by Jim Butcher
"Absent friends," Nalus replied.
Marcus took another pull and passed the bottle back to Nalus. He waited until the other man drank, then said, "What do you want to ask me?"
"You know I've been given custody of Captain Scipio."
"Aye."
Nalus shook his head. "He's made some requests. He wants to talk to some of his officers before I send him back to Sir Cyril for safekeeping."
Marcus grunted. "And?"
Nalus stared at Marcus for a second. "And? Does he really expect me to allow it? The last thing any of us needs is for him to give some order to his men to the effect of 'the good Senator can go to the crows.' Or maybe, 'kill that fool Nalus and get me out of here.'"
Marcus nodded. Then he said, "Ask him not to."
Nalus arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Ask him not to do that."
Nalus let out an exasperated little laugh. "Just like that? And take his word for it? Oh, the Senator would love that."
Marcus took the bottle and swigged again. "You asked."
Nalus stared hard at Marcus for a full, silent minute. Then he swallowed more of the northern liquor, and said, "Really?"
"He gives you his word," Marcus said, "he's good for it."
Nalus exhaled. Then he said, "And you're good for yours."
Marcus took another pull and grimaced. "Mostly."
Nalus finished the bottle and idly tossed it under his cot. He frowned, brow furrowing.
Marcus let him think it over for a moment. Then he said, "Still playing that old thing, eh?"
Nalus glanced at the harp and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I… sometimes it helps me sleep."
Marcus nodded at the double-sized cot. "Thought that's what the women were for."
Nalus flashed a short-lived grin at Marcus. Then he shook his head, and replied, "Not going to be much of that on the campaign."
"No."
"If Scipio talks to his officers," Nalus said, "and tells them to resist Arnos, we won't be able to trust the First Aleran, Marcus. I may be a fool, but I'm not a crowbegotten fool. We're going to need them by the time we get to Mastings. I can't make a bad call on this one."
Marcus clapped Nalus on the shoulder, and said, quietly, "Do what you think is best." Then he turned to leave.
"Marcus?" Nalus asked.
Marcus paused.
Nalus took a deep breath. "I want you to be there."
Marcus turned, nodded, and gave the younger man a salute.
Nalus returned it.
* * *
The sandy-haired young Cursor, Sir Ehren, was waiting for Marcus as he walked briskly out of the Second Senatorial's camp, and back toward the First Aleran's. He fell into pace beside Marcus, though his body language remained that of someone moving separately from the centurion. His lips barely moved when he spoke. "Well?"
"The captain asked, just like you said he would. And Nalus will allow it."
Ehren's face lit in a brief, fierce grin. "Good."
Marcus glanced aside at him. "What are you going to do?"
Ehren began to speak, but frowned. "Better for both of us if you don't know," he said quietly.
Thank the great furies someone had sense, Marcus thought. The Cursors had taken a lot of losses over the past few years, and he'd come to fear for the quality of the agents that would emerge from the situation. At least this one appeared to have sound judgment.
Ehren gave the slightest twitch of a nod to Marcus and vanished down a side street. Marcus continued on his way, at the same businesslike, unwavering pace, and returned to his tent.
This time, Lady Aquitaine had not bothered with a veil. She sat on his stool in her washerwoman disguise, her face lined with impatience. She rose as he entered, and he felt the air tighten with an interdicting windcrafting.
Marcus nodded to her. "My lady."
"Fidelias," she replied, her tone curt. "What did Nalus say?"
"Scipio has requested a conference with his senior officers," Marcus reported.
Lady Aquitaine narrowed her eyes. "According to Amos, Scipio stated that he would instruct his officers to support him. But he's a fighter. Surely Nalus isn't going to allow the meeting."
Marcus kept his focus upon the details of his tent-mundane, familiar things that were not at all out of the ordinary and with which he interacted on a daily, regular basis. "I advised him against it," he replied.
Lady Aquitaine frowned at him for a moment.
Marcus straightened the lay of the blanket on his cot and wondered if he was about to die.
