Furies of Calderon (36 page)

Bernard stood up, away from her, and rummaged in a pouch at his side. He took something from it, then something else. “Now you’re not a slave, eh? No. My nephew’s out in this mess somewhere, and it’s your fault he is.”

“It’s because I led him from the stead-holt that he isn’t dead already!”

“So you say,” Bernard said. She heard water gurgle from a flask into a cup or a bowl. “Where is he now?”

Amara tested the bonds of earth, uselessly. “I told you. He and Fade went on ahead of me. He said something about a river and a twisty wood.”

“Fade went with him? And these men chasing him? Who are they?”

“A traitor Cursor, Aldrick ex Gladius, and a water witch of considerable skill. They’re trying to kill anyone who saw the Marat moving in the Valley. I think because they want a Marat surprise attack to succeed.”

“Crows,” Bernard spat. Then he said, raising his voice a bit, “Isana? Did you hear?”

A voice, tinny and faint, echoed up from somewhere near at hand. “Yes. Tavi and Fade will be at the Rillwater ford. We must get there immediately.”

“I’ll meet you,” Bernard rumbled. “What about the girl?”

Isana’s voice came a moment later, as though she spoke under a great strain. “She means no harm to Tavi. I’m sure of that. Beyond that I don’t know. Hurry, Bernard.”

“I will,” Bernard said. Then he stepped back into her vision and drank away whatever was in the cup. “This man after you, with the swordsman. Why did you expect him instead of me?”

Amara swallowed. “He’s an earth and wood-crafter. Very experienced. He can find the boy.” She lifted her head, looking at him intently. “Let me up. I’m the only chance you have to help Tavi.”

He scowled. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you don’t know these people,” Amara said. “I do. I can anticipate him, what he’s going to do next. I know his strengths, his weaknesses. And you can’t defeat his swordsman alone.”

Bernard stared down at her for the space of a breath, then shook his head irritably. “All right,” he said. “Prove it. Anticipate him. Tell me where he is.”

Amara closed her eyes, trying to remember the geography of the region. “He knew I would expect him to follow, directly. That’s his strength. But he didn’t follow. He anticipated me, and he’s moving around, to get ahead of the boy. Check the causeway, the furies in the cobblestones. He’ll have made for the road and be using those furies to help him get ahead of the boy, so that he can cut him off.” She opened her eyes and watched the Stead-holder’s face.

Bernard growled something quietly, and she felt a slow, silent shudder in the earth. There was silence for a moment, while the big man knelt and put a bare hand on the ground, closing his eyes with his head tilted to one side, as though listening to a distant music.

Finally, he let out a breath. “You’re right,” he said. “Or seem to be. Someone’s earth-waving through the road itself, and fast. Horses, I think.”

“It’s him.” Amara said. “Let me up.”

Bernard opened his eyes and rose decisively. He recovered his axe, gestured at the earth, and Amara abruptly found her limbs free, the bow and the arrow returning to their original shapes, unwinding from her arm. She clambered to her feet again and recovered the sword and knife from the ground.

“Then get your fury to lift you again,” he said. He drew a piece of cord from his pouch, ran it through the back of his belt, and tied it closed in a loop. He tossed the loop to her and said, “Keep your body behind mine and stay low. The wood will make my passage clear, but don’t go waving your head around, or a branch might take it off.”

Amara barely had time to breathe her agreement before the ground itself rumbled, and the Stead-holder took off at a bounding run, the earth impelling him forward with every step. She turned and ran to keep up with him, but even in her best condition she would have been hard pressed to hold the pace. She managed to take several steps to keep close to him, one hand clinging to the loop of leather cord, then leapt in the air, calling to Cirrus as she did.

The presence of her fury solidified beneath her feet, and she flowed over the ground after the Stead-holder, tugged forward by the cord. If he noticed her weight dragging at him, it did not show, and the man moved through the night with perfect confidence and near-perfect silence, as though even the withered grass beneath his feet conspired to cushion the impact and lessen the noise of his passing.

Before she had gotten her breath back, they had passed into the woods, and Amara had to duck her head to keep branches from slashing at her face. She hunched down in the Stead-holder’s shadow, once jerking her feet up as he leapt a fallen tree that Cirrus hadn’t quite managed to carry her feet over.

“Got them!” he said, in a moment more. “At the ford. Fade’s on the ground, Tavi’s partly in the water and…” He snarled. “And Kord is there.”

