The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (43 page)

It took three vocalises to get her cords clear. By then
Farinelli had settled down, and a dull muted buzz—the murmurs of waiting armsmen—filled the midday heat.

Anna cleared her throat a last time, then sang.

“Show from the south, danger to fear,
all the threats to me bright and clear . . .”

The glass showed Dencer’s keep, nothing more.

She tried again, using Gylaron’s name, and the mirror remained silver.

“The harmonies say Gylaron offers no danger?” hazarded Jecks. “Even with armsmen?”

“That would be my guess,” Anna answered. “There’s nothing close here. Nothing from Gylaron, either.” She replaced the lutar in its case, then wrapped the mirror and strapped both in place on Farinelli. Then she remounted.

“Let us approach carefully, with arms ready,” suggested Hanfor. “Your guards before you.”

Anna nodded, and Fhurgen and Rickel rode to the fore. She coughed at the dust, and wiped more of the muddy film from her forehead. Then she had a long swallow from her second water bottle, almost empty.

They rode another dek.

Ahead, in the middle of the road, in a flat section deks from woods or hills, with just bean plants nearby, there stood a wagon. A solid man in maroon velvet, with a leather belt bearing an empty scabbard, sat on the wagon seat, open hands resting on his knees, palms up. His swarthy face was slightly sunburned. With him were a boy and a girl, neither older than ten, Anna judged.

On the wagon bed were two chests. Each was open, and from each glimmered gold coins.

On a low hill to the south were dark spots, mounts and armsmen, as the scout had said, a good three deks away. Anna tried to see more detail, but could only catch an occasional glint of sun on metal.

“All that gold, and no guards?” murmured Rickel from behind Anna.

“Who needs guards? There’s us here, and the Leronese at the hilltop. You want to try to make off with any of it?” asked Fhurgen.

Beside Anna, Jecks grinned.

The sorceress again looked past the wagon. The hill in the distance, and the armsmen on it, seemed the same. Gylaron’s armsmen, they had to be.

Rickel and Fhurgen moved directly before her, their blades drawn. All stopped a good thirty yards from the wagon.

“Lady Anna?” called the man on the wagon seat.

“Yes,” answered Anna cautiously.

“I am Gylaron. These are my two oldest. In the chests is all the coin that I have. All the golds of Lerona.”

Anna shivered inside, fearing what might come, and not knowing exactly why.

“I have received your scroll, but know you that I had made the decision to come to you before it arrived.” Gylaron coughed and continued. “Do what you will with me. Do what you will to my heirs. Hand over my lands to another. All I ask is that you not visit the fires of dissonance upon my people.” Gylaron’s eyes were bleak, but his voice was firm. “Do not do to Lerona what you did to the keep of Sargol.”

“Why should I trust you?” Anna asked, even as she fumbled to extract the lutar from its case. “You have all your armsmen on the hill there.”

“They are there to keep anyone from stealing the golds, no more.”

Anna believed him, believed the bleakness and desperation in his voice. “Will you swear allegiance to the Regency and to Lord Jimbob?”

“I will swear aught to save my people and my consort.”

Anna fumbled with the tuning pegs, then managed to clear her throat. Her voice cracked with phlegm on the first note. She broke off, coughed it clear, and began again.

“Gylaron wrong, Gylaron strong,
loyal be from this song.
Gylaron now, Gylaron old,
faithful be till dead and cold.

“Your heirs of lord, daughter and son,
holders of lands, this be done.
Treachery prevent to all Defalkan lands
with your cunning and your hands.”

All three figures on the wagon seemed shrouded in silver for a brief flash. All shivered.

Anna shuddered herself as a knife slashed through her skull, leaving a dull and throbbing ache—and double images.
Shit! One little loyalty spell and you can’t see or think very well. You can destroy a whole keep and you can’t ask for loyalty?

“Lady Anna?” Jecks’ voice was low, concerned.

“I’ll be all right.” She forced herself erect in the saddle, then nodded to Fhurgen. The guard let Farinelli carry her closer to the wagon. Both guards flanked her, their blades out, as she rode toward Gylaron. Jecks rode on the right of Fhurgen, and his blade was also bare.

“Lord Gylaron.”

“Lady Anna, I swear allegiance, by the harmonies, and upon the heads—”

“No!” snapped Anna. “Not upon your children. Upon anything else, but not upon them.” She found herself, shaking, wondering about her reaction, wondering how she’d known what his words would have been. Her headache throbbed more momentarily, and she blinked, but the double image remained.

