He spun, putting his strength and weight behind his blade, swinging in a stroke that would meet Navaris's squarely, furiously focused on his own sword.
The blades met. Steel chimed on steel, a note that was high and pure and piercing. A blinding shower of sparks erupted from the meeting blades, and Tavi saw a frozen image of the room: Navaris, her teeth clenched in hate. Kitai, bleeding from a split lip, struggling with an armored man for possession of a sword. Isana, kneeling, her expression colder and more terrible than he would have believed possible, a hand extended toward a man who thrashed on the ground, his face completely covered by a blob of dirty water.
Then the darkness returned, and Tavi moved a few steps to one side before freezing again. He clenched his teeth in frustration. The others needed his help, but he didn't dare move toward them. The sound would have told Navaris precisely where he stood, and if he didn't have every bit of his attention focused on her, he'd never be able to defeat her attack.
Again, Navaris's sword came at him, and again, he met it with his own. In the flash of contact, he saw the other armored man flying back through the air and Varg standing over Kitai, his arms extended. Ehren lay unmoving on the floor. Araris's body was arched up in effort, or in pain, as he struggled to free his legs from the rubble.
Tavi took two steps back and froze again, mentally cursing, as he desperately sought Navaris's next attack.
He was utterly unprepared when an enormous hand landed on his shoulder, and only the sudden rusty-musty scent of the Cane's fur prevented him from turning and thrusting in sheer panic.
"Aleran," Varg growled. "It is over. Come with me."
"Go," Tavi whispered.
Varg kept his paw-hand on Tavi's shoulder, roughly directing him. Tavi had to put his trust in the Cane's guidance. If he felt his way along with tentative steps, Navaris could close the distance and kill him-but without someone to guide her own feet, she wouldn't dare rush after him blind. So Tavi broke into a run and trusted Varg to guide his steps.
They emerged into the comparative brightness of the outdoors, and Kitai was coming hard behind them, weaponless, carrying Ehren slung over one of her shoulders.
Tavi took the lead, taking them around the corner of the house, where they would be out of sight of the house's entrance.
"Ehren," Tavi breathed.
Kitai put him down carefully, supporting his mostly limp weight. The little Cursor sucked in his breath as if through a tiny reed, a strangled rattle accompanying it. There were bruises on his throat that were already darkening, and it was entirely possible his windpipe had been crushed. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, while his chest labored to bring in enough air.
"What do we do?" Kitai asked.
"He needs a watercrafter," Tavi said.
Yarg knelt down in front of Ehren and peered at his throat. Then he growled, "Give me a quill."
"What?"Tavi asked.
Kitai slung her pack off and reached into it. She opened the pack and produced a writing quill.
Yarg took it, and with a quick motion of his claws snipped the quill about two inches from its end. He held it up to the light and squinted at it.
Then he reached down with a single claw and ripped open Ehren's throat.
Tavi cried out, reaching for Varg's wrist. The Cane growled, and said, "There is no time for this."
Tavi stared at Varg for a moment, then leaned back on his heels, and nodded once.
Varg leaned down and thrust a claw into the open wound. Then, his motions delicate in one so large, he thrust the quill into the cut.
Ehren shuddered and drew in a sudden, deep breath. It hissed through the hollow quill, and then hissed again as he exhaled. His breathing slowed and steadied. He blinked his eyes several times, focusing slowly.
"It is dirty," Varg rumbled. "But there was no time to clean it before he would have died. Perhaps your sorceries can cleanse the wound, later." He took Ehren's hand and lifted his fingers to the protruding end of the quill. "Hold this in. If it comes out, you die."
Ehren, pain in his expression, stared up at the Cane and nodded.
"We must go back for them," Kitai whispered.
Tavi held up his hand and whispered back. "We've only got one sword among us, and they have hostages. If we go in again, they'll use Araris and Isana against us. Assuming they don't kill them out of hand."
Kitai bared her teeth in a silent snarl of frustration.
Tavi chewed on his lip, thinking furiously. Then he nodded and looked at Varg. "Ibrus said he had horses. They must be close. Take these two and find them."
"You can't go back alone," Kitai hissed.
Tavi met her eyes, and said, "We aren't going to be able to take them back by force. And whatever happens, we'll need the horses-who won't let Varg handle them. Ehren can't do it either. So go. Now."
Kitai scowled furiously at him, but then she rose and offered Ehren a hand up. Varg lifted his head, sniffed the air for a few seconds, and started off at a shambling lope. Kitai, staying close to Ehren, followed the Cane.
Tavi took off his belt, bent over at the waist, and wriggled out of his mail shirt, letting it fall to the ground. Though it would have provided him some protection in the event of a fight, it also would make noise when he moved. For the moment, stealth was at a premium.
He buckled his sword belt on again and stalked through the darkness back to Ibrus's house, creeping forward until he crouched beneath one of the broken windows outside of the entry hall. There were two small furylamps inside, casting a dim red-orange glow.
"Steadholder," Navaris murmured, as Tavi approached. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill both of you. Right here. Right now."
Tavi's stomach got a sick, sinking feeling. He put his hand on his sword. If it came to that, he would attack them before he stood by and let them kill his mother and his friend.
"Did you hear me, Steadholder?" Navaris said. "This isn't a rhetorical question. If there is some reason I should leave you alive, you should tell me."
Tavi drew the blade perhaps two inches from its sheath.
"I suppose that depends," Isana responded. Her voice was steady, confident.
Tavi froze again.
"Upon what?" Navaris asked.
"How loyal you are to the Senator."
Silence.
"I know who he serves," Isana continued. "Invidia Aquitaine is, in fact, my patron, too. I doubt she'll thank Arnos for interfering in my work. I shudder to think of her reaction should he actually eliminate me."
More silence.
"I spent nearly a year campaigning for the abolition of slavery for Lady Aquitaine and the Dianic League," Isana replied. "And the last six months I've been visiting members of the League raising funds and supplies for the refugee camps. The wives of every Count, Lord, and High Lord from here to Riva have met with me, given me money-and know I was coming to the Elinarch. Are you sure he's willing to be implicated in my death?"
"You're lying," the cutter said.
"Can you afford to assume that?" Isana's tone turned frank. "Do you want to make that decision for him, Navaris?"
Tavi felt his mouth stretch into a grin.
"And the singulare?" Navaris asked. "Why should I spare him?"
"Scipio is his friend," Isana replied. "Dead, he's of no further use to you. Alive, he's a hostage."
"Dead, he's of no further threat to me, either," Navaris murmured.
"I can't argue with that," Isana said. "I'd be afraid of him, too. Particularly if I was you."
Navaris's voice turned very quiet. "Particularly?"
"Yes. It must be difficult for you in some ways. After all, you've won more duels than Araris Valerian ever fought. You've certainly killed many more armed foes than he ever did. Yet I should think that you've lived your whole life in his shadow. He has such a name, after all. No matter how many times you prove it, he'll still be the best in everyone's mind." She let that sink in for a moment before she said, "If you fight him and lose, well. That would prove it for certain."