A serving girl appeared and scurried off with the empty basket.

"How came you to serve the regent?" asked Birfels; looking at Hanfor.

The veteran smiled pleasantly. "I was serving as one of the Prophet's overcaptains..."

Anna took another helping of the sauce and meat and another ladle of the spiced steamed apples, letting Hanfor weave his tale. The less she said the better...definitely the better.

70.

DUMARIA, DUMAR.

I would have you read this." Ehara's ba.s.s voice emphasizes the last word as he hands the scroll to the Sea-Marshal in white. He continues to sit upright in the chair behind the writing desk, ignoring the small pieces of green wax that litter the polished wood.

'She is angry," jerRestin says. "So much the better."

"She is angry? I cannot believe that she would demand a thousand golds and my pledge." Ehara's eyes fix on the Sturinnese officer. "Never have I been so insulted."

"She wishes you to be insulted, to he angry." JerRestin laughs. "And she has succeeded."

"A thousand golds?"

"Lord Ehara, why do you not request two thousand from her? Tell her that the unrest created by her inability to govern has cost you dearly. Suggest that she is in a poor position to demand anything of Dumar."

"I would not give her the satisfaction...."

"What does it cost you to ask of her what is your due- both in terms of golds and of honor?"

"1 should lower myself..." Ehara shakes his head.

"She is a woman and an outsider. She cannot be expected to understand such. The Maitre understands that different standards must be applied to women-lower standards." JerRestin extends the scroll. "You must do what you must do."

"You make it sound as though I must respond to her ... her presumptions." Ehara stands and takes back the scroll, looking down at the Sturinnese.

"She is like a willful child. She may be powerful, but she knows nothing of how the world works. If someone does not educate her..."

"I should educate her?"

"You would not wish the Maitre to speak for Dumar, would you? Or the Liedfuhr of Mansuur?"

Ehara shakes his head. "You twist words as well as the slippery women of the south."

JerRestin's eyes glitter, but he remains silent.

"Since I must, I will respond, but for my pains, she must pay three thousand golds." The Lord of Dumar sets the scroll on the writing desk.

71.

Anna looked out the window from the bedchamber through the gray early-morning mist-wondering why she had awakened so early. She'd never been a true early bird, no matter how many early-morning cla.s.ses she'd had to teach over the years.

To the west, she could see the trees on the bluff that overlooked the effective beginning of the great Chasm, although, from what she'd seen, the river had cut out a valley that extended another ten deks back to the northeast from Abenfel. She'd meant to take a ride to see the Chasm, but somehow, various things kept intruding, including the continual arrival of scrolls from Falcor and Synor. Herstat, Dythya, and Menares were well-organized ... but their organization and unwillingness to act unless they had clear directions from her was taking more time than ever she would have believed.

That wasn't why she'd awakened early.

Was it Ehara? There had been no answer from the Lord of Dumar, but Anna already half suspected that she'd either get no response-or one that was impossible. While she worried about what she could-or should-do, whatever had wakened her didn't feel like that.

She turned and studied the bedchamber again. The door bolt was firmly shut. While she could hear noises through the window, they seemed like normal keep noises.

What else could it be? Were even more sorcerers looking for her? How would she know?

That... that she could determine.

She took out the lutar and walked into the chamber with the reflecting pool, and softly ran through one vocalise, then another, coughing and crackling, and slowly clearing her throat. Lord, she hated trying to sing in the morning. But she probably wouldn't get that much time later.

Finally, she stood before the pool, as the gray light outside began to turn faint gold.

"Of those with power of the song seek those who'd do me wrong and show them in this silver cast and make that vision well last."

Anna took more time to study the three images in the gla.s.s-the blonde woman seer from Nordwei, the hawk-faced Sea-Priest, and the young black-bearded man.

In the light of dawn, the Sea-Priest stood under a spreading green tree, before a wide, parklike expanse of lawn. Beside him stood another man in the white of Sturinn. The other man gestured vaguely in a direction Anna couldn't discern from the scene. The younger man-not the sorcerer-looked hurriedly toward a building in the background. The Sea-Priest smiled indulgently.

The black-bearded young sorcerer stood in a darkened room where only his face and that of another young man were fully clear. The other man seemed to be standing before what Anna thought was a drum set-a drum set in Liedwahr? But no details appeared.

Anna released the spell and stepped over to the table, seating herself and taking out paper and greasemarker. Before long, she tried again.

"Silver water 'tween the stone, show me, and me alone, that sorcerer in black and brown and in what land he may be found..."

The gla.s.s showed something from the air. Anna squinted at the image. Three rivers converging into one?

The Fal, the Chean. and the Synor all turned into the Faiche-another sorcerer in Defalk?

After a moment, she released the spell and worried her lower lip. Then she returned to the table. It took longer the third time.

"Silver water 'tween the stone, show me, and me alone, that sorcerer in black and brown and in what town he may be found..."

The pool obediently showed another aerial image that could have been one of a dozen towns-or more.

Two main roads, buildings in the center, becoming farther apart away from the center of the silver- shrouded image, but with nothing that Anna could recognize as a distinguishing feature.

"s.h.i.t..." she murmured, releasing the image once more, setting the lutar aside, and reseating herself with paper and greasemarker.

She tried seeking the sorcerer for a fourth time.

"Silver water 'tween the stone, show me, and me alone, that sorcerer in black and brown, and the river near where he is found..."

