Captain's Fury (14 page)

"Thought you'd appreciate a big breakfast after a long flight," he murmured against her mouth. "I'll cook these for you, if you're hungry."

Amara drew slowly back from him, and met his eyes. "I'm starving," she said quietly. "You can cook the crowbegotten fish after."

Sudden hot fire danced in the back of his eyes, but he affected a puzzled tone. "After what?"

She snarled at him, though she knew her own smile would give it the lie, knocked the string with the fish out of his hand with one of hers, then twined her fists in his tunic. She stepped into him as she put a leg behind his own, pushing.

He was too quick for her, turning her motion against her, and she let herself fall, his body coming down to pin hers against the earth. His mouth found hers again, and she felt herself arch up against him, hips rolling, her body demanding more.

He broke the kiss, his breath broken into rough gasps. "Oh," he growled quietly. "After
that
."

Amara let out a wicked little laugh that broke off as her husband kissed her again, and she returned it with breathless ardor.

Chapter 9

Tavi focused on the stone in the dale outside the town of Elinarch, blocking out absolutely everything else around him. Nothing existed but himself and the stone, a wind-and-rain-rounded lump of granite the size of a handcart. He breathed deeply, concentrating, then spoke in a clear and commanding voice. "Come forth."

Nothing in particular happened.

Frustration welled up inside him, a red bubble expanding in his chest. He fought it off, concentrating on his breathing, on his focus, and addressed the stone again, reaching out for the fury he knew was inside. "Come forth."

The stone's stillness and silence were nothing short of insulting.

"Crows take it!" Tavi snarled. He clenched his teeth, tried to keep his tone of voice level and confident, and only mangled the words slightly as he gave it one last try. "Come f—"

He wasn't sure exactly what tipped him off. There might have been the faintest hint of sound behind him. There might have been a breath of excitement and feline amusement that ran over the back of his neck. It could have been the subtle, singing tension that he now felt surrounding every blade. Likely, it was a combination of all of those subtle factors. They coalesced into a single thought that flashed into the front of his mind: danger.

Tavi flung himself to one side, drawing his blade as he went. He whirled on the way, spinning back toward the attacker, his back to the ground, and his blade intercepted a sword descending in a sharp overhand arch. The two blades met, and there was a small explosion of golden-green sparks. Tavi's momentum carried him forward, and his bare shoulder blades hit the grass first. He drew upon the wind blowing through the little vale to give speed enough to fold his body into a ball, bounce a bit off the grass, and then roll back onto his feet.

He wobbled but caught his balance as a rock the size of his head came zipping at his face. Off-balance, he had no time to move, and instead thrust the heel of his hand forward, drawing strength from the earth, and struck the oncoming stone with a single, sharp blow.

The rock exploded into shards and dust. Flying pieces lashed open half a dozen small wounds on his naked upper body and put two new rips in his trousers. His wrist and hand hurt like the crows, but he still had his balance, and as his attacker darted forward with windcrafted speed, he met a blindingly swift stroke of his attackers' sword with his own. He traded three or four strokes running on pure reflex, the blows too swift to allow for any thought, minicascades of sparks scattering around him with each blow.

He never "saw" the opening in his opponent's defense, so much as he felt it, sensed the change coming in the humming sensation of the two swords' furies clashing and blending. He twisted his blade forward in a serpentine thrust, forcing his opponent's blade to engage his, the tip too far to one side to stop him from stepping in close, locking his aching left hand on his opponent's weapon wrist, and applying the pressure of a fury-assisted grip.

"Ah!" Kitai cried out, the sound both pained and amused. "Enough, enough!"

Tavi released her wrist, and the Marat girl lifted her blade in a quick salute, then sheathed it one-handed in a single motion, never bothering to look down at the scabbard.

She threw her hands up in the air. "Two years ago, he has no furies at all, and he is content. Today he has more than he ever hoped to have, and it is not enough."

Tavi growled and shoved his own sword away, also without looking. He couldn't have explained how he did it. He could feel when the tip of his blade was aligned with the metal fittings at the end of the scabbard, a sensation that was comparable to feeling his fingers all in the proper position to tug on a glove.

"I'm not going to get opportunities to practice once we march. You know that. This was my last chance to try it for a while."

"And you tried it," Kitai said. She put a hand on her hip and faced him, her green eyes hard. "It didn't work, and you started to lose your temper, at which point it wasn't
going
to work." Her expression softened slightly. "You were only torturing yourself,
chala"

She was right, Tavi thought, which was annoying, but he could feel her genuine concern for him, sense it almost as if it were an emotion of his own. His watercrafter's perceptions were still inconsistent and often quite vague, but where Kitai was involved, they were clear and unmistakable. Or perhaps the bond they shared was more responsible for the empathy that had grown between them. He wasn't sure.

Kitai studied him, bright green eyes on his, and shook her head. "You think too much, Aleran. Always planning. Always questioning. Always calculating. It's a wonder your head doesn't catch fire from the inside." She glanced up at the sun, then down at the cuts on his chest. "Come. Let me clean that up. He'll be here in a moment."

Tavi blinked and looked down at himself. He had almost forgotten the injuries. He had shut away the pain almost before it had registered on him, and had been holding it away without really thinking about it. Once he did, of course, the crafting faltered, and the cuts burned and stung unpleasantly.

