Chapter 41
"I don't like it, First Spear," Crassus said quietly. "This was too easy."
They stood within the ruins of an old town on a hill, its name long since forgotten. Odds were that the town had simply withered after the successful port city of Mastings had grown up only a few miles away, but whatever it had once been, centuries had passed since anyone but the occasional traveler or passing deer had lived there.
"I was sure they would have fortified this place," Marcus said. "But I'm just as glad they didn't make us fight to take it."
"Exactly," Crassus said. "They could have-they should have. And they didn't."
"The Canim are good soldiers," Marcus responded. "But that doesn't make them perfect, sir. And there could have been any number of factors that prevented them from using this position against us. Whether they made a mistake or just couldn't get things set up in time, we're better off for it."
"That story sounds weak, Marcus," Crassus said. "Even you think so."
"Weak, sir?" Marcus asked. "Just because the Canim have let us take a position we can fortify beyond their capabilities to assault only miles away from the town they have to protect at all costs, without giving us so much as a nosebleed over taking it? Especially when they know how tough we are from a defensive strong point?" He snorted. "What's weak about that?"
Around them, the First Aleran continued sweeping the overgrown streets, the half-collapsed buildings, checking everything within the tumbledown walls that had once surrounded the town. Both Guard Legions had marched to positions beside the town and were now erecting palisades atop simple earthworks as an outer defensive perimeter around the base of the hill.
The hoofbeats of a trotting horse approached, and Maximus rode his stallion through what had once been someone's living room. He dismounted and flicked the horse's reins around the remains of a chimney, then approached Crassus and saluted.
Crassus returned it. "Well?"
"They had scouts watching the hill," Maximus said. "Canim and mounted rebels. We pursued them, but not too hard."
Crassus nodded at his brother. "The city?"
Maximus's eyes glittered. "Saw it."
"How bad is it?"
"Three layers of earthworks," Max said. "Then what looks like a newly crafted outer wall, around the walls of the town itself. And they're all lined with troops."
Marcus let out a low whistle.
"How many?" Crassus asked.
"Twenty thousand on the walls," Max said. "No idea how many might have been behind them."
Crassus spat. "Wonderful."
"The good news," Marcus said, "is that at least they're doing something we anticipated, sir."
"Under the circumstances, it's hardly comforting," Crassus said. "With that much manpower, they should have had plenty of hands to spare to build up the ruins and make us fight for them."
"Maybe they didn't think they needed to," Maximus said. "They've got us outnumbered already. If we want to take them out, we'll have to go to them, and having a defensible position to fall back on isn't going to mean much when it's miles away."
Marcus grunted in a neutral tone. Crassus was a young commander, but his naturally studious, pensive personality tended to negate the usual recklessness of a leader his age. If anything, perhaps too much so. Waging a military campaign truly was one of the more complicated endeavors anyone could embark upon, and the demands of organization, logistics, communications, and internal politics could often create unusual, or even outwardly ridiculous-seeming, scenarios.
Marcus was well aware of Nasaug's skills, which had been sufficient to enable him to survive in hostile territory, cut off from any help and vastly outnumbered on the absolute scale. Only extremely competent leadership could account for such a thing-but even the most brilliant general had finite resources. It was entirely possible that Nasaug had reached the limits of his.
It was also, he admitted, entirely possible that the reason the ruins had been ceded without a fight was nowhere near so innocuous.
"Plan for what he can do," Marcus said. "Not what you think he's going to do."
Crassus glanced at Marcus and nodded sharply. "Giving us a nice position here lets them know two things for certain-where to find us and from where we'll approach Mastings." He scratched at the tip of his nose, frowning. "We estimate that he'll have forty thousand troops available to defend Mastings, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine," Crassus said. "Let's suppose he's got thirty thousand waiting for us behind the walls. He could easily have ten waiting in the field, hoping to pin us between Mastings's defenses and their field force."
Max nodded. "Which would get ugly, fast."
"But that isn't a large enough force to take us on its own," Marcus said. "Especially not from fortifications."
"Which gives them even more reason not to let us take these without a fight."
Max stared at Crassus for a moment, then accused, "You think too much."
The young commander shrugged. "I don't see Nasaug sitting quietly behind his walls and waiting for us, either," Crassus said. "It could be that he's planning on hitting us here before the engineers can build the ruins up. So I want to picket the cavalry in a screen around us at five or six miles. If anyone sees anything moving out there, I want to know about it."
