“I thought you’d be,” she coughed delicately, letting her gaze linger significantly. “Taller.”
The smile vanished. With it, Amara would hope, some of that arrogance.
“Put on some clothes, Commander,” Amara said. “Garrison is about to come under attack. You will arm and prepare your men and address the members of the Legions who are assembling outside even now.”
“Attack?” Pirellus drawled. “By whom, may I ask?”
“The Marat. We believe they have the support of a company of Knights. Possibly more.”
“I see,” he said, his tone unconcerned. “Now, let me see. I’ve seen you somewhere before. I’m trying to remember where.”
“The capital,” Amara said. “I went to some of your matches two years ago and was in a class you lectured at the Academy.”
“That’s right,” Pirellus said, smiling. “Though you were dressed up like a woman at that time. Now I remember — you’re that little windcrafter girl who saved those children in the fires on the east side of the city. That was bravely done.”
“Thank you,” Amara said.
“Stupid, but brave. What are you doing here, schoolgirl?”
“I’m a Cursor now, Pirellus. I’ve come to warn you of an attack before you get buried in a Marat horde.”
“How thoughtful of you. And you are speaking to me instead of the garrison commander, because?”
“I am speaking to you because you are the ranking capable officer. The Count is unconscious, Pluvus an idiotic politico, and the watch commander a centurion without the rank to order a general mobilization. You will order it and send to Riva for reinforcements.”
Pirellus’s brows shot up. “On whose authority?”
“On mine,” Amara said. “Countess Amara ex Cursori Patronus Gaius of Alera.”
Pirellus’s expression changed again, to a scowl. “You got yourself a title for that little display, and you think you can go where you please and order around who you like?”
Amara abruptly reversed her grip on her sword and laid it, blade gleaming, on the table beside her. Then she turned to face him and walked toward him, stopping less than an arm’s length away. “Pirellus,” she said, keeping her voice to a low murmur. “I’d rather not be here. And I’d rather not pull rank on you. Don’t force me to push this as far as I’m willing to.”
His eyes met hers, hard, stubborn. “Don’t threaten me, girl. You’ve got nothing to do it with.”
In answer, Amara called upon Cirrus again and struck the man with her open hand across his cheek, a ringing blow that had landed and turned his head before he could avoid it. Pirellus stepped back from her, blade coming up to rest pointing at her heart in pure reflex.
“Don’t bother,” Amara told him. “If you will not do what needs to be done, I challenge you to juris macto here and now, for negligence of duty treasonous to the Realm.” She turned from him and reclaimed the blade, turning back to face him. “Blades. I can begin when you are ready.”
The commander had stopped and was staring at her intently. “You’re kidding me,” he said. “You’ve got to be joking. You could never beat me.”
“No,” Amara said, “but I’m enough of a blade to make you kill me to win. You’d be killing a Cursor in the execution of her duties, Commander. Whether I’m a man or woman, whether I’m right or wrong about the coming attack, you will be guilty of treason. And we both know what will happen to you.” She lifted her sword and saluted him. “So. If you are willing to throw your life away, please, call the duel and let us be about it. Or get dressed and make ready to defend Garrison. But one way or another, you will hurry, Commander, because I have no time to coddle your ego.”
She faced him across the space of a pair of long steps, her blade held up, and did not blink at him. Her heart raced in her throat, and she felt a drop of sweat slide down her jaw to her neck. Pirellus was a master metalcrafter, one of the finest swordsmen alive. If he chose to engage in the duel, he could kill her, and there would be little she could do to stop him. And yet it was necessary. Necessary to convince him of her sincerity, necessary for him to know that she was willing to die to get him to act, that she would sooner die than fail in her duty to Alera, to Gaius. She stared at his eyes and focused on the task before her and refused to give in to her fear or to let it make the sword tremble at all.
Pirellus stared at her for a moment, his expression dark, pensive.
Amara held her breath.
The Knight straightened, slowly, from his casual slouch. He laid the fiat of his blade across his forearm, holding it in one hand, and bowed to her, the motion graceful, angrily precise. “Countess,” he said, “in the interests of preserving the safety of this garrison, I will do as you command me. But I will make a note of it in my report that I do so under protest.”
“So long as you do it,” Amara said. Relief spun in her head, and she nearly sat down on the floor. “You’ll see to the preparations, then?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” Pirellus said, his words exquisitely barbed and courteous. “I think I can take care of things. Otto, let’s get something into the men besides tea. Wake everyone up. Camdon, lass, fetch me my clothes and armor.” One of the men at the draughts table and the collared dancer went running.
Amara withdrew from the room and out into the town again, sheathing her sword and taking deep breaths. It was only moments later that she heard a tightly focused roar of wind and looked up to see a pair of half-dressed Knights Aeris hurtle into the night sky on different headings, bound for Riva, she had no doubt.
She had done it. Finally, Garrison was readying itself for battle. Troops started assembling in the square at the center of town. Furylights glowed. Centurians barked orders, and a drummer began playing fall in. Dogs barked, and wives and children appeared from some of the other buildings, even as other soldiers were dispatched to wake those in the outbuildings and to draw them into the protection of the town’s walls.
It was in the hands of the soldiers now, Amara thought. Her part was done. She had been the eyes of the Crown, its hands, giving warning to Alera’s defenders. Surely that would be enough. She found a shadow against one of the heavy walls of the town and leaned back against it, letting her head fall back against the stone. Her body sagged with sudden exhaustion, relief hitting her like a hard liquor, making her feel heavy and tired. So very tired.