Part 50 (1/2)
”Veria, I had asked not to be interrupted. I presume you have information of great import.” The Matriarch's words are level.
”Matriarch, you said that this sorceress used only Clearsong. You said that she was with the harmonies.”
Veria's cold eyes fix on the cherubic face of her mother. ”All Liedwahr felt the dissonance of this . . .
abomination.”
”I have no doubts that the sorceress meant well, daughter.” The Matriarch's face clouds.
”'Meant well.' You will find an excuse for everything that she does. Did not the Prophet of Music mean well? Did not the Evult mean well?”
”You take on too much, daughter,” says Ulgar quietly, rising from the chair.
Veria's eyes flash. ”You would see nothing but perfection in every word-”
'What happened to the sorceress?” asks the older woman. ”If you will...”
”She lies prostrate. The seers say she may not live. Nor should she, with that force of Darksong!”
”And if she does? Do you think she will attempt it again?” The Matriarch turns in the padded desk chair.
”If she can. The woman has no ideals. She is not a woman for us.”
”Oh? Was she raised as you to understand Darksong and Clearsong? Did she have someone tutor her in the finer points...”
”Matriarch...”
”I think you should leave, Veria.” Ulgar steps forward, and his eyes are hard. ”We do not know what happened, not well enough to judge, and you wish to judge.”
”1 have every right to judge Darksong-and I will.” Veria bows. ”Good day, Matriarch.”
As the door closes, the Matriarch glances to her consort. ”You should have let her speak.”
”No. She is only looking for ways to hurt you.”. Ulgar's eyes go to the door.
”I cannot explain it, Ulgar.” The Matriarch sighs softly. ”I know that whatever the sorceress did was to avoid more bloodshed. She does not like to shed blood. She is still young at heart, and she would use her skills to change souls to save bodies As we know-and as Veria will not see-you cannot use the harmonies in such a fas.h.i.+on.”
”You think she used Darksong to avoid bloodshed?”
”That is my surmise. The gla.s.ses that pa.s.s will tell.” The Matriarch shakes her head. ”Harmony rests on what is, not on good or evil. What is, the whole basis of Clear-song, does not allow easy decisions. It was ever so for sorcerers and sorceresses, and that is why those few who survive become great. Only the great survive. It is a hard, hard lesson for the young to learn, or for those who have come from elsewhere.''
Ulgar glances toward the window and the street below, where a dark-haired woman hurries toward the harbor. ”It is hard for all of us.”
60.
Hot... Anna was hot all over. Except she was freezing ”Cold...hot...”
Her eyes felt as though they had been replaced with a mixture of hot coals and ice, and she had no idea whether it was morning or midday or deep night.
She s.h.i.+vered violently.
Out of the darkness words rumbled, and more words. ”Drink,” someone said, and she drank, and kept drinking until she felt wetness running down her cheeks.
”Enough, lady ... enough...”
The words trailed off, and she found herself back in the darkness where she burned and froze, sweated and s.h.i.+vered.
Some time later, her eyes opened slowly . . . as if she had terribly violent allergies or they were swollen so much that they could barely open.
Two figures leaned over her-one a warm, kindly, white-haired figure. the other a cool, sneering, gaunt and bitter man, also with white hair. Yet both were the same, and both were Jecks.
Each held a mug, and she felt one mug held wine, the other poison.
”You must drink more. The wine holds honey.” Which mug? Or were they one and the same? She tried to close one eye, but still two images of Jecks remained.
Finally, she grasped for the mug and swallowed the contents in a series of convulsive gulps.
Jecks-the two Jecks-took the mug. One smiled sadly, and the other smiled evilly. ”You must rest.”
Rest? Or rest forever? Oh.. EIizabetta... will I...
”Rest... you must rest...”
The words sounded kindly, and then like a promise of death. Anna tried to move, but her arms, her body seemed encased in ice, but ice that burned with every attempt to move.
Is this what it's like to be mad? Mad, mad, mad....
Her tears burned and froze her cheeks as they flowed, before her eyes closed on fire and ice, ice and fire.
61.
Anna lay propped up on the cot in her tent-the tent she hated to use because it meant her armsmen were sleeping on the ground.
Under the light of the single hanging lamp, Jecks sat on the stool across from her, deep circles ringing his eyes, his white hair ragged and disarranged. He held a platter of bard cheese and bread, from which she ate... slowly.
”The players? Besides Ha.s.set, I mean.”
”He was the violino player who took the arrow?” Jecks paused. ”All fell as you did, but they were eating yesterday, some the night before. Except the older man.”
”Kaseth? How is he?”
Jecks glanced at the earthen floor of the tent.