He winked at her, then turned, barking orders as the freed Aleran Citizens and Knights prepared to make good their escape.
Half an hour later, dozens of makeshift wind coaches sailed up from the captured city, Vord shrieking useless protest behind him. Perhaps a score of vordknights attempted to stop the coaches, but were driven away by half a dozen firecrafters, and moments later the coaches were too high and moving too swiftly for any winged pursuit to catch up with them.
Amara vaguely remembered working as hard as she could to help keep one of the coaches aloft, and bringing it in for a brutal but nonlethal landing an endless amount of time later, as the sun began to rise. Then someone put a stale piece of bread into her hand, which she ate ravenously. A moment later, there was a warm fire-a real fire, by the great furies, and its heat wrapped her in blessed warmth.
Bernard pressed her head gently down onto a cloak he’d spread on the ground, and said, “Rest, my Countess. We’ll have to move again soon. I’ll keep watch.”
Amara was going to protest that he needed rest, too, she honestly was, but the fire was beautiful and warm and…
And for the first time in weeks, Amara felt safe.
She slept.
CHAPTER 43
Tavi stood atop the earthworks and stared out across the rolling plain. His armor and helmet had been scoured clean and freshly polished by the First Aleran’s valets, and gleamed in the setting sun.
Since they had arrived the night before, thousands more refugees had appeared, and the flow of Canim makers fleeing the Vord was only growing heavier. The crafters of the Legions had made sure that there was freshwater available, but food was in much shorter supply, and shelter was almost nonexistent.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps marched up behind Tavi and stopped.
“What is it, Marcus?” Tavi asked.
“Your Highness,” Valiar Marcus replied. He stepped up beside Tavi and stood in a natural-looking parade rest. “Did you sleep?”
“Not nearly enough,” Tavi said. “But that’s going around.” He nodded at the berm that was Molvar’s only defense. “You and your people must have worked without stopping.”
“It was the Canim, sir,” Marcus replied, his voice serious. “The ground around here has got a lot more rock than earth in it. Thousands of them were out here, moving stones. I knew that some of their warriors were strong, but bloody crows.” He shook his head. “You should see what some of their makers can do. The ones who lift heavy things for a living, I mean.”
“Impressive?”
“Terrifying,” Marcus said. “This berm is as much rock as earth. Considering that Your Highness sent all of our engineers on a different mission, our men had to work like mad to keep up with the Canim.”
Tavi nodded. “Well, it shouldn’t have surprised us. We saw evidence enough of what they could do at Mastings, and even more since we’ve gotten here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have the latest reports?”
“Such as they are,” Marcus said. The faintest trace of reproach laced his voice. “We could do a lot better if our Knights Aeris were available, sir.”
“They’re busy,” Tavi said. “How much time do we have?”
“The Canim mounted packs have been encountering the Vord closer and closer to the port, sire. They’re steering refugees in this direction.”
“What is the count on refugees?”
“Just over sixty thousand, give or take.”
Tavi grunted. “Has there been any contact with the main body of Lararl’s forces?”
“No,” Marcus said quietly. “But on the positive side, no sightings of the Vord main body yet, either.”
“I’d almost feel better if we had seen them,” Tavi said. “They have a way of turning up where they aren’t expected.”
“Your Highness is becoming paranoid,” Marcus said. “I approve.”
“Highness!” called another voice, and Magnus came puffing up the terraces to the top of the berm. The old Cursor’s hair was in disarray, as if from sleep, and he clutched a sealed letter in his hand. He came and passed it over to Tavi, still huffing. His eyes stayed steadily on Marcus. Marcus stolidly ignored him.
Tavi took the letter, glancing between them. “Something I should know about, gentlemen?”
“Not that I know of, sir,” Marcus said. He glanced at the old Maestro. “Magnus?”
Magnus stared at the First Spear for a moment more before he turned to Tavi. “No, Your Highness.”
Tavi eyed them both again, then opened the letter and read it. “Hah,” he said. “Crassus will be back sometime tonight. Marcus, do you remember those stairs we were talking about crafting into the cliff face when we first got here?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Make it happen, three times, on the farthest outthrust promontories within the fortifications-near where I’ve had you stockpiling supplies.” Tavi frowned, thinking. “We’ll need some lamps or furylamps set up on the stairs, too, so that they can be seen from the sea. If we don’t have enough of our own, ask the Shuarans. They use a lantern that looks like it’s designed to handle mist and spray.”
Marcus and Magnus both blinked at Tavi.
“We’re going to need a means to load people and supplies onto the transports,” Tavi told them. “The wider the stairs, the better. Wake Maximus. He’s good with stone.”
“Ah, sir?” Marcus asked carefully. “What transports?”
“The ones Crassus is bringing.”
The old Cursor frowned. “And the reason these transports cannot avail themselves of the Shuarans’ perfectly respectable port is…?”
Tavi found himself grinning at them. “They wouldn’t fit.”
Both of the men frowned severely at him.
“Meanwhile,” Tavi continued, “we should start getting all of our own noncombatants loaded up. Magnus, get that in motion, if you would, and make sure our captains are ready to set sail. After that, I want you to coordinate with the Tribune Logistica and work out the fastest way to get our men from the fortifications down to the ships and out to sea.”
“Tavi,” Magnus blurted. “Slow down. Are you sure you wish to ask our men to engage the Vord when we have no watercrafters to tend the wounded and only a score of Knights to support the legionares.”
“With luck, they won’t need to,” Tavi said. “And our crafters will be back before the night is out. If we’ve done it quickly enough, we might be able to slip away without taking on the second queen at all.” He turned his eyes to the lowering sun, frowning. “Time is the critical factor, here, gentlemen.”
Marcus and Magnus struck their fists to the hearts and, after one last exchanged glance, they turned to be about their duties.
“Captain!” Durias called. Tavi glanced down to see the stocky legionare waving frantically at him from the back of a puffing taurg at the base of the terraced wall. “They made it! They’re here!”
Tavi turned and hurried down the berm. He took Durias’s offered hand and swung up onto the taurg behind the former slave. “Take me to Varg.”
They found Varg walking the earthworks on the opposite side of the city from Tavi. Varg’s militia-though they could scarcely be called that anymore after nearly two years of training beside Varg’s warriors and conflict against the Aleran Legions-was spread around the fortifications, and the Canim Warmaster had placed blocks of heavily armored warriors at regular intervals around the wall. The militia would hold the line, and the warriors would be used as a reserve, ready to lend their tremendous power to the militia should the Vord breach the defense.
“Varg!” Tavi called. “There is something you should see.”
The big Cane looked down from the wall, and his ears twitched in mild amusement. “Is there?”