Princeps' Fury (Codex Alera #5) - Page 21

Chapter 39

Shuar was dying.

As they rode toward the ships, Tavi realized that the roads of the last free nation of Canea had become charnel houses. Though the majority of the Vord emerging from the tunnels had flowed toward the north and west, to assault the fortifications from their unprotected rear, thousands more had spread out to haunt the roads of the land. There, they had found easy pickings in fleeing Canim families as panic descended upon the countryside. Corpses of the Canim makers-their farmers and artisans-lay exposed to the weather, untended. Their cattle had been slaughtered beside them.

The Canim had not died easily. Corpses of Vord attackers were heavily mingled with the fallen wolf-people, and in places it seemed that larger groups had managed to fend off their attackers. In others, what had probably been mounted patrols from the fortification had attacked the Vord, pursuing them off the roads, leaving trails of crushed chitinous forms into the rolling landscape. All the same, the previous few days had been a nightmare of blood and death for the Shuarans.

Without the steady reinforcements from the Vord's tunnel or the coldly logical will of the Vord queen to guide them to where they were needed, the roads had become less deadly. The Vord still lurked across the countryside, but they were fewer in number, their movements random and unfocused-if no less deadly for anyone caught outnumbered in the open or by surprise. Of course, if the second Vord queen commanding the enemy forces at the Shuaran fortifications changed position, the Vord's lack of coordination could change in an instant. Tavi's group raced along the roads, pressing the taurgs to their best pace.

Twice, they were attacked by small groups of wandering Vord, but Max's firecrafting and Varg's and Anag's balests shattered the armor and wills of the Vord before they could close to combat, and once they had traveled far enough from the site of the Vord emergence, encounters with the enemy and their handiwork declined abruptly.

They rode for the night and the rest of the day, stopping only occasionally to water the taurga. An hour or so before sundown, they came across a small stream where perhaps two hundred Canim had stopped to rest and drink. None of them wore armor, though many carried the sickle-swords that were, for them, simple harvest tools. Several of the makers were wounded, some badly so. Though Canim were never a particularly noisy people, the silence that fell on the group as they came riding up was tangible. Tavi could acutely feel the weight of their stares.

He wondered, for an amused moment, if they found the Alerans as strange and intimidating as he had found Varg and the guards of the Canim embassy in the Citadel, the first time he had encountered them.

"Let me speak to them," Anag said. The golden-furred Cane slipped off his taurg, and it spoke of the weariness of the beast that it didn't make even a desultory effort to bite or gore him as he dismounted. Anag strode over to the refugees, heading for a tall, grey-and-golden furred Cane who seemed to be their leader.

Tavi got his taurg down to the water and led Max's beast as well. The big Antillan, weary from the intensive crafting and fighting he'd done at the hive, simply flung himself down on the ground and slept.

Tavi found himself alone at the side of the stream, except for several taurga too tired and thirsty to cause trouble, and the lone Hunter who had survived the attack on the Vord queen.

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"Thank you," Tavi told him quietly. "You and your people saved my life."

The Hunter looked up at him, ears quivering in surprise that he quickly suppressed. He bowed his head, Aleran-style.

"What were their names?" Tavi asked.

"Nef," growled the Hunter. "And Koh."

"And yours?"

"Sha."

"Sha," Tavi said. "I am sorry for their loss."

The Hunter became very still for a long moment, staring down at the stream.

"It is the way of your people to sing over the fallen," Tavi said quietly. "I've heard it before. Is there anyone to sing for Nef and Koh?"

Sha moved one paw-hand in a negative gesture. "Their kin sang their blood song long ago. When they became Hunters."

Tavi frowned and tilted his head.

"We are as the dead," Sha said. "Our purpose is to dedicate our lives to the service of our lord. And, when it is necessary, to surrender those lives. When we become what we are, we lose our lives-our names, our family, our homes, and our honor. All that remains is our lord."

"But their sacrifice may have saved thousands," Tavi said. "Is it the way of your kind to let such courage go unmourned?"

Sha studied him in silence for a long moment.

Tavi thought about the Cane's words, then nodded slowly, understanding. "They served well, and they died well and with meaning," he said. "What is there to mourn?"

