Captain's Fury

Chapter 17

Tavi sat silently in Arnos's wind coach, cursing his own stupidity. He should have known better than to proceed upon such a potentially incriminating rendezvous when he might have been under aerial surveillance.

Of course, there had been little enough he could have done, under the circumstances. His own Knights Aeris, weary from the exertions of the morning's battle, had not been at hand, and they were really the only way he might have reasonably known about being observed from high above. Even if they had been at hand, of course, he had moved away from any potential support to meet with Nasaug. He began to berate himself instead for his inexcusably bad judgment in doing so-but the potential to reach some other outcome than outright war with the Canim had demanded that he take the risk.

Perhaps it was neither stupidity nor poor judgment, but simply an unfavorable conjunction of opportunity, chance, and human will that allowed for no particularly desirable outcome-from his point of view, at least. It had certainly been a fortunate enough morning for Arnos.

It could have been worse. Ehren had not been recognized as anyone other than a local freeman-had Arnos known he was a Cursor of the Crown and accorded the rank and privileges of a Knight as a result, Tavi suspected that he would not have been allowed to live to bear testimony about what had happened. Instead, he had been bound, tossed on the luggage rack atop the coach, and was to be dropped with the condemned prisoners back at Othos.

Assuming Ehren came out of the situation alive, he should prove to be a major lever in any tribunal examining Arnos's charge of treason. All Tavi needed to do was claim he was engaged in a prisoner exchange for a critically placed agent of the Crown-which had the considerable merit of being entirely true.

It would be pleasant to be able to throw that into Arnos's teeth, but Tavi refrained, lest Ehren accidentally tumble from the coach during flight. So he regarded the Senator's detached expression of feline smugness with a blank face, and said nothing. Instead, he sat, missing the presence of his sword far more acutely than he ever had before he'd begun feeling his way through metal-crafting. It currently resided across the lap of Phrygiar Navaris, who sat beside Amos and stared at Tavi, her serpentine eyes never seeming to blink. The archer sat on Arnos's other side, and the largest of the two men in his retinue of singu-lares sat on either side of him.

"This is probably for the best, Scipio," Arnos said. "It was going to happen, one way or another. This way has the advantage of being relatively civilized."

Tavi didn't bother to answer. The galling thing was that to a certain extent, Arnos was probably correct. Tavi wondered if Gaius had known just how ruthless the man was going to be when it came to removing any possible challenge to his authority. Arnos had been willing to see hundreds of innocent people die to remove Tavi. He certainly wouldn't have hesitated to strike out at anyone who supported Tavi against him.

Tavi narrowed his eyes in thought.

There might be one who he would be slow to oppose.

In fact, this entire situation did not have to be a disaster. What was it old Killian had told the Cursors-in-training so often?

Every problem was an opportunity, from the proper point of view.

Arnos tilted his head and studied Tavi through narrowed eyes. "What was that thought that just went by your eyes, Scipio? I don't think I liked the look of it."

Tavi smiled at him. Then he said, "Senator. Men like you need never seek out their enemies. You create them left and right by virtue of drawing breath."

Arnos made a clucking sound in his throat. "You can't possibly think I am intimidated by your contacts. We all have powerful friends here."

"I don't think you can see far enough to realize what you should fear," Tavi replied. "Crowbegotten shame, really. You have gifts. You could do a lot of people a lot of good, if you so chose."

The Senator's eyes went flat. "If I so chose, Scipio," he said quietly, "I could have Navaris spill out your entrails here and now."

Tavi shook his head and nodded at the coach's window. "If you'll look beneath you, Senator, I'm fairly sure that you'll see a picket line of riders below us-close enough to be within sight of one another, and relay signals back to the camp. I ordered them not to accompany me to my meeting, which means that they followed me just far enough back to stay out of sight. They saw your men take me, I'm quite sure. Individually, they aren't faster than a wind coach, but working together, in good light, on a clear day like this one, they can send word even faster. Odds are excellent that the camp already knows you've arrested me."

