Turning the Storm (24 page)

“The Emperor's army fights for us,” I said. “And our faith is stronger than magefire.”

PART THREE
Stronger Than Magefire

T
he 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 divisions 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.”

“If they have only one course of action, that should be an advantage for us,” Giovanni said.

Demetrio gave Giovanni a patient look. “Unfortunately, they can predict our goals as easily as we can predict theirs. We must go to Cuore, sooner or later; they know that.”

“We can't lay siege to them,” I said. “Well, I suppose we could, if we had to. We'd need thousands of dancers, though, to take shifts—”

“No, I agree,” Demetrio said. “We should avoid a siege if we possibly can. With your cooperation, Generale, I'd like to besiege them indirectly.”

“What do you mean?”

Clara spoke. “The famine in Verdia disrupted Cuore's usual food supply. They've been supplementing it by purchasing grain from a country across the sea, bringing it in on ships. If we attack those lines of supply, this
will deprive the Circle and Fedeli of food, and possibly augment our own supplies.”

“Can we starve them out that way?” I asked.

“No,” Demetrio said. “Many from court have fled or will soon, so there will be fewer people to feed from existing stores. But it will weaken them—and frighten them. Possibly enough to force them out from behind their walls to confront us directly.”

“We'll be happy to cooperate with that effort,” I said. “Tell me what you'd like my troops to do.”

Demetrio outlined the precise routes where the grain was carried. I wasn't certain I understood, but Giovanni nodded enthusiastically, so I was fairly sure he'd be able to help me out with this later. “In addition,” Demetrio said, “please think about any ways that you might draw the Circle out, or the Fedeli. You were a spy for several months, were you not, Generale? If you know of anything that we can use toward that end, be sure to let me know. If the Lupi don't have the manpower, we'll work with you.”

“I'll try to think of something,” I said.

“Very well,” Demetrio said. “We'll be in touch. I'll go discuss the new information with my adjutant.” Demetrio clasped my hand, bowed to the Emperor, and left the room.

“You must be tired from your trip,” Clara said to me. “I assume you'll be staying for a few days?”

“For tonight at least,” I said.

“We've made up some guest quarters for you. Would you like a chance to wash and have something to eat?”

“Yes, I'd appreciate that,” I said. I wanted a chance to talk alone with Giovanni.

“Michel can show you where your quarters are,”
Travan said. “Generale Eliana, I'd appreciate it if you'd join me for dinner. I'd like a chance to talk again.”

“I'd be honored,” I said. With any luck, Clara and Placido would not be invited.

Back in our room, I closed the door and turned toward Giovanni. “Why doesn't Placido like you?”

Giovanni looked up, startled. “The Emperor greets you with a kiss, the First Generale of the Imperial Army salutes you as an equal, and your first question is about Placido's stupid grudge?”

I set my pack and violin case down on the cot. Our quarters were spare and we were sharing a room, though a curtain had been provided for modesty. Michel had gone to get some water for us to wash with. “I don't have any questions about the Emperor or Demetrio that I'd expect you to be able to answer.”

Giovanni laughed and unlaced his own pack, taking out a slightly cleaner shirt. “Placido never liked me.”

“There's got to be more to it than that.”

“Really? I'd expect you to be able to understand that sentiment, even sympathize. Oh, all right,” he said, laughing again at my infuriated expression. “I'll tell you the story. Placido's a few years older than me, and bigger than me, as you may have noticed. When I started at the university, we met at one of the taverns and he took an instant dislike to me—I can't imagine why, but some people do. Anyway, he pushed me around a bit—spilled my wine in my lap on purpose and insulted me. I challenged him to a duel, and he disarmed and thoroughly embarrassed me. I found out later this was all to impress a lady.

“So. I spent every waking moment for the next three months working on my swordplay. My best friend, Antonio, tutored me. We both did so poorly in our studies
that we were nearly sent home from the university in academic disgrace. After three months, Antonio said I was ready, so I went to the tavern, picked up Placido's wine, and threw it in his face.” Giovanni had a faint wicked smile on his face, remembering. “Placido drew his sword, naturally. We took it outside. I disarmed him before he landed a blow and gave him the thrashing of his life.” His smile faded to a look of resignation. “This was perhaps not the best strategy to win his friendship. Which probably made things more difficult for you and Michel in Cuore. I'm sorry. That wasn't a consequence I exactly had in mind when I threw the wine in his face.”

I raised my wineskin in salute. “There was another consequence you didn't foresee.”