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Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.

The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle (46 page)

BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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A
nna set down the pen and capped the ink bottle, laying the sheet aside to dry. As the note lay on the table, she read the note once more, her eyes skipping across the words.
Elizabetta—
This will not seem believable, and I do not know how else to reach you—magic here works through song, but it is strange … .
I can send this, but I cannot send myself. Sometimes, I can watch you, in a sort of magic mirror—like the time you sat on the deck of the New Hampshire house and told your father—I think—that I wouldn’t willingly leave you. I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. I was summoned by a sorceress … and now I am stuck here. So far, I have found no way to return … .
I love you and Mario, and I miss you both terribly, and I do not know if this is the right thing to do. I do not know if I can ever figure a way back from here, and it is a terribly savage place in many ways.
Yet I can’t just let you think that I left you willingly. I don’t know if this will reach you, but I must try.
For whatever reason, I cannot seem to see Mario. My “magic window” does not show everything I wish, and I may not be able to do this much longer. Please tell him that I am well, and that I love him, as I love you.
I leave it to you whether you tell your father. I worry that if you do tell him he will accuse you of being irrational and making it all up because you could not face my disappearance, but you must do what you think is best for you … .
If this letter does reach you, and if I can see it … I will try again, but if I do not, it will be because I cannot, not because I have not tried.
Once she was certain the ink was dry, Anna folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, along with the gold and silver coins, her watch, and the small drawing of her on the tower.
Then she took out the lutar, and began to sing the mirror song.
All that appeared in the mirror was a towel on the lake beach, and the mirror frame began to smolder. Anna closed off the spell hastily, and sank onto her bed.
She sighed. She hoped Elizabetta was swimming, or water-skiing, or whatever, although she had the sense that it should be fall in New England, or close to it. For whatever reason, the spells did not show matters well around water, which Anna found abstractly amusing since she could use spells to purify and cool water.
She slipped the envelope under her pillow. While there was really no place in her room safe from search, she didn’t want to leave it out in plain sight, either.
She paused to look out the window. To the west rose a high plume of dust, whipped higher by the late summer—or was it early fall?—winds. No, Falcor certainly wasn’t in Iowa—or Kansas.
Her cool-air shield/spell protected her room, but she could hear the whistling of the rising winds, and see dust and small pieces of wood swirling through the courtyard below.
She watched for a few moments as the dust turned the late-afternoon sun red, nearly blood-red. Then her eyes went back to the gowns in the corner. Two, and once she had had dozens. Yet the dozens had not brought her control of her own life.
She shrugged. Neither had the two, and she needed to eat. She hated having to eat all the time, even more than she’d hated never being able to eat without gaining pounds.
Why was life like that—always on the extremes?
WEI, NORDWEI
T
he dark-haired woman stands at the window to the north, its shutters drawn back despite the chill of early fall, and looks down from her hillside vantage point at the swirling brown, debris-filled water that surges into Vereisen Bay and has flooded the dock district and the warehouses.
At a discreet cough, she turns.
“Honored Ashtaar? You requested my presence?” asks the heavyset Kendr.
“I did. Please come here.”
“As you wish, your mightiness.” The seer with the plaited muddy-brown hair waddles forward on thick legs.
Ashtaar opens her mouth, then closes it, and waits for Kendr to reach the window.
“This wasn’t normal.” Ashtaar gestures through the open window to the expanse of water that covers the lower sections of Wei. “I sent you a message.”
“Yes, honored Ashtaar. I received it.”
The spymistress gestures to the armless chair that sits on
the far side of the high table she uses as a desk. “Sit down.” She closes the shutters before seating herself.
Kendr waits.
“Did you find out how it happened?”
“It was the Evult, I think,” offers the seer. “The ice is gone from the peaks above the headwaters of the River Ost.”
Ashtaar’s fingers slip around the polished finish of the dark agate oval. “How did this happen without a warning?”
“The sorceress from the mist worlds.”
The spymistress shakes her head. “What does that have to do with the Evult?”
“The sorceress is powerful, and many of her spells shake the harmonies, even the earth deep beneath. She has done something to the Chean River, I think, but I cannot see what that might be.”
“The Evult?” prompts Ashtaar.
“We cannot trace every great sorcery … not and obey the duties the Council has laid upon us.”
“Why not?”
Kendr pales and her mouth moves silently. Finally, she stutters, “I … none … of us … is that strong.”
“Do we need more seers?”
“We have needed more seers for seasons, your mightiness.”
“I know. I know.” Ashtaar waves away the comment. “You say you are not strong enough. How does this excuse your failure to discover that the Evult was planning mischief?”
“The blonde sorceress had sung many spells—she was trying to see the mist worlds, we think—and when another blow to the harmonies rang through the waters, I had no strength …”
“And you thought, foolish seer, that it was the blonde sorceress again?”
“Yes, Ashtaar.” Kendr looks to the floor.
“Then, you feared to tell me?”
Kendr does not answer.
Ashtaar’s fingers tighten around the black agate oval, and her lips clamp together. She stares at the seer, but the heavyset woman does not lift her eyes to the spymistress.
