The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (60 page)

T
he heavy, gilt-framed mirror in the hallway to the bedchamber swings away from the wall. A single low candle lights the corridor behind the barred door. On the other side of the door are two Mansuuran lancers.

After several moments, a cloaked figure slips from the opening made by the swiveled mirror and toward the archway leading to the bedchamber. In the bed a man lies, sleeping on his side, his closed eyes facing the archway. He does not move as the intruder enters the room.

The figure in deep brown, far less visible at night than black, steps up to the table by the bed, deftly takes the stoppered wine pitcher from the tray and replaces it with another.

As silently as he has come, the intruder eases his way back behind the mirror. The mirror swings back into place, and without even a
click
, seats itself so that it again appears built into the wall.

As he steps down the stairs to the narrow passage set
partly below floor level, Rabyn murmurs, “You will notice nothing, taste nothing, good Nubara. Not for a long, long time.”

He passes several other niches in the wall, each behind a mirror. He also must duck upon occasion when the passageway’s ceiling lowers to accommodate windows in those rooms it borders. He turns two more corners and comes to the place where he entered.

There, at the top of the three narrow steps, he presses a lever, and another mirror swings out from the wall. Once he is inside his own rooms, he closes the mirror and carefully checks the boss on the left side, wiping it carefully with the fabric of the brown cloak.

With a smile, he walks to his dressing room, stopping in front of the three-yard-wide polished-wood wardrobe, and drawing wide the double doors. After he opens the hidden compartment at the back of the wardrobe and replaces the enveloping brown cloak, his eyes go to the miniature portrait on the long dressing table.

The dark-haired woman seems to smile at him, and he smiles back.

“Yes, you taught me well. As that lizard Nubara will discover.”

T
he sound of heavy raindrops on the walls of Abenfel echoed into the dim study in the late afternoon.

“How long is this rain going to last?” Anna asked, her eyes going to the closed shutters of the study. She felt almost trapped inside the dark-paneled room. The faint odor of wax and burned candlewicks made her nose
twitch, even as she stifled another yawn. Would she ever stop feeling tired?

Birfels shrugged, a faint smile breaking across his ruddy face. “Lady, I cannot say. When the winds come out of the east in the spring and early summer, it may rain for a week or more. The Sudbergs hold the clouds and the rain melts the snow on the high peaks . . .”

Anna got the picture, or thought she did.

In the chair in the corner, Birke smiled, but remained silent, as though he feared any statement would call attention to him and result in his dismissal from the de facto meeting of his elders.

Anna wanted to grin, but didn’t.

“Ehara, will he cross the Sudbergs in the rain, do you think?” asked Birfels. “Will the Sturinnese not prompt him to attack now that part of their fleet is beached in the empty Falche?”

“There’s some water there,” Anna said. “We looked in the reflecting pool this afternoon.” Absently, she rubbed her forehead, although the headache from scrying had disappeared quickly, and she’d been fine when she’d groomed Farinelli. She still wondered what was upsetting Farinelli. Ever since her creation of the dam, the big gelding had been edgy. Did he sense her continuing exhaustion, a tiredness that had persisted for all too long? The gelding hadn’t been that way at such times before, though. She pursed her lips momentarily. There wasn’t much she could do.

“From the Envaryl,” Jecks said. “Enough to wade in.”

“Ehara and the Sea-Priests will not attack Defalk now,” said Hanfor. “They will wait until trouble draws Lady Anna elsewhere.” The veteran lifted his shoulders and spread his heads, offering an apologetic smile. “Only when she is committed in Ebra or against raiders from the High Grasslands of Neserea, only then will they attack.”

“You cannot remain in Abenfel forever,” Birfels said.

“No,” Anna admitted. “If I attack Dumar, then Ehara
can ask for more aid from Sturinn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked for aid from Mansuur. He’s got enough gall. If I don’t attack now, or sometime soon, then he’ll attack when we can’t stop him, like Hanfor said.”

“You do not depict a happy setting.” The Lord of Abenfel frowned. “You must neglect the rest of Defalk to stop attacks on the south, or you must abandon us . . .”

