Dance of the Gods

by Nora Roberts

  She felt the movement rather than saw it, and turned toward it, braced for attack. But it was Cian, the shape and scent of him, off the path and in the shadows.

  “Heads up,” he murmured. “Two riders starting into the woods. They’re dragging a body behind them. Alive yet.”

  She nodded and thought: Curtain up.

  She began to walk the horse slowly, in the direction of the wagon so they’d come up behind her. So it would seem, she thought, that she’d ridden into the woods before her horse had come up lame.

  She felt them first, something that was beyond scent. It was more a knowledge, which covered all the senses. But she waited until she heard the hoofbeats.

  She’d taken off her coat. She didn’t think Geallian women walked around in black leather. Against the chill she wore one of Larkin’s tunics, belted snugly enough to show she had breasts. Her crosses were tucked under the cloth, out of sight.

  She looked like an unarmed woman, hoping for some help.

  She even called out as the sound of the horses grew closer, making sure her voice was blurred with brogue and a little fear.

  “Hello, the riders! I’m having a bit of trouble here—ahead on the path.”

  The hoofbeats stopped. Oh yeah, Blair thought, talk it over for a minute, figure it out. She called out again, increasing the quaver in her voice.

  “Are you there? My horse picked up a stone, I’m afraid. I’m on my way to Cillard.”

  They were coming again, slowly, and she fixed what she hoped was a mixture of relief and concern on her face. “Well, thank the gods,” she said when the horses came into view. “I thought I’d end up walking the rest of the way to my sister’s, and alone in the dark for all that. Which serves me right, doesn’t it, for starting out so much later than I should.”

  One dismounted. He looked strong, Blair judged, solidly built. When he pushed back the hood of his cloak she saw a tangle of white blond hair and a deep, V-shaped scar above his left eyebrow.

  There was no sign of anyone being dragged behind the horses, so she assumed they’d dropped their prey off for the moment.

  “You’re traveling alone?”

  Slavic, she thought. Just the faintest of accents. Russian, Ukrainian maybe.

  “I am. It’s not so very far, and I meant to leave earlier in the day. But one thing and another, and now this…” She gestured to her horse. “I’m Beal, of the o Dubhuir family. Would you be heading toward Cillard by chance?”

  The second dismounted to hold the reins of both their horses.

  “It’s dangerous to be out in the woods, alone in the dark.”

  “I know them well enough. But you, you don’t sound like you come from this part of Geall.” She backed up a step as a frightened woman might. “Are you a stranger to the area then?”

  “You could say that.” And when he smiled, his fangs glimmered.

  She gave a little shriek, decided such things couldn’t be overplayed. He laughed when he grabbed for her. She brought her knee up hard between his legs, then topped it off with a solid roundhouse. When he went down to his knees, she kicked him full in the face, then planted her feet to meet the second attack.

  The second wasn’t as toughly built as the first, but he was faster. And he’d drawn his sword. Blair flipped back, landing on her hands to kick out at his sword arm. It gave her time and a little distance. When the first gained its feet, Larkin burst out of the woods.

  “Let’s see how you do against a man.”

  Blair took the fast running steps she needed to give the flying kick momentum. She hit the first mid-body as Larkin clashed swords with the other. She grabbed her sword from its sheath on her saddle as all three of the horses shied. Instinct had her whirling, bringing the blade up two-handed to block the down sweep of her enemy’s sword.

  She’d been right about his strength, she discovered, as the force of the blow rippled straight down to her toes. Because he had her in reach, she went in close. His advantage was she didn’t want to kill him—but he didn’t know that. She stomped hard on his instep, brought the hilt of her sword up in a vicious blow to his chin.

  The hit knocked him back, into her mount. All three horses whinnied in alarm as they scattered.

  He just kept coming, hacking and swinging until sweat rolled into her eyes. She heard someone—something—scream, but couldn’t risk a look. Instead, she feinted, drawing his sword to the left, then plowed her foot into his belly. It took him down long enough for her to leap on him, hold her sword across his throat.

  “Move and you’re dust. Larkin?”

  “Aye.”

  “If you’re done playing around with that one, I could use a little help over here.”

  He stepped over. Then kicked the vampire in the head, in the face—several times.

