Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(118)

"Yes," Cyril said. "But it would seem that someone wants us slow and blind."

The First Spear grunted. "Which means you want to move fast and find out what the crows is going on out here. Just to spite him."

Cyril's teeth flashed in a swift smile. "Take half a glass for the men and the animals to get some water. Then we're on the march again."

The First Spear saluted the captain and marched off, beckoning runners and delivering orders.

Cyril stared at the survivor of the attack. He was slowly easing down from his agonized thrashing. He stepped up to stand beside Crassus. The young Knight hadn't moved. His gaze remained on the sad, withered body of the dead man.

"Sir Crassus," Cyril said.

"Sir?"

The captain took the young man by his shoulders and gently forced his entire body to turn away from the corpse, and toward the captain. "Sir Crassus, you can do nothing for him. Your brother Knights need your eyes and thoughts to be upon your duty. They are who you should focus upon."

Crassus shook his head. "If I'd-"

"Sir Crassus," Cyril said, his tone quiet but hard. "Writhing in recrimination and self-doubt is a game your men cannot afford you to play. You are a Knight of the Realm, and you will comport yourself as such."

Crassus stiffened to attention, swallowed, and threw the captain a steady salute.

Cyril nodded. "Better. You've done all you can for them. Return to your duties, Sir Crassus."

"Sir, " Max's half brother said. He began to look over his shoulder but arrested the movement with a visible effort, then donned his helmet and strode back toward the front of the column.

Cyril watched Crassus for a moment, then the healers began to back away from the second tub, with the air of men whose work had been completed. The young Knight in the tub, though pale as death, was breathing steadily while Lady Antillus continued to kneel beside the tub, her head bowed, her hands on the injured Knight's head.

Cyril nodded, and his gaze fell on Tavi. "Scipio?" he asked. "What happened to you?"

"Accident with a cart, sir," Tavi replied.

"Broke his leg," Foss provided with a grunt, as he returned to the wagon.

Cyril arched a brow and glanced at Foss. "How bad?"

"Lower leg, clean break. I mended it. Shouldn't be a problem."

Cyril stared at Tavi for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he nodded.

Lady Antillus rose from the healing tub, smoothed her skirts, and walked sedately to the captain. She saluted him.

"Tribune," Cyril greeted her. "How is he?"

"I believe he is stable," Lady Antillus replied, her voice cool, calm. "Barring complications, he should survive. The acid ate away most of the muscle on his left thigh and his right forearm. He'll never serve again."

"There's more to serving a Legion than fighting," Cyril said quietly.

"Yes, sir," Lady Antillus said, her neutral tone speaking clearly as to her disagreement.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Cyril said. "For his life."

Lady Antillus's expression became remote and unreadable, and she inclined her head very slightly.

Cyril returned the nod, then turned to his horse, mounted, and headed back up the column.

Lady Antillus turned to Tavi after the captain left. "Scipio."

"Tribune," Tavi said, saluting her.

"Hop down from the wagon," she said firmly. "Let's see your leg."

"Excuse me?"