She sighed and shook her head. "Will he take your advice?"
"We can hope so," Marcus said. "Nalus takes some time to make his decisions, but he does his own thinking along the way. He told me that if he did have the conference, he wanted me there. At least I'll be able to report on what happens."
"Never underestimate the ongoing value in a talented protege," Lady
Aquitaine murmured, smiling. "Or how many times they go to their former mentors for advice on their most critical decisions. Keep me informed."
"Of course, lady."
"What of the villagers?" Lady Aquitaine asked.
"Released and returned to their homes-although Amos hasn't issued an official countermand to their death warrants."
She shook her head. "With Scipio out of the picture, there's no longer any reason to threaten them, and there is the potential for serious long-range repercussions. I must admit, my spy, that your suggestion sounded like quite a gamble at first. But it's proven an elegant solution to our problems."
Marcus's stomach twisted. If the captain hadn't played the situation as well as he had… Aloud, he only said, "Thank you, lady."
"In your opinion, will the First Aleran support Amos in the campaign?"
"If Scipio orders it?" He pursed his lips. "I think so, yes. They've fought the Canim for two years now. They want to finish the job."
Lady Aquitaine sighed. "Then it all hinges on Scipio. He has a rather irritating talent for impersonating a fulcrum."
"If he reneges," Marcus pointed out, "there is still the death warrant."
Her face twisted into a moue of distaste. "True. But will it be enough to compel him to keep his word?"
"Partly," Marcus said. "But bear in mind that he plans surprisingly well for the long term for someone of his age. Throwing his Legion's support behind the campaign is, at this point, arguably the best way to keep his men and his officers alive, united, and ready to support him again in the future."
Lady Aquitaine arched an eyebrow at that and waved her hand in a gesture that admitted the possibility. Then she rose and gathered up the laundry, a small smile on her mouth. "I'm not worried about his long-range plans. We're nearly there. You have served me very well, my Fidelias. I shall not forget it."
He bowed his head to Lady Aquitaine, and she departed.
He sank down to sit on his cot and closed his eyes. The panic and fear he'd kept hidden inside him when he lied to Lady Aquitaine's face rushed back through him. His forehead beaded with a cold sweat, and his hands started shaking.
Should Lady Aquitaine come to power, she would need the appearance, at least, of integrity, and Marcus knew far too many damning facts about both her and her husband. True, she had a certain amount of integrity-but also true, she allowed no one and nothing to hamper her aims. It had taken him years to see the absolute, voracious nature of her ambition.
He followed the chain of logic to its most probable conclusion.
Once she and her husband had the crown, Marcus would be a liability, suited only for removal.
Optionally, if she ever realized that he had turned against her, she would wipe him from the earth.
And should the captain ever learn his true identity, Marcus judged that he would react with less dramatic but equally effective prejudice.
Marcus sat on the cot with his hands shaking.
He'd kept the captain alive, at least. That was something. As long as he was
alive, the young man would be in action-and Marcus was sure that the captain had no intention of sitting quietly in a cell while the Aquitaines' puppet Senator ran up a string of victories and the prestige and influence that would come with them. As long as the captain was alive and able to act, there was hope for Alera's future.
Just not for his own.
To the crows with it. He'd never planned on dying of old age in any case.
Chapter 19
Bernard suddenly froze, then lifted his hand and flattened it out again at his side, the signal to take cover. Amara hurried two steps forward to support Gaius as he went awkwardly to one knee, clutching the walking staff Bernard had cut for him after they'd set out on the trail again. She helped the First Lord to lie down flat on the cool, damp earth, and then followed suit.
Gaius let out a hiss of pain and clutched at his leg before going still and silent again. His expression was twisted into a pained grimace.
Amara laid a hand on the old man's arm by way of encouragement, and frowned at Bernard-or more accurately, at where she presumed Bernard was still standing. The shadows of the very trees and brush of the forest itself had fallen over him like a cloak, and the woodcrafting hid him entirely from view.