“Kendr?”
“Yes, your mightiness?”
“We all get tired. We all can make mistakes when overtired. If you ever let your fear of one failure lead you to make another or fail to tell me in a timely fashion, you will indeed learn that I am ‘your mightiness.’ Do you understand me?”
“Yes, honored Ashtaar.”
The spymistress looks toward the door, her fingers still tight around the black agate oval.
Kendr backs out of the room.
A
fter struggling through yet another medieval-style sponge bath, where she wondered once more about using sorcery to create a bathroom, Anna studied herself in the mirror. In addition to the youthfully idealized mature face, still too thin, she also had little body hair, except in the more obvious places, and what she had was fine and so blonde it was almost transparent. She’d originally thought that might have been a temporary result of the youth spell, but only the hair on her head grew.
Then, there was another troubling thing. While Anna clearly had the body and physical attributes of a young woman in her mid-twenties, she hadn’t had a single period since she’d been in Liedwahr. First, she’d thought it was stress, but everything else was normal, except her cycle. She didn’t have one, and she didn’t have an explanation … unless … unless …
Brill’s sorcery had frozen her physically so that she’d never have a cycle … and, young body or not, no chance at children. She wasn’t sure she wanted to bring children into Liedwahr, and she certainly hadn’t met anyone she would have wanted to love or father them—but she would have liked the choice! And it didn’t look like she was going to get that, either.
She took a long slow breath and looked from the mirror to the two gowns once more.
In the end, she donned the green one, the more modest of the two, though neither was as daring as the recital gown that still lay in Loiseau, probably moldering, or plundered by the Ebrans.
Skent answered the bellpull, his eyes wide, and they headed down the stairs toward the middle dining hall.
Did she really look that good? Anna wanted to shake her head—his reaction had to be a youthful crush.
“How is Cataryzna?” she asked.
The page blushed.
“All right, young man. I won’t embarrass you too much. Will I ever get to meet her?”
“She lives with her aunt in the south tower. That’s the guarded one.”
“I take it that her father is important?”
“Geansor is the Lord of Sudwei, and Sudwei is the gate to the South Pass.”
Anna frowned. So Geansor was the key to the main trade route to Ranuak? Why was Cataryzna so valuable as a hostage, apparently for both Barjim and Behlem, when women didn’t count for that much? “I find it hard to see why a daughter—”
Skent stopped and turned, lowering his voice. “Lady Anna …” He looked up and down the tower staircase.
“She’s a hostage. I understand that. But why her? Doesn’t Lord Geansor have any sons?”
“Lord Geansor was … wounded in the peasant uprising when she was small. She was his firstborn, the only one that lived. He can have no more children. The lord’s only
brother was killed by raiders two years ago.”
Anna understood. Cataryzna was literally the only blood relative or possible heir, and that meant she would be married off—probably as soon as the mess with the Ebrans was resolved. She shuddered at the thought of a world where a young girl was effectively imprisoned, if in a golden cage, until she could be imprisoned by marriage once more. Then, much of earth had been like that—and some still was. She put a hand out to Skent and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Skent. Does she like you?”
The page forced a nonchalant shrug. “Who could say? I only deliver meals and such when Hestyr is ill or on other errands.”
The sorceress could tell. Love had found a way, and that love seemed hopeless to both.
“Don’t worry yet,” she cautioned, as she continued down the steps toward the main level. “Nothing will happen for a time.”
“Lord Behlem was talking of consorting her with Overcaptain Delor.” Skent grinned. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“No.” Now that strange exchange between Skent and Birke the day she had left made sense. Of course, so did Behlem’s plan to marry Cataryzna to Delor, because an officer would owe loyalty to Behlem more than would any lord from Neserea. Anna snorted. Barjim probably had worked out something similar with one of his own trusted officers. Men! “But I understand more.” Anna forced a smile, hating what she was about to do, even if it was true. “You know, I’m the only one who would oppose what Behlem has in mind.”
“You would?” Skent’s tone was skeptical.
“I don’t believe women should be barter chips in power games.” Anna laughed harshly. “At least, we ought to have the right to barter ourselves.” After all, wasn’t that what she was doing? The thought left the taste of bile in her mouth.
Skent pursed his lips, but said nothing, and Anna let it
ride. There was nothing she could do at the moment.
Only half the lamps in the long corridor to the dining hall were lit, and the air remained hot and dusty as Skent and Anna approached the double doors where Giellum stood, flanked by two armsmen with drawn blades. Both wore Neserean cream and blue, and Anna wished she had worn her dagger, and brought the lutar. Instead she smiled at Giellum.
The younger armsman swallowed and eased open the left-hand door. “Lady Anna.”
Anna nodded to Skent and stepped into the dining hall, again lit only dimly by three candelabra upon the single long table.
“My lady!” called Menares from beside the head of the table. Beside him stood a tall and gangly man whose thinning hair was far too long, with a lock dangling forward over his left eye.