The Senator narrowed his eyes. Then he turned aside and muttered something to the archer. She, in turn, opened a window on the roar of the wind-stream outside. She flagged down one of the accompanying Knights Aeris. They had a brief exchange of hand signals. The Knight vanished from the window and appeared again a moment later, flickering an affirmative signal at the archer.

Amos pressed his lips together and waited for the archer to shut the window again.

"Kill me if you like, Senator," Tavi said, before Amos could speak. "But you might find yourself faced with quite a few awkward questions." He leaned forward. "And I am not some freeman whose death might be easily ignored."

Navaris's hand dropped to the hilt of Tavi's gladius, and her lips split in a snarl.

Amos seized Navaris's sword wrist in one hand, his eyes locked on Tavi's. "Now, now, good lady. Let us not lose our tempers. It has been a trying day for all of us." He smiled a little. "Granted, only one of us is to be tried for treason."

"We'll see," Tavi said.

"We will most certainly see you tried and hung, Scipio," Arnos said. This time, there was no posturing in his voice, no overt grandstanding in his manner-almost no inflection on his words. "Even if events conspire to clear you, in the long run, your role in history is ended. Your Legion will be led by another. You will play no role in this campaign. You will gain no power, no renown during the most vital series of battles for five hundred years while others rise to power instead. Your reputation will be tainted regardless of the outcome of the tribunal: After the shadow of treason has fallen upon you, you won't be trusted to command a squad in a civic legion, and we both know it."

Tavi sat quietly. It was worse, this calm delivery of fact, than any of Arnos's previous sneers and glowers. He bowed his head before it, the way a man might when faced with the inevitable cold of winter's first wind.

"You are already dead," Arnos said. "Dead enough to be of no more use to your patron. Dead enough to be no more threat to me." He glanced away from Tavi as if he was suddenly no longer significant enough to notice. "You're dead, Scipio. It is over."

The wind coach tilted as it began to descend, back to the Guard-occupied walls of Othos.

"From here," Arnos said, "we can proceed in an agreeable, civilized manner-or we can do it the hard way. May I take it that you will cooperate? It will make things much easier upon your men."

Tavi didn't look up. He simply said, "Very well."

"You see, Navaris?" Arnos murmured. "He can be reasoned with."

Tavi sat quietly and left his head bowed.

It made it easier to conceal the smile.

The coach landed in the Othos town square, now standing empty of anyone but legionares of the Guard. As Tavi watched, a full century of legionares rushed out to form up in ranks facing the coach-a personal retinue, like his own perennially proximate gang of Marat riders, if somewhat more numerous. The legionares snapped to attention as a valet hurried out to open the door of the wind coach.

Tavi and the two large singulares exited first. The two men stood on either side of him. At one point in his life, he mused, the presence of such large men so obviously skilled in the arts of violence would have intimidated him quite effectively. Given, however, that the taller of the pair still came half a hand short of Tavi's height, and given both his training and his more recent but mounting knowledge of furycraft, the most that they managed to do was elevate themselves in his thinking to the first targets he would need to deal with, should the situation devolve.

When Arnos emerged from the coach, flanked by his other singulares, Tavi fell into pace beside him. His escorts were taken off guard by the confident motion, and wound up trailing him by a step, more like attendants than anything else.

"Senator," Tavi murmured, nodding with a polite smile to the centurion of Arnos's personal guard. "It occurs to me that a certain amount of reciprocity might be called for."

Arnos glared up at him for a moment, and Tavi imagined the man torn between continuing the amicable facade and ordering his singulares to beat him senseless. "You're in no position to demand anything."

"Nor do I make any demands," Tavi replied. "I simply wish to point out that you are quite correct. I'm beaten and politically dead."

Arnos stared at him as they mounted the stairs to the house he'd claimed, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You have some point?"

"The people of Othos," Tavi replied, arching a brow at Arnos. "You have what you want. There's no need to carry through with the executions now."

"Oh, I don't know," Arnos said, his tone conversational. "Setting an early example might well smooth things down the road. I should think the fate of Othos would do a great deal to inspire the folk of other villages to be more active in their resistance of the enemy."

