"And him," Marcus said, nodding to the last man, the one nearest the table. "Rivar Armenius. He's young, a Knight Aeris and Ferrous, and claims to have the fastest sword arm in Alera. He's won eleven duels against established teaching masters, nine of them fatal."

Armenius's cloaked figure turned toward them briefly. Then he drew the hood back from young, handsome features, and said, "Ten. Maestro Piter took a lung fever of his injuries."

Marcus inclined his head slightly. "Ten." He turned his gaze to the last member of the Senator's singulares. "And, of course, Phrygiar Navaris. One of the more dangerous professionals alive. Utterly reliable-provided she does not lose her temper."

Navaris's hand continued slowly stroking the hilt of her blade.

Arnos stared venomously at Marcus. He folded his hands on the table, lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not moving ahead blind, my Lady. Show me this man's face."

"Or what, Arnos?" Lady Aquitaine asked, her voice almost poisonously reasonable. "You'll walk away?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Perhaps because I know what happened to the first captain appointed to the First Senatorial. His name was Argavus, I believe. So odd that he vanished the night before you marched." Lady Aquitaine's gaze drifted to Navaris. "It would be a shame if someone mentioned the location of the body to the civic legion. An investigation might turn up all sorts of unpleasant facts."

Arnos shrugged, unfazed. "I've endured investigations before. Tiresome, but I manage."

"Yes. It's easier to pass the time when one has so many appetites to indulge." Her eyes shifted back to Arnos, and despite the worn exterior she had adopted, her smile turned sultry, predatory. "I can't help but wonder how often you've endured the wrath of a jealous husband. You do remember the wreckage at the piers four years ago?"

The blood drained from Arnos's face. "You wouldn't."

"It's a card I'll only get to play once. I'd prefer not to use it on you, dear Arnos." Her gaze was unwavering. "You are, of course, welcome to unleash your hounds if you think it might do you any good."

Marcus already had a knife in either hand under his cloak. He'd take the Senator himself, and then Armenius, the cutter standing closest to the table. Whatever Lady Aquitaine did, it would be violent, and best used against the more distant opponents, so he would handle those nearest. He was sure she'd be thinking the same thing.

Granted, he wasn't nearly as quick as he had once been. Arnos wouldn't pose a problem, but the young duelist might well prove more formidable. Marcus was certain that he'd have had little chance against the young cutter in a fair fight. It was the main reason he avoided them wherever possible.

Arnos was silent for a long minute, his forehead beaded with sweat, and the tension in the room grew. Then the Senator looked away, chin lifted haughtily. "It's senseless to bicker at this point, dear Invidia, when there is so much work to be done."

A small smile graced her mouth. "I'm glad we agree."

Marcus tried not to exhale visibly in relief and slipped the knives away again.

"I've ordered the Legions to march forth against the Canim. What do you see as our next step?"

"Rufus Scipio," she said. "He's dangerous."

Arnos arched an eyebrow. "You can't be serious. He's little more than a boy. A good showman for his men, tremendously lucky to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more."

"I'm less concerned with what he is than what he might become. Mistakes happen, Arnos, but it's best if he's gone before the Legions march. Can you see to it this time?"

At the shabby bar, Navaris's fingers began caressing the hilt of her blade.

"My lady," Marcus said, "if I may."

She glanced at him, eyebrows lifting again. "Speak."

"It's too late for something that direct," Marcus said. "There's already been one approach. It's failed. He's on his guard, as are his men. A second attempt now could be turned back upon us."

Lady Aquitaine grimaced and nodded. "Your suggestion?"

Marcus spoke carefully, keeping his tone absolutely level, neutral. "The Legion's loyalty is what makes him a threat to your plans. Remove him from the Legion, and you remove his ability to disrupt events in any meaningful way."

"I can't simply strip him of command," Arnos replied. "Not without cause."

"Thus far," said Lady Aquitaine, "he's been clever enough to resist manipulation."

"It won't be difficult," Marcus said. "It's simply a matter of knowing where to apply the pressure."

Chapter 8

It never occurred to Amara that she might have trouble keeping up with anyone when it came to flying. After all, no one she'd ever seen, not even High Lady Aquitaine, had been more swift or nimble than she in the air. Amara had won race after race during her days at the Academy. She'd never been overmatched in aerial battle.

But then, she had never tried her skills against the First Lord of Alera.

Within the first few minutes, Gaius had surged steadily ahead of her, even as a cold north wind began propelling them southward with mounting speed. Gaius had swiftly ascended to above the cloud cover, and it was as well he did. Within an hour, she could barely keep sight of the First Lord, even with Cirrus to help her.

Amara poured on all the speed she could, and for a time she closed the distance inch by inch-but only for a time. Then she rapidly made headway on the First Lord, until she was keeping pace only a dozen yards behind him. Amara felt gratified at her ability to keep up with him. It was only then that she realized that Cirrus's strength was being bolstered by that of dozens of smaller wind furies she could just barely sense. By the time the sun had passed its zenith, she had come to the grudging realization that in this particular kind of travel, at least, Gaius's raw power quite simply trumped all of her innate talent for flight and her hard-won skill.

He never flagged, either, but kept the pace with grim determination. Only a few times did Amara get a glimpse of the ground below, and each time she did, it was sliding by much more rapidly than it should have, especially at their altitude. The wind at their backs only grew swifter, and Amara realized that Gaius had summoned forth one of the great wind furies of the far north to speed their way-with what could only be unpleasant consequences for the northernmost cities and towns of Alera, who must have received a fresh blast of arctic cold just as winter began to loosen its grip.

Amara had no way to judge where they were-especially given that she had no idea precisely where they were going, beyond "south." She rarely got a chance to look for any landmarks that might tell her where they were headed. The First Lord, however, seemed to have no such trouble finding his way, and his flight was smooth and relentless.

By the time the sun set, Amara had no more energy to spare for such thoughts. It was all she could do to maintain the focus she needed to stay aloft. Still, Gaius flew on, never wavering, never slowing, as if he had become some implacable extension of the North Wind itself.

Night fell, and Amara had no idea how she managed to stay in the air. She remembered being terribly cold, hungry beyond words, and weary to the point of pain.

At last, the dark shadow of the First Lord, now only a black shape against the stars, began to descend. Somehow, Amara managed to keep up with him as they plunged into more cloud cover and came out the bottom of it into a fine, cold, misty rain. They slowed as he banked around some rolling feature of terrain, and then she saw a dim light beneath them, among thick trees hung with long, long streamers of some kind of green-yellow moss.