Tavi stalked forward, trying to appear as though he longed for nothing so much as an excuse to vent his rage upon any Cane luckless enough to draw his attention. He had enough experience with them to know how important body language and confidence was to communicating effectively with them. His main worry was that some young warrior might believe his stance and attitude were bravado, a bluff, and decide to call him on it.

He had already killed two Canim. Given how implacable Varg and the warrior caste had become about protecting what remained of their people, it might already be too late to salvage anything out of the situation. Once blood was spilled, the Canim could become less than rational.

Come to think of it, Alerans weren’t much different.

Kitai fell into place beside Tavi, her green eyes narrowed, her expression hard. “You do not believe Varg is behind this,” she said beneath her breath.

“No. If he wanted me dead, he’d bring a sword and do it himself.”

Kitai nodded. “Therefore, someone else sent the killers.”

“Yes,” Tavi said.

Kitai frowned thoughtfully for a moment. Then she said, “I see. You fear that whoever sent the killers knew that they would die.”

Tavi nodded. “Likely, they are already working to spread word among the Canim.”

Kitai narrowed her eyes. “They will accuse you of murder.”

“I’ve got to get to Varg first,” Tavi said. “Before word has time to spread.”

Kitai glared at a pair of warriors in blue-and-black steel armor, golden-furred Shuarans who had never faced Aleran Legions on the battlefield and who might therefore be more willing to challenge the Aleran party. One of the pair looked like he might—but his companion, a larger Cane, flicked his ears in amusement and watched the Alerans pass with unconcealed interest.

Kitai grunted in satisfaction. “And before word has time to spread among the Alerans, too.”

Tavi nodded. “That’s why we’re doing this the noisy way.”

She cast him a single worried glance. “Not all enemies are like Varg. Be cautious.”

Tavi snorted out a breath through his nose and fell silent again as they finished their march through the camp uncontested.

As Tavi approached the center of the camp, he spotted a dozen of the most senior of the Canim warrior caste, their armor covered in so many scarlet patterns that little, if any, black steel could be seen. They were all resting in nonchalant poses around the entrance to the dugout shelter Varg used as a command post.