Codex Alera 01 - Furies Of Calderon Part 5

"Uncle," Tavi said. He knelt down beside the man. There was blood on Bernard's clothes and on his hands. "Uncle Bernard."

Bernard turned his pale face up to Tavi, his features twisted in a grimace of pain. He had both hands clamped to his thigh, squeezing until his knuckles had turned white. "My leg," he said. "We've got to tie off my leg, boy, or I'm finished."

Tavi swallowed and nodded. He put down the sword and unfastened his belt. "What about Brutus?" he asked.

Bernard shook his head, a tight, small motion. "Not yet. Can't get anything through to him like this."

Tavi had to haul with both hands to move his uncle's leg enough to let him slip the belt around it, and doing so drew a grunt of pain from the big man. Tavi wrapped the belt as tightly as he could and then tied it off. Bernard let out another low sound of pain and removed his hands, slowly. Blood soaked his breeches, but no fresh scarlet appeared. The wound looked horrible. Muscles lay open, and Tavi thought he caught a glimpse of white bone beneath. His stomach heaved again, and he looked away.

"Crows," he breathed. He was still shaking, his heart still beating too quickly. "Uncle. Are you all right?" "Crows," he breathed. He was still shaking, his heart still beating too quickly. "Uncle. Are you all right?" "Hurting pretty good. Keep talking to me until it pa.s.ses a little." "Hurting pretty good. Keep talking to me until it pa.s.ses a little." Tavi fretted at his lip. "All right. What was that thing?" Tavi fretted at his lip. "All right. What was that thing?" "Herd-bane. They have them further south. Fever-thorn Jungle mostly. Never heard of one this far north before. Or that big." "Herd-bane. They have them further south. Fever-thorn Jungle mostly. Never heard of one this far north before. Or that big." "They kill for sport?" "They kill for sport?" "No. Too stupid to know when to stop. Once they scent blood, they tear apart anything that moves." "No. Too stupid to know when to stop. Once they scent blood, they tear apart anything that moves." Tavi swallowed and nodded. "Are we in danger now?" Tavi swallowed and nodded. "Are we in danger now?" "Maybe. Herd-bane hunt in pairs. Go look at the bird." "Maybe. Herd-bane hunt in pairs. Go look at the bird." "What?" "What?" "Look at the crow-eaten bird, boy," Bernard growled. "Look at the crow-eaten bird, boy," Bernard growled.

Tavi rose to his feet and went back over to the herd-bane. Its free leg twitched, the talons opening and closing spasmodically. The smell of offal surrounded him, and Tavi held his breath, covering his nose and mouth with one hand.

Bernard grunted and sat up, though his head dropped for a moment as he did, and he had to brace his hands on the ground. "You killed it with the first blow, Tavi. You should have stepped back and let the thing die."

"But it was still fighting," Tavi said.

Bernard shook his head. "You'd laid its neck open. It wasn't going to be fighting for long. Takes time to bleed to death, and until they do they can take you with them. Look at its neck. Right behind its head."

Tavi swallowed and walked around the corpse, and around Brutus as well, until he stood behind the bird's beak and looked as his uncle had directed him.

Something disturbed the feathers just behind the bird's head. He knelt down and reached out with tentative fingers to brush some of the feathers away and peer at whatever it was.

A circlet made out of a braid of several types of rough cloth and hide encompa.s.sed the bird's throat, denting in the muscle where it pressed. "There's some kind of collar on it," Tavi said.

"What's it made of?" Bernard rumbled. "What's it made of?" Bernard rumbled. "I don't know. Cloth and some leather in a braid. It doesn't look familiar." "I don't know. Cloth and some leather in a braid. It doesn't look familiar." "That's a Marat collar. We need to get out of the barrens, Tavi." "That's a Marat collar. We need to get out of the barrens, Tavi."

Tavi looked up, startled. "There aren't any Marat in the Calderon Valley, Uncle. The Legions keep them out. There hasn't been a Marat here since they had the big battle years and years ago."

Bernard nodded. "Before you were born. But two cohorts at Garrison doesn't necessarily keep them out if they aren't coming in numbers. There's a Marat warrior up here, and he isn't going to be happy that we killed his bird. Neither is its mate."

"Mate?" "Mate?" "Marks on the top of her head. Mating scars. We killed the female." "Marks on the top of her head. Mating scars. We killed the female." Tavi swallowed. "Then I guess we should go." Tavi swallowed. "Then I guess we should go." Bernard nodded, the motion weary, unsteady. "Come here boy." Bernard nodded, the motion weary, unsteady. "Come here boy."

