Dance of the Gods

by Nora Roberts

  southeast into a small, thin grove of trees.

  She saw it almost immediately, and her first thought was some kid or passer-by had stumbled over the trap. And into it.

  Her heart bounced straight into her throat. She sprinted toward the wide hole, terrified she’d see bodies impaled on the wooded spikes below.

  What she saw was a scatter of weapons, and one very dead horse.

  “Moved up the schedule,” she said softly, and despite the sunlight, reached behind her to draw her sword.

  Moved things up, Blair decided, when the reports came in that they’d gone to the Dance with supplies and weapons. And vanished.

  She’d have known where they’d vanished, Blair thought. So Lilith’s army was already in Geall, already on the march. And had already passed this point. The trap had worked. From the weapon count, it looked to have taken out at least a dozen—and the very unlucky horse.

  She crouched down, wishing she had some of the rope she’d used earlier. They needed to retrieve those weapons—waste not, want not—and get that poor horse out of there.

  She was puzzling over how she and Larkin might do that when she realized the light had changed. Looking up, she saw the sky overhead was black with clouds.

  As twilight fell in a fingersnap, she got to her feet. “Oh shit.”

  She backed up, backed away from the hole, and thought it wasn’t just a dozen vamps who’d walked into a trap. She’d just walked into one herself.

  And they came up, out of the ground.

  Chapter 19

  She took two out fast, an instinctive and wide sweep of her sword, before they were fully disinterred. But there were alarms shrilling in the back of her mind that said she was in big, bad trouble.

  Eight, she counted, after the two she’d dusted. They had her surrounded, cutting off any chance of retreat. And she’d walked right into it, all but whistling a tune. If she managed to live—and the odds were against it—she’d curse herself for it later. Right now since flight wasn’t an option, fight was all that was left.

  The one thing she had, Blair reminded herself, was a lot of fight in her. She pulled her stake, blocked the first blade with her sword even as she pumped out a back kick. She spun, swinging out with the sword, scoring flesh, buying time. Spotting an opening, she rammed the stake.

  One more down.

  But these weren’t green recruits who’d make many sloppy and fatal mistakes. What she was facing were trained and seasoned soldiers, and it was still seven against one.

  She envisioned the fire, sending it rippling down the sword Glenna had charmed. “Yeah, come on. Come on!” Hacking out, she sent one falling back, his arm ablaze.

  Then went flying as one caught her foot on the next kick and hurled her into the air. She slammed hard into the trunk of a tree, saw stars floating on a gray field edged with sickly red. But the one that charged her met fire and steel, and fell screaming into the trap.

  She rolled, and with pain bursting through her, struck out with the flaming sword. Her left arm was numb from the shoulder down, and she’d lost the stake. She hacked, thrust, sliced, took a hard punch to the face that nearly sent her into the trap. She managed to spring over it, fight for footing. And with vicious, screaming blows, beat back the next attack.

  One went for her throat, so she cracked the hilt of the sword on the bridge of his nose. She felt the chain that held her crosses snap as he fell back.

  No stake, no cross. And five of them left. She wasn’t going to make it, no longer hoped she could hold them back until Larkin got to her to even the odds.

  So she wouldn’t die in the valley, but here and now. But by God, she’d take as many as she could with her first so that when Larkin came for her, he could finish the rest.

  Her left arm was nearly useless, but she still had her feet, and kicked up, kicked out as she sliced out fire. They’d weakened her, breaking her form, her rhythm. She blocked an oncoming sword, but the tip of it scored a line down her thigh on the down swing. Her slight stumble left her open enough so that when another kicked, the blow plowed into her belly, stealing her breath as her body flew back.

  She went down hard, felt something tear inside her. With what she had left, she thrust up blindly, had the grim satisfaction of seeing one burst into flame.

  Then the sword was knocked out of her hand, and she had nothing left.

  How many left? she wondered. Three? Maybe three. Larkin could take three. He’d be all right. Head swimming, she struggled back to her feet. She didn’t want to die on her back. She fisted her hands, fought to get her balance.

  Maybe, maybe she could take one more, just one more, bare-handed, before they killed her.

