Chapter 6
"How long has she been down?" rumbled a deep, male voice. Her brother, Isana thought. Bernard.
The next voice was old and quavered slightly. Isana recognized old beldame Bitte's quiet confidence. "Since just before midday."
"She looks pale," said another male voice, this one higher, less resonant. "Are you sure she's all right?"
Bernard answered, "As sure as I can be, Aric. There are no wounds on her." He let out a slow breath. "It looks like she might have collapsed, pushing her crafting too hard. I've seen her work herself into the ground before."
"It might also be a reaction to the struggle," Amara said. "Shock."
Bernard grunted agreement. "Green legionares do that after their first battle, sometimes. Great furies know it's a terrible thing to kill a man." Isana felt her brother's broad, warm hand on her hair. He smelled like sweating horses, leather, and road dust, and his voice was quietly anguished. "Poor 'Sana. Is there anything more we can do for her?"
Isana took a deep breath and made an effort to speak, though it came out at hardly more than a whisper. "Begin with washing your hands, little brother. They smell."
Bernard let out a glad cry, and she was immediately half-crushed in one of his bear hugs.
"I may need my spine unbroken, Bernard," she rasped, but she felt herself smiling as she did.
He laid her back down on the bed immediately, carefully restraining his strength. "Sorry, Isana."
She laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. "Honestly. It's all right."
"Well," said Bitte, her tone crisp. She was a tiny old woman, white-haired and hunched but with more wits than most, and she had been an institution in the Valley for years before the First Battle of Calderon had ever taken place, much less the more recent events. She stood up and made shooing motions. "Out, everyone, out. You all need to eat, and I daresay Isana could use a few moments of privacy."
Isana smiled gratefully at Bitte, then told Bernard, "I'll come down in a few moments."
"Are you sure you should-" he began.
She lifted a hand, and said, more steadily, "I'll be fine. I'm starving."
All right," Bernard relented, and retreated before Bitte like an indulgent bull from a herding dog. "But let's eat in the study," he said. "We have some things to discuss."
Isana frowned. "Of course, then. I'll be right there."
They left, and Isana took a few moments to pull her thoughts together while she freshened up. Her stomach twisted in revulsion as she saw the blood on her skirts and tunic, and she got out of the clothes as quickly as she possibly could, throwing them into the room's fire. It was wasteful, but she knew she couldn't have put them on again. Not after seeing the darkness close in on the young man's eyes.
She tore her thoughts away from that moment and stripped her underclothing off as well, changing into clean garments. She took her long, dark hair down from its braid, idly noting still more strands of grey. There was a small dressing mirror upon a chest of drawers, and she regarded herself in it thoughtfully as she brushed out her hair. More grey, but to look at her one would not know her age, of course. She was slim (far too much so, by fashionable standards), and her features were still those of a girl only a bit more than twenty years of age-less than half of the years she had actually lived. If she lived to be Bitte's age, she might look as old as a woman in her midthirties, but for the grey hairs, which she refused to dye into darkness. Perhaps that was because between her too-thin body, and the apparent youth gifted to watercrafters, the grey hairs were the only things that marked her as a woman rather than a girl. They were a dubious badge of honor for what she had suffered and lost in her years, but they were all she had.
She left her hair down, rather than braiding it again, and frowned at herself in the mirror. Taking dinner in the study instead of the hall? It must mean that Bernard-or more likely Amara-was concerned about what might be overheard. Which meant that she had come with some kind of word from the Crown.
Isana's stomach twisted again, this time in anxiety. The killer in the barn had arrived with quite improbable timing. What were the odds that such a thing would happen only hours before the Crown's messenger arrived in the Valley? It seemed that the two could hardly be unrelated.
Which begged the question-who had sent the killer after her? The enemies of the Crown?
Or Gaius himself.
The thought was not as ridiculous as others might think, given what she knew. Isana had met Gaius and felt his presence. She knew that he was a man of steel and stone, with the will to rule, to deceive and, when necessary, to kill to protect his position and his people. He would not hesitate to order her slain should she become a threat to him. And for all that he knew, she might be one.
She shivered, and pushed her worries down, forcing herself to wrap her fears with thoughts of confidence and strength. She'd been keeping secrets for twenty years, and she knew how to play the game as well as any in the Realm. As much as she liked Amara, and as much as she liked seeing that she made Isana's brother happy, Amara was a Cursor and loyal to the Crown.
She could not be trusted.
The stone halls of the steadholt would be cold as the evening blanketed the valley, so she drew a heavy shawl of dark red about her shoulders to add to the deep blue dress, donned her slippers, and moved quietly through the hallways to Bernardholt-no, to Isanaholt's study. To her study.
The room was not a large one, and this deep in the stone walls of the steadholt there were no windows. Two tables filled up most of the space, and a slateboard and shelves filled the walls. In the winter, when there was more time than could be filled with work, the children of the steadholt learned their basic arithmetic, studied records of furycrafting for guidance in the use of their own furies, and learned to do at least a little reading. Now, Bernard, Amara, and Aric, the Valley's youngest Steadholder, occupied one table, which was laid out with the evening meal.
