The Mountain's Call

by Caitlin Brennan

  The healer was not reassured, either. Nikos waved them both off. “Stop it. Stop fussing. I was taught, and I have taught, that the gods have no patience with human pretensions, but until now I never honestly knew what that meant. They Called her. Of course they had their reasons—which beyond a doubt included this.”

  “Beyond a doubt,” Kerrec said.

  “Was it as glorious as I remember? Was she—”

  He did not finish. Kerrec could have waited, and so avoided answering, but he could not help himself. “She was,” he said.

  Nikos sighed and closed his eyes. The healer leaped to his rescue, but he was in no worse state than he had been before. Still with his eyes shut, he said, “We should worship her. Or kill her.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Nikos fixed Kerrec with a keen stare. As haggard and worn as he was, he still had his strength of will. “Where is she? Is she alive?”

  “She’s in my sister’s rooms,” Kerrec answered, “under the servants’ care.”

  “Ah,” Nikos said, a long sigh. “Good. She’ll stay there until we can deal with her.” We will have to. You understand that.”

  “I understand,” said Kerrec.

  “We owe her a great debt,” Nikos said. “Whether she can be one of us…I don’t know.”

  Kerrec opened his mouth, but shut it again. Now was not the time to argue about it, even without the healer priest about to fall down in a fit. He wanted—needed desperately—to finish his work. Kerrec left him to it.

  Valeria was still asleep. There were other places Kerrec could and probably should be, but he had not been able to stop himself from going back to her.

  He slept for a while himself in a chair beside the bed, lightly, starting awake when the servants came in at evening to light the lamps, then dozing again as the darkness deepened. His sleep was full of dim dreams and formless confusion. He could feel the city in his skin as he had while he was still the emperor’s heir.

  People were fighting, rioting, looting and burning. His father’s troops fought hard to restore order. They had no time for either subtlety or mercy. Any barbarian they caught, they killed. By midnight the palace walls hung thick with grisly fruit, bodies hung from hooks and heads on pikes. Some of the bodies still moved. Blood soaked the paving below.

  Sometime between daylight and deep night, mages hunted down the priests of the One. In his dream Kerrec watched as, one by one, they were captured and flayed alive and hung to die.

  None of the mages was Gothard, and none of the barbarians was Euan Rohe. Those two had vanished from the city.

  He started awake. Valeria had not moved since he last looked, but her eyes were open. “My arm doesn’t hurt,” she said.

  “That’s good,” he said. It was not the most graceful thing to say, but he was not graceful when it came to her. He had been hating her so thoroughly, then she had proved him so completely wrong, that he hardly knew what to think.

  “You brought me here,” she said. “It’s your sister’s room, isn’t it?”

  “One of them,” he said. “It has the advantage of being quiet, well defended and safe from the clamor of crowds.”

  “No one’s crowding to see me,” she said.

  He heard no bitterness in her tone. “You don’t think so?” he asked.

  “I know so,” she said. “They’re all busy keeping the empire from falling apart. Most of them don’t even know how the Dance ended the way it did. The white gods did it, they think, and that’s true. I was only a part of the working.”

  “The most important part,” he said.

  She shrugged, which made her wince. “You’re not out there. Why?”

  His shrug was considerably less painful. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  That widened her eyes. “What for?”

  “For doubting you. For believing you were going to betray us all.”

  “How—”

  “I heard,” he said, “before you tried to send me to the Mountain.”

  “You heard—”

  He watched her remember. Her face went stiff. “Gods. You saw—”

  “Yes.”

  “You must hate me.”

  “I did,” he said.

  She sat up. Her lips were white.

  Kerrec found himself beside her with no memory of how he had got there. His arm was around her, and he was taking away what pain he could, with what magic he had. He had a surprising amount.

  “I think I understand,” he said, as much to convince himself as Valeria. “You were taken captive, he was there, you did and said what you had to in order to survive. I didn’t do even as well.”

