Captain's Fury

Chapter 29

"Again!" Araris snapped, driving a series of high, whirling slashes at Tavi's head. The singulare was not restraining the force of his blows, and it took every ounce of Tavi's concentration and skill to survive them. He found the rhythm of the attack, found the tiny half beat of vulnerability between one of Araris's strikes and the next, and countered low, his body dipping to one side and out of the line of the attack, one hand resting flat on the ground to support his suddenly altered balance, his blade darting in a swift thrust for the large artery in the singulare s midsection.

Tavi was an instant too slow. Araris slammed his blade across Tavi's, driving it from his fingers. The singulare swung a booted kick at Tavi's face. Tavi rolled away from it. Araris drove his heel down at Tavi's nose. Tavi swatted the blow mostly aside-and found the point of Araris's sword resting in the hollow of his throat.

Araris stared at Tavi, his eyes expressionless, even frightening. Then he drew himself upright and lifted the sword away. "It has to be faster," he said quietly. "The fight is always in motion. You can't wait for the right beat. You have to anticipate it."

Tavi scowled up at Araris. "We've done this every day for a week. It's only one counter. Someone my size is going to have real trouble using it. We both know that. What happened to fighting to my strengths?"

"This is one," Araris said. "You just don't know it yet."

Tavi shook his head. "What the crows is that supposed to mean?"

Araris rested a hand on his midsection where he'd been wounded, wincing like a man with a stitch in his side after a long run. "Any swordsman worth the name won't expect that move from someone like you. They would think it too dangerous, too foolhardy."

Tavi touched his throat, where Araris's sword had been, and glanced at the small smear of blood on his finger. "Why would anyone think that?" But he got to his feet, recovered his sword, and faced Araris, ready to go again.

Araris rolled his shoulder, his expression pained, and shook his head. "Enough for today."

They lifted their blades in a mutual salute and put them away. "Is your side still hurting'? Maybe I should get the Steadholder to-"

"No," Araris said at once. "No. She has enough to contend with. It's sore, that's all."

Tavi arched his eyebrows, realization dawning in his face. "That's how Navaris got you."

Araris frowned and looked away. "She had too many of Arnos's singulares with her. I couldn't have fought them all and lived. So I gave Navaris an opening. I had counted on her to take a thrust to my leg and pin her sword in the hull for a moment." He waved a hand at his flank. "But she hit me here instead."

Tavi frowned. "I saw her sword go through the hull. But it was still stuck there when..." His voice trailed off as a little surge of nausea went through his stomach. Araris had been pinned to the Mactiss hull with a sword through his guts. The only way he could have freed himself would have been...

Bloody crows. The man had simply sliced himself free on Navaris's weapon. He'd let the blade cut through four or five inches of his own midsection. No wonder it looked like Navaris had slashed him open halfway to his spine.

Araris met Tavi's gaze soberly and nodded. "Without Isana..." He shrugged. "Navaris shouldn't have been able to do that. I don't know how she managed it. But she did. I'm pushing us both."

He turned without another word and went back to the ship's cabin. Tavi put his sword away, tugged on his loose tunic, and made his way thoughtfully to the ship's prow.

After their raid on the doomed Mactis, the rest of the voyage had been comparatively uneventful, and Tavi found himself growing increasingly anxious. Araris was back on his feet after two days of rest, and they returned to relentless practice on the deck for hours at a time. Araris proved to be one of those swordmasters who believed that pain was the best motivator for learning. Tavi acquired any number of small cuts-some of them quite messy and painful- and a collection of dozens of bruises in various colors.

Despite the pain, the practice sessions helped. He wasn't sure exactly how well he was progressing in his swordsmanship, since Araris always seemed to be just a bit faster than Tavi, his technique and positioning a tiny bit more precise than Tavi's own, but Araris assured him that he was getting better. The practices were exhausting, which Tavi thought was their single largest benefit.

It left him with less energy to worry about the future.

