Dance of the Gods (19 page)

“Where they'll be slaughtered like lambs.” Though Riddock's stare at the interruption was frigid, Blair pushed to her feet. “Sorry, but that's the way it is. We can dance around it, play protocol, waste time, but the fact is your seasoned warriors don't know squat about fighting vampires.”

When Hoyt laid a hand on Blair's arm, she shook it off. Testily. “And I didn't come here to be shuffled aside because I wasn't born here, or because I'm a woman. And I didn't come here to fight for Geall. I came here to fight for it all.”

“Well said,” Glenna murmured. “And ditto. My husband is accustomed to matters of court and princes. We're not. So you'll have to forgive us mere women. Mere women of power.”

She held out a hand, and a ball of fire, then flicked the ball into the hearth on the side of the room. Testily.

“Mere women who have fought and bled, and watched friends die. And the demon you spoke of is my family. He's also fought and bled and watched a friend die.”

“Warriors you may be,” Riddock acknowledged with what could only be termed a regal nod. “But to lead takes more than magic and courage.”

“It takes experience, a cool head. And cold blood.”

Riddock glanced back to Blair with a slight lift of eyebrows. “These, aye, and the trust of the people you would lead.”

“They have mine,” Larkin said. “They have Moira's. Earned every hour of every day these past weeks. Sir, have I not earned yours?”

“You have.” He said nothing for a moment, then again gestured to Hoyt, Glenna and Blair. “I would ask that you instruct, and that you take your commands from Lord Larkin and the Princess Moira.”

“We can start with that,” Blair decided. “Will you fight?” she asked Riddock.

Now the look in his eye had a kinship with a wolf. “To the last breath.”

“Then you're going to need instruction, too, or that last breath's going to come sooner than you think.”

Larkin cast his eyes heavenward, but laid a hand on his father's shoulder and spoke lightly. “Blair has a warrior's spirit.”

“And an unruly tongue. The gaming area then,” Riddock decided. “For our first instructions.”

 

“Y
our father doesn't like me.”

“That's not so.” Larkin gave Blair a friendly elbow nudge. “He's merely working his way around to understanding you, and all of this.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked at Glenna as they walked outside. “Do you think we should tell Riddock how our people felt about kings?”

“I think we could let that one alone. But running up against what we did in there makes me realize it's not going to be a snap convincing a bunch of macho Geallian men that women should teach them how to fight a war.”

“I've got some thoughts on that. And I think you should work with the women anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't get a wedgie. You have more diplomacy and patience than I do.” Probably, Blair thought, anyone did. “And the women will probably relate better to you. They have to be trained, too, Glenna. To defend themselves, their families. To fight. Someone has to do it. And someone
has to know which ones should stay home, and which ones should go.”

“Oh God.”

“We're going to have the same deal with men. The ones who don't measure up have to be put to other use. Treating the injured, protecting the kids, the elderly, supplying food, weapons.”

“And what do you suggest I do, Cian do,” Hoyt asked, “while the two of you are so busy?”

“His nose is out of joint because we mouthed off to Riddock,” Glenna murmured.

“My nose is fine and well, thanks all the same.” Hoyt spoke with unwavering dignity. “He needed to be told, though there could have been considerably more tact. If we offended him, it only takes more time and effort to repair the damage.”

“He's a reasonable man,” Larkin insisted. “He wouldn't let a few breaches of protocol interfere with what needs doing.” Frustrated himself, Larkin raked a hand through his hair. “He hasn't been in a position to rule before this. The queen was crowned very young, and he's had only the position as an adviser now and then.”

He'd have to be a fast learner, Blair thought.

Men were already gathered in what Blair saw was an area they held their jousts, their tournaments and games. There was a long rope where colored hoops hung. Scoreboard, she decided. And the royal box, the rougher seats for the masses. Paddocks for horses, tents where competitors readied themselves for whatever sport was on the ticket.

“You ever see that movie,
Knight's Tale
?” Blair muttered.

“We will, we will rock you,” Glenna responded and made Blair grin.

“Sure helps having you here. Coming up on show time. Pick out one you figure you can take.”

“What? Why? What?”

“Both of you,” Blair said, adding Hoyt. “Just in case.”

