Alvar gave a single sharp nod.

"And be's training a lot of lancers." Anna thought. Maybe she should go straight back to Falcor. Or follow Jecks' advice and just repair the ford at Soprat. If the southern lords were preparing revolt, she might need quick access to and from the east. Anientta would have to wait-like a lot of things. "You may be right, Lord Jecks. This is not the time to visit Synope." She paused. "Do you have any idea where that last scene might be?"

"No. Lady Anna. I do not. It has to be south of here, because there were red quince trees on the hillside, and they do not grow north of the Synor."

"I hope Hanfor's had some luck in finding armsrnen and blades for them to bear." She shook her head.

"We'd better make plans to leave as soon as possible."

"I feel that is wise, lady." Jecks cleared his throat. "I would also feel happier if you would wear a breastplate."

Alvar nodded.

"Armor?"

Jecks looked down. "If... Arkad had been younger ... If you are caught unaware... you can recover from injuries to limbs, if anyone can."

"I suppose I should learn to wear a helmet, too?" She softened her tone and added, "I'm sorry. I'll give it a try."

"You are Defalk, Lady Anna," Alvar said slowly..

Now she had to worry about armor? And another fight? She didn't want to use sorcery against Dencer, but would she have any choice? He didn't seem likely to listen to reason, and she certainly didn't have a large enough army to avoid using it. In any case, she needed to be in Ealcor, or somewhere not so out of touch as Cheor.

She took a deep breath, then reached for the pitcher of wine. She needed it. She hoped she wouldn't need it too much in the days ahead.

32.

STROMWER, DEFALK.

Dencer opens the iron-bound door and steps into the narrow, stone-walled room.

Wendella looks up from the table, then stands, and inclines her head. "My lord, what wish you?"

"What wish I? What wish I? What sort of fool do you take me for? What wish I?" He lifts the leather quirt in his hand. "Do you see this? See you this?"

"Yes, my lord." Wendella's eyes meet Dencer's.

"The sole good you have done, the sole good is my son! Better I had your tongue ripped out."

"My lord?"

"You said you made no bargains with the b.i.t.c.h!"

"I said I made none, and I made none."

"You lie. You lie as rushes on a peasant's floor." Dencer reaches out with his left hand and rips off the thin shift that Wendella wears. She stands erect, motionless as his second motion rips away her small clothes, leaving a red scratch across her hip.

''I told you no lies, my lord. I suffered captivity for you. Never did I agree to anything."

Smack! Dencer's hand rocks the brown-haired woman's head back.

"Will you never stop lying to me?"

"I. . . did... not. . . lie." Her words are evenly s.p.a.ced.

"You lie as rushes lie." He slashes the quirt-whip across Wendella's bare b.u.t.tocks, leaving a line of red.

"You made a bad bargain with the b.i.t.c.h sorceress. Tell me you did!"

"I made no bargains."

"Then why does Lord Ehara send an overcaptain to proffer friendship to that gray pig Sargol? Why does he spurn me with a stripling captain and a handful of golds? What bargain did you strike with the b.i.t.c.h?"

"My lord, I offered nothing." Wendella' s jaw remains firm, though tears seep from the corners of her eyes.

"Liar!"

Wendella does not speak.

"Liar!" Thwipp! Thwipp! The quirt strikes again, and again... and continues until she lies on the stone files.

Then the door shuts.

33.

With the midafternoon sun streaming down, Anna took off the floppy felt hat and blotted her forehead.

Although Jecks and the others still wore riding coats, she had doffed her jacket. That still left the breast- plate and a feltlike pad and a light green shirt. All of that made her feel hotter. She hoped she could get used to wearing the breastplate. Or was this the first step in getting her used to a lot of armor? Did Jecks see her as an overage Maid of Orleans? Despite the heat, she shivered. She didn't fancy following that example. She just wished she could stuff the armorplate into her saddlebags, along with -the discarded jacket.

She glanced ahead. The road clay remained mostly damp from the heavy rains, but two days of steady sunlight had dried patches to the point where, hoofs raised some dust.

Two days... and we're still less than halfway to Soprat. Destroying the Evult's army under Eladdrin had been the only way to stop the invasion of the Ebrans, but the spells necessary had also ripped out the ford, and Anna was definitely beginning to regret the destruction of the only decent crossing point on the Chean River west of Pamr. Some things don't change. You make a mess, and you're the one who gets stuck cleaning it up. Why do some people never have to pay for their mistakes? And why do you feel you always pay double?

She shook her head. She doubted that she'd ever be able to answer that question. Once... just once in her life she'd offered a really thoughtless plea. Anywhere but Ames, Iowa! The harmonies or G.o.ds or fates had laughed and granted that wish, and poor dead Jenny's spell had hurled her from earth to Liedwahr. How many years would she pay for that? With fights and angry men, and children she'd never hold again?

She tried to push those thoughts away, at least for a time, and forced her eyes to the sprouts of green in the fields to the fight of the road. While Alvar rode beside her, immediately behind rode Jecks and Jimbob.

"Who will inherit the lands of Synfal, grandsire?" Jim-bob's voice was still a boyish tenor, but the redhead had started to grow, and Anna knew his voice would deepen before long.

