by Jim Butcher
The wounded garim lashed its heavily muscled tail, with which it had just struck her, and doubled back on itself with sinuous, liquid speed. It rushed her, fangs bared. Amara fumbled dazedly for her sword, knowing, even as she did, that the weapon would be of little use. She thrust out as the garim closed on her, and the sword skittered off the hide of its chest. She screamed.
And then a length of wood came out of nowhere and landed with crushing force on the creature's muzzle, slamming its jaws closed and into the ground. Its head rebounded from the earth, and the wood landed again, and again, the blows precisely timed and savage.
The First Lord of Alera flung himself onto the garim, slipping his damaged staff across the beast's throat, and with a snarl of effort and a wrench of his entire body, twisted away, taking the garim with him, rolling the lizard belly-up.
"His underside!" Gaius cried. "Countess, where the scales are thin!"
Amara seized her sword, lurched to her knees, and struck down, through the garim's exposed throat, just beneath where Gaius's staff still held back the creature's head. To her surprise, the sword swept cleanly through the finer, smoother scales there, and blood rushed out in a scarlet fountain.
The garim thrashed wildly, but the First Lord had the creature pinned. Though it flung him back and forth, it could not escape Gaius's hold. Amara struck again and again, until the garim's thrashing slowed, and the First Lord rolled clear of the dying animal.
"My lord!" Amara gasped.
"I'm all right," Gaius panted. "The Count."
Amara rose, looked around wildly, and realized that there was something else about the deadly lizards she had not known.
They ran in packs.
One garim hung thrashing fifteen feet above the forest floor in a willow tree, where dozens of the slender branches had seemingly reached down and wrapped around it. Another thrashed and contorted wildly on the forest floor, bounding up as high as five or six feet above the ground. A woodsman's axe protruded from the dying garim's head, where a powerful blow had sunk the weapon to its eye in the lizard's skull.
And the bloodied Count of Calderon himself was locked in combat with a third garim-unarmed. Like the First Lord, he had managed to gain a position on the beast's back, but he had locked his arms around the creature's throat. Amara could see that blood covered one side of his face, his throat, and half of his upper torso, but he was conscious, his face locked into a rictus snarl.
The garim thrashed wildly, rolling over several times, and its tail whipped about with savage energy, hammering Bernard on his legs and lower back. He let out a howl of rage and pain.
Amara cried out and rushed toward her husband, sword in hand.
Bernard's head turned to one side, and he released the garim with one arm, seizing its tail. The beast rolled wildly, twisting free of Bernard's grip, and scrambled at the forest floor with its powerful legs, to rise and sink its teeth into Amara's husband.
Bernard, though, had found his feet first, and hauled at the garim's tail before it could regain its balance. It scrambled toward him as best it could, and Bernard shuffled away from the jaws, still hauling hard on the tail.
At first, Amara thought he was simply trying to buy time-but by the second circle, the garim began to pick up speed. The beast was the largest of any Amara had seen, and must have weighed five hundred pounds if it weighed an ounce, but the Count of Calderon whirled it up off the ground as if it were a child's toy.
Pivoting in a great circle, Bernard roared in rage and triumph, and slammed the garim's skull against the thick trunk of a tree. It broke with a wet, hollow thunk, like the sound of a melon being smashed open, and the lizard fell to the earth, abruptly and totally limp.
The garim trapped in the willow snarled and tore its way free of the grasp-ing limbs and fell to the ground behind Bernard. Amara cried out in a wordless warning.
He looked up at her, and then his head whipped around. He flung out his hand, and cried, "Brutus!"
The earth beneath the garim suddenly shuddered and erupted into motion. The shape of a hound the size of a small horse rose from the earth, its shoulders and chest made of flint and loam, its eyes of glittering green gems, its jaws of granite. Bernard's earth fury seized the garim in its stony maw, and the lizard hissed and thrashed wildly as Brutus lifted the lizard entirely off the ground. The great hound continued rising from the ground, like a dog emerging from the waters of a lake, and shook the garim as a terrier would a rat. Amara thought she heard the lizard's neck snap, but Brutus was not satisfied until he had slammed the garim against two trees, and repeatedly hammered it into the ground. By the time the earth fury was finished, the garim was a bloody mass of pulped flesh and shattered bone.
