"He's not in immediate danger," Tavi interjected. "But the extent of the damage that may have been inflicted by blood loss is not yet clear."
Lady Antillus's attention turned to Tavi, and he could feel the full, throbbing force of her personality behind that gaze. She was not a tall woman, in particular, and she had dark hair that fell in a straight, shimmering curtain to her hips. Her face was pale, with a touch of the perpetually ruddy cheeks that come to those living in the northern climates, and her eyes were the color of deep amber. She had stark cheekbones and thin lips, and taken together it made her look too harsh to be conventionally beautiful-but the grace of her carriage and the steady, burning fires of intelligence in her amber eyes combined into an impressive, attractive whole.
Once again, Tavi was struck with the notion that she looked familiar to him, but for the life of him he could not track down the proper memory.
"I don't believe we've spoken, young man," she said.
Tavi bowed to her at the waist. "Subtribune Scipio Rufus, m'lady. I, of course, know who you are."
The Knight stepped forward, staring at the silent Max. It wasn't until he did that Tavi realized that he was several years younger than Tavi himself. He was a little under average height and slender. His hair was long and auburn, his eyes ivy green, and his armor was of masterful quality-and completely unmarred.
"Mother," the young Knight said quietly, "he looks like death. Shouldn't we... do something? Take care of him?"
"Of course, we-"
"No," Captain Cyril said, overriding her with his own voice.
Lady Antillus stared at Cyril in shock. "Excuse me?"
The captain bowed slightly toward her. "Beg pardon, lady. I ought to have said, 'not yet.' The centurion has endured a great shock, but his injuries have been ably closed. I judge that he needs rest, first. Any further crafting could tax whatever strength remains in him and do more harm than good."
"Right," the young Knight said, nodding. "He's got a point, Mother-"
"Crassus," Lady Antillus snapped, her voice cool and edged.
The young Knight dropped his eyes and shut his mouth at once.
Lady Antillus turned back to Cyril. "In good conscience I must ask: Are you actually arrogant enough to think you know better than a trained watercrafter? Are you a Tribune Medica, Captain?"
"I am the Tribune Medica's commanding officer, Tribune," Cyril said in a perfectly calm voice. "I am the man who can tell the Tribune Medica either to follow her orders or depart the service of this Legion."
Lady Antillus's eyes widened. "Do you dare speak to me so, Captain?"
"Leave this tent. That is my order, Tribune."
"Or what follows?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"Or I will discharge you in dishonor and have you escorted from this camp."
Lady Antillus's eyes flashed with anger, and the air of the tent suddenly became stiflingly warm. "Beware, Cyril. This is foolishness."
The captain's mild tone never changed. "This is foolishness, what, Tribune?"
Heat rolled off the High Lady as if from a large kitchen oven, and she spat, "Sir."
"Thank you, Tribune. We'll discuss this again when Maximus has had the chance to rest." Then his own eyes and expression hardened for the first time, and the captain's face looked harder than the steel of armor or sword. His voice dropped to barely a murmur. "Dismissed."
Lady Antillus spun on her heel and stalked from the tent. The heat of her anger lingered, and Tavi felt his face beading with sweat.
"And you, Sir Crassus," Cyril said, his voice assuming its more usual, brisk tones. "We'll take care of him."
Crassus nodded once without lifting his eyes, then hurried out.
Silence fell over the tent. Cyril let out a long breath. Tavi mopped at the sweat now running into his eyes. The only sound was that of droplets of water falling from the crafting tub as Max breathed, the slight motion overflowing the tub's edge, here and there.
"Someone's never getting promoted ever again," observed Foss from his place on the floor.
Cyril showed the exhausted healer a fleeting smile before shrugging his shoulders and straightening his spine, reassuming his usual air of detached command. "There's not much trouble she can cause for me by accusing me of issuing orders to a lawful subordinate."
"Not official trouble," Tavi said quietly.
"What are you saying, Subtribune?"
Tavi glanced at his friend, silent in the tub. "Accidents happen."
Cyril met Tavi's eyes and said, "Aye. They do."
Tavi tilted his head. "You knew. That's why you welcomed Max to the staff meeting. To warn him that she was here."
