Furies of Calderon

Fidelias smiled. He folded his hands and rested them on his knee. "If it please Your Grace, I will need paper and pen."

"Paper and pen? What for?"

"Easier to show you, Your Grace. But if you remain unsatisfied after, I offer you my life as penance."

Aquitaine's teeth flashed. "My esteemed wife would say that your life is lost in either case, were she here."

"Were she here, Your Grace," Fidelias agreed. "May I proceed?"

Aquitaine stared down at Fidelias for a moment. Then he gestured toward the slave, who went scurrying, returning a moment later with parchment and pen. Aquitaine said, "Be quick. My patience is rapidly running out."

"Of course, Your Grace." Fidelias accepted the paper and pen, dipped the quill into the inkpot, and swiftly made a few notes on the paper, careful to let no one see what he was writing. No one spoke, and the scritching of the quill seemed loud in the hall, along with the crackle of the fire pits, and the impatient tapping of the High Lord's boot.

Fidelias blew on the letters, then folded the paper in half, and offered it to Aquitaine. Without looking away from the man, he said, "Your Grace, I advise you to accelerate your plans. Contact your forces and move at once."

Calix stepped forward at once, to Aquitaine's side. "Your Grace, I must disagree in the strongest terms. Now is the time for caution. If we are discovered now, all will fall into ruin."

Aquitaine stared down at the letter, then lifted his eyes to Calix. "And you believe that by doing so you will protect my interests."

"And those of my Lord," Calix said. He lifted his chin, but the gesture meant little when the High Lord towered over him. "Think of who is advising you, Your Grace."

"Ad hominem," noted Aquitaine, "is a notoriously weak logical argument. And is usually used to distract the focus of a discussion-to move it from an indefensible point and to attack the opponent."

"Your Grace," Calix said, ducking his head. "Please, listen to reason. To act now would leave you at somewhat less than half your possible strength. Only a fool throws away an advantage like that."

Aquitaine lifted his eyebrows. "Only a fool. My."

Calix swallowed, "Your Grace, I only meant-"

"What you meant is of little concern to me, Count Calix. What you said, however, is another matter entirely."

"Your Grace, please. Do not be rash. Your plans have been well laid for so long. Do not let them fall apart now."

Aquitaine glanced down at the paper and asked, "And what do you propose, Your Excellency?"

Calix squared his shoulders. "Put simply, Your Grace-stick to the original plan. Send the Windwolves to winter in Rhodes. Gather your legions when the weather breaks in the spring and use them then. Bide. Wait. In patience there is wisdom."

"Who dares wins," murmured Aquitaine back. "I cannot help but wonder at how generous Rhodes seems to be, Calix. How he is willing to host the

mercenaries, to have his name connected with them, when the matter is settled. How thoroughly he has instructed you to protect my interests."

"The High Lord is always most interested in supporting his allies, Your Grace."

Aquitaine snorted. "Of course he is. We are all so generous with one another. And forgiving. No, Calix. The Cursor-"

"Former Cursor, Your Grace," Fidelias put in.

"Former Cursor. Of course. The former Cursor here has done a very good job of predicting what you would tell me." Aquitaine consulted the paper he held. "I wonder why that is." He moved his eyes to Fidelias and arched his eyebrows.

Fidelias watched Calix and said, 'Your Grace. I believe that Rhodes sent Calix here to you as a spy and eventually as an assassin-"

"Why you-" Calix snarled.

Fidelias overrode the other man, his voice iron. "Calix wishes you to wait so that there is time to remove you over the winter, Your Grace. The mercenaries will have several months to be tempted by bribes, meanwhile robbing you of their strength. Then, when the campaign begins, he will have key positions filled with people beholden to Rhodes. He can kill you in the confusion of battle, and therefore remove the threat you represent to him. Calix, here, was likely intended to be the assassin."

"I will not stand for this insult, Your Grace."

Aquitaine looked at Calix and said, "Yes. You will." To Fidelias, he said, "And your advice? What would you have me do?"

Fidelias shrugged. "South winds rose tonight where there should have been none. Only the First Lord could call them at this time of year. At a guess, he called the furies of the southern air to assist Amara or one of the other Cursors north-either to the capital or to the Valley itself."

"It could be coincidence," Aquitaine pointed out.

"I don't believe in coincidence, Your Grace," Fidelias said. "The First Lord is far from blind, and he has powers of furycrafting I can hardly begin to accurately assess. He has called the south winds. He is hastening someone north. Toward the Calderon Valley."

"Impossible," Aquitaine said. He rubbed at his jaw with the back of one hand. "But then, Gaius was always an impossible man."

"Your Grace," Calix said. "Surely you aren't seriously considering-"

Aquitaine lifted a hand. "I am, Your Excellency."

"Your Grace," Calix hissed. "This common born dog has called me a murderer to my face."

Aquitaine surveyed the scene for a moment. Then, quite deliberately, took three or four steps away from them and turned his back, as though to study a tapestry hanging on one wall.

"Your Grace," Calix said. "I demand your justice in this matter."

"I rather tend to believe Fidelias, Your Excellency." He sighed. "Work it out among yourselves. I will deal appropriately with whoever is left."

Fidelias smiled. "Your Excellency, please allow me to add that you stink like a sheep, that your mouth froths with idiocy and poison, and that your guts are as yellow as a springtime daffodil." He steepled his fingers, regarding Calix, and said, very soft and distinctly, "You… are… a… coward."

Calix's face flushed red, his eyes wild, and he moved, a sudden liquid blurring of his arms and hips. The sword at his side leapt free of its scabbard and toward Fidelias's throat.

As fast as Calix was, Aldrick moved faster. His arm alone whipped into motion, drawing the blade from his hip, across the limp form of the woman on his lap. Steel met steel in a ringing chime only inches from Fidelias's face. Aldrick slid to his feet, Odiana curling her legs beneath her as she lowered herself to the floor. The swordsman's face remained upon Calix's.

Calix eyed Aldrick and let out a sneer. "Mercenary. Do you think you can best an Aleran lord in battle?"

Aldrick kept his blade lightly pressed to Calix's and shrugged. "The only man who has ever matched me in battle was Araris Valerian himself." Teeth shone white in Aldrick's smile. "And you aren't Araris."

There was a rasp, and then steel glittered and blurred in the dim light of the hall. Fidelias watched, hardly able to keep up with the speed of the attacks and counters. In the space of a slow breath, their swords met a dozen times, chiming out, casting sparks from one another's blades. The swordsmen parted briefly, then clashed together again.

And the duel was over. Calix blinked, his eyes widening, and then lifted a hand to his throat as scarlet blood rushed from it. He tried to say something else, but was unable to make any sound.

Then the Rhodesian Count fell to the ground and lay unmoving, but for a few, faint tremors as his faltering heartbeat pumped the blood from his body.

Odiana looked up at Aquitaine with a small, dreamy smile, and asked, "Ought I save him, Your Graced"

Aquitaine glanced back at Calix and shrugged "There seems to be little point in it, dear "