The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (12 page)

“Heavens no.” Anna wished she’d thought of that.

Hanfor shifted his weight in his chair, and Anna suppressed a smile. The senior armsman still wasn’t much for meetings.

“I don’t think that there’s anything else right now.” She rose with a bright smile. “Thank you both.”

“My pleasure,” said Jecks, warmly enough to have meant it.

“Thank you, lady,” said Hanfor.

After they left, Anna shook her head. The sparks were there with Jecks, but the situation wasn’t exactly wonderful. Not when he was the grandsire of the underage Lord of Defalk for whom she was regent. And, more important to her, there were so many differences between their backgrounds. He wasn’t the chauvinist that most of the lords of Defalk were. He actually respected women of talent—or seemed to—but Defalk was still a macho culture.

Before long, once again, the door to the receiving room opened, and Barat gingerly eased his head around the heavy oak. “There is a messenger with a scroll from Lord Hryding, Lady Anna. He insists he must deliver it personally.”

“I’ll see him. Have Giellum and Blaz accompany him in.” Much as she disliked it, there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks, even with a messenger from Hryding, who had supported her when she had been recovering from her first battle.

A dark-haired young man dressed in leathers and a pale green sash with an empty sheath at his belt entered the receiving room and bowed. “A scroll from Lord Hryding, lady.”

Blaz and Giellum stood behind him, hands on blade hilts.

“Thank you.” Anna struggled to remember his name. Why did she have so much trouble with names? She’d ridden all the way from Synope to Falcor with the young
man, and the name, on the tip of her tongue, still escaped her.

“How has it gone with you since our ride?” she asked. “And the others?”

“Well enough, thank you, Lady Anna.” The young armsman smiled. “Stepan is in charge of the levies, and Markan is over all the armsmen now that Gestatr has returned to Ebra.”

“Returned to Ebra?” Anna puzzled through the names, then almost nodded. Fridric had to be the younger armsman before her. Stepan and Markan had been the two others who had escorted her to Falcor when she had pledged her support to the Prophet—before he had turned on her.

“His family served the Lord of Synek before the Dark Ones, and the youngest son has returned. Synek was Gestatr’s home,” Fridric explained.

“I see.” Anna nodded and lifted the scroll slightly. “If you would wait, Fridric, while I read this?”

The young armsman nodded.

Anna broke the seal and began to read silently. “Regent Anna, Lady and Sorceress, and Protector of Defalk . . .”

Anna paused. She definitely didn’t like messages that opened with flowery titles. They generally meant bad news of some sort, like memoranda from Dieshr had, with all the flowery praise at the beginning and lousy course assignments or forced moves from a desirable voice studio to a less desirable one.

It is with deep concern that I am writing you at the behest of my consort, the Lord Hryding. He has fallen gravely ill, and beseeches that, should he not recover, you will continue to honor his requests regarding Secca and the preservation of Flossbend and the lands of Synope. . . .

While we all pray and trust in my lord’s return to health, in the interim, I am administering the holding in his interests, and request, in deepest
admiration, your support in this endeavor. Both Jeron and I stand ready to do your bidding and that of our lord.

The seal, on maroon wax, was that of Lord Hryding, but the signature read, “Anientta, his consort and servant.”

Anna let the scroll close and glanced to Fridric. Too many things, far too many, were making a sense she didn’t like. Markan, while intelligent and honest, was still young for a lord’s senior armsman, and probably those older had been among the ones who had perished at the Sand Pass. Fridric had been sent because he knew Anna, but also because he was loyal to Hryding. She hoped that Stepan and Markan didn’t meet with some form of “illness” or “accident.” And Anna had never trusted or liked Lord Hryding’s consort, especially the way Anientta had spoiled her sons while almost turning out poor Secca in rags. That had been one reason why Anna had invited the little redhead to Falcor as a fosterling, at an age far younger than Anna herself thought generally advisable.

Anna lifted the bell and waited for a page. This time the sandy-haired Barat peered into the receiving room.

“Barat, would you find the young lady Secca? I believe she should be at lessons with Tirsik in the stable.”

“You wish to see her now?”

“Yes.”

Barat bowed and vanished.

“And how has the past year treated you, Fridric?” Anna looked back to the young armsman.

