by Jim Butcher
The square was completely silent, the men and women and children sitting very still, not speaking. Here and there a dog barked, or an infant cried, and the spring wind occasionally slammed shut a door left hanging open. They were fifty yards away, but even Tavi's limited watercrafting senses could detect their quiet, acidic fear. It was a hideous sensation because unlike his own personal fear, this emotion seemed unable to remain inside him. It was as if each part of him, his limbs, his hair, his very skin, could each feel independent terror of its own, and the sensation rolled over him in a sickening wave.
He looked away from them, closed his eyes, and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Tavi drew upon the silent, cold strength in the weapon, let it roll up over him and armor him against the townsfolks' terror. The sensation faded at once, enough to let him get control of himself again, and continue riding.
They rode up to a large white house. Legionares were stationed outside its front garden, and Tavi spotted one of the Senator's singulares, a small, dark-haired woman with a bow, on watch at the house's front door.
As they dismounted, one of the valets from the First Senatorial emerged from the house and hurried to take the reins of their horses. "Good day, Captain Scipio."
"Good day…" Tavi quickly searched his memory. "Tharis, isn't it?"
The valet gave him a quick smile and bowed his head. "Indeed, sir. The Senator is waiting for you. Go inside the front door, and you'll find him in the office on the left."
"Thank you, Tharis," Tavi said.
He glanced at Araris, who nodded. Tavi straightened his cloak and started inside, striding briskly. Araris kept pace, walking slightly behind him and to the left, his eyes narrow and wary.
The entry hall of the house held several more legionares on guard, and the remainder of Arnos's singulares-a nasty-looking bunch, all in all, though none quite so unsettling as Phrygiar Navaris. Upon seeing them, she rose, slender and deadly in her all-black clothing, and approached.
"Good day, Captain," she said politely. No, thought Tavi, not politely. Something about her tone seemed subtly inconsistent, as if she was speaking a language she had learned sound by sound, without knowing the meaning behind it. It was an imitation of politeness and nothing more. "If your singulare would be so kind as to wait here, the Senator is expecting you."
"Sir," Araris said quietly. It was as close to making a protest as he ever came.
"I'm sure the Senator won't mind if you take position outside the office door," Tavi told him.
Navaris gave them a narrow glance, and said, "Not that it would matter where he was standing, if it came to that."
Araris paused at that and turned very deliberately to stare at the cutter. She returned the stare in kind.
"You're probably right," Tavi said. "After all, there are five of you and only one of him. That's a serious mismatch." He took off his cloak and tossed it at Navaris's chest, as if she was a mere attendant. "So why don't you run along and get another five or six. That should make things even."
The woman caught the cloak on pure reflex, and her flat, somehow reptilian eyes flickered with a sudden, incomprehensible light. Tavi ignored her and strode past her to the indicated doorway. Araris followed him, glanced around inside the room after Tavi stepped into it, and took up a position immediately outside the office.
Amos sat at a desk, reading from the top of a stack of papers. "Captain, come in."
Tavi strode to the front of Arnos's desk and saluted. "Reporting as ordered, sir."
Arnos said nothing. He read to the bottom of his current page, flipped it to the bottom of the stack, and only then looked up at Tavi. He just stared for a moment, and rather pointedly did not invite him to sit. After a long silence, Arnos said, "I ordered you to hold back, Captain. You were our reserve force."
"Yes, sir," Tavi said. "There was no time to consult with you while the Guard was engaged. I saw that the leading elements of the Guard needed support and provided it as best I could."
Arnos gave him a wintry little smile. "Really. To reach the tops of those bluffs, one must ride nearly three miles to the east, and a mile and a half to the west before usable ascents can be found. Which means your units had to cover twice that distance to reach the Canim positions on the bluffs. Which means that you had to have dispatched them almost the moment fighting began."
Obviously, thought Tavi. But that wasn't the sort of remark one could make to a superior officer without making him look like the ass he was. Tavi remained silent.
Arnos snorted a moment later. "Granted, I'm glad they were there when we needed them. But I was counting on your support to be available at need. If the enemy had approached with a more extensive force, for example, I might have needed the First Aleran to reinforce the assault, or redeploy to hold off the second force."
"And the First Aleran would have been there, sir," Tavi replied. "Minus two alae of our auxiliaries and a single infantry cohort."
Arnos tilted his head to one side. "Your howling barbarians, you mean?"
Tavi reminded himself not to be goaded by such an obvious attempt before he replied. "The Marat cavalry, yes, sir."
Arnos made a tent of his fingers and frowned at Tavi. "I was given to understand that they went to battle almost entirely naked. Men and women alike."
"Marat can tolerate greater extremes of temperature than the average Aleran, sir. In their homelands, they generally wear a breechcloth and find it sufficient."
"Mmm," Arnos said, imbuing the sound with skepticism. "How did you convince them to wear uniforms?"
