by Jim Butcher
“Bloody crows,” breathed Schultz, from behind him.
“Crows and bloody furies,” agreed Max. “Did you see that group with the ritualists? They’d have jumped on us in a heartbeat.”
“Aye,” Crassus said. “That would have gotten ugly.”
“Which is why the captain broke the gates on the way in,” Kitai said. “Obviously.”
“I’ve never regretted making sure I had a quick way out,” Tavi said. “Centurion.”
“Sir,” Schultz said.
Tavi nodded to the legionares on duty at the gate to the First Aleran’s camp as they passed through. “I want you to speak to your Tribune. Let him know that I want the Battlecrows for detached duty. That’s all he needs to know.”
“Sir,” Schultz acknowledged.
“Pack them up for a mounted march and take them up to the engineering cohort’s position. It’s on a beach north of Antillus. Secure the engineers and keep an eye out for any suspicious Canim. If they’re going to make trouble for us, it will be at the staging area, so I want your men on station before nightfall.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,” Schultz said seriously. He saluted and turned to start walking. “On my way.”
“Max, take the cavalry with him. Keep one wing ready to respond to an attack at all times. Don’t be subtle about it, either. I want anyone who thinks about interfering with the engineers to know what they’re in for if they try it.”
Max nodded. “Got it. What are we guarding again?”
“You’ll figure it out,” Tavi said. “Crassus, I know they aren’t going to like it, but I need the Knights to pretend they’re engineers again. The next couple of days are going to be difficult. Go with Max and Schultz and report to the senior engineering staff.”
Crassus sighed. “At least it won’t be more ice ships.”
Tavi glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Not… exactly, no.”
Max and Crassus traded a look.
“Does he know how annoying that is?” Max asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” Crassus said.
“You think we should say anything about it?”
“The burden of command is heavy,” Crassus said soberly. “We should probably let him have his sick fun.”
Max nodded. “Especially since he’s going to do it anyway.”
“He is the mighty First Lord,” Crassus said. “We are but lowly legionares. We obey without question.”
“We do?”
“That was a question. You’re questioning.”
“Right,” Max said. “Sorry.”
“Just get up there, both of you,” Tavi said. “The vord will be here in force in two days. We need to be on the move by then. I need you to help make it happen.”
The brothers rapped fists to breastplates and marched off, continuing to bicker lightly with one another as they walked.
Kitai watched them for a moment and smiled. “They have become friends. I like that.”
“They’re brothers,” Tavi said.
She looked at him, green eyes serious. “It is not the same for everyone. Blood draws some together. Their blood came between them.”
Tavi nodded. “They weren’t always this way, no.”
Kitai smiled faintly. “They are your friends as well. They went when you asked them to go.”
“They know what is at stake. They’re afraid. Schultz, too. That’s why they’re joking.”
“They’re joking because they just followed you into a horde of angry Canim and walked back out again in one piece,” she replied. “The battle energy had to go somewhere.”
Tavi grinned. “True.”
She tilted her head. “I’m curious. What did you accomplish, other than arranging a duel with one of the more dangerous beings we have encountered?”
“I started a conversation,” Tavi said.
Kitai eyed him for a moment, then said, “They are right. It is annoying when you do that.”
Tavi sighed. “It’ll work, or it won’t. Talking about it can’t help.”
She shook her head. “And your other plan. Will it work? Will we get there in time?”
Tavi stopped walking and regarded her. “I think there’s a chance. A good chance.” He turned to her, bowed formally, and asked, “Ambassador, would you do me the pleasure of joining me for a late dinner this evening?”
Kitai arched a white eyebrow. A slow smile spread over her lips. “Dinner?”
“It is the way things are properly done,” he said. “You might wear your new gown.”
“Gown?”
“I had it delivered to your tent while you were gone. I think it’s lovely. Tribune Cymnea assures me it is elegant and tasteful.”
