The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (72 page)

Jecks rode beside her, and she was glad he did.

A
nna wiped her forehead. The hot midmorning summer sun searing through a clear sky had already turned the rains of the previous days into humidity resembling that in a steambath. “This is worse than summer in Defalk with no rain.”

Absently, she wondered if all went well in Defalk. How could she know, now that the flow of scrolls from Menares and Dythya had stopped? She scarcely had enough energy for the business at hand, let alone scrying Falcor and elsewhere in Defalk for who knew what.

“It’s hot,” she said, realizing she was repeating herself.

“Even my old bones find it hot,” admitted Jecks.

“Your bones aren’t that old,” said Anna. “Not that much older than mine.”

“Yours look to be much younger, much younger,” the white-haired lord pointed out.

“It’s what’s inside that counts.” Anna reached for her water bottle again. The water helped some, but not so much as it had in the drier heat of the Sudbergs.

The road toward Dumaria was empty except for Anna’s
force—and the tracks that showed horses, carts, people fleeing the terrible sorceress of Defalk. Then, every road in Dumar had been empty, the same way. Anna wanted to scream—again.

The few farming cots visible from the road were silent, shutters tight.

Anna wondered if poor souls hunkered in fright inside, stifling in the heat. She also wondered what tales had been told about her. Not even a stray dog was in evidence.

Ahead in the distance along the flat road were a pair of white marbled gates, each gate nearly ten yards high. The gates connected to no walls, no ditches, no earthworks. Behind the gates, the road angled to the right and wound up a low slope. On the slope were trees and at least a few large dwellings. On the top of the hill was a line of trees bearing leaves of intense green, and from behind the trees rose the white marbled palace that Anna had scried often enough in seeking Lord Ehara.

“Impressive,” she murmured.

“Lord Ehara and his forbearers were not known to stint on their comforts,” said Hanfor. “But Dumar is a richer land than Defalk, if smaller. The scouts have found no sign of armsmen, and the roads to the city are deserted.”

“Not quite,” said Jecks. “There’s someone waiting up there.”

Anna squinted in the bright light, following Jecks’ gesture.

Three mounted figures under pale blue banners waited on the road, several hundred yards ahead, and a half dek outside the north gates to Dumaria.

“Break out the ensign,” ordered Hanfor. “All guards to the fore! Blades at the ready!”

Anna twisted in the saddle. “Players stand ready.” She eased her lutar out of its case, and held it one handed, across her thighs as she rode south toward Dumar.

“They seem unarmed,” Jecks observed, “and no one is near.”

The Defalkan force rode slowly, easing to a stop a good fifty yards from the trio.

“Lady Anna, Sorceress and Regent of Defalk. Know that we supplicate you.” The words came from the rider on the right, a slender man with a pencil-thin mustache and equally-wispy ginger hair. “Know that we understand that nothing can stand before you should you decide to destroy Dumaria for its error and wickedness in attacking your lands. . . .”

“Who are you,” asked Hanfor brusquely, “to make such an offer?”

“We are of the merchants’ council. All the lords have departed, fearing your wrath. We, alas, dare not depart. Be merciful, we beg of you. The city lies open to you.” The ginger-haired man bowed in the saddle.

“We will see.” Anna’s voice was as cold as the day was hot and steamy. “Dumar brought this upon itself by attempting to create rebellion in Defalk.”

“We had nothing to do with that, lady and sorceress, nothing at all.”

“We’ll see,” Anna repeated, rather than say what was on her mind. No one ever had anything to do with anything when things went wrong. It was never the students’ fault that they didn’t study. It was never the lords’ fault that they plotted. It was never the merchants’ fault that they profited from war.

“Be merciful, we beg,” echoed the merchant on the left, a figure with greasy black hair and oily skin.

“What of Lord Ehara?” asked Jecks.

“He and his armsmen have fled along the Envar River road.” The squat man in the middle, whose face was wreathed in sweat, swallowed. “He said that you would spare the defenseless.”

“As long as they swear allegiance to Defalk and the Regency,” said Anna. “As long as they do not attack me or my armsmen.”

All three men’s heads bobbed. “That will not happen, lady and sorceress. All have seen your might.”

