The silken walls of the tent billowed in a brisk morning breeze as Secca handed a soft apple, a wedge of cheese, and a chunk of stale bread to Richina, who sat, pale and shivering, on the small cot in the tent she shared with Secca. Secca took another apple and began to eat, alternating between fruit and bread, with an occasional bite of the cheese she disliked but knew she needed to keep up her strength.
The younger sorceress ate the bread and some of the cheese, slowly, followed by several swallows of water, before speaking. “I feel so weak. All I did was one little spell,” Richina murmured. “Just one little spell, and…”
“It wasn’t such a little spell. You built a solid bridge and a causeway, and created and paved almost a half dek of roadway. Do you see why I wanted you to keep the visualization simple?” Secca asked.
“Yes, lady.” Richina massaged her forehead. “It still throbs so much. Does your head ache?”
“A little.” Secca lied. Her head was splitting, and everywhere she looked, she saw dayflashes, or, at times, nothing at all, or scenes with huge holes in them.
“You ought to eat more.”
Rather than admit she needed more sustenance, Secca broke off a chunk of bread and chewed it, ignoring the dryness and the lack of taste. By the time she had gone through several more chunks and a wedge of cheese, she could feel the worst of the headache subsiding, and the dayflashes were gone.
“You still need to eat more, lady,” said Richina.
“I was worrying about Mynntar, and it’s hard to think about eating when I’m worrying.”
“You will have more to worry about if you cannot call upon your sorcery,” Richina pointed out with the practicality that recalled the younger sorceress’s mother to Secca.
Secca smiled briefly. “There is that.” She extended another wedge of the dry white cheese to Richina. From outside the tent came low murmurs, and Secca repressed a sigh.
“It was a good bridge and causeway, wasn’t it?” asked the sandy-haired young woman.
“It is very good, perhaps too good for Lord Hadrenn, and once he sees it, he will complain that he has none such.”
“Was that why—”
“No. You saw what it did to you. You still do not know how much energy a spell can take from you.”
Richina nodded slowly. “It felt good…until afterward.”
“As do many things unwise in life.” Secca stood. “Finish the bread and cheese. I hear a few voices.” She stepped from the small tent.
In the morning light, Palian, Delvor, Stepan, and Wilten were all standing outside the tent when Secca emerged.
“Mynntar remains bivouacked ten deks east of here,” Wilten said immediately, inclining his head to Stepan.
Secca felt guilty that she hadn’t used the glass to find that out, but the way her head had felt the night before she wasn’t sure she could have called up her own reflection in a mirror, much less discovered what the rebellious Ebran lord was doing. “He’s probably waiting for another rainstorm.”
“The wind has shifted, and there are clouds forming in the northeast,” Wilten pointed out.
“How many lancers has he?” Secca asked warily.
“The scouts think seventeen companies—thirty-four score,” offered Stepan.
Nearly half again what Secca and Stepan had between them, and that was after losing perhaps four or five companies to Secca’s flame spell.
“Still?” blurted Secca. “I had not realized so many had escaped.”
“He had far more lancers than the scouts saw,” Stepan replied calmly.
With seventeen companies, and if another rainstorm like the last arrived…Secca shook her head, then asked, “How are the players?”
Palian and Delvor exchanged glances.
“They could play one or two spells—if everything went perfectly?” the small sorceress pursued.
“Bretnay and Elset cannot play,” Palian said. “Tomorrow, perchance.”
“Woryl is unlikely to offer much,” Delvor added. “Nor Hyell.”
Secca nodded slowly. “I suppose the lancers are tired.”
“They will fight as they must,” Stepan said.
“Your lancers will support you with all they possess,” added Wilten.
Secca bestowed a crooked smile on the overcaptain and the commander. “What you say is that they will fight, but they cannot do their best, and we are outnumbered.”
“There is that,” admitted Wilten.
“I need to get close to Mynntar’s camp,” Secca finally said. “There may be something that I can do.”
“He has scouts and pickets everywhere,” Wilten pointed out.
“Not that close—just within a half-dek, or even a dek.” Secca glanced to Stepan. “Your scouts know this land best. Can they get me within a half-dek of Mynntar’s camp, perhaps on a hill or across a gully—sometime just before sunset? Being close is more important than being able to see.”
“You plan some sorcery?” Stepan frowned.
“Some small sorcery, with the lutar, not the players,” admitted Secca. “Perhaps it will give us some small advantage.”
“It may be possible. Best I talk to the older scouts. If you would excuse me, Lady Secca?” The Ebran arms commander stepped back, bowed, and turned.
“Would practice hurt or help the players?” asked Secca.
“Help, if we support no spells,” replied Palian.
“Unless we are attacked, I plan no spells for the players.”
Both Delvor and Palian nodded.
“It has been long since Defalk has sent armsmen to fight battles such as this,” Secca said. “Or players. But I do not think that this will be the last battle, nor will the next. Nor the one after that.”
“Nor I,” observed Palian. “We stand ready to do what we must.”
Secca only hoped she was as ready as Palian and her players.