After dinner that night, he was standing at the prow of the ship again, watching dolphins sport in the waters ahead of the Slive. Kitai was lying back along a line, somewhere above him and behind him, relaxing as casually as if it had been a hammock, rather than a single rope she held with an ankle and one hand. He could feel her lazy contentment at having a full belly, an interesting day, and a lovely sunset to watch over the rolling waves of the sea.

Tavi closed his eyes and tried to partake of Kitai's contentment. The two of them differed fundamentally in regards to their views on the future. For Kitai, the future was a single enormous matter of relative unimportance. What mattered was the here and now. While preparation for what might happen was useful, it was beneficial more in how it shaped one's character and brightened one's day than for any practical gain it might grant when the future became the present. Kitai, he knew, approved of Tavi's weapons training with Araris, but he suspected it had more to do with the fact that she enjoyed seeing him sweating and shirtless than with her concern for whom he might be fighting in the future.

Tavi's sense of Kitai changed slightly, as her interest was briefly piqued. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ehren approaching.

"Hey," Tavi said quietly.

"Hey," Ehren said. The little Cursor came up to stand beside Tavi, staring out ahead of the ship. "I talked to Demos. We start up the Gaul tomorrow. After that, it will be another week to get up the river to the capital. Maybe more, if he can't find a decent tugboat."

Tavi nodded. "That's good. I figure we'll be there right around the time of the new moon."

"Always nice for sneaking around springing prisoners," Ehren said. There was tension in the former scribe's shoulders. He folded his arms and leaned one hip against the rail. "I knew she was a skilled healer, but I didn't know the Stead-holder's other watercraft was that strong. It surprised me."

"I think it surprised her, too," Tavi said. "Maybe it shouldn't have. She flooded a river at home just before Second Calderon. That's more than most watercrafters can do."

Ehren nodded. "How is she?"

"Araris hung up a hammock for her in a storage room in the hold. She says it's quieter down there. She was up on deck for a while, earlier. I'd say she's getting a handle on it now."

"That's good," Ehren said. He frowned out at the sea, and his voice trailed away into an awkward silence.

"Just say it," Tavi said quietly.

"Say what?" Ehren asked.

"Whatever it is that's bothering you."

Ehren quirked one corner of his mouth up and nodded, staring out to sea. "When we went over to the Mactis. You said something to the Steadholder."

Tavi grimaced. "I was sort of hoping you wouldn't notice it in all the excitement."

"I debated doing that," Ehren said. "But... these days it seems I have to lie to almost everyone. I don't really like it. And I don't want that to include you."

Tavi smiled a little and nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure," Ehren said. "So. When you told Isana that she was the First Lady of Alera, what you meant was..."

"Exactly what I said," Tavi said.

Ehren frowned. Then he blinked and stared at Tavi. "You mean... she's really Lady Caria? In disguise?"

Tavi blinked. "What? No! Oh, bloody crows, no."

Ehren frowned. "Then I don't get it. The First Lady is the wife of the First Lord."

"Most First Lords would have retired years ago," Tavi said. "Passed their authority on to their heir. Remained as an advisor, maybe."

Ehren frowned. Then he lifted both eyebrows and dropped his voice to a whisper. "The Princeps? Gaius Septimus?"

Tavi nodded silently.

"But he never married!"

"He did," Tavi said. "Legally. And he left her the means to prove it."

Ehren whistled. "If he'd lived..." He shook his head. "Well. Everything would be different, wouldn't it?" Ehren studied Tavi's face for a moment, frowning. "But that's not all."

Tavi took a deep breath. "He had an heir by her, Ehren. A son."

The Cursor arched a skeptical eyebrow. "An heir to the Crown? Tavi..." Then his expression froze in place. "Tavi," he said quietly, his eyes widening.

Tavi forced himself to smile a little. He shrugged his shoulders stiffly. "I'm not terribly comfortable with it, either."

Ehren glanced around covertly. "Urn. How many people know about this?"

"You. Cyril. Araris. My mother."

"And me," Kitai drawled from her perch, without opening her eyes.

Tavi frowned up at her. "I never explained it to you."

