Amara's ankle burned and ached, and she fought to keep her labored breathing from turning into a panting gasp. Bernard, running through the ice and snow-covered trees several yards ahead of her, reached a small rise and vanished down the other side. She followed him, stumbling at the last pace, and threw herself into the ditch behind the little rise with a crunching of snow and frozen leaves.
Bernard put his hand on her back, steadying her, and lifted a hand to hold it in front of her mouth and block the wisps of vapor escaping with each exhalation. His eyes went distant, and then she felt him pull the veil over them.
Shadows shifted and changed in subtle patterns over her skin, as the trees around them sighed and rustled as though in a wind. The frozen brush did not seem to move so much as to have simply grown into a screen over them, and the sudden scent of earth and crushed plants flooded over them, veiling even that much evidence of their presence.
Only a few seconds later, they heard hoof falls in the forest behind them, and Amara moved enough to peer over the rise at the direction in which they'd come.
"Won't they see our tracks?" she whispered in a rough gasp of breath.
Bernard shook his head, his face drawn, weary. "No," he whispered. "Trees lost some leaves in some places. Grass stirred enough to move the snow in others. And it's all ice, sleet. Shadows are helping hide more."
Amara sunk slowly back down behind the rise, frowning at him. "Are you all right?"
"Tired," he said, and closed his eyes. "They're Knights. Their furies are on unfamiliar ground, but they're strong. Starting to have trouble misdirecting them."
"Fidelias has pulled out all the stops if he's started a general hunt for us. That means he'll accelerate the plans for attack as well. How close are we to Garrison?"
"Few hundred yards to the edge of the trees," Bernard said. "Then half a mile of open ground. Anything at this end of the Valley will be able to see us."
"Can you earthwave us across it?"
Bernard shook his head. "Tired."
"Can we run it?"
"Not with your leg," Bernard said. "And with them mounted. They'd just ride us down and spit us."
Amara nodded and waited until the sound of the riders had drifted away from them, off in another direction. "Half a mile. If it comes to that, I might be able to carry us. Those riders are using earth furies, yes?"
Bernard nodded. "Some wood."
"Either way, we'll be away from them in the open and in the air."
"And if they have Knights Aeris with them?"
"I'll just have to be faster," Amara said. She squinted up. "I still haven't seen anyone. It would be a strain to hold position overhead with so little wind, unless they were so high in the air that the clouds were giving them cover-and that would hide us as well."
Bernard shivered and touched the ground with one hand. "Hold on." His voice had a strained note to it, and he let his breath out again a moment later with a low groan in it. "They're close. We can't stay here any longer. The earth is too hard. Difficult to hide us."
"I'm ready," Amara said.
Bernard nodded, opening his eyes, his face set in lines of grim and weary determination. They rose and headed through the woods.
It only took a few moments to get to the end of the trees and to the open ground that led up to Garrison.
The place was a fortress. There, two of the mountains that rose up all around them fell together into an enormous V. At the point of the Valley between them lay the grim grey walls of Garrison, stretching across the mouth of the Valley and blocking entry into it from the lands beyond with expansive, grim efficiency. The wall stretched across the mouth of the Valley from the Marat lands beyond, twenty feet high and nearly as thick, all of smooth grey stone, its walls surmounted by parapets and crenelation. The gleaming forms of armored legionares stood at regular posts along the wall, draped in cloaks of scarlet and gold, the colors of the High Lord of Riva.
Behind the wall stood the rest of Garrison, a blocky fortress laid out in a Legion square with ten-foot walls, a marching camp constructed of stone rather than of wood and earth. Fewer guards stood on the walls there, though they were not absent. Outbuildings had grown up around the outside of Garrison, impermanent and slapdash structures that nonetheless had somehow managed to acquire the air of solidity that accompanied a small town. The rear gates of Garrison stood open, and the causeway wound across the Valley and up to them. People drifted around, walking briskly from building to building and moving in and out of the gates to the camp proper. Children scampered around in the ice and snow, playing as they always did. Amara could see dogs, horses, a pen of sheep, and the smoke of dozens of fires.
"There's the gate," she said.
"Right," said Bernard. "We head for that. I know the men stationed out
here, for the most part. We shouldn't have any trouble getting to Gram. Just remember: Be polite and respectful."
