Captain's Fury ca-4

by Jim Butcher

  Then someone pressed a tin mug of hot soup into her hand, and she gulped it down as quickly as she could without burning herself. After that, she remembered thinking how heavenly the bedroll felt beneath her, and merciful dark closed on her.

  * * *

  She woke sometime later. It was morning. Golden sunlight flickered down through a white haze overhead, only occasionally letting a shaft of glowing morning sweep over the ground. There was green all around, so much green, in so many^shades, that she wondered why on earth anyone thought a simple word like "green" could adequately describe them all.

  It took her a moment to focus her eyes and sort out her surroundings. Forest. Thick, thick forest. Some of the trees were ancient giants whose trunks were broader than she was tall. Many were smaller, clawing for space and sunlight in the shadows of their larger neighbors. Thick brush grew up everywhere, largely soft-looking fronds and ferns. Hanging moss draped off of everything more than a few feet above the forest floor. She had never seen anyplace quite like it, and yet she had the sense that there was something very familiar about it.

  Birds sang, but few of them sounded like those she knew. She lay quietly for a moment, taking in the details. A few insects buzzed here and there. She saw a motion in a nearby tree, and saw a shadowy, nebulous form-a wild wood fury, doubtless-vanish among the branches.

  She pushed herself up to find Gaius sitting on a stone beside the fire. He had discarded his usual silks of scarlet and blue for a woodsman's tunic and breeches, and he looked surprisingly comfortable in them. He sat with a mug in his hands, his eyes closed, his head tilted up.

  "Good morning, Countess," he murmured.

  "Sire," she said. "I apologize for last night. I should not have collapsed on you like that."

  "On the contrary," Gaius said. "That's the first time anyone's kept any kind of pace with me since I took Septimus to-" He broke off suddenly, eyes blinking open, and stared up at the sky. "I had expected to carry you the last few hours."

  "You did have to help me," Amara said.

  He shrugged a shoulder. "I was helping myself, Countess. You simply stayed close enough on your own merits to take advantage of it. We made better time than I dared to hope."

  She rose and stretched. "Where are we?"

  "The western reaches of the Weeping Hills."

  Amara frowned. "That's… that's in Kalare's territory, isn't it?"

  "At its fringes, yes," Gaius said. "Though very few folk live in this area, and the land between where we stand and the sea is all wilderness. In fact, I doubt that there are any living souls, excepting ourselves, within forty or fifty miles, if that. We are some three hundred miles southwest of the city of Kalare itself. Tea?"

  "Please." Amara accepted the mug he poured for her from a tin pot hung beside the fire. It felt good beneath her chilled fingers, and she sipped at it very slowly. "Three hundred miles?"

  "Yes. And, I'm afraid, we walk from here."

  Amara felt her eyebrows go up. "Sire?"

  "It's the only way." Gaius gestured at the fire beside him. "Sit, sit. I'll explain."

  Amara settled down by the fire and took stock of the camp. There was evidence of a small but complete amount of field gear-bedrolls, cooking utensils, a small set of tools, and what looked like an emergency tent. Gaius must have had it waiting here for them.

  "We're going to Kalare," Gaius said.

  "Sire?" Amara frowned down at her tea. "I don't understand. The Legions in the field are going there, too."

  Gaius shook his head. "They're fighting a campaign to get there. This isn't the same thing at all. I don't need to fight for the territory. I simply need to be there."

  "Why not just fly in?"

  Gaius shook his head. "Kalarus has been clever. He must have been planning for this since he first succeeded to the title. His network of watch furies is extensive to the point of insanity."

  Amara frowned. "Watch furies… I don't understand."

  "Furies tasked to react to a particular presence-in this case, my own. If I come within three hundred miles of Kalare in the air, he'll know it."

  "Can't you just remove them?"

  "Of course," Gaius said. "But their sudden silence would warn him of my presence very nearly as effectively as if they started screaming about me. I can only imagine that maintaining such a network is a constant irritant. Likely it's a reflection of his personality. Paranoid, damnably paranoid. Obsessive. Formidable."

