The Spellsong War: The Second Book of the Spellsong Cycle (69 page)

Rickel took Farinelli’s reins, and Anna unstrapped the scrying mirror. Jecks, who had dismounted quickly, took it from her.

Then Anna unstrapped the lutar and took it from its case, beginning a vocalise even before she had begun to tune the lutar.

One of the guards behind Fhurgen held the reins to Jecks’ mount, and those of Liende’s. Hanfor held his own, standing where he could see the mirror, but still surveying the valley while he waited.

Anna’s chest felt heavy—asthma again, or too much sleeping on a cot in strange places with barely adequate food? Then, how long had it been since she’d slept in a bed that was considered hers? Almost two seasons? And some ancient kings of earth had enjoyed military campaigns?

She coughed some mucus clear and started the second vocalise.

The valley remained ominously silent, except for the sounds of her voice, the low murmurings of the Defalkan armsmen, and the tuning notes of the lutar.

Finally, the sorceress cleared her throat a last time and glanced around the group of those who waited.

Hanfor took a last look at the valley and then turned his eyes to the mirror as Anna began to sing.

“Mirror, mirror on the ground,

show me where Dumar’s forces can be found . . .”

Again, the silver mists swirled around the glass briefly, then cleared to show an aerial view of the valley. The Dumarans, crimson-uniformed dots against the green of the grass and vegetation, remained grouped generally the way they had been the afternoon before. There were two battle groups behind each of the five hills—a smaller group higher on the back side of each grassy hill, and a larger group lower and more shielded from arrows . . . or sorcery. From what Anna could see from the small images in the silvered glass, none of the Dumarans were mounted, and their mounts remained on tielines.

“The nearest group is about two deks there.” Jecks pointed to the northeast. “The most distant more than three deks.”

After a moment, Anna sang the couplet to release the image. She didn’t want to hold it any longer than she had to, not with the spells she knew she’d have to sing shortly and the small drain from the newest enchanted shield. She swallowed, then licked her lips.

“They are not in ready battle order,” observed Hanfor.

“They do not expect us to attack immediately,” said Jecks.

“Even if we attacked,” said Hanfor, “they could withdraw quickly.”

“How long will it take them to mount and organize for an attack?” asked the sorceress.

Hanfor shrugged, squinting at the mirror. “Almost a glass.”

“And how long would it take for us to form up if you gave everyone a break?” asked Anna.

“Half that.”

“Is it safe to give our armsmen a rest?”

“If they stay by their mounts.” Hanfor nodded.

“Do as you think best,” Anna said. Her instincts told her that the Dumarans weren’t about to attack, not anytime
soon. Then, what happened if the Dumarans didn’t attack at all? And where were the damned Sea-Priest and his magic javelins? The mirror hadn’t shown him, and that bothered Anna.

“They would appreciate such a rest, Lady Anna,” said Hanfor. “So would I.” He nodded to Alvar.

“Scouts! Maintain posts. All companies! Stand down for rations!” bellowed the swarthy captain. “Blades at hand! Blades at hand!”

“So they can remount and form up immediately,” said Jecks.

Anna had figured that out, but she nodded politely as she took the chunk of bread Jecks offered. She’d need every bit of nourishment and then some. She turned in the saddle toward the chief player. “Liende, the players can dismount and stretch and . . . whatever. Just keep them close so that they can play quickly if the Dumarans decide to attack.”

“We will be ready.” The older woman nodded and turned her mount.

“Stand down for rations! . . . Down for rations! . . .” The commands echoed along the triple line with which Hanfor had advanced the Defalkan force the last dek or so. “Blades at hand. Ready for remount!”

“Players,” called Liende from behind Anna, “you can dismount. Have your instruments ready before you take water or food.”

Anna nodded. Her eyes went again to the fields and grasslands to the west. The wind sighed across the vegetation, bringing only the smell of earth and dampness, of grass and a faint fragrance of something—bean blossoms? Anna didn’t know the odor.

She took the reins from Rickel and walked Farinelli a dozen yards to a more lush patch of grass. Now what? The two forces could each sit on high ground until harvest time. The valley was small enough that her sorcery—if she wanted to exert all the force she could—might reach half of the Dumarans.
Maybe . . .

