothing to do with it. Men can be such fools.” Essan frowned. “Just remember that, although I doubt I’ll have to tell you.”
“I take it that you have no problems if I spend some time with Garreth?”
“That would be your choice. She is a sweet girl, and talented. I have no difficulties with what she is.” Essan eased herself erect. “Much as I would like to stay, you have much to do—as do all young people.” The older woman shook her head as she walked—her posture erect, proud—toward the door. “It is easy enough to see your experience, yet it is hard not to think of you as young.”
After she closed the door and started down the tower steps, Anna frowned. Had she always seemed young, or was it Brill’s spell? And Garreth—what a difficult situation for Lady Essan.
FALCOR, DEFALK
M
enares bows as he steps onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
“Now what?” asks Behlem cheerfully. The Prophet does not rise from the chair and the stack of scrolls on the table
before him. His face is damp, and he scratches his beard. “Is this about the lady Anna?”
“Yes, your honor. She came to see me.”
“I suppose she wanted vengeance of some sort. Women usually do.”
“No.” Menares stops opposite the table. “She only mentioned the incident in passing, to say that was not why she came to see me.”
“Sit down. Do you know who did it?”
“The one she killed was from Delor’s company,” Menares says. “Shall I have Delor executed?”
“No.” Behlem shakes his head. “Tell her that the armsman was from Delor’s company, and tell her that we do not know whether Delor was behind it, or whether someone suborned his man. Then … we will watch.” He takes a long swallow from the goblet and pushes aside a scroll. “What did she want?”
“She is insisting that she ride back to Pamr,” Menares says smoothly. “She says that she needs to study the land there to defeat Eladdrin.”
“And you want her here where you can watch her? Did you refuse her request?”
“I told her that such travel might be unwise, but that I would consult with you.”
“Oh, Menares, old friend …” Behlem laughs. “So cautious you are. If you were only that cautious for the right reasons. This woman needs us. She could bring the whole liedburg down around us. Don’t you know that?”
“If she can,” replies Menares, his voice carrying the faint hint of sourness, “why hasn’t she, with all the restrictions she clearly chafes under?”
“Because she is as old as she says she is, not as she appears. She knows a sorceress, especially a sorceress, cannot hold off an entire land, no matter how powerful she is.” Behlem refills his goblet, his eyes on the portcullis, which has been lifted to allow a troop of riders to enter.
“But … if she is that powerful … and you win … then
what will you do? Can you afford to have her near?”
“No. But I will not ford rivers before I reach them. One way or another, she will not remain near.” Behlem smiles and fingers his beard.
“Talk to her this afternoon. Send Spirda and a full squad with her, and remember to tell her that her attacker belonged to Delor. Also …” Behlem frowns. “I believe I will sup alone tonight, rather than in the hall.”
“Oh … you suspect Delor will make trouble?”
“He could. He could.” Behlem shrugs, his eyes on the portcullis as it drops back into place. “Is there anything else new?”
“No, ser.”
“Good. Will you tell the page to bring me more of the wine on your way out?”
“Yes, ser.”
A
nna set the lutar aside and glanced out the window into the hot mid-afternoon. On the one hand, she hated feeling cooped up. On the other, she hated walking out into the oven that the liedburg became every afternoon. Even the ramparts were empty, as sentries hugged the few shadows. The banner of Neserea hung limply from the flagstaff that rose above the wall that surrounded the portcullis gate.
She glanced back at the lutar on the bed, surrounded by scraps of paper on which were jotted words and musical notations that represented potential spells. She rubbed her neck and shook her hand to loosen her fingers, fingers that had developed calluses from the lutar practice over the past weeks.
The heavy knocker on the tower door thunked twice.
After taking a deep breath, the sorceress crossed the floor and opened the door.
Menares stood on the landing.
“Come in, counselor.” Anna held the door, then closed it behind the heavyset advisor.
“It is so pleasant here.”
“I’m glad you find it so.”
After settling himself into the wooden armchair, the counselor cleared his throat. “The Prophet and I have discussed … your scouting mission … .”
“He’s agreed,” Anna said, tired of the circumlocutions. “What sort of escort will I have?”
“Ah … Officer Spirda and a full squad. I trust that will be sufficient?”
“I would hope so. We’ll leave right after breakfast.”
Menares nodded.
