The Shadow Sorceress (21 page)

In the formal receiving room, the Matriarch sits upon the clear blue crystal chair of the Matriarchy. The room is empty, save for her and Alcaren, who stands just before the dais. Gray light seeps through the long windows.

“You have often wished to use your blade as well as your sorcery,” the Matriarch says deliberately. “Do you still desire such?”

“Only if it serves a good cause, Matriarch,” replies the young chief of guards.

“Would you be willing to be overcaptain of two companies dispatched to Elahwa to help the city against the Sturinnese?”

“I might be.” Alcaren studies the Matriarch. “Even if the Sturinnese threaten to overwhelm such an effort from its inception with their dissonance and thunder-drums.”

“You had asked,” Alya points out.

Alcaren laughs, if softly. “Now you would trap me by my own words.”

“I would not trap you.” The Matriarch smiles, if faintly. “You wish what in return?”

“
If
we are successful in breaking the Sturinnese, by whatever means, I would wish to remain an overcaptain in a useful position.” He squares his shoulders, as if expecting a denial.

“I can only offer a useful position of stature.” Alya pauses. “The companies are those raised and trained by the SouthWomen.”

“You cannot send them under their own captains?”

“Under their own captains, yes, but not without an overcaptain known to be loyal to the Matriarch.”

“And one whom the men of the Free City would accept?” asks Alcaren.

“Ranuak cannot afford to have it said that it would use any stratagem to strengthen ties between the Free City and the SouthWomen. A man as overcaptain, and one known to my sister as a possible sorcerer, would certainly dispel that notion.”

“Especially one known to have strong views?”

“That will not hurt.”

“And you will be sending me away from the Ladies of the Shadows.”

Alya raises her eyebrows. “But out of my control, and that will trouble them.”

“What about the Sorceress-Protector of the East?” Alcaren inquires. “She may pursue those Sturinnese lancers in Ebra into the lands of the Free City.”

“I would not oppose her doing so. She is the child in soul of the great sorceress, who forced Hadrenn to accept the Free City. The younger sorceress may not choose to help Elahwa, but she will not harm it, not unless it has already fallen to the Sturinnese.”

“Do you think she will come to the aid of Elahwa?”

Another faint smile plays across the face of the Matriarch. For a time, she does not speak. “My mother always said to trust in the Harmonies…but not without working to create one's own harmony. So long as the young Sorceress-Protector follows the Harmonies, who knows what may happen?”

“You think she might?”

“I do not know. Whatever happens, Elahwa will need all the aid we can send. Even the young Sorceress-Protector may need aid, for sorcery can exhaust the strongest. That is why you carry the brew packets. Should you chance to fight with her forces, you may offer aid such as the brew packets.” Alya nods at Alcaren. “But you are not to attempt any battle sorcery, or any sorcery
at all where it can be seen. You are not to tell anyone about your abilities. While many in Encora know of them, few elsewhere do. It should remain that way.” Her eyes chill as she beholds him. “Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Alcaren bows.

“I am most certain you do.”

He bows again before speaking. “These two companies are all you can afford to send because of the Sturinnese fleets?”

Alya nods again…once.

“I will go, Matriarch, trusting in both you and the Harmonies.” Alcaren inclines his head.

“You leave in the morning. We have two fast coastal schooners of shallow draft, and the winds are out of the southwest. They can take you and some mounts to the north end of the Sand Hills. There, other mounts will be waiting. When you leave here, you will go to meet with Arms Commander Wyendra. She will provide all you need.”

Alcaren raises his eyebrows.

The Matriarch ignores the implied question, instead standing to signify that she has said what she will say.

Alcaren conceals a smile and bows deeply. “At your will and command, Matriarch.”

“And with my best wishes, Alcaren.”

“Thank you, Matriarch.”

The Matriarch shivers slightly, but not until the door has closed behind the new overcaptain and she remains alone in the formal receiving chamber.

The afternoon was quiet, the road empty, and but a handful of cart tracks marked the clay of the road that ran along the south side of the River Syne. Stepan rode to Secca's right, Richina to her left. Ahead rode Wilten, with the standard bearer Dymen, and immediately behind the sorceresses rode Delvor and Palian.

After nearly a glass of silence, Stepan cleared his throat. “More than a score of years ago, since last I traveled these roads with so many armsmen.” He chuckled. “One would think that times change, but betimes I wonder if only we change, and each of those who follows us must discover anew what we have found.”

“Some don't, it appears,” Secca pointed out, shifting her weight in the saddle, then reaching up and adjusting the green felt hat.

“Each generation has its fools, though I was young and foolish then, as well.”

“You seemed wise enough in battle. That was what Lady Anna said,” Secca prompted.