  “You did better,” she said with sudden fierceness. “You never betrayed what you believed in.”

  “Didn’t I?” Somehow he had drawn her into his arms. She made no effort to fight him off.

  He should not be doing this. He was the only First Rider left. It was not fitting that he should be here, cradling her as a man cradles his lover.

  At the moment he could not seem to make it matter. The memory of Valeria in Euan Rohe’s arms was still sharp, but that did not matter, either.

  The tension was draining out of her. He thought she might be sliding back into sleep. Her voice came up from the hollow of his shoulder, soft and a little slurred. “I did it for you.”

  He could find nothing to say to that.

  “They were going to kill you,” she said. “I made them think I was theirs, to keep you alive. I did it, didn’t I? You didn’t die.”

  “I didn’t die,” he said. “Valeria, I’m not worth—”

  She pushed away from him. “You are worth everything! Everything. Damn you for it, too.”

  “I was damned,” he said, “and you made me whole again.”

  “I didn’t do it to put you in debt to me.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “I didn’t do it to ingratiate myself with the Mountain, either.”

  “I know,” he said again. “Valeria, look at me.”

  She was reluctant, but he waited until she lifted her eyes and fixed them on his face. “I don’t know what will become of us, but one thing I am sure of. I’m going to make you forget that barbarian.”

  She bit her lip. Gods, was she laughing at him?

  “I have no grace with women,” he said a little testily, “or with precious little else, either.”

  “Except horses,” she said. “When you’re on a horse, you’re as beautiful a thing as I’ve seen.”

  He glared at her. “Will you let me finish my speech?”

  She set her lips together and waited in conspicuous silence.

  “I have no grace,” he said, “and not much gift with words. I have no talent for making people love me. I’d have made a poor enough emperor, and I’m not much of a lover, either—no pretty words, no sense of what to say or when to say it. All I can give you is the truth. I don’t want to live my life without you. I don’t know if I can.”

  “I know I can’t,” she said, “and you severely underestimate yourself. Which doesn’t surprise me, all things considered. Do you think your father is a good emperor?”

  “A very good one,” Kerrec said, “but what does that have to do with—”

  “You’re exactly like him.”

  He bristled. “I am not!”

  “Exactly,” she said. She stopped his mouth with her hand before he could deny it again, and then she kissed him. It was a soft kiss, and slow, not at all what he might have expected.

  She was like that. Just when he thought he could predict what she would do, she did something completely out of his reckoning.

  He had been a master of patterns, and maybe would be again, but hers were irresistibly complex. Even if he had it all back, he might never understand her.

  Then he stopped thinking. He thought too much, that was his trouble. The taste of her, the touch of her skin, the scent of her hair, filled all the places where words had been.

  Chapter Forty-Nine


  Valeria lay with her eyes closed. Somehow, while she paused for a brief rest, the night had passed and the sun had risen. She was warm with the memory of Kerrec’s presence, her body still singing faintly. She yawned and stretched and smiled.

  He was nowhere in the room, but someone was watching her. Although it was not Kerrec, it felt a great deal like him. She opened her eyes.

  The imperial heir was sitting beside the bed. She had a book in her lap, marked with a bit of crimson ribbon, but it was rolled shut. Her eyes were on Valeria. Her brows were drawn together, not exactly in a frown, but more as if she were studying this new thing that she had found in her rooms.

  Valeria would not have interrupted her thoughts, but there was a certain urgent matter that she could not ignore. “Lady,” she said.

  Briana started out of her reverie.

  “Lady,” said Valeria, “I suppose it’s indelicate, but I have to—”

  Briana’s brows rose sharply. “Of course you do,” she said.

  She had the same accent as Kerrec and Paulus, but she sounded more sensible somehow. This was a practical person, who saw the obvious as soon as Valeria drew her attention to it, and offered the logical solution. The chamber pot was not gold as Valeria might have expected, but good earthenware, with a well-fitted lid.

