Academ's Fury ca-2

by Jim Butcher

  Varg struck Tavi as the sort of being who did not spend his words idly. Tavi had already sized up the Ambassador as the kind of warrior who would fight with simple, deadly efficiency. It seemed reasonable to assume that given any choice in the matter, Varg would waste no more effort on words than on bloodshed.

  Tavi's eyes fell to the flame on his candle. Then to the walls. He took a pair of quick steps to stand beside the wall nearest him and lowered his hand.

  In the still air of the hallway, his candle flickered and leaned, very slightly.

  His heart started pounding faster, and Tavi followed the direction of the flame, moving slowly down the wall. In only a moment, he found the source of the small draft-a tiny opening in the wall, one he had not seen before. He placed the heel of his hand against it and pushed.

  A section of the stone wall slid open soundlessly, previously unseen seams splitting into visibility. Tavi held up the candle. Just beyond the hidden passageway, stairs led down into the stone.

  The Canim had a passageway into the Deeps.

  Tavi was still too far from the entrance to the Black Hall to see its guards clearly, and he could only hope that they could not see him clearly, either. Shielding the light of the candle in his hand once more, he slipped onto the stairs and went down them as silently as he possibly could.

  Voices from ahead made him stop, listening.

  The first speaker was Canim-Sarl, Tavi was sure of it. He recognized the cringing tone to its snarling voice. "And I tell you that all is in readiness. There is nothing to fear."

  "Talk is cheap, Cane," said a human voice, so quiet that Tavi could hardly hear it. "Show me."

  "That was not a part of our agreement," the Cane said. There was a shivering, flapping sound, like a dog shaking its chops. "You must believe my words."

  "Suppose I don't?" asked the other.

  "It is too late to change your mind now," said Sarl, a nasty slur to the words. "Let us not discuss what cannot-" The Cane's words cut off suddenly.

  "What is it?" asked the second voice.

  "A scent," Sarl said, a hungry little whine coloring his tone. "Someone near."

  Tavi's heart raced, and he fled up the stairs as quietly as his weary legs could manage. Once in the hall, he all but sprinted down it, back toward the Citadel. As he approached, the Canim guards rose, growling, eyes intent upon him.

  "His Excellency dismissed me," Tavi panted.

  The guards traded a look, then one of them opened the gate. No sooner had Tavi fled out it and heard it shut behind him than the shadows stirred, and Sarl appeared in the Black Hall, hurrying along in a hunched shuffle. Its pointed ears went flat to its skull when he spied Tavi, and the Cane crouched a little, lips lifting away from the fangs on one side of its muzzle.

  Tavi stared back at the Cane. He needed no intuition to understand the flash of raw, hungry hatred he saw in the Canim secretary's eyes.

  Sarl spun and shuffled back into the shadows, motions purposeful. Tavi fled, fear making his legs tremble, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the residents of the Black Hall.

  Chapter 15

  Amara nudged her horse up to walk beside Bernard's in the morning sunlight, and murmured, "Something's wrong."

  Bernard frowned and glanced at her. They were riding at the head of the column of legionares from Garrison. Two dozen local holders, veterans of the Legions themselves, rode armed and armored as auxiliary cavalry troops, and two dozen more bore the great hunting bows common to the holders of the region and marched in file behind the legionares. Behind them rumbled a pair of heavy gargant-drawn carts, followed by Doroga on his massive black gargant, and the column's rear guard, most of the knights Bernard had under his command, mounted and grim.

  Bernard himself had donned his helmet in addition to his mail, and carried his strung bow across his saddle in one hand, an arrow already on the string. "You noticed it, then."

  Amara swallowed and nodded. "There are no deer."

  Bernard nodded, a barely perceptible gesture. His lips scarcely moved when he spoke. "This time of year, the column should be scaring them out every few hundred yards."

  "What does it mean?"

  Bernard's shoulders shifted in a slight shrug. "Ordinarily, I'd think it meant that another body of troops had already driven them out, and that they may be preparing a surprise attack."

  "And now?" Amara asked.

  His lips lifted up away from his canines. "I think these creatures may already have driven them out, and that they may be preparing a surprise attack."

