The Shadow Sorceress (47 page)

The predawn gray seeped into the main chamber where Secca checked the sheaf of spells she had readied. She doubted she would have the time to check them again, or even use any except the first two, but she slipped them into the saddlebag anyway.

Moments earlier, as she had finished dressing, she had heard the first companies of lancers riding toward the harbor, and that had meant she needed to head down to the lower level and to play her part.

Abruptly, the very air began to shiver around Secca, or so it seemed, and then an anguished chord rattled through her. She glanced toward the windows, but they were not shaking. A wry smile crossed her lips. The wrenching of the Harmonies was an indication that the Sea-Priests had indeed called up their great wave. The smile vanished as she wondered if Alcaren and the Matriarch had been right—that the wave would not greatly damage Encora.

She forced herself to the window to watch.

For a long time, nothing happened. Another company of lancers rode out of the guest quarters, and then a third.

Secca squinted. A silver-gray was filling the lower part of the drive—water! Rushing water. From the guest quarters windows she watched as grayish water flooded up the drive from the harbor, then seemed to stop. The water was only a bit more than hock deep on the trailing mounts of the next lancer company to leave the guest barracks.

To the south, she could see masts swaying…but only swaying. She hoped that the Matriarch's judgment about what a great
sorcerous wave could do to Encora had been correct. She watched for several moments longer, but the water across the drive got no deeper, and, in fact, seemed to be slowly receding.

With a nod to herself, she picked up her saddlebags and lutar, and then the traveling scrying glass. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. There Gorkon took the mirror and saddlebags and followed her down the wide stairs. Richina, who had been watching from her doorway, scurried to catch up.

Secca had barely stepped through the archway above the rear steps to the guest quarters when Alcaren rode up the paved lane, his mount spraying water from the puddles remaining. The Ranuan overcaptain had a grim smile on his face.

“The wave wasn't that deep, was it?” Secca asked.

“No. It was just what you and the Matriarch had hoped for. The Sturinnese raised the ocean, but the shallows spread it thin.”

Secca gestured toward the south and the damp streets and puddles between her and the harbor. “This was scarcely like what happened to Narial.” She still couldn't quite believe the difference.

“Of course not. Great waves can break over the land only when there are deep waters and narrow shallows. Here the shallows stretch for tens of deks, and widen as they near Encora, so the great waves break far from the harbor, and the harbor level rises but little. The Matriarch warned those in the coastal towns to move to higher ground. While there was doubtless much damage in Nerula and Gherste, we can hope few lives were lost.” Alcaren paused. “As you and the Matriarch discussed, such sorcery is most difficult, and now that the waters are receding, we should hasten to the piers before the Sturinnese can refresh themselves.”

“I am ready now.”

“So am I,” added Richina.

“If you would summon the players, Richina,” Secca requested.

“Yes, lady.” Richina turned and hurried across the damp stones, her boots occasionally splashing water.

Secca turned full to Alcaren. “Is it likely that they could raise
yet another wave while we are in the channel, or just leaving it?”

“It is possible. Anything is, but they have never done so two times on the same day.”

“Let us hope they do not today,” Secca said as she stepped toward the gray mare that Rukor was leading from the stable.

At the end of the long courtyard that separated the wings of the barracks, the players were gathering and mounting, strapping instruments in place. Secca watched for a moment before she saw Palian's gray-haired figure, and Delvor chivvying the second players into order. Richina began to hurry back across the courtyard, this time mounted and riding around the players, and the last company of lancers—and the squad of Alcaren's SouthWomen that would also accompany Secca.

After fastening the saddlebags with spells and her cased lutar in place, Secca half-climbed, half-vaulted into the saddle, then turned to wait for Palian and the players.

Palian was already riding from the barracks courtyard toward Secca, raising her hand. “We stand ready, lady.”

“Then let us go.” As Secca replied and turned the gray back toward the harbor, the sky was turning a brighter gray—not orange, for the heavens held the same hazy formless clouds that seemed to be almost constant through the winter in Encora.