Max nodded and banged a fist on his chest, then went to his horse.
Before he could leave, more horses approached, and shortly the Senator, the captains of both Guard Legions, and their immediate attendants arrived.
But not, Marcus noted, the Senator's hired singulares. There was no sign of Phrygiar Navaris or her contemporaries. Several burly legionares from the Guard were staying close to Arnos-but not his gang of hired killers.
Marcus glanced at Crassus, who seemed to have noted the same absence. The young commander frowned and tapped the tip of his thumb restlessly against the hilt of his sword.
"Captain Crassus," Arnos said.
"Senator," Crassus replied, his tone polite as he saluted. "Welcome. I hadn't expected to see you today."
"No sense wasting time," Arnos replied.
That hadn't stopped him from doing it before, Marcus noted, but he said nothing.
"No, sir," Crassus agreed. He went on to give Arnos the brief facts of what they had learned about Mastings. "I was just about to set pickets, sir, if you would like to-"
"Good," Arnos said, nodding. "Keep them close in. No more than a mile or two out. Otherwise, we'll lose them to raiding forces and enemy scouts."
Crassus didn't respond for a second. Then he said, "Sir, if I might respectfully suggest it, I think we'd be better served to push them farther out. It's a greater risk, but if an enemy force comes at us, they'll have more time to warn us before they arrive."
"Thank you for your suggestion, Captain," Arnos said in a level tone. "But the enemy hasn't seen fit to come at us openly ever since our last encounter with them. That's why they gave us the ruins today: They know they'll be beaten in the open field and wanted to preserve morale for the defense of Mastings. If there is a force moving around out there, I doubt it's very large. The Canim are protecting their ships. They won't spare a significant number of troops for side adventures."
"That sounds logical, sir," Crassus replied, nodding. "But it won't hurt us to have our screen out a little farther."
"It's a long walk to Kalare, young Antillus," Arnos said, his eyes hard, but with something jovial in his tone. "We'll need our riders when we face the real threat in the south. Let's not waste them here, hmmm?"
Crassus's expression became totally neutral. He gave the Senator a sharp nod and another salute. "Yes, sir." Then he turned to Maximus, and said, "Pickets to be set at two miles. Don't make me say it twice."
Maximus saluted once and departed.
Marcus stood nearby while Arnos went over the order of. battle with his captains, and while Crassus demonstrated the fruits of a lifetime of preparation to succeed his father's title. Though he could have made several suggestions, the young man kept his mouth shut until Nalus inevitably brought up some of the same points. Crassus would immediately caution Arnos against the sensible course of action, and Arnos would just as immediately overrule him. By the end of an hour-long conference, they had a plan for assaulting the city that at least stood a crow's chance of success.
When they were leaving, Marcus strode over to Nalus's horse. "Sir, that girth is looking a bit loose." He nudged Nalus on the leg and the captain drew it back so that Marcus could reach the fittings of the broad leather band.
"Don't say it," muttered Nalus under his breath. "I know. This was too easy. Something's wrong."
Marcus nodded, finished adjusting the saddle's girth, and slapped the horse on the rump as he walked away.
Crassus fell into step beside him, and they walked toward the southern edge of the ruins, where the engineers were already at work, preparing to fortify the old town wall.
"Two miles isn't far enough," Crassus growled.
"No, sir," Marcus replied. "Guess it's a good thing you told Maximus to go to four miles."
"I didn't tell him that," Crassus said, smiling faintly. "You were there."
Marcus snorted. "Yes, sir."
Marcus accompanied Crassus as he inspected the fortifications and conferred with the Tribune of the engineering cohort. After that came a briefing of the First Aleran's Tribunes, outlining the battle plan for the following day.
Crassus dismissed the officers from the command tent, and said, "Marcus, stay a moment."
The First Spear waited.
"Did you notice the Senator's singulares?"
Marcus frowned. "Yes, sir. Or rather no, I didn't."
"I'm trying to think of the last time I saw them. I think it was when we were still near Othos."
Marcus nodded. "That was what I figured, too."
"It isn't hard to work out what someone would send Phrygiar Navaris to do," Crassus said quietly. "If anything's happened to the captain, I'm not going to let it pass. And I'll want your help't-"
Outside, trumpets began blaring the call to arms. Men began shouting, and boots pounded the ground. Crassus and Marcus traded a look, then left the tent, to find the First Aleran in the midst of the structured chaos of a surprise call to arms.
