Captain's Fury (Page 89)

"Yes," Tavi said. "I want you to come with me."

Varg tilted his head. "Why?"

"There is little time for talk," Tavi said.

Varg’s eyes narrowed but his tail flicked in a gesture Tavi had come to understand as an implied agreement. "Do you act for your First Lord in this?"

"I act to protect his interests," Tavi said.

"But you do this at his bidding?" Varg pressed.

"Our people have a phrase, sir: It is easier to secure forgiveness than permission."

Varg’s ears flicked in amusement. "Ah. What are your intentions for me?"

"I intend to get you out of this prison," Tavi said. "Then smuggle you out of the city. Then I will take you to the coast and return you to the commander of the Canim army who invaded two years ago. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stop our people from tearing one another apart by doing so."

Varg’s chest rumbled with a low growl. "Who leads my people in your land?"

"The warrior Nasaug," Tavi said.

Varg’s ears suddenly swiveled toward Tavi, so alert that they quivered. "Nasaug is in Alera?"

Tavi nodded. "He offered to discuss a cessation of hostilities if you were returned to your people. I have come to do that."

Varg paced closer to the bars. "Tell me," he growled, "why I should trust you."

"You shouldn’t," Tavi said. "I am your enemy, and you are mine. But by sending you back to your people, I help my own. Gadara or not, I need you returned to them, alive and healthy."

Varg’s chest rumbled suddenly. "Gadara. You did not learn that word from me."

"No," Tavi said. "It is what Nasaug called me."

Steel suddenly rang on steel down the hallway, and flashes of colored light splashed onto the walls of the hallway, where the swords of metalcrafters clashed on the stairs.

Tavi gritted his teeth and turned back to Varg. "Do you want out of this hole or not?"

Varg bared his teeth in his imitation of an Aleran smile. "Open the door."

"First," Tavi said, "I will have your word."

Varg tilted his head.

"I’m the one who is getting you out of here, and I can’t do it without your cooperation. If I let you out, you become part of my pack. If I tell you to do something, you do it, no questions or arguing-and I will have your word that you will do no harm to my people while you travel with me."

A scream echoed down the hall. There was a brief pause, then the flickering lights and steely chimes of swordplay resumed.

Varg stared at Tavi for what seemed like a week, though it could not have been more than a few seconds. "You lead," he growled. "I follow. Until you are unworthy of it."

Tavi bared his teeth. "That is insufficient."

"It is the oath my pack swears to me," Varg said. "I am Canim. I will stay in this hole and rot before I become something I am not."

Tavi closed his mouth again and nodded once. "But I will have your promise to do no harm to my people until you are returned to your own."

"Agreed," Varg said. "I will keep my word so long as you keep yours."

"Done," Tavi said.

This was the tricky part. Varg had never lied to Tavi, as far as the young man knew-but Tavi thought it more than a little possible that Varg might sacrifice his personal honor if he deemed it necessary to serve his people. Varg would never be able to escape Alera without help, and Tavi thought him smart enough to realize that-but Varg had shown him, more than once, that the Canim did not think the way Alerans did. Varg might have different thoughts than Tavi on the subject of his escape.

But there was no sense in backing out now.

Tavi thrust the key into the cell’s door and unlocked it, opening it for Varg. He backed away as seven hundred pounds of fang, fur, and muscle squeezed sideways through the cell door.

Once free, Varg crouched, to put his eyes on level with Tavi’s. Then, deliberately, he bowed his head to one side, more deeply than he had before. Tavi returned the gesture, instinctively making his own motion shallower, and Varg flicked his ears in satisfaction. "I follow, gadara."

Tavi nodded once. "This way," he said, and strode back down the hallway. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he turned away from the Cane. If Varg intended to betray him, he would do it now.

A low coughing grunt, the Canim equivalent of laughter, came from behind Tavi.

"No, gadara" Varg growled. "The time to kill you has not yet come."

Tavi glanced over his shoulder and gave Varg an exasperated scowl. "How very reassuring."

Tavi drew his own sword as they reached the stairway and found Araris fighting to hold the landing. Two men in the armor of the Grey Guard were down, being hauled away by their companions, but the rest were dressed in little more than their breeches, their hair mussed from sleep. Most of the Guardsmen had been sound asleep when the alarm sounded and had simply seized their blades and come running.

Now, three men faced Araris, though they had to stand sideways on the stairs, pressed together in the tight space. They were fighting cautiously, and while they could not manage to break through Araris’s defense without exposing their unarmored flesh to his blades, Araris could not get close enough to strike one without being faced with the two blades of his companions.

"We’re ready!" Tavi shouted.

"Go, go!" Araris said. "Hurry, get clear!"

Tavi turned to face the steel portcullis and closed his eyes for a second or two, concentrating. He felt his awareness spread into the sword in his hand, and he could sense the air moving around it as if it had been his own hand. He focused on that awareness, reaching out to the blades timeless spirit, and poured his own effort and will into the steel, strengthening and sharpening it.

He let out a shout and struck at the portcullis, sure that the fury-enhanced blade would be able to cut them free within several strokes.

A virtual hurricane of sparks flew up where the blade contacted the portcullis, scarlet and blue and violet all mixed together, and Tavi felt the shock of impact lance up through the sword’s blade and into his arm. It hurt, as if he’d slammed his unprotected fist into a brick wall, and he let out a snarl of pain.

The bars of the portcullis had not been severed. One of them evinced a slight gouge, but other than that, Tavi may as well have struck the furycrafted steel with a willow branch.

"They improved it," Tavi hissed, clutching at the wrist of his sword arm with his left hand. "They crafted the portcullis! I can’t cut it!"