Shadowsinger (59 page)

Secca woke with darkness all around her. Her eyes opened slowly, and daystars flashed before her, silver-tinged flashes that made it nearly impossible for her to see anything. She was almost afraid to move, but she let her eyes travel to her right, where she could make out the embers in a hearth, red embers also tinged with silver. She seemed to be lying on her bedroll in the same small cot where she had struggled to get sleep the night before. Had it been the night before? Just the night before?

She tried to roll over because her shoulder was both burning and stiff. With that motion, her entire face turned into flame. “Ohhhh.”

“Here, lady. You must drink,” said Richina, easing a water bottle to Secca's lips. “The water will help.”

Secca drank, but the water seemed so cold that she shivered as it eased down her throat, and the drops that spilled on her face were like ice.

“You must have more,” Richina insisted, easing the bottle back to Secca's mouth.

Secca took the water, until she was shivering all over and could drink no more. Then she asked, “The wards. What of the wards?”

“Lady Secca,” Richina offered softly, “there is no one left who can
cast sorcery from a distance—save you. Do you not remember?”

“Alcaren?” Secca's voice was raspy, hoarse.

“He sleeps now, almost beside you. He is better than you,” murmured the younger blonde sorceress, “though his face is also flushed and painful. That is true of everyone who sang or played the last spellsong, but yours is the most flushed. The lady Jolyn suffered less than you two.”

“What…of the players?”

“Palian and Delvor are much like Lord Alcaren, but I would say they will recover, as will most of the players.”

“Most?”

“Bretnay and Rowal…they did not seek shelter as you ordered. The light…” Richina's voice broke off, as if she did not wish to explain.

Secca did not wish to force her. That the two had died, she regretted, as with all the deaths of those who had helped and followed her. In a sense, how the two died did not matter, save that she would have willed it otherwise, and she hoped it had not been painful or lengthy. Yet, with the Sea-Priests bent on taking Liedwahr, could the war have been fought without deaths? Secca doubted that, but had there needed to be so many?

It could have been, had you studied more when Anna lived. Or had you considered better spells
. But, by the time she faced the Maitre, Secca had had no other choices. The whole point of shadowsinging was to avoid having to use great and terrible sorcery, and Secca had not fully understood. She had thought that terrible spellsongs and shadow sorcery were simply different tools, and that shadow sorcery could at times preclude terrible spellsongs. She had not understood how closely the two were linked, as if they were two sides of the same coin. If one side were not used, the other had to be. Sometimes there might not have been a choice, but Secca feared she had erred all too many times in not seeing the opportunities.
And you will always wonder…as did Anna
.

Secca yawned in spite of herself, and the yawning sent fresh waves of fire across her face, and a deeper throbbing through her skull.

“You must sleep, Lady Secca.”

“…don't…want to…” She had so much she needed to consider, and so much she wanted to tell Richina, for fear that she could not, that she would sleep and not wake.

“Tell us tomorrow, lady. You can tell us then.”

Secca's eyes closed.

Under a clear and cloudless sky, Secca rode eastward through the morning on the paved main road that would lead her to Falcor—and Lord Robero. She wore the green felt hat pulled low across her forehead, not because the spring weather was cold, but to shade her too-sensitive eyes, eyes that, after four days, still showed her the world tinged with silver, if not quite so heavily silvered as right after the terrible sorcery.

She turned once more in the saddle, looking back toward the spot where Aroch and the town had been—now a fused expanse of silver glass, glass that from a distance appeared to be a circular silver lake. Kinor and Tiersen had promised to set up warning stones on the roads that led to the ruins of town and keep—when they had time after returning to their demesnes. Secca had promised Kinor that she or Richina would return to help rebuild Westfort with sorcery.

Following Anna's instructions, Secca had not been closer than five deks to the ruins since she and her forces had escaped the heat and devastation. Even from that distance and after four days, she could feel the heat.

While she felt no sympathy for the Maitre and the Sturinnese, who perished within Aroch, the cost to Liedwahr had been dear, dearer than any could have foretold—except the Ladies of the Shadow. So many Secca knew had died, and one of the last had been the unfortunate Ruetha, who had accepted a consorting with a weak lord out of fear of being poor and abandoned, as her mother had been before Anna had rescued her.
Is that a lesson of sorts?
Secca shook her head. No one should be punished for weakness.
But the strong and the thoughtless so often do punish the weak…

With a sigh, Secca turned back in the saddle to face the road ahead.

