Furies of Calderon ca-1

by Jim Butcher

  "How's Gram?"

  "Harger says he isn't likely to wake up again before he dies. That last crafting took too much out of him."

  "Crows," Amara swore softly. "He's a brave man."

  "Yes."

  "The Marat are coming back then," Amara said.

  "Soon."

  She closed her eyes, wearily. "What else can we do?"

  Bernard said, "I don't know."

  "We should get the women and children out. The men's families. Put them in wagons and send them toward Riva as fast as they can go."

  "We can't. Those Knights didn't just take out the gates. Some others got into the stables and panicked the horses. It drew the attention of maybe half a dozen herdbane. There aren't any horses left."

  Amara looked up at him. "Can they flee on foot?"

  "I've talked to Pirellus about it, and Giraldi. Even on the causeway, the women and children can't run faster than the Marat. Even if we hold on to Garrison for as long as possible. There just aren't enough men-and most of the families won't leave. They've decided that they'll stay and fight, rather than be killed running. Pirellus is keeping their spirits up. Telling them that reinforcements are bound to come from Riva."

  "No," Amara said, numb. "I never thought they'd have so many Knights Aeris to use to cut off the Valley. I don't think anyone could have gotten through that many."

  Bernard nodded, once. "We've sent out runners, on foot, to warn the steadholts. We're hoping to buy them some time. If they head for Riva right away, they might make it out of the Valley…" He let his voice trail off, tiredly.

  Amara stood up beside him and leaned against him. He leaned back, and the two shared a long moment of silence in the predawn stillness.

  "You should go," Bernard said. "You can fly out of here. You should take word to the First Lord."

  "Even if I could still fly," Amara said, "my duty is to do what I can to stop what's happening here. To find out who began it. Bring those responsible to justice. I couldn't just leave."

  "There's no reason for you to die here, Countess."

  "There's no point in this argument, Steadholder. I can't fly. Not now. I'm too tired." She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. He felt strong and warm, and she took whatever comfort she could in that.

  After a moment, she felt him move an arm around her, and she pressed closer to him. "I'm sorry, Bernard," she said. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster. I didn't do something differently. I'm sorry about your sister, your nephew."

  He swallowed. When he spoke, his voice came out rough, quiet. "Nothing to be sorry for. I just hope to the furies that they're all right."

  She touched his arm, and they stood together, quiet, with the caws of the crows before them and the moans of the dying behind.

  The sky lightened further, and Amara felt Bernard draw in a sudden breath. "Merciful furies."

  She opened her eyes and looked out onto the plains beyond Garrison, now being lit as the sun rose over them, and shone down upon a sea of pale bodies.

  The Marat.

  Thousands upon thousands of Marat. They stretched from horizon to horizon, as far as the eye could see. Twenty thousand. Thirty. Fifty. She had no way to accurately estimate numbers that vast. She looked out at them as the horde poured slowly closer to Garrison over the plains. Enough to drown the defenders of the little fortress. Enough to swarm over the Calderon Valley. Enough to rampage over the unprepared lands beyond and to destroy thousands of defenseless Aleran communities.

  She glanced up at Bernard and then stepped forward, away from him, to lean one hand on the battlements, watching the enemy come on.

  "You'd better get Pirellus," she said, quietly. "Tell him to get ready."

  Chapter 38

  Though they were not cold, Isana's feet were battered and bruised by the time she dragged the shambling Odiana out of the rough undergrowth of the woodland and out onto the causeway that ran the length of the Calderon Valley. She had barely caught her breath in the predawn darkness when she heard the drumming beats of running horses coming along the road, swift and steady.

  She seized Odiana's wrist and dragged her back toward the edge of the causeway, but it was too late. Riders, blazing along the furycrafted stones of the causeway, were already upon them and all but ran them down before bringing their horses, huge, plunging shapes in the darkness, rearing and fighting to a halt.

  "Mistress Isana?" gasped a startled young man's voice from the darkness. "What are you doing out here?"

