Giraldi was right. Isana would rather lose her own life than stand aside and watch as a friend died.
Isana tightened her fingers on Fade's hand and prepared to call out to Rill. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of drums and trumpets and far-distant shouts of the wounded and dying.
Isana shivered. At least Tavi was safe and well away from this insanity.
The rest of the journey to Kalare was neither swift nor easy. Each day required severe effort on behalf of the Knights Aeris to keep the coach airborne and moving without rising more than a few hundred feet above the ground. It was grueling work. The fliers needed rest breaks every hour or so, and after three days both Amara and Lady Aquitaine began to take turns wearing flight harnesses yoked to the coach in order to give the men a chance to rest. Each night, after the meal, they devised the plan for rescuing the hostages.
The sky became covered with a low, growling overcast, perpetually rumbling with thunder and flickering with lightning, though no rain ever fell. The deadly scarlet haze now reached down to some point within the overcast. One afternoon, in an attempt to rise higher in the hopes of it making their travel quicker, Amara realized that they had accidentally ascended into the red haze, and she saw those deadly creatures begin to condense from the fine mist. Amara had led the coach in an emergency dive back out of the clouds, and no one was harmed, but they scarcely dared fly too much higher than the treetops lest the creatures renew the attack.
At Amara's command, they had ceased their journey two hours before sundown, the coach coming down into a region of heavy forest so thick that Lady Aquitaine had to land first and alone to employ her furies to will enough of the ancient tree branches to move so that the coach would have a place to come down.
Panting with effort and weariness, Amara unhooked the harness from the coach and sat down in place, leaning her back against the coach itself. By now, evening camp had become a routine, neatly organized without the need for her to issue any orders. She and the other three bearers settled down to rest, while the others brought out the canopies, prepared food, found water. To her embarrassment, she actually fell asleep, sitting against the coach, and she didn't wake until Bernard touched her shoulder and set a metal camp plate down onto her lap.
The heat of the plate on her thighs and the warmth of Bernard's hand on her shoulder stirred up a number of rather pleasant but inconvenient memories. She looked from his hand, warm and strong and quite... knowledgeable, up to her husband's face.
Bernard's eyes narrowed, and she saw an answering fire to her own in them. "There's a pretty look," he murmured. "I always enjoying seeing that one on your face."
Amara felt her mouth stretch into a languid smile.
"Mmm," Bernard rumbled. "Even better." He settled down beside her, a plate of his own in his hands, and the aroma of food suddenly washed through Amara's nose and mouth, and her stomach reacted with the same mindless, animal lust the rest of her felt by virtue of being near Bernard.
"Fresh meat," she said, after her third or fourth heavenly bite. "This is fresh. Not that horrible dried trail rope." She ate more, though the roasted meat was still nearly hot enough to sear the roof of her mouth.
"Venison," Bernard agreed. "I was fortunate today."
"Now, if only you could hunt down a bakery for fresh bread," she teased.
"I saw one," Bernard said, gravely. "But it got away."
She smiled and nudged his shoulder with hers. "If you can't get me bread in the middle of the wilderness, what good are you?"
"After dinner," he said, catching her eyes with his own, "we can go for a walk. I'll show you."
Amara's heart beat faster, and she ate the next bite of venison with an almost-wolfish hunger, never looking away. She wiped a little juice from the corner of her mouth with one fingertip, licked it clean, then said, "We'll see."
Bernard let out a low, quiet laugh. He studied the others at the fire for a moment, and said, "Do you think this plan will work?"
She considered while chewing. "Getting into the city, even the citadel, is fairly simple. Getting out again is the problem."
"Uh-huh," Bernard said. "A Cursor should be able to lie better than that."
Amara grimaced. "It's not Kalarus or his Knights or his Legions or his Immortals or his bloodcrows that I'm worried about."
"You're not?" Bernard asked. "I am."
She waved a hand. "We can plan for them, deal with them."
Bernard's eyes flicked over toward the fire and back to Amara, his look questioning.
"Yes," she said. "Getting in depends on Rook. I think she's sincere, but if she's setting us up for betrayal, we're finished. Getting out again depends on Lady Aquitaine."
Bernard scraped the last of his meal around his dish with his fork. "Both of them are our enemies." His upper lip twitched away from his teeth in a silent snarl. "Rook tried to kill Tavi and Isana. Lady Aquitaine is using my sister to promote her own agenda."
