Part 49 (2/2)

”I. . . think not, Lord Dencer.”

Two s.h.i.+elds appear above the wall on the cliff, and. then a figure in greens-apparently blonde-peers over one of the s.h.i.+elds.

”The b.i.t.c.h! She's there already,” mutters Dencer. His voice rises as be sheathes the blade. ”Zerban!

Archers! Blanket that place with shafts! Now! Every shaft you have!”

To his left, Gortin echoes similar commands, and the half-score of crimson-clad Dumarans begin to loft shafts over the short expanse of wall. Some arrows bounce off the rock.

”More shafts!” insists Dencer, stringing his own great bow, and then loosing one shaft, then another.

The sounds of horns, then of strings, waft out over the valley-followed by a strong voice, a clear voice; a voice that makes that of Dencer's seer seem as nothing.

The Lord of Stromwer glares, nocks another shaft, and releases it. ”b.i.t.c.h! b.i.t.c.h! Get you if I can...” His voice is low and ragged.

The puffy white clouds to the south and west darken into gray, and the ground seems to rumble.

Dencer looses another shaft.

A lance of fire appears from somewhere in the sky and sizzles into the archers before Dencer.

”Ooooh...” The muted moan of the dying man mixes with the odor of burning flesh.

”Aeeeiiii... aeeiii...”

Fire lances begin to fall as fast as raindrops in a thunderstorm, and the screams of the dying rise with the flames that engulf them.

Dencer nocks yet another shaft and lofts it toward the stone wall above him. ”b.i.t.c.h! No sorceress.. . No woman... b.i.t.c.h!”

He struggles to-reach one more shaft as the fires enfold him, tries to lift it to the, burning bow, while he clamps his lips shut. Then he raises one fist... slowly ... before his charred figure is thrown from the back of the mount that rears to escape the flame, rears. . . and collapses under the rain of fire that appears to be everywhere there are armsmen.

58 As Anna finished the spell, she took. a deep breath, then began to cough. Rickel and Fhurgen raised the s.h.i.+elds around her.

”Oh...” Behind her was a muted cry, and a sound of someone falling.

She turned, still coughing, as the arrows continued to rain down on the rock-walled platform, even as the few clouds began to darken, the ground seemingly to rumble. Fiery spikes flared from the skies, bright enough to dazzle her eyes, and with the spikes came cries ... and screams from below. Screams that Anna ignored as she saw the body.

On the ledge sprawled one of the more newly recruited players. A crossbow bolt had gone straight through his neck. Even as she scurried toward the figure, with blood that had welled up everywhere, Anna could tell it was too late, probably a slashed carotid artery. The odds against something like that were tremendous, but somehow, warfare didn't always take odds into account.

s.h.i.+t... d.a.m.n...

Anna looked over at Liende, trying to recall the young violist's name. Ha.s.set-he'd been one of the cheerful ones. Blond; curly-haired, laughing, and he was dead. Like that. How many? How many more?

As she questioned, both the fire lances and the screams died away, and only the odor of burning gra.s.s and burned flesh drifted upward from the valley. Only? Anna swallowed, trying not to cough again, afraid she'd end up retching if she did.

After a moment, she turned her eyes to Liende. ”I'm sorry. I tried.”

”I know'' Liende sighed. ”It is war.”

War-was that what she was good at?

Several of the players swallowed as they looked down. ''We're not done.” Anna caught their eyes. ”You need to get ready for the next spell ...or what we've done won't mean anything.” Her eyes went to Liende. ”Out by the wall. It's safe there now.”

”Places,” coughed Liende. ”By the wall.”

Anna walked slowly back to the overlook. Both Fhurgen and Rickel had lowered their s.h.i.+elds. Jecks stood by them.

Below, streaks of black seared the earth. Small patchy fires burned in several places. Man-sized heaps of charcoal dotted the green meadow. Three horses galloped free. The others had been less fortunate, sharing the fate of their riders.

Poor d.a.m.ned horses... but you can't keep coming up with spells for everything. ... Except that the problem was that spells had to be relatively short, and that meant that people-and horses-suffered.

Then, that was true of blades, arrows, and nuclear weapons.

Anna cleared her throat.

The remaining nine players straggled out onto the walled ledge. Kaseth, almost tottering, still clutched his violino. Delvor marched out almost defiantly, followed by Yuarl and Duralt, still half strutting.

Typical bra.s.s player... Anna forced her mind back to the keep below. ”The new spell...the loyalty spell.

On my mark.” With the players behind it, rather than just her lutar, she hoped that the effect wouldn't be as draining on her and more effective on Stromwer ”Markl” Liende gestured and began to play herself. Anna went into the song, without words, without pre- amble.

”Folk of Stromwer, weak or strong, loyal be from this song.

Be you young or he you old, faithful be till dead and cold.

”Your heirs of all, daughters and Sons, workers of lands, while time runs.

Treachery prevent to all Defalkan lands with your cunning and your hands.”

The slash of pain was so intense, the pounding through her skull like so many jackhammers, the flares in her eyes so hot, that she could feel her knees fold like an instantly struck set.

And the darkness was not cold or distant, but hot, p.r.i.c.kling.

She could feel herself twitching, moaning, and unable to move, before the hot blackness swept over her and swallowed her.

59.

ENCORA, RANUAK.

The dark-haired woman strides past the guard outside the door and into the sunlit study. Her eyes fix the gray-haired Matriarch, ignoring the older man in the straight-backed chair across from the writing desk.

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