"Or inspire them to turn their hands against you."

Arnos shrugged. "Freemen out here have little in the way of capability to do our forces any harm. They are virtually without furycraft." Arnos gave Tavi a chill little smile. "Imagine what that would be like. Scipio."

Tavi regarded the man steadily for a long moment. Tavi's assignment to the First Aleran as a Cursor and spy for the Crown had never been intended to go on for so long. A lot of people had seen his face in the capital, and sooner or later someone must have twigged to the identical facial features of Rufus Scipio and Tavi of Calderon.

Arnos was Lady Aquitaine's creature. Offhand, he couldn't think of anyone else with both enough intelligence resources to obtain the information, and motivation to share that fact with Arnos. It was an educated guess, but Tavi felt fairly confident of it.

For the immediate future, though, it hardly mattered where Arnos had gotten the information-it only mattered that he did have it, and therefore knew that he could strike at Tavi's patron by visiting harm on Tavi. "You've gotten what you wanted. Those people have done you no harm, Senator."

"Nor given any help. I owe them nothing."

"And that's reason enough for you to murder them?"

Arnos shook his head once. "This is a war. The innocent die. They are killed by battles, caught in fires, they starve, they grow sick. It is unavoidable. No commander worth the rank lets his mind be distracted by such things."

"Ah," Tavi murmured. "Quite distracting, humanity."

Arnos let out a bark of laughter. "Please. Your heart bleeds no more than mine does. How many tears did you shed for the officers over you who died when you took command, hmm? How many men did you order to their deaths? How many bodies of the innocent have you seen during your stay here-and how long has it been since the sight of them made your gorge rise?"

Sudden, red rage flashed through Tavi at Arnos's words, but he suppressed it savagely. It was a near thing. Two years in the field had killed hundreds of the men he commanded and exposed him to depths of suffering he could never have imagined only a few years before.

"You are the same sort of creature I am, Scipio, or Tavi of Calderon, or whoever you imagine yourself to be. You simply serve a different master."

Tavi frowned at the man steadily. Amos was unruffled and, unless Tavi was mistaken, he was entirely sincere.

How could any sane person be so callous? The lives Arnos directly destroyed would not be the only blood on his hands. The repercussions would be shattering. Disease would run rampant. Children would be orphaned. Stead-holts would be decimated, their harvests stifled for lack of labor. The shortage of food would drive men into brigandage and murder. Other men would kill for vengeance, while the women and children, as in all wars, suffered the most. The furies in the area, thrown out of balance by all the deaths of those wielding them, would devolve and go feral, causing even more problems and endangering anyone who crossed their paths.

Tavi had seen it on a much smaller scale around towns and villages engulfed by the war. It was a nightmare. If Arnos continued this way, the first snows of winter would fall upon a land of death and decay presided over by fat, croaking crows.

How could the man even conceive such a thing?

Tavi blinked. The answer was simple.

He didn't know.

Arnos simply didn't know.

Though he was one of the most respected men in the Collegia Tactica, Arnos had never actually served on a campaign. He had watched the morning's assault from his air coach high above, looking down upon the tiny figures running about far below him-the same viewpoint he would have enjoyed at a ludus board, or on a sand table.

He had been too far away to see the blood or hear the screams, or to smell the stench of death. Bloody crows, the man was directing Legions on a campaign against an implacable foe, yet he didn't even wear armor. Tavi was well aware how quickly the tides of battle could shift-his own dented armor bore testimony enough for it.

It wasn't real to Arnos, Tavi thought. Or rather, what was real and what was going on in the Senator's mind were two different things entirely. He was used to talking about war in abstract, comfortably distanced terms. He hadn't been there on the ground, and while he might have had an intellectual appreciation of the loss of human life that would ensue, he didn't know. He hadn't experienced it himself.

Tavi shook his head. "I take it back," he said quietly. "You aren't going to do anyone any good."

Arnos crooked a finger at Navaris. "I'm sure this house has a cellar or basement or storage closet of some kind. Lock him in it."