Larkin stepped up to the lines of men. “My father has told you what it is we face, and what is coming. We have until Samhain to prepare, and on that day we must be in the Valley of Silence to do battle. We must win. To win you must know how to fight and how to kill these things that are not human. They are not men, and cannot be killed as men can be killed.”

Hanging back as Larkin spoke, Blair studied the men. Most of them looked fit and able. She spotted Tynan, the guard both Larkin and Moira had greeted on arrival. He, Blair decided, looked not only fit and able. He looked ready.

“I have fought them,” Larkin continued, “as the princess Moira has fought them. As those who came with us from outside this world have fought them. We will teach you what you need to know.”

“We know how to fight.” A man who stood beside Tynan called out. “What can you teach me I haven't taught you on this very field?”

“This won't be a game.” Blair stepped forward. This one was a big bruiser, she noted. Looked cocky with it. Good strong shoulders, tough built, hard attitude.

Perfect.

“You won't get the consolation prize and a pat on the back if you come in second in this. You'll be dead.”

His face didn't sneer at her, but his tone did. “Women don't instruct men on the art of combat. They tend the fires, and keep the bed warm.”

He got some appreciative male laughter and a look of pity from Larkin.

“Niall,” he said, with cheer, “you've stepped full into the bog with that one. These women are warriors.”

“I see no warriors here.” With his hands on his hips, Niall elbowed toward the front of the line. “But two women dressed as men, and a sorcerer who stands with them. Or behind them.”

“I'll go first,” Blair murmured to Glenna. “I'll take you on,” she told Niall. “Here and now. Your choice of weapons.”

He snorted. “Do you expect me to spar with a girl?”

“Choose your weapon,” Riddock ordered.

“Sir. At your command.” He was snickering as he strode away.

Immediately the wagers began.

“Hey, now!” Larkin gave Blair a quick pat on the shoulder, moved into the men. “I'll have some of that.”

Niall strode back with two thick fencing poles. Blair studied the way he held them, the way he moved. Full swagger now.

“This will be quick,” he assured Blair.

“Yeah, it will. It's a good choice of weapon,” she called out over the voices still calling out odds and wagers. “Wood kills a vampire, if you have the strength and the aim to get it through the heart. You look strong enough.” She eyed Niall up and down. “How's your aim?”

He grinned, wide. “I've not yet had a woman complain of it.”

“Well, let's see what you got, big guy.” She gripped the pole lengthwise, nodded. “Ready?”

“I'll give you the first three hits, out of fairness.”

“Fine.”

She took him down in two, ramming the end of the pole in his gut, then sweeping down to crack it hard against his legs. Ignoring the laughter and whoops, she stood over him, the pole pressed to his heart.

“Now if you were a vampire, I'd put this right through you till it came out the other side. Then you'd be dust.” She stepped back. “I think you should hold your bets, guys. That was just practice.” She cocked her head at Niall. “Ready now?”

He got to his feet, and she saw the shock and embarrassment at being knocked down by a woman had lit a fire in him. He came in hard, the force of his pole against hers
shooting up her arms. She leaped up and over when he aimed for her legs, then cracked her stick against his chest.

He fought well, she decided, and with a bullish strength—but he lacked creativity.

She used her pole like a vault, planting it in the ground, swinging up over her opponent. When she landed, she spun a kick into the small of his back, caught her pole. And tripped him with it.

This time she held it to his throat as he panted for breath.

“Three out of five?” she suggested.

He let out a roar, knocking at the pole. She let his forward motion carry her back, then pumped up with her feet to flip him over her. And flat onto his back again.

His eyes were still dazed as she pressed the pole to his throat again. The last fall had knocked the wind out of him, and stolen the color from his cheeks.

“I can do this all day, and you'll end up on your ass every time.”

She got to her feet, and now planted her pole beside him to lean negligently against it. “You're strong, but so am I. Plus, you're heavy in the feet—and you weren't thinking on them. Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you'll win, and it sure as hell doesn't mean you'll live. I'd say you got close to a hundred pounds on me, but I knocked you flat three times.”

“The first didn't count.” Niall sat up, rubbed his sore head. “But I'll give you the two.”

When he grinned at her, Blair knew she'd won.

“Larkin, come take this pole,” Niall called out. “I'll fight you for her, for this one's a woman for certain.”

Blair held out a hand. “He'd beat you, too. I helped train him.”

“Then you'll teach me. And them?” He jerked his chin toward Hoyt and Glenna. “Can they fight like you?”