Amara slowed and came to a halt a few feet away from her husband. Bernard watched until Brutus was finished, then nodded, and said, "Thank you." The stone hound champed its jaws twice, shook its head, sending pebbles and bits of mud flying, and sank down into the earth again, turning circles like a dog about to lie down as it went.
Bernard sagged and dropped to one knee.
Amara rushed to his side. "Bernard!"
"It's nothing, I'm fine," Bernard slurred, still breathing heavily. "Gaius?"
"He's alive," Amara said. "Let me see your head."
"Looks worse than it is," Bernard said. "Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Flesh wound."
"I know that," Amara said, "but you've got a lump the size of an egg to go with the cut. Concussions are not flesh wounds."
Bernard reached up and caught her hand. He met her eyes, and said in a quiet, firm tone, "See to the First Lord, Countess."
She stiffened with anger. "Bernard."
"I have a duty to my lord. So do you."
"I also have a duty to my husband," she whispered back.
Bernard released her hand, and growled, "See to Gaius." His tone became gentler, and very tired. "You know I'm right."
She put a hand to her face for a moment, took a deep breath, then touched his head gently. Then she turned and went back to the First Lord.
Gaius lay on the ground with his eyes closed. He opened them as Amara approached, and said, "I haven't done that in a while."
"Sire?"
"Hunted garim. Not since I was about seventeen." He exhaled heavily. "It was considerably less strenuous back then."
His voice was tight with pain, the way it had been at the beginning of their journey. "You're hurt."
"It's my leg," he said quietly. "The good one." He nodded at the still-twitching garim. "I'm afraid this fellow managed to trap it between his hide and a stone. I'm fairly sure it's broken."
Amara bent to examine the First Lord's leg. It was swollen, and his foot rested at an utterly inappropriate angle to the rest of the leg. It had been a twisting break, not a clean snap of the bone. Amara knew that they could be very ugly. "I can't see any bone poking out," she said quietly. "You aren't bleeding. How bad is it?"
"It's only pain," Gaius said, but his voice trembled as he did. "I see that Bernard gave rather a good accounting of himself."
Amara would need to set the leg as soon as possible. They would have to splint it as well. "He killed three of them."
"For killing men, metalcrafters stand supreme," Gaius murmured. "But beasts don't fight like men. Primal. Savage. For them, nothing replaces raw strength. And I think one really couldn't fault my choice in companions on this particular journey." He shook his head and blinked his eyes several times. "I'm babbling. Please excuse me. The mind tends to wander a bit when one is my age-or in excruciating pain."
"We'll do what we can, sire," Amara said.
"The pain won't kill me. Bernard is bleeding. See to him. I believe I'll faint now, if it isn't too inconven…"
The First Lord fell silent, and Amara bent to him for a panicked instant. He continued breathing steadily, though, and his pulse was strong. She bit her lip in sympathy, and was just as glad that he had lost consciousness. His injury had to be pure torment.
She too
k off her cloak, damp as it was, rolled it up, and used it to support his broken leg. Then she rose and went back to Bernard. He had taken off his pack and was fumbling through it rather dazedly. Amara took it from his hands and removed the box of bandages, ointments, and healing salves he carried in it. She cleaned his wound as best she could, but it kept bleeding, as such injuries tended to.
"This will need stitches to close properly," she said quietly. "That means we'll need boiling water. A fire."
"Dangerous," Bernard mumbled. "Too easy to spot."
"We've little choice," she replied. "He's unconscious. His leg is broken.
We have to warm him up, then set the leg. Can you have Brutus make a shelter for us?"
He looked at her dully for a moment, and then back at Gaius. "Dangerous."
