It felt like a very long way up.
Tavi pulled himself up to the top of the wall and made room for Araris, who was coming up behind him. The structure was a standard Legion battle wall, at least in appearance. Given how much material they'd had to raise, and how little time they'd had to do it, Tavi was sure that it lacked the interlocking, interwoven layers of stone that would make it practically invincible to all but the most violent furycrafting. The wall itself was a flat shelf about eight feet across, and crenellation rose along its outer edge. The tops of the merlons rose to a few inches higher than Tavi's head, and the embrasures between them rose to the middle of Tavi's stomach.
The wall was a series of straight sections, each one at a slight angle to the next, following the terrain it had been built upon. It would not be difficult to keep track of the inner edge, which would be handy for avoiding a potentially fatal fall to the ground below. At Tavi's order, his men had left a series of fury-lamps along the length of the wall, providing plenty of light to see by.
He felt cold. Though spring was edging toward summer, the night was chilly, and the steel of his armor drew the heat from his body.
"Walk a bit," Araris suggested. "Stretch out. You don't want to go into it with your muscles cold and tight."
Tavi followed the singulare's suggestion. "How many times have you fought in the juris macto, Fade?" He caught himself and shook his head. "I mean, Araris."
The older man smiled, his eyes wrinkling at their corners. "I don't mind it from you," he said. "And I've done it four times. I championed someone else in three of them."
"Four?" Tavi asked, still stretching. "That's all?"
"I don't enjoy hurting people."
Tavi shook his head. "That's not what I meant. From your reputation, I thought it would be dozens."
Araris shrugged. "Quality over quantity, I suppose. I fought the High Lord of Parcia's bastard half brother when he challenged the old man for the throne of his city. Antillus Raucus took offense at a young Knight, even younger than you, who had been sleeping with his sister. I had to intervene on the Knight's behalf."
"You beat a High Lord at the blade?" Tavi asked.
"Like I said. Quality over quantity." Araris frowned. "He's got a scar or two to show for it, but I didn't kill him. And I championed Septimus just before the Battle of Seven Hills broke out-"
"That was you?" Tavi said.
Araris shrugged again. "Kadius, a Placidan Lord, had decided that he needed to improve his lands by stealing his neighbors', and Septimus and the Crown Legion were sent to restore order. Kadius challenged the Princeps to compel him to withdraw-and when I killed him, his wife went insane with anger and sent every soldier in her army against the Crown Legion. They had a respectable force of Knights. It was a mess."
"And the fourth was Aldrick ex Gladius," Tavi said.
"With more than a hundred duels to his credit. He used to hire out as a champion, before he took up service with your father. That one got a lot of attention. We went for about ten hours, all the way around Garden Lane and Craft Lane both. Must have been fifty or sixty thousand people that came down to see it."
Tavi frowned, lifted a boot to one of the embrasures, and leaned, stretching out his leg. "But he challenged Sir Miles originally, right?"
"Yes."
"Over what?"
"A girl." Araris narrowed his eyes, looking down the wall past Tavi. "They're here."
A hundred feet down the wall, Navaris pulled herself up from the ladder and rose. The slender cutter wore close-fit armor of leather and light mail, rather than the heavy, steel-plated Legion lorica Tavi wore. She faced him from a hundred feet away, and her expression was empty, devoid of humanity. She carried a long blade and a gladius on two belts slung over her shoulder, just as Araris carried Tavi's. Neither of them would burden themselves with a scabbard in this duel.
Arnos climbed up the stairs behind her, and the climb up the ladder had evidently convinced him to rid himself of the tailored Senatorial robes. He was dressed in a coat of mail, and was puffing visibly from hauling himself and the armor up the ladder.
Tavi watched Navaris, willing all expression from his face as well. He was glad she'd come up so far away. It gave him time to get control of the sudden trembling in his hands before she could come close enough to see it. He took slow, steady breaths.
"She's human," Araris said quietly. "She's imperfect. She can be beaten."
"Can she?" Tavi asked.
"She's won a lot of duels," Araris said. "But most of them were the same duel, just with a different face. Someone relatively inexperienced, who let fear rule their thoughts and actions. They were over in seconds."
"I'm relatively inexperienced compared to Navaris," Tavi said drily. "For that matter, so are you."
Araris smiled. "Patience. Don't let the fear drive you. Don't initiate. Mind your footwork, keep your blades in tight, and wait for your opening."
"Suppose she doesn't give me an opening."
"Outthink her. Make one."
Tavi laid a hand on the merlon beside him. "Like you did at Second Calderon."
"Exactly. Very few people understand that swords aren't dangerous, Tavi, nor hands nor arms, nor furies. Minds are dangerous. Wills are dangerous. You are heavily armed with both."
Tavi frowned at that, staring at his opponent, mulling the thought in his head.
His hands stopped shaking.
The ladder behind them rattled, and Captain Nalus heaved himself onto the wall. He had a fresh bandage on his cheek, where a sickle had laid open his face all the way down to his skull. Tavi had heard he'd ordered them to stitch it closed with thread rather than "wasting a healer's energies on a minor injury when other men's lives were in jeopardy."
"Your Highness," Nalus said, nodding at Tavi. "You're ready?"
Tavi accepted his weapons from Araris and slung the belts over one shoulder. "I am."
"Follow me," Nalus said.
Tavi followed the captain, who had agreed to officiate under protest, down the length of the wall toward Navaris. At the same time, the cutter began walking toward them, slim and deadly.
In the ruins below, people had gathered-legionares, domestics, camp followers. Thousands of them. Several had climbed atop walls and dilapidated rooftops to get a better view of the top of the wall. He could only just see them in the darkness-but atop one of the nearest buildings, he could make out white hair, and Marat manes drifting on the gentle breeze-Kitai and her people. He nodded to them, and fists thumped simultaneously against leather-armored chests in response, the sound loud in the otherwise-silent night.