Codex Alera 02 - Academ's Fury Part 16

Tavi regarded it with a blank expression. "I only carry the messages, sir."

"Do you," said Varg. "Let it be on your own heads, then."

"You see, my lord," hissed a higher-pitched growling voice from the doorway. "They have no respect for you or for our people. We should be rid of this place and return to the Blood Lands."

Tavi and Varg both turned to face the doorway, where a Cane Tavi didn't recognize crouched. It wore no armor, but was draped in long robes of deep scarlet. Its pawlike hands were far thinner and more spidery than Varg's, and its reddish fur looked thin and unhealthy. The muzzle, too, was narrow and pointed, and its tongue lolled out to one side, nickering nervously. "Sarl," Varg growled. "I did not send for you."

The second Cane drew its hood back from its head and tilted it to one side in an exaggerated gesture that Tavi suddenly understood. The Cane was baring its throat to Varg-a gesture of deference or respect, evidently.

"Apologies, mighty lord," Sarl said. "But I came to report to you that word has come, and that the change of guard would arrive in two days' time."

Tavi pursed his lips. He had never heard a Cane speak Aleran, except for Varg. He could not imagine that Sarl had addressed its superior in language Tavi could understand by mere chance.

"Very good, Sarl," Varg growled. "Out."

"As you wish, lord," Sarl replied, baring its throat again, hunching low. The Cane backed away, sc.r.a.ping, and hurried back into the corridor.

"My secretary," Varg said. Tavi could only guess, but he thought the Amba.s.sador's growling tone was somewhere between pensive and amused. "He attends to matters he thinks beneath my notice."

"I am familiar with the concept," Tavi answered.

Varg's teeth showed as its muzzle lolled open. "Yes. You would be. That is all, cub."

Tavi began to bow, but then a thought struck him. The gesture might not be the same from the Cane's point of view. What was a motion of respect to Alerans might be something very different in a society whose members might fight to tear out one another's throats with their teeth, like wolves. A wolf who crouched and ducked its chin in closer to its body was preparing to fight. Certainly, Varg was aware of the difference in gestures, as it obviously didn't seem to regard bows as a challenge to combat, but it still seemed, to Tavi, to be impolite to make the gesture the Amba.s.sador's instincts surely twinged at whenever it saw.

Instead, Tavi tilted his head a bit to one side, mimicking the gesture Varg himself had made earlier, and said, "Then I take my leave, Excellency."

He started to walk past Varg, but the Cane suddenly put out a heavy paw-hand and blocked Tavi's way.

Tavi swallowed and glanced up at the Cane. He met the Amba.s.sador's eyes for a moment.

Varg regarded him, fangs gleaming, and said, "Light your candle at my fire before you go. Your night eyes are weak. I'll not have you stumbling in my corridor and bawling like a puppy."

Tavi exhaled slowly and tilted his head again. "Yes, sir."

Varg s.h.i.+fted its shoulders, an odd motion, and prowled back to the pool.

Tavi went to the coals and lit his candle against them, this time s.h.i.+elding the flame with his hand. He watched as the Cane crouched, as easy on all fours as upright, and drank directly from the pool. But he dared not simply stare, as fascinating as it might be. Tavi turned and hurried out.

Just before he crossed the threshold again, Varg growled, "Aleran."

Tavi paused.

"I have rats."

Tavi blinked. "Sir?"

"Rats," Varg growled. It turned its head to look over one armored shoulder. Tavi could see little more than the gleam of fangs and red eyes. "I hear them at night. There are rats in my walls."

Tavi frowned. "Oh."

"Out," said Varg.

Tavi hurried back into the hallway and started retreating back toward the Citadel proper. He walked slowly, mulling over the Amba.s.sador's words. Clearly, it wasn't simply speaking about a rat problem. The rodents could be a nuisance, of course, but surely one the Cane could deal with. Even more puzzling was the reference to walls. The walls of the Canim enclosure in the Black Hall were made of stone. Rats were industrious tunnelers and gnawers, but they could not bore through solid rock.

Varg struck Tavi as the sort of being who did not spend his words idly. Tavi had already sized up the Amba.s.sador as the kind of warrior who would fight with simple, deadly efficiency. It seemed reasonable to a.s.sume that given any choice in the matter, Varg would waste no more effort on words than on bloodshed.

Tavi's eyes fell to the flame on his candle. Then to the walls. He took a pair of quick steps to stand beside the wall nearest him and lowered his hand.

In the still air of the hallway, his candle flickered and leaned, very slightly.

