by Jim Butcher
"How?"
"Tavi," Maximus said in a tight, warning voice.
Tavi blinked at him. "What?"
Maximus stared at him, then shook his head and gave Isana an apologetic glance. "This is pretty important information. I know she's family… but she's also a client of Lady Aquitaine's. It's probably better not to discuss it in front of her." He glanced at Isana again, and said, "It's mostly the principle of the thing, ma'am."
"Crows," Tavi snorted. "Max, she's my family. If you can't trust your family, who can you trust?"
A lance of pure guilt hit Isana in her midsection. The comment was so typically Tavi. He'd grown up close to her, to Bernard, and in the rough frontier country they lived in, toil and hazard built up trust in one another to a much greater degree than in the more settled regions of Alera. As far as Tavi was concerned, in the Calderon Valley, family always supported, always defended, always helped… and always told the truth. He believed it.
Oh, it was going to hurt when Isana shattered that belief. It was going to hurt both of them unbearably.
"That's all right," she said quickly. "It was an inappropriate question in any case. Of course, it's better to be careful."
Tavi gave her a searching look, but shrugged and nodded. "Get a move on, Max. We don't have much time."
Maximus banged his fist against his chest, nodded to Isana with another apologetic glance, and hurried out.
Tavi rose, frowning in thought. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Auntie, but…"
"I understand," she said quietly. "I have duties I should be attending to as well."
Tavi smiled at her gratefully. "Dinner tonight?"
"That would be lovely."
Tavi suddenly blinked. "Oh," he said. "I can make a couple of minutes right now, if you like. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to hurt him like that. If you can't trust your family, who can you trust? "Nothing important," she lied quietly. "It can wait."
Chapter 6
"All right, Captain," Sir Cyril said. He grimaced a little and shifted slightly on his seat, finding a more comfortable angle at which to rest the metal leg that had replaced his own from the knee down. "If you're ready, why don't you lay out what you've learned."
Tavi nodded and stepped up onto the raised platform at the head of the conference room. Though the visiting dignitaries had departed, the room was still crowded, this time with the officers of both Legions of the Senatorial Guard and the First Aleran. Except for Max, Crassus, and one or two of the other Tribunes in the First Aleran, Tavi was by far the youngest man in the room.
"Thank you, Sir Cyril," Tavi said. "The First Aleran has been engaged in active operations against the Canim forces to the south for almost two years, ever since the Night of the Red Stars. We repulsed their initial and secondary efforts to take the bridge. Once additional pressure was brought against their eastern flank by the forces of High Lord Placidus, they were forced to divert much of their infantry to the east, and we drove their garrison out of their position at Founderport. The Founderport militia holds the city, and we stand ready to reinforce it should they need it. It's our only stronghold south of the Tiber, but the Canim don't dare assault it for fear of being pinned between the First Aleran and the city walls."
"We're aware of this, Captain," came Arnos's voice. The Senator, resplendent in formal Senatorial robes of blue-and-red silk, sat in the first row. The two
Senatorial Guard captains sat at his left hand, and Navaris and one of her fellow singulares sat at his right. "You needn't continue reminding us of your accomplishments. Everyone here acknowledges that youVe had some success in your efforts here."
Tavi felt like grinding his teeth together but kept himself from actually doing it. Crows take him if he'd let this silk-robed dandy rattle him so easily. Besides, his instincts warned him that it would be a mistake to let Navaris see his self-control slide.
Navaris. The woman was a legend among the Cursors, the single most successful and highly paid cutter in Alera. She'd killed seventy-three opponents in legal duels, another sixty or seventy in fights that were allegedly cases of self-defense, and rumor had it that another hundred mysterious murders could be laid at her feet with reasonable accuracy-and if she was anywhere near as good at covering up her crimes as she was at dodging the legal consequences of her swordplay, Tavi figured that she might have killed who knew how many more, successfully disposing of the corpses afterward.