"I simply wanted to make an old friend welcome," Cyril said.
"You don't think that recruit hurt Max. You knew that she was outside. That was for her benefit, to make her think that you didn't realize what was happening."
The captain's frown deepened. "Excuse me?"
"Captain," Tavi began. "Do you think that Lady-"
"No," Cyril said, sharply, raising warning a hand. "I don't think that. And neither do you, Scipio."
Tavi grimaced. "But it's why you didn't want her close to Max."
"I simply gave her an order and made sure she followed it," Cyril said. "But be careful with your words, Scipio. Should you say the wrong thing and be overheard, you'll find yourself in juris macto with the High Lady. She'd burn you to cinders. So unless you get something solid, so solid that it will stand up in a court of law, you keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Tavi replied.
Cyril grunted. "Foss."
"I never hear or remember or repeat anything, sir."
"Good man," Cyril said. "When Maximus wakes up, we need to have a familiar face here. He's going to be confused, disoriented. As strong as he is, he could do some damage if he panicked." Cyril drummed his fingers idly against the hilt of his sword. "I've got an hour or so. Scipio, go tell Gracchus that I'm giving you special duty for a day or two. Get a big meal. Bring some food with you. I'll spell you, or send the First Spear in my place."
Tavi swallowed. "Do you really think he's in danger, sir?"
"I've said everything I intend to. The important thing now is to prevent any further accidents. Now move."
"Yes, sir," Tavi said, and saluted.
But then he paused at the door to the tent. Max was helpless. It was a horrible, cynical thought, but what if the captain's confrontation with the High Lady had been staged for Tavi's benefit? What if by walking away from Max, Tavi was in fact condemning his friend to death?
Tavi looked over his shoulder at the captain.
Cyril stood over the tub. He looked up at Tavi and arched an eyebrow. Then the captain frowned, and Tavi had the uncomfortable impression that Cyril had seen the direction of Tavi's thoughts.
Cyril met Tavi's gaze, his eyes steady. Tavi could see the strength in the man-not the raging strength of storms that underlay Gaius's rage, or the smoldering fire of Lady Antillus's anger. This strength was something older, humbler, as steady and sure as the rolling hillsides of the Vale, as set in place as the ancient, worn old mountains around it, as unchanging in the face of turmoil as waters of a deep well. Tavi couldn't have said how he knew it, but he did: Cyril respected the power of those like Lady Antillus, but he did not fear them. He would neither bow his knee nor stain his honor for her or her like.
"Maximus is Legion," the captain said, chin lifted proudly. "If harm comes to him, it will be because I am dead."
Tavi nodded once. He touched his fist to his heart and nodded to the captain. Then he turned and hurried from the tent to follow Cyril's orders.
Tavi spent the day and most of the night in the tent by his friend's side. Valiar Marcus had spelled him for time enough to bathe and eat a cold meal. Captain Cyril himself had come in the hours before dawn, and Tavi had simply thrown himself down on the floor and slept, armor and all. He awoke stiff and sore in midmorning, and stretched the kinks out, doing his best to ignore the complaints of his body. The captain had waited until Tavi was fully awake before departing, leaving him to resume his watch over his friend.
Foss came in now and again, checking up on Max.
"Shouldn't we get him into a bed?" Tavi asked.
Foss grunted. "Take his armor off. Water is better, so long as he doesn't get cold."
"Why?"
"M' fury's still in it," Foss said. "Doin' what she can to help im."
Tavi smiled. "She?"
"Bernice. And don't give me no mouth, kid. I know you Citizens make fun of us pagunus types for giving them names. Back in my home, they'd look at you just as funny for sayin' they didn't need them."
Tavi shook his head. "No, I'm not criticizing you, healer. Honestly. It's the results that matter."
"Happen to be of the same mind m'self," Foss said, grinning.
"How'd you wind up here?" Tavi asked.
"Volunteered," Foss said. He added hot water from a steaming kettle to the tub, careful not to let it burn the man within.
"We all volunteered," Tavi said.
