Furies of Calderon ca-1, Page 2

  "No," insisted Fidelias. "I'll be keeping my goods with me."

  The soldier grunted. "There's horses at the camp, and they'll go mad if they smell this thing. It stays here."

  "Then I stay here," insisted Fidelias.

  "No."

  "The slave then," he said. "She can stay here with the beast and keep him quiet. He'd spook if strange hands cared for him."

  The soldier squinted at him, hard and suspicious. "What are you up to, old man?"

  "Up to? I'm protecting my interests, master, as any merchant would."

  "You are in our camp. Your interests are no longer an issue, are they?" The soldier put no particular emphasis on his words, but he laid one hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Fidelias drew himself up, voice shocked and outraged. "You wouldn't dare."

  The soldier smiled. His smile was hard.

  Fidelias licked his lips. Then shot a glance up at Amara. She thought she saw something in it, some kind of warning, but he only said, "Girl. Get down."

  Amara slid down off of the back of the beast, using the leather straps to help lower herself down its flanks. Fidelias clucked to it and jerked down on its straps, and the gargant settled lazily to earth with a contented rumble that shook the ground nearby. It leaned its great head over, tore up a mouthful of grass, and began chewing on it, huge eyes half-closed.

  "Follow me," the soldier said. "You too, slave. If either of you gets more than three strides away from me, I'll kill you both. Do you understand?"

  "I understand," said Fidelias.

  "I understand, master," echoed Amara, keeping her eyes lowered. They followed the soldier then and crossed the stream at a shallow ford. The water was cold and flowed quickly over Amara's ankles. She shivered, gooseflesh racing up and down her legs and arms, but kept pace with Fidelias and the soldier.

  Her mentor dropped back beside her and murmured, very low, "Did you see how many tents?"

  She jerked her head in a nod. "Close."

  "Well kept and neat, too. This isn't a gang of malcontent Steadholders. Professional military."

  Amara nodded and whispered, "Serious money behind them. Is it enough for the First Lord to bring it to the Council?"

  "An accusation without anyone to accuse?" Fidelias grimaced and shook his head. "No. We have to have something that incriminates someone behind it. Doesn't have to be ironclad, but we need something tangible."

  "Do you recognize our escort?"

  Fidelias shot her a look. "Why? Do you?"

  Amara shook her head. "I'm not sure. Something about him seems familiar."

  The other nodded. "They call him the Sword."

  Amara felt her eyes widen. "Aldrick ex Gladius? Are you sure?"

  "I've seen him in the capital, in the past. I saw his duel with Araris Valerian."

  Amara glanced up at the man ahead of them, careful to keep her voice down. "He's supposed to be the greatest swordsman alive."

  "Yes," said Fidelias. "He is." Then he cuffed her along the head and said, loud enough for Aldrick to hear, "Keep your lazy mouth shut. I'll feed you when I please and not a second before. Not another word."

  They walked in silence, then, into the camp. Aldrick led them through the camp's gate and down the main path dividing the camp in half. He turned left and led them to what Amara knew would be, in an Aleran Legion's camp, the commander's tent. A large tent sat there, and two legionares stood outside it, breastplates gleaming, armed with spears in their hands and swords at their belts. Aldrik nodded to one of them and went inside. He appeared a moment later and said to Fidelias, "You. Merchant. Come inside. The commander wants to speak to you."

  Fidelias stepped forward, and Amara moved to follow him. Aldrick put a hand on Fidelias's chest and said, "Just you. Not the slave."

  Fidelias blinked, "You expect me to just leave her out here, good master? It could be dangerous." He shot Amara a glance, which she did not miss. A warning. "To leave a pretty young girl in a camp full of soldiers."

  Aldrick said, "You should have thought of that before you came here. They won't kill her. Get inside."

  Fidelias looked back at her and licked his lips. Then he stepped forward into the tent. Aldrick looked at Amara for a moment, his eyes distant, cool. Then he stepped back inside. A moment later, he came back to the opening of the tent, dragging a girl with him. She was petite, even emaciated, and her clothes hung off of her like a scarecrow's. The collar around her neck, even on its smallest sizing, hung loosely. Her brown hair looked dry, brittle as hay, and she had dust on her skirts, though her feet were clean enough. Aldrick shoved the girl out unceremoniously and said, "Business." Then he tugged the flap of the tent closed and went back inside.