  Isana blinked up at the riders, startled. "Frederic?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the young man said. He spoke quietly to the horse and then slid from the animal's back, keeping a hand on the reins. "Furies, ma'am, but we didn't think we'd see you again. Are you all right?"

  The other rider slid down, and Isana recognized Steadholder Roth from the pale white shock of hair drifting around his head. He stepped to her at once and embraced her. "Thank goodness, Isana. We feared the worst."

  She leaned against the old Steadholder, suddenly feeling the exhaustion in her arms and legs, and had to have Rill's help to keep the tears from her eyes. "I'm all right. It was a near thing, but I'm all right."

  "Who is this?" Roth asked, looking up past Isana to squint at where Odi-ana sat beside the road, looking at nothing, her expression listless.

  "It's a long story. I'll take care of her. But what are you doing out here?"

  "Outriding," Roth said and turned to nod back down the road.

  From down the causeway came the drum of more hooves, the rattle of cart wheels strained by the pace. Isana watched as more horses, some pulling heavy farm carts, others bearing riders, came down the road toward them. Frederic let out a sharp whistle and waved his arms, and the carts began to slow to a halt as they approached.

  "But what are you doing?" Isana demanded.

  Roth's expression looked very tired in the dimness. "Isana. The Marat got into the Valley yesterday. Sometime last night. They attacked Aldoholt and burned it down. As far as we can tell, no one made it out."

  Isana took a deep breath, shocked. She felt dizzy. "Everyone?"

  Roth nodded. "We saw the fires at dawn, and Warner and his boys went to check it out. He sent them out to warn Garrison and to Riva. The two heading for Garrison were murdered. We found them cut up not two miles back. We don't know about the others."

  "Oh no," Isana breathed. "Oh, furies, poor Warner."

  "Then, tonight, Frederic here was out in the fields working."

  Frederic nodded. "That big rock. I didn't get it before the storm, and I couldn't sleep and all, so I was back there tonight, Mistress Isana. And these two men just fell out of the sky."

  "Out of the sky? Knights Aeris?"

  "Yes, ma'am. And one of them was all in black, and one was in Rivan colors ma'am, and hurt, so I hit the other one on the head with my shovel." His voice had an anxious note to it, as though he wasn't sure he'd done correctly. "That wasn't wrong, was it?"

  "Course not, boy," Roth snorted. "He was a messenger from Garrison, Isana, sending to Riva for reinforcements. Said a Marat horde was on its way. And someone wanted him dead pretty bad. He had an arrow in him,

  and they'd sent a Knight to chase him to ground. Frederic here put a dent in the murderer's noggin that won't come out for a while, or we'd have asked who sent him."

  Frederic ducked his head.

  The wagons halted, and a moment later Otto and Warner had both hurried up to them and each hugged Isana, Otto with warm relief, Warner with stiff, quiet determination.

  "So you're heading to Garrison?" Isana asked them.

  Warner nodded. "We sent messengers to Riva, through the woods, where anyone watching from the air wouldn't be able to follow them. But it will take them longer than by the air or the roads, so we're heading out to fill in the gap ourselves."

  Isana looked back at the wagons, at the people filling them. "Great furies, Warner. You must have brought half of your holders."

  "A bit more," Otto said, anxious. He wrung
his hands. "Everyone able or who can do some useful crafting, Isana."

  "These people aren't soldiers," Isana protested.

  "No," Warner said, quietly. "But all the men have done their time in the Legions. Isana, if Garrison falls, there's nothing that's going to stop a horde from doing what it did to Aldoholt to every steadholt between here and Riva. Better for us to give our help and it not be needed than the other way around."

  "What about the children?"

  "Some of the older ones led the youngers into the back country. Beggar's Cave and such places. They'll be safer there than in the steadholts, until this blows over."

  Isana blew out a breath. "What about Tavi? My brother? Has anyone seen them?"

  No one said anything, until Frederic rubbed at his hair and said, "I'm sorry, Mistress. No one's seen or heard from anyone that ran out the night of the storm. We figured you all was dead or-"

  "That'll do, Frederic," Roth said, sternly. "The woman's exhausted. Isana, you and this girl get in the back of the lead wagon, there. Otto, get something warm in them and around them, and we'll get moving again."