"When you put it that way," Amara said, trying to keep her voice light, "this plan sounds..."
"Insane?" Bernard suggested.
Amara shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps. But we have few options."
Bernard grunted. "Not much to be done about it, is there."
"Not much," Amara said. "Compared to our allies, Kalarus's forces only seem mildly threatening."
Bernard blew out a breath. "And worrying about it won't help."
"No," Amara said. "It won't." She turned her attention back to her dish. When she finished it, her husband brought her a second plate, from where the others ate near the fire, and she set to it with as much hunger as the first.
"It's that much of a strain?" Bernard asked quietly, watching her. "The wind-crafting?"
She nodded. She'd broken the hard trailbread into fragments and let them soak up juice from the roast to soften them, and she ate them between bites of meat. "It doesn't seem so bad, when you're doing it. But it catches up to you later. " She nodded at the fire. "Lady Aquitaine's men are having thirds."
"Shouldn't you do that, too?" Bernard asked.
She shook her head. "I'm all right. I'm lighter than they are. Not as much to lift."
"You're stronger than them, you mean," Bernard murmured.
"Why would you say that?" Amara asked.
"Lady Aquitaine doesn't even take seconds. "
Amara grimaced. It was one more thing to remind her of Invidia Aquitaine's abilities. "Yes. I'm stronger than they are. Cirrus and I can lift more weight with less effort than they can, relatively speaking. Lady Aquitaine's furies are such that her limits are more mental than physical."
"How so?" Bernard asked.
"Air furies are... inconstant, fickle. They don't focus well on any single thing for long, so you have to do it for them. It takes constant concentration to maintain flight. Lady Aquitaine does that easily. It takes even more concentration to create a veil, to hide something from sight."
"Can you do it?" Bernard asked.
"Yes," Amara said. "But I can't do anything else while I am-I can barely walk. It's more wearying and takes much more focus than flying. Lady Aquitaine can do both of them at the same time. It's something well beyond my own skills and strength alike."
"She's no more impressive than you are, in flight. She hardly seemed able to follow you when we dived out of that cloud the other day."
Amara smiled a little. "I've had more practice. I fly every day, and I only have the one fury. She's had to divide her practice time among dozens of disciplines. But she's been doing it longer than I have, and her general skills and concentration are far better than mine. With some time to focus on flying, to practice, she'd fly circles around me, even if her furies were only as strong as Cirrus-which they aren't. They're a great deal stronger."
Bernard shook his head, and mused, "All that skill, all those furies at her command, all the good she could do-and she spends her time plotting how to take the throne, instead."
"You don't approve."
"I don't understand," Bernard corrected her. "For years, I would have given anything for a strong talent at windcrafting."
"Everyone would like to fly," Amara said.
"Maybe. But I just wanted to be able to do something about the crowbegotten furystorms that come down on my steadholt," Bernard said. "Every time Thana and Garados sent one down, it threatened my holders, damaged crops, injured or killed livestock, destroyed game-and did the same for the rest of the steadholts in the valley. We tried for years to attract a strong enough windcrafter, but they're expensive, and we couldn't find one willing to work for what we could pay."
"So," Amara said, giving him a coy little glance, "your hidden motives are at last revealed."
Bernard smiled. She loved the way his eyes looked when he smiled. "Perhaps you could consider it for your retirement." He looked into her eyes, and said, "You're wanted there, Amara. I want you there. With me."
"I know," she said quietly. She tried to smile, but it didn't feel as if it had made it all the way to her face. "Perhaps one day."
He moved his arm, brushing the back of his hand unobtrusively against the side of her stomach. "Perhaps one day soon."
"Bernard," she said quietly. "Yes."
She met his eyes. "Take me," she said. "For a walk."
His eyelids lowered a little, and his eyes smoldered, though he kept the rest of his face impassive and bowed his head politely. "As you wish, my lady."
Max blinked at Tavi and then said, incredulously, "You took it?"
Tavi grinned at him and tossed a heavy grain sack up into the bed of the supply wagon.
"She's been going insane about her purse. She hasn't stopped complaining to Cyril since she lost it." Max hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course. You took it and bribed Foss and Valiar Marcus to let you ride."
"Just Foss. I think he handled Marcus's cut on his own."
