Turning the Storm

by Naomi Kritzer

  Michel looked up from his soup. “Are you saying that the Emperor—”

  “I'm not saying anything about the Emperor,” Giovanni said. “I think it's Clara that's getting nervous, and probably Eliana is the cause as much as the Lupi. They're loyal to you, Eliana, not to Emperor Travan. Clara's in a very nice position these days, and it's only going to get nicer when they return to Cuore. Anything that can jeopardize that makes her nervous.”

  I picked up the letter and read it. “She's trying to imply a threat, but it's not clear what she thinks she's going to do to us,” I said. “Do you think she plans to send the Imperial Army against the Lupi to get rid of us?”

  “The Emperor would never stand for that,” Michel said.

  “Clara and Placido,” I said. “What a pair.”

  “You know what they say,” Giovanni muttered. “Even in the worst flood, offal floats.”

  “Generale Eliana?” someone called from outside the tent. Placido. I clapped my hand over my mouth; Lucia started laughing silently. I ran through the last few minutes of conversation; damaging, but not damning. I was fairly certain he couldn't have been there for long, as my guards would have announced his presence. In any case, he was here now.

  “Come in, Placido,” I said.

  Placido came into the tent. He looked annoyed, but I had no idea whether it was because of Giovanni's insult or just because of Giovanni's presence. “I wanted to bid you good night,” he said. “And to wish you God's grace in the battle tomorrow.”

  “May God smile on you, as well,” I said. “Have a seat. We were just discussing Clara's letter.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “What did she write? She didn't share the contents with me.”

  I was tempted to make up something shocking, to see from his reaction whether or not he was lying, but decided against it. “She raises the question of where the Lupi are to go once the battle tomorrow is won, assuming that God continues to stand with us.”

  “Have you ideas along those lines?” Placido asked.

  “The Lupi who've joined us over the winter are farmers,” I said. “They have lives to return to, homes, fields to plant. The ones who we liberated from the slave labor camps, though, their farms were in the wasteland. They don't have anything to go back to. But if the Emperor would set aside land for them, farms, they could go there.”

  “Where were you thinking?” Placido asked.

  “My former village, Doratura, has already been resettled by refugees from the slave camps,” I said. “There are other villages like it; some have already been resettled, but a formal declaration would end any question.”

  “I'm sure the Emperor would be willing,” Michel said. “That's certainly an easy enough request to grant.”

  Placido gave Michel a look that could curdle cheese. Michel took a bite of bread, not appearing to notice.

  “And you?” Placido asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you wish to return to a farm?” Placido said. “What do you intend to do next?”

  “I wish to continue to serve the Emperor, in whatever capacity he can best use me,” I said.

  “The Emperor wants you to join his staff as an advisor,” Michel said. “He's said so.”

  Placido's glare could have lit Michel's vest on fire, except doing that sort of thing was a sin and Placido was probably afraid we'd report him to the Servi. “How delightful,” Placido muttered. “Don't you want to return to your home?”

  “My family was killed when the Circle destroyed my village,” I said. “I have no home to return to.”

  Placido clucked his tongue with almost-genuine sympathy. “Clara worries about people with no family,” he said.

  Probably because we have no one who can be used against us, I thought. “It was terrible to lose my family,” I said. “But I have found consolation in my service to the Emperor.” I mentally blessed Michel's excellent memory for conversation. I'd have to remember to hint to him later that if he wanted to repeat this entire conversation to the Emperor, that wouldn't bother me at all.

  “Have you ever had the opportunity to attend the university, Generale?” Placido asked.

  That was a question I didn't see coming. “No,” I said. “My education was musical.”

  “You should consider attending,” Placido said. “For a time, to round out your education—if you're going to become an Imperial Advisor. I'm confident the Emperor wouldn't hinder such a plan.”

  “To learn what?” I asked.

  “History,” Placido said. “Philosophy.”

  “Why would the Emperor need me for such expertise when he has you?” I asked. “Not to mention Giovanni?”