“Not yet,” Anna corrected. “Dumar will not attack, even with the Sea-Priests’ help, for at least a year. They will bring more and more armsmen, until Dumar is more like a part of Sturinn.”

“Unless matters change,” added Hanfor.

And they always do
, Anna thought,
we just don’t know how
. She stifled a yawn. She was better, but still tired, although she had ridden Farinelli several times in the past week before the downpour had started the day before.

“What will you do, then?” Birfels asked.

“If I had more armsmen, I’d attack Dumar,” Anna said bluntly. “I don’t. We’ll wait another week, if you don’t mind, to see what develops.”

“And then?”

“We’ll see.”

Birfels stroked his chin. “Ebra?”

“I can’t afford to have Konsstin or the Sea-Priests on three borders. So . . . we need to help out Lord Hadrenn. He’s pledged to Defalk.”
That doesn’t mean I’m going there . . . not soon
.

“Ah . . .” Birfels nodded. “You would secure the east, then.”

“At some time,” Hanfor said.

“Hopefully,” Anna corrected.
And that’s a faint hope, indeed, but all I’ve got
.

She wished that her dam had persuaded Ehara or the Sturinnese to leave, but apparently that hadn’t been a great-enough show of force. She repressed a snort.
Not enough blood and gore and destruction
.

“We will see,” said Jecks.

“Indeed,” added Birfels politely, lifting the wine pitcher. “Would you care for the good red?”

“Yes,” said Anna, hoping the politics of Regency weren’t driving her to alcoholism, even as she lifted the goblet.

T
he stallion reared back, silhouetted by the frequent bolts of lightning against the night stormclouds,

yanking the rope. The heavy and rough hemp burned Anna’s palms raw, sliding somehow around her hands, ripping, slicing the skin, even though she had wound the rope tightly so that she could keep her grip.

The black beast screamed and turned, heading westward. Despite the fire across her hands and the knives stabbing into her head, Anna dug in her heels and stiffened her body.

Still, she felt herself being dragged toward the river, toward the white water that surged only yards from the wild stallion that dragged her toward it, toward the whitecaps that roared more loudly than surf. She couldn’t let go of the rope. She couldn’t . . .

THRRUMMM!

Anna woke with a jolt, jarred almost bolt upright in the high bed, as if her entire body had been shocked by the force of the lightning strike that had seemed to shake the entire keep of Abenfel.

She blinked, dazed, glancing around the dark room. Nothing moved in her bedchamber. Had it been just a dream? Or some kind of earthquake? Outside, the rain kept splatting against the stones of the keep. What had happened? It couldn’t have been just a nightmare, could it?

In slow motion, or so it seemed, she swung out of the bed, and padded to the shutters, easing them open. Outside, the rain fell in sheets, so thickly that she could see nothing but rain.

She watched for a time, but there were no other flashes or bolts of lightning, only a rumble of thunder that seemed distant, and receding. Then, although she listened for a long time, the only sounds were those of the rain splatting on stone and puddle, on roof and battlement, in big and endless drops. Even in Iowa it hadn’t rained so hard for so long.

Finally, she closed the shutters, and yawned, tired as she had been for what seemed weeks on weeks.

She slipped back to her bed, listening for a time as the rain continued to pour down in a soothing waterfall, as it had for the past four days. After what seemed a glass or longer, she drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

Despite nightmares of rivers and stallions, when she woke, she felt refreshed, more alive, more awake than in days. She padded to the window and opened one shutter. Although the rain had stopped, the gray clouds, while thinning, blocked any direct sunlight. She nodded and headed for the bath chamber.

Barely had she gotten out of the hot bath and dressed than there was a furious rapping on the door. Anna pulled on her second boot and stood.

“Yes?”

“Lady Anna?”

She recognized Birke’s voice and opened the door.

“The dam . . . the sorcery . . .” Birke burst out. “It has . . . You must see.”

Even as she swallowed, Anna felt herself nodding. Somehow, she’d been pouring energy into the damned dam. That had been why she’d been so tired! The storm—or the harmonies—had broken that tie, and the dam.

“You . . . look pleased?”

“No. I know what happened.” Anna coughed, clearing her throat. “We can’t do much now. I’ll need to eat.”