Isana slipped in quietly and shut the door behind her. "Good evening. I'm sorry I wasn't on hand to greet you properly, Your Excellencies, Steadholder."
"Nonsense," Aric said, rising and smiling at her. "Good evening, Isana."
Bernard rose as well, and they waited for Isana to sit down before they did themselves.
They ate in quiet conversation for a while, chatting about little of consequence, until the meal was finished. "You've hardly spoken at all, Aric," Isana said, as they pushed plates aside and sat sipping at cups of hot tea. "How did you and yours weather the winter?"
Aric frowned. "I'm afraid that's why I'm here. I..." He flushed a little. "Well. To be honest, I'm having a problem, and I wanted to consult with you before I bothered Count Bernard with it."
Bernard frowned. "For fury's sake, Aric. I'm still the same man I was two years ago, title or no. You shouldn't worry about bothering me when it's hold business."
"No sir," Aric said. "I won't, Your Excellency, sir."
"Good."
The young man promptly turned to Isana, and said, "There have been some problems, and I'm concerned that I may need the Count's help."
Amara covered her mouth with her hand until she could camouflage the smile behind a cup as she drank. Bernard settled back with a tolerant smile, but Isana felt something else from him-a sudden stab of anxiety.
Aric poured a bit more wine into his cup and settled back from the table. He was a spare man, all arms and legs, and still too young to have the heavier, more muscular build of maturity. For all of that, he was considered to be uncommonly intelligent, and in the past two years had worked hard enough on the two steadholts under his authority to separate himself entirely from what was now generally considered to be an unfortunate blood relation with his late father, Kord.
"Something's been hunting on the eastern steadholt," he said in a serious tone. "We were missing nearly a third of the cattle we had to turn out to wild forage over the winter, and we assumed that they'd been taken by thanadents or even a herdbane. But we've lost two more cows from our enclosed pastures since we've brought them in."
Isana frowned. "You mean they've been killed?"
"I mean they've been lost," Aric said. "At night, they were in the pasture. In the morning they weren't. No tracks. No blood. No corpses. Just gone."
Isana felt her eyebrows lift. "That's... odd. Cattle thieves?"
"I thought so," Aric said. "I took two of my woodcrafters, and we went into the hills to track down whoever it was. We searched for their camp, and we found it." Aric took a large swallow of wine. "It looked like there might have been as many as twenty men there, but they were gone. The fires were out, but there was a spit of burnt meat sitting over one of them. There were clothes, weapons, bedrolls and tools lying out as if they'd all gotten up and walked away without taking anything with them."
Bernard's frown deepened, and Aric turned earnestly to face him.
"It was... wrong, sir. It was frightening. I don't know how else to describe it to you, but it made the hair on our necks stand up. And dark was coming on, so I took my men and headed back for the steadholt as quickly as we could." His face grew a little more pale. "One of them, Grimard-you remember him, sir, the man with the scar over his nose?"
"Yes. Attican legionare, I think, retired out here with his cousin. I saw him cut down a pair of Wolf warriors at Second Garrison."
"That's him," Aric said. "He didn't make it back to the steadholt."
"Why?" Isana asked. "What happened?"
Aric shook his head. "We were strung out in a line, with me in the middle. He wasn't five yards away. One minute he was there, but when I turned around to look a moment later, he was gone. Just... gone, sir. No sound. No tracks. No sign of him." Aric looked down. "I got scared, and I ran. I shouldn't have done that."
"Crows, boy," Bernard said, still frowning. "Of course you should have done that. That would have scared the hairs right off my head."
Aric looked up at him and down again, shame still on his features. "I don't know what to tell Grimard's wife. We're hoping he's still alive, sir, but..." Aric shook his head. "But I don't think he is. We aren't dealing with bandits, or Marat. I don't have a reason why. It's just..."
"Instinct," Bernard rumbled. "Never discount it, lad. When did this happen?"
"Last night. I've ordered the children kept in the steadholt walls, and that no one should leave in groups of less than four. I left first thing morning to speak with Isana."
Bernard exhaled slowly and glanced at Amara. The Cursor nodded, stood up, and went to the door. Isana heard her whisper something while she touched the wood of the door, and her ears pained her briefly, then popped.
"We should be able to speak freely now," Amara said.
"Speak freely about what?" Aric asked.
"About something I learned from Doroga this morning," Bernard said. "He says that there is some manner of creature he called a vord. That it was dwelling in the Wax Forest, and that something happened that caused it to leave its home." Isana frowned, listening as Bernard told the rest of what Doroga had confided to him regarding the creature.
"I don't know, sir," Aric said, his voice dubious. "I've never heard of anything like this. A blood-drinking shapeshifter? We would have heard of such a thing, wouldn't we?"