Tavi did, kneeling close to his uncle. One of the sheep let out a bleat, and Tavi frowned, looking up. The small flock milled around, and Dodger began to trot about, shoving them roughly back into a group with his horns.

"Brutus," Bernard said, his voice gruff and unsteady. He drew in a deep breath, expression becoming one of concentration. "Let go of the bird. Take us both back home."

The stone hound dropped the bird and turned toward Bernard. Brutus sank down into the earth again. Tavi felt the patch of ground he stood on begin to quiver and move. Then with a groan of tortured rock, a slab of stone perhaps five feet across rose up beneath them and began sliding southward, like a raft on a slow-moving river. The earth-raft drifted toward the entryway to the little clearing, slowly gathering speed.

Bernard muttered, "Just wake me up when we get back." Then he laid down and closed his eyes, his face and body going immediately slack again.

Tavi glanced at his uncle, frowning, and then back at the sheep. Dodger had them herded into the thicket again and had presented his horns-and not toward Tavi.

"Uncle Bernard," Tavi said, and he thought his voice sounded high-pitched and panicky. "Uncle Bernard. I think something is coming."

Tavi's uncle did not respond. Tavi looked around for his uncle's sword, but he had left it lying beside the herd-bane's body, and it was now two dozen strides away. Tavi clenched his hands into frustrated fists. This was all his fault. If he hadn't shirked his duties to impress Beritte, he wouldn't have needed to come looking for Dodger and his uncle wouldn't have needed to follow him.

Tavi shivered. Suddenly, the possibility of death seemed very real, looming stark and close.

Shadows fell over the valley, and Tavi looked up to see racing clouds darken the sun, and he heard a distant rumble of thunder. Wind made the trees and scant brush begin to sway and stir, and the earth raft seemed to crawl. Though already up to the walking pace of a man, and still accelerating, Tavi found himself desperate to move faster and terrified that it might already be too late.

Tavi swallowed. If something came after them now, his uncle would not be able to help him. Tavi would have to handle it alone. Tavi swallowed. If something came after them now, his uncle would not be able to help him. Tavi would have to handle it alone. A high, whistling screech came from the trees to the west of them, up the slope. A high, whistling screech came from the trees to the west of them, up the slope. Tavi jerked his head in that direction, but saw nothing. The screech repeated itself. Tavi jerked his head in that direction, but saw nothing. The screech repeated itself. Another herd-bane. Another herd-bane.

A second screech answered it, this time from the east of the earth-raft and from unnervingly close at hand. A third? Brush rattled perhaps fifty paces back in the trees. Then again, closer. Tavi thought he saw something moving toward them. Closing in.

"They're coming," he said, in a quiet voice.

Tavi swallowed. Though Brutus might eventually reach the pace of a running man and hold it for hours or days, he wouldn't get there in time to help them escape. Bernard had no chance at all of evading another herd-bane as he lay unconscious, and Brutus's focus was all on bearing the pair of them back toward home.

Which meant that the only way his uncle could escape was if the herd-banes went looking somewhere else. If someone led them off in another direction.

Tavi took a deep breath, rolled off the earth-raft to one side of the trail, and lay completely still. If the herd-banes tracked movement, surely they would have more trouble with the wind rising and the trees and brush swaying in it. He would remain still for a while and then start making plenty of noise and motion, to draw the hunters away from their vulnerable prey.

Thunder rumbled again, and Tavi felt a tiny, cold raindrop splash on his cheek. He looked up and saw vast and dark clouds growing around the mountain. Another cold raindrop fell on him, and he felt a rush of fear that nearly forced him to empty his stomach. Fury-storms could be deadly to anyone caught out in the open. Without the solid protection of the stead-holt's walls or the protection of his own furies, he would be nearly helpless before the storm. Breathing fast and light, Tavi picked up several rocks that seemed a good size for throwing. Then he turned to the west and hurled the stone on the highest arch he could manage.

The stone flew in silence and struck on a tree trunk, making a sharp sound. Tavi pressed against the base of the tree and held still.

There was a whistle from the other side of the trail, and something moved through the brush, toward it. Tavi heard steps behind him, and then a great dark form flashed past him in near silence, a bound that took it across the rough trail Brutus's pa.s.sage had made. Another herd-bane, this one darker, larger than the first. It ran on its toes, though its talons rattled against fallen pine needles and its feathers brushed through the limbs of the evergreens. It went toward the spot where the stone had landed, vanishing back into the brush.