Sha bowed his head again, more deeply this time. "You understand." The Cane's eyes gleamed as he looked at Tavi. "You were ready to die in that place as well, Tavar. We Hunters know what it looks like."

"I hadn't intended it to work out that way," Tavi said. "But I knew it was a possibility. Yes."

"Why?"

Tavi blinked at him. "What?"

"Why lay down your life?" Sha said. He gestured at the makers. "Varg is not your lord. These are not your people. They will not serve as soldiers if your plan to use our warriors against the Vord comes to pass."

Tavi thought about his answer for a moment before giving it. "It is my purpose to defend those who cannot defend themselves," he said finally.

"Even if they are your enemy."

Tavi smiled at Sha, showing his teeth. The Hunter had used the Aleran word, not one of the many Canim variants on the term. "Perhaps I wish your people to be gadara to mine. Perhaps I wished to tell you so in such a way that would leave no doubts as to my sincerity."

Sha's ears quivered with surprise again, and he stared hard at Tavi, his head tilted to one side. "That is… not a thought I have heard given voice before."

"His mind is strange," came Varg's rumbling voice, "but capable." The dark-furred Canim Warmaster had approached in silence. He checked the straps on his mount's saddle. "There is news on the roads. Couriers have passed by."

Tavi straightened. "And?"

"The fortifications have fallen," Varg said. "When Lararl sent a portion of his strength back to attack the Vord in the interior, the heaviest assault he had yet seen fell on the fortress."

Tavi frowned. "Then the pressure that had been put on the fortress for the past weeks-it was a ruse."

Varg nodded. "Convincing Lararl of the strength of his defenses. Causing him to send away more troops than he would have were he not confident that those remaining could hold. They waited for him to weaken himself, then…" Varg smacked his paw-hands together.

Tavi shook his head. It had cost the Vord untold numbers of their creatures to maintain the charade-but then, they had had bodies enough to spare. Mathematics had decided the war, probably months before the attack on Shuar began. "How bad?" Tavi asked.

"Lararl sent out couriers to spread the warning and dug in to hold the Vord for as long as possible. But the last couriers to leave saw the Vord entering the city at the top of the cliffs. What warriors escaped are fighting to slow the enemy-but a queen commands them."

Tavi nodded. "She'll drive for our only means of escape-Molvar. And she'll be gathering more and more troops to her as she heads this way."

Varg flicked his ears in assent. "We must return to the ships at once. The Shuarans may already have seized them."

"No," Tavi said. "We head for the hills west of Molvar."

Sha glanced up sharply at Tavi at this blatant contradiction of Varg's words.

"Tavar," Varg said quietly, "there is no winning a battle against the Vord on this ground. And there is not room on the ships for a tenth of those who will wish to flee Shuar. To do other than reach the ships and sail away is death."

Tavi stared at Varg, smiling.

Varg looked up from his saddle. "You meant it when you told Lararl you could get his people away?"

"How many times have I lied to you?" Tavi asked.

"I have never taken you prisoner," Varg replied, his tone pensive. "Lararl had. And some of your folk are truthful only in preparation for the day when they need one critical lie to be believed."

"If that is the case," Tavi said, "then that day has not yet come." He nodded at the camp of miserable-looking makers. Maximus had risen from his near stupor on the ground and was standing with Anag over one of the worst-looking of the wounded, supervising moving the injured Cane into the stream for a watercrafting. "We're getting them away from here."

Varg looked at Tavi, then at the makers. "Tavar, I sometimes think you are insane."

"Are you coming with me?"

Varg glanced at him, and Tavi swore he could see something offended in the big Cane's body language. "Of course."

Tavi showed him his teeth again. "Glad I'm not the only one."

By a few hours after midnight, they had reached the Aleran defenses.

A rising moon, nearly full, and the mercurial nature of Canean weather had swept the sky clean of clouds and bathed the land in silver light. A line of hills west of Molvar had been transformed by several days of furious labor on the part of the Narashan Canim and both Legions, aided by Aleran furycraft. Where there had been only gently rolling land, the combined forces had erected an earthworks twenty feet high, faced by freshly cut stakes of pine, in front of a trench very nearly as deep as the wall was high. Only a few narrow passages had been left through the defenses, which arched in a line nearly five miles long around Molvar. Refugees from the invaded territory had flooded the area inside, and the interior of the hastily erected, enormous fortress was already filling with Canim.