"According to Doroga, by the time you hear about it, it might already be too late," Bernard said. "If he's correct about the location of the nest on Garados, it could explain the losses at your steadholt, Aric."
"Are you sure he isn't telling you stories?" Aric asked.
"I saw our healers patch up better than two hundred Marat and at least as many of their beasts, Aric. That wasn't done as a practical joke. If Doroga says he lost nearly two thousand warriors, I believe him." He went on to relay the rest of what Doroga had told him.
Isana folded her arms and shivered. "What about the third nest?"
Bernard and Amara traded another one of those looks, and she hardly needed any of her furycrafting gifts to know that her brother lied when he said, "Doroga has trackers on its trail. As soon as we find it, we'll hit it. But I want to focus on the nest we know about first."
"Two thousand men," Aric muttered. "What will you do to assault this nest? There aren't that many in the whole valley, Bernard."
"The Marat didn't have any Knights with them. We do. I think we should at least be able to contain these vord until reinforcements can arrive from Riva."
"If help arrives from Riva," Isana said.
Bernard looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
"You saw how Aric reacted when you told him your source of information, and he's actually met Doroga. Don't let it shock you if High Lord Riva discounts a barbarian's word altogether."
Amara chewed on her lip, eyes narrowed. "She could be right. Riva hates the Marat for a variety of reasons."
"But Alerans are dying, Amara," Bernard said.
"Your argument is reasonable," Amara said. "Riva might not be. He's already strapped for funds after rebuilding Garrison and assisting with repairs in the steadholts. He's going to find himself with empty pockets if he is forced to mobilize his Legions. He'll want to avoid that unless it's absolutely necessary, and he'll almost certainly drag his feet rather than waste money on the ghost stories of some furyless barbarian. It's even possible that he has already left to attend Wintersend ceremonies in the capital."
"It's also possible he hasn't."
Amara held up her hand in a pacifying gesture. "I'm only saying that it's going to be difficult to secure assistance based on the observations of a Marat hordemaster. Riva holds Doroga in contempt."
"I'd rather do something than nothing. And in any case, I've already sent the messenger. It's done. There isn't any time to waste."
"Why not?" Aric asked.
"According to Doroga, this nest will reproduce and divide into three more within a week's time. If we don't catch this one now, the vord may be able to spread more rapidly than we can find and destroy them. That being the case, if Riva doesn't respond at once, we may have to fend for ourselves."
Aric nodded, though he didn't look happy. "What can I do to help?"
"Return to your steadholt," Amara said. "Start filling containers with drinking water, preparing tubs for the healers, bandages, the like. We'll use Aricholt as our base of operations while we locate the nest."
"Very well," Aric said, rising from the table. "In that case, I wish to return immediately."
"It could be dangerous for you, after dark," Amara warned.
"I'll swing wide around the mountain," Aric said. "My place is with my holders."
Bernard stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Be careful, Steadholder."
They murmured their good-byes, and Aric left the study.
After the door had shut, Amara turned to Isana and offered her an envelope.
"What's this?" Isana asked.
"An invitation to Wintersend, from the Crown."
Isana lifted her eyebrows. "But that's in a few days."
"I am given to understand that His Majesty has already set several Knights Aeris aside to fly you in."
Isana shook her head. "I'm afraid that isn't possible," she said. "Especially not before this vord situation is settled. Healers will be needed."
Amara frowned at her. "This isn't precisely a request, Steadholder Isana. You are needed in the capital. You've become quite the bone of contention."
Isana blinked. "I have?"
"Indeed. By elevating you to a position of equality with the male members of the gentry, Gaius has tacitly declared a sort of equality of status between men and women. As a result, many folk have taken it as permission to establish a number of equities formerly denied women. And others have taken shameless advantage of the opportunity. Various cities have begun to tax the sale of female slaves as heavily as males. The Slaver's Consortium is furious and demands legislation to reestablish the previous status quo, and the Dianic League has rallied against them."
"I don't see what that has to do with me attending Festival in the capital."
"The balance of power has begun to shift in the Senate. Gaius needs the support of the Dianic League if he is to prevent it from flying out of control. So he needs you there, at Festival, highly visible to everyone in the Realm, to show how strongly you support him."
"No," Isana said flatly. "I have more vital duties here."
"More vital than protecting the stability of the Realm?" Amara asked in a mild tone. "My. You must be very busy."
Isana rose sharply to her feet, her eyes narrowed, and snarled, "I don't need a child like you to tell me my duty."
Bernard rose, staring at Isana in shock. " 'Sana, please."
"No, Bernard," Isana said. "I am not Gaius's pet dog to sit up and hop through hoops when he snaps his fingers."
"Of course not," Amara said. "But you are the only person who might give him the advantage he needs to prevent the Realm from falling into a civil war. Which is why someone ordered you killed in the first place-or hadn't that occurred to you?"
Bernard put a warm hand on Isana's shoulder to steady her, but Amara's words struck her like a cup of icy cold water. "Civil war? Has it come to that?"