  Giovanni had been quietly enjoying the conversation from the corner; his head snapped up and he glared at me. “Michel, does the Emperor want me as an advisor?”

  “I don't know,” Michel said. “He hasn't ever said so.”

  “Good,” Giovanni said. “I'd like to become a worthless layabout at court. I'm assuming that will be acceptable to him?”

  Michel grinned. “I think he'll figure you've earned it, Generale.”

  “Did you have any other questions, Placido?” I asked.

  “No,” Placido said. “I just came to wish you good night, and God's blessing.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Good night, then, Placido, and good luck to you tomorrow, as well.” Not that Placido was likely to need it; I was confident he'd stay near the rear, assuring himself and us that he would only get in the way. University arms training prepared one to be a gentleman, not a soldier.

  We finished our meal after Placido was gone. I wanted more wine, but it would be too easy to overindulge tonight, and I would need a clear head tomorrow. I sent for tea instead.

  Isabella came to the door before the tea arrived. “Generale Eliana, may I have a word with you?” she asked. “Alone?”

  Giovanni, Lucia, and Michel started to get up, but I waved them back. “You stay here,” I said. “Isabella and I will go for a walk.” My bodyguard trailed us at a discreet distance; Isabella and I headed out to the southern hills, past the perimeter of the camp, and sat down. The sun was setting. I stared at the twilight sky, thinking that I should have brought a lantern for our walk back.

  Something glittered at the edge of my vision. I looked up; Isabella had tears in her eyes.

  “When you take Cuore,” Isabella said. “I need you to protect my daughter.”

  “Daughter?” I said. “What daughter?”

  “Miriamne is my daughter,” she said. “The woman you call Mira.”

  Now you are truly dead to me. I remembered Isabella's ritual burning of the lock of a child's hair … and how she had come untouched through the magefire, just as I had.

  “I told you I had a daughter who was a violinist,” Isabella said. “When we first met.”

  I remembered that, barely. “You said she died during the war. That was Mira?”

  “She's still my daughter,” Isabella said, and her voice turned salt and bitter from choked-back tears. “No matter how much I wish she were not, she's still my daughter.” She turned to me. “She saved you. I heard you tell Lucia about that—how she saved you and sent you back to us. She can't help what she does; I understand that. Please. You're the only other person here who cares about what happens to her. If you can—”

  “I don't know,” I said. “Isabella, I can't make any promises.”

  “Please,” she said. “If all the other mages are dead, there will be nothing more she can do. They need the power of many to create the magefire, to do the powerful magery.” Remembering the incinerated guards outside my cell in the Fedeli Citadel, I was dubious, but kept silent. “Miriamne can be spared,” she said. “She saved your life. She told us how to defeat them. She has been fighting for our side as hard as she can—”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Save her, then!”

  “I can't make promises.”

  “Promise to try.”

 
“I will try,” I whispered.

  Isabella was silent. “I shouldn't have come to you,” she said. “Not for this.”

  “It's all right.”

  “No. Go back to your tent. I know you'll do what you can.” Tears glittered in her eyes again, and she gave me a fierce, hard smile. “Good luck tomorrow, whatever happens. I hope you come through alive.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Mira clasped my hand by the conservatory wall. “We should go on a trip,” she said. “Right now.”

  I shook my head, though I couldn't bear to pull my hand away. “I can't,” I said. “I have obligations …”

  “Dance with me, then,” she said, and I clasped her hands and leaned my head against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of winter jasmine. When I raised my head, she was gone; I stood alone by the fountain near the musician's quarters, in the Imperial enclave. There was no one else there; the buildings were empty, completely dark. It was night.

