Jim Butcher - Academ's Fury

Tavi kept his voice in the same hard, commanding, coldly polite tone. "Indeed. After which you will shortly bleed to death, Lord Ambassador." Tavi glared back hard into Varg's eyes. He was terrified, but knew that he did not dare allow it to show through. "You would ill serve your own lord by dying in such an ignominious fashion. Slain by a human cub."

"Take me to Gaius," Varg said. "Now."

"It is Gaius who rules here," Tavi said. "Not you, Ambassador."

"It is not Gaius whose claws rest near your heart, human cub." Tavi felt the Cane's claws press harder against his flesh.

Tavi showed his teeth in a mirthless grin. He pressed the dagger a bit more heavily into the thick fur beneath Varg's muzzle. "I, like His Majesty's legionares , obey his commands regardless of how inconvenient it may be to you. You will release me, Lord Ambassador. I will take your request to His Majesty at the earliest opportunity, and I will bring you his reply personally the instant he releases me to do so. Or, if you prefer, I can open your throat, you can tear me to bits, and we will both die for no reason. The choice is yours."

"Do you think I am afraid to die?" the Cane asked. Varg's dark nostrils flared, and it continued to study Tavi's face, teeth exposed.

Tavi stared back, praying that his hands didn't start shaking, and kept the pressure on the tip of his knife. "I think your death here, like this, will not serve your people."

A snarl bubbled in Varg's words. "What do you know of my people?"

"That they have bad breath, sir, if you are any indication."

Varg's claws twitched.

Tavi wanted to scream at himself for being a fool, but he kept his mask on, his dagger firm.

Varg's head jerked up, and it let out a barking sound. It released Tavi. The boy fell a step back, and lowered the knife, his heart pounding.

"You smell of fear, boy," Varg said. "And you are a runt, even of your kind. And a fool. But at least you know of duty." The Cane tilted its head to one side, baring a portion of its throat. The gesture looked exceedingly odd, but it reminded Tavi of a respectful nod of the head, somehow.

He dipped his head slightly in his own nod, never letting his gaze waver, and put the dagger away.

The Cane swept its eyes across the legionares , contempt in its expression. "You will all regret this. Soon."

And with that, Varg settled its cloak about it and stalked back out of the room to the winding staircase up. It made that same barking sound again, but the Cane did not look back.

Tavi's legs shook hard. He half stumbled to a trestle-bench, and sank down onto it.

"What the crows was that all about?" Bartos stammered a second later. "Tavi, what do you think you were playing at?"

Tavi waved his hand, trying not to let it tremble. "Bartos, sir, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I offer you my apologies, but I felt it was necessary to appear to be your superior."

The legionare traded looks with some of his companions, then asked, "Why?"

"You hesitated. He would have attacked you."

Bartos frowned. "How do you know?"

Tavi fumbled for words. "I learned a lot on my steadholt. One of the things I learned was how to deal with predators. You can't show them any hesitation or fear, or they'll go for you."

"And you think I was showing him fear?" Bartos demanded. "Is that it? That I was acting like a coward?"

Tavi shook his head, and avoided looking at the legionare . "I think the Cane was reading you that way, is all. Body language, stance and bearing, and eye contact, it's all important to them. Not just words."

Bartos's face turned red, but one of the other legionares said, "The boy is right, Bar. You always try to slow down when you feel a stupid fight coming on. Try to find a way around it. Maybe today that was just the wrong thing."

The legionare glared at the speaker for a moment, then sighed. He went to the ale keg, drew a pair of mugs, and set one of them down in front of Tavi. The boy nodded to him gratefully, and drank the bitter brew, hoping it would help him calm down. "What did he mean?" Tavi asked. "When he said that we would regret this?"

"Seems pretty plain," Bartos said. "I'd be careful walking down dark passages alone for a while, lad."

"I should go back to the First Lord," Tavi said. "He seemed concerned. Could you please ask Sir Miles to hurry?"

"Sure, kid," Bartos said. Then he let out a low laugh. "Crows and furies, but you've got a set of balls on you. Pulling that knife."

"Bad breath," said one of the other legionares , and the room burst into general laughter.

Tavi smiled, got his hair rumpled by half a dozen soldiers, and made his exit as quickly as he could, to hurry down the stairs to the First Lord's side.

He hadn't made it all the way when he heard slow, hard, thudding boots on the stairs above him. He slowed down and Sir Miles appeared above him, leaping down stairs half a dozen at a step. Tavi swallowed. The pace had to be hideously painful to Miles's wounded leg, but the man was a strong metalcrafter, and the ability to ignore pain was a discipline of furycrafting the strongest among them often developed.

Tavi started hurrying down as well, and he managed to arrive at the bottom of the stairs just behind Miles, who stopped in shock and stared at the still form of Gaius on the floor. He went to his side, felt the First Lord's throat, then peeled back an eyelid to peer at his eyes. Gaius never stirred.

"Bloody crows," Miles said. "What happened?"

"He collapsed," Tavi panted. "He said that he'd tried as hard as he could and that it wasn't enough. He showed me where a town by the ocean was torn apart by storms. He was… I'd never seen him like that, Sir Miles. Screaming. Like he wasn't…"

"Wasn't in control of himself," Miles said quietly.

"Yes, sir. And he was coughing. And drinking spicewine."

Miles winced. "It isn't spicewine."

"What?"

"It's a health tonic he uses. A drug that dulls pain and makes you feel as if you aren't tired. He was pushing himself past his limits, and he knew it."

"Will he be all right?"

Miles looked up at him and shook his head. "I don't know. He might be fine after he gets some rest. Or he might not live the night. Even if he does, he might not wake up."

"Crows," Tavi said. A pain shot through his stomach. "Crows, I didn't do the right thing. I should have sent for a healer at once."

Miles's eyebrows shot up. "What? No, boy, you did exactly the right thing." The grizzled soldier raked his fingers back through his hair. "No one can know what has happened here, Tavi."

"But-"

"I mean no one ," Miles said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Killian," Miles muttered. "And… crows take it, I don't know if there's anyone else who can help."

"Help, sir?"

"We'll need a healer. Killian doesn't watercraft, but he has some skill as a physician, and he can be trusted. But I've got to have the Legion ready for review at Wintersend. It would cause too many questions if I did not. And Killian can't care for Gaius alone."

"I'll help," Tavi said.

Miles gave him a brief smile. "I had already assumed you would be willing. But you can't suddenly vanish from the Academy during the week of your finals. The absence of the First Lord's favorite page will not go unremarked."

"Then we'll need more help," Tavi said.

Miles frowned. "I know. But I don't know any others I can absolutely trust."

"None?" Tavi asked.

"They died twenty years ago," Miles said, his voice bitter.

"What about the Cursors?" Tavi said. "Surely they can be trusted."

"Like Fidelias?" Miles spat. "The only one of them I might take a chance on is Countess Amara, and she isn't here."