She yawned. "Aleran, please. It is not as if you are horribly complex. I have ears and a mind. If I waited for you to speak to me about everything important, it would probably drive me insane."

Tavi snorted and shook his head. He turned back to Ehren.

The young man chewed idly at a fingernail, a habit Tavi remembered well from their days at the Academy together. "Gaius doesn't know?"

"He knows something," Tavi said. "I'm not sure how much."

Ehren sighed. "You realize that it's my duty to inform him."

"That," Tavi said, "is the least of my worries."

The Cursor nodded. "If it's true," he said. "Tavi, I don't mean to insult you, but... an heir of the House of Gaius would be a powerful furycrafter. You... you aren't."

"There are reasons," Tavi said quietly. "I don't want to go into it right now."

The Cursor nodded and looked away. After a minute he asked, his voice carrying a slight edge, "How long have you known?"

"You're my friend, Ehren. I don't want to have to lie to you, either." Tavi turned to him and put a hand on Ehren's shoulder, meeting his eyes. "I found out just before we marched out from the Elinarch. Until then, I had no idea."

Ehren searched his eyes for a moment, a line appearing between his eyebrows. Then he nodded slowly. "All right." He chewed on another fingernail. "So what do we do?"

"We continue with the mission," Tavi said. "We get Varg and use him to broker an armistice with the Canim. Then we march south and help Sir Miles put Kalarus down for good."

"Simultaneously stealing the thunder from both Aquitainus and his puppet Arnos." Ehren shook his head. "You can't expose yourself to this kind of risk."

"What risk? I'm not anything yet," Tavi said. "And even if I was, it has to be me who takes the risk. Who else could?"

Ehren rolled his eyes and waved his hands in a vague gesture of frustration. "How can you possibly say something that is so backward while still making sense?"

Tavi laughed. "The point is," he said, "we've got to focus on what's here and now. Have you gone over the list?"

Ehren nodded. "I can buy everything but the coldstones. Those aren't easy to find at any time, much less in the spring. Everyone's saving them up for summer. Even if I find some for sale, they're going to cost more than we have."

"They aren't optional equipment," Tavi said, frowning. "We've got to have them, period."

"I thought you'd say something like that," Ehren said. He glanced up at the rigging above and behind them. "As it happens, I seem to remember a rather successful burglar who terrorized the shopkeepers of the capital a few years back."

Kitai opened one eye. Her mouth spread into her lazy, feline grin. "Good," she said. "I was beginning to grow bored."

Chapter 30

At Tavi's insistence-backed by more of Cyril's coin-Captain Demos hired a particularly swift tugboat for the journey upriver, once they had reached Parcia. Tavi had never been to the southern city and seaport at the delta of the Gaul, but there was no time to take in the sights. Parcia was a city of shining white stone, rising on several tiered levels almost like stair-steps, up to an impressive fortified citadel. Though not as large as Alera Imperia, the city of Parcia seemed airier, cleaner, more open.

The crew of the tugboat Demos hired reminded Tavi of Countess Amara, with their dark golden skin and their hair that came in several shades of deep gold, amber, and copper. The crew seemed more cheerful than the rivermen Tavi had known in the capital, and after running lines to the Slive, the smaller ship proceeded up the river, propelled by a crew of Parcian men with long poles, walking down either side of the tugboat, singing a working song with surprising facility as they did, pushing the vessels upriver.

In the stern of the smaller ship was a pair of middle-aged women. They settled down on seats slung outside the back of the tugboat, down close to the wa-terline. They sat dragging their feet in the water, chatting with one another, and doing handwork, mostly sewing. When Tavi asked, Demos explained that they were the wives of the tugboat's captain and first mate, and that they were watercrafters whose furies would convince the currents of the river to pretend that the tugboat and the Slive were not there.

The Gaul was busy with traffic, and would only become more so until the trading season slowed again at the end of autumn. Now that the sailors weren't needed to manage the sails, they lounged on deck for hours at a stretch, whenever Demos couldn't fill their time with make-work. As a result, Tavi found that he and Araris had an audience for their practice sessions, and to his intense discomfort they began regularly betting on the outcomes of the practices-not whether Tavi would beat Araris, which seemed a forgone conclusion. The wagers all centered on when and how Tavi would lose and how much of his blood would spill in the process.

