Princeps' fury (35 page)

CHAPTER 24

Tavi sat with his feet dangling over the edge of Lararl’s tower and watched the ongoing battle below. Farther along the tower’s roof, Varg and Durias sat together, also watching, speaking quietly to one another. The next day had dawned cold but clear, and without the constant chill of the rain and sleet, the rooftop was bearable, given short breaks inside the warmth offered by the earthcrafted shelter.

Tavi could only admire the effectiveness and efficiency of the Shuarans’ defense against the Vord, against an enemy so vast that he literally could not readily number them, despite a clear day and hours of trying. A few hours ago, it had occurred to him that it was more like watching the sea surge forward than observing an enemy army in action. The Shuarans stood defiantly against that tide, and wave after wave broke upon the granite of their determination.

Maximus approached, his bootsteps distinctive on the stone roof. Tavi glanced back and saw Max’s shadow puddled against his feet. Noon.

“Two days. He should have been back by yesterday evening,” Max said quietly. “We should have heard from him or seen something.”

“There’s no need to panic yet,” Tavi said calmly. “There might have been a delay on the other end, something that required his help. Or he might be out there, waiting for nightfall before making the run in.”

“He’d have found a spot in line of sight, and windcrafted his voice to you,” Max disagreed.

Privately, Tavi had begun to think along the same lines, but there was no point in deepening Maximus’s concern for his brother by agreeing with him. Besides which, it was not as though they had a great many options, short of attempting to smash their way clear of Shuar. That wouldn’t go well, at least not for long. It was a simple question of numbers.

“Be patient, Max,” Tavi said. “I know it’s difficult for you when there’s nothing around to smash or flirt with, but I’d take it as a favor.”

Max grunted and set one of his boots lightly against the back of Tavi’s armor and mimed a faint push. “Would you care for a flying lesson, Your Highness? Though in all fairness, I should warn you that it might give the lie to your honorific.”

Tavi looked back over his shoulder and grinned at his friend. Max settled down on the edge of the roof with him and watched the fight.

“No,” Tavi said. “Alera was fortunate and decisive enough to smash them when they were weakest. We established ourselves as the primary threat to them. So they came here to where they would have more opportunity to spread and reproduce. They won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Bloody crows,” Max sighed. “I thought you would say something like that.” He jerked his chin at the vast force of nightmarish Vord. “We couldn’t stop that. Not with all the Legions in Alera, and every crafter to boot.”

“Not with standard tactics, no,” Tavi said.

Max grunted. “You have something in mind?”

Tavi smiled slightly. It was a better answer than “I have no idea how we’ll survive this,” without actually crossing the line into speaking a falsehood to his friend.

Tavi shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not given their attitude toward us. Lararl is determined to hold out, and enough of his people believe it’s possible to enable him to keep his position of authority.”

“I suppose,” Max answered. “I’m not sure our people would act any differently. Most of the High Lords would die fighting rather than be driven from their lands.”

Of course, if that was true, where
was
Crassus? Again, Tavi refrained from speaking his mind. “I haven’t seen anything here that could present a real threat to him.”

Tavi reached into one of the leather pouches on his belt and produced a stick of charcoal and several folded pieces of parchment. “Here,” he said. “Take these and draw a map of the city. Every building you can see from up here. It might come in handy if we need to walk out for some reason.”

Max took the paper and charcoal. “You aren’t going to last long as First Lord if you go around handing your
singulares
compulsory homework, my lord.”

“I know. But if I’m forced to spend my time listening to all their complaining, I’ll knife myself and save the assassins the bother.”

“Oh, that,” Tavi said. “He’s quite a bit brighter than he lets on. He kept passing marks at the Academy for two years, despite the fact that he debauched himself practically every night. If I didn’t give him something to do, he’d drive us all insane.”

“A pity there is not more privacy,” Kitai murmured. “I could certainly use something to occupy my . . . mind.” She smiled and found Tavi’s hand with hers. “Walk with me?”

Tavi gave her a bemused smile. “That won’t take long.”

Kitai jerked her chin toward the carnage at the fortifications. “I’m tired of looking at that. You should be, too.”