Even with all of Nasaug's troops and both Aleran Legions, the defenses around the town were spread thin, though it was clear that the Shuarans had thrown what forces they had into the same effort. More were arriving at every moment, as well-stragglers, Tavi supposed, who had been separated from their battlepacks, and what looked like the occasional wayward company who had been cut off from the larger portion of their command and had found themselves nearby. The wounded, too, were pouring in, as were the Shuaran taurg cavalry, whose riders came and went in constant activity.

Max brought his mount up beside Tavi's as they approached the earthworks, and whistled. "There's a lot of work. That's what the Legion's been up to?"

Tavi nodded. "We need a defensible position. It's going to take time to move this many Canim and all the supplies onto the transports."

"Transports?" Max asked. "What transports?"

Tavi shook his head.

Max sighed wearily. "Tavi, I'm tired. We know there were only two queens on the whole continent. You and Varg diced one of them, and the other one is busy leading an army toward us. We don't need to worry about anyone's mind being picked over. So talk."

"Max," Kitai said from behind Tavi on their shared taurg. "What we do not know is the location of those two queens' mother."

"Oh." Max was quiet for a moment. Then he grunted, and said, "Good point. Shut up, Calderon."

"Durias," Tavi called.

Durias nudged his weary taurg forward. "Highness?"

"Ride ahead and let the Legion know we're coming," Tavi said. "I'll need to speak to Marcus, Nasaug, and Magnus immediately. See if Crassus can be there as well. Oh, and Demos."

Durias saluted and kicked his mount into a lumbering trot.

"Did you see that, Maximus?" Kitai asked. "He just helped, without whining or indulging in foolish questions. Perhaps when you grow up, you will be more like Durias."

Max glowered at Kitai, then saluted Tavi, and said, "I think I'll just go help him now." He nudged Steaks into a trot and caught up with Durias. Tavi heard him muttering darkly under his breath as he went.

"That wasn't very nice," Tavi said quietly, once Max had gone.

Kitai sighed. "You weren't looking at him when you spoke to Durias. He's so tired he was about to fall off his taurg. Now he's grumpy enough to get back to camp while awake-and more quickly."

Tavi let himself lean back against Kitai, feeling the weight of his own fatigue. "Thank you."

"I know how important he is to you," she said quietly. "And I love him, too, chala."

Tavi nudged his own mount into a walk. "So you manipulated him into doing what you thought was in his best interests."

"I did what was necessary to protect him. Yes."

Tavi glanced over his shoulder and met her intent green eyes. "You deceived me."

She didn't even blink. "You lied to me, Aleran. When you promised me we would be together. You knew you were about to go out on your own. That you could die."

"This is about more than you and me. You shouldn't have decided to kill the queen without talking to me about it."

"Only speed and surprise could enable us to succeed. If you had known-"

"That isn't the point, and you know it."

Her eyes narrowed. "The Vord are not to be reasoned with. They are to be killed."

"You didn't know that for certain. We couldn't, until we made the attempt."

She sighed and shook her head. "Aleran. You are a good man. But in some ways, you are a fool."

"Swords and fire don't solve every problem."

"And some can be solved no other way," she replied, her voice fierce. "The Vord all but destroyed my people in the past. They are gutting the corpse of what is left of the Canim now. Open your eyes."

"I did," Tavi said, and suddenly he felt so weary that it was hardly worth speaking. He turned back to the front, and his head felt too heavy to hold up. "And I feel like I'm the only one who can see the truth."

Kitai was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was more gentle. "What do you mean?"

"Chala," he said quietly. "Look at what the Vord have done to the Canim. If the only option we have is to fight… I don't think Alera could do any better. How am I supposed to lead people into a fight I know they can't win? Ask them to die in vain? Watch them d-"

His vision blurred for a moment, and his throat felt tight.

Kitai's arms tightened around him, and he suddenly became intensely aware of her love for him, her faith, her trust, wrapping around him as tangibly as her embrace. "Oh, chala," she said quietly.

