"Subtribune Scipio?" Max called.
"Coming," Tavi called back. He glanced at Nonus and the other legionares, who were staring openly at him.
"Who are you?" Nonus asked in a quiet voice.
"A smart soldier," Tavi replied quietly, "knows when to keep his mouth shut. You've screwed up enough for one day already."
Nonus swallowed and saluted.
"Move it, people," Tavi said, raising his voice. He recovered the swords as the legionares marched out and tucked the curved Kalaran knife through his belt.
"What now?" Kitai asked him quietly.
"Now we take everything to Cyril," Tavi said quietly. "Ehren, Yanar, all of it. The captain will know what to do." More red lightning played overhead, and Tavi shivered. "Come on. I've got a feeling we don't have any time to lose."
"Isana," Giraldi rumbled. "Steadholder, I'm sorry, but there's no more time. You need to wake."
Isana tried for a moment to remain in the blissful darkness of sleep, but then forced herself to open her eyes and sit up. She felt thoroughly wretched, exhausted, and wanted nothing more than lie down once more.
But that was not an option.
Isana blinked whatever exhaustion she could from her eyes. ' "Thank you, centurion."
"Ma'am," Giraldi said, with a nod, and stepped back from the bed.
Veradis looked up from where she sat beside Fade and the healing tub, holding the unconscious slave's hand. "Apologies, Steadholder," the healer murmured with a weak smile. "I have no more than an hour to give today. "
"It's all right, Veradis," Isana replied. "If you hadn't given me a chance to get some sleep, I'd never have lasted this far. May I have a moment to..."
Veradis nodded with another faint smile. "Of course."
Isana availed herself of the facilities and returned to kneel beside Veradis, slipping her own hand between hers and Fade's, and reassuming control of the steady effort of furycraft required to fight the man's infection. The first time she had handed the crafting off to Veradis, it had been a difficult, delicate maneuver-one only possible because of an unusual degree of similarity in their styles of furycraft, in fact. Repetition had made the extraordinary feat commonplace over the past twenty days.
Or was it twenty-one, Isana thought wearily. Or nineteen. The days began blurring together once the low, heavy storm clouds above the city had rolled in. Even now, they roiled restlessly above them, flickering with sullen thunder and crimson light but withholding the rain that should have come with it. The storm cast the world into continual twilight and darkness, and she had no way to measure the passing of time.
Even so, Isana had managed, barely, to hang on to the furycrafting that was Fade's only hope. Without Veradis giving her the odd hour or two to sleep, now and then, Fade would long since have died.
"How is he?" Isana asked. She settled down in the seat Veradis rose from.
The young healer once more bound Isana's hand to Fade's with soft rope. "The rot has lost some ground," Veradis said quietly. "But he's been in the tub too long, and he hasn't kept enough food down. His skin is developing a number of sores, which..." She shook her head, took a breath and began again. "You know what happens then."
Isana nodded. "Other sicknesses are pressing in."
"He's getting weaker, Steadholder," Veradis said. "If he doesn't rally soon-"
They were interrupted as the room's door banged opened. "Lady Veradis," said an armed legionare in a strained, urgent voice. "You must hurry. He's dying."
Veradis grimaced, her eyes sunken and weary. Then she rose, and said to Isana, "I don't know if I shall be able to return again," she said quietly.
Isana nodded once. Veradis turned and walked from the room, her steps swift, calm, and certain. "Describe the injury," she said. The legionare's description of the blow of a heavy mallet faded as the pair walked down the hall.
Giraldi watched them go, then rumbled, "Steadholder? You should eat. I'll bring you some broth."
"Thank you, Giraldi," Isana said quietly. The old soldier left the room, and she turned her attention to the crafting within Fade.
The pain of exposing herself to the substances within Fade had not lessened in the least. It had, however, become something familiar, something she knew and could account for-and as she had grown more weary, day by day, as she grew less able to distinguish it as a separate entity from her body's exhaustion, it had become increasingly unimportant.