Maximus came thundering up on his horse, and the beast was lathered with sweat and breathing hard. He threw Crassus a quick salute, and swung down from the restless beast. "I ordered the call to arms," he said shortly. "We don't have much time."
"For what, Max?" Crassus demanded.
"You were right. It was too easy," Max said. "The Canim are coming-at least two separate elements coming from the northeast and southeast, and they're converging here."
"Crows," Crassus spat. "How many?"
"So far, better than thirty thousand," Max said.
Crassus just stared at him, his face going pale. "How? How could they have that many in the field?"
"Sir," Marcus growled. "It doesn't matter how. They're here."
Crassus clenched his hands into fists and then nodded sharply at the First
Spear. "Assemble, and prepare to move down the hill to support the defense of the palisade wall," he said sharply. "Knights to stay at the crown of the hill in reserve. Maximus, how many of your troops are in?"
"Not many," Max said. "Most are still standing picket."
"Then you're taking over as Knight Tribune," Crassus said. "Get moving."
Max saluted and strode off.
"Marcus..." Crassus said.
The First Spear banged out a crisp salute. "Let's get to work, sir."
Chapter 42
Isana watched as the Slive approached the docks at Fellcove, a small port town on Alera's western coast, many miles south of Founderport and the Elinarch. The place had a seedy look to it, the boards of its houses weathered with age and smeared with tar. From the looks of the docks, one could practically step off of one's ship and directly into the town's drinking house, or its brothel- possibly both.
Ehren stood beside her, smiling. "Don't look so alarmed, my lady," he murmured. "We won't be staying long enough for it to make you uncomfortable."
Isana glanced down at Ehren and smiled. "Does it show?"
"From about a league away," Ehren replied. "Truth be told, I don't care much for the place, either."
"Then how did we settle upon it as our landing point?" Isana asked.
"It's close to Mastings," Ehren said. "The Legions are probably there already, and even if they aren't, Nasaug almost certainly is."
"Shouldn't we have sailed directly to Mastings, then?"
Demos's voice cut into the conversation as the captain came striding down the deck. "The Canim have been rather narrow-minded about commandeering every ship that they can get their hands on. I'd rather keep mine."
"Which makes Fellcove our only real option," Ehren said. "The Canim don't keep a presence here. Something about the smell."
Isana arched an eyebrow. "Surely they don't leave it entirely unguarded?"
"No," Ehren said. "They pay a local, ah, businessman named Ibrus, to commandeer ships and keep them informed about any naval movements."
"What's to stop him from taking the Slive?" Isana asked Demos.
"He's greedy," Demos said. "Not suicidal."
"I've done business with him before," Ehren added. "He's as reasonable as any of his ilk can be."
The ship's lines got tossed out to the dock rats, and the men drew the Slive up to the dock and made it fast. Isana noted that a broad-bladed axe had been set out beside the base of each mooring line on the ship, presumably so that they could be severed quickly, if necessary.
The ship's hull bumped against the dock, and Demos nodded to Ehren, holding out his hand. "There you go."
Ehren slapped a jingling leather pouch into Demos's palm, and nodded to him. "Pleasure doing business."
"I always enjoy working with Cursors," Demos replied. "They pay on time, and almost never try to kill me afterward."
Tavi emerged from the passenger cabin, wearing a mail shirt and his weaponry. Araris, similarly clad, also appeared. Tavi nodded and smiled at Isana, before walking over to the hold and growling something in the Canish tongue. An answering snarl rose from the depths of the ship, and then Varg came up the stairs through the cargo doors. The enormous Cane wrinkled his nose and growled something, to which Tavi responded with a bark of laughter. Varg disdained the gangplank. He simply put one hand on the ship's railing and vaulted lightly down to the dock beneath. Lightly being a relative term, Isana supposed.
The dock rats all paused in their tasks for a moment, staring at Varg. The big Cane stretched, then deliberately yawned, displaying a mouthful of fangs.
The dock rats went hurriedly back to their tasks.
As Tavi passed Isana on the way to the gangplank, she asked him, "What did he say?"
"That he's glad to get off this ship," Tavi said. "He says it smells like wet people here."
Isana blinked. "I... I didn't realize." She glanced at the Cane. "Was he making a joke?"
"I'm not really sure," Tavi said. He gave Varg a wry glance. "I don't think I'm supposed to be. Excuse me." He paced down the gangplank to stand near the Cane.