"You're a crowbegotten thief," Max said, not without a certain amount of admiration.
Tavi threw another sack into the supply wagon. There was room for only a few more sacks, and the timbers of the wagon groaned and creaked under the weight of the load. "I prefer to think of myself as a man who turns liabilities into assets."
Max snorted. "True enough." He gave Tavi and oblique glance. "How much did she have?"
"About a years worth of my pay."
Max pursed his lips. "Quite a windfall. You have any plans for what's left?"
Tavi grunted and heaved the last sack into the wagon. His leg twinged, but the pain was hardly noticeable. "I'm not loaning you money, Max."
Max sighed. "Bah. That everything?"
Tavi slammed the wagon's gate closed. "That should do it."
"Got enough to feed the Legion for a month there."
Tavi grunted. "This is enough for the mounts of one alae. For a week."
Max whistled quietly. "I never did any work in logistics," he said.
"Obviously."
Max snorted. "How much money is left?"
Tavi reached into a pocket and tossed the silk purse to Max. Max caught it and shook it soundlessly. "Not much," Tavi said in a dry tone. "Not many Antillan-made crowns are floating around the Legion, so I've been getting rid of them a little at a time."
He walked back through the dark to the steadholt's large barn and traded grips with a gregarious Steadholder who had agreed to sell his surplus grain to the Legion-especially since Tavi was offering twenty percent over standard Legion rates, courtesy of Lady Antillus's purse. He paid the man their agreed-upon price, and returned to the wagon. Max held up the silk purse and gave it a last, forlorn little shake before tossing it back to Tavi. Tavi caught the purse.
And something clicked against his breastplate.
Tavi threw up a hand, frowning, and Max froze in place. "What?"
"I think there was something else in the purse," Tavi said. "I heard it hit my armor. Give me some light?"
Max shrugged and tore a bit of cloth from a knotted-closed sack in the wagon. He rubbed the cloth between his fingers a few times, and a low flame licked its way to life. Seemingly impervious to the heat, he lowered the burning cloth and held it a few feet over the ground.
Tavi bent over, squinting, and saw a reflection of the improvised candle's light shine off of a smooth surface. He picked up a small stone, about the size of a child's smallest fingernail, and held it closer to the light. Though it was not faceted, the stone was translucent, like a gem, and was such a brilliant color of red that it almost seemed to be wet. It reminded Tavi of a large, fresh-shed droplet of blood.
"Ruby?" Max asked, peering, bringing the flame closer.
"No," Tavi said, frowning.
"Incarnadine?"
"No, Max," Tavi said, frowning at the stone. "Your shirt is on fire," he said absently.
Max blinked, then scowled at the fire, which had spread from the strip of sackcloth to his shirt. He flicked his wrist in irritation, and the flame abruptly died. Tavi could smell the curls of smoke coming up from the cloth in the sudden darkness.
"Have you ever seen a gem like that, Max? Maybe your stepmother crafts them.'
"Not that I know of," Max said. "That's new to me."
"I've got the feeling I've seen this before," Tavi murmured. "But crows take me if I can remember where."
"Maybe it's worth something," Max said.
"Maybe," Tavi agreed. He slipped the scarlet stone back into the silk purse and tied it firmly shut. "Let's go."
Max clambered up onto the wagon, took the reins, and brought the team into motion. Tavi swung up beside him, and the slow-moving cart began its ten-mile trek back to the First Aleran's camp at Elinarch.
The march had taken them seven long, strenuous days from the training camp to the bridge over the vast, slow-moving Tiber River. Foss, once honestly bribed, had kept Tavi "under observation" while his leg healed. Lady Antillus clearly hadn't liked the idea, but since she'd dumped the responsibility into his hands, she could hardly take it away again without displaying her animosity for Tavi in an unacceptably flagrant lack of the impartiality expected in a Legion officer.
Even so, Foss had kept Tavi busy. Bardis, the wounded Knight who had been saved by Lady Antillus, required constant attention and care. Twice, during the march, Bardis had simply stopped breathing. Foss had saved the young Knight, but only because Tavi had noticed what was happening. The young Knight hadn't regained more than vague consciousness during the march, and had to be fed, cleaned, and watered like a baby.
