Darksong Rising (31 page)

another sheet of the rough paper and dipped the quill pen, ignoring the blot of ink that dropped

on one corner of the brown paper even before she began to write.

After what seemed more than a glass, Anna looked at the draft spell... or what was the beginning

of it.

Search, search, search the ground

deeply all around,

verily, verily, verily,

gold will here be found....

Bring, bring, bring the gold, straightly to the mold, verily, verily, verily....

But how would she end the spell? She took a deep breath and then a sip from the goblet.

“You need a break.”

Finally, she stood, and made her way out of the chamber and up the stairs to the south wing...

and Lady Essan’s chamber. Lejun and Kerhor followed her, stationing themselves outside

Essan’s door when Anna entered.

The white-haired woman sat erect in the sunlight falling through the window, then turned her

head at Anna’s presence. Anna still found it hard to believe that she was the widow of the man

who had ruled Defalk before Jimbob’s father.

“Lady Essan, I’m sorry. It’s been longer than I’d have liked since we last talked." Anna turned

the straight chair across from the ancient rocker where Essan sat, then seated herself, looking

straight at the older woman.

“You are the sorceress-Regent, my dear near-daughter....” Essan smiled faintly. “This be a hard

land that asks much of those that rule, and most of the glasses of their lives.”

‘There isn’t much time.” Anna admitted. “It always seems that way.”

“Synondra tells me that you and Lord Jecks put Barjim’s brat on a punishment detail. Be it true

that he spat at your Lord High Counselor?”

“Yes,” Anna admitted.

“Donjim would have flayed the skin off his back, and considered that merciful.”

“Jecks had him whipped.”

“Good! Feared your Lord High Counselor was getting too soft on the brat” Essan squinted

through the sunlight at Anna. “Know ye that young Jimbob has been talking about sending you

off to Mencha once he’s old enough?”

“No... but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Boy doesn’t know what strong is. . . or what he owes you.” Essan shook her head. “Enough of

ungrateful young wretches. You need more like that young Skent. Proper and dutiful fellow he

is... make him an undercaptain, you should, then a captain If he has it in him. Then when you

consort him to Cataryzna... he’ll have the experience and the reputation to hold the lands.”

Anna laughed. “Is there anything that doesn’t come to you?" “Leave an old woman her secrets.

‘Sides, that be so obvious that I’d have told you if you were not already minded to do so.” Essan

took a sip of the ever-present apple brandy. “Is there any other gossip or tidbit that this old brain

of mine can offer?”

“You do know more about the past than anyone else I’ve met in Defalk,” Anna smiled.

“That be because the hard times took all the other old folk.” Essan sniffed.

“What have you heard about Lord Hulber of Silberfels?”

“There were always rumors... that lineage is strange... mountain folk from before the Corians..."

Essan said, almost as if musing to herself.

Great…Gnomes out of Oz burrowing under the mountains in a world where music creates

magic. Anna merely nodded, waiting.

"... been said once that the old folk were miners... but none have seen such... nor much of their

lords….”

28

ESARIA, NESEREA

Rabyn slips into the light and airy workroom. Nubara folows. Both stand and study the three

polished drums, each not quite as tall as is Rabyn. The floor has been swept spotlessly clean, and

all the tools removed from the workbench and polished before having been set on the shelves

adjoining the bench.

Beside each drum is a high stool, and a pair of wooden mallets is laid on the seat of each stool.

The gray-haired crafter bows. “They are finished, sire. As you requested. Exactly as you

requested.”

“We will be the judge of that.” Rabyn barely looks at the older man as he steps around him and

stops by the first drum. His fingers stroke the polished wood, now so smooth that it reflects the

dark-haired Prophet’s image as if the drum were a mirror.

Nubara sees his own reflection beside that of the Prophet and smiles, belatedly.

“I saw that, Nubara,” Rabyn says easily.

The crafter steps back involuntarily.