“Also, you should know that I won’t take the pages, but I will take my player. He has experience with what players can handle, and I’ll need that.”
“You did not mention …”
“Menares … I would like it if you would stop thinking about why I shouldn’t do something and help me do it.” She paused.
The white-haired Menares coughed and cleared his throat again, then shifted his bulk on the chair, which creaked. His fingers touched the short white beard.
“And I’ll need some golds,” Anna said. “I’ll be looked to for food and lodging, and since I’m not from Liedwahr, I don’t have resources.”
“Then perhaps you should not—”
“I’m offering assistance you couldn’t buy with all the golds in Liedwahr, and not only are you trying to hinder my efforts to help Behlem, but you’re quibbling about lodging costs.”
“The treasury is not … boundless, Lady Anna.”
The sorceress stood and walked to the bed, lifting the lutar off the coverlet Then she eased to the window, before turning back and facing Menares. Her fingers strummed
across the strings. “How much are two thousand armsmen worth? A handful of captains?”
The counselor’s eyes flicked from Anna’s face to her fingers and back again. “I think we could spare a few golds, Lady Anna.”
“A dozen would be about right. You can have them ready in the morning when we leave.” She nodded absently, chording the background for the water spell. “Who was behind the attempt to kill me?”
“That we do not know.” Menares shrugged. “The armsman belonged to the Mittfels Foot.”
“That’s Delor.”
“Someone could have suborned his mean.”
Anna considered, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. Do you, really?”
“I could not say. I really could not.” Menares wasn’t about to admit what he knew, but his reactions and body posture had already told Anna what she needed to know.
“There is no dinner tonight, since the Prophet will not be eating with his captains,” Menares volunteered as he slowly eased his bulk out of the chair.
Anna tried not to swallow. The statement meant more than the words conveyed … but what?
“I would like to remain, Lady Anna. I have not been more comfortable in days, but …” The white-haired counselor shrugged.
“I understand.” Anna walked to the door and held it open, standing back as Menares half walked, half waddled onto the hot landing.
Once the echoes of Menares’ footsteps had faded, Anna closed the door, yanked the bellpull and waited. This time, Birke appeared.
“Birke, I need you to find my player, Daffyd. Would you ask him if he would come here for a bit?”
Birke glanced down the stone steps, then cleared his throat. “Yes, lady.”
“Good.”
After the page left, she closed the door, wondering once
more why she had to act like a bitch to get anything done. And why Menares had been told to let her know that Behlem would not be at dinner. Finally, she nodded. The problem was hers to resolve. Hers alone. Delor could try to kill her again and again, and Behlem would do nothing—unless she either went to his bed or begged for his mercy … or both.
She took a deep breath, and began to look for a scrap of paper.
Do you want to do this? Do you have any real choice?
Anna actually had the spell complete before Daffyd thunked. After setting the paper aside, she crossed the stone floor and opened the door, motioning him in.
“It’s cold here.” The dark-haired player shivered as he sank into one of the chairs.
“It’s comfortable.” Anna turned the chair to face Daffyd. “Tomorrow, we’re riding back to Pamr. I’m sorry I didn’t give you much warning, but I just persuaded Menares and Behlem that it was necessary.”
“You want me to go?” asked Daffyd, a hint of a boyish sulk in his voice.
“Yes. I trust you, and you know more about Defalk than any of the Neserean officers who’ll be with us. I need to see how I can turn things to help us.”
“You haven’t talked to me that much lately.”
Anna held in a sigh. Why was it that men required so much emotional hand-holding? Either that, or lots of power to reassure themselves? “Daffyd, I have been very busy trying to keep from getting murdered. If you didn’t hear, this morning three armsmen tried to kill me in the stable.”
“This morning? What happened? You look all right.”
“I almost wasn’t. I managed to stab one with my dagger, and I got free long enough to use a spell on the other two.” Anna frowned. “This happened in a castle where I’m supposed to be safe. Then, earlier, someone tried to cripple Farinelli by dropping those iron pointed things into his stall.”
“Caltrops?” The player shook his head. “I don’t understand. The Prophet needs you.”
“That may be, but someone doesn’t agree. Or they don’t care.”
The young player glanced toward the door. “Do you think Behlem … ?” He shook his head.
“No. Not yet, anyway. He needs me now, and he’s an opportunist. But I trust him about as far as I could throw Farinelli.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You’re not …” Anna shook her head ruefully.
