by Jim Butcher
Ehren pulled into an alley and stopped the wagon. "That's it," he said quietly. "We leave it here. The ship's right through there."
"What about the horses?" Kitai asked.
"My contact will pick them up when he comes for the wagon," Ehren said. "I've arranged for the lamps to be out, so we can get the Cane onto the ship."
"How is he?" Tavi asked. The words came out slurred. Weariness had begun to spread throughout his body.
A growl came from beneath the tarp. "I can walk."
"Good," Tavi said. "Let's go."
"He's hurt," Isana said to Araris. "His ankle looks bad. He needs help walking."
"I'm fine," Tavi said. "Get to the ship."
Kitai let out an impatient breath, and said, "I'll do it." She came around to the back of the wagon and dragged one of Tavi's arms over her shoulders. "Come on, chala. Lean on me a little. Good."
Tavi closed his eyes and let Kitai guide him. She kept up a pleasant stream of quiet orders and encouragement, which was far preferable to paying attention to his own rising discomfort.
He was losing his hold on the metalcrafting, Tavi thought. The pain was growing.
He remembered getting to the Slive, and then Kitai's hands stripping his armor.
"Varg," he mumbled. "Tell her to see to Varg first. He got hurt."
"No more orders, chala," Kitai replied, her voice gentle.
He drifted in pain and stillness for a time. Then there came a delicious, bone-deep warmth.
Then nothing.
Chapter 37
Isana looked up as daylight briefly flooded the hold through the open hatch above. Demos and Fade came down the stepladder into the hold and approached at once. Demos's presence was muted to her senses, as usual, but what she could feel of him told her that he was at least mildly anxious.
"What's the problem?" Demos asked. "They've started combing the docks and searching ships. We don't have much time."
"Already?" Isana asked. "That was fast."
"They start with the places someone might use to leave town in a hurry," Demos said.
"We should leave," Araris murmured. "Set sail right now."
"Ships have been ordered to remain at dock," Demos said.
"Then we should have left last night."
"Which would have told them exactly where to look for the prisoner," Demos said. "No. We stay in dock until they clear us, then when we leave, we aren't looking astern the whole trip." He turned to Isana. "Now what's the problem?"
Isana gestured at Varg. The Cane was far too large to fit into any of the healing tubs on the Slive, so instead he lay in the shallow pool in the hold where the witchmen usually stood their station. "It's the Cane. He's badly hurt, and he won't let anyone touch him. He nearly took my hand off when I tried to heal him."
"He's got to be moved," Demos said. "We have fifteen minutes, give or take."
"He isn't going to let us move him," Isana said. "And if he starts thrashing around, it could kill him."
"If he isn't moved," Demos said, "it could kill all of us." He touched the hilt of his sword. "One way or the other, he's in the river in fifteen minutes." The captain went back up on deck.
Isana exchanged a long look with Araris. Then she said, "Get him."
"Are you sure?" Araris asked. "He still looks like he's in bad shape."
"He is," Isana said. "He'd want you to do it."
Araris grimaced, then departed. He returned a moment later, half-carrying Tavi. The young man nearly fell coming down the stepladder, and he had to lean on Araris to walk the short distance to the pool. Isana's heart ached to see how pale her son's face remained, his eyes so sunken that they looked bruised. He'd looked worse last night, when she'd had to heal dozens of small wounds, three fractured bones, muscles that had all but torn themselves apart with strain, burns on his mouth, his throat, and in his lungs from breathing fury-heated air, and the hideous damage to the flesh of his hands.
Restoring a body that had suffered so much punishment was hideously draining upon the victim. He shouldn't have been conscious, much less standing more or less on his own, but his green eyes, though sunken and weary, were alert.
"What is it?" Tavi asked quietly. His voice was still raw, rough-sounding. Even with watercrafting, there was only so much one could do for burns.
"Varg," she said. "I've been trying to heal him, but he won't let me touch him. We have to move him in the next few minutes, before they search the ship."
Tavi blinked slowly once, and for a second, she wondered if he'd even heard her. "Ah," he said, finally. "All right. Try again."
