First Lord's Fury (Codex Alera 6)

His stomach gurgled and twisted in knots. One fine thing about being up in the prow was that the ship's sails hid him from view of the stern. He'd already lost what little breakfast he'd had over the rail with no one the wiser. And, with the Slive running out in front of the two columns of ships sailing in neat lines behind them, the reputation of the invincibility of the House of Gaius was neatly preserved.

"See?" Tavi choked out a moment later. "Little bumps like that pose no problem."

Max grinned easily. "Demos sent me up to tell you that he suggests we stop for a meal in the next hour or so. His woodcrafters are getting tired."

"We don't have time," Tavi said.

"There will still be plenty of time to break our ships into tiny bits of kindling before we get to Phrygia," Max said. "No sense in doing everything the first day."

Tavi glanced back at him wryly. He took a deep breath, thinking, and nodded. "Very well. At his discretion, Demos will signal the fleet to heave to for a rest." He squinted ahead against the glare of daylight on ice and snow. "How far have we come?"

Max held up his hands and crafted a farseeing before his eyes, peering at a Shieldwall tower they were passing. A number was carved into its stone side, over the entry door for the troops stationed there. "Five hundred and thirty-six miles. In seven hours." He shook his head, and said, his voice wistful. "That's the next best thing to flying."

Tavi glanced back at Max, thoughtfully. "Better, really. We're moving more troops than every flier in Alera could carry. Think of what it could mean."

"What?" Max said. "Moving troops around faster?"

"Or food," Tavi said. "Or supplies. Or trade goods."

Max lifted both eyebrows, then lowered them, frowning. "You could move freight from one end of the Wall to the other in a few days. Even on causeways, it's a six-week trip to Phrygia from Antillus. You have to go all the way down to Alera Imperia, then..." His voice trailed off, and he coughed. "Um. Sorry."

Tavi shook his head, forcing a small smile onto his mouth. "It's all right. No use pretending it didn't happen. My grandfather knew what he was doing. I probably would have done the same."

"Taurg crap," Max said scornfully. "No. Your grandfather killed hundreds of thousands of his own people, Tavi."

Tavi felt a hot surge of anger in his chest, and he glowered at Max.

Max faced him, one eyebrow raised. "What?" he asked in a reasonable tone. "You gonna fight me every time I tell you the truth? I'm not scared of you, Calderon."

Tavi gritted his teeth and looked away. "He died for the Realm, Max."

"Took a good many people with him when he went, too," Max replied. "I'm not saying he didn't do what needed doing. I'm not saying he was a bad First Lord. I'm just saying that you aren't much like him." He shrugged. "I'm thinking that your solutions wouldn't look much like his did."

Tavi frowned. "How so?"

Max gestured at the front of the ship. "Old Sextus never would have had his ship up front, where disaster could hit it if our fliers got sloppy or unlucky. He'd..." Max scrunched up his eyes thoughtfully. "He'd have positioned two or three of either his worst captains or his best up here. His worst to get rid of the deadweight if another ship went down, his best because they'd be the ones most likely to challenge his authority."

Tavi grunted. "No good. I need all my captains. And Demos is the best captain in my fleet."

"Don't let Varg hear you say that," Max said. "And speaking of taking pointless risks..."

Tavi rolled his eyes. "I had to. If the ritualists had been given time to whip the Canim into a frenzy over the two makers we killed, Varg wouldn't have dared to leave them back at Antillus for fear he'd lose control. By changing the issue to a question of Varg's personal honor, it brought the whole thing to a screaming halt. Varg is the dead makers' champion now, not the ritualists. He's still in control."

"So when he kills you, it will be orderly," Max said.

"It won't come to an actual duel," Tavi said confidently. "Neither one of us wants that. We're only doing it to force the ritualists to hold back, rather than urging other Canim to take action and maybe remove Varg from power. But if Varg can pull the ritualists' fangs, a duel won't be necessary. We'll resolve it before it comes to bloodshed." After a hesitation, he added, "Probably."

Max snorted. "What if he doesn't? He brought the ritualists with him, you know."

Tavi shrugged. "I doubt they all want me dead, Max. And they've got experience fighting the vord. He'd be a fool to leave them behind. He'll handle them."

"All right. But what if he doesn't?"

Tavi stared out at the path ahead of them for a silent moment, and said, "Then... I'll have to kill him. If I can."

They hung on to the safety lines while the Slive bucked and shimmied over the ice. After a moment, Max put a hand on Tavi's shoulder, then made his way carefully aft, to relay the heave-to command to Captain Demos.

Chapter 18

For Amara, the next several hours were a desperate blur.

She came down square in the middle of the Crown Legion, whose legionares had been stationed at Alera Imperia for years, and many of whom would recognize her on sight. She nearly skewered herself on a spear, and the startled legionare she'd half landed on nearly gave her a killing stroke with his gladius. Only the swift intervention of the legionare beside him kept him from plunging the wickedly sharp steel into Amara's throat.

After that, it was a matter of convincing the men that only their centurion could deal with her, and that centurion's Tribune would need to do the same, and so on, all the way up to the captain of the Crown Legion.

Captain Miles was a more formal-looking version of his older brother, Araris Valerian. He had the same innocuous height, the same solid, leanly muscled build. His hair was a few shades lighter than Araris's, but then both of them were showing enough threads of silver to make the distinction a fine one these days. Sir Miles limped over to her, moving briskly, every inch the model of a Legion captain, his face darkening with wrath. No surprise, that. Amara couldn't imagine a captain worth his salt who would be thrilled to have some kind of administrative matter thrust into his hands now, when the battle was freshly under way.

Miles gave Amara one look, and his face went absolutely pale.

"Bloody crows," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Very," Amara said.