  Amara nodded. "I don't understand then, what we're doing here."

  "There's a flaw in Kalarus's planning," Gaius said. "He'll see any approach from the air-but on the ground, all of his furies are geared to keep watch for me by means of being on the lookout for my furies. My power." Gaius glanced up at her. "So I'm borrowing a page from our young captain. I'm walking in. No crafting. Kalarus will not expect that. He would never do such a thing, not in a thousand years, and he is blind to anything that isn't himself."

  Amara began to speak, then frowned and sipped at her tea instead, thinking over her words. "Sire," she said after a moment. "That's a long walk. A very long walk. Particularly for… for…"

  "A man my age?" the First Lord said, his rich voice amused. "Yes. I'm aware." He glanced back at the low fire, and his smile faded. "But it must be done."

  Amara shook her head. "But why, sire? What do you hope to accomplish?"

  "I'm going to break Kalarus's power, Countess. I'm going to end his ability to continue his rebellion."

  "How?"

  He shook his head. "That is something I'm keeping to myself for now. Suffice to say that there are greater and subtler matters of furycraft than those such as Kalarus and I prefer not to make widely known. This touches upon such a matter."

  "But-"

  "Countess," Gaius said quietly. "Are you with me? Or not?"

  She grimaced, and glared at the fire. "Of course I am."

  "Good. Your only concern is to help me get to Kalare. I won't be able to use any of my own furycraft without alerting Kalarus to my presence-which is to be avoided. I'm going to be relying upon you, Amara, to handle any problems that arise."

  Amara felt both her eyebrows go up. "Sire, I'm not incompetent in the field, but it is hardly my forte. I'm not at all sure that I'm the best person for this kind of job."

  "I trust you," the First Lord said simply.

  She felt a flush of pride and pleasure at the words, but she shook her head. "Then you should trust my advice, sire. I'm not the one you should have with you."

  "I should attempt it alone?"

  "No," she said, at once, somewhat alarmed. "No, sire. I don't see why you should be trying to do this at all, but if you must do it, there are those better qualified to help you."

  "The larger our party is, the more attention it is going to attract."

  There was no arguing with that. "But sire…"

  "Enough," Gaius said. "Countess, there are very few people in this world who are worthy of trust. Of those who are, not nearly enough of them are on my side. You're one of those few. I trust your loyalty. I trust your skill. I trust your judgment. In my eyes, that makes you one of the only people even remotely qualified for such a task."

  "But there's only me, sire," she said. "And I'm not sure I'll be nearly enough. I can only be in one place at one time, have my eyes on one problem at a time. And my crafting skills are not the most advantageous when it comes to this kind of travel."

  Gaius set his mug aside and rose. "Ah, now there is a point upon which there can be no argument. But I'm afraid I had very little selection in the matter. There was you-and perhaps one other." The First Lord gave her a brief, sunbeam flicker of a smile, and said, "I'll stretch my legs a bit. We have a little time."

  Amara stared after him for a moment, before she suddenly recognized what had felt so familiar about this place. She rose and paced over to the bedroll where she had slept and bent down, lifting the blankets to her nose and inhaling.

  The brush rustled gently behind her, and Amara's
heart started beating very quickly.

  "Good morning," a deep voice rumbled from behind her. "Nice day for a walk."

  Amara turned.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man came out of the thick forest bearing a pair of freshly caught fish. He was dressed in a forester's brown-green cloak, stone grey tunic, and brown leather breeches. He carried a hunting bow in his left hand, and Amara could see the handle of an axe hanging from a strap over one shoulder. He smiled, teeth flashing, and tossed the bow to one side.

  "Bernard," she said, and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against him, returning the kiss with single-minded intensity.

  The kiss was so sweetly delicious that it seemed to blind Amara, as her fingers slid through his dark hair, and as her body suddenly caught fire at the touch of his hands, his mouth.

  "Thought you'd appreciate a big breakfast after a long flight," he murmured against her mouth. "I'll cook these for you, if you're hungry."

