Cursor's Fury (81 page)
Amara said, “Nonnegotiable.”
“May I ask you a question?” Bernard asked.
“Certainly,” Amara said.
“How did you know that those two were going to be trading faces during the rescue?”
“Because Odiana was there,” Amara said. “Honestly, why else would she be? Lady Aquitaine certainly didn’t need to bring an extra healer, and I can’t imagine that she would let a madwoman like her come along on an operation like this just to keep Aldrick company. She didn’t need any of that. She needed someone who could look like her and serve as her double, her stalking horse. It seemed reasonable that Lady Aquitaine would want to hide her true identity during the rescue attempt. That way, if things went sour, or if in the long run Kalarus wound up with the throne, she’d be in a position to deny any involvement.”
Bernard shook his head. “I can’t think in circles that twisty. And you got Lady Placida and Rook to do the same thing? Switch identities?”
“Yes. So that in the confrontation, Lady Aquitaine would take action against the wrong targets and give us a chance to get the drop on her entirely.”
“Some people,” Bernard said quietly, “might argue that we should have killed them.”
Amara shrugged. “Lady Aquitaine and her retainers could quite possibly have taken several of us with them, had they been sure that they were to die. Terms let us all walk away in one piece. And given Lady Aquitaine’s contacts and influence, arresting her for trial would be a pointless exercise.”
“Some people might not be happy with that answer,” Bernard rumbled. “They’ll say you could have killed them with impunity once they’d surrendered.”
“People like Gaius?” Amara suggested.
“He’s one,” Bernard said, nodding.
Amara turned to her husband and met his eyes steadily. “I swore to uphold and defend the Crown, my lord. And that means that I am bound by the law. One does not arrest, judge, sentence, and execute prisoners without due course
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of law.” She lifted her chin. “Neither does an agent of the Crown betray her word, once given. Besides, the First Lord still needs Aquitaine’s support, until Kalare’s Legions are put down. Murdering his wife might reduce the enthusiasm of his support.”
Bernard studied her face, his features unreadable. “Those people are dangerous, Amara. To me, to my family, to you. We’re in the wilderness, amidst the chaos of a war. Who would know?”
Amara met his gaze calmly. “I would. Decent people don’t
murder
their fellow human beings if it is not necessary. And Invidia did, after all, do a great service to the realm.”
“Right up until it went a little sour at the end,” Bernard growled.
Amara put her hands on either side of his face. “Let her have her world. It’s cold there, and empty. For us, it isn’t enough to win, my lord. It isn’t enough to simply survive. I will not live in a realm where calculations of power supersede justice and law—regardless of how inconvenient that may be to the Crown.”
Bernard’s teeth showed in another white, fierce smile. He kissed her gently. “You, ‘ he said, “are more than that old man deserves.”
She smiled at him, warmly. “Be careful, my lord husband. If you say too much, I may have to report your seditious remarks to the First Lord.”
“Do that. How long do you think it will take them to get out of there?”
They sat beside one another in the coach. Rook, reunited with her daughter, had fallen asleep while holding her, her cheek resting on Masha’s curls. The little girl’s cheeks were pink with the warmth of a young child’s deep sleep. Lady Placida and Elania were likewise drowsing.
“Ten minutes, perhaps,” Amara said. “Once Lady Aquitaine’s had a little rest, she’ll snap those ropes and free the others. But without transportation for her retainers, she’d have to pursue us on her own. She wouldn’t do that, even if Lady Placida wasn’t in a position to destroy her public image and her support in the Dianic League with damning testimony about conspiracy to commit murder.”
Bernard nodded. “I see,” he said. “And what’s stopping the bearers from just dumping us out on the ground and going back for her?”
“They’re mercenaries, my love. We offered them money. Lots and lots of money.”
“Right,” Bernard said. “We’re good for it. Though I feel I must ask . . . why did we leave them naked? To slow them down?”
“No,” Amara sniffed. “Because the poisonous bitch deserved it.”
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Bernard’s eyes wrinkled at the corners, and he turned to place a slow, gentle kiss upon her mouth, and one upon each eyelid. Amara found that once closed, her eyes simply refused to open, and she leaned into Bernard’s delicious warmth and was asleep before she’d finished letting out a contented sigh.
