"Scipio is his friend," Isana replied. "Dead, he's of no further use to you. Alive, he's a hostage."
"Dead, he's of no further threat to me, either," Navaris murmured.
"I can't argue with that," Isana said. "I'd be afraid of him, too. Particularly if I was you."
Navaris's voice turned very quiet. "Particularly?"
"Yes. It must be difficult for you in some ways. After all, you've won more duels than Araris Valerian ever fought. You've certainly killed many more armed foes than he ever did. Yet I should think that you've lived your whole life in his shadow. He has such a name, after all. No matter how many times you prove it, he'll still be the best in everyone's mind." She let that sink in for a moment before she said, "If you fight him and lose, well. That would prove it for certain."
Tavi edged up enough to be able just barely to see in the window. Isana sat on the floor between two corpses-Ibrus and his enforcer-and in front of Navaris, as composed as if she was having tea in the capital. Araris was still pinned under the rubble, and one of Arnos's singulares was standing over him, a sword to his throat.
Isana was focused intently on Navaris, and Tavi suddenly realized that it was because she was reading Navaris's reactions to her words, using her watercraft to judge exactly what to say to the cutter, to discern what would motivate her.
"Of course," Isana added, leaning forward slightly, "if you kill him here, you'll never have the chance to beat him. You'll never be able to prove beyond all doubt that you're the greatest sword in Alera. Whereas if you return him to your master alive, he'll most likely order you to dispose of him in any case."
Navaris stared down at Isana, frozen, her eyes remote.
"You're better than he is, Navaris," Isana said. "You pinned him against the hull of the Mactis like an insect, and if he hadn't run, it would be over. You know you'll beat him if you fight him. Why not give yourself a chance to wipe his name away and replace it with yours?" Isana frowned slightly, and Tavi heard a note of sympathy enter her voice, a bit of sadness touch her eyes. "What else do you have?"
Navaris's nostrils flared, and her right hand suddenly trembled, fluttering at the end of her wrist. Tension entered her lean frame, and her breathing sped up for several seconds.
Then she seemed to slump in place. Her eyelids lowered, half-closing. "Tandus," she murmured. "Armenius. Bind them. We'll bring them with us."
The huge man whose hammer had smashed the wall nodded and bent down over Araris, levering the singulares hands behind his back and binding them with a heavy leather cord.
The other swordsman shook his head. "We're not going after Scipio?"
"His name isn't Scipio," Navaris said quietly. "It's Tavi of Calderon." She moved abruptly, striking Isana on the cheek with the back of one hand with stunning force, knocking Tavi's mother to the floor.
Tavi's fist clenched on his sword, but he controlled the sudden surge of rage and remained still and hidden in the deep shadows cast by the little furylamps.
"And we won't have to go after him," Navaris murmured quietly. "He'll be coming after us."
Chapter 44
The plan was working perfectly, and that made Amara nervous.
An evening and morning practicing under Gaius's tutelage had drastically expanded Amara's ability to craft a veil. It was not so much a matter of learning something new as it was of being presented with techniques she was already familiar with in new ways. Gaius seemed to have an instinctive knack for picking out the strengths and weaknesses of her crafting, and showed her how to apply the stronger aspects of her personal talents in a new way.
By the time the sun was high, Amara was holding a veil nearly ten feet across, with only a little more effort than it took to fly.
"Excellent," Gaius said, smiling. "I believe Maestro Vircani must have been your windcrafting instructor."
"Yes," Amara said, smiling. She had never imagined herself managing a veil so large with such comparative ease. "Yes, he was. He thought very little of my work, too. Except for the flying."
"Small-minded old goat," Gaius murmured, suppressing another cough. "He was of the school of thought that held that any furycrafting concept worth employing was already being employed, and therefore there was no need to teach multiple approaches to any given task since the one that he knew was already good enough."
"I just never thought thinking of light as a windstream," Amara said. "Only bending it, like for a farseeing. I can concentrate on windstreams all day."
"Furycrafting is as much about imagination as concentration," Gaius murmured. "Bear that in mind when you try anything new in your crafting, Countess. Imagination. Different ways of visualizing your goal. It wouldn't startle me in the least to see you manage quite a respectable level of weathe re rafting, should you wish it."
Amara blinked at him. "Really?"
"Certainly."
Bernard murmured, "A breeze to blow away some of these bugs might be nice." He squinted through the grass at the patrolled area. "I'm still not sure we shouldn't do this at night."
"Of course we should do it at night," Amara said. "And that's when they'll expect anyone to try to sneak through their pickets. They'll have more men on duty, and they'll be more alert-whereas if we move through during the day, the men will be less cautious and more likely to be distracted.'
Bernard frowned and nodded. "But if one of them does notice us, they'll have awfully nice light for shooting."
"And we'll have nice light for running away-unless you prefer to flee through strange country in the dark."
Her husband's mouth twisted sourly. "I suppose there's no good way to do this, is there?"
"Precisely," Gaius murmured wearily.
Bernard nodded. "Then now is as good a time as any."
"All right," Amara breathed.
Bernard took up Gaius's stretcher and nodded at Amara. Then he half closed his eyes, and the ground beneath her feet quivered for a moment, a pulse of movement that she could barely detect. A moment later, it repeated, at the pace of a sleeping man's heartbeat.
Amara murmured to Cirrus and felt the light around them change subtly as she brought up the veil. Everything outside the veil blurred, colors twisting and overlapping, shapes softening to mere blobs of color. It was one of the things that made a windcrafter's veil different from one crafted with wood furies. The woodcrafted veil hid and concealed, as long as there were shadows and vegetable shapes to manipulate. The air veil needed no such condition-but it did limit the amount of light that could pass through it, making the world outside the veil look like something seen through poor glass, or murky seawater.