Captain's Fury (64 page)

Durias took them past the Canim hospital area and nodded at a patched old Aleran Legion pavilion, converted into a tent with the addition of what looked like reused canvas sails. "Your man's in there."

Tavi stepped forward and noticed Durias standing precisely in the "shadow" of his body, exactly where it would be hardest for Tavi to turn and strike him with the sword he carried. He checked over one shoulder and saw Durias's hand on his
gladius
. He arched an eyebrow at the blocky young man. "What are you doing, centurion?"

"Preventing misunderstandings," Durias said. "Orders, Captain."

Tavi turned fully toward him, then wordlessly offered his sword, hilt first.

Durias shook his head. "That means more here than it does in your Alera, Captain. Keep yours. Just bear in mind that I have one, too."

Tavi studied the young man for a moment, and realized that he was standing with his back straight, feet spread and ready, hand on his sword, but his weight back on his heels. It was an arrogant stance, by Aleran standards, one that almost begged for a fight—but if he'd been a Cane, Tavi would have recognized it immediately as a stance of nonaggression tempered with caution, as one of respect.

"I'll do that," Tavi said. Then he turned and entered the tent, to find Ehren lying in a tub, his throat bloodied—and an enemy knelt beside him with a scarlet blade in her hand.

Tavi's hand went to his sword instantly—but he restrained himself from drawing steel, and an instant later felt the subtle change in the air behind him as Durias's sword crept half an inch from its sheath.

Antillus Dorotea, High Lady Antillus, the sole surviving sibling of the High Lord Kalarus, and the woman who betrayed the First Aleran to the Canim, glanced up at Tavi as he entered the tent.

Tavi felt her emotions at once—first a flare of anger, swift and hot, then a sudden surge of fear that wiped the anger away. She closed her eyes for a moment, lips pressing together, and he felt the woman will both anger and fear away, replacing them with an intent focus and concentration. She turned her attention back to Ehren, who lay naked in a healing tub, his eyes closed and barely conscious.

She set the knife aside, along with the quill she'd been forced to cut free from the swollen flesh around Varg's original incision. Then Lady Antillus gently pressed Ehren lower in the tub, until his throat was covered by the water, and bowed her head.

A sense of… not contentment, precisely, or well-being, but something of both, something too rich and deep to be called merely satisfaction, suddenly flowed from her, as the torn flesh knitted closed, the mottled bruising around Ehren's throat lightened, and Tavi's friend drew in a sudden, deep, wheezing breath.

Tavi stared at the High Lady, frowning, taking in details of her appearance. Lady Antillus had been a beautiful woman, in an aggressive, knife-edged way. She looked young, of course, as all the watercrafters tended to do. She'd dressed in silk in the blues of her husband's House, and her dark hair had been long and lovely.

Now she wore a gown of grey homespun cloth, very simple, plain, and sturdily made. Her hair had been cut into a much shorter, more practical length, and was bound back with a leather cord. She wore a healer's apron, smeared with both the scarlet of Aleran blood and the much darker hue of the Canim. She wore no cosmetics—which Tavi had formerly never seen her without—and no jewelry, either.

Except for the gleaming steel of a discipline collar around her throat.

"This will only take me a moment more, First Spear, Captain Scipio," she said, her voice still as quiet and rich as Tavi remembered. "I apologize that it wasn't done sooner, but my services were needed for the most badly wounded."

Tavi stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. "H-high Lady Antillus. Good evening."

She glanced up with a small smile filled with the awareness of irony. "Oh please, Scipio. High Lady Antillus is a traitor in line for a cell in the Grey Tower, a trial, and an execution. She would most certainly not be aiding you or—unless I miss my guess, from the number of knives he had hidden on him—a Cursor of the Crown."

Tavi frowned at her, tilting his head. "No. I suppose not."

"Call me Dorotea," she said. Tavi could sense gentle regret in her voice, and more of the same sense of deep fulfillment. "I'm a healer. It's what I do now. If you will excuse me." She bent her head back to her healing and closed her eyes.

