The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle (14 page)

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Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.

BOOK: The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle
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A
s the tinted glass of the bedchamber window filtered the worst of the late-afternoon sun, Anna sat at the table with the key-harp, a stack of the tan paper, a pencil, and the inevitable pitcher of water and accompanying goblet.
Her left shoulder ached, as did her left hand, but her insistence on distilling alcohol from the vinegary wine, and bathing the wounds in it—combined with Brill’s initial magic, seemed to have warded off infection. The soreness around the deep slash surprised her, as did the shades of purple and green, and the burning sensation that accompanied cleaning the wounds and the area around them didn’t leave her in the best of moods.
Nor did looking in the mirror and seeing all too many
gray and auburn roots at the base of her hair.
She glanced toward the robing room, where Florenda had delivered a third riding outfit, this one in an even lighter green. She asked the girl for a gown, even sketched a rough outline, but she’d have to come up with something else for Florenda to do before long. Requesting too many clothes was wasteful, and probably put her even more in Brill’s debt.
No matter where she was, she was in debt in some way or another.
Her eyes dropped to the paper before her, but her mind kept veering off. How had she gotten to Erde? What had she been thinking? The words rolled back to her—
“I’d just like to run away … anywhere. Anywhere!
”
The tears welled up in her eyes, and she blotted them angrily with the cloth in her good right hand. What was it—be careful about what you wish for or you may get it? Erde was certainly anywhere other than Ames, but she was still dancing to everyone else’s tune.
She blotted her eyes again and then picked up the paper. She needed something strong. What about a hymn? Or something? She needed a hymn for battles. Then she smiled. That one she knew, and there must be some set of words that would do what she wanted. She had time, and she
would
get the words right!
Brill wanted a sorceress, and the dark ones wanted to kill her. Her lips tightened. She’d repay both—somehow!
A
nna carried the sketches down to the salon for the noon meal, arriving, as was becoming the case more frequently, before Brill.
Even though her left shoulder and hand had healed
enough to use the key-harp for short periods of time, the instrument seemed almost worse than useless. Not only was the key-harp frustrating her, but it had no power of projection.
She sat on her side of the table and poured more water.
Serna peered in.
“He’s not here yet,” Anna said pleasantly. “You know, I like your bread.” She smiled. “I hope it’s yours.”
Serna nodded, then vanished.
With the faint whispering of boots, the sorcerer appeared, wearing the hard, faded-blue clothing that was his working apparel, but his boots were still those of gleaming blue leather.
“You have that certain look upon your face, Lady Anna.” Brill bowed before pulling out the heavy blue-lacquered chair. “Before you begin, how is your shoulder?”
“It doesn’t hurt at all with small movements, or gentle ones, and it’s still itching. So it’s healing.” She offered a rueful smile. “How’s Farinelli? He probably helped as much as anyone.”
“Quies says that he misses you.” Brill shook his head. “You do have a way, Lady Anna. Wiltur was impressed, also. He said you threw up your hand to deflect the arrow from your throat or heart, and that you didn’t cry out. You just rode back to the hall with a wound that would have felled many armsmen.”
“It felled me all right.”
“But not until you could be helped.” Brill shrugged. “You might have died if you’d fallen from the gelding down at the orchards.”
Serna scuttled in with the lunch. This time, there were melons again, as well as yellow cheese, hot apples, and bread. Anna smiled at the server, and got a fleeting smile in return.
Brill filled his goblet from the wine pitcher. “So what are you planning, lady sorceress?”
“Who makes instruments? Stringed instruments.”
“Kaseth does. I imagine even your young friend Daffyd does. Why?”
“I have an idea,” Anna said.
“I thought you might.”
She spread the papers on the table. Once she’d been a fair artist, but that had been years before, and she was guessing at some of the dimensions and features from what she recalled.
“You have a fine hand. You could have been a scribe or an artist.”