As he first sat beside the wounded Bardis, Tavi was struck by how young the Knight looked. Surely, an Aleran Knight should have been taller, thicker in the shoulders and chest and neck, with a heavier growth of beard and more muscle than the wounded Knight possessed. Bardis looked like... an injured, not yet fully grown child. And it inspired an immediate and unexpected surge of pro-tectiveness in the young Cursor. To his own surprise, he set about the task of tending Bardis without complaint or regret.
Later, he realized that Bardis wasn't too young to be a Knight. Tavi was simply five years older. He knew far more of the world than the boy, had seen a great deal more of life's horrors, and had gained inches and pounds of physical size that he had, for most of his life, lacked. All of that made the wounded Knight seem much smaller and far younger. It was a matter of perspective.
Tavi realized, bemused, that he was no longer the child, unconsciously expecting those stronger and older than he to assist and protect him. Now he was the stronger, the elder, and so it fell to him to accept and discharge his responsibilities rather than to seek ways to avoid or circumvent them.
He did not know when this shift in perspective had happened, and though it might have seemed small in some ways, it was far deeper and more significant than he had at first realized. It meant that he could never again be that child, the one deserving of protection and comfort. It was time for him to provide it for others, as it had been provided for him.
So he cared for poor Bardis and spent much of that march in reflection.
"You've been moody," Max said, breaking the silence as the wagon bumped steadily down the trail-a path worn by use, not furycraft. "This whole march, you've been quiet."
"Thinking," Tavi said, "and avoiding attention."
"How's the fish?"
"Bardis," Tavi corrected him. "Foss says he'll be all right, now that we've stopped and he can be cared for more properly." He shook his head. "But he might not ever walk again. And I don't know if he'll be able to use his right arm. He's given his body in service to the Realm, Max. Don't call him a fish."
Sullen red fire played within the bone-dry storm clouds overhead, and one of the horses danced nervously. Tavi saw Max nod. "True enough," he agreed, a quiet gravity in his own voice. After a moment, Max said, "Magnus says Kalarus is making his move. That he came up with at least four extra Legions somewhere. That if they take Ceres, they'll roll right over Alera Imperia. Which doesn't make much sense to me. Placidus's Legions are going to pin them against the city walls and cut them to pieces."
"Placidus isn't moving," Tavi said.
"The crows he isn't. I know the man. He doesn't care much about getting involved with the rest of the Realm, but he doesn't care for treason, either. He'll fight."
"He isn't," Tavi said. "At least, according to the last-the only-dispatch that got through from the First Lord, though it didn't say why."
"That was a week ago," Max said.
Tavi nodded up at the sky. "Wherever this storm came from, it's pretty well prevented the use of Knights Aeris as messengers. The First Lord and the High Lords can communicate through the rivers, but they know there's nothing to stop others from listening to everything they send that way. "
"Or worse," Max said. "Altering the message en route."
"They can do that?" Tavi asked.
"It can be done," Max said. "I can't manage it yet. It's too delicate. But my lord father could. So could my stepmother."
Tavi stored the fact in memory for future reference. "Do you think Ceres will hold?"
Max was quiet for a moment before admitting, "No. Cereus is no soldier, he's getting long in the tooth, and he doesn't have a male heir to help with any of the fighting." His voice took on the note of a scowl. "His daughter Veradis has got talent, but it's mostly in healing. And she's a real cold fish."
Tavi found himself smiling. "She pretty?"
"Very."
"Turned you down, huh?"
"About a hundred times." Max's tone turned somber again. "Kalarus is a powerhouse. Even my lord father thinks so. And that twisty little bastard Brencis had me fooled about how strong he was, too. Cereus can't beat them. And if the First Lord takes them on, he'll be turning his back on Aquitainus. He's pinned down."
Silence fell. Tavi watched the lightning play through the clouds. "I suppose I should be used to this."
"What's that?"
"Feeling very small," Tavi said.
Max snorted out a laugh. "Small? Crows, Tavi. You've foiled coups orchestrated by the two most powerful High Lords in the realm. Twice. I don't know anyone less small than you."
"Luck," Tavi said. "Mostly luck."
"Some of it," Max allowed. "But not all. Hell, man, if you had furies of your own..."
Max's teeth suddenly clicked together as he choked the sentence to a halt, but Tavi still felt the familiar old stabs of frustration and longing.
"Sorry," Max said a moment later.
"Forget it."
"Yeah."