His heart started pounding faster, and Tavi followed the direction of the flame, moving slowly down the wall. In only a moment, he found the source of the small draft-a tiny opening in the wall, one he had not seen before. He placed the heel of his hand against it and pushed.

A section of the stone wall slid open soundlessly, previously unseen seams splitting into visibility. Tavi held up the candle. Just beyond the hidden pa.s.sageway, stairs led down into the stone.

The Canim had a pa.s.sageway into the Deeps.

Tavi was still too far from the entrance to the Black Hall to see its guards clearly, and he could only hope that they could not see him clearly, either. s.h.i.+elding the light of the candle in his hand once more, he slipped onto the stairs and went down them as silently as he possibly could.

Voices from ahead made him stop, listening.

The first speaker was Canim-Sarl, Tavi was sure of it. He recognized the cringing tone to its snarling voice. "And I tell you that all is in readiness. There is nothing to fear."

"Talk is cheap, Cane," said a human voice, so quiet that Tavi could hardly hear it. "Show me."

"That was not a part of our agreement," the Cane said. There was a s.h.i.+vering, flapping sound, like a dog shaking its chops. "You must believe my words."

"Suppose I don't?" asked the other.

"It is too late to change your mind now," said Sarl, a nasty slur to the words. "Let us not discuss what cannot-" The Cane's words cut off suddenly.

"What is it?" asked the second voice.

"A scent," Sarl said, a hungry little whine coloring his tone. "Someone near."

Tavi's heart raced, and he fled up the stairs as quietly as his weary legs could manage. Once in the hall, he all but sprinted down it, back toward the Citadel. As he approached, the Canim guards rose, growling, eyes intent upon him.

"His Excellency dismissed me," Tavi panted.

The guards traded a look, then one of them opened the gate. No sooner had Tavi fled out it and heard it shut behind him than the shadows stirred, and Sarl appeared in the Black Hall, hurrying along in a hunched shuffle. Its pointed ears went flat to its skull when he spied Tavi, and the Cane crouched a little, lips lifting away from the fangs on one side of its muzzle.

Tavi stared back at the Cane. He needed no intuition to understand the flash of raw, hungry hatred he saw in the Canim secretary's eyes.

Sarl spun and shuffled back into the shadows, motions purposeful. Tavi fled, fear making his legs tremble, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the residents of the Black Hall.

Chapter 15

Amara nudged her horse up to walk beside Bernard's in the morning sunlight, and murmured, "Something's wrong."

Bernard frowned and glanced at her. They were riding at the head of the column of legionares legionares from Garrison. Two dozen local holders, veterans of the Legions themselves, rode armed and armored as auxiliary cavalry troops, and two dozen more bore the great hunting bows common to the holders of the region and marched in file behind the from Garrison. Two dozen local holders, veterans of the Legions themselves, rode armed and armored as auxiliary cavalry troops, and two dozen more bore the great hunting bows common to the holders of the region and marched in file behind the legionares legionares. Behind them rumbled a pair of heavy gargant-drawn carts, followed by Doroga on his ma.s.sive black gargant, and the column's rear guard, most of the knights Bernard had under his command, mounted and grim.

Bernard himself had donned his helmet in addition to his mail, and carried his strung bow across his saddle in one hand, an arrow already on the string. "You noticed it, then."

Amara swallowed and nodded. "There are no deer."

Bernard nodded, a barely perceptible gesture. His lips scarcely moved when he spoke. "This time of year, the column should be scaring them out every few hundred yards."

"What does it mean?"

Bernard's shoulders s.h.i.+fted in a slight shrug. "Ordinarily, I'd think it meant that another body of troops had already driven them out, and that they may be preparing a surprise attack."

"And now?" Amara asked.

His lips lifted up away from his canines. "I think these creatures may already have driven them out, and that they may be preparing a surprise attack."

Amara licked her lips, glancing at the rolling woodlands around them. "What do we do?"

"Relax. Trust our scouts," Bernard said. "Keep an eye out. There might be a number of other explanations for some missing deer."

"Such as?"

"Aric's holders may have slaughtered all they could shoot quickly in preparation for our arrival, to help feed the troops, for one. I've had to put down a number of herdbane who remained in the valley after the battle. One of those could have killed the local does during birthing over the winter. They do that sometimes."

"What if that hasn't happened?" Amara asked.

"Then be ready to take to the air," Bernard said.

"I've been ready to do that since before we left the steadholt," she replied, her voice wry. "I'm not much one for feeling hunted."