"All right," Amara said, impatient.
"I mean it," Bernard said. "Gram's got a quick temper, and he's more than capable of tossing us into holding cells until he cools off. Don't test him."
"I won't," Amara said. "Can you tell if they're getting any closer to us?"
Bernard shook his head, grimacing.
"Then we go across. Keep your eyes open, and if you see anyone coming, we'll get into the air." Amara glanced across the plain and swept her eyes across the sky one last time, winced as she put weight on her injured ankle, and started off toward Garrison at a limping lope. Bernard shuffled along several paces behind her, his footsteps heavy.
The run seemed to take forever, and Amara nearly twisted her ankle again, more than once, as she turned her head this way and that, watching for pursuit.
But for all their fear of being ridden down in the open ground, they reached the outbuildings and then the guarded gates to Garrison itself without incident.
A pair of young legionares stood on guard at the gates, their expressions bored, heavy cloaks worn against the cold, spears held negligently in gloved hands. One of them was unshaven (strictly against Legion regulations, Amara knew), and the other wore a cloak that did not seem to be of standard Legion issue, either, its fabric finer, its colors unmatched.
"Hold," said the unshaven guard in a flat tone. "State your name and purpose of your visit."
Amara deferred to Bernard, glancing back at the Steadholder.
Bernard frowned at the two men. "Where is Centurion Giraldi?"
The one in the cloak gave Bernard a blank look. "Hey," he said. "Clodhopper. In case you didn't notice, we're the soldiers here-"
"And Citizens," put in the other in a surly tone.
"And Citizens," the guard in the fine cloak said. "So we'll ask the questions, if that's all right with you. State your name and the purpose of your visit."
Bernard narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you boys are new to the Valley. I am Steadholder Bernard, and I am here to see Count Gram."
Both soldiers broke out in snickers.
"Yes, well," the unshaven one said, "The Count is a busy man. He doesn't have time for visiting with every scruffy clodhopper about every little problem that comes up."
Bernard took a deep breath. "I understand that," he said. "Nonetheless, I am well within my rights to request to see him immediately on a matter of urgency to his holdings."
The unshaven guard shrugged. "You aren't a Citizen, clodhopper. You don't have any rights that I know of."
Amara's temper flashed, her patience evaporating. "We do not have time for this," she snapped. She turned to the guard in the fine cloak and said, "Garrison could be in danger of attack. We need to warn Gram about it, and let him react as he thinks fit."
The guards glanced at each other and then at Amara. "Look at that," the unshaven one drawled. "A girl. And here I thought that was just a skinny boy."
His partner leered. "I suppose we could always take off those breeches and find out."
Bernard narrowed his eyes. The Steadholder's fist lashed out, and the young legionare in the fine cloak landed in a senseless sprawl on the snow.
His unshaven partner blinked down at the unconscious young man and then up at Bernard. He reached for his spear, but Bernard spoke sharply, and the weapon's haft bowed, then straightened again, writhing out of the guard's reach and bounding away. The guard let out a short shriek and reached for his dagger.
Bernard stepped close to the young man and clutched his wrist, holding his hand at his belt. "Son. Don't be stupid. You'd best go get your superior officer."
"You can't do that," the guard sputtered. "I'll throw you in irons."
"I just did it," Bernard said. "And if you don't want me to do it again, you'll go get your centurion." Then he gave the young man a stiff shove, sending him clattering backward and falling into the snow at the base of the wall.
The guard swallowed and then bolted, running inside.
Amara looked from the guard in the snow to Bernard and asked, "Polite and respectful, eh?"
Bernard's face flushed. "They might be spoiled city boys, but they're Legion, by the furies. They should treat women with more respect." He rubbed at his hair. "And show more respect to a Steadholder, I suppose."
Amara smiled, but didn't say anything. Bernard flushed even brighter and coughed, looking away.
The unshaven guard emerged from the guardhouse with a half-dressed centurion, a young man little older than him. The centurion blinked stupidly at Bernard for a minute, then gave the guard a terse order, before stumbling back into the guardhouse to march off a moment later, still only half-dressed.
