Princeps' Fury (Codex Alera)

by Jim Butcher

  Tavi pursed his lips. “Go on.”

  “The Hunters indicated to Marcus that while you had Varg’s respect, he might not be able to protect you from other Canim once we reached Canea. He suggested that you might consider turning back rather than continuing the rest of the way.”

  “A warning,” Kitai murmured. “But one he could not deliver personally.”

  “Possibly,” Tavi said.

  “Then let’s take him up on it,” Max said. “No offense, Tavi, but there’s a big difference in fighting an expedition of Canim on our home ground and taking them all on in their house. Especially if there are as many of them as it looks like there are.”

  Tavi scratched absently at his chin. “Exactly. Exactly.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a warning.”

  Kitai tilted her head. “What else would it be?”

  “A test,” Tavi said. “To see if I was serious about dealing with them in good faith.”

  “What?” Magnus spluttered. “You have amply demonstrated that already. We built them a fleet of ships, for goodness’ sake.”

  “If you’ll remember, they were well on the way to building the fleet all on their own,” Tavi said. “And while the Legions most likely would have destroyed them before they could have completed the task, you and I would have not have been alive to see it, Magnus. Nasaug had the First Aleran and the Guard at his mercy, and we all know it.”

  “Regardless, you settled with them peaceably and abided by your word,” Magnus said.

  “Which means nothing,” Kitai said. “It was simply the swiftest, most certain, and least costly way to be rid of the enemy.”

  “If I turn back now,” Tavi said, “then the trust that the Canim extended to us goes unanswered. It sends them the message that while we may be good to our word, we are uninterested in building faith.”

  “Or,” Max said, “you could avoid being eaten. And all of us being eaten with you.”

  Tavi took a deep breath. “Yes. There is that.” He pointed a finger at Max. “But as you pointed out, Max, there would appear to be a lot more Canim than we ever imagined. Perhaps more than we could fight, should they ever decide that we need to be destroyed. What do the rest of you think?”

  “What else do we not know about them?” Kitai asked.

  “We don’t know what the insides of their bellies look like,” Max said. “We could go home, and we’d never know, and I think I’d never lose a moment’s sleep over it.”

  Tavi grinned at him. “Magnus?”

  “I think this would be an excellent opportunity for someone else to pursue, Your Highness,” Magnus said. “If you proceed, I urge you to do so with extreme caution.”

  “Demos?”

  The captain shook his head. “Don’t ask me about politics, my lord. I can tell you this much—our ships won’t make it back across the open sea, and even if we found all the materials needed to repair them, it would be dangerous to cross before spring. I also think we don’t have time to sit around chatting about it. The weather won’t wait.”

  Tavi nodded once. “Get word to our captains. We make for Molvar with Varg. Any port in a storm.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Gradash stood beside Tavi at the Slive’s prow and watched with him. The lookout in the crow’s nest had spotted land several moments before, so they waited for it to come into sight from their position on the deck. Tavi finally spotted the dark, solid shadow on the horizon.

  Gradash squinted forward, but it was another minute or more before the greying old Cane grunted and flicked his ears in satisfaction. “Ah.”

  “Glad to be home?” Tavi asked him. “Or at least, back in the general area.”

  Gradash grunted. “We are not there yet. You will see.”

  Tavi arched a brow at the old Cane, but Gradash did not elaborate. It was almost an hour later before Tavi understood. The Slive drew even with the “land” the lookout had spotted—and it proved to be an unthinkably large slab of what looked like muddy ice. The fleet had to change formation to maneuver around it. The thing was the size of a mountain, fully as big as the city of Alera Imperia.

  “Glacier spawn,” Gradash said, nodding toward the ice mountain. “Come winter, more ice starts forming, and there are a couple of spots that push those mountains of ice into the sea.”

  “That must be a sight,” Tavi murmured.

  The Cane gave him a brief, speculative glance. “Oh, aye. Not one to be seen from up close, though.” He waved a paw at the ice. “They’re dangerous. Sometimes they spread out, beneath the surface. Sail too close, and it will rip out the belly of your ship like it was made from lambskin.”