“It has been quiet, Lady Anna. Most quiet until Lord Hryding’s illness.”

“Do you have a consort?” Anna had an idea.

“Oh, no, lady. I am much too young for that.”

“And what about Stepan and Markan?”

“They don’t, either. Calmut does. He has not forgotten you, lady.” A smile played across Fridric’s face.

“I imagine not.” Anna had been forced to soak the
sour young armsman with buckets of cold water applied through sorcery in order to get access to Lord Hryding—and now it sounded like Hryding was dying. “What about young Jeron?” Anna watched Fridric’s face closely.

“Jeron? He is Lord Hryding’s heir.”

The tightness of Fridric’s face and words told Anna enough. The armsman didn’t much care for Jeron.

“Young Secca has been here, you know,” Anna added.

“She was a sweet child,” Fridric said, his voice even, but without an edge.

“She has been sweet here, as well, and she seems very bright.”

The door opened, and Barat peered in.

“Fridric? Would you wait outside for a moment?” asked Anna, before turning to Barat and standing. “After the armsmen leave, please have Secca come in.”

Fridric nodded and bowed. “Of course, lady.”

Anna waited as the armsman stepped out, followed by her guards, and, after a moment, the petite redhead stepped gingerly into the receiving room.

“You sent for me, Lady Anna. Have I displeased you?” Secca looked almost ready to cry, and Anna was reminded that the child was barely ten, and that Secca wouldn’t have been at Falcor except for Lord Hryding’s plea, and the debt Anna owed him for his early support.

“No, Secca, you haven’t displeased me or anyone. You have been very good, and I’ve enjoyed your being here.” Anna paused, wondering how she should break the news. “I’ve just received a scroll from your mother.”

“I saw Fridric. He didn’t come for me, did he?” The redhead went to her knees. “Please don’t send me home, Lady Anna.”

Anna stepped around the table. “You may stay at Falcor so long as you wish. At least while I’m regent,” she added. “But that was not the message. Your father is sick. He’s very sick.”

For a moment, Secca stared at Anna, silently. After a
moment, the girl’s eyes misted. Then tears welled up and oozed down her cheeks, and she began to shiver.

“I’m sorry.” Anna stepped forward and hugged the child. “I’m sorry, Secca.”

“Poor Papa . . . poor Papa . . .” Secca kept repeating the words.

“Poor Papa”? Does she suspect what I suspect? Of her mother?
Anna managed to keep from shaking her head. After a time of holding the redhead, she finally asked, “Do you want to go home?”

Secca shivered more violently, shaking her head against Anna’s shirt and sash. “Papa . . . he said I should stay with you. I should stay even if times are bad. Will you let me stay?”

Anna wanted to shiver herself, fearing that Secca had confirmed her suspicions of Anientta. Instead, she just hugged Secca again. “You can stay as long as you want.”
At least while I’m regent . . . or Lady of Loiseau
. “As long as you want. . . .”

Anna finally sat down, drawing the still-sobbing child into her arms, wondering how she’d ended up with another little redhead.

After the scattering clouds and shifting light from the window had played across the wall for a time, Secca gave a last sob, a cough, and blotted her eyes.

“You really won’t send me back to Flossbend?”

“You can stay here so long as you wish. If I’m no longer regent, you may come to Loiseau with me . . . that’s if you want to.”

“Can we play Vorkoffe soon? Tonight?” Secca asked.

“A short game,” Anna conceded with a laugh. The game was similar to the box game Anna had played in college, where whoever got the most boxes completed won, but in Liedwahr the object was to distribute stones by twos, and the complexity made the outcome less certain.

“You must have a lot to do.” Secca straightened. “And I want to play tonight.” She looked straight at
Anna, and her eyes watered again. “You are good. Papa said you were.” She swallowed. “I’d better go.”

After Secca had left, Anna took out the smooth brown paper that was so expensive in Liedwahr and the quill, and began to write the response to Lady Anientta, slowly and carefully, to avoid smudging the ink that seemed to take forever to dry. Once she finished, she reread the key parts in a low voice.

“. . . share your grief at the illness of one with whom you shared so much of your life. . . .

“We also regret deeply that a lord so able and supportive of Defalk and the Regency is unable to fulfill, his duties, and trust you will continue in his tradition. . . .

