Darksong Rising (12 page)

“Yet you will reward him if he builds these... these devices?”

“Even I know, Nubara, that a ruler must keep his promises.” A second laugh follows. “You

might notice how few I make, and how careful I am with my words.” Rabyn looks toward the

audience chamber. ‘The glass has come for me to appear concerned and caring for the welfare of

my people.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, honored Prophet.”

Rabyn does not look at the Mansuuran officer before stepping through the door that a servant has

opened for him.

Behind him, Nubara shivers, then follows.

10

Anna stepped out of the receiving room and nodded at the two guards, Lejun and Rickel. “I’m

going to observe the lessons.”

The two followed her as she turned into the small service hall. Three sets of boots echoed on the

stone floor of the narrow passage until Anna stopped at the back door of the large ball that

continued as the working classroom for the pages and fosterlings. Until you can figure out

something better… like everything else.

She eased open the narrow door and slipped behind the tapestry aims, simultaneously listening

and attempting to keep from sneezing in the narrow and dusty space.

"... Sturinn is not a land nation, such as Mansuur or Defalk. It is but a collection of large and

small isles set in the Western Sea. These isles are held together by great fleets, by a form of

Darksong magic, and by the largest numbers of armsmen in our world. The Maitre of Sturinn lost

more than forty great vessels and two hundred-score armsmen when the Regent unloosed the

Falche River. These were but as a handful of ships and men to the Maitre... yet the loss of the

same number of armsmen ruined Dumar and left it prostrate.”

Anna shook her head as the heavyset and gray-haired Menares droned on.

“Now…see this map. You can see how many deks lie between Mansuur and the nearest isles of

Sturinn. Those are the Ostisles, and five years ago they were free. Likewise, fifteen years ago,

Buerann was governed by the young lord Zuerien”

“Buerann?" asked a voice Anna did not recognize.

“The large island here, in the corner, north of Pelara.”

At least he’s using maps...Anna slipped out from behind the arras, as silently as she could.

The red-haired Lysara saw the sorceress, and the girl’s mouth formed an O. Anna smiled, and

put a finger to her own lips. Lysara quickly looked back toward the graying tutor.

“What matters it,” asked the sandy-haired Hoede, his tone verging on insolence. “how far lies

Sturinn? The Sturinnese cannot sail their ships to Defalk”

“Their ships...do not just affect Nordwei or Mansuur,” replied Menares. “Had the sorceress not

stopped them in Dumar, Stromwer would now belong to Sturinn, and all the trade that goes

through that road would either pay tribute to the Maitre or travel a far longer way to Ranuak, and

that would cost the lords of the south many golds...?"

“They're all Suhlmorrans anyway, mumbled Hoede. "Weak women... all of them.”

Anna tightened her lips, deciding that she could not wait much longer to deal with Hoede. But

here is not the place or time.

The blonde Cataryzna—the object of Skent’s affection— glanced toward the back of the hall,

then looked quickly back to Menares. Beside Cataryzna; Secca sat almost at the end of the table,

the redheaded and youngest of the fosterlings and pages, and very much the smallest.

Looking at Secca, Anna was reminded of several things. She had yet to resolve the rather

mysterious nature of the death of Lord Hryding, the little redhead’s father. The red-haired child,

an echo of her own redheads, prompted her resolve to rewrite the letter to Elizabetta—or write a

cover note—and just try to send the envelope without looking at her daughter, and ask Elizabetta

to write a letter in return—and leave it someplace where it would be undisturbed and somewhere

that Anna could visualize—like under the stairwell at Avery’s lake house.

“Oh... Lady Anna... " Menares looked up from the map on the easel.

“I’ll only be a moment.” Anna studied the fosterlings and pages slowly, her eyes resting on each

in turn before she finally spoke. “There are neither Suhlmorrans nor northern lords in Defalk, not

if you wish to have your children remain under the banner of Defalk, and not that of Sturinn or

Mansuur or Neserea." Her eyes fixed on Hoede, but the stocky blond refused to meet her eyes.

“There’s another reason why ships are important,” Anna said after another pause. “It costs less to

carry grains and cargoes for long distances by ship. That is why Nordwei is powerful and how

the Ranuans manage to get so much gold for their Exchange.”