“I'm the best, but they're pretty damn good.”

She turned to the group of men, waited while money
finished changing hands. Tynan, she noted, was one of the few besides Larkin that collected any.

“Anyone else need a demonstration?”

“Wouldn't mind one from the redhead,” someone called out, and had more laughter rolling.

Glenna fluttered her lashes, added a coy smile. Then drew her dagger from its sheath and shot a line of fire from it.

Men scrambled back, en masse.

“My husband's is bigger,” she said sweetly.

“Aye.” Hoyt swept forward. “Perhaps one of you would like a demonstration from me instead of my lovely wife. Sword? Lance?” He turned up his palms, let the fire dance above them. “Bare hands? For I don't stand behind these women, but I'm proud and honored to stand with them.”

“Down boy,” Blair murmured. “Fire's a weapon against them. Powerful weapon, as is wood, if used right. Steel will hurt them, slow them down, but it won't kill them unless you cut off the head. They'll just keep coming until they rip out your throat.”

She tossed her fencing pole to Niall. “It won't be quick and clean like this little bout,” she told them. “It will be bloody, and vicious, and cruel beyond the telling of it. Many of them, maybe most, will be stronger and faster than you. But you'll stop them. Because if you don't, they won't just kill you, the soldiers who meet them in combat. They'll kill your children, your mothers. Those they don't kill they'll change, they'll turn into what they are, or enslave them for food, for sport. So you'll stop them, because there's no choice.”

She paused because now there was silence, now every eye there was on her. “We're going to show you how.”

B
lair debated between the river and the tub. The
river was very likely freezing, and that would be a bitch. But she just couldn't resign herself to having some servant haul up steaming buckets of water, to pour them into what essentially would be a bigger bucket. Then after she'd bathed, they'd have to repeat the whole deal in reverse.

It was just too weird.

Still, after several hours working with a bunch of men, she needed soap and water.

Was that too much to ask?

“You did very well.” Moira fell into step beside her. “I know this must be frustrating for you, like starting over. And with men who feel, in some ways, they already know as much—if not more—than you. But you did very well. You've made a fine start.”

“Most of those guys are in good to excellent shape, and that's a plus. But the bulk of them still think it's a game, for
the most part. Just don't believe. That's a big strike in the minus column.”

“Because they haven't seen. They know of my mother, but many still believe—need to believe—it was some sort of wild dog. It might be if I hadn't seen myself what killed her, I could refuse to believe it.”

“It's easier to refuse. Refusing is one of the reasons Jeremy's dead now.”

“Aye. That's why I think people need to see, need to believe. We need to hunt down the ones that killed the queen, the ones that have killed others since that night. We need to bring at least one of them back here.”

“You want to take one alive?”

“I do.” Moira remembered how Cian had once pulled a vampire into the training room, then stood back so the rest of them would have to fight it. And understand it. “It will make a point.”

“Not impossible to refuse what's in front of your face, but harder.” Blair thought it through quickly. “Okay. I'll go out tonight.”

“Not alone. Don't, don't,” Moira said wearily when Blair started to argue. “You're used to hunting alone, capable of hunting alone. But you don't know the land here. They will by now. I'll go with you.”

“You've got a point, and a strong one. But no, you're not the one for this hunt. I'm not saying you're not capable either. But you're not the best when it comes to close-in fighting. It'll have to be Larkin, and I'll need Cian.”

In a gesture of annoyance, Moira tugged a blossom from a bush. “Now you have the strong point. I feel I've done nothing but matters of state since I've come home.”

“You've got my sympathy. But I think that kind of thing has to be important, too. Statesmen—women—people—they raise armies. You've already taken steps to move people out of what's going to be a war zone. That's saving lives, Moira.”

“I know it. I do. But…”

“Who's going to stir up the general population, fire them up into putting their lives on the line? We'll train them, Moira. But you've got to get them to us.”

“You're right, I know.”

“I'll get you a vampire—two if I can manage it. You get me people I can teach to kill one. But right now, I've got to wash up. A vamp could smell me a half a mile away.”

“I'll have a bath readied for you, in your chambers.”

“I was thinking I'd just use the river.”

“Are you mad?” Finally, Moira's face relaxed into a smile. “The river's freezing this time of year.”

