Jim Butcher - Captain's Fury

"Nor given any help. I owe them nothing."

"And that's reason enough for you to murder them?"

Arnos shook his head once. "This is a war. The innocent die. They are killed by battles, caught in fires, they starve, they grow sick. It is unavoidable. No commander worth the rank lets his mind be distracted by such things."

"Ah," Tavi murmured. "Quite distracting, humanity."

Arnos let out a bark of laughter. "Please. Your heart bleeds no more than mine does. How many tears did you shed for the officers over you who died when you took command, hmm? How many men did you order to their deaths? How many bodies of the innocent have you seen during your stay here-and how long has it been since the sight of them made your gorge rise?"

Sudden, red rage flashed through Tavi at Arnos's words, but he suppressed it savagely. It was a near thing. Two years in the field had killed hundreds of the men he commanded and exposed him to depths of suffering he could never have imagined only a few years before.

"You are the same sort of creature I am, Scipio, or Tavi of Calderon, or whoever you imagine yourself to be. You simply serve a different master."

Tavi frowned at the man steadily. Amos was unruffled and, unless Tavi was mistaken, he was entirely sincere.

How could any sane person be so callous? The lives Arnos directly destroyed would not be the only blood on his hands. The repercussions would be shattering. Disease would run rampant. Children would be orphaned. Stead-holts would be decimated, their harvests stifled for lack of labor. The shortage of food would drive men into brigandage and murder. Other men would kill for vengeance, while the women and children, as in all wars, suffered the most. The furies in the area, thrown out of balance by all the deaths of those wielding them, would devolve and go feral, causing even more problems and endangering anyone who crossed their paths.

Tavi had seen it on a much smaller scale around towns and villages engulfed by the war. It was a nightmare. If Arnos continued this way, the first snows of winter would fall upon a land of death and decay presided over by fat, croaking crows.

How could the man even conceive such a thing?

Tavi blinked. The answer was simple.

He didn't know.

Arnos simply didn't know.

Though he was one of the most respected men in the Collegia Tactica, Arnos had never actually served on a campaign. He had watched the morning's assault from his air coach high above, looking down upon the tiny figures running about far below him-the same viewpoint he would have enjoyed at a ludus board, or on a sand table.

He had been too far away to see the blood or hear the screams, or to smell the stench of death. Bloody crows, the man was directing Legions on a campaign against an implacable foe, yet he didn't even wear armor. Tavi was well aware how quickly the tides of battle could shift-his own dented armor bore testimony enough for it.

It wasn't real to Arnos, Tavi thought. Or rather, what was real and what was going on in the Senator's mind were two different things entirely. He was used to talking about war in abstract, comfortably distanced terms. He hadn't been there on the ground, and while he might have had an intellectual appreciation of the loss of human life that would ensue, he didn't know . He hadn't experienced it himself.

Tavi shook his head. "I take it back," he said quietly. "You aren't going to do anyone any good."

Arnos crooked a finger at Navaris. "I'm sure this house has a cellar or basement or storage closet of some kind. Lock him in it."

"Arnos, please," Tavi said. "Rescind the order. Those people don't deserve to die, and you know it."

Arnos ignored him. "After that, take the servant and throw him in with the prisoners. He's obviously in collusion with the local rebels."

Tavi ground his teeth in sheer frustration, his hands balling into fists.

Navaris's snake eyes flicked to him, and her sword slid three inches out of its sheath.

Tavi heard it then, before anyone else seemed to. In the years since forming the strange bond with Kitai, his senses had grown steadily more aware. Not acute, precisely, so much as they seemed to be losing distinction in their respective acuity. Scents had grown steadily more available, familiar, and recognizable, until they distinguished places and objects in his memory almost as readily as familiar faces distinguished different people. Sounds, too, had changed. They hadn't become any louder, really, so much as they had become increasingly more distinct, until he could frequently sort out who was moving around him, and which steed they were mounted on, based on little more than the unique sounds of their breathing.

This was a very low sound, one that most people would not notice until it grew more prominent.

Horses.

Hundreds of them, gathering speed.

Crows. This was not what Tavi needed right now.

Navaris roughly seized his arm with her left hand, and only then did she notice the sound. She froze, turning her head toward the northern gates of the city. There was an enormous, thundering crash, and then the low growl of hoofbeats turned into a staccato roar, as a tide of hundreds of hooves struck upon the cobblestones of Othos.

Bloody crows. This was definitely something none of them needed right now.

Unless…

A column of cavalry from the First Aleran surged into the square from the far side, with Antillar Maximus leading them. The column immediately began splitting apart, falling into ranks with parade-ground precision. He'd brought all four alae of cavalry, and they broke into two units-the original Aleran alae and the second unit of Marat riders. As Tavi watched, he saw the Battlecrows bringing up the rear. They dismounted and formed up in a battle square between the cavalry units.

The First Aleran's veterans had moved with tremendous speed, and they were in position and ready before the Guard could react to their appearance. Trumpets blared in dozens of conflicting calls, drums rolled, and the Guard began assembling into ranks, facing the First Aleran. They were disorganized and confused, but what they lacked in coordination they made up in numbers.

Antillar Maximus, armor and helmet shining in the afternoon sun, turned his horse toward the house the Senator had appropriated and trotted toward him, somehow imparting an arrogant swagger to his mount's gait. He stopped ten feet in front of the first rank of opposing legionares and gave Tavi a casual nod. "Captain." He spoke loudly enough to let the entire square hear, smiling amiably.

"Good afternoon, Tribune," Tavi said, also loudly. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"There's a situation back at our camp that requires your attention, sir," Max said. "I took the liberty of bringing a spare horse for you." He turned the amiable smile to Arnos. "I'll have my captain back, Senator."

Arnos glared at Max and drew himself up, lifting his chin. Given his silk robes, and the fact that the Senator was shorter than most women, it looked somewhat ridiculous. The increasing numbers of Guard legionares arriving moment by moment, however, did not.

"Tribune," Arnos barked. "You and these men will disperse, return to camp, and await my orders."

"You heard the man, Captain," Max drawled. "Get on the horse, and we'll get back to camp."

"Disperse, Tribune!" Arnos snarled. "Now!"

From the north side of the town, drums rumbled. The sound of the legionares of the First Aleran singing a quick-step marching song drifted through the air.

Arnos turned to Tavi. "Order them to stand down."

"I'd like to, Senator," Tavi said, "but I've been relieved of command."

"I'll kill them," Arnos said. "One and all."

"That's up to you, of course," Tavi agreed. "But you might give a thought to the consequences to your campaign. You can kill them, but it won't be easy. You'll take heavy losses. And when the dust settles, you'll have less than a third of our current numbers."