Jim Butcher - Furies of Calderon

"You're half frozen, and you're afraid," Bernard said, quiet. "I'm not going to take advantage of that."

Her face colored, and she looked away from him. "No. I mean-"

He laid his hand on her head and pressed gently down. His other arm shifted, moved beneath her head, so that her cheek rested against it instead of her own. "Just rest," he said, quietly. "Sleep."

"Are you sure?" she asked. Despite herself, her eyes blinked closed and refused to open again.

"I'm sure, Amara," he said, voice a low rumble she felt against him as much as heard. "Sleep. I'll watch."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to-"

She felt him lean down to her and press his mouth against her damp hair. "Hush. We can talk about it later, if you want to. Rest."

Her cheeks still warm, Amara leaned back against his warmth and sighed. Sleep took her before she remembered drawing that breath in again.

The light woke her. She still lay by the fire, but the cloaks that had been drying now lay over her, keeping her warm, but for her back, which felt as though it had just begun to cool. Bernard wasn't in sight, and the fire had burned low, but grey light shone from one side of the small cave.

Amara rose, wrapping the cloaks about herself, and walked toward the mouth of the cave. She found Bernard there, still shirtless, staring out at a landscape shining in the predawn light, ice coating every surface, every branch of every tree. Sleet-ice mixed with snow lay over the ground, softening everything with white, making sounds seem closer, granting the land the strange half-glowing light of winter. Amara stopped for a moment, just to stare at the land and then at Bernard. His expression was hard, alarmed.

"Steadholder?" she asked.

He lifted a finger to his lips, eyes focused elsewhere, head tilted to one side, as though listening. Then his eyes snapped abruptly to the south, at the still-shadowed trees that stood in silent, glinting stillness.

"There," he said.

Amara frowned at him, but stepped closer, wrapping the cloaks a little more tightly about herself against the cold outside. Winter had come in force, with the storm. She glanced at Bernard and then at the trees he stared at so intently.

She heard it before she saw anything, a low swelling sound that began to gather, to grow closer. It took her a moment to identify the sound, to sort it out into something she could recognize.

Crows. The cawing of crows. The cawing of thousands of crows.

Even as she started to shiver, they appeared, black shapes against the predawn sky, from the direction Bernard faced, flying low over the trees. Hundreds of them, thousands, flooded through the air like a living shadow, blackening the sky, flying north and east over the Calderon Valley, moving with an uncanny certainty, with a purpose.

"Crows," she whispered.

"They know," Bernard said. "Oh, furies. They always know."

"Know what?" Amara breathed.

"Where to find the dead." He let out an unsteady breath. "They smell a battle."

Amara felt her eyes widen. "They're flying toward Garrison?"

"I have to find Tavi and Isana. Get back to the steadholt," Bernard said.

She turned to him and took his arm. "No," she said. "I need your help."

He shook his head. "My responsibility is for my holders. I have to get back to them."

"Listen to me," she said. "Bernard, I need your help. I don't know this valley. I don't know the dangers. I'm afraid to take to the air in daylight, and even if I got to your Count alone, he might not listen to me. I need someone he knows with me. I have to get him to react to this as strongly as possible if there's to be any chance of protecting the Valley."

Bernard shook his head. "This has nothing to do with me."

"Is it going to have anything to do with you when a Marat horde comes down on Bernardholt?" Amara demanded. "Do you think you and the people there will be able to fight them?"

He looked at her, uncertain.

She pressed him. "Bernard. Steadholder Bernard. Your duty is to your people. And the only way to protect them is to warn Garrison, to rouse the Legions. You can help me do that."

"I don't know," Bernard said. "Gram's a stubborn old goat. I can't tell him I've seen the Marat in the Valley. I don't remember it. His watercrafter will tell him that."

"But you can tell him what you have seen," Amara said. "You can tell him that you support me. If I have your support, he'll have to take my credentials as a Cursor seriously. He has the authority to bring Legion strength to Garrison, to protect the Valley."

Bernard swallowed. "But Tavi. He doesn't have anyone else to look after him. And my sister. I'm not sure she came through last night all right."

"Are either of them going to be all right if the Marat exterminate everyone in the Calderon Valley?"

Bernard looked away, back to the crows that still streamed overhead. He growled, "You think someone's watching the air?"

"There's a full century of Knights stationed at Garrison," Amara said. "With a pair of infantry cohorts to cover them, they could stand off a dozen hordes. I think whoever has arranged this has a plan to assault them and destroy them before the Marat come."

"The mercenaries," Bernard said.

"Yes."

"Then there might be more people trying to stop us from reaching Garrison. Professional killers."

Amara nodded, silent, watching his face.

Bernard closed his eyes. "Tavi." He was quiet for a moment before he opened them. "Isana. I'll be leaving them alone in this mess."

She said, quietly, "I know. What I'm asking you is terrible."

"No," he said. "No. It's duty. I'll help you."

She squeezed his arm. "Thank you."

He looked at her and said, "Don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you." But he covered her hand with his and squeezed quietly.

She swallowed and said, "Bernard. Last night. What you said. You were right. I'm afraid."

"So am I," he said. He released her hand and turned to go into the cave. "Let's get dressed, get moving. We've got a long way to go."

Isana heard a woman's voice say, "Wake up. Wake u p." Someone slapped her face, sudden and sharp. Isana let out a surprised sound and lifted her arms in an effort to protect her face. That same voice continued, just as before, "Wake up. Wake up," and slapped her at measured intervals until Isana curled away from the blows, rolling to get her hands and knees beneath her, and to lift her head.

Isana felt hot. Sweltering. Her skin had soaked with sweat, and her clothes clung to her, likewise damp. Light was in her eyes, and it took her a moment to realize that she was on a dirt floor, that there was fire all around her, fire in a circle perhaps twenty feet across, a ring of coals and tinder that smoldered and smoked. Her throat and lungs burned with thirst, with the smoke, and she coughed until she almost retched.

She covered her mouth with her shaking hand, tried to filter out some of the smoke and dust in the air as she breathed. Someone helped her sit up, hands brisk, strong.

"Thank you," she rasped. Isana looked up to see the woman she'd seen in the Rillwater, strangling Tavi. She was beautiful, dark of hair and eye, curved as sweetly as any man could desire. Her hair hung in damp, sweaty curls, though, and her face had been smudged with soot. The skin, in rows that reached across her eyes, was bright pink, shiny and new. A small smile curved her full mouth.

Isana hissed out a breath in surprise, backing away from the woman, looking around her, at the fires, a low ceiling, smooth, round stone walls not far beyond the ring of coals. There was a door leading out, and Isana tried to stand and move toward it, only to find that her legs would not obey her properly. She stumbled and fell heavily onto her side, near enough to the coals that her skin heated painfully. She pushed herself back from the fire.