The Element of Fire

  He opened his eyes again and saw Grandier shake his head and turn around. The sorcerer smiled when he saw him awake and said, "Really, the man is driven mad by anyone who fails to succumb to his particular charm. But then, you are aware of this."

  "Intimately." The sarcasm was automatic, and Thomas's voice slow and rusty. He winced at the sound of it.

  Grandier turned away, and Thomas managed to lift himself a little on one elbow. Pain seized him for one sporadic moment, doubled him up, and let him go, leaving him breathless. His fingers found the small web of tight white scar tissue about five inches below his heart. That was all that was left of the puncture wound where the blade had entered, but his body remembered its presence all too well.

  When he looked up, Grandier was watching him with a puzzled frown. "You are fortunate," Grandier said. "He could have injured you in a way less easily remedied."

  Thomas took a deep breath, but the pain didn't return. The stab wound in his arm had stopped its insistent ache as well. He said, "You don't think he knew that?"

  Grandier shook his head. "He was angry because I did not allow you to die."

  "He was angry because you were so calm about it. Before he did it he was very careful to tell me how you healed his arm after I shot him."

  Grandier hesitated a moment, eyes thoughtful, then he said, "A valuable insight."

  He sent Dontane to contact Denzil for him, Thomas thought. That had undoubtedly gone well for Denzil. Might as well send sheep to bargain with wolves. Grandier had crossed the room to a round table that held a number of jars and bottles, probably apothecary powders. He was tightening the stoppers and putting them back into a leather case. Thomas wanted to ask why Grandier wanted him alive, but he suspected he would find that out anyway in a moment or two. He wished the damned Bisran priest who had heard Grandier's confession in prison had asked for more specifics about the shape-changing magic. How a potential victim could escape it, for example. But there was one thing he wanted to know regardless of what happened to him next, and he asked, "How did Ravenna die?"

  Grandier paused, without turning, and said, "Evadne and a band of fay had trapped her in the tower at Bel Garde, and attempted to exchange her for Roland. She fired a powder magazine Denzil had hidden there, killing Evadne and the others. A few fay who had clung to the outside of the tower survived; I had the story from them."

  Firing a powder magazine. God, woman, did you think about what you were doing to yourself? No, probably not, even if she could have considered it as anything other than a means to an end. She would have given her own life the same weight as anyone else's, done her best, and then proceeded on her course with style. Oh, but the bastards must have been surprised.

  When he looked back, Grandier was watching him thoughtfully. "You wondered why I felt the need to show you the Dark Host."

  "Yes."

  "It was not intended as a threat. It was a test."

  A test I failed, Thomas thought suddenly.

  "There was no light in that cellar," Grandier continued. "Or no light visible to mortal eyes. The men with us heard strange cries and laughter, and caught brief glimpses of foul things darting out of a wall of darkness. I could see the Host, as could Dontane, because we have been touched by their power. How was it that you saw them?"

  Coming out of a wall of darkness, like the attack in the Old Hall. Wary, Thomas answered, "If you knew enough to perform the test, then you must already have a theory."

  "She took you to Knockma, didn't she?"

  Thomas watched him, saying nothing. Kade's Fayre kingdom had been like an island of calm reality in the midst of a nightmare. It had been easy to forget that the pact he had made with her there would have an effect in the violent whirlwind of the present.

  Grandier said, "The change is noticeable, to those who know what to look for. Perhaps even to those who don't. But she did more than take you there, I think. She has opened the Otherworld to you."

  "And what does that mean to you?"

  "I could use your help. With the Duke of Alsene, for one example. As you have pointed out, my understanding of the way his mind works is woefully incomplete." Grandier closed the leather case and leaned back against the table. "Ravenna is gone, and Roland is alone. Even if you could free yourself and reach him, he wouldn't listen to you, not about Denzil's involvement. Those who might have organized resistance to the Duke's bid for power are either dead, scattered, or will not learn of it in time." He shrugged. "I agree with you. Denzil is dangerous, unamenable to my influence, and too clever to control. It will be a battle to make him carry out my wishes, at least until I no longer need him. You could help me win that battle."

