Furies of Calderon ca-1

by Jim Butcher

"Was he alone?" Isana asked.

  "Not entirely, if you count that Fade was still with him. I thought you'd have found him after the flood."

  She shook her head. "No. I couldn't. Kord pulled me out of the river, Bernard."

  Her brother's eyes went flat

  "It's all right," she assured him, though she folded her hands over a little quiver of fear in her belly at the memory of Kord s smokehouse "His son, Aric, helped us escape I got away from him "

  "And came here'"

  "Not alone," Isana said "I had just reached the causeway when Warner and the rest came down the road I rode here with them "

  "Warner'" Bernard said

  "Warner, Otto, Roth They brought all their holders here Yours too They've come to help "

  "Those idiots," Bernard sputtered But his eyes glittered, and he looked back toward the wall and the shattered gates leading into the fort A rough barricade had been shoved into place, consisting of a pair of wagons upended, barrels, and bunks "How many did he bring'"

  "Everyone," Isana said "Nearly five hundred people "

  "The women, too'"

  Isana nodded Bernard grimaced "I guess we've got it all resting on one throw, then " His eyes went past her to Odiana "Who's this'"

  Amara swallowed "One of Kord's slaves," she lied “She saved my life That's a discipline collar on her, Bernard I couldn't leave her there "

  He nodded, glancing back at the walls again, and let out a slow breath "Might have been kinder to It's not going to be good "

  Isana frowned at him and then at the walls "Bernard Do you remember when we had our holdraising'"

  "Of course," he said

  "Everyone in the Valley helped with that Brought up the whole stead-holt, walls, all in one day "

  He blinked and turned to her, his voice suddenly excited "You mean that we could make the walls higher "

  She nodded "If it would help Giraldi said they weren't high enough "

  "It might," Bernard said "It might, it might " He looked around "There That centurion there, he's the engineer See the braid on his tunic' We'll need his help You tell him, and I'm going to round up our earthcrafters "

  Bernard hurried off Isana approached the man, who glanced up, blinked at her, and then scowled at her from over a bristling grey mustache He listened to her without speaking while she told him of her plan

  "Impossible," he said "It can't be done, girl "

  "I've forty summers, Centurion," Isana retorted. "And it must be done. My brother is bringing our earthcrafters right now."

  The Centurion faced her more squarely, his face and throat flushing a deep red. "Holdfolk crafters," he said. "This isn't a barn raising. These are siege walls."

  "I don't see how that matters."

  The man snorted in an explosion of breath. "These walls are made of layers of interlocking strata, girl. They're hard, flexible, heavy, and can stand up to any kind of pounding you care to dish out. But you can't just make them higher once they're in place, like some pasture fence. If you go toying with the wall, you'll disrupt the foundation, and the whole thing will collapse. We won't have a wall at all, much less a taller one."

  "As I understand it," Isana said. "You might as well not have the wall as it stands in any case."

  The man blinked at her for a moment, then scowled and bowed his head, snorting from beneath his mustache.

  "I understand that it might be difficult, but it's worth a try, isn't it? If it works, we might be able to hold out against them. If it doesn't…" Isana shivered. "If it doesn't, then I'd just as soon it didn't take too long in any case."

  "No," the engineer said, finally. "If there was a chance, it might be worth the risk. But these aren't engineers. They're holders. They don't have the kind of strength it takes."

  "You've never had to live in this valley, have your?" Isana said, her voice wry. "Not everyone with a strong fury wants to be a Knight. There are boys barely more than children in my steadholt who can tear boulders larger than a man out of the ground. And as I see it, we have nothing to lose."

  The engineer eyed her. "Impossible," he said, then. "It can't be done. If I had a full corps of Legion engineers, it would still take me half a day to get that wall higher."

  "Then it's a good thing we're not a corps of Legion engineers," Isana said. "Will you try?"

  A new voice cut into the conversation. "He'll try."

  Isana looked up to see the Cursor standing not far away, wearing her brother's too-large clothes and a borrowed tunic of mail. She wore a sword at her hip, and her left arm had been splinted. Amara looked tired and sported a bruise on throat, abrasions on her chin, but she regarded the engineer calmly. "Coordinate with the Steadholders. Make the attempt."

