Cursors's Fury

High Lord Cereus faced Kalarus’s image for a silent minute before he lifted a hand, clenched it into a fist, and snarled, “Get out of my garden.”

The waters of the pool rippled, and Kalarus’s image, like Gaius’s had, fell back into droplets of water that splashed back into the pool.

“Threaten my granddaughter. I’ll wring your skinny throat, you cowardly slive.” Cereus growled at the pool. Then he turned to face the assembly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a city to defend. I welcome any help you might give. But if you don’t intend to fight, you should depart the city as quickly as possible.” He turned a hard look at the pool where Kalarus had stood. “If you can’t help, then stay the crows out of my way.”

Then the old man, his anger wrapped around him like a cloak, spun on his heel and strode from the garden barking orders to his startled-looking men, his voice ringing from the walls.

The others in the garden just stared after Cereus, startled at the change in the man. Then they began to speak quietly, most moving to leave. Amara turned to the images of Lords Placidus and Atticus. “My lords, please. Before you go, a word on behalf of the First Lord?”

The water-forms nodded, and Amara waited until the garden had emptied again. “My lords, may I ask your intentions?”

Lord Placidus, a plain, stocky man of unremarkable height and crystal blue eyes shook his head. “I’m not sure, Countess. But if he has Aria then…” The High Lord shook his head. “There are a number of dangerously volatile furies who are restrained from doing harm by my wife’s will. If she dies without taking the proper measures to keep them neutralized, several thousand of my holders would perish. I have no qualms about sending my Legions into harm’s way-but I am not willing to sacrifice the populations of entire steadholts. Women. Children. Families.”

“You would let the Realm fall instead?” Amara asked.

“The Realm will stand, Countess,” Placidus said, his voice hardening. “Only the face beneath the crown will change. I have never made it a secret that I wish nothing to do with the politics of the crown. In point of fact, if Gaius’s page hadn’t publicly manipulated us into supporting him, my wife might now be with me, safe and unharmed.”

Amara ground her teeth, but nodded once. “Very well, Your Grace.” She turned to High Lord Atticus. “And you, sir?”

“I gave one daughter to Gaius already,” Atticus said, his voice bitter. “My Caria, taken to wife and held hostage in the capital. Now Kalarus has taken the other daughter. I see little difference between the two. But Gaius asks me to sacrifice men and blood, while Kalare wishes me merely to stand aside.” He bared his teeth, biting off the words. “So far as I am concerned, you can all cut each other to shreds and let the crows pick clean your bones.”

He turned, and the water-image flowed back down into the pool.

Lord Placidus grimaced at the departed lord of Attica. “I have no love for Kalarus or what he stands for,” he told Amara. “I have no qualms about facing him on the field of battle. But if I must choose between the First Lord’s life and those of my wife and thousands of my holders, I do not choose Gaius.”

“I understand,” Amara said quietly.

Placidus nodded once. “Tell Gaius I’ll not contest him should the Legions need passage through any of my lands. It is all I can offer.”

“Why?” Amara asked him, her voice very quiet.

Placidus was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Most High Lords marry for advantage. For political alliance.” The image of Placidus shook its head as it slipped back down into the pool, receding. “I loved her, Countess. Still do.”

Amara stared at the rippling pool for a moment, then sighed and settled down onto a nearby bench. She shook her head, struggling to work her way through a dozen trains of thought. She looked up a moment later, to find Bernard standing over her, offering her a mug of Giraldi’s ale. She drank it off in a single, long pull.

Kalarus was far stronger than anyone had anticipated and had found some way secretly to train and transport entire Legions of men. He was ruthless, clever, and determined-and worst of all, to Amara’s way of thinking, was that Lord Cereus’s accusation seemed distressingly accurate. Kalarus might well be as mad as Cereus claimed. Though the forces of the Realm had the strength to beat him back, if only just, Kalarus had chosen a particularly vicious moment in which to attack and had struck at the most vulnerable point. If he moved swiftly enough, his coup might well succeed.

In fact, she could not think of anything the First Lord might do to stop him.