The tugboat kept up its pace until several hours after dark, lighting its way with furylamps until the boatmen were too weary to continue, and they would start moving again just as the eastern sky began to lighten. The boat moved with surprising grace and speed up the river, often passing trading caravans on the road beside the water, on their way to Alera Imperia-and quietly, efficiently passed the other vessels being drawn upriver by tugs. As a result, it took them only six days to reach the capital.

"That's a great racket they've got going," Demos observed, as the tugboat maneuvered close to the docks and passed up the lines that would let the dock-men haul the Slive into position. "They made a quarter of what I did, just for the run up the river. No pirates, no leviathans, no worries about storms, fresh water, or food."

"Maybe you're in the wrong business," Ehren observed.

"You get to be my age, you start thinking about your retirement," Demos replied. "I like to plan ahead. I like my work, but it's going to be a little energetic for me, eventually."

Tavi stepped up next to the pair of them and nodded to Demos. "We're going to be here two days, three at the most, depending on how long it takes us to-"

Demos interrupted him with a scowl and a raised hand. "Don't tell me. The less I know, the harder it will be to incriminate myself."

Tavi frowned at him, but nodded. "Two days, three at most, and we'll be leaving in the middle of the night."

Demos grunted and beckoned the bosun. "Pay the men. Shore leave until noon tomorrow. Tell Sigurd he doesn't go until the stores are refreshed."

The weather-beaten sailor nodded, then scowled at Ehren, and said something quietly in Demos's ear. Demos listened, nodded, and frowned at Ehren.

Ehren rolled his eyes, opened his purse, and flipped two silver coins at the bosun. The man caught them, bit them both, and nodded before stumping off to his duties.

"Sailors and their swill," Ehren muttered.

The Slive bumped against the heavy rolls of burlap cushioning the edge of the dock, and the dock rats made the ship fast. Sailors lowered the gangplank, and sailors spilled off the ship, for all the world looking like students leaving a stuffy lecture hall.

Ehren gave Tavi a nod and slipped off the ship among the sailors, blending into the rowdy bunch without difficulty.

Demos eyed Tavi. "You aren't going, too?"

Tavi glanced up at the lowering sun. "In a bit."

"Ah," Demos said, nodding. "Glad your man paid my bosun back."

"Why wouldn't he?" Tavi asked.

"Some people have funny ideas about property," Demos said. "They think they can take it, or ruin it, and that they have the right to do so. You'll pay me for those chains."

"I did you a favor."

"See what I mean, about funny ideas?" Demos said. "That's my livelihood."

"No it isn't," Tavi said. "If you were primarily a slaver, your ship would smell a lot worse, and you'd have had more chains."

Demos shrugged. "Worked on a slaver before I got the Slive. The money's good, but I didn't like the smell. There's the occasional run, though. I carry all kinds of cargo."

"People," Tavi said, "are not cargo."

"The excisemen in all the southern ports seem to disagree with you," Demos said drily.

"Things change," Tavi said. "Slavery is going to be one of them."

Demos narrowed his eyes and stared at Tavi for a long moment. Then he said, "It hasn't changed yet. You'll pay me for those chains."

Tavi squinted at Demos for a moment. "Or what? You'll weigh anchor and leave us here?"

Demos's eyes went flat. "Excuse me?"

"That's what you mean, isn't it?" Tavi continued. "That if I don't pay you, you'll leave us high and dr-"

Tavi never so much as saw Demos draw his blade. It simply appeared at the end of his extended arm. What shocked him was that his own hand came up every bit as quickly, and his dagger met Demos's blade before it could touch Tavi's skin. Then the planks of the deck suddenly shuddered beneath Tavi's feet, flinging him six or eight inches into the air and robbing him of his balance. He came down windmilling his arms, and wound up on his rump. One of the planks of the deck abruptly folded, supple as a willow wand, and came down over Tavi's knife hand, pinning it painfully to the deck's wooden surface.