Isana frowned. "I've tried, several times, to-"
Tavi shook his head. He splashed wearily down into the pool, and sat down on the floorboards, not far from the Cane's head, his feet in the water, his shoulders slumped. He gestured wearily for Isana to proceed.
Isana stepped down into the water again, reached out for Rill, and stepped closer to Varg. She reached one hand toward his chest warily, watching the enormous, dark-furred body for movement. Her fingers got to within perhaps an inch of the Cane's fur before Varg let out a growl. His half-opened eyes never focused, but his lips peeled back away from white fangs, and his jaws opened slightly.
Tavi moved with sudden and shocking speed, for the Cane's head. Before
Isana could react, her son seized one of the Cane's upright ears hard with one hand, squeezing and twisting, and clamped Varg's muzzle shut with the fingers of his other hand, shoving the Cane's head back at an almost brutal angle.
Then, to Isana's utter shock, her son went for the Cane's throat with his teeth.
Varg's entire, enormous body stiffened, and his clawed paw-hands half rose from the water-but before they could reach for Tavi, they froze in place, and a low growl bubbled in Varg's throat.
She heard her son, then. Tavi, his teeth still closed over the Cane's throat, snarled like a beast. The sound rose, deepened again, then repeated. Isana realized with a shock that he was speaking to the Cane.
Varg's bloody eyes seemed to focus for a second or two, and then the Cane let out a low growl and lowered his claws back into the water again.
Tavi opened his mouth slowly, and straightened. He released the hard grip on the Cane's ear, his hand dropping to grip the fur at the nape of Varg's neck. With the other hand, he kept on holding the Cane's muzzle closed.
He turned his head to one side and spat and snorted, apparently to get fur out of his mouth. "Go ahead," he said quietly, then. "He'll be still now."
Isana stared at him for a moment. "How in the world…?"
He gave her a weary smile. "Just have to know how to talk to them."
Isana shook her head, and glanced at Araris. She hadn't noticed when the singulare had stepped up close to Tavi, naked sword in hand.
"Ten minutes," Araris said quietly.
Isana nodded once, called upon Rill, and then laid her bare hand on Varg's chest.
His chest shook with one more growl, but the barely conscious Cane did not move.
Isana closed her eyes and sent her focus down into Rill, and into the water surrounding the Cane. She was immediately startled by how much water surrounded Varg. She had seen the Cane's size, of course, but if she hadn't occasionally been called upon to heal wounded livestock, she would never have even contemplated healing a creature so large.
Granted, she had never healed a Cane before. At first, she feared that the wolflike creature would be too different to benefit from the kind of healing she knew, but she rapidly saw that the fear had been groundless. Pain was universal.
She sensed the injuries in Varg as she might have in anyone else. She sent Rill coursing into the Cane's body, closing his wounds, aligning broken bones, easing inflammation and pain. None of the injuries were especially complex or difficult to repair: It was a question of volume. The Cane simply bore so many various hurts that she was shocked he had survived so long without any help.
Then there was a hand on her shoulder, shaking
her gently, and Isana drew her awareness back into her own body. She looked up, blinking, to find Demos standing over her. "Lady," he said quietly. "We're out of time."
"Oh," she mumbled. "Yes, of course."
Demos regarded Tavi and his grip on Varg for a moment. Then the captain said, "We would have restrained him. If we'd had any chains."
Tavi gave Demos a sour look.
Demos nodded to Araris, then at the pool. "In, all of you." He went to the side of the pool and drew a rope from his belt. He secured one end to a ring on the near side of the pool, the other to a similar ring on the far side. "Everyone get hold of that."
Isana told Tavi, "Varg is unconscious now. I had to do a lot. He'll need help."
Tavi nodded once and glanced at Araris. The singulare put his sword away. Each of them went to one side of Varg, dragging one of the Cane's huge arms over their shoulders.
"The rope," Demos said quietly, and Isana shook herself into motion, grabbing on to the rope with both hands. Demos nodded his approval, and said, quietly, "Shouldn't be long."
