by Jim Butcher
Marcus glanced at Crassus, who seemed to have noted the same absence. The young commander frowned and tapped the tip of his thumb restlessly against the hilt of his sword.
"Captain Crassus," Arnos said.
"Senator," Crassus replied, his tone polite as he saluted. "Welcome. I hadn't expected to see you today."
"No sense wasting time," Arnos replied.
That hadn't stopped him from doing it before, Marcus noted, but he said nothing.
"No, sir," Crassus agreed. He went on to give Arnos the brief facts of what they had learned about Mastings. "I was just about to set pickets, sir, if you would like to-"
"Good," Arnos said, nodding. "Keep them close in. No more than a mile or two out. Otherwise, we'll lose them to raiding forces and enemy scouts."
Crassus didn't respond for a second. Then he said, "Sir, if I might respectfully suggest it, I think we'd be better served to push them farther out. It's a greater risk, but if an enemy force comes at us, they'll have more time to warn us before they arrive."
"Thank you for your suggestion, Captain," Arnos said in a level tone. "But the enemy hasn't seen fit to come at us openly ever since our last encounter with them. That's why they gave us the ruins today: They know they'll be beaten in the open field and wanted to preserve morale for the defense of Mastings. If there is a force moving around out there, I doubt it's very large. The Canim are protecting their ships. They won't spare a significant number of troops for side adventures."
"That sounds logical, sir," Crassus replied, nodding. "But it won't hurt us to have our screen out a little farther."
"It's a long walk to Kalare, young Antillus," Arnos said, his eyes hard, but with something jovial in his tone. "We'll need our riders when we face the real threat in the south. Let's not waste them here, hmmm?"
Crassus's expression became totally neutral. He gave the Senator a sharp nod and another salute. "Yes, sir." Then he turned to Maximus, and said, "Pickets to be set at two miles. Don't make me say it twice."
Maximus saluted once and departed.
Marcus stood nearby while Arnos went over the order of. battle with his captains, and while Crassus demonstrated the fruits of a lifetime of preparation to succeed his father's title. Though he could have made several suggestions, the young man kept his mouth shut until Nalus inevitably brought up some of the same points. Crassus would immediately caution Arnos against the sensible course of action, and Arnos would just as immediately overrule him. By the end of an hour-long conference, they had a plan for assaulting the city that at least stood a crow's chance of success.
When they were leaving, Marcus strode over to Nalus's horse. "Sir, that girth is looking a bit loose." He nudged Nalus on the leg and the captain drew it back so that Marcus could reach the fittings of the broad leather band.
"Don't say it," muttered Nalus under his breath. "I know. This was too easy. Something's wrong."
Marcus nodded, finished adjusting the saddle's girth, and slapped the horse on the rump as he walked away.
Crassus fell into step beside him, and they walked toward the southern edge of the ruins, where the engineers were already at work, preparing to fortify the old town wall.
"Two miles isn't far enough," Crassus growled.
"No, sir," Marcus replied. "Guess it's a good thing you told Maximus to go to four miles."
"I didn't tell him that," Crassus said, smiling faintly. "You were there."
Marcus snorted. "Yes, sir."
Marcus accompanied Crassus as he inspected the fortifications and conferred with the Tribune of the engineering cohort. After that came a briefing of the First Aleran's Tribunes, outlining the battle plan for the following day.
Crassus dismissed the officers from the command tent, and said, "Marcus, stay a moment."
The First Spear waited.
"Did you notice the Senator's singulares?"
Marcus frowned. "Yes, sir. Or rather no, I didn't."
"I'm trying to think of the last time I saw them. I think it was when we were still near Othos."
Marcus nodded. "That was what I figured, too."
"It isn't hard to work out what someone would send Phrygiar Navaris to do," Crassus said quietly. "If anything's happened to the captain, I'm not going to let it pass. And I'll want your help't-"
Outside, trumpets began blaring the call to arms. Men began shouting, and boots pounded the ground. Crassus and Marcus traded a look, then left the tent, to find the First Aleran in the midst of the structured chaos of a surprise call to arms.