Tavi shook his head and glanced at Durias.

"Sarl managed to capture her two years ago," Durias said, his voice pitched to a respectful quiet. "He put the discipline collar on her himself, and ordered her to do no harm, to obey those who commanded her and heal those who had need."

Tavi drew in a sudden breath, understanding. "Only Sarl could have taken the collar off."

"And he died," Durias said quietly. There was real and very deep pain and empathy in the young centurion's eyes as he stared at the former High Lady. "She's stuck with it. If it's removed, she dies."

Tavi exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"You can't have her," Durias said. "I'm to tell you that."

"There's something a tad hypocritical in your people refusing to free a collared slave, Durias. Is this their idea of justice?"

Durias grimaced. "It isn't that, great furies know. I know what she's going through. So do a lot of other folk around here. But she's too valuable to us—and she deserves to be among folk who know what it's like to live under a discipline collar. Who won't abuse her." He shook his head. "Though there was plenty of that, the first several weeks, before order was established."

Tavi felt sickened, just thinking of it. Granted, High Lady Antillus had been no one's idea of a spirit of mercy and goodness, but all the same, no one deserved the kind of retribution that had undoubtedly been visited on her by newly freed, leaderless slaves. "It isn't just what she's done, or the deaths she's responsible for. It's her son."

A sharp spike of pain jumped across the room to Tavi from Dorotea, a yearning, a sadness, a regret, and a fierce, fierce love. She lifted her eyes to his. "Crassus?" she asked. "Is he… is he well?"

"The last I knew," Tavi said. "He knows what you did. He won't talk about it to me, but I believe he worries for you. He wonders what has become of you."

Ehren's color had much improved, and his chest was rising and falling normally, now. Dorotea lifted her fingers to her collar in a fluttering motion, then lowered them again. "I…" She closed her eyes. "I think it's best if… if Lady Antillus died in the fighting." She opened them again and sought Tavi's eyes. "She did, you know."

Her face went pale, and Tavi had to draw upon the steel in the blade beside him to protect himself from the sudden surge of horror as she turned her head toward the besieged ruins.

"As I said, Dorotea," Tavi said quietly. "I have no time. I need Sir Ehren."

"Y-yes," she said. "Of course." She laid her hand on Ehren's head, bowed her own for a moment, and murmured, quietly, "Wake."

Ehren's eyes blinked open without ceremony. "Eh? Hmmm?" They widened. "Ah!" he said. He took a deep breath, and then several more. "Oh, my word, that's more like it. Thank the great furies tha—"

He turned to thank the healer, saw High Lady Antillus, and let out a squeak. His hands flailed about his naked person, presumably looking for a knife, splashing bloodied water everywhere.

"Ehren," Tavi said. "Ehren!"

The young man went still. He tore his eyes from Lady Antillus to Durias, and then to Tavi. They got a bit wider at each stopping point. "Ah. Well. Some things have happened while I was lying down, I see."

"Yes," Tavi said. "And you've got that look on your face again."

"I can't help it," Ehren said. "You're about to walk to breakfast, aren't you, regardless of who is in the way?"

"The plan is insane," Ehren said. "
You
are insane." He looked around the inside of the tent. "I'll need some pants."

Chapter 51

Tavi rode up to the ruins on the best horse the Free Aleran Legion had to offer, and Ehren rode beside him.

Though most of the bodies had been removed, some had been missed in the fighting and the oncoming darkness—and plenty of bits remained where they had fallen. As a result, the darkness was filled with the rustling wings and raucous cries of the omnipresent black crows, feeding upon the fallen.

Ehren, bearing a torch, murmured, "I hope Nasaug knew what he was talking about when he told us which wall the First Aleran was defending. Otherwise, we're likely to get shot by some nervous archer."

"Bloody crows," Tavi replied, as they passed the shattered palisade. "Look at this mess. Did they try to hold the palisade against an ongoing assault?"

"It happens all the time," Ehren said. "Especially when a Legion's taken a beating. Nervous archers on watch. They're tired. Half-asleep. They hear something. Thwang, wham. Then they shout 'who goes there?' while you bleed."