She put her hands on either side of his face. "Bernard, you've been hit in the head. You're having trouble speaking clearly, much less thinking clearly. I need you to trust me. This is necessary."
He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. Then he nodded. He opened his eyes again and peered blearily around them, through the rain. Then he nodded at a hillock, and muttered under his breath. "Garim had a den there. Brutus is widening it. Shoring it up. Drag wood in first thing. Let it start to dry. Then we'll move Gaius in."
"Very well," Amara said. She covered his wound with a pad of folded cloth and wound a bandage around his head to hold it closed as best it could until she could see to the injury more thoroughly. "Bernard. It's his good leg that's broken."
Bernard frowned for a moment, then said, "Crows. He won't be able to walk."
"No," Amara said.
"That's bad," he said.
"Yes."
"But there is good news," he said.
She frowned at him.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled. "Smell that?"
Amara frowned and sniffed at the air. There was an overripe smell to it, a vegetable reek.
"Only one thing smells like that," Bernard said. "Swamps. We made it. Once we get in there, don't have to worry about our back trail."
"No," Amara murmured. "Only disease. Injury. Lack of food. And more of those garim."
Bernard grunted. "Well," he mused, "we never did get that honeymoon."
Amara blinked at him for a moment, then burst out in a laugh that surprised her with its depth and strength.
He gave her a weary grin, and for a moment his eyes shone with warmth. "That's better. Love it when you smile." Then he took a deep breath and pushed himself slowly to his feet. He touched the bandages and hissed in discomfort.
"Don't do that," Amara said absently. She rose, wincing at a flare of pain in her back. She had almost forgotten the blow from the garim's tail and the tumble afterward. Her muscles and bones, however, had not. "He can't walk," she said quietly. "What are we going to do?"
"We'll handle it, Countess. One thing at a time."
She touched her face, and then the bandages. "I love you very much, you know."
He lifted her fingers from his head and kissed them gently, eyes sparkling. "Who could blame you?"
Amara laughed again.
Chapter 29
"Again!" Araris snapped, driving a series of high, whirling slashes at Tavi's head. The singulare was not restraining the force of his blows, and it took every ounce of Tavi's concentration and skill to survive them. He found the rhythm of the attack, found the tiny half beat of vulnerability between one of Araris's strikes and the next, and countered low, his body dipping to one side and out of the line of the attack, one hand resting flat on the ground to support his suddenly altered balance, his blade darting in a swift thrust for the large artery in the singulare s midsection.
Tavi was an instant too slow. Araris slammed his blade across Tavi's, driving it from his fingers. The singulare swung a booted kick at Tavi's face. Tavi rolled away from it. Araris drove his heel down at Tavi's nose. Tavi swatted the blow mostly aside-and found the point of Araris's sword resting in the hollow of his throat.
Araris stared at Tavi, his eyes expressionless, even frightening. Then he drew himself upright and lifted the sword away. "It has to be faster," he said quietly. "The fight is always in motion. You can't wait for the right beat. You have to anticipate it."
Tavi scowled up at Araris. "We've done this every day for a week. It's only one counter. Someone my size is going to have real trouble using it. We both know that. What happened to fighting to my strengths?"
"This is one," Araris said. "You just don't know it yet."
Tavi shook his head. "What the crows is that supposed to mean?"
Araris rested a hand on his midsection where he'd been wounded, wincing like a man with a stitch in his side after a long run. "Any swordsman worth the name won't expect that move from someone like you. They would think it too dangerous, too foolhardy."
Tavi touched his throat, where Araris's sword had been, and glanced at the small smear of blood on his finger. "Why would anyone think that?" But he got to his feet, recovered his sword, and faced Araris, ready to go again.
Araris rolled his shoulder, his expression pained, and shook his head. "Enough for today."
They lifted their blades in a mutual salute and put them away. "Is your side still hurting'? Maybe I should get the Steadholder to-"
"No," Araris said at once. "No. She has enough to contend with. It's sore, that's all."
Tavi arched his eyebrows, realization dawning in his face. "That's how Navaris got you."
