Jim Butcher - Furies of Calderon

"Peace," Aldrick rumbled, the thick fingers of one huge hand sliding over her mouth, a casual motion. The woman's eyes closed, and she let out a happy sigh.

Fidelias ignored the barb from the woman and said to the Captain, "This is no time to get sloppy. Give the girl's description to our men in Riva. If she comes through, stop her. Quietly. The same if any of the other Cursors I've described to you show themselves."

The Captain nodded. "And what do I tell the men here?"

"The same. If you see someone unfamiliar in the air, kill them. It shouldn't take me long to make contact with our source. Then we move."

The Captain nodded. "We were fortunate to have the wind last night, sir. We were able to bring in more men than we thought would be available."

"Fortunate." Fidelias laughed and tried to ignore the tension burning in his stomach. "That wind brought the storm and with it one of the Crown's own, Captain. I would not be so certain it was such a blessing."

The Captain saluted stiffly and took a step back. He murmured something else to the air, then beckoned with a hand to the Knights supporting the poles of the litter. The men rose in a sudden column of rising wind and soared into the air and through the concealing underbelly of the clouds above within a few moments.

Aldrick waited until they were well gone to say, laconically, "You may have been a little hard on them. If the Crown wanted to craft someone into the Valley, nothing they could have done would have stopped him."

"You don't know Gaius," Fidelias replied. "He is neither all-knowing nor infallible. We should have moved last night."

"We'd have arrived amidst the storm," the swordsman pointed out. "It could have killed us."

"Yes, the nasty storm," Odiana murmured. "And then, too, ex-Cursor, you would not have been given enough time to enjoy the pretty slave child." The last few words of the sentence dripped with a kind of gloating glee. The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling, as Aldrick absently covered her mouth with his hand again. She bit at his fingers, letting out a soft growl, and the swordsman let her, a smile touching his mouth.

Fidelias stared hard at the water witch. She knew. He couldn't be sure how much she knew, about Aquitaine's wife and the aftermath of the dismal little scene the previous evening, but he could see knowledge glittering in her eyes.

His belly burned a bit more as he considered the possible consequences,

should Aquitaine learn of his wife's liaison with Fidelias. Aquitaine seemed the type to overlook the forest for the trees, at times, but he would surely have little patience with anyone who would risk humiliating him by lying with his wife. The few bites of biscuit Fidelias had managed to get down during the flight threatened to come hurtling up again. He kept the tension off of his face and thought that he would have to do something about the water witch: She was fast becoming a liability.

Fidelias gave her a flat, neutral little smile and said, "I think we should focus on the task at hand."

"Seems pretty straightforward," Aldrick commented. "Get on the horses. Ride to the meeting point. Talk to the savage. Ride out again."

Fidelias glanced around and then murmured for Vamma to fetch the horses. The earth fury moved beneath his right foot, a stirring in the ground of acknowledgment, and vanished. "I don't anticipate that the ride will be a problem. The savage might."

Aldrick shrugged. "He won't be a problem."

The former Cursor began tugging on his riding gloves. "You think your sword will alter anything for him?"

"It can alter all sorts of things."

Fidelias smiled. "He's Marat. He isn't human. They don't think the same way we do.'

Aldrick squinted at him, almost frowning.

"He won't be intimidated by you. He regards your sword as something dangerous-you'll just be the soft, weak thing holding it."

Aldrick's expression didn't change.

Fidelias sighed. "Look, Aldrick. The Marat don't have the same notion of individuality that we do. Their whole culture is based around totems. Their tribes are built upon commonality of totem animals. If a man has a powerful totem, then he is a formidable man. But if the man has to hide behind his totem, instead of fighting beside it, then it makes him somewhat contemptible. They've called us the Dead Tribe. They regard armor and weaponry as our totem-dead earth. We hide behind our dead totems rather than going into battle beside them. Do you see?"

"No," Aldrick stated. He slipped Odiana from his side and started to draw on his gloves, unconcerned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Not to you," Fidelias said. "It makes perfect sense to a Marat."

"Savages," Aldrick commented. Odiana turned to the packs and drew

his scabbarded sword from it. He held out his hand, without looking, and she slipped the weapon into it, then watched as the swordsman buckled it on. "What happens if he doesn't cooperate?"

"Leave that to me," Fidelias said.

Aldrick raised his eyebrows.

"I mean it. Keep your weapon at your side unless everything goes to the crows."

"And if it does?"

"Kill everything that isn't you, me, or the witch."

Aldrick smiled.

"What do I do?" Odiana asked. Her duty to Aldrick done, she wandered a few paces away, drawing the toe of her shoe through the mud, lifting her heavier, warmer skirts enough to be able to study the buckles.

"Just keep an eye on the Marat. If you feel them get angry, warn us."

Odiana frowned and looked up at Fidelias. She placed a hand on the shapely curve of one hip and said, "If Aldrick gets to kill someone, I should get to as well. It's only fair."

"Perhaps," Fidelias said.

"I didn't get to kill anyone last night. It's my turn."

"We'll see."

Odiana stamped her foot on the ground and folded her arms, scowling. "Aldrick!"

The big man went to her, taking off his cape and absently slipping it over her shoulders. The fabric could have wrapped around her twice. "Quiet, love. You know I'll let you have what you want."

She smiled up at him, winsome. "Truly?"

"Don't I always." He bent to the woman and kissed her, one arm pressing her against him. Her full lips parted willingly to his mouth, her body arching against his, and she reached up a hand to rake her nails through his hair, evidently delighted.

Fidelias rubbed at the bridge of his nose, where tension had begun to gather into a headache, and walked a short distance away. The horses arrived a moment later, nudged into a calm walk by Vamma and subtly guided over the ground. Fidelias called to the other two, who broke from their embrace only reluctantly, and the three saddled and mounted without further discussion.

As he had predicted, the ride passed uneventfully. Etan bounded along

before them through the trees, the wood fury taking the form of a large, silent squirrel, always just far enough into the shadows to be seen only in faint outline. Fidelias followed the bounding, flickering shape of his fury without the need for conscious effort; he had been using Etan to track for him and guide him since he had been barely more than a boy.

They crossed the Crown causeway and rode north and east through barren woodland filled with ragged pine trees, brambles, and thorns, toward the glowering shape of mountain rising up several miles before them. The mountain, Fidelias remembered, as well as the pine barrens around it, had a bad reputation for being hostile to humans. Little wonder the Marat had wanted a meeting near to what would be a safe area for his kind.

Fidelias flexed his right foot in the stirrup as he rode, frowning. The boot didn't fit correctly without his knife in it. He felt a faint and bitter smile stretch his lips. The girl had been brighter than he'd given her credit for. She'd seen an opportunity and exploited it ruthlessly, just as she'd been taught to do. As her -patriserus, he felt an undeniable stirring of pride in her accomplishment.