First Lord's Fury (Codex Alera 6)

He opened the door to his cabin, paused at a sudden scent, then scowled and stepped into the unlit room, shutting the door behind him. "Bloody crows. When did you get on the ship?"

"At the last stop," Sha rumbled in the quietest voice he could manage.

Marcus leaned his shoulders back against the door and folded his arms over his chest. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he was all but touching the lean Cane, and he had no intention of triggering a potentially violent response by making physical contact with the Hunter. "What word do you bring?"

"None," Sha said. "For there is none to bring. Our problem remains unchanged."

Marcus grunted. "Meaning that your leader and mine will be forced to duel."

"So it would seem," Sha said philosophically. "Though they have both faced such things before and survived them. The stronger will prove it upon the other."

Marcus grimaced. "That's a loss to both of our peoples, no matter who wins."

"Has a solution occurred to you?"

"Not yet," Marcus said. "But that doesn't mean that it isn't there."

Sha let out a thoughtful growl. "It may yet be possible to strike down my lord's enemy, Khral."

"I thought his proper title was Master Khral of the Bloodspeakers."

"Khral," Sha repeated.

Marcus felt himself smile in the darkness. "Gaining what, by removing him?"

"Time. There will be a delay while a new leadership is established among the bloodspeakers."

"Which could create additional problems of its own."

"Yes."

"What would be the cost of buying such time?"

"My life," Sha said simply, "offered in apology to my lord after the deed was done."

Marcus frowned in the darkness. He was about to ask if the Cane was willing to make such a sacrifice, but the question was a foolish one. If Sha said that he would go through with such a thing, he most certainly would. "Is your life yours to end?"

"If, in my best judgment, it is in the service of my lord's honor? Yes."

"Would not the loss of your service greatly hamper your lord in the long term?"

There was a brief, intense silence. "It might," Sha said, a growling undertone of frustration in his voice. "In which case, I would be neglecting my duty to him by following this path. It is hard to know the honorable course of action."

"And yet you do not serve his interests by continuing to allow Khral to hold power." Marcus narrowed his eyes in thought. "What you need to do..."

Sha waited in patient silence.

"You can't assassinate this Cane for fear of making him a martyr among your people. Correct?"

"Even so."

Marcus scratched at his chin. "An accident, perhaps? These ships are dangerous, after all."

"My lord would never condone the collateral loss of life that would require. Or forgive himself for it. No."

Marcus nodded. "Difficult to push him under the runners of his ship without being seen."

"Impossible," Sha said. "I spent the last two days looking for the opportunity. He hides in his cabin, surrounded by sycophants. Cowardly." He paused a beat, and allowed, "If practical."

Marcus drummed his fingertips on the cool steel of his armor. "What happens if he isn't assassinated? What if he just... disappears. No blood. No evidence of a struggle. No one ever sees him again."

Sha let out another rumbling growl, one that raised the hairs on the back of Marcus's neck despite the fact that he was beginning to understand it as a sound accompanying pensive moments for the Cane. "Disappear. It is not... common to our service."

"No?"

"Never. We serve our lords, but in the end we are his weapons, his tools. He abides by our work as if he had done it with his own hands. If my lord could best solve his problem by killing another Cane, he would do so with his own blade. When he cannot do so, for reasons of tradition or because of the code, and his Hunters are sent, it is understood that they are yet his weapons."

"And that protects him from the consequences of his actions?"

"Provided his Hunters are not caught," Sha said. "It is the proper way for a great lord to defend his honor when a foe hides behind the law. Khral speaks lies to our folk, tells them that my lord intends to destroy the bloodspeakers. Warns him that they will know he has begun when he is murdered."

"Which gives him the status of a martyr without paying the price," Marcus mused, "as well as making it impossible for Varg to act without harming himself."

"Yes. And Khral's lackeys lead many bloodspeakers, and have said that they will withdraw their support should such a thing happen. Losing their strength now would be inconvenient and embarrassing."

From what Marcus had seen of the ritualists' power in battle, their sudden absence could prove downright fatal. "You haven't answered my question," he said. "What if Khral simply vanished?"

There was a rasping sound, the Cane's stiff-furred tail lashing against the walls of the tiny cabin. "It is not our way. My lord would not be held responsible. But Khral's followers would cry that the demons had done it - and there are demons on every ship in the fleet, using their powers to hold them together."

"So it must happen where none of the woodcrafters could possibly do it," Marcus said. "And then?"

A rumbling chuckle came from Sha's chest. "It is a long-standing tradition, among the bloodspeakers, to set out upon meditative pilgrimages, alone and unannounced, to establish one's piety and devotion to the Canim people and seek the enlightenment of one's mind."

"It could work," Marcus said.

"If it was possible," Sha said. "Is it?"

Marcus smiled.

***

The most difficult part of the plan was getting to Khral's ship without being observed: The various vessels of the fleet had been exposed to a tremendous variation of strains. Some had encountered losses of their sails or yardarms, slowing their progress. Others had suffered fractures in their keels or rudders, requiring a lengthy halt for repairs. The original formation the fleet had assumed had been completely upset by the unpredictable nature of the voyage, and now Aleran and Canish ships alike were thoroughly intermixed.

Each ship had acquired a similar routine in two days of swift travel. At the rest stops, virtually everyone aboard, crews and passengers alike, would pile off onto solid ground. Even the saltiest hands aboard the ice ships had begun to turn a bit green around the gills (or wherever it was the Canim turned green, Marcus supposed), and they were glad of the chance to stand in place without being jolted from their feet or flung into a companion.