When they were leaving, Marcus strode over to Nalus's horse. "Sir, that girth is looking a bit loose." He nudged Nalus on the leg and the captain drew it back so that Marcus could reach the fittings of the broad leather band.
"Don't say it," muttered Nalus under his breath. "I know. This was too easy. Something's wrong."
Marcus nodded, finished adjusting the saddle's girth, and slapped the horse on the rump as he walked away.
Crassus fell into step beside him, and they walked toward the southern edge of the ruins, where the engineers were already at work, preparing to fortify the old town wall.
"Two miles isn't far enough," Crassus growled.
"No, sir," Marcus replied. "Guess it's a good thing you told Maximus to go to four miles."
"I didn't tell him that," Crassus said, smiling faintly. "You were there."
Marcus snorted. "Yes, sir."
Marcus accompanied Crassus as he inspected the fortifications and conferred with the Tribune of the engineering cohort. After that came a briefing of the First Aleran's Tribunes, outlining the battle plan for the following day.
Crassus dismissed the officers from the command tent, and said, "Marcus, stay a moment."
The First Spear waited.
"Did you notice the Senator's singulares?"
Marcus frowned. "Yes, sir. Or rather no, I didn't."
"I'm trying to think of the last time I saw them. I think it was when we were still near Othos."
Marcus nodded. "That was what I figured, too."
"It isn't hard to work out what someone would send Phrygiar Navaris to do," Crassus said quietly. "If anything's happened to the captain, I'm not going to let it pass. And I'll want your help't-"
Outside, trumpets began blaring the call to arms. Men began shouting, and boots pounded the ground. Crassus and Marcus traded a look, then left the tent, to find the First Aleran in the midst of the structured chaos of a surprise call to arms.
Maximus came thundering up on his horse, and the beast was lathered with sweat and breathing hard. He threw Crassus a quick salute, and swung down from the restless beast. "I ordered the call to arms," he said shortly. "We don't have much time."
"For what, Max?" Crassus demanded.
"You were right. It was too easy," Max said. "The Canim are coming-at least two separate elements coming from the northeast and southeast, and they're converging here."
"Crows," Crassus spat. "How many?"
"So far, better than thirty thousand," Max said.
Crassus just stared at him, his face going pale. "How? How could they have that many in the field?"
"Sir," Marcus growled. "It doesn't matter how. They're here."
Crassus clenched his hands into fists and then nodded sharply at the First
Spear. "Assemble, and prepare to move down the hill to support the defense of the palisade wall," he said sharply. "Knights to stay at the crown of the hill in reserve. Maximus, how many of your troops are in?"
"Not many," Max said. "Most are still standing picket."
"Then you're taking over as Knight Tribune," Crassus said. "Get moving."
Max saluted and strode off.
"Marcus..." Crassus said.
The First Spear banged out a crisp salute. "Let's get to work, sir."
Chapter 42
Isana watched as the Slive approached the docks at Fellcove, a small port town on Alera's western coast, many miles south of Founderport and the Elinarch. The place had a seedy look to it, the boards of its houses weathered with age and smeared with tar. From the looks of the docks, one could practically step off of one's ship and directly into the town's drinking house, or its brothel- possibly both.
Ehren stood beside her, smiling. "Don't look so alarmed, my lady," he murmured. "We won't be staying long enough for it to make you uncomfortable."
Isana glanced down at Ehren and smiled. "Does it show?"
"From about a league away," Ehren replied. "Truth be told, I don't care much for the place, either."
"Then how did we settle upon it as our landing point?" Isana asked.
"It's close to Mastings," Ehren said. "The Legions are probably there already, and even if they aren't, Nasaug almost certainly is."
"Shouldn't we have sailed directly to Mastings, then?"
Demos's voice cut into the conversation as the captain came striding down the deck. "The Canim have been rather narrow-minded about commandeering every ship that they can get their hands on. I'd rather keep mine."
"Which makes Fellcove our only real option," Ehren said. "The Canim don't keep a presence here. Something about the smell."
Isana arched an eyebrow. "Surely they don't leave it entirely unguarded?"
"No," Ehren said. "They pay a local, ah, businessman named Ibrus, to commandeer ships and keep them informed about any naval movements."
"What's to stop him from taking the Slive?" Isana asked Demos.
"He's greedy," Demos said. "Not suicidal."
"I've done business with him before," Ehren added. "He's as reasonable as any of his ilk can be."
The ship's lines got tossed out to the dock rats, and the men drew the Slive up to the dock and made it fast. Isana noted that a broad-bladed axe had been set out beside the base of each mooring line on the ship, presumably so that they could be severed quickly, if necessary.
The ship's hull bumped against the dock, and Demos nodded to Ehren, holding out his hand. "There you go."
Ehren slapped a jingling leather pouch into Demos's palm, and nodded to him. "Pleasure doing business."
"I always enjoy working with Cursors," Demos replied. "They pay on time, and almost never try to kill me afterward."
Tavi emerged from the passenger cabin, wearing a mail shirt and his weaponry. Araris, similarly clad, also appeared. Tavi nodded and smiled at Isana, before walking over to the hold and growling something in the Canish tongue. An answering snarl rose from the depths of the ship, and then Varg came up the stairs through the cargo doors. The enormous Cane wrinkled his nose and growled something, to which Tavi responded with a bark of laughter. Varg disdained the gangplank. He simply put one hand on the ship's railing and vaulted lightly down to the dock beneath. Lightly being a relative term, Isana supposed.
The dock rats all paused in their tasks for a moment, staring at Varg. The big Cane stretched, then deliberately yawned, displaying a mouthful of fangs.