"Arnos, please," Tavi said. "Rescind the order. Those people don't deserve to die, and you know it."

Arnos ignored him. "After that, take the servant and throw him in with the prisoners. He's obviously in collusion with the local rebels."

Tavi ground his teeth in sheer frustration, his hands balling into fists.

Navaris's snake eyes flicked to him, and her sword slid three inches out of its sheath.

Tavi heard it then, before anyone else seemed to. In the years since forming the strange bond with Kitai, his senses had grown steadily more aware. Not acute, precisely, so much as they seemed to be losing distinction in their respective acuity. Scents had grown steadily more available, familiar, and recognizable, until they distinguished places and objects in his memory almost as readily as familiar faces distinguished different people. Sounds, too, had changed. They hadn't become any louder, really, so much as they had become increasingly more distinct, until he could frequently sort out who was moving around him, and which steed they were mounted on, based on little more than the unique sounds of their breathing.

This was a very low sound, one that most people would not notice until it grew more prominent.

Horses.

Hundreds of them, gathering speed.

Crows. This was not what Tavi needed right now.

Navaris roughly seized his arm with her left hand, and only then did she notice the sound. She froze, turning her head toward the northern gates of the city. There was an enormous, thundering crash, and then the low growl of hoofbeats turned into a staccato roar, as a tide of hundreds of hooves struck upon the cobblestones of Othos.

Bloody crows. This was definitely something none of them needed right now.

Unless...

A column of cavalry from the First Aleran surged into the square from the far side, with Antillar Maximus leading them. The column immediately began splitting apart, falling into ranks with parade-ground precision. He'd brought all four alae of cavalry, and they broke into two units-the original Aleran alae and the second unit of Marat riders. As Tavi watched, he saw the Battlecrows bringing up the rear. They dismounted and formed up in a battle square between the cavalry units.

The First Aleran's veterans had moved with tremendous speed, and they were in position and ready before the Guard could react to their appearance. Trumpets blared in dozens of conflicting calls, drums rolled, and the Guard began assembling into ranks, facing the First Aleran. They were disorganized and confused, but what they lacked in coordination they made up in numbers.

Antillar Maximus, armor and helmet shining in the afternoon sun, turned his horse toward the house the Senator had appropriated and trotted toward him, somehow imparting an arrogant swagger to his mount's gait. He stopped ten feet in front of the first rank of opposing legionares and gave Tavi a casual nod. "Captain." He spoke loudly enough to let the entire square hear, smiling amiably.

"Good afternoon, Tribune," Tavi said, also loudly. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"There's a situation back at our camp that requires your attention, sir," Max said. "I took the liberty of bringing a spare horse for you." He turned the amiable smile to Arnos. "I'll have my captain back, Senator."

Arnos glared at Max and drew himself up, lifting his chin. Given his silk robes, and the fact that the Senator was shorter than most women, it looked somewhat ridiculous. The increasing numbers of Guard legionares arriving moment by moment, however, did not.

"Tribune," Arnos barked. "You and these men will disperse, return to camp, and await my orders."

"You heard the man, Captain," Max drawled. "Get on the horse, and we'll get back to camp."

"Disperse, Tribune!" Arnos snarled. "Now!"

From the north side of the town, drums rumbled. The sound of the legionares of the First Aleran singing a quick-step marching song drifted through the air.

Arnos turned to Tavi. "Order them to stand down."

"I'd like to, Senator," Tavi said, "but I've been relieved of command."

"I'll kill them," Arnos said. "One and all."

"That's up to you, of course," Tavi agreed. "But you might give a thought to the consequences to your campaign. You can kill them, but it won't be easy. You'll take heavy losses. And when the dust settles, you'll have less than a third of our current numbers."

Arnos narrowed his eyes.

"We're already outnumbered at least three or four to one, sir." Tavi felt his voice harden. "Do the math. And then tell me if you think you can carry this campaign to completion."

Arnos looked from Tavi to Max, to the legionares in the square. The marching song of the First Aleran grew louder.

Finally, he hissed through his teeth, and growled, "If I must, I will fall back and gather reinforcements for next year. You aren't getting your command back."

