Chapter 5
Isana made sure her hood was well up, and was grateful for the unusually sharp chill that lingered in the springtime morning air. It gave her an unquestionable justification to have her hood around her face. She wasn't trying to avoid being seen visiting Captain Rufus Scipio, precisely, since the director of the relief column would quite naturally need to speak to someone on the First Aleran's staff. But Tavi felt it was better if she went unrecognized and attracted no notice-or questions-at all, and she heartily supported his caution.
As promised, Araris was waiting at the front doors and escorted her past the two legionares on sentry duty there.
"Good morning," she murmured, as he led her into the building. It was an almost ridiculously overfortified structure, all of the same battlecrafted stone that was generally used only for fortified walls. The halls were more narrow than most, the ceilings lower, and Isana noted with surprise that at the first staircase, Araris led her down, not up, to where a leader's quarters were typically located.
"Good morning," he replied. His posture and voice were both politely formal, but she could sense the warmth that lay beneath them, radiating out from him like heat from a banked fire. She was certain that he knew she could discern his actual emotions, as well, and the sense of sudden satisfaction in that unspoken trust was a pleasant little thrill, something akin to feeling his fingers intertwine with hers. "We go down two flights to get to his office."
"Did the Senator displace him?" Isana asked.
Araris shook his head. "The Canim's sorcery evidently proved quite dangerous. Some kind of lightning bolt wiped out the First Aleran's original officers. When the Legion's engineers built this building, they made sure to put yards and yards of fortified stone over and around the captain, to avoid any repetition."
Isana shivered. She'd heard about the attack. If Tavi hadn't been sent out to run messages for then-Captain Cyril... "I see," she replied.
Araris snorted. "The valets set up Arnos on the top level. I suspect they're privately hoping that the Canim will try another lightning bolt and brighten everyone's day."
Isana repressed a wicked little smile. "Sir Araris," she chided. "That isn't a very kind thing to say."
"Arnie doesn't have kindness coming," Araris replied. Isana felt a gentle surge of contempt flow out with the words.
"You know him," she said.
"We went to the Academy together," Araris replied.
"You didn't get along?"
"Oh, he was at my throat constantly-whenever I wasn't actually in the room," he said. "Arnos never had anything to say to my face." Araris reached up with one hand to rub lightly at the mark branded over one cheek. "He was always small-minded, egotistical. He hasn't changed."
"He's dangerous," Isana said. "Isn't he?"
"Here? Now? Very." He came to a stop before a heavy, closed door, and turned to look at Isana.
She met his eyes, and her mouth suddenly felt dry.
He reached down and took her hand gently in his. He squeezed tightly once. "You can do this."
She bit her lip and nodded. "What if-"
He laid two fingers lightly over her lips and gave her a quiet smile. "Don't borrow trouble. Just talk to him. He loves you. It will be all right."
She closed her eyes tight for a second and brushed the faintest ghost of a kiss against his fingers. Then Isana took a steadying breath, nodded, and said, "Very well."
Araris turned and opened the door for her. "Captain," he announced quietly. "Steadholder Isana to see you."
A resonant, deep-chested voice answered in‹ a tone of distracted confidence. "Thank you, Araris. Send her in, please."
Araris gave Isana another small smile, then stood aside, and Isana walked into Tavi's office. Araris shut the door behind her.
The office was supremely utilitarian, even stark. There was an old wooden desk, scarred from use, several chairs, and several shelves filled with books and papers and writing materials. The cold stone floor was covered by a few simple rugs, and a box beside the lit fireplace was filled with a neat stack of cordwood. A door led off into another room, and a plain, medium-sized mirror hung upon the same wall.
He sat at the desk, a quill in hand, scrawling something hurriedly across the bottom of a page. There were several stacks of them spread across the desk, evidence of what appeared to be several hours' work. He finished writing, set the quill aside, and rose with a broad smile.
Isana stopped in her tracks. The man who stood up was enormous, even taller than her brother Bernard, though he had a more wiry build and the slen-derness of youth. His dark hair was cropped short, and he wore a suit of battered Legion armor and a sword on one hip. His features were angular, strong, attractive, though a fine white line across one cheek spoke of a wound too severe to heal without leaving a scar.
Tavi's eyes, though, had not changed. They were green and bright, lit from within by the intelligence of the mind behind them.
How like his father he looks, Isana thought.
"Aunt Isana," Tavi said, and wrapped his arms around her.
She was about to caution him to be careful, but he was gentle, making sure not to crush any armored steel ridges against her. She made up for it by hugging him back as hard as she could. He was real, and safe. She hadn't seen him face-to-face in years, but there was no mistaking that he was her son, no hiding the genuine burst of warmth and love and delight that radiated from him as she hugged him.
