Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

“That’s good,” Bernard said quietly. “Here. Mint tea, your favorite. And some roast chicken…” He crossed to where she sat curled up in a chair in front of the fireplace. Despite the summer’s heat, the interior of the thick stone walls of Cereus’s citadel made it cool enough to be uncomfortable for her, particularly during her cramps. Between the exhaustion of travel, the bangs and scrapes and abrasions she’d acquired, the shoulder she’d dislocated, and the horrible new memories of violence and death, the disappointment as her cycle continued unabated had assumed monstrous proportions. So much so, in fact, that she’d accepted Bernard’s offer to attend the debriefing with the First Lord and High Lords Cereus and Placidus in her place.

Perhaps that had been unprofessional of her. But then, it would hardly have been professional to break down weeping from the weight of so many different flavors of agony. No doubt, she would look back at that decision and berate herself for it in the future, when the memories of pain had softened-but where she was now, still in the shadow of some of the worst physical and emotional torment she’d ever felt, she did not begrudge herself the time to recuperate.

“How was the meeting?” she asked.

Bernard settled the tray on her lap, uncovered the chicken, and poured a few drops of cream into the tea. “Eat. Drink.”

“I’m not a child, Bernard,” Amara said. She certainly didn’t mean for her voice to sound quite so petulant. It drew a smile from Bernard as he read her expression. “Don’t say it,” she told him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He got the other chair and settled into it. “Now. Eat your dinner and drink your tea, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Amara gave him another glowering glance and picked up the tea. It was the perfect temperature, just barely cool enough to drink without scalding herself, and she savored the warmth as it spread down her throat to her belly.

Bernard waited until she took the first bite of chicken to begin. “The long and short of it is that Kalarus’s forces are in retreat. Which is good, because they’re no longer coming here-and bad because there are still Legions able to retreat and fight another day.

“Aquitaine crushed both Legions holding the passes from the Blackhills, though they were able to retreat in reasonably good order.”

Amara smirked. “He’s probably negotiating with their officers, trying to bribe them away from Kalarus. Why destroy when he can recruit?”

“You’ve spent too much time with Lady Aquitaine,” Bernard said. “Finish your chicken, and I’ll do something nice for you.”

Amara arched a brow at him, then gave a diffident shrug and went back to eating.

“Once Atticus’s daughter was freed,” Bernard continued, “and he was certain that Kalarus wasn’t going to bushwhack him the minute he revealed himself, Atticus froze the bloody floodplain into one enormous sheet of ice. Then he marched his Legions right over it to cut off the easternmost of Kalare’s Legions and trap them in the fortress they’d taken. He’s got them under siege now, and Gaius is sending Second Imperian to aid them.”

“What about the clouds?” she asked.

“Apparently they started breaking up over the cities farthest inland the day before we reached Kalare. After two or three days they fell apart completely.”

Amara sipped tea thoughtfully. “ Do we know how the Canim did it?”

“Not yet.”

She nodded. “How did Placida’s Legions arrive at Ceres so quickly? They got there before we did, and we were windborne. I thought he’d have to march them all the way from his home city.”

“I suspect everyone was supposed to think that,” Bernard replied. “But instead he marched all three of them down to the very edge of his territory the day after Kalarus took his wife. The second Gaius told him Aria was safe, he force-marched all the way to Ceres. Got there in less than a day by highway.”

Amara arched an eyebrow. “All three of his Legions?”

Bernard nodded. “Said he figured either Aria would be freed, in which case he’d be able to aid Ceres at the earliest opportunity, or else she’d be killed, in which case he was taking every soldier he had and going after the crowspawn who had done it.” Bernard shook his head. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to live and let live with someone who touches his wife.”

“No,” Amara said quietly. “He isn’t. But there will always be fools who believe that if a man dislikes violence and goes to great lengths to avoid it, it is a sign of weakness and vulnerability.”

Bernard shook his head. “There’s an unlimited supply of fools in general. Take, for instance, Lord Kalarus. You remember you told me you thought he must have been in cahoots with the Canim?”

“I’m fairly sure he never used the word cahoots to describe it,” murmured Amara.

“Hush and eat,” Bernard scolded. “Gaius asked me to make sure you knew that there has, apparently, been a significant Canim incursion, which began at approximately the same time as Kalarus’s rebellion.”

Amara sucked in a breath. “Indeed? What has happened?”

“Details are still sketchy,” Bernard said. “The Cursors in the area were under attack from Kalarus’s Bloodcrows. Several are dead, many more missing and presumed underground. But apparently Gaius has some way of seeing things that are happening out there once the clouds were out of his way. The Canim came ashore near…” He frowned, brow furrowing. “It’s a big bridge over the Tiber. I can’t remember the name, I hadn’t heard of it before.”

“The Elinarch,” Amara said. “It’s the only place a sizeable force can cross the river securely.”

“That’s it,” he agreed. “He sent the First Aleran Legion to hold the bridge.”

“First Aleran? That… dog and pony Legion? There’s a pool on in the Cursors as to how many years it will be before that circus actually sees combat.”

“Mmm?” Bernard said. “I hope you bet low.”

Amara’s eyebrows lifted.

“Apparently, they managed to stand off about sixty thousand Canim.”

She nearly choked on the bite of chicken. “What?”

Bernard nodded. “They landed near the bridge, but they’ve moved south, and they’re securing several fortified towns in the area and along the coast.”

“The Canim have never done anything like that before,” Amara said. “Or come in numbers like this.” She fretted her lower lip. “Sixty thousand…”

“The next best thing to ten Legions of their own, yes,” Bernard said.

There was a knock at the door. Bernard rose and went to it. His deep voice rumbled quietly as Amara finished her meal, and he returned with Plaeidus Aria in tow.

Lady Placida was once again regal, calm, and immaculately dressed in green silk. Her deep auburn hair was worn loose and flowing, and she smiled warmly at Amara as she approached and bowed her head. “Count, Countess.”

Amara started to set her tea aside and rise, but Lady Placida lifted a hand. “No, Amara, please. I know you’ve been injured. Please, rest.”

Bernard gave Lady Placida an approving glance and offered her his chair.

“No thank you, Count,” she said. “I shan’t keep you long. I only wanted to see you both, so that I could thank you for taking me out of that awful place. I consider myself to be deeply indebted to you both.”

“Your Grace,” Amara said, shaking her head. “There is no need to-”

“Thank you,” Lady Placida cut in, “because you were only doing your duty and my thanks should rightfully go to the First Lord, yes, yes. Save yourself the trouble of making the speech, Amara. What you did was more than simply a job. Especially given the murky group dynamic of your associates. Which was, by the way, very well handled.” Her eyes flashed, wickedly merry. “Especially the bit where you took their clothes.”