"Fade," Tavi said, his voice hard. "Why didn't you fight?"
The slave eyed him, then looked away, shaking his head. "Couldn't."
"Why not?" Tavi demanded. "We needed you. Max could have been killed."
"I couldn't," Fade said. His eyes shifted warily, and Tavi saw real fear in them. "Miles was fighting that thing, that vord. It was too fast. If I'd drawn steel, he would have recognized me immediately." Fade took a slow breath. "The distraction would have killed him. It still might."
"He's hurt," Tavi said. "And we have no idea how long he can fend them off."
Fade nodded, his expression bleak, full of old pain. "I… Tavi, I don't know if I can. I don't know if I could bear it if…" He shook his head and said, "I thought I could, but being back here… So much will change, and I don't want that."
"Dying is a change," Kitai put in. "You don't want that, either."
Fade shrank a little.
Tavi made a gesture to Kitai to let him do the talking. "Fade, the First Lord needs you."
"That arrogant, pompous, egotistical old bastard," Fade spat, his voice suddenly filled with an alien, entirely vicious hatred, "can go to the bloody crows."
Tavi's fist caught the ragged slave on the tip of his chin and knocked Fade onto his rear on the smooth stone floor. Fade lifted his hand to his face, his expression one of pure shock and surprise.
"Since you don't seem to be thinking well," Tavi said, his voice cold, "let me help you. Your feelings toward Gaius are irrelevant. He is the rightful First Lord of Alera. If he dies here tonight, it will cast our entire people into a civil war that will be a signal to our enemies to attack us. The vord pose a threat that could be worse than the Canim, Marat, and Icemen combined if it is left to fester, and we need a strong and unified central command to make sure it doesn't happen."
Fade stared up at Tavi, his expression still stunned.
"Do you understand what is happening here? Millions of lives depend on the outcome of this hour, and there is no time to be distracted by personal grudges. To save the Realm, we must save Gaius." Tavi leaned down, seized the hilt of Fade's worn old sword, and drew it from its scabbard. Then he knelt on one knee and stared into Fade's eyes while he reversed his grip on the blade and offered the hilt to the slave over one arm.
"Which means," Tavi said quietly, "that the Realm needs Araris Valerian."
Fade's eyes brimmed with tears, and Tavi could almost feel the terrible old pain that brought them, the fear that filled the scarred slave's haunted eyes. He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to the coward's brand on his maimed cheek. "I… I don't know if I can be him again."
"You were him at Calderon," Tavi said. "You saved my life. We'll work something out with your brother, Fade. I promise that I'll do everything I possibly can to help you both. I don't know the details of what came between the two of you. But you're his brother. His blood."
"He'll be angry," Fade whispered. "He might… I couldn't hurt him, Tavi. Not even if he killed me."
Tavi shook his head. "I won't allow that to happen. No matter how angry he might be, underneath it he loves you. Anger subsides. Love doesn't."
Fade folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I c-can't. I can't. It's been too long."
"You must," Tavi said. "You will. You gave me your sword. And you didn't mean it as a present for me to hang on my wall. You meant it as something more. Didn't you? That's why Gaius was so disapproving when he saw it."
Fade's face twisted with some new agony, but he nodded.
Tavi did, too. "With or without you, I'm going back up those stairs," he said, "and I'm going to fight those animals until I'm dead or until the First Lord is safe. Take up your sword, Fade. Come with me. I need your help."
Fade exhaled sharply and bowed his head. Then he took a deep breath, lifted his right hand, and took the sword Tavi offered him. He met Tavi's eyes, and said, quietly, "Because you ask it of me."
Tavi nodded, clasped Fade's shoulder with one hand again, and they rose together.
Chapter 50
"They're forming up again," Amara reported, staring out at the taken holders. A score of them held long, rough spears of raw wood, crude points hacked into them with knives and sickles and swords. "Looks like they're using the legionares shields, too."
Bernard grunted and came up to the front of the cave to stand beside her. "They'll use the shields to cover the spears from our archers. That volley must have been worse than they expected." The rain came down in steady, heavy drops outside the cave. Flashes of green-tinged lightning continued to dance through the clouds veiling the summit of Garados, and the air had grown steadily thicker and more oppressive, a sense of old, slow malice permeating every sight and sound. "And the furystorm is about to break, if I'm any judge. We'll have windmanes coming down on us in half an hour."
"Half an hour," Amara mused. "Do you think it will matter to us by then?"
"Maybe not," Bernard said. "Maybe so. Nothing is written in stone."
A wry smile twisted Amara's mouth. "We might survive the vord to be killed by windmanes. That's your encouragement? Your reassurance?"
Bernard grinned, staring out at the enemy, defiance in his eyes. "With any luck, even if we don't take them, the furystorm will finish what we started."
"That really isn't any better," Amara said. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Could we wait here? Let the furystorm take them?"
Bernard shook his head. "Looks to me like they know it's coming, too. They've got to take the cave before the storm breaks."
Amara nodded. "Then it's time."
Bernard looked over his shoulder, and said, "Prepare to charge."
Behind him, waiting in ranks, was every legionare still able to stand and wield a blade. Twoscore swords hissed from their sheaths with steely whispers that promised blood.
"Doroga," Bernard called. "Give us twenty strides before you move."
The Marat chieftain lay astride Walker's broad back, the cave's ceiling forcing his chest to the gargant's fur. He nodded at Bernard, and said something in a low voice to Walker. The gargant's great claws gouged the floor of the cave, and his chest rumbled an angry threat for the enemy outside.
Bernard nodded sharply and glanced at the archers. The Knights Flora each held an arrow to the bowstring. "Wait until the last moment to shoot," he told them quietly. "Clear as many of those spears from Walker's path as you can." He fit a string to his own bow and glanced at Amara. "Ready, love?"
She felt frightened, but not so much as she had thought she would be. Perhaps there had simply been too much fear over the past hours for it to overwhelm her now. Her hand felt steady as she drew her sword from its scabbard. Really, she felt more sad than afraid. Sad that so many good men and women had lost their lives. Sad that she could do nothing better for Bernard or his men. Sad that she would have no more nights with her new husband, no more silent moments of warmth or desire.
That was behind her now. Her sword was cold and heavy and bright in her hand.
"I'm ready," she said.
Bernard nodded, closed his eyes, and took a long breath, then opened them. In his left hand, he held his great bow, arrow to the string. With his right, he drew his sword, lifted it, and roared, "Legionares! At the double, forward march!"
Bernard stepped forward into a slow jog, and every legionare behind him started out in that same step, so that their boots struck the ground in unison. Amara followed apace, struggling to keep her steps even with Bernard's. Once the legionares were all clear of the cave mouth, Bernard lifted a hand and slashed it to his left.