From the front of the chamber came a spell, sung in Alcaren's voice.

"With this Lance, strike him dead, leave no life in body or in head...."

Secca danced aside as she heard the words, barely managing another parry.

Fehern jerked upright, transfixed by the throwing lance, his mouth opening, then falling slack as he pitched forward toward Secca.

The sorceress stepped aside from the falling body, but kept her sabre ready for a moment.

Through a powder-fogged vision, she saw Richina straightening after wiping her sabre clean on the crimson tunic of Halyt, who lay facedown on the dark wooden floor.

"He tried to kill Alcaren. He wasn't even looking at me." Richina smiled bitterly. "I'm sorry, lady, but the sabre was faster, and I was afraid a flame spell would injure you, so close were the two of you."

The Sound of weapons and shouts penetrated the chamber. "Lady Secca! We are attacked!"

came the call from outside.

Alcaren started toward the door, his own sabre in hand.

"Outside!" snapped Secca, reaching for her lutar with her free hand.

Richina and Alcaren stood on the lower step, blades ready, as Secca darted out behind them.

Below them Achar had joined Gorkon and Dymen, and the three stood shoulder to shoulder to protect the entry to the dwelling.

Mounted lancers in crimson seemed to fill the narrow street, and the squad of SouthWomen, surrounded on three sides by Dumarans, was being pushed into a tighter and tighter circle. Even as Secca brought up the lutar, another SouthWoman lancer in blue and crimson fell.

"Turn to ash and burn with flame all those of Dumar against our name, lash with fire and turn to dust all those who betrayed our trust. . ."

As she finished the spell, Secca could only hope she had both words and song right She had something right, because fire lashes and smoke appeared from everywhere, and the sky darkened.

Several of the Dumaran lancers looked skyward before the screams began.

Secca lowered the lutar and shuddered.

Within moments, the stench of burned flesh was overwhelming, and Secca had to swallow hard to avoid retching. Dymen was one of those unable to contain his reaction, and the young lancer was bent almost double at the base of the steps. Achar appeared pale, but remained alert, his blade out and poised. Gorkon surveyed the dead and dying Dumarans with unveiled contempt and anger.

Palian appeared through the smoke and swirling ashes, with Delvor staggering after her. The gray-haired player held a bloody sabre. Delvor bore an iron-headed staff, also bloody.

"The players?" asked Secca.

"They're all right, except for Nuel." Palian lowered the sabre. "He was standing outside the inn when the Dumarans rode up. They cut him down. The others were inside."

"You were out here?" Secca laughed at herself, ironically. "Of course you were. It all happened so fast."

Palian looked at the older sorceress, her eyes narrowing as she studied Secca's face.

"Fehern tried to kill me, with some burning liquid and a sabre. He threw flour or talc in my face to keep me from singing a spell."

"He's dead?'

"Quite dead," interjected Alcaren. "So is Halyt. Richina killed him with sabre."

Wilten rode through the slowly clearly smoke, peering around. When he saw Secca, the relief was obvious on his face, and he guided his mount toward the group.

"They attacked the men where they stood . . ."

"I know. Fehern threw burning water at my face and flour or something at my mouth so that I couldn't sing."

Wilten leaned forward, then winced as he saw Secca's face.

Secca hoped the damage wasn't that bad. "How many did we lose?"

"Perhaps a company's worth for us, and the same for the SouthWomen." Wilten shook his head.

"Where is Delcetta?" asked Secca.

"The overcaptain is pursuing the handful of Dumarans who were beyond your spell. I do not think they will survive her wrath."

Secca hoped not.

"None of the Dumaran lancers within a half-dek of you lived. Some of the local people died also." Wilten's tone was matter-of-fact.

The redheaded sorceress wasn't sure she was even regretful about that. Spells sung in haste often had results beyond their intent, and one sung in a town was bound to have unintended consequences. She also didn't feel that much sympathy for people who allowed plotters like Fehern to triumph. The grim smile faded from her face as she thought of Anna.

Was she coming to be as cynical as her mentor and foster mother? Was that what dealing with power and treachery did?

Secca stiffened, then turned abruptly to Richina. "Get the glass out and see if you can discover if there are any Sturinnese riding toward us. Or if there are any nearby. Now would be the time for them to attack."

Richina scurried back inside the dwelling.

Secca looked up at the still-mounted Wilten. "Best you gather all the lancers and have them stand ready until we know what we might expect.

"Yes, lady." He paused. "Even I did not expect such treachery." Another pause followed. "All will be glad to know you stand prepared." An ironic grin appeared on his face. "Though the last spell would have told them that." With a brusque nod, he turned his mount. "Companies re- form!"

Secca turned and slipped inside the dwelling. Once inside, she sheathed the sabre she had almost forgotten she still held, and then crossed the main chamber to the table.

There, Richina stood, lutar in hand, studying the glass. The younger sorceress looked up, then nodded toward the image of the map displayed on the silvered surface. "I have used both spells, and both show that they are on the same roads as this morning, and that there are no Sturinnese lancers near us."

"Then . . . why?" Secca glanced to her consort.

Alcaren looked at Fehern's form, sprawled where he had fallen---transfixed by the shimmering iron of the throwing lance. 'We may never know, not for certain. He wanted more, I think, than he was worthy of."

Do not we all? thought Secca, setting the lutar on the table.

"A moment, my lady." Alcaren vanished, only to reappear seemingly within moments, with a bucket of water and some cloths---and a handful of flour.

First, be blotted her face with the flour, gently brushing it away, and then repeating the process.

After that, he dampened one cloth slightly and blotted the line of the wound. Then he wet a corner of a second cloth and touched her cheek. "Does that burn?"