"I just wish we could do something," Tavi said. "Something. We're stuck out here in the back end of nowhere while the Realm is fighting for its life." He waved a hand. "I understand that this Legion isn't ready to fight yet. That no one is sure it could be trusted, with troops from all sides in the ranks and officers. But I wish we could do something other than sit out here and drill and"-he tilted his head at the back at the wagon-"shop for groceries."
"Me, too," Max said. "But I can't say we'd be enjoying the fight if we were there. This Legion wouldn't last long. Garrison duty on the bridge is dull, but at least it won't get us killed."
Tavi grunted and fell quiet again. The furylights of the town of Elinarch, as well as the vast, lit span of the bridge itself, came into sight at last. A few hundred yards later, the hairs on the back of Tavis neck tried to crawl up into his eyebrows.
Max wasn't a terribly skilled watercrafter, but he had raw talent, Tavi knew, and would have felt Tavi's sudden surge of unease. He sensed Max tensing beside him.
"What?" Max whispered.
"Not sure," Tavi said. "Thought I heard something."
"I do not see how, Aleran," said a voice from not a yard behind Tavi's head. "Stones and fish hear better than you."
Tavi spun, drawing the dagger from his belt. Max reacted even more swiftly, turning at the waist and sweeping an arm back in a blow of fury-born power.
Red lightning bathed the landscape for a pair of breaths, and Tavi saw Kitai smile as Max's flailing arm missed her by perhaps half of an inch. She sat crouched atop the sacks of grain, the pale skin of her face all but glowing within her cloak's hood. She wore the same ragged clothes Tavi had seen her in before, though her blindfold had been pulled down to hang loosely around her throat. Mercifully, she did not also wear the same odor.
"Blood and crows," Max spat. The horses danced nervously, making the cart lurch, and he had to bring them under control. "Ambassador?"
"Kitai," Tavi said, now understanding the odd, instinctive reaction he'd felt. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you," she said, arching a brow. "Obviously."
Tavi gave her a level look. Kitai smiled, leaned forward, and gave him a firm and deliberate kiss on the mouth. Tavi's heart abruptly raced, and he felt short of breath. He didn't really intend to reach up and grip the front of her cloak to pull her momentarily closer, but Kitai let out a pleased sound a moment later and slowly drew away. Tavi stared into her exotic, gorgeous eyes and tried to ignore the sudden flames of need that raged through his flesh.
"No justice in the world," Max sighed. "Middle of the night, middle of crowbegotten nowhere, and you're the one with a woman." He drew the horses to a halt. "I'll walk in from here. See you in the morning."
Kitai let out a quiet, wicked laugh. "Your friend is wise." Then her smile vanished. "But I have not come here for us to pleasure one another, Aleran."
Tavi struggled to ignore the hunger that rose in the wake of the kiss and drew his thoughts into order. Kitai might be able to switch her thoughts gracefully from one trail to another, but Tavi didn't share that talent-and though he could see the obvious concern in her expression, it took him a heartbeat or three to ask, "What's happened?"
"Someone came to the camp," Kitai told him. "He claimed to have a message for your Captain Cyril, but the guards on watch sent him away, to return in the morning. He told them it was important, to wake the captain, but they did not believe him and-"
"So?" Max interrupted. He looked at Tavi. "Happens all the time. Practically every messenger anyone sends thinks the world will end if he isn't seen at once. A Legion captain needs to sleep, too. No one wants to be the one that gets him out of bed."
Tavi frowned. "In peacetime," he said quietly. "There's a war on, Max. Captains need all the information they can get, and we're practically blind out here. Cyril's left standing orders for any messengers to be taken to him immediately." Tavi frowned at Max. "So the question is, why wouldn't they obey those orders?"
"There is more," Kitai said. "When the messenger left, the guards set out after him, and-"
"What?" Tavi demanded, thoughts racing. "Max. Who is on duty at the gate tonight?"
"Erasmus's century. Eighth spear, I think."
"Bloody crows," Tavi said, his voice grim. "They're Kalarans. They're going to kill him and intercept the message."
Kitai snarled in frustration and clamped a pale, slender, strong hand over Tavi's mouth and another over Max's. "By the One, Aleran, will you shut your mouth for a single instant and let me finish?" She leaned forward, eyes almost glowing with intensity. "The messenger. It was Ehren."
"Wait," Max said. "Ehren? Our Ehren?"