They stood like that for a time, before Isana broke the embrace. She lifted her hands to cup his face, her eyes swimming with tears, her cheeks already aching from smiling. "Hello, Tavi."
He kissed her on top of the head. "Hello, Auntie. It's been a long time."
She leaned back to arm's length, looking him up and down. "Longer for some than others," she teased. "Goodness, you've grown even more. What do they put in the water here?"
He grinned. "Yeah. It sort of snuck up on me. But I think I've stopped growing, finally. These trousers have fit me for almost a year."
"Thank goodness. If you got much taller, they'd have to raise all the ceilings in here."
Tavi shook his head gravely. "Nonsense. This is the Legion. The ceiling is at regulation height. It is the responsibility of every legionare to be sure that he is regulation height as well."
Isana laughed. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor."
"Never that," Tavi said. "My mind has been gone for a while now, but that's no reason not to laugh at things. How's Uncle His Excellency?"
"Bernard is well, as are the folk at home. Which reminds me." She untied the pouch from her belt and opened it, rustling through several papers, before she drew out a folded, sealed letter. "Frederic asked me to give this to you."
Tavi smiled and took the letter. He cracked the seal and his eyes flicked rapidly over it. "That girl he rescued, eh? Beritte must be miffed. How's that working out for them?"
"About the way most marriages do. They have a lot to learn about how to treat one another."
"I'm glad for him," Tavi said. "If I get time, I'll write something to send with you when you go back. But in case I don't, would you give him my congratulations?"
"Of course."
Tavi smiled at her and gestured to the fireplace, where a kettle hung from a hook close enough to the flames to keep the liquid inside warm. "Tea?"
"Please."
Tavi drew out a couple of the room's chairs, putting them close together, and held one of them for her. Then he took a pair of tin cups down from a shelf and poured steaming tea from the kettle into each. He added a spoonful of honey to Isana's, the way she liked it, then splashed three of them into his own, before returning to her.
They shared a cup of tea, chatting quietly about people and places back home in the Calderon Valley. They talked for a time of Tavi's duties at the Eli-narch, and of Isana's journey in assembling the relief column, until Tavi rose to get them both fresh cups of tea.
When he settled down again, Isana said, "Tavi, I hope you know how proud we are of you. Your uncle and I. You've grown into a remarkable young man."
He blinked at her a couple of times, then carefully studied the surface of his tea. Isana's sense of his emotions revealed pleasure in the compliment, and pride, along with large helpings of embarrassment. His cheeks colored slightly. "Well," he said. "I couldn't have done any of it without you and uncle. Teaching me. Preparing me."
Isana felt a little stab of guilt. Preparing him was probably the single greatest thing she hadn't done.
She sipped a little more tea, and then frowned down at its surface. "Tavi," she said. "Is it safe to talk here?"
He cocked his head slightly to one side, and she felt the spike of curiosity that flashed through his thoughts. "Yes," he said, with total confidence. "No one can overhear us in here. Why, Aunt Isana?"
Isana took a deep breath. "There's something we need to talk about," she said.
Tavi's face turned red again. "Look, a lot of that is just rumor. I mean, the men get to talking over drinks and every little story grows in the retelling."
Isana blinked at him.
"I mean, it's not like I'm hosting revels or anything. Everyone likes a good story like that, though, and the truth of it isn't as much fun."
"Tavi," Isana said in a firm tone. "What in the wide world are you talking about?"
Tavi froze with his mouth open for a second. Acute chagrin flooded out from him in a wave Isana could practically see. Then he swallowed, and said, "Urn. Nothing?"
Isana arched an eyebrow at him.
Tavi sighed, blushing again. "I was talking about Kitai. She and I..."
"Ah," Isana said. "You're together."
"Urn. Yes."
"In more than one sense of the word, I take it?"
"Well. Yes," he said miserably. "But it isn't like we're... I mean, some of the Marat are, um, sort of indiscriminate when it comes to that kind of thing, and a lot of their riders are around me every time I move around, so it's inevitable that some idiots are going to start spouting rumors about it, but it isn't really like that." Tavi paused to take a breath. "Kitai and I are just... together."
Isana sighed. "Stop. Neither one of us wants you to elaborate, Tavi." She turned her teacup idly in her hands. "Well. This could become... very complicated. I should have had this talk with you sooner."
"Um," Tavi said. He might have become a fully grown man now, but Isana was familiar with his uncomfortable squirming. He'd always done that when he'd been caught red-handed as a child. "You don't have to have that talk. I had that much figured out by the time I was about ten. I mean, caring for the sheep and all..."
