Jim Butcher - Captain's Fury

Arnos narrowed his eyes.

"We're already outnumbered at least three or four to one, sir." Tavi felt his voice harden. "Do the math. And then tell me if you think you can carry this campaign to completion."

Arnos looked from Tavi to Max, to the legionares in the square. The marching song of the First Aleran grew louder.

Finally, he hissed through his teeth, and growled, "If I must, I will fall back and gather reinforcements for next year. You aren't getting your command back."

"I don't need it," Tavi said. "Furthermore, I can guarantee that not only will the First Aleran stand down, but that it will willingly march beside you in the rest of the campaign. We both know you're going to need them."

Arnos frowned, suspicious eyes flickering over Tavi's face. "What do you want?"

"Two things," Tavi said. "First, the people of Othos. Rescind the order."

Arnos snorted. "And?"

"Turn me over to Captain Nalus and remand me to the stockade at the Eli-narch until my trial," Tavi replied.

"Why?" Arnos demanded.

Tavi glanced at Navaris. "I'd rather not wake up one day and find that I've somehow sliced open my wrists in my sleep."

Arnos looked back out at the square, which by that time had become a veritable sea of gleaming armor, banners, weapons, and helmets. On the square opposite the First Aleran forces, the banner of Captain Nalus appeared, and began marching through the ranks toward Arnos's command.

"Done," Arnos said.

Tavi nodded once, and turned to Max. "Tribune?"

"Sir."

"Stand down and return to camp."

Max blinked and stared at Tavi. "Sir?"

"That is an order, Tribune," Tavi said.

Max's horse danced nervously in place, and the big Antillan shook his head. "No, sir. I'm not leaving here without you, sir."

"The Senator has found cause to bring treason charges against me. I am confident that I will have an opportunity"-he placed a very slight emphasis on the word-"to clear up the matter in a trial. For the time being the regulations must be observed."

Max arched an eyebrow, took a deep breath, and then reluctantly saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Tribune," Tavi said.

Max turned and rode back over to the First Aleran, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went. A moment later, the formations began to break up, turning to depart the city the way they'd come. A collective sigh of relief from seemingly every man in the square sounded like a wind blowing through tall, thick grass.

Tavi felt his own legs sag with relief. A disastrous clash with the Guard had been averted, and the people of Othos were spared-one problem neatly solving another.

The easy part was over.

From here on out things were going to be a lot more difficult.

Marcus approached the command tent and nodded to the guard outside. "My name is Marcus. Captain Nalus sent for me."

The guard, a young legionare , came to immediate attention and snapped a precise salute. "Valiar Marcus, sir, he's expecting you. He said to go in, and he'll be along in a moment, sir."

"Don't call me sir, sonny," Marcus said. "We're all infantry here."

The young legionare grinned and banged out a more natural salute, then swung open the tent's flap.

Marcus returned the salute, if more casually than was strictly proper, and stepped inside the tent. It was a bit larger than necessary and was set up around a central table, rather than having tables line the walls, leaving the center open. That was typical of Nalus. He liked his men facing one another as they worked-talking, communicating. He was a great one for talking, Nalus.

Marcus tended to prefer the other arrangement. It meant that you always knew the man who was working behind your back.

The cot at one side of the room was double-sized, and a stool and a large harp rested at its foot. Marcus walked over to the harp and ran a calloused hand along its wooden frame.

The tent flap opened, and Captain Nalus walked in. Marcus turned to him and gave him a sharp salute. "Captain."

Nalus nodded back. "Centurion." He closed the tent flap behind him.

Marcus offered the man a grin and his hand. "Been a while."

Nalus took his hand and smiled in return. "Marcus. Thank you for coming."

"Well, you're a high-and-mighty captain now. How could a mere centurion refuse?"

Nalus snorted. "It's not much like when we were serving High Lord Antil-lus," he said, his tone wry. "Is it?"

"Not much," Marcus replied.

"Great furies know," Nalus said quietly, "there would never have been any of that business about executing civilians." He was quiet for a moment. "Made me sick, Marcus."

"On the Shieldwall," Marcus said quietly, "you always knew who the enemy was."

Nalus frowned at him for a moment, then grimaced and shook his head. "You've got me all wrong. Crows take the politicians, Marcus, and the politics with them. That isn't what I signed up for. I'm just a soldier."

Marcus grunted. "You joined the wrong outfit if you wanted to avoid getting involved."

Nalus shook his head, crossed to a cabinet in the corner of the tent, and took out a dark bottle. He took a long pull from it, and then offered it to Marcus. "This isn't about choosing sides, Marcus."

Marcus looked at the bottle for a moment. He made no move toward it. "Then what is it about?"

Nalus took another drink. "A lot of years ago, you taught a young subtri-bune a lot about being a soldier. And a spoiled brat a lot about growing up."

Marcus snorted. "They didn't come much greener than you. That's for sure."

"You were my teacher. You gave me good advice then. I'm asking for your advice now."

Marcus stared at Nalus for a moment. Then he shook his head and reached out for the bottle. He took a swig, and the almost-flavorless hard root-liquor favored in the frozen north of the Realm burned down his throat. "Faugh," he muttered. "You can get any kind of liquor here, and you stick with this?"

"Grew on me," Nalus said.

Marcus grunted, and said, "Absent friends."

"Absent friends," Nalus replied.

Marcus took another pull and passed the bottle back to Nalus. He waited until the other man drank, then said, "What do you want to ask me?"

"You know I've been given custody of Captain Scipio."

"Aye."

Nalus shook his head. "He's made some requests. He wants to talk to some of his officers before I send him back to Sir Cyril for safekeeping."

Marcus grunted. "And?"

Nalus stared at Marcus for a second. "And? Does he really expect me to allow it? The last thing any of us needs is for him to give some order to his men to the effect of 'the good Senator can go to the crows.' Or maybe, 'kill that fool Nalus and get me out of here.'"

Marcus nodded. Then he said, "Ask him not to."

Nalus arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Ask him not to do that."

Nalus let out an exasperated little laugh. "Just like that? And take his word for it? Oh, the Senator would love that."

Marcus took the bottle and swigged again. "You asked."

Nalus stared hard at Marcus for a full, silent minute. Then he swallowed more of the northern liquor, and said, "Really?"

"He gives you his word," Marcus said, "he's good for it."

Nalus exhaled. Then he said, "And you're good for yours."

Marcus took another pull and grimaced. "Mostly."

Nalus finished the bottle and idly tossed it under his cot. He frowned, brow furrowing.

Marcus let him think it over for a moment. Then he said, "Still playing that old thing, eh?"

Nalus glanced at the harp and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I… sometimes it helps me sleep."

Marcus nodded at the double-sized cot. "Thought that's what the women were for."

Nalus flashed a short-lived grin at Marcus. Then he shook his head, and replied, "Not going to be much of that on the campaign."