Before he had finished the sentence, Tavi had already leapt down from the wagon and unhooked one of the horses from its harness a heartbeat later. As he did, Kitai freed the other horse in the team. Tavi grasped the mane of the first horse and leapt up to its bare back, pulling hard against the weight of his armor with his arms as he did. Kitai flicked the long reins of the second horse at Max, then took Tavi's outstretched hand and mounted behind him.
"Our Ehren," Max said, heavily. "Right." The big Antillan shook his head as he clambered down from the wagon, then hauled himself up onto the draft horse, who snorted and shook his head. "Stop complaining," Max told him, and nodded at Tavi.
Tavi grinned and kicked his mount into a heavy-footed run. He could feel one of Kitai's slender, fever-hot arms wrap around his waist. Tavi held on to the horse's mane carefully. He had learned a good deal of riding in the capital, but very little of it had been done bareback, and he knew his limits. "Which gate was he at?" he asked Kitai.
"North side of the river, west side of the city," Kitai called back.
Beside them, Max rode with the casual skill with which he did almost everything. Max, Tavi knew, had been riding since he could walk. "Did he know he was followed?"
"Ehren knew," Tavi said firmly.
"So I'm Ehren," Max said, "with an unknown number of unknowns following me. Where do I go?" Max frowned. "Wait. What the crows am I doing all the way out here in the first place? I thought Ehren got sent to Phrygia."
"Did you notice that he packed those peppermints he kept around?" Tavi asked.
"Yes. I thought he liked peppermints."
"No. He gets seasick."
Max frowned. "But Phrygia's thousands of miles from the sea and-oh."
Tavi nodded. "I assume he was under orders to keep it secret, but I suspect he was sent out to the islands."
Max grunted. "So, I'm Ehren, who is a sneaky little git like Tavi, in from the islands, followed by bad men who want to do bad things. Where do I go?"
"Somewhere that presents you more options," Tavi called back. "Where you can deal with them appropriately and as discreetly as possible." He paused for a moment, then he and Max said together, "The docks."
They pressed on, Tavi in the lead. Dry red lightning lit their way in flickers of dim fire that only made the shadows deeper and more treacherous. Tavi could navigate by the furylights in the town and upon the Elinarch, but he could barely see what was five feet in front of him. Haste was necessary, but they would do Ehren no good if they all brained themselves on low branches or broke the legs of their mounts in potholes in the trail, and Tavi began to slow the pace.
"No," Kitai said in his ear. The arm around his waist shifted, and she clasped the hand in which Tavi held the reins. She pulled his hand to the right, and the horse altered course, Max's mount following suit. Lightning flashed, and Tavi saw the black maw of a sharp-edged pothole flash by, narrowly avoided.
Kitai leaned forward, and he felt her cheek against his as she smiled. "I will be your eyes, blind Aleran."
Tavi felt his own mouth stretch into a grin to match hers, and he shouted to his mount, coaxing all the speed he could from the draft horse.
They entered the town through the eastern gate, shouting passwords to the legionares on duty there, thundering over the stone streets, the heavy steel-shod hooves of their horses striking sparks from the stone. The western gate of the town had been left unguarded and slightly ajar. As they approached, Max crafted a miniature cyclone that hammered it the rest of the way open, and they swept through, altering course to follow the city's wall down to the riverside.
The town of Elinarch had been founded as little more than a standard Legion camp anchoring either end of the bridge. In the century since, its rising population had spread beyond the original walls, building homes and business around the wall's outskirts and, especially, constructing extensive docking facilities for the river traffic that supported the town. The wooden wharves and piers had spread hundreds of yards upon either side of the original town's boundaries on both banks of the river.
Piers brought ships and boats, which brought a steady and large number of sailing men, which gave birth to an inevitable, if modest, industry of graft and vice. Wine clubs, gambling halls, and pleasure houses were built upon both the wharves and permanently anchored barges. There was a paucity of furylamps throughout the docks-partly because no one wanted even a tiny fire fury that close to so much aged wood, and partly because the darkness suited the clandestine nature of the businesses there.
Tavi swung down from the horse and flicked the reins around the nearest wooden post. "Knowing Ehren, where do we look?"
"Little guy liked to plan ahead," Max said. "Be early for lecture. Set aside time to study."
