"That," Varg growled, "was Sari."
Tavi nodded. "I think," he said quietly, "that your people are in danger. That's why Sari burned the ships behind him. He knew Nasaug would return to protect your homeland if he didn't. And that's why Nasaug is building a fleet right now."
Varg said nothing. His body language told Tavi nothing. A moment later, he said, "If it is true, Aleran, then your enemies will be laid low. What reason could you have to help Nasaug return and stop this from happening?"
"Are you kidding?" Tavi asked. "Self-interest. If the Vord destroy your people, sooner or later they will come here. If I send you home to fight them, then one of two things will happen. You will overcome them, in which case Alera is faced with a familiar enemy and is no worse off than before. Or they will destroy you, weakening themselves in the process, making them easier for Alera to fight. Either way, we are better off if your people leave."
Varg considered that for a moment. "If you are right, we share an enemy."
"I'm right," Tavi said quietly. "I know I'm right."
The Cane glanced aside at Tavi. "What do you propose?"
"I return you to Nasaug at Mastings. You finish building your ships and leave."
"So simple," he said. "But it is not so simple, Aleran. You are not honored as your blood should be. Can you compel your Legions to cease fighting? To allow my people to leave?"
Tavi clenched his teeth for a moment but forced himself to admit, "I'm not sure."
"Then how will you accomplish it?"
"I'm not sure," Tavi said. He narrowed his eyes. "Not yet. But it will happen."
Varg did not reply.
The two of them stood staring out at the shadowed west before them, and for no explicable reason Tavi suddenly felt cold.
Chapter 41
"I don't like it, First Spear," Crassus said quietly. "This was too easy."
They stood within the ruins of an old town on a hill, its name long since forgotten. Odds were that the town had simply withered after the successful port city of Mastings had grown up only a few miles away, but whatever it had once been, centuries had passed since anyone but the occasional traveler or passing deer had lived there.
"I was sure they would have fortified this place," Marcus said. "But I'm just as glad they didn't make us fight to take it."
"Exactly," Crassus said. "They could have-they should have. And they didn't."
"The Canim are good soldiers," Marcus responded. "But that doesn't make them perfect, sir. And there could have been any number of factors that prevented them from using this position against us. Whether they made a mistake or just couldn't get things set up in time, we're better off for it."
"That story sounds weak, Marcus," Crassus said. "Even you think so."
"Weak, sir?" Marcus asked. "Just because the Canim have let us take a position we can fortify beyond their capabilities to assault only miles away from the town they have to protect at all costs, without giving us so much as a nosebleed over taking it? Especially when they know how tough we are from a defensive strong point?" He snorted. "What's weak about that?"
Around them, the First Aleran continued sweeping the overgrown streets, the half-collapsed buildings, checking everything within the tumbledown walls that had once surrounded the town. Both Guard Legions had marched to positions beside the town and were now erecting palisades atop simple earthworks as an outer defensive perimeter around the base of the hill.
The hoofbeats of a trotting horse approached, and Maximus rode his stallion through what had once been someone's living room. He dismounted and flicked the horse's reins around the remains of a chimney, then approached Crassus and saluted.
Crassus returned it. "Well?"
"They had scouts watching the hill," Maximus said. "Canim and mounted rebels. We pursued them, but not too hard."
Crassus nodded at his brother. "The city?"
Maximus's eyes glittered. "Saw it."
"How bad is it?"
"Three layers of earthworks," Max said. "Then what looks like a newly crafted outer wall, around the walls of the town itself. And they're all lined with troops."
Marcus let out a low whistle.
"How many?" Crassus asked.
"Twenty thousand on the walls," Max said. "No idea how many might have been behind them."
Crassus spat. "Wonderful."
"The good news," Marcus said, "is that at least they're doing something we anticipated, sir."
"Under the circumstances, it's hardly comforting," Crassus said. "With that much manpower, they should have had plenty of hands to spare to build up the ruins and make us fight for them."
"Maybe they didn't think they needed to," Maximus said. "They've got us outnumbered already. If we want to take them out, we'll have to go to them, and having a defensible position to fall back on isn't going to mean much when it's miles away."
Marcus grunted in a neutral tone. Crassus was a young commander, but his naturally studious, pensive personality tended to negate the usual recklessness of a leader his age. If anything, perhaps too much so. Waging a military campaign truly was one of the more complicated endeavors anyone could embark upon, and the demands of organization, logistics, communications, and internal politics could often create unusual, or even outwardly ridiculous-seeming, scenarios.
Marcus was well aware of Nasaug's skills, which had been sufficient to enable him to survive in hostile territory, cut off from any help and vastly outnumbered on the absolute scale. Only extremely competent leadership could account for such a thing-but even the most brilliant general had finite resources. It was entirely possible that Nasaug had reached the limits of his.
It was also, he admitted, entirely possible that the reason the ruins had been ceded without a fight was nowhere near so innocuous.
"Plan for what he can do," Marcus said. "Not what you think he's going to do."
Crassus glanced at Marcus and nodded sharply. "Giving us a nice position here lets them know two things for certain-where to find us and from where we'll approach Mastings." He scratched at the tip of his nose, frowning. "We estimate that he'll have forty thousand troops available to defend Mastings, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine," Crassus said. "Let's suppose he's got thirty thousand waiting for us behind the walls. He could easily have ten waiting in the field, hoping to pin us between Mastings's defenses and their field force."
Max nodded. "Which would get ugly, fast."
"But that isn't a large enough force to take us on its own," Marcus said. "Especially not from fortifications."
"Which gives them even more reason not to let us take these without a fight."
Max stared at Crassus for a moment, then accused, "You think too much."
The young commander shrugged. "I don't see Nasaug sitting quietly behind his walls and waiting for us, either," Crassus said. "It could be that he's planning on hitting us here before the engineers can build the ruins up. So I want to picket the cavalry in a screen around us at five or six miles. If anyone sees anything moving out there, I want to know about it."
Max nodded and banged a fist on his chest, then went to his horse.
Before he could leave, more horses approached, and shortly the Senator, the captains of both Guard Legions, and their immediate attendants arrived.
But not, Marcus noted, the Senator's hired singulares. There was no sign of Phrygiar Navaris or her contemporaries. Several burly legionares from the Guard were staying close to Arnos-but not his gang of hired killers.
Marcus glanced at Crassus, who seemed to have noted the same absence. The young commander frowned and tapped the tip of his thumb restlessly against the hilt of his sword.
"Captain Crassus," Arnos said.
"Senator," Crassus replied, his tone polite as he saluted. "Welcome. I hadn't expected to see you today."