Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera 3)

The three of them started out at a hard pace, and though Tavi's leg ached from the effort, it supported his weight easily enough. The first warehouse was open and lit as Legion teamsters unloaded the wagons of foodstuffs the Subtribunes Logistica had scrounged-like the one they'd left back on the road. Haradae, the seniormost Subtribune Logistica, a watery-eyed young man from Rhodes, looked up from a ledger book and frowned at Tavi. "Scipio? Where is your wagon?"

"On the way," Tavi called back, slowing. "Have you seen any of Erasmus's eighth spear out tonight?"

"Just went by, not five minutes ago, chasing some thief," he said, hooking a thumb. "But I thought they were on gate duty, not night watch."

"Erasmus thought that, too," Tavi improvised. "No one's at the gate."

Haradae shook his head and checked his list. "Here. Bandages. I'll have some set out for Erasmus after he's done lashing them."

Max growled under his breath, "Think he has any coffins?"

"Come on," Tavi said, and picked up the pace again.

They found the body in the shadows beside the fifth warehouse in the row, and Tavi's heart leapt into his throat as he peered at the empty black shape in the darkness. "Is it...?"

"No," Kitai said. "A legionare. He is older than Ehren and has a beard." She bent and casually tugged at the corpse. Light gleamed on steel for a second. "Knife in the neck. Well thrown."

"Shhhh," Tavi said, and held up a hand. They were quiet for a moment. The lazy river whispered now and then beneath them. The wooden wharves creaked and groaned. Tavi heard a pair of men arguing in tight, tense voices meant not to carry. Then there was a heavy thud.

Tavi drew his sword as silently as he could and nodded to Max. The pair of them started down the walkway in a hurried prowl. They were able to slip up behind a group of seven legionares. One of them held a single, dim furylamp while two others spoke and the rest stood in a loose half circle around a weather-beaten wooden storage shed, perhaps five feet high and wide and ten deep. One of the men held a wounded arm in close to his body, a kerchief wrapped around his hand in a crude bandage.

Max narrowed his eyes and crouched, but Tavi lifted a hand, silently signaling him to halt. A second gesture told Max to follow his lead, and Tavi walked boldly into the dim light of the lamp.

"And just what the crows do you men think you're doing?" he demanded.

The legionares whirled to face him. The two men arguing froze, startled expressions of guilt on their faces. Tavi recognized them, though he did not know them by name-apart from the wounded man. It was Nonus, the legionare who had given Tavi trouble his first day in the camp. His companion Bortus stood uneasily beside him. Though no one had ever commented on it, Tavi suspected that a quiet word from Max had convinced Valiar Marcus to transfer them to Erasmus's century-a less-senior century within his cohort, which had doubtless resulted in a reduction in pay.

"Well?" Tavi demanded. "Who is the file leader of this sorry bunch?"

"Sir," mumbled one of two debaters. He wore his helmet sloppily unfastened, cheek flaps loose. His voice had a Kalaran accent. "I am, Subtribune Scipio."

Tavi tilted his head and kept his face fixed in a steadily darkening scowl. "Name, soldier?"

The man glanced about uneasily. "Yanar, sir."

"Yanar. You want to tell me why one of your men is dead in that alley and you've another wounded, instead of being at your crowbegotten post?"

"Sir, Creso was murdered, sir!"

"I assumed that from the way a knife was sticking out of his neck," Tavi said in a quietly acidic tone. "But that is hardly important. Why was he murdered there and not at his post?"

"We were pursuing a criminal, sir!" Yanar stammered. "He fled."

"Yes, file leader. I did manage to deduce that if you were pursuing him, he most probably had fled. But why are you here instead of at your post?"

"Yanar," growled one of the legionares. He was a man of medium size, slender in build, dark of hair and eye. Tavi did not know his name. "He's just one prating little subbie." He jerked his head at the storage shed. "Maybe he tries to help us. We tell him not to, but maybe he goes in first. Maybe our boy killed him and Creso both."

Yanar turned back to Tavi, a look of ugly speculation in his eyes.

"Careful, Yanar," Tavi said in a quiet voice. "You're getting near to treason."

"It's only treason," said the dark man, "if you get caught."

Yanar narrowed his eyes at Tavi and said, "K-"

Tavi presumed the man was going to say "kill him," but he decided not to waste a perfectly good second in listening. He took a bounding step forward and struck straight down with his gladius. The blow landed on the crown of Yanar's untied helmet, slamming it forward and down, breaking the legionare's nose and roughly gouging at one cheek. Tavi slammed his armored shoulder into Yanar s chest, knocking him down, ducked the swing of another sword, and kicked against the dark man's knee, crushing the joint, sending him to the wharf with a cry of pain.

Tavi parried another sword strike, and attacked, forcing the legionare to react with a textbook-perfect return stroke-one that would have been excellent in the press of battle. It wasn't a street-fighting move. Tavi disengaged his blade from his foe's, took a step forward to the diagonal, and slammed his armored fist into the man's nose with all of his own strength plus his opponent's momentum, stunning him for an instant. Tavi drove the pommel of his sword into the man's armored temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Max came rushing up to Tavi's side, but the legionares around him had fallen back in shock at the sudden, vicious assault.

"Not bad," Max observed.

Tavi shrugged.

"All right, gentlemen," Tavi snarled at the rest of them. "So far, you've only deserted your post, presumably at the orders of this idiot." Tavi pointed his sword at the unconscious Yanar. "The consequences for that aren't pleasant, but they aren t too terrible. Everyone who wishes to add insubordination, failure to obey an officer, and attempted murder to their list of offenses should keep your weapons in hand and give me an instant of trouble."

There was a short silence. Then Nonus swallowed, drew his sword, and dropped it to the wharf. Bortus followed, as did the other legionares.

"Return to your posts," Tavi said, voice cold. "Wait there to be relieved while I get your centurion out of his cot and send him to deal with you."