Amara pushed her hair back tiredly. "It grows more likely each day. The Slaver's Consortium is supported by several of the southern cities, and the northern and Shieldwall cities favor the Dianic League. It is imperative that Gaius maintains control over the Senate's majority, and the Dianic League is the lever he needs. My orders were to give you this information, then accompany you and your brother to the capital."
Isana sat down again slowly. "But that has now changed."
Amara nodded. "If Doroga is right about the vord, they could be a deadly threat. They must be dealt with without delay, so Bernard and I will stay here and do so, and join you as soon as we are able."
"And," Bernard rumbled, "we think we know where the third group of vord is going."
Isana arched an eyebrow.
Bernard reached into a sack he'd brought with him and drew out an old, battered leather pack. "Doroga's scouts found this along a trail leading directly toward the capital."
Isana blinked at the pack. "Isn't that Fade's old pack?"
"Yes," Bernard said. "But Fade gave it to Tavi before he entered the Wax Forest. Tavi lost it during the battle there. His scent is all over it."
"Blood and crows," Isana swore. "Are you telling me that this creature is following him?"
"It appears so," said Amara. "The Knights Aeris will arrive in the morning. Isana, you need to get to the capital and gain an audience with Gaius as soon as possible. Tell him about the vord, and make him believe you. He needs to find their nest and stop them."
"Why can't you send a courier to him instead?"
"Too risky," Bernard answered. "If the courier is delayed, or if Gaius is preoccupied with preparations, we'd be better off having the extra help here."
Amara nodded. "He will see you, Holder Isana. You may be the only one who will be able to cut through protocol and get to him immediately."
"All right. I'll do it. I'll talk to him." Isana said. "But not until I am sure Tavi is safe."
Amara grimaced but nodded. "Thank you. It was never my intention to send you into that snake pit alone. There will be a lot of people interested in you. Some of them can be quite deceptive and dangerous. I can provide you with an escort-a man I trust, named Nedus. He'll meet you at the Citadel and should be able to help you."
Isana nodded quietly and rose. "Thank you, Amara. I'll manage." She took a step toward the door and wavered, nearly falling.
Bernard caught her before she could. "Whoa. Are you all right?"
Isana closed her eyes and shook her head. "I just need to rest. It will be an early morning." She opened her eyes and frowned up at her brother. "You will be careful?"
"I'll be careful," he promised. "If you promise that you will."
She smiled faintly at him. "Done."
"Don't worry, 'Sana," he rumbled. "We'll make sure everyone is kept safe. Especially Tavi."
Isana nodded, and started for the door again, steadier. "We will."
Presuming, of course, that they weren't already too late.
Chapter 7
Between the time he saw Steadholder Isana found by her people and the time the sun set, Fidelias had run more than a hundred miles and left the Calderon Valley behind him. The furycrafted stones of the causeway lent their strength to his own earth fury, and through it to Fidelias. Though he was a man of nearly threescore years, the long run had cost him comparatively little effort. He slowed down when the hostel came into sight and walked the last several hundred yards, panting, his legs and arms burning lightly with exertion. Grey clouds rolled across the flaming twilight, and it began to rain.
Fidelias flipped his cloak's hood over his head. His hair had grown even thinner in the past few years, and if he didn't cover it, the cold rain would be both unpleasant and unhealthy. No self-respecting spy would allow himself to catch cold. He imagined the deadly consequences had he sneezed or coughed while inside the barn with Isana and her would-be assassin.
He didn't mind the thought of dying on a mission, but he'd stake himself out for the crows if he would ever allow it to happen because of a petty mistake.
The hostel was typical of its kind in the northern half of the Realm-a ten-foot wall surrounding a hall, a stables, a pair of barracks houses and a modest-sized smithy. He bypassed the hall, where travelers would be buying hot meals. His stomach rumbled. The music, dancing, and drinking wouldn't start until later in the evening, and until they did, he would not risk being recognized by bored diners with nothing better to do than observe and converse with their fellow travelers.
He slipped up the stairs of the second barracks house, opened the door to the room farthest from the entrance, and bolted it behind him. He eyed the bed for a moment, and his muscles and joints ached, but duty came before comfort. He sighed, built the fire laid in the fireplace to life, tossed aside his cloak and poured water from a pitcher into a broad bowl. Then he withdrew a small flask from his pouch, opened it, and poured a few splashes of water from the deep wellsprings beneath the Citadel in Aquitaine into the bowl.
The water in the bowl stirred almost immediately, rippling, and a long blob of liquid extruded from the surface of the contents in the bowl, wavering slowly into the miniature form of a woman in evening robes, striking rather than beautiful, apparently in her late twenties. "Fidelias," the woman's form said. Her voice sounded faint, soft, very far away. "You're late."
"My lady Invidia," Fidelias replied to the image, inclining his head. "I'm afraid the opposition wasn't overly considerate of our time constraints."