He closed his eyes and made a gesture with one hand. The hull of the ship, beneath her, suddenly shifted, weirdly fluid, and then simply dropped away, lowering them up to their chins into the waters of the river. As Isana watched, the hull of the ship shifted and then closed over them, leaving a bubble of air trapped against the dome-shaped indentation in the ship's hull.
Then, there was little to do but hold on to the rope in near-total darkness. And wait.
"Tavi," Isana said quietly. "How long have you known?"
There was a moment of silence. To Tavi's credit, he didn't attempt any evasions, even one so minor as asking her what she was talking about. "Almost two years now."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"At first," he said quietly, "because I thought there were things you weren't telling me. It seemed… an appealing bit of symmetry."
Isana felt a stab of anger that came along with the hurt, but she could hardly throw stones at him for keeping secrets. Besides, to a certain degree, he was right. In some ways, she'd had such treatment coming.
"What about later?" she asked quietly.
"I suppose I'd gotten used to it," he said. "I didn't even tell Araris."
"Didn't have to," Araris said quietly.
"What?" Tavi asked. "But until last night I never…"
"Asked me to turn out the furylamp in your room," Araris said. "Never missed a day out alone, practicing with Kitai." He chuckled. "You didn't think you could actually work out against me, using some of your metalcraft, and I wouldn't notice?"
"Oh," Tavi said quietly.
Isana frowned. "Araris? You knew? And you didn't tell me?"
"It wasn't mine to tell," he said quietly.
"I see," Isana said.
"Quiet," Tavi hissed.
They fell silent. Heavy boots, too heavy to be any sailor's wear, thumped on the hull above them. Hollow voices, strangely muffled, vibrated through the floorboards. There were shouts, calls, the sounds of things being moved. After several minutes of this, the sounds retreated.
Not long after, the wooden hull of the ship twitched, then parted again, and Isana idly noted the subtle, steady watercrafting worked into the hull that prevented water from rushing in, the work of Demos's witchmen, presumably.
The boards of the hull reached down around them and closed beneath them, lifting them up, until they stood in the witchmen's shallow pool again. Demos stood nearby.
"That went fairly well," he said quietly. "You'll all need to stay here in theshold until we get moving again. They might come back, and if they do, you'll have to get wet again."
"Are you sure they didn't find anything?" Tavi asked quietly.
Demos shook his head. "That would have been suspicious. They found two hidden compartments holding several ounces of aphrodin, a crate of wine bottles that hadn't been marked by the excisemen, and a bolt of silk cloth from Kalare that's supposed to be embargoed."
Isana blinked. "And you weren't arrested?"
"I had cash." He turned to go. "I'll have something hot sent down to you. Once the other two members of your party arrive, and we're cleared to depart, we'll get moving again. Probably sometime tomorrow morning."
Tavi nodded. "Thank you, Demos."
"It's the job," he said, and left.
Tavi pulled himself out of the pool and sank down against the nearest bulkhead, his feet pulled up, knees against his chest. He lowered his head and was asleep again.
Isana looked at the battered young man and sighed. Then she said, "Am I wrong to be worried, about his furies?"
"There's something wrong with his crafting," Araris said. "I'm not sure what. But I've never seen him actually manifest a fury. Not even last night."
"If he could have," Isana began.
"He would have," Araris finished, nodding. He wrinkled up his nose and glanced at Varg, before positioning the Cane to lie with his head out of the pool. "Smells like wet dog in here."
She smiled faintly. "I should resume tending to him. There's quite a bit more to do."
Araris nodded and stepped out of the pool. "How's your arm?" he asked.
"It hurts," Isana said. "But I'm not in danger. Once I've seen to these two, I'll mend it."
He didn't look happy about that, but he nodded. "All right." He began to turn away, but paused. "Shouldn't one of us tell him about… us?"
She felt her cheeks color again. "I… what would we tell him?"
"That we love each other," Araris said in a quiet, firm tone. "That once things are more… settled, that we want to be together."
She looked up at him, and swallowed. "Is… is that what you want?"
