Princeps' Fury (Codex Alera) Read online

  With perfect poise, Veradis descended from the podium and returned to her seat in her House’s box, and Amara abruptly felt certain that the young woman was unaware of her own tears, or she would have contained them, using her watercrafting if necessary.

  Pausing to elicit a nod from the Speaker, Gaius resumed the podium. “Our current estimates place the enemy numbers at somewhere between one hundred and two hundred thousand—but frankly, this tells us relatively little. We have limited knowledge of their capabilities as individuals, but know almost nothing of their potential working in mass coordination.”

  “You know one thing,” interjected a quiet voice, enhanced despite the fact that the speaker was not standing at the podium. Lord Aquitaine regarded Gaius steadily. “You know that they are extremely dangerous. In all probability, more so, pound for pound, than an Aleran Legion.”

  The uproar raised by that statement was instant and vociferous. Everyone knew that the Legions were invincible. For a thousand years, they had been the wall of steel and muscle and discipline that had held against every attacker—and while a legionare might not leave a battle with victory in his grasp, it would only be because it had been pried tooth and nail from his fingers.

  And yet . . .

  It had been a very long time since the Legions as a whole had faced any real threat. The Icemen had been largely neutralized by the Shieldwall, centuries before. Conflicts with the Canim had rarely involved more than a few hundred of the wolf-warriors—at least until Kalare had conspired with one of their traitors to bring a literal horde to Aleran shores three years ago. The Marat had won battles against the Legions here and there, but they had never been lasting victories and had only served to make Aleran counterattacks all the more intense and punitive.

  The Children of the Sun were long since dead, their Realm rotted back into the Feverthorn Jungle. The Malorandim had been driven to extinction eight centuries ago. The Avar, the Yrani, the Dekh—all gone, nothing left of them but names that Amara dimly remembered from her history lessons. Once they had all been rivals and tyrants to a younger, smaller, weaker Alera.

  But the Legions had changed all of that. In conflict after conflict, battle after battle, season after season, century after century, the Legions had laid the foundations for the present-day Realm.

  It was boldly done—but boldness had rarely been at a premium in the Legions since Alera had become more settled. High Lords had placed more value upon stable, conservative captains, who would have a care for the pocketbook as well as their legionares.

  Could it be that the legendary might of the Legions had passed into legend? Suppose they were not the invincible bulwark against Alera and her foes? Amara folded her arms. She found the idea uncomfortable. To others it would simply be unacceptable—as the occupants of the Senatorium had proven by their reaction to Aquitaine’s statement.

  Amara called upon Cirrus with a murmur, bringing Gaius’s expression into clearer view, and saw the steady gaze he exchanged with Aquitaine. Though she was no watercrafter, she could clearly sense the understanding the two men exchanged in that gaze and felt a leaden sense of fear sink into her bones.

  Gaius had no trouble accepting the statement.

  The First Lord already believed it.

  “Order!” called the First Lord, his voice thundering over the roar of the assembled crowd. “Citizens! We will have order in the Senatorium!”

  It took a moment more for the crowd to settle down again, but they did. The air of the Senatorium seethed with anger and tension and, though Amara doubted most of the folk there would have admitted it, with raw fear.

  “Over the past several years, representatives from every Legion have been briefed on what we know of the Vord,” the First Lord said. “They represent a unique threat—one that can expand very rapidly. We must respond rapidly and with overwhelming force if we are to repel them. To that end, I am ordering every High Lord, saving Phrygia and Antillus, to dispatch two Legions immediately for detached operations against the Vord.”

  “Outrageous!” bellowed Riva, his round face flushing scarlet as he rose from his chair. “You go too far, Sextus! No First Lord in five hundred years has acted with such arrogance!”

  Once again, Gaius turned to face High Lord Riva—but this time, he remained silent.

  “Yes, the founding laws of the original Primus give you that authority,” Riva seethed, “but it is well understood that we have grown beyond such ancient measures! This fearmongering is nothing but a pathetic and transparent attempt to continue grasping at power—exactly like the announcement of the sudden appearance of your so-called legitimate grandson.

  “You are not a tyrant, Gaius Sextus! You are a first among equals! Among equals, the crows take your egotistical eyes, and I will go to the crows before I will submit to your—”

  Calmly, in no apparent rush, High Lord Aquitainus Attis rose from his seat in his box, turned to the railing dividing it from Lord Riva’s, and drew his sword in a blur of silver. There was a hissing sound, a chime of steel, and the heavy wooden railing fell into two pieces, their ends smoking and glowing orange.

  Lord Aquitaine pointed his sword at Riva, and fire abruptly licked its way down the length of the weapon, fluttering up out of the steel, which began to glow with a sullen orange heat. “Grantus,” Aquitaine said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Close your cowardly lips over that void in your head where your brains went missing and keep them there. Then put your lazy, shapeless ass back into your chair and do it swiftly. Or face me in the juris macto.”

  Riva’s eyes grew so round that Amara could clearly see the whites all the way up where they sat, even without Cirrus’s help. His mouth opened and closed several times, then he abruptly sat down.