  Thomas's first impulse was to play for time. He knew what a flat refusal to cooperate might get him, and he wasn't willing to give up yet. He asked, "What about Kade?"

  "She can no longer enter the palace, as I have turned the wards against her, but I spoke to her some time ago through the ring in the Grand Gallery. She is somewhat angry with me."

  "You've tried to kill her at least twice."

  "And was unsuccessful. You helped her in the Old Hall, and she handled my golem herself without much trouble." Grandier smiled a little, almost in pride, as if he'd been the one to teach her and not Dubell.

  And Thomas thought, I wonder if sometimes he thinks he is Galen Dubell...

  But the smile faded and Grandier said slowly, "He would never talk about her. How much he had taught her, what fay powers she had, where she was likely to be... He kept all her secrets, even at the end, when he became confused and told me what I needed to know about the palace wards."

  Thomas thought of Dubell, who had been so trusting despite his occasionally acerbic wit. He had known him only through the faulty mirror of Grandier's imposture. But that imposture had fooled Kade who had known the old man better than anyone, so much of it must have been accurate. He said, "Is that how you do it? Get someone's confidence, earn their trust, learn their secrets, and gradually draw every scrap of information out of them until there's nothing useful left?"

  "Yes, in a way. It is a domination of the personality."

  "You sound like Denzil."

  "Perhaps I do."

  "Don't pretend to delude yourself," Thomas said, too angry to stop the words, to play the game safely. "You're not like Denzil; you're not blinded by self-absorption or maddened by what the Bisran priests did to you, however much you'd like us to think so. You've calmly made the decision to take your revenge this way, and you're aware of exactly how much pain you're causing."

  "Perhaps that is a sin of which we are all guilty. We sane men who participate in insanity for reasons of our own." Grandier was silent for a moment, then he said, "But you are wrong about my intentions. I do not mean to take you as I took Dubell. Your cooperation is more valuable to me than your body, for the moment. I don't suppose you will care to give me an answer yet. But I suggest you come to a decision soon."

  * * *

  Different troopers brought Thomas back to the makeshift cell and replaced his manacles. Aviler was still there, still relatively unhurt, except for the lines of strain and fatigue on his face, briefly visible in the light of the guard's lamp.

  When they had gone, Aviler asked, "What happened?"

  Thomas leaned back against the wall. On the walk back, he had discovered that the only wound that hadn't yielded to Grandier's unwanted healing had been the hole the elf-shot had left in his leg. He said, "I was offered a place in Grandier's glorious revolution."

  Aviler considered that, then asked softly, "And where did all the blood come from?"

  "Denzil stabbed me, and Grandier took care of the damage. Denzil intends to repeat the performance later. I could see him thinking it." Thomas looked away, glad of the darkness in the cold little room. He hadn't meant to say quite that much.

  Aviler was silent for a time. Thomas wondered if he was thinking about the document he was supposed to sign. Then Aviler said, "An interesting demonstration of the conse
quences of refusal. What answer did you give Grandier?"

  "I didn't give him any answer. It's called stalling for time."

  "I see."

  * * *

  Kade sat down hard on Knockma's thick grass. She hoped the entire Host had flung itself into the ring after her, but she knew better than that. She had connected one cardinal point of the ring to the other, and any of the fay who followed her into it would find themselves caught in the ring's maelstrom, flung around and around until the connection broke, which it would do fairly soon. Rings were difficult to tamper with at best, and always sought to return to their original state.

  Boliver was still waiting for her. He had settled on the grass outside the circle of menhirs and was smoking a white clay pipe. "No more than an hour," he said, answering her unspoken question. "Did you discover anything useful?"

  Kade stood and stepped out of the ring so she could think without it singing in her ears. "Yes, but I made a mistake. I shouldn't have gone." She sat beside him and put her head in her hands. "Grandier was waiting for me. He knows that I-- He told me Thomas is alive, and that I am to stay out of the way." She felt her mouth twist into a sneer. "He knows it will be difficult for me."

