The Shadow Sorceress (9 page)

The golden light of late fall angling through the windowpanes is warm-colored but weak. At the desk sits a woman in a pale blue tunic and trousers. She studies the topmost scroll of the pile before her.

Thrap
. At the knock on the door, she rises from behind the desk, setting the scroll down. “Come in.”

A second woman enters the study. She has shimmering, short-cut, white hair and is stocky, but not heavy. Her sea-blue tunic and trousers are simple, yet of silk, and the sole piece of jewelry on her person is a collar pin that has been passed from generation to generation. The fine gold wires of the pin represent two sheaves of grain, crossed. Her lined face offers a pleasant smile as she bows. “Matriarch, you requested my presence. I trust you do not mind that I waited until the Exchange closed. I await your wisdom.”

Alya laughs, gently. “You have far more experience than I, Dyleroy. That is why I have summoned you.”

“Like your mother, Matriarch, you are modest.”

“I trust I understand my limitations as well as she did.” The comparatively young matriarch, whose blonde hair is but partly silver, smiles self-depreciatingly and gestures to the chairs opposite the simple desk. “You as Mistress of the Exchange know trade far better than I, and you hear what others fear to let me know.”

“Can you blame them?” asks the Exchange Mistress with an amused smile as she seats herself.

“I do…privately, but even if I did so publicly, would it change matters?” Alya sits and eases the scrolls to one side of the desk.

“Not if you would remain strong,” concedes Dyleroy. “What did you wish to discuss? Certainly not your cousin Alcaren.”

Alya lips curl into a wry expression. “Need I? Your daughter handled him well enough.”

“For now. But you cannot keep him from sorcery…can you?”

“I have trained him, because the alternative is worse. After all, my father was a sorcerer, though few knew it.”

“Your father was a modest and most remarkable man. All Ranuak is poorer for his absence. Alcaren needs must go far even to behold his memory. If I might ask, what will you do?”

“If I can, find him a proper consort, who will check his impulsiveness because he would protect her.”

“And how will you manage that?”

“It does not seem possible, does it?” The Matriarch laughs. “As my mother once said, we must trust the Harmonies. Trust and watch.” She pauses. “That was not why I requested your presence.”

“I had thought not.” Dyleroy smiles.

“We have lost another ship. The pattern is the same.”

“Near a hazard, such as the Shoals of Discord? In darkness?” asks the Exchange Mistress. “Often on the routes to the Free State of Elahwa?”

“That makes near-on a half-score. Those are the ones I know of.” Alya raises her eyebrows. “I would suspect that other traders would not disclose such losses.”

“Your suspicions are well-founded.”

“With the recent death of the sorceress, this bears the hidden hand of the new Maitre of Sturinn.”

“The well-hidden hand.”

“The young Liedfuhr has followed his sire's policy of keeping Mansuur strong and well-armed. The Council of Wei has built a fleet as well-equipped as that of Sturinn…and we are the weakest of those who must rely in part on trade and the bounty of
the sea. Yet I cannot command that fleets be built,” points out the Matriarch.

“Nor can I, Matriarch.”

“It would seem there is little I can do,” offers Alya, “save suggest that our traders sail in pairs when out of sight of land.” Her lips twist. “Most will be loath to do such.”

“You can but suggest, as will I.”

“Young Mynntar has supposedly invested in vessels. He has near-on a half-score—they resemble those of the Sturinnese. Hadrenn has none.”

“You doubt the possibility of coincidence?” Dyleroy laughs softly. “Or that they are truly his?”

“Let us say that those of Dolov—and its lords—have never been known for their love of the sea, but well-known for their opportunism.”

“You believe that those vessels are captained and crewed by those of the Sea-Priests?”

“I would be most surprised were it otherwise,” the Matriarch replies.

“Has your sister relayed any of this to you?” The Exchange Mistress bows her head. “It is not my business…”

“Veria has. That fuels my concerns.”

“And mine also.” Dyleroy moistens her lips, ever so slightly.

“There is yet another matter,” Alya says slowly. “The Ladies of the Shadows.”

“I have heard nothing.” Dyleroy frowns.

“You know their goal?”

“Do not most? To prevent the use of sorcery by any means anywhere in Liedwahr.” Dyleroy chuckles. “Given the horrors of the Spell-Fire Wars, a most worthy goal, if somewhat impractical in these times.”

“They are especially adamant that no man should know sorcery.”

“Have they threatened Alcaren?” asks Dyleroy.

“Not directly, but I have received a note expressing their concerns.” Alya shakes her head. “I fear that we will have little choice in the years ahead.” She smiles faintly. “You can do little
with the Ladies of the Shadows save listen, but I would be pleased if you would do that.”

“I will do what I can, as I can.”