Several moments passed before he could speak. "What do I do?"

Her hand touched his face. "I know that you feel as if you need to find some clever alternative. Some way to overcome the Vord, to save lives, to avoid bloodshed. But this is not an enemy who might live with you in peace for a time. The Vord want nothing but to destroy. And they will destroy you if they can. They will use your desire for peace against you."

She gently turned his head until he could meet her eyes again. "If you truly want peace, if you truly wish to save lives, you must fight them. Fight them with everything you have. Fight them with everything you are. Fight until there is not a breath left in your body." She lifted her chin. "And I will fight beside you."

She was right, of course. He knew that. When the Vord finished with the Canim, they would come for Alera. The advantage of numbers they had was formidable, but it wasn't impossible. Not if all of Alera worked together.

That was the problem. There were too many divisive elements in play at home. Oh, certainly, once Alerans at large realized the danger, they would respond together-but by the time they did, it might already be too late. His uncle had been trying in vain to warn Alera about the Vord for years. Many Alerans regarded the Canim as little more than animals with weapons. His countrymen would never believe that the Canim civilization had been so large, so developed, and consequently its destruction would lack credibility as a warning of the danger to come.

Worse, he himself represented another enormous element of division. Many Citizens had tacitly refused to recognize his legitimacy as heir to the Crown. He had escorted Varg's people back to Canea precisely because his presence was such a potent disruption. Crows, he'd felt fortunate to avoid any encounters with assassins before he left.

Gaius was wise and powerful, but he was also aging. Fighting a campaign of the scale of this one would be would be taxing even on a young man-and it was the kind of fight the old First Lord was not suited to in the first place. He was a master of politics, of manipulation, of the critical strike delivered at precisely the right instant with precisely the force needed. He was used to being thoroughly in control.

But war wasn't like that. You never thought of all the possibilities. Something always happened to throw off your plans. Supplies could be delayed or lost. Soldiers could encounter sickness, bad terrain, parasites, faulty gear, hostile weather, and a million other factors that would prevent them from performing as expected. Meanwhile, the enemy was doing everything in his power to kill you. No one could control that kind of chaos. All you could hope to do was keep your eyes open, make sure everyone was working together, and stay a couple of steps ahead of disaster.

A united Alera would have a chance. Probably not a good chance, but if led correctly, they could make a fight of it. Oh, certainly Gaius had the training, but the study of books and the stories of old generals and models on a sand table were a far cry from war's horrible reality. Could Tavi's aging grandfather change his thinking as quickly and drastically as this war would demand?

The first step, Tavi supposed, was to believe. Believe that victory was possible. Believe that he could make it happen. Then bring that same belief to others. Because sure as crows on a corpse, anyone who fought believing they would lose had lost already. He had to trust in his grandfather, the single most formidable person Tavi had ever known, to guide the Realm through this storm. And if he was to trust and serve the First Lord, then he had to give the fight everything he had.

There would be no surrender.

"All right," he said quietly. He looked up at the earthworks and nodded. "Let's get inside. There's a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it in."

Kitai's arms tightened hard on him, and he felt her fierce pride and exultation as if it were his own.

Tavi rode toward the last defenses of a dying land to do everything in his power to take a host of deadly allies to the man who was Alera's only hope.

Chapter 40

For the first time in history, Alera Imperia braced herself for war beneath a canopy of wheeling crows.

Ehren stood on a southward-facing balcony of the First Lord's citadel, where Gaius was the center of a swarm of activity while the Legions prepared to defend the city. From there, he could overlook all the prepared defensive positions, descending through the city's defensive rings.

Alera Imperia had been built to withstand a siege-originally, at any rate. Her avenues ran in concentric, descending circles around the citadel, with cross streets laid out in straight lines from the city's heart, like the spokes of a wheel. Each avenue was approximately fifteen feet above the next level of the city, and the stone buildings lining each avenue had been reshaped by Legion engineers, so that their outer edges had become defensive walls. The streets had been sealed, except for a single avenue between each level, alternating on opposite sides of the city. Now, the only way to the citadel was a long corridor of streets faced with stone walls, so that even if the enemy took one gate, they would be faced with another and another before they reached the citadel itself.