  “Yeah, that ought to do it.” Breathless, she sat back on her haunches to look up at Larkin. Blood was spattered over his shirt, his face. “Is much of that yours?”

  “Not a great deal of it. It would be his, for the most part.” He stepped back, gestured so she could see the vampire he’d skewered into the ground with a sword.

  “Ouch.” She got to her feet. “We need to round up those horses, get these two in chains and…” She trailed off as Cian walked toward them, leading the horses.

  He glanced at the vampires bleeding on the path. “Untidy,” he decided. “But effective. This one’s not in the best of shape.” He nodded toward the bleeding man slung over one of the horses. “But he’s alive.”

  “Nice work.” She wondered, not for the first time, how hard it was for him to resist the smell of fresh human blood. But it didn’t seem like the time to ask. “We’d better get these two contained. This one wakes up, he’s trouble.” Blair circled her aching shoulder. “That one’s like a goddamn bull.”

  While the men chained the prisoners, she examined the unconscious man. He was bloodied and battered, but unbitten. Going to take him back to the wagon, she thought. Share him with the female. Have a little party.

  “We need to bury the dead,” Larkin said to her.

  “We can’t take the time now.”

  “We’re not just leaving them.”

  “Listen, just listen.” She gripped his hands before he could turn away. “That man’s hurt, and hurt bad. He needs help as soon as we can get it for him, or he might not make it. Then we’d be digging another grave. Added to it, we need to get Cian back and inside before sunrise. We’re going to be cutting it close as it is.”

  “I’ll stay behind, deal with it myself.”

  “Larkin, we need you. If we don’t make good time, Cian’s going to have to go ahead, or go to ground, and that leaves me with two vampires and one wounded human. I could handle it alone if I had to, but I don’t. We’ll send someone back to bury them. I’ll come back with you, and we’ll do it ourselves if you’d rather. But we have to leave them for now. We have to go.”

  He said nothing, only nodded then strode to his horse.

  “He’s taking the female he ended to heart,” Cian murmured.

  “Some are harder than others. You have that cloak thing, right? In case.”

  “I do, but I’ll be frank and tell you I’d rather not risk my skin on it.”

  “Can’t blame you. If and when you have to ride ahead, you ride.” She looked over where the two vampires were shackled, gagged and tied across one of their horses. “We can handle them.”

  “You could handle them on your own, we both know that.”

  “Larkin shouldn’t have to deal with what’s back there in that wagon by himself.” She swung onto her horse. “Let’s get this done.”

  They rode in silence through the dark of the woods, across the fields dappled with pale moonlight. Once, just ahead, a white owl swooped over a gentle rise with only the whisper of wings. Blair thought, for an instant, she saw the glitter of its eyes, green as jewels. Then there was only the murmur of the wind through the high grass and the hushed silence of predawn.

  S
he saw the vampire she fought lift its head. When its eyes met hers she saw the blood lust, and the fury. But over them both she saw the fear. He struggled against his chains, eyes wheeling toward the east. The one beside him lay weakly, and Blair thought the sounds he made behind his gag were sobs.

  “They feel dawn coming,” Cian said from beside her. “The burn of it.”

  “Go. Larkin and I can handle it.”

  “Oh, there’s time yet, a bit of time yet.”

  “We should only be a couple miles out.”

  “Less,” Larkin told her. “A bit less. The wounded man’s coming around some. I wish he wouldn’t.”

  The ride couldn’t be doing him any good, Blair thought, but they couldn’t afford to keep it slow and smooth any longer. The stars had faded out.

  “Let’s pick up the pace.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, and hoped the man slumped over the horse she led would live another mile.

  She saw the lights first, the flicker of them—candle and torch—through the rising mists. And there, the silhouette of the castle, high on the rise with its white flags waving against a sky that was no longer black, but a deep, dense blue.

  “Go!”

  The vampires bucked and jerked, making sounds far from human as the first streaks of red bled over the horizon behind the castle.

  But Cian rode straight in the saddle, hair flying. “I so rarely see it from out of doors.”

  There was pain, the rip and the burn of it. And there was wonder, and a faint regret as he galloped through the gates and into the shadow of the keep.

  Moira was there, her face tight and pale. “Go inside, please. Your horse will be tended. Please,” she repeated, the strain cutting through the word as Cian slowly dismounted. “Be quick.”

