Princeps’ Fury

“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?”