Using the late-afternoon light coming through the upper window of the dwelling that remained her temporary headquarters, Secca looked in the mirror, studying her face closely. While most of the red splotches from the morning’s encounter with Fehern had begun to fade, the worst remained. A line of red-burned flesh, less than a fingertip wide, ran from the outside corner of her left eye straight down her cheek and under her jaw. The flesh around the acid-water wound was tender, with a lingering burning.
“Dissonance, I was stupid.” She shook her head, regretting the motion as the wound on her cheek felt as though it had been whipped with fire. “I did not think he would try to kill me with you and Richina present, not during a meeting. I should have known. I should have thought.”
“Wisdom,” Alcaren said lightly, “is the product of experience, and experience comes from mistakes.”
“It’s better if we learn from other’s mistakes. It takes much less effort.” Secca replied wryly. “I should have asked Palian.”
“I will try to remember that,” Alcaren said wryly. “We could use less effort.”
Giving him a faint smile, Secca turned from the mirror and sat down on the wooden chair beside the bed barely wide enough for the two of them. The chair wobbled as her weight settled in place. “We’re in a worse situation than when we started. We have fewer lancers and no allies. We’re in the middle of a land without a ruler, and people are likely to be hostile because we killed Fehern. We haven’t done anything about the Sturinnese, and I have no doubts that matters are getting worse in Neserea.”
“Someone told Fehern how to deal with a sorceress,” mused Alcaren. “It was audacious and well planned. It didn’t work because you had Richina well trained with a blade and because you didn’t let Fehern know everything about her and me.”
“At least, I did something right.” Secca snorted gently. “Or partly right.” She paused. “Did you find out about his pay chests and golds?”
“They were in his quarters. He didn’t have that much.” Alcaren grinned. “About five hundred golds, plus another smaller chest with some jewels in his own gear. They might be worth a thousand.”
“That will help, at least for food.”
“Where there’s anyone to sell it to us,” he said dryly.
“I’m not very good at this,” she said slowly. “I have trouble concealing what I feel. I get too angry and act too quickly. I cannot do one thing while feeling something different.”
Alcaren waited, listening.
“I could not have turned Richina over to Fehern, no matter what, and I could not have talked sweetly enough to make him think I would.” Secca pursed her lips. “Even now, I could not do that.”
“You are what you are, my lady, and for that I love you.” Alcaren stepped behind the chair and put his overlarge hands on her shoulders.
“You are doubtless the only one.”
“Few people like those who do what must be done. Always, that has been.” Alcaren laughed, once. “And always it will be.”
“I’m not certain I am doing what must be done.”
“Lord Robero would not have wanted a traitor as Lord High Counselor of Dumar.” Alcaren cocked his head to the side, then stepped sideways to the small window. “I see Delcetta and Wilten riding toward the inn.”
“They’ll be here shortly, then.” Secca stood and headed for the narrow staircase. “I hope she took care of the rest of the Dumaran lancers.”
“Given Delcetta, I would not wager on their survival.”
Secca smiled briefly, grimly, as she started down the stairs, with Alcaren directly behind her.
As she walked into the lower sitting room, Secca’s eyes darted to the rear, where Fehern had died. Both the body and the blood were gone. She had told Alcaren to have the bodies buried quietly. One way or another, with the Sturinnese invaders and the Dumaran succession a mess already, it wouldn’t matter, and she had no desire to have what amounted to a state funeral in any form—not after Fehern’s treachery.
Richina looked up at the two from where she sat at the conference table. “Lady…are you feeling better?”
“My voice is fine, but my face still hurts. It probably will for days.” If not weeks, and it serves you right for being so stupid.
“Acid-water…that…” Richina winced.
“What Alcaren did helped.”
“Not so much as I would have liked,” he said.
“It would have been much worse had you not been there.” Secca smiled at her consort. The smile hurt, too, but not so much. “After the meeting,” the older sorceress told Richina, “you will use a spellsong to send the scroll I wrote earlier today to Lord Robero.”
Richina nodded.
“He should know of Fehern’s treachery. We will see, when this is all settled, but perhaps the younger brother, the one consorted to Aerfor, might be a suitable Lord High Counselor. That is not my decision.” Secca cleared her throat. “Before the others arrive, it might be wise to see where the renegade sorcerer is.” She looked to her consort. “Would you mind singing the scrying spell?”
“If you had not suggested it, my lady, I would have. You need to recover your strength.” Alcaren picked up the lumand and sang.
“Show us now and in clear light
Fehern’s sorcerer who took to flight…”
The mirror displayed the same man, except he was now clad in white and stood in a tent, talking with three other Sturinnese, all of whom had golden insignia on their tunic collars.
“So it was planned from the beginning,” Richina said.
“We knew he was a Sea-Priest,” pointed out Alcaren. “What is disturbing is that there were Sturinnese lancers close enough to meet him.”