  But they’d stepped back, she saw. Three? Four? Her vision was doubling on her. But she willed it to focus, and saw Lora glide over the ground.

  Weren’t going to kill me, Blair thought dimly. Just working me over, wearing me down. Saving me for her. Worse than death, she realized as her blood went cold. She wondered if she could find a weapon and a way to end her own life before Lora made her a monster.

  If she could manage it, she might be able to throw herself into the trap. Better staked than changed.

  “I’m so impressed.” Clapping her hands together lightly, Lora smiled. “You defeated seven of our seasoned warriors. I’ve lost a bet with Lilith. I wagered you’d take out no more than four.”

  “Happy to help you lose.”

  “Well, you did have a slight advantage. They were ordered not to kill you. That pleasure will be mine.”

  “You think?”

  “Know. And that coat? I’ve admired that coat since I first saw you on the side of the road in Ireland. It’s going to look marvelous on me.”

  “So that was you? Sorry, all of you smell the same to me.”

  “I can say the same about you mortals.” Lora beamed out a gay smile. “Speaking of mortals, I have to say your Jeremy was absolutely delicious.” Still smiling, she touched her fingertips to her lips, flicked them out as if reliving the moment.

  Don’t think about Jeremy, Blair ordered herself. Don’t give her the satisfaction. So she said nothing, meeting Lora’s laugh with stony silence.

  “But where are my manners? We’ve met, of course, but haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Lora, and I’ll be your sire.”

  “Blair Murphy, and I’ll be the one dusting you. And the coat looks better on me than it would on you.”

  “You’re going to be the most delightful playmate! I can hardly wait. Because I have admiration and respect for you, we’ll fight this out. Just you and I.” Lora pointed a finger toward the trio of soldiers, wagged it. “Back, back, back now. This is between us girls.”

  “So, you want to fight?” Think, think, think, Blair ordered herself. Think over the pain. “Swords, knives, hand-to-hand?”

  “I do love bare hands.” Lora lifted hers, wiggled her fingers. “It’s so intimate.”

  “Works for me.” Blair spread her coat open to show she had no weapons. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Bien sur.”

  “Is that accent real, or do you just put it on?” She unhooked the water bottle from her belt.

  “I was born in Paris, in the year fifteen-eighty-five.”

  Blair let out a snort. “Come on.”

  “All right,” Lora said with a laugh, “fifteen-eighty-three. But what woman doesn’t fudge a little about her age?”

  “You were younger than me when you died.”

  “Younger when I was given true life.”

  “It’s all a matter of perspective.” Blair lifted the water sack, twisted it open. “Mind? Your boys gave me quite a workout. Feeling a little dehydrated.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Blair tipped the bag back, drank. The water felt like a miracle on her dry throat. “If I take you, are your boys going to finish me off?”

  “You won’t take me.”

  Blair angled her head, said a quick prayer. “Bet?”

/>   And swung the bag so the blessed water splashed over Lora’s face and throat.

  The screams were like rusty razors slicing through Blair’s brain. There was smoke, the nasty stench of burning flesh. She stumbled away from it as Lora ran shrieking.

  A weapon, Blair thought, fighting to see, just to stay on her feet. Everything, anything was a weapon.

  She grabbed a low branch of the tree as much for support as a last-ditch effort. Calling on whatever she had left she pulled at it, felt it crack. With something between a sob and a scream, she swung it at the three vampires who charged toward her.

  The dragon dived out of the sky, tail lashing. Blair saw one of them fly headfirst into the trap as the man stood, drawing the sword from the harness that spilled around his feet.

  The last thing she saw before she fell was the bright flame of it cleaving through the dark.

  He fought like a madman, without a thought for his own safety. If they landed blows, he never felt them. His rage and his fear were beyond pain. There had been three, but if there’d been thirty he still would have cut through them like an avenging god.

  His dragon had swept one into the stakes, and now he hacked through the shoulder of another. The arm that fell went to dust, and the creature that was left ran screaming across the field. The third rushed to retreat. Larkin swept up a stake on the run, flung it. And sent it to hell.

