Chapter 39
Dreary days and miserable nights blended into one long, slow, ugly ordeal, and Amara grew heartily sick of swamps and everything to do with them.
The days were all the same. They started at first light, with a cold breakfast. Then they would slog forward through endless mud and shallow water. They would stop for rests, but increasingly, as the days went on, the stops seemed to do less and less to allow them to recuperate. Bernard sometimes managed to find dry wood that would burn without giving off too much smoke, but there was never much of it, and he was willing to chance only tiny fires.
They would cook whatever meat Bernard managed to shoot-the garim provided most of their foraged fare, though the meat was tasteless and oily. They could never chance a fire at night, as Bernard said they could be seen from miles away, and without a fire, the nights became something utterly miserable.
They would stop on dry ground to rest-but "dry" was a relative term in the swamps. Moisture seeped in through blankets and clothes regardless of what they tried to prevent it, until Bernard collected enough of the smaller garim hides to provide a single sleeping mat. One of them had to remain awake at all times, so they couldn't huddle together for warmth, and as a result what little sleep Amara did get was attenuated by her constant shivering.
And, of course, absolutely every part of the day was accompanied by thousands and thousands of insects that crawled, insects that flew, insects that swam, and Amara found herself constantly brushing them from her eyes and nose and ears and mouth, like walking through some endless living curtain.
When first light came, they would rise and set forth again.
And so endless days passed.
Though Bernard claimed to feel better, he did not offer to lead them again, and Amara saw him rubbing at his eyes or temples when he thought she wasn't looking. The First Lord, for his part, continued to drift in and out of sleep, and if he did not recover from the steady fever, at least he did not further deteriorate, either.
They had stopped for a meal an hour before, and Amara still hadn't gotten the taste of the oily garim meat out of her mouth, when she saw movement in the swamps ahead. She stopped, holding up a hand, and glanced over her shoulder at Bernard.
They were standing in waist-deep water, and Bernard immediately laid his bow and quiver across Gaius's floating stretcher and crouched until only his head was showing. Amara followed his example. He moved soundlessly through the water to stand next to her, squinting ahead.
Amara lifted her hands and called to Cirrus, willing the fury to bend light in the space between her palms. The air there blurred for a moment, and then came into sharper focus, magnifying her view of the area ahead of them.
There were three men moving through the swamps. They were dressed in garim-hide cloaks, trousers, and boots, and the mottled hides of the swamp lizards blended in perfectly with all the green and grey and brown around them. In fact, Amara never would have seen them at all except for-
She willed Cirrus to draw her view even closer to the three men, and she focused on the one in the lead. Around his throat was the gleam of a polished, metallic collar. With her fury's help, she was even able to make out the word engraved on the steel: Immortalis.
"Immortals," she whispered. "They're Immortals, Bernard."
He said nothing, but she saw his eyes flicker with concern. The enslaved warriors had been driven beyond madness by the furycrafted collars that controlled them. Kalarus's Immortals had been responsible for the deaths of dozens of Citizens on the Night of the Red Stars. They were virtual juggernauts, entirely insensible to pain, completely focused upon serving their master, Kalarus. Amara had seen Immortals simply ignore swords thrust through their throats, limbs severed from their bodies, accepting hideous wounds more than willingly in order to strike down the targets their master had sent them to eliminate.
"Crows," Bernard murmured.
A moment later, Amara saw something else, through the haze of humidity, beyond the patrolling Immortals.
"Bernard," she whispered. "I can see the mountains."
He took a deep breath. She felt his hand move to her and rest for a moment on the small of her back. "How far?"
"Ten miles?" she guessed. "Twelve?"
He nodded. "Close."
"The patrol is passing us," she said. "We can push through today if we hurry."
She had already begun to move forward when Bernard's hand slid around to press against her stomach and hold her back. "Wait," he said quietly.
"For what?" she asked.
"If Kalarus has his Immortals here," he said, "then they're looking for us, specifically. He wouldn't send them out unless he thought it was that important."
"Agreed," Amara said.