“There is . . . bread and cheese and things in the small hall,” the redhead said. “The others were gathering for breakfast.”

“I’ll be down in a moment.” Anna closed the door, then searched for her belt wallet and threaded the green
leather belt through it and the knife scabbard, the same battered but stiff leather one that Albero had given her in Loiseau soon after she’d landed in Erde. Less than two years earlier, and yet so long ago in so many ways.

She picked up the lutar and the leather case with the traveling scrying mirror before she stepped out into the hall.

“I could carry the mirror, Lady Anna,” offered Rickel.

Anna surrendered the mirror easily. Her guards knew she seldom gave up the lutar.

Hanfor, Jecks, Birke, and Birfels were standing and waiting in the front of the small hall. In the rear were Fylena, Wasle, and Clayre. The dark-haired girl flashed a quick smile.

“You shouldn’t have waited for me,” Anna said. “Let’s just eat.” She sat on one end of the bench, ignoring the empty seat at the head of the table, and reached for the bread.

Birfels finally took his own seat, the one that he’d relinquished to Anna at every dinner, or supper, Anna corrected herself.

After several mouthfuls, Anna paused and glanced at Birke. “How did you know about the dam?”

“At first, I didn’t, but Riksar—he’s the wagonmaster, and he has a cot to the west—he told me that the water in the gorge had dropped by more than half.” Birke shrugged. “So I rode down to see. There is still a lake, but water is pouring over what remains of the stones.”

Her mouth full of bread and cheese, Anna nodded.

“It falls over . . . and it roars and the spray is like mist.”

The sorceress frowned. It didn’t sound as though the dam had actually smashed apart, but she’d have to see.

Rather than talk, Anna ate until she finally felt full. She should have been, after inhaling an entire loaf of steaming dark bread, a large wedge of cheese, and several handfuls of dried apples. She stood.

So did everyone else.

“If you’re not done, please finish eating,” the sorceress said. “I need to groom Farinelli first.” With a nod at the group, she picked up the lutar and slipped out and into the corridor.

Rickel and Lejun followed her to the stable, Rickel still bearing the mirror.

Farinelli tossed his head as Anna stepped into the stall, yet he seemed more at ease than he had in previous days, not sidestepping or flicking his tail at nonexistent flies.

Although she didn’t hurry with her grooming, she found herself astride Farinelli in the courtyard, while others scrambled to catch up—except for Jecks and Hanfor, who were also ready.

“I fear what we will see,” said Jecks quietly.

“I don’t worry about what we’ll see here,” Anna said. “There can’t be that much damage in the gorge.”

“Downstream, below the Great Chasm, there will be ruin if your dam failed.” Hanfor turned in the saddle as Alvar rode up.

“We are ready, Arms Commander.”

Anna glanced toward the stable, where Birke led out his mount, followed by Birfels. “In a moment, once they’re mounted.”

Alvar nodded.

Farinelli
whuffed
once, and Anna leaned forward and patted him on the neck, getting another, lower
whuff
in return.

Because the trail was muddy, with pools of water in the low spots, the group rode at a slow walk. Still, Anna had mud splattered across the legs of her trousers.

The slow ride took closer to three glasses than the two it had in drier weather, and the sun—trying to break through thinning gray clouds—was nearly overhead by the time they neared the partly cleared vista of the gorge that overlooked the dam—or what was left of it.

“You see?” called Birke as he stood in the stirrups and gestured downhill.

From where she’d reined up, Anna couldn’t see much
of anything. She couldn’t miss the roar of falling water, or the spray that drifted above the gorge and trees.

She dismounted, handed Farinelli’s reins to Fhurgen, and walked with Hanfor and Jecks down to where she could view the damage. Birfels and Birke joined the three as Anna studied the river and the gorge.

From what she could see, the entire structure had . . . sunk, and tilted forward at a thirty-degree angle.

Some few rivulets spurted out from the chasm walls, as if in those places where the chasm or rocks had weakened, but the dam itself was still intact—just repositioned so that the lake behind it was lower, a third of what it had been. The Falche poured over the repositioned dam, a cascade of water.

“You have created a new cataract, the third great cataract,” Birfels said.