Princeps’ Fury

Tavi felt distinctly vulnerable as he shed the steel casing, and he doubted that Max and Durias liked it any better. The two men knelt at the center of the tower, bare hands flat to the dark stone, their eyes closed. Within a moment, there was a trembling vibration in the soles of Tavi’s boots, then a smooth, round half dome of stone, like a partial bubble made of solid granite, rose out of the top of the tower.

Max and Durias sat back on their heels once it was done. Then Durias rose, considered the eight-foot dome for a moment, and with casual precision drove his fist through an inch of solid rock. He ran his fingertips horizontally over the surface and did it again. Then he moved down the dome and went through the same process, until he had broken out a rough doorway leading to the dome’s interior.

Max bowed and rolled his hand in an elegant flourish. “Your summer palace awaits.”

They gathered their things and hurried out of the rain. It was not nearly the improvement Tavi had hoped for. They were out of the wet, but the inside of what was in essence a small cave was not precisely warm. At least, not until Max frowned ferociously in concentration, the tip of his tongue between his lips, and laid his fingertips on one wall of the dome. His hands shimmered with heat-not the savage white flame of a battlecrafted fire, but something infinitely more gentle, hardly visible, and within a moment or two the dome was as warm as a baker’s kitchen.

Kitai let out a purring sound and stretched out full length upon the floor. “I like you.”

Max smiled wearily at her and slumped down. “Should keep us for a while. If we can hang a cloak over the doorway, longer.”

“I’ll see to it,” Durias said, taking off his own plain green cloak. “We should get some sleep.”

“Kitai,” Tavi said.

“No,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

Max looked back and forth between them. “Do what?”

“Stand first watch,” Kitai said.

Durias glanced back at them. “Do you think we need to do that? I know we’re prisoners, but Lararl did give us his word that he wouldn’t harm us tonight. When the Canim give their word, they mean it.”

“It seems to me that Varg has Hunters that he sometimes employs when he needs to get around portions of his codes of behavior and honor that somehow conflict with his interests,” Tavi said. “So far, Varg seems to have used them in order to protect the spirit of those codes, if not their letter. But it occurs to me that it would be a very small step for a Warmaster to employ his Hunters to get around the spirit while preserving the letter, if you see what I mean.”

Durias frowned. “You don’t think it’s possible that you’re judging Lararl wrongly?”

“Of course it’s possible,” Tavi said. “But it isn’t probable. He gave us his oath of peace tonight, then stuck us on a roof in these conditions and left us here without shelter, food, or water. He’s keeping the letter of his word. But not the spirit of it. So we’re standing watch.”

“I am standing watch,” Kitai said. “Your lips are still blue.”

Tavi frowned and glanced at Max’s dim form. “Are they?”

“Can’t tell,” Max said. “Too dark in here.”

“There, you see?” Kitai said. “I am the only one qualified to judge.”

She pushed Durias’s cloak aside and slipped out of the shelter.

The rest of them had been Legion long enough to know what to do next.

They were asleep in seconds.

* * *

Tavi woke later. The rock of the tower was hard and uncomfortable under his back, but not painfully so-he hadn’t been sleeping longer than two or three hours. The stone was cool, but true to Max’s word, the air inside the little shelter was still toasty warm. Tavi had passed worse nights in the field with the Legion.

The cloak over the dome’s doorway moved aside, and Kitai appeared in the door. She padded silently to Tavi’s side, knelt, and kissed him. Then she gave him a sleepy-eyed smile and stretched out on the floor. “Your turn.”

Tavi gathered up his cloak, dry after several hours in the warmth inside the shelter, and threw it on over his shoulders before heading out into the cold and the mild sleet atop the tower. He drew the hood over his head and looked around the top of the blocky building, identifying Varg’s silent form, crouched at the westernmost edge of the building. Tavi padded quietly across the wet, cold stone to stop several feet away from Varg, where he could still see the enormous Cane in his peripheral vision, and stared out over the sight below them.

Lararl’s command building overlooked the fortifications below, where the battle against the Vord was raging. As far as Tavi could tell, it was going at precisely the same furious pitch as it had hours before. Still the Shuarans, in their blue-and-black armor, fought to hold the battlements, and still the Vord came on in a gleaming black tide.

From above, though, it was possible to make out far more detail.