  "Yes, you made a grand cock-up," Boliver agreed.

  She rubber her eyes and said sourly, "Your confidence in me is overwhelming."

  Boliver sighed. "Is your Thomas that important to you, then? Has he said anything of the kind to you?"

  She looked up and saw he was watching her gravely. She stilled the quick flare of anger. "Yes, he is important to me. And if he's dead I'll never know what he thinks about me." And I wouldn't care if he hated me as long as I knew he was alive somewhere...

  "Then stop rushing about like a daft-headed chicken and do something," Boliver said suddenly, scattering her thoughts.

  "I am not rushing about like a daft-headed anything," she said through gritted teeth.

  He pointed the pipe at her. "Oh, you're not weeping or fainting, but you're running about in circles, letting this damned human wizard point you any way he wants you."

  "I am not--"

  "By Puck's pointed ears, woman, you're the Queen of Air and Darkness. Act like it!"

  Kade was on her feet and Boliver was scrambling for cover when it occurred to her that Thomas had said much the same thing to her. He had said it on that cool rainy night on the loggia, when they had listened to Denzil twist Roland's friendship into slavery.

  She supposed she should feel like dying. What she felt was a cold numbness centering around her heart, as if she were already dead. Kade turned away and started to cross the field toward the castle. Reaching the edge of the garden, she climbed the steps and entered her turret workroom. She stood for a moment in the quiet with the sweet smell of herbs and flowers. Then she saw that the bowl on the table was glowing softly. It was the spell she had tried to make to reveal the location of the keystone. She had forgotten it.

  Holding her breath, Kade went to the table. The water at the bottom of the bowl had formed an image: a hazy translucent image of a room. And she recognized the room.

  "Gods above and below take that canny old bastard," she whispered, almost reverently. "It was there all the time."

  Then she had an idea.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE SUN WAS shining here, too.

  Kade and Boliver stood in an open court, bordered on all sides by a low wall and a sheer drop to the sea. The wide blue vault of the sky stretched over them, and the stiff breeze had the tang of salt and dead fish. Kade went to the edge of the ring, which resisted her for a moment before she stepped free of it. The power swelling it had almost the same force as the Knockma Ring, but it was far more turbulent. But then, this ring saw a great deal more use.

  She went to the wall and looked down. They were atop a pillar of rock that stood a hundred yards or so above the sea that tore at its base. Leaning out, she could see the stairs that climbed it, leading up from a bare stone dock, and the stern of the fantastically painted ship that was moored there.

  On the opposite side of the court, two identical fay with golden skin, red-pupiled eyes, and long amber hair guarded an archway twined with carved oak leaves leading to a narrow delicate bridge. It led from their pillar over the channel of gray-green churning water to the cliff tops of a rocky section of coast. A massive structure grew out of the end of the bridge, with heavy octagonal towers the warm brown of sandstone from the faraway deserts of Parscia. Squinting at it in the afternoon sunlight, Kade saw that light glittered off it at regular points, as if it were adorned with a pattern of jewels, or small round windows. She looked back at Boliver, who was watching the bridge guards warily and cleaning out his pipe onto the immaculate flagstones. "This is the place."

  She went up to the guards, who were dressed in cloth of gold and glittering gems and armed with slender swords of silver. They were both watching Kade and Boliver with disinterested amusement, and one said, "Your name and your errand, fair lady, before you pass."

  The words "fair lady" had no doubt been applied facetiously. She answered, "I'm Kade Carrion, the Queen of Air and Darkness, and I'm here to see Oberon."

  The two exchanged an opaque glance that might have concealed more amusement, or surprise, and the other said, "Then pass gladly, lady."

  She walked down the bridge, Boliver padding behind her. Ahead they could see two large wooden doors surrounded by stonework carved into waves and bubbling seafoam. Closer, and the sun brought out the faint tint of rose in the brown stone; closer still, and she saw that the small round windows that studded the tower were not windows but eyes, with dark iris and blue pupil, and that some were watching them, others staring off to sea.