“You cannot change what has been,” Alcaren offered from where he rode beside her. “Nor should you regret what you did.” He laughed
softly, warmly, and yet ruefully. “Yet you will, for all the days of your life. That I know.”

“How can I not regret all those who died?” Secca gestured to the vanguard riding before them and then swung her arm to encompass those who followed. “Stura is destroyed. The north of Neserea is devastated. Nearly two-thirds of the SouthWomen died to follow us. I have less than half the lancers who rode out from Loiseau little more than two seasons ago…”

“Let us say, my love,” Alcaren offered calmly, “that you had been able and ready to use shadow sorcery on the Maitre the day you discovered he was in Neserea—”

“That would have been too late.”

“So…you are faulting yourself for not knowing all that happened in the world? When no others did?” Alcaren's silvered eyes twinkled. “You would fault yourself for what you could not have known?”

Secca shook her head, knowing that, in the use of words, she could not overcome Alcaren's logic, and while what he said made sense, it also made no difference, because too many people had died. She could not have accepted women in chains, and the Maitre could not accept them free of chains. Secca could justify her actions because she had not been the one to attack and force her way on others, but could there have been another way?

At the time it all had begun, after Anna's death, it had probably been too late. Secca's lips tightened. But now…now she had to make certain that another such conflict did not arise—not in her life, and perhaps beyond.

“Lord Robero is still in Falcor,” Alcaren said, his voice neutral.

“He was this morning.”

“You do not intend to send him any messages except the one you dispatched two days ago?”

“No. He knows that the Sturinnese and the Maitre have been destroyed. That is enough until we meet.”

“Will he meet with you?”

Secca shrugged. “How can he not?”

“He fears you.”

As well he should…as well he should
. Secca smiled.

“Yet even he does not know how strong a sorceress you have become,” Alcaren added. “Nor do you.”

“Because I have done terrible spellsongs? Does that make me stronger? Or just more cruel?” asked Secca.

“You know you are stronger in what spells you can sing. So am I,
and so is Richina. That is good for Defalk and Liedwahr.”

But is it good for me…for us?
“Perhaps.”

“What will Lord Robero do, do you think?” asked Alcaren, clearly understanding that Secca was uncomfortable in talking about her strength as a sorceress. “I know him but through your eyes.”

“He will blame me for his misfortunes, and for the deaths and destruction. Perhaps he will say he had no choice. He should not have threatened to take Loiseau from me.”

“It means more to you than Flossbend?”

“In a way. I earned Loiseau, and it was given with love.” Even thinking of Loiseau, of Anna, Secca could feel the emptiness, wondering again if that would always be with her.

“Perhaps he will reward you.”

“It's too late for that. Defalk deserves better.”
Are you the one to provide it? But who else is there?
Secca took a long and slow breath, then leaned forward and patted Songfire on the shoulder.

Behind them, Jolyn rode, talking with Palian, and the two younger sorceresses told Valya about Falcor. Secca looked eastward, silver-tinged eyes slit against the brightness of the day, and against the decisions she had made and would have to carry out.

Encora, Ranuak

In the shadows of the balcony, the Matriarch looks southward at the sun setting behind the low hills overlooking the harbor. Beside her stands Aetlen, one arm loosely around her waist.

“I feel happy for her and sorry for her,” Alya muses.

“Lady Secca?” asks Aetlen.

“She will not see it yet, but she has no choice. She wrestles with a decision that is not a choice.”

“She feels it within her heart, but would wish to deny it,” suggests Aetlen. “As did you, once, as I recall. Within, you two are much alike.”

“I suspect so. Except she has been forced to learn in blood and pain that good principles and feelings are far from enough to ensure peace and prosperity—or free actions for people.”

“You feel sorry for her.”

“Don't you?” asks the Matriarch. “Every joy she will know will be tinged with bitterness and loss. Every action taken will be chosen knowing the pain of those who will suffer.”

After a time, Aetlen asks, “What of the Ladies of the Shadows?”

Alya shrugs. “I imagine that they will claim that either luck or the discipline of the Great Sorceress or the greed of the Sea-Priests, or some such, were all that prevented Liedwahr from being turned to molten rock by sorcery, and that what happened to Stura is a lesson about sorcery misused. Saying so, they will continue to oppose it here.”

