WEI, NORDWEI
Only a fraction of the bright afternoon sunlight penetrates the nearly closed heavy green draperies that frame the second-story window of Ashtaar’s Council office. The counselor looks at the polished black agate spheroid on the shimmering surface of her table-desk. She does not reach out to touch it, but forces her eyes to the blonde seer sitting in the straight-backed chair across from her. “You were saying, Gretslen?”
Gretslen leans forward. “The Sorceress of Defalk has overreached herself. The harmonies could only have fated it to occur.”
The dark-haired Ashtaar continues to look at the head seer. “How has she overreached herself? If you would explain … ?”
“When she left Defalk to meddle in Ebra once more, the peasants in Pamr revolted. She put down the revolt, but it cost her two parts in ten of her lancers, and another score to remain and guard the hold. The lord of the north also rebelled, and his efforts took another threescore of the sorceress’ lancers. Rabyn
and the Mansuurans now hold much of the Western Marches of Defalk, and the Regent has but half the lancers and armsmen she possessed but a season ago, while young Rabyn has begun to use the drums of Darksong.”
“That may be,” points out Ashtaar, “but you have told me that Hadrenn has sworn allegiance to Defalk, and that the sorceress-Regent extracted some condition from him regarding Elahwa, for his armsmen have gone to Dolov, but not to the port city. That would seem to ensure that she faces trouble with neither Ebra nor Ranuak.”
“She paid a high price for such peace,” counters the seer. “More and more of the lords of Defalk have come to despise the sorceress. Lord Jearle has not so much as sent a single armsman against the Neserean invaders. Nor has Lord Ustal. Only Lord Nelmor, and he has been most careful but to harry them, and seems not minded to blunt their advance.”
“From this you would conclude what?” asks the spymistress.
“The sorceress is greatly weakened, and she will fail.” A slow smile creeps across the seer’s face.
Ashtaar frowns, and she finally picks up the agate oval, letting its coolness suffuse her without speaking.
“You have doubts?” questions Gretslen.
“She has gambled, but she is not that weakened yet. We shall see,” says Ashtaar politely. “Please keep observing Rabyn and his drums.”
“You have doubts … when her land is in revolt and her Western Marches have fallen? She is powerful, but this is the first time she has faced all that a ruler of Defalk must face. No one can rule Defalk. No one ever has.”
“You are correct in your second statement. We will see about the truth of the first.” Ashtaar sets aside the black agate. “Be certain that you and your seers scry all that there is to see and not just those events which would support your wishes.”
“Yes, Counselor Ashtaar.” Gretslen bows her head, as if to conceal a smile. “We shall follow your orders.”
“You may go.” Ashtaar waits until the door shuts before she sighs.