Codex Alera 06 - First Lord's Fury (46 page)

Tavi grunted. “The Queen is laying a trap of her own. Expecting me to march in with a pair of Legions and drive straight toward her, find her, and send all our finest furycrafters after her. So she’ll let me through in order to know where the strike is coming from. And she’ll have something in mind to counter it. Once she’s destroyed me, she’ll be able to finish Calderon at her leisure.”

Alera opened her mouth to speak, paused to consider, then simply nodded.

Tavi grunted. “Have you been able to locate her any more precisely?”

Alera shook her head. “The
croach
remains . . . foreign, to me.”

“Impenetrable?” Tavi asked.

She mused over the question for a moment. “Imagine the way your skin feels when aphrodin paste is applied to it.”

Tavi grunted. It was often used upon cattle, minor injuries, and in certain cases of the healer’s craft. “It goes numb. You can’t feel it at all.”

“Just so,” Alera said. “I can guide you to within a mile or so, if she holds position for any length of time. But where the vord have claimed the territory . . . I am too numbed to be of use in any task so fine and focused.”

“I’ll find her,” Tavi said quietly.

“I expect that you will,” Alera said.

He looked over at her. “Can I defeat her?”

Alera considered the question for a time, her face looking more sunken. “It . . . seems doubtful.”

Tavi frowned. “She’s that strong?”

“And growing stronger by the day, young Gaius. In a way, every vord is nothing but an extension of her body, her mind, and her will. So is the
croach
.”

Tavi assembled several thoughts into a logical order. “As the
croach
grows, so does her furycraft.”

Alera inclined her head. “What I lose, she gains. When she fought the campaign against Sextus last year, she was already his equal in raw power. By now, she is stronger still. Considerably so. When one adds that to her native strength, speed, resilience, and intelligence, she becomes a formidable opponent. More so than anyone in your kind’s history has seen, much less defeated.”

Tavi inhaled deeply and blew his breath out very slowly. “And you cannot help me.”

“I was created to advise and to support, young Gaius,” Alera said. “Even when I was at the height of my strength, I could not have helped you in that way. I can and will help you find her. I can and will support your efforts to close to grips with her, as I already have since you landed at Antillus. But that is the limit of my power. You will prevail, or not, on your own.”

Tavi was quiet for several moments before he said, “I’ve been doing that my whole life. This is no different.”

Alera lifted her chin, a small smile on her strained mouth. “He used to talk about you, you know.”

Tavi frowned. “You mean . . . my grandfather?”

“Yes. When you were at the Academy. After. He would watch over you, though you never knew it. Often, he would look in on you while you slept. Making sure that you were safe seemed to give him . . . a kind of satisfaction I never saw in him, otherwise.”

Tavi frowned quietly up at the ceiling of the tent. Alera said nothing and let him think. She had, literally, inhuman patience. If it took him a week to consider his answer, she would be there waiting when he was ready. It was a portion of her personality that was both reassuring and annoying. One simply couldn’t employ stalling tactics against her.

“I . . . We didn’t speak to one another very often,” Tavi said.

“No,” she replied.

“I never understood . . . if all that time he
knew
who I was, then why didn’t he ever . . . ever want to talk to me? Reach out?” Tavi shook his head. “He must have been lonely, too.”

“Horribly,” Alera said. “Though he never would have acknowledged such a thing openly, of course. He was, perhaps, the most isolated Aleran I have ever known.”

“Then why?” Tavi asked.

Alera turned to one side, frowning thoughtfully. “I know your family well, young Gaius. But I cannot say that I knew his thoughts.”

Tavi squinted at her and thought he had picked up on what she was hinting at. “If you were to guess?”

She smiled at him in approval. “Sextus had the gift of many of your bloodline, a kind of instinctive foreknowledge. You yourself have demonstrated it, now and then.”

“I had rather assumed that was you,” Tavi said.

She smiled whimsically. “Mmmm. I’ve already noted tonight how much your folk do without being aware of it. Since I am created by them, perhaps it follows that I am just as blindly unperceptive. I suppose it is possible that I am somehow unaware of knowledge I am inadvertently sending you.”

