Princeps' fury Read Online Free PDF Page A

second. Then he pressed his lips together and nodded, once.

    “Thank you,” Kestus said, and closed his eyes.

     

    Sir Ehren ex Cursori rode Kestus’s horse until the beast was all but broken, using every trick he’d ever learned, seen, heard, or read about to shake off pursuit and obscure his trail.

    By the time the sun rose, he felt as weak and shaky as his mount—but there was no further sign of pursuit. He stopped beside a small river and leaned against a tree, closing his eyes for a moment.

    The Cursor wasn’t sure if his coin would be able to reach Alera Imperia from such a minor tributary—but he had little choice but to try. The First Lord had to be warned. He drew out the chain from around his neck, and with it the silver coin that hung from it. He tossed the coin into the water, and said, “Hear me, little river, and hasten word to thy master.”

    For several moments, nothing happened. Ehren was about to give up and start moving again, when the water stirred, and the surface of the water stirred, rose, and formed itself into the image of Gaius Sextus, the First Lord of Alera.

    Gaius was a tall, handsome man, who appeared to be in his late forties if one discounted the silver hair. In truth, the First Lord was in his eighties, but like all powerful watercrafters’, his body did not tend to show the effects of age that a normal Aleran’s would. Though his eyes were sunken and weary-looking, they glittered with intelligence and sheer, indomitable will. The water sculpture focused on Ehren, frowned, and spoke.

    “Sir Ehren?” Gaius said. “Is that you?” His voice sounded strange, like someone speaking from inside a tunnel.

    “Yes, sire,” Ehren replied, bowing his head. “I have urgent news.”

    The First Lord gestured with one hand. “Report.”

    Ehren took a deep breath. “Sire. The Vord are here, in the wilds to the southwest of the Waste of Kalare.”

    Gaius’s expression suddenly stiffened, tension gathering in his shoulders. He leaned forward slightly, eyes intent. “Are you certain of this?”

    “Completely. And there’s more.”

    Ehren took a deep breath.

    “Sire,” he said quietly. “They’ve learned furycrafting.”

 

    CHAPTER 1

    On his previous voyages, it had taken Tavi several days to recover from his seasickness—but those voyages had never taken him out into the ocean deeps. There was, he learned, a vast difference between staying within a long day’s sail of land and daring the deep blue sea. He could not believe how high the waves could roll, out in the empty ocean. It often seemed that the Slive was sailing up the side of a great blue mountain, only to sled down its far side once it had reached the summit. The wind and the expertise of Demos’s crew of scoundrels kept the sails constantly taut, and the Slive rapidly took the lead position in the fleet.

    By Tavi’s order, Demos kept his ship even with the Trueblood , the flagship of the Canim leader, Varg. Demos’s crew chafed under the order, Tavi knew. Though the Trueblood was almost unbelievably graceful for a vessel her size, compared to the nimble Slive she moved like a river barge. Demos’s men longed to show the Canim what their ship could do, and give the vast, black ship a view of their stern.

    Tavi was tempted to allow it. Anything to end the voyage a little sooner.

    The greatly increased activity of the waves had increased his motion sickness proportionately, and though it had, mercifully, abated somewhat since those first few horrible days, it hadn’t ever gone away completely, and eating food remained a dubious proposition, at best. He could keep down a little bread, and weak broth, but not much more. He had a constant headache, now, which grew more irritating by the day.

    “Little brother,” growled the grizzled old Cane. “You Alerans are a short-lived race. Have you grown old and feeble enough to need naps in midlesson?”

    From her position in the hammock slung from the