Captain's Fury (51 page)

"We'll take turns on the stretcher," Gaius said. "I won't need both legs to support my weight in the water."

"No," Amara said. "That isn't going to happen, sire."

Gaius blinked. "
Excuse
me? Countess, I believe that I am perfect—" He broke off, coughing again, struggling to smother the sound with his hands. The sound became ugly for just a moment, and then he got himself under control again. "You may," he breathed, "have a point."

They settled in to wait.

During the course of the day, patrols swept by every two to three hours, on varying paths. The last patrol passed to within twenty yards of them, but Bernard had raised a woodcrafting around them, and once more, they remained unseen.

Finally, the shadows began to stretch, and Amara murmured, "I'd best draw back a little way. I don't want to chance them hearing my takeoff."

Bernard nodded once and kissed her cheek. "Be careful. Good luck."

Amara paced silently back through the swamps and found a point of higher ground which she could use to become airborne. She grimaced at all the mud on her and did her best to get the heaviest bits off before she called out to Cirrus. It was a bit of an effort, given the way the mud hampered her ability to will her fury to action, but she took off on the quietest windstream she could manage and ascended several thousand feet, to the edge of her ability to see what was below her in detail.

For a single glorious moment she paused to take a deep breath, her face turned up to the sun, and gently urged Cirrus to dry her clothing. She'd been wearing wet things for so long, she'd almost forgotten what anything else felt like. The air smelled fresh and clean, this high up, and more importantly, it was entirely free of the constant stench of rotting vegetable matter. For that matter, she couldn't remember the last time she had gone so long without flying, and it felt glorious to be in the air again.

She let out a guilty little sigh and turned her mind back to business. Bernard and the First Lord were still down in the muck. It hardly seemed fair for her to waste time reveling in being away from it when they were waiting for her to help them get out themselves. She willed Cirrus to magnify her vision and approached the swamp's edge out of the concealment offered by the setting sun.

At first, she worried that the haze might lower visibility too much to make the overflight practical, but she soon proved able to see the swamp below clearly enough. It did not take her long to spot the three outposts in the general vicinity of their approach.

Two were built up into trees at the very edge of the swamp, and a third was dug out of a mound at the base of a dead tree, overlooking the swamp's edges, shrouded by brush and grown over with vines. That last looked large enough to shelter perhaps a dozen men—and all three posts had dogs tethered nearby.

Amara sailed to several other vantage points to double-check what she had learned, though she didn't dare fly directly over the enemy strong points— without the glare of the sun to keep casual glances away from her position, it would be entirely too easy for a sentry to spot her by accident.

With the sun setting in earnest, Amara descended back into the swamps and hurriedly returned to Bernard and Gaius. She couldn't find them, even knowing the general area in which they'd been, until Bernard lowered his wood-crafted veil and beckoned. She waded back to them and quietly reported what she'd seen. "We can't get through without going by at least one of their watch positions," she concluded. "Which, I suppose, is why they put them there."

"Dogs," Bernard said. "That makes it more complicated."

"Why?" Amara asked.

Bernard shrugged. "I could use Brutus to keep them calm as we went by them—but I can't hold up a veil around us at the same time. And dogs track by scent. Veils won't do much to hide us from them."

"And if you don't hold a veil around us," Amara mused, "we won't make it through unseen."

Bernard nodded. "Likely."

"That isn't a problem," Gaius murmured. "Countess, you can veil us from sight, while the good Count Calderon prevents the hounds from raising the alarm—and it would leave him with enough attention to shoot if we need to silence anyone quickly."

Bernard lifted an eyebrow, thinking it through, and nodded. "True. I didn't know you could do a veil, Countess."

"Uh," Amara said. "I… I can't." She flushed. "Not a very good one, anyway. I passed the qualifications in my windcrafting courses at the Academy, but not by much. I've never held one large enough for all three of us, and never for more than a few moments."

"Mmmm," Gaius said. "Have we other options?"

Bernard grimaced. "Not unless you'd like to begin taking action here and now, sire."

Gaius turned his gaze to the east for a time. Then he shook his head, and said, "It's still too soon. We'll need to get through the first pass in the mountains." He studied Amara. "You say your classroom veils were barely passing marks, eh?"

"Yes, sire. I was always so much better at flying. Perhaps I didn't put as much effort into the rest as I could have."

The feverish old man smiled and closed his eyes. "Or," he murmured, "perhaps you needed the proper tutor. Attend."

Chapter 40

Tavi lost track of several days. Not completely, but there was a definite blurring in his memory. He had to get the details from Kitai later, but the long and short of it was that they slipped quietly out of Alera Imperia two days after they took Varg from the Grey Tower.