“In battle, and in training lancers…in advising Gestatr and Lord Hadrenn.” A twisted smile crossed Stepan's lips. “Two consorts I lost to being headstrong, and almost a third. Not that you young women wish to hear of an old warhorse's foibles.” He glanced overhead at the clear sky, marked by but a single wisp of a white cloud to the north. “Too fair a day to talk of foibles and war and the evil that well-meaning men can do.”

“There is always malice among those in power,” Secca temporized.

“Why have those who opposed you and the Lady Anna been so filled with malice and so foolish?” asked Richina. “Even Lord Hadrenn and Lord Robero are less than pleased. From the foot of the table, that I can see.” Abruptly, she flushed and turned to Stepan. “Begging your pardon, honored arms commander.”

Stepan laughed, generously. “No offense taken, sorceress. What you have seen so have many others. It is scarce a secret.”

Secca decided not to speak, but glanced at Stepan.

“Malice?” mused the older man. “I think not. Those who opposed the Lady Anna acted by their beliefs and to preserve their power.” He raised his eyebrows. “Would you wish to be bartered off to whatever lord pleased your sire, for perchance a promise of friendship, some kegs of good wine, and the thought that another lord would be pleased to accept your daughter in the same fashion?”

Richina glanced down at the mane of her mount.

Secca smiled briefly, then asked, “Would you, Richina?”

“No…you know that.” Richina's face screwed into a puzzled expression.

Stepan nodded. “Because of Lady Anna, you—and your mother—have some say over your body and your life. You would not give that up willingly, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Would you use your sorcery and all at your beck to hold to the right to defend your control of your own body?” pursued Stepan.

“Yes.”

“Well…before Lady Anna, the Lords of Defalk had the right to control all women within their demesnes, and they saw what she did as taking away their rights, and they fought with all at their beck to keep their rights. What is the difference?”

“It is not fair…to ask of a woman what they will not ask of themselves.”

Stepan did not speak, and Secca realized he would not push the matter. “What is the difference?” she asked Richina.

“It's…different…”

“Is it, do you think?” Secca asked Stepan. “Different?”

“Different…that is a matter that men and women will argue
over in all times and all worlds.” He shook his head. “This I will say. Those who opposed Lady Anna were neither foolish, nor were they malicious. They would have said—they did say—that the lady was the malicious one. She took away many of their powers, and gave some to women, and some to sorceresses. They said she was foolish, for women could never wisely hold such.”

Richina shook her head. “I do not understand how anyone could think so.” She paused, then looked at Secca. “What do you think? Were they right by their lights?”

Secca laughed harshly. “I would say not. They tried to kill me when I had less than half a score of years. Yet one must understand why people act as they do. Why do the Sea-Priests attack all of Liedwahr? Is it because they are stupid? Or thoughtlessly evil? And why do they so do in this season of this year?”

Richina shrugged.

For several moments, the only sounds were those of hoofs on the road, the breathing of mounts, and the low murmurs of the lancers and players in the column behind the three.

“I would hazard,” Stepan said slowly, “that it is because what the Lady Anna began, if not halted, will change all of Liedwahr, and perhaps the world. The ladies of Defalk were servants of their lords. Perhaps some still are. But they were far less constrained than those in Ebra or in Mansuur, and never were they chained by custom, as in Sturinn. Nor had they their tongues removed if they essayed sorcery.”

Richina shivered.

Secca frowned—the business with tongue-removals was not something she had heard.

“Yet the Sea-Priests believe such is the way all should live,” continued Stepan. “To see a woman unchained, to know that a woman practices sorcery—to them, those are abominations far worse than dancing or Darksong. They believe, as do most folk, that the world should live as do they. Unlike most folk, they have the sorcery, and lancers, and fleets of ships, to try to make the world live in the way they think best.” The arms commander shrugged. “The Lady Anna once told me, when I was not a great deal older than the young sorceress, and I protested, as you now protest, that seldom is power ever surrendered willingly, and
great power surrendered even less willingly. The Lords of Defalk had great power and privilege, and they did not wish to lose such. You two—and I as well—have less power, but far more than most folk in all of Erde. We will fight to hold that. We can also tell ourselves that it is better that we hold power than others. Is it?” Stepan laughed, once more ruefully, yet gently. “We judge ourselves more kindly than might others judge us when we speak of our honor and duty.”

Judge ourselves more kindly? Secca frowned.

“Each man—or woman—does as he senses best,” Stepan said. “Few indeed set out to do what they see as evil. We—or others—may see it as such. That is our judgment, but they may see what we do as evil to their way of thinking.” He laughed. “What I say is simple. So simple any child could grasp it, and yet…generation after generation, lands and men fight because they cannot agree on what way of life is good.”

Somehow, with Stepan's gentle words, the afternoon felt even colder, although no clouds covered the sun, and the wind remained less than a vagrant breeze.

In the late afternoon, standing before a tent fluttering in a cold but light wind, under a sun whose fading light provided little heat, Secca glanced at Richina, then at Stepan and Wilten, and finally at the two chief players. She felt as though each waited for her to speak, and as though whatever she said would be faulted, if silently.