Tavi let out a breath. He threw another stone, farther away, back toward the clearing, rather than in the direction where Brutus was slowly bearing his uncle to safety. Then he crouched low and headed back toward the clearing himself, tossing a new stone every few paces. The wind kept rising, and more tiny, stinging droplets of near-frozen rain began to fall.

Tavi labored to keep his breathing as silent as he could and crept back to the clearing, quiet as a cat, creeping the last few paces on his belly, under the overhanging branches of one of the evergreens. The sheep were nowhere to be seen.

But the second herd-bane was already there.

So was the Marat.

This herd-bane stood at least a head taller than the first, and its feathers were darker, its eyes a browner shade of gold. It stood over the corpse of the bird Tavi had killed, one leg c.o.c.ked up underneath its body, leaning its neck down to nuzzle its beak against its dead mate's feathers.

The Marat was the first Tavi had seen. He was tall, taller than anyone Tavi knew. He looked not unlike a man, but his shoulders were very broad, and his body heavy with flat, swift-looking muscle. He wore only a cloth around his hips, though that seemed mostly utilitarian, worn only to provide a belt to hang several pouches from, and from which depended something that looked like a dagger made of black gla.s.s. His hair was long and thick and looked sickly white in the dim grey light that shone through the rain clouds. He had tied dark feathers into his hair, here and there, and they lent him a savage aspect.

The Marat moved to the herd-bane's body and knelt over it, reaching out to lay both wide, powerful-looking hands upon the beast. He let out a soft, keening sound, which was echoed by the male beside him, and both went still for a moment, bowing their heads.

Then the man snarled, splitting his lips apart, and his head turned this way and that, looking around him, white teeth bared. His eyes, Tavi saw, were precisely the same shade of gold as the Herd-bane's, inhuman and bright.

Tavi remained where he was, hardly daring to breathe. The Marat's features were not difficult to read. He was furious, and as the man turned his head in a slow circle around the clearing, Tavi saw that his teeth and his hands were stained with scarlet blood.

The Marat stood and held a hand to his mouth. He took a breath and blew, a wailing whistle flying from his lips, loud enough to make Tavi wince. He blew a short sequence, the notes higher and lower, long and short. Then he fell silent.

Tavi's brow furrowed into a frown, and he dropped his jaw a little, half-closing his eyes, and listened.

After a time, there came, half-mangled by the rising winds, a whistling answer. Tavi had no way of knowing what the answer said, but that there was was an answer in itself was frightening enough. The whistling communication could mean only one thing: There were more than one of the barbarians here. an answer in itself was frightening enough. The whistling communication could mean only one thing: There were more than one of the barbarians here.

The Marat had returned to Calderon Valley.

Perhaps they were simply hunting, taking refuge from detection in the humanity-free area in the pine barrens around Garados. Or perhaps, Tavi's panicked thoughts ran, they were the advance scouts for a horde. But that seemed mad. A horde hadn't been seen in more than fifteen years-not since before Tavi was born, and while they had enjoyed a brief spate of victory, destroying the Crown Legion and slaying the Princeps Gaius, the Aleran Legions had crushed the horde only weeks later, dealing them such a deadly stroke that everyone had a.s.sumed that the Marat would never return.

Tavi swallowed. But they had had returned. And if they meant to return in force, the Marat in the valley were probably advance scouts. If they were, they would never let one rather skinny and undersized boy who had seen them escape to warn others of their presence. returned. And if they meant to return in force, the Marat in the valley were probably advance scouts. If they were, they would never let one rather skinny and undersized boy who had seen them escape to warn others of their presence.

The Marat returned to glaring around the clearing. He seized several feathers and jerked them out of the dead herd-bane, then reached up and tied them to strands of his hair. He made a whistling sound at the living herd-bane, moving one hand in a gesture. The bird responded by moving in that direction in long, stalking steps, its eyes sweeping back and forth.

The Marat, meanwhile, dropped down to all fours. He sniffed at the blood on the fallen herd-bane's claws and then, to Tavi's disgust, leaned down and ran his tongue along it. Then he closed his mouth with his eyes narrowed, tasting the blood as though it were a wine. The Marat opened his eyes again, remained low, on all fours, and began casting around the floor of the clearing like a dog after a scent. He paused at the fallen sword and picked it up, staring down at the weapon stained with the herd-bane's blood. Then he lowered the blade to wipe it clean on the gra.s.s of the clearing and slipped it through his cloth-belt.

