The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (51 page)

“What will you take from Stromwer’s treasury?”

“Some. What Wendella can afford, by my reckoning. More than enough to pay for this mess, if it’s there.”

“More than you reckon,” Jecks suggested. “When all is totaled, you will have missed things.”

He was probably right about that, too.

“How long before you think to return to Falcor?” asked the older man cautiously.

“I’m not sure we’re finished here,” Anna said slowly. “I don’t want to stay in Stromwer, but Ehara’s not exactly disappearing.”

“You hold Defalk,” Jecks said. “He cannot bring that many troops against you. He lost close to a hundred lancers who supported Sargol and Dencer.”

“He has a few more to lose than we do. I don’t like the Sea-Priests, either.” Anna pursed her lips, thinking about women in dangling chains. “Ehara and his friends the Sea-Priests are still a threat. A big one.” Anna gestured toward the wall mirror, and the ashes against the
wall under it.
Will everyone remember you as the sorceress-regent who destroyed every mirror in every chamber she slept in?

“You have perhaps twelvescore armsmen,” Jecks pointed out. “The season is early summer, and still we have no proven weapons smiths, and few enough blades for the additional armsmen we need and do not have. You have more golds, but not enough.”

Anna thought of the veiled plea for coins from Hadrenn, her newest vassal or lord or whatever, pressed by Bertmynn, who was getting coins from both Konsstin and Sturinn, from what she could tell. That was designed to make life difficult for her and Defalk, nothing more. “We should send a few hundred golds to Hadrenn.”

Jecks nodded. “That is cheaper than armsmen, but you will have fewer golds.”

“I always end up with fewer golds.” Anna rubbed her forehead, then took another swallow of wine. “Would you like some wine?” She filled the other goblet before Jecks could answer.

Ehara of Dumar bothered her. The Sea-Priests, if she could believe Hadrenn’s scroll, were pouring coins and arms into Ebra, and they were doing the same in Dumar, and Dumar, unlike Ebra, was neither prostrate nor divided. But what could she do about Ehara?

“How do you think Ehara would react if we sent a scroll to him, requesting his pledge, on his honor, not to interfere with Defalk?”

Jecks laughed. “Why . . . he would send a scroll pledging the very same, almost on the glass, and nothing would change.”

Anna felt stupid. She wasn’t thinking as clearly as she should, perhaps because of the residual headache—or because ruling wasn’t yet a habit with her. “What if we asked for five hundred golds in recompense for the damage he caused, and his pledge never to send coins or armsmen into Defalk?”

“You might get his pledge, but never his golds.”

“Then, we’ll draft a scroll which basically demands his pledge and the golds, and which states, given his past behavior, that a pledge without golds is without meaning or honor.”

“He will not take such well.”

“No . . . he may not, but I don’t see much point in ignoring him. We’ve seen his lancers everywhere, and he ought to pay. If he won’t, he ought to be put on notice.”

“You would fight Dumar?”

“We’ve already been fighting Dumar. Ehara had no real cause to support the rebels, unless he was already planning a war, or to make trouble for us. Either way, it has to stop.”

“Then, you should send such a scroll.”

Anna could tell Jecks was less than pleased, but she
knew
that she had to do something to deal with the Lord of Dumar.

By the time she had given Jecks the second draft of the scroll to read, from outside, a golden red poured through the narrow windows.

“Lord, I didn’t realize it was that late.” Anna glanced at the piles of scrolls in dismay.

“There is always tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow, creeping on its petty pace, until the last syllable of recorded time,” Anna misquoted.

Jecks paused in lifting his goblet, then drank.

Thrap!

“Yes?” answered Jecks.

Rickel peered inside the room. “The lady Wendella, to see Lady Anna and Lord Jecks.”

Almost makes you sound like a couple
. Anna coughed, trying to push away
that
thought. “Have her come in.”

Wearing a natural cotton gown that left her looking too washed-out, Wendella carried Condell into Anna’s chamber. “Lady and regent.” She bowed, her face composed.

“Lady Wendella.”

“I have come to offer my apologies and to beg of you pardon.” Wendella’s eyes remained downcast.

“You do not have to answer me, but could I ask why?” Anna inquired.