She heard a soft step on the ground in front of her, and then the light changed subtly as Bernard's woodcrafting slipped over her and the First Lord. Bernard became visible to her as it happened, though his features were softened and dimmed, as if by a deep shadow. He had his bow in hand as he stood over them, an arrow on the string, and his eyes were focused intently ahead of them.
Then Amara heard it-the click-click, click-click of a walking horse's hooves striking a firm trail. They were joined by the sounds of several more, and within half a minute, she saw the riders appear. There were six of them, all dressed in woodsman's leathers, though each wore a device upon the front of his jacket set with the green-and-grey colors of Kalare. Outriders, then, for a Legion-or more likely bandits who had accepted Kalarus's coin and authority to continue doing what they always did, plus the occasional odd job. They were heavily armed, each bearing a huntsman's bow, a broad-headed spear, and additional blades and axes strapped to their saddles.
They passed by in silence, but for the steps of their mounts. This was the second such patrol they had come across in two days, though the other had been more than twice as far away. These men were close enough for Amara to see the stains on their tunics and the scuff marks on their boots. She found herself holding her breath, straining to remain silent.
The patrol passed by, and Amara slowly began to relax again-until the last rider looked around, then reined in his horse and dropped to the forest floor. He tossed the ends of his reins over a low-hanging branch, and began walking toward them.
Bernard moved very slowly, very calmly. He lifted his bow and drew it in careful, deliberate silence.
The outlaw swerved away from them when he was less than twenty feet off, sighed, and began relieving himself against the trunk of a tree.
Though Amara could not even string her husband's bow, Bernard held the powerful weapon at full draw without a quiver. He remained still, his breathing measured, his eyes half-closed and lazy-looking. Amara felt herself quivering with tension, and she realized that her knuckles had gone white where she had ahold of the First Lord's forearm. She itched to move her hand down to her sword, but refrained. The motion might stir a leaf, or break a twig, and warn the enemy of their presence. More to the point, her sword wouldn't do her any good at the moment, even were it already in her hand. Bernard's bow would be their best defense.
The bandit finished up, muttered something under his breath, and turned to go.
Gaius's weight shifted. Amara glanced sideways at him in alarm. His face had gone pale with pain, and his right leg, the one still recovering from his injuries, was quivering against the ground. It didn't make much noise-but it was enough.
The outlaw suddenly turned, his hand flying to his sword, his eyes narrow as they scanned the forest around them. Amara was lying utterly unprotected on the forest floor, within range of a good, long lunge, and the man was facing her. He simply stared, eyes moving slowly from left to right. He stood there for a full minute, just looking and listening.
Amara's nerves began screaming in anxiety. If the First Lord's leg twitched again, there was no chance, none at all, that the man would miss it. If he had the capacity to craft through Bernard's woodcrafting, he would be within a heartbeat of striking out at Gaius, unless Bernard's first shot was instantly lethal. If the man managed to survive the first shot, even if only briefly, Gaius might not be able to defend himself. If that happened, Amara would have to put herself between the outlaw and the First Lord, and she drew upon Cirrus to give her limbs the speed she would need to interpose herself in time.
All the while, Bernard stood directly in front of the man, bow drawn, never moving.
"What the crows are you doing?" blared a sudden voice.
Amara jerked in surprise, and half panicked as the movement stirred the earth and brush beneath her.
The outlaw didn't hear it. He reacted the same way, whirling in place and drawing his sword.
"Crows take you, Tonnar," the outlaw growled. "Scared me out of ten years of life."
Another outlaw appeared, his horse nudging slowly through the brush toward the first man. "Life you lead, I did you a favor."
"Bastard."
"You don't go off alone, fool," Tonnar said amiably. "Do it again, and Julius will have your balls."
"Julius," the outlaw said, his voice sullen. "He has us riding around in crow-begotten nowhere when there's a war on. You know what kind of loot we could be getting if we were at the real fight?"
"Stomach plague mostly, the way I hear it. We're getting paid steady for this. Don't knock it."