Isana shook her head and surprised herself with a quiet laugh. "No, no, not that talk," Isana said. "You don't understand-"
She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. She turned to find Araris standing in the door. "Captain," he said quietly, frowning. "We just got word from one of the men. Senator Arnos's singulares are on the way to see you."
Tavi's chin jerked up sharply. "Why?"
Araris shrugged. "No details yet. They're up at the front door now."
"This seems like a good time to speak to Maximus and Crassus about this week's training schedule. Send a runner to them."
Araris thumped his fist to his heart and departed. Tavi bit his lip, glancing around the little office. He opened the second door behind the desk, and said, "Auntie, could I convince you to wait in my chambers? I'd just as soon not explain to the Senator's flunkies what you're doing here."
"Of course," Isana said, rising. She paced quickly through the door. It was difficult to see much without any lamps, but the modest-sized chamber looked as functional and stark as his office, except for the rumpled, double-sized bed. If nothing else, she supposed, the Legions had done that much for him. Anyone who could convince Tavi to keep his room clean couldn't be entirely bad.
Tavi shut the door most of the way, put a finger against his lips in an entirely unnecessary gesture of caution, and then returned to the office. Isana heard him putting the chairs back into position, and heard a tinny clink as he presumably placed one of the tea cups back onto its shelf. His shadow moved across the narrow opening of the cracked door, and he settled down at his desk. Paper rustled. A few seconds later, the door opened again, and several sets of heavy footsteps entered the room.
"Just leave my breakfast tray on the shelf," Tavi said in an absentminded tone. "And none of your nagging. I'll get to it when I get to it."
There was a short, hard silence, broken only by the sound of Tavi's quill scratching on paper.
"Excuse me?" said a woman's voice. It was a quiet voice, one used to speaking in soft tones and whispers, but to Isana's ears, it carried such malice and barely contained rage that she actually flinched away from it.
"Oh," Tavi said. "I beg your pardon. You aren't the valet."
"No," said the woman's voice. "I am-"
"Did the valet send my breakfast with you by any chance?" Tavi asked, his tone innocent and friendly. "I'm starving."
"He did not," said the cold voice.
"I'm sure he meant to," Tavi said. "Do you think you could yell up the stairs and see if it's on the w-"
There was a loud, sharp sound of impact-a hand being slammed down onto the surface of Tavi's desk, Isana judged. There was a rustling, sliding sound of a neat stack of pages slithering off the edge of the desk and onto the floor.
"You are not funny," said the cold voice. "And I will cut your throat before I tolerate any more of it. Do you understand me?"
Isana shifted position slightly. She couldn't see the woman Tavi was talking to, but she could see his face in profile. He sat in his chair, hands on his desk, and regarded the speaker with a calm, remote expression. There was no mockery to it. There wasn't anything to it, despite the fact that his life had just been threatened, and it chilled Isana a little to see that expression on his face. He appeared to be relaxed and confident, and she couldn't catch even a hint of his true emotions.
"I understand," Tavi said quietly, "that if you continue to show disrespect unbecoming a soldier, ignoring even basic military courtesy-such as knocking on a commanding officer's door before entering-and speaking to me in that tone, I'll have you bound to a flogging post until the ants can crawl up your hair to get at your eyes."
There was another pause. Then the woman's voice said, "You don't know who I am, do you?"
"Or care, particularly," Tavi said.
"My name," she said, "is Navaris."
Tavi's expression never flickered, but this time Isana sensed a pulse of surprised recognition, and then a low current of tightly controlled fear.
Tavi leaned forward, and said in a congenial murmur, "It's possible that playing singulare for the Senator has not brought you the fame you had hoped it would. Never heard of you." His eyes stayed steady for another strained, silent moment. "Well, Navaris. When you first walked in, I assumed you were here for the decor and the charming company. Now, though, I'm thinking that you might have had something else in mind."
"Yes," came the answer.
"How exciting. Maybe you even had a specific reason to visit."
"Yes," Navaris growled.
He glanced past Navaris, eyes scanning the room. "And these four. I take it they're here to help."
"Yes."
Tavi sighed and sat back in his chair. "Navaris, this will go a lot faster if I don't have to play guessing games." His voice went flat. "Tell me what you want."
There was another long silence, and Isana realized with a sudden flash of panic that as Tavi had sat back in his chair, his hand had slipped around behind it, and his fingers were on the hilt of a dagger that had been secured to the chair's back.
There was something thick, even drunken, about Navaris's voice when she finally answered. "Senator Arnos sent me to gather up your intelligence reports on recent activity in the occupied territory. You are to turn over to me every record, every copy, and every list of information sources for the Senator's personal review."
Tavi shrugged his shoulders. "I'm afraid I can't help you."
"These are orders," Navaris replied. "If you refuse to obey them, it's treason."
