That reminded me of Bella—Mira's statement, “Bella knew,” and the dream I'd had in my cell. Bella had been murdered by the Fedeli. Not tortured, not burned, but simply murdered. I hadn't realized at the time just how strange this was, but now, after playing for Rosalba as she painstakingly transcribed confessions—now, I realized, the Fedeli did not normally kill people so quickly. They wanted a detailed confession, not merely a declaration of heretical faith. They wanted names, histories, repentance. Why, then, would they cut Bella's throat and let her choke to death on her blood in front of us? Bella knew. What was it they'd killed her to hide?
I thought back to that night. We had been dancing and dancing, to the drums and to Bella's trumpet. I'd felt a strange warmth, and then suddenly Cassio snatched the trumpet out of Bella's hands. And then she declared her faith, and they killed her.
I'd felt a strange warmth—like drinking hot wine, or playing the Old Way music. We weren't playing Old Way music—but we were dancing. I'd caught a glimpse of the power that night, just as I'd caught a glimpse of it while playing the Redentori songs with Mira and the others. I hadn't really known that power until the night that I played for the funeral in Ravenna, but maybe Bella had. Bella knew. Bella had realized something, and the Fedeli were willing to sacrifice the information they could drag out of her to ensure that whatever she had just found died with her, on the stones of the conservatory piazza.
Your magic is stronger than ours. Could I really do magic with the Redentore music? The idea seemed ludicrous. I thought about the surge of power Mira sent through me at our first meeting here, the sensation of light that flared the witchlight in my hand like tinder flaring into flame. More, I want more. I pushed the thought away, thinking about the power that I touched in the Mass, that I sent into the earth, that I used to stop the riot. That's what they killed Bella to hide. That's what we could use to defeat the Circle.
I rode through the day without stopping except to buy a fresh horse with the coins Mira had packed in my bag. Your magic is stronger than ours. I thought I had a way. I told myself that I knew I had a way, and prayed that I was right.
As I rode into the village encampment at high noon the next day, I heard the perimeter guards shout. “Who goes?” Then—“Eliana?” The voice was incredulous, delighted.
“It's me,” I said. “And company's coming. Round everyone up and get them to the center of the village.”
Lucia, Isabella, and Giovanni came running as I rode into the center of the village.
“Eliana!” Isabella shouted.
“What's wrong?” Lucia asked.
“I've been followed,” I said.
“And you led them here?” Giovanni demanded.
“Listen to me,” I said. “First of all, I need my violin. Then bring everyone to the village piazza. Hurry. I'm an hour ahead of them, at most.” I turned to Lucia. “Do they know the Dance that Turned the Storm?”
“Yes,” Lucia said. “But we haven't danced it recently.”
“Teach it again. Isabella, gather all the children and the injured into the piazza. Shelter won't protect them from magefire—they need to be close to us. Giovanni, I'll need something to stand on, and so will some archers—they'll be shooting from inside the dance circle.”
“You're mad,” Giovanni said.
“No, I'm not,” I said. “It's possible that I'm wrong, but I'm not mad.”
“And if you are wrong?”
“Just hope I'm right,” I said. “Because it's too late for anything else.”
The preparations were completed in minutes. I stood at the center of the circle, on a kitchen table that had been dragged outside, my violin in my hand. The village children sat under it, the older ones trying to reassure the younger ones. A dozen archers stood on benches, looking a little confused. Everyone else stood in a circle around us, hands clasped. Giovanni glared at me from the bench where he stood with a crossbow; Lucia's eyes were closed, her face peaceful. Then I could see distant dust kicked up by swift horses; they were coming.
I played the opening notes to the dance on my violin.
“Rachamin Arkah,” Lucia sang. “Rachamin Arkah. Rachamin Gèsu. Rachamin Gèsu.” The dance began to move around me like a vast wheel. Side-together-side skip. Front-together-front skip. Side-together-side skip. Back-together-back skip.