"Look at all the discarded helmets," Tavi said. "The holes punched in the top. Ancient Romanic writings we found at Appia mention a weapon that could do that—they called it a falx."

"Did the ancient Romanics ever get shot in the dark by mistake?" Ehren asked. "Because I'd really hate the file on me in the Cursor Legate's office to end like that."

Tavi's borrowed horse shied away from a mound of jabbering crows. Birds cried out in the night, and Tavi smiled slightly. "You aren't worrying in the right direction."

"No?" Ehren asked.

"I'm more worried about some enterprising young Cane who doesn't see eye to eye with Varg and Nasaug putting a couple of balest bolts through our backs."

Ehren gave Tavi a sour look. "That's very reassuring. I'm glad I'm carrying the light. They'll shoot you first."

"That's the spirit," Tavi said. He drew his horse to a stop about fifty feet from the walls and lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello on the wall!"

"Don't come any closer!" called a
legionare's
voice. "We'll shoot!"

Tavi squinted at the darkened walls. "Schultz? Is that you?"

There was a short, baffled silence. "Captain? Captain Scipio?"

"Aye," Tavi drawled. "With Sir Ehren beside me. It's a little cold out tonight. Any chance you could spare a cup of hot tea?"

"Come forward," Schultz demanded. "Up to the base of the wall. Let me see your face."

Tavi and Ehren did so, and a pale face peered out at them from beneath a Legion-issue helmet. Tavi recognized the young centurion at once.

"Captain!" Schultz cried.

"Crows take it, Schultz," Tavi scolded. "You know better than that. Even if it looks like me, it could be a watercrafted double. Go get Foss, or Tribune Antillar or Antillus, and have them do a truthfinding on me."

Schultz grinned. "Yes, sir. You stay right there, sir." He paused. "You don't want this kept quiet, or you wouldn't be shouting at the whole wall, would you?"

Tavi felt himself grin in answer. "It's chilly out here, centurion. Bring us in under guard, if you would."

"Yes, sir!" Schultz said. "If you'll move about sixty paces to the east, sir, there's an opening. I'll have them meet you there, sir."

"Thank you, centurion, understood." Tavi turned his horse, and Ehren followed him along the wall. They could hear the mutters racing out along the wall ahead of them—excited soldiers whispering that Scipio had returned.

Tavi could feel the emotion that began pouring down from the wall. Excitement, interest, the tight, aching fear that came along with any action—and, that most vital of emotions to a commander: hope. As Tavi rode beneath the positions on the wall, soldiers stood forward, snapping to attention as if they were being reviewed and not keeping an eye on a potential spy.

The "opening" in the wall proved to be a blank section of stone like any other—except that, as Tavi approached, the stone of the wall itself melted like wax and flowed down and away, leaving an opening in the wall just wide enough to let a horse squeeze inside. Tavi rode through, his knees scraping stone on both sides, and recognized all six of the First Aleran's Knights Flora on the wall above the opening, bows in hand, ready to send deadly accurate arrows winging into anyone who might have tried to take advantage of the opening.

Almost before Ehren's horse was through, the engineers of the First Aleran, half a dozen weary-looking men on each side of the opening, sealed the wall again, coaxing the stone back up into position. Two of the Knights Flora above turned to keep an eye on Tavi and Ehren—as they should have, until their identities had been verified.

Tavi was content to stay right where he was for the moment, in the circle of firelight cast by Ehren's sputtering torch, where several hundred
legionares
could see him clearly. The chatter on the walls had risen in volume, almost drowning out the crow calls and bird cries echoing around the ruins.

Schultz appeared out of the darkness. The young centurion of the Battle-crow Cohort had been a raw recruit when at the battle of the Elinarch. Now he had scars and commendations enough to do him proud in any Legion in the Realm. The centurion bore a tin soldier's mug in either hand, and both of them were steaming in the cool night air. He offered the first to Tavi, and the second to Ehren, and Tavi took the mug of strong tea gratefully.