  The girl tumbled to the ground, along with a woven basket, and landed with a soft cry in a tangle of basket and skirts and frizzy hair.

  Amara knelt down beside the girl and asked, "Are you all right?"

  "Oh, fine," the girl snapped. She rose shakily to her feet and kicked a puff

  of dust at the tent with her toe. "Bastard," she muttered. "Here I am trying to clean things up for him, and he throws me around like a sack of meal." Her eyes sparkled with defiance, and she turned to Amara. "I'm Odiana."

  "Amara," she responded, feeling her mouth tug up at the corners. She glanced around her, licking her lips, and thought for a moment. She needed to see more of the camp. Try to find something she could take with her. "Odiana, is there any place to get a drink around here? We were traveling for hours, and I'm parched."

  The girl tossed her frizzy hair over one shoulder and sniffed at the commander's tent. "What's your pleasure? There's some cheap beer, but it's mostly water. Optionally, we could get a drink of water. And if none of that suits you, I think there's some water."

  "I'll have the water," Amara said.

  "A dry wit," Odiana noted. She hooked the handle of the basket over the crook of her arm and said, "This way." Then she turned and walked with a kind of bristling, crackling energy through the camp, toward the opposite gate. Amara caught up with her, eyes flicking around. A troop of soldiers came jogging by, boots striking the ground in rhythm, and the two girls had to skip back, between two tents, to let them pass.

  Odiana sniffed. "Soldiers. Crows take them all, I am sick to death of soldiers."

  "Have you been here long?" Amara asked.

  "Since just after the new year," the other said. "But there are rumors that we'll be leaving soon."

  Amara's heart pounded. "Going where?"

  Odiana looked at her with an amused smile. "You've not been around soldiers much, have you. It doesn't matter where you go. This," she gestured broadly, at the camp, "never changes. It's the same, if you're down by the ocean or up at the Wall. And the men never change. The sky never changes, and the earth doesn't change enough to notice. This is it."

  "But still. You get to go to new places. See new things."

  "Only new stains on uniforms," said Odiana. The soldiers passed, and the girls stepped out onto the track again. "But I've heard further north and maybe east a ways."

  "Toward Aquitaine?"

  Odiana shrugged. "Is that what's that way?" She walked along and opened the basket as they neared the stream, rummaging around inside. "Here," she

  said. "Hold these." She thrust a pair of dirty plates into Amara's arms. "We can wash them while we're here. Crows, soldiers are so messy. But at least the le-gionares keep their tents clean." She fished out a bone and threw it toward a passing dog. Then an apple core, from which she took a judicious nibble before wrinkling up her nose and tossing it into the stream. Next came a piece of paper, which she hardly glanced at before flicking it aside.

  Amara turned and stomped the paper flat with her foot, before the wind could catch it. Then she bent over and picked it up.

  "What?" asked Odiana. "What are you doing?"

  Amara picked up the paper. "Well. Um. It hardly seems like a good idea to just toss it on the ground if you're trying to clean up."

 
"If it isn't in the camp, no one will care," Odiana said. She tilted her head to one side, watching, as Amara unfolded the paper and studied the writing inside. "You can read?" the slave asked.

  "Some," said Amara, distracted. She read the note, and her hands started shaking as she did.

  Legion Commander, Second Legion,

  You are hereby ordered to strike camp and make for the rendezvous -point. You should arrive no later than the tenth full moon of the year, in preparation for winter. Maintain drilling until you march, and dispatch the men in the usual manner.

  There was more, but Amara skipped over it, barely skimming, to see what was at the bottom.

  Atticus Quentin, High Lord of Attica

  Amara's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing. Her fears were true. Insurrection. Rebellion. War.

  "What does it say?" asked Odiana. She shoved another plate into Amara's hands and said, "Here. Put these in the stream."