“I did some drawing, years ago, but I wasn’t talented enough, and I liked music better.”
“Hmmmm …” Brill sipped the red vinegary wine and looked at her drawings. After a time, and several more sips, he cleared his throat. “It looks something that partakes of the lute and the violoncello, and something else I have never seen.”
“An acoustic guitar.”
The sorcerer looked blank.
“It’s like a lute, except it’s more powerful and would project more sound.” Anna took another sip of water. “If you want me to be useful, this would be most helpful.”
“You are not even healed yet,” Brill protested.
“I’m doing better, and I don’t know that the dark ones will wait for me to recover.”
“I have tried to let it be known that you are still at the brink of death,” the sorcerer said blandly. “I had hoped that would encourage the Dark Monks to take their time.”
Anna frowned. “Why? I’d think they’d hurry.”
“Anyone with armsmen can take land. Unless the Ebrans destroy those who can take it back, what good does marching into Defalk do them? It is better to fight one decisive battle than many that bleed one dry.”
Anna thought for a moment, realizing that she had thought that battles and taking territory were synonymous, and maybe they were, on earth—but then, she recalled Prof Martin and his lectures about Lee and the Civil War, how
Lee had prolonged the war by preserving his army. “Then shouldn’t Lord Barjim refuse to fight?”
“If he retreats, the Ebrans will take the best fields and the orchards, and their harvest. He owes half a harvest’s worth of coins to the moneylenders in Encora.”
Anna got the impression that Lord Barjim was damned one way or another. She gathered the drawings up. “What should something like this cost?” Then she shook her head. “Why am I asking? I don’t have any way to pay for it.”
“I would guess that it would cost a gold.” Brill set down his goblet. “I will supply the woods from the players’ stocks, and pay for it.” He laughed. “If it helps defeat the dark ones, it is a small price to pay, and if it does not, then I won’t miss it, either. Tell Daffyd, and he would be better than Kaseth for a strange instrument, that he may use the seasoned woods.” Brill’s hands dipped out of sight and returned with several heavy silver coins. “Best you offer him a silver as a token. I will send a messenger in your name after we eat.” The sorcerer reached for the bread.
Anna ladled out the hot and tart apples, then took both bread and cheese. She seemed always hungry, but she wasn’t gaining weight. If anything, she had lost a bit—not nearly what she would have liked—but the trousers seemed slightly looser. That had to be from the time when she was unconscious and hadn’t been able to eat.
When she finally looked down at her platter and around the table, Anna flushed, realizing she had eaten almost as much as Brill. Eating that way, she’d gain everything back!
“I will send for Daffyd,” Brill said as he finished the last of his wine and rose from the table.
“I think I’ll be ready to ride in a few days, and then I can go back to work in the workroom.”
“So soon?”
“So long as there’s no infection, there’s no reason to sit around.”
“As you wish, Lady Anna.”
Anna drank another goblet of water and watched the empty walls, and sun-drenched Mencha, for a time. Serna
removed all the dishes except for the water pitcher and Anna’s glass. She’d meant to talk to Brill about harmony, to ask whether a harmonic spell would work. The
Donnermusik
book had implied it was workable. But somehow, she hadn’t felt right about asking—or maybe she wasn’t up to a fight, not that she ever was, when she was still recovering.
“The player Daffyd,” Florenda announced finally.
“Have him come in.”
Anna stood and waited.
“You sent for me, lady?” Daffyd bowed, deeply enough almost for it to be sardonic.
“Yes. I did. I didn’t know how else to find you, and it’s not exactly wise for me to go riding all over Mencha in my condition.” Her eyes dropped to the wrapped shoulder. “Not yet, anyway. Not since I’m still weak in the sorcery department.”
Daffyd frowned at the word “department.”
“I have a favor to ask. I need an instrument made. It’s special.” Anna bent over the table and spread out the papers again, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder and the faint throbbing in her left hand.
Daffyd looked at the drawings. “How big is this instrument?”