"Those three are the sentinels we do see," Bernard said. "But I'm more worried about the ones we don't."
Amara frowned. "What do we do, then?"
"We watch them," he said. "We wait. We'll see how regular their patrols are and look for a way to slip through between them."
"Wait?" Amara said. She looked at the vague, vast forms of the mountains in the distance. "We're so close."
"We can't get sloppy now," Bernard said, his voice solid, certain. "We wait."
"I thought you were worried about someone catching up to us from behind."
"I am," he said, nodding. "But the men coming behind us have to search miles and miles of swamp, sweeping along in one big, slow line. The Immortals have a much smaller area to watch."
"What happens if they catch up to us while we're waiting?"
"Pretty much the same thing that happens if we rush out there and bump into a gang of Immortals standing sentry in a hidden blind," Bernard said.
"That's not terribly encouraging," Amara said.
"I can't take you anywhere." He gestured around them, pausing to brush a swimming serpent, nudging it gently aside. "No matter how nice it is, you always seem to think it could be just a little bit better."
Amara's stomach twitched in tiny jerks, and her quiet breaths of laughter stirred the water beneath her nose and mouth.
"Plenty of trees," Bernard said. "A beautiful view." He slapped at himself as one of the stinging flies that filled the swamp struck at his ear. "Friendly neighbors."
"You know me, Bernard. I'm just one of those women who needs someone to do everything for her."
His eyes wrinkled at the corners, and he started snorting quiet laughter, too. "Crows, yes. That's you."
"I have a suggestion," murmured Gaius. "If you're both quite finished amusing one another."
Bernard gave Amara a sidelong look and his hand moved under the surface of the muddy water.
She clutched at his wrist and tried to glare at him as her cheeks turned scarlet. "Pardon, sire, of course."
Bernard grinned and turned his attention forward once more.
Gaius coughed a few times. "I would suggest that you wait until near sunset, Countess, and then fly an aerial reconnaissance. It's generally easier to spot hidden sentry posts from above."
"What if they have Knights Aeris about?" Bernard asked.
"We've not heard any windstreams of late," Gaius replied. "Besides. Even if there are enemy Knights Aeris, the Countess is more than capable of handling herself. And in the meanwhile, we can observe enemy movements before drawing any closer."
Amara glanced at Bernard, who frowned pensively for a moment, then nodded. "They already know we're about. It might be worth the risk to know more about what's immediately ahead." He grimaced down at the water. "Going to be a little damp while we wait, though."
"We'll take turns on the stretcher," Gaius said. "I won't need both legs to support my weight in the water."
"No," Amara said. "That isn't going to happen, sire."
Gaius blinked. "Excuse me? Countess, I believe that I am perfect-" He broke off, coughing again, struggling to smother the sound with his hands. The sound became ugly for just a moment, and then he got himself under control again. "You may," he breathed, "have a point."
They settled in to wait.
During the course of the day, patrols swept by every two to three hours, on varying paths. The last patrol passed to within twenty yards of them, but Bernard had raised a woodcrafting around them, and once more, they remained unseen.
Finally, the shadows began to stretch, and Amara murmured, "I'd best draw back a little way. I don't want to chance them hearing my takeoff."
Bernard nodded once and kissed her cheek. "Be careful. Good luck."
Amara paced silently back through the swamps and found a point of higher ground which she could use to become airborne. She grimaced at all the mud on her and did her best to get the heaviest bits off before she called out to Cirrus. It was a bit of an effort, given the way the mud hampered her ability to will her fury to action, but she took off on the quietest windstream she could manage and ascended several thousand feet, to the edge of her ability to see what was below her in detail.
For a single glorious moment she paused to take a deep breath, her face turned up to the sun, and gently urged Cirrus to dry her clothing. She'd been wearing wet things for so long, she'd almost forgotten what anything else felt like. The air smelled fresh and clean, this high up, and more importantly, it was entirely free of the constant stench of rotting vegetable matter. For that matter, she couldn't remember the last time she had gone so long without flying, and it felt glorious to be in the air again.
