Bernard didn't lower his bow until a full minute after the man was out of sight, then he released the tension on the weapon and his breath with the same slow, careful exhalation. He lowered the bow and rolled his right shoulder, as if working out stiffness. Then he turned back to Amara.

"I'm going to shadow them for a bit," he murmured. "Make sure that they're not doubling back. Stay here, stay low. I'll be back shortly."

"Be careful," she told him.

He winked at her, and then turned away. The woodcrafting slid away from Amara, and the dappled sunlight brightened again, bright enough to make her squint against it.

She turned to Gaius, and whispered, "Sire? Are you all right?"

"Leg cramped," Gaius growled softly. "Started twitching." He rubbed one hand hard on his right leg. "Crows, that's uncomfortable. Pardon my language, Countess."

"Yes, sire," Amara said, giving him a small smile. She glanced after Bernard, and said, "We can change the bandages while we're here."

Gaius grimaced but nodded to her. He hauled himself about roughly, sitting up and extending his right leg toward her.

"Well," she said, as she went to work, "what did you think of that?"

"I think our young friend there isn't going to survive this patrol," Gaius replied. His voice tightened as she peeled the bandages from his right foot, revealing the discolored sores that had refused to completely heal. "And I think it's lucky they rode by in front of us. If we'd passed through a few minutes sooner, they'd have walked right across our trail and followed it straight to us."

Amara got out the canteen of salted water and poured it over Gaius's foot. He looked away, his expression distant and cool, but his leg jerked as the cleansing wash entered the sores. Amara set about washing and drying his foot, then putting a fresh bandage over it, before replacing his stocking and the heavy leather slipper Bernard had fashioned for Gaius.

"Quite cool in a crisis, your man." Gaius sighed, once she was finished.

"You noticed. I thought I was going to have to scream, at the end there."

"As was I-though for different reasons. I didn't dare use any metalcrafting to keep the pain down." He smiled and dug into his pack, extracting a flask of water. He swallowed most of it down, and then settled back onto the forest floor again, closing his eyes. "I can't ever remember going for so long without performing any crafting. It's like... walking around with my feet and hands asleep all the time. I hadn't realized how difficult it would be." He shook his head once, then closed his eyes and dropped into what looked like a light slumber.

Amara didn't disturb him. Though Gaius had insisted upon moving ahead, each hour cost him considerable effort. Though he never complained, the pain of his foot clearly wore greatly on him, and he leaned more heavily on the staff as each day went on.

She sat down with her back to a tree, drew her sword, and quietly stood watch over the sleeping First Lord, until Bernard suddenly appeared from beneath his woodcrafting, half an hour later.

Amara twitched in surprise and frowned at him.

"Sorry," he murmured. Then he knelt down and hugged her.

Amara sighed, shook her head, and returned the embrace. He felt large and strong and warm, and she suddenly felt a great deal less worried. She knew that it was really a somewhat ridiculous thing to feel. Bernard, after all, was as vulnerable to harm as anyone. But somehow, when he was holding her, that didn't matter. She felt better for no rational reason at all-and she loved that feeling.

"How is he?" Bernard rumbled quietly.

"The same. Or if he's any better, I can't see it. Bernard, shouldn't those sores have closed by now?"

"Mmmm," he said. "Older folks can be slow to heal without a watercrafter to help them. He hasn't any fever, and there's no sign of blood poisoning. I'd prefer it if he rested for a couple of days, but..."

"But he won't," Amara sighed.

"It could be worse," Bernard said. "So long as they close up before we hit the swamps, we should be all right."

"What if they don't?" Amara asked him. "What if they don't?" Amara asked him. He leaned back from her and traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He leaned back from her and traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "We'll worry about that if it happens," he said quietly. "We'll worry about that if it happens," he said quietly. Gaius stirred and sat up, blinking his eyes once or twice. He nodded to Bernard. "Count. Our friends have moved on?" Gaius stirred and sat up, blinking his eyes once or twice. He nodded to Bernard. "Count. Our friends have moved on?" Bernard nodded. "Yes, sire. It won't hurt us to take a bit of rest here, if you like." Bernard nodded. "Yes, sire. It won't hurt us to take a bit of rest here, if you like."

The First Lord shook his head, planted his staff, and clambered to his feet. "No, out of the question. We've no time to spare."

"Aye, sire," Bernard said.

