Darksong Rising (50 page)

“The flame song,” Liende repeated. “On my mark.”

“Go!” Anna tried to ignore the sounds of trumpets, the dull clang and clunk of weapons, and the

continuing roll of the drums from behind Bertmynn’s forces. She concentrated instead on the

spell she would have to use.

“Mark now!” called Liende. Anna waited for a moment, then began.

Fill with fire, fill with flame

 
those weapons spelled against my name

... Fill with fire, fill with flame

Lines of fire crisscrossed the eastern part of the field, yet the lancers and armsmen in burgundy

continued to advance, despite perhaps a third of them falling under the spell fires.

“Why don’t they stop?” muttered Jimbob.

Why don’t they... so many are dying... but they keep coming... Anna shook her head, trying to

clear her thoughts, trying to escape the feeling of walking through mud—or quicksand.

Anna squinted. Was there a haze covering the grass? Was the grass burning somewhere?

Next, the burgundy armsmen marched forward, armsmen alone, without lancers, their steps

seemingly matching the two-toned... or three-toned... drumbeats. The lack of horse bothered

Anna, though she knew she was no military strategist.

Himar stood in the stirrups, his voice loud and clear. “Bowmen! To the east, to the lancers in red.

Nock your arrows."

The volume of Himar’s orders shook Anna, like cold water, and she turned and gestured to

Liende. “Once through—the first arrow song.”

As the music rose, in tune, Anna began to sing, each word a terrible effort against the very air

that seemed to congeal around her.

These arrows shot into the air,

 
the head of each must strike one armsman there

 
with force and speed to kill them all,

 
all those who stand against our call!

Anna dropped her arm, half-conscious of the thrumming of shafts released. Her limbs felt as

though they were clad in lead.

These arrows shot into the air...

As her words ended, she looked at Himar, but the overcaptain continued to study the field, where

fifty or so more red-clad Ebrans had fallen.

“We have not enough archers, Regent. Shall we loose shafts again?”

“Again!” Anna commanded. She blinked, as for a moment, she had seen double. But you’re not

using Darksong. “The arrow song! Again!”

The players began the spell tune once more, and Anna forced her thoughts and visualization,

concentrating on the image of arrows striking burgundy-clad figures, but even the images

seemed to skitter out of her mind. Drawing on the years of recitals, she slowly reinforced her

concentration with each word.

These arrows shot into the air,

the head of each must strike one armsman there....

Anna finished the spell, finding herself almost gasping. That shouldn’t happen... what’s

happened to your breathing? You never had problems breathing.

Jecks seemed to be guiding his mount toward her, but his progress was slow, as if something

were holding him back.

The drums sounded louder, heavier, reverberating across the shallow valley, building and

echoing, and the ground seemed to shiver with each drumroll. A smokelike pall rose out of the

grass, like a ground fog rolling toward Anna and her forces— and the first line of burgundy

armsmen reached within yards of the Defalkan lancers.

“Stop the drums, lady!” Jecks called. “The drums...”

A single trumpet burst rose from somewhere beyond the fog. Anna looked stupidly into the

growing grayness. Adding to the drumbeats were the thundering hoofs of lancers.

Anna squinted and blinked, her eyes trying to focus, to make sense out of the conflicting images

that assaulted her.

Out of the grayness charged burgundy lancers, sabres slashing at the near-motionless Defalkan

lancers. Each blow struck by the burgundy-clad lancers seemed to fell a lancer of Defalk or

Synek.

"The drums! Use a spell to direct shafts to the drum-skins..." yelled Kinor, riding toward Anna,

yelling, blade out in a guard position. Yet even the young man’s progress appeared glacial, as he

called again, “A spell to the drums!”

Kinor’s words fell around Anna, as she struggled to comprehend what he meant. Anna felt as

though she were dragging herself out of a pit. What do you have to lose? Each word was labored

as she forced it out, deliberately. ‘"Liende, the arrow spell! Now! Himar, have them loose more

arrows, any arrows!”