Riding down the damp stones of the lane, past the boxwood hedge toward the boulevard, Secca tried to check everything. So did Alcaren, riding slightly forward and to the sorceress's right.

Two full companies of SouthWomen blocked the boulevard heading north, and as the gray mare carried Secca through the gates, Captain Delcetta rode forward. “If you don't mind, sorceress, we would like to ride as shield.”

“Thank you.” Secca offered a smile, understanding all too well that if any of the supporters of the Ladies of the Shadows wished to act, now would be their last opportunity before Secca tried to deal with the Sea-Priests.

Richina rode to Secca's left, and Alcaren to her right, both behind the SouthWomen and their shields. Behind Secca came the players, also shielded by the second company of SouthWomen. Secca felt as though she were almost in a moving box,
with lancers all around her. Those nearest her bore silvered shields, held so high that she could barely see the buildings on each side of the boulevard.

The city area near the harbor held the odors of fish and salt, and all the walls of the buildings—from the chandlery to the weavers—showed an almost even water line at about half a yard above the paved and raised sidewalks. Those flooded streets were empty, except for the lancers, and the players. While it was still just before dawn, Secca wondered if the Matriarch had ordered the streets cleared.

Looking past riders and shields, Secca's eyes searched every side street, but all she saw were lancers—regular Ranuan lancers in blue. She could also see that the water was quickly receding, as fast as it had risen, if not faster.

“The Matriarch had this whole part of the city cleared, didn't she?” Secca said in a low voice to Alcaren.

“She did not tell me such, but it appears so.” The overcaptain flashed a brief smile. “It would certainly ensure that the Sea-Priests would know we are trying something.”

“So that they will attack us instantly?”

“Not instantly, but once we clear the channel and the shallows.”

At the open stone-paved plaza between where the boulevard ended and the loading area for the piers began, Wilten was waiting, mounted, looking north. As he saw the SouthWomen, and then Secca, a momentary smile of relief crossed his face. He rode forward toward the sorceress and her escorts.

“How did it go?” asked Secca.

“Everyone was prepared. Some mounts got skittish when the water rose around them, and we had to pull a couple out of the harbor. Drysel thinks he lost one lancer, unless he's hanging onto a pier post or a rock somewhere.”

“Now it's our turn,” Secca said. “Make sure everyone gets dry. It's still winter, even if it's late in the season and warmer than Loiseau.”

“That we will, lady. You be most careful.” Although Wilten's words were addressed to Secca, his eyes rested on Alcaren.

“We will look after her most closely,” Alcaren said.

“I am most certain you will,” Wilten said firmly. “And you, Lady Richina, take great care as well.”

“Thank you, Wilten.” Richina inclined her head.

With a last nod and smile at Wilten, Secca urged the gray forward once more.

“The
Silberwelle
is at the second pier at the end,” Alcaren said.

“I can see the ship.” Secca reined up at the base of the second long stone pier, now merely covered with a film of water. After dismounting and handing the gray's reins to Rukor, she unfastened the lutar and saddlebags. Easlon and Dymen scrambled to dismount—as did Richina and several of the SouthWomen.

Still surrounded by guards and lancers, Secca walked seaward along the pier until she neared the gangway to the
Silberwelle
.

“Lady Sorceress!” called a voice. Although the voice was deep and strong, the woman who stepped forward to the railing beside the gangway was less than a span taller than Secca and not all that much broader. Her face was tanned and weathered, and a broad smile showed even white teeth. “Denyst, captain of the
Silberwelle
.”

“I'm Secca, and this is Richina. She's also a sorceress.” As Secca stepped on board, she nodded to Alcaren. “You know Alcaren?”

“Since he was mayhap knee-high.” Denyst smiled. “Glad to see he's been put to good use.”

As he half-bowed to the captain, Alcaren's smile was somewhere between amusement and relief, Secca judged.

“He was one of those to persuade me to help you, sorceress,” continued Denyst. “I can't say any of us much like sailing out to a war fleet.”

“Nor do I,” Secca replied. “But we have to do something.”