"That's for the regent to decide. Jimbob. You watch how she handles it, for you may have to do the same one day."

"Why didn't she just announce whoever she wanted?"

"How would you feel if a ruler killed a lord, and before the body was cold, declared a new lord?"

After a moment of silence, there was an, 'Oh. I'd think she'd planned it all out."

"Do you think she did?" Jecks asked.

"No. Even I know she doesn't like killing. That's why her hand got cut up."

For someone who doesn't like it, you've certainly done your share, Anna thought. After brushing away a persistent fly, she looked to the north, at the line of trees less than a hundred yards north, across the rushes and marshy -ground that bordered the river proper.

That the road ran south of the Synor River, on the northern border of Lord Sargol's desmaine, bothered her somewhat, but the marshes and swamps appeared even larger on the northern side.

"It is dangerous to be too bloodthirsty," said Alvar quietly, his voice barely audible above the sound of hoofs and conversations, "but even more dangerous to be too merciful."

"Have I been too merciful, Alvar?" Anna asked.

"No, lady. You have not sought blood that did not need to be spilled, either." The swarthy captain lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "1 worry. Some of the lords in this land see wisdom as mercy."

"You mean, they see failure to slaughter all of a rebellious lord's armsmen as weakness?" Anna used a tattered green cloth square to wipe her forehead, then gave Farinelli a pat on the neck. "Hope you're not as hot as I am, fellow."

"Even Lord Behlem was not that stupid," Alvar said. "Dead armsmen cannot fight for you, and most armsmen will fight for whoever can give them silver."

"I hope you're not sticking with me for my vast supplies of nonexistent silver," Anna said with a laugh.

"You do not waste armsmen. That is worth more than coin." Alvar frowned, and his eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter?"

"The tracks in the road. They came from that path there." Alvar gestured back at the narrow lane they had pa.s.sed, which emerged from a woods several deks to the south and crossed the tilled fields to join the main road.

"Horses, and a cart, heading the same way we are," added Jecks, easing his mount up to Anna's left.

Even Anna could see the clear outlines in the damp clay, once she looked down.

"A big cart, sire?" asked Jimbob from where he trailed them, his voice serious.

Anna wanted to smile at the politeness Jimbob demonstrated when he knew his words were heard by her, but she refrained.

Jecks shook his head. "Their mounts are well-shod. Not traders."

Anna studied the tracks in the road. The wheels seemed to have created a fairly deep rut. "Is that a heavy cart?"

"Heavier than most," opined Alvar.

"The wheels are too narrow." added Jecks. "A wider rim is better for a working wagon on these roads."

"For supply wagons, too," said Alvar.

That made sense to Anna, although she'd never thought about how wide wagon wheels should be.

"Too wide or too narrow is hard on the horses," Jecks continued, half turning to Jimbob. "That's why a lord needs good wagonmasters and wheelwrights."

Anna smiled, her eyes drifting along the road as it turned south and away from the river, presumably because of another marsh or soggy ground. Less than a dek ahead on the south side of the road rose a low hill, half covered with fresh-leaved trees in lines, an orchard of some sort. She peered ahead. A line of hills, each slightly higher than the one before, lay along the south side of the road. Most appeared to have orchards.

"The peaches of the south," confirmed Jecks.

"How did you know that was what I was wondering?"

"You near fell from the saddle straining to make them out." The white-haired lord smiled, "Tybel is said to make a fine brandy from them."

Tybel? Anna strained to put the name with the lands.

"He's the Lord of Arien. We sent him a scroll about the seed grain. I don't think we ever heard from him."

"Better that than hear as from Lord Dencer."

"I still don't understand. Not really." Anna reached for her water bottle and took a long and deep swallow.

Even the minimal armor made her normal dehydration problems worse.

"Lords only talk to rulers and regents when times are bad or when they want something." Jecks laughed.

"Best not to hear from them."

Except for close friends, isn't it that way with most people? In Liedwahr, people are like people everywhere. "When you put it that way."

'They want something," Jecks continued, with a look at Jimbob, to make sure the youth was still listening, 'and if you deny them, they get angry. You grant it, and every other lord wants something, or gets angry because you granted something to the first."

"You make ruling sound hopeless," Anna ventured.

"Unless one has great power that inspires fear, ruling often has proved hopeless," Jecks said mildly.

They were back to fear and power again. What was it that Machiavelli had said? Better to be both loved and feared, but feared rather than loved? Some things didn't change from place to place, even universe to universe. Somehow that depressed her. She could understand it, but she didn't have to like it.

"Is that why the Liedfuhr has so many armsmen, grandsire?" asked Jimbob.

"Yes. And why the Sea-Priests have so many ships, and the... Ranuans so many golds piled up."

Anna took another swallow from the water bottle and then replaced it in the bolder, giving Farineili another pat on the neck. She got the smallest of snorts in return, as if the big gelding were suggesting that he deserved more than affection for his efforts. "You do," she said quietly.

"Halt!" Jecks raised his arm, and his voice boomed out.

Anna reined up and followed Jecks' eyes to the right. Behind them harnesses jangled, and horses whuffed. Had one whinnied, complaining about another's jostling?