“I do not like you, Lady Anna. It may be that never I will. You have been fair, for what your duties require. You have not been petty nor spiteful.” Wendella coughed. “I have found that your first act, on entering Stromwer, was to restore my son and my station. You have not taken my rooms, nor the study, and the treasury has not been touched.”

“I will require some of that,” Anna said. “Enough to pay for my armsmen. I will leave what you need to run Stromwer and for the liedgeld. I wish I could do otherwise . . . but the past has left Falcor with little.”

“It is said that you, as Lady of Mencha, have paid liedgeld. Is that true?” The words were direct.

“Yes.”

Wendella nodded. “I do not like you. I freely grant you my respect and my thanks for my son and my station. And I will write Lord Mietchel telling him so.”

“That would be good for us all,” Anna said. “I will be equally frank. I respect you for what you have endured. I respect your strength, and I am sorry for your suffering. I suspect we will never be close friends.”
And that’s an understatement. “I
will help, as I can, to ensure that Stromwer is strong and respected.”

Wendella bowed. “I . . . can . . . say no more.” Her eyes went to the sleeping Condell.

“You don’t have to,” Anna said gently. “I am glad you came. I hope you will rest and recover, and take care of Stromwer and your son.” She stood, as did Jecks.

The two waited until the door closed behind Wendella.

“I said that she would respect you.”

Anna still wondered how much was compelled by her spells. Still, it was better than slaughtering an entire keep.
You’ve done that, too
. She reached for the wine and took another swallow. Then came the last scroll in Dythya’s to-do pile.

She groaned. “The rivermen are asking that we forgo
the tariffs on cargos down the Falche, since this is the first year in the last four that the river has been high enough for their boats. They need every copper to survive.”

“So do you,” answered Jecks. “So does Defalk.”

Anna hated taxes, and she hated being the local equivalent of both government and the IRS. But how could she keep the country together without revenues to pay armsmen and smiths and everything else?

After a sigh, she took another sip of wine, then reached for more paper.

Thrap!

“A young fellow to see you.” This time it was Fhurgen who peered inside the chamber with a wide grin.

“A young fellow?”

“From Abenfel.”

“Birke?”

The dark-bearded guard just offered a wider grin.

“Have him come in.” Birke? The red-haired son of Lord Birfels who’d been her first page when she had come to Falcor? Who’d effectively been a hostage both of Barjim and then of Behlem?

Wearing a green tunic piped in gray, the red-haired youth stepped into the chamber and bowed deeply. “Lady Anna, at your service.” A cheerful smile followed the words.

“Birke! It’s good to see you.” Anna paused. “Why are you here?”

“We had heard that you were not too far away, and my sire has asked that I offer an invitation of our hospitality to you and your forces.” Birke smiled. “We rode from Abenfel in less than four days.”

“Your offer of hospitality is much appreciated,” said Anna. “I honestly hadn’t thought about what we’ll be doing after we settle Stromwer.”

“We would be pleased to offer a place of rest on your return to Falcor. The river road is not longer than the way through Suhl.”

“It is good to see you. And your offer is tempting.”
She smiled. “I will think about it.” She glanced at the piles of scrolls. “We’ll talk at supper.” She gestured. “I have a few duties as regent.”

“You have always been the regent, and Defalk is fortunate indeed.” Birke spoiled the formal words with another wide grin.

“You . . .” She shook her head. “At dinner.”

“With pleasure.” He bowed again.

Anna refilled her goblet after Birke had left. Was she drinking too much? She’d scarcely had anything to drink until the damned scrolls had arrived. That showed how much she liked administration.

“He’s grown,” Anna said. “I still wish he’d stayed in Falcor.”

“He may have stayed there long enough that it matters not,” suggested Jecks. “You have a way of changing people quickly, my lady.”

“Me?”

“You, my lady.”

Anna shook her head, then glanced at the scrolls. “Changing people or not, we still have too many scrolls to go through.”

“At your service, my lady.”

Anna mock-glared at Jecks.

A
nna glanced back at the walls of Stromwer, reddish in the dawn light, rising out of dark red-and-gray cliffs. She stifled a yawn. For someone who wasn’t a morning person, the regent business was a tough gig.
And getting tougher, no matter what Jecks thinks
. Absently,
she patted Farinelli, who almost pranced northward down the road.