  "Right," Otto said, and took Isana's arm. He reached down for Odiana's, but the woman flinched from him and let out a high-pitched little sound.

  "I'll do it," Isana told him and leaned down to touch Odiana's chin.

  A broiling storm of emotion flowed up her from the touch, and Isana had to work to hold it away. She lifted Odiana's face to hers and murmured, only moving her lips, "Get in the wagon."

  Odiana stared blankly at her, but rose when Isana tugged on her arm, and climbed up into the wagon willingly enough, settling in a back corner, eyes flicking out from behind her tangled hair to watch the other holders in it. Isana climbed in beside her, and a moment later, the wagon began rattling down the causeway again.

  Someone passed her a heavy blanket, which she draped over the both of them, and a moment later a flask of something hot. She drank, some kind of spiced wine that burned in her belly but made her limbs feel warm and less tired. She passed the flask to Odiana, who had to hold it in her hands for a long moment, as though she had to work up the courage to drink, and who curled up beneath the blanket and dropped into what seemed to be an exhausted sleep a moment after.

  "You look exhausted," Otto said, from across the cart, his face sympathetic. "Try to get some rest. We'll be in Garrison soon, but try."

  Isana passed him the flask and shook her head. "I'm not tired, Otto, honestly. I've too much on my mind."

  But after she sat back again, she leaned her head against the back of the cart, and didn't wake up until the driver called back to Otto, "Holder! There it is!"

  Isana jerked awake and sat up enough to see ahead of the cart. The morning was cold on her face and throat, and the icy coating on the ground gleamed in the pale light of a dawn that was not far away.

  Smoke hung over Garrison like a funeral shroud.

  Isana's heart lurched into her throat. Were they too late? Had the fort already been attacked? She climbed up onto the driver's seat of the wagon, even as the driver, one of Otto's holders, began to cluck to the horses that pulled the wagon, slowing them from their fury-enhanced speed. Their breath steamed in the dim light.

  As they approached, Isana saw a single young legionare on guard duty above the western gate of Garrison. A second look showed that he wore a heavy swath of bandages over his forehead and left eye, and that those bandages were so recent that they were still spotted with blood. A dark bruise discolored his cheek, though it looked a day old, at least. As the group of wagons and horses closed, the young soldier leaned out, staring at them.

  Warner raised a hand to the guard. "Hello the gate! Let us in!"

  The young man stammered, "Sir, you shouldn't be here. The Marat are attacking, sir. You shouldn't be bringing holders here right now."

  "I know the Marat are attacking," Warner snapped. "We've come to help, and everyone here has something they can do. Let us in."

  The young legionare hesitated, but there was a motion on the wall behind him, and a man in a dented Centurion's helmet appeared. "Holder Warner?"

  "Giraldi," Warner said, with a curt nod. "We heard you were having company and thought we'd invite ourselves over to help you entertain them."

  Giraldi stared down at them for a moment and then nodded. "Warner," he said, "you'd be better off turning around and heading for Riva while you still can."

  His words silenced every holder on the ground below.

  Isana stood up in the wagon's seat. "Good morning, Centurion. Have you seen my brother?"

  Giraldi squinted down and then his eyes widened. "Isana? Oh, thank the furies. Your brother is here. He's inside at the east gate. Isana, the Count's been badly wounded, and Livia is back in Riva with her daughter. Harger and the legion crafters did what they could, but they say without more skilled help he won't live."

  Isana nodded, calmly. She let her awareness slowly out toward Giraldi, gaining the sense of the man's emotions. Anger, weariness, and most of all despair hung on him like a coating of thick, cold mud, and Isana shivered. "I take it the Marat have already attacked."

  "Just their vanguard," Giraldi said. "The rest of the horde will be here within the hour."

  "Then we'd best stop wasting time with talk, Giraldi. Open the gates."

