Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(175)

Footsteps approached the tent.

The First Spear stared at Tavi's outstretched hand. Then he nodded once, sharply, and lifted his fist to his heart. His voice came out hoarse, low. "All right, sir. I'm with you."

Tavi nodded at the First Spear and returned the salute.

Magnus entered the tent with Crassus and Max in tow. They saluted Tavi, and Tavi nodded to them. "We don't have much time," he began without preamble.

He was interrupted when the tent flap opened again, and Mistress Cymnea entered, tall and calm, her hair and dress flawless, as though she hadn't been dragged from her bed to rush to the fortifications.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," Magnus said at once. "I'm afraid you can't be here for security reasons."

"It's all right, Magnus," Tavi said. "I asked her to be here."

The old Maestro glanced at Tavi, frowning. "Why?"

Cymnea bowed politely to Tavi. "My thoughts precisely, Captain."

"I need you to do something for me," Tavi said. "I wouldn't ask for your help if it wasn't important."

"Of course, Captain. I will do whatever service I may."

"Thank you," Tavi said. "Gentlemen, when we're finished, you'll need to coordinate with our new Tribune Logistica, here."

Max's jaw dropped open. "What?"

Cymnea's eyes grew very wide. "What?"

Tavi arched a brow at Max. "Which word didn't you understand?"

"Sir," Magnus began, tone heavy with disapproval.

"We need a Tribune Logistica," Tavi said.

"But she's just-" Max began. He broke off, cheeks flushing, and muttered under his breath.

Cymnea turned a steady and unamused gaze upon Max. "Yes, Tribune. She's just a... what? Which word did you have in mind? Whore, perhaps? Madam? Woman?"

Max met her eyes. "Civilian," he said quietly.

Cymnea narrowed her eyes for a second, then nodded in accession, somehow conveying a mild apology with the gesture.

"Not anymore, she's not," Tavi said. "We need someone who knows what the Legion will require and who is familiar with our people. Someone with experience, leadership skills, organizational ability, and who knows how to exercise authority. If we appoint any centurion in the Legion to the post, it's going to disrupt the century we draw him from, and we need every sword and every century." He glanced around the room. "Does anyone have a better suggestion?"

Max sighed, but no one spoke.

"Then let's get to work," Tavi said. "This is what we're going to do..."

Purposeful strides approached, and by the time the tent's flap was thrown aside, Tavi had his sword in his hand and half-drawn from its scabbard.

"Whoah," Ehren said, holding up open hands. The tanned, sandy-haired little Cursor looked more amused than threatened, backlit by the cloudy light of full day. "I surrender, Captain Scipio."

Tavi blinked his eyes several times, glanced blearily around, then put his sword away. "Right. Sorry."

Ehren closed the tent flap, darkening it again.

Tavi sighed. "On the trunk to your left."

"Oh," Ehren said. "Sorry. I forgot. Light." The little furylamp on the trunk flickered to life.

"You didn't forget," Tavi said, half-smiling. "You wanted to see if I'd developed any crafting of my own yet. No."

Ehren put on an innocent look. "I hardly recognized you with your hair cut so short."