  Suddenly, I was struck with the conviction that if I didn't find Mira then, I would never see her again. I kindled witchlight without a moment's hesitation and began to run, calling her name. Though I'd known my way around the enclave fairly well by the time I fled it, they seemed to have rearranged, or perhaps expanded; the building I entered was a maze of hallways and dark doors. “Mira,” I shouted. “Mira!”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I woke with a start; for a moment, I thought that Lucia had shaken me awake, or Giovanni, but for once I seemed to have woken myself up without disturbing my companions. I wondered what time it was, knowing that I would not be able to sleep again that night.

  Was there any chance that Mira had already fled the enclave? Alone, a mage could pretend to be just a frightened civilian, could slip through the noose and escape. Somehow, though, I knew that Mira wouldn't have done that. She would stay till the end—probably hoping that from her place in the battle, she'd be able to wreak havoc on the other mages' plans. Or perhaps just hoping that she could protect me. There was no guarantee that she'd be the focus-mage who faced me at the gate, but if she fled, she'd know without any doubt that she would not be able to save me.

  In her place, I'd have stayed. So I knew she would be there tomorrow.

  I wanted with all my heart to protect her, as Isabella had requested. But it was hard enough to protect someone in my own army, like Lucia or Giovanni. It was impossible to protect someone on the other side of the battlefield. Mira was a focus, a mage who could aim her magic with the precision of a hawk's dive; she had demonstrated her ability to choose her targets the night she spared me, Giovanni, Lucia, and Isabella while taking out half of the Lupi. I didn't have that power; I couldn't aim the tide of destruction I was about to unleash.

  I closed my eyes, wishing that I could slip back into my dream. Wishing that I could embrace Mira, and run away with her, as I'd failed to do when I'd had the chance. There was no harm in spending my nighttime hours doing what I couldn't possibly do for real. God, I whispered when sleep didn't come. Please keep Mira safe tomorrow. Somehow.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  We marched at the first gray light of dawn, Lupi followed by the Imperial Army. The sky was rose and gold as we knelt in the rocky hills just south of Cuore. “B'shaem Arkah, v'Bar Shelah, v'Nihor Kadosh,” Lucia sang, drawing a cross and raising her arms as if to embrace the two armies. “Our sins are forgiven; God stands with us in our battle. We are the children of God's Holy Light. Amen.”

  “Amen.” The word rolled through the army like water poured down a hill.

  I stood and looked around. I couldn't see the ends of my army; soldiers knelt as far as I could see. They looked at me, with loyalty and fear, with contempt and reluctance, with eagerness and innocence. I took a deep breath; there was no way that the soldiers on the edges of the crowd would hear me, but I hoped my words would be relayed back and not garbled too badly.

  “In the Name of the Mother,” I said. “And Her son, and the Holy Light.” I drew a cross, like Lucia. “God has shown us the way to victory. God has held out Her hand; it is for us to grasp it.” I looked up at the sky. This wasn't very inspiring. I'd need to do better than this before sending people down this hill to fight and die.

  “Some of us fight for our families, slain by the Fedeli and the Circle in the service of their power,” I said. “Some of us fight for the Emperor, and the vows we've spoken binding ourselves to his service.” I stepped forward. “Some of us fight for ourselves, to avenge the pain we've endured in the name of the ones we fight. Some of us fight for God, for Her grace and for Her glory.

  “We fight for so many reasons that sometimes it's hard to remember that we are all fighting for the same thing—for the same purpose. Because we are all fighting for our land. We're fighting for what we see when we close our eyes at night—a Cuore ruled honorably for the sake of the people, not brutally for the sake of power. We're fighting because we know there's a better way than what the Circle has shown us. We're fighting because we know what magefire does, what it will do if the Circle is not stopped. We're fighting because we love honor, because we love justice, because we want to wake to an Empire that is ruled with honor and with justice. We are fighting for tomorrow. We are fighting for the tomorrow that we want to wake to.”

  The armies cheered, despite the fact that if you'd asked me an hour earlier, I would have guessed that most of them didn't actually see that when they closed their eyes at night. Oh well; maybe they would now.

