"Were our roles reversed, I the prisoner in your land, would you share information openly with me?"
"Were our roles reversed, Aleran, your blood would have been drained into jars long since." He drummed his claws on the rail. "And no. I would not share openly." He nodded once. "Tell me what you can about my people here."
Tavi described the last two years in very general terms, giving Varg no information about the positions of Aleran troops, their capabilities, their logistics, or their vulnerability.
When it was done, Varg's mouth dropped open, his tongue lolling out for a second or two. "Sari is dead by your hand?"
Tavi grinned out at the sea. "It might not have happened if Nasaug hadn't maneuvered him into it."
"But you saw it happening," Varg said. "You used it to your advantage."
"Yes."
"And Sari died by your hand."
"Yes."
"Well did Nasaug name you gadara," Varg rumbled.
"I have a theory," Tavi said.
One of Varg's ears swiveled around toward him.
"The invasion fleet arrived under desperate circumstances," Tavi said. "Sari burned their ships behind them. There was a great deal of internal division. A great many ritualists had come with the fleet, and they were clearly dominant." Tavi frowned. "And they had noncombatants with them. I saw a female with young."
Varg's claws dug into the railing.
"It wasn't an invasion force," Tavi said. "It was more like a colony."
"I do not know this word," Varg said.
"It's when you send a group into a new area. They take with them everything they need to begin building their own society and settle down to make a new home."
Varg flicked his ears in acknowledgment.
"After the night of the Vord attack on the First Lord, Sari vanished. We now know that he was taken from the capital on a ship and went back to his homeland. We hunted for him for weeks, but we never found him." Tavi squinted out ahead of them to the west-toward Varg's home. "We never found the Vord queen, either."
Varg bared his teeth.
"Sari was already scheming with the Vord. I believe that he took it with him when he ran. I believe he took it back to your homeland and that it got loose. I think that once he realized what was happening, he took hostages to guarantee the cooperation of Nasaug and his warriors, stole everything he could get his hands on, and ran, trusting his scheme with Kalarus to give him a fighting chance."
"That," Varg growled, "was Sari."
Tavi nodded. "I think," he said quietly, "that your people are in danger. That's why Sari burned the ships behind him. He knew Nasaug would return to protect your homeland if he didn't. And that's why Nasaug is building a fleet right now."
Varg said nothing. His body language told Tavi nothing. A moment later, he said, "If it is true, Aleran, then your enemies will be laid low. What reason could you have to help Nasaug return and stop this from happening?"
"Are you kidding?" Tavi asked. "Self-interest. If the Vord destroy your people, sooner or later they will come here. If I send you home to fight them, then one of two things will happen. You will overcome them, in which case Alera is faced with a familiar enemy and is no worse off than before. Or they will destroy you, weakening themselves in the process, making them easier for Alera to fight. Either way, we are better off if your people leave."
Varg considered that for a moment. "If you are right, we share an enemy."
"I'm right," Tavi said quietly. "I know I'm right."
The Cane glanced aside at Tavi. "What do you propose?"
"I return you to Nasaug at Mastings. You finish building your ships and leave."
"So simple," he said. "But it is not so simple, Aleran. You are not honored as your blood should be. Can you compel your Legions to cease fighting? To allow my people to leave?"
Tavi clenched his teeth for a moment but forced himself to admit, "I'm not sure."
"Then how will you accomplish it?"
"I'm not sure," Tavi said. He narrowed his eyes. "Not yet. But it will happen."
Varg did not reply.
The two of them stood staring out at the shadowed west before them, and for no explicable reason Tavi suddenly felt cold.
Chapter 41
"I don't like it, First Spear," Crassus said quietly. "This was too easy."
They stood within the ruins of an old town on a hill, its name long since forgotten. Odds were that the town had simply withered after the successful port city of Mastings had grown up only a few miles away, but whatever it had once been, centuries had passed since anyone but the occasional traveler or passing deer had lived there.
"I was sure they would have fortified this place," Marcus said. "But I'm just as glad they didn't make us fight to take it."
"Exactly," Crassus said. "They could have-they should have. And they didn't."
"The Canim are good soldiers," Marcus responded. "But that doesn't make them perfect, sir. And there could have been any number of factors that prevented them from using this position against us. Whether they made a mistake or just couldn't get things set up in time, we're better off for it."
"That story sounds weak, Marcus," Crassus said. "Even you think so."
"Weak, sir?" Marcus asked. "Just because the Canim have let us take a position we can fortify beyond their capabilities to assault only miles away from the town they have to protect at all costs, without giving us so much as a nosebleed over taking it? Especially when they know how tough we are from a defensive strong point?" He snorted. "What's weak about that?"
Around them, the First Aleran continued sweeping the overgrown streets, the half-collapsed buildings, checking everything within the tumbledown walls that had once surrounded the town. Both Guard Legions had marched to positions beside the town and were now erecting palisades atop simple earthworks as an outer defensive perimeter around the base of the hill.
The hoofbeats of a trotting horse approached, and Maximus rode his stallion through what had once been someone's living room. He dismounted and flicked the horse's reins around the remains of a chimney, then approached Crassus and saluted.
Crassus returned it. "Well?"
"They had scouts watching the hill," Maximus said. "Canim and mounted rebels. We pursued them, but not too hard."
Crassus nodded at his brother. "The city?"
Maximus's eyes glittered. "Saw it."
"How bad is it?"
"Three layers of earthworks," Max said. "Then what looks like a newly crafted outer wall, around the walls of the town itself. And they're all lined with troops."
Marcus let out a low whistle.
"How many?" Crassus asked.
"Twenty thousand on the walls," Max said. "No idea how many might have been behind them."
Crassus spat. "Wonderful."
"The good news," Marcus said, "is that at least they're doing something we anticipated, sir."
"Under the circumstances, it's hardly comforting," Crassus said. "With that much manpower, they should have had plenty of hands to spare to build up the ruins and make us fight for them."
"Maybe they didn't think they needed to," Maximus said. "They've got us outnumbered already. If we want to take them out, we'll have to go to them, and having a defensible position to fall back on isn't going to mean much when it's miles away."
Marcus grunted in a neutral tone. Crassus was a young commander, but his naturally studious, pensive personality tended to negate the usual recklessness of a leader his age. If anything, perhaps too much so. Waging a military campaign truly was one of the more complicated endeavors anyone could embark upon, and the demands of organization, logistics, communications, and internal politics could often create unusual, or even outwardly ridiculous-seeming, scenarios.