Maximus came thundering up on his horse, and the beast was lathered with sweat and breathing hard. He threw Crassus a quick salute, and swung down from the restless beast. "I ordered the call to arms," he said shortly. "We don't have much time."
"For what, Max?" Crassus demanded.
"You were right. It was too easy," Max said. "The Canim are coming-at least two separate elements coming from the northeast and southeast, and they're converging here."
"Crows," Crassus spat. "How many?"
"So far, better than thirty thousand," Max said.
Crassus just stared at him, his face going pale. "How? How could they have that many in the field?"
"Sir," Marcus growled. "It doesn't matter how. They're here."
Crassus clenched his hands into fists and then nodded sharply at the First
Spear. "Assemble, and prepare to move down the hill to support the defense of the palisade wall," he said sharply. "Knights to stay at the crown of the hill in reserve. Maximus, how many of your troops are in?"
"Not many," Max said. "Most are still standing picket."
"Then you're taking over as Knight Tribune," Crassus said. "Get moving."
Max saluted and strode off.
"Marcus…" Crassus said.
The First Spear banged out a crisp salute. "Let's get to work, sir."
Chapter 42
Isana watched as the Slive approached the docks at Fellcove, a small port town on Alera's western coast, many miles south of Founderport and the Elinarch. The place had a seedy look to it, the boards of its houses weathered with age and smeared with tar. From the looks of the docks, one could practically step off of one's ship and directly into the town's drinking house, or its brothel- possibly both.
Ehren stood beside her, smiling. "Don't look so alarmed, my lady," he murmured. "We won't be staying long enough for it to make you uncomfortable."
Isana glanced down at Ehren and smiled. "Does it show?"
"From about a league away," Ehren replied. "Truth be told, I don't care much for the place, either."
"Then how did we settle upon it as our landing point?" Isana asked.
"It's close to Mastings," Ehren said. "The Legions are probably there already, and even if they aren't, Nasaug almost certainly is."
"Shouldn't we have sailed directly to Mastings, then?"
Demos's voice cut into the conversation as the captain came striding down the deck. "The Canim have been rather narrow-minded about commandeering every ship that they can get their hands on. I'd rather keep mine."
"Which makes Fellcove our only real option," Ehren said. "The Canim don't keep a presence here. Something about the smell."
Isana arched an eyebrow. "Surely they don't leave it entirely unguarded?"
"No," Ehren said. "They pay a local, ah, businessman named Ibrus, to commandeer ships and keep them informed about any naval movements."
"What's to stop him from taking the Slive?" Isana asked Demos.
"He's greedy," Demos said. "Not suicidal."
"I've done business with him before," Ehren added. "He's as reasonable as any of his ilk can be."
The ship's lines got tossed out to the dock rats, and the men drew the Slive up to the dock and made it fast. Isana noted that a broad-bladed axe had been set out beside the base of each mooring line on the ship, presumably so that they could be severed quickly, if necessary.
The ship's hull bumped against the dock, and Demos nodded to Ehren, ho
lding out his hand. "There you go."
Ehren slapped a jingling leather pouch into Demos's palm, and nodded to him. "Pleasure doing business."
"I always enjoy working with Cursors," Demos replied. "They pay on time, and almost never try to kill me afterward."
Tavi emerged from the passenger cabin, wearing a mail shirt and his weaponry. Araris, similarly clad, also appeared. Tavi nodded and smiled at Isana, before walking over to the hold and growling something in the Canish tongue. An answering snarl rose from the depths of the ship, and then Varg came up the stairs through the cargo doors. The enormous Cane wrinkled his nose and growled something, to which Tavi responded with a bark of laughter. Varg disdained the gangplank. He simply put one hand on the ship's railing and vaulted lightly down to the dock beneath. Lightly being a relative term, Isana supposed.
The dock rats all paused in their tasks for a moment, staring at Varg. The big Cane stretched, then deliberately yawned, displaying a mouthful of fangs.
