Jim Butcher - Princeps’ Fury

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Tavi of Calderon, now recognized as Princeps Gaius Octavian and heir to the crown, has achieved a fragile alliance with Alera's oldest foes, the savage Canim. But when Tavi and his legions guide the Canim safely to their lands, his worst fears are realized. The dreaded Vord-the enemy of Aleran and Cane alike-have spent the last three years laying waste to the Canim homeland. And when the Alerans are cut off from their ships, they find themselves with no choice but to fight shoulder to shoulder if they are to survive. For a thousand years, Alera and her furies have withstood every enemy, and survived every foe. The thousand years are over…

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Gaius nodded. “Precisely.”

“But what does that accomplish, sire?” Bernard asked.

“It buys time.”

Bernard nodded. “To do what?”

“Find the answer to an important question.”

“What question?”

“The one I should have been asking from the start,” Amara said quietly. “Why? Why are the Vord now able to utilize furycraft when they could not before?”

Gaius nodded again. “Your Excellencies, your skill in the field and your dedication to the Realm are beyond question. But I cannot make an order of this. Instead, I make this request.” He paused for another sip of spicewine. “I wish you to pass into Vord-occupied Alera, discover the source of their furycraft, and, if possible, determine a way to end it.”

Amara stared incredulously at the First Lord for a heartbeat. Then she shook her head, and said, “Unbelievable.”

Bernard slashed his hand in a horizontal motion, and said, “Absolutely not. I will not take my wife with me into something that dangerous.”

Amara jerked her head around to stare at her husband.

He folded his arms, set his jaw, and met her glare with his own.

Gaius never looked up from the contents of his cup, but a small smile graced his mouth. “Bernard. Amara. The fact of the matter is that I am asking you to take on a mission which will in all probability result in your deaths-if you are fortunate. Just as I have asked several other small teams to attempt the same. But it is my belief that if anyone is to succeed, it will be the two of you.” He looked up at Amara. “Regardless of what may have passed between us before today, the fact of the matter is this: Our Realm stands on the brink of ruin, and most of the people in it do not even realize that this is so. Alera needs you.”

Amara bowed her head for a moment and sighed. “Crows take you, Gaius Sextus. Even when you make a request, you leave me no choices.”

“They do seem to have grown a bit sparse, these past few years,” he agreed quietly.

Bernard frowned quietly, and stepped up to study the map. “Sire,” he said, after a moment, “that’s a lot ground to cover. You could send a full cohort of scouts into that area and not find what we’re looking for.”

“You won’t have to cover all of it,” Gaius said. “As the Legions arrive, we will be massing them at Ceres.”

Bernard grunted. “Ceres is all open land. Bad place to fight a force that outnumbers you so badly.”

“It’s an extremely bad place, in fact. We would have very little chance of holding it if the Vord outnumber us as thoroughly as I fear that they do. It’s a guaranteed victory for the enemy-who won’t be able to resist it. The Vord will concentrate their heaviest numbers there-including their crafters. It is my hope that there will be enough confusion to allow you to infiltrate their territory and slip away again when your mission is completed.”

“When in fact,” Amara said, “you have no intention of holding the city.”

Gaius finished off the rest of his wine and set the glass down with a weary gesture. “I will draw them and hold them in place for as long as I can. Perhaps three days. That should be time enough to impress upon the High Lords exactly how much danger the Vord represent. You may draw upon my personal treasury for any expenses or equipment you feel you may need. If you wish any additional mounts, et cetera-they are yours for the asking. Speak with Sir Ehren, and he will arrange them for you.”

It was clearly a dismissal, but Amara paused at the doorway.

“You’re keeping a lot of people in ignorance, Gaius. A lot of them are going to die because of it.”

The First Lord moved his head in a gesture that might have been a nod of acquiescence, or just a weary sag of the muscles in his neck. “Amara, a lot of people are going to die. Regardless of what I do. Nothing can change that. All I can say for certain is that if we cannot find a way to prevent the Vord from using furycraft against us, we are already lost.”

CHAPTER 8

As Ehren led them to the First Lord’s study, Isana crossed the path of her brother in the hall outside.

“Bernard!” she said.

“’Sana,” he rumbled in his deep, gentle voice. They embraced, and she felt him actually lift her a few inches from the floor-utterly improper treatment, for a First Lady, but she hardly cared. After the first rush of happiness and affection, she began to sense his deep worry, and when she drew away from him, her own face was drawn with concern.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, as he exchanged grips with Araris. Then she looked past him, toward Gaius’s study. Amara, her own features strained, waited a few steps back from her husband. She gave Isana a deep nod but did not even attempt to smile.

“Gaius,” Isana said, understanding. “Gaius has some insane errand for you.”

“We got here late, and the sane ones were already taken,” Bernard said, forcing a smile to his mouth. It faded after a moment, and he said, “It must be done, ’Sana.”

Isana closed her eyes for a moment, her stomach twisting with fear for her brother’s safety. “Oh, bloody crows.”

Bernard burst out in a laugh. “Now we know how serious the situation is, if even you are driven to such coarse speech.”

“It’s the company she’s been keeping,” Aria said smoothly, stepping forward and extending her hand. “Count Calderon.”

Bernard took her hand and bowed politely over it. “High Lady Placida.” He glanced over his shoulder at Amara, then smiled at the High Lady. “I hear good things about you.”

She smiled at him. “I can say as much about you. Which shows how much we know.” She inclined her head to Amara. “Countess. That’s a lovely dress.”

Spots of color appeared on Amara’s cheeks, but she inclined her head a shade more deeply in respect. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Dress!” Bernard blurted, looking at Amara.

She tilted her head slightly, then said, “Oh. Those things cost a bloody fortune.”

“But not our bloody fortune,” Bernard said in a reasonable tone of voice.

“Oh,” Amara said. “Yes, then, I like that.”

Aria looked back and forth between the two of them, and said, to Isana, “Have you any idea what they’re talking about?”

“They’re saying that they chose well when they married,” Isana said, smiling faintly at Bernard. “I take it you need to keep the details to yourself?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bernard said. “And-”

Isana held up a hand. “I can guess. Time is an issue.”

Ehren, who had been standing aside respectfully, silently, cleared his throat. “Well said, milady.”

Isana leaned up and kissed her brother on the cheek, then held his face in her hands. “Be careful.”

Bernard traced his thumb gently over her chin. “I’ve got too much work waiting for me back home to let anything happen now.”

“Good,” she said, and hugged him. He hugged her back, and they parted, without looking at one another again. She had felt him start to tear up as he’d held her, and she knew he wouldn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes. He’d know that she knew, of course-but after a lifetime near one another, certain fictions were simply understood. She smiled at Amara as they passed one another, and clasped both hands briefly. Isana didn’t think the two of them would ever really be close-but the former Cursor had made her brother happy. That was no small thing.

She heard Araris and Bernard trade a few quiet words, then Ehren was leading her into Gaius’s study, the one that was supposed to impress everyone with how restrained, erudite, and learned he was.

Oh, certainly, Gaius Sextus was likely one of the more erudite and learned Citizens in the Realm, but all the same. Isana had never understood men who made it a point to put trophies of their hunts on the walls, either. Gaius’s study, its walls lined with the carcasses of books he had torn open and devoured, reminded her of nothing so much as old Aldo’s hunting lodge, back in the Calderon Valley, and she thought it only marginally less boastful.

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