Several legionares gathered around the gate, and to Bernard's relief he recognized a few of the men from previous visits to Garrison. A few moments later, a grizzled old man dressed in a civilian tunic, but with the bearing and mien of a soldier, came walking briskly out of the gates, wisps of white hair drifting around his bald pate.
"Steadholder Bernard," he said, critically, eyeing the Steadholder. "You don't look so good." He made no particular comment about the condition of the guard lying in the snow, leaning down to rest his fingertips lightly on the young man's temples.
"Healer Harger," Bernard responded. "Did I hit him too hard?"
"Can't hit a head that thick too hard," Harger muttered. Then cackled. "Oh, he'll have a headache when he wakes up. I've been waiting for this to happen."
"New recruits?"
Harger stood up and paid little further attention to the young guard in the snow. "The better part of two whole cohorts down from Riva herself. Citizens' sons, almost all of them. Not enough sense to carry salt in a storm among the whole lot."
Bernard grimaced. "I need to get to Gram. Fast, Harger."
Harger frowned, tilting his head to one side and studying Bernard. "What's happened?"
"Get me to Gram," Bernard said.
Harger shook his head. "Gram's... been indisposed."
Amara blinked. "He's sick?"
Harger snorted. "Sick of rich boys who expect to be treated like invalids instead of legionares, maybe." He shook his head. "You'll have to talk to his truthfinder, Bernard."
"Olivia? Get her on down here."
"No," Harger said, and grimaced. "Liwie's youngest came to term, and she went back to Riva to help with the birth. Now we've got-"
"Centurion," bawled a high, nasal voice. "What's going on down here? Who is in charge of this gate? What foolishness is this?"
Harger rolled his eyes. "We've got Pluvus Pentius instead. Good luck, Bernard." Harger stooped down and scooped up the unconscious young legionare, tossing him over one shoulder with a grunt, and then headed back inside the fort.
Pluvus Pentius turned out to be a slight young man with watery blue eyes and a decided overbite. He wore the crimson and gold of a Rivan officer, though his uniform tended to sag around the shoulders and stretched a bit over the belly. The officer slouched toward them through the snow, squinting in disapproval.
"Now see here," Pluvus said. "I don't know who you people are, but assaulting a soldier on duty is a Realm offense." He drew a sheaf of papers from his tunic and peered at them, flipping through several pages. Then he turned and looked around him. "Yes, here it is, a Realm offense. Centurion? Arrest both of them and see them to the holding cells-"
"Excuse me," Bernard interrupted. "But there's a more important matter at hand, sir. I am Steadholder Bernard, and it is vital that I speak to Count Gram at once."
Pluvus blinked up at them. "Excuse me?"
Bernard repeated himself.
Pluvus frowned. "Highly irregular." He consulted his pages again. "No, I don't think the Count is receiving petitions today. He holds a regular court every week, and all such matters are to be presented to him then, and in writing at least three days ahead of time."
"There's no time for that," Bernard blurted. "It's vital to the safety of this valley that we speak to him at once. You are his truthfinder, aren't you? Surely you can tell that we're being honest with you."
Pluvus froze, peering up at Amara over the pages. He looked from her to Bernard and back. "Are you challenging my authority here, farmer? I assure you that I am fully qualified and can-"
Amara flashed Bernard a warning glance. "Sir, please. We just need to see Gram."
Pluvus drew himself up stiffly, his lips pressed together. "Impossible," he stated flatly. "Court is two days hence, but we have not received a written petition to be filed for that date. Therefore you will have to submit your petition to me in, let's see, no more than six days' time, in order to be received
by the Count at next week's court-and that is a matter entirely separate from an assault upon a legionare-and a Citizen, at that! Centurion! Take them mto custody "
An older soldier with several younger legionares behind him stepped forward toward Bernard "Sir, under the authority vested in me by my rank and at the order of my commanding officer, I place you under arrest Please surrender your weapons and cease and desist any current furycraftings and accompany me to the holding cells where you will be incarcerated and your case brought before the Count "
Bernard growled and set his jaw "Fine," he said, and flexed his fists "Have it your way Maybe a few more broken heads will get me to see Gram that much faster "
The legionares came toward Bernard, but the centurion hesitated, frowning "Steadholder,' he said, carefully "This shouldn't have to get ugly "
Pluvus rolled his eyes "Centurion, arrest this man and his companion You have no idea how much paperwork I have to do already My time is precious."
