“What in the name of all the furies is going on here?” he demanded voice booming. “Bernard! Flame and thunder, man, what the crows do you think you’re doing to my garrison!”
“Oh!” said Pluvus, his pages fluttering nervously. “Sir. I didn’t know you were out of bed yet. That is, sir, I didn’t know that you’d be up today. I was just taking care of this for you.”
The man came to a swaying halt and planted his fists on his hips. He glared at Pluvus and then at Bernard. “Harger woke me out of a perfectly good stupor for this,” he snapped. “So it had better be good.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure, that is,” Pluvus waved a hand at the centurion. “Arrest them. Go on now. You heard the Count.”
“I didn’t say to arrest anyone,” growled Count Gram, testily. He squinted at Bernard and then at Amara, his gaze sharp, penetrating, for all his bawling and staggering. “Did you get yourself another woman, Bernard? Crows it’s about time. I’ve always said there’s nothing wrong with you that a good romp or two wouldn’t take care of.”
Amara felt her cheeks flush with warmth. “No, sir,” she said. “It’s not that. The Steadholder helped to see me safely here so that I could warn you.”
“Highly irregular,” Pluvus stuttered to Gram, pages fluttering.
Gram irritably took the pages from Pluvus’s hand and said, “Quit waving these under my nose.” There was a bright flash of light and heat, and then fine, black ashes drifted away on the cool wind. Pluvus let out a little yelp of distress.
“Now then,” Gram said, dusting his hands. “Warn me. Warn me about what?”
“The Marat,” Bernard said. “They’re on the move, sir. I think they’re coming here.”
Gram grunted. He jerked his chin at Amara. “And who are you?”
“Cursor Amara, sir.” Amara felt herself lift her chin and met Gram’s bloodshot gaze squarely, without flinching.
“Cursor,” Gram muttered. He glared at Pluvus. “You were going to arrest one of the First Lord’s Cursors?”
Pluvus stammered.
“One of my Steadholders?”
Pluvus stuttered.
“Bah,” growled Gram. “Ninny. Bring the garrison to full alert, recall all soldiers on leave, and instruct every man to get into his armor and fighting gear, now.”
Pluvus stared, but Gram had already swept back around to Bernard. “How bad are you thinking it’s going to be?”
“Send word to Riva,” Bernard said, quietly.
Gram clenched his jaw. “You want me to call for a full mobilization? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what kind of fire is going to fall on my ears if you’re wrong?”
Bernard nodded.
Gram growled, “Scouts. Deploy scouts and reconnaissance into the wilderness and make immediate contact with our watchtowers.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Pluvus said.
Gram stared at him for a second. Then roared, “Now!”
Pluvus jumped and then turned to the nearest soldier and started repeating versions of Gram’s orders.
Gram rounded on Bernard. “Now then. I think you’d better explain what kind of idiot you are. Hitting one of my soldiers.”
A gliding caress of cold air slid over the back of Amara’s neck and made her shiver — a warning from Cirrus. She glanced behind her, out toward the blinding white of pale sunlight on snow and ice. She shaded her eyes, but saw nothing.
Cirrus stirred against her again, another warning.
Amara took a slow breath, focusing on the area behind them.
She almost didn’t see through the veil.
There, perhaps no more than ten feet away, was a disturbance in the air, several feet off the ground, a rippling dance of light, like waves rising from a sun-heated stone. Her breath caught in her throat, and she sent Cirrus out toward the disturbance with a whispered command. Her fury encountered a globe of dense air, changed to bend light, much as she herself used it to view things from afar in greater clarity.
Amara took a breath and then forced Cirrus against the globe, sudden and quick.
There was a whoosh of expanding air as she dispersed the globe, and abruptly three men in armor with drawn swords appeared, hovering in the air. Amara cried out, and the men, their expressions startled, hesitated for a faltering second before acting.
One flicked himself through the air toward her, sword gleaming. Amara threw herself to one side, sweeping her hands at the man to direct Cirrus. A roar of sudden wind washed up against her attacker’s flank, shoving him wide of her, guiding his course into one of Garrison’s stone walls. The man tried to slow his advance, but collided hard with the wall, and dropped the blade in the impact.
The second of the men, expression cool, calm, thrust his hands forward, and a gale rose up immediately before the gates of Garrison, whirling snow and chips of ice into the air in a stinging cloud, and hurling legionares from their feet, driving them behind the gates for shelter.
The third took his sword in hand and shot toward Bernard’s back.
Amara tried to cry out a warning, but Bernard’s fatigue, perhaps, had made him too slow. He turned and tried to dodge to one side, but snow and ice betrayed his footing, and he fell.
Gram stepped in the way. The flame-haired Count jerked the sword from the stunned Pluvus’s belt and met the oncoming Knight Aeris head-on. Steel chimed on steel, and then the attacker shot on past Gram.
“Get on your feet!” Gram roared. He spat as the snow and ice clouded his vision. “Get the girl! Get inside the walls!” Gram turned his body against the icy spray and shielded his palm against his side. Amara saw sudden fire kindle there, and Gram turned toward the second of the attackers and hurled a sudden, roaring wall of flame back against the ice and snow. The attacker screamed, a horrible sound, and the gale abruptly vanished.
Something black and heavy fell smoking into the snow before the gates, and the odor of charred meat filled the air.
Amara dashed to Bernard’s side, helping the Steadholder to his feet. She didn’t see the man who had attacked her until it was almost too late. He rose and drew a knife from his belt, eyes focused on her. With a flick of his wrist, and a sudden pinpoint burst of air, the knife hurtled toward her, whistling with its raw speed.
Bernard saw it, too, and dragged her down, out of the path of the knife.
It hit Gram in the lower back.
Such was the force of the fury-assisted throw that Gram was hurled several paces forward into the snow. He went down at once, without so much as a cry or a gasp of pain, and lay still.
Someone on the walls cried a command, and a pair of legionares with bows loosed at the man at the base of the wall from almost directly above him. Arrows struck him hard, one in the thigh and one in back of the neck, its bloody tip emerging from the man’s throat. He, too, fell into the snow, blood staining a quickly growing scarlet pool around him.