Part 31 (2/2)

”There is no hurry,” Jecks said.

”You mean, there's no hurry beyond the time when I'm strong enough to bring his whole holding down round him?”

”You cannot bring down every holding in southern Defalk.”

Anna understood that. She wasn't sure she could, but even if she could have, razing them all except for Geansor's keep wouldn't help in welding Defalk together. She had the glimmer of another idea.

The d.a.m.ned arrow had actually given her an answer- use sorcery to influence what was-like arrows.

That approach would take far less energy. It took as 'much skill, but skill wasn't her problem. Energy was. She pursed her lips. There might be a problem with finding archers, lots of them, but she didn't need marksmen, just people who could put a lot of arrows into the air at the same time.

She'd also need to craft some defensive skills. Why does everything keep getting more complicated?... Be- cause it always does, no matter what, she answered herself.

Before she could actually implement her ideas, she needed to get well, and get stronger. While she was healing, though, she could work out the spells.

She glanced worriedly at Jecks. ”The lutar”

”I put it in the chest there.” He inclined his head toward the carved chest at the foot of the bed. ”It was not damaged.”

Anna released her breath slowly, but it still hurt.

d.a.m.n! If she had anything to say about it, one Lord Sargol and one Lord Dencer, and their allies, were going to pay dearly for their shenanigans. Except their actions were far worse than shenanigans.

She could see Jecks stiffen as he watched her. Would it always be that way? Would men always back away when she locked determined? Why didn't they understand that she had no choice? Even as they didn't think they had to understand women, they always wanted women to understand.

She snorted. . . softly.

36.

Outside the keep of Synfal, rain sleeted from the gray clouds down onto the thirsty fields and the wet brick walls, a warm rain that turned into mist, where it struck yellow brick. The shutters to Anna's quarters were half closed-held that way by a cas.e.m.e.nt bar, a compromise that allowed some fresh air without too much water splas.h.i.+ng inside and onto the polished brick floor.

At the writing table, Anna finally pushed away the pile of accounts that Dythya had sent with the scrolls that had begun to appear with a semblance of regularity.

Of course, Gylaron hadn't paid his liedgeld, nor Dencer and Sargol the remainder of theirs. Lord Via.s.sa's heirs continued to quibble, and she'd heard nothing from Lord Birfels about whether Birke would return to Ealcor for more education. She and Jecks had sent for Herstat, but even the message to Elheld summoning Jecks' saalmeister-accountant would take days to get there.

Time slipped by while she recovered. About the only physical things she could manage at first were an awkward one-handed grooming of Farinelli and short walks around the corridors, chafing at the time it took her wounds to heal. She knew that the Sea-Priests of Sturinn were probably weaseling their way into Dumar, while Lord Ehara continued his mischief in trying to subvert Defalk's southern lords. Konsstin was up to something, ma.s.sing more troops in Neserea, or worse. And who knew what the traders of Wei were trying?

And you can't afford more than an occasional mirror spell that's shown nothing new. Or one for clean water. What a place-it takes magic even to get clean cool water.

She recalled Shakespearean England had been like that, too. After a small shudder, she pushed the accounting paperwork to the corner of the table and reclaimed her spell folder. She concentrated on the crude brown paper, trying to work out the spell, murmuring the first words.

”All the arrows we have shot into the air, have them strike...”

She pursed her lips. Trying to create the spells without writing them made it too hard to remember all the parts. Finally, she lifted the grease marker and crossed out several words, humming the tune again.

”Those arrows shot into the air, oh, make each strike one armsman there ...”

The first lines would do, if she could find another couplet that would define which armsmen were to be struck. After a long slow exhalation, she sipped the too-sweet wine, then swallowed.

Then she froze. ..Arrows? What were arrows?

”s.h.i.+t!”

The d.a.m.ned arrows were metal arrowheads fitted onto wooden shafts and fletched with once-living feathers. She cradled her head in a left hand propped on the writing table. She couldn't even direct arrows without getting into Darksong. But how had they ensorcelled the arrow?... She wanted to shake her head.

It had been a crossbow quarrel and all metal.

She looked at the crude brown paper. Back to the draw-. ing board-literally.

Her right arm ached only slightly, if somewhat more at the end of the day. After more than a week, the gash on her chest, thankfully above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-lower would have been a real mess-was beginning to heal, and all the bruises had turned faded green-and-purple.

Sometimes, she felt as though all she did was either get wounded and recover, or kill someone and recover, and most of the time was spent trying to deal with some administrative mess or another.

She had the gist of an idea-maybe-when someone thrapped on the door.

”Yes?” She tried to conceal the irritation in her voice. ”Lady Anna?” Fhurgen peered in. ”Halde would re- quest a moment with you.”

Ahna understood Ehurgen's body posture. Her chief guard didn't trust totally anyone of Synfal. ”Escort him in.”

She straightened in the chair.

”Lady Anna,” Halde began almost before he stopped opposite the writing table. ”In the past several years, Fauren and Lord Arkad left the higher fields fallow. Those were the ones where the ditches from the rivers did not reach. We have had much rain this past season. The acting saalmeister of Synfal glanced down at the yellow-brick floor.

”You're thinking of planting them, but it will take coins and seed and time, and the crops will be later, and you should have thought of it earlier.” Anna waited.

The dark-haired acting saalmeister flushed and said nothing.

”Halde,” Anna said gently, but firmly, ”I do not punish questions or honest mistakes, provided they aren't repeated: I do get angry at people who do not speak what they mean and people who try to deceive me.'

She paused. ”What would you plant, and why? What would it cost? How late would the crops be?”

The flush faded. ”Lady. . . I would not plant maize. It drinks too much water, even in the wettest year.

Wheat corn, I think, and some barley. The hard wheat can weather periods of drought.”

Corn? Anna remembered from somewhere else that corn meant grains like wheat and barley and something else. The Corn Laws of England had been to protect British agriculture. She nodded after a moment. ”Go on.”

”We have enough seed corn, but it would draw down our stocks.”

”Go ahead,” Anna decided, then added, ”Heavy rains won't hurt early in the year, will they?”

Halde shook his head. ”Rains at harvest, yes, they could destroy the crop. And a rain right after planting could wash away everything.”

”We'll take that risk. We'll need the gain.”

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