God, I thought. I'm trusting you. This had better work.
My pursuers rode into the village. There were a dozen of them—eight guards, four mages. They hadn't brought along any soldiers, just members of the Circle Guard. The mages dismounted almost casually, clasping their hands and closing their eyes.
“Keep dancing!” Lucia shouted. “Don't look at them. Look at Eliana. Keep dancing.”
The mage in the center—the focus—raised his hands to the sky.
I gathered the fear and faith and motion of the dancers, feeling the power running through my body like blood, like Mira's magery. Stronger than ours. A calm came over me as I saw the fires coming down on us. Back, I thought, and focused the dance-energy out.
Red clouds of magefire rolled around us, breaking like water at a dam. The fire rippled toward the houses around the piazza; the clay walls melted like butter as the houses were consumed by the flames. One of the houses had brilliant red flowers out front; for a moment the flames and flowers merged, then only the fire was left.
But the magefire shimmered along the edge of our circle like a candle dancing along the edge of a glass.
Lucia's eyes flew open and I realized that she hadn't really believed this would work.
The clouds dissipated, leaving the burning houses; I could see the faces of the mages, eyes wide with disbelief. I took a step toward them. Perhaps I could extend the protection beyond the edge of the circle. Out, I thought. Go. Another cloud of magefire came down, but this one broke at the edge of the piazza. The dancers moved faster and faster, their realization that this was working filling them with energy and flooding me with power.
The mages were frightened now. One started to break out of the line and was jerked forward again by his fellows.
“Shoot them!” I shouted. The archers jumped; they'd been staring dumbfounded at the magefire. Giovanni stood beside me and raised his crossbow. As the focusmage raised his arms again, Giovanni loosed a bolt and the mage fell, clutching at the bolt in his throat, crawling desperately away from us.
“No,” I heard one of the other mages cry. “This can't be happening. This is impossible!”
“Come on!” Giovanni shouted to the other archers. “Don't just stand there gaping! You are soldiers! You are wolves!”
The archers raised their shaking bows and fired a volley of bolts. Another mage fell, clutching at a bolt in his gut; one of their guardsmen cried out as he took a bolt in the arm. The two remaining mages dropped to the ground, still clasping hands. “Kill the dancers,” one of them shouted to their guards. “Break their circle, and we'll take them out with fire.”
The eight guardsmen charged toward the square. Giovanni rolled under Lucia and Isabella's clasped hands, drawing his sword as he rose. He kicked one guardsman in the gut as he caught the sword of another against his own. “Fire again!” he shouted. “Kill the mages; we can deal with the guards when we're done!”
One of the guards stabbed a dancer in the back with his sword; as she fell, the people on either side of her clasped hands to continue. That was too much for the rest of the archers, though, and they dropped their crossbows and followed Giovanni's example rather than his orders, ducking out of the circle and drawing swords. One archer fired one more bolt toward the mages, but I saw the bolt sizzle and vanish in the air, like the bolt that had been fired at me at the conservatory. Unfortunately for me, with the archers out of the circle, I'd lost my bodyguards. I jumped down off the kitchen table, pretty sure that I could work the Redentore magic without being able to see outside the circle.
The Circle guardsmen were excellent swordsmen, but they were outnumbered three to two, and Giovann
i looked like he thought he could fight two of the guardsmen all by himself. Watching from inside the circle of dancers, I realized that the guardsmen had trained much more with their crossbows than in close-quarters fighting; the Circle didn't usually want them too close to their opponents as it made it impossible to use magefire without killing the guardsmen as well. Normally when someone attacked at close range, it was a single, desperate person; no real threat to eight guards.
Beyond the piazza, I saw a movement. “The mages,” I shouted. “They're running away!” Giovanni kicked away the guard he was fighting and tore after them. I tried to extend the power of the dance to where the mages were, but it hardly mattered; he tackled one mage and threw him to the ground, cutting his throat, while one of the other Lupi stabbed his sword through the other.