"Which is punishable by death," Tavi said. "I vaguely recall reading as much, somewhere."
"Give us the papers," she said. "Or you are under arrest."
Isana's heart pounded hard in her chest.
"I don't think so," Tavi said. "You see, Navaris, I'm afraid you don't have a leg to stand on, legally speaking. You're a singulare. You aren't an officer. You sure as the crows aren't my commanding officer. In fact, you aren't in my chain of command at all."
Navaris's voice came out as if through clenched teeth. "These are the Senator's orders."
"Oh," Tavi said, nodding as though at a sudden revelation. "Then they're in writing. Let me see them, and the papers are all yours." He lifted both eyebrows. "You do have legal orders, do you not?"
After a brief pause, Navaris said, "You saw him. He resisted arrest."
There were several harsh, masculine mutters.
"Get your fingers off that sword, singulare," Tavi said, his voice an abrupt whip crack of authority. "Draw that weapon against me, and I'll gut you with it."
There was the sound of several blades slithering from their sheaths, and Isana leapt to her feet in sudden terror.
A new voice broke into the conversation. "If I were you," Araris said in a level tone, "I would do as he says."
"Or not," said a bluff, cheerful voice that was laced with a desire for violence-Antillar Maximus. "If you all want to dance, I'm game."
"None of them got to draw steel before we did," said a third voice, that of a young man Isana didn't recognize. "If things start up now, they won't even get their weapons clear of their sheaths. That doesn't seem fair."
"Right you are, Crassus," Max said. "Right you are."
Isana felt a surge of murderous fury from the room-Navaris, she felt certain. It was a white-hot anger, something that seethed with malice and hate so intense that it almost seemed a separate entity. It was an irrational, bloodthirsty thing, a kind of madness that Isana had only encountered twice in her entire life.
For a moment, Isana felt sure that Navaris would attack in any case. But then that raging fire suddenly died into stillness, snuffed out as quickly as a candle dropped into a pond.
"You think you've accomplished something here," Navaris said quietly. "You haven't. You'll see that in time."
Tavi looked at her as if she hadn't spoken at all. "Please convey my apologies to the Senator that I could not act without confirming his orders. Regulations can be inconvenient at times, but they are, after all, what holds a Legion together. Thank you for your visit."
"Fool," Navaris said.
"Captain Fool," Tavi responded. "Good day, singulare. Araris, Crassus, please escort the good singulare and her helpers to the door."
For a second, nothing happened. Then there was a shuffling of feet, and then the shutting of a door, then silence.
Isana leaned against a wall and closed her eyes, her heart racing, slightly dizzy at the sudden relief, both of her own fears and of the intense emotions that had crowded the little office.
"Crows," Maximus breathed. "Was that who I think it was?"
"Phrygiar Navaris," Tavi said, nodding.
"What was she doing here?" Max asked.
"Getting humiliated, mostly. Especially there at the end."
Max barked out a short, coughing laugh. "You don't do things by halves, do you Calderon?"
"It saves me the time of going back to finish later." Tavi rose from the chair and came to the door. "And speaking of Calderon."
Isana opened it, aware that her hands were trembling in reaction to the tension of the past several moments. The room was now empty, but for Tavi and Maximus.
Max lifted his eyebrows at Isana, and his surprise was palpable. "Oh. Good morning, Steadholder."
"Good morning, Maximus," she replied. At least her voice was steady, she thought. She looked at Tavi. "That woman is dangerous?"
Tavi nodded. "One of the top ten or twelve swords in Alera."
"More like one of the top six or seven," Maximus said, his tone serious. "And she's done more actual killing than any two blades on the list."
Isana shook her head. "What were you thinking, insulting her like that?"
"I was thinking that I needed to buy time for Max and his brother to get here," Tavi said. He gave her a boyish grin. "Relax, Auntie. I had it under control."
Max snorted.
"Is she acting on the Senator's behalf?" Isana asked.
"Probably," Tavi said.
"Then why didn't you give her the papers?"
Tavi sighed and began gathering up the fallen pages. "The papers are going to tell Arnos something he doesn't want to hear. I think he was planning on making them vanish." He straightened them and turned to Maximus. "Get these to Ehren. I want copies for Sir Cyril, the Senator, and the Tribunes Strategica of all three Legions, as well as to the militia command in town."
Max grunted. "The staff meeting?"
"Yes. Once the information is out, Arnos won't be able to lock it up again."
Isana blinked at him. "What could be so important about them?"
Tavi raked his fingers through his short-cut hair. "From what we've been able to put together, I think I have a good idea of what the Canim are doing. I think if we handle it right, we might be able to call a halt to this war."
"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 they 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 they'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."