“A little more than a yard.” Anna started to spread her hands to indicate how large, then thought better of it as her shoulder twinged.
Daffyd’s eyes rolled. “Six strings? What kind of strings?”
“The four from the cello and the two deepest ones from your viola, except longer. I’ll tune them differently. When can you start?”
“I must find woods, and—”
“Lord Brill said that Kaseth would give you the material from the players’ stocks, and he said you could use the most seasoned woods. I don’t have much I can give you, not yet, but …” Anna extracted one of the silver coins from her purse.
“Why do you need this … what would you call it?”
“It’s not a guitar, not with gut strings, but it should be a lot stronger than a lute. Call it a lutar.” Anna almost laughed, thinking that “lutar” sounded much better than “guilute.” “I need it for sorcery.”
“You haven’t asked for a bow.”
“It’s to be strummed or plucked.”
Daffyd frowned. “I’ve heard of sorcerers using lutes, lady, but they don’t help much because your fingers will touch the strings.”
Anna pursed her lips. She didn’t like picks, but they might solve part of the problem. “There might be a way around that. How soon can you do this?”
“It should take a season.”
Anna shook her head. “I need something a lot sooner. A lot sooner.”
“I can try,” Daffyd said. “The seasoned woods will help, but it will not be as good as I would like if I hurry.”
“Daffyd … most times I would agree with you, but this is one time where a poor instrument is better than none.”
The young instrumentalist’s eyebrows lifted.
“Go … .” Anna laughed. “Listen to your elders.”
When the young man had left the salon, Anna stood, gathered the papers, and walked slowly up to her chamber, accompanied by Florenda. What other tasks could she devise for the girl?—not too onerous, but ones that would keep her out of Anna’s hair all the time.
She tried not to sigh, wishing that she felt stronger. Still, she intended to be riding again within another few days. If she had to stay in the hall much longer, she’d scream—except she wouldn’t. She always tried to be reasonable.
FALCOR, DEFALK
“W
hy does it take your sire, the powerful and wise Lord Jecks, so dissonantly long to gather his levies? Three weeks more before he can move them down the Mencha road?” Barjim looks at the half-eaten loaf of bread on the table between them, then scoops up a handful of the heavily salted almonds.
The broad-shouldered brunette, whose short hair shows streaks of gray, brushes the crumbs off the worn leathers that match Barjim’s. “Because it’s the only way he can buy you time. You can’t be expected to move against the dark ones without the largest company of your lords’ levies.” She takes a deep swig from her pewter goblet and sets it on the table. “The dark ones wish to crush us at one blow, and they will wait—for a time, but not until harvest, or even close to it.”
“Alasia, I songpraise the day we were joined—when I’m not cursing it.” He refills his goblet.
“I know. Do you want me to be less than I am? Would that help?” Her voice is calm, free of edge or bitterness, gentle, but not soft.
“No. You know that. So does half of Liedwahr, unfortunately.” After a sip from the goblet, he asks, “What can I gain from such time?”
“Send a message to your sorcerer, for one. Suggest that he had best use the time to good advantage.”
“I did that already. Twice, as you may recall. He responds that he stands ready for my summons.” Barjim takes another swallow of the harsh wine.
“Can you replace some of the liedburg guards in Denguic with levies in similar garb, levies from Sudwei, perhaps?”
“That might help. That cripple Geansor won’t complain.”
“Not with his heir and daughter in the south tower,” says Alasia dryly.
“You’ve never approved of that, but what choice do I have? In any case …” Barjim pauses and rubs his left temple. “In any case, we could move them in with the supply wagons over the next week. Behlem wouldn’t notice the difference through a scrying pond, no matter what he claims about being the Prophet of Music. It’s easy to claim that sort of thing with the Liedfuhr of Mansuur behind you.”
“And his coins,” murmurs Alasia.
“Those, too.” Barjim takes another handful of nuts.

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