  Valeria sat up carefully. Except for a deep ache, her splinted arm was surprisingly comfortable.

  Briana politely directed her attention elsewhere while Valeria used the pot. When Valeria was done, Briana took the lidded pot with a complete absence of squeamishness and set it tidily by the door. Almost at once, a hand appeared and the pot vanished.

  Valeria found that she was gaping. She shut her mouth. “Now I know I’m in high places,” she said.

  Briana laughed. “I’ve heard this called the best inn in Aurelia,” she said. “We do take pride in our servants.”

  “It’s better than a posting station,” Valeria said. She sat on the bed again, for her knees were not as strong as they might be, and wrapped herself in one of the blankets. “Have you seen your brother this morning?”

  Her breath came a little quickly as she waited for the answer. Briana seemed not to notice Valeria’s tension. She lifted her hands in a graceful shrug. “Not this morning,” she said, “but the servants told me he took breakfast in the kitchens, then went off toward the riders’ house.”

  Of course that was where he had gone. Valeria suppressed a stab of pique that he had done it without her. He must have had his reasons—such as that he wanted to let her sleep, and he needed to speak to Master Nikos alone.

  She smiled a little shakily at Briana. “He brought me here. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Briana said. “I’d have been annoyed with him if he hadn’t. Not that the riders wouldn’t have taken decent care of you, if they happened to notice that you needed it, but I do think you’ll be more comfortable here.”

  “That’s what he said,” Valeria said.

  Briana smiled, a broad, bright smile that transformed her face. It was probably presumptuous, but Valeria found herself liking this person very much. She had no pretensions, and no arrogance, either. She was simply herself.

  “You must be ravenous,” Briana said, “and you must be wishing you had something to wear as well. I’ll send the servants to take care of you. I have to ask your pardon that I can’t stay.”

  Valeria could feel confusion rumbling in the earth and crackling on her skin. Although the Dance had ended and the tides of time subsided, the aftereffects were strong. The Unmaking had left scars.

  “I can help,” she said. “Just let me eat and dress, then tell me where to find you.”

  That was presumptuous, too, she knew as soon as she had said it, but she did not try to take it back.

  Briana took no offense, nor did she fly into a fit of protest. “If you’re strong enough,” she said, “we can use you. If you need more rest or more time to heal—”

  “I’m as rested as I can stand to be,” Valeria said. “You go. I can feel you’re needed. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

  Briana nodded. With a last, quick smile, she strode swiftly out.

  Valeria had just summarily dismissed the heir to the empire. She groaned and fell back on the bed. As a courtier she was a disaster. Gods knew what kind of rider she would make, if the school would even take her back.

  At the moment at least she had something to do. Breakfast came before the bath or the clothes. It was all extremely welcome, especially the breakfast. Briana had sent riding clothes, new and beautifully made. They fit well, even the boots. The servant helped Valeria to ease the shirt over her splinted arm, tied up the arm neatly in a sling, and arranged the coat so that the empty sleeve hung straight and tidy.

  Clean, fed and moderately resplendent, Valeria approached the door just as a woman in a guard’s uniform opened it and bowed. “Her Highness has asked me to escort you to her,” the woman said.

  Perfect service must be a kind of mage craft, Valeria thought. She nodded to the guard. The woman saluted crisply and turned on her heel.

  Valeria had been expecting a room with the princess sitting in it, and people running in and out. She found Briana on her feet with no throne in sight, on a wide porch in front of the palace. The square beyond was not too crowded, thanks to the armed men stationed around the edges.

  The same was not true of the portico. Sunlight streamed through columns of veined white marble onto a floor of jeweled tiles in black and white and gold. People thronged there in such a whirl of sound and color that Valeria had to stop and steady herself before she could come out into the light.

