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Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.

The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle (59 page)

BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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ENCORA, RANUAK
U
lgar’s fingers fly across the fretboard of the mandolin, yet each note resounds individually, without slurring. He finishes with three gentle chords that draw all the notes he has played together in both a resolution and a promise.
“You play well, dearest,” offers the Matriarch. “Then, I have known that for years. You would make a great player, or even a sorcerer.”
“I would rather not pay those prices.” Ulgar slips the mandolin into its case, and places the case in the cabinet on his side of the large bed. “Most do not live that long, and those that do seldom sleep—not well, anyway.”
The Matriarch sets aside the scroll she has been reading and rubs her forehead. While her face is as round as ever, the somberness of her eyes removes any cherubic impression. “The prices of such power are high. I feel for the soprano sorceress.”
“Why did you send her that demand for payment, then?” Ulgar sits on the left side of the bed, pulls off a silken slipper and massages his right foot.
“The debt must be paid, one way or another. She must know all her debts. Otherwise, how can she address them? Debts off-key the harmonies more if they are hidden or
ignored, and if she chooses to ignore them, then her harmonies will turn dissonant.”
“You are sometimes cruel, dear,” Ulgar reflects.
“No … I would be cruel if I did not let her know the debt existed. If she does not pay, the exchange will stop selling grain in Sudwei, and then more will suffer.” She rubs her forehead again. “She can postpone paying, if she will acknowledge it, without too great a consequence, but if she tries to repudiate it, she and her people will suffer—the debt is that of Defalk, not of Barjim.”
“That seems harsh. She seems to be acting in good faith: She did not have to uphold young Jimbob’s claim.” Ulgar lays his vest on the chair and begins to unbutton his widesleeved silk shirt.
“The harmonies do not care about faith or belief. You know that. That is something that neither the Evult nor Behlem have understood. Any use of sorcery creates dissonance, and, in time requires greater dissonance for harmonic resolution.” The Matriarch takes the scroll from the coverlet and lays it on the table.
“I am for harmonic resolution,” Ulgar offers with a smile.
“Then snuff the lamp … .”
I
n the gray predawn light, the only time Anna was likely to have time to herself, she strummed the lutar, cast the looking spell, and studied the mirror—the third mirror since she’d come to Falcor. She was seeing why sorcerers used water pools, but she’d never had time to set one up.
Elizabetta lay reading on the bed. A large white square sat on the foot of the bed, propped up by the stuffed white
tiger that had come off the love seat in Anna’s bedroom in Ames.
Even through the faint heat waves that rippled across the mirror, Anna could make out the word
Mom!
on the envelope. She swallowed and blanked the image immediately, noting that the wood frame of the mirror was literally steaming.
The sorceress sat down at the table. What could she adapt? The spell she had used to send her messages? She began to write, slowly, striking out words and substituting.
The sun had cleared the horizon by the time she took out the lutar and began to play. She ran through the chords twice, then spoke the words. She stopped and changed a phrase, and tried again.
“Better.”
Finally, she was ready to try. She cleared her throat and sang.
“Bring my daughter’s letter from her land;
deliver it safely to my hand,
as she knows that I love her … .”
As she struck the last chord, the entire room seemed to rock with a second unseen, unheard chord that shivered the sky outside.
Clinnnk!
Anna threw up her arms as the wall mirror shattered and sprayed glass across the room, staggering back, feeling—knowing that she was the only one affected, as if that chord were almost a magic harmonic directed at her.
She did not make the bed before she went down.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
What was the noise? Between the pounding in her head and the thumping somewhere in the room, Anna had trouble figuring out the sound, and when she opened her eyes they burned.
Thump!
“Lady Anna! Lady Anna!”
Slowly she rolled over onto her knees, then levered her way up the footboard of the bed until she stood tottering.
“Lady Anna!”
“Just … a moment … .” she croaked.
“Lady Anna! Lady Anna!”
She finally recognized Daffyd’s voice. Ignoring the throbbing in her skull, she forced her voice louder. “I’m all right. Just a moment.”
A look down showed cuts and dried blood across her forearms below the three-quarter-length sleeves of her riding shirt. Glass shards from the wall mirror lay across the polished floor, and the outline of the mirror was literally burned into the stones of the wall. Only ashes—on the floor—remained of the frame and glass.
When she opened the door, Daffyd gaped. So did the guards behind him. Did she look that awful?
“I could feel something … something … terrible,” he stuttered.
“A little sorcery backlash … .” she said. “It was more than I planned. I need to get cleaned up—again.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Send up some breakfast, and tell Menares and Lord Jecks that I will be delayed.”
