"Don't know what you're talking about," Crassus said sullenly.
"Then I don't know anything about a purse," Tavi said, frowning at the beaten young man. Tavi didn't have the advantages of a skilled watercrafter, but he was as good as anyone without that advantage could be, when it came to reading people. Crassus wasn't lying to Tavi about the stone. He was sure of it.
"You'll get what you want now," Crassus said quietly. "You'll report me to the captain, won't you. Have me cast from the Legion. Sent home in shame."
Tavi regarded Crassus for a moment. Then he said, "You don't get dishonorably discharged for falling down a flight of stairs."
Crassus blinked at him. "What?"
"Sir Knight, just what the crows do you think those drums are for? Lulling the fish to sleep? We're mobilizing, and I'm not going to do anything that robs the Legion of a capable Knight and our Tribune Medica." Tavi extended his hand. "As far as I'm concerned, you fell down some stairs, and that's the end of it. Come on."
The young man stared at Tavi's hand for a moment, blinking in confusion, but then hesitantly reached out and let Tavi help him to his feet. He looked frightful, and while Tavi knew the injuries were painful, they weren't serious.
"I take it your mother sent you to speak to me?" Tavi asked him.
"No," Crassus said.
Tavi arched a skeptical eyebrow.
Crassus eyes flashed with anger. "I'm not her valet. Or her dog."
"If she didn't tell you to do it, why are you here? "
"She's my mother," Crassus said, and spat blood from his mouth. "Trying to look out for her."
Tavi felt his eyes widen, as he suddenly realized the young man's motivation. "You didn't do it to protect her," he said quietly. "You were trying to protect me."
Crassus froze for a second, staring at Tavi, then looked away.
"That's why you didn't draw a sword on me," Tavi said quietly. "You never intended for me to be hurt."
Crassus wiped at his mouth with a corner of his sleeve. "She's... got a temper. She's reached the end of it. She left earlier tonight. I thought to find you and return the purse to her. Tell her I found it on the ground." He shook his head. "I didn't want her to do anything rash. Sometimes her anger gets the better of her."
"Like with Max," Tavi said.
Crassus grimaced. "Yes." He looked back toward the camp. "Maximus... some of those scars he took for me. Confessed to things I had done, trying to protect me." He glanced at Tavi. "I don't like you, Scipio. But Max does. And I owe him. That's why I came here. I wanted to reconcile us somehow. I thought if we could..." He shrugged. "Spend some time together, and not back at Antil-lus. Mother told me she was going to offer him an apology for how she has treated him."
Tavi felt a surge of anger for Max's stepmother. She'd offered him something, all right. She'd tried to kill him again. But Tavi had a strong suspicion that Crassus's opinion of her was anything but objective. He felt sure that the young knight would never allow himself to believe that his mother had Max's murder in mind.
Tavi reached into his pocket and withdrew the silk purse, shaking the small red stone out of it as he did, so that the stone remained in his pocket. He offered the purse to Crassus.
Crassus took it, and then said quietly, "I could report this to the captain."
"And I could suddenly remember that there are no stairs around here," Tavi replied without rancor. "But I think we've both wasted enough effort for tonight."
Crassus bounced the empty purse on his palm a few times, then pocketed it. "Maybe I should have just asked you for it."
Tavi grimaced, and said, "Sorry about your, uh, your face. "
Crassus shook his head. "My own fault. I jumped you. Hit you first." He touched his nose lightly and winced. "Where'd you learn that throw?"
"From a Marat," Tavi replied. "Come on. I'm already late. And we'll both be needed tonight."
Crassus nodded, and they started walking.
They hadn't gone twenty paces when the brightest dance of scarlet fire Tavi had yet seen in the glowering overcast rushed from one horizon to the other and back again, rippling back and forth like some vast and unthinkably swift wave.
"Crows," Tavi said softly, staring up at the display.
And then the night was torn with blinding white light and a wall of thunder that smashed against Tavi in a sonic tsunami, staggering him, almost robbing him of his balance. He managed to steady Crassus when the young man began to fall. It lasted for a bare heartbeat, then the thunderous sound vanished into a high-pitched ringing tone in his ears, while the flashing streak of light remained burned into his blinded eyes, shifting colors slowly against the blackness.