He offered Amara a hand up, and she squeezed his fingers once after she was on her feet. Bernard set off in the lead of the little group again, and Gaius grunted with discomfort on his first few steps, then determinedly lengthened his stride, using his staff to help him.

Amara stared at the limping First Lord for a moment, biting her lip. Then she followed him, glancing frequently around them and over her shoulder, and they continued on their way to Kalare.

Chapter 20

Isana followed the young valet to Sir Cyril's office, on the ground floor of the Legion's command building. Only a single legionare legionare was on duty at the door, this time-indeed, since the First Aleran and the Guard Legions had departed, the entire town of Elinarch seemed almost deserted, and any little sound rang out with an eerie clarity in the quiet streets. was on duty at the door, this time-indeed, since the First Aleran and the Guard Legions had departed, the entire town of Elinarch seemed almost deserted, and any little sound rang out with an eerie clarity in the quiet streets.

The valet led her through a little antechamber and nodded at the door. "There you are, Steadholder." The valet led her through a little antechamber and nodded at the door. "There you are, Steadholder." "Thank you," Isana said quietly. "Should I knock?" "Thank you," Isana said quietly. "Should I knock?" The valet shook his head. "He's expecting you, ma'am." The valet shook his head. "He's expecting you, ma'am."

Isana nodded at the young man and turned to the office door. She opened it and stepped into a rather large office. It was crowded with tables and bookshelves, all of them neatly, precisely stacked with books, papers, and scrolls. One wall was covered entirely by at least a dozen maps on broad sheets of parchment.

Sir Cyril sat behind a much-used wooden desk, and he rose with a polite smile.

Isana felt it when a flash of pain went through the remains of his leg, a savage stroke of agony that bored into the joint of his thigh and hip. Her own leg twitched in sympathy at the ghostly sensation. She felt him assert control over the pain an instant later, smothering the fire of it in a blanket of pure determination.

"No, please, sir," Isana said. "Don't get up." "No, please, sir," Isana said. "Don't get up." "Nonsense," Sir Cyril said. He swept into a restrained bow. "It's not often I entertain a celebrity." "Nonsense," Sir Cyril said. He swept into a restrained bow. "It's not often I entertain a celebrity." She shook her head wryly and replied with a simple curtsey. "Hardly that." She shook her head wryly and replied with a simple curtsey. "Hardly that."

"I disagree," Cyril said, sitting again. He let out an almost-inaudible sigh of relief as he took the weight off of his leg. "I've gotten several letters mentioning that you'd favorably impressed many of the Realm's Citizenry, during your abolition campaign."

"As of yet, no laws have been passed," she said, her voice dry. "It's been two years. I can hardly call that impressive."

"Big change takes time," Cyril replied, his tone a polite disagreement. "And the war has certainly been"-he glanced at his leg and flashed a quick, wry grin at Isana-"a distraction."

"Certainly that," she agreed.

"Even leaving such matters aside, this relief column you organized is a rare thing," he continued. "It's already saving lives."

She shook her head. "Any number of people could have done what I have." She shook her head. "Any number of people could have done what I have." "But they didn't," Cyril said. "You did." "But they didn't," Cyril said. "You did." "Someone had to." "Someone had to."

He tilted his head and studied her for a moment, then shrugged, and said, "Someone should should have. It isn't the same thing." have. It isn't the same thing."

Isana waved a hand. "Sir Cyril, I hope you don't think I'm rude for saying this. But I can't imagine why you sent for me."

He gave her a steady look, and his speculative gaze was intense enough that she could almost feel it on her skin. "Can't you?" he asked.

Isana sighed. "Honestly, I can't. I was packing to leave, in fact. So, Sir Cyril, I ask you again. Why am I here?"

Cyril's eyebrows went up. "This is somewhat disappointing." He offered her a whimsical smile. "I was hoping you would tell me." He raised his voice, and called, "Galen! Send him in, please!"

The door opened a moment later, and a tall man in a fine Legion-issue dress tunic entered the- Tavi entered the room, she corrected herself. His green eyes fell on her, and his step slowed in hesitation for just a moment. She felt a surge of emotion from him, so mixed and confused that she hardly knew what to make of it, other than to sense a good deal of anger mixed through it all, unless it was humiliation or- Great furies.

Araris had told him.