  The engineer swallowed and then inclined his head to her in a bow "As you wish, Countess " The man turned and hurried away

  Amara turned to face Isana, the slim girl's expression quiet, calm Then she glanced past Isana, to where the water witch still stood, wrapped in her blanket, her expression distant, and hissed a quiet curse She reached for her sword

  "Wait," Isana said, stepping close and putting a hand over Amara's "Don't"

  "But she's-"

  "I know who she is," Isana said "She isn't going to hurt anyone now She saved my life-and a slaver put a discipline collar on her "

  "You can't trust her,' Amara insisted "She should be locked up "

  "But-"

  "She's a Knight herself A mercenary A murderer" The Cursor's voice snapped with anger "By all rights I should kill her right now"

  "I will not allow that," Isana said, lifting her chin

  Amara faced her quietly “I'm not sure it's your decision to make, holder "

  Just then, a tall, dark-skinned man with the look of a Parcian, his armor magnificent but stained with smoke and blood, stepped over to them "Countess," he said, calmly "The horde is nearly here I'd like you to stand with me See if you can spot their hordemaster "

  Amara glared at Isana and turned to the Parcian "Do you think killing him will do us any good now, Pirellus'"

  He smiled, a sudden flash of white teeth "As I see it, it can hardly hurt And in any case, I'd rather make sure that whatever animal is responsible for this," he gestured around vaguely, "doesn't go back home to brag about it"

  Isana withdrew a pair of steps, then calmly turned and led Odiana away from the pair "Come on," she murmured to the collared woman, though she knew that Odiana could not hear her "They're terrified and angry They wouldn't treat you fairly Let's find someplace for you to be out of sight until we can get through this "

  She hurried through the courtyard to one of the large warehouse buildings at the far side Even as she opened the door and hurried in, a group of holders, bundled up in their homemade winter cloaks but wearing Legion steel, went tramping by in neat files, heading for the gates Another file, led

  by Bernard and the engineer, speaking in hushed, intent tones, went past right behind them.

  Isana opened the door and led Odiana into the warehouse. The interior was dark, and she could hear the scrabble of rats somewhere inside. A rangy grey tomcat rushed past her legs and into the darkness, intent on a meal. Crates and heavy sacks stood in neat, ordered rows, their contents clearly labeled. It was too dim to see clearly, so Isana looked about until she found a furylamp and willed it to life, lifting the clear globe in her hand and looking up and down the rows.

  "There," she said, and started to tug the woman forward, continuing to speak in a low, quiet tone, hoping that the deafened watercrafter would at least find some comfort in the intent of the words. "Bags of meal. It will be softer than the floor, and if you cover up, you might be able to get some sleep. You'll be out of everyone's way."

  She hadn't taken a dozen steps when the door to the warehouse slammed behind her.

  Isana whirled, holding the furylamp aloft, shadows dancing and spinning wildly in the room.

  Kord, dressed in a dirty cloak, dropped the heavy bolt down over the reinforced door
of the warehouse. He turned to Isana then, eyes gleaming, and smiled, his teeth as grimy and smudged as the Steadholder's chain about his neck.

  "Now then," he said, his voice quiet, almost purring. "Where were we?"

  Chapter 39

  Amara nodded to Pirellus. "But will they be able to raise the wall?"

  Pirellus shrugged. "Again-it can't hurt. The wall isn't going to slow the Marat down as it stands in any case."

  Nearby, Bernard and the engineer had led nearly a hundred men and women, ranging in age from those below Legion age to a wizened old grandmother, who doddered along with the help of a cane and the arm of a brawny, serious-looking young man Amara recognized from Bernardholt. "Are you sure it isn't a terrible risk? We held it before," Amara pointed out.

  "Against Marat who had never seen a battle," Pirellus said. "Half-trained, green troops. And we were nearly destroyed as it was. Don't fool yourself. We got lucky. There are five times as many of them out there now. They're experienced, and they won't be operating in separate tribes." His fingers drummed on the hilt of his dark blade. "And remember, those Knights are still out there."