“Sextus?” Tavi prompted.

Alera nodded and lifted a hand to draw a fallen lock of her hair back from her face, a very human gesture. The nails of her hand had turned black. Veins of darkness had progressed over her fingers and wrists. Tavi steeled himself against the further evidence of the fury’s decay.

“Sextus had the gift more strongly than any scion of the House I have served,” Alera said. “I think he sensed the storm coming years ago, since shortly after Septimus’s death. I think he thought that he would be the one to guide your folk safely through the troubled times—and that you would be safer kept at a distance, until matters had calmed down.” She sighed. “If not for the poisoning, he might have been right. Who can say?”

“He wanted to protect me,” Tavi said quietly.

“And your mother, I think,” Alera said. “Whatever Sextus may have thought of her personally, he knew that Septimus loved her. It carried weight with him.”

Tavi sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish I’d known him better. I wish he were here now.”

“As do I,” Alera said quietly. “I’ve taught you all that I can in a limited time—and you’ve been an able pupil. But . . .”

“But I’m not ready for this,” Tavi said.

Alera said nothing for a long moment. Then she said, “I think he would be proud of what you have done. I think he would have been proud of you.”

Tavi closed his eyes quickly against a sudden irritating heat that flowed into them.

“You should rest, young Gaius. Regain your strength.” Alera walked close and touched his shoulder lightly with one hand. “You will need it all in the days to come.”

Amara eyed the Knight standing guard outside the Princeps’ command tent, and said, “I don’t understand why you can’t at least go in and ask.”

The young man stared coldly over Amara’s head at the Marat clan-head, and said, “No barbarians.”

Amara fought down her irritation and remained expressionless, neutral. Doroga, for his part, returned the young man’s stare steadily, leaning one elbow on the head of his cudgel. The massively muscled Marat showed no reaction at all to the half dozen very interested
legionares
commanded by the young Knight. He exuded a sense of patient confidence and let Amara do the talking—thank goodness.

“Was that your specific order, Sir . . .”

“Ceregus,” the young Knight spat.

“Sir Ceregus,” Amara said politely. “I must inquire if you are acting on a specific order from your lawful superiors.”

The young Knight smiled woodenly. “If you recall what happened to the last Princeps who came into the presence of the barbarians in this valley, Countess, you’ll find all the reason you need.”

Doroga grunted. “Gave him a ride on a gargant and saved him and his people from being eaten by the Herdbane. Then your First Lord, old Sextus, gave me this shirt.” Doroga plucked at the fine but worn old Aleran tunic, with its radical alterations to fit his frame.

Ceregus narrowed his eyes and began to speak.

“The good clan-head forgets to mention the retreat from Riva,” Amara cut in, interrupting the young Knight. “At which time, Doroga and the other members of his clan saved the lives of tens of thousands of fleeing civilians and prevented a division of forces, which might have killed hundreds or thousands of
legionares
.”

“You
dare
to suggest that the Legions—” the young Knight began.

“I suggest, Sir Ceregus, that you are going to be sorely disappointed in your officers’ reactions to your decision, and I advise you to seek their advice before you find yourself in an unpleasant situation.”

“Woman, I don’t know who you think you are, but I do not take kindly to threats.”

“I am Calderonus Amara, whose husband’s walls you are currently sheltering behind,” she replied.

Sir Ceregus narrowed his eyes. “And I am Rivus Ceregus, whose uncle, High Lord Rivus, gave your husband his title.”

Amara smiled sweetly at him. “No, boy. That was Gaius Sextus, if you’ll recall.”

Ceregus’s cheeks gained spots of color. “The matter is closed. The barbarian doesn’t go inside.”

Amara looked steadily at him for a moment. The nephew of a High Lord could potentially have a great deal of clout, depending upon how favored he was by Lord Rivus. It might be worth it to give way for the time being and gain specific orders to admit Doroga next time around.