Navaris didn't look as dangerous as she was. She was an inch or two under six feet tall and made of whipcord and rawhide. She had colorless grey eyes and wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a short Legion cut that did nearly as much to massacre any sense of femininity about her as her lean, hard build. She wore black riding leathers and a long, dueling sword at her hip. Her eyes were flat, and they looked at the world as if everyone in it was simply one more practice target set up in a swordmaster's training hall. If she'd drawn on Tavi in the office, he doubted he could have lasted more than a second or two against her.
She was also, if Tavi judged rightly, quite insane.
He dragged his eyes from Navaris back to the Senator. "Pardon me, Senator. I was only laying out a common point to start from."
Arnos gave him a sour look and waved an impatient hand. "Get on with it."
Sir Cyril, seated at the very end of the first row, lifted his chin, and said, "Begin with Vaucusgard."
Tavi nodded. He turned to the slateboard behind him, and in a few quick strokes drew out a rough map of the region, marking the Elinarch, the Tiber, and Founderport. "Vaucusgard is a timber-cutting steadholt that's grown into a small town," he told the room. He marked its position, about thirty miles south of the Elinarch. "When we were pushing the Canim from their positions in Founderport, they fought like mad to hold Vaucusgard."
One of the captains beside Arnos, a man named Nalus, grunted. "Walls?"
"No," Tavi said. "No serious fortifications at all in fact. Not much in the way of defensible geography, either. But we brought them to battle there for two days before they finally ran."
"Why'd it take them that long to break?" Nalus asked.
"They didn't break," Tavi said. "They retreated in good order, and after two days of fighting, we weren't in any shape to argue with them about it.
"Since then, most of our clashes have been more like heavy skirmishes than a pitched battle, while the Canim consolidated their positions. During that time, several of the Crown's Cursors who had been sent to assist the First Aleran infiltrated the occupied territory and began gathering intelligence."
"What did they learn?" Arnos asked.
"First, sir, that the Canim aren't letting everyone leave peaceably as we first thought. They've been holding back members of two professions, refusing to let them leave: carpenters and shipwrights."
Arnos frowned heavily. "Then… their defense of the timber-cutting stead-holt had a definite purpose."
Tavi nodded. "They were taking materials. Wood that had been seasoning in storage, mostly."
"Seasoned wood?" Tribune Tactica Kellus was standing against a side wall, not far from Tavi. "Why seasoned wood, sir?"
"Because, Tribune," Arnos said in a tight voice, "you can't build ships out of green wood."
Tavi nodded, a little impressed despite himself. Arnos's mind worked swiftly-when he chose to use it. "Exactly, sir." He turned and marked a point on the rough map, at the very bottom of the slateboard, a distance of perhaps a hundred miles. "And we think they're building them here, at a town called Mastings. It has a long inlet from the sea, and already had the facilities in place to support the building of a dozen ships at a time. We think that its capacity has been expanded."
"You think?" Arnos said.
"It's conjecture, sir, but it stands up pretty well. The Canim have set up defensive positions at the mouth of the inlet, and they're turning away or appropriating any ships that try to sail to Mastings. Their patrols in the area are three times as thick as th
ey are elsewhere, and the main body of their troops is located somewhere in the area. It's difficult to be sure, because they are refusing to let any Alerans into the city, unless they're one of the shipwrights or carpenters being pressed into service."
"Then how do you know their main body of troops is there?" Arnos demanded.
"The agents in question tracked food shipments, sir," Tavi said. "Either
Mastings is playing host to an extremely large number of Canim, or its people have decided to abandon life as a seaport and take up the cattle trade."
"Ships," grunted Captain Nalus again. "What do they want with bloody ships?"
Tavi answered. "The Cane who led the initial incursion, Sari, ordered their ships burned behind them when they landed. You could see the fires lighting up Founderport from five miles away."
Arnos scratched at his chin, studying the rough map. "Ships will give them a number of options they don't have now," he said. "They'll be able to move swiftly up and down the coastline-the dogs can sail, I'll give them that. If they build enough of them, they'll be able to move their entire force to support Kalare in the south, or to keep us running in circles up here."
"Or, sir," Tavi said. "They might… go home."
