Darksong Rising (46 page)

“What do you wish? The fealty of all of Ebra?”

“That’s a start,” Anna agreed.

“This land is poor, and you have already ravaged it once, lady. That was justified, but there is

little left to take.”

“Beyond liedgeld, I don’t want any more golds,” Anna said. "I want some other conditions."

“That is good.” Hadrenn gestured around the ancient room. “As you can see, golds are not

plentiful."

“What might Defalk wish?” asked Gestatr.

“Let’s talk about what you’d like first,” suggested Anna. “What do you want?”

“To hold and restore my family’s lands and patrimony. Is that not obvious?”

“You could have pledged to Bertmynn and received that.” Anna waited.

“I think not. Long has there been a sharpened blade between our houses.”

Anna nodded. “So you wish to have all of Ebra, if it is possible.”

The round-faced lord chuckled, uneasily. “I would not hazard so much...."

“You have the right of it,” said Gestatr. “Lord Hadrenn would like the position his grandsire

held. He cannot hold that without your aid. What would you have us do to obtain such

assistance?”

Hadrenn looked hard at his arms commander.

“My lord, one does not deceive this lady. Not if one wishes her aid.” Gestatr’s voice was matter-

of-fact.

“Gestatr and his family have seldom steered us wrong,” Hadrean said slowly. “What must I do?”

“First, you have been constant in what you have said. When matters are settled in Ebra, I would

like to confirm you as the Lord of Ebra—except I’d prefer a title more along the lines of High

Counselor.”

Hadrenn nodded slowly. “And you want Ebra’s friendship for the harmony of the ages." A faint

smile crinkled his lips.

“That, too, but there are a few other conditions,” Anna said.

The smile vanished.

“Once Bertmynn is defeated, I think Ebra should be organized into three lands under you—the

demesne of Synek, the demesne of Dolov, and the demesne of Elahwa. Third, I want Elahwa to

be rebuilt as an open-port city—under the rule of the freewomen, but they must acknowledge

you as their high counselor. Fourth, I require a thirty percent surtax on all goods from Sturin.

Half the tax goes to Falcor, and half to you. And last, I require that Ebra honor and extend the

post-courier system we have adopted in Defalk to carry scrolls throughout the land.”

Hadrenn pulled at his short, square-cut beard. “All your... conditions... save one... are well within

reason.”

“You have trouble with the freewomen,” Anna said. "I understand that. However, if you want my

support, and if you want trade and grain and coins from Ranuak, you must allow the freewomen

to rule Elahwa as a sanctuary for women who do not wish to be bartered as goods."

Hadrenn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That will not sit well with some."

“I’m sure it won’t.” Anna’s smile was hard. “Do you want me to remove Lord Bertmynn?”

“How... how can I accept a demense... even one acknowledging me...”

“How about pointing out that it cost Bertmynn something like fifteenscore armsmen to take

Elahwa, and that you’d be facing rebellion there every generation? How about suggesting that it

might be better to have a place for women who don’t fit than having both the Matriarch and the

sorceress angry at Ebra?”

“Those thoughts might be most convincing, my lord,” suggested Gestatr. “And who else would

oppose more strongly any attempts at invasion by the Sea-Lords?”

“There is that...” mused Hadrenn.

“You can tell a few trusted supporters that I strongly urged you to do this... strongly enough that

you had no choice.”

“Why?” The brown eyes conveyed puzzlement “You would allow me to say such?”

Jecks smiled. “It is to your advantage. As Gestatr has said, do you think the freewomen will

allow another land to use Elahwa as a port for conquering Ebra? Do you not think that you will

obtain better trading terms from Ranuak?”

Hadreun shook his head, then smiled ruefully. “I cannot but accept your terms, sorceress and

Regent. Not all will be happy, and even though I order such for Elahwa, all will know whence

came the idea.”

“That may be,” answered Anna, “but in time the credit, and the benefits, will be yours.” Now . . .

all you do is win battles and get back to Defalk before Rabyn decides to march through Denguic.

She held back a yawn. It had been a long day, just one of many to come.

46

ELAHWA, EBRA

"You will answer my questions.” Bertmynn smiles as he looks
 
down at the figure tied and

spread-eagled on the broad dark wooden table in what had recently been an inn. Slowly he draws

the dagger and studies it.

