Captain's Fury

Chapter 18

Marcus approached the command tent and nodded to the guard outside. "My name is Marcus. Captain Nalus sent for me."

The guard, a young legionare, came to immediate attention and snapped a precise salute. "Valiar Marcus, sir, he's expecting you. He said to go in, and he'll be along in a moment, sir."

"Don't call me sir, sonny," Marcus said. "We're all infantry here."

The young legionare grinned and banged out a more natural salute, then swung open the tent's flap.

Marcus returned the salute, if more casually than was strictly proper, and stepped inside the tent. It was a bit larger than necessary and was set up around a central table, rather than having tables line the walls, leaving the center open. That was typical of Nalus. He liked his men facing one another as they worked-talking, communicating. He was a great one for talking, Nalus.

Marcus tended to prefer the other arrangement. It meant that you always knew the man who was working behind your back.

The cot at one side of the room was double-sized, and a stool and a large harp rested at its foot. Marcus walked over to the harp and ran a calloused hand along its wooden frame.

The tent flap opened, and Captain Nalus walked in. Marcus turned to him and gave him a sharp salute. "Captain."

Nalus nodded back. "Centurion." He closed the tent flap behind him.

Marcus offered the man a grin and his hand. "Been a while."

Nalus took his hand and smiled in return. "Marcus. Thank you for coming."

"Well, you're a high-and-mighty captain now. How could a mere centurion refuse?"

Nalus snorted. "It's not much like when we were serving High Lord Antil-lus," he said, his tone wry. "Is it?"

"Not much," Marcus replied.

"Great furies know," Nalus said quietly, "there would never have been any of that business about executing civilians." He was quiet for a moment. "Made me sick, Marcus."

"On the Shieldwall," Marcus said quietly, "you always knew who the enemy was."

Nalus frowned at him for a moment, then grimaced and shook his head. "You've got me all wrong. Crows take the politicians, Marcus, and the politics with them. That isn't what I signed up for. I'm just a soldier."

Marcus grunted. "You joined the wrong outfit if you wanted to avoid getting involved."

Nalus shook his head, crossed to a cabinet in the corner of the tent, and took out a dark bottle. He took a long pull from it, and then offered it to Marcus. "This isn't about choosing sides, Marcus."

Marcus looked at the bottle for a moment. He made no move toward it. "Then what is it about?"

Nalus took another drink. "A lot of years ago, you taught a young subtri-bune a lot about being a soldier. And a spoiled brat a lot about growing up."

Marcus snorted. "They didn't come much greener than you. That's for sure."

"You were my teacher. You gave me good advice then. I'm asking for your advice now."

Marcus stared at Nalus for a moment. Then he shook his head and reached out for the bottle. He took a swig, and the almost-flavorless hard root-liquor favored in the frozen north of the Realm burned down his throat. "Faugh," he muttered. "You can get any kind of liquor here, and you stick with this?"

"Grew on me," Nalus said.

Marcus grunted, and said, "Absent friends."

"Absent friends," Nalus replied.

Marcus took another pull and passed the bottle back to Nalus. He waited until the other man drank, then said, "What do you want to ask me?"

"You know I've been given custody of Captain Scipio."

"Aye."

Nalus shook his head. "He's made some requests. He wants to talk to some of his officers before I send him back to Sir Cyril for safekeeping."

Marcus grunted. "And?"

Nalus stared at Marcus for a second. "And? Does he really expect me to allow it? The last thing any of us needs is for him to give some order to his men to the effect of 'the good Senator can go to the crows.' Or maybe, 'kill that fool Nalus and get me out of here.'"

Marcus nodded. Then he said, "Ask him not to."

Nalus arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Ask him not to do that."

Nalus let out an exasperated little laugh. "Just like that? And take his word for it? Oh, the Senator would love that."

Marcus took the bottle and swigged again. "You asked."

Nalus stared hard at Marcus for a full, silent minute. Then he swallowed more of the northern liquor, and said, "Really?"

"He gives you his word," Marcus said, "he's good for it."

Nalus exhaled. Then he said, "And you're good for yours."

Marcus took another pull and grimaced. "Mostly."

Nalus finished the bottle and idly tossed it under his cot. He frowned, brow furrowing.

Marcus let him think it over for a moment. Then he said, "Still playing that old thing, eh?"

Nalus glanced at the harp and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I… sometimes it helps me sleep."

Marcus nodded at the double-sized cot. "Thought that's what the women were for."

Nalus flashed a short-lived grin at Marcus. Then he shook his head, and replied, "Not going to be much of that on the campaign."

"No."

"If Scipio talks to his officers," Nalus said, "and tells them to resist Arnos, we won't be able to trust the First Aleran, Marcus. I may be a fool, but I'm not a crowbegotten fool. We're going to need them by the time we get to Mastings. I can't make a bad call on this one."

Marcus clapped Nalus on the shoulder, and said, quietly, "Do what you think is best." Then he turned to leave.

"Marcus?" Nalus asked.

Marcus paused.

Nalus took a deep breath. "I want you to be there."