Arnos turned a look of pure disbelief upon Tavi.
"It's possible, sir. The majority of the Canim now in Alera did not want to be stuck here. That's why Sari had to burn the ships. And they have their dependents to think about, too. They want what any of us would want in a similar situation." He shrugged. "They want to go home."
Arnos simply stared at Tavi, saying nothing.
Tavi ground his teeth. The good Senator was offering him plenty of rope to hang himself with, and he knew it-but he also knew that he had to at least try. So he took a deep breath, and pressed on. "Given how static the conflict has been over the past several months, we might have an opportunity here."
The room was very quiet, until Arnos asked, in a polite voice, "What opportunity?"
No use stopping now. "To negotiate," Tavi said.
"Negotiate," Arnos said. "With the Canim."
"Senator, we want the Canim gone. The possibility exists that they want to be gone. I think it's worth exploring."
"Negotiate," the Senator repeated. "With the Canim."
"They do have an ambassador, sir," Tavi pointed out. "Alera has parleyed with them before."
"An ambassador who infiltrated a band of Canim warriors and trained beasts into the capital itself and attempted to murder the First Lord, yes," Arnos agreed. "An ambassador who is currently imprisoned and awaiting execution."
"Trial," Sir Cyril said in a very mild voice. "Awaiting trial. His guilt has not been proven."
Arnos gave Cyril a scornful glance. "His troops. His people. Even if he didn't plan it, he should have known about it and stopped it. Either way, the fault lies with him."
"Nonetheless, it may be an option worth looking at."
"I see," Arnos said quietly. "After the Canim have invaded, killed thousands of Alerans, displaced hundreds of thousands, burned cities, and conspired with a rebel in a plot to help him ascend to the throne we should… what? Give them room and board while we build ships for them? Fill their ships with provisions and gifts? Then send them home, with our blessings?"
"Sir-" Tavi began.
"I can see the advantages," Arnos continued. "They would return home and tell their entire race that Alera was so cowardly and weak that not only could we not defend our own lands against them, we were frightened enough to pay them tribute to get them to leave us."
"That isn't what-"
"And in a year, or two years, or five, they'll come again, and in far greater numbers. They will demand another round of tribute." Arnos shook his head. "No. We stop them here. Now. We scour them from the face of Alera. Every last one of them. We show the Canim that there is a price to be paid for such things as they have done."
Several low growls of approval vibrated through the room. None of them, so far as Tavi could tell, from anyone in the First Aleran.
"We might be able to beat them," Cyril put in. "But it's going to cost us a lot of men. Men well need in the south, when we move against Kalare."
"Men are going to die, regardless of what we do," Arnos shot back.
"Granted," Cyril said. "I simply prefer that we avoid killing them unnecessarily. As a matter of professional principle."
Arnos narrowed his eyes at Sir Cyril.
"I might point out, sir," Tavi added, "that even a temporary cessation of hostilities would provide us with more time to gather intelligence and maneuver to better advantage."
"And more time for the enemy to build attack vessels and become a far more mobile threat. More time for the traitor-slaves to train and equip. More time for them to fortify their positions." Arnos turned a gimlet gaze on Tavi, and said, "There will be no negotiation, Captain."
"Sir," Tavi said, "if you would only give me a little time to contact the First Lord and-"
Arnos's face flushed red, and his voice became harsh, hard. "There will be no negotiation, Captain!"
"But-"
"One more word out of your mouth," Arnos spat, "and I will suspend you from duty and have you flogged. Do you understand? Captain?"
Tavi clenched his jaw shut on an utterly unwise answer and gave the Senator a single, sharp nod instead.
Arnos glared at him for a few seconds, and nodded. His voice dropped back into a calmer register, and he rose. "Thank you for your report, Captain," he said, as he went to the front of the room. "That will be all."
Tavi stalked over to take his seat at Sir Cyril's right hand. "Crows take it," he muttered under his breath.
"It hardly came as a surprise," Cyril replied.
Tavi growled in his throat.
