Part 35 (1/2)

Jecks frowned, then rubbed his chin. The hazel eyes grew distant, almost glazed over as they did when he disapproved of something, but would not voice his disagreement.

''I did spell the entire hold for loyalty to the Regency,” she pointed out. ”And it's farther from Neserea and Nordwei.”

”It is closer to Sargol.”

”None of them have armsmen beyond their own lands.” Anna shrugged. ”If I fail, you can get to him sooner. If we both fail, distance won't save him.”

Hanfor continued to sketch from memory; not looking at the lord and the regent.

After a silence, the hazel eyes refocused on Anna. ”That is true.”

Anna refrained from telling him that was what she'd said to begin with. Why antagonize him? Besides, he was doing better than most in accepting her as a person of intelligence in a culture that automatically devalued women. She frowned momentarily. Actually, over time, she hadn't done that badly with those lords she'd been able to meet with, although she had her doubts about Birfels and Nelmor. Then, that was always the problem with prejudice. It was based on stereotypes, and women were certainly stereotyped in Defalk, and kept out of decision making. Stereotyping was always easier when you didn't work with people. Most of the people she'd had trouble with in academia were those who'd never come to her recitals or seen her direct her operas.

”How are we doing for bows and arrows?” Anna directed the question at Hanfor.

”If we strip the armory here at Synfal, we can raise fivescore uncertain bows,” said Hanfor. ”Very uncertain bows.”

”Just so they can get the arrows into the air strongly on command. I hope that will be enough for Sargol.

We'll need more for Dencer.” Anna stretched slightly, tying to lift the damp cloth away from her skin.

”I would that we had a source for more blades.” Hanfor paused, as if he wished to ask a question.

”Yes?”

”I did wonder. You built a bridge...”

”Whether I could create blades through spells?” Anna frowned. ”I don't know. I hadn't thought about that. I was worried more about Dencer.”

'Dencer?” Jecks frowned.

”We have to find a way to take Stromwer quickly,” Anna answered. ”There's no point in waiting. Dumar can pour more than ten times the armsmen we can raise into Defalk,” Anna pointed out. ”They're less likely to do that if we hold the rebel keeps and lands.”

”And others will think twice about revolting,” said Hanfor.

”That is true,” Jecks mused. ”Still...”

”I know. It's foolhardy,” Anna answered. ”Everything I do is foolhardy. Attacking the Evult was foolish.

It's just that everything else would have been more foolish.” Even as she said the words, she wondered.

Are you right about that, really? There's so much you still don't know. So much. . . . As events kept proving. She shrugged, trying to s.h.i.+ft the slow-drying linen-cotton s.h.i.+rt away from her skin, away from her shoulders and back. The breeze helped, although it was moister than in Falcor or Mencha.

”About the blades?” Hanfor suggested.

”I'll see what I might be able to do.” That was all Anna could promise. Theoretically, she could see no problem-but no one else was creating blades through sorcery, that she knew of, or that there was any record of, and when people didn't do things that seemed obvious, there was usually a reason. Unless it's something no one thought of. . . or thought possible. But she didn't know.

Anna moistened her lips. Another thing to add to her endless lists-try to create swords.

Hanfor stood and carefully rolled up his de facto map, then bowed. ”Have you any other need for me at the moment, Lady Anna, Lord Jecks?”

”Not right now,” Anna said.

Jecks shook his head.

With a last nod, Hanfor closed the heavy door behind him.

”Are you worried about this?” Anna gestured toward the blank mirror that showed only a reflection of her quarters at Synfal -the writing table, the chairs, the bed she'd rid of vermin with sorcery. Sargol, I mean?”

”I do not worry about Sargol. Nor even about Gylaron or Dencer. Lord Ehara and the Sea-Priests, they concern me. Jecks scratched the back of his head momentarily.

”What about them?” Anna pursued.

”Your former lords, they do not understand your power. They deceive themselves; Even so, they do not wish to destroy Defalk. Or Liedwahr.” Jecks' lips turned into a crooked smile. ”The Sea-Priests would see as much destruction and death as possib1e.”

”I doubt they want to spend too many golds,” Anna suggested.

”That does stand between us and all their s.h.i.+ps and armsmen,” Jecks admitted.

”I understood that they worry about Mansuur and Nordwei.”

”Not about Mansuur. They could not conquer the Liedfuhr, but he has few s.h.i.+ps and less trade. The traders of the north have all too many s.h.i.+ps, and their council is mostly of women.”

”So... the Sea-Priests can't afford to spend too many s.h.i.+ps on poor Dumar and Defalk?” questioned Anna.

”I do not know. I would think not. Have you any spell that would show such?”

”No.” Anna shook her head. ”Getting a spell to show something is still partly a matter of luck. I'm just trying to get a better feel for things.” Feel was about all she had sometimes.

”If you do not need me...”

”Not right now. I need to think.”

For a time after Jecks left, Anna sat at the writing table, looking vacantly first at the empty sheets of brown writing paper and then at the window, and the shutters. The shutters reminded her of the house in Richmond, the one that had been perfect-for all of three months-until Avery had decided they needed to move so that he could be closer to New York. He'd only gotten one role with the New York City Opera, not even the Met, but that meant that the whole family had to move, and that had meant she'd left the job with Eastern, one of the few places that had treated her well.

Irenia had been eight then. Lord, had it been that long ago? Now...she was dead; Mario was in Texas, and Elizabetta at school in Atlanta. At least, she hoped her littlest redhead had gone back to Emory-as her only letter across the worlds had indicated.

Anna's eyes burned, and through the tears she saw the black-edged rectangle on the stone wall of her quarters at Falcor, the rectangle that proclaimed that even the most powerful sorceress in Defalk couldn't see her daughter. Not even as an image in a mirror or reflecting pool.

Maybe later...Brill said...But Brill was dead, too.

”Enough.” She shook her bead, and blotted her eyes. ”I can do this. I can.”

She looked at the paper and lifted the grease marker.

Almost a gla.s.s later-and with one new spell roughed out-there was a thrap on the door.