Darksong Rising (Spellsong Cycle, Book 3) - Hardcover

L. E. Modesitt Jr.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0312868227 ISBN 13: 9780312868222

Publisher: Tor Books, 1999

Synopsis

In the epic conclusion of The Spellsong Cycle trilogy, Anna Marshall, a Midwestern music teacher transported to a magical fantasy world, has become Regent of Defalk and must use her magical musical talents to stop the evil forces that would destroy her and seize control of Defalk. 50,000 first printing.

About this title

About the Author:

L.E. Modesitt, Jr., is the bestselling author of the fantasy series The Saga of Recluce. His science fiction includes Adiamante, the Ecolitan novels, and Archform: Beauty. He lives in Cedar City, Utah.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

1
Anna readjusted her floppy brown hat and shifted her weight in the saddle. Beneath her, Farinelli, the big palomino gelding, continued his quick walk eastward along the dusty road that ran south of the Chean River toward the former ford at Sorprat. Anna glanced sideways at Himar, the sandy-haired captain--overcaptain now--whose mustache drooped more than usual--perhaps from the road dust...perhaps from sweat. Two of her personal guards flanked them--Rickel on her left, and beyond and slightly back of Himar, Lejun. An overcaptain, personal guards--sometimes it was still hard to believe that she was Regent and Sorceress of Defalk, and Lady of Mencha.
Less than two years earlier, she had been Anna Marshall, struggling assistant professor of voice in Ames, Iowa, a divorcée mourning the death of her eldest daughter. Then, a spell sung in Defalk and her own ill-uttered wish to be anywhere but Ames had thrown her into the intrigues and battles of Liedwahr, both colored by the ever-present male chauvinism, a chauvinism that so often she seemed the only one to recognize, even after she’d survived three attempted rapes. Because the world of Erde was governed by the harmonies--and song magic that worked--those struggles she faced were more deadly than the faculty politics of Ames. But only slightly, Anna reflected as she thought of the fate of untenured and discarded junior faculty members at the universities where she had taught over the years.
The late-summer sun had burned the back of her neck, despite her ever-present felt hat, and the sweat that oozed from her hair added to the stinging. In her green trousers and shirt, and floppy brown hat, she scarcely looked like a regent. Only the gold-trimmed purple vest betrayed the slightest indication of rank--that and her position at the head of the column that stretched a good hundred yards behind her.
An older-looking woman with red hair liberally streaked with white rode up alongside Himar, clearing her throat to announce herself.
Anna turned toward her chief player. “Yes, Liende?”
“Lady...the players are tired...especially young Delvor.”
Anna glanced at the road ahead, rising slowly to a crest perhaps a dek away--roughly a kilometer in earth terms--then back to Liende. “I suspect all the armsmen are tired, too,“ Anna temporized, blotting the sweat from her forehead. “Everyone can rest a little when we get to Sorprat. I mean, this side of the river. I think it should be only two or three deks from here.”
“Four at the most,“ added Himar.
“It won’t be that long,“ Anna promised.
“As you say, lady.” The woodwind player nodded, then let her mount drop back.
The air was still, so hot that the browned grasses to the south of the road hung limply in the heat. Road dust coated the legs of the horses, and a finer film covered the riders’ legs. Anna rubbed her nose, gently, wondering why she had ended up breathing so much road dust. Because there wasn’t any other way?
Himar eased his mount closer to Anna, his eyes on the pair of scouts nearing the rise in the road almost a dek ahead. “I will be glad when you have completed this task, lady,“ the overcaptain said in a low voice, “and you can return to Falcon.”
Anna nodded. Lord Jecks would also be glad when she returned, since the white-haired and still-young-faced lord of Elheld had questioned the need for her mission, even though he was the grandfather of young Jimbob, the heir to Defalk, for whom Anna ruled as Regent. Regent for a youth not always grateful. Yet you’ve used your sorcery for Jimbob when you can’t even use it to see your own children.
She swallowed, her throat even drier than from road dust alone. Would she ever be able to use the mirrors and her song magic to see Elizabetta again? Or Mario?
“Lord Jecks was concerned about this task,“ Himar added, unnecessarily.
The blond-haired Rickel--head of her personal guard--smiled, if briefly, before the professional indifference again masked his amusement at Himar’s acknowledgment of Jecks’ protectiveness of the sorceress.
Anna hadn’t realized how much she missed Jecks, but she’d insisted that he remain in Falcor to heal from his wounds. In their efforts to drive the Sturinnese out of Dumar, to save Anna he’d thrown himself into the enchanted javelin hurled by the Sea-Priest of Sturinn. She still wasn’t sure that she would have been able to do something like that to save someone else--not the immediate and selfless way Jecks had done to save her. She moistened her lips at the memory.