  “Are they common, then?”

  “In these waters,” Gradash said, flicking an ear in agreement. “Leviathans don’t care for them, so any Cane who has sailed in the northern regions for any time at all has spent some time sailing close to one to get away from a rogue or to cross a beast’s range.”

  “I’ve always wondered,” Tavi said, “how your folk deal with the leviathans. I mean, crossing the first time, I’m given to understand that the storm that pushed you moved you very quickly, kept them from gathering on you, and that there were so many of you that you only lost a few ships. But you could hardly provide all those conditions on a regular basis in your home waters.”

  Gradash’s battle-scarred, stumped tail swished once in mild amusement. “No great secret to it, Aleran. We chart their ranges throughout the waters near our homes. And then we respect them.”

  Tavi lifted his eyebrows. “And that’s all?”

  “Range is important,” Gradash said seriously. “The territory one claims and defends is important. We understand that. The leviathans understand it. So we respect their claim.”

  “It must make for some complex sailing routes.”

  Gradash shrugged. “Respect is elder to convenience.”

  “And besides,” Tavi said drily, “if you didn’t respect them, they’d eat you.”

  “Survival is also elder to convenience,” Gradash agreed.

  The lookout shouted from high above again, a second cry of, “Land!”

  The Cane grunted, and the pair of them returned to gazing ahead.

  “There,” Gradash growled. “That is Canea.”

  It was a bleak, black land—or so it seemed from Tavi’s viewpoint aboard the ship. The shoreline was an unbroken wall of dark stone that rose from the sea like the ramparts of some vast fortress. Above the bluffs of dark granite rose the shadowy forms of cloud-veiled mountains, covered to the hips in snow, and higher than any Tavi had ever seen. He let out a low whistle.

  “Shuar,” growled Gradash. “Their whole bloody crowbegotten range is one frozen rock.” The grizzled Cane had learned his Aleran curses from Maximus, and used them fluently. “Makes them all bloody insane, you know. They spend both days of summer getting ready for winter, and then all bloody winter chasing things around frozen mountains so that their hunters can fall to pointless deaths in some crevasse. When they get the meat home, their females prepare it in spices that would set these ships on fire, and tell the surly bastards it’s for their own good.”

  Tavi found himself grinning, though he kept himself from inadvertently showing his teeth. The gesture carried different connotations with the Canim than it did with Alerans. “You don’t care for them, then?”

  Gradash scratched under his chin with the dark claws of one paw-hand. “Well. I will say this much for the snow-addled, crow-eating slives in Shuar—at least they aren’t the Maraul.”

  “You don’t care for the Maraul, then?” Tavi asked.

  “Mud-loving, swamp-crawling, tree-hopping fungus-eaters,” Gradash said. “Not one of them has been born that doesn’t deserve to go screaming to his death in the jaws of a mad leviathan. But I will say this for the Maraul—at least they are not Alerans.”

  Tavi barked out a sharp laugh, and this time he did show Gradash his teeth. The Cane had, he thought, just made an obscure joke. Or perhaps he had
paid the Alerans a backhanded compliment, by comparing them to enemies whom Gradash obviously respected, to spend such time and attention on his insults.

  Likely, he had been doing both at the same time. Among the Canim, a respected enemy was as valued as a friend—perhaps more so. To the Canim way of thinking, while a friend might one day disappoint you, an enemy could be relied upon to behave as an enemy without fail. To be insulted in company with already-respected foes was no insult at all, from the Canim perspective.

  Tavi scanned the tops of the bluffs as the fleet turned to follow them southward, perhaps half of a mile off the coast. “We’re being watched,” he noted.

  “Always,” Gradash agreed. “The borders between ranges are always watched, as are coastlines and rivers.”

  Tavi frowned, peering at the cliff tops, and wished yet again that his limited mastery of furycraft had included the ability to craft wind furies into a farseeing. “Those are . . . riders. I didn’t realize your people employed cavalry.”

