Captain's Fury

Chapter 52

"If you kill me now," Araris said quietly to Navaris, "no one will ever know."

The sword-slender woman stared at Araris with dead eyes.

Then she shrugged.

"I'll get over it."

Isana felt the cutter's decision the instant she'd made it, and a blossom of mad, unholy glee flared out from Navaris as she turned to Araris and lifted her sword.

"No!" Isana cried, struggling against the ropes.

Without warning, the earth suddenly shook.

Navaris staggered, reaching out to seize the tent's central pole to keep from falling. The tent sagged to one side, and its flap fell open, revealing a lurid twilight outside. The earth continued to rumble, and Isana could hear stone falling on stone. Somewhere in the background, a strident male voice thundered in furious speech.

Navaris stared around in angry surprise and shuffled to the tent's opening over the still-trembling ground, eyes roaming back and forth.

Isana felt a sense of bafflement from Araris that must have matched the incredulity on her own face, and just then there was a sharply whistled birdcall from outside.

A voice lifted up in what Isana recognized as a Marat war cry, and the tent was suddenly ripped away around them. Isana had to twist her head down against one shoulder to avoid a trailing rope. The tent flew off, and Isana had time to see a pair of leggy Marat coursers, bearing their barbarian riders, gallop off, dragging the tent behind them.

The sky was lit with red light, which seemed to cast shadows that were somehow subtly wrong for a sunset, until Isana realized that was because they were. The ruddy light of sunset poured in from the west. This light came from almost directly to the south.

Kitai appeared from the shadows behind a dilapidated stone building. The Marat girl was dressed just as she had been when Isana saw her last, though she bore a heavily recurved Marat bow in her hands, complete with an arrow tipped with razor-sharp, glossy black stone.

Navaris saw her, too. The cutter took a smooth step to Isana's side and rested her sword against the Steadholder's throat.

"Kitai," Isana breathed.

"Good evening," Kitai said pleasantly. She peered at the sky to the south, then turned to Navaris. "What do you make of that?"

Navaris jerked her head to one side in a gesture of suspicion and fixed Kitai with a steady stare.

"I didn't think you knew. I don't know what it is, either," Kitai said. She shook her head and then tipped one end of her bow at Isana. "Walk away from them both, Phrygiar Navaris, or you will die."

Navaris's mouth twitched up into a little smirk.

"Yes," Kitai admitted. "You could probably stop my arrow. But can you stop twenty?"

She twisted up her lips and gave another trilling birdcall, and the shadows boiled over with leather-armored Marat warriors rising from concealment. Every single barbarian bore a bow like Kitai's, and every one of them had a stone-tipped arrow nocked to it.

"Stone-headed arrows, Navaris," Kitai said, her voice steady and empty of malice. "From every direction. No way to see them all. No metal for you to sense."

Navaris's expression went blank. Her eyes flicked around, taking stock of her situation.

"Walk away," Kitai repeated.

Twenty Marat warriors drew their bows at the same time. The creak of the weapons' curved staves and straining strings sounded like an old barn in bad weather.

Navaris never flinched. "If you shoot, I will kill her before I die."

"Yes," Kitai said in a patient tone. "Which is why I have not shot you. Yet. Walk away."

"If I step away from her, what is to prevent you from killing me?"

"Your death doesn't belong to me," Kitai said. "We flipped a coin. I lost."

Navaris lifted her eyebrows.

"Go," Kitai said. She raised her voice, presumably addressing the Marat present. "Neither I nor any of mine will harm you or seek to prevent you from leaving."

Navaris considered that for a second. One eyelid twitched several times, and Isana felt dizzy from the variety and disorienting intensity of the emotions flooding from the cutter. Navaris experienced terror, contempt, joy, hunger, lust, and howling satisfaction all at the same instant, all jumbled up inside her thoughts. Isana could sense the barrier of will that generally kept that hurricane of violent emotion in check.

The barrier quivered like the earth beneath their feet, but it did not break. The formless, colorless mass of will suddenly blanketed the strong emotions, and they vanished into the void that was Phrygiar Navaris. The woman lowered her blade, nodded her head once, and walked with quick, quiet steps from the circle of Marat archers as the red light began to fade from the sky.