Foss grunted. "I'm career Legion. Shieldwall. Antillus to Phrygia and back, fighting off the Icemen. One hitch for one city, then one in the other. Did that for thirty years."
"Got tired of the cold?" Tavi asked.
"Manner of speakin'," Foss confirmed, and winked at Tavi. "Wife in Phrygia found out about the wife in Antillus. Thought I might like to see what the south was like for a spell."
Tavi chuckled.
Max said, his voice very weak, "Don't play cards with him, Calderon. He cheats."
Tavi shot up off the camp stool and went to his friend. "Hey," he said. "You decide to wake up, finally?"
"Got a hangover," Max said, his voice slurred. "Or something. What happened to me, Calderon?"
"Hey, Max," Tavi said, gentle urgency in his voice, "don't try to talk yet. Wake up a little more. Let the healer see to you."
Foss knelt by the tub and peered at Max's eyes, telling the young man to follow his finger when he waved it around. "Calderon?" he asked. "Thought you were Rivan."
"Yes," Tavi said smoothly. "My first hitch was in Riva. I was in one of the green cohorts they sent to Garrison."
Foss grunted. "You was at Second Calderon?"
"Yes," Tavi said.
"Heard it was pretty bad."
"Yes," Tavi said.
Foss peered up at Tavi from under shaggy black brows, his eyes thoughtful. Then he grunted, and said, "Maximus, get out of that tub before I drown you. I never cheated at cards in my life."
"Don't make me hit you," Max said, his voice only a shadow of itself. He started to stir up out of the tub but groaned after a second and sagged back.
"Bucket," Foss said to Tavi. Tavi grabbed a nearby bucket and tossed it to Foss. The healer deposited it on the floor just as Max turned on his side and threw up. The healer supported the wounded legionare with one broad arm. "There now, man. No shame in it. You had a close call."
Max sagged back a minute later, then blinked his eyes several times and focused them on Tavi. "Scipio," he said, gentle emphasis on the word. Max had recovered his wits, Tavi surmised. "What happened?"
Tavi glanced up at Foss. "Healer? You mind if we have a minute?"
Foss grunted, got up, and left the tent without speaking.
"You had a training accident," Tavi said quietly, once Foss had left.
Max stared at Tavi for a long minute, and Tavi saw something like despair in his friend's eyes. "I see. When?"
"About this time yesterday. One of your recruits lost his grip on his gladius and threw it through your neck."
"Which one?" Max asked in a monotone.
"Schultz."
"The crows he did," Max muttered. "Kid's got some real metalcraft, and he never even knew it until he joined up. He gets some experience, he could be a Knight. He didn't slip."
"Everyone says he slipped," Tavi said. "The captain agrees that in the absence of other evidence, it was an accident."
"Yeah. Captains always do," Max said, his tone flat and bitter.
"What?" Tavi asked.
Max shook his head and sat upright in a slow, painful-looking motion. Water sluiced down over the heavy muscles of his shoulders and back, smooth rivulets broken by the heavy, finger-thick ridges of scar tissue that crisscrossed his upper back. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and gingerly touched the stripe of furycrafted pink skin where the sword had struck him. "Toss me that towel."
Tavi did. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened to you, is it?"
"Fifth," Max said.
"Crows," Tavi muttered. "And it's her?"
Max nodded.
"What do we do about it?" Tavi asked.
Max dried off, the motions slow, halfhearted. "Do?"
"We've got do something."
Max looked around until he spotted his uniform pants and tunic on a nearby chair, folded and laundered. He dropped the towel on the floor and shambled over to his clothes. "There's nothing to do."
Tavi peered at his friend. "Max? We have to do something."
"No. Leave it."
"Max-"
Max froze, his shirt in his hands, his shoulders and voice tight. "Shut up. Now."
"No, Max. We've got to-"
Max spun, and snarled, "What?" As he spoke, the ground lashed up at Tavi and bounced him into the air and to one side. He landed in a sprawl.
"Do what?" Max snarled, sweeping his tunic like a sword at one of the tent's support posts in a gesture of futile rage. "There's nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do." He shook his head. "She's too smart. Too strong. She can get away with whatever the crows she wants to." He ground his teeth, and the tunic burst into sudden flame, white-hot tongues of it licking up around Max without harming his skin. Tavi felt the heat, though, intense, just short of painful. "Too..."