The dock rats went hurriedly back to their tasks.
As Tavi passed Isana on the way to the gangplank, she asked him, "What did he say?"
"That he's glad to get off this ship," Tavi said. "He says it smells like wet people here."
Isana blinked. "I… I didn't realize." She glanced at the Cane. "Was he making a joke?"
"I'm not really sure," Tavi said. He gave Varg a wry glance. "I don't think I'm supposed to be. Excuse me." He paced down the gangplank to stand near the Cane.
Kitai climbed down from the ship's rigging and dropped the last several feet to the deck. Over the course of the journey, her hair had begun to grow in again and was now a short, fine brush of white offset by her longer mane. She gave a brilliant smile to one of the crewman, a brawny young sailor with a fresh cut running across his chin. The man visibly flinched and seemed to remember urgent duties requiring his attention elsewhere on the ship.
Kitai murmured to Isana, "I take my shirt off once, and it is as if these Aler-ans think I have invited them all to mate with me."
Isana glanced at the retreating young sailor. "Oh, dear. Why didn't you say anything?"
Kitai shrugged. "There was nothing to it. He made advances. I objected."
Isana arched an eyebrow. "I see. At what point did your objections draw blood?"
"Here," Kitai said, drawing a finger across her chin. "And another you can't see, right about…" She started untucking her shirt from her trousers.
Isana sighed and put her hands over Kitai's. "Later, dear. For the time being, let's just get off the ship." She turned to Kitai and offered her one of the traveling cloaks she had folded over her arm.
Kitai took the cloak, evidently well pleased with herself, and threw it about her shoulders, covering her distinctive hair with the hood. "Though I hardly see the point of wearing any kind of disguise," she said. "Not with the Cane with us."
Isana donned her own cloak. "Humor me."
"Easy enough," Kitai said agreeably.
Araris, now cloaked and hooded, came up to Isana, a satchel over his shoulder. He offered it to her, and she took it, her fingers brushing his. His eyes shone for a moment, and he bowed his head to her. "Ready?"
Isana felt a sudden flutter of amusement mixed with realization from Kitai, who murmured tartly, "Why, I expect she is."
"Kitai!" Isana whispered fiercely, her face heating.
"All that fuss about the men in a separate room. I should have shared a room with my Aleran and you with yours. We all would have been happier."
"Kitai!"
"Though I suppose we might not have gotten things done quite as quickly," Kitai said. She tilted her head and gave Araris a frank appraisal. "How is he with his mouth?"
Araris looked considerably more shaken than he had when he'd received his hideous belly wound. "Urn, ladies," he said. "Excuse me." He hurried down the gangplank to move to Tavi's side.
Kitai laughed, a merry, silvery sound. "Alerans make this easy."
"You're shameless!" Isana protested, but she felt her mouth turning up into a smile.
"Of course," Kitai said. "It's obviously a side effect of being an unlettered savage." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and glanced at Tavi, who was speaking intently to Ehren. "My Aleran does not know."
"Correct," Isana said.
"You would prefer that he did not know."
"Yes."
Kitai smiled faintly. "There were times when Doroga would meet with a woman, after my mother died. I was much younger. I thought he was betraying her memory. It was painful."
Isana shivered a little at the sudden sense of hollow loss and loneliness she felt in Kitai. The loss of her mother must have affected her deeply, still to bring up such intense emotion years and years later.
"I know better, now. My mother was dead. Doroga should not be expected to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was a difficult thought to hold between my ears."
"I'll tell him," Isana said. "When he doesn't already have so much on his mind."
Kitai nodded. "Then I will not bring it up. I will not lie to him should he ask me, but I will not draw his attention to it."
"Thank you, Kitai."
She inclined her head, and said, "But tell him soon. The next time we stay in an inn, matters can be better arranged."
They descended from the ship to join the others, and together walked through Fellcove to see this man Ehren had mentioned, Ibrus.