Isana stared at Tavi for a second, meeting his gaze. He nodded to her, and said, "Excuse me." As he did, the fountain of emotion began to dwindle, until there was nothing more coming from him. He had been able to hide his feelings from her since he'd been eleven years old. It had always made her a little proud of him-as well as exasperated. He'd been entirely too... creatively energetic, at that age. She'd needed every advantage she could get to stay a step ahead of his mischief and- And they were not alone, she reminded herself. She glanced aside at Cyril, then rose, politely, offering another curtsey to Tavi, precisely as she had to Cyril. "Good morning, Captain."

Tavi smiled at her and inclined his head. "Steadholder. Thank you for coming. And thank you for seeing me, Sir Cyril." Tavi smiled at her and inclined his head. "Steadholder. Thank you for coming. And thank you for seeing me, Sir Cyril." Isana tilted her head. "Why aren't you with your Legion, Captain?" Isana tilted her head. "Why aren't you with your Legion, Captain?" "Mmmm," Cyril said. "I was wondering the same thing myself. Nalus's letter was painfully vague." "Mmmm," Cyril said. "I was wondering the same thing myself. Nalus's letter was painfully vague."

"I've been arrested and charged with treason, Steadholder," Tavi replied cheerfully. "They sent me back here in irons, though Sir Cyril was kind enough to accept my parole and have them stricken." He held up his wrists, each of them ringed with bruises and small cuts.

Isana blinked for a moment and fought to keep herself from gasping, or letting out a cry of distress. Not in front of Sir Cyril.

"Treason," Cyril said, sighing. "What happened out there?"

"Long story," Tavi said. He put a hand on the chair Isana had been sitting in, holding it for her. "Steadholder. Shall we sit?"

Isana frowned gently at him, trying to understand what was behind his expression-but he was closed to her.

Yes. She'd known him that well, at least. He'd reacted just as she feared he would.

Crows take Araris, she thought quietly, sadly. But not until after they've taken me. And the slives who made it necessary to take every measure in reach to protect him But not until after they've taken me. And the slives who made it necessary to take every measure in reach to protect him-including lying to him.

Araris had been right, of course. Tavi had deserved to know. But she had wanted to put it off for just one more day, and now...

Sometimes it felt like everything she turned her hand to withered and died. It was ridiculous, of course. Not everything had. Her steadholt was prospering, after all. The relief column had been a success. Perhaps it was only when her heart was involved that she had such ruinous bad fortune.

Or, she thought, ruinously bad judgment. Credit where credit is due ruinously bad judgment. Credit where credit is due.

They all sat down. Cyril settled in to listen to Tavi, one elbow on the desk, his fist supporting his chin. "This should be interesting."

Tavi leaned back in his chair and somehow managed to look lazily confident even while in a relaxed slouch, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Then he started talking.

It didn't take Isana long to realize that Tavi was saying more than he probably should have about the motivations and twisted loyalties behind the events of the past several days-which is to say that he was being completely open and honest.

"Let me get this straight," Cyril said, when Tavi paused for breath. "After Arnos lost many of his own Knights Aeris, precisely as we warned him he would, you then bailed his men out of the trouble he'd bought them."

"You should have heard what was going around the Guard camps before I left," Tavi said, with another grin. Isana had never seen the expression on Tavi's face, but it had been common enough on his father's. Septimus had grinned at frustration and pain, too. "According to the Guard, I waited overly long to help, so that I could play the hero and rub their noses in their inexperience."

Cyril snorted. "Arnos has always known how to play a crowd. After you did that, he ordered you to execute the prisoners. You refused the order, and he had you arrested."

"Not exactly," Tavi said. "I was still stalling carrying the order out. I, ah, had the opportunity for a rendezvous with a representative from the Canim. Arnos caught me after and leveled the treason charges. He refused to rescind the execution order, by the way."

"Executing civilians? Families?" Isana heard herself say. "What kind of madness is that?"

"An increasingly common one, unfortunately," Cyril said soberly. "All this ambition being brewed with self-interest under increasing amounts of pressure." He shook his head and turned back to Tavi. "I assume he was holding them against your good behavior."

Tavi's smile turned sharper. "Yes. Though I found a way to make sure he'd leave them alone." Tavi's smile turned sharper. "Yes. Though I found a way to make sure he'd leave them alone." Cyril tilted his head. "How?" Cyril tilted his head. "How?" "I left Crassus in command of the Legion," Tavi said, smirking. "I left Crassus in command of the Legion," Tavi said, smirking. Cyril arched both eyebrows, then leaned his head back to laugh, a short, genuine sound. "That would do it." Cyril arched both eyebrows, then leaned his head back to laugh, a short, genuine sound. "That would do it." "Excuse me," Isana said quietly. "Do what?" "Excuse me," Isana said quietly. "Do what?"

