"Never underestimate the ongoing value in a talented protege," Lady
Aquitaine murmured, smiling. "Or how many times they go to their former mentors for advice on their most critical decisions. Keep me informed."
"Of course, lady."
"What of the villagers?" Lady Aquitaine asked.
"Released and returned to their homes-although Amos hasn't issued an official countermand to their death warrants."
She shook her head. "With Scipio out of the picture, there's no longer any reason to threaten them, and there is the potential for serious long-range repercussions. I must admit, my spy, that your suggestion sounded like quite a gamble at first. But it's proven an elegant solution to our problems."
Marcus's stomach twisted. If the captain hadn't played the situation as well as he had… Aloud, he only said, "Thank you, lady."
"In your opinion, will the First Aleran support Amos in the campaign?"
"If Scipio orders it?" He pursed his lips. "I think so, yes. They've fought the Canim for two years now. They want to finish the job."
Lady Aquitaine sighed. "Then it all hinges on Scipio. He has a rather irritating talent for impersonating a fulcrum."
"If he reneges," Marcus pointed out, "there is still the death warrant."
Her face twisted into a moue of distaste. "True. But will it be enough to compel him to keep his word?"
"Partly," Marcus said. "But bear in mind that he plans surprisingly well for the long term for someone of his age. Throwing his Legion's support behind the campaign is, at this point, arguably the best way to keep his men and his officers alive, united, and ready to support him again in the future."
Lady Aquitaine arched an eyebrow at that and waved her hand in a gesture that admitted the possibility. Then she rose and gathered up the laundry, a small smile on her mouth. "I'm not worried about his long-range plans. We're nearly there. You have served me very well, my Fidelias. I shall not forget it."
He bowed his head to Lady Aquitaine, and she departed.
He sank down to sit on his cot and closed his eyes. The panic and fear he'd kept hidden inside him when he lied to Lady Aquitaine's face rushed back through him. His forehead beaded with a cold sweat, and his hands started shaking.
Should Lady Aquitaine come to power, she would need the appearance, at least, of integrity, and Marcus knew far too many damning facts about both her and her husband. True, she had a certain amount of integrity-but also true, she allowed no one and nothing to hamper her aims. It had taken him years to see the absolute, voracious nature of her ambition.
He followed the chain of logic to its most probable conclusion.
Once she and her husband had the crown, Marcus would be a liability, suited only for removal.
Optionally, if she ever realized that he had turned against her, she would wipe him from the earth.
And should the captain ever learn his true identity, Marcus judged that he would react with less dramatic but equally effective prejudice.
Marcus sat on the cot with his hands shaking.
He'd kept the captain alive, at least. That was something. As long as he was alive, the young man would be in action-and Marcus was sure that the captain had no intention of sitting quietly in a cell while the Aquitaines' puppet Senator ran up a string of victories and the prestige and influence that would come with them. As long as the captain was alive and able to act, there was hope for Alera's future.
Just not for his own.
To the crows with it. He'd never planned on dying of old age in any case.
Chapter 19
Bernard suddenly froze, then lifted his hand and flattened it out again at his side, the signal to take cover. Amara hurried two steps forward to support Gaius as he went awkwardly to one knee, clutching the walking staff Bernard had cut for him after they'd set out on the trail again. She helped the First Lord to lie down flat on the cool, damp earth, and then followed suit.
Gaius let out a hiss of pain and clutched at his leg before going still and silent again. His expression was twisted into a pained grimace.
Amara laid a hand on the old man's arm by way of encouragement, and frowned at Bernard-or more accurately, at where she presumed Bernard was still standing. The shadows of the very trees and brush of the forest itself had fallen over him like a cloak, and the woodcrafting hid him entirely from view.
She heard a soft step on the ground in front of her, and then the light changed subtly as Bernard's woodcrafting slipped over her and the First Lord. Bernard became visible to her as it happened, though his features were softened and dimmed, as if by a deep shadow. He had his bow in hand as he stood over them, an arrow on the string, and his eyes were focused intently ahead of them.
Then Amara heard it-the click-click, click-click of a walking horse's hooves striking a firm trail. They were joined by the sounds of several more, and within half a minute, she saw the riders appear. There were six of them, all dressed in woodsman's leathers, though each wore a device upon the front of his jacket set with the green-and-grey colors of Kalare. Outriders, then, for a Legion-or more likely bandits who had accepted Kalarus's coin and authority to continue doing what they always did, plus the occasional odd job. They were heavily armed, each bearing a huntsman's bow, a broad-headed spear, and additional blades and axes strapped to their saddles.
They passed by in silence, but for the steps of their mounts. This was the second such patrol they had come across in two days, though the other had been more than twice as far away. These men were close enough for Amara to see the stains on their tunics and the scuff marks on their boots. She found herself holding her breath, straining to remain silent.
The patrol passed by, and Amara slowly began to relax again-until the last rider looked around, then reined in his horse and dropped to the forest floor. He tossed the ends of his reins over a low-hanging branch, and began walking toward them.
Bernard moved very slowly, very calmly. He lifted his bow and drew it in careful, deliberate silence.
The outlaw swerved away from them when he was less than twenty feet off, sighed, and began relieving himself against the trunk of a tree.
Though Amara could not even string her husband's bow, Bernard held the powerful weapon at full draw without a quiver. He remained still, his breathing measured, his eyes half-closed and lazy-looking. Amara felt herself quivering with tension, and she realized that her knuckles had gone white where she had ahold of the First Lord's forearm. She itched to move her hand down to her sword, but refrained. The motion might stir a leaf, or break a twig, and warn the enemy of their presence. More to the point, her sword wouldn't do her any good at the moment, even were it already in her hand. Bernard's bow would be their best defense.
The bandit finished up, muttered something under his breath, and turned to go.
Gaius's weight shifted. Amara glanced sideways at him in alarm. His face had gone pale with pain, and his right leg, the one still recovering from his injuries, was quivering against the ground. It didn't make much noise-but it was enough.
The outlaw suddenly turned, his hand flying to his sword, his eyes narrow as they scanned the forest around them. Amara was lying utterly unprotected on the forest floor, within range of a good, long lunge, and the man was facing her. He simply stared, eyes moving slowly from left to right. He stood there for a full minute, just looking and listening.
Amara's nerves began screaming in anxiety. If the First Lord's leg twitched again, there was no chance, none at all, that the man would miss it. If he had the capacity to craft through Bernard's woodcrafting, he would be within a heartbeat of striking out at Gaius, unless Bernard's first shot was instantly lethal. If the man managed to survive the first shot, even if only briefly, Gaius might not be able to defend himself. If that happened, Amara would have to put herself between the outlaw and the First Lord, and she drew upon Cirrus to give her limbs the speed she would need to interpose herself in time.