Furies of Calderon (81 page)
Read Furies of Calderon Online
Authors: Jim Butcher
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Audiobooks, #General, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy - Epic, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - General, #Unabridged Audio - Fiction
“I don’t care,” Tavi blurted. “I don’t care about that, sire. I can handle myself.”
Gaius regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you can. Then if you will accept it, it will be done. I will give you patronage for your attendance at the Academy and assist you in choosing your fields of study. You will be Academ Tavi Patronus Gaius. Go to the capital. The Academy. See what you can make of your life given a chance, hmm?”
Tavi’s head spun, and he felt his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them many times, trying to hide the tears. “Sire. Sire, you don’t know what it means to me. Thank you.”
Gaius smiled, and the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled up as he did. “Rest, then. Tomorrow will be all ceremony and display. But please know that you have my gratitude, young man. And my respect.”
“Thank you, sire.”
Gaius rose and inclined his head. “Thank you, Academ. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He left the room, leaving Tavi feeling a little dizzy. The boy lay down on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling, his heart racing. The capital. The Academy. Everything he had wanted. He started to cry and to laugh at the same time, and he hugged himself tightly, because he felt as though if he didn’t he might burst.
The First Lord of all Alera had told him thank you. That he would see him tomorrow.
Tavi stilled for a moment, mulling over what had been said to him that day.
“No,” he murmured. “There’s something I need to do first. Need to finish what I’ve begun.”
Chapter 47
Fidelias sank into the warm bath in aching relief, his eyes closing. Nearby, Lady Aquitaine, dressed only in a robe of pale silk, placed Aquitaine’s signet dagger into a coffer on her dresser, and shut and locked it.
“And my men?” Fidelias asked.
“All being cared for,” she assured him. “I repaired your water-crafter’s hearing, and she and her man went to their suite.” She half smiled. “They deserve the time, I think.”
“I failed,” Fidelias said.
“Not entirely,” murmured Lady Aquitaine. She tested the temperature of the water, and then lay her fingers on Fidelias’s temples. “Without the dagger, Gaius has nothing but suspicions.”
“But he knows,” Fidelias said. He felt briefly dizzy as a slow wave of warmth pulsed over him. His aches began to vanish into a molten cloud of blessed relief. “He knows. Aquitaine isn’t working in secret any longer.”
Lady Aquitaine smiled. Then she stepped around the tub and let the silk robe slip from her shoulders. She slid into the water with Fidelias and wrapped her arms around the man’s shoulders. “You worry too much.”
Fidelias shifted uncomfortably. “Lady. Perhaps I should go. Your husband—”
“Is busy,” Lady Aquitaine purred. She gestured, and in the water shapes rose, solid outlines as though dolls upon a tiny stage. There were two figures there, on a great bed in a well-appointed chamber, writhing together in sensual completion, then kissing, slow, heavy kisses.
“There, sweet lady,” Aquitaine’s voice, tinny and distant murmured. “Are you feeling better?”
“Attis,” a young woman’s voice whispered, lazily contented. “So strong.” She shivered and began to sit up. “I should go.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Aquitaine said. “He’ll be handing out rewards for hours yet. You and I have time for more.”
“No,” she murmured, “I shouldn’t.” But Fidelias could hear the excitement in her voice.
“You should,” Aquitaine murmured. “There. That’s better.”
“Such a lover,” the woman sighed. “And soon, we can be together like this whenever you desire.”
“That’s right,” Aquitaine said.
“And Lady Aquitaine?” the woman asked.
Lady Aquitaine’s lips split in a cool little smile.
“She won’t be a problem,” Lord Aquitaine said. “No more talking.”
Fidelias watched as Gaius Caria, First Lady of Alera, wrapped her arms around Lord Aquitaine and drew him closer to her.
“You see,” Lady Aquitaine purred, letting the images slide away into the water again. “We have more than one knife at his back.” She turned to Fidelias, her lips at his ear, and he felt himself begin to respond with slow, ardent hunger. “The story is not yet done.”
Gaius Sextus, First Lord of Alera, descended to the Calderon Valley upon a winged steed of pure fire. Around him flew a full Legion of Knights Aeris, five thousand strong, and the Royal Guard in their scarlet capes, Knights Ferro and Ignus, Knights Aqua and Terra and Knights Fauna, all of them of ancient high blood. Trumpets announced their arrival, and despite the vast numbers of men aloft, the air hardly seemed to stir. The First Lord descended on Bernard-holt with a full Legion in his train, and the people of the Calderon Valley turned out to meet him.
Amara stood foremost before the crowds, and Gaius dismounted, the stallion of flame vanishing to a wisp of smoke as he did. Amara knelt as he approached her, but he took her hand and raised her to her feet, embracing her with gentle arms. He wore the scarlet and azure of Alera, a blade at his side, and carried himself with pride and strength, though there seemed to be more lines of care worn into the corners of his eyes.
He stood up and looked down at her eyes, smiling. “Amara. Well done.”
Amara felt the tears touch her eyes, and she straightened with pride. “Thank you, sire.”
The Legion settled behind them like hundreds of gleaming, deadly dragonflies, and Amara stood a little straighter in her borrowed gown. “Sire, I’ll present them to you in the order I discussed in my report?”
Gaius nodded. “Yes. Do. I’m eager to meet them.”
Amara called out, “Let Frederic of Bernard-holt approach the Crown.”