Secca moistened her lips before beginning. “I've been worrying about what the Sturinnese are doing. There wasn't much point in following them day by day until we had to decide. Stepan
tells me that late tomorrow or early the next we should reach where the River Dol and the River Syne join together. We can go south to Elahwa or north to Dolov. Before I decide, I'm going to try to see what faces us in each place.”

Wilten nodded, as did Palian and Richina. Stepan's face was impassive. A faint smile creased Delvor's lips.

Secca picked up the lutar and began the spell.

As the last notes of the spell died away, Secca looked down at the mirror, where an arcing line of ship masts appeared in the silvered surface. Two ships were moored at the stone pier in the foreground, but there were no figures on the pier, and apparently not on either ship.

Secca frowned, wondering why the Sea-Priests were blockading the port, and why they had not used sorcery to flatten Elahwa. Was there a reason why sorcery would not work in the eastern part of Liedwahr?

After a time, she released the spell.

“You say the Sea-Priests raised the waves to destroy Narial?” asked Stepan.

“They did.”

“Yet they have not done so in Elahwa,” pointed out Wilten. “Perhaps they wish the port?”

“Narial is a far better port. The waters are shallow off the Shoals, and the channel is narrow and goes on for deks through those shallows.” Stepan frowned. “And the FreeWomen will fight to the death, perhaps beyond.”

“Why would they have ships so close to the port, if the channel to deep water is so long?” asked Palian.

“Smaller boats, perhaps?” suggested Delvor. “They wish to starve the city?”

Secca nodded slowly. That sounded like what she had heard of the Sturinnese.

“They are blockading the city. They must have lancers some
where,” suggested Stepan, glancing at Secca. “If we could see…”

That made sense to Secca, but she had to think for a time before she came up with the spell words she needed.

The mirror showed a battle—or a skirmish.

A line of lancers in white charged up a gentle incline. Another force met them a third of the way down the incline. Most of the defending lancers were women who wore tunics of a brilliant crimson. Scattered among them were other lancers—both men and women—whose colors were a pale blue.

“The blue—those are the colors of Ranuak,” Richina blurted.

As she spoke, the attackers fell back, but not before leaving bodies in crimson and blue strewn on the hillside.

“Would one expect less?” asked Stepan. “The Free City is supported in part by the Matriarch, and it is said that one of the councilwomen is her sister.”

“They are losing,” offered Wilten.

Stepan nodded, and Richina looked to the overcaptain.

“The defenders have repulsed this attack, but they have lancers from three units together,” Wilten said. “One does not mix lancers from different companies in a battle unless none have enough to stand alone.”

“The Ranuans have companies of male lancers and women lancers, but they do not mix them. The women are the armsmen and sailors of Elahwa, while the men are the artisans and crafters,” Stepan added. “Here all three groups fight in the same place.”

Richina looked at Secca, as if to ask what she planned.

Secca released the second scene. She felt tired, almost lightheaded, and one or two more quick scrying spells were about all she was ready for without eating and refreshing herself. “Let us look at Dolov,” she temporized. Perhaps she should leave Dolov until later.

The mirror split into two images, one displaying a keep on a bluff overlooking a river, the other side showing lancers in white in the courtyard. In fact, the entire rear of the courtyard held tents with white banners.

“They must have landed off the coast and ridden overland,” Wilten said.

“They could have landed just beyond Elahwa and taken the road on the east side of the river north,” suggested Stepan.

Secca shook her head. There looked to be at least ten companies of Sturinnese lancers garrisoned yet at Dolov, and that didn't even count whatever lancers Mynntar had left in reserve, lancers that his brother might well use against Secca and Stepan's forces.

After a moment, as dayflashes appeared before her eyes, she released that image.

She had enemies in both places. Which way should she lead her forces? And why?

Somehow, she had the feeling that either decision would be wrong. Four or five days upriver, possibly a battle and sorcery, and then five or six days back to Elahwa—if the weather held. If Wilten and Stepan were right…She looked at Stepan. “The FreeWomen cannot hold for two weeks.”

“Not if that battle shows their strength.”

“They cannot last…” Stepan murmured. “Not without reinforcements.”

Robero had ordered Secca to secure Dolov—except he hadn't. He'd requested. That meant that it was all on her head. If she went to Dolov, then she'd face an entrenched enemy by the time she returned to Elahwa—and one doubtless reinforced by the blockading ships.

“We'll have to go to Elahwa,” she finally said.

The hint of a momentary frown passed across Wilten's forehead.

Stepan said quietly, “If you attack the Sea-Priests from the
north, the city forces can help you. If you go to Dolov, then you must face both enemies without aid.”

At that, both Wilten and Palian nodded.

Secca could only hope she was making the right decision.