Cursors's Fury

Tavi presumed the man was going to say “kill him,” but he decided not to waste a perfectly good second in listening. He took a bounding step forward and struck straight down with his gladius. The blow landed on the crown of Yanar’s untied helmet, slamming it forward and down, breaking the legionare’s nose and roughly gouging at one cheek. Tavi slammed his armored shoulder into Yanar s chest, knocking him down, ducked the swing of another sword, and kicked against the dark man’s knee, crushing the joint, sending him to the wharf with a cry of pain.

Tavi parried another sword strike, and attacked, forcing the legionare to react with a textbook-perfect return stroke-one that would have been excellent in the press of battle. It wasn’t a street-fighting move. Tavi disengaged his blade from his foe’s, took a step forward to the diagonal, and slammed his armored fist into the man’s nose with all of his own strength plus his opponent’s momentum, stunning him for an instant. Tavi drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s armored temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Max came rushing up to Tavi’s side, but the legionares around him had fallen back in shock at the sudden, vicious assault.

“Not bad,” Max observed.

Tavi shrugged.

“All right, gentlemen,” Tavi snarled at the rest of them. “So far, you’ve only deserted your post, presumably at the orders of this idiot.” Tavi pointed his sword at the unconscious Yanar. “The consequences for that aren’t pleasant, but they aren t too terrible. Everyone who wishes to add insubordination, failure to obey an officer, and attempted murder to their list of offenses should keep your weapons in hand and give me an instant of trouble.”

There was a short silence. Then Nonus swallowed, drew his sword, and dropped it to the wharf. Bortus followed, as did the other legionares.

“Return to your posts,” Tavi said, voice cold. “Wait there to be relieved while I get your centurion out of his cot and send him to deal with you.”

The men winced.

“Sir?” Nonus said. “What about the thief, sir? He killed a legionare. He’s dangerous.”

Tavi glared at them, then said, “You, in the shed. I’m placing you under arrest and binding you by Crown law. Come out now, unarmed, and I’ll see to it that you are treated in accord with the Crown’s justice.”

A moment later, Ehren appeared in the doorway of the shed. He had more muscle than Tavi remembered, and his skin was dark brown from time in the sun that had washed most of the color from his hair. He was dressed in simple if somewhat ragged clothes, and had his hands held up, empty. His eyes widened when he saw Tavi and Max, and he drew in a sudden breath.

“Keep your crowbegotten mouth shut,” Tavi told him bluntly. “Centurion. Take him into custody.”

Max went to Ehren and casually twisted the smaller man’s arm behind him in a common come-along hold, then marched him out of the alley. “You, you, you,” Tavi said, pointing at legionares. “Carry these idiots on the ground.” He walked around, picking up their surrendered weapons as they did, stacking them in the circle of one arm, like cordwood. “You,” Tavi said, as Nonus picked up the dark man. “What is your name?”

The man narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“Suit yourself,” Tavi said, and turned to lead the men from the alley.

A sudden sensation of panic hit him like a shock of cold water.

“Aleran!” Kitai’s voice called.

Tavi dropped the swords and dived forward, over them, turning in place. The dark man had broken free from Nonus, and now held a curved, vicious-looking knife. He swept it hard at Tavi’s throat. Tavi rolled in the direction of the strike. The knife missed him by a hair. Tavi managed to grab on to the man’s arm as he missed, and a hard tug sent him stumbling, so that his crushed knee gave out on him.

He cried out and fell, but started to push himself up again, knife still in hand.

Kitai dropped from the roof of the warehouse and landed on his back, slamming him to the wharf. She seized the crown of his helm with one hand, the neck of his tunic with the other, and with a snarl slammed his head completely through the wooden flooring, shattering the wooden planks beneath his face, trapping his head there.

Then the Marat woman seized his shoulders and twisted.

The dark man’s neck broke with an ugly crack.

“Crows,” Tavi swore. He scrambled to the man’s side and felt -for the pulse in his wrist. He was, however, quite dead. “I wanted him to talk,” he told Kitai.

Her feline green eyes almost seemed to glow in the shadows. “He meant to kill you.”

“Of course he did,” Tavi said. “But now we can’t find out who he was.”

Kitai shrugged and bent to pick up the curved knife, now lying under the man’s limp hand. She held it up, and said, “Bloodcrow.”

Tavi peered at the knife, then nodded. “Looks like.”

“Subtribune Scipio?” Max called.

“Coming,” Tavi called back. He glanced at Nonus and the other legionares, who were staring openly at him.

“Who are you?” Nonus asked in a quiet voice.