Kitai moved directly to Isana's side and knelt down beside her. The Marat woman's eyes never wavered from Navaris's departing form. Once she was gone, Kitai drew a knife, and muttered, "Crazy bitch."

She cut Isana and Araris free of their bonds, and rose. "Hurry," she said. "There's no time."

Araris managed to stagger to his feet, but Isana simply couldn't. Her limbs and back knotted themselves tight when she tried it, and to her embarrassment she found herself unable to stand.

"Help her," Kitai snapped, and Isana found herself being lifted by a pair of brawny young barbarian riders, one of them under each arm. Kitai made an impatient sound and started through the ruins. Araris hobbled after her, and Isana's bearers more or less dragged her along with her tingle-numbed toes dragging the ground, passing too close to the nearest hospital area. The pain and fear of the wounded slammed against her like a frost-coated leather lash.

Isana struggled to brace herself against it, focusing on her surroundings until they had passed the hospital. The red light in the sky had faded almost completely, and was now only a dim band of sullen red on the southern horizon.

"Kitai," Isana said. "Where are we? How did you get here?"

"The ruins outside Mastings," Kitai replied shortly. "My mother-sister's kinsmen lowered a rope for me in the dark. I was sent to find you."

"Why?"

"To prevent Arnos from using you as hostages against Octavian, obviously."

"Kitai!" Isana breathed.

Kitai shrugged. "They all know by now, Isana. Right now, my Aleran is declaring himself and challenging Arnos to the juris macto."

"What?" Araris demanded. Horror pulsed off of him in a nauseating cloud.

"The juris macto," Kitai said seriously. "It means 'trial of the fist.' Though it isn't a literal fistfight. I still do not understand why your people insist on naming things by calling them something else. It is insane."

"I know what the juris macto is."

"Araris," Isana asked, her voice shaking. "What's wrong?"

"He's the challenger," Araris spat. "What is he thinking?"

"I don't understand," she said. "Can't you stand for him? Champion him?"

"No!" Araris half shouted. "He's the challenger. He can't have a champion. He has to engage in it personally, or the law won't recognize its outcome as valid."

"Tavi can't have a champion?" Isana felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. "But Amos can." She went cold. "Great furies. Navaris will be his champion."

Araris spat to one side. "That's what she does."

"I told him he should have let me handle it," Kitai said. "But after escaping one prison and stealing Varg from another, suddenly Aleran law is important again."

Feeling had begun to return to Isana's legs and feet, and she shrugged her supporters away, walking on her own. "Is he likely to be hurt, Araris?"

"Hurt?" Araris shook his head grimly. "It's to the death."

Isana stopped in her tracks and stared at Araris. "Can he beat her?"

Araris clenched his fists, frustration and worry pouring off him like heat from a bonfire.

"Araris," she pled quietly.

The singulare said nothing, and Isana knew why.

She would have known if he lied to her.

Kitai led Isana and Araris to the First Aleran's command tent, which was by tradition the captain's quarters. It looked like it had been set up in great haste, several of its ropes hanging rather loosely. Inside was nothing more than a furylamp, a camp stool, and a bedroll.

"I think I know what you want to tell him," Kitai said quietly. "I think you know he won't listen."

"I will speak to him all the same."

Kitai frowned, but nodded. "I understand." Then she left.

She returned with Tavi a few minutes later, and the tall young man immediately enfolded Isana in an embrace.

"Thank the great furies you're both all right," Tavi said.

Isana hugged her son back. "And you."

The tent opened and Ehren appeared, carrying a scribe's writing case. He plunked himself down, opened the case, and took out a pen, inkpot, and several sheets of paper.

Tavi released Isana with a smile, and asked, "Well?"

"It looked like the testimony of six different truthfinders wasn't going to be enough," Ehren said. "Until I showed Nalus the affidavits from the witnesses to the attacks on the steadholts. He's thrown his support behind the validity of the charges and the challenge."

"Meaning?" Isana asked quietly.

