by Martha Wells
This opening had been made at about the second level of the cellar, and the wide pillars met the ceiling another two levels above them. Below were the remains of two flights of stairs and the narrow well that had enclosed them, now a mound of broken stone and shattered wood. Corpse-lights flitted around the stairs and the tops of the columns.
The unnatural light was bright enough to let Thomas see the dark openings in the ceiling for the air shafts and the doors through which the larger siege engines had been lowered. Chains and frayed ropes hung down from some of those doors, the old system of block and tackle. Thomas said, "They fly up those shafts."
"Yes." Grandier's gaze was on the unholy revelry below. "It protects them from daylight, but gives them access to the surface." He turned back to the others and said, "Dontane, they seem disturbed. Go down and ask them what's wrong."
Dontane moved forward, threw an unreadable look at Grandier, then started the awkward climb to the bottom of the cellar.
"So he is a sorcerer," Thomas said.
Grandier glanced at him. "He's learning. He had been refused admittance to Lodun, and in anger he came across the border to Bisra, and to me for teaching before my arrest. I refused him, because I felt he lacked moral character." He smiled, amused, apparently, by this earlier self who had had the leisure to make such judgments. "Trust was a very important issue, among those of us who practiced sorcery in Bisra. The merest suspicion of necromancy, or anything else the Church could interpret as traffic with demons, was death. But after I escaped from the Inquisition, I sought him out. I had discovered I needed a man who lacked moral character. He was at Lodun with me after I was Galen Dubell, but one of the masters learned he had been across the border, and became suspicious of him. The rumors that I had come to Ile-Rien had already started, you see. So I sent him on to contact the Duke of Alsene for me, which he did through our unfortunate and foolish Lord Lestrac."
Dr. Braun had visited Lodun frequently, Thomas remembered. "You killed Braun because he recognized Dontane."
"I would have had to eventually, anyway."
Thomas watched Dontane pick his way down the remains of the steps and said, "Are you sure he's not the one who turned you in to the Inquisition?"
"Oh, good try." Grandier smiled. "No, that man is dead."
Dontane had climbed halfway to the bottom, and now one of the winged sidhe flew to meet him, cupping its wings to hold itself in midair, gesturing and shouting at him in a high-pitched shriek. Dontane turned and waved at Grandier, his posture betraying irritation. Grandier said, "It appears this needs my attention." He nodded to the Alsene sergeant, then looked back at Thomas. "I'll see you shortly, Captain."
Without Grandier's presence, the troopers muttered nervously as they made their way back, but Thomas was too preoccupied to notice. Why did he want me to see that? What did it accomplish? A will-o'-the-wisp followed them part of the way, playing in the unlit wall lanterns and taunting them silently.
Thomas felt each step of the various stairways as a short stabbing pain. By the time they reached the upper floors of the Old Palace he was limping badly. They entered one of the smaller halls that had been set up as temporary barracks, now occupied by a few sullen troopers gathered around the hearth fire, and they passed through it into an attached suite. The last room had been stripped of furniture and wall coverings, and it was dark except for what light flickered uncertainly in from the lamps in the anteroom.
Thomas watched tiredly as one of them pounded an iron spike with a set of manacles attached to it into the wall. With respect for his unpredictability, one held a pistol to his head when they untied him to put the manacles on.
The chains were short but he was able to sit down against the wall. The troopers withdrew into the anteroom to huddle in a nervous knot near the hearth.
He tested the set of the spike in the wall to see if it could be worked loose, but it held firm. Well and truly caught this time. He rested his pounding head back against the cold wood, and tried not to think.
"I didn't believe they would let you live." It was Aviler's voice. Between the dim light and the distraction of various injuries, Thomas hadn't seen the other man chained to the opposite wall. The High Minister's dark-colored doublet was torn and bloodied, and from the livid bruises on his temple it seemed he had not been taken easily.
