Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

“Exactly,” Tavi said. He pointed at the bloodsteel gear. “Look. Edges in excellent shape. High quality craftsmanship.” He pointed at the gear taken from the slain raiders. “Rust. Much lower quality manufacture. More damage on them. Less care taken of them-and those stains are green and brown, Max.”

Max raised his eyebrows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that 1 grew up on a steadholt,” Tavi said. “Those are stains you get from scything crops,” he said, pointing at the sickles, then tapped the axe, “and from chopping wood. These aren’t weapons. They’re tools .”

“No disrespect intended, but that’s the beauty of an axe, sir. It’s both.”

“Not within the context of what we know,” Tavi said.

“Urn?” Max said. “What?”

Tavi held up a hand and said, “Look, we know that the Canim landed in great numbers, but we haven’t seen any regular troops. The raiders we’ve seen have been running around a like a rogue gargant, without any coordination or plan. None of them carried quality weapons, and none of them wore steel armor.”

“Which means?”

“They’re levies, Max. Untrained conscripts. Farmers, outlaws, servants. Whoever they could push out in front of them armed with something sharp.”

Max’s face twisted into a pensive scowl. “But all they’re doing is throwing them away, sending them out in random groups like this.”

“But they’re causing all kinds of chaos by doing it. I think the Canim intentionally brought expendable troops with them,” Tavi said. “They aren’t here to fight us. They’re here to provide a distraction. We’re supposed to focus on them, just like we have been all day. I’ll bet you they hoped to draw the First Aleran out onto open ground so that they could swamp us.”

“Crows,” Max spat. “Bastard dogs don’t need us to make a mistake that big. More likely they did it so that the Canim scouts can move around freely in the chaos. They can find the best route for their regulars while they’re taking out our scouts.”

Tavi blinked and snapped his fingers. Then he dug into his pockets and withdrew the bloody little gem he’d taken from Lady Antillus. He held it up next to the gems in pommel of the jeweled bloodsteel sword.

They were identical.

“That’s where I’d seen that gem before,” Tavi said quietly. “Varg wore a ring and an earring with the same kind.”

Max let out a low whistle. “Crows,” he said quietly. “I guess my stepmother’s had it now.”

“Yes, she has,” Tavi growled.

Max nodded slowly. “So. What do we do now, sir?”

Tavi glanced up at the legionare. “Hagar.”

The veteran saluted. “Captain.” Then he withdrew, quietly leading his mount away.

“Recommendation?” Tavi asked quietly.

“Get back to the Elinarch and fort up,” Max said promptly. “The Canim wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if they weren’t planning to come this way.”

Tavi shook his head. “Once we do that, we lose any chance we might have had of gaining any more intelligence about their capabilities. If they can repeat that stunt with the lightning, or if Lady Antillus really has pitched in with them, they could blast the gates down and swamp us in an hour.”

“If regulars catch us out here in the open, we won’t have to worry about that problem. But it’s your call, sir.”

Tavi chewed the question over for a moment. “Fall back,” he said quietly. “We’ll leave a line of pickets behind us to warn us when they’re in sight. Wake the men and ask for volunteers.”

“Sir,” Max said, saluting. He immediately rose, barking commands, and the weary legionares began to stir.

The column was forming-a much more difficult prospect in the dark, Tavi noted-when a rippling chill flickered down Tavi’s spine and made the hairs on his arms stand up. He glanced around him in the evening gloom, then headed for the darkest patch of shadows on the west side of the camp.

When he got close, he saw a flicker of pale skin within a dark hood, and Ki-tai whispered, “Aleran. There is something you must see.”

There was something very odd, very alien in her voice, and Tavi realized that Kitai sounded… afraid.

Kitai glanced about, drew back her hood, and met Tavi’s eyes with hers, poised in perfect, graceful suspension of motion, like a hidden doe ready to flee from a grass lion. “Aleran, you must see this.”

Tavi met her gaze for a moment, then nodded once. He went to Max and murmured, “Take them back to town. Leave two horses here.”

Max blinked. “What? Where are you going?”

“Kitai’s found something I need to see.”

Max lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. “Tavi. You’re the captain of this Legion.”

Tavi answered just as quietly, and just as fiercely. “I am a Cursor, Max. It is my duty to acquire information for the defense of the Realm. And I’m not about to order anyone else to go out there tonight. I’ve gotten enough people killed today.”

Max’s expression became pained, but then a centurion called out that the column was ready.

“Go,” Tavi said. “I’ll catch up to you.”

Max exhaled slowly. Then he squared his shoulders and offered Tavi his hand. Tavi shook it. “Good luck,” Max said.

“And to you.”

Max nodded, mounted, and called the column into motion. Within a moment, they were out of sight. A moment more, and the sound of their passage faded as well, leaving Tavi suddenly alone, in the dark, in a strange part of the country filled with enemies only too glad to kill him in as painful and horrible a fashion as possible.

Tavi shook his head. Then he started stripping out of his armor. A beat later, Kitai was at his side, pale, nimble fingers flying over straps and buckles, helping him remove it. He drew his dark brown traveling cloak from his saddlebags, donned it, and made sure that both horses would be ready to move when he and Kitai returned.

Then, without a word, Kitai headed out into the night at a vulpine lope, and Tavi fell into pace behind her. They ran through the night and the occasional flicker of bloody lightning, and Kitai led him up into the rolling hills that framed that stretch of the Tiber valley.

His legs and chest were burning by the time they reached the top of what seemed like the hundredth hill, nearly two hours later, then Kitai’s pace began to slow. She led him over the next few hundred yards at a slow, perfectly silent walk, andTavi emulated her. It took them only a moment more to reach the lip of the hill.

Light glowed in the distance, bright and golden and steady. For a moment, Tavi thought he was looking at the burning city of Founderport-until he saw that the light of the tremendous fire was actually behind the city, from his perspective, its light making the city walls stand out as sharp, clear silhouettes.

It took him a moment longer to recognize what he was seeing.

Founderport wasn’t burning.

The Canim ^feet was.

The fire roared so loudly that he could actually, faintly hear it, as a far-distant moaning sound. He could see, amidst smoke and fire, the shapes of masts and decks of sailing vessels being consumed by flame.

“They’re burning their own ships behind them,” Tavi whispered.

“Yes, Aleran,” Kitai said. “Your people would not have believed it, from the lips of a Marat. Your eyes had to see.”

“This isn’t a raid. It isn’t an incursion.” Tavi suddenly felt very cold. “That’s why there are so many of the Canim this time. That’s why they’re willing to sacrifice a thousand troops just to keep us occupied.”

He swallowed.

“They mean to stay .”