Kitai climbed down from the ship's rigging and dropped the last several feet to the deck. Over the course of the journey, her hair had begun to grow in again and was now a short, fine brush of white offset by her longer mane. She gave a brilliant smile to one of the crewman, a brawny young sailor with a fresh cut running across his chin. The man visibly flinched and seemed to remember urgent duties requiring his attention elsewhere on the ship.
Kitai murmured to Isana, "I take my shirt off once, and it is as if these Aler-ans think I have invited them all to mate with me."
Isana glanced at the retreating young sailor. "Oh, dear. Why didn't you say anything?"
Kitai shrugged. "There was nothing to it. He made advances. I objected."
Isana arched an eyebrow. "I see. At what point did your objections draw blood?"
"Here," Kitai said, drawing a finger across her chin. "And another you can't see, right about..." She started untucking her shirt from her trousers.
Isana sighed and put her hands over Kitai's. "Later, dear. For the time being, let's just get off the ship." She turned to Kitai and offered her one of the traveling cloaks she had folded over her arm.
Kitai took the cloak, evidently well pleased with herself, and threw it about her shoulders, covering her distinctive hair with the hood. "Though I hardly see the point of wearing any kind of disguise," she said. "Not with the Cane with us."
Isana donned her own cloak. "Humor me."
"Easy enough," Kitai said agreeably.
Araris, now cloaked and hooded, came up to Isana, a satchel over his shoulder. He offered it to her, and she took it, her fingers brushing his. His eyes shone for a moment, and he bowed his head to her. "Ready?"
Isana felt a sudden flutter of amusement mixed with realization from Kitai, who murmured tartly, "Why, I expect she is."
"Kitai!" Isana whispered fiercely, her face heating.
"All that fuss about the men in a separate room. I should have shared a room with my Aleran and you with yours. We all would have been happier."
"Kitai!"
"Though I suppose we might not have gotten things done quite as quickly," Kitai said. She tilted her head and gave Araris a frank appraisal. "How is he with his mouth?"
Araris looked considerably more shaken than he had when he'd received his hideous belly wound. "Urn, ladies," he said. "Excuse me." He hurried down the gangplank to move to Tavi's side.
Kitai laughed, a merry, silvery sound. "Alerans make this easy."
"You're shameless!" Isana protested, but she felt her mouth turning up into a smile.
"Of course," Kitai said. "It's obviously a side effect of being an unlettered savage." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and glanced at Tavi, who was speaking intently to Ehren. "My Aleran does not know."
"Correct," Isana said.
"You would prefer that he did not know."
"Yes."
Kitai smiled faintly. "There were times when Doroga would meet with a woman, after my mother died. I was much younger. I thought he was betraying her memory. It was painful."
Isana shivered a little at the sudden sense of hollow loss and loneliness she felt in Kitai. The loss of her mother must have affected her deeply, still to bring up such intense emotion years and years later.
"I know better, now. My mother was dead. Doroga should not be expected to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was a difficult thought to hold between my ears."
"I'll tell him," Isana said. "When he doesn't already have so much on his mind."
Kitai nodded. "Then I will not bring it up. I will not lie to him should he ask me, but I will not draw his attention to it."
"Thank you, Kitai."
She inclined her head, and said, "But tell him soon. The next time we stay in an inn, matters can be better arranged."
They descended from the ship to join the others, and together walked through Fellcove to see this man Ehren had mentioned, Ibrus.
It had been sundown when they made port, and it was well on toward full darkness now. Fellcove had very few furylamps on its streets-in fact, the town itself seemed to have none at all. The only lamps in evidence were outside of homes and businesses, doubtlessly personal property. The streets were crude mud tracks, utterly lacking the properly furycrafted stone, or even the ruder, more common cobblestones. Fellcove's filth ran through garbage-choked gutters on either side of the street, and the whole place smelled awful.
Indeed, as they proceeded into the town, Varg seemed to shrink a few inches, his shoulders hunching up even higher, his head lower and often turned aside, as if to seek some respite from the stench.
There was only one street, and it wound back and forth from the ocean up the steep side of a hill. Ehren led them to its very last winding, and to an enormous house that may at one time have looked respectable, perhaps as a residence for a magistrate or a minor Count. Now, its white stone had been stained by years of weather and sun, and most of the windows were out. What had once been a small garden in front of the house had become a patch of weeds and brambles so thick that it had strangled itself to death.