"Bernard," Amara said, and laid a hand on his shoulder "Wait "
Bernard faced the oncoming soldiers, his brow darkening, and the ground let out a faint tremble The soldiers stopped in their tracks, their expressions nervous "Come on," the big Steadholder growled "I haven't got all day "
"Get out of my way'" thundered a voice from within the gates Amara blinked, startled at the tone
A man in a rumpled and wine stained shirt thrust his way through the crowd watching the altercation He wasn't tall, but had a barrel for a chest and a jaw that looked heavy and hard enough to break stones upon, covered by a curling beard of fiery red His hair, shorn short, was of a similar color, though patchy with batches of grey that made his scalp look like a battleground, with troops in scarlet struggling to hold terrain against a grey-clad foe His eyes were deep under heavy brows, bloodshot, and angry He walked barefoot in the snow, and steam curled up from his footprints
"What in the name of all the furies is going on here?" he demanded, voice booming "Bernard' Flame and thunder, man, what the crows do you think you're doing to my garrison?"
"Oh!" said Pluvus, his pages fluttering nervously "Sir I didn't know you were out of bed yet That is, sir, I didn't know that you'd be up today I was just taking care of this for you"
The man came to a swaying halt and planted his fists on his hips. He glared at Pluvus and then at Bernard. "Harger woke me out of a perfectly good stupor for this," he snapped. "So it had better be good."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure, that is," Pluvus waved a hand at the centurion. "Arrest them. Go on now. You heard the Count."
"I didn't say to arrest anyone," growled Count Gram, testily. He squinted at Bernard and then at Amara, his gaze sharp, penetrating, for all his bawling and staggering. "Did you get yourself another woman, Bernard? Crows it's about time. I've always said there's nothing wrong with you that a good romp or two wouldn't take care of."
Amara felt her cheeks flush with warmth. "No, sir," she said. "It's not that. The Steadholder helped to see me safely here so that I could warn you."
"Highly irregular," Pluvus stuttered to Gram, pages fluttering.
Gram irritably took the pages from Pluvus's hand and said, "Quit waving these under my nose." There was a bright flash of light and heat, and then fine, black ashes drifted away on the cool wind. Pluvus let out a little yelp of distress.
"Now then," Gram said, dusting his hands. "Warn me. Warn me about what?"
"The Marat," Bernard said. "They're on the move, sir. I think they're coming here."
Gram grunted. He jerked his chin at Amara. "And who are you?"
"Cursor Amara, sir." Amara felt herself lift her chin and met Gram's bloodshot gaze squarely, without flinching.
"Cursor," Gram muttered. He glared at Pluvus. "You were going to arrest one of the First Lord's Cursors?"
Pluvus stammered.
"One of my Steadholders?"
Pluvus stuttered.
"Bah," growled Gram. "Ninny. Bring the garrison to full alert, recall all soldiers on leave, and instruct every man to get into his armor and fighting gear, now."
Pluvus stared, but Gram had already swept back around to Bernard. "How bad are you thinking it's going to be?"
"Send word to Riva," Bernard said, quietly.
Gram clenched his jaw. "You want me to call for a full mobilization? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what kind of fire is going to fall on my ears if you're wrong?"
Bernard nodded.
Gram growled, "Scouts. Deploy scouts and reconnaissance into the wilderness and make immediate contact with our watchtowers."
"Y-yes, sir," Pluvus said.
Gram stared at him for a second. Then roared, "Now!"
Pluvus jumped and then turned to the nearest soldier and started repeating versions of Gram's orders.
Gram rounded on Bernard. "Now then. I think you'd better explain what kind of idiot you are. Hitting one of my soldiers."
A gliding caress of cold air slid over the back of Amara's neck and made her shiver-a warning from Cirrus. She glanced behind her, out toward the blinding white of pale sunlight on snow and ice. She shaded her eyes, but saw nothing.
Cirrus stirred against her again, another warning.
Amara took a slow breath, focusing on the area behind them.
She almost didn't see through the veil.