The players’ first notes were almost cacophonous, but by the end of the first bar they joined, and

the grayness that had covered the field began to shred.

Heads of arrows, shot into the air,

 
strike the drumskins, straight through there,

 
rend the drums and those who play...

 
for their spells and Darksong pay!

As the last notes of the spell shimmered in the heavy air, the drumbeats from the far hillside

wavered, faltered, and then died away.

Even without the support of the drums, the burgundy lancers had already fought their way

through two ranks of Anna’s and Hadrenn’s lancers before the effects of the Darksong lifted and

the defenders began to raise blades.

Kinor and Rickel abruptly appeared before Anna, mounted, to head off a single burgundy lancer

who had broken through and charged toward the Regent. Blaz and Lejun converged as well, and

bright blades slashed.

Anna dropped back several paces, turning toward Liende. One player lay sprawled on the

ground.

“Another set of arrows... the arrow spell again... !” Anna demanded.

Anna timed the music and lifted her voice toward the east.

These arrows shot into the air,

the head of each must strike Lord Bertmynn there…

Anna dropped her hand, and sensed the release of the arrows.

—with force and speed to kill him dead,

 
for all the treachery he’s done and led.

Light-headed and off-balance, she did not move as the dozen or so arrows flew eastward, but

tried to catch her breath, Watching.

A single pillar of fire flared just forward of the smoldering ashes that had been drums.

Abruptly, a trumpet blast sounded, and the front section of the burgundy lancers lurched forward.

Anna swallowed. There were still twice as many lancers in red as those in purple and green. Or

more. She blinked. There were still two groups of burgundy lancers—or was one group turning,

disappearing over the back of the ridge? Her eyes burned.

“The flame song!” She tried to keep her voice calm, but her remaining lancers could not hold

against twice their numbers-or more.

“The flame song, at my mark! Mark!” Liende’s voice was ragged, hoarse, and the agony in her

words tore at Anna.

Yet, from somewhere, a spell melody rose—true and clear; but thin, as if carried by less than half

the players. Even so, the first bars were ragged, before the clarity of the strings lifted the horn

and woodwind into a fusion.

Anna forced her full concentration into the spell itself, while trying to make her voice open and

free with full concert projection.

Those of Ebra who will not be

 
loyal to the Defalkan Regency,

 
let them die, let them lie,

 
struck by fire, struck by flame. ...

This time, as had happened at Envaryl, the chords of harmony shivered the sky, and the ground.

The wailing that should have been a counter pointed chord followed, except that strangely

harmonic as the wailing felt, once more, nothing matched, not intervals, not key or scale or

anything—the second time Anna had heard harmony that approximated pure dissonance, again a

sound that no one else seemed to hear.

She wanted to cover her ears, but the sound knifed through her like a series of needles that

burned every nerve in her body. Behind her, there were screams, and she knew that awful sound

had struck through the players as well.

Before she could turn, she could feel her legs collapsing, could sense figures moving toward her,

and she wanted to tell them, I’ll be all right.

When she woke, she lay on the narrow cot under her tent, and Jecks sat on the stool facing her,

his face barely illuminated by the single candle.

“Oh..." A line of pain knifed through her eyes.

“My lady... how long must you do this?”

As long as it takes... Anna turned her head to look at Jecks, turned it without lifting it. Even that

gentle movement sent additional stabs of pain through her skull.

“You need to drink... and eat." He extended the water bottle.

Some of the stabbing pain abated after several swallows. “Dehydrated... I guess.”

“You will need to eat in a time." Jecks’ voice was soft, caring. Thank heavens there’s only one

image of him.... “In a moment... more water, please... if you would.”

Jecks eased the bottle to her lips again.

After several more small swallows, she coughed slightly, wincing, then asked, “Did we win?”

“None who remained on the field and wore the burgundy live. Some half-score of Hadrenn’s

lancers died also from the last spell”

“The players?” Anna asked, her voice fearful.