Ehren walked up to the front door of the house, drew his knife, and banged the pommel of his dagger several times upon the door. The door was cheap and weatherworn, clearly a relatively recent addition to the house, and it was marked with the shallow, round indentations of what Isana assumed had to be thousands of other people banging on it with a dagger's pommel.
For a long while, nothing happened.
"Should we let ourselves in?" Tavi asked.
"Oh crows no," Ehren said quickly. "Bad idea." He pounded on the door again. "Ibrus!" he shouted. "I need to talk to you, and I've got cash!"
Footsteps thudded on floorboards inside the house and grew louder. Shortly the door was opened by an enormous man in a food-stained shirt. He had a heavy brow, a thick neck, and something had removed an entire section of his upper lip, leaving his teeth bared in a perpetual snarl.
"Siggy," Ehren said, smiling. "Is Ibrus in?"
The big man's voice was slurred by his mangled face, but its tone was surprisingly warm and mellow. "It's late, Appius. He's told you about his hours before."
"I'm prepared to make it worth his time."
"Heard that one before," Siggy said.
Ehren tossed a pair of coins at the big man, and Isana saw the glitter of gold in the light of the single furylamp outside the front door.
"I'm prepared to make it worth his time," Ehren said in exactly the same voice as before.
"Come in," Siggy said. He pocketed the coins and led them into the entry hall, a large room obviously used as a reception area, centered around a large (and largely defunct) fountain with its own pool. The water was dark and stagnant. Siggy paused for a moment as Varg crouched to come through the door, and stared at the Cane. "Wait here. I'll go get him."
"Charming," Tavi murmured to Ehren, after Siggy had gone.
"It helps to speak the language," Ehren said.
"Appius?" Tavi asked.
"Everybody in this part of the Realm has at least two or three aliases. If you don't pick up a couple, you'll never fit in."
"This Ibrus," Tavi asked. "Can we trust him?"
"Absolutely," Ehren replied, "to do whatever benefits Ibrus most."
Tavi nodded, looking around the shadowy hall. "I don't like it. If there was any other way to secure mounts..."
"There isn't," Ehren said firmly.
Tavi growled beneath his breath, looking around them. "Still."
More footsteps sounded, and another light approached. Siggy bore a fury-lamp in one hand and a heavy cudgel in the other. A man walked beside him. He was a little taller than average and well built, his thick red hair and beard shot with grey. He wore a fine robe, much like those sported by Senators and the most pretentious of the Citizenry, though it was rumpled and stained with what Isana hoped was wine.
"Appius," Ibrus said. He yawned. "I was just finishing a rather fine evening's entertainment, and I cannot adequately express how annoying your presence is."
Isana found herself focusing more intently on Ibrus. Though the man looked and sounded both bored and mildly angry, his true emotions were considerably different.
He was tense. Afraid.
"You're a middleman, Ibrus," Ehren replied. "Everyone wants to see you in the middle of the night-or in the middle of a bonfire. There's not much in between."
"Someday your mouth is going to get you into trouble, Appius," Ibrus said darkly.
Ehren lifted a purse and jingled it. "I'd better move it to where it won't disturb you, then. 1 need horses."
Ibrus scowled, then rolled his eyes. "Siggy."
The big man held out his hand, and Ehren tossed him the purse. Siggy dumped the coins out in his palm, looked at them, and then dumped them back into the purse, which he handed to Ibrus with a nod.
"There's not going to be much to choose from," Ibrus warned him. "The Free Alerans were grabbing anything they could get their hands on."
"What have you got?" Ehren asked. The two men got down to haggling over horses.
As they did, Isana became increasingly aware of the discrepancy between Ibrus's manner and his actual state of mind. That was nothing unusual, really. Most people could dissemble reasonably well, in that sense. After all, it was part of being polite and showing common courtesy to others. But ever since her venture into the leviathan-haunted sea, her watercrafting senses had become increasingly fine, able to distinguish details and nuance with greater and greater clarity. Ibrus's emotions were not simply a repressed reaction he preferred not to display. He was actively worried, impatient, and increasingly frightened.
"You're expecting someone," Isana said sharply.
The conversation stopped, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to her.
She hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the die was cast. She stepped forward, locking her gaze to Ibrus's and spoke clearly. "Who are you expecting, Ibrus? Why does a simple horse trade frighten you so?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ibrus replied.
