Princeps’ Fury

The country that the Vord had emerged into from the tunnel they’d used to bypass the Shuaran defenses was composed of rolling, rocky hills sparsely covered in pine trees. Varg’s three Hunters had determined what Tavi was doing before half the day was gone, and had proceeded ahead of them, fanning out widely as outriders for their group. Though they wore their shapeless grey cloaks, they fairly bristled with weaponry, and each of the silent Canim wore a large, lumpy pack on his back filled with who knew what other instruments of mayhem.

Once they had taken the lead, Tavi simply followed the Hunters, who were sure to know the country better than he did. They turned off the main road and began traveling cross-country by midafternoon, leaving the plain and entering the first of the lightly forested hills Lararl’s maps had shown at the interior of the Shuaran plateau.

By sundown they found the Vord.

The Hunters had led them to the vague Canim equivalent of a steadholt. Like the buildings of the Narash fortifications, it looked like a solid block of stone, a rectangle perhaps three stories high-or perhaps two, given the greater height of Canim ceilings. They rode the taurga into it through a relatively narrow doorway, and found that the lower floor of the Canim steadholt was one enormous, cavernous hall, evidently used in the same way Alerans would a barn, if the scattered droppings were any indicator. No livestock were in sight, though their scent was still strong on the air.

One of the Hunters leapt down after tying his mount to a ring on the wall, and picked up an oddly lumpy pole nearly eight feet long. He began working with it, and Tavi realized that he was unrolling a net or mesh made of wire, which was wrapped around the pole. The Hunter unrolled the pole completely, and sank one end of it into a socket on the floor, and Tavi noticed that there were many such poles and wire fences around the hall.

“Clever,” he said.

Beside him, Max grunted. “What’s that?”

Tavi gestured at the Hunter, who was erecting a second wall around the tired taurg. “It lets them use this space to pen livestock when they need to, but when they don’t, they can clear it out for other uses. They can change the size of the pens, or set it up so that you can cut some animals out and leave the rest penned up. That’s handy.”

Durias just blinked at Tavi.

Max snorted. “Don’t tell anyone,” he told the centurion, “but our Princeps was brought up on a steadholt. Herding sheep, if you can believe that.”

Durias looked skeptical, but his tone was polite when he asked, “What breed?”

“Rivan Mountain Whites,” Tavi replied.

Durias’s eyebrows shot up. “Those monsters? Hard work.”

Tavi grinned at the former slave. “There were days.”

“Tavar,” Varg growled. He and Anag stood by a steep stone staircase at the far end of the building. “Best see what can be seen.”

Tavi nodded and kicked the taurg lightly in the back of the head. The beast tossed its head and bellowed, and while it was distracted, Tavi passed the reins back to Kitai, who quickly took up the slack again before the animal could realize that it was no longer being held under tight control. Tavi slid off the taurg’s back and to the ground, then went up the stairs with Varg and Anag.

They passed the second floor, evidently quarters for whoever had lived there. They were as silent and as empty as the lower floor had been. The stairs continued on up to the building’s roof.

Even that space was practical. Long stone troughs were filled with rich, dark earth. A great many vegetables could be planted there during what was sure to be a short summer, to take maximum advantage of the sunshine. A winch-and-pulley rig beside a large bucket at the roof’s edge indicated that irrigating the rooftop gardens would be taxing, but not impossible.

It wasn’t the same as an Aleran steadholt, but the practical, conservative thought behind its design was no different. Tavi felt oddly comfortable there.

Anag and Varg walked to the western edge of the roof and stood staring out for a time. Tavi followed, hopping up onto one of the stone planting troughs to put his head on a level with theirs.

Perhaps two miles to the west, as the ground rose gently, the green glow of growing croach was visible through the sparse trees.

Anag snarled in pure, quiet hate.

Varg glanced aside at Tavi. “How fast does it grow?”

“From what I read in Lararl’s study, it depends on several things-temperature, weather, how much plant cover is on the ground, as well as how large it already is.” Tavi shook his head. “Maybe other things we don’t know about. And the bloody wax spiders spread it when they want to cover a new area, too.”

“Not far,” Anag growled quietly. “It was not growing until the Vord emerged.”

“He’s right,” Tavi said. “A mile, two at the most. We’re near their hole. Though I’ll wager that we probably passed dozens of smaller patches today in the daylight, without seeing them. They set them up like outposts.”

“More like spreading seeds,” Varg rumbled.