  With his sword hand ready for however many more might spring out of the dark, he crouched to Blair. The words poured out of him, and were all her name. Her face had no color but the blood that streaked it, and the bruises already going black.

  When her eyes fluttered open, he saw they were glassy with pain.

  “My hero.” Her voice was barely more than a thick whisper. “Gotta move, gotta go, could be more. Oh God, oh God, I’m hurt. You gotta help me up.”

  “Just be still a moment. I need to see how bad it is.”

  “It’s bad. Just…is the light coming back or am I heading into that stupid white tunnel people talk about?”

  “The sun’s coming back. It’s all right now.”

  “Ten, there were ten, and the French whore makes eleven. My head—damn it. Concussion. Vision keeps doubling on me. But—” She couldn’t bite back the scream when he moved her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. A stór, a stór, I’m sorry.”

  “Dislocated. Don’t think broken, just out of joint. Oh God. You have to fix it. I can’t…I can’t. You have to take care of it, okay? Then…Jesus, Jesus. Go get a wagon. I can’t ride.”

  “You’ll trust me now, won’t you, my darling? Trust me to take care of you now.”

  “I do. I will. But I need you to—”

  He did it quickly, bracing her back against the tree, pressing his body hard to her as he yanked her shoulder back into place.

  She didn’t scream this time. But he was watching her face, and saw her eyes roll up white before she slumped against him.

  Ripping the sleeve of his tunic, he used the material to field dress the gash on her thigh before checking along her torso for broken ribs. When he’d done the best he could for her, Larkin laid her down gently before springing up to gather the weapons. After securing them in the harness, he draped it over himself and hoped it would hold.

  Shimmered from man to dragon.

  He picked her up, cradling her in his claws as if she were made of glass.

  “Something’s wrong.” Glenna gripped Moira’s arm as they stood on the practice field working with a handful of the more promising students. “Something bad, big. Wake Cian. Wake him now.”

  They both saw the black boil of the sky to the southeast, and the rippling curtain of darkness that fell from it.

  “Larkin. Blair.”

  “Get Cian,” Glenna repeated, and began to run.

  She didn’t have to shout for Hoyt; he was already sprinting toward her. “Lilith,” was all she said.

  “Midir, her wizard.” He took hold of her arm, pulling her toward the castle. “This would be his work.”

  “She’s already here. Larkin and Blair are out there, out there in the dark. We need to do something, quickly. Counteract the spell. There must be a way.”

  “Riddock should send riders out.”

  “They’d never get there in time. It’s miles off, Hoyt.”

  “They’ll go in any case.”

  When they rushed inside, Cian was already coming down, Moira hard on his heels.

  “He was already coming,” Moira said.

  “I felt the change. False night. I can get there quicker than you, or any mortal.”

  “And what good will it do if the sun comes back?” Moira demanded.

  “Time I gave that bloody cloak a try.”

  “We don’t separate. We can’t risk it. And sending riders, Hoyt.” Glenna shook her head. “They won’t help now. We need a circle, and a counter spell.” Maybe a miracle, she thought. “We need it fast.”

  “It has to be outside, under the sky.” Hoyt looked into his brother’s eyes. “Will you risk it? We can try it without you,” he said before Cian could speak. “The three of us.”

  “But the odds are better with me. Let’s get it done.”

  They gathered what they needed. Hoyt and Glenna were already outside making hurried preparations when Cian came down again with the cloak.

  Moira stepped forward when he got to the base of the stairs. “I think faith in your brother will strengthen the spell.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think,” she said in the same measured tones, “your willingness to risk so much for friends has already given you protection.”

  “We’re about to find out.” He swirled the cloak on, pulled the hood up. “Nothing ventured,” he added. And for the first time in nearly a thousand years stepped into the sun.

  There was heat. He felt it weigh down on him—lead heated almost to burning. It pressed on his chest, shortened his breath, but he crossed the courtyard.

  “I haven’t turned into a human torch yet,” he said, “but I wouldn’t object if this didn’t take long.”

  “Fast as we can,” Glenna told him. “Bright blessings on you, Cian.”

