Jim Butcher - Furies of Calderon

She took a slow breath and blew on the fingers of the hand that would hold the string, the arrow. Then she lifted the bow, ignoring the twinge in her arm, and willed herself forward and a bit down the slope ahead of her, so that she would present no profile against the purpling sky or the storm-lighted clouds.

She saw motion against the dark earth and remained as still as she could, willing Cirrus to hold her steady. Another pulse went by in the earth, this one stronger, nearer. Fidelias had crafted such a search before, and she

knew how effectively he could use it to find someone not wise enough to get his feet off of the ground.

The shape came closer, though she could not tell who it was, or how many there might be. She drew the bow as tight as she comfortably could, held with the strung arrow pointing at the ground. The motion came closer, and she could hear footsteps, make out the shape of a large man, the glint of metal in the darkness. The swordsman.

She took a breath, held it, then drew, aimed, and loosed, all in a single motion. The bow thrummed, and the arrow hissed through the darkness.

The shape froze, one hand lifting toward her, even as the arrow leapt across the yards between them. She heard the wooden shaft shatter, an abrupt crack of sound. She reached for the other arrow at her belt, but the man in the darkness hissed in a quiet voice, and something caught her wrist in a sudden, crushing grip.

Amara looked down to find the arrow's shaft wrapped around her wrist and just winding about the belt, so that her hand was fastened to her middle. She spun, gathering momentum to throw the bow at her assailant, thus freeing her left hand to make an awkward draw of the sword. But even as she turned, the bow in her hands abruptly warped and slithered around her arm, more swift and lithe than a serpent. It wasn't long enough to wrap about her torso as well, but once about her arm it hardened, straightening her limb, until her hand was held well out and away from the sword at her waist.

Amara turned her head to see the man rushing her, and she flung herself straight up, over his head, Cirrus assisting her. She flipped in midair and managed to bring her heel down onto her attacker.

She missed her target, the nape of his neck, and her scything kick landed on his shoulder instead. Cirrus stopped her feet from touching the earth, but even as she regained her balance, a hand, brutally strong, wrapped around her ankle, swung her in an arc overhead, and brought her crashing down onto the frigid ground.

Amara struggled, but the impact had stunned and slowed her. Before she could escape, the man had pinned her, full weight of his body on hers. One hand had closed around her throat and twisted her head aside, to near the breaking point, as easily as though she had been a weak kitten.

"Where is he?" Bernard snarled. "If you've hurt that boy, I'll kill you."

Amara stopped her struggling and willed Cirrus away, so that she lay

quietly beneath the enraged Steadholder. She could see the dark-haired giant out of the corner of her eye, dressed only lightly against the weather, bearing a woodsman's axe, which had been let fall before he seized her. She had to struggle to breathe, to speak. "No. I didn't hurt him. I stayed back to stop the men after him. He and the slave went on ahead."

The granite grip on her head eased, marginally. "Men after him. What men?"

"The strangers. The ones who came in when you carried me into the hall. They'll be after us, I'm sure of it. Please, sir. There's no time."

The Steadholder growled. He kept her pinned with one hand and with the other drew the sword from her belt and tossed it aside. Then he patted at her waist, until he found the knife she'd stolen from Fidelias inside her tunic, and roughly tugged aside her layers of clothing to remove it as well. Only then did he let his grip on her jaw and throat ease. "I don't know who you are, girl," he said. "But until I do, you're going to stay right here." Even as he spoke, the earth curled up around her elbows and knees, turf and roots twisting into place, locking her limbs to the ground.

"No," Amara protested. "Steadholder, my name is Amara. I'm one of the Crown's Cursors. The First Lord himself sent me here, to this valley."

Bernard stood up, away from her, and rummaged in a pouch at his side. He took something from it, then something else. "Now you're not a slave, eh? No. My nephew's out in this mess somewhere, and it's your fault he is."

"It's because I led him from the steadholt that he isn't dead already!"

"So you say," Bernard said. She heard water gurgle from a flask into a cup or a bowl. "Where is he now?"

Amara tested the bonds of earth, uselessly. "I told you. He and Fade went on ahead of me. He said something about a river and a twisty wood."

"Fade went with him? And these men chasing him? Who are they?"

"A traitor Cursor, Aldrick ex Gladius, and a water witch of considerable skill. They're trying to kill anyone who saw the Marat moving in the Valley. I think because they want a Marat surprise attack to succeed."

"Crows," Bernard spat. Then he said, raising his voice a bit, "Isana? Did you hear?"

A voice, tinny and faint, echoed up from somewhere near at hand. "Yes. Tavi and Fade will be at the Rillwater ford. We must get there immediately."

"I'll meet you," Bernard rumbled. "What about the girl?"

Isana's voice came a moment later, as though she spoke under a great

strain. "She means no harm to Tavi. I'm sure of that. Beyond that I don't know. Hurry, Bernard."

"I will," Bernard said. Then he stepped back into her vision and drank away whatever was in the cup. "This man after you, with the swordsman. Why did you expect him instead of me?"

Amara swallowed. "He's an earth and woodcrafter. Very experienced. He can find the boy." She lifted her head, looking at him intently. "Let me up. I'm the only chance you have to help Tavi."

He scowled. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you don't know these people," Amara said. "I do. I can anticipate him, what he's going to do next. I know his strengths, his weaknesses. And you can't defeat his swordsman alone."

Bernard stared down at her for the space of a breath, then shook his head irritably. "All right," he said. "Prove it. Anticipate him. Tell me where he is."

Amara closed her eyes, trying to remember the geography of the region. "He knew I would expect him to follow, directly. That's his strength. But he didn't follow. He anticipated me, and he's moving around, to get ahead of the boy. Check the causeway, the furies in the cobblestones. He'll have made for the road and be using those furies to help him get ahead of the boy, so that he can cut him off." She opened her eyes and watched the Steadholder's face.

Bernard growled something quietly, and she felt a slow, silent shudder in the earth. There was silence for a moment, while the big man knelt and put a bare hand on the ground, closing his eyes with his head tilted to one side, as though listening to a distant music.

Finally, he let out a breath. "You're right," he said. "Or seem to be. Someone's earthwaving through the road itself, and fast. Horses, I think."

"It's him." Amara said. "Let me up."

Bernard opened his eyes and rose decisively. He recovered his axe, gestured at the earth, and Amara abruptly found her limbs free, the bow and the arrow returning to their original shapes, unwinding from her arm. She clambered to her feet again and recovered the sword and knife from the ground.

"Are you going to help me?" he asked.

Amara faced him and let out a shaking breath. "Sir. I swear it to you. I'll help you protect your nephew."

Bernard's teeth flashed, sudden in the darkness. "Good thing you're not going after these people with wood from their own trees."