  “God is with us because we fight for honor,” I said. “God is with us because we fight for justice. God is with us because we fight for the land.” I drew my sword and held it over my head so that even the soldiers in the very back could see it catch the first sun of the day. “God is with us, and with God, we will fight them. With God, we will defeat them. With God, we will bring the dawn of honor and justice to the Empire. For the glory of God we will march into Cuore. For the glory of God we will dance in the Light. No magery can stand against us; no mage will stand against us. For the glory of God, today will see the final defeat of the Circle!”

  The cheer of the armies became a roar like approaching thunder, and I knew that the Circle heard us in the city below. I sheathed my sword and mounted my horse, and the signalers blew a blast on their trumpets. There was no turning back now. It was time to take Cuore.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Giovanni claimed that walls had once been built around the whole city of Cuore, not just the Imperial enclave; they were used for defense, in the days before magefire. In the years after the fall of the Old Empire, the city grew and spilled past the crumbling fortifications, and the walls were slowly dismantled for building materials. “Good thing for us,” Giovanni said. “It's going to be hard enough getting into the enclave, never mind breaching any extra walls.”

  We attacked the city from three sides, closing like a noose around the Circle and the Fedeli. Cuore rose slowly out of the edges of the valley, farms giving way to huts, then small houses, then shops and old stone buildings. The civilians of Cuore had fled in earlier weeks, leaving the city to the Fedeli and the Circle.

  The enclave walls were not terribly high or thick. They had not been built to withstand a real attack; they had been built to keep out the riffraff of Cuore. Still, even with the Circle's magic neutralized, Fedeli crossbows could keep us from scrambling up the walls more or less indefinitely. They had walled up all but the main gate, which was strong enough to stand against anything we could throw at it. And an extended siege was not practical; the dancers would drop dead from exhaustion trying to protect us day and night. We would have victory in a day, or we would retreat and try again another time.

  Michel was leading some of our best scouts through the Emperor's secret sewer tunnel. The rest of us, for now, were just creating a distraction—though if Michel and the others failed in their mission, the distraction might become the backup plan.

  A university education turned out to have its uses; Placido's backup plan was evidence of that. In the days bef
ore magery, everyone had used walls for protection, and armies had been forced to find ways to deal with them. In one of his old books, Placido had found a picture and building instructions for a device called a catapult said to be good for breaking down walls when you hit your target, and killing a great many people when you missed. Builders in the Emperor's service had constructed several duplicates for us, and it seemed to work reasonably well in tests. I had watched a demonstration a month earlier. “Back my first year at the conservatory, I had a teacher who kept poor order at meals,” I'd said, watching the catapult. “I used to take a spoon and smack it to throw bits of food at Bella.”

  “Yeah, I did that at the university, too,” Giovanni said. “Same principle.”

  I accompanied the first catapult that we dragged in through the streets; its purpose was distraction, and my presence could only serve to make it more so. Giovanni accompanied us as well. Between the dancers and the catapult, our progress was slow but inexorable. Heavy smoke choked me as we worked our way through the streets; Cuore was burning. It was the smell of the ashes of my family's village, but now it was my side that had set the fires, burning out pockets of enemy soldiers who had hidden in houses in the city, planning to attack us from behind. The sun was incongruously bright through the smoke-haze, casting sharp morning shadows on the paving-stones and glinting off the window-glass in the better houses.

  We reached the center of town. Flames leapt from the high roof of the Cathedral of the Lady; the stained-glass windows were shattered from the heat of the fire. Dead soldiers and Lupi lay scattered through the piazza, including some dance-circles that had been incinerated with magefire when the musician had been shot. We moved the catapult into position. There were three dance-circles in the piazza already, giving us overlapping circles of protection. Along the wall, I could see Fedeli bowmen gesturing wildly for others to join them. Some seemed to be pointing at me. The catapult offered some shelter, and I ducked behind it, speeding up the dance. Giovanni stood beside me, watching the wall. “Who taught those people to fight?” he said. “They're running around like scared ducks.”