Bernard smiled, and shared the warmth of it with her, meeting her eyes. "I'll not be hunted in my own home, dear Countess. And I'll not suffer my guests to be hunted, either." He gestured back toward the column with a tilt of his head. "Patience. Faith. Alera's Legions have seen her through a thousand years in a world where enemies of all sorts have tried to destroy her. They will see us through this, too."

Amara sighed. "I'm sorry, Bernard. But I've seen too many threats to Alera that a Legion could do precisely nothing about. How much farther to Aricholt?"

"We'll be there before midday," Bernard told her, "You'll want to see the camp Aric told us about, I take it?"

"Naturally," Bernard said. "Before nightfall."

"Why not let your Knights Aeris handle it?"

"Because in my experience, wind rider, Knights Aeris miss a very great deal of what happens underneath branch and bough since they're soaring several dozen yards above them." He smiled again. "Besides, what fun would that be?"

Amara raised her eyebrows. "You're enjoying this," she accused.

Bernard's eyes returned to their casual, careful scan of the woods around them, and he shrugged. "It was a long winter. And I haven't been out in the field for more than a few hours at a time since I became Count Calderon. I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

"Madman," Amara said.

"Oh come now," Bernard said. "You have to admit, it's exciting. A mysterious, dangerous new creature. A possible threat to the Realm. The chance to challenge it, defeat it."

"Dear furies." Amara sighed. "You're worse than a boy."

Bernard laughed, and there was both joy and something unpleasant in it.

The corded muscles in his neck tightened and relaxed with the horse's movements, and his broad hands held the great bow steady. Amara was again struck by the sheer size of the man, and well remembered the deadly skill and power in him. There was something wolfish in his manner, something that suggested that his quiet smile was only a mask. That something far more grim, and far more ready to taste blood lay just beneath.

"Amara," he rumbled. "Something threatens my home. After what happened before, I know what is at stake. And I wouldn't want anyone else to be in charge of dealing with that threat." His hazel green eyes reflected bark and newly sprouted leaves in equal measure, dangerous and bright. "I am a hunter. I will hunt this creature down and hold it. And when the First Lord sends help enough, I will destroy it."

The words were calm, matter-of-fact, barely laced with that lurking ferocity, and Amara found herself feeling irrationally comforted by it. Her shoulders loosened a little, and the trembling that had been threatening her hands receded.

"Besides," Bernard drawled, "it's a lovely morning for a ride in the country with a pretty girl. Why not enjoy it?"

Amara rolled her eyes and began to smile, but Serai's words echoed quietly in her heart.

Of course you'll have to leave him.

She drew in a breath, forced her expression into a neutral mask, and said, "I think it's better for all of us if I remove any potential distraction, Your Excellency. Your mind should be upon your duty."

Bernard blinked and looked at her with open surprise on his face. "Amara?"

"If you will excuse me, Count," she said in a polite voice, and nudged her horse out of line, letting him nibble at new gra.s.s while she waited for the column to pa.s.s her. She felt Bernard's eyes on her for a moment, but she did not acknowledge him.

She waited until the carts had pa.s.sed, then nudged her horse to pace alongside Doroga's giant gargant. The horse refused to move within twenty feet of the beast, despite Amara's best efforts.

"Doroga," she called up to the Marat chieftain.

"I am," he called back. He watched her struggle with the nervous horse, his expression amused. "You wish something?"

"To speak to you," she said. "I was hoping-" She broke off as a low branch slapped her in the face, a stinging annoyance. "Hoping to ask you some questions."

Doroga rumbled out a rolling laugh. "Your head will get knocked off. Your chieftain Gaius will come take it from my hide." He s.h.i.+fted an arm and tossed a rope of braided leather over the side of the saddle-mat to dangle five feet from the earth. "Come up."

Amara dipped her head to him and pa.s.sed the reins of her horse off to a nearby holder. She dismounted, and jogged over to pace Doroga's gargant. She seized the saddle rope and hauled herself carefully up to its back, where Doroga clamped a big fist down on her forearm and hauled her to a more stable perch.

"So," Doroga rumbled, turning back to face forward. "I see that Bernard ate the wrong soup."

Amara blinked at him. "What?"

Doroga smiled. "When I was young and had just taken my wife as mate, I woke up the next morning, went to my fire, and ate the soup there. I declared it the best soup that any woman ever made for a man. To everyone in the camp."

Amara lifted her eyebrows. "Your wife hadn't made it?"