She settled herself comfortably in the seat, her eyes open but unfocused. The infection now existed as a solid image in her mind that represented its presence within Fade. She pictured it as a mound of rounded stones, each solid and heavy, but also eminently moveable. She waited for a moment, until the beating of her heart and the slow cadences of her breath matched those of the wounded man. Then, in her mind's eye, she picked up the nearest stone and lifted it, carrying it aside and tossing it into a featureless imaginary stream. Then she repeated the action, deliberate, resolute, one stone after another.
She did not know how much time passed as she focused on helping Fade's body fight the contagion, but she suddenly felt a presence beside her at the imagined mound of rock.
Fade stood there, frowning up at the mound of rocks. He did not look as he did in the healing tub, worn and wan and wasted. Instead, he appeared to her as a young man-thin with youth and a body not yet done filling out. His hair was cut Legion style, his face bore no scar of a coward's brand, and he wore the simple breeches and tunic of an off-duty soldier. "Hello," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"You're sick, " Isana told the image. "You need to rest, Fade, and let me help you."
At the mention of his name, the image figure frowned. His features changed for a moment, aged, the scar of the coward's brand emerging from his skin. He reached up to touch his face, frowning. "Fade..." he murmured. Then his eyes widened. He looked up at Isana, and his features abruptly aged, hair growing longer, scars reappearing. "Isana?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"I was wounded," he said. He blinked his eyes as if trying to focus. "Aren't we in Ceres?"
"Yes," she said. "You're unconscious. I'm attempting to craft you well."
Fade shook his head. "I don't understand what's happening. Is this a dream?"
An interesting thought. Isana paused to consider him. "It might be. I'm in a state of mind somewhere close to sleep. You've had a fever for days, and I've been in close contact with you, through Rill, almost the whole time. I've felt the edges of some of your dreams-but you've been in a fever the whole while. It was mostly just confusion."
Fade smiled a little. "This must be your dream, then."
"In a manner of speaking," she said.
"Days..." He frowned. "Isana, isn't that sort of crafting very dangerous?"
"Not as dangerous as doing nothing, I'm afraid," she said.
Fade shook his head. "I meant for you."
"I'm prepared for it," Isana said.
"No," Fade said, abruptly. "No, Isana. You aren't to take this kind of risk for me. Someone else must."
"There is no one else," Isana said quietly.
"Then you must stop," Fade said. "You cannot come to harm on my account."
Back in the physical world, Isana dimly felt Fade begin to move, the first such motion in days. He tried, weakly, to pull his hand from hers.
"No," Isana said firmly. She went to fetch the next stone and resume her steady labor. "Stop this, Fade. You must rest."
"I can't," Fade said. "I can't be responsible for more harm to you. Bloody crows, Isana." His voice became thick with anguished grief. "I've failed him more than enough already."
"No. No you haven't."
"I swore to protect him," Fade said. "And when he needed me most, I left him to die."
"No," Isana said quietly. "He ordered you to see us clear of the Valley. To keep us safe."
"I shouldn't have followed the order," Fade said, his voice suddenly vicious with self-hatred. "My duty was to protect him. Preserve him. He had already lost two of his singulares because of me. I'm the one who lamed Miles. Who drove Aldrick from his service." His hands clenched into fists. "I should never have left him. No matter what he said."
"Fade," Isana said quietly. "Whatever killed Septimus must have been too much for anyone to stop. He was the son of the First Lord, and every bit as powerful as his father. Perhaps more so. Do you really think you could have made a difference?"
"I might have," Fade said. "Whatever killed Septimus, I might have been able to stop it. Or at least slow it down enough to allow him to handle it. Even if I only managed to preserve him a single second, and even if I'd died doing it, it might have been all he needed."
"Or it might not," Isana said quietly. "You might have died senselessly with him. You know he wouldn't have wanted that."
Fade clenched his teeth, the tightened muscles of his jaw distorting the lines of his face. "I should have died with them. I wish I had." He shook his head. "Part of me died that day, Isana. Araris Valerian. Araris the brave. I ran from the fight. I left the side of the man I swore to protect."
Isana stopped and touched the brand upon his face. "This was only a disguise, Araris. A costume. A mask. They had to think you were dead if you were to be able to protect Tavi."
"It was a disguise," Araris said, bitter. "It was also the truth."
Isana sighed. "No, Fade. You are the most courageous man I've ever known."
"I left him," he said. "I left him."
"Because he wished you to protect us."