Jecks had not been happy with her decision to leave Falcor--especially for the ten days it would take, and he had been quite forceful. “I do not see why you insist on riding out to Sorprat...you do not need a ford there. Not this year. What crops there are come from the lower valley, and the peasants and farmers can use the bridge at Pamr. For another year or so, there will be little enough trade with Ebra. What there is can take the old road on the south side of the Chean River.”
Except that the old road adds almost two days travel to Mencha--and Ebra--and you may need those days all too soon. In fact, her own journey to repair the ford was on the old road, and even pushing, it would take a day more--but she knew she needed to be on the south side to see what she could do to undo the mess she’d made of the ford when she’d created a giant sinkhole to swallow the Ebran invaders. And she feltthat repairing the ford was necessary. She ignored solid gut feelings at her own peril, and the ford’s destruction had been nagging at her for well over a year.
As she rode across the high bluff on the south side of the river, Anna glanced to her left, northward out across the river, across the green valley that--everywhere away from the irrigation ditches--had been brown and dusty little more than a year earlier. She did not look forward to revisiting the site of the battle with the Dark Monks of Ebra--except that it had been more of a slaughter than a battle. Even under the hot sun of late summer, she shivered, recalling the screams and the terrible grinding of the earth as her song-sorcery had churned the muddy waters of the Chean River over the trapped soldiers.
The column crossed the low rise in the road and started on the gentle downgrade toward the point on the south bank of the river opposite the town of Sorprat--or what of it had been rebuilt after the destruction wrought by Anna’s magic. It still astounded her that “good” or harmonic song magic-Clearsong--could create such massive destruction, often with not too great a side effect on Anna. Yet the smallest of Darksong spells--even those which would have obviated the need for destructive Clearsong--could prostrate her, possibly threaten her life. Another unfairness that you can do nothing about...because that’s the way this world operates. Period. She put that thought aside and concentrated on the spell she would have to use shortly.
Before long, she reined up Farinelli short of where the high grassland ended--abruptly. Himar gestured, and a trumpet signal echoed through the early afternoon. Behind them, the column slowed and halted. Anna patted Farinelli on the shoulder, and the gelding nodded ever so slightly as if to suggest that he indeed deserved some thanks.
Where the plateau ended, what had once been a sinkhole was now a circular and placid lake, smaller than it had been, and cut off from the Chean River by a low muddy rise barely three yards above the lake’s surface. The water was still brownish. Below the sorcery-cut bluffs, between the base of the bluffs and the water’s edge, instead of beaches, mud slopes angled into the murky lake.
“It is peaceful now,“ said Himar quietly. “One would hardly know that thousands perished there.”
Anna nodded. Ten thousand Ebrans. Dark Monks, she added mentally. “We’re close enough.”
Himar turned his mount and stood in the stirrups. “Stand down!”
As she thought about the Ebrans, Anna almost wanted to shake her head. Hadrenn, the Ebran Lord of Synek, had beseeched her to accept his fealty. She had, and in making him one of the thirty-three lords of Defalk, thereby effectively added a quarter of Ebra to Defalk. And probably ensured another war in Ebra. One way or another there would have been war in Ebra, she reminded herself, between Hadrenn and Bertmynn, the noble who had taken the title of Lord of Dolov and sought to unite all Ebra under his rule. The difference was that Hadrenn had a legitimate claim to lands that had been seized from his father, and sought only those lands, while Bertmynn was willing to sell out to the Liedfuhr of Mansuur and the Sturinnese to rule all of Ebra. And the Sturinnese chain their women.
Anna dismounted. For a moment, as she grasped the cantle of the saddle with one hand, she wasn’t sure if her legs would hold. After she took the bottle that still held water, she drank slowly. She recorked the bottle and replaced it in the holder before walking slowly in the open road before Farinelli to stretch her legs. Next came the vocalises, to clear her cords of dust, and the mucus from allergies that Brill’s youth spell had done nothing to remedy.
“Holly-lolly-pop....”
Behind her, horses sidestepped, and the armsmen murmured hi voices so low that the sound was more like locusts than men. She shook her head, then began another vocalise, hoping that getting her cords clear would not take forever.
“Quiet!” snapped Himar, and the murmuring died away.
When Anna felt her cords were clear, she walked back to the gelding and extracted from the left saddlebag the sketc...

About this edition

• Publisher: Tor Books
• Publication date: 1999
• ISBN 10: 0312868227
• ISBN 13: 9780312868222
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 507