Thomas closed his eyes a moment, damning the fate that had consigned him to be imprisoned with Aviler. Then he said, "Grandier wanted me alive, and if you imply I'm in league with him, I'll kill you."
At the moment it was a supremely empty threat, but Aviler answered, "Don't take me for a fool, Captain."
"I don't know what else to take you for." Thomas sat up and gingerly felt the back of his head. His hair was matted with blood, and there was a sizable lump composed of pure pain.
"You can take me for a man who did not acquire my power in a Queen's bed."
"Yes," Thomas agreed. "In her bed, on the daybed in the anteroom, on a couch in the west solar of the Summer Palace, and other locations too numerous to mention, and if you had the slightest understanding of Ravenna at all, you would know it never made one damn bit of difference as to whether she took my advice or not. And no, your father handed you your power wrapped in ribbon on his deathbed."
The High Minister looked away. After a long moment of silence, he said, "I expect it doesn't matter now."
Already feeling the bite of the manacles on his wrists, Thomas expected it didn't matter either.
Aviler rubbed his eyes, making his own chains jingle slightly. "Galen Dubell really is the sorcerer Grandier, then. Denzil told me something of it when he brought the Queen to me, but under the circumstances I don't place much confidence in his word."
"Dubell really is Grandier. He got a shape-changing magic from the fay, and he killedDubell and took his place." The stab wound in Thomas's left arm was still bleeding sluggishly, though the pain of it hardly competed with that in his head. The thinner sleeve leather of his buff coat had absorbed some of the force but the blade had still penetrated a couple of inches at least. He tore a strip of material from the tail of his shirt to use as a crude bandage. "Why are you alive?"
"I don't know. No one's bothered to say. What's your opinion on the subject?"
"He wants to keep his options open. He can't stay Dubell forever."
As Aviler considered the unpleasant implication, Thomas tightened the rag around his arm, taking malicious satisfaction in letting the other man in on his private terror. He knew he had more to worry about on that score than the High Minister did. Grandier hardly knew Aviler.
With Lucas dead--he hesitated in tying off the makeshift bandage, wondering who had done it, Dontane or some nameless hireling trooper--there was no one but Ravenna who knew him well enough to realize the deception immediately. He didn't think anyone could find a way through the complexities of his relationship with Ravenna, but that would only mean Grandier would have to kill her, the way he had coldly eliminated anyone who might have noticed that Galen Dubell had changed more than time could account for.
Then there was Kade.
Kade had done well enough leading her own erratic and dangerous life before Thomas had dragged her into this, talked her into staying with them past the point at which she could have left safely. And made her vulnerable. The little idiot trusts me. Lucas had been right. And he remembered that the last conversation he had had with his friend had been an argument; stupid thing to do in a war, and he would regret it the rest of his no doubt short life.
Kade was her own woman, and he was too old to bother lying to himself anymore and too young not to want her. But any chance of anything between them was wasted, as pointlessly wasted as Lucas, Vivan, and ail the other lives lost and destroyed by Denzil and Grandier.
There was a stirring among the men in the anteroom, and after a moment Urbain Grandier appeared in the doorway, carrying a candlelamp and a short stool.
He set the lamp down on the scuffed floorboards, and glanced
once, thoughtfully, at Aviler. Then he looked back to Thomas and said, "I felt I owed you more of an explanation."
Thomas had a sudden impulse to delay whatever the sorcerer had come to say. He said, "You have Dontane fooled. He thinks you're mad."
Grandier shook his head, put the stool he had brought just inside the doorway, and sat down. "I give him what he expects." He sighed, and looked like a tired old man. "He imagines himself to be subtle and dangerous, and I suppose he is, but there are things he fails to understand. Denzil, on the other hand, is rather like an incompetent copyist's version of you."
As the clear gray eyes met his Thomas felt a stab of pure fear. Worry about it later, he thought. Grandier had probably noticed but there was no help for that. He said, "Do they know what you're planning? And there is a plan, isn't there?"