“He must be concealing his own passage,” Amara said. “He never passes up a surprise attack. It won’t be long before he gets to the boy.”

Amara nodded and said, “I will. Cirrus!” The Cursor gathered the air beneath her and with a rush of swirling winds swept herself from the ground, through the stark branches of the barren trees and into the air above them.

Chapter 21

The waters of the little river were ice-cold, swift. Tavi’s mouth went numb the moment Kord pushed his head into the water, and his ears tingled and burned with sensation. Tavi struggled, but the Stead-holder’s grip was too strong, fingers tangled tightly in Tavi’s hair. His greasy Stead-holder’s chain thumped against Tavi’s shoulders. Kord pressed down brutally, and Tavi felt his face mash up against the rocks at the bottom of the river.

And then that inexorable pressure vanished. Tavi felt himself hauled back, by the hair, and thrown through the air to land upon the ground many feet away. He came down upon something warm and living, that proved to be a dazed Fade. Tavi lifted his head, blinking water from his eyes, toward Kord, but someone moved between them, blocking his view.

“Get clear. I’ll handle things here,” Bernard said. Then he turned his back to Tavi, keeping himself between Kord and his nephew. “This time, Kord, you’ve gone too far.”

“Three of us,” Kord growled, as his sons took up a position on either side of him. “And one of you. Plus the fool and the freak, of course. I’d say that you’re the one who has his neck stuck out, Bernard.”

The ground in front of Kord rumbled, shifting, and the thing that hauled itself up out of the earth, its hide and limbs all of stone, looked like nothing that Tavi had ever seen. It had the long body of a slive, but its tail curled up over its back, held in the air like a club. Its mouth was hideously elongated and filled with flint-sharp jags of teeth. As Tavi watched, it twisted its head to one side, opened its jaws, and let out a granite-deep, rumbling growl.

Beside Kord, Bittan took the cover from a ceramic firepot. Red flames licked up from it as he did, and they curled into the shape of a reared serpent, hovering and ready to strike, flaming eyes bright. The tall and slender Aric, on Kord’s other side, steepled his fingers together and wind and bits of bracken swirled around him, casting back his cloak in a shape vaguely like great wings.

“Don’t do this, Kord,” Bernard said. The ground beside him stirred, and then Brutus thrust his way up out of the soil, until the rocky hound’s broad head rested beneath Bernard’s hand, emerald eyes focused on the Kordholters. Brutus gave his great shoulders a shake, sending earth and small stones skittering down off of his flanks in a miniature avalanche. Tavi saw Bittan blanch and take a small step back. “You’re digging yourself deeper into your own grave.”

“Trying to take
my
land,” Kord spat, “from me and
my
family. What gives you the right?”

Bernard let out his breath in a sigh, glancing upward for a moment. “Don’t play righteous with me, slaver. The storm’s almost here, Kord. Last chance. If you back down, right now, you get to live to face Gram’s justice instead of mine.”

Kord’s eyes flashed. “I’m a Citizen, Bernard. You can’t just kill a Citizen.”

“That’s on your lands,” Bernard said. “We’re on mine.”

Kord’s face went white. “You self-righteous bastard,” he hissed. He threw his hands forward and screamed, “I’ll feed you to the crows!”

The stone beast before him lurched forward across the stony ground, lizard-quick. Even as it did, something lashed out from Aric, the blurred shape vaguely reminiscent of a bird of prey as it sped toward Bernard. Bittan hurled his firepot down into the nearest brush, and even damp, the wood went up in a sudden blaze, the flame-serpent within it swelling to twenty times its previous size in the space of a long breath.

Bernard moved quickly. He threw his hand toward Aric’s attacking fury, scattering a fistful of salt crystals through the air. A whistling shriek went up from the air before him, even as Brutus lunged forward, clashing against Kord’s fury with a shockingly loud crunch of impact. Both furies blended into a mound of stone that sank into the earth, where the surface of the ground twitched and bulged, where the Stead-holders’ furies battled out of sight beneath it.

Kord let out a bellow and came for Bernard. Tavi’s uncle hefted his axe and swiped it at the other Stead-holder. Kord threw himself back and to one side, and Bernard followed him, lifting the axe for another strike.

Tavi saw Aric draw a knife from his belt and head for Bernard’s back. “Uncle!” he shouted. “Behind you!”