It took several moments for his eyes to readjust to the night, and even longer for his ears to stop ringing. His instincts screaming, he hurried forward as fast as he could, to return to the town and the legion's fortification there. Sir Crassus, his expression somewhat dazed, followed along.
Fires burned in the fortifications. Tavi could hear the screams of wounded men and terrified horses. There were shouts and cries all around them, and confusion ran rampant.
Tavi reached the captain's command tent and stopped in his tracks, stunned.
Where Cyril's command had been, there was now a great, gaping hole torn in the blackened earth. Fires burned in patches all around it. Bodies-and pieces of bodies-lay scattered in the ruins.
Overhead, the thunder from the unnatural storm rumbled in what sounded to Tavi like hungry anticipation.
"Scipio!" shouted a frantic voice, and Tavi turned to find Max running forward through the chaos.
"What happened?" Tavi asked, his voice shocked.
"Lightning." Max panted. He had lost half of one eyebrow, singed away by the head, and there were blisters on the skin of his forehead and along one cheekbone. "A crowbegotten wall of lightning. Came down like a hammer, not twenty feet away." Max stared at the ruins. "Right on top of the captain's meeting."
"Great furies," Tavi breathed.
"Foss and the healers are with some survivors, but it doesn't look good for them." He swallowed. "As far as we can tell, you're the only officer able to serve."
Tavi stared at Max. "What do you mean?"
Max looked at the results of the lightning strike grimly and said, "I mean that you are now in command of the First Aleran, Captain Scipio.'
Tavi threw down his bedroll and his regulation trunk in the smoldering ruins where Captain Cyril's command tent had been. "All right," he said to Foss, sitting down on the trunk. "Let's hear it."
"Captain's alive," Foss said. The veteran healer looked exhausted, and the grey in his hair and beard stood out more sharply than they had the day before. "Barely. Don't know if he'll ever wake up. Don't know how much use he's gonna have of his legs if he does."
Tavi grunted and worked on keeping his expression calm and remote. He wasn't sure how well he was doing it. Telling a lie to his aunt wasn't the same thing as pretending to be competent and confident when all he really wanted to do was run screaming and hide somewhere.
Around him, the Legion continued preparing to fight.
Screaming and hiding was not an option.
"First Spear should be on his feet in an hour or two," Foss continued. "Old Marcus got lucky. He was out getting more mugs for tea when it came down. Maximus was able to get to him, pull him out of the fire. He's got a few more scars from it."
"Who'd notice," Tavi said.
Foss showed his teeth. "True." He was silent for a second, then cleared his throat, and said, "We've got two more survivors so far."
"Who?" Tavi asked.
"That's the thing," Foss said. "I can't tell."
Tavi winced.
"They'll have to tell us if they wake up. Burns are too bad. Look like they got skinned. Some of it was so hot, pieces of their armor melted." Foss let out a shaking breath. "I've seen bad. But never bad like that."
"Tell me," Tavi said. "Have you seen Lady Antillus this evening?"
Foss was quiet for a long time until he said, "No, sir."
"Would it have made any difference, if she'd been there?"
Foss grunted. "Probably. Maybe. Hard to say for sure, sir."
Tavi nodded and glanced up as Max came striding up. "First Spear made it through."
Max began to smile, then shook himself, came to attention, and saluted. Tavi stiffened uncomfortably at the formality, but returned it. "That's something, at least, sir," Max said. "The auxiliaries are ready to move out. Four hundred cavalry and eighty scouts."
"What about the horses?" Tavi asked.
Max grimaced. "We're missing a pair of our courier mounts."
"We're missing two of our fastest horses. We're missing Lady Antillus." Tavi shook his head. "I'm tempted to draw unkind conclusions."
"I'm tempted to..." Max's voice dropped off into a low, muttering growl.
Foss grunted. "You think she had something to do with what hit the captain, sir?"
Tavi grimaced. Actually speaking of his suspicions aloud, in the course of his duties to one of his officers, would have the legal weight of a lawful accusation. "I don't have any way of knowing, centurion. But I've got a lot of questions that I'd like to have answered."
Max scowled. "Make me a list, sir. I'll think of some creative ways to ask them."
"While you're doing that," Tavi said, "saddle up. You're acting Tribune Aux-iliarus. I want you with them when they find the Canim."
Max grunted. "What about my fish, sir?"
"Tell Schultz he's an acting centurion."
"He isn't ready," Max said.
