“I didn’t do any of that, Max,” Tavi said. “They’re believing a lie.”
“Balls,” Max said, his voice serious. “You’ve done those things, Tavi. Sometimes you had help. Some of them took a whole lot of work. None of it involved furycraft-but you’ve done them.” Max tilted his head toward the town. “They know what’s over there. Any sane man would be running for the hills. But instead, they’re angry. Their blood is up for a fight. You’ve been right there beside them in the battle. Struck blows against the Canim running on pure guts, and you’ve bloodied their slimy noses. The men think you can do it again. They’ll follow you, Calderon.”
“You’ve seen that force, Max. You know what’s still over there. And we’re tired, out of room, and out of tricks.”
“Heh,” Max said. “That’s how belief works. The worse the situation is, the more a man’s belief can do to sustain him. You’ve given them something to believe in.”
Tavi felt a little nauseous at the statement. “We have to take down the bridge, Max. We’ve got to get our engineers out to the top of the arch so that they can collapse it.”
“I thought we didn’t have enough bodies who could earthcraft,” Max said.
“If you will remember,” Tavi said, “the Pavilion has a rather large number of employees who are quite practiced at earthcraft.”
Max blinked. “But those are dancers, Calderon. Professional, ah, courtesans.”
“Who have practiced earthcrafting every day of their professional lives,” Tavi said. “I know, stonework isn’t the same thing, but you’ve always told me that any application of one area of furycraft carries over toward different uses of the same gift.”
“Well,” Max said. “Yes, but…”
Tavi arched an eyebrow. “But?”
“Crafting a room full of legionares into a frenzy is one thing. Altering heavy stonework is another.”
“I’ve had them practicing,” Tavi said. “They aren’t exactly engineers, but this isn’t a complicated crafting. It’s a demolition. All the engineers really need to get it done is earthcrafting muscle, and the dancers have got that. If we can get them and our engineers to the top of the bridge, they can take it apart.”
“Big if,” Max said quietly.
“Yes.”
Max lowered his voice in realization. “Someone will have to hold the Canim back while they work. Whoever does that will either go into the river or be trapped on the southern half of the bridge, when it goes.”
Tavi nodded. “I know. But there’s no way around it. It’s going to cost us to get it done, Max. We’ve got to hold through the night. If we can do that, we’re still going to take heavy losses pushing the Canim back through our own defenses. Maybe enough to break us.”
“Give the men some credit,” Max said. “Like I told you. They believe. Especially the fish. They’ll bloody well fight.”
“Even if they do,” Tavi said, “we might not be able to win through. It might not be possible.”
“Only one way to know for sure. “
“And if it is possible,” Tavi said, “whoever holds the Canim off is going to die.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ll lead it. I’ll ask for volunteers.”
“It’s suicide,” Max said quietly.
Tavi nodded. Then he shivered again. “Any chance you could do something about this rain?”
Max squinted up. “It isn’t crafted. I think a strong enough crafter could change some things. But to do that, you have to be up inside it, and with those things floating around…”
“Right,” Tavi said. “Crows take this rain. Without it, they’d still be waiting for the town to burn down. Without it, we could build a massive fire on the bridge and let it hold them off until daylight.”
Max grunted. “What I wouldn’t give for twenty or thirty Knights Ignus right now, instead of all those Aeris. Thousands of Canim, all trapped on that narrow bridge. With a solid bunch of Knights Ignus, we could turn those dogs into kindling.”
An idea hit Tavi, so hard that the bowl tumbled from his suddenly numb fingers and shattered on the stone of the bridge.
“Calderon?” Max asked.
Tavi held up a hand, thinking furiously, forcing his weary mind to quicken and consider the notion, the possibilities.
It could work.
By crows and thunder, it could work.
“He told me,” Tavi heard himself say in amazement. “He bloody well told me exactly where to hit them.”
“Who did?” Max asked.
“Nasaug,” Tavi said. He felt a sudden, wide grin stretch across his mouth. “Max, I’ve got to speak to the men,” he said. “I want you to get your brother and every Knight Aeris we have to meet me outside the town gates. They’ll need time to practice.”
Max blinked. “Practice what?”
Tavi glared up at the heavy storm clouds with their chilling rain and scarlet lightning, while Canim howls drifted toward him from the enemy positions on the Elinarch. “An old Romanic trick.”
Chapter 47
“Are you sure this will work, Steadholder?” Giraldi asked quietly. The centurion had hauled the room’s bed over to the side of the healing tub, and Isana now lay on it, her hand still bound to Fade’s. His sword lay in its sheath along the length of her body.
Isana tightened the fingers of her other hand on the sword’s hilt. “Yes.” “Furycrafting in your sleep,” Giraldi said. He didn’t sound happy. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Fade was able to make contact with me when I was in a state of near sleep,” she said. “If I am asleep, as he is, I might reach him again.”
“He isn’t taking a nap, Steadholder,” Giraldi said. “He’s dying.”
“All the more reason to make the attempt.”
“Even if you do it,” Giraldi said, “is it going to make a difference now? Even if he decides he wants to live, there’s only so much that it can do for him.”
“You don’t know him like I do, ‘ Isana replied quietly. “He has more will than any man I’ve ever known. Save one, perhaps. “
“And if his will is to die?” Giraldi pressed. “I can’t let that happen to you, Isana.”
Isana felt her voice crackle with sudden fire. “Neither can he. He simply needs to be reminded of the fact.” She turned to the centurion. “No interruptions.”
Giraldi clenched his jaw and nodded once. “Luck.”
Isana laid her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, all the while still focused upon the crafting. She held on to that focus as hard as she could. Her exhaustion made war upon her concentration, but only for a brief, dizzying moment. And then…
And then she was back at Calderon. Back twenty years. Back at that terrible night.
This time, though, the dream was not her own.
She saw her younger self, hurrying through the night, rounded with pregnancy, gasping with pain. Her little sister Alia walked beside her, holding one of Isana’s arms to steady her as they stumbled through the night. Araris walked with them, first before, then beside, then behind, his eyes sharp and glittering and everywhere.
In the distance, flashes of light against the night sky painted the outline of trees and hills upon Isana’s vision, darkly dazzling. From here, the roar of clashing armies sounded like the sea crashing upon the shore at high tide, back where the Crown Legion pitted itself against the Marat horde.
She followed the images of the dream, a silent and invisible witness to them, but the awareness of things she could not possibly know flowed through her thoughts. She was impressed that her younger self had maintained such a pace, and certain that it was not enough to have outpaced any barbarian trackers. Already, they had circled two enemy positions-a shock to Isana, who had known nothing of it at the time-and on one of his heartbeat-long forays out of sight of Isana and her sister, Araris had silently slain a Marat lying in ambush, never making mention of it.