Ehren bared his teeth in a wolf's smile. "Meaning that if Arnos doesn't accept, he can kiss all his efforts good-bye. He'll have to stand down from his command, just like Tavi had to step down, and wait for a trial." He inhaled and let out a satisfied breath. "I love the symmetry."

"What are you writing?" Tavi asked.

"A declaration of identity and intent," Ehren said. "Retroactively giving yourself permission to release yourself on your own recognizance in order to defend the honor of the Realm. It's going to block Arnos's next move, to claim that you are a prisoner under suspicion and that your presence, and therefore your challenge, is illegal."

"I can do that?"

"Unless someone overrules you, and the only one who can do that has been out of touch for a while."

"Good."

Ehren nodded. "I'm just glad Arnos forced us to brush up on the pertinent laws when this mess started. Give me about ten minutes. Then we'll need the signet dagger."

A slender, older gentleman in the tunic of an officer's valet entered the tent, lugging a heavy leather sack. "Ah, there you are, sir," he said. He dropped the sack near Tavi's feet with a sigh of relief. "Your reserve lorica, sir."

Tavi dumped out the sack without preamble, revealing a much-newer-looking set of armor than the one he currently wore. "Excellent. The Free Aler-ans have decent gear, all things considered, but this set has seen better days. Give me a hand here, Magnus?"

"Of course, Captain," the valet said. "Or is it 'Your Highness,' now?"

Tavi arched an eyebrow at the man. "You don't believe me?"

"That isn't the issue," the valet replied. He glanced aside at the others.

"I'm not keeping secrets from anyone here," Tavi said. He glanced at Isana, and she felt a little knife of resentment accompanying the words. He pushed it down at once, but it had still been there.

Isana winced. However well-intentioned she had been, some mistakes took time to correct. She would have to live with that.

Magnus sighed. "Very well. May I have your permission to speak candidly, Your Highness?"

Tavi's frown deepened. "Of course."

Magnus nodded. "This stunt is idiocy on the grandest and most irresponsible scale in the history of mankind."

Tavi's eyebrows shot up.

"Entirely setting aside the fact that this is the worst possible time and place for you to go public, there are other considerations. The Princeps of the Realm is not someone who engages in duels. He does not put his person at risk. He does not take such chances. He is far too valuable to do so."

"The Realm has had a Princeps again for about twenty minutes, Magnus," Tavi said. "The only people who know about it are within these walls. Even if I lose, the Realm won't-or not much, at any rate."

"Tavi," Isana said, stepping forward. "Listen to him, please. Magnus is right."

Tavi glanced aside at her, and a frown with a trace of uncertainty to it formed a small line between his brows. He nodded slowly and gestured for the valet to continue.

"With all due respect to Princeps Septimus," Magnus continued, "your father made this choice as well." His voice hardened. "And he was wrong to do it. He died. And as a result, Alera has known twenty years of plotting and betrayal and conflict. It has all but shattered as High Lords maneuver for power, inflicting hardship and suffering, and triggering disputes and wars that have resulted in the deaths of thousands-to say nothing of those lost when our enemies sensed that we were becoming increasingly divided and acted upon it."

"Tavi," Isana said quietly. "There must be some other solution to this problem."

Tavi chewed on his lower lip, his eyes unreadable.

"Navaris is one of the best I have ever seen," Araris said, speaking for the first time. "In my judgment, if I fought her, even in a controlled duel, it could go either way. You've got talent and training, but you're still learning. Your chances are not good."

"Agreed," Magnus said. "Risking yourself in a battle is one thing. Throwing your life away in a fight only a fool would place money upon is something else altogether."

Tavi looked at each of them, his expression serious. Then he glanced at Kitai.

"I would be displeased should you be killed, ckala." She shrugged. "You will do as you think best."

Tavi nodded slowly. Then he took a deep breath, and pointed his finger at the wall of the tent. "Out there," he said, "are tens of thousands of frightened, angry Canim. And thousands more frightened, angry, vengeful ex-slaves. They've got all three of our Legions dead to rights, and in a few hours, they're going to kill us.