  "I don't know if the Count would-"

  "The Count has no say in this," Isana said. "And if the Marat take Garrison, they'll be able to destroy everything we have. We've the right to fight to defend our homes and families as well, Giraldi, and every man here who is of age is a Legion veteran. Open the gates."

  Giraldi bowed his head and nodded to the young legionare. "Furies know we need the help. Do it."

  The holders moved into Garrison in short order, and Isana noticed that adult men-the veterans-drove all the wagons. They pulled into the

  fortress as though part of the Legion on duty there, lining up their wagons in neat rows in the westernmost courtyard. Men started caring for the horses at once, unhitching them and leading them to be watered and sheltered from the winter winds. Every Legion camp was laid out identically, enabling veterans and newly transferred units to be exactly aware of the operations and layout of any camp they came to. Even as some men picketed the horses, others began forming up the veterans into files outside the armory, and Giraldi and another young legionare began to outfit them with shields, swords, spears, breastplates, helmets.

  Isana stepped down from the wagon, holding Odiana's hand and leading the dazed woman, who kept the blanket wrapped around her like a sleepy child. "Harger," Isana called, spotting the healer supervising a number of young women, barely more than children really, who were shredding bed-sheets into bandages.

  The old healer turned when he saw her, a tired smile touching his face. "Help," he said. "Well, maybe we can make a fight of it after all."

  She moved to him and embraced him quietly. "Are you all right?"

  "Tired," he said. He looked around them and then said, "This is bad, Isana. Our wall isn't high enough, and our Knights went down in the first attack."

  Isana's throat tightened. "My brother?"

  "A little banged up, but well," Harger said. "Isana, we've got less than an hour. By the time the sun rises, you'll be able to walk from here to the watchtowers on Marat shoulders."

  She nodded. "There, see Steadholder Otto? He's a strong crafter. Not too delicate, because he mostly crafts injured livestock rather than people, but he can mend broken bones better than anyone I've ever seen, and he can do it from dawn to dark. There are one or two other men at least as skilled as a Legion watercrafter, and many of the woman are better. You have injured?"

  "Plenty," Harger said, his eyes calculating. "Really? Women better than a Legion watercrafter?"

  "See Otto. He'll get our healers over to help yours. You're in the eastern courtyard?"

  Harger nodded, blinking his eyes a few times. Then he clasped Isana's shoulder. "Thank you. I don't know if it will do any good i
n the long run, but there are men dying who won't have to now."

  Isana touched her hand with his and said, "Where can I find Bernard?"

  "On the wall above the gate," Harger said.

  Isana nodded to him and started toward the far side of the fort. She passed the commander's quarters and the officers' barracks at the center of the fort, then walked briskly past barracks after barracks. She found the first bodies at the near side of the eastern courtyard, in the stables. Dead horses lay inside, crows already darting in and out of the stable's doors, their raucous cries rising from their darkened interiors. More bodies littered the courtyard around her-Marat, and the great predator birds had been tossed into a rough heap at one side of the courtyard, where they would be out of the way of the troops moving about inside. Legion casualties were laid out in neat rows on the other, troops wrapped in their cloaks, heads covered to keep the crows from their eyes.

  The rest of the courtyard was filled with the wounded and the dying. A bare scattering of legionares stood watch on the walls, but there seemed to be so few of them.

  Isana walked forward, stunned at the carnage. She had never seen anything like it. Pain pressed on her, sensed from the wounded like heat radiating out from an oven. She shivered and folded her arms. Behind her, Odiana, still following closely and holding her hand, let out a small, frightened whimper and did not lift her head.

  "Isana!"

  She looked up to see her brother running toward her, and she didn't fight either the tears that sprang to her eyes or the smile that touched her mouth. He embraced her, hugging hard, and lifted her up off the ground as he did it.

  "Thank the furies," he rumbled. "I was so afraid for you."

  She hugged him back, hard. "Tavi?" He froze for a moment, and the motion sent ice running through her. She leaned back, taking his face between her hands. "What happened?"

  "After the flood, I lost him. I couldn't track him in the storm. I managed to get the Cursor girl out of the water, and then we came here.