Jim Butcher - First Lord's Fury

Lord Placida didn’t speak. He simply turned to Valerius, grabbed the man’s tunic, and with a grunt flung him out of the tent to sprawl in the mud outside. The motion was so sudden that Valerius’s bodyguards were caught frozen. Placida turned to face them with narrowed eyes, then pointed at the door.

They went.

“Ass,” muttered Raucus.

“Thank you, Placida,” the Princeps murmured in a dry voice. “Countess, please continue.”

Amara smiled at Lord Placida, nodded to the Princeps, and returned to her narrative. “We have been studying the potential defenses of the Valley for some time,” she said. “This is the plan we believe will best accomplish the goals the Princeps has specified…”

Gaius Octavian’s host came down upon the vord-occupied city of Riva like a thunderstorm.

Though I’m not sure anyone’s ever done it quite this literally, Fidelias mused.

As the Legions and their Canim allies swept down from the hills above Riva, the low-hanging clouds and curtains of rain seemed to cling to the banners of Aleran troops and Canim warriors alike, bound by a myriad of misty, intangible scarlet threads that stretched out into the air all around. The leashed clouds engulfed the entire force, concealing their numbers and identity from outside observation—courtesy of the Canim ritualists, led by their new commander, Master Marok.

Within the cloud, Crassus and the fliers of the Knights Pisces hovered over the heads of the marching forces. The Knights Aeris had gathered up the swirling energy of a dozen thunderbolts from a storm that had come through before first light. The strokes of lightning rumbled and crackled back and forth between the Knights, blue-white beasts caged in a circle of windcrafting. Their growling thunder rolled out ahead of the advancing host, concealing the sound of marching troops and cavalry alike.

“This all looks quite stylishly ominous,” Fidelias commented to the Princeps. “And appearances can be quite important. But I can’t help but wonder why we’re doing this, Your Highness.”

Octavian waited for a crash of thunder to roll by before he answered. “There just aren’t many ways to disguise the identity of a force on the move,” he called back, his voice confident. “And I want our full strength to come as a surprise to the vord.”

“I see,” Fidelias said. “For a moment I thought that you’d effectively blinded and deafened us all for the sake of making a memorable entrance.”

The Princeps grinned, showing Fidelias his teeth. “We have eyes outside the mist—Varg’s Hunters and the Knights Flora of both Legions.”

“You’re still creating an information delay. They’ll have to come running in here to tell you anything. If a large force arrives unexpectedly, that could be fatal.”

The Princeps shrugged. “There won’t be any such force,” he said with a confidence so perfectly familiar that Fidelias was almost violently reminded of Sextus.

Fidelias lowered his voice. “You can be sure of that?”

The Princeps looked at him for a moment, pensive, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why not bypass Riva completely?”

“First, because we need to be tested in an actual battle,” he replied. “We’ve never coordinated in offensive operations before, at least not on this scale. It’s important that we know what we can do against these particular vord forms.”

“And second?”

The Princeps gave Fidelias a bland look that had something granite-hard lurking under the surface. “It’s not their city. Is it.” He looked out at the mist, as though focusing on whatever was beyond. “Besides, Riva could conceal legions of vord behind her walls. Better to find out now and deal with them rather than waiting for them to come marching up our spines when we reach Calderon.”

There was the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and Kitai appeared out of the mist. She pulled in on the Princeps’ right side and matched her mount’s pace to his, her green eyes intent. “The gates were not destroyed when the city was taken,” she said. “They are currently closed and guarded. There are vord on the battlements and in the sky above the city.”

“There’s a problem,” Fidelias said. “We don’t have siege equipment.”

The Princeps shook his head. “We won’t need it.” He drew a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant, and said, “I’m going to take them down.”

Fidelias found himself lifting both eyebrows. The siege gates of the great cities of Alera were more than simple steel and stone. They were wound through and through with furycraftings of every kind imaginable, and more craftings were laid upon them every year, so that they built one upon another like layers of paint. It was done that way for the specific purpose of making the gates almost entirely resistant to the influence of hostile furycraft. A High Lord of the Realm would be daunted by such an obstacle.

“You think you’re strong enough to manage that , sir?”

The Princeps nodded once. “Yes, I do.”

Fidelias studied Octavian’s confident profile. “Be wary of hubris, Your Highness.”

“It’s only hubris if I can’t do it,” he replied. “Besides, I need to be tested, too. If I’m to step into my grandfather’s shoes, I can’t keep on concealing my abilities forever. I need to prove myself.”

Kitai snorted quietly. “About bloody time,” she said. “Does this mean I’m free to be more obvious as well, Aleran?”

“I don’t see why not,” said the Princeps.

Fidelias lifted his eyebrows. “Your Highness? I knew she could manage minor furycraftings, lights and such, but…”

“But?” He smiled faintly.

“But she’s a Marat , sir. Marat don’t use furies.”

The Princeps feigned an astonished expression. “She is? Are you sure?”

Fidelias gave him a sour look.

The Princeps let out a warm laugh. “You may have noted that our dear Ambassador has very little regard for the proprieties.”

“Not when they’re ridiculous,” Kitai sniffed.

The two sentences came out one after the other, so close together that they might have been uttered by actors following a script or spoken by the same person. Fidelias peered at their identically colored eyes as if for the first time, feeling somewhat stupid. “The way Marat operate in tandem with their clan animals. It’s more than just their custom, isn’t it?”

“There’s a bond,” the Princeps said, nodding. “I scarcely understand it myself—and she honestly gives me no help whatsoever when I try.”

“That is because knowledge given freely to another is not really knowledge at all, Aleran,” Kitai replied. “It is rumor. One must learn for oneself.”

“And this bond… it allows her to furycraft as you do,” Fidelias said.

“Apparently,” the Princeps said.

Kitai rode for a moment, frowning. Then she said, “He’s stronger. Better focused. But I can manage more things simultaneously.”

The Princeps lifted his eyebrows. “You think so?”

Kitai shrugged her shoulders.

Fidelias frowned. “Ambassador… did you just ride up to the city gates under a veil and try to craft them down?”

Kitai shot Fidelias an annoyed scowl—and said nothing.

The Princeps looked back and forth between the pair of them, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “That was thoughtful of you, Kitai.”

“We want the gates down,” she said. “What matter who brings them down or when?”

Octavian nodded. “Most considerate,” the Princeps said.

Kitai’s scowl darkened. “Do not say it.”

“Say what? It’s the thought that counts?”

She slapped his leg lightly with the ends of her reins.