Kitai brought a cloth and a flask of water and cleaned the cuts and scrapes. Tavi managed to hold still through it all, though it was hardly pleasant. He had to close his eyes and exhale slowly as Kitai cleansed one cut. The Marat girl winced a little and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss nearby the hurt. Then she bound over the two wounds that still oozed a little blood, her motions practiced. They should be, Tavi thought. Great furies knew that they'd had enough practice on one another over the past two years.

Tavi had just pulled his shirt back on when Enna's horse came walking slowly through the entrance to the dale. The horse trooper had one hand clamped resolutely over her eyes. "Captain?" she called. "Kitai told me not to look at you when you were unclothed. How am I supposed to
know
whether or not you are unclothed without
looking?"

Tavi gave Kitai a level look. "Oh for pity's sake."

She laughed at him. She did that quite often, Tavi thought. The smile that went with the laugh was devastating, and he found himself smiling with her, despite another day's effort, another day's failure.

"It's all right, Enna," Tavi called. "You can look."

"Thank goodness," Enna said, dropping her hand, and beaming at Tavi. Then she gave him a disappointed little frown and sighed. "I miss all the best parts."

"Centurion," Tavi prompted.

She gave him a quick salute. "The man who none of us saw and who none of us are going to remember is here to see you, sir."

"He knows me," said a young man's voice, and Ehren walked around from behind Enna's horse, touching the animal's flanks gently with one hand as he brushed past. He was small, quite a bit under five and a half feet tall, but the reed-thin young man Tavi had met when he first came to the Academy had hardened. Ehren, sandy-haired and unassuming, was still slender—but slender like hunting cats, or dueling swords, rather than like writing quills. He was dressed in rough garb of castaway clothing, most of it ill fitting, and looked like any of ten thousand refugees in the camps.

At a nod from Kitai, Enna withdrew. Tavi went to the young man and traded grips with him, then considered his clothing with a frown. "Ehren. I never said I was sending you out again."

"Please," Ehren said. "I'm a professional spy, Tavi. I wouldn't be doing you any good standing around here." He turned to Kitai with a smile and bowed gallantly over her hand. "Not that it isn't nice sleeping with both eyes closed, but I'm starting to get soft."

"You've only been back for three days," Kitai said.

"That's just about enough," Ehren said. He lowered his voice conspiratorially and jerked his head covertly at Tavi. "I can't stand working where my superiors can look over my shoulder anyway."

Tavi smiled, but he didn't really feel it. Ehren had worked his way into position in Canim-occupied territory over an entire perilous year. Some of the Canim commanders had spent a great deal of energy hunting for spies and rooting them out. Many such informants had been caught, and had not been seen again. Ehren had, Tavi gathered, very nearly been caught as he left occupied territory—and there was a fresh scar on his brow that he had not explained.

"Is there any word from the First Lord?" Tavi asked quietly.

Ehren shook his head. "You haven't given me enough time to try all the channels."

"I don't
have
the time," Tavi said. "We march tomorrow."

"I know," Ehren said. "But word is that Gaius is with the Legions in the south somewhere. As far as anyone I could reach knows, all of his messages are being routed to someone on the staff—even Cursor traffic. So, either he's come down with a bad case of bureaucratic thinking…"

"Or he's up to something," Tavi said. "Crows. Why
now?"

"Even if he wasn't," Ehren said, "from what you told me, he's given you your marching orders. Maybe you shouldn't be trying to go over Arnos's head like this."

"That was before we knew about Mastings," Tavi said. "Or Arnos's so-called battle plan. Or what he had in mind for the noncombatants. We have to find another option, Ehren.''

Ehren lifted both hands. "Which is why I'm dressed for the road," he said. "You want me to see how close I can get to Mastings?"

Ehren burst out in a laugh. It died young, as he watched Tavi's expression. "Oh," he said. "You were serious."

"Yes."

Ehren shook his head. "Your confidence is flattering, but even if I
could
get close to him, which I don't think I could, I'm not at all sure I could take him. I
saw
him fight at the Elinarch."

"No, no, crows," Tavi said. "If I wanted him assassinated, I'd do it myself." He paused to consider. "Or possibly send Max and Crassus."

"For you," Ehren said, "that was an uncommonly sensible afterthought."

Tavi grinned at him for a second. "This isn't that kind of mission," Tavi said. He flicked open the leather case on his sword belt and drew out a folded envelope. He offered it to Ehren.

The young man stared at the envelope for a moment and exhaled slowly. "Oh. The other part of the Cursor business." He searched Tavi's face for a moment, and said, quietly, "We're messengers for the First Lord, Tavi. This isn't one of his messages."

"Oh shut up," Ehren said, his voice annoyed, as he took the envelope from Tavi's hand. "You think Nasaug will be willing to talk?"

"If he is," Tavi said, "I think we can expect him to behave in a civilized fashion."

"They haven't exactly been a monolithic culture," Ehren replied. "What if some of the other Canim don't hold with Nasaug's way of thinking?"

"I'd advise you to avoid them," Tavi said.

"You don't ask much, do you?" Ehren flashed Tavi an easy grin and slipped the envelope out of sight beneath his overlarge tunic. "Time limit?"

"Sooner is better, but take what you need to make the approach." Tavi paused, then offered his hand again. Ehren took it, and Tavi said softly, "Be careful, Ehren."

"Can't have you moaning over how guilty you feel for sending me off to my death," Ehren said, and winked at Kitai. "The Ambassador would never forgive me."

"No," Kitai said. She stepped forward and kissed Ehren on the cheek. "I wouldn't. Walk softly."

"I suspect I'll have less to worry about than you. Take care of each other." He nodded to them, turned, and vanished into the trees without ceremony.