"He'll fit right in around here," Tavi said. "I don't want to break up century structures and surround the fish with new faces now."
Max nodded. "I'll get my horse."
"Get me one, too," Tavi said. "I'm coming."
Foss and Max traded a look. "Urn," Max said. "Captain..."
Tavi held up a hand. "I've got to get a look at what we're up against, Max. I don't know a damned thing about the terrain out there, and I need to see it if we're going to be fighting in it. I want to see the Canim for the same reason."
"They're big, sir," Max said. "They have teeth. They're strong as bulls and they run real fast. Pretty much all you need to know."
"Or maybe it isn't," Tavi said, voice harder. "Get me a horse, Tribune."
Max's objection was clear in his expression, but he saluted, and said, "Yes, sir." Then spun cleanly on a heel and marched off.
"Thank you, Foss," Tavi said. "I think we can assume our first healing station should be on the south side of the bridge. We'll need a second one on this side, in case we get pushed back. Set them up, centurion."
"Understood, Captain," Foss said, saluting.
Tavi lifted a hand, and said, "No, wait. Set them up, Tribune Medica."
Foss grimaced, though there was a defiant light in his eyes as he saluted again. "A fight with Canim and a promotion. Today isn't going to get much worse."
Ehren drifted in on soundless feet as Foss left. The young Cursor sat down cross-legged next to Tavi and watched the camp activity with a weary expression. A moment later, a squat, bulky-looking centurion rolled up at a quick march and saluted Tavi. "Captain."
"Centurion Erasmus, " Tavi said. "This is Sir Ehren ex Cursori, the agent who brought us word of the Canim incursion."
Erasmus stiffened. "The man Eighth Spear is accused of assaulting."
"The charges are dereliction of duty in time of war, attempted murder, and treason," Tavi said quietly.
Erasmus's face reddened. And well it should, Tavi thought. Those crimes carried lethal consequences. No centurion wanted to see his own men tried and executed, for all kinds of reasons.
"Frankly, centurion," Tavi said, "I have no intention of killing any legionare, especially veterans, whatever the reason, so long as I have any alternative. If this incursion is as large as it would seem to be, we'll need every sword."
Erasmus frowned at Tavi, and said, cautiously, "Yes, sir."
"I'm assigning Sir Ehren to question your legionares. Frankly, I suspect they're more stupid than treasonous, but..." He gestured at the ruined ground around them. "We obviously can't afford to take any chances with our security. Someone told the Canim where to strike. Sir Ehren, find out what the prisoners know." He paused, fighting down a sick little feeling in his stomach, then said, "Use whatever means necessary."
Ehren didn't even blink. He nodded calmly to Tavi, as if he tortured prisoners often enough to expect the order to do so.
"Centurion Erasmus," Tavi said. "Go with him. I'll give you a chance to convince your men to cooperate, but we don't have much time, and I will know if there are any more turncloaks waiting to stab us in the back. Understood?"
Erasmus saluted. "Yes, sir."
"Good," Tavi said. "Go."
They did, and Magnus appeared from the darkness. He passed Tavi a cup of tea in a plain tin mug. Tavi accepted it gratefully. "You heard everything?"
"Yes," Magnus said quietly. "I don't think you should leave the town."
"Cyril would have," Tavi said.
Magnus said nothing, though Tavi fancied he could hear disapproval in his silence.
Tavi took a sip of bitter, bracing tea. "Foss says Valiar Marcus will be on his feet soon. He's acting Tribune Tactica. Make sure he knows I want him to take charge of the town's defenses and get any unarmed civilians over the bridge and onto the north side of the river."
"Yes, sir," Magnus said quietly.
Tavi frowned and looked at him. "I'm still not sure we shouldn't hand the Legion to Marcus."
"You're the next in the chain of command," Magnus replied quietly. "The First Spear is the senior centurion, and career soldier, but he isn't an officer."
"Neither am I," Tavi said wryly.
Magnus paused for a reflective moment, then said, "I'm not sure I trust him."
Tavi paused with the cup near his lips. "Why not?"
Magnus shrugged. "All those officers, many of them powerful furycrafters, dead. He just happened to live through it?"
"He happened to be outside the tent at the time."
"Quite fortunate," Magnus said. "Don't you think?"
Tavi glanced at his torn knuckles. He hadn't had time to clean them or bandage them properly. "So was I."