Gylaron’s eyes widened. So did those of the children.

“I . . . swear allegiance, by the harmonies, by my sire’s honor and spirit, to you, the regent, the Regency of Defalk, and to Lord Jimbob, heir of the realm.” Gylaron swallowed.

“Thank you.” Anna took a slow breath, forced her
voice to be firm. “I’m . . . sorry, Lord Gylaron. I can’t explain, but your children must declare their allegiance, and I don’t want your loyalty on their heads” She turned her gaze to the boy, who seemed older. “You are?”

“I’m Gylan. I’m nine.”

“Will you swear to be loyal to the Regency, Lord Jimbob, and the Realm of Defalk?”

“Yes, Lady Anna. I swear . . . allegiance.” Gylan’s voice stumbled over the last word. “You won’t kill us?”

“I have no intention of killing anyone who is loyal. There’s been too much killing.” Her eyes went to the child’s father. “I will not hesitate to kill those who are disloyal.” Then she looked at the girl, whose black hair was so dark that it nearly shimmered blue-black in the sun. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Reylana. I’ll be eight at the season-turn.”

“Will you swear allegiance? That you will be loyal to me and to Lord Jimbob?”

“Da says I’m to do as you say.”

Anna swallowed. “Promise me that you will be good and that you will be loyal.”

“I always try to be good. I’ll be loyal.” Reylana paused. “Can we go home? I’m hot.”

“I think that might be a good idea. In a moment,” Anna said, stifling a smile, before turning her eyes back to Gylaron and the chests. “You will send this year’s liedgeld and last year’s to Falcor to Counselor Dythya. Save the rest for your needs and your people.”

Gylaron went to his knees, if casting a wary look at all the armsmen.

“No, my lord. That is not all,” Anna forced her voice to be hard. “You will assemble all your armsmen, all those on the hill to the south, and all those in your keep. You assemble them without arms, and they also will swear loyalty to me and to Lord Jimbob. If
one
lifts his hand, all will suffer, and you will die. If they swear, then I will leave Lerona in peace, except for your obligations for levies and liedgeld, and those other duties of a lord of
the Thirty-three.” She hoped she’d included everything, and her eyes flicked to Jecks.

The white-haired lord nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You would leave us in peace, after what . . . after Suhl . . . ?” Gylaron’s tone was openly disbelieving.

“Lord Gylaron,” Anna snapped. “If you learn nothing else, learn that I keep my word, for better or worse. Sargol tried to kill me when I was on my way to Synope, not even on the road to Suhl. He refused to pay his liedgeld, and he laid traps along every road to his keep. What would you have done?”

Gylaron lowered his eyes.

Anna had another thought. “I may ask for the use of a fewscore of your armsmen . . . in service of the Regency. I will pay them.”

Despite the double vision, she could see Hanfor nod.

“Anything you wish, lady and regent.”

Anna nodded.

Y
ou’ll let him go ahead of us?” Jecks had asked. “The children will stay with us,” Anna had answered. “With the loyalty spell and them, I’m sure Gylaron will arrange matters just as I requested.” She hadn’t been totally sure, but nothing was absolute. She’d learned that a long time before.

They had reached the keep without incident, and Hanfor and Alvar had ensured a clear and safe route to the wall overlooking the keep’s courtyard. Anna knew she didn’t look all that prepossessing, not in faded green shirt and riding trousers and a battered brown hat. She had donned the spare purple tunic with gold trim.

Gylaron bowed as Anna’s group, surrounded by Fhurgen and the other guards, their blades out, crossed the open space toward the inner battlement. Behind came Liende and the players, their instruments still in cases. Yuarl studied the old walls in wonder. Palian shook her head slowly. The young violinist Delvor just shuffled along. Duralt, the cocky-appearing falk-hornist, strutted behind Liende. Below, packed in the courtyard, stood the armsmen and servants and staff and everyone else, it seemed.

“I told them that you had a message for us, and that we had reached an agreement that would not require a battle, and that I had agreed to swear allegiance to the Regency.” Gylaron’s swarthy mouth crinkled. “I did not reveal any more details. That was not difficult, since you provided none.” He inclined his head to the woman beside him, the one with the heart-shaped face Anna had seen in the glass. “Lady Anna, might I present my consort Reylan?”

“You are as beautiful as your image,” Anna said. “I’m glad to meet you.”