  Amara licked her lips, glancing at the rolling woodlands around them. "What do we do?"

  "Relax. Trust our scouts," Bernard said. "Keep an eye out. There might be a number of other explanations for some missing deer."

  "Such as?"

  "Aric's holders may have slaughtered all they could shoot quickly in preparation for our arrival, to help feed the troops, for one. I've had to put down a number of herdbane who remained in the valley after the battle. One of those could have killed the local does during birthing over the winter. They do that sometimes."

  "What if that hasn't happened?" Amara asked.

  "Then be ready to take to the air," Bernard said.

  "I've been ready to do that since before we left the steadholt," she replied, her voice wry. "I'm not much one for feeling hunted."

  Bernard smiled, and shared the warmth of it with her, meeting her eyes. "I'll not be hunted in my own home, dear Countess. And I'll not suffer my guests to be hunted, either." He gestured back toward the column with a tilt of his head. "Patience. Faith. Alera's Legions have seen her through a thousand years in a world where enemies of all sorts have tried to destroy her. They will see us through this, too."

  Amara sighed. "I'm sorry, Bernard. But I've seen too many threats to Alera that a Legion could do precisely nothing about. How much farther to Aricholt?"

  "We'll be there before midday," Bernard told her,

  "You'll want to see the camp Aric told us about, I take it?"

  "Naturally," Bernard said. "Before nightfall."

  "Why not let your Knights Aeris handle it?"

  "Because in my experience, wind rider, Knights Aeris miss a very great deal of what happens underneath branch and bough since they're soaring several dozen yards above them." He smiled again. "Besides, what fun would that be?"

  Amara raised her eyebrows. "You're enjoying this," she accused.

  Bernard's eyes returned to their casual, careful scan of the woods around them, and he shrugged. "It was a long winter. And I haven't been out in the field for more than a few hours at a time since I became Count Calderon. I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

  "Madman," Amara said.

  "Oh come now," Bernard said. "You have to admit, it's exciting. A mysterious, dangerous new creature. A possible threat to the Realm. The chance to challenge it, defeat it."

  "Dear furies." Amara sighed. "You're worse than a boy."

  Bernard laughed, and there was both joy and something unpleasant in it.

  The corded muscles in his neck tightened and relaxed with the horse's movements, and his broad hands held the great bow steady. Amara was again struck by the sheer size of the man, and well remembered the deadly skill and power in him. There was something wolfish in his manner, something that suggested that his quiet smile was only a mask. That something far more grim, and far more ready to taste blood lay just beneath.

  "Amara," he rumbled. "Something threatens my home. After what happened before, I know what is at stake. And I wouldn't want anyone else to be in charge of dealing with that threat." His hazel green eyes reflected bark and newly sprouted leaves in equal measure, dangerous and bright. "I am a hunter. I will hunt this creature down and hold it. And when the First Lord sends help enough, I will destroy it."

  The words were calm, matter-of-fact, barely laced with that lurking ferocity, and Amara found herself feeling irrationally comforted by it. Her shoulders loosened a little, and th
e trembling that had been threatening her hands receded.

  "Besides," Bernard drawled, "it's a lovely morning for a ride in the country with a pretty girl. Why not enjoy it?"

  Amara rolled her eyes and began to smile, but Serai's words echoed quietly in her heart.

  Of course you'll have to leave him.

  She drew in a breath, forced her expression into a neutral mask, and said, "I think it's better for all of us if I remove any potential distraction, Your Excellency. Your mind should be upon your duty."

  Bernard blinked and looked at her with open surprise on his face. "Amara?"

  "If you will excuse me, Count," she said in a polite voice, and nudged her horse out of line, letting him nibble at new grass while she waited for the column to pass her. She felt Bernard's eyes on her for a moment, but she did not acknowledge him.

  She waited until the carts had passed, then nudged her horse to pace alongside Doroga's giant gargant. The horse refused to move within twenty feet of the beast, despite Amara's best efforts.

  "Doroga," she called up to the Marat chieftain.