Chapter 51
Tavi shivered in the rain, struggling to hide it from the men around him, and wanted nothing in the world so much as to be warm and asleep.
The Alerans had made ready to meet the next assault in less than an hour. Torches and furylamps beat back the darkness far more effectively than they had under the first withering assault, and the legionares themselves were more organized, more determined.
At least Tavi hoped they were.
Tavi stood atop the last adobe wall with Valiar Marcus. The First Spear moved with a noticeable limp thanks to the Canim javelin. His leg was tied off with a bloodstained bandage, the wound closed with needle and thread, evidence that Foss’s healers were badly overworked. Under most circumstances, a wound like Marcus’s would have been closed, treated, and the First Spear returned to action virtually whole. The healers had been treating so many light injuries—and closing off far worse ones in order to keep more badly wounded men alive until they could be seen to later—that the First Spear had, by all reports, asked a wounded veteran to withdraw the javelin, then cleaned and stitched the wound himself, covered it with a bandage, and stumped back to his post.
Rain continued to fall, cold and steady. The occasional flashes of scarlet lightning showed little more than sheeting rain. Tavi had been able to make out occasional movement in the darkness, but the Aleran-built defensive wall across the bridge prevented him from making out any details.
However, the simple fact that Tavi
could
stand on the wall and observe told him one thing: the Canim bolt throwers had ceased their deadly thrumming.
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“I thought you were listed as out of action, First Spear,” Tavi said.
Marcus glanced at the nearest legionare and lowered his voice until the man would not overhear. “I never held much with reading, sir.”
“You able?” Tavi asked.
“Yes, sir,” Marcus said. “I won’t be running any races, but I can stand on a wall.”
“Good,” Tavi said quietly. “We’ll need you.”
“Sir,” Marcus said. “There’s no way to know if their warriors have pulled back.”
“No. But it makes sense,” Tavi replied. “The warriors are their nutcracker. Then the raiders come in and mop up. It saves casualties among their most effective troops and gives their raiders experience.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Marcus growled. “Another hard push, and they’d have finished us.”
“I know that,” Tavi said. “You know that. Assume that Sari and the ritualists know it as well. I don’t think they want Battlemaster Nasaug to have the glory of a victory that looks too much like his own. Sari has to be the one to finish us to stay in the good opinion of the maker caste. It gives him the glory and lets him share it out to the makers. The makers have first call on the loot if they’re the first ones to overrun us. Nasaug gets upstaged. Sari gets to stay popular with the makers.”
“If you’re right,” Marcus said.
“If I’m wrong,” Tavi said, “well probably catch some of those steel bolts before much longer.”
The First Spear grunted. “At least it’ll be quick.” There was uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice.
Tavi looked at Marcus’s stocky, lumpy profile for a moment. Then he said, “I’m sorry. About the prime cohort. The men of your century.”
“Should have been there with them,” Marcus said.
“You were wounded,” Tavi said.
“I know.”
“And I stood with them for you,” Tavi said.
Marcus’s rigid stance eased a bit, and he looked at Tavi. “I heard. After you carried me out like a lamed sheep.”
Tavi snorted. “The sheep I worked with were twice your size. Rams were even bigger.”
Marcus grunted. “You were a holder?”
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Tavi clenched his jaw. He’d forgotten his role, again. He could blame it on his weariness, but all the same, Rufus Scipio had never been near a steadholt. “Worked with them for a while. My folks told me it was a learning experience.”
“Worse trades you could learn if you mean to lead men, sir.”
Tavi laughed. “I didn’t plan it to happen like this.”
“Wars and plans can’t coexist, sir. One of them kills the other.”
“I believe you,” Tavi said. He stared up the long, empty stretch of bridge, rising toward its center, two hundred yards of sloping stone thirty feet across, littered with fallen Alerans and Canim alike. “We’ve got to last until daylight, Marcus.”
“You want to push them at first light?”
“No,” Tavi said. “Noon.”
Marcus grunted in surprise. “We aren’t going to get any stronger. The longer this fight goes on, the less likely it is that we’ll be able to push them back.”
“Noon,” Tavi said. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure that we don’t have more spies in the camp. Need to know only, First Spear.”