It had been sundown when they made port, and it was well on toward full darkness now. Fellcove had very few furylamps on its streets-in fact, the town itself seemed to have none at all. The only lamps in evidence were outside of homes and businesses, doubtlessly personal property. The streets were crude mud tracks, utterly lacking the properly furycrafted stone, or even the ruder, more common cobblestones. Fellcove's filth ran through garbage-choked gutters on either side of the street, and the whole place smelled awful.
Indeed, as they proceeded into the town, Varg seemed to shrink a few inches, his shoulders hunching up even higher, his head lower and often turned aside, as if to seek some respite from the stench.
There was only one street, and it wound back and forth from the ocean up the steep side of a hill. Ehren led them to its very last winding, and to an enormous house that may at one time have looked respectable, perhaps as a residence for a magistrate or a minor Count. Now, its white stone had been stained by years of weather and sun, and most of the windows were out. What had once been a small garden in front of the house had become a patch of weeds and brambles so thick that it had strangled itself to death.
Ehren walked up to the front door of the house, drew his knife, and banged the pommel of his dagger several times upon the door. The door was cheap and weatherworn, clearly a relatively recent addition to the house, and it was marked with the shallow, round indentations of what Isana assumed had to be thousands of other people banging on it with a dagger's pommel.
For a long while, nothing happened.
"Should we let ourselves in?" Tavi asked.
"Oh crows no," Ehren said quickly. "Bad idea." He pounded on the door again. "Ibrus!" he shouted. "I need to talk to you, and I've got cash!"
Footsteps thudded on floorboards inside the house and grew louder. Shortly the door was opened by an enormous man in a food-stained shirt. He had a heavy brow, a thick neck, and something had removed an entire section of his upper lip, leaving his teeth bared in a perpetual snarl.
"Siggy," Ehren said, smiling. "Is Ibrus in?"
The big man's voice was slurred by his mangled face, but its tone was surprisingly warm and mellow. "It's late, Appius. He's told you about his hours before."
"I'm prepared to make it worth his time."
"Heard that one before," Siggy said.
Ehren tossed a pair of coins at the big man, and Isana saw the glitter of gold in the light of the single furylamp outside the front door.
"I'm prepared to make it worth his time," Ehren said in exactly the same voice as before.
"Come in," Siggy said. He pocketed the coins and led them into the entry hall, a large room obviously used as a reception area, centered around a large (and largely defunct) fountain with its own pool. The water was dark and stagnant. Siggy paused for a moment as Varg crouched to come through the door, and stared at the Cane. "Wait here. I'll go get him."
"Charming," Tavi murmured to Ehren, after Siggy had gone.
"It helps to speak the language," Ehren said.
"Appius?" Tavi asked.
"Everybody in this part of the Realm has at least two or three aliases. If you don't pick up a couple, you'll never fit in."
"This Ibrus," Tavi asked. "Can we trust him?"
"Absolutely," Ehren replied, "to do whatever benefits Ibrus most."
Tavi nodded, looking around the shadowy hall. "I don't like it. If there was any other way to secure mounts…"
"There isn't," Ehren said firmly.
Tavi growled beneath his breath, looking around them. "Still."
More footsteps sounded, and another light approached. Siggy bore a fury-lamp in one hand and a heavy cudgel in the other. A man walked beside him. He was a little taller than average and well built, his thick red hair and beard shot with grey. He wore a fine robe, much like those sported by Senators and the most pretentious of the Citizenry, though it was rumpled and stained with what Isana hoped was wine.
"Appius," Ibrus said. He yawned. "I was just finishing a rather fine evening's entertainment, and I cannot adequately express how annoying your presence is."
Isana found herself focusing more intently on Ibrus. Though the man looked and sounded both bored and mildly angry, his true emotions were considerably different.
He was tense. Afraid.
"You're a middleman, Ibrus," Ehren replied. "Everyone wants to see you in the middle of the night-or in the middle of a bonfire. There's not much in between."
"Someday your mouth is going to get you into trouble, Appius," Ibrus said darkly.
Ehren lifted a purse and jingled it. "I'd better move it to where it won't disturb you, then. 1 need horses."
