He hung upon the crossed spars, his feet dangling two feet above the ground. His arms had been bound to the outthrust arms of the cross with dozens of circles of steel wire. More wire bound his waist to the trunk of the cross. That much steel would virtually neutralize his woodcrafting. Being suspended from the earth would prevent him from employing earthcrafting. He was dressed only in his tunic. His armor, weapons, and helmet had been taken from him.

Fidelias was obviously in pain, his face pale. His eyes and cheeks looked sunken, and the grey in his hair and stubbled face was more prominent than at any other time Tavi had seen him.

He looked old.

And weary.

Tavi stopped in front of the cross and stared up at him for a moment.

Fidelias met his eyes. After a time, he said, “You should go. You should catch up to the fleet before the next stop.”

“I will,” Tavi said quietly. “After you answer one question.”

The old Cursor sighed. “What question?”

“How do you want to be remembered?”

Fidelias let out a dry, croaking laugh. “What the crows does it matter what I want? I know what I will be remembered for.”

“Answer the question, Cursor.”

Fidelias was silent for a moment, his eyes closed. The wind gusted around them, cold and uncaring.

“I never wanted a civil war. I never wanted anyone to die.”

“I believe you,” Tavi said quietly. “Answer the question.”

Fidelias’s head remained bowed. “I would like to be remembered as a man who tried to serve the Realm to the best of his ability. Who dedicated his life to Alera, even if not to her lord.”

Tavi nodded slowly. Then he drew his sword.

Fidelias did not look up.

Tavi stepped around to the back of the crossed poles and struck three times.

Fidelias abruptly dropped to the ground, cut free from the coils of wire by Tavi’s blade. Tavi took a step and stood over Fidelias, staring down at him.

“Get up,” he said quietly. “You are condemned to die, Fidelias ex Cursori. But we are at war. Therefore, when you die, you will do so usefully. If you truly are a servant of the Realm, I have a better death for you than this one.”

Fidelias stared up at him for a moment, and his features twisted into something like pain. Then he nodded in a single jerky spasm.

Tavi extended his hand, and Fidelias took it.

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 25

The fleet reached Phrygia in the false light of predawn, when the eastern sky had just begun to turn from black to blue. Starlight and moonlight on the snow made it easy to see, and Antillus Crassus and a handful of Knights Pisces had flown ahead to bring official word of the fleet to Phrygius Cyricus, Lord Phrygius’s second son and seneschal of the city while his father was in the field.