“I will imagine it when it is before me, ‘ Kitai said firmly. “You beg fate to make your fears into reality, Aleran. But for the moment, they are only fears. They may come. If so, then face them and overcome them. Until then, pay them no mind. You have enough to think on.”
Tavi took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re probably right. I’ll try.”
Behind him, Tavi heard the makeshift walls groan and squeal. He looked over his shoulder, to where the engineers were raising the opening in the walls so that horses could slip through. Moments later, Max and his cavalry rode toward them.
“You go to watch the Canim retreat?” Kitai asked.
“Yes. Nasaug might rally them and hit us again, before we can recover. I don’t think we could stop him, but as long as we keep them in sight, we can always take the bridge down before they reach it.”
“I will go with you,” Kitai said. Her tone brooked no dissent.
Tavi gave her part of a smile. “Once people have time to catch their breath, they’re going to realize that you aren’t Aleran.”
Kitai’s teeth flashed in a smile. “That will be interesting.”
Tavi felt like ten miles of bad road, but he and Kitai mounted up and rode forth with Max and the cavalry. They trailed the main body of the Canim host at a distance as they marched back to Founderport. Twice during the ride, they were attacked by wounded Canim, stragglers who had fallen behind the column. The attacks were swift, brutal, and ended quickly, and the cavalry advanced in a loose line, finishing off any Canim who could not keep pace with the retreat.
At the end of the day, Tavi watched, exhausted, as a team of eight horsemen entered the occupied ruins of a barn in one of the burned-out steadholts. Tavi followed behind as they swept the ruins, and snarls and the ringing chimes of weaponplay sang out into the dusk.
Tavi watched as a single large, shadowy form leapt a ruined wall and ran. The Cane was slower than most, its gait unsteady, and in its panic it fled directly toward the Aleran cavalry outside the ruins. A second team spurred forward to intercept the lone Cane.
Then Kitai let out a harsh, sudden breath from her horse, beside Tavi’s, and hissed, “Stop them. Do it now.”
Tavi blinked at her, but then immediately barked, “Second spear, halt!”
The horsemen hauled their mounts to a stop, looking over their shoulders in confusion.
“Come, Aleran,” Kitai said, and set out after the lone Cane.
“Wait here,” Tavi told Max. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
“Uh. Sir?” Max said.
Tavi ignored him and followed Kitai. She led him into the twilight, until they found the fleeing Cane, crouched in the feeble shelter offered by a half-collapsed earthen overhang beside a stream.
She stared at them with wide, frightened eyes, and gathered a number of small, piteously mewling forms to her breast.
She.
She.
Tavi stared at her, speechless. A female Cane, with young. Newly born from the look of it. She must have been giving birth while the Canim retreat began. No Aleran had ever actually seen a female Cane, and over the centuries it had given rise to a number of unsavory rumors about how the Canim perpetuated themselves. The truth was simpler, more obvious, and embodiment of it shivered in the rain before him, clutching her young to her, as desperate and as frightened as any Aleran mother would be in her place.
Tavi stepped forward, toward the female Cane. He lowered his chin toward his chest and bared his teeth.
The female’s eyes flashed with desperate anger, waging against even more desperate fear, and then her ears flattened, and she tilted her head far to one side, her body bending to bare her throat in abject surrender.
Tavi relaxed his own stance and nodded at the Canim female. Then he tilted his head slightly to one side, and moved a hand at her in a brushing-away gesture.
The female lifted her head and stared at him, ears twitching.
“Go,” Tavi told her. He struggled to remember the proper Canish word, and settled for the one Varg would occasionally use when he thought Tavi was taking too long to move a piece on the ludus board, while making the same gesture. “Marrg.”
The female stared at him for a moment. Then she bared her throat again, rose, never taking her eyes from him, and vanished into the dark.
Tavi watched her go, thinking furiously.
The Canim had come to Alera-and brought their mates and offspring, their families with them, something that had never happened before.
Which meant…
“Great furies,” Tavi breathed. “I am not afraid of Nasaug anymore.”
Kitai stared after the female Cane and nodded grimly.
“I’m afraid,” Tavi whispered, “of what drove him from his home.”
Epilogue
Isana woke to the sound of distant trumpets and a clamor in the hallway outside her room. She sat up, disoriented. She was in her bed. Someone had bathed her, and she wore a soft, white nightgown that was not her own. On the table next to the bed were three bowls and a simple mug. Two of the bowls were empty. The third was about half-filled with some kind of broth.
She sat up, a shockingly difficult task, and pushed her hair back out of her face.
Then she remembered. The healing tub.
Fade.
The tub was gone, and the maimed slave was not in sight.
If she hadn’t been so tired, her heart would have been racing with fear for the man’s fate. As it was, her worries were merely galvanizing. Isana got out of bed, though it became an act of sheer will, so weak did she feel. One of her simple grey dresses hung over the back of a chair, and she pulled it on over the nightgown, and walked carefully to the door.
There was shouting in the hallway outside, and the thud of running footsteps. She opened the door, and found Giraldi standing in the hall outside, facing the half-open door of the chamber across the hall from hers.
“That’s as may be,” the old soldier growled, “but you aren’t the one who gets to decide whether you’re well again or not.” He paused as a trio of youths, probably pages, went sprinting by. “Lady Veradis says you’re lucky to be alive. You stay in bed until she says otherwise.”
“I don’t see Lady Veradis anywhere,” said a man in a legionares tunic and boots. He stood in the doorway, looking down the hallway so that Isana saw him in profile. He was handsome, if weathered, his brown hair flecked with grey, and shorn in a standard Legion cut. He was thin, but built of whipcord and sinew, and he carried himself with relaxed confidence, the heel of one hand resting in unconscious familiarity on the hilt of the gladius at his hip. He had a deep, soft voice. “So obviously, she can’t say otherwise. Why don’t we go and ask her?”
The man turned back to Giraldi, and Isana saw that the other side of his face was horribly maimed with burn scars, seared into the skin in the Legion mark of a coward.
Isana felt her mouth drop open.
“Araris,” she said quietly.
Giraldi grunted in surprise and turned to her. “Steadholder. I didn’t know you were awake…”
Isana met Araris’s steady gaze. She tried to say something, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, “Araris.”
He smiled and gave her a small, formal bow. “I thank you for my life, my lady.”
And she felt it. She felt it in him now, felt it as she met his eyes. She had never sensed it in the past, never in all the years he’d served her brother and then her. It was his eyes, she thought. In all those years, with his hair grown long and ill kempt, she had never, never once seen his entire face, seen both of his eyes at once. He’d never been willing to let her see him. Never been willing to let her know what he felt for her.