Darksong Rising (83 page)

the spymistress, then to the window, and back to Ashtaar.

Ashtaar still does not speak, but walks to the wide window that is open. the hangings drawn back

to reveal the sunlit hillside that overlooks the river, and the rebuilt bridges above the port itself.

After a time, she does speak. “What is Wei, Gretslen?”

The hard-eyed blonde seer moistens her lips, once, twice, before she finally replies. “It is the

capital of Nordwei. It is a great trading city."

“No.” Ashtaar’s voice is cold. “Wei is an idea. All cities are ideas. They exist because people

believe that being in a city is better than not being in a city. What is the idea behind Wei?”

"That... all can benefit by free trade among all cities?”

“You remember that from lessons. Nonetheless, it is true. Wei is more than that, but that is one

idea on which it is based. Now... why is the Sorceress and Regent of Defalk so dangerous?”

Gretslen frowns, and her brow wrinkles, but she does not reply. She moistens her lips once more.

Ashtaar turns from the window, her eyes on the seer, waiting.

“Because she will unite the south of Liedwahr, and will have the power to invade and destroy

Nordwei?”

Ashtaar closes her eyes, then opens them. “You can do better than this, Gretslen. If you cannot, I

will make Kendra the head of the seers.”

The blonde licks her lips again. “I do not understand. I have worked hard. I have reported

faithfully.”

“You have done all that, and more. What you have not done is think.” Ashtaar turns back to the

window. In time, she turns once more and faces Gretslen. “Tell me exactly what has happened in

Defalk.”

“The sorceress has ignored the rebellious lords in Defalk. She has used her powers to destroy

Lord Rabyn. She has not destroyed the Mansuuran lancers, but she follows them westward.”

“Now... does the sorceress have the power to destroy the Mansuurans?”

“Yes, honored Counselor”

“Is the sorceress stupid? Or mad?”

“No, honored Counselor.”

“Then why did she not destroy them when she could?”

Gretslen’s hands curl into fists. She does not answer. Finally, she speaks. “I could not say,

honored Ashtaar.”

“That is certainly correct. You cannot.”

Gretslen cringes at the scorn in Ashtaar’s voice.

“You cannot,” the spymistress continues, “because you cannot or will not understand. What is

dangerous about the sorceress is not her power alone. Nor is it what she believes. It is that she

believes and that she will use her power to accomplish what she believes. Now, why did she not

destroy the rebels in Defalk first? Because she is intelligent enough to know that they cannot

match her face-to-face and because Rabyn and the Sturinnese were the greater threats. Why does

she not destroy the Liedfuhr’s lancers?”

“Because she wants something more?”

Ashtaar finally nods. “You must find out what she plans, in Dumar, she molded the succession to

support her. In Ebra, she used her power to elevate Hadrenn—but under her control. There is no

succession in Neserea, and logically, she should have wiped out the Mansuuran lancers to send a

message to the Liedfuhr. She did not She is not like Behlem’s Cyndyth, toying with folk. So...

she has a deeper reason. You must find it, and before it is too late.” Ashtaar laughs. “Or the

Council will have to consent to any reasonable agreement she proposes.”

“To the sorceress?” blurts Gretslen.

“Certainly not to Konsstin. The Liedfuhr is shrewd, but his ideals are limited. Hers, I fear, are

not” The spymistress gestures. “Go. Think upon what I have said, and discover what she seeks

beyond victory.”

Gretslen stands, bows, and backs out, as if pleased to escape Ashtaar’s wrath so easily.

The spymistress returns to the window, where she surveys the city that is Wei, the city built on

one ideal.

93

Farinelli whuffed once, tossing his head, when Anna flicked the reins to begin the evening’s

journey from the encampment and the torches that marked it. The sorceress glanced overhead,

but the only stars visible were to the south, beyond the slow-moving heavy clouds that had

moved across the sky from the northeast earlier in the day. The wind was cool, but not as chill,

and there was a dampness in the air that suggested mist or rain.

According to the maps and the images Anna had been able to call up in the traveling mirror, and

from what Hanfor’s scouts had seen, the Mansuuran forces were camped literally on and around

the road to Denguic, not more than twenty kays east of Denguic. The camp itself was on both

sides of the road, with pickets more than a half-dek from the center, and scouts stationed farther

out.