She closed the door and walked slowly—very slowly—toward the bathroom, but she stopped as she saw the white oblong on the bed.
Elizabetta’s letter? Had it gotten through? She picked it up. The edges of the envelope were almost brown, as though they had been scorched, but the letter was there. The letter was there. Her fingers trembled as she opened it and began to read, forcing her eyes, burning as they did, to pick out the words.
Mom—
Everyone would say I’m crazy to try this, but they didn’t see your envelopes arrive. They don’t know, and they don’t know you.
I had already showed the first coins to Mr. Asteni, and he said the gold one was solid gold, but he’d never heard of Neserea, and he wanted to know if that was some new African country. I didn’t tell him … .
Mario’s nice about it, and he’s fine. I don’t know why you can see me but not him because he’s doing great. He worries that I’m crazy. I’m not, am I? I mean, writing letters to answer letters that appear by magic is strange, but it isn’t crazy. And I knew you wouldn’t just go off, no matter what Dad said about your going off the deep end … .
I guess it must be hard, magic or not, to send these. I couldn’t read part of the second letter, because it was sort of charred. Are you sure you didn’t get burned when that wizard pulled you where you are?
Anna had to stop reading because she couldn’t see … but at least Elizabetta knew. At least, she knew.
After closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she picked up the letter again.
I got permission to take off the fall semester without losing my scholarship—I told them I’d come back if it made a difference, but the dean was understanding, for once, and I’m working at the Homestead until Christmas. Dad and Paulina are back in New York, and it’s nice to have the space, but I MISS YOU!!!!
Anna swallowed, and sniffled, and blotted her eyes with her sleeve, and noted the dried blood flakes that rubbed onto her sleeve. She’d take care of them in a minute.
I don’t know if this letter will reach you, and if it does, if I can send another. So I wanted you to know that I love you, and that, even if we did argue sometimes, that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was because I was trying to be me, and you’re a hard act
to follow. Irenia and I talked about it, a lot, and you’re the kind of person who draws up tight inside when you’re hurt. You don’t bleed or gush. You get formal and professional. Dad never understood that, and I think Sandy did, but he couldn’t understand why. Irenia and I understood, but sometimes it was still hard, and I’m sorry that I sometimes didn’t make more of an effort. It’s hard to say everything in a letter, and especially when you’re not a letter-writer, but this is the only way I’ll get to say it. You were there when it counted, and you cared, and I even remember when I got the chicken pox, and you left the audition in San Francisco that you might have won to come home because Dad said he had to, open at the Met.
There are a lot of other memories, good ones, and I’ll always hold on to them.
Anna didn’t realize she was sobbing until one of her tears dropped on the
I love you—always
scrawled above her daughter’s signature.
In the end, she sat on the bed clutching the letter, and letting herself cry, knowing, as only her guts could tell her, that the black-etched rectangle, in the wall stones signified the closure of all her portals to the mist worlds.
E
ven by midday, when she forced herself to march into the receiving room where Daffyd, and lunch, waited, Anna felt like she’d been run over by Farinelli. She looked worse than she felt, with several scratches across her left temple, and more than a few across her hands and arms. None of the cuts were deep, but several hurt, if not as much as her aching head, and heart.
“You look better, Lady Anna,” offered Daffyd as he stood.
“I look like shit. And I feel worse.”
Daffyd’s mouth opened, then closed.
“That’s all right.” The sorceress pointed to the table. “Sit down. We need to eat. I do, anyway. My blood sugar’s so low it wouldn’t register.”
Daffyd looked blank at the reference, but she didn’t bother to explain. She sat at the back side of the conference table, where she could see both doors, and immediately broke off a chunk of the dark bread. As she did, a head peered inside. Anna motioned. “Resor, bring in whatever we have besides the bread. I hope we have something else. Lots of it.”
“Beef and onions and peppers,” said the page, setting the platter midway between Anna and the player.
The sorceress nodded and finished her bread before serving herself. Were regents supposed to be served? Not this one.
After several mouthfuls, she swallowed and cleared her throat. “How are you coming with the players?”
“I have seven, lady, and soon … You did say you would pay …”
“Fine. You need silvers?”
“A silver a week for each.” The young player nodded.
“And two for you?” Anna grinned.
Daffyd tried to shrug nonchalantly.
“I’ll get them to you later today or in the morning.” Anna stuffed more of the meat into her mouth. She was hungry, and then some, but that was clearly the result of sorcery. After eating for a time, and letting Daffyd eat, she resumed. “I hope to have the songs ready for you in the next day or so. Then we can practice, and I hope you’ll be able to rehearse them a lot when I can’t.”
“Me?”
“Why not? What am I paying you for?” She asked deadpan.