Demos stepped forward and drove his sword into the deck between Tavi's sprawled legs, not more than two inches from his groin. The captain growled and squatted down to be on eye level with the young man.

"I've taken your money," he said in a tone full of quiet rage. "That means I do the job. Period. Do you understand me?"

Tavi just stared at him for a moment in shock. Then he stammered, "The ship. The whole ship is a wood fury."

"And she's mine," Demos said. "And you will repay me for the property you damaged before this trip is over."

Behind the captain, Tavi saw Araris appear silently on bare feet, his sword in hand. He drifted closer, his face intent.

The door to the cabin snapped open with sudden, vicious force, striking Araris in the shoulder and sending him to the deck in a sprawl.

"And tell your swordmaster," Demos continued, eyes never wavering from Tavi's, "that if he draws steel on me again, he'd better be smart enough not to do it aboard this vessel."

Demos rose, drew the tip of his blade from the planks of the deck, and sheathed it. Turning to Araris, he said, "We both know you'd take me in a fair fight."

Araris rose slowly and sheathed his sword. He gave Demos a slight bow of the head. "When's the last time you were in a fair fight?"

Demos made a curt gesture at the deck, and the plank pinning Tavi's arm flexed and released him, returning to its original position. "I think I was twelve. I never saw the point. Good day, gentlemen."

Tavi watched Demos stroll away and shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Araris asked quietly.

"That," Tavi said, "is a dangerous man."

Araris rubbed at his shoulder and winced in silent agreement.

Tavi glanced at the sun. "Another hour, and it'll be dark enough to go. There's a boardinghouse on Craft Lane. We'll stay there until we can get everything we need." Tavi frowned and lowered his voice. "How is she?"

"Better, since we've gotten away from the ocean," Araris replied.

Tavi shook his head. "The things she did, Araris. That was some major crafting. That thing with the shark... And I've never even heard of anyone moving through the water that way. I thought that the spray was going to start cutting my skin, we were moving so quickly."

Araris frowned. "I don't remember much of it."

"She healed you without using a tub."

Araris's eyes widened slightly. "She... didn't mention that."

"I saw Lady Placida do that once," Tavi said quietly. "But that's all. I mean, I knew Isana was a skilled healer, even when compared to Citizen healers, but this is the second time I've seen her do something on such a large scale that wasn't healing."

Araris nodded slowly. "When she flooded that little river, just before Second Calderon."

"Exactly. What she did out there wasn't exactly new. But it's certainly more than she's ever done before. More than even she thought she could do, I'm certain."

Araris drummed his fingers idly on the hilt of his sword. "A lot of times, you don't really know where your limits are until they're tested. I've known any number of people who had a tremendous gift in metalcraft, but who, for whatever reason, never used it." He shrugged his shoulders. "How often is one called upon to hurl an attacking shark onto the deck of a pirate ship, Tavi?"

Tavi flashed Araris a wry grin. "You've known her longer than I have," he said quietly. "Have you ever seen anything else like this? Something that would indicate that her crafting might be a more significant gift than anyone knew?"

Araris shook his head. "You mean to ask if your father ever said anything about it."

Tavi glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well. Yes."

Araris folded his arms and was silent for a long moment. "It was a long time ago. And... for a long time, it wasn't anything I cared to dwell on."

"But if there's anything you remember..."

Araris held up a hand and closed his eyes for a moment. "Once. When we were talking about what Sextus would say, when he learned about Isana. Your father had just told me of his intention to marry her and..." Araris glanced at Tavi, and the young man felt a flash of the singulare's discomfort and shame. "And I told him that there would be the crows to pay if he did. Gaius wouldn't have minded a bastard or two running around-the bloodline has never been a particularly fruitful one. But he definitely had plans in mind for Septimus's wife. He'd have chosen someone not only for political gain, but for their skill at furycraft as well, to keep the royal bloodline strong."