"Yes. I first conceived it in my cell in the Temple Prison at Bistrita. I had to think about something besides the torturers, and the death by fire that waited for me." He looked down at his hand and stretched the fingers, contemplating the unbroken skin as if he did not quite recognize it as his own.
And perhaps he doesn't, Thomas thought. He remembered the catalog of tortures the court documents had listed. Grandier was driven, dangerous, and intelligent, but not insane. It was almost as if he had passed into another phase of being that was not madness or sanity but some lawless ground in between.
Across the room, Aviler shifted a little, breaking the silence with a faint clink of chain, and Grandier said, "Then an emissary of the Unseelie Court appeared with their offer, which you know about already. Part of a scheme on their part to suborn a human sorcerer, to make the Host more powerful in our world. It's a contest they have with the Seelie Court, their opposites in Fayre. Having a sorcerer at their beck and call would be a coup of sorts." He shrugged. "They thought me a likely candidate."
Thomas realized he was trying to control the conversation out of panic, and that Grandier was allowing him to do it. Try to be a little less transparent, he told himself. You've helped the man enough already. Grandier seemed to expect a comment, so he said only, "The more fools they."
"I thought so." Grandier smiled a little. "It's not entirely their fault, the trusting creatures. They are accustomed to Fayre, which bends to their will. The mortal world has sharp edges, bends to no man's will, and events occur with fatal finality. Mistakes are not suffered. Evadne was pressing me to give up this game and go on to something more entertaining. He was one of their self-proclaimed leaders, a very annoying character. He's dead now, of course. I rather thought someone might kill him eventually. And I meant to tell you, Kade escaped through the ring and is presumably in Fayre, at the moment."
That's one mercy. Thomas fought not to show relief and asked, "Why are you helping Denzil?"
"The Duke has offered me what I want. A war with Bisra."
"We've had a war with Bisra. It didn't turn out that well for anyone." But things began to fall into place. Ravenna would never have agreed to another war. They had been the victors of the last long conflict with their mortal enemies to the south only by a bare margin. Even if Roland had supported such a suicidal course, Aviler and the other High Lords and advisors would have prevented it at any cost.
"There was a war," Grandier conceded. "But I was not involved. And I have the Host."
Thomas thought of the monstrous turmoil in the undercellars. He said, "If you want to turn them loose on Bisra, be my guest, but why do you have to destroy us in the process?"
"I have no intention of destroying Ile-Rien. But I will have to alter it somewhat. Denzil needs the war to cement his position as usurper. When word leaks out that Vienne is under a virtual state of siege by creatures of Fayre, Bisra will move to take advantage. They need Ile-Rien's wealth to maintain a balance of power with Parscia, on their southern border, and their Church fears any sorcery not under its control. Justifiably so.
"When the landed lords of Ile-Rien realize Bisra is marshalling its forces to attack, they will support any central authority that has a chance of marshalling a resistance. The Duke of Alsene will be that authority. Oh, that won't be all. There is to be some document of formal abdication, signed by Roland. Under what circumstances, I don't know." He looked over at Aviler, who had been listening in a kind of horrified fascination. "That explains your presence. Your position allows you to deputize the King's seal on state documents during an emergency when the King has been removed for his own safety. I doubt the originator of that particular tenet of courtlaw intended documents of abdication to be included in that category, and it would be laughed off if Roland's supporters took power again, but Denzil intends to keep all his options open."
Aviler looked away, his face grim. "I will not sign anything for Denzil, for you, or for the Prince of Hell himself."
"I know." Grandier nodded seriously. He turned back to Thomas. "Once the Bisran army crosses the border, and are no longer protected by their priests' defenses, the Host will help to harry them and they will be driven back. At that time, outrage against the Bisrans will be so high it will not be difficult to turn an army of defense into an army of offense."
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. "The Host participates in this out of the goodness of its collective heart? What did you offer them, the destruction of Lodun? What arethey going to do when you don't keep up your end of the bargain?"