Araris glanced at her and then gave her a gentle grin. "You know just as well as I do, my lady."
She smiled at him, and despite the cool water all around her, she felt very warm.
Araris settled down beside her son to guard the boy's sleep, while Isana turned her attention back to the wounded Cane.
Chapter 38
Valiar Marcus stared down at the spear in his guts in total shock.
The Canim javelin had slipped through a tiny opening between Marcus's shield and that of the legionare beside him, thrown with such force that its black metallic head slammed cleanly through his armor.
Marcus realized, then, that he was standing in the second rank. He didn't remember taking a step back. The impact of the javelin must have knocked him there. That was probably why only about ten inches of steel was in his guts. Javelins hurled by a warrior Cane typically transfixed their targets entirely.
And this was the weapon of a warrior Cane, he knew, which meant that the Prime Cohort was engaging some of the foe's elites. They would have to alter their formation and advance, now, because the Canim typically flung their spears immediately before a charge. Marcus managed to take a deep breath, and bellow, "Close formation! Shields up! Second and third ranks to spears!"
Spear leaders began repeating the orders, shouting together, and the ranks of the Prime Cohort shifted and compressed. The legionares in the second and third ranks put away their swords and readied the five-foot spears strapped to the back of their tower shields. Those spearheads rose in a thicket of deadly steel thorns, just as the Canim warrior caste exploded from the rain-shrouded shadows and struck the lines.
Marcus sheathed his sword and pulled hard on the spear, but it was pinned in the steel grip of his punctured armor, and he couldn't get it free. Battling legionares
on the front rank jostled the spear's shaft, shoving it left and right, and Marcus felt it as a horribly invasive, quivering tremor in his belly, and his breath was suddenly gone.
He dropped to one knee, and got his shield up in time to deflect a hastily aimed blow from a black-armored Cane. The legionares around him drove the Cane back with spears and brutally stabbing swords.
Someone stepped on the spear shaft, and pain that redefined his concept of the word burned Marcus to his core.
; He fell, onto his back, and rain poured into his face. He reached to wipe water from his eyes, and Foss said, "Easy there, Marcus. Try not to move just yet."
Marcus blinked. He opened his eyes and looked blearily around him.
He was in the healer's tents.
And it was morning.
He'd been moving the cohort to secure that shaky flank near the woods, and then the spear had hit him.
And now he was in the healer's tents. He'd been injured, and injuries could be disorienting. Someone must have dragged him from the fight.
It was such an immense effort to move his head that after the first couple of twitches, he didn't bother.
He lay in a healing tub, naked, and the water was stained dark with blood. Foss sat at the head of the tub, his head bowed, his hands resting on Marcus's shoulders.
Marcus's eyes tracked down to his belly and found a gaping wound there, as long as his hand was broad. The wound gaped at the edges, and he could see… whichever parts of his guts were beneath the wound, he supposed.
"Balls," he whispered.
"Try not to talk," Foss growled. "You have to tighten your stomach muscles to do it, and I don't need you bumping my elbow while I work."
"C-cohort," Marcus said. He tried to look around him, but reclined as he was, he could see little more than that the First Aleran's Tribune Medica and his staff had no shortage of work. Battlefield infirmaries were always like this. Men groaned and screamed and wept. Quiet, determined healers fought their own battle with Death himself, to what Marcus was sure would be the usual mixed results.
"Hold still and shut up, or I'll knock you out," Foss said. "That column that hit you out of that ravine was one of three. The other two went right through the Guard and hit us in the flanks. If the Prime Cohort hadn't held, the Canim would have cut us up but good."
Marcus turned his eyes back up to Foss.
The healer glanced at him and frowned. "It isn't pretty in here. Thirty-four of the Prime dead. Twice that many wounded." Foss scowled. "Now shut up and hold still, before you're number thirty-five."
It was too much effort to nod. Marcus closed his eyes. The sobs of the wounded and the murmur of quiet, determined voices continued, until he found himself sitting up in bed, wolfing down a steaming bowl of mashed meal, bland but filling.