Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(30)

Max jabbed the baton into Nonus again. The legionare nodded frantically.

"Good man," Tavi said, then clucked to his horse, riding on without so much as looking over his shoulder.

He only got to hear Magnus descend from his own mount, fuss for a moment over the state of his saddlebags, then present his papers to the prostrate sentry. He cleared his throat, and sniffed. "Magnus. Senior valet to the captain and his staff. I cant abide the state of your uniform. My bloody crows, this fabric is simply ridiculous. Does it always smell so bad? Or is that just you? And these stains. How on earth did you manage to... no, no, don't tell me. I simply don't want to know."

Max burst out into his familiar roar of laughter, and a moment later he and Magnus caught up to Tavi. The pair of them rode through row after row of white canvas tents. Some of them looked Legion-perfect. Others sagged and drooped, doubtless the quarters of fresh recruits still finding their way.

Tavi was surprised at how loud the place was. Men's voices shouted to be heard over the din. A grimy, blind beggar woman sat beside the camp's main lane, playing a reed flute for tiny coins from passersby. Work teams dug ditches and hauled wood, singing as they did. Tavi could hear a blacksmith's hammers ringing steadily nearby. A grizzled old veteran drilled a full cohort-four centuries of eighty recruits each-at the basic sword strokes Tavi had learned so recently, facing one another in a pair of long lines and going through drilled movements by numbers barked by the veteran, shouting in response as they swung. The strokes were slow and hesitant, incorrect movements aborted in midmotion to follow the instructor. Even as he watched, Tavi saw a rudius slip from the hands of a recruit and slam into the kneecap of the man beside him. The stricken recruit howled, hopping on one leg, and blundered into the man on his other side, knocking half a dozen recruits to the ground.

"Ah," Tavi said. "Fish."

"Fish," Max agreed. "It should be safe to talk here," he added. "There's enough noise to make listening in difficult."

"I could have handled those two, Max," Tavi said quietly.

"But an officer wouldn't," Max said. "Centurions are the ones who break heads when legionares get out of line. Especially troublemakers like Nonus and Bortus."

"You know them," Tavi said.

"Mmmm. Served with them, the slives. Lazy, loud, greedy, drunken, brawling apes, the both of them."

"They didn't seem happy to see you."

"We once had a discussion about the proper way to treat a lady in camp."

"How did that turn out?" Tavi asked.

"Like today, but with more teeth on the ground," Max said.

Tavi shook his head. "And men like that are given status as veterans. They draw higher pay."

"Outside a battle line they aren't worth the cloth it would stain to clean their blood off a knife." Max shook his head and glanced back at them. "But they're fighters. They know their work, and they've been in the middle of some bad business without folding. That's why they got out under voluntary departure rather than forced discharge for conduct unbecoming a legionare."

"And it also explains why they're here," Magnus added. "According to the records, they're honorable veterans willing to start with a fresh Legion-and that kind of experience is priceless for training recruits and steadying their lines in battle. They know they'll have seniority, that they won't have to do the worst of the work, and that they'll get better pay."

Max snorted. "And don't forget, this Legion is working up in the bloody Amaranth Vale. Plenty of freemen would kill to live down here." Max gestured around them. "No snow, or not to speak of. No rough weather. No wild, rogue furies. Lots of food, and they probably think this is a token Legion that will never see real action."