  She gestured for the men with her to take the prisoners.

  “Got a handy dungeon?” Blair asked her.

  “We don’t, no.”

  Riddock watched the men drag the chained prisoners away. “Arrangements have been made, as Moira requested. They’ll be held in the cellars, and guarded.”

  “Leave the chains on them,” Larkin ordered.

  “Hoyt and Glenna are waiting inside,” Moira told him. “We’ll add magic to the chains. You’re not to worry. You need food and rest, all of you.”

  “This one’s human. And wounded.” Blair stepped over, laid her fingers on the pulse in the man’s throat. “Alive, but he needs attention.”

  “Right away. Sir?”

  “We’ll send for the physician.” Riddock signalled to some men. “See to him,” he ordered before turning to his son. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I have to go back, there are some we had to leave, back in the forest on the path to Cillard.” Larkin’s face was pale, and it was set. “They need to be buried.”

  “We’ll send a party out.”

  “I have a need to see to it myself.”

  “Then you will. But come inside first. You need to wash, break your fast.” He slung an arm around Larkin’s shoulders. “It’s been a long night for all of us.”

  Inside, Cian stood speaking with Hoyt and Glenna. He broke off when the others entered and lifted a brow at Moira.

  “You have your prisoners. What do you intend to do with them?”

  “We’ll speak of it, all of it. I’ve ordered food to the family parlor. If we could meet there, we have much to discuss.”

  She swept away with two of her women hurrying behind her.

  Blair went to her own room where a fire was lit and fresh water waited. She washed away the blood, changing the borrowed tunic for one of her own shirts.

  Then she braced her hands on the bureau and studied her face in the mirror.

  She’d looked better, she decided. She needed sleep, but wasn’t going to get it. Nor for a while yet. She’d have paid a lot for an hour in a bed, but that wasn’t in the cards any more than a couple days at a nice spa.

  Instead, she was going to take half the day to ride back out, bury three strangers. There wasn’t time for it, not when she should have been working with the troops, devising strategies, checking on weapon production. A dozen practical and necessary tasks.

  But if she didn’t go, Larkin would do it alone. She couldn’t let that happen.

  He was already in the parlor when she walked in. And he was alone by the window, watching morning strike mist.

  “You think I’m wasting valuable time,” he said without turning around. “With something unnecessary and useless.”

  So he read her, she thought. And damn clearly. “It doesn’t matter. You need to do it, so we’ll do it.”

  “Families should be safe on the roads of Geall. Young girls should not be raped and tortured and killed. Should not be turned into something that must be destroyed.”

  “No, they shouldn’t.”

  “You’ve lived with it longer than I. And perhaps you can face it more…”

  “Callously.”

  “No.” He turned now. He looked older, she thought, in the hard light, with the violence of the night still on him. “That wasn’t the word, and would never be one I’d use for you. Coolly perhaps, practically for certain. So you must. I won’t hold you to going with me.”

  Because he wouldn’t, she knew she could do nothing else but go. “I said I would, and I will.”

  “Yes, you will, so thanks for that. Can you understand that I’m stronger for knowing you’ll do this thing with me, that you’d understand my need to do it enough to take the time?”

  “I think it takes a strong man to need to do what’s human, and humane. That’s enough for me.”

  “There’s so much I have to say to you, so many things I want to say. But today isn’t the day. I feel…” He looked down at his sword hand. “Stained. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

  “Ah well. Come, we’ll drink strong tea and wish it was Coke.” He smiled a little as he walked to her. Then he laid his hands lightly on her shoulders, pressed his lips to her brow. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Your eyes must really be tired.”

  He eased back. “I see you,” he told her, “exactly as you are.”

  He pulled her chair out for her, something she couldn’t remember him doing before. As she sat, Hoyt and Cian came in. Cian flicked a glance toward the windows, then moved away from them to the table Moira had had set away from the light.

  “Glenna will be along,” Hoyt said. “She wanted to check on the man you brought in. The prisoners are secured.” He looked at his brother. “And very unhappy.”

