“T
hat’d be Elhi, I wager,” offered Alvar.
Anna glanced from the red clay of the road and to her left at the Fal River, still but a muddy trickle winding through sun-bleached devastation, and then beyond the river to a collection of structures rising above the river farther to the east.
Closer to the regent and her lancers and players, on the north side of the river, were what appeared to be wharves, long stone piers that had survived the Evult’s flood—except even the base of the stone pillars stood at least two yards above the thin line of water that ran through the river bed. A closer look revealed to Anna that some of the piers had been planked, and that the planks had been ripped away. The irregular piles of debris—branches, boards, and mud—above and behind the piers represented the remains of warehouses, Anna surmised.
The river docks were yet another measure of how much Defalk had suffered from the magic of the Ebrans.
“Dissonant mess,” said Spirda, his voice rising above the dull clop of hoofs.
Anna brushed away a fly—once, twice. Now that the
breezes had subsided, and the temperature was higher, the flies were back, and they were horseflies with a nasty bite.
“This poor land.” Alvar shook his head and glanced sideways at Anna.
What had she gotten herself into? Had she had much choice? She nodded. Everyone had choices, but she couldn’t stand back, in the way she felt Brill had, and let things go to hell—or dissonance.
She glanced eastward along the road as Farinelli continued to carry her at an even pace.
Upstream, to the right of where the river docks stood, were a set of redstone piers—all that remained of the bridge that had led into Elhi. A rough path or trail, as at Falcor, wound down through the river bed and then up to the town. On a low rise, north of the town itself and barely visible above the roofs of Elhi, rose another set of low walls, presumably those of Elheld, Lord Jecks’ hold.
As the sorceress reined up at the top of the path through the river, she turned to Alvar. “It’s probably time to bring out the regency banner. We don’t need to have someone thinking we’re another invasion force.”
“Some may think that with the banner,” said Daffyd.
“The regency banner!” called the swarthy captain.
“Ready arms,” called Spirda.
“Ready it is,” answered Fhurgen.
A young armsman trotted up beside Spirda, riding on the shoulder of the road, and unfurled the purple oblong that bore the golden crossed spears of Defalk—the basic design of Barjim’s ensign—with a golden crown beneath. The only indication of the regency for Jimbob was an R under the crown. If he wished, Jimbob would only have to remove the R to have a banner derived from his sire’s, yet his own.
Farinelli picked his way down the trail and back up onto the dried mud that covered the stone pavement that led to the washed out bridge.
Anna looked at the bridge, wishing she could repair it with sorcery. She shook her head. Not now. Not yet. Using that much power would only further alert the Evult and call
attention to where she was. Better that she keep any demonstrations of her abilities minimal until she had dealt with Ebra.
The line of riders followed the main street past structures that seemed mostly abandoned structures—until Anna could see the central square ahead. By then, the shutters of the structures hung squarely, and even a few had been painted recently.
The central square of Elhi, like that of Synope, squatted around a dusty, oblong redstone platform with a balustrade that ringed the two short sides and one long side.
Another roofless town bandstand,
Anna thought, easing Farinelli along the street on the north side of the square.
The handful of people in the square just stopped. A thin, white-haired woman pointed toward the banner.
“ … the sorceress … the regent …”
“ … what’s another one? Won’t stop the dark ones … no sense in getting hopes up …”
Anna understood, but wanted to wince. Instead, she forced herself to study the square as Farinelli carried her onward.
Chandler
proclaimed a dull black sign bearing two crossed candles. Under the sign was a shop with recently washed and white-trimmed windows. To the south of the chandlery was a smaller building, with an open door, but no signs. Across the square from the chandlery was an inn, with a sign bearing a golden bear, clearly an attempt to curry favor with Lord Jecks. Some things didn’t change, Anna reflected.
A tall and lanky woman in calf-length gray trousers and a gray work shirt hurried across the square toward the regent. Her feet were bare.
“Welein … she be mad!”
“ … little enough to lose …”
The woman began to run, ignoring the comments from the other townspeople, then stumbled to a halt several yards before Farinelli.
The sorceress reined up, even as she could sense Spirda’s
and Fhurgen’s blades being raised. “Let her talk.” Behind her, the clop of hoofs died away as the lancers halted their mounts.
The lanky and barefoot brunette offered a rough bow, but her gray eyes immediately met Anna’s. “Lady? You are the new regent?”
“I am.”
“You are said to be a sorceress. Can you not bring back the rains and the river? My sons have died, and my consort has fled. You say you are the lady of Defalk. You must do something, or we cannot be your people.” The gray eyes were firm, fixed on Anna, who scarcely felt regal or like a regent.
“You’re right.” That was easy enough, but what else could she say? Especially without promising more than she could deliver or without tipping off the Evult?
The woman waited in the dusty stillness of the square, and Anna felt like the whole world was filled with people holding their breath, looking to her.
Finally, she spoke. “The dark sorcery took years to bring down Defalk. I am working to undo that evil, but I cannot undo those evils all at once.” Anna fumbled in her wallet, then came up with a silver. She eased Farinelli toward the woman who watched, eyes still cold and gray. “I hope this will help until times are better.” She extended the coin. “You may take it or not, as you wish, but you have my word that I have not forgotten what must be done.” The sorceress continued to look at the supplicant.
After a moment, the woman reached out and took the silver, her eyes still on Anna. “For good or evil, regent or lady, you have given your word. If you keep it, none will ever gainsay your rule. If not, no sorcery will save you.” The sorceress nodded. “I agree.”
After a moment, the woman stepped back. “Harmony be with you, lady.”
