“No,” Varg said. “They will embrace some new idiocy tomorrow. Or next week. Or next moon. But there is no escaping that.”

“But for today, we’re quit of them?”

Varg flicked his ears in assent. “Marok will keep them off-balance for months after today.”

Tavi nodded. “I’m sorry. About the makers who died. I wish I hadn’t had to do that.”

“I wish that, too,” Varg said. He looked at Tavi. “I respect you, Tavar. But my people are more important to me than you are. I have used you to help remove a deadly threat to them—Khral and his idiocy. Should you become a threat to them, I will deal with you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Tavi said. “I will see you in the morning.”

Varg growled assent. “Aye. And may all of our enemies be in front of us.”

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 29

Tavi lay on his cot in the command tent while the Tribune Medica of the First Aleran, Foss, argued with everyone.

“I don’t care if he can eat sand and crap gold!” Foss snarled, his black beard bristling. “He’s a crowbegotten Cane, and he’s bloodied up the captain!”

“Is the captain in any danger?” Crassus asked, his voice calm.

“Not at the moment,” Foss said. “But you can’t expect me to stand around and say nothing while those heathen dogs bleed our bloody First Lord to be!”

“Sure he can,” Max growled. “Back off, Foss. Captain knows what he’s doing.”

“Of course! We’re charging headlong into a fight where we’re outnumbered a bloody thousand to one, and he’s bleeding himself before the fighting! Presumably to save the enemy the bother!”

“Necessary,” Tavi said tiredly. “Leave it alone, Foss.”

“Yes, sir,” Foss responded, scowling. “Maybe you can answer me a question, then. Like why the crows the First Spear of the Legion is staying in a guarded tent, walking around in a civilian tunic, and not speaking to anyone.”

Tavi inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Why do you think, Foss?”

“Grapevine says he took sick. His heart gave out on him in that last fight. He’s near sixty, seems likely. Except that if that had been the case, I would know, because I would have been the man treating him.”

Tavi sat up on his elbows carefully, and met Foss’s eyes. “Listen to me very carefully, Tribune,” he said. “You were the man who treated him. It is his heart. He’s still recovering and won’t be himself for a few days. You took him off active duty. The guard is there to make sure the stubborn old goat gets enough rest and that he doesn’t relapse.”

The ire faded from Foss’s expression, replaced by incomprehension followed by deep concern. “But...”

“Did you hear me, Tribune?” Tavi asked.

Foss saluted at once. “Yes, sir.”