That brought a close-up of a river, but Anna couldn't really tell the scale, nor could she see anything that would tell her whether the river she saw was the Chean, the Fal, or the Synor. Half the problem was that she wasn't that good with spells when she didn't know a name, and the other half was that she wasn't that familiar with Defalk or Liedwahr.

One thing had become very clear. Names-the right names-were very important in certain aspects of sorcery. The problem was that she didn't have the right names- at least that was the problem in locating the obscure sorcerer.

Finally, she went back to the desk and began to draft a scroll to Menares, to tell him that there was a good possibility that another sorcerer had appeared in Defalk and requesting that he discover what he could quietly. The old schemer was good at intrigue. Perhaps he could come up with some clue that would help her spellcasting.

As she finished the first scroll, she nodded to herself. Best also to send a scroll to Dythya and one to Herstat. They were solid, and would certainly let her know if anything came up.

72.

Anna eased into the chair at the head of the table, then smiled at Jecks.

'You look rested." The Lord of Elheld smiled. The dark circles and haggard cheeks that he had brought to Abenfel had also vanished.

"So do you." Even as she said that, it occurred to her that the days at Abenfel had provided her with more of rest than perhaps any time since she had been spirited to Liedwahr by Daffyd's spell. And that was even with the scrolls from Menares and Dythya that had found their way to Abenfel.

"You needed the days..." Jecks' voice dropped off: "I am so glad you decided to remain longer," interjected Fylena. "Birke has been so pleased. All of us have been." The silver-haired consort of Birfels offered a broad smile.

"You have been most hospitable.'' Anna glanced toward the foot of the table, where the young red-haired Wasle sat above his older sister Clayre. The dark-haired Clayre was playing with her hair again, absently, as she listened to those around her. Was she bored? Waiting for something to happen in her life? To go to Falcor?

Anna wondered when she'd get back to Falcor. Should she just leave? And then have to turn around when Ehara acted?

"...have been able to open some of the higher ditches for the first time in nearly ten years The words drifted from where Birke talked with Hanfor.

Anna wondered. Everyone was so happy that the rivers were rising, happy that the rain fell, but did they really understand the cost? Or care? Water was vital, especially to countries like Defalk, where everything depended on the rivers or the rains... yet somehow people expected the rains to fall and the rivers to flow, "Yet... you look somewhat...absent," suggested Birfels.

"I'm sorry," Anna answered, her fingers curling around the goblet that Jecks had filled. "I was...dis- tracted" She smiled. "Your hospitality has been wonderful, and I have enjoyed Abenfel greatly."

"Yet you are regent, and must think of other matters. I understand."

Anna wondered. Did anyone else see what she did? Or was the prevailing modus operandi to wait and react? But wasn't that exactly what she was doing-waiting for Ehara's reaction? But then what? What could she do?

73.

ENCORA, RANUAK.

I am so glad you finally deigned to join us for dinner...dear,' says the Matriarch as Veria enters the smaller dining room.

"You could make her welcome," suggests Ulgar.

"Why?" asks Veria. "That would be hypocritical, and we both know that. Really, Father." She slips into the seat across from him.

Alya shakes her head infinitesimally, but lifts the long carved wooden bread platter and hands it to her sister.

"Thank you, Alya. You do bake wonderful bread."

"One of the few things you approve of, Veria," responds Alya. "Since we are committed to honesty this evening, and not manners or tact."

"Honesty has much to recommend it," answers Veria easily. "Especially when dealing with a sorceress p.r.o.ne to Darksong."

"So long as it is not selective honesty, which is often worse than falsehood," says the Matriarch, her gray eyes fixing on her dark-haired daughter.

Ulgar swallows silently, and gives a quick shake of his head as Alya starts to open her mouth.

"It was very foolish of the SouthWomen to buy that cargo of blades-even through two trading fronts,"

observes the Matriarch. "It was even more foolish to send them to the freewomen of Elawha."

"When the Maitre of Sturinn is openly supporting that toad Bertmynn?" asks Veria. "What are we supposed to do? Cheer when the women of Elawha are forced into the chains of Sturinn?"

"Your mother has always opposed Sturinn," interjects Ulgar quickly. "You might remember that."

"She has opposed Sturinn with words," adds Veria, ripping off a second chunk of the flaky-crusted bread with a quick and violent twist. "The Matriarchs have buckled under when it appeared Sturinn might be mightily displeased. Or have we already forgotten the ma.s.sacre of the Sisters of the South? When our own Matriarch murdered our compatriots to appease the Sturinnese?"

"Two women who chose to consort with a Sturinnese merchant, against the advice of their families and the Matriarch, were whipped and died. Your storied Sisters of the South killed the entire crew of a merchant ship that had nothing to do with the crime, except that they refused to surrender the merchant to a mob." The Matriarch sniffed. "That is hardly the stuff of n.o.ble legend."

"Your predecessor once removed executed those women who survived."

"As she should have: As would I-even were one of them my own daughter, dear Veria." The Matriarch's words are even, polite, and like ice.

''I see." Veria sets down the bread on her plate. "So...Matriarch and Mother, what would you have had us do with the blades?"

"Let the sorceress have bought them, or given them to the Ebran Hadrenn." The Matriarch smiles pleasantly, although her eyes remain cool. "We have talked about the sorceress, and there you know my reasoning."

"I know you would support a sorceress who uses Darksong to keep men in power."

"We do not agree on that," the Matriarch answers calmly, "but if you had sent them to Hadrenn, he would have the men to use them against Bertmynn."

"You do not think the freewomen will not fight?"