“Why did you spare us?” asked Reylan. Her olive skin, flawless complexion, red lips, and black hair made her a beauty. “What trickery do you plan?”

Flanking Anna, Fhurgen shifted his weight, easing toward the woman.

“I plan none, except to ensure the loyalty of Lerona. A regent deserves that.”

“Why? What business is this of yours?”

Anna wanted to shake her head. Instead she took a deep breath. “Why is it so hard to understand? Defalk is threatened on all sides—”

“Defalk has always been threatened on all sides.”

“The Sea-Priests of Sturinn have cast their lot with Dumar,” Jecks interjected, “and Konsstin will be moving his lancers into Neserea.”

“They are all gathered, lady,” announced Hanfor. “Best you not wait.”

“We’ll talk more later.” Anna gestured to Lord Gylaron. “Join me.” Anna’s steps were deliberate, trying to compensate for the double vision that remained from the loyalty spell, as she stepped toward the wall overlooking the courtyard.

Gylaron paused, then stepped with Anna to the edge of the inner battlement. Beside her stood Fhurgen and Rickel, each bearing a mid-sized shield, gathered from somewhere, each scanning the crowd in the courtyard below.

Gylaron’s appearance, more than Anna’s, quieted the murmurs.

Anna began to speak, trying to concentrate, to ignore the continuing double vision. “You have a wise and thoughtful lord. He has pledged support to the Regency, and to Lord Jimbob. Lord Sargol and his armsmen rebelled. They are all dead. Lord Arkad rebelled, but his people did not. Lord Arkad is dead, and his people live.” Anna turned to Gylaron. “The Regency supports and confirms you, Lord Gylaron.”

With the last words, Anna stepped back, leaving Gylaron standing alone. A sighing crossed the ‘courtyard, and Anna could hear a few scattered voices.

“The regent has been fair—and more generous than any could expect. Honor her.” Gylaron turned and gestured to Anna.

Fhurgen released an audible sigh.

Anna stepped forward.

If the cries of “Honor the regent!” and “Long live the regent!” were not overwhelming, they were at least suitable, and Anna stepped back before they died away. So did Gylaron.

Rickel sheathed the blade he had held ready behind Gylaron.

“I am relieved you did not have to use that.” The swarthy lord took a long breath, then looked at Anna. “It is better this way.”

“I’d hoped so,” Anna answered. “It’s better than a battle, isn’t it?”

Rickel nodded solemnly.

“That it is.”

“What else have you concealed?” asked Reylan.

“Not nearly as much as you think,” Anna responded politely. “I don’t work that way.”

Gylaron glared at Reylan and extended an arm. “Might we offer you the hospitality of Lerona?”

Anna glanced toward Hanfor.

“And you, also, Arms Commander.”

“There is much to do, yet,” demurred Hanfor. “I would that I could join you, but you will do well indeed with Lady Anna and Lord Jecks. I am but a poor armsman.”

“Scarcely.” Anna grinned. “He has made it possible for Defalk to survive, yet he would take no credit.”

“Nor will I,” answered Hanfor. “Not until all Defalk is strong and united. Then, I will praise you for changing the world, and I will take my leave for a quiet hill retreat.” A wry smile followed. “By then, I will be old enough to enjoy it.”

“If you finish your duties, Arms Commander, please join us.”

“Thank you.” Hanfor nodded, then turned.

“My players will need refreshment,” Anna said.

“Your arms commander had said such,” Gylaron answered. “They will eat in the hall next to us, if that is agreeable.”

“That’s fine.” Anna nodded and stepped back to Liende. “If you follow us, they’ve set up a meal for all of you in the hall next to us.” Her voice lowered slightly. “The atmosphere might be more cordial there.”

“You risk much,” Liende said.

“I hope not.” Anna shrugged. “I’m doing the best I can.”

The regent followed Gylaron and his consort to the stairs, her own guards seemingly everywhere. Jecks, hand
on the hilt of his blade, walked beside her. The small dining hall was down a single flight of brick stairs and fifty yards along a vaulted corridor, lit by intermittently spaced candles set in wall sconces and protected by smudged glass mantels.

The players, led by a page or fosterling of some sort in faded maroon, followed, Kaseth almost beside Liende.

Rickel stationed himself and two others at the door to the small dining hall. Fhurgen followed Anna inside. The rectangular table was set for five, one place at the head, and two on each side. The linens were maroon, and the goblets crystal.