Shattered Dance

by Caitlin Brennan

  All three fit together within the pattern that had been tormenting him. He regarded Maurus in newborn respect. This was no simple magic, but the boy had found his way to it alone and unaided.

  The end of the passage was a circle of wan daylight at what looked like the bottom of a well. It was a tower without a roof, strange and seeming purposeless.

  And yet there was something…

  Kerrec raised the strongest wards he knew. Maurus was halfway across the circle already, moving quickly and beckoning Kerrec to follow.

  There was another hidden door across the circle. Crossing the empty space was strange and not at all pleasant, as if the paving underfoot were ice and the depths below were full of dark and hungry things.

  Kerrec was almost glad to reach the second door, though his heart shrank from what he might find behind it. He slipped through into the corner of a courtyard—proving that the circular space was indeed a tower.

  The court was square and bordered by a crumbling cloister. It might have been a garden once, but whatever had grown there was long gone. It was a barren and unlovely place, dusty and somehow dim, as if the bright summer sunlight could not reach inside those walls.

  Maurus led Kerrec down the cloister, through a broken door and along a passage lit by narrow windows. This might have been an inn once, or a caravanserai built before the emperors rose in Aurelia. The rooms were small and identical, all the way down along that side and up around the corner.

  The one Maurus was looking for was on the far end, where tiny cubicles gave way to suites of rooms. Noble guests would have lodged there with their servants nearby and their horses in the stables below.

  Kerrec did not have to see the stables in order to know they were there. Anything could have been underneath the passage he trod softly through, but he was a horse mage. He knew where horses were or had been.

  Maurus stopped abruptly. He was shaking so hard he could barely walk.

  Kerrec’s senses sharpened even more than they already had been. He heard nothing to alarm him, not even the scuttle of a rat. There was no living thing in this house. Even the flies shunned it.

  That was alarming in its own right. He moved past Maurus, who made no effort to stop him, and set his hand to the door.

  It opened to his touch. He listened with every resource of mind and body, but nothing stirred within.

  Someone had been living here. There was a cot in a corner of the dusty, dingy room. A wooden table and a battered stool stood near the cot.

  The dust on the floor was full of footprints. The windows were latched open. But there was no sign of anyone still living there.

  Maurus’ shoulders sagged. “He left,” he said. “He must have known I found him. Yesterday his things were there—clothes and bread and a blanket for the bed. Now they’re gone.”

  “How did you know it was the one you were looking for?” Kerrec asked.

  “I saw him,” Maurus said. “He came out of this house when I was hunting a rumor and a feeling, and I went in when he was safely gone and found this room. Then I went back outside and waited hours until he came back.”

  “You were lucky,” said Kerrec. “He could have laid a trap for you.”

  “Maybe he did,” Maurus said.

  Kerrec tensed reflexively, but there was no threat in this room. The priest was gone and would not come back.

  Something down below caught his attention, a sensation in the earth that had been there since he began but now was growing stronger. It felt like a beacon such as mages left for one another, a message visible only to those with magic.

  He knew better than to go running after it. He searched it with every art and sleight he had, and found nothing. If it was an ambush, it was marvelous well hidden.

  This suite of rooms had a door in the rear, leading down to the old stable. A musty smell came up from below, a memory of long-dead horses and hay long gone to dust.

  The steps were swept clean. Kerrec still could not find any sign of danger, but he descended with great care.

  There were wards below, lightly enforced. His skin crackled as he passed them. Maurus, behind him, jumped and cursed.

  A heavy silence lay on the stable. Its stalls were empty and its outer door hung askew. Motes of dust danced in the light that shone through the cracks.

  A soft sound at the far end dropped Kerrec into a fighter’s crouch. A better instinct, since he did not even carry a knife for cutting meat, was the swift canvass yet again of the patterns that ran through this place.

  None of them was aimed at him. They clotted around the last stall, which was larger than the others—meant for foaling, maybe, or for some animal other than a horse.

  Even before he reached the stall’s door, his stomach tightened with dread of what he would find. “Stay back,” he said to Maurus. “You don’t want to see this.”

  “Why?” Maurus asked like the innocent he was. He had not seen or suffered what Kerrec had. Nor did he know what priests of the tribes were truly capable of.

  Kerrec knew. He braced to open that door and breathe air that was worse than fetid. A magelight burned within, hovering over the message that the priest had left.

  There were three of them. One had been flayed, all but the face, and raised like a trophy in a wooden cross. One had had the bowels ripped from him and wound about his body like a horrible shroud. The third lay in pieces, carefully arranged, with each severed arm pointing to the others and the severed legs bent in the shape of a broken wheel.

  Maurus’ retching told Kerrec of his disobedience. Kerrec made no attempt to reprimand him. The nightmares he would live with were punishment enough.

  Kerrec swallowed bile. His natural coldness was a little help—it kept him from running off as Maurus had done, still gagging and choking—but it did not inure him to what he saw. Nothing could do that.

  The limbless torso stirred. The others, thank the gods, were dead, but the maimed man was still alive. Worse, he was conscious.

