Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(158)

Tavi felt like screaming. Or running and hiding. Or sleeping. Or possibly a combination of the first several, followed by the last. He was not a trained leader of legionares. He had never asked to be in a position of command such as this, never sought to be. That it had happened to him was a simple and enormous fact that was so stunning that he still had not come to grips with its implications. He was accustomed to taking chances-but here, he would take them with lives other than his own. Young men would die-already had died-based upon his decisions.

He felt disoriented, lost somehow, and he almost welcomed the desperation and haste the situation had forced on them, because it gave him something clear and immediate to sink his energy into. Reorganize the command. Decide on a strategy. Deal with a threat. If he kept going forward through the problems without slowing down, he could keep his head on his shoulders. He wouldn't have to think about the pain and death it was his duty, as captain of the Legion, to prevent.

He did not want to pretend that nothing was wrong and project an aura of authority and calm to the young legionares around them. But their confidence and steadiness was critical to their ability to fight and would ultimately improve their chances of survival. So he ignored the parts of himself that wanted to scream in bewildered frustration and focused on the most immediate crisis.

"I'm fine," he told Max, his voice steady. "I don't want to push things too far. If we move too far down the valley and the horses play out, the Canim will run us down before we can get back to Elinarch. But we've got to do everything we can for the holders who are still alive."

Max nodded. "Agreed."

"Max. I'll need you to tell me when you think we're hitting our limits," Tavi said quietly. "And I don't want you pulling any craftings if you don't absolutely need to. You're my hole card, if it comes to that. And you're the closest thing we have to a real healer."

"Got it," Max said, just as quietly. He gave Tavi half a smile. "I've seen officers on their third hitch that didn't handle themselves that well in action. You're a natural."

Tavi grimaced. "Tell that to the two who aren't coming back."

"This is a Legion," Max said quietly. "We're going to lose more before the day's out. They knew that there were risks when they volunteered."

"They volunteered to be trained to handle themselves and led by experienced officers," Tavi said quietly. "Not for this."

"Life isn't certain or fair. That isn't anyone's fault. Even yours. "

Tavi glanced at Max and nodded grudgingly. He turned his horse, staring farther down the valley, where more helpless holders tried to run for safety. It felt like the day must have been nearly over, but the cloud-veiled sun couldn't have been halfway to its peak. "What were their names, Max? The men who died."

"I don't know," Max confessed. "There hasn't been time."

"Find out for me?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." Tavi squared his shoulders and nodded to himself. "I'm going to speak to our wounded before they go, but more holders will need our help. I want to be moving again in five minutes, Tribune. "

Max met Tavi's eyes when he saluted, and said, quietly, fiercely, "Yes, Captain."

"Bloody crows," Tavi swore, frustrated. "It doesn't make any crowbegotten sense, Max."

The sun was vanishing beyond the horizon, and Tavi's alae of cavalry had clashed with the Canim raiders in no less than six swift, bitter engagements that day, all against smaller packs than the first. Three more legionares died. Another nine were wounded in action, and one broke his arm when his weary horse stumbled on the trail and threw him from the saddle.