The Shadow Sorceress (43 page)

Secca stood over the small round conference table in the main chamber of the Matriarch's guest quarters, holding her lutar and looking down at the scrying glass laid in the center of the table. She studied the image in the silvered glass. The Sturinnese vessels appeared where they had been for weeks—south of the harbor of Encora.

After singing the simple release couplet, Secca laid the lutar on the table and walked toward the middle window of the quarters' main chamber, halting well back so that she would not be that visible from the open gates or from the boulevard itself. The air was so still that the dismal gray mist and fog of the previous days continued to hold Encora prisoner. She could only see the vague outlines of the warehouses that fronted the stone piers less than half a dek away.

After a time, she spoke to Richina, who remained beside the table. “If we are not summoned in the next day or so, I will see if Alcaren can arrange for us to travel the western bluffs overlooking the channels south of the harbor.”

“Why has she not met with you?” asked Richina. “The Matriarch, I mean.”

The older sorceress turned. “She cannot be that hasty.”

“You have traveled across half of Liedwahr, and now…” Richina shook her head.

“I am a sorceress, and they fear sorcery,” Secca pointed out. “Have you not seen the scars of sorcery upon this land?”

“I have seen things which the Ranuans claim are scars of sorcery.”

“Do you know of any other way to build roads with such large stones? Or the walls of this city?”

Richina glanced down at the floor.

“I cannot but worry about those who fear sorcery,” Secca said slowly. “If the Matriarch waits to see me, so that none will claim she rushes to greet a sorceress, then their power may be great.” She glanced at Richina. “Perhaps you should spend some time with your glass and try to see what you can discover about the Ladies of the Shadows here in Encora.”

“I will try, Lady Secca.”

“Good.” Secca paused. “Will you send word that I would see Overcaptain Alcaren and Captain Delcetta?”

Richina's eyebrows lifted.

“I doubt the SouthWomen—or the good overcaptain—have any love for those in the shadows.” Secca concealed a wince at the way her words had come out. More than once, she had been accused of being in the shadows.

“Yes, lady.”

When the door closed behind Richina, Secca replaced the lutar in its case, and then seated herself behind the working desk. That morning, the scrying glass had shown her that the remaining two companies—and the mounts for the understrength company—had landed in Ilygot and were riding southward. Lord Fehern still held the lands around Envaryl, and it seemed as though the Sturinnese were no longer attacking. That disturbed Secca, although she could not say why, unless the Sea-Priests had decided to wait for better weather in the spring.

She took out the sheets of brown paper with the spells she had used to create the storms that had destroyed the Sturinnese vessels, looking across the lines. She shook her head. Two spells on mostly calm waters, and the weather had made it impossible for the players to continue, and the third had been all she could manage. Three spells for five vessels? And the Sturinnese had almost three score warships left in the Southern Ocean?

“Overcaptain Alcaren and Captain Delcetta,” called out Easlon from the corridor outside.

“Have them come in.” Secca set aside the spells.

Once the two Ranuan officers entered, Secca gestured to the small round conference table, seating herself and waiting for them to do so as well.

“Tell me about the Ladies of the Shadows, if you would.” Secca glanced at Captain Delcetta.

“They do not believe in sorcery, save for gathering information and sending messages.” The words of the captain with the short-cut strawberry blonde hair were clipped.

“They would seem to be especially powerful here in Ranuak,” ventured Secca.

Neither officer spoke.

Secca looked at Alcaren. “How much does the Matriarch fear them?”

“She fears them not at all, not for herself certainly.” Alcaren offered an amused smile.

“Yet she fears meeting with me upon my arrival, and would that not mean that I should be concerned?”

“There are double guards outside the wall, and they do not care who leaves,” said Delcetta.

“Does anyone know the names—”

“No. They know sorcery's limits.”

“Perhaps not mine.” Secca stood, then bent and uncased the lutar. Her fingers skipped over the keys as she began the spell.

