Spellsong - The Soprano Sorceress - Spellsong - The Soprano Sorceress Part 71
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Spellsong - The Soprano Sorceress Part 71

The five other players gathered at the far end of the second table, eating silently, while Anna and Daffyd quickly finished their food.

Outside, Daffyd nodded and said, his voice muffled by the continuing traffic in the courtyard, "Best ye do what needs to be done. No sense in being... well...the great mountain cats must die in their own skins. Sorceresses, too."

"Thank you." Anna thought she knew what he meant. She had lots of cheerleaders, but then, she'd always wanted to be onstage, rather than in the audience. Now, she had little choice.

As she walked toward the tower, more supply wagons, and more yelling teamsters, seemed to appear, but Anna saw no familiar faces among the Neserean guards posted around the courtyard.

Skent nodded as she entered the tower and gestured to the sandy-haired page beside him.

"Lady Anna, this is Resor."

"You're from the main part of the hall? Skent had said you were working here now."

"Yes, Lady Anna." Resor measured Anna with his eyes, appraisingly, yet warily.

"You wonder how one small woman can create consternation?" She tried to keep the laugh light.

"Not many as would call you small, Lady Anna, either in stature or deeds." Resor nodded his head. "Some say you have claimed Defalk as your home, having no way to return to your own."

"They do?" Anna smiled. "What do you think, Resor?"

"I would beg your indulgence, Lady Anna."

The sorceress pondered for a moment, then responded. "There are sayings where I come from.

'Home is where the heart is.' And 'Actions speak louder than words.' I hope I have acted correctly." Anna turned and started up the stairs.

"...no answer..." muttered Resor "Has she ever raised a hand against any of Defalk?" asked Skent. "Ever?"

Skent was too bright and too vocal, Anna reflected. Still, he had spunk, and he'd managed to survive. Both said something. She walked past her landing and up to the top level, where she rapped on the door.

"Who be it?"

"Anna."

Essan opened the door herself.

Anna raised her eyebrows.

"Now they have gone and taken Synondra. They say that the lady Cyndyth needs her-as if I do not?" Essan snorted, but her eyes were damp. "Come in, if the mess will not bother you. I am old, too old for cleaning and other such foolishness." She trudged back to her chair and sank into it.

Anna had not been able to halt her st iffening at the mention of Cyndyth and Synondra, but she slipped into the room, closed the door and made her way to the other chair. What could she say?

Especially with all the players and Menares around a mirror, scanning the whole liedburg? "I just wanted to thank you for your courtesy the other day." She paused, then added, "I will have to repay your warmth and courtesy in another way, but as would your daughter, I will."

"Now. . . do not go upsetting an old woman." Tears seeped from the corners of Essan's eyes.

"You are a gracious lady, taking care to talk to me when few will, and you being from afar."

Gracious? It was more a cross between being stubborn, a damned fool, and terrified. "You are too kind, lady."

Essan's eyes crossed to the wall mirror, then back to Anna, before the older woman took a handkerchief and blew her nose, loudly. Then she said, "I am sickly, and tired, and you are kind to look in on me. Best you go before you catch my malady."

"As you wish, lady." Anna rose. "Perhaps I can come again before long and call upon you or your friend Nelmor."

"He would be glad, I am sure. Now. . . off with you." Anna bowed and left, gently closing the door and walking down to her own quarters. This time the roam appeared untouched, but she dropped the new bolt in place, then walked to the window. She looked out, down at the portcullis gate and the rows of tents beyond the walls. Thousands of men, and she thought spells would work?

The sorceress smiled. Was that to cover the fears within, the fear of what she must do, and what she might become?

105.

FALCOR, DEFALK.

You are sure she plans nothing?" Behlem paces across sitting roam, resplendent in his formal blue-and-cream uniform.

"We have exhausted all your players using the mirror to watch her every move. Yesterday, she went to see Hanfor. He was scrupulously polite and excused himself after but a few moments.

She ate with her player, and they talked of nothing. She passed a few words with the pages, and then stopped to see Lady Essan, who rather bluntly suggested that the sorceress leave, even after Lady Anna made overtures to her."