But there really wasn’t time for that kind of foolishness. The vord had not assaulted the first wall as yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they did. Already, their scouts, skirmishers, vordknights, and takers were haunting the western edge of the Valley.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Senator Valerius, along with a pair of civilian-clothed bodyguards, approached the tent. He beamed at Ceregus, and said, “Good evening, Sir Knight. Would you be so kind?”

Ceregus inclined his head to the Senator, smiling in reply. He jerked his head to his fellow sentries to tell them to move aside, and waved the Senator and his men by without so much as taking note of the group’s sidearms. Valerius glanced over his shoulder, just before disappearing into his tent, and gave Amara a smug and venomous glance as he did.

Amara took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and calmed her mind. Then she opened them again, and said, “I believe I have had enough of this sort of partisan idiocy. It’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“You are welcome to the Princeps’ Council, Countess,” Ceregus said, his voice cold. He pointed a finger at Doroga. “But
that
creature goes nowhere near the Princeps.”

When she spoke, her voice was very calm, and perfectly polite. “Are you sure that’s how you want to do this?”

“Did all that skulking around murdering people damage your hearing, Countess?” His eyes blazed. “Kalarus Brencis Minoris was my friend. And you killed him. So that is
exactly
how this is going to happen.”

“I won’t go into the details about how many deaths we can confidently lay at that young maniac’s feet, Sir Ceregus. There isn’t time.” Amara met his eyes. “Lives are at stake, and we need the Marat. That means Doroga needs to be a part of our planning. So if you don’t get out of my way, Sir Knight, I am going to move you. You will not find it a pleasant experience. Stand aside.”

Ceregus lifted his chin and sneered down at her. “Is that a thr—”

Amara called upon Cirrus, surged toward the young Knight with all the violent speed her fury could lend her, and slammed the heel of her left hand across the idiot’s jaw.

Rivus Ceregus went down like a poleaxed ox.

The
legionares
on sentry duty all stared in silence at the unconscious man, their eyes wide and stunned.

Doroga burst into a full-bellied laugh. He smothered it a second later and bowed his head as if pretending to unravel a loose thread from his tunic—but his shoulders quivered and jerked with his muffled amusement.

Amara would have been tempted to join him if her left wrist hadn’t felt as though she had broken it. Human hands weren’t meant to deliver blows with that kind of speed and force. She clenched the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist to channel the pain elsewhere, made a mental note to stop abusing her limbs like that, then turned a calm gaze on the sentries and nodded at the youngest. “You. Go into the command tent. Find a senior officer and ask whether or not the clan-head is welcome to attend.”

The
legionare
threw her a sketchy, hasty salute, and hurried into the tent. “You,” Amara said, nodding at another one. “Fetch the nearest healer for the idiot.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” the
legionare
said. He hurried away, too.

“I apologize for the delay,” Amara said to Doroga. “I’m sure we’ll have things cleared up in a moment.”

“No hurry,” Doroga said, a wide grin on his ugly face.

Bernard emerged from the bustle of the camp, threading his way between several sets of smith’s apprentices, pairs of whom were carrying multiple suits of newly made Legion lorica on stout poles. Bernard nodded to Doroga and clasped forearms with the Marat, then turned to Amara.

His jaw hadn’t been pulverized to powder by Invidia’s blow, but it had apparently broken into half a dozen shards. The healers had only just been able to fuse the bones back together, including replacement teeth for the ones that had been knocked out, but there was still considerable swelling. It would take multiple sessions and simple time to repair his jaw entirely, and in the face of the battle at hand, the healers had neither to spare. When Bernard spoke, the words came from between clenched teeth, slightly misshapen. “Doroga. My lady. Have they started yet?”

“I’ve no idea,” Amara said. “One of Valerius’s dogs was in charge of the sentries and barred Doroga. We’re working things out.”

Bernard looked gravely down at the unconscious man. “My wife. The diplomat.”

“Don’t start,” Amara said.

Within a minute, the
legionare
returned from the command tent, nodding to Amara. “Countess, the Princeps sends his compliments and extends his gratitude to the clan-head for coming to us in our hour of need. He is by all means welcome to attend.”