Darksong Rising (74 page)

“We need to see one more thing.” Anna sang the release couplet for the second image, and

reached for the water bottle that Kinor extended, much as Jecks had usually done. She wondered

if the white-haired lord had taken Kinor aside. “Thank you, Kinor”

"My pleasure, Lady Anna.”

After drinking, Anna glanced around, then repressed a sigh. If she asked anyone to leave, those

feelings would be hurt. “It’s going to take a little while for me to get ready for the next spell." If

you want to walk around, that’s fine, but anyone who stays near me will have to be quiet while I

think.”

Kinor nodded at Jimbob, and the two young men stepped into the sunlight and walked toward the

nearest tieline, where Farinelli and their mounts were tethered.

Himar nodded. “I will be back, Lady Anna.”

Liende stepped away and into the sun, as if to get warm. Anna half smiled. She’d forgotten how

much cooler Earth had been, so much that mildly cool weather was chilly to many Defalkans.

Coming up with the spell she wanted for the drums took even longer, but she wasn’t a composer

or a poet.

Once she picked up the lutar again, though, people appeared as if by sorcery, including both

Lejun and Rickel, and she waited until her audience had gathered and quieted before beginning

the spell.

Show us those singing drums so strong

that raise the Prophet’s coming Darksong....

The mirror obediently displayed three drums, each under an awning of sorts, each bound with

copper strips.

At first, Anna could see nothing unusual about the drums, except that each was mounted in a

wooden frame that allowed it to swivel. Then she saw the wagon in the background. Each drum

had to have taken an entire wagon to transport it. Admittedly, the wagon beds were small—no

more than a yard and half wide—but any drum built like that had to have a lot of volume and

carrying power—and when set before an angled cliff of hard stone... She nodded.Young as

Rabyn was, cruel as the stories reported he was, stupid he was not. He—or someone— had

thought out both his abilities and the logistics to support them. And that worried Anna.

“Those are large drums,” Himar announced.

“Very large,” Anna agreed. She sang the release couplet, then blotted her forehead before

squatting to replace the lutar in its case. Kinor gently packed the mirror in its case. Anna stood

and picked up the lutar.

“Pale. she is,” murmured Bersan to Lejun.

“Sorcery be hard, hard work, friend,” answered the more experienced guard. “Seen enough I

have that it’s a guard I’d rather be.”

Bersan’s comment about her paleness prompted Anna to walk toward her tent and the food

pouch that was waiting there. Would she spend the rest of her life worrying about her blood

sugar and energy levels? Probably, arid if you don’t, that life will be a short one.

Kinor followed with the mirror in its leather case.

A golden leaf fluttered down in the cool and light breeze, curling almost into a cone shape before

dropping to the dusty ground.

“A megaphone... you idiot! That’s it.” And you could make it out of copper or something that

wasn’t living. She shook her head—a megaphone wasn’t it, because she’d end up squeezing her

voice, but why couldn’t she build her own shell—something parabolic behind her and the

players. She didn’t want to exhaust herself with sorcery to make it, and it had to be light enough

to go on the handful of wagons they had. Aluminum? She had the feeling that aluminum took too

much energy. Another idea that seemed great at first.

“Ah, Lady?” asked Kinor.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll take the mirror now. Thank you. I was thinking.”

Kinor smiled, then handed her the mirror case before bowing and returning to the others.

Inside the small and increasingly dingy tent, Anna reached for the hard crackers and harder

yellow cheese, hoping she could think through things after she ate. Or think through them more

clearly.

82

NORTH OF FUSSEN, DEFALK

The alternating blue and cream silk panels of the tent flutter in afternoon breeze, then subside.

From where he sits beside the small table covered with blue linen, Rabyn sips from the silver

goblet, then sets it down and delicately lifts a single candied nut to his lips. A second nut follows

the first, handled equally delicately.

Because there is but a single chair, Nubara stands on carpet that serves as the floor, his eyes

looking at the interlocking design of blue and cream triangles.

“The accursed sorceress knows where we are, yet she has not moved since the night before last”

Rabyn’s lips move into an expression not quite a pout “She has a scrying mirror. She uses it, but

she will not move.”