  Amara drew slowly back from him, and met his eyes. "I'm starving," she said quietly. "You can cook the crowbegotten fish after."

  Sudden hot fire danced in the back of his eyes, but he affected a puzzled tone. "After what?"

  She snarled at him, though she knew her own smile would give it the lie, knocked the string with the fish out of his hand with one of hers, then twined her fists in his tunic. She stepped into him as she put a leg behind his own, pushing.

  He was too quick for her, turning her motion against her, and she let herself fall, his body coming down to pin hers against the earth. His mouth found hers again, and she felt herself arch up against him, hips rolling, her body demanding more.

  He broke the kiss, his breath broken into rough gasps. "Oh," he growled quietly. "After that."

  Amara let out a wicked little laugh that broke off as her husband kissed her again, and she returned it with breathless ardor.

  Chapter 9

  Tavi focused on the stone in the dale outside the town of Elinarch, blocking out absolutely everything else around him. Nothing existed but himself and the stone, a wind-and-rain-rounded lump of granite the size of a handcart. He breathed deeply, concentrating, then spoke in a clear and commanding voice. "Come forth."

  Nothing in particular happened.

  Frustration welled up inside him, a red bubble expanding in his chest. He fought it off, concentrating on his breathing, on his focus, and addressed the stone again, reaching out for the fury he knew was inside. "Come forth."

  The stone's stillness and silence were nothing short of insulting.

  "Crows take it!" Tavi snarled. He clenched his teeth, tried to keep his tone of voice level and confident, and only mangled the words slightly as he gave it one last try. "Come f-"

  He wasn't sure exactly what tipped him off. There might have been the faintest hint of sound behind him. There might have been a breath of excitement and feline amusement that ran over the back of his neck. It could have been the subtle, singing tension that he now felt surrounding every blade. Likely, it was a combination of all of those subtle factors. They coalesced into a single thought that flashed into the front of his mind: danger.

  Tavi flung himself to one side, drawing his blade as he went. He whirled on the way, spinning back toward the attacker, his back to the ground, and his blade intercepted a sword descending in a sharp overhand arch. The two blades met, and there was a small explosion of golden-green sparks. Tavi's momentum carried him forward, and his bare shoulder blades hit the grass first. He drew upon the wind blowing through the little vale to give speed enough to fold his body into a ball, bounce a bit off the grass, and then roll back onto his feet.

  He wobbled but caught his balance as a rock the size of his head came zipping at his face. Off-balance, he had no time to move, and instead thrust the heel of his hand forward, drawing strength from the earth, and struck the oncoming stone with a single, sharp blow.

  The rock exploded into shards and dust. Flying pieces lashed open half a dozen small wounds on his naked upper body and put two new rips in his trousers. His wrist and hand hurt like the crows, but he still had his balance, and as his attacker darted forward with windcrafted speed, he met a blindingly swift stroke of his attackers' sword with his own. He traded three or four strokes running on pure reflex, the blows too swift to allow for any thought, minicas-cades of sparks scattering around him with each blow.

  He never "saw" the opening in his opponent's defense, so much as he felt it, sensed the change coming in the humming sensation of the two swords' furies clashing and blending. He twisted his blade forward in a serpentine thrust, forcing his opponent's blade to engage his, the tip too far to one side to stop him from stepping in close, locking his aching left hand on his opponent's weapon wrist, and applying the pressure of a fury-assisted grip.

  "Ah!" Kitai cried out, the sound both pained and amused. "Enough, enough!"

  Tavi released her wrist, and the Marat girl lifted her blade in a quick salute, then sheathed it one-handed in a single motion, never bothering to look down at the scabbard.

  "That was cheating," Tavi said. "I was trying to concentrate."

  Kitai thrust out her lower lip in a pouting expression. "Poor Aleran, needing all his rules to keep him safe."

  Tavi swiped a hand at her. Kitai laughed and ducked it.

  "Crows, Kitai. You know how hard I've been working. Until I can bid a fury to manifest-"

  She threw her hands up in the air. "Two years ago, he has no furies at all, and he is content. Today he has more than he ever hoped to have, and it is not enough."