There, perhaps no more than ten feet away, was a disturbance in the air, several feet off the ground, a rippling dance of light, like waves rising from a sun-heated stone. Her breath caught in her throat, and she sent Cirrus out toward the disturbance with a whispered command. Her fury encountered a globe of dense air, changed to bend light, much as she herself used it to view things from afar in greater clarity.
Amara took a breath and then forced Cirrus against the globe, sudden and quick.
There was a whoosh of expanding air as she dispersed the globe, and abruptly three men in armor with drawn swords appeared, hovering in the air. Amara cried out, and the men, their expressions startled, hesitated for a faltering second before acting.
One flicked himself through the air toward her, sword gleaming. Amara threw herself to one side, sweeping her hands at the man to direct Cirrus. A roar of sudden wind washed up against her attacker's flank, shoving him wide of her, guiding his course into one of Garrison's stone walls. The man tried to slow his advance, but collided hard with the wall, and dropped the blade in the impact.
The second of the men, expression cool, calm, thrust his hands forward, and a gale rose up immediately before the gates of Garrison, whirling snow and chips of ice into the air in a stinging cloud, and hurling legionares from their feet, driving them behind the gates for shelter.
The third took his sword in hand and shot toward Bernard's back.
Amara tried to cry out a warning, but Bernard's fatigue, perhaps, had made him too slow. He turned and tried to dodge to one side, but snow and ice betrayed his footing, and he fell.
Gram stepped in the way. The flame-haired Count jerked the sword from the stunned Pluvus's belt and met the oncoming Knight Aeris head-on. Steel chimed on steel, and then the attacker shot on past Gram.
"Get on your feet!" Gram roared. He spat as the snow and ice clouded his vision. "Get the girl! Get inside the walls!" Gram turned his body against the icy spray and shielded his palm against his side. Amara saw sudden fire kindle there, and Gram turned toward the second of the attackers and hurled a sudden, roaring wall of flame back against the ice and snow. The attacker screamed, a horrible sound, and the gale abruptly vanished.
Something black and heavy fell smoking into the snow before the gates, and the odor of charred meat filled the air.
Amara dashed to Bernard's side, helping the Steadholder to his feet. She didn't see the man who had attacked her until it was almost too late. He rose and drew a knife from his belt, eyes focused on her. With a flick of his wrist, and a sudden pinpoint burst of air, the knife hurtled toward her, whistling with its raw speed.
Bernard saw it, too, and dragged her down, out of the path of the knife.
It hit Gram in the lower back.
Such was the force of the fury-assisted throw that Gram was hurled several paces forward into the snow. He went down at once, without so much as a cry or a gasp of pain, and lay still.
Someone on the walls cried a command, and a pair of legionares with bows loosed at the man at the base of the wall from almost directly above him. Arrows struck him hard, one in the thigh and one in back of the neck, its bloody tip emerging from the man's throat. He, too, fell into the snow, blood staining a quickly growing scarlet pool around him.
"Where's the other one?" Amara demanded. She stood and swept her eyes over the sky. She barely saw, from the corner of her eye, another flickering of light and air, but when she focused on it, it was gone. Tentatively,
she sent Cirrus out toward it, but her fury found nothing, and after questing about aimlessly for a few moments, Amara gave up the effort.
"It's no good," she whispered. "He got away."
Bernard grunted and rose to his feet, one leg held stiffly, his face twisted with pain. "Gram."
They turned to see Pluvus and several legionares hovering over Gram's form in the snow. The truthfinder's face was pale. "Healer!" he screamed. "Someone get the healer! The Count is hurt, get the healer!" Legionares stood around him, stunned, staring.
Amara let out a hiss of frustration and grabbed the nearest soldier. "You," she said. "Go get the healer, now." The man gave a nod and sprinted off.
"You," Pluvus said, his face twisted with distress, anger, and fear. "I don't know who those men were, or what is going on, but you must be in on it. You came here to hurt the Count. This is your fault."
"Are you mad?" Amara demanded. "Those men were the enemy! You have got to get this garrison ready to fight!"
"You cannot order me about like some kind of common slave, woman!" shouted Pluvus. "Centurion," he snapped, eyes watering but with his voice ringing with authority. "You all saw what happened. Arrest these two and take them to the cells on charges of murder and treason against the Crown!"