Magnus shook his head. "Luck isn't usually so common. Valiar Marcus was meant to die at that meeting. But he survived."
"So did I," Tavi said quietly. And after a moment, he added, in a neutral voice, "And so did you."
Magnus blinked at him. "I was still talking to the town's militia tribune."
"Quite fortunate," Tavi said. "Don't you think?"
Magnus stared for a second, then gave Tavi an approving smile. "That's a smart way to think, sir. It's what you need in this business."
Tavi grunted. "I'm still not sure I'm ready."
"You're as ready as any Third Subtribune Logistica would be," Magnus said. "And better able than most, believe me. The Legion has enough veterans to know its business. You just need to look calm, confident, and intelligent and try not to lead anyone into any ambushes."
Tavi glanced around him, at the ruins of the tent. His mouth twisted bitterly. It was just then that the crows flooded by overhead, a raucously cawing mass of the carrion birds, thousands of them, sweeping over the Tiber and the Elinarch toward the southwest. They flew by for a solid two minutes, at least, and when a ripple of scarlet lightning went through the clouds overhead, Tavi could see them, wings and beaks and tail feathers of solid black against the red, moving together in a nearly solid mass that almost seemed to be a creature in its own right.
Then they were gone, and neither one of the Cursors on the storm-wracked ground spoke. The crows always knew when a battle was brewing. They knew how to find and feast upon those who would fall.
Magnus sighed after a few seconds more. "You need to shave, sir."
"I'm busy," Tavi said.
"Did you ever see Captain Miles unshaven?" Magnus asked quietly. "Or Cyril? It's what legionares will expect. It's reassuring. You need to give them that. Take care of your hands, too."
Tavi stared at him for a second, then let out a slow breath. "All right."
"For the record, I strongly disagree with your decision regarding Antillus Crassus. He should be imprisoned with the other suspects."
"You weren't there," Tavi said. "You didn't see his eyes."
"Everyone can be lied to. Even you."
"Yes," Tavi said. "But he wasn't lying to me tonight." Tavi shook his head. "Had he been into some kind of plot with his mother, he'd have left with her. He stayed. Confronted me directly. I'm not sure how intelligent he is, but he isn't a traitor, Magnus."
"All the same, until we know what further damage his mother might wreak-"
"We don't know for certain she was involved," Tavi said quietly. "Until we do, we should be careful with our words." Magnus didn't look happy about it, but he nodded. "Besides. Crassus is likely the most powerful furycrafter we have left in the Legion, apart from Maximus, and he's the one who has been training with the Knights Pisces. He's the only choice to lead them."
"He'll be in a position to ruin anything this Legion attempts to accomplish if you're wrong, sir."
"I'm not."
Magnus pressed his lips together, then shook his head and sighed. He drew a small case out from behind a mound of lightning-tortured earth, and opened it, revealing a small shaving kit and a covered bowl. He opened it to reveal steaming water. "Maximus should be back shortly. You clean up," he said. "I'll find you a proper cavalry weapon."
"I'm going to look, not fight," Tavi said.
"Of course, sir," Magnus said, handing him the kit. "I assume you prefer a sword to a mace."
"Yes," Tavi said, taking the kit.
Magnus paused, and said, "Sir. I think you should consider appointing a small number of singulares."
"Captain Cyril didn't use any bodyguards."
"No," Magnus said, his tone pointed. "He didn't."
Tavi knew that the enemy was near when he saw the first massive, wheeling flights of crows, circling and swooping around columns of black smoke.
The sun rose behind them as they followed the Tiber toward the harbor town of Founderport, almost twenty miles from the Elinarch. Tavi rode with Max at the head of an alae of cavalry, two hundred strong, while the second alae, mostly made up of the more experienced troops, had been broken into eight-man divisions that moved in a loose line through the hills south of the Tiber, marking terrain and, together with the swift-moving scouts, searching for the enemy.
As the sun rose, it lit the gloomy and unnatural cloud cover overhead, and as the ruddy light finally fell through the low, undulating hills around the river, it revealed points of black smoke rolling up in the broad river valley. Tavi nodded to Max, who ordered the column to a halt. He and Tavi walked forward, to the crest of the next hill, and looked down. Max lifted his hands, bending the air between them, and let out a low, pained grunt.
"You should see this," Max said quietly.