Araris frowned and looked away. "She had too many of Arnos's singulares with her. I couldn't have fought them all and lived. So I gave Navaris an opening. I had counted on her to take a thrust to my leg and pin her sword in the hull for a moment." He waved a hand at his flank. "But she hit me here instead."
Tavi frowned. "I saw her sword go through the hull. But it was still stuck there when…" His voice trailed off as a little surge of nausea went through his stomach. Araris had been pinned to the Mactiss hull with a sword through his guts. The only way he could have freed himself would have been…
Bloody crows. The man had simply sliced himself free on Navaris's weapon. He'd let the blade cut through four or five inches of his own midsection. No wonder it looked like Navaris had slashed him open halfway to his spine.
Araris met Tavi's gaze soberly and nodded. "Without Isana…" He shrugged. "Navaris shouldn't have been able to do that. I don't know how she managed it. But she did. I'm pushing us both."
He turned without another word and went back to the ship's cabin. Tavi put his sword away, tugged on his loose tunic, and made his way thoughtfully to the ship's prow.
After their raid on the doomed Mactis, the rest of the voyage had been comparatively uneventful, and Tavi found himself growing increasingly anxious. Araris was back on his feet after two days of rest, and they returned to relentless practice on the deck for hours at a time. Araris proved to be one of those swordmasters who believed that pain was the best motivator for learning. Tavi acquired any number of small cuts-some of them quite messy and painful- and a collection of dozens of bruises in various colors.
Despite the pain, the practice sessions helped. He wasn't sure exactly how well he was progressing in his swordsmanship, since Araris always seemed to be just a bit faster than Tavi, his technique and positioning a tiny bit more precise than Tavi's own, but Araris assured him that he was getting better. The practices were exhausting, which Tavi thought was their single largest benefit.
It left him with less energy to worry about the future.
After dinner that night, he was standing at the prow of the ship again, watching dolphins sport in the waters ahead of the Slive. Kitai was lying back along a line, somewhere above him and behind him, relaxing as casually as if it had been a hammock, rather than a single rope she held with an ankle and one hand. He could feel her lazy contentment at having a full belly, an interesting day, and a lovely sunset to watch over the rolling waves of the sea.
Tavi closed his eyes and tried to partake of
Kitai's contentment. The two of them differed fundamentally in regards to their views on the future. For Kitai, the future was a single enormous matter of relative unimportance. What mattered was the here and now. While preparation for what might happen was useful, it was beneficial more in how it shaped one's character and brightened one's day than for any practical gain it might grant when the future became the present. Kitai, he knew, approved of Tavi's weapons training with Araris, but he suspected it had more to do with the fact that she enjoyed seeing him sweating and shirtless than with her concern for whom he might be fighting in the future.
Tavi's sense of Kitai changed slightly, as her interest was briefly piqued. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ehren approaching.
"Hey," Tavi said quietly.
"Hey," Ehren said. The little Cursor came up to stand beside Tavi, staring out ahead of the ship. "I talked to Demos. We start up the Gaul tomorrow. After that, it will be another week to get up the river to the capital. Maybe more, if he can't find a decent tugboat."
Tavi nodded. "That's good. I figure we'll be there right around the time of the new moon."
"Always nice for sneaking around springing prisoners," Ehren said. There was tension in the former scribe's shoulders. He folded his arms and leaned one hip against the rail. "I knew she was a skilled healer, but I didn't know the Stead-holder's other watercraft was that strong. It surprised me."
"I think it surprised her, too," Tavi said. "Maybe it shouldn't have. She flooded a river at home just before Second Calderon. That's more than most watercrafters can do."
Ehren nodded. "How is she?"
"Araris hung up a hammock for her in a storage room in the hold. She says it's quieter down there. She was up on deck for a while, earlier. I'd say she's getting a handle on it now."
"That's good," Ehren said. He frowned out at the sea, and his voice trailed away into an awkward silence.
"Just say it," Tavi said quietly.
"Say what?" Ehren asked.