The wind continued to rise and changed directions at every breath. Tavi felt it brush against his back. He froze in place, sure that if he moved he would be immediately seen.

The Marat jerked his head up, abruptly turning to look directly at Tavi's hiding place. The boy swallowed, tensing in fear. The Marat let out another whistle and made a hand signal. The herd-bane stalked toward Tavi's hiding place.

Just like a chicken after a bug, Tavi thought. And I'm the bug And I'm the bug.

But a few steps later, the herd-bane let out a shriek, turning to face south. The Marat followed the herd-bane, golden eyes reading the signs of pa.s.sage in the earth. He crouched down, nostrils flaring and looked up with a sudden, eager light in his eyes.

The Marat rose and began to stalk southward after Tavi's wounded uncle.

"No!" Tavi shouted. He threw himself to his feet and out of his hiding place, hurling one of his remaining stones at the Marat. His aim proved true. The rock struck the Marat high on the cheek, and blood welled from the gash.

The Marat stared at Tavi with those golden, bird-of-prey eyes and snarled something in a tongue Tavi could not understand. His intentions, though, were clear even before he drew the gla.s.s dagger from his belt. His eyes burned with anger.

The Marat let out a whistle, and the herd-bane whirled toward him. Then he pointed at Tavi and let out that same whistling teakettle battle cry the dead bird had used.

Tavi turned and ran.

He had run from those larger and stronger than him for the whole of his young life. Most games at the stead-holt involved chasing of one kind or another, and Tavi had learned how to make his small size and quickness work for him. He ran through the densest thickets of bracken he could find and slipped through mazes of thorns, windfalls, sinkholes, and young evergreens.

The wind grew stronger, filling the air with fallen pine needles and dust. Tavi ran west to lead them away from his uncle. The eerie wailing of the herd-bane and its master raced after him, but fear gave his feet wings.

The boy's heart pounded like a smith's hammer, heavy and swift. He knew that he was alone, and that no one would come to help him. He had to rely on his own wits and experience, and should he falter or slow, the pursuing Marat and herd-bane would have him. Sunset was drawing near, and the vast storm building over Garados had begun to spread over the valley. Should the Marat, the storm, or the darkness catch him unprotected in the open, he would die. Tavi ran for his life.

Chapter 6

When twilight fell, Amara remained at liberty.

Her body ached to her bones. The first swift rush of flight had taken the strength from her, and the second, steadier flight would have been impossible without a fortunate breeze blowing north and east, in the direction she fled. She was able to use the prevailing currents of wind to a.s.sist Cirrus, and thus to conserve much of her own energy.

Amara kept low, at the tops of the trees almost, and although they swayed and danced at the pa.s.sage of the miniature cyclone that kept her aloft, she was better off flying low, where the terrain might help hide her pa.s.sage from the eyes of the Knights Aeris pursuing her.

The last, rust-colored light of sunset showed her a sparkle of water, a winding ribbon running through the rolling, wooded hills: the river Gaul. It taxed her remaining reserves to guide Cirrus to bring her in for a gentle landing and took even more of an effort to remain on her feet after the tension of flight left her. She felt like crawling into a hollow tree and sleeping for a week.

Instead, she reached down to her tattered dress, tore at the hem on one side, and from it withdrew a small disk of bright copper.

"River Gaul," she whispered, pushing whatever reserves she had left into the effort to speak to the water furies. "Know this coin, and hasten word to thy master." She dropped the coin, giving it a slight spin, and the image of the First Lord's profile spun and tumbled, alternating with the image of the sun in the b.l.o.o.d.y light.

Amara slumped down then, by the water, reaching out to cup her hands in it. Long runs were not as draining as an hour of flight-even on a good day for it. She had been fortunate. If the winds had been different, she would not have been able to escape to the Gaul.

She stared down at her faint reflection and shivered for a moment. She thought of the water writhing its way up her hands, down her nose and throat, and her heart thudded with sickly fear. She struggled to force it away, but it wouldn't leave her. She could not make herself touch the water.