“We do. We'll not sail anywhere if we do not,” Denyst nodded. “Being as this is a short voyage, you sorceresses can have my cabin, and the players can use the mess.”

Secca glanced to Alcaren.

“I'll show Palian and Delvor,” the overcaptain affirmed.

“They'll need somewhere to keep their instruments dry until it's time to play.”

“The mess will do for that.”

Secca turned as she caught sight of Palian leading the players toward the gangway. “Here are the players.” She waited until the two chief players were on the deck.

“Palian is my chief of players, and Delvor is the chief of the second players.” Secca gestured toward the two.

“Welcome to the
Silberwelle
.” Denyst inclined her head to the two. “We'd like to be setting sail in less than a glass. Take us three glasses to clear the channel.” Denyst turned to Alcaren. “The overcaptain will be showing you where you'll be hanging your cloaks.” She turned to Secca. “If you'd not mind…”

“Go ahead, captain,” Secca said. “Alcaren can get us settled.”

“Once we're under way, I'll find you. There are a few things we need to talk over while we're headed down the channel.” For a moment, Denyst turned to watch the SouthWomen and lancers walking up the gangway. She looked back at Alcaren. “They'll have to be quartered in the fo'c'sle bay.”

“That will be tight.”

“Put some in the port crew room if you have to.”

“Yes, ser.” Alcaren nodded.

Denyst turned aft and climbed the ladder to the poop deck.

As the Ranuan captain stepped away, Palian looked to Secca. “In what fashion would you like us to proceed?”

“The Sturinnese may call storms or something upon us. You and the players will wait in the mess room until just before you are to play. That way we may avoid wet strings and soaked players. Richina will summon—”

“It might be best if I summoned them on your signal,” Alcaren suggested from where he stood to the right, near the railing. “You might need the Lady Richina's skills.”

Alcaren's suggestion made sense, but Secca wondered if she were coming to rely too much on Alcaren. “You'll summon the players on my signal.” She addressed Palian. “You know the two spellsongs we plan to use, but we still may have to use the long or short flame song.”

“We understand.”

Alcaren gestured toward the lancers who were forming up
behind Secca and her group on the main deck and then at the players milling by the starboard railing.

“Alcaren…perhaps you'd best get everyone settled,” Secca suggested. “Then the five of us should meet again. Richina and I will wait here.”

“With your guards and some lancers.” Alcaren smiled. “I'll have Dymen take the lutar and mirror and saddlebags to the captain's quarters so that you don't have to keep carrying them. If that meets with your satisfaction?”

Secca nodded.

Alcaren gestured, and Easlon and Dymen stepped forward, along with a half-score of the SouthWomen.

Boxed in as she felt, Secca repressed a sigh, but handed the lutar to Dymen, and then the saddlebags.

As she waited for Alcaren to return and for the
Silberwelle
to move from the pier, Secca studied the vessel itself. The main deck was higher above the water, and the ship had greater freeboard than the
Alycet
. The
Silberwelle
was also a good thirty yards longer and ten wider, clearly a deep-ocean vessel built for long voyages while heavy-laden. The three masts were all square-rigged.

As had been the case with the
Alycet
, every surface was smoothed and varnished or oiled, and the brasswork gleamed.

“It is a beautiful vessel,” murmured Richina.

“Single up!” came the command from the poop deck. “Harbor rig!”

“Aye! Harbor rig!”

Secca watched as the crew, men and women, swarmed up masts and let out canvas, and then cast off.

Under the light northeast wind, the
Silberwelle
glided away from the pier and toward the southwest, but long before nearing the shore, eased onto a more southerly heading, in the middle of a channel that seemed deks wide. But even Secca could see the lighter shades of the shallower waters, not all that far to either side of the ship.

“If you'd join me, Lady Secca,” called Denyst.

“Why don't you wait here for Alcaren, Richina?” Secca said.

“As you wish, lady.”

Secca turned and climbed the ladder. Denyst stood several yards to the left of the helm platform, itself raised above the upper deck.