The breeze that had barely ruffled hair at the Sand Pass fort had turned into a chill and steady blast at the backs of Secca and the lancers—and the wagons for the iron and their drivers—as the column rode back westward to the road that would lead to the red rock escarpments from which Secca would pull the iron Belan needed. While Secca could have tried the sorcery late the day before, after worrying about the effect on tired men and mounts she had decided against it and had the force ride directly to the fort for the night. That meant that, while they would be better on the day’s ride after her sorcery, she would not be. Nor would the players.
The side road to the red rock escarpments turned south from the main paved highway between Ebra and Mencha just two deks east of the old Sand Pass fort. The side road, while half the width of the main thoroughfare, was stone-paved as well. Anna had insisted that she didn’t want heavy-laden wagons mired in the mud. But then, Secca thought, Anna had been insistent on road-building throughout Defalk—road- and bridge-building—and Secca had done more than her share of both. Would she ever see a stone bridge in Defalk without thinking about Anna?
In the orangish light of the moments just past dawn, Secca turned the gray onto the narrower way to the mine, following Wilten and Dymen, a young standard bearer she barely knew except that he had come from Synope to serve in her lancers. Beside Secca rode Richina, wearing a new blue leather jacket Secca had given her two nights before at Loiseau. The apprentice’s lutar was strapped behind her saddle and on top of her saddlebags, just as Secca’s was.
The south road angled up the slope at a steady grade, running almost two deks before leveling out on the sorcery-flattened hilltop before the jagged red hills that signified the western edge of the Ostfels, the natural border between Defalk and Ebra.
Secca glanced back, taking in the players, and, behind them, Elfens and his half-score archers, and even farther back, the four companies of green-clad lancers, and well behind them, the wagons that would carry the iron back to Loiseau.
After Secca reached the artificial plateau and had ridden to the eastern end, a hundred yards short of the gaping pit filled with black water, the red-haired sorceress reined up the gray mare and brushed back the hair from her forehead, readjusting the green headband that was supposed to keep it out of her face. She turned in the saddle to check on the riders behind her—and the wagons still moving up the long incline—then glanced at Richina. “If you would please let me know when the wagons are here?”
“Yes, lady.”
Secca dismounted, handing the gray’s reins to Richina, and turned to study the skies to the north, relieved that they were clear. Then she began to run through the warm-up vocalises.
Behind her, the players had all dismounted and were beginning to tune their instruments.
Secca had finished three vocalises, and the tuning and warm-up melodies were fading away, when Richina spoke.
“Everyone is here.”
Secca glanced at Wilten. “Are your men ready?”
“Yes, Lady Secca. They have their mounts reined in, and have been warned.”
Secca glanced next at Palian, and the first players, then at Delvor.
“We stand ready,” replied Palian.
Delvor nodded his readiness.
“Begin,” Secca ordered.
“The mining spell…on my mark,” Palian called. “Mark!”
The first three bars were all violino, before the woodwinds and falk-horn joined. Then came the massed chords of the lutars of the second players.
Secca concentrated first on matching her voice and words to the accompaniment of the two groups of players and then on visualizing the iron being pulled from the red rocks of the escarpments and being formed into the ingots that Belan—and Defalk—needed.
“Form, form, form the iron strong,
into ingots made pure by song,
verily, verily, verily…”
As usual, well before the end of the spell a low rumbling rolled out of the skies that had filled with a gauzy haze, a haze quickly thickening into interlinked thunderclouds. Spider lightning came next, bright enough that Secca had to force herself to concentrate even harder on finishing the spell.
With a single harmonic chord of the kind that only sorceresses or certain players heard, the ground shivered, then rolled ever so slightly. Secca shifted her weight and waited. A blast of hot air raked across her and the players, followed by one almost equally chill.
Another, longer, peal of thunder rumbled over Secca and the players.
Ignoring the burning in her eyes, she slowly looked at the ground between her and the gaping pit before and below the red cliffs, a pit now larger than it had been a glass earlier. The dark ingots of iron, each one weighing nearly two stones, lay in rows on the red-sand soil between the sorceress and the pit.
“Lady…” Richina extended a water bottle.
Flashes—daystars—flickered before Secca, as she took the water and began to sip slowly from the bottle.
“You need to eat,” urged the apprentice.
Secca took a small mouthful of the bread that would get crustier with each day of travel, then a bite of the white cheese, then more bread, and another swallow from the water bottle.
Murmurs drifted from some of the ranked lancers.
“…they all like that?”
“…small…big voice…”
“…early storm…all we need, going through the Sand Pass…”
Fine droplets of rain cascaded around Secca and then across the lancers, players, and the wagons that Belan had brought to carry the iron back to Loiseau. Almost as quickly as it had come, the rain stopped, and the sky began to clear under the chill wind out of the north.
Secca’s eyes drifted northward, to the road, and to the Sand Pass fort, barely visible against the red stone cliffs. Only a squad of lancers from Loiseau maintained the fort, and they were rotated every two weeks. These days the fort served more as waystation for traders and travelers, who were grateful for the stark accommodations and the small copper per head charge.
“You need more, lady,” Richina reminded Secca.
Dutifully, Secca took another mouthful of bread and cheese, aware that the dayflashes were beginning to fade.
She studied the sky, especially to the northeast, from where the worst storms came, but there were but a few scattered clouds, if moving swiftly westward. While it was not winter yet, not for a few weeks, late fall could still bring ice rain or snow.
Was traveling into Ebra so late in the season wise? Possibly not, but letting Hadrenn fend for himself against Mynntar and Sturinnese lancers was even less so. And the reflecting pool had shown that Synek was safe, at least so far.
Secca took another sip from the water bottle.