“Riding in the morning is so much better,” burbled Birke from Anna’s left. “It’s cooler, and the air is cleaner. There’s less dust, and it’s quieter. . . .”

Unless you’re riding next to a cheerful morning person,
Anna thought, yawning again. All the damned scrolls and paperwork had taken
forever
. She glanced at Jecks, almost as bright-eyed as Birke, and wanted to shake her head. On mornings such as these, she definitely missed coffee, but there didn’t seem to be any coffee in Liedwahr and no substitute closer than hot cider. Hot cider was no help, even when it was available, which it wasn’t in early summer in Stromwer.

She coughed gently. Something, some pollen, was irritating both nose and throat.

“. . . A morning hunt in the higher hills, that is good, too,” Birke continued.

“Unless you’re the deer,” Anna finally said dryly. Birke flushed.

“Don’t mind me, Birke.”

“You do not like hunting?”

“Let’s say that I know it’s necessary.” Anna forced a polite smile. “Just as some battles are necessary.”

Birke frowned.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said quietly. “Could we talk about something besides hunts and battles? I’m a little tired of killing.”
You should be, with all you’ve done
.

After a moment, Birke spoke again. “Did you know that you can see the Falche from the southwest guard tower at Abenfel? It hasn’t had that much water in years. If it keeps rising, even the oldest farm trenches to the north will be able to carry water to the fields.”

“You’re that close to the river?” Anna asked.

“Only a little more than a dek and a half. The keep has its own springs, and that means it didn’t have to be close enough to be flooded.”

“You must be higher, then?”

“A good two hundred yards. The upper part of the Chasm begins by the keep.”

“The Chasm?” Anna hadn’t heard about the Chasm, except in a brief mention during one of Menares’ geography lectures to the fosterlings and as a label on a map.

“That’s the deep canyon that carries the Falche into Dumar and the cataracts. My sire, he’s talked about the cataracts. I’ve never seen them. But the walls of the canyon, some places, they’re hundreds of yards tall, and there’s one place—it’s a ride of several glasses—where you can almost throw a stone . . . well, shoot an arrow anyway, from the cliffs on one side to the other. Another place, there’s this beach . . . the sand is so soft . . .”

Birke flushed.

“I can imagine what you might have been doing there,” Hanfor said with a gentle laugh.

“You thought of it, you veteran lecher,” Anna countered, to relieve Birke’s growing embarrassment.

“So I did.” Hanfor laughed good-naturedly. “It’s been a long spring.”

Several of the guards behind Anna laughed as well.

She shifted her weight, conscious that she was beginning to sweat again under the breastplate. She had to get used to the damned armor, she supposed, but would she? Really?

“One of the big pines fell into the river . . .” Birke continued.

“You’re not planning on going back to Falcor yet,” Jecks said in a low voice, easing his mount closer to Farinelli.

“Not yet. We couldn’t stay in Stromwer, and it won’t hurt to visit Birfels.”

“No, it will not.” Jecks smiled. “You worry about Ehara? Do you regret sending the scroll?”

“The scroll? No. I worry about the Sea-Priests. They’re using Dumar as a wedge. They won’t attack Mansuur or Nordwei. From what you’ve said, the harbor at Elawha in
Ebra isn’t very good. So that leaves Ranuak or Dumar, and if I were a Sea-Priest, I’d certainly try Dumar first.”

“They have sought out Ehara,” conceded Jecks.

“I don’t like going back to Falcor and leaving them to create more trouble,” Anna said quietly.

“Even with you, Lady Anna, we could not attack Dumar,” offered Hanfor.

“I understand that,” Anna said tiredly. “What are we supposed to do? Wait until Ehara and his newfound allies attack us?”

“Have we any choice?”

Anna looked at the dusty red road where it entered the gorge, at the long shadows of morning. “I don’t know. I keep hoping.”
As always, as ever, but things don’t change that way
. She took a deep breath.
And you’d better think of something . . . some way to force the Sea-Priests out of Dumar. . . .

A
nna lay quietly in the dark, on a cot under the thin silk tent that she rated. Both tent and cot were improvements on her first campaign, if she could call the battle of the Sand Pass and the subsequent flight from the Dark Monks of Ebra a campaign.