The figure bound to the table is a woman, who wears a blue undertunic, her dirty sandy hair cut

short as any armsman’s of Bertmynn’s. The pattern of sweat, dirt, and blood on the fabric

indicates she had once worn some type of plastron. A narrow cut, scabbed over, runs from below

the corner of her mouth to a point short of her left ear.

“Where did you bitches find archers?”

 
"...can’t answer what... don’t know...”

“Those archers... where did they come from?” Bertmynn fingers the knife suggestively.

“...don’t know...”

Bertmynn bends over slightly, easing aside fabric with the sharpened tip of the short blade,

pressing firmly, then twisting. Blood wells around the point “Where do you think they came

from? Defalk?”

"... don’t know... didn’t know we had archers..."

“Come now... do not take me for a simpleton." Bertmynn’s smile turns crooked, and he twists the

blade.

The woman’s body twitches, but she does not speak.

The Lord of Dolov lifts the dagger and wipes it on her tunic, before leaning forward once more

to part the fabric. He stops and straightens at the rap on the door, watching as it swings open to

reveal a gray-haired man in a stained burgundy tunic, who stands waiting in the half-open

doorway.

“Yes, Ceorwyn?”

“I have discovered what you sought.”

‘Then tell me.”

Ceorwyn glances at the bound woman.

“It does not matter. She thinks she will not talk. So I will turn her over to the First Foot for their

pleasure. They lost the most men. They should enjoy themselves.” Bertmynn sheaths the dagger.

“Well?”

Behind him, the woman’s eyes turn cold, then fill with hatred.

"Ser... your seers report that the Regent of Defalk is marching down the river road from Synek,

and that lancers and armsmen loyal to Hadrenn accompany her." The gray-haired Ceorwyn bows

slightly to Bertmynn.

“Are the drums ready?”

“Two are prepared. She is four days ride to the west... or five.” Ceorwyn’s eyes avoid the bound

figure on the table.

“How many lancers and armsmen?”

“She has perhaps fifteenscore lancers, and another fifteen-score armsmen in green.”

“Those are Hadrenn’s.” Bertmynn frowns. “Fifteenscore is less than half of what he has raised.”

“It is said, ser, that she took but fifteenscore lancers into Dumar. She returned with fourteen

score, and Ehara and the Sturinnese lost twenty times her force, and every city on the Falche

River.”

“Ebra is not Dumar. I am not that dunce Ehara.” Bertmynn snorts. “No woman will prevail in

Ebra.” He turns and his eyes go to the bound woman. “As you will discover.”

The faintest smile crosses the captive’s lips.

“You will not mock me." Bertmynn’s hand crashes against the woman’s cheek. The captive

remains silent, and her face becomes impassive, but rage pours from her eyes.

“Yes... rage if you will, but rage you will but against the dying of the light." Bertmynn laughs.

“No sorceress will save you... or your frail deeds. Or your freewomen—those few that remain

uncaptured.”

The Lord of Synek strides out of the room and out onto the porch that overlooks the river quays

of Elahwa. Ceorwyn follows silently.

“Twentyscore armsmen lost here... who would have thought it...” Bertmynn mutters. “Who

possibly would have thought a gaggle of geese, of untrained women, of green archers...

twentyscore?”

“The sorceress’ forces are well trained, and all have seen battle,” Ceorwyn says.

“No….they have seen her battle,” corrects Bertmynn. “And how the lords of Defalk could let a

woman..." He shakes his head. “They have betrayed their own heritage and will indeed suffer.”

Ceorwyn does not respond, but remains in the shadow cast by the overhanging eaves.

“Dissonance... that I should be required to call upon Dark-song to hold my own lands.”

Bertmynn’s lips tighten, and he looks northward at the calm and nearly still waters of the river.

“But better Darksong than a woman ruling over Ebra. Better anything than that.”

47

The River Syne wound through the sun-splashed rolling hills of mid-Ebra, and the road to

Elahwa followed the slightly higher hills on the south side of the river, though there was a lane

or dirt track on the north side that she could see occasionally across the river. The air was moist,