She let out a guilty little sigh and turned her mind back to business. Bernard and the First Lord were still down in the muck. It hardly seemed fair for her to waste time reveling in being away from it when they were waiting for her to help them get out themselves. She willed Cirrus to magnify her vision and approached the swamp's edge out of the concealment offered by the setting sun.
At first, she worried that the haze might lower visibility too much to make the overflight practical, but she soon proved able to see the swamp below clearly enough. It did not take her long to spot the three outposts in the general vicinity of their approach.
Two were built up into trees at the very edge of the swamp, and a third was dug out of a mound at the base of a dead tree, overlooking the swamp's edges, shrouded by brush and grown over with vines. That last looked large enough to shelter perhaps a dozen men-and all three posts had dogs tethered nearby.
Amara sailed to several other vantage points to double-check what she had learned, though she didn't dare fly directly over the enemy strong points- without the glare of the sun to keep casual glances away from her position, it would be entirely too easy for a sentry to spot her by accident.
With the sun setting in earnest, Amara descended back into the swamps and hurriedly returned to Bernard and Gaius. She couldn't find them, even knowing the general area in which they'd been, until Bernard lowered his wood-crafted veil and beckoned. She waded back to them and quietly reported what she'd seen. "We can't get through without going by at least one of their watch positions," she concluded. "Which, I suppose, is why they put them there."
"Dogs," Bernard said. "That makes it more complicated."
"Why?" Amara asked.
Bernard shrugged. "I could use Brutus to keep them calm as we went by them-but I can't hold up a veil around us at the same time. And dogs track by scent. Veils won't do much to hide us from them."
"And if you don't hold a veil around us," Amara mused, "we won't make it through unseen."
Bernard nodded. "Likely."
"That isn't a problem," Gaius murmured. "Countess, you can veil us from sight, while the good Count Calderon prevents the hounds from raising the alarm-and it would leave him with enough attention to shoot if we need to silence anyone quickly."
Bernard lifted an eyebrow, thinking it through, and nodded. "True. I didn't know you could do a veil, Countess."
"Uh," Amara said. "I... I can't." She flushed. "Not a very good one, anyway. I passed the qualifications in my windcrafting courses at the Academy, but not by much. I've never held one large enough for all three of us, and never for more than a few moments."
"Mmmm," Gaius said. "Have we other options?"
Bernard grimaced. "Not unless you'd like to begin taking action here and now, sire."
Gaius turned his gaze to the east for a time. Then he shook his head, and said, "It's still too soon. We'll need to get through the first pass in the mountains." He studied Amara. "You say your classroom veils were barely passing marks, eh?"
"Yes, sire. I was always so much better at flying. Perhaps I didn't put as much effort into the rest as I could have."
The feverish old man smiled and closed his eyes. "Or," he murmured, "perhaps you needed the proper tutor. Attend."
Chapter 40
Tavi lost track of several days. Not completely, but there was a definite blurring in his memory. He had to get the details from Kitai later, but the long and short of it was that they slipped quietly out of Alera Imperia two days after they took Varg from the Grey Tower.
Demos had delayed their departure until he had secured a cargo to freight down the river to Parcia-since it would look more than mildly suspicious for a ship to arrive and depart without loading or unloading anything. Tavi was only intermittently aware of what was going on, thanks to the extensive watercrafting he'd required after the rescue. He had a fairly clear recollection of the conversation with his mother while hiding in the river, and something about grabbing one of Varg's ears as if he'd been a sheep being stubborn about shearing-but he mostly remembered being ravenously hungry, eating as much as he could fit in his stomach, then stumbling back to his bunk to sleep.
By the time hours had begun once again to proceed one after another in an orderly fashion, they had reached Parcia, and in less than half the time it had taken them to make the journey upriver. Demos unloaded his cargo and within hours they were once again in the open sea.
Tavi promptly got sick again.