"There's no spy running around out here," the outlaw complained. "We're wasting our time."
"Knights Aeris don't fly this far behind enemy lines for no reason. They either dropped someone off-"
"Or picked someone up, in which case we're out here wearing our asses to nothing for no reason."
"You're riding. You're getting paid. Maybe we find someone, maybe we don't. Either we get the five-hundred-bull bounty, or we go back without anybody trying to gut us. There's no loser here."
"Except me, Tonnar. I have to listen to you run your mouth."
"You don't get that nag back in line, you won't have to listen to anything ever again," Tonnar replied. Then he turned his horse away and continued on in the direction he had been.
The outlaw scowled after him, savagely kicked a stone on the ground.
The stone bounded across the earth and bounced off of Bernard's leg.
Amara tensed.
But the outlaw hadn't seen it. He had already turned to his horse. He mounted, kicked the animal with unnecessary vigor, and sent it cantering after the rest of his party.
Bernard didn't lower his bow until a full minute after the man was out of sight, then he released the tension on the weapon and his breath with the same slow, careful exhalation. He lowered the bow and rolled his right shoulder, as if working out stiffness. Then he turned back to Amara.
"I'm going to shadow them for a bit," he murmured. "Make sure that they're not doubling back. Stay here, stay low. I'll be back shortly."
"Be careful," she told him.
He winked at her, and then turned away. The woodcrafting slid away from Amara, and the dappled sunlight brightened again, bright enough to make her squint against it.
She turned to Gaius, and whispered, "Sire? Are you all right?"
"Leg cramped," Gaius growled softly. "Started twitching." He rubbed one hand hard on his right leg. "Crows, that's uncomfortable. Pardon my language, Countess."
"Yes, sire," Amara said, giving him a small smile. She glanced after Bernard, and said, "We can change the bandages while we're here."
Gaius grimaced but nodded to her. He hauled himself about roughly, sitting up and extending his
right leg toward her.
"Well," she said, as she went to work, "what did you think of that?"
"I think our young friend there isn't going to survive this patrol," Gaius replied. His voice tightened as she peeled the bandages from his right foot, revealing the discolored sores that had refused to completely heal. "And I think it's lucky they rode by in front of us. If we'd passed through a few minutes sooner, they'd have walked right across our trail and followed it straight to us."
Amara got out the canteen of salted water and poured it over Gaius's foot. He looked away, his expression distant and cool, but his leg jerked as the cleansing wash entered the sores. Amara set about washing and drying his foot, then putting a fresh bandage over it, before replacing his stocking and the heavy leather slipper Bernard had fashioned for Gaius.
"Quite cool in a crisis, your man." Gaius sighed, once she was finished.
"You noticed. I thought I was going to have to scream, at the end there."
"As was I-though for different reasons. I didn't dare use any metalcrafting to keep the pain down." He smiled and dug into his pack, extracting a flask of water. He swallowed most of it down, and then settled back onto the forest floor again, closing his eyes. "I can't ever remember going for so long without per-forming any crafting. It's like… walking around with my feet and hands asleep all the time. I hadn't realized how difficult it would be." He shook his head once, then closed his eyes and dropped into what looked like a light slumber.
Amara didn't disturb him. Though Gaius had insisted upon moving ahead, each hour cost him considerable effort. Though he never complained, the pain of his foot clearly wore greatly on him, and he leaned more heavily on the staff as each day went on.
She sat down with her back to a tree, drew her sword, and quietly stood watch over the sleeping First Lord, until Bernard suddenly appeared from beneath his woodcrafting, half an hour later.
Amara twitched in surprise and frowned at him.
"Sorry," he murmured. Then he knelt down and hugged her.
Amara sighed, shook her head, and returned the embrace. He felt large and strong and warm, and she suddenly felt a great deal less worried. She knew that it was really a somewhat ridiculous thing to feel. Bernard, after all, was as vulnerable to harm as anyone. But somehow, when he was holding her, that didn't matter. She felt better for no rational reason at all-and she loved that feeling.