Secca winced. "Not any more than it did. But touching it hurts."

"I'll be back in a moment." He left the room again, his boots clumping on the stairs.

Secca glanced at Richina. "Could you try a spell to see if anyone from Sturinn is nearby?"

The younger sorceress nodded. She frowned, then began the spell.

"Show us now and as you may any of Sturinn near us in any way . . ."

The sole image was that of a man in gray mounted and accompanied by two Sturinnese lancers and two in the crimson of Duwar.

"That explains much," Richina said.

"We knew he was a Sea-Priest," pointed out Alcaren, who had just come back down the stairs.

"What is disturbing is that there were Sturinnese lancers close enough to meet him." He had a length of a dried plant of some sort, which he immersed in the bucket he had brought earlier. He began to knead the plant while keeping it underwater.

"They were here all the time, I'd wager," said Secca. "They were in Dumaran uniforms. Those two probably changed to make sure they don't get attacked by their own forces when they reach the Sturinnese forces."

"You need to hold steady," Alcaren said, taking. the damp stringy fibrous mass from the bucket and placing it across her cheek.

"Ooo . . . "

"It's for burns. It is the only thing that might help." He guided her hands. "Just hold it there for a while."

Keeping the plant poultice against her injured cheek with one hand, Secca leaned against Alcaren. Her face still burned, despite the flour he had used to blot away whatever liquid Fehern had thrown. She could feel that her upper left arm was bruised badly and would be sore for days, if not weeks.

"I should have listened to what I felt," she murmured. "Anna told me to trust my feelings. And Palian warned me. I ignored her wisdom. I should have asked more from her. It would have saved much effort and many lives."

"You could not have known," he answered, putting an arm around her uninjured shoulder and gently squeezing. "How could you have known?"

"Known? I couldn't." She straightened, looking her consort in the eyes, and ignoring the concern she saw. "That's why feelings are better."

She wouldn't soon ignore those feelings, and the burning lines on her face would remind her in the days to come, and if she had scars, those would remind her forever.

At least, she had survived this mistake . . . and lesson.

35.

Using the late-afternoon light coming through the upper window of the dwelling that remained her temporary headquarters, Secca looked in the mirror, studying her face closely. While most of the red splotches from the morning's encounter with Fehern had begun to fade, the worst re- mained. A line of red-burned flesh, less than a fingertip wide, ran from the outside corner of her left eye straight down her cheek and under her jaw. The flesh around the acid-water wound was tender, with a lingering burning.

"Dissonance, I was stupid." She shook her head, regretting the motion as the wound on her cheek felt as though it had been whipped with fire. "I did not think he would try to kill me with you and Richina present, not during a meeting. I should have known. I should have thought."

'Wisdom," Alcaren said lightly, "is the product of experience, and experience comes from mistakes."

"It's better if we learn from other's mistakes. It takes much less effort." Secca replied wryly. "I should have asked Palian.

"I will try to remember that," Alcaren said wryly. 'We could use less effort."

Giving him a faint smile, Secca turned from the mirror and sat down on the wooden chair beside the bed barely wide enough for the two of them. The chair wobbled as her weight settled in place. "We're in a worse situation than when we started. We have fewer lancers and no allies.

We're in the middle of a land without a ruler, and people are likely to be hostile, because we killed Fehern. We haven't done anything about the Sturinnese, and I have no doubts that matters are getting worse in Neserea."

"Someone told Fehern how to deal with a sorceress," mused Alcaren. "It was audacious and well planned. It didn't work because you had Richina well trained with a blade and because you didn't let Fehern know everything about her and me."

"At least, I did something right." Secca snorted gently. "Or partly right." She paused. "Did you find out about his pay chests and golds?"

"They were in his quarters. He didn't have that much." Alcaren grinned. "About five hundred golds, plus another smaller chest with some jewels in his own gear. They might be worth a thousand."

"That will help, at least for food."

"Where there's anyone to sell it to us," he said dryly.

"I'm not very good at this," she said slowly. "I have trouble concealing what I feel. I get too angry and act too quickly. I cannot do one thing while feeling something different."

Alcaren waited, listening.

"I could not have turned Richina over to Fehern, no matter what, and I could not have talked sweetly enough to make him think I would." Secca pursed her lips. "Even now, I could not do that."

"You are what you are, my lady, and for that I love you." Alcaren stepped behind the chair and put his overlarge hands on her shoulders.

"You are doubtless the only one."

"Few people like those who do what must be done. Always, that has been." Alcaren laughed, once. "And always it will be."

"I'm not certain I am doing what must be done."

"Lord Robero would not have wanted a traitor as Lord High Counselor of Dumar." Alcaren cocked his head to the side, then stepped sideways to the small window. "I see Delcetta and Wilten riding toward the inn."

"They'll be here shortly, then." Secca stood and headed for the narrow staircase. "I hope she took care of the rest the Dumaian lancers."

"Given Delcetta, I would not wager on their survival."

Secca smiled briefly, grimly, as she started down the stairs, with Alearen directly behind her.

As she walked into the lower sitting room, Secca's eyes darted to the rear, where Fehern had died. Both the body and the blood were gone. She had told Alcaren to have the bodies buried quietly. One way or another, with the Sturinnese invaders and the Dumaran succession a mess already, it wouldn't matter, and she had no desire to have what amounted to a state funeral in any form---not after Fehern's treachery.

Richina looked up at the two from where she sat at the conference table. "Lady . . . are you feeling better?"

"My voice is fine, but my face still hurts. It probably will for days." If not weeks, and it serves you right for being so stupid.