“Let us see how these sound.” Rabyn takes the mallets from the stool of the drum closest to the

workroom door, then seats himself on the stool. He taps the stretched hide that covers the drum

frame. A low rolling boom fills the workroom. He nods and slips off the stool, replacing the

mallets. After repeating the process with both of the remaining drums, Rabyn returns to the

second drum and reseats himself on the stool with a sly, serpentlike smile.

Nubara frowns, his eyes going from the Prophet to the crafter, who remains standing by the

workbench, his head bowed.

Lifting the mallets, the young Prophet tries one rhythm, then a second. Finally, after several

other attempts, he nods to himself, and a driving and thundering, rolling beat fills the workroom.

Rabyn begins a chant, not exactly a song, but more than a simple refrain, with a thin tenor that is

clear and rises above the thunder of the massive drum.

Heed, heed, heed, the beating of the drum;

break, break, break the heart whose end has come...

The crafter’s eyes widen and he swallows, then drops to his knees, clutching at his chest, gasping

for air.

... turn, turn, the body into dust!

The rolling thunder that has filled the room dies away, and Rabyn carefully climbs down from

the stool and replaces the mallets. “You will have the workbench and the woods removed, will

you not, Nubara? And you will make sure that no one touches the drums.”

“Ah... yes, honored Prophet” The Mansuuran officer licks his lips. “I... did not know you could

do... such." He looks at the heap of dust on the workroom floor. He swallows. “Did you not

promise...?"

Rabyn laughs. “I promised to pay him well, and in gold. For his dislike of me, I have paid him.

The golds will go to his ugly daughter, and she will be freed. So will her mother. You will tell

them that he developed the bloody flux and a pox, and we had to burn his body. I promised him

five golds. Give them ten... with great care."

“Yes, honored Prophet."

“Remember, Nubara, I am a ruler who keeps his promises." The serpentlike smile follows. “All

of them." Rabyn strokes the side of the drum, lovingly. “A most wonderful drum, and it will do

exactly as I wish."

Nubara looks down at the pale paving stones of the workroom floor, then lifts his eyes to the

Prophet, meeting the younger man’s glance evenly. “With drum and Darksong, best you be most

careful of what you wish, Prophet”

“I always am sure of that, Nubara. Just like my mother was. Always."

29

Anna slowed as she heard voices in the side corridor leading to the receiving room. She glanced

back at Lejun and Rickel. The taller blond Rickel nodded and slowed.

The Regent listened. A small high voice reached her ears— Secca’s.

"... she’s not like that. She worries about everyone. You just worry about you. Lords can’t do

that. They have to worry about everyone.”

Anna waited.

“You’re too young to say things like that, Secca.” The older youth’s voice held a sneer. “You’re

being silly.”

Anna wanted to slap Jimbob for the patronizing tone, but instead remained silent, waiting to see

how Secca would handle the heir.

“You’re like all boys. When someone’s right, and you don’t like it, you tell them they’re silly. Or

you hit them.”

Anna couldn’t help but grin.

“I do not,” replied Jimbob.

"You would," Secca insisted. “You’re afraid of Lady Anna and your grandsire.”

There was silence in the corridor.

“A lot you know,” Jimbob finally answered.

“You could be nicer. You should be if you want to be the lord like your father was.”

“I’ll be lord. It doesn’t matter what you think.”

“It matters what Lady Anna thinks, and if you don’t get nicer, you’ll never be lord.”

“Nice people don’t win battles,” snapped Jimbob. “Lady Anna isn’t always nice. She’s killed

scores and scores of people. You just see her here in Falcor. It’s different in battle. All the

lancers say so.”

Have you become two people... nice when it suits you and ruthless the rest of the time? Anna

frowned. If you wanted to survive, did you have any choice?

“She’s only nasty when people like you make her that way! I don’t have to talk to you.” The

sound of small footsteps headed toward the corner.

Anna waited and let Secca run almost into her. “Secca! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Secca stopped, and looked up. Her eyes were bright, but not tearing. “Lady Anna.” She bowed.

“I have to get my scrolls for figures. Dythya said we had to bring them every day."

Anna smiled. “Don’t let Jimbob get to you. He’s having trouble understanding that just because

he’s the heir doesn’t mean that the rules are any different for him.”