It wouldn’t happen immediately, they meant. Anna didn’t intend for it to happen ever—or not for a long time.

“We will lead you to the palace. It, too, stands open to you.”

“In a moment,” Anna said. “In a moment.” She dismounted and took out the mirror and lutar—letting Jecks help her.

Then she quickly sang the danger spell, accompanying herself with the lutar.

“Show from Dumar, danger to fear,

all the threats to me bright and clear . . .”

The mirror showed a single image, that of the Sea-Priest in white, riding beside Lord Ehara, with the flat silver of a river to their left.

Anna sang the release couplet.

“Still, you must take care,” cautioned Jecks.

“Hanfor?” asked Anna.

“I would that one company precede you and two follow immediately. Put the merchants in the middle, but ahead of you with guards behind them.”

“Set it up the way you think is best.” Anna offered a quick smile.

“Green company! To the fore! Arms ready!”

The three merchants winced nearly simultaneously as the armsmen rode around them and formed up. They winced again to find themselves surrounded by guards.

The column passed through the open gates.

Like the road leading into Dumaria, the winding avenue that climbed to the north side of the palace past large and impressive homes was also empty. Anna looked across a small parklike space, past a fountain where water still jetted from a spray of marble flowers into a scallop-shaped pond. Around the pond was a garden, where small yellow flowers alternated with larger purple blooms. A faint scent of something like lavender reached Anna with a vagrant breeze that died as quickly as it had risen.

The iron gates, bearing some heraldic symbol, were closed, as were those of the houses above and below. Not a soul appeared on any of the well-trimmed grounds.

“Those with coins have left,” said Alvar from where he rode in front of Anna.

“With their coins,” muttered Rickel.

“And everything else,” murmured Fhurgen beneath his breath.

Anna silently agreed, but studied the road, ready to use the lutar at any provocation.

When the road leveled out on the hilltop, the houses ended, and another arched iron gate straddled the road another hundred yards south. The gate was open.

“That is the palace. It is yours. Lady Siobion stands ready to offer every courtesy,” babbled the squat Dumaran. “Anything you desire . . . just spare what remains of Dumaria, we beg of you.”

“It could not hurt to spare the city,” said Hanfor with a wry smile. “If it acknowledges you as sovereign.”

Anna understood. There was nothing to be gained now by sacking Ehara’s city, or what was left of it, except angering the common people. Ehara had certainly taken the majority of armsmen, and probably all the gold he could gather.

She knew she was filthy, tired, hungry, and wanted the damned war to be over, and it didn’t look like it ever would end. First, she’d have to ensure the capital was somehow loyal, and then chase down Ehara, and if they survived that, pacify, through visiting and using the mirror to seek out hostile armsmen, the big port of Narial, and who knew how many other towns.

Then . . . maybe they could head home. Maybe . . . if she could set up some halfway workable and friendly government in Dumar so that she didn’t have to repeat the current mess in five or ten years.

“Sorceress?” prompted Jecks.

“The palace had better be ready for our forces, and with plenty of food.”

“All awaits you . . . everything. . . .”

Anna wanted to shake her head again as they rode through what had to be the royal park, with trimmed topiary displaying a range of game animals, a low boxwood hedge maze, and two marble fountains. To the south, ahead of them, rose the white building she had seen a time or more in her scrying spells.

Anna gestured to Hanfor and reined up on the well-fitted paved road less than two hundred yards from the palace—or one of its buildings.

“Companies . . . halt!” Hanfor stood in his stirrups and raised his voice.

Anna eased Farinelli back toward the players. “Liende . . . we need one spell before you and the players eat. The armsmen-seeking spell.”

“Here, lady?”

“I’m being cautious. I want no treachery within the palace.” Anna smiled grimly, and Liende nodded.

“After we eat, we’ll repeat the process, say—a half-dozen times—until I’m convinced we’ve located every remaining armsman in Dumaria.”

“Yes, Regent.”

“Some will die rather then pledge to you,” murmured Jecks.

“A lot fewer than if we took the city with fire,” Anna answered. She waited as the players dismounted and began to tune. After going over the seeking spell a dozen times in her mind, she finally dismounted and stepped before the players.