  Amara shivered and abruptly looked behind her. "Exactly. Which is why, Mistress Isana, we should-" She broke off abruptly. "Where'd she go?"

  Pirellus looked around behind him, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it. There's a very limited amount of trouble the woman can make in any case. That's the advantage of certain death, Cursor-it's difficult to become impressed by further risks."

  Amara frowned at him. "But with this help-"

  "Doomed," Pirellus said, flatly. "We'd need three times that many troops to hold, Cursor. What these holders are doing is admirable, but unless one of their messengers got through to Riva…" He shook his head. "Without reinforcements, without more Knights, we're just killing time until sunrise. See if you can spot the hordemaster, and I'll try to help them sort out the wounded and get more men back on their feet."

  She started to speak to him, but Pirellus spun on his heel and walked back to the other courtyard. His knee was swollen and purpling, but he did not allow himself to limp. Another talent she envied in metalcrafters. Amara grimaced and wished she could will away the pain of her broken arm so easily.

  Or the fear that still weakened her knees.

  She shivered and turned to walk toward the gates, purposefully. The barricade had been hastily removed, as the earthcrafters had begun to set up for their attempt on the walls. A squad of twenty legionares stood outside the broken gates in formation, on guard, lest any Marat should try to slip through undetected. The possibility seemed unlikely. Even as Amara walked beneath the walls and out into the open plain beyond, stepping around the grim and silent young men, she could see the Marat horde in the slowly growing light, like some vast field of living snow, marching steadily closer, in no great hurry.

  Amara walked out away from the walls by several yards, keeping her

  steps light and careful. She tried not to look down at the ground. The blackened remains of the Marat who had perished in the first firestorm lay underfoot and all around, grotesque and stinking. Crows flapped and squabbled everywhere, mercifully covering most of the dead. If she looked, Amara knew, she would be able to see the gaping sockets of the corpses whose eyes had already been eaten away, usually along with parts of the nose and the soft, fleshy lips, but she didn't. The air smelled of snow and blood, of burned flesh and faintly of carrion. Even through the screen Cirrus provided her sense of smell, she could smell it.

  Her knees trembled harder, and she grew short of breath. She had to stop and close her eyes for a moment, before lifting them to the oncoming horde again. She lifted her unwounded arm and bade Cirrus make her vision more clear.

  The fury bent the air before her, and almost at once she could see the oncoming horde as though she stood close enough to it to hear their footsteps.

  Almost at once, she could see what Pirellus had meant. Though the fleeing elements of the Marat horde had rejoined it half an hour before and been absorbed into the oncoming mass, she could see the difference in the warriors now moving toward Garrison, without needing to engage them to understand part of Pirellus's fears. They were older men, heavier with muscle and simple years, but they walked with more of both confidence and caution, ferocity tempered with wisdom.

  She shivered.

  Women, too, walked among the horde, bearing weapons, wearing the mien of experienced soldiers, which Amara had no doubt that they were. As near as Aleran intelligence could determine, the Marat engaged in almost constant struggles against one another-small-scale conflicts that lasted only briefly and seemed to result in few lasting hostilities, almost ritual combat. Deadly enough, though. She focused on the horde grimly. The dead behind the walls of Garrison proved that.

  As she watched them come on, Amara was struck by a sudden sense that she had not felt in a long time, not since, as a small child, she had first been allowed out onto the open sea with her father in his fishing boat. A sense of being outside, a sense of standing balanced at the precipice of a world wholly alien to her own. She glanced at the walls behind her, eyes twinging as they refocused. There stood the border of the mighty Realm of

  Alera, a land that had withstood its enemies for a thousand years, overcome a hostile world to build a prosperous nation.

  And she stood outside it, all but naked, despite her armor. The sheer size and scope of the rolling plains that lay beyond this last bastion of Aleran strength made her feel suddenly small.

  The voice that came to her whispered in the rustle of the lonely wind, low, indistinct. "Never be intimidated by size itself. I taught you better than that."