“And with you,” Anna answered, feeling as though everyone in the square had begun to breathe again. She
flicked the reins, and Farinelli
whuff
ed as he stepped forward.
Two workmen in soiled trousers and ragged shirts stacked barrels in front of the cooper’s, less than a dozen yards away. Neither even looked up as the column resumed its walk through the streets of Elhi toward Jecks’ hold.
“The people despair, but they hope,” said Alvar quietly. “You cannot afford to disappoint them.”
“The people are fickle,” Daffyd said. “Once they cheered Lord Barjim, and some even cheered Lord Behlem.”
“Some are. Some aren’t,” Anna said, thinking about the bleak gray eyes of the barefoot woman, a woman younger than Anna, yet who had suffered more, far more, and who had to put her faith in a stranger and a sorceress.
The houses beyond the square seemed newer, and were, as in the south, generally finished on the outside with a plaster or stucco. Some were gray, others painted.
Beyond the north end of Elhi, where the houses began to spread, and where more abandoned cots appeared, the fields swept upward from flat bottomland filled with stubble or recently-turned dark earth to higher, hillier fields, most of which were covered in browned grass or weeds.
Thinking once more about what lay ahead, Anna turned in the saddle toward Daffyd. “How are your players doing?”
“Well enough. Well enough, though they question, and I have no answers.”
“We’ll have answers before too long.”
Unfortunately … unfortunately.
“I await them, but I fear those answers,” answered the young player.
So do I.
“We can’t avoid them.”
“I would rather not rush to find them.” The corners of Daffyd’s mouth curled into a sardonic smile.
The sorceress glanced over her shoulder, seeing both the dust and the line of horsemen that stretched all the way
back into the town. Had she ever dreamed she would be leading such a group?
Her head went from the lancers to the banner at her right and to the well-kept road ahead that curved to the right and then back to the left as it wound up to the hall.
Although dusty, the road to the hall was well kept, and Anna could see where potholes had been filled and tamped smooth. The fields had been turned or harvested, and the wooden fences, if darkened by weather, remained sound, with occasional cross-beams of newer and lighter-colored wood.
The well-maintained red stone walls, which ran about half a dek on a side, were short for a Defalkan hall, Anna judged, no more than four yards high—enough to present a defense against casual attacks and to create an impression of strength—and well away from the central hall—at least a hundred yards.
The iron-bound wooden gates were open, and two guards stood in the shade of the arch as Anna reined up.
Both guards bowed.
“Welcome to Elheld, regent and lady,” offered the shorter, gray-haired armsman. “Lord Jecks awaits you in the hall.”
“Thank you. We appreciate the welcome.” Anna offered a smile, hopefully warmer than merely professional, despite her weariness. “Lord Jecks is known for his fairness and hospitality.”
“He is a good lord,” acknowledged the greeter.
With another smile, Anna eased Farinelli through the gate.
The outbuildings, also of red stone, were set about twenty yards inside the walls and paralleled them all the way around the red stone barrier, except directly behind the gates.
By the time Anna reached the front of the hall, the white-haired Jecks stood on the long columned portico that extended the length of the hall front. The hall’s combination of squared-off stone pillars, heavy stone walls, and red
stone conveyed to Anna an impression of a cross between Egyptian and Southern antebellum architecture.
Beside Jecks were a heavyset and clean-shaven man with jowls and iron-gray hair, and a boy with mahogany-colored hair, already broad shoulders, and a strong-boned face.
“Greetings, Lady Anna. We are honored that the first visit of the regent is to Elheld.” Jecks offered a bow, respectful, but not mocking.
“You’re the one who honors me, Lord Jecks.” Anna dismounted and, reins in hand, stepped forward toward the boy.
“Lord Jimbob?”
“Lady Anna.” The boy bowed. “My grandsire tells me that I have much to thank you for.”
“You may not thank me so profusely,” Anna said wryly, “Once you take your patrimony in hand. Enjoy being young while you can.”
Jecks laughed. “I have told him that, but he is serious beyond his years.”
Anna wondered what child wouldn’t be, given his parents’ death, and given the possibility that he could have been killed by Lord Behlem.
“This is Gelen, Jimbob’s tutor and counselor.” The white-haired Jecks inclined his head toward the heavy man. “Gelen, this is Lady Anna, the regent who has reclaimed Jimbob’s patrimony.”
Anna turned. “Alvar commands the lancers who accompanied me.” She gestured toward the swarthy officer, who had dismounted and bowed. “And Daffyd is the leader of the regent’s players. He was with us at the Sand Pass.”
Daffyd bowed. “I’m honored, Lord Jecks.”
“I am pleased your head player has experienced the full might of the dark ones—and survived,” replied the Lord of Elheld.
“Surely you do not intend magic …” began Gelen.
“The Lady Anna has assured me,” Jecks said smoothly. “But if Defalk needs her magic, what good are her players if they are in Falcor and she is here?” He motioned to a
stocky figure in a blue-and-gold tunic. “Tunbar?”
“Ser.”
“Captain Alvar commands the regent’s lancers. If you would ensure that their mounts are taken care of and that they are quartered in the barracks …”
“Captain.” Tunbar bowed to Alvar.
“The players will guest in the hall. Captain Alvar … you are most welcome in the hall … or the barracks … .” Jecks’ voice was neutral, yet concerned. “I must insist, however, that you dine with us, as will the subofficer who is the regent’s personal guard chief. And of course, the chief of players.”
The sorceress wanted to smile. She could still learn a lot from Jecks.
“Thank you, ser,” responded Alvar. “Best I quarter with the lancers, if there is a suitable space.”