  Tavi growled and shoved his own sword away, also without looking. He couldn't have explained how he did it. He could feel when the tip of his blade was aligned with the metal fittings at the end of the scabbard, a sensation that was comparable to feeling his fingers all in the proper position to tug on a glove.

  "I'm not going to get opportunities to practice once we march. You know that. This was my last chance to try it for a while."

  "And you tried it," Kitai said. She put a hand on her hip and faced him, her green eyes hard. "It didn't work, and you started to lose your temper, at which point it wasn't going to work." Her expression softened slightly. "You were only torturing yourself, chala"

  She was right, Tavi thought, which was annoying, but he could feel her genuine concern for him, sense it almost as if it were an emotion of his own. His watercrafter's perceptions were still inconsistent and often quite vague, but where Kitai was involved, they were clear and unmistakable. Or perhaps the bond they shared was more responsible for the empathy that had grown between them. He wasn't sure.

  Kitai studied him, bright green eyes on his, and shook her head. "You think too much, Aleran. Always planning. Always questioning. Always calculating. It's a wonder your head doesn't catch fire from the inside." She glanced up at the sun, then down at the cuts on his chest. "Come. Let me clean that up. He'll be here in a moment."

  Tavi blinked and looked down at himself. He had almost forgotten the injuries. He had shut away the pain almost before it had registered on him, and had been holding it away without really thinking about it. Once he did, of course, the crafting faltered, and the cuts burned and stung unpleasantly.

  Kitai brought a cloth and a flask of water and cleaned the cuts and scrapes. Tavi managed to hold still through it all, though it was hardly pleasant. He had to close his eyes and exhale slowly as Kitai cleansed one cut. The Marat girl winced a little and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss nearby the hurt. Then she bound over the two wounds that still oozed a little blood, her motions practiced. They should be, Tavi thought. Great furies knew that they'd had enough practice on one another over the past two years.

  Tavi had just pulled his shirt back on when Enna's horse came walking slowly through the entrance to the dale. The horse trooper had one hand clamped resolutely over her eyes. "Captain?" she called. "Kitai told me not to lo
ok at you when you were unclothed. How am I supposed to know whether or not you are unclothed without looking?"

  Tavi gave Kitai a level look. "Oh for pity's sake."

  She laughed at him. She did that quite often, Tavi thought. The smile that went with the laugh was devastating, and he found himself smiling with her, despite another day's effort, another day's failure.

  "It's all right, Enna," Tavi called. "You can look."

  "Thank goodness," Enna said, dropping her hand, and beaming at Tavi. Then she gave him a disappointed little frown and sighed. "I miss all the best parts."

  "Centurion," Tavi prompted.

  She gave him a quick salute. "The man who none of us saw and who none of us are going to remember is here to see you, sir."

  "He knows me," said a young man's voice, and Ehren walked around from behind Enna's horse, touching the animal's flanks gently with one hand as he brushed past. He was small, quite a bit under five and a half feet tall, but the reed-thin young man Tavi had met when he first came to the Academy had hardened. Ehren, sandy-haired and unassuming, was still slender-but slender like hunting cats, or dueling swords, rather than like writing quills. He was dressed in rough garb of castaway clothing, most of it ill fitting, and looked like any of ten thousand refugees in the camps.

  At a nod from Kitai, Enna withdrew. Tavi went to the young man and traded grips with him, then considered his clothing with a frown. "Ehren. I never said I was sending you out again."

  "Please," Ehren said. "I'm a professional spy, Tavi. I wouldn't be doing you any good standing around here." He turned to Kitai with a smile and bowed gallantly over her hand. "Not that it isn't nice sleeping with both eyes closed, but I'm starting to get soft."

  "You've only been back for three days," Kitai said.

  "That's just about enough," Ehren said. He lowered his voice conspiratori-ally and jerked his head covertly at Tavi. "I can't stand working where my superiors can look over my shoulder anyway."