“Now, after this spell, you can eat and rest for a time. For a glass or so. Then we’ll have to go to work again.”

Anna faced the palace, waiting for Liende’s signal.

“Mark!”

Without preamble, the sorceress sang.

“Find, find, any armsman close to here,

who bears his weapons hard and near . . .”

After she finished Anna watched the glass, as did Hanfor, as it split into sections.

“Guards in the palace.” Hanfor nodded. “And some in a barracks.” He looked up. “Purple Company . . . search the palace. Harm none, save those who lift arms against you.”

Anna eased Farinelli back toward the players.

“Green Company. Search the grounds,” continued Hanfor. “There is a guard barracks somewhere near.”

“We’ll have to wait. I know you’re all tired,” Anna told Liende, “but I want no treachery within the palace.” Anna smiled grimly, and Liende nodded.

“Yes, Regent.” Liende’s tone was formal, not quite resigned.

“Now, after we get settled and eat, you can rest for a time. Later, we’ll have to go to work again.”

Anna faced the palace, hands on lutar, watching as her forces swarmed across the grounds and the palace, waiting for Hanfor’s signal.

She could see the merchants squirming on their mounts, and she wondered what she could do about them—or if she had to.

Jecks, his blade out, followed her eyes. “You do not trust them.”

“No.”

“Nor I, but they will acknowledge you, so long as they fear you.”

Anna was afraid that was the way it would always be. She sat on Farinelli, watching, watching others watch her.

Lord, she was tired, and the day was far from over, far from it . . . far, far from it.

M
ust you do this, lady?” asked Alvar, as Anna led Farinelli out of the palace stable into another sunlit, hot, and humid morning.

“How else do I ensure that we hold Dumaria?” asked Anna.

“The armsmen have fled,” suggested Alvar.

“No,” added Jecks, leading his own mount out behind Anna. “Some have said that they fled. The mirror shows no danger now, but what after we pursue Lord Ehara?”

Anna wanted to nod. No matter what anyone said, she would have to leave some force at the palace, and that meant there couldn’t be any organized opposition remaining in Dumar. Out in the courtyard, in the long early-morning shadow cast by the stable, she handed Farinelli’s reins to Kerhor. The sharp-faced, dark-haired guard bowed slightly.

An unfamiliar birdcall wafted on the slight breeze from the palace park that lay to the north of the stable courtyard.

The players stood outside, their mounts held by some of the armsmen, their instruments ready.

Anna cleared her throat, though she’d already warmed up in her chambers, then looked at the players. “Today is going to be long, and possibly dangerous. I hope not. What we need to do is to seek out any armsmen left in Dumaria, and either obtain their allegiance to the Regency or kill them.” She could see the lank-haired Delvor wince at her last words. “It’s very simple. The Dumarans have to know that I can find
anyone
, and that no one bearing
arms against Defalk will survive.”
Of course, you still can’t find that sorcerer in eastern Defalk. . . .

Beside her, Jecks laid out the scrying mirror on the stones of the courtyard.

She pushed away the errant thought. “We probably won’t find every single deserter or armsman who hides, but we must create the impression that we can. That’s what we’ve already done in places like Finduma and Hrissar.” She smiled and paused. “We didn’t find too many, but that shouldn’t be a problem in Dumaria.”

A low laugh echoed from the armsmen reined up and waiting.

Anna nodded to Liende. “Any time, chief player.”

“The seeking song . . . on my mark. . . . Mark!” Liende dropped her hand, and lifted her horn, and the clarinet-like woodwind melded with the falk horn and the strings.

Anna’s voice, more rested, rose above the players.

“Find, find, any Dumaran close to here,

any armsman bearing weapons hard and near . . .”

Again, the mirror showed three men in gray—not crimson—gathered around a table. One looked over his shoulder, as if to a door.

Alvar studied the image, and Anna hoped his memory was good. Hanfor’s sketching might have been better, but the arms commander was wrestling with other problems—such as how to divide their forces, and what was needed to keep a handle on Dumaria.

Alvar nodded, as did Jecks.

“Again,” Anna said. This time she used the second verse of the spell.

“Show the armsman in that exact place

from outside from where we saw his face