  "It says…" Amara fumbled with the plates, moving to the water's edge and leaning down to drop them in. "It, uh. I can't really read it." She fumbled with the note, sliding it away, into one of her shoes, mind racing with the implications.

  "You know," said Odiana, voice bright and cheerful, "I think you're lying. You don't often run into literate slaves. Who ask questions about troop movements. And who are also politically learned enough to realize the wider implications of one little note. That's the kind of thing you expect from, oh, I don't know." Her voice dropped, and she almost purred, "One of the Cursori."

  Amara stiffened and turned just in time to eaten Odiana's bare Keel in the chin. Pain flashed through her, dull and hot. The wasted-seeming girl had far more strength than Amara would have credited to her, and the blow stunned Amara and sent her tumbling back into the stream.

  She stood up out of it, shaking water from her face and eyes and drawing in a breath to cry out to her furies-but water rushed down into her mouth and nose as she inhaled, and she began choking. Amara's heart raced with sudden panic, and she reached up to her face-only to find it coated to above the nose with a thin layer of water. She scraped at it with her fingers, but it didn't flow down, and she couldn't clear it away. She struggled and choked, but only more water rushed in, coating her like a layer of oil. She couldn't breathe. The world began to glaze over with darkness, and she grew dizzy.

  The letter. She had to get the letter out, back to the First Lord. The proof he would need.

  She made it to the bank before the water filling her lungs made her collapse. She writhed, smothering on dry land, and found herself staring at Odiana's bare, clean feet.

  Amara looked up as the wasted slave girl stared down at her, a gentle smile on her face. "You needn't worry, love," the girl said. And she began to change. Her sunken cheeks filled out. The gangling limbs gained rondure, beauty. Hips and breasts began to curve in enticing lines, filling out the clothes she wore. Her hair grew a bit longer, lustrous, darker, and she shook it out with a little laugh, before kneeling down next to Amara.

  Odiana reached out and stroked fingers through Amara's damp hair. "You needn't worry," she repeated. "We aren't going to kill you. We need you." Calmly, she removed a black sash from the basket, and tied it around her waist. "But you Cursori can be a slippery breed. We'll take no chances. Just go to sleep, Amara. It will be so much easier. And then I can send all the water back and let you breathe again."

  Amara struggled and fought for simple breath, but none came. Darkness gathered, points of light appearing before her eyes. She clutched at Odiana, but her fingers had gone nerveless and weak.

  The last thing she saw was the beautiful watercrafter leaning down to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead. "Sleep," she whispered. "Sleep."

  And then Amara sank down, into the blackness.

  Chapter 2

  Amara woke, buried to her armpits in the earth. Loose dirt had been piled over her arms and into her hair. Her face felt thick, heavy, and after a moment, she realized that her entire head had been liberally smeared with mud.

  She struggled to gather her wits through a pounding headache, piecing together fragments of memories and perceptions until, with a dizzying rush of clarity, she remembered where she was and what had happened to her.

  Her heart started to thud hard in her chest, and fear made her buried limbs feel cold.

  She opened her eyes, and bits of dirt fell into them, so that she had to blink quickly. Tears formed to wash the dirt out. After a few moments, she was able to see.

  She was in a tent. The commander's tent in the camp, she guessed. Light poured into it through a gap in the flap that served as a door, leaving the tent's interior described in terms of dimness, shadow, and dark.

  "You awake yet?" croaked a voice from behind her. She turned her head, trying to look. She could barely see Fidelias out of the corner of her eye, but he was there, hanging in a cage of iron bars by straps around his shoulders and outstretched arms, leaving his feet dangling a good ten inches off of the floor. He had a swelling bruise on his face, and his lip had been split and was crusted with dry blood.

  "Are you all right?" Amara whispered.

  "Fine. Apart from being beaten, captured, and scheduled for torture and interrogation. You're the one who should be worried."

  Amara swallowed. "Why me?"

  "I think this can safely be considered a failing mark in your graduation exercise."

  Amara felt her mouth curve into a smile, despite the circumstances. "We have to escape."