"The Marat have very formal cultural conventions with regards to the giving of gifts, sir. If one is given a gift and does not put it to use, it is considered a kind of insult to the gift-giver. So I went around to each of the Marat who had come to support the First Aleran and personally gave them their uniform and armor." He shrugged. "They have to wear it now, or they'll be insulting me. They're too polite to do that."
Arnos shook his head again. "One might question your judgment, Captain, in sending a crowd of savages on such a critical mission."
"One might question my judgment in sending anyone at all, sir, given my orders. I was confident they would do their job. And they did."
The Senator gave him a flat look for several seconds, then waved a hand, as if brushing away a tendril of smoke or an annoying insect. "The infantry cohort you sent to the opposite bluff. How did they arrive so quickly?"
"That was our mounted infantry cohort, sir," Tavi said. "The one I mentioned at the meeting."
"Ah," Arnos said. "I suppose that today, the concept appears to have been proven somewhat useful."
"That's why we put them together, sir," Tavi replied. "Increased tactical options."
Arnos grimaced. "I disapprove of such… unconventional stratagems, Captain. Alera's Legions have kept her safe and growing for more than a thousand years. Their methods have stood the test of time and proven themselves over and over again. I'm not opposed to intelligent innovation, mind you, but it's an incredible arrogance to declare the proven methods of a thousand years insufficient, then to employ untested theories of combat when any weakness in those theories will cost men their lives."
Tavi had to force himself not to retort that his "untested" theories had helped them survive for more than two years, and that his own forces had taken but seven casualties today, none of them fatal, while the Guard's Legions had lost nearly seven percent of their total numbers. "Yes, sir," he said.
"In addition, this violation of your orders is a serious matter. The chain of command must be preserved at all costs. If officers begin to lose their discipline, begin picking and choosing which orders they will obey, it is only a matter of time until such behavior spreads to the ranks-and then we have no Legion. Only a mob of brigands. Do you understand?"
"I understand, sir," Tavi said.
"That said…" Arnos shook his head and sighed. "Your display of initiative saved men's lives today, Captain. So I'm going to overlook your
disobedience." His eyes hardened. "Once."
Tavi nodded. "Yes, sir."
Arnos picked up another piece of paper from the desk, folded it in thirds, and held it out. Tavi took it.
"Your orders," the Senator said.
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed."
Tavi saluted and turned on a heel to march out. Just as he reached the door, Arnos said, "Captain."
Tavi turned. "Sir."
Arnos said, "Captain Nalus asked me to thank you for sending your Tribune Medica and the First Aleran's healers up to assist with the wounded. They saved a good many lives that might otherwise have been lost."
"No thanks are necessary, sir." He paused for a beat and added, "After all, we're all on the same side here."
Arnos flipped over the next page on his stack with rather more force than necessary. "That will be all, Captain."
"Yes, sir," Tavi said, and left the office. Araris fell into step behind him as Tavi stalked from the home and back out toward the horses.
"What's that?" Araris asked quietly, as they mounted.
"Our orders," Tavi said. He fought down the sick feeling in his stomach as he unfolded the piece of paper and scanned over it. His horse danced restlessly in place as he did. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Great furies."
Araris frowned and tilted his head slightly.
"He's putting us in charge of the civilians," Tavi said quietly. "The First Aleran is to march them to a field just east of here. And…"
His voice broke, and he couldn't recover it. He shook his head and passed the paper over to the singulare. He didn't watch Araris read it. He couldn't take his eyes from the families huddling together on the stones of the square, pale, silent, and terrified.
Araris's voice emerged soft with shock and disbelief as he read the last few words of the orders aloud. "There," he said, "to be executed."
Chapter 13
"Are you quite sure they must come off?" asked the First Lord. "It really seems that it would be more comfortable to leave them on."
They had stopped beside an old and seldom-used trail to take a drink from a convenient spring-and Amara had noted that Gaius had been concealing a limp while the small party's steps had quickened over the last few yards. Now, the First Lord sat on a camp stool Bernard had assembled, and the big woodsman knelt before the most powerful man in Alera, unlacing the man's boots.
"I'm certain, sire," Bernard rumbled. "Sore feet are nothing to take lightly- especially not with so much ground still to cover."
"This is somewhat embarrassing, I confess," Gaius said. "I have even increased the amount of walking I have done over the past several months, to prepare for this."
"Walking up stairs and over paving stones is a far cry from a cross-country march, sire," Bernard rumbled. His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. "I'm going to slide the boot off now. I can smell some blood, so the stocking might stick. Point your toe, sire, and I'll have it off as quick as I can."
The First Lord grimaced and nodded. "Aye, let's have it done."
Without being asked, Amara moved to stand behind Gaius and brace her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. It was a somewhat startling feeling. Though the First Lord was as hale a man for his years as could be found in Alera, and though he looked like a man in his forties gone to early silver, the flesh of his shoulders felt thin and somehow frail. Amara felt her touch grow cautious. The last thing the Realm needed was for her to accidentally dislocate Gaius's shoulders while Bernard attempted to put his feet right.
