First Lord's Fury (Page 46)

"How could they have done it at all?" Veradis asked.

"We don’t have unlimited furypower at our disposal," Ehren said, his voice carrying a slight edge. "The enemy has furycraft, too. We thus have a finite number of secure furies. Many of them had been diverted to protect the majority of the political and military resources of the Realm, which were at the Senate meeting."

"What are the odds they could have brought the First Lady down anywhere inside the city or encampment without being seen?" Amara asked.

"Bad," Ehren replied frankly. "She’s been everywhere since the capital. Helped a lot of people. She’s better known on sight among the populace than Sextus ever was." He sighed and faced Amara squarely. "Aquitaine wasn’t behind it. He couldn’t have done it without me finding out."

Amara grimaced. "You’re sure?"

"Very."

"Then it was the enemy," Amara said.

"It seems likely," Ehren said. "We know that the vord Queen still controls a cadre of skilled Knights Aeris and Citizens."

"If the vord have her… if they flew out, they could be miles from here by now," Veradis breathed.

"Aquitaine is occupied," Amara said. "And the temptation for him to remain occupied is going to be great."

Ehren tilted his head to one side, a gesture of allowance, while spreading the fingers of one hand. He looked torn.

"Help us," Amara said.

"There is a lot more at stake here than one woman’s life," Ehren replied quietly.

"Cursor," Amara said, "you learned from my example that it was wrong to blindly follow a First Lord. That you could find yourself used. So it is time to ask yourself whether you serve the Realm first – or the people who are the Realm. Gaius Isana was Steadholder Isana first. And freeman Isana before that." She smiled tightly, and delivered the next sentence flat, without the coating of gentleness that would have made it slide home like a well-honed knife. "And she was your friend’s mother before that."

Ehren gave her a sour look but leavened it with a nod of thanks, that she hadn’t driven that last home in the properly manipulative Academy fashion.

"Aquitaine has all that remains of the Realm to stand with him tonight," Veradis said. "Who does the First Lady have?"

Ehren tapped a toe several times on the ground and nodded once, sharply. "Come with me."

They followed him as he started through the encampment, moving at a quick walk. "Where are we going?" Amara asked.

"Every scrap of battlecraft we have is being focused right now," Ehren said. "There’s a force of better than five hundred thousand vord closing on us. They’ll reach the defenses within the hour."

"How did they get here so swiftly?"

"We’re not sure," Ehren said. "But logic suggests that they repaired the severed causeways."

"What?" Veradis demanded. "Could they possibly have done that in the time they’ve had? It would take our own engineers months, maybe years."

"The work isn’t complicated," Ehren said. "Just heavy and repetitive. If they had enough gifted earthcrafters focused on the task it could be done relatively quickly. The causeways weren’t built by Citizen-level skills. For healing over the cuts, a powerful Citizen with the proper knowledge could theoretically repair several miles a day."

Amara let out a blistering curse. "That’s what that little slive meant." At Ehren’s glance, she clarified. "Kalarus Brencis Minoris. The vord Queen’s slave-master. Before I killed him, he said he’d been focusing on recruiting more earthcrafters, as ordered."

Ehren hissed between his teeth. "I remember the report now. We should have put it together."

"Hindsight is always better," Amara said, walking beside him.

"But isn’t that a good thing?" Veradis asked. "If the roads are restored, perhaps Octavian’s forces can get here more quickly."

"It’s unlikely they’ve repaired all the causeways," Amara replied. "Most probably they’ve rebuilt a single artery for their own use, to move an attack force here rapidly. They’re coming up from the south, mainly, near the capital. Octavian is far west and a bit north of us."

"And he’s only got two Legions." Ehren sighed. "Assuming he got back from Canea with everyone and all those freed slaves stuck to their banners. Maybe fifteen thousand men, total."

"Sir Ehren," Amara repeated. "Where are we going?"

"Gaius Attis," Ehren said, pronouncing the name without the hesitation of unfamiliarity, "retained a certain number of skilled individuals for his personal use. I have the authority to dispatch them as needed."

"Singulares?" Veradis asked.

"Assassins," Amara said, without emphasis.

"Ah. A little of both," Ehren replied. "Attis felt a need to be sure he had a hand ready to move quickly, if necessary."

"To strike at Octavian if it seemed possible," Amara said.

"I rather think they were primarily intended for his ex-wife," Ehren replied. "Primarily."

Amara gave him a sharp glance. "And you are in charge of them? You know when they are to be used? And you have the authority to send them to help us?"

Ehren bowed to her from the waist, without slowing down.

Amara watched him steadily. Then she said, "You are either a very good friend, Sir Ehren – or a very, very good spy."

"Ah," he said, smiling. "Or a little of both."

They walked to the rear corner of the camp, where the tents that were usually reserved for critical noncombat personnel were pitched, according to the standard format for a Legion camp. They usually housed smiths, farriers, valets, cooks, mule skinners, and the like. Ehren walked straight to an oversized tent that displaced four of the regulation-sized structures, opened the flap, and walked in.

A dozen swords leapt from their scabbards in slithering, steely whispers, and Amara straightened from ducking into the tent to find a blade not six inches from her throat. She looked down its length, to the oft-scarred hand that held it in a steady grip, and let her gaze track up the arm of the swordsman to his face. He was enormous, dark of hair, his beard clipped in a short, precise cut. His eyes were steely and cold. It didn’t seem that he held the sword so much as that the weapon seemed to grow from his extended hand. Amara knew him.

"Aldrick," hissed a woman’s voice. A small, richly curvaceous woman wearing a plain linen gown with a tight-fitting leather bodice stepped out from behind the swordsman. Her hair was dark and curly, her eyes glittering, darting left and right at odd intervals. The smile on her face did not match the eyes at all. Her hands opened and closed in excitement, and she licked her lips as she slid closer to Amara and pushed the end of the blade very gently down. "Look, lord. It’s the nice wind girl who left us to die naked in the Kalaran wilderness. And I never thanked her for it."