“Lady … oh … you jest.”
“Not entirely. Once you know a song, you ought to be able to get it put together. I won’t have that sort of time, not the way Lord Brill did.” Anna snorted. “I don’t have enough time to get organized, let alone do anything.” She took a deep breath. “You’d better go. I need to work on spells before I get interrupted again.”
Daffyd nodded and rose.
“Daffyd, I’m not displeased or upset. I am busy and frazzled.”
“Yes, lady.”
She wasn’t sure he understood, but then, men always expected women to understand. It was different when they had to, even as young men.
As Daffyd left, the sorceress called, “Resor! Someone?”
Skent peered in. “Yes, lady?”
“Can you cart off the platters and plates?”
Skent started to gather them up.
“How is Cataryzna?” Anna asked playfully.
The dark-haired page blushed. “Fine, lady. She is appreciative, but she would like the freedom to return home.”
“I know. Matters aren’t that simple, though, as I keep discovering.”
“Wendella—she hates you, and she tells everyone how awful you are.”
“Am I?”
“No, lady. Even Drenchescha thinks you are fair. She told Wendella she was lucky to keep her head. She wouldn’t have been near so charitable. That shut her up for a time.”
That would change, Anna knew, and probably before she had a solution.
“Thank you, Skent. I’ll think about it.” That she could promise.
As the door closed, Anna pulled the paper and ink stand before her and began to jot down song ideas—she had to come up with something quickly so that Daffyd could get his players practicing.
She had managed only a few ideas when there was a
gentle thump on the door and Birke peered in. “Lady Anna, Lord Jecks is here with Dythya.”
“Have them come in.” She set aside the spells and stood. Who was Dythya?
“Dythya, this is the lady Anna,” offered Jecks. Anna could not help but note that his blue tunic was stained. “She is Herstat’s daughter … .”
Dythya was older than Anna had anticipated, in her midthirties, dark-haired, with a touch of gray, and solid but not overweight. Her gray eyes were appraising as she bowed. “Lady Anna, I am at your service.”
“I hope so. Did Jecks tell you about my needs?”
“He said you had no one to do the accounts for the liedburg.”
“Or the liedstadt. I also want to set up a budgeting system, where we can estimate what future revenues and expenditures may be.”
“How—”
“A simple system to begin with, but I have no idea right now what we owe, what we may owe, or even what many things I would like to do might cost. How can I plan when I don’t know what anything might cost?”
Dythya looked to Jecks, who nodded.
“My lady,” said Dythya, “I can tell you how much you have spent and where. Or I can find out. Beyond that, one must foresee the future.”
“If you can figure out the past, I can show you how to plan for the future.” Anna paused. “What kind of numbers do you use?”
“Numbers?”
Anna pointed to the chair across the table. “Sit down. If you would also, Lord Jecks?” As the two took chairs, she pushed the ink stand and a sheet of paper across the table. “Write the numbers, digits, from one to twenty there.”
Dythya wrote.
It was as bad as she feared. They weren’t exactly Roman numerals, but they weren’t Arabic either, and it didn’t look like there was either a decimal system or place value.
Would she have to reinvent double-entry bookkeeping? She only had the faintest idea of how it worked. Why was everything so hard?
“We have a lot of work to do, Dythya, including a better system of numbers that will make it a lot easier.”
I hope
.
The sorceress lifted the bell on the table and rang it. It bothered her to be summoning people hither and yon, but the bell made more sense than yelling.
Birke opened the door. “Yes, lady?”
“I would like to see Menares for a few moments.”
Birke bowed and closed the door.
Anna turned to the white-haired lord. “Lord Jecks, how have you had young Jimbob tutored?”
“As best I could, lady. He learns his numbers from Herstat, his horsemanship from Hylar, his letters from Restak …” Jecks frowned. “Why ask you?”
“I am going to offer more regular instruction to some of the children of the lords.”
“Here in Falcor?”
“Where else?”
“Why … lessons are the prerogative of the lords. They always have been. Who else would know what their offspring would need to learn?”
“Oh, I don’t intend to force this down anyone’s throat. Not directly. And I intend to see that instruction is offered to young women as well.” Anna looked up as the door opened.
“Menares for the lady Anna.”
“Take the other seat, Menares.”
“Yes, Lady Anna.” The white-haired counselor looked around the table warily, then eased his bulk into the remaining chair.
“Have you found out who taught young Lord Jimbob when he was here?” asked Anna.
“Tirsik taught him about horses, and his mother taught him his letters and numbers. Someone named Isosar taught him heraldry and emblems and the basics of tactics. I believe
he was the sire of young Skent. One of Lady Alasia’s maids taught him about manners.”