  “Let’s keep the bright off it, if it’s all the same.”

  “Carnelian for speed.” She began placing crystals in a pentagram pattern on the stones. “Sunstone for light. Agates—dendritic for protection, plume for binding.”

  Now she took up herbs, dropping them into a bowl. “Garlic for protection. Sorry,” she said to Cian.

  “That’s a myth.”

  “Okay, good. Holly, restoration of balance. Rose and willow. Power and love. Join hands. Keep yours inside the cloak, Cian, we’ll come to you.”

  “Focus,” Hoyt ordered, with his eyes on the black sky, the bubble of night to the south and east. “Draw out what you have. Both of you have power inside you. Draw it out and forge the circle.”

  “Guardians of the Watchtowers,” Glenna called out. “We summon you.”

  “Of the east, of the south, of the west, of the north, we call your fire to cast here this circle.”

  At Hoyt’s words the yellow candles Glenna had chosen to represent the sun sprang to light.

  “Morrigan the mighty, join with us now,” he continued. “We are your servants, we are your soldiers.”

  Casting her eyes to the sky, Glenna pulled everything she had inside her, and pushed. “Blessed are you and blessed are we who seek to fight this infamy. Magic against magic, white and pure against the black, here springs our power against this attack. Might and right push back the night. With our power joined we raise our cry, break this dark spell in the eastern sky. Hear our love and loyalty. As we will, so mote it be.”

  Her hand trembled in Hoyt’s as the power spun round the circle. With her eyes still cast up, she saw the battle rage. Flashing lights, gushing black clashing together like swords to raise a thunder that sent the ground to quiver.

  “We refute the dark magicks!” Hoyt shouted. “We cast
them back, we cast them out. We call the sun to flame through the false night.”

  Overhead the war between the black and the white raged on.

  Blair swam dizzily toward consciousness, and into the pain. She felt the wind rush by her, and thought she saw the blur of land below.

  Flying? She was flying? Is this what happened after you were dead? But if she was dead, why the hell did she hurt so much?

  She tried to move, but she was tied down, strapped in. Or maybe her body simply refused to work any longer. Then she managed to turn her head, and she was looking up at a golden throat.

  She thought: Larkin. Then floated away once more.

  He felt her stir, gently tightened his grip in hopes it would reassure her, make her feel more secure. He angled his head to look down at her, but her eyes were already closing again.

  She looked so pale. She felt so fragile.

  He’d left her alone.

  He would live, all of his life, he would live with the image of her bleeding, left with nothing more than a tree branch for defense while monsters circled her like vultures.

  If he’d been even seconds later, she would be dead. Because he hadn’t been with her. He’d seen to the safety of others, and he’d tarried just a little longer so a young girl could pet his wings.

  When the darkness had come, he hadn’t been with her.

  The fear ate through him that no matter how fast he’d flown to reach her, no matter if he’d stopped the three demons who’d stalked her from feeding, he’d still been too late to save her life.

  Even when he saw the castle, the fear gnawed. He saw Moira rush out, and Hoyt, Glenna, his father and others. But still he knew nothing but that fear.

  He’d barely touched the ground when he changed, and held Blair in his arms. “She’s hurt. She’s hurt.”

  “Bring her in, quickly.” Sprinting alongside him, Glenna reached over to check the pulse in Blair’s throat. “Up to her room. I’ll get what I need. Moira, go with him, do what you can for her. I’ll be quick.”

  “How bad?” Cian swung around to rush up the stairs beside Glenna.

  “I don’t know. Pulse is weak, thready. Her face…she took a beating.”

  “Bites?”

  “I didn’t see any.” She grabbed her healing kit from her room, dashed out again.

  Larkin had laid Blair on the bed, and stood as Moira laid hands on Blair’s face, her shoulders, her heart.

  “How long has she been unconscious?” Glenna snapped as she swept in.

  “I…I don’t know. She fainted,” Larkin managed. “I had to…her shoulder, it was out of the joint. I had to…she fainted when I snapped it back. I think she came around once on the way back, but I can’t be sure. The dark, it came. I wasn’t with her, and they set on her, and she was alone.”