Tavi nodded. "He'd have prepared a spot in case he had to run or fight. A distraction, to keep people from noticing while he slipped away." Tavi nodded toward a number of large, roomy buildings built directly beneath the soaring stone Elinarch. "Warehouses."
The three of them started out at a hard pace, and though Tavi's leg ached from the effort, it supported his weight easily enough. The first warehouse was open and lit as Legion teamsters unloaded the wagons of foodstuffs the Subtribunes Logistica had scrounged-like the one they'd left back on the road. Haradae, the seniormost Subtribune Logistica, a watery-eyed young man from Rhodes, looked up from a ledger book and frowned at Tavi. "Scipio? Where is your wagon?"
"On the way," Tavi called back, slowing. "Have you seen any of Erasmus's eighth spear out tonight?"
"Just went by, not five minutes ago, chasing some thief," he said, hooking a thumb. "But I thought they were on gate duty, not night watch."
"Erasmus thought that, too," Tavi improvised. "No one's at the gate."
Haradae shook his head and checked his list. "Here. Bandages. I'll have some set out for Erasmus after he's done lashing them."
Max growled under his breath, "Think he has any coffins?"
"Come on," Tavi said, and picked up the pace again.
They found the body in the shadows beside the fifth warehouse in the row, and Tavi's heart leapt into his throat as he peered at the empty black shape in the darkness. "Is it...?"
"No," Kitai said. "A legionare. He is older than Ehren and has a beard." She bent and casually tugged at the corpse. Light gleamed on steel for a second. "Knife in the neck. Well thrown."
"Shhhh," Tavi said, and held up a hand. They were quiet for a moment. The lazy river whispered now and then beneath them. The wooden wharves creaked and groaned. Tavi heard a pair of men arguing in tight, tense voices meant not to carry. Then there was a heavy thud.
Tavi drew his sword as silently as he could and nodded to Max. The pair of them started down the walkway in a hurried prowl. They were able to slip up behind a group of seven legionares. One of them held a single, dim furylamp while two others spoke and the rest stood in a loose half circle around a weather-beaten wooden storage shed, perhaps five feet high and wide and ten deep. One of the men held a wounded arm in close to his body, a kerchief wrapped around his hand in a crude bandage.
Max narrowed his eyes and crouched, but Tavi lifted a hand, silently signaling him to halt. A second gesture told Max to follow his lead, and Tavi walked boldly into the dim light of the lamp.
"And just what the crows do you men think you're doing?" he demanded.
The legionares whirled to face him. The two men arguing froze, startled expressions of guilt on their faces. Tavi recognized them, though he did not know them by name-apart from the wounded man. It was Nonus, the legionare who had given Tavi trouble his first day in the camp. His companion Bortus stood uneasily beside him. Though no one had ever commented on it, Tavi suspected that a quiet word from Max had convinced Valiar Marcus to transfer them to Erasmus's century-a less-senior century within his cohort, which had doubtless resulted in a reduction in pay.
"Well?" Tavi demanded. "Who is the file leader of this sorry bunch?"
"Sir," mumbled one of two debaters. He wore his helmet sloppily unfastened, cheek flaps loose. His voice had a Kalaran accent. "I am, Subtribune Scipio."
Tavi tilted his head and kept his face fixed in a steadily darkening scowl. "Name, soldier?"
The man glanced about uneasily. "Yanar, sir."
"Yanar. You want to tell me why one of your men is dead in that alley and you've another wounded, instead of being at your crowbegotten post?"
"Sir, Creso was murdered, sir!"
"I assumed that from the way a knife was sticking out of his neck," Tavi said in a quietly acidic tone. "But that is hardly important. Why was he murdered there and not at his post?"
"We were pursuing a criminal, sir!" Yanar stammered. "He fled."
"Yes, file leader. I did manage to deduce that if you were pursuing him, he most probably had fled. But why are you here instead of at your post?"
"Yanar," growled one of the legionares. He was a man of medium size, slender in build, dark of hair and eye. Tavi did not know his name. "He's just one prating little subbie." He jerked his head at the storage shed. "Maybe he tries to help us. We tell him not to, but maybe he goes in first. Maybe our boy killed him and Creso both."
Yanar turned back to Tavi, a look of ugly speculation in his eyes.
"Careful, Yanar," Tavi said in a quiet voice. "You're getting near to treason."
"It's only treason," said the dark man, "if you get caught."