"I don't need it," Tavi said. "Furthermore, I can guarantee that not only will the First Aleran stand down, but that it will willingly march beside you in the rest of the campaign. We both know you're going to need them."

Arnos frowned, suspicious eyes flickering over Tavi's face. "What do you want?"

"Two things," Tavi said. "First, the people of Othos. Rescind the order."

Arnos snorted. "And?"

"Turn me over to Captain Nalus and remand me to the stockade at the Eli-narch until my trial," Tavi replied.

"Why?" Arnos demanded.

Tavi glanced at Navaris. "I'd rather not wake up one day and find that I've somehow sliced open my wrists in my sleep."

Arnos looked back out at the square, which by that time had become a veritable sea of gleaming armor, banners, weapons, and helmets. On the square opposite the First Aleran forces, the banner of Captain Nalus appeared, and began marching through the ranks toward Arnos's command.

"Done," Arnos said.

Tavi nodded once, and turned to Max. "Tribune?"

"Sir."

"Stand down and return to camp."

Max blinked and stared at Tavi. "Sir?"

"That is an order, Tribune," Tavi said.

Max's horse danced nervously in place, and the big Antillan shook his head. "No, sir. I'm not leaving here without you, sir."

"The Senator has found cause to bring treason charges against me. I am confident that I will have an opportunity"-he placed a very slight emphasis on the word-"to clear up the matter in a trial. For the time being the regulations must be observed."

Max arched an eyebrow, took a deep breath, and then reluctantly saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Tribune," Tavi said.

Max turned and rode back over to the First Aleran, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went. A moment later, the formations began to break up, turning to depart the city the way they'd come. A collective sigh of relief from seemingly every man in the square sounded like a wind blowing through tall, thick grass.

Tavi felt his own legs sag with relief. A disastrous clash with the Guard had been averted, and the people of Othos were spared-one problem neatly solving another.

The easy part was over.

From here on out things were going to be a lot more difficult.

Chapter 18

Marcus approached the command tent and nodded to the guard outside. "My name is Marcus. Captain Nalus sent for me."

The guard, a young legionare, came to immediate attention and snapped a precise salute. "Valiar Marcus, sir, he's expecting you. He said to go in, and he'll be along in a moment, sir."

"Don't call me sir, sonny," Marcus said. "We're all infantry here."

The young legionare grinned and banged out a more natural salute, then swung open the tent's flap.

Marcus returned the salute, if more casually than was strictly proper, and stepped inside the tent. It was a bit larger than necessary and was set up around a central table, rather than having tables line the walls, leaving the center open. That was typical of Nalus. He liked his men facing one another as they worked-talking, communicating. He was a great one for talking, Nalus.

Marcus tended to prefer the other arrangement. It meant that you always knew the man who was working behind your back.

The cot at one side of the room was double-sized, and a stool and a large harp rested at its foot. Marcus walked over to the harp and ran a calloused hand along its wooden frame.

The tent flap opened, and Captain Nalus walked in. Marcus turned to him and gave him a sharp salute. "Captain."

Nalus nodded back. "Centurion." He closed the tent flap behind him.

Marcus offered the man a grin and his hand. "Been a while."

Nalus took his hand and smiled in return. "Marcus. Thank you for coming."

"Well, you're a high-and-mighty captain now. How could a mere centurion refuse?"

Nalus snorted. "It's not much like when we were serving High Lord Antil-lus," he said, his tone wry. "Is it?"

"Not much," Marcus replied.

"Great furies know," Nalus said quietly, "there would never have been any of that business about executing civilians." He was quiet for a moment. "Made me sick, Marcus."

"On the Shieldwall," Marcus said quietly, "you always knew who the enemy was."

Nalus frowned at him for a moment, then grimaced and shook his head. "You've got me all wrong. Crows take the politicians, Marcus, and the politics with them. That isn't what I signed up for. I'm just a soldier."

Marcus grunted. "You joined the wrong outfit if you wanted to avoid getting involved."