She smiled. "An agent had been dispatched. Did you learn anything of him?"
"Nothing stone solid. But he was carrying a Kalaran gutting knife, and he knew what he was doing," Fidelias said.
"A Kalaran bloodcrow," said the image. "Then the rumors are true. Kalarus has his own breed of Cursor."
"Apparently."
She laughed. "Only a man of great integrity could resist saying, 'I told you so.'"
"Thank you, my lady."
"What happened?"
"It was a near thing," Fidelias said. "When his first plan failed he panicked and went after her with that gutting blade."
"The Steadholder was slain?"
"No. She sensed him just before he struck, and killed him with a pitchfork."
The image's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Impressive."
"She's a formidable woman, my lady, watercrafting aside. If I may ask, my lady, what were the results of the League's summit?"
The woman's image tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully. Then said, "They have elected to support and promote Steadholder Isana's status."
Fidelias nodded. "I see."
"Do you?" the image asked. "Do you really see what this could mean? How it could affect the course of our history?"
Fidelias pursed his lips. "I suppose in the long term, it could mean an eventual state of legal and political parity between genders. I try not to think in terms of history, my lady. Only in practical cause and effect."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the most immediate effect will be economic, and therefore political. The establishment of a woman as a full Citizen in her own right will have immediate effects on the slave trade. If it becomes as costly to sell and purchase female slaves as male, it will have an enormous detrimental effect on the economy of the southern cities. Which is why, presumably, Kalarus dispatched an agent to remove Isana of Calderon."
"High Lord Kalarus is a debauched pig," Invidia said, her tone matter-of-fact. "I'm sure he went into some sort of seizure when he heard the news about Steadholder Isana."
Fidelias narrowed his eyes. "Ah. The First Lord knew precisely how High Lord Kalarus would react."
Her mouth curled up in an ironic smile. "Indeed. Gaius rather neatly divided his enemies by introducing this issue. My husband's alliance in the north, and Kalarus's in the south-and if the Steadholder appears in support of him, he may sweep the support of the Dianic League from my husband, as well."
"Would they not follow your lead, my lady?"
Invidia's image waved a hand. "You flatter me, but I do not control the League so completely. No one could. My husband simply understands the advantage that the support of the League gives him, and they see what they gain in return. Our relationship is one of mutual benefit."
"I assume your associates and allies are aware of the situation."
"Very," Invidia replied. "The woman's fate will be a demonstration of my husband's competence." She shook her head wearily. "The outcome of this situation is absolutely critical, Fidelias. Our success will solidify my husband's alliances while weakening the faith of Kalarus' followers. Failure could fatally cripple our plans for the future."
"In my judgment, the time seems premature for a confrontation with Kalarus."
She nodded. "I certainly would not have chosen this time and place, but by granting Citizenship to this woman, Gaius has forced Kalarus's hand." She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "But confrontation with Kalarus's faction was inevitable."
Fidelias nodded. "What are my orders, my lady?"
"You're to come to the capital at once for Wintersend."
Fidelias stared at the image for a moment. Then said, "You're joking."
"No," she said. "Isana will be presented formally to the Realm and the Senate at the conclusion of Wintersend, in public support of Gaius. We must stop it from happening."
Fidelias stared at the image for a moment, frustration welling up in his chest too sharply to keep it wholly from his voice. "I am a wanted man. If I am recognized in the capital, where many know my face, I will be captured, interrogated, and killed. To say nothing of the fact that the woman herself will know me on sight."
The image stared at him. "And?"
He kept his voice bland. "And it may somewhat hamper my ability to move around the city."
"Fidelias," the image chided, "you are one of the most dangerous men I know. And you are certainly the most resourceful." The image gave him a very direct, almost hungry look. "It's what makes you so attractive. You'll manage. It is my husband's command as well as my own."
Fidelias ground his teeth, but inclined his head. "Yes, my lady. I'll... think of something."
"Excellent," the image responded. "Isana's support for Gaius could cost my husband the support of the Dianic League. You must prevent it at any cost. Our future-and yours-hinges upon it."
The watery image slid smoothly back down into the bowl and vanished. Fidelias grimaced at it for a moment, then cursed and threw it across the room. The ceramic bowl shattered against the stones of the hearth.
Fidelias mopped his hands over his face. Impossible. What the Lord and Lady Aquitaine were asking was impossible. It would be the death of him.
Fidelias grimaced. There would be little point in trying to rest this night, and even the desire to eat had vanished with the tension that had filled him in the wake of his conversation with Lady Invidia.
He changed into dry clothing, seized his cloak and his belongings, and headed back out into the night.
Chapter 8
Tavi's legs burned from where he crouched on a rooftop overlooking the Domus Malleus, a building formerly a large smithy that had been rebuilt into one of the most popular dining houses in the trade quarter of the city of Alera. Twilight was laying siege to the day, and shadows had begun to fill the streets. Shops and merchants were closing their windows and doors for the night and rolling their goods away until the market opened again the next morning. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air.