Anna winced at what was considered education.
“We will be doing more here, in the future.”
“That may not go well,” cautioned Jecks.
“Did Barjim save his son’s land—or did I? I am a woman, you know.”
“Very much so.” Jecks offered a smile, but his eyes did not quite appraise Anna.
For a moment, Anna was most aware of the near sexual tension between them, but she knew where that could lead, and now was not the time.
“Defalk is too poor to waste half its talent and brains. Lord Barjim would have failed before he started without your daughter.”
“I have been so told,” Jecks said.
Menares and Dythya looked from Anna to Jecks and back again, following each speaker, but offering nothing.
“Knowledge is power, or so it’s been said … in the mist worlds. Since we don’t have much of any other kind of power, we’d better use what we can. I intend to add all the knowledge I can.”
“You have other reasons for such instruction, I would wager,” suggested Jecks.
“Of course.” Anna smiled. “They will be closer than if raised on their own lands or fostered in a single other hall.” The smile vanished. “They’ll also have a better idea of whom to respect and whom not to.”
“You are a dangerous woman.” Jecks shook his head.
So did Menares. Dythya smiled faintly.
“Menares? Dythya?”
“Yes, lady?”
“Two things. Menares, first, find Hanfor and dig up twenty silvers from him. Get them to Daffyd so that he can pay the players. Then, you two find a quiet corner and some paper. I want you to come up with two lists—one that gives all the possible expenses we have faced or could face. The second list should show all the sources of revenue that the
liedburg has, or might have. Then come back here.”
The two looked at each other.
“Just do it. I’ll explain when you return.”
Both nodded.
“You are even more dangerous than I thought,” Jecks said with a laugh. “When neither of those two can think ahead of you … .” He shook his head.
Anna waited until the door was closed.
“I intend to destroy the Evult.”
“How could you do that? And why? You have destroyed his armies.”
“The Evult is putting together more darksingers and another army. I intend to put a stop to him now.”
“I have heard of and seen your powers, Lady Anna, but you risk everything you have gained by such an effort.” Jecks frowned. “You do not have the coins to send an expedition into Ebra, and the Evult will not return to Defalk for another year.”
“In time to ruin next year’s harvest, if we have one. We need rain, and we won’t get it without destroying the Evult. Besides, I have another idea.” Anna forced a smile she did not feel. While her body felt less sore after eating, her head still throbbed. Why was it that even trying the littlest spells across the worlds cost her more than far larger efforts on Liedwahr? Another one of those physical laws she had never learned, she supposed. It made sense, but she didn’t have to like it.
Jecks raised his eyebrows.
“It will take only a small expedition.”
“If it is small, you will have to lead it,” the white-haired man pointed out, “and that is dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as suffering another year of drought followed by another invasion. And I can get halfway there without anyone knowing. No one will expect it. I can visit your lands without suspicion. Wouldn’t everyone expect me to make such visits? I’ll let it be known that I intend to visit many lords.” Anna shrugged. “You’re right, though. It’s not reasonable. It’s not prudent—but, as the saying
goes, it’s better than the alternatives. And there’s another thing. Everyone is watching. Sooner or later, someone else will try. We cannot fight more than one enemy at once.”
“No … we have few arms and fewer armsmen and only one sorceress,” admitted Jecks.
“I intend to move quickly, within the next few weeks.”
“That be awfully soon, and close before winter.”
“We are surrounded on all sides,” Anna pointed out. “But if Ebra is rendered permanently helpless, that will stop one threat, and from what everyone says, that will buy a lot of time. Neserea, even under Konsstin, cannot do anything until next year. I don’t know about Nordwei.”
“The Norweians like to plot carefully. They will wait, I think.” Jecks fingered his chin. “You have not said how you will accomplish this.”
“I want maps showing the shortest feasible routes from Elhi to Vult and to Lake Aulta.”
“Surely you do not think armsmen could travel the Ostfels? In late autumn, when the snows begin to fall?”
“I have a plan. Let’s leave it at that.” Anna smiled tightly. “Can you come up with the maps?”
The older lord shook his head. “No one has ever tried such a …”
“Lord Jecks,” the sorceress said tiredly, “unless the Dark Monks are totally destroyed these senseless battles will go on and on.”
“You destroyed their entire army at the river.”
“They lost their best … general … and they’re already rebuilding. Even if the Evult were killed, the system would create another. That’s what systems do. Isn’t that what’s happened all over Liedwahr? You kill a despot and get another. I bought a year, perhaps two, and then I’ll have to do it again. I won’t live forever. Do you want your grandson to suffer his father’s fate?”
BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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