Tavi leaned over as Max held the windcrafting for him to look through. Tavi had never seen it working from so close, and the crafting made the image far more clear and intense than his little curved piece of Romanic glass. He had to force himself not to take a moment simply to admire the marvel of the apparently close view the crafting offered. A few seconds later, as he realized what he was looking at, he had no need to feign an officer's calm, analytical distance for the sake of his troops. He had to do it to keep his stomach from emptying itself.
Max's crafting let Tavi see the corpses of steadholts-dozens of them, throughout the fertile valley. Black smoke rose from solid shapes that had once been houses and barns and halls like the ones Tavi grew up in, each inhabited by scores of families. If the Canim had taken them by surprise, there would be few, if any, survivors.
Here and there, Tavi saw small groups on the move, most of them coming toward him. Some were small, slow-moving masses in the distance. Others were larger and moved much more quickly. As he watched, one such swift group fell upon a smaller one, in the distance. It was too far away to make out any real details, even with Max's windcrafting to help him, but Tavi knew what he had to be looking at.
A Canim raiding party had just slaughtered a group of refugees, fleeing without hope of salvation from the destruction behind them.
A surge of pure, white-hot rage went through him at the sight, a primal fury that brought stars to his eyes and tinged everything he saw with red-and at the same time, it washed through him, coursed through his veins like a river of molten steel while leaving his thoughts sharp, harsh, perfectly clear in a way that had happened only once before: deep in the caverns beneath Alera Impe-ria, where a mindless agent of the creatures known as the vord had come to murder his friends and his liege.
He heard leather creaking and noted, in passing, that his fists had closed tightly enough to torture the leather of his gloves, hard enough to tear open the injuries on his knuckles. The fact did not strike him as particularly important, and the sensation came from so far away that he could barely tell it was his own.
"Crows," Max breathed, his rough-hewn face stony.
"I don't see their main body," Tavi said quietly. "No concentration at all."
Max nodded. "Raiding packs. Usually fifty or threescore Canim in each."
Tavi nodded, and said, "That means we're only looking at maybe a thousand of them here." He frowned. "What kind of numbers advantage do we need to ensure victory."
"Best if we can catch them in the open. They're big, and strong, but horses are bigger and stronger. Cavalry can stand up to them in the open. Infantry can take them on one-to-one on an open field, if they can keep their momentum and have decent support from Knights. It's when you fight them in enclosed areas or bad terrain or you stalemate them and grind to a halt that their advantages start mounting up."
Tavi nodded. "Just look at them. Moving every which way. They don't look like advance forces at all. There's no coordination."
Max grunted. "You think Ehren was wrong?"
"No," Tavi said quietly.
"Then where is their army?" Max said.
"Exactly."
Max suddenly stiffened as, in the valley below them, the morning light and the lay of the ground revealed a group of refugees not a full mile away. They moved sluggishly down the road, obviously trying to hurry, obviously weary beyond haste. The road through the valley was not one of the major furycrafted causeways that supported the Realm-the expense of such a creation made the use of the broad, slow waters of the Tiber far more practical for shipping and travel.
Economics had left the folk of the valley at the mercy of the Canim.
Moments after they spotted the refugees, a marauding pack of Canim loped into view, hard on the heels of their helpless prey.
Though Tavi had seen Alera's ancient foes before, he had never seen them like this-moving together in the open, swift and lean and bloodthirsty. Each Cane was far larger than a human being, the smallest of them standing well over seven feet tall-though the way their lean bodies hunched at the shoulders would have meant they would have been another foot taller, standing straight. The Canim in the raiding party were tawny of fur, dressed in leathers of some hide Tavi did not recognize. They bore their odd, sickle-shaped swords, axes with oddly bent handles, and needle-pointed battle spears with bladed crescents at the base of their steel heads. Their muzzles were long, narrow, gaping open to show teeth already stained with blood as they sighted their quarry.
The refugees, mostly children and elderly men and women, together with one cart drawn by a single workhorse, spotted the foe and panicked, trying to increase their pace though they knew it was hopeless. Death, violent and horrible, had come for them.
The fury seared through Tavi, and his own voice sounded hard and calm to him as he spoke. "Tribune," he said to Max. "Divide the column. I'll take the north side of the road. You'll take the south. We'll hit them from both sides."
"Yes, sir," Max said, his voice grim, and he began to turn.
Tavi stopped him with a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Max," he said quietly. "We're going to send the Canim a message. Their raiders don't escape from this. Not one."