The piazza was suddenly very quiet, and I realized that we'd killed the mages and all of their guards. Rachamin Arkah, the dancers sang. Rachamin Gèsu. I ended the dance and looked around at the faces of the Lupi. Some people were too stunned to react; others had smiles of wild delight. Lucia's eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. Beyond her, Giovanni turned toward me, thumped his chest with his fist, and held it out in salute.
“The Emperor's army fights for us,” I said. “And our faith is stronger than magefire.”
PART THREE
Stronger Than Magefire
CHAPTER TEN
Trust not in the gratitude of the powerful.
—The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 7, verse 33.
The wasteland hills were gray in the thin winter sunlight. “Are you sure you're leading us in the right direction?” Giovanni asked again. “Everything looks the same.”
“Not to me, and yes, I'm sure,” I said. We crested the hill, and beyond could see a red banner flapping in the wind. I turned to Giovanni. “See? I was right.”
“Luck,” he said.
Michel had taken Travan to an old army barracks in the northern part of the wasteland. We had been in contact with him by messenger, but hadn't arrived in person until now. Giovanni and I had ordered the Lupi to regroup in the wasteland; the Emperor was setting up supply lines, and we could use the wasteland's protection from magefire while we recruited additional musicians.
Travan and Michel were not alone. Already, courtiers and minor nobles were defecting. Clara had been among the first to join them; according to Michel's message, she had embraced the Redentore faith with an apparent fervor that startled him. I found this fact oddly reassuring; surely, Clara would only join a side she thought would win. By joining us now, she positioned herself as one of the Emperor's most loyal advisors. Though there was also the fact that she'd been unable to marry her lover because of the Lady's withheld blessing. Clara had been joined promptly by that lover—husband, now— Demetrio, the army commander who had escaped our attack in the wasteland last summer. Demetrio was acting as a liaison to the army, and helping to set up the supply lines.
The shifting winds of politics had created unexpected bedfellows. Placido had also come south to join the Emperor's makeshift court, and despite their original affiliations, he and Clara had discovered that they had a great deal in common. Starting, no doubt, with a keen sense of their own self-interest and a knack for discovering which way the wind was blowing.
The Lupi army had made camp a day's ride away; I wanted to keep the nobles out of our hair. Also, although I trusted most of my army, there was always the possibility that we'd brought along a spy, and it was easier to protect Travan with only a handful of people around. Giovanni and I had ridden to the Emperor's court by ourselves, leaving quietly before dawn.
Michel came out to greet us, his face bright. We dismounted from our horses and I clasped his arms; Michel pulled me into a hug. “I thought you'd never make it,” he said. “Are the Lupi close by?”
“Not far,” I said. Beyond Michel, I could see others come out of the barracks. Placido, Clara, and another man—Demetrio, probably. Not Travan; presumably he was waiting inside.
“Hello, Generale Eliana,” Placido said as I came up toward the door. “What a pleasure to renew our acquaintance.” His face showed anything but pleasure.
“I trust you are confident in my identity this time,” I said.
Irritation flashed through his eyes, but he laughed as if I'd made a particularly amusing joke. “Of course,” he said.
Clara regarded me with a faint speculative smile. “I believe we have also met before,” Clara said, clasping my hand gently in greeting. “You were going by ‘Daniele’ at the time, yes?”
“I was,” I said. “We were never exactly introduced, but I played for a banquet you attended.” I remembered Clara's bright eyes studying me. She was studying me again, but I had nothing to fear this time and looked readily back at her.
“Let me present my husband,” Clara said. “First Generale Demetrio of the New Imperial Army.”
Demetrio bowed formally, offering me the ritual salute between military equals. I returned the gesture, though I couldn't help remembering what Lia had told me about his brutality. Well. Shifting winds could bring unexpected allies—for me, as well as for Clara and Placido.
