Over the reddish coals in the kitchen hearth of the cottage hung a heavy iron pot, and in it were the melted remains of candles and candle stubs garnered from throughout the hamlet---barely enough for what Secca needed.

She glanced at the grayish mass of molten wax, swinging the iron arm away from the center of the coals. "We can't let it get too hot, or it will catch fire. I wouldn't want to have to try to find more wax here."

Richina looked from Secca to the small brass tube and matching cap that lay shimmering on the warped and uneven boards of the table. "The tube is beautiful. It's a shame . . ."

"Alcaren did a wonderful job," Secca said, glancing toward her consort.

"It's small, and it's brass," he replied, with a self-deprecating smile. "Very simple Clearsong.

Small amounts of metals are easy."

"For you," suggested Richina.

"We're about ready," Secca said. "Please use the dipper to keep stirring the wax, Richina."

The blonde sorceress took the wooden dipper from Secca and gently swirled the molten wax.

Secca moved to the corner of the main room of the cottage, next to the pallet she and Alcaren shared, bent down, and lifted the saddlebags, carrying them across the room and setting them on one end of the table. She unfastened the left saddlebag and began to take out the small jars she had carried all the way from Loiseau, setting them on the table one by one, until she had the one she wanted.

Most carefully, she unstoppered it, then set it back on the table. She lifted the tube with her left hand, and the open jar with her right, and began to pour the gray-green granules into the tube until it was filled to within a fingertip of the smooth brass edge.

Alcaren stepped forward and took the tube from Secca, slipping a cork into the opening, one he had whittled down enough so that it fit flush with the brass edging. Then he eased the brass cap over the top of the tube.

Secca carefully re-corked the jar and replaced the jars she had set out back inside her saddlebag.

After setting the saddlebags carefully in the corner, she pulled on her riding gloves, took the tube from Alcaren, and nodded to Richina. "I'll be using the wax now."

Richina stepped aside from gently stirring the grayish mixture.

Holding the tube in her gloved right hand, Secca eased it over the pot. She took the wooden dipper to lift molten wax and pour it over the sides and bottom of the tube, slowly coating it.

Each time she poured wax, she waited for the hot wax to harden before adding more wax. She was careful to keep the tube over the pot, so that the wax that dripped off fell back into the pot and re-melted.

Then, tilting the tube at a slight angle, she began to pour the wax over the capped top of the tube, repeating the dipping, waiting, and cooling process until the entire tube was so thickly coated that no sign of the brass could be seen, and the tube resembled an irregular grayish candle, except without a wick.

Once the last coat had hardened, she set the tube on the table and turned to Richina. "If you would tell Palian that I am ready for the players."

"Yes, Lady Secca." With a nod, the younger sorceress fastened her riding jacket and stepped out of the cottage. Although Richina closed the door behind her, a wave of cold air swept into the small dwelling, and the coals in the hearth flared brighter with the influx of air.

Secca stared at the candle-like tube, then turned toward the closed shutters.

"This bothers you, does it not?" asked Alcaren gently.

"What else can I do? There is no way to reach Belmar before he meets with the Liedfuhr's lancers, and his sorcery is powerful enough to destroy them. I can do nothing to stop the Sturinnese who blocked the trade pass---not in time." She smiled sadly. "I know you think that I might be able to unblock the pass, but that would twist the harmonies, and exhaust the three of us . . .we can only do that so often."

"I would not go against what you feel." Alcaren stepped toward the table, grasping the end closest to the hearth, then lifting it, and swinging it toward the wall. "You'll need more space for the players." He did the same to the other end, then, repeated the effort all over again, until the table was flush against the wall and the shuttered window. "That will provide more room for the players."

"Thank you."

At the knock on the door, Gorkon called, "The players, lady."

"Have them enter," Secca replied.

Palian stepped into the cottage, followed by Richina, then the first players. Bretnay, as usual, was the last to enter, carrying her violino case against her chest.

Palian looked to Secca.

"You can take your time to tune," Secca said. "I must warm up as well, and there is no hurry, and this spell must be done right. I will be using the seeking spell."

Palian nodded soberly.

As the players uncased their instruments, Secca stepped to the corner of the room farthest from the players and began a soft vocalise.

Alcaren remained by the table; close enough to grasp the candle-like tube, but saying nothing.

Richina stood just inside the door, her eyes going from Secca to Alcaren, and then to the wax- covered tube.

Secca ran through three vocalises before she was satisfied and looked to Palian.

"We stand ready, Lady Secca."

"The seeking spell . . . if you would play it through once?"

"The seeking spell," Palian repeated. "On my mark. Mark."

Secca listened, matching the words in her mind to the notes, mentally checking the values and trying to create the images she wanted.

After the run-through, Palian looked to Secca.

The redheaded sorceress nodded. "The seeking spell, on my mark." She tried not to think too deeply about what the spell she was unleashing would lead to throughout Liedwahr, pausing for a moment before saying, "Mark!"

As the accompaniment rose in the confines of the cottage, Secca launched into the spell.

"Take this missile, both north and west, deliver it in heat to Belmar's breast, with force to spread its deadly salt, and bring his life to its sudden halt...

"Take this missile, in speed and flight..."

As she sang the words, Secca could feel a cold stillness drop across the room, so still that there seemed to be no sound, save that of her voice and the tones of the players. A bone-deep chill infused her, rising from the ground beneath her.