"And today?"

"Much the same. She practiced upon her instrument, but said no spells. She made another overture to Lady Essan, which was rejected. She ate with her player, and they talked of music that was not linked to spells-apparently that is possible in the mist worlds, even with words.

She groomed her mount, walked around the upper battlements of the north tower, then washed up-"

"How does she look out of those riding clothes?" Behlem grinned.

"She is beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as the lady Cyndyth, in a different way." Menares flushes, then clears his throat. "Then she washed up and cast a small spell to clean and press that green gown she brought back from Mencha-"

"So she plans to wear a .gown tonight," muses Behlem. "Good."

"You ordered her to," points out the counselor.

"She is obeying. That is good." Behlem paces toward the window again. "So I will inform everyone that she is leaving on the following morn to rebuild the old sorcerer's place-Loiselle or whatever it's called. Will that be enough?"

Menares spreads his hands. "Even if the assassins fail, they cannot be traced to you-or Cyndyth-and she is out of here. If she survives, you call on her to repulse the next attacks of the Evult. She will." Menares shrugs. "You cannot lose, sire. She either dies or replaces thousands of armsmen."

"What if she throws in with Ebra?" The Prophet pauses by the shuttered window.

Menares laughs. "She cannot. The Evult hates her, and he hates women. Those lands are surrounded by your holdings in Defalk, and only Ebra is close."

"I still worry about the old man, and the lord-pretender." Behlem turns toward the center of the room and fingers his beard again.

"Lord Barjim's brat is twelve years old, and Lord Jecks has all of tenscore in armsmen and levies. Remember, Jecks sent a messenger and met with her in an open field without weapons.

That does not sound like they are exactly close. Also, the lady Anna is clearly from a place where intrigue is seldom practiced. She is most straightforward, even blunt."

"That seems apparent." Behlem straightens his uniform. "It nears the glass when we formally bestow the lands upon the lady Anna."

"And your officers will understand that the private presentation, announced later at the dinner, effectively terminates her service as the equivalent of an armsman."

"Exactly." Behlem smiles. "So does Cyndyth."

The counselor nods. "That is good."

"You do not know how good. No....do not respond, Menares. Not a word." Behlem's hand touches the gold hilt of the ceremonial blade.

104.

After running through a full set of vocalises, Anna took down the green recital gown from the corner wail pegs. She didn't have to struggle into it. She didn't even need the longline bra. In fact, she had wondered if the gown would be too large, but it wasn't-even though she knew she was slimmer. Was she more muscular? Or had she subconsciously tailored it with her cleaning- and-pressing spell? After dressing, she tried more vocalises, but the gown let her breathe easily, unlike when she had worn it in Ames.

She looked in the mirror, but couldn't see any real difference. The gown fit, almost perfectly, and she knew it would have the desired effect. Her eyes dropped to the open note on the table.

She was to meet with the Prophet in the small receiving hall-the note from Menares was quite specific-and then proceed to the main hall for the dinner. She was not to approach the Prophet during the dinner itself. One way or another, that would not be a problem.

Beside the open note was a sealed one, with the name Hanfor on the outside. What it said was simple enough, just requesting that the overcaptain meet the sorceress outside the small receiving hall following her meeting with the Prophet in order that she might express her gratitude in an open and proper fashion.

Thunk!

"Coming."

Anna turned and picked up the lutar case, careful to hold it away from the gown's skirts. The sealed sheet was in her other hand.. When she opened the door, the dark-haired page stood on the landing. His eyes widened as Anna stepped out.

"Ah. . . Lady Anna. You..." Skent blushed.

Anna touched his shoulder. "You're good for a lady's ego. Thank you." She paused. "Would you please carry this for me?"

The page looked at the lutar case, then took it, even as he said, "Of course."

Is Birke below? Or Resor?"

"They both are."

"Good. I have a message for Birke to deliver." Anna went down the stairs carefully, although she wore the green dress slippers she had created, rather than the heels. She wasn't used to heels anymore, and the gown didn't drag with the slippers-another change? Or was she somewhat taller?