  Aquitaine nodded sharply and turned a slow circle, burning sword’s point sweeping around the boxed seats of the High Lords. He spoke in a quiet, hard tone, carried all the way through the Senatorium by his own furies, Amara had no doubt. “Does anyone else have an objection to obeying the lawful commands of the First Lord?”

  Evidently, no one did.

  Aquitaine lowered his blade, the flames upon it dying down. He turned toward Gaius, descended from his seating, and crossed the Senate floor to the podium. There he bowed to the First Lord and offered him the hilt of his sword over one arm. “My Legions are yours to command, sire. I will dispatch them at once. Further, I offer you my personal services in the field.”

  Gaius nodded gravely and took the sword, then offered it hilt first back to Aquitaine. “Thank you, Your Grace. Your support is most welcome. It was my hope that you would be willing to serve as captain for this campaign.”

  Aquitaine sheathed his sword, struck his fist to his heart in a legionare’s salute, and moved to stand at Gaius’s right hand. “Who will stand with us?” he demanded, eyes sweeping sternly around the room.

  Lady Placida rose. “My lord husband is already on the march to support our friend and neighbor Lord Cereus,” she said. “Veradis, dear, he should be arriving at Ceres within a day.”

  “Atticus?” Aquitaine said. “Parcia?”

  Both lords rose and began to pledge their support, and estimate how long it would take for their troops to arrive.

  “Huh,” Bernard grunted, folding his arms. “There’s something I didn’t expect.”

  “What’s that?” Amara said.

  “Aquitaine turning into a supporter for Gaius.”

  Amara arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you think he’s doing?”

  “It does look something like that, love.”

  Amara shook her head. “Look at what he’s done. He’s uniting the Realm. Serving as its protector. Leading everyone against the deadliest threat Alera has ever known—all while the Princeps is entirely absent.” She smiled grimly. “Some might even say, conspicuously absent.”

  Bernard blinked. “That’s absurd.”

  “Of course. But not everyone will know that. Tavi is an unknown quantity. A great many people would prefe
r a known, proven veteran of Aleran politics to be the next First Lord. Should Aquitaine lead this war and win, he will be a hero as well. At that point . . .” Amara shrugged. “Gaius will not live forever.”

  Bernard stared down at the Senate floor, a sickened expression on his face. “And Gaius just . . . just let him do it?”

  “Wanted him to do it, I should think,” Amara said.

  “Great furies, why?”

  “Because whatever else Aquitaine is, he is very capable in the field,” Amara said quietly. “Because if we are to survive, we will need him.” She rose. “They won’t be much longer here. Let’s go before we get caught in the crowd.”

  “Where to?”

  “The Citadel,” Amara said. “Unless I miss my guess, Gaius is going to have a favor to ask of us.” She glanced down at the far side of the Senatorium. “And of your sister.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Amara and Bernard were standing outside the First Lord’s study when a pair of Crown Guardsmen arrived. The two men nodded to them, confirming Amara’s suspicion that Gaius wished to speak to them privately, and one of them went into the study and emerged again. A moment later, the First Lord himself appeared, flanked by four more Guardsmen.

  “Gentlemen,” Gaius said, nodding to the Guardsmen. “Your Excellencies, if you would join me, please.”

  One of the guards opened the door, and Gaius went inside. Amara stared after him for a moment, her lips compressed into a hard line. A quietly violent tide of emotion surged through her at the sight of the First Lord, there before her, at the sound of his voice, at his blithely competent, peremptory manner. He had unleashed the great fury Kalus upon the people of Kalare with the same kind of immediate, decisive calm, killing tens of thousands of innocent Alerans, civilians, along with the forces of the rebellious High Lord Kalarus.

  And she had stood upon a mountaintop overlooking the city with him and watched those people die.

  Amara hated him for making her see that.

  Bernard put his large, warm hand on her shoulder. “Love,” he said quietly. “Shall we?”

  Amara gave her husband as much of a smile as she could manage, then straightened her back and followed Gaius into his study.

  Like all the rest of the Citadel, the chamber was lavishly, exquisitely appointed without being overdone. There was a broad writing desk made of green-black hardwood from a Rhodesian tree found near the Feverthorn Jungle, surrounded by matching shelves that groaned with books of every description. Amara had seen many such studies in which the books had been nothing more than decoration. She had no doubt that in that room, every book had been both read and considered.

  Gaius crossed to a sideboard with brisk strides, opened it, and drew out a bottle of wine and a cup, every motion precise and focused—until Bernard shut the door behind him.

  Then the First Lord bowed his head for a moment, shoulders sagging. He took a couple of slow breaths, and Amara could hear them rasp in his lungs. Then he opened a bottle of what smelled like particularly pungent spicewine, fighting down a cough as he did, and drank a glass in several quick gulps.

  Amara traded frowns with her husband.

  The First Lord, it seemed, was not nearly as strong and fit as he would have the Citizenry believe. Granted, Amara had no doubt that he had permitted them to see his true condition deliberately, and for reasons of his own. Or perhaps he hadn’t. After all, Amara and Bernard had seen Gaius in far worse condition, during their trek through the swamps of Kalare. There would be no harm in letting his mask slip in front of them now.