Max's eyes hardened, and he nodded, then whirled to face the cavalry, bellowing orders. A trumpet blasted a short series of notes, and the column divided and drew from a long line into a more compact battle formation.
Tavi mounted and drew his sword.
The sound of two hundred swords being drawn from their sheaths behind him was startlingly loud, but he kept himself from reacting. Then he lifted the sword and lowered it to point forward, the signal to move, and within seconds he found himself leading the cavalry down the road. His horse broke into a nervous trot, then quickened its pace to a smoother canter, then at Tavi's urging shifted into a full run. He could hear and feel the presence of the other legionares upon their steeds behind him, and the deafening thunder of their running horses rose around him, pounded through him, rang on his armor and beat a wild rhythm against his heart.
They closed on the refugees faster than Tavi would have believed, and when they saw Aleran cavalry riding down upon them, the refugees' expressions of terror and despair filled with sudden hope. Arms lifted in sudden shouts and cheers and breathless cries of encouragement. Tavi lifted his sword and pointed to the right, and half of the alae flowed off the road, to circle around the refugees. Max, his sword mirroring Tavi's led his hundred men to the left.
They rounded the refugees and found the Canim not fifty yards beyond. Tavi led his men in an arch that would let them charge straight down into the Canim's flanks, and as he did he realized something.
Fifty Canim seen from a mile away looked alien and dangerous.
Fifty Canim seen from a rapidly vanishing distance looked enormous, hungry, and terrifying.
Tavi suddenly became very aware that he had never fought a true Canim before, never led men into battle, never fought a live enemy from horseback. He could never remember being so frightened.
Then the rising columns of black smoke, the cries of the holders behind him brought new life to the furious fire in his veins, and he heard his shout ring out over the thunder of the cavalry charge.
"Alera!" he howled.
"Alera!" cried a hundred mounted legionares, in answer.
Tavi saw the first Cane, an enormous, stringy beast with mange in its dun-colored fur and an axe grasped in one pawlike hand. The Cane whipped the axe at him in an odd, underhand throw, and red metal glinted as it spun toward him.
Tavi never made a conscious choice of what to do. His arm moved, his sword struck something, and something slammed against his armored chest, barely registering on his senses. He leaned to the right, sword sweeping back, and as his horse thundered past the lead Cane, he struck in the smooth, graceful, effortless strike of a mounted swordsman, focused on precision and letting the weight of the charging horse give the blow both power and speed. His sword flew true and struck with a vicious force that surged up his arm in a tingling wave.
There was no time to see the results. Tavi's horse was still running, and he recovered his weapon, flicking another strike to a Cane on the left side of his path. There was a flash of bloody Canim teeth in the corner of one eye, and his horse screamed. A spear thrust at his face, and he swatted it aside with his sword. Something else slammed into his helmet, and then he was plunging past Aleran cavalry surging in the opposite direction-Maximus and his men.
Tavi led his men clear, while they maintained only a very ragged line. They wheeled about, never slowing, and once again swept forward into the now-scattered Canim on the road. This time, he seemed to be thinking more clearly. He struck down a Cane attempting to throw a spear at one of Max's men, guided the plunging hooves of his horse into the back of another cane, and leaned far down to deliver a finishing blow to a wounded Cane struggling to rise. Then he swept past elements of Max's group, and clear once more.
Only a handful of Canim were still capable of fighting, and they threw themselves forward with mad, almost frenzied howls of rage.
Tavi found himself answering their howls with his own, and kicked his horse forward until he could slip aside from the blow of a sickle-sword and drive his own blade in a straight, heavy thrust through the neck of the Cane who had swung at him. The Cane wrenched and contorted viciously as Tavi's blade struck, tearing it from his hand.
Tavi let the horse take him by, and drew his short sword, though it was a weapon ill suited to mounted use, and turned, looking for more of the foe.
But it was over.
The Aleran cavalry had taken the Canim by surprise, and not one had escaped the swift mounts and blades of the First Aleran. Even as Tavi watched, the last living Cane, the one he had left his sword in, clutched at the weapon, spat out a blood-flecked snarl of defiance, and collapsed to the earth.
Tavi dismounted and walked across the bloodied ground amidst a sudden and total silence. He reached down and took the hilt of his sword, planted a boot on the chest of the Cane, and heaved the weapon free. Then he turned to sweep his gaze around the young cavalrymen and lifted his weapon to them in a salute.