Grandier looked up, surprised and pleased. "Oh, very good. Go on."
"Denzil's motive is plain: he has to own everyone and everything around him. The Host wants the death of as many human sorcerers as possible. And you want Bisra. And I'd wager anything that you mean for no one to get what he wants except you."
"And how will I accomplish this?" Grandier asked softly, eyes alight.
"I don't know. But I don't think you'll let them destroy Lodun."
"No, I would not let them do that." For a moment his expression turned abstract. "Evadne was the one demanding I destroy Lodun. He is not a factor anymore."
Grandier hesitated, his face craggy and harsh in the candlelight. "I don't like Denzil; he is cunning and I will need help to manage him. But he will give me what I want, and so I must use him. Bisra will be struck by the might of your armies. Once their priests can no longer defend them from the fay, I can further the collapse. In time, there will be nothing left but to sow salt into the empty fields...and Bisra will cease to be. It will probably take many years, I know, but I have the time." He looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "I regret the necessity of a long war that will have ill effect on this land, but I really can't see any other way to start the process of collapse. You will agree that an all-out conflict can be particularly devastating."
Thomas just looked at him. There was nothing to be said. Grandier was setting forces in motion he couldn't possibly control. The old sorcerer might never see his goal accomplished, but he would see years of destruction.
Quietly, desperately, Aviler said, "What you are planning--dreaming--will never come to pass."
Grandier got slowly to his feet, as if the cold hurt his back. "I have ridden the tide of events for many years. I am quite capable of guiding it now."
Thomas looked up at him, and knew any argument was useless, but he said, "You are mad. You're handing the kingdom to Denzil, and he doesn't give a penny damn for you or your plans."
"That remains to be seen."
In a tone of quiet rage, Aviler said, "I hope you burn in Hell with your damned fay allies."
Grandier chuckled. "I have already burned in Hell. You see the result. Heaven help us all if it happens again."
Thomas said, "Has Denzil noticed that anyone who gets in your way dies?"
"I don't think so. Not yet, at any rate. But then, you're not dead, and you were certainly in my way."
Not nearly enough, Thomas thought. "That's only a matter of time, isn't it?"
"It's what I'm told." Grandier regarded him silently, then said seriously, "There is one more thing. The Queen... The Dowager Queen Ravenna is dead.
"
Thomas felt the silence stretch, felt Aviler staring at him. Calmly he said, "You're lying."
"Not about this. She was trying to protect Roland. She succeeded and destroyed several important members of the Host in the process."
"You're lying." Thomas tried to stand and the chains jerked him back to his knees. He didn't notice.
Grandier closed his eyes a moment. "No. There are some things I regret, but this isn't one of them. She was too dangerous."
And then he knew it was true. "You fucking bastard!" he shouted at him.
Grandier turned to go and Thomas said, "You are a coward. You didn't have to do this."
His back to Thomas, Grandier paused in the doorway, but then continued out.
Thomas sank back against the wall. Aviler said, "It is a lie, surely."
"No. No, it's not." It was the last thing he said for several hours.
Chapter Sixteen
KADE LANDED AWKWARDLY in the high velvet grass of the Knockma ring and rolled to her feet. She pressed her hands to her temples and tried to concentrate, feeling the lines of force radiating out from the ring around her. She reached out along them to open a ring in the maze court below the Old Palace. She opened her eyes and saw the green sward of Knockma, the menhirs standing around her in silent contemplation, and in the distance, the mist-shrouded column of the castle and its reflection.
She snarled, shrugged out of her coat, and tried again.
After four failures she knew it was no good; she couldn't form a ring inside the palace. What did Grandier do? He would have had to ward the palace against her, that would take... But traveling the rings from the palace to Knockma, to Aviler's house and back here, had distorted her sense of time's passage. By the sky, they had lost nearly an hour on coming to Knockma and returning to the city. Moving from the less powerful ring she had made at the High Minister's house and coming back, she could have lost more than that.