  “Taurga,” Gradash supplied. “They are unsuited to sea voyages and have not come to Alera.”

  A shadow stirred on the deck, and Tavi glanced up to see Kitai lounging in the rigging on the nearest spar, apparently balanced like a cat and asleep. But a flash of green through her silver-white eyelashes told him that she was awake, and the faintest curve of her mouth betrayed her satisfaction. Already, they had learned something else of interest by continuing on.

  Tavi mouthed the words, “I know. You told us so,” toward her.

  Her mouth opened in a silent laugh, and her eyes closed again, perhaps into genuine sleep.

  “How far is it to the port from here, elder brother?”

  “At our pace? Two hours, perhaps.”

  “How long will it take Varg to get an answer from the Shuarans, do you think?”

  “As long as it takes,” Gradash said. He glanced back down at his tail. “It would be better if it was soon, though. We have less than a day before the next storm is upon us.”

  “If they have dry ground to land upon, some of my people can probably do something about the storm,” Tavi said.

  Gradash gave Tavi an oblique look. “Truly? Why did they not do so during the previous storm?”

  “A windcrafter needs to be up there within the storm to affect it. The wind they use to fly would kick up a lot of spray from the ocean whenever they were near the ship,” Tavi replied. “Seawater carries a great deal of salt, which damages and inhibits their wind furies. In rough weather, it makes takeoffs dangerous and landings all but suicidal.”

  Gradash let out a coughing grunt. “That is why your fliers will bear messages in calm seas, then, but you use boats when there is any swell.”

  Tavi nodded. “They can land safely on the deck, or if there is a chance bit of spray, they can fall into the sea and be taken up by the crews of the ships with minimal risk. I won’t take chances with them, otherwise.”

  “Your people can stop the storm?”

  Tavi shrugged. “Until they’ve seen it and can judge its size and strength, I have no way of knowing. They should, at the least, be able to slow and weaken it.”

  Gradash’s ears flipped back and forward in acknowledgment. “Then I would suggest that they begin their work. It may be of use to your people as well as mine.”

  Tavi mused over that statement for a moment, and came to the conclusion that Gradash was speaking of negotiations. The Shuar would hold a much stronger bargaining position for making demands of the Narashan Canim and the Alerans if the storm was breathing down their necks.

  “That might not be a bad idea,” Tavi agreed.

  “This is a terrible idea,” Antillar Maximus growled. “I’d even go so far as to call it insane—even by your standards, Calderon.”

  Tavi finished lacing up his armor, squinting a little in the dimness. The sun had not yet set, but for the first time in several weeks, the mass of the land to the west meant an actual twilight rather than the sudden darkness of a nautical sunset, and the shadows were thick inside his cabin.

  He leaned down to peer out one of the small, round windows. The enormous, dark granite walls of the fjord rose above the ships on either side, and what looked a great deal like the old Romanic stone-throwing engines he and Magnus had experimented with back in the ruins of Appia lined the top cliffs on either side at regular intervals. The approach to the port of Molvar was a deadly gauntlet should their hosts decide to take umbrage with any visitors.

  Only the Slive and the Trueblood had been permitted to enter the fjord itself. The rest of the fleet still waited in the open sea beyond the fjord—vulnerable to the weather threatened by the darkening skies.

  “The Shuarans haven’t left us with many options, Max. They won’t even discuss landing rights until they’ve spoken to the leaders of both contingents of the fleet, alone. We’ve got too many ships out there that aren’t going to make it if we don’t find a safe harbor.”

  Max muttered the cabin’s sole furylamp to life and folded his arms, frowning. “You’re walking into a city full of Canim by yourself. Just because it’s necessary doesn’t make it any less insane. Tavi . . .”

  Tavi buckled his belt and began fastening the heavy steel bracers to his forearms. He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “Max. I’ll be all right.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “The Canim are good about one thing—they don’t make any bones about it when they want to kill you. They’re quite direct. If they wanted me dead, they’d have started dropping rocks on the ship by now.”