Tavi's leg twitched, threatening to begin cramping. Stillness and patience were necessities for any hunter, and his uncle had taught Tavi all that he knew about tracking and hunting. Tavi had trailed the enormous sheep his uncle raised through rocky mountain trails, hunted down stray horses and calves, stalked the trails and learned the habits of the wildcats and thanadents that would prey upon his uncle's flocks.
As a final lesson, Bernard had taught him to stalk wild deer, creatures so quiet, alert, and swift that only the most skilled and persistent hunters would have any chance of taking one. This thief was not a mountain buck; but Tavi reasoned that someone so wily, so impossible to catch by even experienced civic legionares would have many of the same habits. The thief would be supremely wary, cautious, and swift. The only way to catch that kind of quarry was to determine what he needed, and where he would go to get it.
So Tavi had spent the afternoon speaking to officers of the civic legion, learning where the thief had struck and what he had taken. The perpetrator had eclectic tastes. A jeweler had lost a valuable silver cloak-pin and several ebony combs-though more valuable trinkets stored in the same location had not been touched. A clothier had been taken for three valuable cloaks. A cobbler had lost a set of garim-hide boots. But most distinctively, a number of dining houses, grocers, and bakeries had suffered from frequent nocturnal robberies.
Whoever the thief was, he wasn't after money. In fact, from the wildly varying list of items taken, it was almost as though he was stealing his prizes purely on impulse, for enjoyment. But the reoccurring burglaries of kitchens and larders indicated a single common fact that he shared with the mountain bucks of Tavi's wild home.
The thief was hungry.
Once Tavi knew that, the rest was much less difficult. He had simply waited for the dining houses to begin preparing their evening meals, then followed his nose to the most delicious-smelling building he could find. He found a spot where he could watch the kitchen entrance, and settled down to wait for the deer to forage.
Tavi neither heard nor saw the thief coming, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose and an odd, tingling ripple washed down his spine. He froze, hardly daring to breathe, and a moment later he saw a slow, silent shape covered in a dark cloak slip over the peak of the Domus Malleus's roof and descend to leap lightly to the ground beside the kitchen door.
Tavi descended to the street and darted across the street to the alley behind the restaurant. He stalked deeper into the alley and concealed himself in a patch of thick shadows, waiting for his quarry to reappear.
The thief emerged from the kitchen a pair of heartbeats later, sliding something beneath his cloak.
Tavi held his breath as the thief ghosted down the alley toward him and passed within a long step of Tavi's hiding place. Tavi waited until the thief went by, then lunged out of the shadows, seized the thief's cloak and hauled hard.
The thief reacted with the speed of a wary cat. He spun as Tavi pulled on his cloak, and threw a clay pot of scalding soup at Tavi's head. Tavi darted to one side and out of the way, and the thief hurled a plate laden with the remains of a roast at him, striking him hard on the chest. He staggered and fell back, sent off-balance. The thief spun and sprinted away down the walkway.
Tavi regained his balance and set off in pursuit. The thief was light on his feet, and Tavi could barely keep up. They ran in silence down darkened streets and walkways, in and out of the colored, warm spheres of the furylights. The thief hauled a barrel to its side as he passed a cooper's shop, and Tavi had to jump it. He gained ground, and threw himself at the thief's back. He missed, but got the man on a leg, and wrenched, throwing him off-balance and to the ground.
There was a silent, mad struggle only a few seconds long, Tavi tried to pin one of the thief's arms behind him, but his opponent was too quick and writhed until he could throw an elbow at Tavi's head. Tavi ducked it, but the thief spun and struck him in the chin with the edge of one hand. Stars flashed in Tavi's eyes, and he lost his hold on the thief, who rose and vanished into the dark before Tavi could regain his feet.
He set off in pursuit, but it was vain. The thief had made good his escape.
Tavi snarled a curse and stormed back out of the darkened alley, heading for the Domus Malleus. At least, he thought, he'd get himself a decent meal for all of his trouble.
He turned back out onto the street, scowling, and slammed directly into a large pedestrian.
"Tavi?" Max said, surprise in his tone. "What are you doing here?"
Tavi blinked at his roommate. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm being attacked by scowling academs from Calderon," Max said, a smile on the edges of his words. He shrugged his dark cloak to settle more solidly around him and brushed off his tunic.
The evening's mists were gathering thick and cold. Tavi felt himself start to shiver as the cold found its way to his sweating skin. He shook his head. "Sorry. I suppose I'm not at my most alert. But seriously, what are you doing down here?"
Max grinned. "There's a young widow a couple of streets down. She gets lonely on misty nights."
"This time of year, every night is misty," Tavi said.
Max beamed. "I noticed that, too."
"There's a reason people hate you."
"Jealousy is common among lesser men," Max agreed magnanimously. "My turn. What are you doing down here? Wouldn't do for Gaius's golden boy to get caught sneaking out past curfew."