 

I
t was never comfortable for Moira to speak with
Cian. Not just because of what he was, as she'd reconciled herself to that. She thought of it, when she thought of him, as a condition; a kind of disease.

At their first meeting he had saved her life, and since had proven himself again and again.

His kind had murdered her mother, and yet he had fought beside her, had risked his life—or more accurately his existence—in doing so.

No, she couldn't hold what he was against him.

Still there was something inside her, something she couldn't quite see clearly, or study, or understand. Whatever it was made her uneasy, even nervy around him.

He knew it, or sensed it, she was sure. For he was so much cooler to her than the others. It was so rare that he would spare her a smile, or an easy word.

After the attack on their way to Geall, he'd swooped her up off the ground. His arms were the arms of a man. Flesh and blood, strong and real.

“Hold on,” he'd said. And that was all.

She'd ridden with him to the castle, and his body had been that of a man. Lean and hard. And her heart had been raging for so many reasons, she'd been afraid to touch him.

What had he said to her then, in that sharp, impatient voice of his?

Oh yes: Get a grip on me before you fall on your ass again. I haven't bitten you yet, have I?

It had made her embarrassed and ashamed, and grateful he couldn't see the color flame into her cheeks.

Likely he'd have had something cutting to say about her virginal blushes as well.

Now she had to go to him, to ask him for help. It wasn't something she would pass off to Blair, or Larkin, certainly not to a servant. It was her duty to face him, to speak the words, ask the boon.

She would ask him to leave the castle, the comfort and safety of it, and go out into a strange land to hunt one of his own.

And he would do it, she knew, already she knew he would do it. Not for her—the request of a princess, the favor of a friend. He would do it for the others. For the whole of it.

She went alone. The women who attended her wouldn't approve, of course, and would consider the idea of their princess alone in a man's bedchamber unseemly, even shocking.

Such matters were no longer an issue for Moira. What would her ladies think if they knew she'd once fed him blood when he was wounded?

She imagined they would shriek and hide their faces—those who didn't swoon away. But they would have to look straight on at such things very soon. Or face much worse.

Her shoulders went tight as she stepped to the door of his chamber. But she knocked briskly, then stood to wait.

When he opened the door, the lights from the corridor washed over his face, and plunged the rest into shadow. She saw the faintest flicker of surprise come and go in his eyes as he studied her.

“Well, look at you. I barely recognized you. Your Highness.”

It reminded her she was wearing a dress, and the gold mitre of her office. And remembering, she felt foolishly exposed.

“There were matters of state to attend to. I'm expected to attire myself appropriately.”

“And fetchingly, too.” He leaned lazily on the door. “Is my presence required?”

“Yes. No.”
Why
did he forever make her clumsy? “May I come in? I would speak with you.”

“By all means.”

She had to brush against him to step inside. The room was like midnight, she thought. Not a single candle lit, nor the fire, and the drapes were pulled tight at the windows.

“The sun's gone down.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Would you mind if we had some light?” She picked up the tinderbox, fumbling a bit. “I can't see so well as you in the dark.” The quick flare of light did quite a bit to calm her jumping stomach. “There's a chill,” she continued, lighting more candles. “Should I light the fire for you?”

“Suit yourself.”

He said nothing while she knelt in front of the hearth, set the turf. But she knew he watched her, and his watching made her hands feel cold and stiff.

“Are you comfortable here?” she began. “The room isn't so large or grand as you're used to.”

“And separate enough from the general population so they can be comfortable.”

Stunned, she turned, kneeling still while the turf caught flame at her back. She didn't flush. Instead her cheeks went very pale. “Oh, but no, I never meant…”

“It's no matter.” He picked up a glass he'd obviously poured before she'd come in. And now he drank deliberately of the blood with his eyes on hers. “I imagine your people would be put off by some of my daily habits.”

Distress hitched into her voice. “It was never a concern. The room, it faces north. I thought…I only thought there
would be less direct sun, and you'd be more comfortable. I would never insult a guest—a friend. I wouldn't insult someone who welcomed me into their home when they have come to mine.”

She got quickly to her feet. “I can have your things moved, right away. I—”

He held up a hand. “There's no need. And I apologize for assuming.” It was rare for him to feel the discomfort of guilt, but he felt it now. “It's a considerate choice. I shouldn't have expected less.”

“Why are we…I don't understand why we seem to be so often at odds.”