"And I failed him in that, as well. I let your sister die."
Isana felt a dart of remembered pain strike her chest. "There was nothing you could have done. That was not your fault."
"It was. I should have seen that Marat. Should have stopped him b-before-" Fade held his hands up to his ears and shook his head. "I can't do this anymore, I can't see him, see you, be there anymore, my lady please, just leave me, let me go to him, to my lord, left him, coward mark, coward heart..
He trailed off into incoherent babbling, and when his body thrashed weakly in the healing tub, trying to take his hand from hers, the image-Fade vanished again, leaving Isana alone with the mound of imaginary stones.
She went back to work.
Later, she blinked her eyes, forcing her thoughts back to the chamber in Cereus's citadel for a moment, looking around the room. Fade lay in the tub, muscles quivering in random little twitches. She reached across him to touch his forehead with her free hand, and confirmed what she already knew.
Fade had given up the fight. He did not want to recover.
His fever had grown worse.
He was dying.
The door opened and Giraldi paced quietly into the room, a mug of broth in his hand. "Steadholder?"
She gave him a faint smile as he passed her the mug. It was difficult for her to eat and keep food down, given the constant pain the crafting required, but it was vital that she do so. "Thank you, centurion."
"Course." He stumped over to the window and stared out. "Crows, Stead-holder. I always hated getting into a battle. But I think standing around like this is worse." The fingers of his sword hand opened and closed rhythmically upon his cane.
Isana took a slow sip of broth. "How fares the battle?"
"Kalare's taken the upper hand," Giraldi responded. "He worked out how to draw out Cereus's Knights so that he could eliminate them."
Isana closed her eyes and shook her head. "What happened?"
"He ordered his Knights to attack a residential district," Giraldi replied. "Including the city's largest orphanage and a number of streets where retired le-gionares were living out their pensions."
Isana grimaced. "Great furies. The man is a monster." Giraldi grunted. "Worked, though." His voice became something distant, impersonal. "There's only so many times you can see an elder getting cut down. Only so many times you can hear a child screaming. Then you have to do something. Even if it's stupid. "
"How bad were the losses?"
"Kalare and his son were personally involved in the attack. Cereus lost half his knights. Mostly Knights Aeris. If Captain Miles and the Crown Legion's Knights hadn't intervened, they'd have died to a man. Cereus himself was injured, getting them out of the trap. He and Captain Miles went up against Kalarus and his son in the front hall of the orphanage. From what I've heard, it was an amazing battle."
"In my experience, rumors rarely bother to get the details correct," said a gentle voice at the door.
Isana turned to find Captain Miles standing in the doorway, still in full battle armor, his helmet under his left arm. The armor and helm were both dented and scratched in too many places to count. The right arm of his tunic was soaked in blood to the elbow, and his hand rested on the hilt of his gladius. His hair was Legion-cropped, greying, and he smelled of sweat and rust and blood. He was not a particularly large man, and he had plain features that gave Isana an immediate sense of fidelity and loyalty. He moved with a detectable limp as he stepped into the room, but though he spoke to Isana and Giraldi, his eyes were on the man in the healing tub.
"Cereus played the wounded bird and lured them in. They came in to take him down, and I was hiding in the rafters. I hit the boy from behind and wounded him badly enough to make Kalarus panic and pull him out."
"Captain," Giraldi said with a nod. "I heard Kalarus tried to roast you for it, sir."
Miles shrugged. "I wasn't in the mood for roast. I ran away." He nodded to Isana. "Steadholder. Do you know who I am?"
Isana glanced at Fade and back to Miles. They were brothers, though Miles, like the rest of Alera, had thought Araris dead for nearly twenty years. "I know you," she said quietly.
"I would ask a favor of you." He glanced at Giraldi, including him in the sentiment. "A few private moments of your time, Steadholder?"
"She's working," Giraldi said, and though his tone was not disrespectful, neither was it prepared to compromise. "She doesn't need any distractions."
Miles hovered for a moment, as though uncertain of which way to move. Then he said, "I spoke to Lady Veradis. She said that there might not be much more time."
Isana glanced away. Despair washed through her for a moment, her weariness lending it tremendous potency. She pushed the tide of it away, then said, "It's all right Giraldi."