“Let me present my second-in-command, Generale Giovanni,” I said. Demetrio and Clara nodded as Giovanni bowed formally. Placido looked as if he had just bitten into a rotten fruit, and this clearly pleased Giovanni no end.
“I am honored by your welcome,” Giovanni said. I had never heard him so polite, but Placido's pudgy face tightened even more. I'd have to ask Giovanni later what that was about.
“Shall we go in, then?” I asked. Placido turned away with a final venomous glare toward Giovanni. Clara and Demetrio gestured toward the door and we went into the barracks.
There were a lot of people living there. The air inside was close and damp; the smell of horses mixed with incense and perfume. Tapestries and furniture had been brought from Cuore, far grander than the halls they adorned. The most absurd item I saw was a delicately carved wood box used as an apple crate.
The Emperor's audience chamber was in part of the old meal hall; it had been partitioned off. Travan was pacing the room impatiently when we came in. I studied him from the doorway as the servant announced our arrival. Travan had lost weight; he hadn't been fat when I saw him in Cuore, but there had been a softness that was gone after the long flight to the wasteland. His black velvet tunic was finely made but plain. He wore no crown or sign of his office, but a carved wooden cross hung around his neck. He turned eagerly at our arrival.
I sank to one knee and bowed my head; Giovanni did the same a pace behind me. “Your highness,” I said. “It's good to see you again.”
Travan crossed the floor in three steps and drew me to my feet. “Daniele—Generale Eliana.” He kissed me on each cheek, and I could hear Placido's sharp intake of resentful breath behind me. “I'm so glad you've come at last.” He gripped my hands tightly, then released them. “Still in boy's clothes, I see,” he said.
“‘Still?’ The last time you saw me I was in a dress.” Placido coughed discreetly. “Your highness,” I added.
“On Mascherata, dresses are boy's clothes,” Travan said. “Well, it's good to see you. Whatever you're wearing. I'm glad you made it here safely.”
“And how was your trip, your highness?” I asked.
Travan's eyes brightened. “Most exciting. But Michel took good care of me.” At a rustle from Clara, Travan glanced past me and smiled resignedly. “I suppose we can save the visiting for later. Demetrio, would you be so kind?”
Demetrio showed us to a table at the end of the hall. There was a huge piece of parchment spread out on the table, with an elaborate abstract drawing of thin black lines. Circles and stars had been drawn all over, and small counters had been placed throughout—to hold the parchment down, I thought at first.
“This is Cuore,” Demetrio said, pointing, and I realized that the parchment was in fact a detailed map. “Varena, and Pluma. Here's the wasteland. The Imperial army has divis
ions camped here, here, and here.” Those were the tokens. “How many Lupi are there?”
“Several hundred right now, but I expect our numbers to increase significantly over the next few weeks. I trust we will be supplied with the lines you've set up?”
“That can be arranged,” Demetrio said. He placed some tokens on the map in the wasteland. “Now, explain to me exactly how your defense against magefire works.”
“I can direct the energy of Redentori dances to deflect magefire,” I said. “I suspect other musicians could learn to do the same thing.”
“Redentori musicians,” Clara said.
“Presumably.”
“How large an area can you protect?” Demetrio asked.
“More than just the area with dancers,” I said. “It extends out a fair distance, but I'm not sure just how far.”
“We'll need more musicians,” Demetrio said. “And more dancers.”
“We're going to try recruiting from the conservatories,” I said. “I'm confident that the ability isn't restricted to violinists.”
“This will help a great deal,” Demetrio said. “But the walls of the Imperial Enclave will still pose an obstacle, unless we wish to recruit some mages of our own.”
“Out of the question,” Clara said.
“I thought as much. So.” Demetrio looked around the table. “With only the Fedeli and the Circle Guard left to defend them, and with offensive magic rendered useless, the Circle's only possible strategy is to withdraw into the enclave and wait for us to come to them.”
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