Against conventional tactics, Alera Imperia could theoretically hold against an attacker almost indefinitely.

Against the Vord… Well. They would soon find out.

"… and Third Rivan will also be on the first tier," Aquitainus Attis was saying, nodding to the city gates behind the actual, massive walls of battlecrafted stone, far below the citadel. "First and Third Aquitaine, Second and Third Placidan, and the Crown Legion are camped on the north side of the city, outside the walls."

"I cannot agree with this measure," muttered a man Ehren recognized as the senior captain of the Rhodesian Legions. "We may not be able to open and close sally ports to get your men back inside when the Vord arrive."

"It's the right move," Captain Miles said. "A mobile force can exploit any opening they leave us as they approach the city. They could inflict more damage than months of fighting from defensive positions."

Lord Aquitaine gave the Rhodesian captain a very level stare.

"Of course," the man said, averting his gaze.

Aquitaine nodded once and continued speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Further reinforcements from Forcia, Parcia, and Rhodes are unlikely at best, though they may be able to strike into the enemy's flanks in the Vale."

Which, while it could prove important in the long run, would not help them now, Ehren thought.

The First Lord cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet, clear tone. "What is the status of the civilian evacuation?"

"The last of them are leaving now, sire," Ehren supplied. "All who were willing to leave, at any rate. The Senatorial party offered their personal armsmen as a security force."

"I'm sure," Gaius murmured. "The southern refugees?"

The people who had already fled so far from their homes had been heartbroken when they were told that the capital held no safety for them. Many of them were too sick, weary, hungry, or wounded to keep running. "We made sure those who were worst off were given space on wagons, sire," Ehren said. "We also gave them all the food they could carry."

Gaius nodded. "And the food stores?"

"We've enough to feed the Legions for sixteen weeks at normal rations," Miles responded. "Twenty-four if we immediately begin cutting them."

No one responded to that, and Ehren was fairly sure he knew why: none of the men there felt confident that they had sixteen weeks remaining to them, least of all the First Lord.

The voices of the circling crows were harsh.

Ehren entered the First Lord's private chambers and found Gaius Caria at the liquor cabinet.

"My lady," he said quietly, surprised. He paused to bow his head to her. "Please excuse me."

Caria, Gaius's second wife, was tall and lovely and fifty years younger than the First Lord, though the natural appearance of a skilled watercrafter kept her looking even younger than that. She had long hair of dark chestnut, narrow, clean features, and wore a blue silk dress of impeccable style and cut. "I should say so," she said in a calm, cold voice. "What are you doing here?"

"The First Lord ran out of his tonic. For his cough," Ehren said, all but stammering. Whether or not he'd had legitimate business here, he wasn't comfortable with the concept of being alone with another man's wife in his own bedroom. "He sent me for another bottle."

"Ah," Caria said. "And how is His Majesty?"

"His physician is… concerned, my lady," Ehren said. "But of course, he is handling the matter of the defense of the Realm quite well."

Her voice gained the faintest hint of a sharp edge. "Of course he is. Duty before all." She stepped aside from the cabinet, then turned to walk out of the First Lord's chambers.

Ehren hurried over to liquor cabinet and found its door unlatched.

That meant nothing, in itself-but Ehren knew Gaius. He was not the sort of man to leave doors unlatched behind him. He opened the cabinet and found the various bottles inside standing in neat rows-except for one. The full bottle of the First Lord's tonic was askew, and the cork that sealed it was improperly seated.

But who would have tampered with the First Lord's…

Ehren turned and was across the room in several long strides, seizing Lady Caria's wrist, and spinning her toward him. He dug his fingers into her wrist, twisting, and a small glass vial fell from her fingers and to the floor. Ehren released her and snatched it up.

"How dare you!" Caria snarled, and fetched him a backhanded blow that fell on his chest and flung him back across the room.

Ehren managed to fall correctly, or he might have broken something on the marble floor. Even so, the fury-assisted blow had driven the breath from his lungs.

"How dare you lay a hand upon me, you arrogant little slive," Caria snarled. She turned one palm upright, and fire kindled between her fingers. "I should burn you alive."

Ehren knew that his life was in very real danger, but he could barely move his arms and legs. "The First Lord," he wheezed, "is expecting me with his medicine."

