Darksong Rising (13 page)

Nelmor?"

“That could not hurt.” Jecks flashed the warm smile that crept into Anna’s heart.

Why do you lash out at him? He’s always stood by you. “You are coming, you know, High Lord

Advisor?”

“I had hoped so.” The second smile was even warmer, then faded. “I know you do not have a

high opinion of Lord Jearle... but it would not hurt to stop there as well, and his keep is but a few

deks off the road from Fussen to Dubaria.”

Anna nodded reluctantly. “And it will help make the western lords feel better.”

“It will not harm you.”

“What do I tell him about being Lord of the Western Marches? Or not tell him?”

“Say there is much to be considered, and that is why you are planning to visit his keep.” Jecks

smiled. “Besides, if you dislike him, you can ask for more grain and supplies for your travels.

Supplying such is his duty to the Regency."

“We’ll consider that part. Will you have Menares wnte some flowery scrolls to Ustal, Jearle, and

Nelmor, announcing that we will be visiting them?”

“I will so instruct Menares.”

“Good. He writes flowery scrolls well.” Anna took a sip of the spell-cleaned water. “Then there’s

the problem in Ebra. Hadrenn is practically begging for more coins we don’t have, or armsmen."

She took a deep breath. “I wonder if Ebra will always be a problem?”

“What would you do?”

Anna frowned. “I can’t do anything about it, except for sending him a few more golds, but I

worry about the mess in Ebra. Menares said something about Bertmynn sending troops to

Elahwa to take over the city from the people. I tried to find out something in the scrying pool the

other day. He’s loading barges with armsmen. but I don’t even know who holds Elahwa.” Anna

looked at Jecks.

“There are rumors... you recall the blades you tried to purchase?”

“Yes. Some trader bought them.”

“They were sent to Elahwa—by the SouthWomen.”

Anna sighed. “So the Matriarch is trying to grab some territory, too?”

“No. The South Women and the Matriarch—”

“Oh... Lady Essan told me something about that. The SouthWomen are the radicals..." Anna

wanted to smile at the puzzled look that crossed Jecks’ face when she used political terms from

Earth. “And they sent the b1ades... to these free-women that Hadrenn wrote me about in his

scroll? Does that mean they’re trying to set up a land for themselves?” Lord, all you need is a

bunch of Liedwahran radical feminists with blades starting another conflict to complicate things.

“I do not know." Jecks frowned. “The SouthWomen keep matters to themselves.”

Anna nodded. “Another thing to keep track of. We ought to send a few golds to Hadrenn. How

many, do you think?”

“A hundred, if you can spare them.”

“Will you take care of that before we leave for Fussen?”
 
I will.”

“Thank you.” Anna didn’t have to force the smile.

11

DOLOV, EBRA

 
What news, Ceorwyn?” The blond man in the burgundy tunic smiles warmly as the gray-haired

figure in battle leathers steps across the time-polished stones of the north wall of Castle Dolov.

“What we expected, Lord Bertmynn,” answers Ceorwyn. “A Ranuan trader slipped past the

Shoals of Discord, and ported in Elahwa. The cargo was grain from Encora—grain and blades

supplied by the SouthWomen to the freewomen. The free-women now hold both the north and

south sides of the river— and perhaps three leagues west along the river.”

“The Matriarch, for all her talk of peace and harmony!” Bertmynn’s smile vanishes with his

snort. “Yet she sends cold iron to arm those rebel women.

Ceorwyn shakes his head. “No…your seer—Lessted…

“Lessted. What says he?” asks Bertmynn, an ironic cast sliding across his smile.

“The arms came against the will of the Matriarch. The old woman struggles with her own

Mercantile Exchange as well as with the SouthWomen. That is why she will throw what support

she can into allowing the Sorceress of Defalk generous terms in repaying the debts incurred by

Defalk in years past.”

“Better yet if the bitches of the south are disunited. Still, I like it less that the Matriarch speaks

well of the... sorceress."

Ceorwyn nods.

Bertmynn turns and rests his elbows on the sun-warmed stone of the rampart, looking westward

and downhill across the city to the wharves that line the eastern shore of the River Dol. He

fingers his curly blond beard before asking, “Are the barges ready?”

“Not before weekend, sire,” replies the armsmaster. “Or perchance later."

