Jim Butcher - Princeps’ Fury

Tavi scratched absently at his chin. “Exactly. Exactly.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a warning.”

Kitai tilted her head. “What else would it be?”

“A test,” Tavi said. “To see if I was serious about dealing with them in good faith.”

“What?” Magnus spluttered. “You have amply demonstrated that already. We built them a fleet of ships, for goodness’ sake.”

“If you’ll remember, they were well on the way to building the fleet all on their own,” Tavi said. “And while the Legions most likely would have destroyed them before they could have completed the task, you and I would have not have been alive to see it, Magnus. Nasaug had the First Aleran and the Guard at his mercy, and we all know it.”

“Regardless, you settled with them peaceably and abided by your word,” Magnus said.

“Which means nothing,” Kitai said. “It was simply the swiftest, most certain, and least costly way to be rid of the enemy.”

“If I turn back now,” Tavi said, “then the trust that the Canim extended to us goes unanswered. It sends them the message that while we may be good to our word, we are uninterested in building faith.”

“Or,” Max said, “you could avoid being eaten. And all of us being eaten with you.”

Tavi took a deep breath. “Yes. There is that.” He pointed a finger at Max. “But as you pointed out, Max, there would appear to be a lot more Canim than we ever imagined. Perhaps more than we could fight, should they ever decide that we need to be destroyed. What do the rest of you think?”

“What else do we not know about them?” Kitai asked.

“We don’t know what the insides of their bellies look like,” Max said. “We could go home, and we’d never know, and I think I’d never lose a moment’s sleep over it.”

Tavi grinned at him. “Magnus?”

“I think this would be an excellent opportunity for someone else to pursue, Your Highness,” Magnus said. “If you proceed, I urge you to do so with extreme caution.”

“Demos?”

The captain shook his head. “Don’t ask me about politics, my lord. I can tell you this much-our ships won’t make it back across the open sea, and even if we found all the materials needed to repair them, it would be dangerous to cross before spring. I also think we don’t have time to sit around chatting about it. The weather won’t wait.”

Tavi nodded once. “Get word to our captains. We make for Molvar with Varg. Any port in a storm.”

Gradash stood beside Tavi at the Slive ’s prow and watched with him. The lookout in the crow’s nest had spotted land several moments before, so they waited for it to come into sight from their position on the deck. Tavi finally spotted the dark, solid shadow on the horizon.

Gradash squinted forward, but it was another minute or more before the greying old Cane grunted and flicked his ears in satisfaction. “Ah.”

“Glad to be home?” Tavi asked him. “Or at least, back in the general area.”

Gradash grunted. “We are not there yet. You will see.”

Tavi arched a brow at the old Cane, but Gradash did not elaborate. It was almost an hour later before Tavi understood. The Slive drew even with the “land” the lookout had spotted-and it proved to be an unthinkably large slab of what looked like muddy ice. The fleet had to change formation to maneuver around it. The thing was the size of a mountain, fully as big as the city of Alera Imperia.

“Glacier spawn,” Gradash said, nodding toward the ice mountain. “Come winter, more ice starts forming, and there are a couple of spots that push those mountains of ice into the sea.”

“That must be a sight,” Tavi murmured.

The Cane gave him a brief, speculative glance. “Oh, aye. Not one to be seen from up close, though.” He waved a paw at the ice. “They’re dangerous. Sometimes they spread out, beneath the surface. Sail too close, and it will rip out the belly of your ship like it was made from lambskin.”

“Are they common, then?”

“In these waters,” Gradash said, flicking an ear in agreement. “Leviathans don’t care for them, so any Cane who has sailed in the northern regions for any time at all has spent some time sailing close to one to get away from a rogue or to cross a beast’s range.”

“I’ve always wondered,” Tavi said, “how your folk deal with the leviathans. I mean, crossing the first time, I’m given to understand that the storm that pushed you moved you very quickly, kept them from gathering on you, and that there were so many of you that you only lost a few ships. But you could hardly provide all those conditions on a regular basis in your home waters.”

Gradash’s battle-scarred, stumped tail swished once in mild amusement. “No great secret to it, Aleran. We chart their ranges throughout the waters near our homes. And then we respect them.”

Tavi lifted his eyebrows. “And that’s all?”

“Range is important,” Gradash said seriously. “The territory one claims and defends is important. We understand that. The leviathans understand it. So we respect their claim.”

“It must make for some complex sailing routes.”

Gradash shrugged. “Respect is elder to convenience.”

“And besides,” Tavi said drily, “if you didn’t respect them, they’d eat you.”

“Survival is also elder to convenience,” Gradash agreed.

The lookout shouted from high above again, a second cry of, “Land!”

The Cane grunted, and the pair of them returned to gazing ahead.

“There,” Gradash growled. “ That is Canea.”

It was a bleak, black land-or so it seemed from Tavi’s viewpoint aboard the ship. The shoreline was an unbroken wall of dark stone that rose from the sea like the ramparts of some vast fortress. Above the bluffs of dark granite rose the shadowy forms of cloud-veiled mountains, covered to the hips in snow, and higher than any Tavi had ever seen. He let out a low whistle.

“Shuar,” growled Gradash. “Their whole bloody crowbegotten range is one frozen rock.” The grizzled Cane had learned his Aleran curses from Maximus, and used them fluently. “Makes them all bloody insane, you know. They spend both days of summer getting ready for winter, and then all bloody winter chasing things around frozen mountains so that their hunters can fall to pointless deaths in some crevasse. When they get the meat home, their females prepare it in spices that would set these ships on fire, and tell the surly bastards it’s for their own good.”

Tavi found himself grinning, though he kept himself from inadvertently showing his teeth. The gesture carried different connotations with the Canim than it did with Alerans. “You don’t care for them, then?”

Gradash scratched under his chin with the dark claws of one paw-hand. “Well. I will say this much for the snow-addled, crow-eating slives in Shuar-at least they aren’t the Maraul.”

“You don’t care for the Maraul, then?” Tavi asked.

“Mud-loving, swamp-crawling, tree-hopping fungus-eaters,” Gradash said. “Not one of them has been born that doesn’t deserve to go screaming to his death in the jaws of a mad leviathan. But I will say this for the Maraul-at least they are not Alerans.”

Tavi barked out a sharp laugh, and this time he did show Gradash his teeth. The Cane had, he thought, just made an obscure joke. Or perhaps he had paid the Alerans a backhanded compliment, by comparing them to enemies whom Gradash obviously respected, to spend such time and attention on his insults.

Likely, he had been doing both at the same time. Among the Canim, a respected enemy was as valued as a friend-perhaps more so. To the Canim way of thinking, while a friend might one day disappoint you, an enemy could be relied upon to behave as an enemy without fail. To be insulted in company with already-respected foes was no insult at all, from the Canim perspective.