"Easy," Cyril cautioned him. "You've pushed enough for today. I think we might have gotten through to Nalus, at least."
Tavi glanced aside, to the Guard captain. Nalus was frowning thoughtfully at the rough map, as Senator Arnos made a little speech about defending Alera from the Canim scourge.
A shiver ran down Tavi's spine, and he looked past Nalus to find Navaris staring at him with blank eyes. The cutter held his gaze for a moment, then gave him an unsettling smile.
Tavi looked away and suppressed a shudder of discomfort.
"Gentlemen," Arnos was saying, "we have been on the defensive for too long. We've stood upon walls and bridges for too long. It is high time that we went forth to meet this threat, and show them what it means to cross the Legions."
That won a lot of murmurs of approval from the room-again, from everyone except the officers of the First Aleran.
"And so as of right now," Arnos continued, "our offensive has begun." He turned and drew a bold stroke on the slateboard, from the Elinarch straight down to Mastings. "We bring their main body to battle and wipe them out before they can get these ships built. We march at dawn, two days hence. Prepare your men. Dismissed."
The room broke out into noise as the men stood, already talking, and began shuffling toward the exit. Within a moment or two, Tavi and Cyril sat alone.
Cyril stared at the map on the slateboard for a moment, and then rolled his eyes. "Of course. March directly toward the objective in a straight line." He sighed. "How many strong points does Nasaug have to work with along that route?"
"Three, maybe four," Tavi said. "Plus a lot of opportunity to hit our supply lines as we march. And then the city itself."
"Can we force through them?"
"Depends," Tavi said. "If Nasaug is willing to take heavy losses, he could stop us cold."
Cyril shook his head. "He won't. He'll hit us as hard as he can while keeping his own losses to a minimum."
Tavi nodded. "Bleed us all the way to Mastings. Then bring the hammer down."
"How long will that take?"
Tavi shook his head, calculating. Thanks to Ehren's hard work, he'd had detailed maps to work with in his own planning, and he was familiar with the territory t
hey'd be fighting their way through. "Call it ten weeks, unless we get lucky." Tavi squinted at the map. "And I'm not feeling all that lucky."
"A lot can happen in ten weeks," Cyril replied.
"I should talk to him again," Tavi said. "Privately. He might be more receptive to the notion of negotiating if he isn't surrounded by people."
"He's always surrounded by people," Cyril said. "And it won't do any good, Captain."
"But it's so stupid. Nasaug is willing to talk."
"You don't know that," Cyril said. "He's never sent any kind of word suggesting it."
"It isn't their way," Tavi replied. "To a Cane, talk is cheap. Actions are what speak loudest. And Nasaug's actions are clearly stating his intentions. He's willing to work with Alerans, rather than simply slaughter them-and he wants to leave."
"Perhaps," Cyril said. "Perhaps you're right. If I was in charge, I'd give what you're saying some serious thought. You've earned that." He shook his head. "But I'm not, and neither are you. If you bring it up again, he'll have an excuse to replace you. Don't give it to him."
Tavi exhaled through his clenched teeth. "There's got to be a way."
"Then find it," Cyril said, pushing himself up out of his chair. "But do it in your spare time. Keep your focus on the here and now. They might not know it, but a lot of people are depending on you for their lives."
"Yes, sir," Tavi said.
They exchanged a mutual salute, and Cyril limped out, leaning on his cane. A moment later, Maximus leaned his head in the door. "Hey there, Captain. What's the word?"
"We're marching," Tavi replied, rising to walk to the door. "Send Tribune Cymnea to my office, please, so we can start on logistics. Put the men on notice." He looked up and down the hallway, frowning. "Hngh. I would have expected Marcus to be here. Have you seen him?"
"Not today."
"When you do," Tavi said, "send him to my office, too."
"Yes, sir," Max said.
Tavi went to the slateboard and swiped a damp cloth over it until the markings had been erased. It was sloppy of Amos to leave his marching orders- such as they were-displayed for any idiot to wander by and see. "All right, Tribune." He sighed. "Let's get to work."
