wooden framework with a sheet of canvas serving as the bed. Foss hovered nearby and seemed to be busy cleaning out a tub-but Marcus could all but feel the man itching to tell them to leave his patient to recover in peace.
Magnus nodded to the First Spear as he entered. “He’s dozing,” he said quietly. “But I wanted you here when I asked him to speak.”
“Certainly.” Marcus came to stand beside Magnus, frowning down at the young man. Crassus was pale, but whole. Where there had been three or four wounds on his shoulders and head, there was only the pink skin of freshly healed flesh. The wounds were all punctures-lines no more than two inches wide that had gaped like open mouths over deep wounds. Marcus would have thought them to be dagger wounds, had it happened to the boy on the streets of an Aleran city.
“Crassus,” Magnus said quietly, touching the boy’s shoulder. “Tribune. Report.”
Crassus opened his eyes, and took a moment to focus them, first on the roof of the tent, and then upon Magnus. “The Princeps. He’s imprisoned on the roof of a tower. Sent me to let you know what was going on, and to lead the Knights Aeris back to be ready to extract him if need be.”
Magnus spluttered, “If
The First Spear firmly stopped himself from beginning his next sentence with the word “obviously.” “Could be that he thinks there might be some advantage to be gained if he stays where he is,” Marcus said.
Crassus looked up at him and nodded. In short, simple sentences, he described their journey to the fortified city of Shuar, what they had learned about the events of the past three years in Canea, and of their encounter with its master.
“He’s after information,” Magnus said. “Whatever the Shuarans know about the Vord. Crows take his arrogant eyes, that boy will be the death of me. He should never expose himself to such danger. This is why there
“He’s the Princeps,” Marcus said firmly. “Crassus, what are his orders?”
“To bring the Knights Aeris back with me to Shuar,” Crassus replied. “But he doesn’t know everything.”
“At least someone realizes it,” Magnus muttered darkly.
The First Spear restrained himself from shaking the Cursor. “What did you see on the way back?”
“Survivors,” Crassus said. “Narashan survivors. Twenty, maybe thirty thousand. They’re being held in a camp about ten miles from Shuar. Lararl’s ritualists are draining their blood to fuel their sorcery.”
“Bloody crows,” Marcus breathed. “If Nasaug hears that…”
“His entire force will march within the hour,” the Cursor said grimly. “Is that where you got hurt, son?”
“No, sir,” Crassus replied. “I was attacked when I was about halfway back here.”
Marcus clenched his jaw and kept quiet.
“The Vord,” Crassus said. “Lararl has his entire force at Shuar, defending the fortifications. But they’ve tunneled their way beneath them, into the center of the plateau. They’re pouring up out of the ground like ants.” He grimaced. “And some of them fly. They dropped on me when I was off my guard, trying to get a good look at the forces on the ground.”
Dead silence filled the tent.
Magnus began to speak, then paused, swallowed, licked his lips, and rasped, “How many?”
“I can’t be certain. My best guess is that there are eighty, maybe ninety thousand of them. They’re marching toward Shuar. They’ll be there in a day, two at most.”
“Bloody crows,” Foss breathed. Marcus turned to see the healer staring at Crassus, his expression stunned.
“Well,” Magnus said, his voice a monotone. “Well, well, well. First Spear?”
Marcus blew out a breath. “I’d say this just turned from a diplomatic mission into a retreat. We need to get the Princeps back here and take him back to Alera before the Vord overrun Shuar and come for us. We should send the Knights Aeris to get the Princeps and his companions. We’ll expedite repairs and get off this frozen rock.”
Crassus pushed himself up, and swung his legs down off the cot.
“Hey,” Foss snapped. “You can’t do that. Lie down before you tear those wounds open again.”
Crassus shook his head. “I’ve got to go with them.”
“The crows you do,” Foss replied. “Lie down. That’s an order.”
Magnus lifted a hand to forestall the healer. “Crassus is right, Foss. Our Knights Aeris have only a vague idea of where the city is, much less where the Princeps is located within it. And I daresay, they cannot fly as well concealed as the boy was. They’ll need to take a route that leads them around the Vord in the interior.”
Crassus nodded to Foss. “If they go without me, there’s no guarantee that they’ll even reach the Princeps, much less find him and get him out in one piece.”
Foss shook his head. “If you go haring off right now, flying and fighting like you haven’t a care in the world, you’re going to rip open those wounds.” The big healer moved to the side of the cot, put a hand on Crassus’s shoulder, and looked the young man in the eyes. “Do you hear me? If you don’t rest now, you are likely going to die.”
“Yes,” Crassus said, his voice calm and utterly weary. “Where is my armor?”
CHAPTER 24
Tavi sat with his feet dangling over the edge of Lararl’s tower and watched the ongoing battle below. Farther along the tower’s roof, Varg and Durias sat together, also watching, speaking quietly to one another. The next day had dawned cold but clear, and without the constant chill of the rain and sleet, the rooftop was bearable, given short breaks inside the warmth offered by the earthcrafted shelter.
Tavi could only admire the effectiveness and efficiency of the Shuarans’ defense against the Vord, against an enemy so vast that he literally could not readily number them, despite a clear day and hours of trying. A few hours ago, it had occurred to him that it was more like watching the sea surge forward than observing an enemy army in action. The Shuarans stood defiantly against that tide, and wave after wave broke upon the granite of their determination.
Tavi shivered. It had not been a pleasant realization.
Though the mountain might stand for a while, the sea would eventually wear it away.
In the end, the sea always won.
Maximus approached, his bootsteps distinctive on the stone roof. Tavi glanced back and saw Max’s shadow puddled against his feet. Noon.
“Two days. He should have been back by yesterday evening,” Max said quietly. “We should have heard from him or seen something.”
“There’s no need to panic yet,” Tavi said calmly. “There might have been a delay on the other end, something that required his help. Or he might be out there, waiting for nightfall before making the run in.”
“He’d have found a spot in line of sight, and windcrafted his voice to you,” Max disagreed.
Privately, Tavi had begun to think along the same lines, but there was no point in deepening Maximus’s concern for his brother by agreeing with him. Besides which, it was not as though they had a great many options, short of attempting to smash their way clear of Shuar. That wouldn’t go well, at least not for long. It was a simple question of numbers.
“Be patient, Max,” Tavi said. “I know it’s difficult for you when there’s nothing around to smash or flirt with, but I’d take it as a favor.”
Max grunted and set one of his boots lightly against the back of Tavi’s armor and mimed a faint push. “Would you care for a flying lesson, Your Highness? Though in all fairness, I should warn you that it might give the lie to your honorific.”
Tavi looked back over his shoulder and grinned at his friend. Max settled down on the edge of the roof with him and watched the fight.
