Cursors's Fury

a few years before, and when Isana went into service in the Legion camps, Alia went with her.”

“Where?” Amara asked.

Bernard gestured to the western wall of the room, indicating the whole of the Calderon Valley. “Here. They were here during the First Battle of Calderon.”

Amara drew in a sharp breath. “What happened?”

Bernard shook his head, and his eyes looked a bit more sunken. “Alia and Isana barely escaped the camp before the horde destroyed it. From what Isana said, the Crown Legion was taken off guard. Sold its own lives to give the civilians a chance to run. There were no healers. No shelter. No time. Alia went into childbirth, and Isana had to choose between Alia and the baby.”

“Tavi,” Amara said.

“Tavi.” Bernard stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Amara. She leaned against his strength and warmth. “I think Isana blames Alias death on the First Lord. It isn’t rational, I suppose.”

“But understandable,” Amara murmured. “Especially if she feels guilty about her sister’s death.”

Bernard grunted, lifting his eyebrows. “Hadn’t ever thought of it that way. Sounds about right. Isana has always been the type who blames herself for things she couldn’t have done anything about. That isn’t rational, either.” He tightened his arms on Amara, and she leaned into it. The fire was warm, and her weariness slowly spread over her, making her feel heavy.

Bernard gave her a last little squeeze and picked her up. “We both need more sleep.”

She sighed and laid her head against his chest. Her husband carried her to the bed, undressed her of the clothing she’d thrown on before rushing into the rain, and slipped into the sheets with her. He held her very gently, his presence steady and gentle, and she slipped an arm around him before falling into a doze that quickly sank toward deeper sleep.

She considered the furystorm in the drifting stillness that comes just before dreams. Her instincts told her that it had not been natural. She feared that, like the severe storms of two years ago, it might be a deliberate effort on behalf of one of the Realm’s enemies to weaken Alera. Especially now, given the events stirring across the Realm.

She choked down a whimper and pressed herself closer to her husband. A quiet little voice in her thoughts told her that she should take every moment of peace and safety she could find-because she suspected they were about to become memories.

Chapter 3

Tavi didn’t get his sword up in time, and Max’s downward stroke struck his wrist at an appallingly perpendicular angle. Tavi heard a snapping sound and had time to think Those are my wrist hones before the world went suddenly scarlet with pain and sent him to one knee. He keeled over onto his side.

Max’s rudius, a wooden practice blade, hit his shoulder and head quite firmly before Tavi managed to wheeze, “Hold it!”

At his side, Maestro Magnus flicked his own rudius at Max in a quick salute, then unstrapped his wide Legion shield from his left arm. He dropped the rudius and knelt beside Tavi. “Here, lad. Let me see.”

“Crows!” Max snarled, spitting. “You dropped your shield. You dropped your bloody shield again, Calderon.”

“You broke my crowbegotten arm!” Tavi snarled. The pain kept burning.

Max tossed his own shield and rudius down in disgust. “It was your own fault. You aren’t taking this seriously. You need more practice.”

“Go to the crows, Max,” Tavi growled. “If you weren’t insisting on this stupid fighting technique, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Magnus paused and exchanged a look with Max. Then he sighed and removed his hands from Tavi’s injured arm, taking up shield and rudius again.

“Ready your shield and get up,” Max said, his voice calm as he recovered his own rudius.

Tavi snorted. “You’ve broken my bloody arm. How do you expect me to-”

Max let out a roar and swept the practice weapon at Tavi’s head.

Tavi barely threw himself back in time to avoid the stroke and he struggled to regain his feet, balance wavering because of the pain and the heavy shield on his left arm. “Max!” he shouted.

His friend roared again, weapon sweeping down.

Magnus’s rudius swept through the air and deflected the blow, then the old Maestro shouldered into Tavi’s shield side, bracing him long enough to get his balance underneath him.

“Stay in tight,” Magnus growled, as Max circled to attack again. “Your shield overlaps mine.”

Tavi could hardly make sense of the words for the pain in his arm, but he did it. Together, he and Magnus presented Max with nothing but the broad faces of their shields as a target, while Max circled toward their weak side-Tavi.

“He’s faster and has more reach than me. Protect me or neither of us will hold a sword.” Magnus’s elbow thumped swiftly into Tavi’s ribs, and Tavi pivoted slightly, opening a slender gap in the shields through which Magnus delivered the quick, ugly chop Tavi had been less than enthused about learning.

Max caught the blow on his shield, though barely, and when his reply stroke came whipping back, Tavi stretched his shield toward Magnus, deflecting the blow while the Maestro recovered his defensive balance.

“Good!” Magnus barked. “Keep the shield up!”

“My arm-” Tavi gasped.

“Keep the shield up!” Max roared, and sent a series of strokes at Tavi’s head.

The boy circled away, staying tight against Magnus’s side, and the old Maestro’s return strokes threatened Max just enough to keep him from an all-out assault that would batter through Tavi’s swiftly weakening defenses. But Tavi’s heel struck a stone, he misstepped, and moved a little too far from Magnus’s side. Max’s rudius clipped the top of Tavi’s skull, hard enough to send a burst of stars through his head despite the heavy leather helmet he wore for their practice bouts.

He fell weakly to one knee, but some groggy part of his brain told him to keep his shield close to Magnus, and he foiled a similar strike Max directed at the Maestro on his return stroke. Magnus’s rudius flashed out and tapped Max hard at the inner bend of his elbow, and the large young man grunted, flicked his rudius up in a salute of concession, and stepped away from the pair of them.

Tavi collapsed, so tired that he felt he could barely keep breathing. His wounded wrist pounded in agony. He lay there on his side for a moment, then opened his eyes to stare at his friend and Magnus. “Through having fun?”

“Excuse me?” Max asked. His voice sounded tired as well, though he was barely panting.

Tavi knew that he probably should keep his mouth shut, but the pain and the anger it begat paid no attention to his reason. “I’ve been bullied before, Max. Just never figured you’d do it.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Max asked.

“Isn’t it?” Tavi demanded.

“You aren’t paying attention,” Magnus said in a calm voice, as he stripped himself of the practice gear and fetched a flask of water. “If you got hurt, it was a result of your own failure.”

“No,” Tavi snarled. “It is a result of my friend breaking my arm. And making me continue this idiocy.”

Max hunkered down in front of Tavi and stared at him for a silent minute. His friend’s expression was serious, even… sober. Tavi had never seen that expression on Max’s face.

“Tavi,” he said quietly. “You’ve seen the Canim fight. Do you think one of them would politely allow you to get up and leave the fight because you sustained a minor injury? Do you think one of the Marat would ignore weaknesses in your defense out of courtesy for your pride? Do you think an enemy legionare will listen while you explain to him that this isn’t your best technique and that he should go easy on you?”

Tavi stared at Max for a moment.