The mirror silvered without hesitation, revealing a round-featured and gray-haired woman with a surprisingly sharp jawline attired in pale blue. Secca's eyes darted from the image to the two Ranuan officers. Delcetta looked at the image, frowning. Alcaren's eyes widened ever so slightly.

“You know her, overcaptain.” Secca's words were not a question.

“Only by sight and position, Lady Secca. That is Santhya, the Assistant Exchange Mistress.”

One-handed, Secca pushed an empty sheet of paper toward the overcaptain. “If you would write down her name.”

Alcaren glanced from Delcetta to Secca, then at the paper. He reached for the quill beside the inkstand. Secca nodded. Alcaren wrote a single name.

Secca began the spell again.

The image in the mirror was that of a narrow-faced woman with hennaed hair, and deep-set gray eyes. Secca looked at Alcaren again.

“Felcya of the Artisan's Guild…”

The sorceress managed eight more versions of the spell before she had to stop with the onset of dayflashes. Alcaren had known four others, and Delcetta had named two Alcaren had not known.

Secca set aside the lutar, and began to eat the biscuits in the tin on the sideboard. Her head was throbbing, if not so badly as with battle sorcery. After several biscuits, interspersed with cold water, she looked up from the conference table at the two silent Ranuans.

“What will you do with these names, lady?” asked Alcaren.

“For now…nothing. Should I?”

He shook his head.

“You aren't saying something,” Secca suggested.

“I would be most careful, that is all, Lady Secca. Some of the shadow ladies have had rivals vanish—or be killed within locked rooms.”

That was all Secca needed—another type of attack to worry about. She avoided sighing and took another swallow of water from the goblet, emptying it. “You didn't mention that.”

“Ah…I did say that the Ladies of the Shadows did not like sorceresses, lady.” Alcaren looked almost embarrassed.

Secca was supposed to have guessed that the group included professional assassins? She did sigh. Then, Alcaren had warned her, if slightly belatedly.

“That is very seldom,” suggested Delcetta quickly. “They would prefer that those who profess sorcery leave Ranuak.”

“I would like to,” Secca replied. “The Sturinnese and the winter snows make that difficult. I hope the Ladies of the Shadows would consider such.”

“I would not know.” Alcaren shrugged. It was a most unconvincing shrug, and one clearly designed to suggest that Alcaren did know, and that the Ladies of the Shadows had little interest in Secca's concerns. “They have not had a great sorceress within Encora before. I could not say what they might do.”

If that did not happen to be a warning…Secca hadn't heard one.

She rose. “Thank you both. I appreciate all you have told me.” She smiled, an expression obviously as false as the overcaptain's shrug.

The falsity of the shrug and his few words about the Ladies of the Shadows troubled her. Not their falsity, but what that falsity conveyed. Alcaren did not lie well, and that meant he had not lied to her in the past. He had evaded answering some questions, but he had not lied, not the way he just had, and that troubled her more than if he had.

Finally, Secca ate another pair of biscuits, and then took out the brown paper and the grease marker. She needed another set of spells, and before the evening.

The Liedfuhr holds his aching head in his overbroad hands for a moment, then massages his temples before looking up at Bassil, who stands, patiently, before the study desk. “The shadow sorceress is in Encora?”

“That is what your seers show. The Sea-Priests did not fare well in Ebra and retreated to their vessels. She destroyed five in the short passage across the Gulf to Ranuak.”

“That is well, but hardly enough. Now the sorceress will remain blocked in Encora unless she can break one of their fleets,” Kestrin points out. “The sea has always been the strength of Sturinn. Until then and unless she does, what can she do?” He frowns, leaning back in the padded desk chair. His eyes flick to the windows at the howling of the late afternoon wind that promises yet more snow, then back to the overcaptain. “She will not divert the Sturinnese for a moment. Nor will it help Aerlya.”

“For the moment, your niece holds Neserea,” Bassil states.

“For the moment, and only because the Sorceress of Defalk has removed two of this Belmar's allies, and destroyed bridges and who knows what else, but it is not enough. Each week that passes tempts more to back the usurper.”