  “They haven’t fed.” Cian poured his own tea. “The castle boasts a fine wine cellar, which you didn’t mention,” he said to Larkin. “A corner of it is nicely dark and damp enough to keep them. But unless your cousin simply intends to starve them to death, they’ll need to be fed if they’re chained in there above another day.”

  “I have no intention of starving them.” Moira came in. She wore riding gear now, with a feminine flare, in forest green. “And neither will they be fed. They’ve had enough Geallian blood, animal and human. My uncle and I will ride out shortly, to rally the people and spread the word. As many as can manage will come here by sundown. And when the sun has set, what is in the cellars will be shown to them. Then destroyed.”

  She looked directly at Cian. “Do you find that hard, cold, with no drop of human emotion or mercy?”

  “No. I find it practical and useful. I hardly thought you had us hunt them down to bring them here for counseling and rehabilitation.”

  “We’ll show the people what they are, and how they must be killed. We’re sending troops out now to lay the traps you want, Blair. Larkin, I’ve asked Phelan to take charge of the task.”

  “My sister’s husband,” Larkin explained. “Aye, he’d be up for that. You chose well.”

  “The man you brought back is awake, though the physician wishes to dose him. Glenna agrees. He told us he went outside, hearing what he thought w
as a fox in his henhouse. They set upon him. He has a wife and three children, and shouted for them to stay in the house. It was all he could do, and we can thank the gods they obeyed. We’re sending for them.”

  “Until Larkin and Blair return, Glenna and I can help with the training. And Cian perhaps,” Hoyt added, “if there’s somewhere inside.”

  “Thank you. I’d hoped that would suit you. Ah, we have the village smithy and two others forging weapons. We’ll have more, but some who come will have their own arms.”

  “You’ve got trees,” Blair pointed out. “You’re going to want to start making stakes out of some of them. More arrows, lances, spears.”

  “Yes, of course. Yes. I need to go as my uncle and our party is waiting. I want to thank you for your night’s work. We’ll be back before sundown.”

  “She’s starting to look like a queen,” Blair said when Moira left.

  “Worn out is what she looks.”

  Blair nodded at Larkin. “Being a queen’s bound to be hard work. Add a war, and it’s got to be brutal. Cian, you okay to fill the others in on our party last night?”

  “I’ve already given them the highlights. I’ll fill in the details.”

  “Then why don’t you and I get started,” she said to Larkin.

  She went to the stables with him where he gathered the tools they’d need.

  “I could fly us there quicker than we could ride. Would that suit you?”

  “That’d be good.”

  He led the way around to the courtyard garden she recognized from her window. “The bag’s heavy. Hang it round my neck once I’ve changed.”

  He passed it to her; became the dragon.

  He dipped his head so that she could work the strap over it. Then she looked into his eyes, stroked his jeweled cheek. “You sure are pretty,” she murmured.

  He lowered so she could mount his back.

  They were rising up, above the towers, the turrets, over the waving white flags.

  The morning was like a gem of blue and green and umber, spreading around her. She tipped her head back, let the wind rush over her, let it blow away the fatigue of the long night.

  She saw horses below on the road now, and carriages, wagons, people walking. The little village she’d yet to explore was a spread of pretty buildings, bright colors, busy stalls. The people who looked up raised caps or hands as they flew over, then went back about the business of the day.

  Life, Blair thought, didn’t just go on, it insisted on thriving.

  She turned her face toward the mountains, with their mists and their secrets. And their valley called silence where in a matter of weeks there would be blood and death.

  They would fight, she thought, and some would fall. But they would fight so life could thrive.

  They reached the woods and circled before Larkin wove delicately through the trees to the ground.

  She slid off him, took the bag.

  When he was a man again, he took her hand.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Before we do this, I want to tell you Geall is beautiful.”

  Together they walked through the trees, then stopped to dig three graves in the soft, mossy ground. The work was physical, and mechanical, and they did it without conversation. Going back into the wagon, removing the bodies was a horror. Neither spoke, but simply did what needed to be done.

  She felt the weariness dragging back into her bones, and the sickness that sat deep in the belly as they closed the ground over the bodies.

  Larkin carried stones for each of the graves, then a fourth for the young girl he couldn’t bury.

  When it was done, Blair leaned on the shovel. “Do you want to, I don’t know, say some words?”

  He spoke in Gaelic, taking her hand as he said the words, then saying them