Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

The Alerans had made ready to meet the next assault in less than an hour. Torches and furylamps beat back the darkness far more effectively than they had under the first withering assault, and the legionares themselves were more organized, more determined.

At least Tavi hoped they were.

Tavi stood atop the last adobe wall with Valiar Marcus. The First Spear moved with a noticeable limp thanks to the Canim javelin. His leg was tied off with a bloodstained bandage, the wound closed with needle and thread, evidence that Foss’s healers were badly overworked. Under most circumstances, a wound like Marcus’s would have been closed, treated, and the First Spear returned to action virtually whole. The healers had been treating so many light injuries-and closing off far worse ones in order to keep more badly wounded men alive until they could be seen to later-that the First Spear had, by all reports, asked a wounded veteran to withdraw the javelin, then cleaned and stitched the wound himself, covered it with a bandage, and stumped back to his post.

Rain continued to fall, cold and steady. The occasional flashes of scarlet lightning showed little more than sheeting rain. Tavi had been able to make out occasional movement in the darkness, but the Aleran-built defensive wall across the bridge prevented him from making out any details.

However, the simple fact that Tavi could stand on the wall and observe told him one thing: the Canim bolt throwers had ceased their deadly thrumming.

“I thought you were listed as out of action, First Spear,” Tavi said.

Marcus glanced at the nearest legionare and lowered his voice until the man would not overhear. “I never held much with reading, sir.”

“You able?” Tavi asked.

“Yes, sir,” Marcus said. “I won’t be running any races, but I can stand on a wall.”

“Good,” Tavi said quietly. “We’ll need you.”

“Sir,” Marcus said. “There’s no way to know if their warriors have pulled back.”

“No. But it makes sense,” Tavi replied. “The warriors are their nutcracker. Then the raiders come in and mop up. It saves casualties among their most effective troops and gives their raiders experience.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Marcus growled. “Another hard push, and they’d have finished us.”

“I know that,” Tavi said. “You know that. Assume that Sari and the ritualists know it as well. I don’t think they want Battlemaster Nasaug to have the glory of a victory that looks too much like his own. Sari has to be the one to finish us to stay in the good opinion of the maker caste. It gives him the glory and lets him share it out to the makers. The makers have first call on the loot if they’re the first ones to overrun us. Nasaug gets upstaged. Sari gets to stay popular with the makers.”

“If you’re right,” Marcus said.

“If I’m wrong,” Tavi said, “well probably catch some of those steel bolts before much longer.”

The First Spear grunted. “At least it’ll be quick.” There was uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice.

Tavi looked at Marcus’s stocky, lumpy profile for a moment. Then he said, “I’m sorry. About the prime cohort. The men of your century.”

“Should have been there with them,” Marcus said.

“You were wounded,” Tavi said.

“I know.”

“And I stood with them for you,” Tavi said.

Marcus’s rigid stance eased a bit, and he looked at Tavi. “I heard. After you carried me out like a lamed sheep.”

Tavi snorted. “The sheep I worked with were twice your size. Rams were even bigger.”

Marcus grunted. “You were a holder?”

Tavi clenched his jaw. He’d forgotten his role, again. He could blame it on his weariness, but all the same, Rufus Scipio had never been near a steadholt. “Worked with them for a while. My folks told me it was a learning experience.”

“Worse trades you could learn if you mean to lead men, sir.”

Tavi laughed. “I didn’t plan it to happen like this.”

“Wars and plans can’t coexist, sir. One of them kills the other.”

“I believe you,” Tavi said. He stared up the long, empty stretch of bridge, rising toward its center, two hundred yards of sloping stone thirty feet across, littered with fallen Alerans and Canim alike. “We’ve got to last until daylight, Marcus.”

“You want to push them at first light?”

“No,” Tavi said. “Noon.”

Marcus grunted in surprise. “We aren’t going to get any stronger. The longer this fight goes on, the less likely it is that we’ll be able to push them back.”

“Noon,” Tavi said. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure that we don’t have more spies in the camp. Need to know only, First Spear.”

Marcus stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Tavi said quietly. “When we push through to the center of the bridge, I’m going to drive forward with one cohort, while the engineers work.”

“One cohort?” Marcus asked.

Tavi nodded. “If the plan works, one cohort will be enough. If it doesn’t, we should be able to hold the Canim off long enough for the engineers to finish.”

Marcus took a slow breath. The First Spear understood the implications.

“I’m going to ask for volunteers,” Tavi said quietly.

“You’ll get them,” Marcus said. “But I don’t see why we shouldn’t hit them at first light, cut the bridge, and call it a day.”

“If we lose the bridge, they’ll be able to secure their entire northern front with just a few of their troops, and the rest of them will be free to kill Alerans elsewhere. As long as the bridge is up, we’ll be able to put Legions into the territory south of the bridge, and they won’t dare divide their forces.” Tavi narrowed his eyes. “This is our job, Marcus. It isn’t a pretty one, but I can’t just hand it to someone else.”

There was a quality of frustration to Marcus’s grunt of acknowledgment.

“I’ll hold the volunteers back to rest until we push. The rest of First Aleran is at your disposal, as are our Knights Flora.”

“All six of them.” Marcus sighed.

“Tell them to keep their heads down. If those marksmen start up again, they’re going to be your only chance to counter them.”

“Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, sir,” Marcus muttered.

Tavi snorted and turned to the First Spear. “You’ve got to hold them, Marcus. At any cost.”

Marcus let out a slow breath. “Yes, sir.” He stared at the night for a moment before he said, “Offer you a suggestion, sir?”

“Go ahead,” Tavi said.

“Don’t split up a cohort when you get your volunteers. These men know each other. Trained together. It makes a difference.”

Tavi frowned. “I won’t take anyone with me who doesn’t want to go.”

“Then make sure men who are willing to die for you have every chance to survive. You owe them that.”

Tavi arched an eyebrow. “Three hundred and twenty men, all volunteering together? How likely is that?”

Marcus gave him a sidelong look, and said, “Sir. It’s the infantry.”

Three cohorts volunteered to spearhead the attack.

Tavi had them draw lots. By the time the Canim renewed their assault, he stood at the north end of the Elinarch with the winners. Or, he thought, the losers. Depending on whether or not his idea worked.

His heart skipped a few beats, but he sternly ordered it back to work.

“Sir,” Schultz said, “when Antillar Maximus was our centurion, he was senior centurion in this cohort, and his century was first century. But I’m only an acting centurion, sir. I don’t have the seniority to command first century, much less the cohort.”