  It was dizzying, but there were patterns in it. Valeria saw the captain of the city guard and a handful of legionary commanders, each in his glittering panoply, charged with making order in the city and the empire. She saw the mayor and council of the city dressed in silk and gold, lords of this council and that court dressed even more splendidly, mages of the various orders in their different colors and liveries, and priests of every temple in Aurelia, along with a flock of lesser luminaries, secretaries, clerks and chamberlains and gods knew what else.

  Their movements were not random. They revolved around Briana and around a man standing near her, whom Valeria recognized as the emperor. He was much less elaborately dressed than the lords who surrounded him—in fact looked ready to take horse and ride. He looked well, which she was glad to see. His magic had all come back, and he was strong. If any of the poison lingered, she could see no sign of it.

  People were coming in toward him and his heir, and people were streaming away. There were knots and clusters standing apart, carrying on discussions with varying degrees of heat, but their eyes tended to stray toward the emperor and Briana.

  All of them were trying to do two things. First, calm the city and find any lingering traces of the enemy. Second, understand what had happened in the Dance. That it had ended with the emperor’s reign confirmed, everyone agreed. But how that had happened, and how it had come about, had them arguing bitterly.

  Valeria had meant to keep to the background and use what power she had to make order of chaos, but that was not what this crowd needed. Briana was doing that well enough. So was her father. Just as in the Dance, Valeria saw how they all fit with and against one another. It made a kind of tangled sense, like skeins of wool tossed together in a basket.

  She left the sanctuary of the door and started to move through the crowd. At first she thought the clamor was quieting down as such things did, rising and falling in waves. Then, keyed to the patterns as she was, she realized that the wave of silence was riding with her. People were staring, and nudging one another.

  Mages did it first, then priests. The rest took it up soon enough. By the time she reached Briana, there was not a sound along the length of the portico, and every eye was on her.

  Either she could be miserably uncomfortable or she could pretend that she was riding quadrilles in a court of th
e school. No one was looking at her, not really. They were all remembering the Dance and the white stallions and a work of magic that none of them, even the mages, understood.

  Only Briana saw her for herself. The emperor’s heir smiled and held out her hand. “Valeria! Welcome. Have you met my father? Father, this is Valeria.”

  The emperor bowed over Valeria’s hand with a smile as warm as his daughter’s. “Welcome, indeed,” he said, “and well done. I owe you thanks.”

  Valeria hardly knew where to look. She mumbled something that she hoped was polite enough.

  He tucked her hand under his arm and drew her in between him and his daughter. “Now,” he said to the rest of them, “are we going to argue until the year turns back around again, or shall we band together to destroy the barbarians?”

  Valeria could feel the forces of dissension. No two of them agreed on what to do or how to do it, but they looked at her, and something made them stop to think.

  She spoke into that quiet. “You’re all wiser than I—I can’t tell you what to do. But I can tell you what I see. You’ve driven back the attack this time, and it was a bad one, but there’s worse coming. Your enemies will go to ground now and wait out the winter, then in the spring they’ll be strong again. They’ll reckon that they lost a skirmish, but there’s still a war to win. The more united you are, the better your chances of weathering the storm.”

  “We’ll win the war,” one of the lords said, “won’t we? You Danced us a victory.”

  “The stallions Danced you hope. It’s not a promise.”

  A rumble rose at that. Maybe Valeria should not have told the truth, but she could hardly lie. She looked as many of them in the face as she could. “You are the promise,” she said. “It’s yours to win or lose. If you fight among yourselves, they’ll overwhelm you. If you come together, you have everything in your favor—numbers, weapons, strength of armies. They fight in hordes, you in legions. Man for man and on the field, you can take them.” She turned to the knot of priests and mages, who were eyeing her narrowly, measuring her against some standard she knew nothing about. “And you. They used one of your own against the empire—because they have no magic to match what you have. They have something else, something worse, but it’s a dangerous weapon, as likely to turn on them as on their enemies. You can undo it, if you will. You can unmake the Unmaking.”