“The sorceress is hampered by having to defend Aerlya and Annayal, as well as fighting Belmar and his Sturinnese sorcerer.”

“Yet Lord Robero will send no other sorceress to her aid. So I must send aid.”

“You will risk his wrath?”

“What wrath? I will send the lancers in Unduval through the
Mittpass, along with another fifty companies, including the thirty in Deleator. They will answer to Aerlya, Annayal, and the Sorceress of Defalk—in that order—and I will send a message to Lord Robero to affirm that, although he may not receive it until all is moot. Still, he wants Belmar as the new Prophet of Music even less than do I.”

“I foresee even greater conflict,” Bassil says quietly.

“So now you think I err?” Kestrin looks at the overcaptain.

“No, sire. I fear I may have advised you too cautiously. I would have your lancers proceed against any of Belmar's allies who stand without his sorcerous aid. Leave Belmar to the sorceresses. I would also place what companies you can northwest of Envaryl.”

“To give the Sturinnese in Dumar pause?”

“If anything will,” admits Bassil.

“And should I prepare to send another set of lancers through Aleatur once the snows melt?”

“If you can.”

Kestrin stands and looks to the northmost window, studying the dark clouds that loom in the late afternoon. “To think that all Liedwahr is at war or stands on the brink, when all was calm and peaceful not a half-year ago.”

“Much has happened since then, sire.”

“What? Two people died…just two people.”

“They were not just two people,” Bassil points out. “They were the two who created that peace and who ensured that all Liedwahr was united against Sturinn. Now you must do the same.”

“Me? And who else?”

Bassil does not answer.

In time, the Liedfuhr's eyes turn toward the window and the clouds massing to the north.

In the dim light of the single lamp still lit in the main room of the guest quarters, Secca lifted the brown paper and read. After studying the words yet again, Secca slowly picked up the lutar and began the spell.

After completing the spellsong, she set the lutar in its case on the side table on the west wall of the main chamber, leaving the case open. After wicking down and out the last lit lamp in the main chamber, she stepped into the smaller bedchamber, sliding the thin iron bolt shut. She examined the bolt, shaking her head. She wasn't sure that she couldn't undo the bolt from outside with a thin knife. Then, that was another reason for the spell, although the lingering nature of the spell would drain some small part of her strength, but not that much, since it was a warning songspell, and not one requiring great energy.

But it was clear she needed such a warning. Although Richina had also had little luck in uncovering anything about the Ladies of the Shadows, the younger sorceress had reported to Secca that she had called up many faces, but had found none engaged in anything other than normal activities. Secca shook her head. That was always the problem with scrying—all too often the glass showed nothing useful…although the number of faces Secca
and Richina had seen in their glasses was disturbing enough, and another reason for the warning spell.

Once in the bedchamber, Secca slipped from her riding clothes into a simple shift. Before going into the small bath and robing chamber, she removed the sabre from its scabbard and set it on the bedside table away from the door. Her eyes dropped to the iron bolt she mistrusted, and she found herself shaking her head.

With an upper room, two locked doors, guards outside her door, and a warning spell…she should have felt safe. But then, she knew nothing of the Ladies of the Shadows, save some were either assassins or could call on such, and assassins often found ways around guards and locks. She also knew, cryptic as Alcaren had been, that he had wanted to warn her, yet not obviously. Why?

She still had no answer for that, unless he feared ears were everywhere, and that an obvious warning might make matters even worse. Secca liked that idea even less.

Finally, she climbed up into the high bed and snuffed out the candle.

For a long time, she lay in the darkness, thoughts whirling through her mind. Eventually her eyes closed.

Clannnnnnnnnnnggg…

The clanging of the bell and the ear-splitting ring of the crystal jolted Secca full alert, and she flung herself sideways from the bed, her hand closing around the sabre on the table, even before her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor.

Secca blinked away sleep, or tried to, as she stood there, sabre in a near-instinctive guard position, peering back toward the door.