Marcus turned, nodded, and gave the younger man a salute.

Nalus returned it.

The sandy-haired young Cursor, Sir Ehren, was waiting for Marcus as he walked briskly out of the Second Senatorial's camp, and back toward the First Aleran's. He fell into pace beside Marcus, though his body language remained that of someone moving separately from the centurion. His lips barely moved when he spoke. "Well?"

"The captain asked, just like you said he would. And Nalus will allow it."

Ehren's face lit in a brief, fierce grin. "Good."

Marcus glanced aside at him. "What are you going to do?"

Ehren began to speak, but frowned. "Better for both of us if you don't know," he said quietly.

Thank the great furies someone had sense, Marcus thought. The Cursors had taken a lot of losses over the past few years, and he'd come to fear for the quality of the agents that would emerge from the situation. At least this one appeared to have sound judgment.

Ehren gave the slightest twitch of a nod to Marcus and vanished down a side street. Marcus continued on his way, at the same businesslike, unwavering pace, and returned to his tent.

This time, Lady Aquitaine had not bothered with a veil. She sat on his stool in her washerwoman disguise, her face lined with impatience. She rose as he entered, and he felt the air tighten with an interdicting windcrafting.

Marcus nodded to her. "My lady."

"Fidelias," she replied, her tone curt. "What did Nalus say?"

"Scipio has requested a conference with his senior officers," Marcus reported.

Lady Aquitaine narrowed her eyes. "According to Amos, Scipio stated that he would instruct his officers to support him. But he's a fighter. Surely Nalus isn't going to allow the meeting."

Marcus kept his focus upon the details of his tent-mundane, familiar things that were not at all out of the ordinary and with which he interacted on a daily, regular basis. "I advised him against it," he replied.

Lady Aquitaine frowned at him for a moment.

Marcus straightened the lay of the blanket on his cot and wondered if he was about to die.

She sighed and shook her head. "Will he take your advice?"

"We can hope so," Marcus said. "Nalus takes some time to make his decisions, but he does his own thinking along the way. He told me that if he did have the conference, he wanted me there. At least I'll be able to report on what happens."

"Never underestimate the ongoing value in a talented protege," Lady

Aquitaine murmured, smiling. "Or how many times they go to their former mentors for advice on their most critical decisions. Keep me informed."

"Of course, lady."

"What of the villagers?" Lady Aquitaine asked.

"Released and returned to their homes-although Amos hasn't issued an official countermand to their death warrants."

She shook her head. "With Scipio out of the picture, there's no longer any reason to threaten them, and there is the potential for serious long-range repercussions. I must admit, my spy, that your suggestion sounded like quite a gamble at first. But it's proven an elegant solution to our problems."

Marcus's stomach twisted. If the captain hadn't played the situation as well as he had… Aloud, he only said, "Thank you, lady."

"In your opinion, will the First Aleran support Amos in the campaign?"

"If Scipio orders it?" He pursed his lips. "I think so, yes. They've fought the Canim for two years now. They want to finish the job."

Lady Aquitaine sighed. "Then it all hinges on Scipio. He has a rather irritating talent for impersonating a fulcrum."

"If he reneges," Marcus pointed out, "there is still the death warrant."

Her face twisted into a moue of distaste. "True. But will it be enough to compel him to keep his word?"

"Partly," Marcus said. "But bear in mind that he plans surprisingly well for the long term for someone of his age. Throwing his Legion's support behind the campaign is, at this point, arguably the best way to keep his men and his officers alive, united, and ready to support him again in the future."

Lady Aquitaine arched an eyebrow at that and waved her hand in a gesture that admitted the possibility. Then she rose and gathered up the laundry, a small smile on her mouth. "I'm not worried about his long-range plans. We're nearly there. You have served me very well, my Fidelias. I shall not forget it."

He bowed his head to Lady Aquitaine, and she departed.

He sank down to sit on his cot and closed his eyes. The panic and fear he'd kept hidden inside him when he lied to Lady Aquitaine's face rushed back through him. His forehead beaded with a cold sweat, and his hands started shaking.

Should Lady Aquitaine come to power, she would need the appearance, at least, of integrity, and Marcus knew far too many damning facts about both her and her husband. True, she had a certain amount of integrity-but also true, she allowed no one and nothing to hamper her aims. It had taken him years to see the absolute, voracious nature of her ambition.

He followed the chain of logic to its most probable conclusion.

Once she and her husband had the crown, Marcus would be a liability, suited only for removal.

Optionally, if she ever realized that he had turned against her, she would wipe him from the earth.

And should the captain ever learn his true identity, Marcus judged that he would react with less dramatic but equally effective prejudice.

Marcus sat on the cot with his hands shaking.

He'd kept the captain alive, at least. That was something. As long as he was alive, the young man would be in action-and Marcus was sure that the captain had no intention of sitting quietly in a cell while the Aquitaines' puppet Senator ran up a string of victories and the prestige and influence that would come with them. As long as the captain was alive and able to act, there was hope for Alera's future.

Just not for his own.

To the crows with it. He'd never planned on dying of old age in any case.