Tavi's eyes narrowed. He traded a quick glance with Isana, and said, "You're sweating, Ibrus. Even though it's a lovely, cool evening."
Araris, who had become motionless once Isana began speaking, abruptly moved. His sword cleared its sheath as he spun, and the blade struck through what looked like empty air.
A spray of blue sparks and a ribbon of blood spilled forth from nowhere, splattering the floor and Ibrus's fancy robes. There was a cry of pain and a man appeared, tall, slender, dressed in mail, and bearing a sword. Araris's blade had sheared through his armor like a knife through cheese, and a long, gaping wound in the metal links was matched by the far more gruesome wound in the flesh beneath. The man went down, screaming, dropping his sword to clutch at the innards spilling from his belly.
Isana recognized the man. He had been one of Senator Arnos's singidares.
Which meant...
There was an enormous roar of shattering stone, and the wall nearest the party suddenly fell inward, toward them, shattering along the way. Isana saw Araris leap back-directly into Tavi, pushing him away from the falling stone. Araris went down underneath the fall of white marble and screamed.
Isana found herself falling backward, and realized that Kitai had seized her by the back of her dress and hauled her away from the deadly rain of marble. Ehren flung himself into a neat forward roll, toward Ibrus, and when he came to his feet again, the young Cursor sank one of his knives to the hilt in Ibrus's throat.
Siggy whirled toward him and leapt on Ehren, flattening the smaller man to the floor. He seized Ehren's throat between two huge hands, and Isana saw the young man's face turn purple.
She rolled and came to her knees, then gestured at the fountain of stagnant water and called to Rill.
A jet of water leapt from the pool and flashed across the room. It slammed into Siggy's maimed face and simply clung to his head, filling his, eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. The big man released Ehren's throat in a panic, reaching up to claw uselessly at the water covering his face.
Ehren arched his body and threw Siggy off him. Before the big man could fully settle to the floor, Ehren had produced another knife and flicked its razor-sharp blade across Siggy's throat.
The man's terror flooded over Isana, layer after layer of it, like a landslide of some kind of hideous, stinking mud. It weighed her down relentlessly, magnified by her contact with the dying man, but she kept the tendril of water on his face until his movements went frantic, then suddenly slackened, his fear abruptly vanishing.
Isana released the crafting with a sob and began to struggle to her feet, calling for Tavi. Just as she did, someone smashed the furylamp, which rose up into a brief column of fire and vanished, leaving the ruined house in utter darkness.
Sparks leapt up across the room for a moment as blade met blade, showing Isana a flash image-Araris, his lower legs pinned beneath the rubble of the fallen wall, and another large, muscular man, also one of the Senator's bodyguards, standing over him with a great war hammer raised over his head.
Isana cried out. In the renewed darkness, she could not see her target, so she did the only thing she could think of. With Rill's help, she seized the entire contents of the stagnant pool and flung them in a single, coherent mass toward the man about to kill Araris.
There was an enormous slap-splashing sound and a cry of surprise. Another flash of sparks showed her the man lying dazed on the ground several feet away, and a drenched Araris choking and coughing.
Then someone with an iron grip seized her by the hair. They jerked back on her head, snapping it back to a painful angle, and then a line of fine, deadly cold settled across her throat. Isana froze in place.
Her captor and she sat motionless in the dark for a time, until finally a cold, female voice said, "Get the light back on and report."
Someone produced a pair of small furylamps and set them on the floor nearby, and Isana could see what was left.
Araris lay on the floor, still trapped from the knees down. His hands were empty and spread, and a man stood over him with the tip of a long blade resting in the hollow of Araris's throat.
The man with the huge hammer looked up from lighting the furylamps. "Aresius is dead," he said, his tone neutral. "So are both locals. We've taken two prisoners."
The woman holding Isana said, "Scipio? The Cane?"
The man with the war hammer swallowed. "Gone."
Her captor suddenly pulled hard on Isana's hair, flinging her onto her back on the ground. The tip of a sword came to rest upon her cheekbone, and Isana found herself facing Phrygiar Navaris.
Navaris looked the worse for wear. The skin of her face was peeling, badly, and looked as if it had been blistered. Her short hair was burned to a lighter color, similarly, and her hands and arms told the same tale of too much sun and the exquisitely painful consequences.
"Steadholder," Navaris murmured. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill both of you. Right here. Right now."
