Darksong Rising (7 page)

know a good part of the answer before you could frame a decent question.

At the junction of the road from the north with the unnamed main street of Pamr, Anna turned

Farinelli right—toward the bridge over the Chean River that lay more than a dek beyond the west

end of town.

On the left side of the street was the inn—the Green Bull— and the well-endowed animal on the

sign was portrayed graphically in green. On the right side…Anna stiffened slightly as she saw

the repainted blue and white of the chandlery—the one where she’d been forced to incinerate

Forse. In the doorway stood a figure in brown. As the dark-haired youth or young man—

somehow familiar—met her glance, Anna wanted to shiver at the coldness in his eyes.

She held her eyes firmly on him until he lowered his gaze. Only then did she blink, for the

building almost appeared to have two images—as though she’d used Darksong magic. One

image appeared deep brown and brooding black, shadowed, the other a bright white and deep

blue and weathered. She blinked again and studied the chandlery. There were still two images.

“Rickel—do you see the chandlery there? Do you notice anything strange about it?”

The blond-haired guard frowned as he looked to the right. “The wood has been painted recently,

and the door looks to be new.”

Anna wanted to sigh, but only answered. “Thank you. The door has been painted in the past year.

They had a fire there.”

“That young fellow—he’s watching you,” added Himar.

“I imagine he is. I had to kill the chandler last year. He might be his son.” And he probably hates

you. “Before I became Regent. He tried to kill me,” When he couldn’t rape me.

“Not a wise idea," observed Himar.

“I didn’t have much choice." At least, you didn’t think you did then.

Anna glanced at the houses on the left side of the street, but no one appeared outside, unlike the

year before, when a girl had brought her a basket of gifts in thanks. She thought she could see

figures—women-—watching from the windows, but no one appeared outside.

“Quiet town,” suggested Himar.

"Too still by far." The murmur from Liende was barely audible, and Anna agreed with the chief

player’s words.

The unnatural quiet remained for the last dek out of the town. It almost seemed to Anna that not

even the birds sang until she had almost reached the stone bridge that spanned the Chean River.

Two things bothered her about Pamr. Of those who had watched her, none had come out to see

the Regent, and most were women. The handful of men had looked away. Not spit or expressed

open dislike, but just looked away. Then, there had been the feel of the chandlery—something

like Darksong—and the man who had watched. She knew the face was familiar, and that she

should have recognized him. But she hadn’t, except for knowing that he had to be some relative

of the late Forse.

Does that lack of recognition come from having to meet and remember too many people in too

short a time? Should you have stopped and investigated?

Anna knew she couldn’t stop and deal with everything that felt wrong, but there was that

nagging sense that she should have recognized something about the son of Forse, that she knew

him from somewhere. Clearly, there was something about Pamr, despite Lady Qatrune’s

hospitality, that felt wrong. Then... what doesn’t these days?

6

PAMR, DEFALK

The two young and bearded men watch as the column passes along the main street westward,

back toward Falcor, one in the doorway of the chandlery, one from the window beside the door,

half-hidden by the shutters.

Once the last armsman rides past the chandlery, and then past the coppersmith’s porch, the older

of the two men steps back into the store. “The bitch sorceress! Our beloved Regent. With such a

pretty face, so innocent-looking, as if she had no evil on her soul.” He snorts as he looks at his

brother. “So evil! She is evil, and none see it. But they will…they will. Oh…they will.”

“Then, why did you nothing, Farsenn?” asks the younger. “You have spoken against the

sorceress. There she was. But a handful of armsmen rode between you and her, and you did

nothing. I had most of my drums ready.”

“Now is not the time, my brother.” Farsenn smiles. “She has not suffered enough, and she will

suffer."

“You mean that you are not yet skilled enough to stand against her?” Giersan raises his

eyebrows. “When then? She will be back in Falcor, Farsenn. Her power grows daily. Even the

Liedfuhr of Mansuur has acknowledged her Regency.” Giersan rubs his forehead, then uses the

maple mallet to tap the single drum that rests on the wooden floor beside him. He cocks his head

and listens to the sound.

“Do you not see? Do you not care? I saw the blazing pyre she made of our father! A man, a

worthy man, our father, and she turned him to ashes! A woman, a lowly bitch from beyond dis-

sonance, and she destroyed him on a whim!” snaps the chandler in brown. His voice rises almost

into a screech. “We suffered from the fire that burned half the merchandise. Did she offer a coin?

A condolence? Did she even look back?”

"I wasn’t there," points out the drummer

“You didn’t have to be. I was, and I saw, and she will suffer!”

Giersan shrugs. “As you say.”

“I do say. I will say.” Farsenn glares at his younger brother. “And she will suffer.”

The drummer nods, then looks at the wooden floor. The silence between them lengthens.

“How are the other drums coming?” asks Farsenn, long after the sound of hoofs has died away.

“They are almost ready. But even with eight, I can only play simple melodies.” Giersan runs his

fingertips over the wood of the drums.

“Simple will be enough.” The young chandler in brown smiles, and his eyes fix on an image

none can see but him.

“More than enough. Far more than she will expect”

7

Still dusty from the ride. Anna sank into the upholstered wooden armchair beside her

bedchamber’s small working desk table. The room was dim, lit but by the single taper on the