Daffyd grinned.
“Why do I stay here? Work with them? Because the alternative is worse.”
A lot worse,
if what I feel is right
. And she had to trust her feelings. They were about all she could trust, from what she’d experienced of Liedwahr. She stood and stretched. “I need to prepare some things. I’ll see you in the morning, right after breakfast.”
“That’s all?”
Anna really wanted to sigh. She didn’t. “Daffyd, I’m sorry if I haven’t had more time to talk, but it’s hard trying to learn all these things you grew up with and I didn’t. It’s also hard being a sorceress in a place that’s … very different. We’ll have more time on the way to Pamr.”
“Do you want me to bring my viola?”
“I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?”
The player nodded.
After Daffyd left, Anna didn’t know whether to shake her head or scream. She was old enough to be his mother, and looked young enough to be his girlfriend, and the poor boy was confused. No matter what she did, he’d be confused.
She picked the lutar back up, running through the chords again, then the words, but never both together, and never singing the words.
When the sun had almost touched the horizon, Anna took another deep breath, then lifted the lutar, and slipped out of her room into the heat of the tower steps.
Although she passed two armsmen and a page she did not know, none said a word to her, all three looking away as she strode determinedly toward the middle hall.
“Lady Anna … ah … there is no … accompanied dinner … this evening … .” stammered the young armsman standing outside the doorway.
“I know. I didn’t come for that.” Anna smiled, but the smile felt cold, colder than university professionalism. “I take it the captains and overcaptains are eating now?”
Giellum swallowed. “You can’t enter.”
“Do you announce me, or do I turn you into charcoal?” Anna’s fingers flicked across the strings of the lutar.
The young armsman’s eyes widened, then he croaked. “Ah … a moment, lady.” He swung the door open.
“The lady Anna.”
She almost wanted to smile as his voice cracked, but she wasted no time stepping inside, halting, and surveying the table to make sure Delor was there.
He was. The overcaptain bolted upright at the table, his blade clearing the sheath, his face twisted in anger.
Anna sang.
“Delor, killer, now you learn …
from flame to ashes shall you turn …
from the strings, from the sky,
fire flay you till you die!”
Delor leaped from the far side of the table, flicked out his blade, grasping a dagger in the other hand, and charged across the tile floor toward the sorceress even before she finished the spell.
Cracckk!!!
Anna flicked the last chord from the lutar strings and dodged.
Delor stopped in his tracks as one line of fire slammed his body, then a second. Although he went down after the second, he didn’t begin to scream until the fifth or sixth fire-lash cut away fabric and flesh.
Except for Delor’s screams, the miniature lightnings and the crackling of flame, the hall was silent. With his death, only heavy breathing remained.
Anna swallowed, and stepped up toward the horrified faces around the table. She noted that Behlem was not present. Nor was Menares. She turned to Hanfor.
“Unlike some, I don’t hire innocents to do my killing. And I don’t hide behind a smile and witty words. I didn’t kill Delor just because he tried to kill me. I also killed him because he was stupid. How do you feel about a captain who would try to kill the best weapon his lord may have? How many of you will die if I am not there?”
You’re setting yourself up … but what choice do you have? You have to stop this assassination shit before it gets anywhere.
“Do you want to play stupid masculine games or do you want to survive?”
Hanfor stood. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “I appreciate your directness, Lady Anna. If they stop to think, many others may do so as well.”
“Thank you.” The sorceress bowed and turned, giving Delor’s corpse a wide berth as she left the hall.
“ … stupid … . He was so stupid … .”
“ … you still dream of bedding her, Diuse?”
“ … colder than the top of the Ostfels … .”
“ … more of a man than Delor … .”
“That is most frightening … .”
Anna kept her lips tightly together as she walked back to the tower, and up the stone steps to her cold empty room. She didn’t even dare to try the mirror to see her daughter, not until she’d thought that out more.
She’d been given youth, and beauty back, and power—and it was getting more and more evident that the price was high—higher than she could have dreamed. She had the sickening feeling, unfortunately, that she had only begun to pay.
Why … why was it so fucking difficult? She was already being called a bitch and worse. Yet, if Behlem had been
Delor’s target, the overcaptain would have been tortured to death in the most grisly way without anyone thinking an ill thought of the Prophet. So why was she the bitch?
The cold stones that surrounded her gave no answer.
BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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