But there really wasn’t time for that kind of foolishness. The vord had not assaulted the first wall as yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they did. Already, their scouts, skirmishers, vordknights, and takers were haunting the western edge of the Valley.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Senator Valerius, along with a pair of civilian-clothed bodyguards, approached the tent. He beamed at Ceregus, and said, “Good evening, Sir Knight. Would you be so kind?”
Ceregus inclined his head to the Senator, smiling in reply. He jerked his head to his fellow sentries to tell them to move aside, and waved the Senator and his men by without so much as taking note of the group’s sidearms. Valerius glanced over his shoulder, just before disappearing into his tent, and gave Amara a smug and venomous glance as he did.
Ah. So that’s how things stand.
Amara took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and calmed her mind. Then she opened them again, and said, “I believe I have had enough of this sort of partisan idiocy. It’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
“You are welcome to the Princeps’ Council, Countess,” Ceregus said, his voice cold. He pointed a finger at Doroga. “But that creature goes nowhere near the Princeps.”
When she spoke, her voice was very calm, and perfectly polite. “Are you sure that’s how you want to do this?”
“Did all that skulking around murdering people damage your hearing, Countess?” His eyes blazed. “Kalarus Brencis Minoris was my friend. And you killed him. So that is exactly how this is going to happen.”
“I won’t go into the details about how many deaths we can confidently lay at that young maniac’s feet, Sir Ceregus. There isn’t time.” Amara met his eyes. “Lives are at stake, and we need the Marat. That means Doroga needs to be a part of our planning. So if you don’t get out of my way, Sir Knight, I am going to move you. You will not find it a pleasant experience. Stand aside.”
Ceregus lifted his chin and sneered down at her. “Is that a thr—”
Amara called upon Cirrus, surged toward the young Knight with all the violent speed her fury could lend her, and slammed the heel of her left hand across the idiot’s jaw.
Rivus Ceregus went down like a poleaxed ox.
The legionares on sentry duty all stared in silence at the unconscious man, their eyes wide and stunned.
Doroga burst into a full-bellied laugh. He smothered it a second later and bowed his head as if pretending to unravel a loose thread from his tunic—but his shoulders quivered and jerked with his muffled amusement.
Amara would have been tempted to join him if her left wrist hadn’t felt as though she had broken it. Human hands weren’t meant to deliver blows with that kind of speed and force. She clenched the fingers of her right hand into a tight fist to channel the pain elsewhere, made a mental note to stop abusing her limbs like that, then turned a calm gaze on the sentries and nodded at the youngest. “You. Go into the command tent. Find a senior officer and ask whether or not the clan-head is welcome to attend.”
The legionare threw her a sketchy, hasty salute, and hurried into the tent. “You,” Amara said, nodding at another one. “Fetch the nearest healer for the idiot.”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” the legionare said. He hurried away, too.
“I apologize for the delay,” Amara said to Doroga. “I’m sure we’ll have things cleared up in a moment.”
“No hurry,” Doroga said, a wide grin on his ugly face.
Bernard emerged from the bustle of the camp, threading his way between several sets of smith’s apprentices, pairs of whom were carrying multiple suits of newly made Legion lorica on stout poles. Bernard nodded to Doroga and clasped forearms with the Marat, then turned to Amara.
His jaw hadn’t been pulverized to powder by Invidia’s blow, but it had apparently broken into half a dozen shards. The healers had only just been able to fuse the bones back together, including replacement teeth for the ones that had been knocked out, but there was still considerable swelling. It would take multiple sessions and simple time to repair his jaw entirely, and in the face of the battle at hand, the healers had neither to spare. When Bernard spoke, the words came from between clenched teeth, slightly misshapen. “Doroga. My lady. Have they started yet?”
“I’ve no idea,” Amara said. “One of Valerius’s dogs was in charge of the sentries and barred Doroga. We’re working things out.”
Bernard looked gravely down at the unconscious man. “My wife. The diplomat.”
“Don’t start,” Amara said.
Within a minute, the legionare returned from the command tent, nodding to Amara. “Countess, the Princeps sends his compliments and extends his gratitude to the clan-head for coming to us in our hour of need. He is by all means welcome to attend.”
She glanced at her husband and rolled her eyes. “Thank you, legionare. Doroga, if you please?”
Doroga joined Bernard in looking down at the unconscious man and scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Maybe even if I didn’t.”
They proceeded inside and found Gaius Attis waiting for them. He was seated at a chair on a small platform overlooking a sand table configured to represent the Calderon Valley. A heavy blanket covered his legs, and he looked pale. Sir Ehren stood in attendance at his side and a bit behind him, and Placida Aria stood in a similar position opposite Ehren.
Gathered in the tent were most of the highest-ranking Citizens of the Realm, a group of tired, bloodied, travel-stained men and women with proud bearing and grim expressions. Every surviving High Lord was present, along with most of the High Ladies. The captains of the Legions were also there, along with representatives from the Senate—who, Amara felt sure, were there mostly in a ceremonial function. All things considered, the tent was quite crowded.
Amara spotted Lady Veradis standing beside her father, the silver-haired Lord Cereus.
“Amara,” Veradis said, and hurried over, her expression concerned. “What happened?”
“Oh, I bumped my hand into something obstinate,” Amara replied.
Veradis took her by the left arm and lifted Amara’s hand in tandem with her own eyebrow. “This is broken.”
“In a good cause. I’ll have someone see to it when we’re finished.”
Veradis made a clucking sound with her mouth, and said, “Oh, you’re impossible. Just give it to me.”
“There’s no need to—”
Veradis lifted her left hand and quite calmly snapped her stiffened fingers and thumb together, as if in the motion of a closing mouth, then cradled Amara’s wrist gently and murmured something to herself. The pain eased over the next several seconds, and Amara let out a breath of relief.
“That’s him, huh?” Doroga asked Bernard.
“Yes.”
Doroga shook his head, studying Gaius Attis. Then he said, “Be right back.”
The broad-shouldered barbarian calmly approached the Princeps. As he got close, both Ehren and Lady Placida seemed to grow tenser. Lady Placida slid half a step forward, to place herself between Doroga and Attis.
“Take it easy, woman,” Doroga drawled. “Just want to talk to the man.”
“Your weapon, sir,” Aria said stiffly.
Doroga blinked, then seemed to remember his cudgel. He offered it to Lady Placida by its handle, and released it as soon as she had it. The cudgel fell with a heavy thump, and Lady Placida grunted. She had to make a visible effort of furycraft to lift the weapon again and set it calmly aside.