He was lying on the open deck at night, several nights later, enjoying the cool breeze and gnawing on a ship's biscuit as his nausea finally began to fade. Araris sat with his back against the mast, his sword on his lap, dozing. Tavi had just begun to consider life worth living again, when the door to the hold opened and Varg prowled onto the deck.
Tavi watched in silence as the Cane paced to the bow. The vast, dark-furred form, darker and more solid than the evening shadows, faced forward for a time, face lifted to the evening air.
Tavi rose. He held out a hand to Araris as he walked past him. The singulare passed over the hilt of his sword, and Tavi took it with him, casually carrying the weapon in its scabbard as he went to stand beside Varg.
The Cane glanced aside at Tavi and down to the sword. His chest rumbled with a sound that could have been amusement or approval. "I was wounded," Varg said. "Unto death."
"Not quite," Tavi said quietly.
Varg lifted a paw-hand in an approximation of an Aleran gesture of acceptance. "I was made whole by Aleran sorcery."
"By the Lady Isana," Tavi said.
"Your mother," Varg said.
Tavi blinked and stared at him.
Varg tapped one claw on the end of his nose. "Your scents are similar."
Tavi snorted out a breath.
Varg turned to face the sea again. "Almost as similar as your scent and that of Gaius Sextus."
Tavi frowned.
Varg let out another amused rumble. "I have said nothing of it to any ears but yours."
"Sometimes it feels like everyone knew but me," Tavi growled. "How long have you known?"
"Since the night you held a knife to my throat."
"I didn't have much choice in the matter," Tavi said.
"You could have chosen to neglect your duty. You did not." Varg leaned his huge, clawed paw-hands on the ship's rail and stared out to sea. "Why did you come down for me when I fell, Aleran?"
"Because you agreed to follow me," Tavi said.
"I might already have been dead."
"There was no way to know that until I went down to look."
Varg grunted. "You could have been killed in coming."
Tavi shrugged. "I wasn't."
Varg bared his teeth. "I respect Gaius's power. I respect his intelligence. But I most respect that he understands what it is to lead." He turned toward Tavi and bent his head gently forward, in the Aleran manner. "As I respect you, gadara."
Tavi inclined his head in reply. "Have you eaten?"
Varg coughed out a grunt of laughter. "You have learned what it is to lead warriors." He sounded amused. "These sailors do not like to come near me. I have chosen not to take food from them."
Tavi's eyes widened as he considered what Kitai had told him about Varg's extensive wounds and the crafting that had been required to repair them. "You must be starving."
"I have been hungry before."
Tavi turned to Varg and put the rest of his ship's biscuit on the rail beside the Cane's paw-hand. "Eat that," he said. "I'll see about getting you something more solid."
Varg took the biscuit and tossed it into his jaws. The Cane's teeth crunched the tough block of food as if it had been fresh bread. He flicked his ears in distaste as he worked his jaws, getting the crumbs from between his fangs. "Aler-ans may be hardier than I thought." He tilted his head and considered Tavi. "The Lady Isana," he growled. "If it is not improper, I would have you convey my respects for her skills."
"Why would you think it improper?" Tavi asked.
Varg picked another shard of ship's biscuit from his teeth with one claw. "Your people have strange customs with regards to mates and offspring. A male may be mated, yet pursue other females. A female may be mated, but bear children of other males, yet pretend they are her mate's offspring, while the mate outwardly acknowledges the children as his own. A man and woman may mate and bear children, but if it is recorded improperly, then shame is visited on the child."
"Shame?"
"Illegitimacy, I have heard it called," Varg said. "Bastard. And you, a child of the House of Gaius, were treated as an outcast. A menial. I do not know if your mother has been visited with shame, or if it would be inappropriate to acknowledge her. The values of such things make no sense to me."
"It's... complicated," Tavi said. "Even by Aleran standards. But it would not be inappropriate for you to thank her for her assistance."
Varg bared his teeth and growled. "I do not offer thanks. Your people need me alive and healthy. It was not an act of charity."
"True enough," Tavi said. "I chose an imprecise phrase. It would not be inappropriate for you to convey your respect for her skills."