"Unless," he said, "I can show them a reason to believe that we're more than a bunch of murdering, crowbegotten bastards who deserve to be killed. Unless I can give them the men responsible for those massacres and get these Legions to stand down and stop threatening the Canim's only means of going home."

"But Tavi," Isana said. "There must be some other way to-"

"While Arnos is in command, there isn't," Tavi said, his voice certain. "He can't back down and leave the Canim in peace now. He'll continue the fight and kill every man in the Legions if that's what it takes to get his victory, and I'm not willing to let that happen."

"Then arrest him," Isana said.

"I don't have the grounds to do so yet," Tavi said. "And if I tried to arrest him illegally, his own people would fight to protect him. We'd do the Canim's work for them. And then they'd wipe out whoever was left standing. After that, the war would continue. More will suffer. More will die.

"The juris macto gets us around all of that, and it's the only way I can strip him of his legal authority without taking it to a courtroom."

"But-" Magnus began.

Tavi turned to the old valet, scowling. "It's this simple, Magnus: The Canim are coming. Either I give them Arnos, or they kill us all and take him. The duel is my only way to get at Arnos." He looked at each of them singly and separately. "Does anyone here see another way? Anyone?"

No one spoke.

Tavi nodded slowly. "I'm going through with this. Support me or get out of the May."

He swept his gaze around the room again, and Isana stared, fascinated. She had never seen him like this before. She had never seen anyone speak with that much authority and strength. Not since Septimus died.

"I can't," said Araris, his voice very quiet. "I can't let you do this. I'm not going to fail again."

Tavi met Araris's gaze steadily and spoke in a very quiet voice. "This is my fight. My responsibility. Or did you plan on pushing me in front of a wagon to stop me."

Araris's face went pale, and he averted his eyes.

Ehren blew gently on the sheet of paper, then fanned the air with it slowly, to help the ink dry. "Ready for your signature and that seal."

Tavi nodded and turned to Isana.

"I don't have the dagger," she told him quietly. "It was in my bag. I haven't seen it since we were captured."

Kitai stepped past Isana quietly, shrugging her pack off of her shoulders. She reached into it and retrieved a dagger, the steel of its blade and its hilt both showing traceries of scarlet and blue. The dagger's pommel was engraved with the signet of the House of Gaius, an eagle in flight. Kitai passed it to Tavi.

Isana took a slow breath. Then she said, "You took it from my pack."

"I thought I might need it," Tavi said quietly.

"You didn't trust me."

Tavi looked down, turning the dagger over in his hand. "You've had a lot of… reservations, about this part of my life. I didn't want to see them get the better of you at a bad moment."

"You didn't trust me," Isana repeated. She shook her head. It was not as though she had given him a great deal of reason to do so, but all the same, it stung.

Tavi signed the document and marked it with the pommel of his signet dagger. He folded it and sealed it closed the same way. "Three hours from now," Tavi said. "On the walls. I want everyone to see this."

"Got it," Ehren said. He took the sealed letter and hurried out.

"If you don't mind," Tavi said to the tent, "I'd like a few minutes alone to change."

Everyone murmured their farewells and left-but Isana paused at the entrance to the tent, and turned to face Tavi.

"Can you win?" she whispered.

He smiled crookedly. "I've never lost a duel to the death. Not one."

"Tavi."

The smile faded, but his eyes didn't waver. "I've got to. For all of us." He glanced down again, and said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Isana nodded. "Of course."

"My friend is hurt," Tavi said. "Max. And a lot of my men. Do you think…"

Isana bowed her head to him. 'Til go to the hospital now."

Tavi closed his eyes. "Thank you." He licked his lips, then suddenly his reserve shattered, and his emotions came pouring through to her. They were achingly familiar to Isana-the fear and insecurity that had greeted her whenever Tavi, as a child, had woken from a nightmare in the darkest hours of night.

She went to him at once and hugged him as tightly as she could. She felt him lean some of his weight against her.

"I'm frightened," he whispered.

"I know," she said.

"Don't tell anyone. They mustn't see."

"I know," she said. "I love you, Mother."

Isana could feel it as he spoke it, and she held him even tighter. "And I love you, my son."