Yanar narrowed his eyes at Tavi and said, "K-"
Tavi presumed the man was going to say "kill him," but he decided not to waste a perfectly good second in listening. He took a bounding step forward and struck straight down with his gladius. The blow landed on the crown of Yanar's untied helmet, slamming it forward and down, breaking the legionare's nose and roughly gouging at one cheek. Tavi slammed his armored shoulder into Yanar s chest, knocking him down, ducked the swing of another sword, and kicked against the dark man's knee, crushing the joint, sending him to the wharf with a cry of pain.
Tavi parried another sword strike, and attacked, forcing the legionare to react with a textbook-perfect return stroke-one that would have been excellent in the press of battle. It wasn't a street-fighting move. Tavi disengaged his blade from his foe's, took a step forward to the diagonal, and slammed his armored fist into the man's nose with all of his own strength plus his opponent's momentum, stunning him for an instant. Tavi drove the pommel of his sword into the man's armored temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Max came rushing up to Tavi's side, but the legionares around him had fallen back in shock at the sudden, vicious assault.
"Not bad," Max observed.
Tavi shrugged.
"All right, gentlemen," Tavi snarled at the rest of them. "So far, you've only deserted your post, presumably at the orders of this idiot." Tavi pointed his sword at the unconscious Yanar. "The consequences for that aren't pleasant, but they aren t too terrible. Everyone who wishes to add insubordination, failure to obey an officer, and attempted murder to their list of offenses should keep your weapons in hand and give me an instant of trouble."
There was a short silence. Then Nonus swallowed, drew his sword, and dropped it to the wharf. Bortus followed, as did the other legionares.
"Return to your posts," Tavi said, voice cold. "Wait there to be relieved while I get your centurion out of his cot and send him to deal with you."
The men winced.
"Sir?" Nonus said. "What about the thief, sir? He killed a legionare. He's dangerous."
Tavi glared at them, then said, "You, in the shed. I'm placing you under arrest and binding you by Crown law. Come out now, unarmed, and I'll see to it that you are treated in accord with the Crown's justice."
A moment later, Ehren appeared in the doorway of the shed. He had more muscle than Tavi remembered, and his skin was dark brown from time in the sun that had washed most of the color from his hair. He was dressed in simple if somewhat ragged clothes, and had his hands held up, empty. His eyes widened when he saw Tavi and Max, and he drew in a sudden breath.
"Keep your crowbegotten mouth shut," Tavi told him bluntly. "Centurion. Take him into custody."
Max went to Ehren and casually twisted the smaller man's arm behind him in a common come-along hold, then marched him out of the alley. "You, you, you," Tavi said, pointing at legionares. "Carry these idiots on the ground." He walked around, picking up their surrendered weapons as they did, stacking them in the circle of one arm, like cordwood. "You," Tavi said, as Nonus picked up the dark man. "What is your name?"
The man narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
"Suit yourself," Tavi said, and turned to lead the men from the alley.
A sudden sensation of panic hit him like a shock of cold water.
"Aleran!" Kitai's voice called.
Tavi dropped the swords and dived forward, over them, turning in place. The dark man had broken free from Nonus, and now held a curved, vicious-looking knife. He swept it hard at Tavi's throat. Tavi rolled in the direction of the strike. The knife missed him by a hair. Tavi managed to grab on to the man's arm as he missed, and a hard tug sent him stumbling, so that his crushed knee gave out on him.
He cried out and fell, but started to push himself up again, knife still in hand.
Kitai dropped from the roof of the warehouse and landed on his back, slamming him to the wharf. She seized the crown of his helm with one hand, the neck of his tunic with the other, and with a snarl slammed his head completely through the wooden flooring, shattering the wooden planks beneath his face, trapping his head there.
Then the Marat woman seized his shoulders and twisted.
The dark man's neck broke with an ugly crack.
"Crows," Tavi swore. He scrambled to the man's side and felt -for the pulse in his wrist. He was, however, quite dead. "I wanted him to talk," he told Kitai.
Her feline green eyes almost seemed to glow in the shadows. "He meant to kill you."
"Of course he did," Tavi said. "But now we can't find out who he was."
Kitai shrugged and bent to pick up the curved knife, now lying under the man's limp hand. She held it up, and said, "Bloodcrow."
Tavi peered at the knife, then nodded. "Looks like."