“Thank you. I would ask no more.” Alya rises, gracefully.

“Not at present, at least, Matriarch.” Dyleroy inclines her head as she stands. “I hope you do not have to request more.”

“That would be best.” Alya nods, and steps toward the study door. “I did want to share my concerns with the Exchange. I would not wish that the honored traders feel I was less than concerned about their losses.” She pauses, her hand on the door lever. “Especially when a time of change lies before us all.”

“The Exchange recognizes your concerns, Matriarch, and we will do what we can.”

The two women exchange knowing smiles before they part.

Clayre looked across the corner of the table in the small dining hall. On her platter were only a few crumbs of the crusty bread. She took her second apple from the basket and began to slice it. Richina broke off another chunk of bread, then carefully cut a wedge of cheese. Secca sipped the heavy ale that neither Richina nor Clayre liked.

“Do you know any more…now?” asked Clayre.

“About what?” replied the petite sorceress. “Why would I know more now?”

“I never quite understood all that Anna did out there,” Clayre mused. “Or all that you're doing. Even through the pool images, I can sense you're often exhausted, on the edge of dissonance.”

“I'm just trying to carry on her work. That's all.” Secca took
another chunk of bread, although she would have to force herself to eat it.

“I won't press. Still…”

After another mouthful and a swallow of ale, Secca answered. “You know about the boiling of water, and how, if the peasants and tradespeople do so, then there is less flux. And how cleaning wounds and the tears of childbirth with distilled winterwine and boiled water…”

“Of course.”

“Where does one get the iron to make the kettles in Mencha?” asked Secca. “For there must be separate kettles in which to boil the water. How does one make sure that the water that goes into those kettles is clean enough that the boiling works? How does one make sure that the rainwater does not wash animal offings into the rivers and streams—or the wells?”

The slightest frown crossed Richina's brow, but the apprentice said nothing, for which Secca was most grateful.

“You do not use sorcery to make kettles. Please don't tell me that you do,” said Clayre dryly.

“I use sorcery to take the iron from the Ostfels and copper and tin from the Silberfels. You know that. Would you care to try it often?” asked Secca.

“How often?”

“Enough,” replied Secca.

“At least every three weeks,” suggested Richina.

Clayre nodded. “I am just as glad our Lord of Defalk does not know that.”

“You do not wish to become a source of metals?”

“Keeping the roads and rivers and bridges, and extending them, is not only tiring enough, but tiresome as well,” Clayre countered. “Besides, there aren't any metals close to Falcor.”

“And unlike Jolyn, you don't mind being in the center of things,” Secca pointed out.

“After spending almost half my life in Abenfel? An ancient ruin in the middle of nowhere?”

Richina's eyes had been flicking back and forth between the two older sorceresses.

“Don't mind us, Richina,” said Secca. “We always argue
about this. Clayre wants me to believe her childhood was more lonely than mine.”

“Not more lonely. Less valued.”

“Perhaps. Anna rescued me when I was eight; you were near twice that.” Secca took another mouthful of bread, then a last swallow of the ale—it was easier to get down than bread and helped keep her from wasting away under the demands of the sorcery, demands that were bound to increase.

“We should go,” Clayre said, rising. “Our good Lord Robero's message did say before the beginning of his afternoon audiences.” She glanced at Richina.

“She should get used to Falcor and Lord Robero,” Secca replied as she stood, noting absently the faint sardonic tone in Clayre's use of the phrase “our good Lord Robero.”

“You're right about that. Anandra still has trouble, and she's lived here all her life.”

“There are other reasons for that.”

“True.” Clayre strode briskly out of the hall, not waiting to see if Secca and Richina followed.

The three walked northward along the lower main corridor until they came to the main audience hall, once the large dining hall, but which Robero had had rebuilt after Anna had turned Defalk over to him.

Already, outside the audience chamber doors waited a handful of tradesmen, including a fuller, a boatman, a miller, from the flour and dust ground into a tunic so deeply that neither fullering nor brushing was likely to remove either.

The five men all bowed. “Sorceresses…”

Secca returned the bows immediately, followed by Richina and Clayre.

“Lord Robero is expecting you,” said Dythya, emerging from the audience chamber.

As the three stepped into the chamber, before the doors shut, Secca could hear a few words behind them.

“…when the shadow sorceresses come from Mencha…”

“…always trouble…”

“…best you go first, Benan…”

“…be a while, I'd wager…”

“My sorceresses—and a new one, too,” boomed out Robero's voice. The Lord of Defalk wore a purple satin jacket over a pale gold tunic. The purple of his trousers did not quite match that of the jacket. Unlike the day previous, Alyssa was not present, and he was alone on the dais. From the large gilt chair, he glanced at the young sandy-haired apprentice. “You must be Richina. You're Lady Dinfan's second, aren't you?”