Varg narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Among my people, a pack leader handles such matters."
Tavi turned to face Varg directly, hand on his sword. "Then I will do so."
The Cane's chest rumbled again, and he flicked his ears in agreement, turning back to the sea. "It is well."
Tavi turned from his confrontational stance as well. "Is there anything else you need?"
Varg growled and flexed his claws. "Information."
Tavi considered that, and said, "I will give you what I can."
"I have need," he said.
"Were our roles reversed, I the prisoner in your land, would you share information openly with me?"
"Were our roles reversed, Aleran, your blood would have been drained into jars long since." He drummed his claws on the rail. "And no. I would not share openly." He nodded once. "Tell me what you can about my people here."
Tavi described the last two years in very general terms, giving Varg no information about the positions of Aleran troops, their capabilities, their logistics, or their vulnerability.
When it was done, Varg's mouth dropped open, his tongue lolling out for a second or two. "Sari is dead by your hand?"
Tavi grinned out at the sea. "It might not have happened if Nasaug hadn't maneuvered him into it."
"But you saw it happening," Varg said. "You used it to your advantage."
"Yes."
"And Sari died by your hand."
"Yes."
"Well did Nasaug name you gadara," Varg rumbled.
"I have a theory," Tavi said.
One of Varg's ears swiveled around toward him.
"The invasion fleet arrived under desperate circumstances," Tavi said. "Sari burned their ships behind them. There was a great deal of internal division. A great many ritualists had come with the fleet, and they were clearly dominant." Tavi frowned. "And they had noncombatants with them. I saw a female with young."
Varg's claws dug into the railing.
"It wasn't an invasion force," Tavi said. "It was more like a colony."
"I do not know this word," Varg said.
"It's when you send a group into a new area. They take with them everything they need to begin building their own society and settle down to make a new home."
Varg flicked his ears in acknowledgment.
"After the night of the Vord attack on the First Lord, Sari vanished. We now know that he was taken from the capital on a ship and went back to his homeland. We hunted for him for weeks, but we never found him." Tavi squinted out ahead of them to the west-toward Varg's home. "We never found the Vord queen, either."
Varg bared his teeth.
"Sari was already scheming with the Vord. I believe that he took it with him when he ran. I believe he took it back to your homeland and that it got loose. I think that once he realized what was happening, he took hostages to guarantee the cooperation of Nasaug and his warriors, stole everything he could get his hands on, and ran, trusting his scheme with Kalarus to give him a fighting chance."
"That," Varg growled, "was Sari."
Tavi nodded. "I think," he said quietly, "that your people are in danger. That's why Sari burned the ships behind him. He knew Nasaug would return to protect your homeland if he didn't. And that's why Nasaug is building a fleet right now."
Varg said nothing. His body language told Tavi nothing. A moment later, he said, "If it is true, Aleran, then your enemies will be laid low. What reason could you have to help Nasaug return and stop this from happening?"
"Are you kidding?" Tavi asked. "Self-interest. If the Vord destroy your people, sooner or later they will come here. If I send you home to fight them, then one of two things will happen. You will overcome them, in which case Alera is faced with a familiar enemy and is no worse off than before. Or they will destroy you, weakening themselves in the process, making them easier for Alera to fight. Either way, we are better off if your people leave."
Varg considered that for a moment. "If you are right, we share an enemy."
"I'm right," Tavi said quietly. "I know I'm right."
The Cane glanced aside at Tavi. "What do you propose?"
"I return you to Nasaug at Mastings. You finish building your ships and leave."
"So simple," he said. "But it is not so simple, Aleran. You are not honored as your blood should be. Can you compel your Legions to cease fighting? To allow my people to leave?"
Tavi clenched his teeth for a moment but forced himself to admit, "I'm not sure."
"Then how will you accomplish it?"
"I'm not sure," Tavi said. He narrowed his eyes. "Not yet. But it will happen."
Varg did not reply.
The two of them stood staring out at the shadowed west before them, and for no explicable reason Tavi suddenly felt cold.