  Gaius half filled his cup again and walked quietly over to his desk, settling carefully down behind it, wincing a bit as several joints creaked and popped. “First, Amara, allow me to apologize to you for the . . . rather uncompromising nature of the orders given to the Knights sent to bring you here. Given the situation, sensitivity had to be sacrificed to haste.”

  “Of course, sire,” she said stiffly. “I have never known you to employ a means which you did not feel justified by its ends.”

  He sipped from his cup, eyes studying her, and when he lowered it a faint, bitter smile was on his lips. “No. I suppose not.” He looked from her to Bernard, and said, “Count Calderon, I was impressed with your crafting, your skills, and most importantly, your judgment during our enterprise last year. I have need of your services again—and of yours, Countess, if you are willing.”

  Bernard inclined his head, his expression guarded and neutral. “How may I serve the Realm?”

  How may I serve the Realm? Not, Amara noted, How may I serve the Crown?

  If Gaius took note of the phrasing, no gesture or expression revealed it. He reached into a drawer of his desk and unrolled a heavy parchment—a wide map of the Realm. Upon it, detailed much as the map shown in the Senatorium, was an illustration of the spread of the Vord invasion.

  “What I did not tell our Citizens,” Gaius said quietly, “is that the Vord have somehow developed the ability to use furycraft.”

  “That’s not new,” Bernard rumbled. “They did so in Calderon.”

  Gaius shook his head. “They were able to use the taken bodies of the local holders to respond to furies a living Aleran had caused to manifest. It is a subtle but important distinction. At that time the Vord could only make any use of furycraft if Alerans engaged in its use first.” Gaius sighed. “It seems that this is no longer the case.”

  Bernard drew in a short, sharp breath. “The Vord are manifesting furies independently?”

  Gaius nodded, swirling his cup in a slow circle. “Multiple reports confirm it. Sir Ehren saw it with his own eyes.”

  “Why?” Amara demanded, surprising herself with how harsh and rough her voice sounded. “Why aren’t you telling them?”

  Gaius’s eyes narrowed. He was silent for several long seconds before answering. “Because news of such a thing would frighten the Citizens of Alera into a unity of purpose they could otherwise never achieve.”

  Bernard cleared his throat. “I know I’m not a politician or a Tribune or a captain, sire. But . . . I don’t quite see how that’s a bad thing.”

  “Two reasons,” Gaius replied. “First is that when the High Lords are well and truly frightened, their initial instincts will be to protect their homes. It would almost certainly cause them to reduce the quality and quantity of troops they would be willing to commit to the campaign—which could prove fatally disastrous for the entire Realm. If the Vord are not stopped in the next few weeks, they could become so widespread and numerous that we might never overcome them.

  “Second,” he continued, “because of this, Count. The Vord can’t be sure that we know about their newfound abilities—and if I do not disseminate such an obviously critical fact, it is my hope that they will assume that we remain ignorant as to what they can do.”

  Amara nodded, following the line of thought. “They’ll want to save their secret weapon for use at a critical moment, when shock and surprise will decide the course of a battle. They’ll have the crafting at hand, but they won’t dare use it, at least at first, for fear that they’ll be squandering their element of surprise.”

  Gaius nodded. “Precisely.”

  “But what does that accomplish, sire?” Bernard asked.

  “It buys time.”

  Bernard nodded. “To do what?”

  “Find the answer to an important question.”

  “What question?”

  “The one I should have been asking from the start,” Amara said quietly. “Why? Why are the Vord now able to utilize furycraft when they could not before?”

  Gaius nodded again. “Your Excellencies, your skill in the field and your dedication to the Realm are beyond question. But I cannot make an order of this. Instead, I make this request.” He paused for another sip of spicewine. “I wish you to pass into Vord-occupied Alera, discover the source of their furycraft, and, if possible, determine a way to end it.”

  Amara stared incredulously at the First Lord for a heartbeat. T
hen she shook her head, and said, “Unbelievable.”

  Bernard slashed his hand in a horizontal motion, and said, “Absolutely not. I will not take my wife with me into something that dangerous.”

  Amara jerked her head around to stare at her husband.

  He folded his arms, set his jaw, and met her glare with his own.

  Gaius never looked up from the contents of his cup, but a small smile graced his mouth. “Bernard. Amara. The fact of the matter is that I am asking you to take on a mission which will in all probability result in your deaths—if you are fortunate. Just as I have asked several other small teams to attempt the same. But it is my belief that if anyone is to succeed, it will be the two of you.” He looked up at Amara. “Regardless of what may have passed between us before today, the fact of the matter is this: Our Realm stands on the brink of ruin, and most of the people in it do not even realize that this is so. Alera needs you.”

  Amara bowed her head for a moment and sighed. “Crows take you, Gaius Sextus. Even when you make a request, you leave me no choices.”

  “They do seem to have grown a bit sparse, these past few years,” he agreed quietly.

  Bernard frowned quietly, and stepped up to study the map. “Sire,” he said, after a moment, “that’s a lot ground to cover. You could send a full cohort of scouts into that area and not find what we’re looking for.”