Tavi sighed. "I'm not holding advice you gave my father against you, Araris. Bloody crows, man, you know me better than that. Just tell me what he said."

Araris nodded. "He said that Isana was more than he expected. And that she would be more than Gaius had bargained for, either." He sighed. "But he wasn't necessarily talking about her crafting."

"It sounds like he was. What else could he have meant?" Tavi asked.

"There weren't many people willing to stand up to Septimus, but she was one of them. If she thought he was wrong, she'd call him on it. Not argue, exactly, but... he could get most people to go along with him through sheer force of personality. He couldn't bull his way through Isana like that. She never raised her voice, never really seemed to be in conflict with him-but she'd never give an inch, either." Araris shrugged. "Tavi, your father never set much store by furycraft when it came to the important things."

"He never had to work without it, either," Tavi said.

"True enough." Araris's frown deepened. "But... Tavi, I don't know if you know this. But the House of Gaius has always been gifted with... not prophecy, precisely. But a measure of insight, foresight, that went beyond what could be explained away as simple wisdom."

Tavi frowned. "I've never heard about that."

"It isn't something that's casually bandied about," Araris said. "Septimus was particularly... intuitive. He would just casually mention things that were going to happen, weeks or months later. Miles used to write them down. Keep track of them. Sometimes, Septimus would hardly remember mentioning it. I don't think it was anything he had control over."

"What's that got to do with Isana?" Tavi asked.

Araris shrugged. "Just that he might have made the remarks based on an intuition." The singulare smiled faintly. "You've got to admit, Isana's done quite a bit more than Gaius would expect out of a woman from a steadholt. She was instrumental in the events of Second Calderon. If not for her, in fact, Gaius would have died the night the Vord attacked his meditation chamber. And according to Countess Amara, only her warning saved her and your uncle from being killed by Kalarus's Immortals-and their actions helped tilt the balance of power in Kalarus's initial attack." He shook his head. "Or maybe he was talking about her furycraft. Maybe she had more power at her disposal than she knew. Or..." He frowned.

"What?" Tavi asked, intent. "Or what?"

"Or maybe... maybe your father placed more furies at her disposal. Before he died."

Tavi frowned. "Could... can that be done?"

"Oh, yes," Araris said, nodding. "The way furies can be passed from generation to generation on a steadholt. Remember when Old Frederic passed Thumper to Young Frederic?"

"I thought that only happened, you know. Out in the country, where people name their furies."

"As far as I know, there's no reason that someone couldn't pass more furies along to someone else, whether they were discrete beings or amorphous. It's just rarely done among the Citizenry. A child with a high potential generally attracts many furies to himself all on his own, of course-Septimus certainly did. But his power would have been significantly greater when his father died or stepped aside and willed the majority of his power to pass on."

Tavi frowned. "And... what? You think my father might have willed some of his furies to her when he was killed?"

Araris shook his head. "I just don't know, Tavi. But I think it's significant that both times she demonstrated extraordinary strength, your life was in danger." His eyes went distant, and he smiled very faintly. "It would be just like Septimus, to find a way to protect his son, even years after his own death."

Tavi frowned at that. Araris had said more about his father in the past moments than he had in most of the previous two years. It was a lot to think about.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a sharp little ache went through him. Was his father still there, somehow, watching over him? The very thought was incredibly reassuring, almost unbearably sad, sweetly painful. It was the kind of thing he had dreamed about when he was lonely, uncertain, or afraid.

Like now. He was about to set out to break Varg out of the most secure prison in all of Alera. The Grey Tower was home to some of the most dangerous swordsmen to be found-and, partially in thanks to his own recommendations, its furycrafted defenses were some of the most deadly to be had. And even if the rescue was successful, they would have to elude the pursuit that was sure to be sent after them. As if all of that wasn't enough, there was Varg to consider. Tavi was not at all certain what the Canim warrior's reaction would be once he was free. Varg might well decide his best course of action would be to tear Tavi's throat out and make his own way from there.

Tavi smiled faintly at Araris, and said quietly, "I'll take all the help I can get."