  His eyes were far beyond pain. They had also left sanity some distance behind. “You’re late,” he said. “You should have been here hours ago.”

  From somewhere Kerrec found the strength to say, as politely as one nobleman should speak to another, “I beg your pardon. It seems we were delayed.”

  “Ah well,” the man said. “You were kind enough to come. My lord bids you accept this offering in the spirit in which it was given, and asks your indulgence in the matter of his absence. You will understand, he is certain, that for his safety he must take himself elsewhere.”

  That was no more or less than Kerrec had expected. He set aside the rising rage and knelt beside the maimed man. The wounds had been cauterized skillfully and very painfully.

  If the man was lucky, he had gone mad before that, watching the others die in exquisite and carefully calculated agony. He looked up at Kerrec with something close to amusement. “It’s a rare man who engenders such hatred as you have in my lord. He wishes you the very worst in all respects, and assures you that whatever he can do to cause you misery, he will do it gladly.”

  “Gothard,” Kerrec said in loathing so pure it was almost tender.

  “Oh, no,” the maimed man said. “My lord is no kin to you, my lord. He wagered that you would not remember him—my hand for his mercy. But he remembers you. He will never in his life or undeath forget.”

  That took Kerrec aback. Enemies of the Mountain and the empire he could understand. His brother was—had been—the most personal of adversaries. But Kerrec had never to his knowledge run afoul of a priest of the One.

  “He was not always a priest,” the maimed man said—which told Kerrec nothing at all.

  “His name,” Kerrec said. “Tell me his name.”

  The maimed man smiled with devastating sweetness. His eyes were glazing. The spell that had kept him alive was fraying, his little scrap of sanity melting along with his consciousness.

  Kerrec could not force the man back to full awareness—not because he la
cked the skill but because he lacked the cruelty. It was swift once it began, a long fall into night.

  He closed the staring eyes and entrusted the tormented soul to the gods’ hands. As he knelt there, caught between outrage and bafflement, he heard the scrape of Maurus’ boot at the door. The boy had come back, however brave or foolish that might be.

  “Go,” Kerrec said to him. “Fetch the city guard.”

  “But—” Maurus began.

  “Go,” Kerrec said, setting in it the crack of command.

  The boy fled. Kerrec would dearly have loved to do the same. He stayed because he had to.

  The souls of all three men had left their bodies. He traced the path of their departing and made certain that they had not been unmade. His unknown and hitherto unsuspected enemy had not gone that far.

  That eased his grief a little but did nothing to soothe his anger. He left the dead where they were so that the guard could see for themselves what horrors had been done here, and went as far as the door.

  The air was hardly cleaner without, but at least it was brighter. Petra stepped out of that brightness.

  His white calm washed over Kerrec. His neck was solid and familiar, his smell blessedly sweet after the stench of death in torment. Kerrec buried his face in the stallion’s mane and simply stood, too deeply shocked for tears.

  As much as he would have loved to stand so until the world went away and all grief was forgotten, Kerrec had to draw himself upright and face the detachment of the city guard that came at the run. Maurus ran ahead of them, skidding to a halt at the sight of Petra. His whole body sagged then, so that Kerrec more than half expected him to collapse. But he kept his feet.

  The guards were a little wide-eyed themselves, although they had to have been warned that the one who waited for them was a rider from the Mountain. Their captain, older and stronger-minded than the rest, saluted crisply. “Sir! The boy says there’s been murder done?”

  Kerrec nodded and turned back to the stable, though he would have given much never to pass that door again. Petra followed, bolstering him with familiar strength.

  The captain set half his men on guard outside and ordered half to follow him in. They had been warned, but even to a hardened soldier, this was a difficult thing to confront. None of them emptied his stomach, but their faces went stiff.

  “Our thanks, my lord,” the captain said in a voice drained of all emotion.

  It was a dismissal, as subtle as any courtier’s. Kerrec should have resented it—he far outranked this lowly guardsman. But he was glad.

  The man knew it, too. He was being merciful. Kerrec bent his head, which was as low a bow as a rider should offer, and fled back into the light.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kerrec brought Maurus back to Riders’ Hall and put him to bed there, with the stallions on guard over him and a strong dose in him to make him sleep. He protested, but feebly. That stopped when Kerrec assured him that his guards had been sent to his mother with news of Maurus’ whereabouts.

  Kerrec would have liked to fall into bed with a bottle of strong spirits himself, but he had to settle for cold spiced wine and the bracing company of Nikos and Gunnar and, as evening closed in, Briana. She arrived in a fair fury, ready to take his head off for risking everything on one boy’s word.

  “I trust him,” Kerrec said before she could launch into the full tirade. “That trust proved well founded.”

  “What if the priest had been there?” she demanded. “He could have destroyed you.”

  “I was prepared,” said Kerrec. “You were not.”

  She hissed at him. “Nor were you! Do you know what I was told just before I came here? The city guard have found two more such scenes of slaughter—one in an inn near the jewelers’ market and another in the temple of holy wisdom.”

  That, Kerrec had not known. “Three noblemen each time?”

  “Yes. Always noblemen and always known for a predilection toward the barbarians’ cult.”