  "I am," he called back. He watched her struggle with the nervous horse, his expression amused. "You wish something?"

  "To speak to you," she said. "I was hoping-" She broke off as a low branch slapped her in the face, a stinging annoyance. "Hoping to ask you some questions."

  Doroga rumbled out a rolling laugh. "Your head will get knocked off. Your chieftain Gaius will come take it from my hide." He shifted an arm and tossed a rope of braided leather over the side of the saddle-mat to dangle five feet from the earth. "Come up."

  Amara dipped her head to him and passed the reins of her horse off to a nearby holder. She dismounted, and jogged over to pace Doroga's gargant. She seized the saddle rope and hauled herself carefully up to its back, where Doroga clamped a big fist down on her forearm and hauled her to a more stable perch.

  "So," Doroga rumbled, turning back to face forward. "I see that Bernard ate the wrong soup."

  Amara blinked at him. "What?"

  Doroga smiled. "When I was young and had just taken my wife as mate, I woke up the next morning, went to my fire, and ate the soup there. I declared it the best soup that any woman ever made for a man. To everyone in the camp."

  Amara lifted her eyebrows. "Your wife hadn't made it?"

  "She had not," Doroga confirmed. "Hashat did. And after our wedding night, I spent the next seven days sleeping on the ground outside her tent to apologize."

  Amara laughed. "I can't imagine you doing that."

  "I was very young," Doroga said. "And I very much wanted her to be happy with me again." He glanced over his shoulder. "Just as Bernard wants you to be happy with him."

  Amara shook her head. "It isn't anything like that."

  "Yes. Because Bernard does not know he ate the wrong soup."

  She sighed. "No. Because we aren't married."

  Doroga snorted. "You are mates."

  "No, not like that."

  "You have mated," he said, patient as if he spoke to a small child. "Which makes you mates."

  Amara's cheeks flamed. "We… did. We have. But we aren't."

  Doroga looked back at her, his expression scrunched into a skeptical frown. "You people make everything too complicated. Tell him he ate the wrong soup and have done."

  "It's nothing Bernard has done."

  "You ate the soup?" Doroga asked.

  "No," Amara said, exasperated. "There was no soup. Doroga, Bernard and I… we can't be together."

  "Oh," Doroga said. He shook his head in a mystified gesture and briefly put his hand over his eyes, mimicking a blindfold. "I see."

  "I have obligations to Gaius," Amara said. "So does he."

  "This Gaius," Doroga said. "To me he seemed smart."

  "Yes."

  "Then he should know that no chieftain can command the heart." Doroga nodded. "He gets in the way of that, he will learn that love will be love, and he can do nothing but kill everyone or stand aside. You should learn that, too."

  "Learn what?" Amara said.

  Doroga thumped a finger against his skull. "Head got nothing to do with the heart. Your heart wants what it wants. Head got to learn that it can only kill the heart or else get out of the way."

  "You're saying it would kill my heart to turn away from Bernard?" Amara asked.

  "Your heart. His too." Doroga rolled a shoulder in a shrug. "You get to choose."

  "Broken hearts heal in time," Amara said.

  Something washed over Doroga's features, making them look heavier, more sad. He lifted a hand to one of his braids, where he had braided his pale hair together with plaits of fine reddish tresses Amara had assumed were dyed. "Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't." He turned to face her, and said, "Amara, you got something not everyone finds. Those who lose it would gladly die to have it again. Do not cast it away lightly."

  Amara rode in silence, swaying in the rhythm of the gargant's long, slow steps.

  It was difficult to consider Doroga's words. No one had ever spoken to her of love in that way before. She had believed in it, of course. Her own mother and father had been very much in love, or so it had seemed to her as a small child. But since she had been taken in by the Cursors, love had been something that existed as a means to an end. Or as the lead player in a sad story about loss and duty. The only love a Cursor could allow herself to feel was for lord and Realm. Amara had known this since before she completed her training. What's more, she had believed it.

  But in the past two years, things had changed. She had changed. Bernard had become, not so much important to her as he was natural to her whole being. He was as much a part of her thoughts as breath, food, and sleep. At once present and not present, conspicuous with his absence and filling her with a sense of completion when he was there.

