Furies of Calderon (6 page)

Tavi slipped out of his room, down the stairs, and through the silence of the last shreds of night before dawn. He entered the cavernous shadows of the great hall, noting a faint glow of light in the kitchens beside the great hall. Old Bitte rarely slept more than a few hours a night, and Tavi heard her moving through the kitchen, preparing it for the coming breakfast meal.

He unbolted the door and left the great hall for Bernard-holt’s courtyard. One of the stead-holt’s dogs lifted his head from the empty barrel he used as a kennel, and Tavi stooped to scratch the old hound’s ears. The dog thumped his tail against the barrel’s interior and laid his head back down to sleep. Tavi drew his cloak over his shoulders against the chill of the dying autumn night and opened the postern door to leave the safety of Bernard-holt.

The door opened to reveal his uncle Bernard, leaning casually against the doorway, dressed in leathers and a heavy green cloak for a day in the wilderness beyond the stead-holt’s fields. He lifted an apple to his mouth and crunched into it. Bernard was a large man with broad shoulders and the heavy muscles of hard labor. His dark hair, cropped close in a Legion cut, showed a fleck or two of grey, though none such appeared in his close-trimmed beard. He wore a quiver of hunting arrows at his side, riding beside his Legion-issued sword, and he carried the stave to the lightest of his bows unstrung in his hand.

Tavi drew up short, with a flutter of apprehension. Then he spread his hands, silently conceding the victory to Bernard, and then offered his uncle a faint smile. “How did you know?”

Bernard returned the smile, though there was a wary cast to it. “Fade saw you drinking a lot of extra water last night, after you came in so late, and pointed it out to me. It’s an old soldier’s trick to get up early.”

Tavi’s cheeks grew warm, and he felt glad for the dimness. “Dodger led his ewes and their lambs out last night, when I was trying to bring the south flock in. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Bernard shook his head. “Tavi, you know that today is important. The other Stead-holders will be arriving for the truth-find, and I don’t need any distractions.”

Bernard sighed. “Crows, Tavi. I really thought you had done a lot of growing up this season. That you were learning to handle responsibility.”

Tavi felt suddenly sick to his stomach. “You’re not going to gift me the sheep, are you?”

Bernard said, “I don’t begrudge you getting your fair dues. I was glad—I
am
glad to help you get started with your own flock. But I’m not just going to throw them away. If you can’t show me that you’ll take care of them properly, I can’t give them to you.”

“It isn’t like I’d be keeping them long.”

“Perhaps not. It’s the principle of the thing, lad. Nothing comes free.”

“But
Uncle
,” Tavi protested. “It’s my
only
chance to make something of myself.”

Bernard grunted. “Then you probably shouldn’t have chosen to…” He frowned. “Tavi, what
did
you need to do that was more important than the flocks?”

Bernard mused over that for a moment and shrugged. “When you want to talk about it, let me know.” He pushed himself off the wall with one shoulder and strung his bow with one leg and the pressure of an arm. “We’ll discuss your gifting later. Where do you think we should pick up Dodger’s trail?”

Tavi drew his leather sling from his pouch and put a couple of smooth stones into the pocket of his tunic. “Won’t Brutus be able to find him?”

Bernard smiled. “I thought you said you could do this on your own.”

Tavi frowned at his uncle and scrunched up his nose, thinking. “Cold’s coming on, and they know it. They’ll want evergreens for shelter and for food. But the gargants were turned out to forage on the southern slope of the valley, and they won’t go anywhere near gargants if they can help it.” Tavi nodded. “North. Dodger has taken them into the pine hollows over the causeway.”

Bernard nodded in approval. “Good. Remember that fury-crafting is no substitute for intelligence, Tavi.”

“And intelligence is no substitute for a fury,” Tavi muttered sourly. He kicked at the ground, scuffing up a small cloud of dust and dried, dead grasses.

Bernard laid a heavy hand on Tavi’s shoulder, squeezed, and then started walking north, down the old lane worn by the passage of carts and draft animals and feet. “It’s not as bad as you think, Tavi. Furies aren’t everything.”

“Says the man with two of them,” Tavi said, following him. “Aunt Isana says you could challenge for full Citizenship if you wanted to.”

Bernard shrugged. “If I wanted to, perhaps. But I didn’t come into my furies until I was almost your age.”

“But you were a slow bloomer,” Tavi said. “I’m way past that. No one’s
ever
been my age and furyless.”

Bernard sighed. “You don’t know that, Tavi. Relax, boy. It will come to you in time.”

“That’s what you’ve told me since I was ten. If I’d had furies of my own, I could have stopped Dodger and still…” He choked down his anger before he could blurt out the words.

Uncle Bernard glanced back at Tavi, smiling with only his eyes. “Come on, lad. Let’s pick up the pace. I need to be back before the other Stead-holders arrive.”