Both her eyebrows lifted now. “In all of this, amidst everything you are doing, you made time to get me a gift.”
“Obviously,” Tavi said.
Kitai’s mouth curved up into another slow smile. She turned and sauntered away, hips swaying a little more than was necessary. She paused to say, “There is hope for you yet, Aleran.” Then she continued on her way.
Tavi frowned after her. “Kitai? So… you’re coming to dinner?”
She didn’t answer, except to laugh and keep walking.
CHAPTER 10
Amara suppressed an irrationally intense urge to have Cirrus choke off Senator Valerius’s supply of air. She supposed she didn’t absolutely need to choke him. Not fatally, anyway. She might be satisfied enough with merely watching him turn purple and collapse—but the man was so detestable that she scarcely trusted herself. So instead of murder, or a pleasant near murder, she folded her hands calmly into her lap and forced herself to remain calm.
Bernard leaned over, and murmured, “If I asked you politely, do you think you could strangle that smug idiot from all the way up here?”
She tried to suppress the giggle that surged up out of her belly at his words but was only partly successful. She covered her hand with her mouth but nonetheless earned a number of irritated glances from those in the amphitheater’s audience.
“Tonight’s script is for a tragedy,” Bernard scolded her quietly, leaning close to put a restraining hand on her arm. “Not a comedy. Contain yourself before you upset the audience.”
She fought down another laugh and punched his arm lightly, turning her attention back to the ancient Senator Ulfius’s quavering recitation of obscure lineage. “—son of Matteus, whose title did not pass to his eldest, illegitimate son, Gustus, but to his younger and properly invested son, Martinus. Thus, is the precedent established, my fellow honored Senators, my lords in attendance.”
Senator Valerius, a saturnine man of middle years and tremendously dignified appearance, began to applaud with long, elegant hands, and there was irregularly spread support of the gesture. “Thank you, Senator Ulfius. Now if there are no further—”
One of the seventy or so men seated on the floor of the amphitheater cleared his throat loudly and rose in place. His hair was a thicket of white spikes, his nose was laced with red from drinking too much wine, and his knuckles were swollen almost grotesquely from repeated brawling. A bandage on his right hand testified that not all of it had been in his youth, either.
Valerius adjusted the drape of purple cloth that denoted his status as Senator Callidus and eyed the other man. “Senator Theoginus. What is it?”
“I thought I might exercise my right as a member of this Senate to voice my thoughts,” Theoginus drawled, his slow Ceresian accent coming through with broadly overdone exaggeration—a deliberate counterpoint to Valerius’s classically trained, firmly northern intonations. “Assuming the Senator Callidus still intends to chair this august body in accordance with the rule of law, of course.”
“Every moment wasted is a moment that could have been used preparing ourselves to face the enemy,” Valerius responded.
“Indeed,” Theoginus said. “Does that include the moments spent on your quite excellent manicure, Senator? I’m sure the shine of your nai
ls will dazzle the vord before they can get anywhere near us.”
A low laugh, as scattered as the previous applause, went through the audience. Amara and Bernard both added their own voices to it. The bandages on Theoginus’s knuckles made an even more stark contrast to Valerius’s appearance. “I think I like him,” Amara murmured.
“Theoginus?” Bernard replied. “He’s a pompous ass. But he’s on the right side, today.”
Valerius was far too polished to show any reaction to the laughter. He waited for it to vanish, and for another quarter minute after that before answering. “Of course, Senator, we will hear what you have to say. Although I ask, for the sake of the brave young men preparing to face the enemy, that you keep your commentary concise and to the point.” He bowed his head slightly, gestured with a single hand, and seated himself gracefully.
“Thank you, Valerius,” Theoginus replied. He hooked his thumbs in the folds of his robes, thus ensuring that the bandages on his right hand remained highly visible. “With all due respect to Senator Ulfius for his prodigious knowledge of Aleran history and Aleran law, his argument is specious and deserves to be laughed out of this amphitheater.”