“I had thought as much. Promises come easy, but actions lag those promises." Bertmynn

stretches, and his near-two-yard height becomes more apparent, even beside the tall and muscu-

lar Ceorwyn.

“The bargemasters would not act until they received the advance golds you promised.”

“We have enough golds to take the city before winter. Hadrenn cannot wage a winter war, and

both the Sturinnese and the Liedfuhr will supply us.” A wry smile crosses Bertmynn’s lips, and

even his clear blue eyes smile. “Especially now that cousin Hadrenn has thrown in with the

sorceress.”

“He would claim you left him no choice,” points out Ceorwyn.

“I would have left him Synek and even Vult....”

“All that is left of Vult is the Zauberinfeuer—and it continues to spread its lava across what was

once a fertile valley.”

“Proof enough that the Regent-sorceress is evil, do you not think, Ceorwyn?”

“I am loath to call any ruler who has saved her land evil, sire. Best you know that” Ceorwyn

looks up as he faces his lord, but his dark brown eyes are clear and steady.

“Yet you serve me.”

“I owe you, sire. But owing you and following you does not mean I should abandon my

judgment” Ceorwyn smiles ironically. “By overthrowing the Evult, the sorceress has granted you

the chance to reclaim the lands of your great uncle. She has also freed her own people, and

retained the old succession by choosing to act as Regent for young Jimbob. It is also said that she

avoids the use of Darksong, though she has the power to call upon it. Few of power such as hers

would act so."

“Coerwyn... honest and forthright.” Bertmynn smiles broadly, shaking his head as he does. “Yet

you serve me. What other cautions have you?"

“Beware the Sturinnese. You saw how they promised friendship to Lord Ehara of Dumar. Yet

they risked no more ships when the sorceress destroyed their fleet and hounded Ehara to his

death. Nor did they send armsmen or ships against Defalk in retribution. Best you be most

careful, sire. Lord Ehara thought the Sturinnese were his allies also. He lies dead in the ruins of

Envaryl, and Dumar pays tribute to Defalk, and Sturinn does not act.”

‘The Sturinnese will aid us. Who else will they aid?”

‘They will aid you so long as the coins are few, and you make life unpleasant for the sorcercess...

and no longer. Should you defeat Hadrenn early on, you will see no more coins from either the

Liedfuhr or the Maitre of Sturinn."

Bertmynn laughs. “You would counsel me against attacking my posturing cousin?”

“1 would not counsel you against attacking him, sire. I would counsel you against doing so until

you have no other pressing concerns. But before the sorceress learns of what you may plan.”

The blond-haired lord gestures southward, toward where the river vanishes between the green

hills. “That is our plan. I am glad it pleases you. I intend to hold Elahwa—freewomen or no. The

sorceress will do naught about that. Nor will the Ranuans.”

“The Ranuans will not act.” Ceorwyn touches his iron gray beard. ‘That is true. The sorceress is

less certain. it is said that she marched on [)umar when Ehara declared that he would put every

woman in Dumar in chains before he would pay damages to Defalk.”

“I believe in women in their place, well in their place, Ceorwyn, but I’m not fool enough to

suggest chains for them. Even in the most discreet of talks or... anything,” Bertmynn straightens

and walks back from the battlement. “The sorceress is astute. She will scarcely attack us while

Hadrenn lies between the borders of Defalk and our forces. Not with the Liedfuhr and his

grandson and the lancers of Mansuur threatening her western border. And not with the older

lords of the Thirty-three chafing against the rule of a woman.”

Ceorwyn nods. “Best it should remain so."

“It will. It will. Let us attend the barges.”

The north wall of Castle Dolov continues to soak in the heat of the summer sun long after the

sounds of two sets of boots taking the narrow stone steps have died away.

12

In the early-morning light that hot seeped through the west window of her scrying room, Anna

looked at the envelope on the desk beside the pool, an envelope containing another envelope

within it. Parchment is supposed to be fire-resistant... they bake filet of sole in it... and you have

two heavy layers around the letter.

After three vocalises, and after coughing up more mucus than she had in a while, Anna

strummed through the chords of the spell twice. She glanced at the envelope on the writing desk

once more, then at the blank waters of the scrying pool. Finally, she began to sing the spell with

lutar accompaniment

Bring this to my daughter in her land,

Deliver it safely to her hand,

Intact and without a burning flame