The legionares broke out into cheers that shook the earth, while horses danced nervously. Tavi recovered his mount, while spear leaders and centurions bellowed their men back into position.
Tavi was back on his horse for all of ten seconds before a wave of exhaustion hit like a physical blow. His arm and shoulder ached horribly, and his throat burned with thirst. One of his wrists had blood on it, where it looked like it had trickled out from the torn knuckles beneath his gauntlets. There was a dent as deep as the first joint of his finger in his breastplate, and what looked like the score marks of teeth on one boot that Tavi did not remember ever feeling.
He wanted to sit down somewhere and sleep. But there was work to do. He rode over to the refugees, and was met by a grizzled old holder who still had the general bearing of the military-perhaps a retired career legionare himself. He saluted Tavi, and said, "My name's Vernick, milord." He squinted at the insignia on Tavi's armor. "You aren't one of Lord Cereus's Legions."
"Captain Scipio Rufus," Tavi replied, returning the salute. "First Aleran Legion."
Vernick grunted in surprise and peered at Tavi's face for a moment. "Whoever you are, we're mighty glad to see you, Captain. '
Tavi could all but hear the old man's thoughts. Looks too young for his rank. Must be a strong crofter from the upper ranks of the Citizenry. Tavi felt no need to disabuse him of the notion-not when the truth was considerably more frightening. "I wish I could give you better news, sir, but we're preparing to defend the Elinarch. You'll have to get your people behind the town walls to make them safe."
Vernick heaved out a tired sigh, but nodded. "Aye, milord. I figured it was the most defensible spot hereabouts."
"We've not seen any Canim until we got here," Tavi replied. "You should be all right-but you need to hurry. If the incursion is as large as we suspect, we'll need every legionare defending the town of Elinarch's walls. Once the gates close, anyone on this side might not get in."
"I understand, milord," the holder said. "Don't you worry, sir. We'll manage."
Tavi nodded and saluted him again, then rode back to the column. Max rode out to meet him and tossed Tavi a water flask.
Tavi caught it, nodded his thanks to Max. "Well?" Tavi asked, then drank deeply from the flask.
"This was as close to ideal as we could ever expect. Caught them on flat, open ground between two forces," Max said quietly. "Fifty-three dead Canim. Two Aleran dead, three wounded, all of them fish. We lost two horses."
Tavi nodded. "Pass the spare mounts off to those holders. They'll make better speed if they can put some of their little ones on the horses' backs. See if they have room in the wagon for our wounded. Speak to a holder named Vernick."
Max grimaced and nodded. "Yes, sir. You mind if I ask our next step?"
"For now, we keep moving down the valley. We kill Canim and help refugees and see if we can spot their main force. I want to send word to the alae in the hills to concentrate again. I don't want bands of eight taking runs at any Canim bat-tlepacks."
Tavi found himself staring at two riderless horses in his own formation, and he fell silent.
"I'll see to it," Max said. He took a breath, and asked, very quietly, "You all right?"
Tavi felt like screaming. Or running and hiding. Or sleeping. Or possibly a combination of the first several, followed by the last. He was not a trained leader of legionares. He had never asked to be in a position of command such as this, never sought to be. That it had happened to him was a simple and enormous fact that was so stunning that he still had not come to grips with its implications. He was accustomed to taking chances-but here, he would take them with lives other than his own. Young men would die-already had died-based upon his decisions.
He felt disoriented, lost somehow, and he almost welcomed the desperation and haste the situation had forced on them, because it gave him something clear and immediate to sink his energy into. Reorganize the command. Decide on a strategy. Deal with a threat. If he kept going forward through the problems without slowing down, he could keep his head on his shoulders. He wouldn't have to think about the pain and death it was his duty, as captain of the Legion, to prevent.
He did not want to pretend that nothing was wrong and project an aura of authority and calm to the young legionares around them. But their confidence and steadiness was critical to their ability to fight and would ultimately improve their chances of survival. So he ignored the parts of himself that wanted to scream in bewildered frustration and focused on the most immediate crisis.
"I'm fine," he told Max, his voice steady. "I don't want to push things too far. If we move too far down the valley and the horses play out, the Canim will run us down before we can get back to Elinarch. But we've got to do everything we can for the holders who are still alive."