Ulfius rose, making spluttering sounds, his bald, speckled pate turning bright red.
“Now, now, Ulf,” Theoginus said, giving the other Senator a broad, jowly smile. “I meant to go about that more gently, but Valerius says we’ve got no time to spare for your feelings. And you know just as well as I do that Parciar Gustus was a slobbering madman who murdered half a dozen young women, while Parcius Fidelar Martinus was the first serving Citizen to be named to the House of the Faithful after the Feverthorn Wars—and that was only after he twice declined Gaius Secondus’s invitation to join the House of the Valiant.”
Senator Theoginus snorted. “Trying to compare those two to Gaius Octavian and Gaius Aquitainus Attis strikes me as pure desperation—especially given that you have no evidence to prove that Octavian’s birth was illegitimate.”
Valerius rose to his feet, raising a hand. “A point of order, honored Theoginus. The burden of proof to establish legitimacy falls upon the parents, or if they are not living and able to do so, upon the child. Legitimacy, especially among the Citizenry, must be established.”
“Which it has been,” Theoginus said. “With the signet ring of Princeps Septimus, the eyewitness testimony of Araris Valerian, and by the signed hand of Princeps Septimus himself.” Theoginus paused as a low mutter ran through the amphitheater, among Senators and observers alike, then eyed Valerius, waiting.
“Gaius Sextus never formally presented Octavian to the Senate,” he replied smoothly. “By law, he has not been legally recognized.”
“As a Citizen in his own right,” Theoginus countered. “Which has no bearing whatsoever on Gaius’s choice of an heir—which is a clear matter of public record.”
“It is to be hoped,” Valerius replied, “that the First Lord of the Realm should have the grace to be a Citizen as well.”
“Semantics, Senator. We have all seen ample demonstration of Octavian’s evident skills with our own eyes. The proof was, after all, good enough for Gaius Sextus. Why should it not be good enough for the rest of us?”
“The testimony of Gaius Sextus’s personal physician has established that Sextus had been a victim of long-term poisoning by means of refined helatin,” Valerius said soberly. “Helatin damages the entire body, including the mind. It is entirely possible that Gaius Sextus was non compos mentis during the last year of his life—”
Valerius’s voice was lost in a sudden uproar of protest, and Amara found herself wanting to strangle the weasel again. First, he made everyone languish through Ulfius’s argument, then attempted to press and close the issue in a rush, citing the need for prompt action. Granted, such tactics had been successful in the Senate before, though generally not in the face of any serious opposition. But this… calling Gaius’s mental competency into question was a masterful stroke. If enough of the Senate was willing to go along with the idea, it would mean that nearly anything Gaius had done during the vord invasion could be found an illegal action, invalidated by the power-thirsty Senate. After all, Sextus could hardly defend his actions now.
There was a way to head off Valerius’s true thrust, though, if Theoginus was clever enough to see it.
Theoginus raised a hand, a silent call for order, and the noise diminished to a susurrus of rapid whispers. “Honored brother of the Senate,” Theoginus said, scorn open in his voice, “nearly every Lord and High Lord of the Realm worked in Gaius Sextus’s presence during the entire campaign last year. Surely you do not suggest that so many Citizens of the Realm, the majority of them gifted watercrafters, could have simply failed to notice madness when they saw it?”
“Brother—” Valerius began.
“And if he was gone to his dotage,” Theoginus continued, “then surely his adoption of Aquitainus Attis into his house must be viewed in a manner every bit as suspect as his declaration of Octavian’s legitimacy.”
“Hah,” Amara said, baring her teeth in a grin and pounding her fist on Bernard’s thigh. “He saw it.”
Bernard enfolded her fist in his hands. “Easy, love, you’ll leave bruises.”