There was a startled gulp from the crowd, and someone pushed the tall, brawny youth up out of the crowd to the general laughter of the holders. Frederic looked around, folding his hands nervously, then sighed and walked forward to Amara and the First Lord. He began to bow, then knelt, then changed his mind and stood up to bow again.
Gaius laughed and took the young man’s hand and shook it firmly. “I am given to understand, young man, that you bested not one but two of the mercenary Knights in single combat, armed with only a shovel.”
“Spade, sir,” Frederic corrected him. Then flushed. “That is, uh. I hit them, yes sire.”
“And I am told that in the battle, you defended a door of a building in the east courtyard, protecting the children inside from harm at the hands of the Marat.”
“Yes. With my spade, sir. Sire. Sorry.”
“Kneel, young man.”
Frederic swallowed and did. Gaius drew his sword, and it gleamed in the sun. “For courage, loyalty, and resourcefulness in the face of enemies of the Realm, Frederic of Bernard-holt, I do hearby dub thee a Knight of the Realm, with all the responsibility and privileges therein. You are, from this day, a Citizen of the Realm, and let no man dispute your devotion. Rise, Sir Frederic.”
Frederic stood up, stunned. “But… but all I know is herding gargants, sir. I don’t know about that fighting and whatnot. Sire, sorry.”
“Sir Frederic,” Gaius intoned, “I wish all of my Knights knew a skill so useful.” He smiled and said, “We will discuss, in time, your duties here.”
Frederic bowed, clumsily. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Sire. Sir.”
Gaius gestured, and Frederic took a few dazed steps to one side.
Amara called, “Let Bernard of Bernard-holt come forth.”
Bernard, dressed in rich fabrics of brown and woodland green, stepped forward from the crowd and dropped to one knee before Gaius, bowing his head.
Gaius took Bernard’s hand and raised him. “I understand you helped take over matters when Gram was injured.”
“I only helped, sire,” Bernard said. “I did what anyone would have.”
“You did what anyone
should
have,” Gaius said. “There is a difference. A broad difference. Stead-holder, your courage in the face of such overwhelming danger is not overlooked.”
Once again, Gaius tapped his sword to either shoulder. “By the authority of the Crown, I do hereby dub thee Bernard, Count of Calderon.”
Bernard’s head snapped up, and he blinked.
Gaius smiled. “With all the responsibility and privileges therein, and so on. Rise, good Count.”
Bernard stood up, staring at Gaius. “But Gram is the Count here.”
“Gram is now a Lord, I’m afraid, your Excellency.” Gaius lowered his voice with a glance around. “He has a comfortable assignment in the Amaranth Vale now, while he recovers from his injuries. I need someone who the local people respect and who I can trust to take over for him. Also someone who the Marat will respect. You’re it.”
Bernard’s face slowly spread into a smile. “Thank you, sire. I’ll… do my best not to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” Gaius said. “We’ll need to keep in close touch at first.” The First Lord glanced aside at Amara and said, “I will have to appoint a special courier to be our go-between. I’ll see if I can find someone willing to come all the way out here.”
Bernard flushed, and Amara felt her own face heating at the same time.
“Thank you, sire,” Bernard said, more quietly.
Gaius winked. He gestured, and Count Bernard stepped to his left side, to stand with Sir Frederic.
Amara smiled and said, “Doroga, of the Gargant Clan of the Marat. Step forward.”
The crowd parted for the giant of a man, and Doroga strode over to Gaius, decked in gewgaws and rich clothing, which holders and
legionares
had given to him. He put his fists on his hips and looked Gaius up and down, then declared, “You aren’t old enough to be a headman.”
Gaius laughed, the sound rich and rolling. “I look young for my age.”
Doroga nodded wisely. “Ah. Perhaps that is it.”
“I am here to thank you, Headman Doroga, for what you did for my Realm.”
“I didn’t do it for your Realm,” Doroga said. “I did it for the young warrior. And would do it again.” Doroga lifted a finger and poked it lightly at Gaius’s chest. “You be good to him. Or you and I will have words.”
Amara stared at the barbarian, appalled, but Gaius only tilted his head to one side, his lips quivering with the effort to restrain laughter. Then he took a step back and bowed to Doroga, to a sudden murmur from the Legion and the holders. “I will do so. Name me a boon, and if it is within my power, I will grant it to you.”
“I owe favors to enough people already,” Doroga sighed. “We done?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good.” Doroga turned and let out a piercing whistle, and from around the hill came a sullen young Marat girl on an enormous black bull gargant. Doroga walked over to her, swung up onto the great beast’s back, and nodded to Gaius before turning to ride away.
“Colorful,” Gaius commented.
“I’m sorry, sire. I didn’t know that he would—”
“Oh, no, Cursor. It’s perfectly all right. Who is next?”
They ran through a number of
legionares
and holders who had performed bravely during the incident, including a stammering Pluvus Pentius, who had saved a handful of children from a wounded herd-bane by clubbing it to death with his accounts ledger.
“Isana of Bernard-holt,” Amara called, finally. “Please step forward.”
Isana came forward in a gown of dark grey, her dark hair pulled back into a severe braid, her chin lifted. She walked forward and stopped before Gaius for a long moment before performing a deep and graceful curtsy to him, without lowering her eyes. Amara saw something cold there, something defiant, and she blinked at the hold woman.