The centurion grunted. Then he nodded to Isana and limped to the door on his cane. "A moment," he said to Miles. "I'll hold you to it, sir."
Miles nodded, and waited for Giraldi to depart the room. Then he went to Fade's side, knelt, and laid a hand on the unconscious slave's head. "He's on fire," Miles said quietly.
"I know," Isana replied. "I'm doing all that I can."
"I should have come sooner," Miles said, his voice bitter. "Should have been here every day."
From outside, there came the loud, hollow cough of thunder that accompanied a firecrafter's assault, when fire would suddenly blossom from nothing into a white-hot sphere. The fire-thunder was answered, seconds later, by an almost-continuous rumbling from the glowering storm.
"You've been somewhat busy," Isana said, tired amusement in her voice.
Miles shook his head. "It wasn't that. It was..." He frowned. "My big brother. He always won. He's been in fights that should have killed him time and time again. And even when he did die, he managed to come back. It may have taken him twenty years, but he did it." Miles shook his head. "Invincible. Maybe part of me didn't want to admit that he might not be. That I might..
Lose him, Isana thought, finishing his thought.
"Can he hear me?" Miles asked.
Isana shook her head. "I don't know. He's been in and out of consciousness, but he's grown more incoherent each day."
Miles bit his lip and nodded, and Isana felt the depth of his grief, pain, and regret. He looked up at her, his eyes frightened, almost like a child's. "Is what Veradis said true?" he asked. "Is he going to die?"
Isana knew what Miles wanted to hear. His emotions and his eyes were begging her for hope.
She met Miles's eyes, and said quietly, "Probably. But I'm not going to give up on him."
Miles blinked his eyes several times and moved his right hand as though brushing sweat from his forehead. It left his face smeared with thin streaks of the blood on his sleeve. "All right," he said quietly. Then he leaned down closer to Fade. "Rari. It's Miles. I'm..." He bowed his head, at a loss for words. "I'm here, Rari. I'm here."
He looked up at Isana. "Is there anything I can do help you?"
Isana shook her head. "He's... he's very tired. And very sick. And he isn't fighting it. He isn't trying to recover."
Miles frowned. "That doesn't sound like him. Why not?"
Isana let out a sigh. "I don't know. He's only been lucid enough to speak for a few moments. And even then, he wasn't making much sense. Guilt, perhaps. Or perhaps he's just too tired."
Miles stared down at Fade for a moment. He was about to speak when boots thumped up to the door.
"Captain!" called a young man's warbling voice. One of the citadel's pages, then. "My lord requests your immediate presence."
Miles looked up at Isana, and called, "On my way." Then he bent down and leaned his forehead against Fade's for a second. Then he rose. "Should he come around again before... Please tell him I came to see him."
"Of course," Isana said.
"Thank you," Miles said.
Miles left the room. Giraldi stuck his head back in, glanced around once, then went back out. He shut the door and leaned his back against it to prevent any more disturbances, Isana supposed.
Miles had been right. Fade was not the sort of man simply to surrender. He had lived with the guilt of Septimus's death for twenty years, yet never attempted to end his life, never given in to despair.
It had to be something else. Something more.
Bloody crows, Isana thought. If only he could speak to her. Even if just for a moment. She ground her teeth in frustration.
Outside, fire-thunder boomed and cracked. Trumpets blared. Drums rattled. Beneath them, the roar of angry armies. The sullen sky flickered with spiteful thunder.
Isana finished the broth, forced all such distractions from her mind, and went back to work.
Captain Cyril stared at Ehren for a long moment. Then his mouth turned down into a thoughtful frown. He studied the almost-too-bright silver of one of Gaiuss personal coins, given to the Cursors as tokens of their authority. A full minute passed before he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir," Ehren said, his tone grim and calm.
They stood inside the captain's command tent, flaps down, lit by a pair of soft yellow furylamps. When they arrived, Cyril had been awake, armored, and waiting for them without a trace of sleep lingering in his eyes. His bedroll was neatly stored atop the standard trunk in the corner. The soldier who led by example.
A brief silence followed Ehren's reply, and Magnus used the time to refresh the captain's cup of tea. Max waggled his own empty cup at Magnus. Magnus arched an eyebrow at him, then passed him the carafe. Max smiled and poured his own, then refilled Tavi's as well.