Tavi gave the battle one last glance and shook his head. “Perhaps you’re right, but . . .” They rose and began pacing the edge of the roof. When they were the farthest they could get from the others on the roof, Tavi asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Kitai absorbed that for a moment, her expression serious. “Since I have known you, I have learned the single greatest activity at which you have little skill—sitting patiently.” Her green eyes searched his. “Especially not in the face of so massive a threat,
chala.
”

Tavi gave her half of a smile. “You’re worried that I’ve given in to despair.”

She opened her hand, palm up, and shrugged. “It is one possibility. But I am mostly worried because you are not acting like yourself. I expected you to have formulated half a dozen overly complicated escape plans by now.”

Tavi shook his head. “No.”

Kitai nodded. “Why not?”

“Because we need to wait,” Tavi said. He turned his gaze to the city below. “The air’s full of it. Nothing we do will accomplish anything—yet. We need to wait.”

Tavi had to take several steps to be able to see their source, on the street at the tower’s base. Half a dozen taurga came down the street at full speed, lungs heaving loudly, bellowing their complaints. Canim of the city scattered before them, and one of the mounted Canim sent up another warning blast on his horn. The party of blue-armored warriors thundered to a halt at the base of the tower, and the leader of the column dismounted without bothering to secure his beast, and hurried inside.

The Canim left outside to care for the mounts looked exhausted. Their armor was battered, and minor wounds were in evidence on most of them. They’d obviously seen combat recently.

Tavi frowned. All the fighting was at the western edge of the city. These riders had entered from the east. Which raised the singular question: Whom had that patrol been fighting?

The Shuarans wouldn’t be fighting one another—not in the face of a threat like the Vord. Only three other parties could possibly be responsible. There was no way the taurga could have outrun Aleran Knights Aeris, and after two years of fighting Nasaug back in the Amaranth Vale, Tavi knew well how difficult it was to get the drop on the Canim commander. If Nasaug had gone on the offensive, Tavi thought it unlikely that so many riders would have escaped an attack.

Anag and a contingent of guards came to take them to Lararl within the hour.

“No,” Tavi told them calmly. “We’re not going anywhere. Tell Lararl that we’ve come to see him once already. If he wants to speak to us again, he can come up here.”

Tavi sensed it when Maximus and Kitai, standing close behind him, tensed up. He did not move himself. He simply stared steadily at Anag.

Varg stepped forward in the precise instant that Anag’s anger began to waver. He stopped beside Tavi, and said, “Lararl has shamed himself enough without you adding to it, Anag.”

The younger Cane hesitated, his eyes flicking from Tavi to Varg.

Varg didn’t reach for his weapon. He strode forward to stand within range of Anag’s as-yet-undrawn blade without a flicker of apprehension. “You will go to Lararl,” Varg said. “You will tell him that we await him here.” Varg moved his arm then, slowly putting his hand to his weapon in a display made quietly deadly by the utter stillness in the rest of his body. “You will tell him that I am disinclined to be moved anywhere by any will but my own.”

Anag was still for a few seconds more, then leaned his head to one side in acknowledgment and vanished from the rooftop, taking the other guards with him.

Max let out an explosive breath. “Bloody crows, Tavi.”

Varg turned his head slightly to stare at Tavi. He had not, Tavi noted, taken his hand from his weapon. His voice came out in a deep, threatening basso growl. “Why?”

Tavi met Varg’s gaze as he answered. “Because circumstances have changed. Lararl needs us, or he would have left us to rot up here.”

Varg let out a rumbling growl, and Tavi found himself centering his balance, in case he needed to avoid a sudden strike—but the sound proved to be more pensive than angered, and Varg lowered his paw-hand from his sword’s hilt.

“Besides,” Tavi said, “Lararl abused your people’s sense of honor and obligation. I find myself unconcerned with protecting his pride.”

Lararl came to the rooftop alone.

Anag and several other apprehensive-looking Canim stood by while Lararl shut the door in their faces and turned to Varg. “My guards may be going deaf,” the golden-furred Warmaster snarled. “Because only a fool or a madman would have spoken the words they brought to me.”

Varg faced Lararl without any kind of movement.

Lararl stepped forward to stand directly in front of Varg, and the two Canim put their hands to their swords in precisely the same instant.