First Lord's Fury (Page 119)

Granted, Crassus’s levelheaded style wasn’t necessarily a perfect one where the Canim were concerned. An officer of their corps, a young Shuaran, had dropped a challenge to Crassus’s authority within hours, at which point his elder half brother Maximus had promptly brought one of Raucus’s strengths of character to the forefront – the ability to make a decisive and unmistakable statement.

When the Cane went for Crassus’s throat, Maximus threw him through a building.

It was a rather absolute form of diplomacy though Fidelias could only assume that Octavian had rubbed off on Maximus to some degree: It had been a wooden building rather than a stone one. The Cane in question was expected to recover from his injuries – eventually. Varg had denied the uppity Cane the services of Aleran healers, which Crassus had promptly offered.

Fidelias’s grasp of Canim was still fairly rough, but Varg’s comment had amounted to something like, "Your stupidity will get fewer good warriors killed if you have time to reflect on today’s mistake before leading them."

Octavian dropped his head back at Fidelias’s recounting and laughed. His voice came out sounding a little flat within the privacy windcrafting he had woven around them. "One-eared Shuaran pack leader? Tarsh?"

"Aye, Your Highness, the same."

Octavian nodded. The two of them were walking the perimeter of the camp’s defenses as the sunset closed, after another day of hard marching, inspecting the work of the Legions and the warriors. "Maximus has wanted to have an excuse to take a swing at Tarsh ever since we met him in Molvar. And I can’t imagine that Varg would be sorry about being given a reason not to place anyone under Tarsh’s command." Octavian nodded. "What of the survivors from Riva?"

The Legions had found a handful of folk clever or fortunate enough to have successfully hidden from the vord during the days of occupation. None of them were in what would be considered good condition though few bore any injuries. "The children are showing signs of beginning to recover," Fidelias said. "The others… some of them have family who might be alive. If we get them to someplace warm and quiet and safe, they have a chance."

"Someplace warm, quiet, and safe," said the Princeps, his eyes hardening. "That can be a rare thing even in times of peace."

"True enough."

The Princeps stopped in his tracks. They were a short distance from the nearest sentries. "Your best guess. Could Crassus command this force in… my absence?"

"In your absence, as your lieutenant, yes," Fidelias replied immediately. "In the event of your loss, Captain? Not for long."

Octavian eyed him sharply. "Why?"

"Because the Canim respect Varg, and Varg respects you. The Free Aleran Legion respects you – but if you weren’t here, they would follow Varg’s lead."

The Princeps grunted, frowning. Then he said, "Are you telling me that I should name a Canim the second-in-command of our forces?"

Fidelias opened his mouth and closed it again. He blinked, thinking it over. "I believe… that Varg would have a better chance of holding the force together than Crassus, or anyone else in the First Aleran’s command structure."

"Except, perhaps, Valiar Marcus," Octavian mused.

Fidelias snorted. "Yes, well, that’s not an option now, is it?"

Octavian regarded him steadily and said nothing.

Fidelias tilted his head as it slowly dawned on him what Octavian meant. "Oh, Your Highness. You couldn’t possibly do that."

"Why not?" Octavian asked. "No one but my personal guard and Demos’s crew know the truth about you. They can keep a secret. So, Marcus runs the force until it can unite with the Legions, passes along Crassus’s orders, and is watched by the Maestro – who is, I believe, still uncertain as to why you aren’t hanging on a cross being eaten by vord."

"I’m a bit unclear on that point myself, at times."

Octavian’s visage hardened briefly. "I will do as I see fit with your life. It is mine to spend. Remember that."

Fidelias frowned and inclined his head slightly. "As you wish, my lord."

"That’s right," Octavian said, some measure of bitter humor touching the tone.

Fidelias studied the young man for a moment and realized that… the Princeps was torn over some decision. Normally he was so confident, so driven; Fidelias had never seen him like this. There was uncertainty hovering behind his words, hesitance: Octavian himself wasn’t sure what his next steps would be.

"Are you planning on leaving the force, sir?" Fidelias asked carefully.

"At some point, it’s inevitable," Octavian replied calmly. "If nothing else, I will be obliged to make personal contact with the Legions in Calderon – and hope to the great furies whoever is in charge over there has had sense enough to listen to my uncle."

Fidelias grunted. "But… that isn’t what you think will happen."

Octavian grimaced, and said, "Someone has to command the men, regardless of what happens to me. We have to take down the vord Queen – and her cadre of captured or treacherous Citizens. I will, by necessity, be in the center of that conflict. And… the odds seem to be long against me."

Fidelias debated on how to respond to the moment of vulnerability the Princeps was showing. He finally just began chuckling.

Octavian frowned at him and lifted an imperious eyebrow.

"Long odds," he said. "Bloody crows, sir. Long odds. That’s bloody funny."

"I don’t see what’s so amusing about it."

"Naturally, you don’t," Fidelias said, still chuckling. "The furyless boy from the country who stopped an invasion."

"I didn’t really stop it," Tavi said. "Doroga stopped it. I just…"

"Completely demolished an operation backed by the most dangerous High Lord and Lady in the Realm," Fidelias said. "I was there. Remember?" The last words were not bereft of irony.

Octavian gave a small inclination of his head in acknowledgment of the touch.

"The boy who personally saved the First Lord’s life in his second term at the Academy. Who took command of a Legion and fought the Canim to a standoff – and who then stole Varg from the most tightly guarded prison of the Realm and brokered the first truce in history with the Canim to get them out of the Realm. The young upstart Princeps who pitted himself against a continent full of vord and hostile Canim and won."

"I got my people and Varg’s out alive," Octavian corrected sharply. "I haven’t won anything. Not yet."

Fidelias grunted. "Sir… honestly. Suppose you defeat the vord here. Suppose you unite our people again, take Alera back. Will that be a victory?"