Both Birke and Resor gaped as had Skent when she turned the corner and came down the last steps to the main level.

Anna handed the folded and sealed sheet of paper to the redhead. "This is to be delivered directly and immediately to Overcaptain Hanfor. You are to hand it to him directly. Dire consequences will befall you or anyone else if it does not go to his hand. Remember," Anna smiled, "it is from a sorceress."

Birke looked at the envelope and gulped.

"Thank you, Birke." Her voice softened, and she offered a smile, though her heart was pounding, as it always had prior to a performance, and this was going to be quite a performance if she could pull it off.

"... is beautiful ..." murmured Resor.

"... got to get going.."

The sorceress hoped Birke would have no trouble finding the overcaptain, but if he did not, she would go solo.

For once, all the lamp mantles in the hall's corridors were clean and shimmered with the flames of trimmed and lit lamp-wicks. Armsmen in clean uniforms were positioned at every corner, standing stiffly-or relatively stiffly, Anna reflected.

A pair of guards and the ubiquitous Giellum were drawn up outside the small receiving hall.

Anna smiled at Giellum. "Is the Prophet ready?"

"He said to show you in, lady."

"A moment." Anna turned to Skent. "This case is important, young man. You wait right here with this until I summon you. It probably won't be long." She forced a smile. "Certainly no longer than until the dinner itself will begin. It is part of the ceremony after I meet with the Prophet. Don't go anywhere." Anna looked over at Giellum. "Make sure he doesn't, Giellum.

The Prophet would be displeased, and so would I."

Both nodded.

"As soon as the doors open, you be ready with this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lady Anna." Skent nodded seriously, tightening his grip on the brown leather handles.

"Good." Anna glanced at Giellum.

The young armsman and de facto herald opened the door. "The lady Anna, as summoned by the Prophet, Lord of Defalk, Sovereign of Neserea, and Protector and Prophet of Music."

Anna blanked her face and entered the long and narrow room.

Behiem stood before a high-backed and gilded wooden chair. A raven-haired woman sat in gown of brilliant blue in a lower-backed but also-gilded chair to the left of Behlem's. Cyndyth's.

eyes fixed on Anna as the sorceress stepped forward and as the door closed behind her. On the right side of the dais stood Menares, in dark Neserean blue. On the left, beside Cyndyth, stood Hanfor, in a formal blue uniform.

Behlem smiled broadly as Anna approached. She stopped and curtsied-a' la Metropolitan Opera, Anna reflected to herself, all style and no heart. She stood and waited.

"Menares has informed you, Lady Anna, that you are gifted, for your life, the estates and lands of the late Lord Brill?"

"Your grace is most kind," Anna murmured, her heart pounding, almost hoping that Behlem would provoke her, wondering if she could do what was necessary if he did not.

"This strikes me as a most reasonable compromise," Behlem continued. "You have rendered me service in your efforts against the Ebran forces, but those services have been costly in other ways." The Prophet provided a condescending smile, the kind she hated.

"First, the road to Mencha and the only good ford across the Chean have been greatly damaged. Second, the flow of the river has diminished and that has reduced the harvest. Third, there is the devastation to Sorprat and to Falcor itself."

Anna waited. Hanfor's face was weathered stone. Menares looked grave, as if trying to emulate some great jurist. Cyndyth smiled, faintly, triumphantly.

"I would talk about the devastation wrought by the great flood. Could you not have stopped this?" asked Behlem. "They say you are the greatest sorceress in the history of Liedwahr"

"Your trust in my abilities is most touching, your majesty," Anna said with a smile, but not taking her eyes off either the Prophet or Cyndyth. "I am one person. I cannot be in two places at one time."

"Then it is for the best." Behlem nodded. "I would request that, tomorrow morn, you make your way to Mencha to take possession of your holdings. You may take all that you require, and your player, and any of your personal guard that may choose to accompany you. Like all lords, you will pay liedgeld, but because your lands have been neglected, not until after the next harvest."

"Is that all?" Anna asked.

"All? You have, been rewarded, rewarded beyond the dreams of most singers or sorceresses."