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she did not look back as she strode to the space that the guards had opened
facing the other hill and the burgundy-coated lancers of Dolov.
The lancers on the other-higher rise-made no movement, either to charge or
retreat. Anna swallowed. Must you do this? She swallowed again. What choice do
you have? You didn't ask for the moons of this forsaken world. You asked for
limited allegiance and a place women could go and not be slaves.
The sorceress cleared her throat and took a last solid look at the line of
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doomed lancers less than half a dek from her. Idiots... male idiots... and
you're a female idiot for not finding a way out.
"We stand ready, Regent," Liende called.
"The flame song!" Anna forced coldness into the command. "The flame song...
Mark!" Liende's voice was hard, the hardness of discipline forced over
emotion, but the spell melody was solid.
The sorceress put her concentration on the image of flames falling across the
three-deep lines of the burgundy-clad lancers-and especially on Ceorwyn-and on
keeping her voice open and full.
Those of Ebra who will not be loyal to the Defalkan Regency, let them die, let
them lie, struck by fire, struck by flame....
Once more, the chords of harmony shivered the sky, and the ground.
As Anna watched lines of fire fall across the opposite hillside-and a single
huge firebolt sear the center, she could sense a tension... something
underlying the spell, almost like an overstrained and fraying string on a
too-tightly strung harp or violin.
Because you know it's wrong--unharmonious... dissonant?
With the muted screams that rose from the wall of fire less than half a dek
away, that unseen string broke-and slammed into her.
Darkness rose around her on her hillside as the fires died on the slopes
opposite her, and she could feel herself toppling forward under the backlash
of overstressed harmonies that centered on her.
54
ESARIA, NESEREA
Nubara stands in the corner of the stone-floored room that had once been a
workroom, as the thunder of the drums buffets him. Reflections glitter off the
smooth finish of the drums, reflections showing the motions of the three
drummers, and the timekeeping motions of the Prophet of Music who directs the
three who sit on the high stools, a pair of mallets wielded by each.
The three drummers with their mallets watch Rabyn, and their motions follow
his direction, yet each drum has a different voice, and the three separate
voices combine in a thunder that seems to shiver the plaster-covered stone
walls of the
Palace of Music.
The Mansuuran officer squints, shakes his head, for a shimmering, and barely
visible blue nimbus surrounds the blue-Clad Prophet of Music.
Craccck! A floor stone splits, and a wavering line rums for several yards
around and through the solid paving stones of the workroom.
Rabyn does not even turn his head. "Heavier! Drum three! Faster, like I showed
you! Don't make anyone wait!"
Sweat pours down the face of the drummers as they follow the tempo set by the
Prophet who is no longer youth, but not yet man.
Sweat darkens the blue tunic worn by Rabyn, and his face glistens with
perspiration. His eyes are hard.
55
The gray of morning seeped into the silk tent, then the brighter light of dawn
itself. Anna slowly pried open her eyes. Jecks lay under a single blanket,
snoring lightly, practically against the tent wall.
At his snoring, Anna found herself smiling-until she tried to raise her head.
While she didn't have the double images engendered by the use of Darksong, a
flash of lightning with the impact of a sledge drove her back onto the rolled
blanket that served as a pillow, and tears streamed from her eyes.
"Shit..." She murmured under her breath. They can murder thousands of women
who just wanted to be free and not even get a headache, and you do the same
thing to those who did it and you can't even sit up. And you even offered them
terms, if they'd just let the women who survived rule themselves.
"Lady?" At her slightest word, Jecks rolled out of his blanket and stood by
the cot.
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"I'm here." Her voice was raw, hoarse.
The white-haired lord brought her the water bottle from the narrow camp table
and held it to her lips, watching as she did.
"Today... you must rest," he said.
"...don't think I have much choice, do I?"
"You cannot use so much sorcery so often, my lady," Jecks said.
Tell me about it. "I can see that." But it wasn't the sorcery but the guilt...
the backlash... or something. "Why... why... wouldn't they accept terms... not
as though... I was going to make anyone a slave..."
"You are a woman, and they have not seen your power."
Anna took another long swallow of water.
"In time, they will understand," Jecks insisted.
How much time and how many deaths? And will anything really have changed once
you're gone?
Anna closed her eyes again.
56
The next morning, Anna sat on the edge of her cot for a long time, her head
in her hands, before she dared to stagger up and retrieve the water bottle.
Finishing off the water bottle helped some, as did eating too much of the hard
cheese and biscuits. Finally, ignoring the dull and throbbing headache, she
stepped out of the tent into a morning that felt far too bright for her
physical condition.
Jecks turned quickly, but his smile was professional enough to tell her that
she looked about the way she felt-like horse droppings flattened by a long
column of lancer mounts. "Good morning, my lady."
Lejun and Kerhor both nodded, and a half dozen yards to their right, Kinor and
Jimbob watched warily.
"It is morning." Anna admitted, "I think." The sky was a hazy white, not quite
gray. Another result of sorcery... or guilt about sorcery? She stopped herself
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