As Anna stepped forward, the handful of officers eased away, almost as if she were a leper, and the man beside Menares pushed his hair off his forehead. Ignoring the of ficers, she walked the length of the table and stopped a few yards short of the counselor.
“Lord Dencer, this is the lady Anna, the sorceress from the mist worlds,” Menares said. “Lady Anna, Dencer is the Lord of Stromwer.”
Dencer inclined his head ever so slightly, enough to convey his impression that Anna was far beneath him.
“I’m pleased to meet the lord who holds the key to the south,” Anna lied, wishing she could simply incinerate the condescending bastard.
“Lady Anna is the sorceress who destroyed much of the Ebran forces at the Sand Pass.”
“A pity she could not destroy them all.”
“I don’t recall seeing you there, Lord Dencer,” Anna said smoothly. “Were you engaged in important business elsewhere? Perhaps in Ranuak?”
Menares swallowed a gulp almost soundlessly, then turned at the sound of a chime to see Behlem, resplendent
in a new or refurbished tunic of blue and gold.
“Lady Anna, would you be so kind as to light the chandeliers?” asked the Prophet, his voice smooth.
“It would be my pleasure.” Anna put even more butter in her words than Behlem had in his. She wanted to toast both the supercilious Dencer and the Prophet, the first for his arrogance and Behlem for his cavalier use of her as a tool. Instead, she cleared her throat and sang the candle spell, projecting as much force as possible and visualizing the blaze of light.
The sudden illumination was almost as good as a bank of flashbulbs, Anna felt, and the paleness of Lord Dencer reflected the effectiveness of Behlem’s ploy.
“Thank you, Lady Anna,” said the Prophet. “We should be seated while the food remains warm.”
“Rather impressive,” admitted the Lord of Stromwer. “Yes … rather impressive.”
“And without players,” added Menares as he sat down beside Lord Dencer and across from Hanfor, who had slipped into the seat to Anna’s right.
“Congratulations,” whispered Hanfor, his lips not moving, the words barely reaching Anna as he poured her wine.
“Thank you, overcaptain.”
“It is surprising to find a … sorceress of such power … in the hall of … one such as the Prophet of Music,” said Dencer. “How did you come to be here?”
“It was not exactly my idea,” began Anna, as she quickly summarized her arrival in Mencha and her encounters with the Ebrans, concluding with, “ … and Lord Behlem seems to be the only leader with both the resources and the desire to stop the dark ones.”
“The lady Anna is too kind,” said Behlem ironically. “Far too kind, but her talents allow her the luxury of kindness.”
“I give you only your due,” Anna answered graciously, adding, “You are the sole lord who has stepped forward against the dark ones.”
Behlem’s fingers touched his beard, and a smile flitted
across his mouth and vanished as he said. “We must also defeat them.”
“Indeed you must,” added Dencer, brushing a longish lock of mostly brown hair off a sweaty forehead. “If Defalk is to remain intact.”
“Defalk will remain intact,” promised Behlem, “especially with your assistance and that of Lady Anna.”
Dencer smiled blandly and lifted his goblet.
“Your player said that in an earlier skirmish with the Ebrans you took a war arrow full through the shoulder and yet within weeks you fought at the Sand Pass.” Hanfor smiled with his last words.
“Is that true?” asked Dencer.
“Mostly. It wasn’t a skirmish. It was an ambush.” Anna paused as the surcoated servers slipped the platters and the baskets of bread onto the long table.
“He also said you deflected the arrow barehanded or you would have been killed,” added Hanfor.
“Yes. I was unfortunate enough to try that. Those arrows hurt.” Anna lifted her goblet and took the smallest of sips.
From his position on the table below Hanfor, Zealor grinned and whispered, “Especially if you live through them.”
“You do not look as so many women warriors do,” of fered Dencer, his tone neutral.
“Ha! Tell that to Delor’s kin, or the armsman she gutted with a dagger.”
Anna couldn’t tell who had offered the sotto voce comment, but she could see that Behlem was caught between amusement and anger.
“An … you seem to have garnered quite a bit of respect,” Dencer finally replied.
Anna speared two thick slabs of meat, then held the platter for Hanfor. As usual, she was hungry, as she had been the entire time in Liedwahr. She hoped her stomach wouldn’t churn all night, either from the nourishment she needed or the politics she loathed.
“The lady Anna is highly respected,” interjected Menares.
“She has even scouted and served as an envoy for the Prophet since her arrival in Falcor.”
“Enough of this talk of arms,” ordered Behlem with a laugh. “Everyone will want to tell a tale, and we will never eat.”
Dencer smiled again, faintly and falsely, and served himself two slabs of meat.
“Since I am a stranger here,” Anna began, “I know little of Defalk. Tell me about Stromwer.” She didn’t bat her eyelashes, but she might as well have. Still, what she didn’t know would fill a book, and it wouldn’t hurt to thaw Dencer out of his shock. She might also learn a lot, and everything helped.
Hanfor nodded minutely, and Anna took a small sip of wine, knowing she needed to keep the sips small indeed over the long evening. Then she forced herself to take another slab of the meat.
BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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