“In accordance with Lord Hryding’s wishes, as expressed directly to me, and to Secca, she has asked and will remain in Falcor to complete her fostering and education. . . .

“In this time of grief and turmoil, Secca sends her love to her father, to you and to Jeron and Kurik . . .”

It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. She rang the bell.

“Yes, Lady Anna.” Skent peered in.

She lifted the scroll. “Skent, would you please make a copy of this, right now, and then return both to me?”

The page’s eyes widened.

“Dythya says you’re quite capable of copying and that you have a fine hand.”

“Yes, Lady Anna.” Skent crossed the room and took the scroll.

“Send Fridric in on your way out.”

The page inclined his head.

Fridric bowed as he entered. “Lady Anna.”

“I will have a scroll for you to return to the Lady
Anientta. At this time, I am adhering to Lord Hryding’s wishes that Secca remain in Falcor.”

Fridric bowed.

“You and Stephen and Markan are also welcome here, at any time,” Anna added, deciding against being too explicit.

“Thank you, Lady Anna.” Fridric stopped, then swallowed. “We serve Lord Hryding.”

“Lord Hryding is a good lord,” Anna answered, “and I know you will serve him well.”

Fridric looked relieved.

“If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for the scroll. . . .”

“Oh, no, Lady Anna.” The young armsman practically backed out of the receiving room.

After Skent returned with the two scrolls and she signed and sealed the original and sent Fridric off with it, Anna glanced at the sandglass on the wall stand, nearing the eighth glass of the day. Four o’clock, earth time, she converted mentally, and time to meet with Liende to go over the spell songs.

Her eyes passed across the piles of paper, and she wanted to groan. Was she really doing anything? Or was it all an illusion?

Jecks was right. She had to think about efficiency. She hated the very word. It had been one of Avery’s watchwords, and Sandy hadn’t been much better.

Clearly, creating things almost from scratch—like the damned bridge over the Falche—took a lot of effort. But what about rearrangements? Would it take less effort to rebuild houses or shops? What if she started fixing up abandoned houses in Falcor? She shook her head. They couldn’t be gifts. Gifts never worked, not with children, friends, or enemies. Was that it? Dwellings for artisans and craftspeople—in return for services to the liedstadt and to entice them back to Falcor?

She looked at the sandglass. Time for working out more of the spell arrangements with Liende. She stood and
stretched, trying not to think about all the problems she still hadn’t resolved, from roads to liedgeld, to dead and possibly dying lords, and hostile countries on almost every border of Defalk.

Followed by Blaz and Lejun, Anna hurried out of the receiving hall and across the courtyard to the players’ quarters and the large room that had become Liende’s rehearsal hall.

The strains of the building song, played by several violinos and the clarinet-like woodwind of Liende, seeped through the planks of the stained-pine door. Anna paused to listen, with her guards standing behind her.

One of the violinos was slightly off.

Abruptly, the woodwind quit.

“Enough.” Liende’s voice came through the door. “Delvor, you’re not holding the pitch. You have to follow Kaseth. This sorceress is more forbearing than most, but if you do that when she’s casting a spell, she’s not going to be pleased. I won’t be at all happy, because you’re endangering the rest of us. You need to practice more. If you don’t, I’ll tell the regent you can’t play well enough.”

“Please . . . master player. I’ll practice. I’ll practice more,” promised Delvor.

“You must practice better.”

The regent suspected the wavering words belonged to Kaseth, who had been Lord Brill’s lead player. Anna still wondered how Liende had persuaded the older man to play under her.

The sorceress knocked on the plank door, then opened it, and stepped into the cool room, lit by only two candles in glass mantels. The flames of both candles wavered with the door’s opening.

The three string players rose, Delvor scrambling rather than merely standing.

Anna looked at the youngster. “If Liende doesn’t think you’ve improved enough in two weeks, you will leave. Do you understand?”

Delvor’s lower lip trembled. “Yes, Lady Anna.”

“Delvor . . . I may not look it, but I’ve practiced and trained for nearly thirty years.” Anna kept her voice cool. “My oldest daughter was almost old enough to be your mother. Music and sorcery aren’t things you just play at.” She gave a perfunctory smile. “If the rest of you wouldn’t mind, I need a few moments with Liende.”