So Hanfor and Anna had looked for one of the side and back roads—and found one that wound

within a quarter dek of the south side of the Mansuuran camp. It wasn’t patrolled, probably

because there was a steep and wooded gully that separated the lane from the camp, clearly

impassable to mounts and lancers. Since Anna had no intention of trying to ride into the camp,

the side road would suffice for what she needed to do.

“The ride there will take two glasses, I think,” Hanfor said from where he rode on Anna’s left.

“By then, most lancers will be sleeping.”

“And it will take half a glass to get from where the road splits to where we’ll release the

arrows?” Anna glanced back behind Kinor to see how close her guards were, but Rickel’s eyes

were on the road.

“Perhaps longer.”

In the darkness Anna nodded and shifted her weight in the saddle, deciding that late evening was

far better than dawn for a sorcerous raid. She reached back behind the saddle with her left band

and touched the lutar case to make sure that it was there. She had tuned it earlier, but whether the

instrument would retain any semblance of tuning after the ride ahead was another question.

For a time, the sole sounds were those of horses breathing and hoofs striking the packed clay of

the road, with the only direct light coming from the torches held by every tenth lancer or so.

“Lord Jimbob wished to come,” Kinor volunteered.

“Did you suggest it would not be wise?” Anna asked Hanfor. “I told him that for both the heir

and the Regent to be riding toward an enemy in the darkness was unwise.” Hanfor chuckled. “I

also said that it was possibly unwise for you, but that I had no desire to be called to task for

losing both of you. Especially by Lord Jecks.”

“How did he take it?”

“Well enough. I let him accompany me as we prepared, and I explained all I could. I also asked

for his trust in not revealing the plan to others.”

“Good,” Anna replied. “That’s the sort of thing he won’t learn around Falcor or any lord’s hall.”

She smiled to herself “We could do with a hall ourselves, right now.”

The column continued westward, the silence renewed.

“Why do you not quarter yourself with one of the Thirty-three?” asked Kinor quietly, as if to

break the silence. “Do they not owe you that?”

“The three closest lords to where we are, if I can read the maps correctly, are Jearle, Ustal, and

Klestayr,” replied Anna. “Jearle’s to the west of the Mansuurans, and Ustal’s too far south.

Klestayr—it’s not that convenient...

“And you trust him not?”

Anna wanted to laugh. The number of lords she trusted could be counted on fewer than two

hands. Still, that was up from less than one hand a year earlier. “Let’s say I’d rather not put my

fate—or Defalk’s—in his hands.”

“Menares says that such has always been the curse of Defalk,” ventured the lanky redhead.

“Ambition has been more the downfall of realms than poor ruling. Leastwise, from what I have

seen.” Hanfor eased his mount forward, as if to avoid the appearance of crowding Lejun, the

guard riding back and to the left of Anna.

“I’m not sure anyone has ever been able to rule Defalk,” Anna quipped in return. “Most of the

lords I’ve met don’t want a ruler. They want a figurehead to let them do what they want.”

“You are not like that, Regent,” said Kinor.

“I’m also the least popular ruler in generations... least popular with the lords, anyway.” She

frowned to herself. Was it just the lords? The rivermen hadn’t cared much for her decisions, nor

had the chandlers in Pamr, nor the crafters of Falcor. Was there really anyone who liked what

she’d tried to do?

“A wise armsman trusts the most popular rulers not at all, lady,” offered Hanfor. “The mob and

the lords are bought with armsmen’s blood, more oft than not.”

“That’s true in other... lands as well.” Anna had almost said “worlds." Hadn’t Kipling, that great

British poetic exponent of imperialism, said something like that? She tried to remember. She’d

heard Michael York give a reading of Kipling once, and it had been interesting, truthfully trite,

and sometimes most depressing, especially ‘The Gods of the Copybook Headings.” Did It have

to be true that people always forgot the hard lessons once the troubles were past? That they

always went back to the leaders that beguiled them with warm fuzzies and comforting nothings?

The silence dragged out once more, as Anna retreated into her own thoughts.

"Lady... you have been silent...” Kinor ventured after they had ridden a good dek farther

westward, toward the side road and the sorcery she hoped would avoid greater slaughter, and that

she feared would not.

“I’m just thinking.” That was true enough.

Neither Kinor nor Hanfor spoke again for a time.