Tavi smiled slightly. “Not according to Gaius Sextus. It seems that he knew that his death was coming for him. He didn’t know if I would be returning, and someone had to lead the Realm in my absence. He selected the man most fit for the duty.” Tavi put the tips of his first and second fingers on Riva and Aquitaine, separately. “Depending on the state of our troops during his withdrawal, he will have retreated either to Aquitaine or Riva with the Legions, and will presumably be gathering more to him.” He moved his finger two thousand miles to the west and rested it on Antillus. “As you can see, Antillus is free of the croach for now. Our mission will be to land here, make contact with Aquitaine, if possible, then join him.”

Valiar Marcus, the grizzled First Spear of the First Aleran Legion, rubbed at his jaw with one hand. The blocky old centurion squinted at the map. “Two thousand miles. On no supplies but some dried leviathan meat. And no causeways to use. That could take us all spring and half the summer.”

“I think we can arrange something somewhat more timely than that,” Tavi said. “In fact, unless I miss my guess, we’ll need to.”

Varg growled. “The vord Queen.”

Tavi nodded. “Exactly. She’ll almost certainly be overseeing the next conflict between the vord and the Aleran main body. She is our primary target, gentlemen.”

Valiar Marcus shook his head. “One bug. In all that.”

Tavi showed his teeth. “If it were easy, we wouldn’t need Legions to get things done. If possible, we’re going to slide in behind the vord and catch them between our forces and Aquitaine’s. We’ll make sure that the Queen doesn’t go scampering out the back door.”

“Bold and stupid aren’t the same thing,” Marcus said. “But sometimes they’re pretty close, sir.” Marcus frowned. “Sorry. Sire.”

Tavi waved his hand. “I haven’t been recognized by the Senate and the Citizenry yet. Until we’ve solved our problems, let’s just keep on the way we have been.”

“Tavar,” Varg growled, “your huntmaster makes a good point. Two thousand miles is a fair walk. If it is to be done at speed, there must be food. Armies can’t move like that when they’re hungry.”

Durias, the First Spear of the Free Aleran Legion, lifted his head and met Tavi’s eyes. The quiet young man didn’t speak until Tavi acknowledged him; though the brawny former slave was as solid as stone in the face of danger, he still wasn’t comfortable associating with Citizenry. “We’ll need more than merely food,” he said in a deep, soft voice. “We’ve worn through all kinds of equipment. Can Antillus supply us?”

Tavi swung his gaze to Crassus.