  Amara stiffened, dropping the visioncrafting before her hand, glancing around. "Fidelias?"

  "You always hold your legs stiffly when you're afraid, Amara. You never learned to hide it. Oh, and I can hear you," the voice responded. "One of my men is crafting my voice to you, and listening for your replies."

  "I have nothing to say to you," Amara whispered, heated. She glanced at the legionares too close behind her and stepped forward, away from them, so that they couldn't overhear. She lifted her hand again, focusing on the oncoming horde, searching through their ranks for one who might be their leader.

  "Useless," Fidelias commented. "You can't hold the walls. And even if you do, we'll break the gate again."

  "Which part of 'I have nothing to say to you' did you not understand?" She paused a moment and then added as viciously as she knew how, "Traitor."

  "Then listen," Fidelias said. "I know you don't agree with me, but I want you to think about this. Gaius is going to fall. You know it. If he doesn't fall cleanly, he'll crush thousands on his way down. He might even weaken the Realm to the point that it can be destroyed."

  "How can you dare speak to me of the safety of the Realm? Because of you, her sons and daughters lie dead behind that wall."

  "We kill people," Fidelias said. "It's what we do. I have dead of my own to bury, thanks to you. If you like, I'll tell you about the families of the men you made fall to their deaths. At least the dead inside had a chance to fight for their lives. The ones you murdered didn't. Don't be too liberal with that particular brush, apprentice."

  Amara abruptly remembered the men screaming, falling. She remembered the terror on their faces, though she hadn't taken much note of it at the time.

  She closed her eyes. Her stomach turned over on itself.

  "If you have something to say, say it and have done. I have work to do."

  "I've heard dying can be quite the chore," Fidelias's voice noted. "I wanted to make you an offer."

  "No," Amara said. "Stop wasting my time. I won't take it."

  "Yes you will," Fidelias said. "Because you don't want the women and children behind those walls to be murdered with the rest of you."

  Amara stiffened. She felt suddenly cold.

  "Leave," Fidelias said. "You. Lead the women and children away. I'll have my Knights see that the Marat are delayed long
enough to give you a safe lead."

  "No," she whispered. "You're lying. You can't control the Marat."

  "Don't be so sure," Fidelias said. "Amara, I don't like what has to be done. But you can make a difference. You can save the lives of innocent people of the Realm. You lead them. If you don't, personally, then there's no deal." There was silence for a moment, before he said, weariness in his voice, "You don't know what you're doing, girl. I don't want to see you die for it. And if I can save the lives of some noncombatants while protecting you, so much the better."

  Amara closed her eyes, her head spinning. The stench of the burned corpses, of the carrion the crows had torn into, came to her again. She was a Cursor, a skilled fencer, an agent of the Crown, a decorated heroine of the Realm-but she did not want to die. It terrified her. She had seen the men the Marat had killed, and none of them had gone pleasantly. She had joked before, lightly, that she would never want to end her life in less than a viciously bloody fashion, as alive as she could possibly be, but the reality of it was different. There wasn't any consideration in it, no abstract philosophy. Just glittering, animal eyes and terror and pain.

  It made sense, she reasoned. Fidelias wasn't a monster. He was a man like any other. He had cared about her, when they worked together. Almost more than her father had, in some ways. It was reasonable to assume that he did not want to see her die if he could avoid it.

  And if she could save some more people, if she could lead those who would surely die away from the coming struggle, surely it would be worth it. Surely there would be no shame for her in fleeing, no dishonor before the Crown.

  Or before Bernard's memory.

  It wouldn't be wrong. Fidelias was giving her a way out. An escape.

  "Amara," Fidelias's voice said, gently. "There isn't much time. You must go quickly, if you are to save them."

  She abruptly saw the trap. Though she didn't understand it yet, though she wasn't sure exactly where it lay, she recognized what he had scattered out to blind her-raw emotions, fear, the desire to protect, the need to save her own pride. He had played on them, just as he had tried to put her into a raw, emotional state of terror and grief when he had betrayed her before.