  Boliver stage-whispered, "We're being watched!"

  Kade ignored him.

  Another fay guard, identical to the two at the bridge except for the graceful amber-glazed wings on his back, pulled open one of the heavy doors for them.

  Inside was a high stone gallery, floored with white tile, airy and cool. They went down it and into the perfect silence of the place. Corridors branched off at intervals, but they might have been the only living creatures inside.

  Thinking over what she had to do--what she was forced to do--Kade was conscious of a curious numbness that might be shock. She was beginning to recognize it as the feeling of anger taken to such a level it was no longer possible to separate it from any other emotion or thought. In a way, it was a liberating sensation. The attitude of the fay guards, or what she suspected was their attitude, would have bothered her very much under any other circumstances; now it seemed the most minor of considerations. Anger this intense defined everything into the goal, and the obstacles that must be overcome to reach the goal, and it would make it very easy to make the decisions to dispose of those obstacles.

  It was probably quite close to how Urbain Grandier felt when the Bisran Inquisition had finished with him.

  As they neared the end of the hall, they could hear a thread of harp music, and voices and laughter.

  "We're going to be roasted," Boliver said, with gloomy relish. "And eaten."

  "Stop sniveling," Kade muttered. Boliver had driven her out of her despair with arguments that she should do something constructive; now that she had embarked on a plan, he was arguing against it. Typical fay perversity.

  The hall made an abrupt turn, and stairs spilled down into a large roofless court that must be at or near the center of the fortress. More of the amber-skinned guards lined the porticoes, lazy but watchful, armed with gold-bladed pikes.

  Most of the Seelie Court was gathered here.

  Lake maidens dripped water and glamour from their gowns like pearls. Beautiful ladies wore clothes of flowers, gossamer spangled with dew, silvery gauze, or were covered only by their long hair. There were men of the same ethereal beauty as the guards, in velvets, fine lace, and gold-shot brocade. Here and there a wing as delicate as a butterfly's and more beautifully hued rose above the crowd. The bright sunlight i
n the open court made so much glamour the air glowed, and a troupe of gaily dressed fay tumblers performed feats impossible for humans. Most of those here were shape-changers.

  Kade went down the steps and through the crowd.

  They parted for her. There was no stink of unwashed flesh under the perfumes, as there would be in any human gathering. Her faded and dirty smock, her dragging petticoat lace, her page boy's boots, were violently out of place here, and she caught many sidelong glances. She could have used glamour to make herself more pleasing to the eye; several here had done so. But she didn't need to be told that that would have been a mistake.

  Titania lay on a leopard-skin couch under a canopy of ostrich feathers, cool shade under the bright light. A small woman, smaller than Kade, the fayre queen wore a mantua heavily laden with pearls and silver embroidery, and her hair was the color of gold, true gold, and her features were much more beautiful than even Queen Falaise's. But Falaise's face had been touched by fear, worry, and care, and Titania's was as perfect as a carved goddess's; Kade suddenly preferred Falaise, for all that lady's wavering will.

  Two fay pages with the appearance of fair young boys waited on the fayre queen, one holding a wine carafe, the other her fan. They watched Kade with matched expressions of sly mockery. But seated at her feet was a human boy with skin the color of chocolate and dark curly hair, whose gaze remained locked on the tumblers.

  Kade did not curtsey to Titania. She was a queen here in her own right.

  Titania's shrewd sapphire eyes considered her. She held a silver wine goblet beaded with moisture, and ran a thoughtful finger over the rim. "Oberon is not here, my sister." Her voice was like harp strings stirred by the wind.

  "But you are." A few days ago Kade would have replied I am not your sister, but she couldn't afford to be driven now.

  Titania laughed. "And what have you come for?"

  "A favor." Kade looked down at the human boy, and when his brown eyes met hers curiously, she asked him, "Do you want to go home?"