Shadowsinger by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

next.
    Magma, magma, rise in tubes from the mantle deep below…
    The explanation of that was worse than the one before, perhaps because this explanation Secca understood. She’d talked about the creation of the Zauberinfeuer with Anna, and about the Circle of Fire in Mansuur, and even the glowing mountains of Sturinn.
    â€œWith each spell you become more ashen,” Alcaren observed. “And with each you sigh more loudly. Surely, those spells cannot be so tiresome.”
    â€œNot tiresome. Terrible. You should read them,” Secca suggested. “Read this one, and Anna’s notes.” She thrust the two sheets at her consort.
    Alcaren read the age-yellowed sheet, a parchment probably dating from Anna’s early years as regent. Finally, he looked up. He swallowed. “I read the words, but they mean nothing. That is, except for the last part, and that is indeed terrible.”
    Secca nodded.
    â€œNone of this she ever used?”
    â€œNothing as fearsome as that one. Some of the others, I do not know. I don’t know of a time when she did, but she didn’t tell me everything, especially when I was young and learning sorcery. After her first years as regent, as I told you, she engaged in more shadow sorcery. Because it was in the shadows, few would even know that such sorcery had been practiced.”
    â€œThe Ladies of the Shadows have more to fear than I would have thought,” Alcaren said slowly.
    â€œIf you’d read all of these, you’d understand more.”
    â€œDid you not know—about these?”
    Secca laughed, ruefully. “Of course I did. I used one of them to kill the sailors and lancers on the Sturinnese ships we captured for the Matriarch. That was bad enough, as you know. I’d hoped not to use more. It’s one thing when you read something, no matter how terrible it might be, and another when you look at it and think that you may have to sing it to save yourself or your forces or your land.”
    She extended her hand and took back the two sheets from Alcaren, easing them all into the folder and closing it. “For a time, I will try my own efforts.”
    Alcaren looked down at the paper before him. “Mine are child’s rhymes against yours.”
    â€œYou’ll do better with practice.”
    â€œPerchance.”
    Secca looked at the blank sheet before her.
    Archers…archers? What other spell did Secca have that could strike at a distance, that would not be so terrible as those Anna had developed? Secca had done it with the Sturinnese fleet. Could she adapt that spell? Use the wind from a distance before the archers got too close?
    She began to write, slowly at first.
    Clouds to form and winds to rise
    like a caldron in our skies .
    Build a storm with winds swirling through…
    She crossed out the words in the third line, then tried another set. They didn’t fit the note values, either.
    She paused. This time…this time…she might avoid the spells Anna had created. But, even if she could develop this spell—and use it—against the Sturinnese, could she again before they had a defense? Or would she have to create ever greater, ever more devastating sorceries? Or use those Anna had already developed?
    Even as she tried not to sigh, she found herself moistening her lips.

18
    The wind had died away earlier, and the peasant’s cottage was warmer than on the previous days, with the afternoon sun falling on the south wall of the dwelling directly enough that the fired mud bricks carried gentle heat into the large room. As the seventh glass of the day passed, in the period between midafternoon and late afternoon, Secca and the others of her informal council watched as Richina sang the scrying spell.
    â€œShow us now and in this day’s light
    the closest Sturinnese that we might fight…”
    The image in the glass showed the Sturinnese in a small hamlet, with horses being led into corrals, or