Caria's eyes flicked down to his chest and back up to his face. Her expression twisted in something like frustration, and she clenched her fist, snuffing the fire that had sprung there.

Ehren glanced down as well. The silver coin on his necklace, the unofficial sign of a Cursor working personally for the First Lord, had fallen free of his tunic.

"I suppose it hardly matters now," Caria said, her tone positively vicious. She turned with haughty deliberation and began walking away again.

Ehren looked down at the vial in his hand. It was stoppered tightly, with perhaps half a fingertip's width of grey-white powder at the bottom. Poison, almost certainly.

"Why?" he croaked. "Why do this now, of all times?"

Caria paused at the doorway and looked back over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. "Habit," she murmured in a velvet voice.

Then she left.

"Helatin," Sireos said in a firm tone of voice. The physician sat at a table in an antechamber next to Gaius's command center, a dozen glass vials of colored liquid in wire racks in front of him, along with the now-empty vial Ehren had taken from Caria. "More specifically, refined helatin."

Ehren shook his head. "I don't understand. I thought that was a medication."

"Medicine and poison are separated by quantity and timing," Sireos responded. "Helatin is a stimulant, in small quantities. It's part of his tonic, in fact. The body can process a small amount without harm. Larger amounts, though…" He shook his head.

"This would have killed him?" Ehren asked.

"Not at all," Sireos said. "At least, not alone. Helatin taken in larger amounts is deposited in the brain, the spine, and the bones. And it stays there."

Ehren breathed out slowly over a sick sensation in his stomach. "It accumulates over time."

"And degrades the body's ability to restore itself," Sireos said, nodding. "Eventually to the point where-"

"Where organs begin dying," Ehren said bitterly.

Sireos spread his hands and said nothing.

"What can be done?"

"I believe the penalty for poisoning is death by hanging," Sireos responded. "Of course, that's always been after a trial before a committee appointed by the Senate."

Ehren blinked at the physician. "What happened to 'first, do no harm'?"

"I love life," Sireos said, his eyes hard. "I do not revere it. Caria was once my student at the academy. She used that knowledge to hurt another human being, and has earned the retribution of the law. I'd tie the rope."

"But that won't help Gaius," Ehren said.

Sireos shook his head. "The damage helatin does takes years to build up, and it is subtle. I'd have to have been looking for it specifically, and unfortunately the poison's effects look a great deal like the effects of simple age."

"Wouldn't Gaius have noticed it?" Ehren asked.

"Because he's grown old before, and should know what it feels like?" The physician shook his head. "Part of what the helatin did would have reduced Gaius's ability to detect it for himself. Even if he was a young man, the best we could hope for would be to manage it. As things are…"

"Habit," Ehren said bitterly. "How long has it been going on?"

"Six years, at the least," Sireos said. "Given the idiocy of that business in Kalare, I'm frankly surprised that he's alive right now, much less on his feet."

"For some reason," Gaius said quietly, "I find it comforting to know that growing old isn't this painful for everyone."

Ehren looked up to see the First Lord standing in the doorway. He coughed, a wheezing sound, and pressed his hand to his chest with a grimace. "In my tonic, you say?"

Sireos nodded. "I'm sorry, Sextus."

Gaius took this news without expression. "How much time did she take from me, do you think?"

"There's no way to be sure."

"There seldom is," Gaius said, his voice slightly harder. "How long, Sireos?"

"Five years. Maybe ten." The physician shrugged.

A small smile quirked the corners of the First Lord's mouth. "Well. I suppose that makes the two of us even, then."

Ehren turned to him. "Sire…"

Gaius waved a hand. "I've taken as much from her, and better years, at that. She was a child, caught up in games she had no way to understand or avoid. I'm not willing to waste what time remains to me on the matter."

"Sire. This is murder."

"No, Sir Ehren. This is a footnote. There is no time for arrests, investigations, and trials." Gaius reached out to a weapons stand that was set up beside the door and buckled on his sword belt. "I'm afraid the Vord have arrived."

Gaius stood on the broad balcony, looking down as the Vord came for Alera Imperia. At his murmured word, the edges of the balcony had become one enormous windcrafting, foc