"Marcus?" Max asked.
Valiar Marcus shook his head, declining. The ugly old centurion stood beside the captain, scratching at his head. "Sir, I have to wonder if this isn't a hoax of some kind. The Canim have never come to Alera's shores in such numbers."
Ehren looked ragged and tired, but he bristled at the First Spear's words. "Are you calling me a liar, centurion?"
"No," the First Spear said, meeting Ehren's eyes. "But a man may speak the truth and still be incorrect."
Ehren clenched his hands into fists, but Cyril stopped him with a hard look. "The First Spear is right to be cautious, sir Cursor," he said to Ehren.
"Why?" Ehren demanded.
"Because of the timing," Cyril said. "Kalarus's Legions have marched upon the forces of the First Lord."
Ehren stared at him for a moment. "What? "
Cyril nodded. "Ceres is under siege. Kalarus's forces have cut off the eastern High Lords for the time being. Placida and Attica stand neutral. If Kalarus could manage to create a false threat from the Canim and force Aleran Legions to respond, it could spread Gaius's supporters out more thinly, rob them of the advantage of numbers."
Ehren shook his head. "I saw them, Captain, with my own eyes. Hundreds of ships, driven before the storm that has made it all but impossible for us to fly, to carry word swiftly, to outmaneuver them. This is no mere raid. '
The First Spear grunted. "How come this didn't come through official channels of intelligence?"
"Because I made landfall at the harbor in Redstone to find that my contact in the Cursors had been murdered the previous week. I didn't dare reveal myself for fear that his murderers would be watching for other Cursors."
"A plausible explanation," Cyril said. "But one that does not readily lend itself to confirmation. My orders are to hold the bridge, Sir Ehren, not to mount expeditions against an incursion. I am willing to send out a party to verify-"
"Captain," Ehren said, voice rising in alarm. "There's no time for that. My ship outran the Canim armada, but not by much. If they kept their pace, they'll make landfall in the harbor at Founderport in the next few hours. There aren't many harbors along this coast. It's obvious that they must control the Elinarch or risk being attacked from several directions." He pointed to the south. "They're coming here, Captain. By this time tomorrow, you'll have the largest Canim bat-tlepack in the history of Alera coming over that hill."
Cyril frowned at Ehren for a moment, then looked at the First Spear.
"Crows," Marcus muttered, running a finger down the lumpy bridge of his often-broken nose. "Why?" he asked. "Why here? Why now?"
It came to Tavi in a flash. "Wrong question, centurion." Tavi looked at Cyril and said, "Not 'why,' sir. Who."
"Who?" Cyril asked.
"Who are they working with," Tavi said quietly.
Silence fell.
"No," Max said after a moment. "No Aleran Citizen would have traffic with the Canim. Not even Kalarus. It's... no, it's unthinkable."
"And," Tavi said, "it is the most likely explanation. This storm has blinded us and severely harms our ability to coordinate."
"It does the same to Kalarus," the First Spear pointed out.
"But he knew when it was coming. Where his targets were. Where he would strike. His forces were already coordinated and in motion." Tavi glanced at Cyril. "That storm does far more to harm Gaius than Kalarus. The only problem is how the Canim told Kalarus that it was about to begin." Tavi chewed his lip. "They'd need a signal of some kind."
"Like red stars?" the First Spear snarled in disgust. He spat a vile oath, hand coming to rest on his sword. "Kalarus's attack began the night of the red stars. So did the Canim's."
"Bloody crows," Max said. He shook his head in disbelief. "Bloody crows."
Cyril looked at the First Spear, and said, "If they take the Elinarch, they'll run right through Placida's heartlands on the north side, and with the river protecting their flank, they'll be able to lay waste to Ceres' lands on the south."
"There's not another full Legion within eight or nine hundred miles, sir," the First Spear said. "And we can't send any requests for reinforcement by air. No one could reach us in time to make any difference." He set his jaw in a grim line, and said, "We're alone out here."
"No," Cyril corrected quietly. "We are a Legion. If we do not fight, the holders in the towns and steadholts the Canim will attack will be alone."
