Darksong Rising (17 page)

Mansuur could not send armsmen into other parts of Liedwahr, except for Neserea. Who, then,

do you propose will be the one to defeat the Sturinnese?”

“But... if she goes to Ebra, Rabyn, in his anger, may well attack Defalk. With our lancers, no

less."

“If Nubara does not restrain him.”

Konsstin fingers his well-trimmed and mostly silver beard. “If Nubara does away with Rabyn,

would the sorceress oppose my taking Neserea?”

“She would not like it, but... you could always propose splitting the land. You could take the

Great Western Forest and the Westfels and the mines, and leave Defalk the lands of the east and

south."

“Rabyn may well remove Nubara. Then the sorceress would have to defend Defalk... and she

may or may not triumph, but as matters now stand she would destroy Rabyn and the arms-men

and lancers of Neserea—and our good lancers.”

Bassil nods. “That is true. The worst that could happen, would be that Liedwahr would be

dominated by three lands. And the sorceress would be hard-pressed to unify what she held for

the heir for years.” He shrugs. “And if she fails, then who could blame Mansuur for stepping in

to unify the remains of Neserea and Defalk? Bertmynn need not know that you have also

supported the sorceress.”

“So that if she does fail, he will owe me fealty—and if he does not provide such, who will stand

behind him?”

“Certainly not Ranuak or Nordwei.” Bassil inclines his head slightly. “In one case, Mansuur will

hold all of Liedwahr, except Wei and Ranuak. and in the other, there will be three powers,

instead of having seven squabbling ragtag states.”

“Bassil... you do know how I dislike having my own words used against me?”

“Yes, ser.”

“There is Nordwei. Let us not forget the cautious traders. Cold silver flows in their veins.”

Konsstin frowns, then leaves the balcony and the view of the two rivers that form the Toksul, the

great river of Mansuur that flows westward to Wahrsus and the ocean. Back in his study, he

closes the windowed door. “So I should send a large gift to the Regent of Defalk and explain that

the additional fiftyscore lancers going to Neserea are there to restrain my grandson?”

“Would that not be true? One way or another? And it is far less costly than another war of

unification. Even if you lose all one hundred-score lancers.”

Konsstin takes a deep breath. “Draft the scrolls... and propose a way to inform the sorceress

about the freewomen, without our quill strokes upon it. I will think upon this, but draft them for

me by tomorrow.”

Bassil bows. “As the Liedfubr commands.”

“I will be riding with Aerlya in the morning. That is something I promised her, and to deny a

daughter who is both sweet and stubborn.. .“ Konsstin shakes his head. “That is almost as bad as

provoking a sorceress.” He pauses again. “And to think that before long I will have to find her a

consort—a suitable one, no less.”

“I will have them in the early afternoon,” Bassil promises.

16

Some ten deks west of Borteland, another village in Defalk Anna had never heard of until

traveling through it, the dusty road wound out from between two hills to reveal both a dekstone

and a valley containing a much larger town. The dekstone read: “Fussen: 1 d."

“That must be Fussen,” announced Skent from where he rode behind Anna.

Anna smiled, thinking of how often her son Mario had announced the obvious, even when he’d

been well over sixteen—like Skent.

As with most of the other mountain or hill towns in Defalk Anna had visited, the keep of Fussen

sat on a hill, just to the west of the town itself, a dark mass outlined by the late-afternoon sun.

Beyond the shadowed structure rose another line of hills, and beyond those, the true peaks of the

Mittfels.

Anna squinted, but could only make out the general outline of walls rising above a clear grassy

slope that separated the keep from the town below. To the left of the road, a stream burbled

generally southward, apparently coming from the hills to the north of Fussen.

“Break out the Regent’s banner!” announced Himar.

The armsman riding behind Blaz unfurled the purple banner with the golden crossed spears and

the crown, with the R beneath. The banner billowed for a moment in a sudden light breeze as the

lancer rode to the head of the column, then drooped limply around the staff as the armsman set

the base in his lanceholder.

“Tell me again why I’m doing this,” Anna said to Jecks.

“You will show that you care about the lands to the west”

“You want me to support Ustal?”

“I would hope that you could, my lady, but I know as little about the man as you. Less perhaps,

for I do not see all that you do.”

“Flattery—that’s another danger of being Regent.”

