Jim Butcher - Academ's Fury

Tavi shuddered. Crows and furies, not that. Not again.

Tavi checked the old man. His heart was still beating, though not in steady rhythm. His breathing was shallow, but sure. Tavi could do nothing more for him, which meant that he had to have someone's help. But whom could he trust with this? Who would Gaius have trusted?

"Sir Miles, fool," he heard himself say. "Miles is captain of the Crown Legion. The First Lord trusts him, or Gaius wouldn't have given him command of five thousand armed men inside his own walls."

Tavi had no choice but to leave the fallen man's side to send for the grizzled captain. He rolled his cloak beneath Gaius's head, then tore a cushion from the First Lord's chair to elevate the old man's legs. Then he turned and sprinted up the stairs to the second guardroom.

But as he approached, he heard raised voices. Tavi stopped, heart pounding. Did someone already know what had happened? He slipped forward cautiously, until he could see the backs of the guards at the second duty station. The legionares were all standing, and all had hands on their weaponry. Even as Tavi watched, he heard boots hitting the floor in unison, and the men who had been taking their turns in sleep came out of the bunk room in hastily donned armor.

"I am very sorry, sir," said Bartos, the senior legionare at the station. "But His Majesty is unavailable while in his private chambers."

The voice that spoke next was not human. It was too vastly deep, too resonant, and the words twisted and oddly stretched, as if they'd been torn and rent by the fanged mouth where they'd been born.

One of the Canim had come down the stairs, and towered over the legionares in the guardroom.

Tavi had seen one of the Realm's deadliest enemies only once in two years, and that had been from a distance. He had heard the tales of them, of course, but they had not adequately impressed upon him the effect of the creatures' presence. Not adequately at all.

The Cane stood at its full height, and the ten-foot ceiling barely allowed it. Covered with fur the color of the darkest depths of night, the creature stood upon two legs, with the mass of two or three big legionares . Its shoulders looked too narrow for its height, and its arms were longer than human proportions. Its long, blunt fingers were tipped with dark claws. The Cane had a head that reminded Tavi unpleasantly of the direwolves that had accompanied the Wolf Clan of the Marat, though broader, its muzzle shorter. Massive muscles framed the Cane's jawline, and Tavi knew that its sharp, gleaming white-yellow teeth could snap through a man's arm or leg without particular effort. The Cane's eyes were amber yellow set against dark scarlet, and it gave the creature the look of something that saw everything through a veil of blood.

Tavi studied the creature more closely. This Cane was dressed in clothing similar to Aleran in fashion, though made with far greater lengths of cloth. It wore colors of grey and black exclusively, and over that the odd Canim-style circular cloak that draped over the back and half of the Cane's chest. Where fur showed through, thin spots and white streaks marked dozens of battle scars. One triangular ear, notched and torn to ragged edges with old wounds, sported a gleaming golden ring hung with a skull carved from some stone or gem the color of blood. A similar ring glittered amidst the dark fur covering its left hand, and at its side the Cane wore one of the huge, scything war swords of its kind.

Tavi bit his lip, recognizing the Cane from its clothing, demeanor, and appearance. Ambassador Varg, the local packmaster of the Canim embassy and the spokesman for its people to the Alerans.

"Perhaps you did not hear me, legionare ," the Cane literally growled. More teeth showed. "I require counsel with your First Lord. You will conduct me to him at once."

"With respect, Lord Ambassador," Bartos replied, his teeth clenched over the words, "His Majesty has not apprised me of your coming, and my standing orders are to see to it that he is not disturbed during his meditations."

Varg snarled. Every legionare in the room leaned slightly away from the Cane-and they were some of the best the Realm had to offer. Tavi swallowed. If veteran fighting men who had actually faced the Canim in battle were afraid of Ambassador Varg, it would be with good reason.

Anger and scorn rang in Varg's snarling words. "Obviously, Gaius could not know of my coming when it is an unexpected visit. The matter is of import to both your folk and mine." Varg took a deep breath, lips lifting away from an arsenal of fangs. One clawed hand fell to the hilt of its blade. "The commander at the first station was most polite. It would be polite for you to also stand out of my way."

Bartos's gaze flickered around the room as though searching for options. "It simply is not possible," the legionare said.

"Little man," said Varg, its voice dropping to a barely audible rumble. "Do not test my resolve."

Bartos did not respond at once, and Tavi knew, knew it by sheer instinct, that it was a mistake. His hesitation was a declaration of weakness, and to do such a thing before any aggressive predator was to invite it to attack. If that happened, the situation could only become worse, not better.

Tavi had to act. His heart thudded in fear, but he forced his face into a cold mask, and strode briskly into the guardroom. " Legionare Bartos," he said in a ringing tone. "The First Lord requires the presence of Sir Miles, immediately."

The room fell into a started silence. Bartos turned his head and blinked at Tavi, his face covered in surprise. Tavi had never spoken in that tone of voice to the legionares . He'd have to apologize to Bartos later.

"Well, legionare ?" Tavi demanded. "What is the delay? Send a man for Miles at once."

"Uh," Bartos said. "Well, the Ambassador here desires to meet with the First Lord as quickly as possible."

"Very well," Tavi said. "I will so inform him when I return with Sir Miles."

Varg let out a basso snarl that vibrated against Tavi's chest. "Unacceptable. You will lead me down to Gaius's chambers and announce me to him."

Tavi stared at Varg for a long and silent moment. Then slowly arched an eyebrow. "And you are?"

It was a calculated insult, given the Ambassador's notoriety in the Citadel, and Varg had to know it. Its amber eyes burned with fury, but it snarled, "Ambassador Varg of the Canim."

"Oh," Tavi said. "I'm afraid I did not see your name on the list of appointments for this evening."

"Um," Bartos said.

Tavi rolled his eyes and glared at Bartos. "The First Lord wants Miles now, legionare ."

"Oh," Bartos said. "Of course. Nils."

One of the men edged his way around the furious Cane and set off up the stairs at a slow jog. He'd have a hard time of it in full armor, Tavi knew. Miles wouldn't get there anytime soon. "Have the captain report to the First Lord the moment he arrives," Tavi said, and turned to leave.

Varg snarled, and Tavi whirled in time to see it sweep out one arm and toss Bartos aside like a rag doll. The Cane moved with unearthly speed, and with a single bound landed beside Tavi and seized him in one clawed and long-fingered hand. Varg thrust its mouth down at Tavi's face, and the boy's vision filled with a view of wicked fangs. The Cane's breath was hot, damp, and smelled vaguely of old meat. The Cane itself smelled strange, an acrid but subtle scent like nothing Tavi had known before. "Take me to him now, boy, before I tear out your throat. I grow weary of-"

Tavi drew the dagger at his belt from beneath his cloak with liquid speed, and laid the tip of the blade hard against Ambassador Varg's throat.

The Cane stopped talking for a startled second, and its bloody eyes narrowed to golden slits. "I could tear you apart."