“You do not seem terribly upset.” Aetlen grins.

“No. We can now send young men with a talent for sorcery, or even headstrong young women, to foster with Lady Secca and Lord Alcaren. She could scarce refuse such.”

“Not now.”

“She will be far more careful than any suspect,” predicted the Matriarch.

“She will be far more ruthless in using the shadows,” added Aetlen sadly. “Truly, she will have to be the shadowsinger for all Liedwahr, but she will not see that yet. All she sees is that Lord Robero must be replaced, and she questions whether it is right that she should.”

“There is no one else.”

They both nod, then watch as the sun slips behind the hills, and the harbor waters turn from silver into dull gray.

Secca shifted her weight in Songfire's saddle, then leaned forward to see better the oblong stone by the shoulder of the road. The dekstone read: Falcor: 5 d.

Secca looked to Alcaren. “Not that much farther.”

“There has been no word from Lord Robero.”

“The glass showed him riding somewhere,” Secca pointed out.

“He does not wish to meet with you. That is most clear.” Alcaren laughed. “Nor would I, were I in his boots.”

Secca nodded, then looked back over her shoulder. For the first time in the two days since they had ridden away from the glass lake that was Aroch, she could see clouds to the west, just a few white puffs, and in the light wind of midafternoon, she doubted that, even if the clouds darkened and promised rain, they would reach her force before they entered Falcor.

“Look!” Alcaren gestured.

Delcetta and Wilten rode back along the side of the stone-paved highway, then turned their mounts and flanked Secca and Alcaren.

“A company of lancers rides toward us, lady,” announced Wilten. “They wear the blue-green of Defalk.”

“After all that has happened,” Delcetta added, “we would prefer to be ready.”

“That might be best,” Secca replied. “I doubt there will be trouble, but I will have the lutar ready as well.” She suspected she would be good for about one spell, but that was one more than some of the players could take.

“I will bring up a full company to the vanguard.” Delcetta smiled. “They should see the blue and crimson.”

“I think they should,” Secca agreed, returning the smile.

In less than a half-glass, after they had ridden over a gentle rise in the road, Secca could see the company of Defalkan lancers. They had stopped and were drawn up in formation, less than a dek ahead on the gray paving stones of the road.

“Column halt!” The order came from both Delcetta and Wilten, near simultaneously. “Ready arms!”

Secca let her fingers touch the strings of the lutar, checking its tuning once more, before watching as a single officer in the blue-green of Defalk rode forward, his hands open, and extended to show that they were empty. He was accompanied by a single lancer bearing a white banner. He stopped his mount as he neared Wilten and Delcetta. The three talked for a moment, then all three followed the banner bearer along the shoulder of the road toward Secca.

As they neared, Secca recognized the gray-bearded Defalkan officer. “That's Jirsit.”

“And?” asked Alcaren dryly.

“Oh…he's Lord Robero's arms commander. I've known him since I was a child. Anna always found him honest and solid.”

“Let us see how honest and solid,” suggested Alcaren.

After reining up a good ten yards from Secca, Jirsit bowed. “Lady Secca, the lancers of Defalk welcome you to Falcor, and we stand ready and willing to do your bidding as Sorceress Protector.”

“We have come to see Lord Robero,” Secca replied evenly.

“He is not in Falcor, Lady Secca. When he received word of your victory and your message that you were returning to discuss the future of Defalk with him, he ordered us to oppose you. This morning, we formed up and rode out, and then sent a message to Lord Robero that since you had defeated the Sturinnese, we were bound to you as the Sorceress Protector.” Jirsit laughed ironically. “In less than a glass, he had gathered his personal guard and left Falcor. He was riding toward Elheld.”

Secca nodded slowly. “We will enter Falcor, but we will only spend a day or so allowing the lancers and players some rest. Then we must go to Elheld.”

“We know, Lady Secca. We ask to be placed under your command and to accompany you there.” Jirsit's eyes held the hint of a smile. “We will abide by
your
decisions. Every officer and every lancer has so agreed.”

Will it be this simple?
Secca doubted that, since nothing in the past year had turned out as it first seemed—except her foreboding feeling about the Sturinnese.