The water witch could have killed her. Amara could have died, right there. She hadn't. She had survived-but even so, it was all she could do to keep from cowering back on the bank.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to force the image of the woman's laughter out of her head. The men who had been chasing her presented no special fear. If she was captured by them, she would be killed with bright steel, perhaps brutalized-but all of that, she had prepared herself for.

She thought of the smile on Odiana's face as her water fury had smothered Amara, drowning her on dry land. There had been an almost childish, unrestrained glee in the woman's eyes.

Amara shuddered. Nothing had prepared her for that. Amara shuddered. Nothing had prepared her for that. And yet she had to face that terror. She had to embrace it. Her duty required her to do no less. And yet she had to face that terror. She had to embrace it. Her duty required her to do no less. She thrust her hands into the cold water of the river. She thrust her hands into the cold water of the river.

The young Cursor splashed water onto her face and made an abortive attempt to comb her hair with her fingers. Even though she wore it shorter than was customary, barely to her shoulders, and even though her hair was straight and fine, a tawny, brown-gold, still, a few hours in gale winds had tangled it into knots and made her look like a particularly s.h.a.ggy mongrel dog.

She eyed her reflection again. Thin, harsh features, she thought, though with the proper cosmetics, she could whittle them down to merely severe. Listless hair, cobwebby and delicate-and currently as tousled as a haystack. Her face and arms, beneath the grime, were tanned as dark as her hair, giving her a monochromatic look in the water, like a statue carved of pale wood and then lightly stained. Her simple clothes were tattered, frayed at the edges from hours in the wind, and thickly stained with mud and spatters of dark brown that must have been blood around the slice in her blouse where her arm throbbed with dull pain.

The water stirred, and a fury-crafted form rose out of it-but instead of the First Lord, a woman took shape. Gaius Caria, wife to Gaius s.e.xtus, Alera's First Lord, seemed young, hardly older than Amara herself. She wore a splendid high-waisted gown, her hair coiffed into an intricate series of braids with a few artful curls falling to frame her face. The woman was beautiful, but more than that, she carried with her a sense of serenity, of purpose, of grace- and of power.

Amara abruptly felt like a gangling cow and dropped into a curtsey as best she could, hands taking the soiled skirts and holding to them. "Your Grace."

"Academ," murmured the woman in reply. "Not twenty days have pa.s.sed since my husband gave you his coin, and already you interrupt his supper. I believe that is a new record. Fidelias, I am told, did not see fit to drag him from his meal or his bed until at least a month had gone by."

Amara felt her face flush with heat. "Yes, Your Grace. I apologize for the necessity."

The First Lady gave her an arch look, up and down the grimy length of her body. Amara felt her blush deepen, and she fought not to squirm. "No apology is necessary," Lady Caria said. "Though you might work on your timing in the future."

"Yes, Lady. Please, Your Grace. I need to speak to the First Lord."

Lady Caria shook her head. "Impossible," she said, her tone one of finality. "I'm afraid you'll have to speak to him later. Perhaps tomorrow."

"But, Lady-"

"He's swamped," the First Lady said, emphasizing each syllable. "If you feel the matter is an important one, Academ, then you may leave me a message and I will present it to him as soon as opportunity allows."

"Please forgive me, Lady, but I was told that if I ever used the coin, that the message was to be only for him." "Please forgive me, Lady, but I was told that if I ever used the coin, that the message was to be only for him." "Mind your tongue, Academ," Caria said, her brows arched. "Remember to whom you speak." "Mind your tongue, Academ," Caria said, her brows arched. "Remember to whom you speak." "I have the orders from the First Lord himself, Your Grace. I only attempt to obey them." "I have the orders from the First Lord himself, Your Grace. I only attempt to obey them."

"Admirable. But the First Lord is not a favorite professor you can simply visit yourself upon whenever you wish, Academ." She stressed the last word, very slightly. "And he has affairs of state to attend to."

Amara swallowed and said, "Your Grace, please. I will not be long in telling him. Let him judge if I am abusing the privilege. Please."

"No," Caria said. The sculpted figure looked over its shoulder. "You have taken enough of my time, Academ Amara." The First Lady's voice gained a note of tension, hurry. "If that is all..."

Amara licked her lips. If she could hold on a moment more, perhaps the First Lord would overhear the conversation. "Your Grace, before you go, may I give you a message to pa.s.s on to him?"

"Be quick."

"Yes, Your Grace. If you would only tell him that-"

Amara didn't get any farther than that before the watery form of the First Lady grimaced and shot her a cool glance, her features becoming remote and hard.