"Meeting someone," Tavi replied.
"Sure you are," Max agreed amiably. "Who?"
"You aren't the only one who sneaks out of the Academy after dark."
Max burst out into a rolling laugh.
Tavi scowled at him. "What's so funny?"
"Obviously you aren't seeing a girl."
"How do you know?" Tavi demanded.
"Because even a virgin like you would try to look better than you do. Clean clothes, combed hair, freshly bathed, all that sort of thing. You look like you've been rolling around in the street."
Tavi flushed in embarrassment. "Shut up, Max. Go see your widow."
Instead, Max leaned against the wall of the dining house and folded his arms. "I could have rapped you on the head instead of letting you bump into me. And you'd never have known it happened," Max said. "It's not like you. You okay?"
"I'm just too busy," Tavi said. "I did calculations homework all day, after the test this morning-"
Max winced. "I'm sorry about how that went, Tavi. Killian might be able to furycraft his way around being blind, but he bloody sure doesn't see your strengths."
Tavi shrugged. "I expected it to go that way. And I've got to attend Gaius tonight."
"Again?" Max said.
"Yeah."
"So why aren't you back at the dorm getting some shut-eye?"
Tavi began to wave his hand vaguely, but then narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Ah-hah. Why aren't you running off to your eager widow, Max?"
"It's early. She'll keep," Max said, frowning.
"She'll keep until you complete your test for Killian?" Tavi asked.
Max's shoulders stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
"Your own test," Tavi said. "Killian gave you one of your own. He sent you to find out what I was doing."
Max couldn't hide an expression of surprise. Then he rolled his eyes. "Killian probably told you to keep yours secret, whatever it is."
"Of course. And no, I'm not telling you about it."
"Crows, Calderon. When you get this clever it makes me want to put a nice dent in your face."
"Jealousy is common among lesser men," Tavi said, with a small smile. Max mimed a punch, and Tavi ducked his head a little. "How long have you been shadowing me?"
"A couple of hours. Lost you when you moved off the roof."
If Killian knew you'd shown yourself to me, he'd fail you on the spot."
Max rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "It's just a test. I've been dealing with tests of one kind or another since I could walk."
"High Lord Antillus wouldn't be pleased if you failed."
"I'm sure to lose sleep now," Max drawled.
Tavi half smiled. "Is there really a widow?"
Max grinned. "Even if there wasn't, I'm pretty sure I could find one. Or make one, if it came to that."
Tavi snorted. "What are your plans for the night, then?"
Max pursed his lips. "I could follow you around some more, but it doesn't seem fair." He drew an X over his belly. "Soothword. I'll leave you alone instead of making you spend an hour of your sleep shaking me."
Tavi nodded and gave his friend a grateful smile. Max had sworn himself to truth, an old northern custom. He would never so much as consider breaking a promise given under his soothword. "Thank you," Tavi said.
"But I will find out what you're up to," Max said. "Not so much for Killian, as it is because someone needs to show you that you aren't nearly as clever as you think you are."
"Better get to bed then, Max. That's only going to happen in your dreams."
Max's teeth flashed in the dimness as Tavi accepted the challenge. He struck his chest lightly with a fist, the salute of a legionare, then vanished into the misty night.
Once Max was gone, Tavi rubbed at his aching chest, where the hurled plate had struck him. From the feel of it, there was going to be a bruise. A big one. But at least he'd get a decent meal for his pains. He stepped up onto the threshold of Domus Malleus.
The enormous chimes upon the top of the Citadel began to toll out the hour, each stroke sending out a low, vibrating pressure that could shake water within a bowl, accompanied by a shower of high, shivering tones, beautiful and somehow sad.
The chimes sounded nine times, and Tavi spat an oath. There would be no time to stop for a meal. If he set out at his best pace, it would take him nearly another hour to wind his way up through Alera's streets to the First Lord's Citadel, and subsequently descend into the depths beneath the stronghold. He would arrive smudged and stained from his skulking, covered in sweat and most of an hour late to his duties to the First Lord.
And he had a history examination in the morning.
And he still hadn't caught Killian's thief.
Tavi shook his head and started jogging back up through the capital.
He'd only gone a couple of hundred yards when the skies rumbled, and drops of slow, heavy rain came down in sheets.
"Some hero of the Realm you are," Tavi muttered to himself, and set off to attend the First Lord.
Panting, dirty, and late, he paused at the door to the First Lord's chamber. He tried to straighten his cloak and tunic, then regarded them helplessly. Nothing short of a legion of cleaning experts could make him presentable. He chewed on his lip, shoved his dark mop of wet hair back from his face, and went inside.
Gaius stood upon the whirling colors of the mosaic tiles again. He stooped, as though with great weariness or pain. His face was ashen, and the stubble of his beard no longer seemed to contain any hairs but those gone white. But it was his eyes that were the worst. They were sunken, dark pits, the whites shot with blood around eyes whose colors had become faded and dull. Fell, sickly fires burned within them-not the determination, pride and strength to which Tavi had become accustomed, but something more brittle, more frightening.
