Several were sitting on their haunches, as if loitering in groups of two and three, passing the time. Two more were playing ludus on an oversized board with enlarged pieces. Another pair were facing one another with wooden practice swords. The two Canim did not engage their blunt blades. One was posed in a defensive stance, blade held across his body. His opposite held his own blade gripped over his head, parallel to the line of his spine.

As Tavi grew closer, the positions of each warrior shifted at what appeared to be precisely the same time. The first Cane slid a step to one side and shifted the angle of his blade. His partner eased half a step forward in dancelike synchronization, turning his body, and brought his own blade down and forward to a full extension, the sword’s wooden tip stopping just short of the other Cane’s blade. They both froze again, only to change positions once more a few breaths later. As the positions settled, the first Cane dropped his jaws open in an easy grin. The second let out a rumbling snarl of disappointment. The two lowered their blades, inclined their heads to one another in a Canim bow, and turned to observe the approaching Alerans as if their contest had concluded when it did by pure coincidence.

Tavi stopped a few feet beyond the range of a long lunge from one of the Warmaster’s guardians, growled under his breath, and called, “Gadara! I would speak with you!”

Silence yawned for a moment, and the dozen guards faced the Alerans calmly, relaxed. Every one of them had a paw-hand on a weapon.

Varg emerged from the dugout in his crimson steel armor, prowling deliberately into the light. Nasaug followed his sire, his eyes focused on the Alerans. Varg came forward, toward Tavi, and stopped a fraction of an inch outside of his own weapon’s reach.

Tavi and Varg exchanged a Canim-style salute, though it was barely detectable, heads tilting very slightly to one side.

“What is this?” Varg said.

“It is what it is,” Tavi replied. “Two Canim just attempted to kill me in my command post. They entered posing as your messengers. One wore the armor of a Narashan warrior. The other wore the equipment of Nasaug’s militia.”

Varg’s ears swiveled forward and locked into position. For a Cane, it was an expression of polite interest, but the stillness of the rest of Varg’s body amounted to the equivalent of an expressionless mask, meant to give nothing of his thoughts away.

“Where are they?” Varg asked.

Tavi felt himself tense at the question but forced his body to remain confident, calm. “Dead.”

Varg’s throat rumbled with a low growl.

“I cannot let such a thing pass unchallenged,” Tavi replied.

“No,” Varg said. “You cannot.”

“I would face the Cane responsible.”