"The fish aren't ready, sir," Valiar Marcus warned. "Neither are the defenses of the town."
"Be that as it may. They are what we have. And by the great furies, they are Aleran legionares." Cyril nodded once. "We fight."
The First Spear's eyes glittered, and his teeth showed in a wolfish smile. "Yes, sir."
"Centurion, summon my officers here at once. All of them. Go."
"Sir," Marcus said. He saluted and strode from the tent.
"Antillar, you are to carry word to the cavalry and auxiliaries to prepare for immediate deployment. I'm sending Fantus and Cadius Hadrian over the bridge tonight, to slow any advance elements of the enemy forces, gather what intelligence they can, and to give our holders a chance to run, if need be."
"Sir," Max said. He saluted, nodded at Tavi, and strode out.
"Magnus. Go into town and contact Councilman Vogel. Give him my compliments and ask him to send any boats that can manage it up the river to spread the word of a Canim incursion. Then ask him to open the town's armory. I want as many militiamen as we can equip armed and ready to fight."
Maestro Magnus saluted the captain, nodded to Tavi, and slipped out.
"And you, Scipio," Cyril said, fixing a speculative stare on Tavi. "You seem to have a talent for finding trouble."
"I'd prefer to think that it finds me, sir. "
The captain gave him a humorless smile. "Do you understand the wider implications of a relationship between Kalarus and the Canim, and the attempt to prevent Sir Ehren, here, from reaching us?"
"Yes, sir," Tavi said. "It means that Kalarus probably has further intelligence assets within the Legion, and that they may well take other actions to leave us more vulnerable to the Canim."
"A distinct possibility," Cyril said, nodding. "Keep your eyes open. Carry word to Mistress Cymnea that the followers should ready to retreat to the town's walls, should battle be joined."
"Sir," Tavi said, saluting. "Shall I return here for the officers' meeting?"
"Yes. We'll begin in twenty minutes." Cyril paused and glanced from Tavi to Ehren. "Good work, you two."
"Thank you, sir," Tavi said, inclining his head to Cyril in acknowledgment of the captain's deduction. Then he traded a nod with Ehren and ducked out of the tent. He hurried through the lightning-strobed darkness as the camp began to waken from its late-night torpor to the sounds of shouted orders, nervous horses, and clanking armor.
The Legion followers camp lay farther from the actual Legion camp than was the norm: While the Legions had inhabited the standard-format fortifications built into the town itself, there was not room enough for townsfolk, Legion, and followers alike. The newer portions of the town had been built outside the protection of the walls, and the followers had pitched their tents on the common land surrounding the city, on the downriver side of the town.
It wasn't a pleasant camp, by any means. The ground was soft and too easily churned into mud by passing feet. Footprints filled with water that oozed into them, which in turn gave birthplaces to uncounted midges, mites, and buzzing annoyances. When the wind blew from the river or the city, it carried a distinct odor in one or more of several unpleasant varieties.
But for all that, the followers' camp had been set up in roughly the same order as it had been at the training grounds, and Tavi picked out the flutes and drums of Mistress Cymnea's Pavilion without trouble. He wound his way there through the darkened camp. The sharp smell of amaranthium incense, burned at each fire to ward off insects, made his nose itch and his eyes water slightly.
Tavi glimpsed a shadow ahead of him and came to a stop beneath a single lonely furylamp hung beside the entrance to the Pavilion. Tavi unfastened and removed his helmet and held up a hand in greeting. Bors, lurking near the entrance as always, lifted his chin a fraction of an inch by way of reply, then held up a hand, indicating that Tavi should wait.
He did, and after a moment, a tall, slender shadow replaced Bors, and walked with swaying grace to him.
"Mistress Cymnea," Tavi said, bowing his head. "I hardly expected to see you up this late."
Cymnea smiled from within her cloak's hood, and said, "I've been following Legions since I was a little girl, Subtribune. Shouts and signal drums in the middle of the night mean one of two things: fire or battle."
Tavi nodded. "Canim," he said, and his voice sounded grim, even to him. "We aren't sure how many. It would appear to be a major incursion."
Cymnea drew in a sharp breath. "I see."
"Captain Cyril's compliments, Mistress, and he wants the camp followers to be ready to withdraw into the city's walls should it become necessary."