After what seemed long moments, Secca could make out the shadowy form sliding toward her. The sorceress lifted her blade and eased along the side of the bed and then around the foot of the bed to get away from the wall.

The intruder—more than a good head taller than Secca—moved forward with grace toward the foot of the bed, trying to back Secca into the corner. The intruder's longer blade flicked in
the dimness at Secca, and Secca barely managed to parry it, as much by feel as sight. She gave ground as she did, trying to ignore the ringing and the clanging that continued unremittingly.

“Lady Secca! Lady Secca!” came the calls of the guards outside the room, calls barely audible over the bell and ringing crystal as the two guards pounded on the door to the main chamber.

Secca kept her own blade high, trying to gather her thoughts, and the spell she thought she had prepared. What were the words?

Another thrust slash from the intruder, and Secca circled away from the corner of the room where she'd almost been skewered by the very skilled and silent attacker.

After another cut-slash from the silent intruder, Secca circled back, still mentally fumbling for words, coughing and trying to clear her throat.

Finally, she had the words, the all-too-simple words and melody.

Another attack, and a dry throat, and Secca had lost both melody and timing, and had to scramble aside.

As she circled back, she bent and half-slid, half-shoved the stool toward the dark and taller figure, who stepped aside gracefully.

Secca used the moment to begin the spell again.

Secca again skipped aside, barely parrying two more thrusts before the miniature flame lances appeared from nowhere. The intruder continued to try to bring the longer blade against Secca, even as the taller woman shuddered noiselessly under the impact of the fires.

The ringing of the crystal ended with a
snap
, and crystal
shards tinkled onto the floor. The clanging of the bell stopped as abruptly.

Secca just stood, blade up, scanning the room, hoping there were no others nearby.

“Lady Secca! Lady Secca!”

Still with blade in hand, Secca fumbled the striker left-handedly and managed to light the candle on the table beside the bed. The yellow-orange light was enough that she could tell no one else was in the bedchamber, and the door to the main chamber, slightly ajar, suggested how the intruder had gained access.

The sorceress cleared her throat and edged toward the door, using a quick flick of the sabre to open it all the way. The main chamber was empty, but the draft from the open end window gave a good indication of how the attacker had reached Secca's chamber.

Secca edged toward the door of the main chamber. “I'm all right.”

“Are you sure, lady?”

She recognized Easlon's voice. “Who is on guard with you, Easlon?”

“Rukor, lady.”

“I am, lady.”

The two responses were near simultaneous.

She slipped the iron bolt, ready to close it—or spellsing—as necessary, but the only ones in the hallway were the two guards. “Come in. Lock it behind you.”

She eased toward the lutar she had left on the side table, checking the strings in the dim light before slipping toward the open window. Almost without pause, she began the second spell.

Three firebolts flared from the dark gray clouds, striking once behind the boxwood hedge by the drive, and twice beyond the walls. This time, there were screams.

Secca took a deep breath, then used the striker in the main chamber to light the desk lamp. After that, she walked slowly to the window. The would-be murderer had edged her way along a ledge barely a span wide from the corner where a step-chimney had offered access to the second level. She looked down, closely. A pry bar had been set carefully next to the wall, obviously to be retrieved on the way out.

Followed by Easlon and Rukor, Secca returned to the bedchamber where she looked down at the dead figure, whose face was crossed with blackened lines. The intruder had been a tall woman, well-muscled, with dark brown hair. Before the sorcery, she had been handsome. She had also been one of those whose visage had appeared in the glass, but whose name neither Alcaren nor Delcetta had known.

“Find a blanket or something to wrap her in,” Secca said tiredly. “We'll need to deliver her to the Matriarch. Roust out some of the lancers and do the same with the others.”

“Others?” stammered Easlon.

“Those firebolts outside? Each struck someone, and they were with this woman.”

The two exchanged glances.

“Yes, lady.”

“As you wish, Lady Secca.”

Secca closed her eyes for a moment as she stood there. She really could use more sleep, but wondered if she would ever sleep that well again in Encora.