A single, iron-cold harmonic chime shivered through Secca, and she could feel her knees buckling, could see Alcaren moving toward her. But she could not move as she toppled into his arms.

57.

North of Nesalia, Neserea The Sea-Priest once known as jerGlien, still in traveler's gray, looks down upon the body sprawled on the floor of the study, a figure blackened and charred, except below the knees, and convulsed in the agony of sudden and excruciating death.

"Who would have thought it?" The Sea-Priest smiles coldly as he looks up. "Yet . . . if she can do such, then so can we . . ."

He breaks off as the study door opens. Through it steps a tall and lean younger man in the white of a Sturinnese sorcerer.

"Maitre! I felt the harmonies. As you requested, I immediately used the glass to find the Sorceress Protector. She had done some great sorcery, but I could not see---" His eyes drop to the lifeless figure of Belmar on the floor.

"The young sorceress has learned a new trick." The Maitre laughs. "We shall have to learn to master it as well."

"She did that from so far?"

"She did indeed." The older man fixes his eyes on the younger sorcerer. "Have you sent the scrolls?"

"Yes, Maitre. The fleet is already entering the Bitter Sea and beginning to fire a channel. The southern waters around Esaria have already begun to melt, and the fleet will be in position in close to two weeks---no more than three."

"Unless we hurry and join up with the others, we may not be back to Esaria by then."

"Will removing the Liedfuhr's lancers and armsmen take that long?"

The Maitre laughs. "Removing them will not be the most difficult task. Getting into position to do so will be. Liedfuhr Kestrin has few illusions. He has ordered them to avoid Lord Belmar and any sorcerers. Possibly, he has even ordered them to avoid us."

"Does he know that we have forces throughout Neserea?"

"It does not appear so. His seers will discover such, but it will take time for him to get word to them."

"What about the Sorceress Protector of the East?" asks the younger man. "If she has done this . .

The Maitre inclines his head toward the dead Belmar. "You can see. She is stronger, far stronger, than the Sorceress of Defalk, but strength is not everything. Even if she tears through mountains, she will be too late."

"If she does not?"

The Maitre smiles. 'Where can she go, and what can she do? Dumar has no ruler and is in chaos.

She is unwelcome in Ranuak, and by the time she returns to Defalk, Neserea will be ours, and Lord Robero will be more than pleased to accept our terms. Our agent there has been slowly suggesting that we offer much. Besides, what choice has he? His power rests on a handful of sorceresses, and he has already lost one of the more powerful ones. It is most unlikely that he will hazard the others to save lands that have proven rebellious and ungrateful."

"But the Sorceress Protector?"

The Maitre shakes his head. "I would not have thought that she could have struck so hard from so far, but what she has done, we will do . . . when the time is right."

"Why should we not strike in return? Now?"

The Maitre offers a lopsided smile. "I have no such spell. Do you? Do you have the accompaniment for the players and drummers?"

"No, ser."

"That is why you maintain the wards. They were designed for those closer, but they should work against more distant sorceries." The Maitre frowns, albeit briefly. "Yet you raise a good point."

He smiles, again coldly. "I give you leave to craft such a spell and its accompaniment. Then bring it to me, and we will consider its use when the time is right."

"Ah . . . as you wish, Maitre."

"Where is the Sorceress Protector now?"

"In a hamlet along the Envar River. She is prostrate."

"She is doubtless recovering from the sorcery that killed Lord Belmar. Nasty and difficult spell,"

muses the older sorcerer. "He erupted in flame, and then died of poisoning."

The younger Sea-Priest shudders.

"She is not to be taken lightly. Not as a sorceress. But even great sorcery has its limits, as she is discovering. Our departed ally here"---the Maitre looks down at the dead Belmar---"never did understand that treachery and good planning can outflank mere sorcery. Even great sorcery." He smiles, half-sadly. "Poor fellow. I could not have set it up better myself." Then he glances back at the other man in white. "You will continue to make sure the wards are held?"

"Yes, Maitre."

"She may not try again soon, for none can repeat such sorcery easily or quickly, but . . . it is far better to be prepared."

"Maitre . . . I must ask again if we should not strike her in the same fashion, before she can discover you are here?"

"We must have the right, spell, and it will take time to craft it. I will set jerEstafen on it immediately. For now, until we can strike, I am protected. She cannot attack all of us from that distance, and I would rather save our strength to take Neserea. Also, she can do nothing for the moment." The Maitre gestures for the other to leave him. "I will join you presently."

Once the study door closes, the Maitre walks to the window, where he eases open the shutter and gazes out into the gray day, frowning.

58.

On the pallet in the corner of the dwelling's main room, Secca lay in her bedroll, the top blanket rolled back to her waist. Sweat still beaded on her forehead, and her undertunic was soaked with perspiration. She could feel the heat pouring from her, despite the coolness of the air inside the cottage. Outside, the day was gray and windy. A light rain had fallen earlier, Alcaren had said, but not enough to do more than dampen the dust on the roads.

"Here." Alcaren tendered her a chipped mug filled with songspelled and cleaned water. "You need to keep drinking."

"All . . . I . . . do is drink," she murmured.

"It's only been a night and a morning."

"It seems like forever."

"The fever is breaking," he said. "It won't be long."

Secca's fingers still trembled as she drank, and some of the water spilled across her cheek.

"Harmonies save me . . ."