  Max grimaced. “You shouldn’t have sent the Knights Aeris out. We’ll wish we had them if those stone throwers start up on us.”

  “Speaking of which,” Tavi said. “Has your brother reported back yet?”

  “No. And the wind is rising. We’re going to lose men to the sea when they come back if they don’t have solid ground to land on.”

  “All the more reason for me to go now,” Tavi said quietly. “At least we know that they’re slowing the storm. Crassus wouldn’t keep them up there if they weren’t doing any good.”

  “No,” Max admitted. “He wouldn’t.”

  “How long can they stay aloft?”

  “Been there since noon,” Max said. “Another three or four hours at most.”

  “Then I’d better hurry.”

  “Tavi,” Max said, slowly. “What happens if they come back and we haven’t worked something out with the Shuarans?”

  Tavi took a deep breath. “Tell them to land onshore within sight of the fleet. Take some earthcrafters, create a way to the top, and get them back aboard.”

  “You want them to land on a hostile shore, while we craft a dock and an assault stairway in what is obviously intended to be an impregnable defense.” Max shook his head. “The Shuaran Canim might call that an act of war.”

  “We’ll be as polite about it as we can, but if they do, they do. I’m not letting our people drown over protocol.” He finished buckling on both bracers and rose to slip the baldric to his gladius over one shoulder. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he picked up the strap to Kitai’s gladius and hung its baldric the opposite way, so that the additional weapon lay against his other hip.

  Max looked pointedly at the second weapon and arched an eyebrow.

  “One for the Shuarans,” Tavi said. “And one for Varg.”

  Tavi and Max were the only ones to climb into the longboat.

  “Are you sure about this, Aleran?” asked Kitai, her eyes worried.

  Tavi looked across the short distance to the Trueblood, where a larger longboat was being lowered to the water. He could recognize Varg’s enormous figure in the prow. “As sure as I can be,” he said. “Making a good first impression might do more to head off trouble than anything else we could do.” He met Kitai’s gaze. “Besides, chala, the ships are going to be back at sea. If it comes to a fight, having more men with the longboat wouldn’t change anything.”

  “It’s simpler if I�
�m working alone, Kitai,” Max assured her. “That way if there’s trouble, I don’t have to play gentle. If the Shuarans start treating us the way Sarl did, I can just level everything that isn’t His Royal Highness.”

  “His Royal Highness appreciates that,” Tavi said. “Where’s Magnus?”

  “Still furious that you would not allow Maximus to take your place,” Kitai said.

  Tavi shook his head. “Even if he crafted himself into my twin, Varg would have known the second he got close enough to smell him.”

  “I know. Magnus knows. He is angry because it is true.” Kitai leaned over the side of the longboat and kissed Tavi hard on the mouth, her fingers tight in his hair for a moment. Then she broke it off abruptly, met his eyes, and said, “Survive.”

  He winked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course he will,” Maximus said. “If there’s a lick of trouble, Tavi will set something on fire—it’s easy to set something on fire, believe me—and I’ll see the smoke, knock down all the buildings between him and the dock, come get him, and we’ll leave. Nothing simpler.”

  Kitai gave Maximus a steady look. Then she shook her head, and said, “And the truly incredible part is . . . you actually believe it.”

  “Ambassador,” Max said, “in the course of my life, I have more than once been too ignorant to know that something was impossible before I did it anyway. I see no reason to jeopardize that success.”

  “It certainly explains your study habits at the Academy,” Tavi noted. “We’re ready, Captain.”

  Demos, who had been directing the affairs of the ship from nearby, called out an order to the crew, and the sailors of the Slive lowered the boat to the chill waters of the fjord.

  Tavi flung his scarlet cloak about his shoulders and hooked it to the clasps on his armor, while Max sat down at the rear of the boat. The big Antillan thrust one hand into the water for a moment, murmured something, and a second later the longboat surged silently forward, propelled by a burbling current that pressed against its stern.