“Only if you heed it, my lady.” Jecks smiled.

Anna enjoyed the smile. “How do you think Ustal will feel?"

 
“From the words he used in his scrolls, he will believe you have to come to confirm his claim.

He will be angry if you do not.”

“I’ve been afraid of that,” Anna admitted. “If I don’t, what
 
will he do?”

"That is why you have armsmen and players, is it not, though he will not go that far, I think."

You think? Ah, yes... once more into the breach, dear friends, with flame and fire and sorcery—

the sorceress’ universal answer to each problem. Anna’s lips curled into a sardonic, self-

mocking smile. “I hope we don’t have to use them. The mirror showed no danger.”

“That was before you decide,” Jecks reminded her. “Hope you do not need sorcery, but prepare

yourself to use it.”

Anna nodded. Then she turned in the saddle and motioned for Skent and Himar to ride closer to

her.

Jecks said nothing, but eased his mount back on the dusty road to allow the two others to ride

beside the Regent.

"I will be talking,” Anna began, “to Lord Ustal. Skent, I think you will see some of the younger

folk. I would ask that you talk to them. Do not talk about Falcor or me, or as little as you can.

Try to get them to talk to you. Ask about Fussen, about its prosperity, about the old lord, and

only then about Ustal. Do not ask about any of the lord’s family except him and his father.”

Anna glanced at Himar. “If you would do the same... and if there are one or two senior armsmen

of ours that you trust totally, if you would ask them to do the same.”

“We can do that, Lady Anna,” affirmed Himar.

“Yes, Lady Anna,” said Skent.

Anna then called for Liende, and went through her explanation with the chief player.

Liende smiled. “Players do talk, and we will hear what we can hear:"

When Liende had dropped back, and Jecks rode up beside Anna, he said in a low voice, “You

did not ask me." His tone was not plaintive, but even, almost flat.

For a moment, Anna missed the twinkle in the hazel eyes. Then she laughed. “You! You’ll be

with me most of the time. Besides, you have the brains to do that anyway.”

A faint smile creased Jecks’ lips. “You honor me too much”

“Enough of the false humility, you..." She shook her head.

Jecks said nothing, but his eyes were warm.

They had ridden no more than a half-dek closer to Fussen when the road curved slightly north.

Less than fifty yards after the curve was a bridge that spanned a narrow rocky gorge less than ten

yards wide. The bridge was wooden, heavy planks barely wide enough for a wagon and a single

horse abreast, with flimsy-looking sides composed of two planks set sideways and fastened to

posts attached to the planks and the two heavy timbers that formed the roadbed. Below the plank

roadbed, the stream foamed through the narrow defile less than three yards below. The narrow

bridge flexed noticeably as the scouts crossed, one after the other.

“A moment, Lady Anna.” Himar eased his mount past Anna and Jecks and onto the bridge. Then

he turned and rode back. “No more than two mounts on the bridge at once."

He motioned for Anna’s guards—Kerhor and Blaz—to cross first.

Once the two were on the far side, Anna and Jecks followed. Farinelli’s hoofs echoed on the

heavy worn planks of the bridge. Anna could feel the narrow bridge flex. She glanced at Jecks.

“The bridge planks should be replaced,” Jecks affirmed. “It would be dangerous for an

ironmonger’s wagon." With a quick look at Anna, he added, “and it should not be replaced

through sorcery, my lady and Regent."

“Not now, at least,” Anna agreed.

Lord Jecks snorted. “You would replace every bridge in Defalk, could you do so.”

“And every major road that’s dirt,” she said pleasantly.

Less than a hundred yards beyond the bridge, the road curved back through fields of maize that

had grown saddle-high toward its previous course. A redstone wall a yard high and extending but

five yards on either side of the road marked the eastern boundary of the town proper. At the wall,

the maize ended, and beyond the gateless entry, the road was paved with slabs of red stone.

An inn stood on the left, its signboard portraying a pitcher tilted upside down with a single drop

of ale clinging to the lip. Beyond the Last Drop Inn was a chandlery, also of red stone.

Anna shivered as she saw the emblem of the crossed candles, thinking about Forse’s son, and the

Darksong with which the young man in Pamr had infused his chandlery. Would Gatrune be able

to shed more light on his actions?