Seeing the confusion on both Tiersen’s and Hoede’s faces, Anna added. “Some of you wonder

what golds have to do with power. How do we get the weapons for armsmen? We have to buy

iron and pay a weapons smith to forge them. What do you pay armsmen with? If the Regency

has to use levies for more than a few weeks, they must be paid. and even if they aren’t, their food

costs money. Coins,” she added. It was still hard to recall that not all English terms translated

into Defalkan German/Old English.

Tiersen, Skent, and Kinor nodded. Horde continued to look blankly at Menares, as if he didn’t

even want to acknowledge the Regent’s presence.

“You may continue, Menares.” Anna nodded at the older tutor before slipping out the main door,

Rickel before her and Lejun behind her.

Why are the young men such knuckleheads? Does all that swordplay and honor nonsense knock

every bit of the ability to think out of their skulls? That couldn’t be it. Jecks was reputed as one

of the best blades of Defatk, and the white-haired lord could certainly think.

As she slipped back into the receiving room, she slowed, and said to the duty page—Cens—

”Find Lord Jecks for me, if you would.”

Cens bowed and scurried off. Anna picked up yet another scroll, another petition from the

rivermen for a reduction in their permit taxes. How can you say “no” in another and different

way?

Before she had finished, there was a rap on the door.

“Yes, lady?” Jecks bowed deeply as he entered the receiving room.

“How would you suggest we get rid of that idiot Hoede? Or will that cause another great uproar

among the distinguished northern lords?”

Jecks’ face blanked at the bite in the phrase “distinguished northern lords,” but he replied

smoothly, “Ah... his sire might be somewhat displeased... but you are the Regent.”

“Can’t we just tell the good lord Dannel that Hoede is better fitted for direct instruction on his

father’s lands? Or that he seems to have more ability with weapons than with a quill? Or

something like that?”

“He has little ability with a blade,” Jecks pointed out. “Even Lysara, slight as she is, would kill

him, although they have never sparred.” He paused. “Well you might talk to Lady Essan. She has

seen much about consorts and joinings.”

Thinking about Lady Essan, the white-haired widow who remained in the liedburg, brought a

smile to Anna’s lips. Essan had ridden to battle, although the lords of the Thirty-three would

scarcely have wanted to admit that a woman and consort of the Lord of Defalk—even two

generations back—had done so.

Anna nodded. She’d had all the fosterlings tutored with weapons, but she and Jecks had decided

that in the beginning, the young women would only practice with other women or with the

armsmen or officers designated as instructors. Anna had informed all the lords of daughters that

she was requiring that the young women understood arms in the unlikely event that they were

required to defend their lands in the absence of
 
their consorts. Then she’d told Jecks to make

sure that the girls got as tough a course of training as they could handle.

Some, like Cataryzna, whose father had been crippled in battle years before, understood

immediately. Others, like the shy Ytrude, had had to be coaxed through everything in the

beginning.

“Well,” Anna reflected, “I will talk to Lady Essan, but Hoede still has more ability with a blade

than a quill or a book."

“Best you tell his sire that, then, since it is the truth. And since you think so poorly of northern

lords."

“Oh, my dear lord Jecks, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the situation. Lord Birfels’ consort

Fylena wants Lysara consorted out immediately, and that knothead Hoede is the only one

available..."

“What about Tiersen?"

“Even that would be better, but I have no idea whether the two would even talk to each other. Or

whether Nelmor would consider it.” Anna wondered why she hadn’t thought of Tiersen. Is it

because you’ve disliked Nelmor’s attitude toward women and the Regency?

“Nelmor needs a consort for Tiersen. That is true—save he would set his lance on Geansor’s

daughter."

“Cataryzna? She’s off-limits.”

Jecks’ eyes twinkled. “I know that. You have plans for young Skent. Perhaps you should bring

him with you to Fussen.”

“That’s not a bad idea. What about Jimbob?”

“He should remain here.”

“You don’t want his name tied up in the succession mess?”

Jecks shrugged. “Is there reason for him to be so immersed?”

“No,” Anna admitted.

“When would you leave for Fussen, my lady?"

“How about the day after tomorrow? This isn’t going to go away, and it will only get worse if we

don’t do something." Anna sighed. “Do you think we should take a few more days and visit Lord