  For a man so strong, he was gentle. When his hands, his arms, his mouth were on her, he moved as if afraid she might shatter if held too tightly. Their nights together had been, and remained a blaze of passion, for he was a wickedly patient lover who took delight in her responses to him. But more than that, in the quiet hours after he would hold her, both of them weary, content, sleepy. She would lie in his arms and feel no worry, or sadness, or anxiety. She only felt beautiful. And desired. And safe.

  Safe. She had to make a sharp effort to keep tears from her eyes. She knew well how little safety truly existed in the world. She knew how much danger threatened the Realm; how a single mistake had the potential to bring it down. She could not allow emotions to cloud her judgment.

  No matter how much she might want them to.

  She was a Cursor. Sworn vassal of the Crown, a servant of the Realm of Alera, entrusted with its direst secrets, guarding against its most insidious foes. Her duty called for many sacrifices so that others could be safe and free. She had long ago given up the notion of a life of safety. Her duty called her to give up such luxuries as love as well.

  Didn't it?

  "I will consider your words," she told Doroga quietly.

  "Good," he responded.

  "But now is not the time for such things," Amara said. Already, her emotions were distracting her. She needed to know more about the dangers they currently faced, and for the moment Doroga was their sole source of information. "We have a more immediate problem."

  "We do," Doroga agreed. "The ancient enemy. The Abomination before The One."

  Amara looked from the Marat chieftain up to the sun and back, frowning. "Before the One. You mean, before the sun?"

  Doroga looked at her blankly.

  "The sun," Amara explained, adding a gesture. "That is what you mean by the One, yes?"

  "No," Doroga said, laughter in his tone. "The sun is not The One. You do not understand."

  "Then tell me," Amara said, exasperated.

  "Why?" Doroga asked. The question was a simple one, but there was a weight behind the word that made Amara hesitate and think before answering.

  "Because I want to understand yo
u," she said. "I want to know more about you and your people. What makes you what you are. What we share and what we do not."

  Doroga pursed his lips. Then he nodded once, to himself, and turned around completely, facing Amara, and crossing his legs. He folded his hands in his lap, then after a moment, began to speak to her in a tone that reminded her of several of her better teachers at the Academy.

  "The One is all things. He is the sun, yes. And the sunlight on the trees. And the earth, and the sky. He is the rain in the spring, the ice of winter. He is the fire, the stars at night. He is the thunder and the clouds, the wind and the sea. He is the stag, the wolf, the fox, the gargant." Doroga put a broad hand on his chest. "He is me." Then he reached out and touched Amara's forehead with a finger. "And he is you."

  "But I've seen your folk refer to The One, and indicated the sun by gesture."

  Doroga waved a hand. "Are you Gaius?"

  "Of course not," Amara said.

  "But you are his sworn servant, yes? His messenger? His hand? And at times you command in his name?"

  "Yes," Amara said.

  "So it is with The One," Doroga replied. "From the sun comes all life, just as from The One. The sun is not The One. But it is how we give him our respect."

  Amara shook her head. "I've never heard that of your people."

  Doroga nodded. "Few Alerans have. The One is all that is, all that was, all that will be. The worlds, the heavens-all a part of The One. Each of us, a part of The One. Each of us with a purpose and a responsibility."

  "What purpose?" she asked.

  Doroga smiled. "The gargant to dig. The wolf to hunt. The stag to run. The eagle to fly. We are all made to be for a purpose, Aleran."

  Amara arched an eyebrow. "And what is yours?"

  "Like all my people," Doroga said. "To learn." He leaned a hand down to rest on the steadily pacing gargant's back, almost unconsciously. "Each of us feels a call to other pieces of The One. We grow nearer to them. Begin to feel what they feel, and know what they know. Walker thinks all of this rusty metal your folk wear stinks, Aleran. But he smells winter apples in the wagons and thinks he should get a barrel. He is glad the spring is coming quickly, because he is tired of hay. He wants to dig down to find the roots of some young trees for his lunch, but he knows that it is important to me that we keep walking. So he walks."