She took a wedge of the hard yellow travel cheese from her provisions bag and gnawed off a corner. All that kept the cheese from being rank was that it was hard and dry. She forced herself through the entire wedge, knowing she’d need the nourishment.

Jecks stood beside her and ate, but far less than Anna, as always.

After almost a glass, a time of walking and studying the valley, and sipping from her water bottle, near midday, Anna took out the lutar once more.

This time the scrying spell revealed that the Dumaran forces had taken their mounts off the tielines and reformed in loose ranks, very loose ranks. None had moved from their basic positions before and behind the hills.

Anna took a deep breath and replaced the lutar and mirror on Farinelli. Then she walked to the front of the ridgetop, accompanied by Fhurgen and Rickel and their omnipresent battle shields.

Hazy, clouds appeared just above the western horizon, and the wind had freshened, but still carried only the scent of damp earth and vegetation.

“Lady . . . what if they do not come?” asked Hanfor.

“Can the men wait longer?” she asked. “I’d like to see if Ehara will attack.”

“Armsmen can always wait,” answered the gray veteran, with a low laugh, “especially if there’s a better chance of not getting killed.” He eased his mount away and back toward where Alvar had reined up.

Anna ate more of the stale bread that tasted more like sawdust than bread, and left crumbs everywhere.

“I wonder,” she said quietly, after eating the last of the loaf she’d taken from the canvas bag.

“Why do you pursue Lord Ehara?” asked Jecks, standing beside her as she again surveyed the empty valley.

“Why anything, I suppose. Why do I have to destroy half the armsmen in two countries to prove I’m serious? Why is it that someone like Madell would desert his consort and children because he can’t beat her? Why do the
Sturinnese want to put women in chains?” The sorceress sighed. “It seems like so many people think they can do whatever they’re strong enough to force others to do. But there’s always someone out there stronger or nastier or meaner . . . or something. . . .”

“Most men would not wish to admit that. Or many women, I think,” answered Jecks.

“So they want their women to be slaves, and they kill hundreds, destroy a country to keep women down? Dencer went crazy when he thought Wendella had been even a bit influenced by me. Sargol sacrificed everything . . . for nothing.”

Jecks did not answer.

“But why?”

“We like to think we are in control of our own destiny, my lady. You who have been tossed between worlds, you understand that we often do not have such certainty. Most souls will not accept such.” The white-haired lord shrugged. “Even for me, watching you, it is difficult.”

“It doesn’t seem that hard for me to understand,” Anna said slowly.

“You do not understand how much you know that others cannot see even dimly, my lady. That is why you are regent and will always be regent.” Jecks chuckled.

“Maybe.” Anna wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t want to discuss it further, not before a battle, but she could feel her blood close to boiling. So many of the men of Liedwahr reminded her of the Arabs who’d chased her in London, who’d thought that any free woman was a whore, or a devil, or both. She shook her head. Liedwahr was definitely getting to her.

Almost a full glass passed, and still the valley remained empty, the Dumaran armsmen waiting behind the hills, the Defalkan force resting on the low ridge.

To the west, the clouds had begun to build, mixed white and gray, climbing slowly until they blocked the early afternoon sunlight. The valley took on a grayish cast.

Anna climbed into the saddle and rode slowly northward
along the ridge, with Fhurgen and Rickel shielding her, Jecks beside her.

“They will not attack,” opined Jecks. “They wish you to attack and to weaken yourself.”

It made sense, but Anna didn’t have to like it. “We’ll wait a little longer.” Suddenly, within a few moments, she felt tense, as though something were about to happen. She scanned the valley, but nothing had changed, not that she could see.

Hurriedly, she dismounted, unfastened the mirror once more, and fumbled out the lutar. Jecks hurriedly vaulted to the ground and took the mirror, glancing toward the clouds and hills.

Anna sang the scrying song quickly.

The image wavered, showing two images, one that she’d seen earlier, the second of a figure in white easing along a hedgerow bearing something like a rifle. Rifle?

“Crossbow,” Jecks said.

Anna released the spell, glancing downward. The nearest hedgerow was less than half a dek below the ridge. She practically threw the lutar into its case and quickly fastened the mirror back in place before remounting and riding Farinelli back to where the players sat on the grass.

