Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera 3)

The men winced.

"Sir?" Nonus said. "What about the thief, sir? He killed a legionare. He's dangerous."

Tavi glared at them, then said, "You, in the shed. I'm placing you under arrest and binding you by Crown law. Come out now, unarmed, and I'll see to it that you are treated in accord with the Crown's justice."

A moment later, Ehren appeared in the doorway of the shed. He had more muscle than Tavi remembered, and his skin was dark brown from time in the sun that had washed most of the color from his hair. He was dressed in simple if somewhat ragged clothes, and had his hands held up, empty. His eyes widened when he saw Tavi and Max, and he drew in a sudden breath.

"Keep your crowbegotten mouth shut," Tavi told him bluntly. "Centurion. Take him into custody."

Max went to Ehren and casually twisted the smaller man's arm behind him in a common come-along hold, then marched him out of the alley. "You, you, you," Tavi said, pointing at legionares. "Carry these idiots on the ground." He walked around, picking up their surrendered weapons as they did, stacking them in the circle of one arm, like cordwood. "You," Tavi said, as Nonus picked up the dark man. "What is your name?"

The man narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

"Suit yourself," Tavi said, and turned to lead the men from the alley.

A sudden sensation of panic hit him like a shock of cold water.

"Aleran!" Kitai's voice called.

Tavi dropped the swords and dived forward, over them, turning in place. The dark man had broken free from Nonus, and now held a curved, vicious-looking knife. He swept it hard at Tavi's throat. Tavi rolled in the direction of the strike. The knife missed him by a hair. Tavi managed to grab on to the man's arm as he missed, and a hard tug sent him stumbling, so that his crushed knee gave out on him.

He cried out and fell, but started to push himself up again, knife still in hand.

Kitai dropped from the roof of the warehouse and landed on his back, slamming him to the wharf. She seized the crown of his helm with one hand, the neck of his tunic with the other, and with a snarl slammed his head completely through the wooden flooring, shattering the wooden planks beneath his face, trapping his head there.

Then the Marat woman seized his shoulders and twisted.

The dark man's neck broke with an ugly crack.

"Crows," Tavi swore. He scrambled to the man's side and felt -for the pulse in his wrist. He was, however, quite dead. "I wanted him to talk," he told Kitai.

Her feline green eyes almost seemed to glow in the shadows. "He meant to kill you."

"Of course he did," Tavi said. "But now we can't find out who he was."

Kitai shrugged and bent to pick up the curved knife, now lying under the man's limp hand. She held it up, and said, "Bloodcrow."

Tavi peered at the knife, then nodded. "Looks like."

"Subtribune Scipio?" Max called.

"Coming," Tavi called back. He glanced at Nonus and the other legionares, who were staring openly at him.

"Who are you?" Nonus asked in a quiet voice.

"A smart soldier," Tavi replied quietly, "knows when to keep his mouth shut. You've screwed up enough for one day already."

Nonus swallowed and saluted.

"Move it, people," Tavi said, raising his voice. He recovered the swords as the legionares marched out and tucked the curved Kalaran knife through his belt.

"What now?" Kitai asked him quietly.

"Now we take everything to Cyril," Tavi said quietly. "Ehren, Yanar, all of it. The captain will know what to do." More red lightning played overhead, and Tavi shivered. "Come on. I've got a feeling we don't have any time to lose."

Chapter 27

"Isana," Giraldi rumbled. "Steadholder, I'm sorry, but there's no more time. You need to wake."

Isana tried for a moment to remain in the blissful darkness of sleep, but then forced herself to open her eyes and sit up. She felt thoroughly wretched, exhausted, and wanted nothing more than lie down once more.

But that was not an option.

Isana blinked whatever exhaustion she could from her eyes. ' "Thank you, centurion."

"Ma'am," Giraldi said, with a nod, and stepped back from the bed.

Veradis looked up from where she sat beside Fade and the healing tub, holding the unconscious slave's hand. "Apologies, Steadholder," the healer murmured with a weak smile. "I have no more than an hour to give today. "

"It's all right, Veradis," Isana replied. "If you hadn't given me a chance to get some sleep, I'd never have lasted this far. May I have a moment to..."

Veradis nodded with another faint smile. "Of course."

Isana availed herself of the facilities and returned to kneel beside Veradis, slipping her own hand between hers and Fade's, and reassuming control of the steady effort of furycraft required to fight the man's infection. The first time she had handed the crafting off to Veradis, it had been a difficult, delicate maneuver-one only possible because of an unusual degree of similarity in their styles of furycraft, in fact. Repetition had made the extraordinary feat commonplace over the past twenty days.

Or was it twenty-one, Isana thought wearily. Or nineteen. The days began blurring together once the low, heavy storm clouds above the city had rolled in. Even now, they roiled restlessly above them, flickering with sullen thunder and crimson light but withholding the rain that should have come with it. The storm cast the world into continual twilight and darkness, and she had no way to measure the passing of time.

Even so, Isana had managed, barely, to hang on to the furycrafting that was Fade's only hope. Without Veradis giving her the odd hour or two to sleep, now and then, Fade would long since have died.

"How is he?" Isana asked. She settled down in the seat Veradis rose from.

The young healer once more bound Isana's hand to Fade's with soft rope. "The rot has lost some ground," Veradis said quietly. "But he's been in the tub too long, and he hasn't kept enough food down. His skin is developing a number of sores, which..." She shook her head, took a breath and began again. "You know what happens then."

Isana nodded. "Other sicknesses are pressing in."

"He's getting weaker, Steadholder," Veradis said. "If he doesn't rally soon-"

They were interrupted as the room's door banged opened. "Lady Veradis," said an armed legionare in a strained, urgent voice. "You must hurry. He's dying."

Veradis grimaced, her eyes sunken and weary. Then she rose, and said to Isana, "I don't know if I shall be able to return again," she said quietly.