  Fidelias tried to smile. The effort split his lip some more, and fresh blood welled. "Extra credit-but I'm afraid you won't get the chance to collect on it. These people know what they're doing."

  Amara tried to move, but she couldn't struggle up out of the earth. She barely succeeded in freeing her arms enough to move them-and even so, they were thickly encrusted with dirt. "Cirrus," she whispered, sending her thoughts out, toward her fury. "Cirrus. Come pull me out."

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again. And again. Her wind fury never responded.

  "The dirt," she said, finally, and closed her eyes. "Earth to counter air. Cirrus can't hear me."

  "Yes," Fidelias confirmed. "Nor can Etan or Vamma hear me." He stretched his toes toward the ground, but could not reach. Then he banged his foot against the iron bars of his cage.

  "Then we'll have to think our way out."

  Fidelias closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he said, gently, "We've lost, Amara. Checkmate."

  The words hit Amara like hammers. Cold. Hard. Simple. She swallowed and felt more tears rising, but blinked them away with a flash of anger. No. She was a Cursor. Even if she was to die, she'd not give the enemies of the Crown the satisfaction of seeing her tears. She thought for a fleeting moment of her home, the small apartment back in the capital, of her family, not so far away, in Parcia by the sea. More tears threatened.

  She took up her memories, one by one, and shut them away into a dark, quiet place in her mind. She put everything in there. Her dreams. Her hopes for the future. The friends she'd made at the Academy. Then she shut them away and opened her eyes again, clear of tears.

  "What do they want?" she asked Fidelias.

  Her teacher shook his head. "I'm not sure. This isn't a smart move for them. Even with these precautions, if something went wrong, a Cursor could slip away and be gone as long as he was still alive."

  The flap of the tent flew open, and Odiana walked through it, smiling, her skirts swirling in the drifting dust the daylight revealed. "Well then," she said. "We'll just have to remedy that."

  Aldrik came in behind her, his huge form blocking out the light completely for a moment, and a pair of legionares followed him. Aldrick pointed at the cage, and the two went to it, slipped the hafts of their spears through rings at its base, and lifted it, between them, carrying it outside.

  Fidelias shot Aldrick a hard look and then licked his lips, turning to Amara. "Don't be proud, girl," he told her, as the guards started carrying
him out. "You haven't lost as long as you're alive."

  Then he was gone.

  "Where are you taking him?" Amara demanded. She swept her eyes from Odiana to Aldrick and tried not to let her voice shake.

  Aldrick drew his sword and said, "The old man isn't necessary." He went outside the tent.

  A moment later, there was a sound not unlike a knife sinking into a melon. Amara heard Fidelias let out a slow, breathless cry, as though he had tried to hold it in, keep from giving it a voice, and been unable to do so. Then there was a rustling thump, something heavy falling against the bars of the cage.

  "Bury it," Aldrick said. Then he came back into the tent again, sword in hand.

  The blade shone scarlet with blood.

  Amara could only stare at the blade, at her teacher's blood. Something about it would not register on her mind. It simply would not accept the fact of Fidelias's death. The plan should have protected them. It should have gotten them close and away safely again. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It had never happened like that at the Academy.

  She tried to stop the tears from coming, to push Fidelias's face into the dark place in her mind with all the other things she cared about. They only flooded over her again, bursting free, and as they did, the tears came with them. Amara did not feel clever anymore, or dangerous, or well trained. She felt cold. And dirty. And tired. And very, very alone.

  Odiana let out a soft sound of distress and came to Amara's side. She knelt down with a white kerchief in her hand and reached out to dab at Amara's tears. Her fingers were gentle, soft. "You're making clean spots, love," the woman said, her voice gentle.

  Then she smiled as, with her other hand, she crushed fresh earth against Amara's eyes.

  Amara let out a cry and thrust out a hand to defend herself, but she wasn't able to stop the water witch. She swept at her burning eyes with her dirt-crusted hands, but it did her little good. Her fear and sorrow turned itself into furious anger, and she started screaming. She screamed every imprecation she could at them, incoherent, and she sobbed into the earth,