Liende stood. “Lady Anna.”

“You need to warm up quickly,” Anna said. “We’ll do the long flame spellsong first—from the front of the ridge, about where Lord Jecks is. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Liende inclined her head, and a strand of white-streaked red hair fell across her forehead. She brushed the lock of hair back as she straightened. “Yes, Regent.”

“Thank you.” Anna guided Farinelli the handful of yards back to where Jecks, Hanfor and her guards waited, all still surveying the valley and hills for any sign of movement.

Anna’s stomach tightened. As she dismounted, her fingers brushed the round shield in the open-topped case at her knee. Was it vibrating ever so faintly?

“Hanfor. Have them form up. Something’s happening. Get the archers ready. But wait for my order. That will be the second spell.”

“Yes, Regent!” The arms commander turned to Alvar. “Form up and stand ready! Archers to the front. Archers to the front.”

“Form up and stand ready!” The orders echoed down the line, and a long sigh seemed to follow.

Fhurgen and Rickel had dismounted and stationed themselves slightly in front of Anna, one at each shoulder. Each guard studied the empty valley.

The sounds of the instrumentalists’ warm-up tune slipped westward as Anna began a warm-up vocalise, not that she expected to need that much. The day was warm enough, not quite so hot as the previous days, but even more humid, and the humidity made singing easier than in the drier heat of summer in Defalk.

Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong. She had to get the spell off. Quickly. Anna turned. “Ready?”

“As you wish, lady.”

“Now!”

“Mark now!” called Liende.

Anna followed the first notes, then began, using full concert voice, facing the empty valley—or a valley empty of all but a Sea-Priest sorcerer.

“Turn to fire, turn to flame

those weapons used against my name.

Turn to ash all tools spelled against my face

and those who seek by force the regency to replace.”

A thrumminglike humming filled the air, not from where Anna stood, but below and to the northwest. The sorceress forced herself to remain calm, singing as easily and as strongly as she could.

“Turn to fire, turn to flame . . .”

A single point of fire flared in the air less than a dozen yards from Anna, and tumbled into the ankle-high grass below the ridgetop. Fhurgen and Rickel edged the shields closer together, but Anna continued to the end of the spell.

Another enchanted arrow—or something. . . . Another Sea-Priest trick
. The enchanted arrow continued to burn, throwing off sparks, and a heavy gray smoke as the wet grass began to burn.

Anna repressed a shudder, thinking about what would have happened if the thrower—was it the Sea-Priest?—had gotten closer. Or would her shield have stopped it? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Her eyes lifted, looking out across the valley.

Fires like falling stars streaked westward, rising and spreading, then falling like fireworks across the semicircle of hills half-surrounding the Defalkan forces.

Points of flame geysered skyward from behind hills, here and there.

A single horn-note sounded from the west, then another. And a third.

Anna watched the hills. For a moment, nothing occurred. Then mounted men appeared. The smaller lancer companies—the ones that had been positioned higher on the hill—rode over the crests and down and eastward, five separate bodies of riders, clearly trying to remain separated—less than five hundred in all—nearly as much as her entire force, and they just represented a fraction of Ehara’s forces.

“We should wait until they reach the end of the hedgerows,” advised Jecks.

Anna tried to judge. “That seems awfully close.”

“You could start the spell earlier, when they cross the last lane,” Jecks said after a moment.

The sorceress gestured to Hanfor.

“Yes, Lady Anna?”

“Would it be all right for the archers to fire just after the first horsemen ride across the lane down there—the last one?”

“Yes. I would do that.” He smiled crookedly. “Even if you did not so order.”

“Do it.” Anna turned. Several of the players, especially Delvor, gaped at the unforeseen fireworks. “Chief player!”

“Yes, lady?”

Anna cleared her throat, trying to get rid of a glob of something, then gestured to Liende. “Once through—the first arrow song. When I tell you.”

Liende nodded. “Stand ready for the first arrow song. At my mark.”

Anna turned and watched the approaching riders. The ground was damp enough that no dust rose. Fhurgen and Rickel eased their shields nearer to each other, giving Anna a narrowed field of vision.