“That is not the only disturbing matter,” added Secca.
“You think that Clehar’s death was part of it, and that they had groomed Fehern so that he would surrender to them?” asked Richina.
“No.” Secca shook her head. “Much as I can be certain of anything. If that were the case, Fehern would not have waited so long.”
“The Sea-Priests wanted to use the Dumarans to weaken our forces, because they did not think they could get close enough to you,” suggested Alcaren.
“That is closer to what I feel. Yet, if so, they would have already attacked while we were hard-pressed.” Secca frowned, then pursed her lips. “There is more to it than that, but what I cannot discern.”
“The overcaptains and chief players!” called Gorkon from the door.
“Have them come in.” Secca looked at Richina. “If you would sing any spells for scrying?”
“Of course, Lady Secca. You should not be singing now.” The younger woman’s voice carried more concern than Secca had heard before.
Why? Because Fehern’s attempted treachery had shown that even powerful sorceresses could be hurt or killed? Again, Secca wasn’t sure her thoughts were on the pitch.
Secca slipped toward the table and the ragtag assemblage of chairs and stools around it.
Traces of road dust still clung to Delcetta’s boots, clothes, and hair, although she had clearly washed her face after her pursuit of the fleeing Dumarans. There were also darker splotches on her trousers, most likely blood.
Wilten looked more dusty than Delcetta, and he inclined his head to Secca. “You look better than when I last saw you, Lady Secca.”
“I feel somewhat better.”
Palian’s countenance was drawn, but, after studying Secca’s face, the chief player offered a faint smile. Delvor offered a wan smile as well.
Secca returned the smiles, then seated herself at the table, waiting for the others. Finally, once everyone was settled, she turned to the SouthWoman overcaptain. “How fared your pursuit?”
“The rearguard company was the sole one beyond the reach of your spell, Lady Sorceress. We cornered them by the mill. Only two of them escaped. One made the river and dived in, and the other had a fast mount.” Delcetta shrugged. “Overcaptain Wilten and I had our lancers inspect all the outlying cots and barns and dwellings. We found one other. He made it easy. He tried to take Captain Peraghn with a scythe.”
Secca nodded slowly. Two lancers surviving from ten companies. What a terrible waste, and yet, under the circumstances, what else could she have done? Could she have come up with another spell? She had put herself in a position where she hadn’t had the time. Stupidity, again. “How many lancers are wounded?”
“We have perhaps a half-score, and but one seriously,” replied Wilten.
“A quarter-score,” said Delcetta. “Saving the squad guarding you, lady, the red beasts did not attack us so quickly as they did your lancers.”
“Could you both ride out tomorrow?”
“That we could,” Delcetta said.
Wilten nodded slowly.
Secca looked to Palian and Delvor.
“Nuel was the sole player killed. Kylera has a bruised arm and a swollen finger. She laid out a Dumaran with a plank.” Palian shook her head, ruefully. “The Dumaran did not rise, even before the flames, but his mount struck the plank and wrenched it from her hands.” She looked to Delvor.
“Dossin has a slash on his left arm, but it will heal.” Delvor brushed back the unruly lank hair that had flopped down over his forehead ever since Secca had known him.
The redheaded sorceress surveyed those around the table, then said, “We do not know what the Sturinnese may have done since midday. I had thought to have you all here before we decided.”
On cue, Richina slipped off the stool and picked up her lutar.
“Show us where upon a map of this land…”
The mirror displayed the map that had become all too familiar, with the white stars showing the position of the Sturinnese forces. The northern force appeared to be settled at the small trading town south of the mouth of the trading pass to Neserea. The larger group of Sturinnese was farther from Hasjyl—and Envaryl—than it had been.
Once everyone had a chance to study the glass, Secca motioned to Richina. The younger sorceress sang the release spell, then set aside the lutar and reseated herself on the stool she had been using.
“They’ve turned back east—the ones that were heading for Envaryl,” observed Wilten.
That didn’t surprise Secca at all. She would have been shocked to find the Sturinnese still moving toward her.
“You do not look surprised, Lady Secca,” offered Palian.
“The Sturinnese do not wish a battle now. That is clear.” Clear it was, but the reasons why an enemy who had always attacked had changed tactics were most unclear. While Secca would have liked to flatter herself that it was because the Sturinnese had come to respect her sorcery, she doubted that was the reason. “It may be that they avoid battle to keep us from going northward to aid the Lady High Counselor.”
“Or because they feel that they can triumph in Neserea quickly and then move against you,” suggested Wilten.
“All are possible.” Secca paused. “We may still ride tomorrow. We will see where the Sea-Priests are in the morning.”
Her feelings told her that they would be farther away, but not far enough away for Secca to ignore. They also told her that she needed rest, more than she would probably get for weeks, if not seasons.
She offered yet another polite smile. “We will meet tomorrow at the second glass after dawn. Then we will see what we must do.”