Princeps’ Fury

Marcus shrugged. “The Trueblood is their largest vessel, and their flagship. It’s got the most people coming and going, the most traffic, the most activity. I imagine anyone could have done what I did.”

“Nevertheless, you were the one who did it,” Octavian said. “You went beyond anything you could reasonably have been expected to do, Marcus.” He folded his hands and frowned. “And I’m about to ask you to go even further.”

Marcus frowned and waited.

“I’m leaving you in command of the Legions,” Octavian said.

Marcus lifted his eyebrows. “Sir? You can’t do that.”

“The crows I can’t. I’m the Princeps of bloody Alera and the commander of this expedition. I can establish whatever chain of command I think appropriate.”

Marcus shook his head. “Sir, there are a number of Tribunes in the First who outrank me-and I’m not at all sure that the Captain of the Free Aleran is going to like the idea of a centurion in the First Aleran giving him orders.”

“You’ve got more field experience than any two Tribunes in either Legion,” the Princeps replied. “And there aren’t many men alive who are members of the Crown’s House of the Valiant. Even in the Free Aleran, the name of Valiar Marcus carries respect.”

Marcus frowned and looked down at the scarred knuckles of his hands.

“It’s more or less an open secret by now,” Octavian continued. “Magnus isn’t really a mere valet.”

“Cursor?” Marcus asked, purely for form. Valiar Marcus would need to confirm a suspicion, after all. He wouldn’t be one hundred percent certain.

The Princeps nodded. “My grandfather appointed him my advisor in political matters. I intend his decisions to guide the expedition in diplomatic matters while I am gone. You have authority over security or military decisions. In the end, though, Marcus, I expect you to keep everything together until I get back.”

Marcus exhaled slowly. “Understood, sir.”

“I’ll be meeting with the Tribunes shortly, to let them know how I expect things to run in my absence-and with the officers of the Free Aleran, after that. All things considered, I think they’ll be nervous enough at being surrounded by hostile Canim to be willing to be cooperative, provided they’re treated with respect.”

“I’ll break enough heads to get that point across, sir,” Marcus promised.

“Good,” Octavian said, rising, and Marcus mirrored the gesture.

“Sir?” Marcus asked. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you really expect to come back from this meeting with the Shuaran Warmaster alive?”

The young Princeps’ face became an expressionless mask. “You don’t think he’s going to meet with me in good faith?”

“Your Highness,” Marcus said, “from what I’ve heard, there is a bloody idiot in charge of the warrior caste here.”

“Yes,” the Princeps said. “That’s true.”

Marcus grimaced. “Then they’re hiding something, sir.”

“Why do you say that, First Spear?”

“Think about it. If you had one bloody fortified port on your entire shoreline, would you leave an incompetent in charge of it? Or would you put the best commander you could find in that position.”

Octavian frowned, his brow furrowing.

“Doesn’t make any sense,” Marcus said. “There’s got to be some kind of pressure forcing that kind of appointment. Which says to me that this Warmaster doesn’t have the kind of control he would like to have. If I were you, sir, I’d want to know why not. Might be important.”

“You’re right,” Octavian said quietly. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but you’re right. Thank you.”

Marcus nodded. “Sir.”

“I’ll be departing within two hours,” Octavian said. “In that time, I want you to make me a list of anything you think you’ll need my approval to get done. Draw them up as separate items, and I’ll sign off on them before I go.”

“Yes, sir,” Marcus said. “Best of luck on your journey, sir.”

“To both of us, Marcus. Though I’d rather neither of us needed it.”

CHAPTER 16

The journey from Molvar to Shuar took four days, all of them along a stretch of hilly, windy country that supported little but yellowed grass, peeking up through early snows, and rounded black stone. By the end of the third day, the taurg Tavi was riding had only tried to kill him twice-since lunchtime. By the standards of Canim cavalry, the beast was behaving admirably.