"Crassus's father is High Lord Antillus Raucus," Tavi said, still grinning. "His mother is High Lord Kalarus's youngest sister. Once the fighting is done, Crassus may well be declared Kalarus's heir. He already is is Antillus's heir. If Arnos ordered him to execute the prisoners, and he refused-" Antillus's heir. If Arnos ordered him to execute the prisoners, and he refused-"

"Which he would," Cyril said.

Tavi nodded. "-Arnos would have little choice but to press charges against Crassus, if he wanted to maintain the integrity of his charges against me."

"Ah," Isana said, nodding. "And given Crassus's family connections and what will probably be a very influential future, it would be stupid for Arnos to make an enemy of him now."

"Oh, he's stupid enough to do it," Tavi said, "but there's also the fact that if Arnos played that game on the son and heir of Antillus Raucus, the patronage of the Aquitaines wouldn't stop Lord Antillus for a second. He would call Arnos out to the juris macto juris macto and scatter the leftover pieces all over Alera." and scatter the leftover pieces all over Alera."

"Only if the old man beat Maximus to it," Cyril noted.

Tavi grinned. "Crows, yes. Max would love an excuse to call Arnos out. Defending the honor of his family and father would be undeniable."

"I'm surprised Arnos let you talk to your officers," Cyril said. "It's not the kind of mistake I'd expect of him."

"He didn't," Tavi said. "Max and about seven hundred veterans were in a position to dispute the legitimacy of my arrest."

"What?" Cyril just stared at Tavi for a second, his face going white. Isana sensed the horror boiling up out of him like some kind of greasy black vapor. Then he shook his head slowly. "Seven hundred..." He blew out a slow breath. "That was exactly the kind of situation the Crown wished us to avoid."

Tavi grimaced. "I know. I talked Arnos into letting Nalus handle my arrest in exchange for ordering them to stand down."

Cyril mopped a hand over his face. "Nalus," he said, distantly. "No wonder his letter was so awkward. Decent man. Not terribly intelligent, but I've always thought well of him."

"He asked me to give him my word that I wasn't going to order my men to get me out or refuse to support the campaign. I gave it, and he let me meet with them."

Cyril frowned hard at Tavi, and Isana could feel the anger in it, mixed with a certain admiration. "And your orders to them?"

Tavi blinked, lifting his eyebrows in faint surprise. "To support the campaign, of course. To do everything they could to preserve the lives of Alerans and secure the Realm against the invaders."

Cyril let out a slow breath, sagging a little at the table, and his relief flooded through the room. "Thank the great furies. There's that much, at least."

Tavi grimaced. "Arnos is planning a campaign of numbers. He's tallied every life to be sacrificed."

Cyril grimaced. "Yes. I suspected as much. Can he win?"

Tavi shrugged. "I think Nasaug does his math a bit differently. Othos was a bloody mess, and at a bargain for the Canim." Tavi's voice lowered, and his smile vanished. "I've got to stop him, Cyril."

Cyril looked from Tavi to Isana, frowning. The room was quiet for several seconds.

"Someone needs to," Cyril agreed. "But there are two problems. First, you aren't going to stop him from doing much of anything from inside the stockade. Second, I don't see any feasible way of doing so, even if you weren't."

Tavi took a deep breath. "I think I might know a way," he said. Tavi took a deep breath. "I think I might know a way," he said. Cyril nodded. "This meeting you had with a representative, I expect. What does Nasaug want?" Cyril nodded. "This meeting you had with a representative, I expect. What does Nasaug want?" "Can't tell you," Tavi said. "Safer for both of us." "Can't tell you," Tavi said. "Safer for both of us." Cyril leaned back in his chair and put both hands flat on his desk. "You want me to release you." Cyril leaned back in his chair and put both hands flat on his desk. "You want me to release you." "Yes." "Yes." "I can't do that." "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," Tavi said. "Cyril, if this works, it has the potential to end the fighting entirely. I think those three Legions would do a lot more good flanking Kalarus than running around in circles in the Vale."

"It's a treason charge," Cyril said quietly. "If I release you before you've faced a tribunal, it's a death sentence for me as well: to say nothing of the fact that any irregularity would practically guarantee your conviction."