“Aquitainus Attis,” Theoginus continued, turning to speak to the seated Senate at large, “is without a doubt one of the finest examples of talent, ability, and effective leadership that the Citizenry has to offer. His skill and personal courage in battle against the vord cannot be questioned.” He drew in a deep breath, and spoke in a voice like thunder. “But those facts give no one the grace to defy the law of the Realm! Not Aquitaine. Not the Citizenry. And not the Senate.” He turned in a slow circle to face each of the seated Senators. “Make no mistake, honored Senators. To defy the will of Gaius Sextus now is to betray the laws that have guided the Realm since its founding—laws that have allowed us to overcome centuries of turmoil and war.”
“For tradition’s sake,” interrupted Valerius, “we ought to needlessly throw away the lives of our fighting men. Is that what you’re saying, Senator?”
Theoginus faced Valerius squarely. “Half of our Realm is gone, sir. Lives beyond counting have been lost. Alera Imperia herself has fallen and been devoured by earth and fire. But most of what is left of the Realm is beyond the reach of any foe. It is carved into the intangible bedrock of the mind and heart—the law. It is within the good steel of those Legions outside the city walls, ready to give their lives in Alera’s defense. It flows within the veins of her Citizenry, called to arms and ready to face whatever foe should try to harm her people.” He swept his hand in a dramatic gesture, to the west. “And it is out there, in the living monument of the House that has guided the Realm since time immemorial. It is in Gaius Octavian.”
True silence had fallen on the amphitheater. Theoginus knew how to speak to a crowd. He knew how to draw upon their emotions—and the constant hum of low fear that permeated all of Alera in these desperate months left them primed for just such an approach.
Theoginus’s eyes raked the gathered Senate again. “Remember that, when you vote. Remember the oaths you have sworn. Remember the simple truth—that Sextus’s lawful heir is coming to defend our lands and our peoples. Turn aside from the law, from what the Realm has always been, and Alera will be no more. Whether we stand, whether we fall, Alera will be gone. And we here will have murdered her: murdered her with quiet words, loud speeches, and raised hands. Remember.”
Theoginus gave the Senator Callidus a glare that might have set the man on fire. Then he took his seat once more and folded his arms.
Valerius stared at his opponent for a long, silent moment. Then he gazed at the rest of the Senate. Amara could practically read his thoughts. Theoginus had employed a dangerous gambit. One could never be sure that an impassioned speech would move an audience in the intended direction—but the Ceresian senator had spoken well. The power of his words still resonated in the room. Any opposition Valerius raised, at this point, woul
d earn him nothing but angry glares. His best course of action was almost certainly to move ahead and count upon the support he’d gathered in the days previous to this confrontation. It was a close vote. He might already have done enough to tip the scales.
Valerius nodded slowly and raised his voice. “I call the vote of the Senate upon the issue of the legitimacy of Gaius Septimus’s alleged marriage to one freeman Isana of the Calderon Valley. A vote of yes will confirm the legal status of the marriage. A vote of no will deny it.”
Amara found herself holding her breath.
“All those who would vote no?” Valerius asked.
Hands began to rise, scattered throughout the seated Senators. Amara found herself counting them furiously.
“How many?” Bernard whispered.
“They need thirty-six,” she replied, still counting. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four.
Valerius added his hands to those raised.
“Thirty-five,” she hissed.
“Those who would vote yes?” Valerius asked.
Hands began to rise—and trumpets began to howl.
A wave of worried whispers washed up around Amara. Heads began to turn. One distant trumpet was joined by another, and another, and another. The whispers became a murmur.
“What is that?” asked a matron seated behind Amara of her husband. “The signal?”
The old gentleman patted her arm. “I’m not sure, dear.”
Amara turned to Bernard, her eyes grave. He met her gaze, his own face calm but resigned. He recognized the standard Legion trumpet call just as well as she did.
The Legions outside the southern wall of the city of Riva were sounding a call to arms.
“They can’t be here,” Amara said. “Not already.”