Gaius scowled down at him, and snapped, "You're late."
Tavi bowed his head deeply and left it that way. "Yes, sire. I have no excuse, and offer my apologies."
Gaius was silent for a moment, before he began to cough again. He waved an irritated hand at the tiles, dispersing the shapes and colors rising from them, and sat down at the little bureau against one wall until the coughing had passed. The First Lord sat with his eyes closed, his breath too shallow and too fast. "Go to the cupboard, boy. My spicewine."
Tavi rose immediately and went to the cupboard near the bench in the antechamber. Tavi poured and offered him the glass, and Gaius drank it with a grimace. He studied Tavi with a sour expression. "Why were you late?"
"Finals," Tavi replied. "They've taken up more of my time."
"Ah," Gaius said. "I seem to remember several such incidents during my own education. But it's no excuse for failing in your duties, boy."
"No, sire."
Gaius coughed again, wincing, and held out his glass for Tavi to refill. "Sire? Are you well?" The bitter, brittle flare of anger returned to Gaius's eyes. "Quite."
Tavi licked his lips nervously. "Well, sire, you seem to be... somewhat peaked."
The First Lord's expression grew ugly. "What would you know of it? I think the First Lord knows better than a bastard apprentice shepherd whether he is or is not well."
Gaius's words hit Tavi harder than a fist. He dropped back a step, looking away. "Your pardon, sire. I did not intend to offend you."
"Of course you didn't mean to," Gaius said. He sat his wineglass down so hard that the stem snapped. "No one ever means to offend someone with power. But your words make your lack of respect for my judgment, my office, my self abundantly clear."
"No, sire, I don't mean that-"
Gaius's voice crackled with anger, and the ground itself quivered in reaction. "Be silent, boy. I will not tolerate further interruptions with good grace. You know nothing of what I have had to do. How much I have had to sacrifice to protect this Realm. This Realm whose High Lords now circle me like a pack of jackals. Like crows. Without gratitude. Without mercy. Without respect."
Tavi said nothing, but the First Lord's words rambled in pitch and tone so badly that he began to have trouble understanding Gaius's speech. He had never heard the First Lord speak with such a lack of composure.
"Here," Gaius said. He seized Tavi's collar with a sudden and terrifying strength and dragged the boy after him into the seeing chamber, out onto the whirling mosaic of tiles whose lights and colors pulsed and danced, creating a cloud of light and shadow that formed into a depiction of the lands of the Realm. At the center of the mosaic, Gaius slashed his other hand at the air, and the colors of the map blurred, resolving abruptly into the image of a terrible storm lashing some luckless coastal village.
"You see?" Gaius growled.
Tavi's fear faded a bit in the face of his fascination. The image of the town grew clearer, as though they were moving closer to it. He saw holders running inland, but the seas reached out for them with arms of black water. The waters rushed over the village, the holders, and all of them vanished.
"Crows," Tavi whispered. Tavi's belly quivered and twisted, and he was glad he hadn't eaten. He could barely whisper. "Can't you help them?"
Gaius screamed. His voice rolled out like the furious roar of some beast. The furylamps blazed to brilliant light, and the air in the chamber rolled and twisted in a small cyclone. The stone heart of the mountain shook and trembled before the First Lord's rage, bucking so hard that Tavi was thrown to the floor.
"What do you think I've been doing, boy!" Gaius howled. "Day! Night! AND IT ISN'T ENOUGH!" He whirled and snarled something in a savage tone, and the chair and table on one side of the room did more than burst into flame-there was a howling sound, a flash of light and heat, and the charred embers of the wooden furnishing flew throughout the room, rattling from the walls, leaving a fine haze of ash in the air. "ALL GONE! ALL! I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SACRIFICE, AND IT ISN'T ENOUGH!"
The First Lord's voice broke then, and he staggered to one knee. Wind, flame, and stone subsided again, and he was suddenly just an old man once more-his appearance that of someone aged too fast and too hard in a harsh world. His eyes were even more deeply sunken, and he trembled, and Gaius clutched at his chest with both hands, coughing.
"My lord," Tavi breathed, and went to the old man. "Sire, please. Let me find someone to help you."
The coughing wound down, though Tavi thought it was more a result of a weakening of Gaius's lungs than an improvement in his condition. The old man stared at the image of the coastal village with hazy eyes, and said, "I can't. I've tried to protect them. To help them. Tried so hard. Lost so much. And failed."
Tavi found tears in his eyes. "Sire."
"Failed," Gaius whispered. "Failed."
His eyes rolled back. His breaths came quick and shallow, rasping. His lips looked rough, chapped, dry.
"Sire?" Tavi breathed. "Sire?"
There was a long silence in which Tavi tried to rouse the First Lord, calling him by both title and name.
But Gaius did not respond.