Max dropped his arms in a limp, weak gesture, flakes of black ash that had been his tunic drifting down. He sat down and leaned his back against the support post and shook his head. Tavi gathered himself to his feet and watched as Max's head fell forward. He was silent for a time. Then he whispered, "She killed my mother. I was five."
Tavi went to his friend's side and crouched beside him.
"People like her get to do what they please," Max said quietly. "I can't just kill her. She's too smart to be caught. And even if she was, she has family, friends, contacts, people she controls and blackmails. She'll never face justice. And one of these times, she'll get me. I've known that since I was fourteen."
And suddenly Tavi understood his friend a little better. Max had lived his life in fear and anger. He'd run away to join the Legions to escape his stepmother's reach, but he knew, or rather, was convinced that he'd only managed a stay of execution. Max believed that she would kill him, believed it on a level so deep that it had become a part of who and what he was. That was why his friend had caroused so enthusiastically in the capital, why he had blown off most of his classes at the Academy, why he had made merry with wine, women, and song at every opportunity.
He believed he would never live to die of old age.
Tavi put his hand on Max's shoulder. "No one's invincible. No one's perfect. She can be beaten."
Max shook his head. "Forget it," he said. "Stay clear. I don't want you to get caught up in it when it happens."
Tavi hissed out a breath of frustration and rose. "Bloody crows, man. What is the matter with you?"
Max never looked up. "Just go away."
Footsteps approached the tent, then Maestro Magnus thrust his head inside, looking around quickly. "Ah," he said. "He's awake?"
Foss nudged in past Magnus and scowled at Tavi. "That's it. Everyone out."
"What?" Tavi asked.
"Everyone out. Patient needs to clean up, dress, get some water in him, and let me check him before he'll be able to move around. You people staring at him won't help. So get out."
"Actually, a fair idea," Magnus said, giving Tavi a direct look.
Tavi nodded at him, and said, "All right. I'll be outside, Max."
"Yeah, " Max said, waving a vague hand. "Out in a bit."
Tavi slipped out of the tent, walking close to Magnus. "Where have you been?" Tavi asked him.
"Keeping an eye on our Tribune Medica," Magnus replied. He led Tavi on a brief walk, away from the tents and past several groups of drilling recruits, variously shouting and being shouted at by instructors, creating plenty of noise in which to hide any conversation. "Has anyone come?"
"The captain and the First Spear," Tavi said quietly. "This morning that Knight, Crassus, was standing not far off, but he didn't come over."
"Were you able to find out about that messenger that keeps going back and forth between Tribune Bracht and the village?" Magnus asked.
"I've been with Max," Tavi said. "Maestro, that's more important than-"
"Our duties?" Magnus asked archly. "No, Tavi. The security of the Realm is more important than any one of us. Remember why we are all here."
Tavi ground his teeth together but nodded once, sharply. "I should be able to find out in the next day or so."
"Good. While you're at it, I want you to find out whatever you can about the master farrier and his staff. And that veteran squad from the fifth cohort."
"I already did that last," Tavi said. "They're aphrodin addicts. They've been buying it at the bordello in the camp."
Magnus hissed through his teeth. "Addicts can still be spies. Find out who deals with them there. Whom they talk to."
Tavi coughed. "That's really more in Max's traditional waters than mine."
"Great furies, man. I'm not letting Maximus anywhere near an aphrodin den at a time like this. He'll get himself killed."
"Sir, Max likes to chase the ladies and drink, and furies know how well I know it. Sometimes he'll drink laced wine. But he isn't... that doesn't control him."
"It's got nothing to do with whether or not he's able to control himself," Magnus said. "But it will be far too easy for someone to arrange an accident for him if he's lying drugged and besotted in a pleasure den when he should be watching for a knife in the back."
"From his stepmother?"
"Careful," Magnus said, looking around. "Has Max ever spoken to you of his family?"
"No," Tavi said. "But I always thought the scars on his back said plenty about them."