“Don't you?” he murmured. “Well, that's likely for the best. So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“You make fun of me,” she said quietly. “You're so hard when you speak to me.”

She thought he sighed, just a little. “I'm in a mood. I don't rest well in unfamiliar places.”

“I'm sorry. And I'm here to impose again. I've asked Blair to hunt the vampires now in Geall, to bring at least one of them back here. Alive.”

“Contradiction in terms.”

“I don't know how else to express it,” she snapped. “My people will fight because it's asked of them. But I can't ask them to believe—can't make them believe—what seems impossible. So they need to be shown.”

It would be a good queen, he thought, who didn't expect to be followed blindly. And see how she stood there now, he noted. So still, so serious, when he knew a war raged inside of her.

“You want me to go with her.”

“I do—she does. I do. God, I am forever stumbling with you. She asked that you and Larkin go with her. She doesn't want me. She feels, and so do I, that I'm of more use gathering the forces, helping lay the traps she devised.”

“Ruling.”

“I don't rule yet.”

“Your choice.”

“Aye. For now. I'd be grateful if you would go with her and Larkin, if you can find a way to bring back a prisoner.”

“I'd rather be doing than not. But there's the matter of knowing where to look.”

“I have a map. I've already spoken with my uncle, and know where the attacks—the known attacks—took place. Larkin knows the land of Geall. You can have no better guide. And you know you can have no better companion, in leisure or in battle.”

“I've no problem with the boy, or with a hunt.”

“Then as soon as you're ready, if you'd come to the outer courtyard. I can have someone show you the way.”

“I remember the way.”

“Well. I'll go see to your mounts and provisions.” She went to the door, but he was there before her—without seeming to have moved at all. She looked up into his face. “Thank you,” she said and slipped quickly out.

Those eyes, he thought as he shut the door behind her. Those long gray eyes could kill a man.

It was lucky he was already dead.

But he could do nothing about the scent she'd left behind her, the scent of woodland glades and cool spring water. Not a bloody thing he could do about that.

 

“W
e'll be watching.” Glenna laid a hand on
Blair's leg when Blair mounted her horse. “If you get into trouble we'll know. We'll do what we can to help.”

“Don't worry. I've got thirteen years of this under my belt.”

Not in Geall, Glenna thought, but she stepped back. “Good hunting.”

They rode through the gates, and turned south.

It was a good night for it, Blair thought. Clear and cool. It would be easier to track them by night when they were active than by day when they would have gone to nest
somewhere. In any case, she wouldn't have Cian, which she considered an advantage, if they hunted by day.

She rode between the two men at an easy trot. “I didn't want to ask Moira,” she began. “But her mother was the first attack reported.”

“Aye, the queen was the first death we know of.”

“And there were no other attacks that night? No one taken?”

“No.” Larkin shook his head. “Again that we know of.”

“Target-specific then,” Blair mused. “They came for Moira's mother—we assume. We don't know how they got in.”

“I've thought of it,” Larkin admitted. “Before the queen's death, there would have been no reason to stop someone from coming in. A wagon of supplies, perhaps, or any reasonable bit of business. They would have been passed through.”

“Plays.” Blair nodded after a moment. “Come in shortly after sundown. Stay in a bolt hole until everyone settles in for the night. Lure the queen outside, kill her.” She glanced at Larkin. “We don't have more specifics?”

“Moira won't speak of it, really. I'm not sure she remembers the details of it.”

“Maybe it doesn't matter—for our purposes. So they kill the queen, then they stay. Maybe they can't get back through except at specific times. But they don't rampage,” she pointed out. “A handful of deaths in all these weeks. That's pretty low profile for the breed.”

“There will have been more,” Cian commented. “Travelers, whores, those not as quickly missed as others. But they've been careful, and avoided what we're doing now. The hunt. I don't think they're only hiding from us.”

“Who then?” Larkin glanced over and saw Blair was studying Cian thoughtfully.

“He means Lilith. You think they're trying to stay off her radar? Why?”

“Because it could be you're only half right in your theory.
Target-specific, yes,” Cian agreed. “But I doubt the target was the queen. It's Moira who was chosen as a link in the first circle.”

“Moira.” There was alarm in Larkin's voice as he swiveled in the saddle to look back at the castle growing smaller with distance. “If they tried to kill her once—”