Demos had delayed their departure until he had secured a cargo to freight down the river to Parcia—since it would look more than mildly suspicious for a ship to arrive and depart without loading or unloading anything. Tavi was only intermittently aware of what was going on, thanks to the extensive watercrafting he'd required after the rescue. He had a fairly clear recollection of the conversation with his mother while hiding in the river, and something about grabbing one of Varg's ears as if he'd been a sheep being stubborn about shearing—but he mostly remembered being ravenously hungry, eating as much as he could fit in his stomach, then stumbling back to his bunk to sleep.

By the time hours had begun once again to proceed one after another in an orderly fashion, they had reached Parcia, and in less than half the time it had taken them to make the journey upriver. Demos unloaded his cargo and within hours they were once again in the open sea.

Tavi promptly got sick again.

He was lying on the open deck at night, several nights later, enjoying the cool breeze and gnawing on a ship's biscuit as his nausea finally began to fade. Araris sat with his back against the mast, his sword on his lap, dozing. Tavi had just begun to consider life worth living again, when the door to the hold opened and Varg prowled onto the deck.

Tavi watched in silence as the Cane paced to the bow. The vast, dark-furred form, darker and more solid than the evening shadows, faced forward for a time, face lifted to the evening air.

Tavi rose. He held out a hand to Araris as he walked past him. The
singulare
passed over the hilt of his sword, and Tavi took it with him, casually carrying the weapon in its scabbard as he went to stand beside Varg.

The Cane glanced aside at Tavi and down to the sword. His chest rumbled with a sound that could have been amusement or approval. "I was wounded," Varg said. "Unto death."

"You could have chosen to neglect your duty. You did not." Varg leaned his huge, clawed paw-hands on the ship's rail and stared out to sea. "Why did you come down for me when I fell, Aleran?"

Varg bared his teeth. "I respect Gaius's power. I respect his intelligence. But I most respect that he understands what it is to lead." He turned toward Tavi and bent his head gently forward, in the Aleran manner. "As I respect you,
gadara
."

Tavi inclined his head in reply. "Have you eaten?"

Varg coughed out a grunt of laughter. "You have learned what it is to lead warriors." He sounded amused. "These sailors do not like to come near me. I have chosen not to take food from them."

Tavi's eyes widened as he considered what Kitai had told him about Varg's extensive wounds and the crafting that had been required to repair them. "You must be starving."

"I have been hungry before."

Tavi turned to Varg and put the rest of his ship's biscuit on the rail beside the Cane's paw-hand. "Eat that," he said. "I'll see about getting you something more solid."

Varg took the biscuit and tossed it into his jaws. The Cane's teeth crunched the tough block of food as if it had been fresh bread. He flicked his ears in distaste as he worked his jaws, getting the crumbs from between his fangs. "Alerans may be hardier than I thought." He tilted his head and considered Tavi. "The Lady Isana," he growled. "If it is not improper, I would have you convey my respects for her skills."

"Why would you think it improper?" Tavi asked.

Varg picked another shard of ship's biscuit from his teeth with one claw. "Your people have strange customs with regards to mates and offspring. A male may be mated, yet pursue other females. A female may be mated, but bear children of other males, yet pretend they are her mate's offspring, while the mate outwardly acknowledges the children as his own. A man and woman may mate and bear children, but if it is recorded improperly, then shame is visited on the child."

"Shame?"

"Illegitimacy, I have heard it called," Varg said. "Bastard. And you, a child of the House of Gaius, were treated as an outcast. A menial. I do not know if your mother has been visited with shame, or if it would be inappropriate to acknowledge her. The values of such things make no sense to me."

"It's… complicated," Tavi said. "Even by Aleran standards. But it would not be inappropriate for you to thank her for her assistance."

Varg bared his teeth and growled. "I do not offer thanks. Your people need me alive and healthy. It was not an act of charity."

"True enough," Tavi said. "I chose an imprecise phrase. It would not be inappropriate for you to convey your respect for her skills."

"Were our roles reversed, Aleran, your blood would have been drained into jars long since." He drummed his claws on the rail. "And no. I would not share openly." He nodded once. "Tell me what you can about my people here."

Tavi described the last two years in very general terms, giving Varg no information about the positions of Aleran troops, their capabilities, their logistics, or their vulnerability.

"Well did Nasaug name you
gadara
," Varg rumbled.

"I have a theory," Tavi said.

One of Varg's ears swiveled around toward him.

"The invasion fleet arrived under desperate circumstances," Tavi said. "Sarl burned their ships behind them. There was a great deal of internal division. A great many ritualists had come with the fleet, and they were clearly dominant." Tavi frowned. "And they had noncombatants with them. I saw a female with young."