"Of course," she said. "I'll see to it that the word is spread. "
"Thank you." Tavi paused. "The captain didn't say anything about it, Mistress, but if you're entertaining any Legion personnel..."
She gave him a brief smile. "I know the drill. I'll get them sober and send them home."
"Thank you," Tavi said, with another bow.
"Subtribune, ' she said, "I know that you have your duties, but have you seen Gerta this evening?"
"Ah," Tavi said. "I saw her in town earlier this evening."
Cymnea frowned. "I worry about slavers, her running off alone in a strange town. She's such a fragile little thing. And not quite right in the head."
Tavi worked very hard to hold back both a bark of laughter and a wide smile. "I'll grant that's true, but I'm sure she's all right, Mistress," he said seriously. "Eli-narch is a law-abiding town, and the captain won't tolerate any nonsense from the men."
"No," Cymnea said. "The best of them never do."
"You know the trumpet call to flee to the city?"
She nodded and bowed her head to him. "Good luck, Subtribune. And thank you for the warning."
"Good luck, Mistress," he said, returning her bow. He nodded to the silent presence of Bors, then headed back to town at a steady if uncomfortable jog.
In the outbuildings before the town's walls, Tavi heard a movement to his right a fraction of an instant too late to allow him to evade. Something hit his side in midstride, and sent him to the ground on his face. Before he could rise, what felt like steel bars wrapped around one of Tavi's wrists and pinned the wrist high up on his back. The fury-assisted pressure was painful in its own right, and one of the banded plates of Tavi's armor ground against his ribs.
"All right, Scipio," hissed a voice. "Or whatever your name really is. Hand over my mother's purse."
"Crassus," Tavi growled. "Get off me."
"Give me her purse, you thief!" Crassus shouted back.
Tavi clenched his teeth against the pain. "You're making me late for an officers' meeting. We're mobilizing."
"Liar," Crassus said.
"Get off me, Sir Knight. That is an order."
Crassus's grip tightened. "You're a fool as well as a liar. You've merely annoyed her, and you think what she's done so far is bad? You haven't seen what she can do when she's angry."
"The crows I haven't," Tavi spat. "I've seen Max's back when he changes his tunic."
For whatever reason, the words hit Crassus hard, and Tavi felt him rock back from them, almost as if they'd been a physical blow. The pressure on his wrist eased just enough that Tavi had room to move-and he was in a position to make a real fight of it. The incredible strength offered by the use of an earth fury was enormous, but earthcrafters often forgot its limitations. It did not make its user any heavier; and one's feet had to be on the ground.
Tavi got a knee under his body and slithered out of Crassus's loosened grip. He seized the Knight's tunic at the throat, twisted with the weight of his whole body, and used arms and legs both to throw him up onto the wooden porch of a nearby shop. Crassus hit hard, but rolled back up onto his feet, his face dark with rage.
Tavi had followed Crassus onto the porch, and when Crassus lifted his head to glare at him, Tavi's kick was already halfway to the young man's head. His boot struck Crassus on the mouth, a stunning blow, and he reeled back.
Tavi slipped aside a clumsy counterblow with one hand and struck Crassus with closed fists, nose and mouth, followed by a hard push that slammed the back of Crassus's head against the shop's wall. The young man wobbled and fell. When he growled and started getting up, Tavi struck him again.
Crassus staggered up again.
Tavi sent him crashing to the wooden floor again with precise, heavy blows.
All in all, he had to beat Crassus back to the ground four times before the young Knight let out his breath in a groan, blood all over his face and nose, and lay on his back.
Tavi's hands hurt terribly. He hadn't been wearing his heavy fighting gloves, and he'd ripped several knuckles open on Crassus's head. Though he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that it was at least as thick as Max's.
"We through?" Tavi panted.
"Thief," Crassus said. Or so Tavi supposed. The word came out mushy and barely understandable. Which was the expected result if one's lips were split and swollen, one's nose broken, and when several teeth may have gone missing.
"Maybe. But I'd die before I lifted a hand against my own blood."
Crassus looked up and glared, but Tavi saw a flicker of shame in the young man's eyes.
"I take it this is about the red stone?" Tavi asked.