The boot stuck, and it was only after a few moments of effort, some careful twisting, and a hiss of pain from Gaius that Bernard was able to get the boot off his foot. As he had predicted, the pale stocking beneath was dark with blood.
Bernard took a deep breath and frowned thoughtfully. Then he looked up at Amara, and said, "Get the cooking pot and fill it with water, if you would, Countess."
There was something tense about the way he held his head, Amara could tell. She paused for a moment and frowned at him, her own expression questioning.
"The water, Countess," Bernard repeated, his voice steady. "I'll need to wet the stockings before I can take them off and see how bad it is."
She gave him a frown, but fetched the pot and headed for the stream as he had bid her. It took him another quarter of an hour to have both of Gaius's feet bare and wiped clean with a cloth, and to inspect the damage. He sat back a moment later, frowning.
"How bad?" Gaius asked.
Bernard looked steadily at him for a moment, before he said, "I've seen worse. But they're blistered badly. How long have they been paining you, sire?"
"At my age, you hardly notice one pain amidst all the rest," Gaius replied. "The first day wasn't too bad. They weren't comfortable last night, but they didn't get bad until this morning."
Bernard nodded. "The real concern is infection. If we're early enough to stop that, we should be able to handle the rest easily enough."
"Quite embarrassing," Gaius muttered, staring down at his swollen ankles. "Sore feet. This is hardly dignified."
"Travel sores are no respecters of persons, sire," Bernard said. "First thing, let's get you on the ground with your feet up. It will help reduce the swelling and some of the discomfort."
"That would be most appreciated, Count Bernard." Gaius sighed. With the woodsman's help, the First Lord settled himself on the ground, his feet propped up on the stool, where he frowned at them in disapproval while gnawing an apple.
Bernard dumped out the water and went to the spring to refill it, and Amara went with him.
"How bad?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I've seen worse-once. On a Legion runner who had enough metalcrafting to ignore the pain and not enough sense to know he shouldn't. He took infection so badly even my sister couldn't help him. He lost the foot, and the fever burned out most of his wits."
Amara bit her lip and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "That bad?"
Bernard grimaced. "We got to the First Lord more quickly-though great furies know what might have happened if you hadn't spotted him limping."
"Quickly enough?"
"Amara…" He sighed. "I don't know."
Amara took a deep breath and nodded. "What can we do?"
"We can have him craft the wounds closed," Bernard said.
Amara shook her head. "No. He can't. Any of his crafting at all will give our position away and make the mission a failure."
Bernard gave her a direct look. "So will his maiming or death, love."
Amara glared at him for a moment, but looked away and shook her head. "Is he in any immediate danger?"
Bernard stood up with the pot full. "He's not going to pitch over dead any moment now, no. If he does take fever, it will take some time to kill him. Days, probably, maybe longer."
"Then we have some time," Amara said.
"We might," Bernard said, "but then again, we might not. An infection could be taking hold while we stand here talking." Bernard folded his arms. "This is a humble little wound. But it doesn't care who he is. It's capable of killing him if he doesn't receive proper medical attention."
Amara folded her arms close to her belly and frowned down at the stream.
"Let me put it this way," Bernard said slowly. He turned to face Amara full on, planting his feet at shoulder's width. "It is beyond foolishness to risk the First Lord's life on something this trivial. I won't allow it."
Amara stared at her husband's face for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"I won't allow it," he repeated, his tone gentle and immovable. "I'll give away our presence myself if I must."
Amara forced herself to keep a hot answer from flying from her lips. "Bernard," she said quietly, "that's treason."
"Not the way I see it," he said. "I'm sworn to protect the Crown. The oath never said anything about protecting the Crown from anyone except himself. You swore a similar oath, I believe."
"You can't make a decision like this," Amara sputtered.
She bit her lip and touched his shoulder. "He knows that there are risks, love. He has chosen to face them."
"He is responsible for more lives than his own," Bernard responded. "What is so important that it warrants risking his life?"
"I don't know," Amara replied quietly. "He didn't tell me."
Bernard shot her an incredulous look. "You don't even know why we're doing this?"
She shook her head.
"Then bloody crows, Amara, why are you opposing me?"
"Because I trust his judgment," Amara said quietly. "Because I swore an oath." She paused briefly, and added, "Just as you did."
Bernard grunted, as if to acknowledge the touch.
Amara leaned in close against him, and he slid an arm quietly around her. She laid her cheek against his chest. "If he didn't tell you, either, why are you here?"
Bernard's voice rumbled in his chest, a pleasant buzzing sensation in her ear. "He said he needed a skilled woodsman and scout, someone he could trust." He breathed out a little through his nose, a wisp of a laugh. "And he said you'd be there. I suppose he knew it would be reason enough for me."
Amara lifted her head suddenly to stare intently into her husband's face. "Just as he knew that once we were back together, I would be too distracted by you to ask too many questions." She felt a wry smile twist her mouth. "Until it was too late to change our minds, I suppose."