Tavi nodded, and they broke into a mile-eating lope down the winding lane. The sky began to lighten as they passed the apple orchards, the beehives, and then the northern fields laid fallow for a season. The lane wound through a forest of mostly oak and maple, where most of the trees were so ancient that only the most meager grass and brush could grow beneath them. By the time the predawn pale blue had given way to the first tints of orange and yellow, they had reached the last stretch of woods before leaving the lands of Bernard-holt. There the forest was not so old, and smaller trees and brush, some of it still living despite the lateness of the season, stood thick and heavy. Golden and scarlet leaves covered the dried skeletons of the smaller brush, and the naked, sleeping trees swayed in a chorus of gentle creaking.

And then something in his surroundings brought an odd kind of pressure to Tavi’s senses. He stopped and let out a short, warning hiss of breath. From a full jog, Bernard abruptly dropped to a crouch, and Tavi instinctively followed suit.

Bernard looked silently back at Tavi, cocking an eyebrow in a silent question.

Tavi stayed on all fours and crawled up beside his uncle. He kept his voice to a whisper between panting breaths and said, “Up ahead, in that last stand of trees by the brook. There’s usually a covey of quail there, but I saw them heading along the lane.”

“You think something spooked them out,” Bernard said He murmured, “Cyprus,” and flicked his right hand toward the trees beside him in a signal to the lesser of his two furies Tavi looked up and saw a shape glide down from one of the trees—vaguely humanoid and no larger than a child. It turned pale green eyes toward Bernard for a moment, crouching down like an animal. Leaves and twigs seemed to writhe together to cover whatever shape lay beneath them. Cyprus tilted its head to one side, focusing on Bernard, and then made a sound like wind rustling through the leaves and vanished into the brush. Tavi was winded from the run and struggled to slow his breathing.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Bernard’s eyes slipped out of focus for a moment before he answered. “You were right. Well done, boy. There’s someone hiding near the footbridge. They’ve got a strong fury with them.”

“Bandits?” Tavi whispered.

His uncle’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Kord.”

Tavi frowned. “I thought the other Stead-holders were supposed to be arriving later today. And why would they be hiding in the trees?”

Bernard grunted, rising. “Let’s go find out.”

Tavi followed his uncle on down the road Bernard walked with quiet purpose toward the causeway, as if he had every intention of traveling past the hidden men. Then, without warning, he spun to his left, arrow in hand, drew back the bow and loosed a grey-feathered shaft at a clump of bushes and detritus a few paces from the near side of the small, stone footbridge that crossed a murmuring brook.

Tavi heard a scream, and the leaves and bushes thrashed wildly. A moment later a boy about Tavi’s age emerged from the bushes, one hand clenched upon the seat of his breeches. He had a broad, strong build and a face that would be handsome if it had been less petulant Bittan, of Kord-holt, Kord’s youngest son. “Bloody crows!” the boy howled. “Are you insane?”

“Bittan?” called Bernard in obviously feigned surprise. “Oh dear, I had no idea that was you back there.”

From further down the trail, a second young man rose out of hiding— Kord’s eldest son, Aric. He was leaner than his brother, taller, and several years older. He wore his hair pulled back into a tail, and pensive frown lines had already established themselves between his eyebrows. He watched Bernard warily and called, “Bittan? You all right?”

From still further back in the brush, leaves crackled and dead wood snapped. A moment later, Stead-holder Kord emerged from the bracken. He wasn’t terribly tall, but his shoulders seemed too large for him, and his brawny arms looked unnaturally long. Kord wore a patched and faded grey tunic, badly in need of a thorough washing, and heavy gargant-hide leggings. He wore his symbol of office, the heavy chain of a Stead-holder around his neck. The chain was smudged and looked greasy, but Tavi supposed that it made a better match for his unkempt greying hair and patchy beard.

Kord moved with an aggressive tension, and his eyes were cold with anger. “What the crows do you think you’re doing, Bernard?”

Bernard waved a friendly hand at Kord, but Tavi noted that he held an arrow along with the bow in his other. “Little accident,” he said. “I mistook your boy there for some kind of robber lurking by the road to attack travelers.”

Kord’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Of course not,” Bernard drawled, his smile not touching his eyes. “This is just a misunderstanding. Thank the great furies no one got hurt.” He paused for a moment, his smile vanishing before he said, quietly, “I’d hate to have someone get hurt on my land.”

Kord snarled, a sound more bestial than human, and rolled forward a furious step. The ground under his feet rumbled and quivered, restless little hummocks rising and falling as though some kind of serpent slithered about just beneath the surface.

Bernard faced Kord without looking away, stirring, or changing his expression.

Kord growled again, and with a visible effort choked back his anger. “One of these days I’m going to get upset with you, Bernard.”

The simple comment pierced Tavi like a thorn, and he opened his mouth to make a furious response Bernard settled his hand on Tavi’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about my nephew.” He glanced at Bittan. “After all, you’ve got other concerns. Why don’t you head on down to the stead-holt? I’m sure Isana is getting something ready for you.”

“Think we’ll stay here a while,” Kord said. “Maybe eat a little breakfast.”

“Suit yourself,” Bernard said, and stared on down the lane Tavi followed close behind them Bernard ignored Kord until they had crossed the footbridge. “Oh,” Bernard said, looking over his shoulder. “I forgot to mention that Warner already came in last night, Kord. His sons are on leave from the Legions so that they could visit their father.”