“She is gathering her forces—those of her arms commander and the handfuls of armsmen offered

by those few lords loyal to her." Nubara swallows, then continues. “Overcaptain Relour inquired

about the screams last night He suggested... ah... temperance.”

‘I was temperate, Nubara, let the girl go. I would have whipped her, were we still in Esaria or

most places in Neserea. Here... I but slapped her and gave her a gold. That stopped her wailing

quickly enough." Rabyn sneers. “Golds always quell the objections of the peasants, even the

pretty ones.”

“That was most... appropriate.” Nubara nods. “Had you whipped her or slain her, honored

Prophet, the lancers and armsmen would have been angered, for they would have seen that as a

waste.”

“There are always more peasants” Rabyn’s voice is matter-of-fact.

Nubara opens his mouth, then closes it.

“They talk about their women. but they care far more for their animals and golds. Or even their

ale, poor as it is. Why should I care when they do not?” Rabyn’s laugh carries a shrill overtone.

“Peasants expect more from their leaders than from other peasants.” The lancer officer barely

finishes the sentence, before he is racked by coughing, that continues for some time.

Rabyn ignores Nubara’s discomfort, finally speaking once the Mansuuran officer has

straightened up. “The sorceress is east of us, on the high road. Will she move closer? What if she

does not?”

“She will," Nubara coughs, then shudders. “You can afford to wait. She cannot. not when every

week brings yet another lord who would rebel against her.” He readjusts the heavy wool cloak,

his eyes darting toward the open door panel of the tent. “More of her armsmen have died at the

hands of her own lords than by the arms of her enemies.”

“I would not put up with such.”

“By all accounts, she has not. That is why so many of her lords dislike her. And why she cannot

wait. Overcaptain Relour has suggested she will attack within days." Nubara manages to control

the trembling that afflicts him and nods. “The heights and the way you employed sorcery to send

the sound farther east gives your drums greater range. You cannot use the drums while they are

being carted elsewhere. Moving would not improve your position, and the sorceress could catch

us less prepared.”

“Sometimes, one must wait.”
 
concedes the dark-haired prophet.

‘This is one of those times, honored Prophet.”

“We shall see."

85

The afternoon was chill, damp, and the gray clouds moving in from the north suggested a cold

rain was likely.

Anna glanced from where she sat on the cot just inside her tent, puzzling through the latest

scrolls and messages sent by Jecks, out across the campsite. Hanfor’s messenger had said that the

arms commander would arrive by midday, but it was already approaching early afternoon, and

Hanfor had yet to appear. Anna’s eyes dropped to the scroll before her—the second one from

Lord Hulber of Silberfels.

 
...trust you will give the matter of recompense your earliest consideration once you conclude

your expeditions and return to Falcor to deal with the more urgent matters of governance...

In short, get back to Falcor and give me a share of the gold you mined through sorcery because

the lands once belonged to my grandfather. Anna set Hulber’s scroll in the pile to her left and

picked up the next one. It was from Beltyr—even worse.

 
...continue to administer the lands of Synope... waiting for your instructions and confirmation of

succession....

That got a snort before she set it aside for the next one. She couldn’t do anything until she

dealt—hopefully—with Rabyn. The next scroll was from Lord Ebraak of Nordfels. Anna

frowned. in over a year, she had heard nothing from Ebraak. The lord had paid his liedgeld,

through messengers, without requests. She unrolled the scroll, gingerly, and began to read,

skipping through the flowery salutation and opening sentences.

 
...we of Nordfels were pleased to learn that the Corian lineage would be restored and

maintained by the Regency... yet we have not heard of any plans for the installation of the lord

Jimbob. We would like to suggest that the most proper course for the Regency would be such an

installation, with, of course, the young lord being advised by a council of lords headed by one

such as his grandsire, Lord Jecks of Elheld... in this manner, Lord Jimbob, would come to know

and understand the contributions and needs of each lord....

Anna set Ebraak’s scroll aside and rubbed her forehead. You haven’t been a good little girl. You

didn’t do things the right way It was nice of you to save our precious heritage, but please be so

kind as to restore the mess that got us in trouble. She took a deep breath and reached for the