Ehren shook his head. “I saw them, Captain, with my own eyes. Hundreds of ships, driven before the storm that has made it all but impossible for us to fly, to carry word swiftly, to outmaneuver them. This is no mere raid. ‘
The First Spear grunted. “How come this didn’t come through official channels of intelligence?”
“Because I made landfall at the harbor in Redstone to find that my contact in the Cursors had been murdered the previous week. I didn’t dare reveal myself for fear that his murderers would be watching for other Cursors.”
“A plausible explanation,” Cyril said. “But one that does not readily lend itself to confirmation. My orders are to hold the bridge, Sir Ehren, not to mount expeditions against an incursion. I am willing to send out a party to verify-”
“Captain,” Ehren said, voice rising in alarm. “There’s no time for that. My ship outran the Canim armada, but not by much. If they kept their pace, they’ll make landfall in the harbor at Founderport in the next few hours. There aren’t many harbors along this coast. It’s obvious that they must control the Elinarch or risk being attacked from several directions.” He pointed to the south. “They’re coming here, Captain. By this time tomorrow, you’ll have the largest Canim bat-tlepack in the history of Alera coming over that hill.”
Cyril frowned at Ehren for a moment, then looked at the First Spear.
“Crows,” Marcus muttered, running a finger down the lumpy bridge of his often-broken nose. “Why?” he asked. “Why here? Why now?”
It came to Tavi in a flash. “Wrong question, centurion.” Tavi looked at Cyril and said, “Not ‘why,’ sir. Who.”
“Who?” Cyril asked.
“Who are they working with,” Tavi said quietly.
Silence fell.
“No,” Max said after a moment. “No Aleran Citizen would have traffic with the Canim. Not even Kalarus. It’s… no, it’s unthinkable.”
“And,” Tavi said, “it is the most likely explanation. This storm has blinded us and severely harms our ability to coordinate.”
“It does the same to Kalarus,” the First Spear pointed out.
“But he knew when it was coming. Where his targets were. Where he would strike. His forces were already coordinated and in motion.” Tavi glanced at Cyril. “That storm does far more to harm Gaius than Kalarus. The only problem is how the Canim told Kalarus that it was about to begin.” Tavi chewed his lip. “They’d need a signal of some kind.”
“Like red stars?” the First Spear snarled in disgust. He spat a vile oath, hand coming to rest on his sword. “Kalarus’s attack began the night of the red stars. So did the Canim’s.”
“Bloody crows,” Max said. He shook his head in disbelief. “Bloody crows.”
Cyril looked at the First Spear, and said, “If they take the Elinarch, they’ll run right through Placida’s heartlands on the north side, and with the river protecting their flank, they’ll be able to lay waste to Ceres’ lands on the south.”
“There’s not another full Legion within eight or nine hundred miles, sir,” the First Spear said. “And we can’t send any requests for reinforcement by air. No one could reach us in time to make any difference.” He set his jaw in a grim line, and said, “We’re alone out here.”
“No,” Cyril corrected quietly. “We are a Legion. If we do not fight, the holders in the towns and steadholts the Canim will attack will be alone.”
“The fish aren’t ready, sir,” Valiar Marcus warned. “Neither are the defenses of the town.”
“Be that as it may. They are what we have. And by the great furies, they are Aleran legionares.” Cyril nodded once. “We fight.”
The First Spear’s eyes glittered, and his teeth showed in a wolfish smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Centurion, summon my officers here at once. All of them. Go.”
“Sir,” Marcus said. He saluted and strode from the tent.
“Antillar, you are to carry word to the cavalry and auxiliaries to prepare for immediate deployment. I’m sending Fantus and Cadius Hadrian over the bridge tonight, to slow any advance elements of the enemy forces, gather what intelligence they can, and to give our holders a chance to run, if need be.”
“Sir,” Max said. He saluted, nodded at Tavi, and strode out.
“Magnus. Go into town and contact Councilman Vogel. Give him my compliments and ask him to send any boats that can manage it up the river to spread the word of a Canim incursion. Then ask him to open the town’s armory. I want as many militiamen as we can equip armed and ready to fight.”
Maestro Magnus saluted the captain, nodded to Tavi, and slipped out.
“And you, Scipio,” Cyril said, fixing a speculative stare on Tavi. “You seem to have a talent for finding trouble.”
“I’d prefer to think that it finds me, sir. “
The captain gave him a humorless smile. “Do you understand the wider implications of a relationship between Kalarus and the Canim, and the attempt to prevent Sir Ehren, here, from reaching us?”
“Yes, sir,” Tavi said. “It means that Kalarus probably has further intelligence assets within the Legion, and that they may well take other actions to leave us more vulnerable to the Canim.”
“A distinct possibility,” Cyril said, nodding. “Keep your eyes open. Carry word to Mistress Cymnea that the followers should ready to retreat to the town’s walls, should battle be joined.”
“Sir,” Tavi said, saluting. “Shall I return here for the officers’ meeting?”
“Yes. We’ll begin in twenty minutes.” Cyril paused and glanced from Tavi to Ehren. “Good work, you two.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tavi said, inclining his head to Cyril in acknowledgment of the captain’s deduction. Then he traded a nod with Ehren and ducked out of the tent. He hurried through the lightning-strobed darkness as the camp began to waken from its late-night torpor to the sounds of shouted orders, nervous horses, and clanking armor.
Chapter 29
The Legion followers camp lay farther from the actual Legion camp than was the norm: While the Legions had inhabited the standard-format fortifications built into the town itself, there was not room enough for townsfolk, Legion, and followers alike. The newer portions of the town had been built outside the protection of the walls, and the followers had pitched their tents on the common land surrounding the city, on the downriver side of the town.
It wasn’t a pleasant camp, by any means. The ground was soft and too easily churned into mud by passing feet. Footprints filled with water that oozed into them, which in turn gave birthplaces to uncounted midges, mites, and buzzing annoyances. When the wind blew from the river or the city, it carried a distinct odor in one or more of several unpleasant varieties.
But for all that, the followers’ camp had been set up in roughly the same order as it had been at the training grounds, and Tavi picked out the flutes and drums of Mistress Cymnea’s Pavilion without trouble. He wound his way there through the darkened camp. The sharp smell of amaranthium incense, burned at each fire to ward off insects, made his nose itch and his eyes water slightly.
Tavi glimpsed a shadow ahead of him and came to a stop beneath a single lonely furylamp hung beside the entrance to the Pavilion. Tavi unfastened and removed his helmet and held up a hand in greeting. Bors, lurking near the entrance as always, lifted his chin a fraction of an inch by way of reply, then held up a hand, indicating that Tavi should wait.
He did, and after a moment, a tall, slender shadow replaced Bors, and walked with swaying grace to him.
“Mistress Cymnea,” Tavi said, bowing his head. “I hardly expected to see you up this late.”
Cymnea smiled from within her cloak’s hood, and said, “I’ve been following Legions since I was a little girl, Subtribune. Shouts and signal drums in the middle of the night mean one of two things: fire or battle.”