  “He’s culling the herd,” Gunnar said. “Getting rid of the weak and untrustworthy and showing the rest what happens if they fall away from the cult.”

  “Or,” said Kerrec, “they’re willing sacrifices.”

  “Maybe both,” Briana said. Her temper had cooled though she was still glaring at him. “Do you even care how close you came to being an unwilling sacrifice?”

  “He doesn’t want me dead,” said Kerrec, “yet. He hates me too sincerely. So much so that I thought it was Gothard back from the dead. But the dying man said no to that. It’s another enemy I never knew I had.”

  “So he told you.”

  “He was telling the truth,” Kerrec said.

  “We’ll find the priest,” Nikos said grimly. “This senseless killing will stop.”

  “It’s a diversion,” said Kerrec. “Better to find what else he’s doing that this is meant to hide.”

  “I have mages on the hunt,” Briana said. “Seers and Thaumaturges and Oneiromancers. The Augurs are alert for omens. And you, Master, with your riders, will search the patterns.”

  “It is being done,” Nikos said.

  “Good,” she said.

  Briana could not stay long. Kerrec welcomed the reprieve. The wine made him a little dizzy, but his head was clear.

  The priest was still in Aurelia and still mocking those who hunted him. His web of bindings and alliances stretched over the city. Kerrec would wager that every noble house had at least one would-be traitor.

  Those who were dying were but a fraction of the whole. That was frightening. Aurelia had a worm in its heart, and it was eating its way outward.

  Maybe Valeria was safer among the barbarians after all. The attack on Briana had been the barest beginning. More and worse was yet to come.

  Dear gods, what if his fears were misplaced? What if it was Grania who was in danger? What if—

  Kerrec reined himself in sharply. Grania was the safest of all of them, hidden and unknown and with Morag to protect her. If the Unmaking itself came, Morag would do her best to face it down.

  He prayed for the day when Valeria came back and Grania could be with them, acknowledged and loved as she deserved to be. He would suffer much to win that outcome.

  It was late to visit Theodosia tonight. Too late perhaps. He could all too easily let it go. She would understand.

  And yet he bathed quickly for the second time since he had come back to Riders’ Hall. Even then he did not feel entirely clean, but it would have to do. He put on a clean shirt and fresh breeches, found his second-best coat in the chest with the rest of his clothes and ventured out.

  Summer was passing already. The long midsummer twilight had given way to a swifter late-summer dusk. The air was still warm and the earth rich with ripening fruit, but autumn was coming—and with autumn, at last, the coronation.

  This time it would happen. Every loyal mage in Aurelia had undertaken to make it so. Whatever trap their enemies laid, whatever magic was raised against them, they would stop it.

  Why then could they not stop one vicious animal of a priest?

  They would do it. Whatever power gave the priest his strength, they would find and destroy it.

  Kerrec was almost himself as he acknowledged the guards at Theodosia’s door. They bowed and let him in.

  She was sitting under an arbor of roses, lit by a tracery of lamps. A net of pearls confined her hair. Her mantle was of dark and shimmering silk, her gown of pale linen glimmering in the soft light.

  She had been playing on a lute, but it lay on the bench beside her. Her head was bent, her face pensive.

  When she looked up and saw Kerrec, she brightened enormously. Her gladness stung him with guilt. He had not thought of her through the whole of that day, although Valeria was never far from his mind.

  He sat beside her and kissed her hand. She embraced him with unusual fervor, not seeming to notice how he stiffened. He did manage to catch himself quickly and return the embrace.

  After they s
eparated, she sat smiling, though there was a hint of darkness beneath. “I heard,” she said, “about the men who were killed.”

  Of course she had. Her web of spies was the envy of the court.

  He had no doubt she knew about Valeria. Did she know about Grania, too?

  No matter now if she did. Kerrec said, “It’s been a grim day.”

  “Then maybe I can make it a little less grim,” she said. The darkness had sunk deep in her eyes, overwhelmed by a luminous brightness. She took his hand and laid it on her belly.

  His throat closed.

  She nodded as if he had spoken.

  That did indeed lift his heart, though it half blinded him with fear. Grania was hidden and might be safe, but the world knew that Theodosia would bear the empress’ heir.

  “We should not speak of this,” he said. “Not until the coronation at least.”

  “Of course,” she said, “though your sister should know.”

  “You haven’t told her?”

  “Not without you.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’m content with the bargain I’ve made.”

  “Do you really know what you’ve sworn yourself to?”

  “I know your heart is not mine to give,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Not all of us live for love. I have all that I need, and my freedom with it. Do you know how rare that is for any woman?”

  “This is freedom?” Kerrec asked.

  “For me it is,” she said. “I have my own property, my own household and servants and my own mark to make on the world. In time—a very long time, one hopes—I’ll be empress mother. Meanwhile I can ride the patterns of this court and secure my place and the place of my children. I’m more than pleased.”

  “I don’t think I understand you,” he said.

  She laughed, but gently. “You turned your back on it to embrace your magic. I do understand that, but it’s not my pattern. This is. Just be glad that it makes me happy, and visit me now and then. That’s all I need of you.”