Nalus shook his head, crossed to a cabinet in the corner of the tent, and took out a dark bottle. He took a long pull from it, and then offered it to Marcus. "This isn't about choosing sides, Marcus."

Marcus looked at the bottle for a moment. He made no move toward it. "Then what is it about?"

Nalus took another drink. "A lot of years ago, you taught a young subtri-bune a lot about being a soldier. And a spoiled brat a lot about growing up."

Marcus snorted. "They didn't come much greener than you. That's for sure."

"You were my teacher. You gave me good advice then. I'm asking for your advice now."

Marcus stared at Nalus for a moment. Then he shook his head and reached out for the bottle. He took a swig, and the almost-flavorless hard root-liquor favored in the frozen north of the Realm burned down his throat. "Faugh," he muttered. "You can get any kind of liquor here, and you stick with this?"

"Grew on me," Nalus said.

Marcus grunted, and said, "Absent friends."

"Absent friends," Nalus replied.

Marcus took another pull and passed the bottle back to Nalus. He waited until the other man drank, then said, "What do you want to ask me?"

"You know I've been given custody of Captain Scipio."

"Aye."

Nalus shook his head. "He's made some requests. He wants to talk to some of his officers before I send him back to Sir Cyril for safekeeping."

Marcus grunted. "And?"

Nalus stared at Marcus for a second. "And? Does he really expect me to allow it? The last thing any of us needs is for him to give some order to his men to the effect of 'the good Senator can go to the crows.' Or maybe, 'kill that fool Nalus and get me out of here.'"

Marcus nodded. Then he said, "Ask him not to."

Nalus arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Ask him not to do that."

Nalus let out an exasperated little laugh. "Just like that? And take his word for it? Oh, the Senator would love that."

Marcus took the bottle and swigged again. "You asked."

Nalus stared hard at Marcus for a full, silent minute. Then he swallowed more of the northern liquor, and said, "Really?"

"He gives you his word," Marcus said, "he's good for it."

Nalus exhaled. Then he said, "And you're good for yours."

Marcus took another pull and grimaced. "Mostly."

Nalus finished the bottle and idly tossed it under his cot. He frowned, brow furrowing.

Marcus let him think it over for a moment. Then he said, "Still playing that old thing, eh?"

Nalus glanced at the harp and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I... sometimes it helps me sleep."

Marcus nodded at the double-sized cot. "Thought that's what the women were for."

Nalus flashed a short-lived grin at Marcus. Then he shook his head, and replied, "Not going to be much of that on the campaign."

"No."

"If Scipio talks to his officers," Nalus said, "and tells them to resist Arnos, we won't be able to trust the First Aleran, Marcus. I may be a fool, but I'm not a crowbegotten fool. We're going to need them by the time we get to Mastings. I can't make a bad call on this one."

Marcus clapped Nalus on the shoulder, and said, quietly, "Do what you think is best." Then he turned to leave.

"Marcus?" Nalus asked.

Marcus paused.

Nalus took a deep breath. "I want you to be there."

Marcus turned, nodded, and gave the younger man a salute.

Nalus returned it.

The sandy-haired young Cursor, Sir Ehren, was waiting for Marcus as he walked briskly out of the Second Senatorial's camp, and back toward the First Aleran's. He fell into pace beside Marcus, though his body language remained that of someone moving separately from the centurion. His lips barely moved when he spoke. "Well?"

"The captain asked, just like you said he would. And Nalus will allow it."

Ehren's face lit in a brief, fierce grin. "Good."

Marcus glanced aside at him. "What are you going to do?"

Ehren began to speak, but frowned. "Better for both of us if you don't know," he said quietly.

Thank the great furies someone had sense, Marcus thought. The Cursors had taken a lot of losses over the past few years, and he'd come to fear for the quality of the agents that would emerge from the situation. At least this one appeared to have sound judgment.

Ehren gave the slightest twitch of a nod to Marcus and vanished down a side street. Marcus continued on his way, at the same businesslike, unwavering pace, and returned to his tent.

