Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(155)

"I don't see their main body," Tavi said quietly. "No concentration at all."

Max nodded. "Raiding packs. Usually fifty or threescore Canim in each."

Tavi nodded, and said, "That means we're only looking at maybe a thousand of them here." He frowned. "What kind of numbers advantage do we need to ensure victory."

"Best if we can catch them in the open. They're big, and strong, but horses are bigger and stronger. Cavalry can stand up to them in the open. Infantry can take them on one-to-one on an open field, if they can keep their momentum and have decent support from Knights. It's when you fight them in enclosed areas or bad terrain or you stalemate them and grind to a halt that their advantages start mounting up."

Tavi nodded. "Just look at them. Moving every which way. They don't look like advance forces at all. There's no coordination."

Max grunted. "You think Ehren was wrong?"

"No," Tavi said quietly.

"Then where is their army?" Max said.

"Exactly."

Max suddenly stiffened as, in the valley below them, the morning light and the lay of the ground revealed a group of refugees not a full mile away. They moved sluggishly down the road, obviously trying to hurry, obviously weary beyond haste. The road through the valley was not one of the major furycrafted causeways that supported the Realm-the expense of such a creation made the use of the broad, slow waters of the Tiber far more practical for shipping and travel.

Economics had left the folk of the valley at the mercy of the Canim.

Moments after they spotted the refugees, a marauding pack of Canim loped into view, hard on the heels of their helpless prey.

Though Tavi had seen Alera's ancient foes before, he had never seen them like this-moving together in the open, swift and lean and bloodthirsty. Each Cane was far larger than a human being, the smallest of them standing well over seven feet tall-though the way their lean bodies hunched at the shoulders would have meant they would have been another foot taller, standing straight. The Canim in the raiding party were tawny of fur, dressed in leathers of some hide Tavi did not recognize. They bore their odd, sickle-shaped swords, axes with oddly bent handles, and needle-pointed battle spears with bladed crescents at the base of their steel heads. Their muzzles were long, narrow, gaping open to show teeth already stained with blood as they sighted their quarry.

The refugees, mostly children and elderly men and women, together with one cart drawn by a single workhorse, spotted the foe and panicked, trying to increase their pace though they knew it was hopeless. Death, violent and horrible, had come for them.

The fury seared through Tavi, and his own voice sounded hard and calm to him as he spoke. "Tribune," he said to Max. "Divide the column. I'll take the north side of the road. You'll take the south. We'll hit them from both sides."

"Yes, sir," Max said, his voice grim, and he began to turn.

Tavi stopped him with a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Max," he said quietly. "We're going to send the Canim a message. Their raiders don't escape from this. Not one."

Max's eyes hardened, and he nodded, then whirled to face the cavalry, bellowing orders. A trumpet blasted a short series of notes, and the column divided and drew from a long line into a more compact battle formation.

Tavi mounted and drew his sword.

The sound of two hundred swords being drawn from their sheaths behind him was startlingly loud, but he kept himself from reacting. Then he lifted the sword and lowered it to point forward, the signal to move, and within seconds he found himself leading the cavalry down the road. His horse broke into a nervous trot, then quickened its pace to a smoother canter, then at Tavi's urging shifted into a full run. He could hear and feel the presence of the other legionares upon their steeds behind him, and the deafening thunder of their running horses rose around him, pounded through him, rang on his armor and beat a wild rhythm against his heart.