Richina bowed again before replying. “Yes, ser.”

“Good woman, your mother. Strong lady, too. How do you like sorcery?”

“I have learned much, ser.”

“Good. Defalk needs its sorceresses.” Robero turned his eyes on the two older sorceresses, first Clayre, then Secca, momentarily, before speaking again, his eyes not seemingly looking at any of the three. “Yesterday, we discussed the happenings in Neserea. I have been considering the matter.” Robero looked sharply at Clayre. “Have you discovered anything else since yesterday?”

“No, lord.”

“And you, Lady Secca?”

“Nothing that sheds any new light on matters.”

“I would think not. Whoever plotted this will wait, knowing you all will be using your reflecting pools.” Nodding to himself, he continued, “I think that Lady Clayre should pay a visit to offer our condolences and support to Lady Aerlya and her daughter the heiress of Neserea.”

“You wish that I travel to Esaria?” asked Clayre.

“Someone must represent me, and you are the Sorceress of Defalk, as well as the sister of a noted member of the Thirty-three.”

Secca repressed a smile. Robero avoided using Birke's name whenever possible.

“What of Anandra?” questioned Clayre.

“I would suggest that she remain here in Falcor. While road-building is ever more necessary, Jolyn perhaps should return to Falcor so that a full sorceress remains in residence in the liedburg,” concluded Robero. “Your Anandra can assist Jolyn, can she not?”

“Anandra is a most capable young sorceress. I will also send
Jolyn a message,” said Clayre. “She might have to wait a day or so, since it would be foolish, if she is already working on a part of the road, not to finish that section.”

“As you see fit.” Robero turned to Secca, not quite meeting the redhead's eyes. “I think that you, Lady Secca, might be well advised to act as my representative to Lord High Counselor Hadrenn.”

“If you think that necessary, I would be most pleased to do so,” Secca agreed politely.

“Good.” Robero smiled. “Lady Clayre…Richina…if you would excuse us, I need a word with Lady Secca.”

“Of course.” Clayre bowed.

Richina bowed almost as quickly, and the two turned.

Robero waited until the heavy doors closed again. “Have you thought more about Lythner?”

“He was most charming, and, no, I have not, not that much. With Lady Anna's death…and all these matters…” Secca shook her head.

“I would that you give the matter some thought.”

“In a short time, I will. Anna was more my mother than Anientta was. If you hear from Lythner, you may point that out.”

“With your permission, I will.” Robero smiled, half-wryly. “There is one other matter to consider.” The balding lord fingered his chin before going on. “Now that you hold Mencha, Secca, have you thought about an heir for Flossbend?” asked Robero.

Secca blocked the question she wanted to offer in return—asking if Robero had thought about naming another heir for his holding at Synfal—the hold Anna had taken by sorcery and bestowed upon him. Instead, she frowned. “I cannot say I have given it much thought, not so closely upon Anna's death. After all, none of us had expected her to die…and not so suddenly.”

“There is that,” mused the Lord of Defalk. He smiled the false smile Secca had grown up learning to see through. “Perhaps you should.”

“I will give it that thought…although…I've also been thinking that, unlike Anna, I may not wish to practice sorcery until it spells my end. In that case, Mencha might better go to
Clayre or Jolyn…or perhaps young Anandra in a half-score of years or so.”

The smile remained upon Robero's face as he nodded. “I can see that might be for the best, but, in time, you would still need heirs for both holdings. There is no great hurry, for you are young as sorceresses go. Yet I would not wish to decide where your lands would go…against your wishes.”

“You are most thoughtful, Robero. As always.” Secca smiled pleasantly. “I will consider the matter as I return to Mencha.” She paused. “You have not said what you wish me to convey to Hadrenn.”

“I leave the words to you. The message must be that times may become difficult, but that he must support Defalk.”

“And not someone like Mynntar?”

“Exactly.”

“I will convey your message.” Secca bowed her head, very slightly.

“There is one last matter.” Robero cleared his throat.

Secca waited.

“Liedgeld. If matters continue as they have, and usurpers raise forces in Ebra or Neserea, we may need to raise more armsmen and lancers, and that will require raising the liedgeld.” Robero smiled apologetically.

Secca nodded. She understood the troubles that would cause. She also understood the message behind the information. If the sorceresses of Defalk did not support Robero in one way, they would certainly have to support him more directly against those traditional lords still holding lands in Defalk.

“We will have some appropriate gifts for you to convey to Hadrenn. By tomorrow, or the next day, so that you could leave on the day following.” Robero stood. “I know it is a troubling time for you, for Anna was close to you, but we cannot squander what she gave us by failing to act.”

Secca understood that, she suspected, far better than Robero, as she bowed before departing the audience chamber.