This time, Lady Aquitaine had not bothered with a veil. She sat on his stool in her washerwoman disguise, her face lined with impatience. She rose as he entered, and he felt the air tighten with an interdicting windcrafting.

Marcus nodded to her. "My lady."

"Fidelias," she replied, her tone curt. "What did Nalus say?"

"Scipio has requested a conference with his senior officers," Marcus reported.

Lady Aquitaine narrowed her eyes. "According to Amos, Scipio stated that he would instruct his officers to support him. But he's a fighter. Surely Nalus isn't going to allow the meeting."

Marcus kept his focus upon the details of his tent-mundane, familiar things that were not at all out of the ordinary and with which he interacted on a daily, regular basis. "I advised him against it," he replied.

Lady Aquitaine frowned at him for a moment.

Marcus straightened the lay of the blanket on his cot and wondered if he was about to die.

She sighed and shook her head. "Will he take your advice?"

"We can hope so," Marcus said. "Nalus takes some time to make his decisions, but he does his own thinking along the way. He told me that if he did have the conference, he wanted me there. At least I'll be able to report on what happens."

"Never underestimate the ongoing value in a talented protege," Lady

Aquitaine murmured, smiling. "Or how many times they go to their former mentors for advice on their most critical decisions. Keep me informed."

"Of course, lady."

"What of the villagers?" Lady Aquitaine asked.

"Released and returned to their homes-although Amos hasn't issued an official countermand to their death warrants."

She shook her head. "With Scipio out of the picture, there's no longer any reason to threaten them, and there is the potential for serious long-range repercussions. I must admit, my spy, that your suggestion sounded like quite a gamble at first. But it's proven an elegant solution to our problems."

Marcus's stomach twisted. If the captain hadn't played the situation as well as he had... Aloud, he only said, "Thank you, lady."

"In your opinion, will the First Aleran support Amos in the campaign?"

"If Scipio orders it?" He pursed his lips. "I think so, yes. They've fought the Canim for two years now. They want to finish the job."

Lady Aquitaine sighed. "Then it all hinges on Scipio. He has a rather irritating talent for impersonating a fulcrum."

"If he reneges," Marcus pointed out, "there is still the death warrant."

Her face twisted into a moue of distaste. "True. But will it be enough to compel him to keep his word?"

"Partly," Marcus said. "But bear in mind that he plans surprisingly well for the long term for someone of his age. Throwing his Legion's support behind the campaign is, at this point, arguably the best way to keep his men and his officers alive, united, and ready to support him again in the future."

Lady Aquitaine arched an eyebrow at that and waved her hand in a gesture that admitted the possibility. Then she rose and gathered up the laundry, a small smile on her mouth. "I'm not worried about his long-range plans. We're nearly there. You have served me very well, my Fidelias. I shall not forget it."

He bowed his head to Lady Aquitaine, and she departed.

He sank down to sit on his cot and closed his eyes. The panic and fear he'd kept hidden inside him when he lied to Lady Aquitaine's face rushed back through him. His forehead beaded with a cold sweat, and his hands started shaking.

Should Lady Aquitaine come to power, she would need the appearance, at least, of integrity, and Marcus knew far too many damning facts about both her and her husband. True, she had a certain amount of integrity-but also true, she allowed no one and nothing to hamper her aims. It had taken him years to see the absolute, voracious nature of her ambition.

He followed the chain of logic to its most probable conclusion.

Once she and her husband had the crown, Marcus would be a liability, suited only for removal.

Optionally, if she ever realized that he had turned against her, she would wipe him from the earth.

And should the captain ever learn his true identity, Marcus judged that he would react with less dramatic but equally effective prejudice.

Marcus sat on the cot with his hands shaking.

He'd kept the captain alive, at least. That was something. As long as he was alive, the young man would be in action-and Marcus was sure that the captain had no intention of sitting quietly in a cell while the Aquitaines' puppet Senator ran up a string of victories and the prestige and influence that would come with them. As long as the captain was alive and able to act, there was hope for Alera's future.

Just not for his own.

To the crows with it. He'd never planned on dying of old age in any case.