Magnus shook his head. "Maximus is the illegitimate, publicly acknowledged son of High Lord Antillus. The High Lord married three years after Maximus was born, a political arrangement."
"Lady Antillus," Tavi said.
"And Crassus was the product of their union," Magnus said.
Tavi frowned. "She thinks Max is a threat to Crassus?"
"Maximus is popular in the northern Legions and with at least one other High Lord. He's a powerfully gifted furycrafter, he may one day be one of the finest swordsmen in Aleran history, and he made a great many friends at the Academy."
"Uh," Tavi said. "He was friendly. I don't know if most of those who spent time with him would count as 'friends,' per se."
"You'd be surprised how many times alliances have been forged between former casual lovers," Magnus replied. "More to the point, he is known to be friendly with the First Lord's page, among others, and has a widely known defiant streak when it comes to authority."
"Max doesn't want to be a High Lord," Tavi said. "He'd run screaming within half an hour. He knows it."
"And yet," Magnus said, "he has made allies. He has a power base of influence among several Legions, and with several Lords-including those in the personal retinue of Gaius himself. Forget your personal knowledge of him and think of it in terms of an exercise, lad. What if he decided that he did want it?"
Tavi wanted to protest, but he ran through the angles in his mind, playing things out in numerous possibilities directed by logic, instinct, and the examples of history, as he had been taught by the Cursors.
"He could do it," Tavi said quietly. "If something happened to Crassus, Max would be the only reasonable choice. Even if it didn't, if Antillus's Legions favored Max over his little brother, if he had support from other High Lords and the First Lord, that would be the end of the matter, practically speaking. It wouldn't even be particularly difficult for him."
"Precisely."
"But he doesn't want that, Maestro. I know him."
"You do," Magnus said. "But his stepmother doesn't. And this isn't young Antillar's first accident." As he finished the sentence, they completed their brief circuit of the interior of the practice field, returning to the infirmary. They were in time to see Lady Antillus and Crassus cross the practice track and walk toward the infirmary tent.
"Max is afraid of her," Tavi murmured.
"She's had a lifetime to teach him fear," Magnus said, nodding. "And she's deadly clever, lad. Powerful, wicked, devious. Several disturbing fates have befallen her foes, and not a shred of evidence has been found, not a drop of blood stained her hands. There are few in the Realm as dangerous as she."
"She looks familiar," Tavi said quietly. "Like someone I should know."
Magnus nodded and said, "There are many who say her nephew Brencis is almost a mirror image of her."
Tavi clenched his teeth. "Kalarus."
"Mmmm," Magnus said, nodding. "Lord Kalare's youngest sister-and only surviving sibling. "
Tavi shook his head. "And Max's father married her?"
"As I said. A political marriage." Magnus watched them approaching. "I doubt Lord Antillus likes her any better than Max does. And now, young Scipio, I'm off to attend to the captain and do a great many other things. I think you should entertain the Lady and her son until Maximus gains his feet and can face her in the open, in front of witnesses."
Tavi grimaced. "I'm not good at smiles and charm."
"Now, now. You're a loyal servant of the Realm, Scipio. I'm sure you'll manage." Magnus smiled at him, but whispered, "Be careful." Then he saluted Tavi and vanished into the normal, bustling industry of the Legion camp.
Tavi watched him go for a second and turned his gaze to Lady Antillus and her son. She wore the sky-blue on deep blue of the city of Antillus. Max had once remarked that the city colors had been chosen based on what shade the skin of one's... well, parts, assumed when exposed to the weather in winter and autumn, respectively. From a purely aesthetic perspective, the dress flattered her face, her hair, her figure in every measurable sense. Tavi thought that the blue made her skin look too pale, somehow, as though it was a covering for a mannequin rather than for a human being.
She was speaking quietly, emphatically, to Crassus. Her son was dressed in the brown training tunic of the Legion, though he wore his armor over it-a mark of respect for someone new to the Legions. Only the most solid and promising recruits wore steel before the recruits were issued it generally. Or the most well connected ones, Tavi supposed. Though he could hardly cast stones on that account, all things considered. Crassus was scowling, an expression that made his face look more petulant than formidable.