Butcher, Jim - Codex Alera 01 by Furies of Calderon 1.0

Author:Furies of Calderon 1.0 [1.0, Furies of Calderon]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-05-17T05:19:46.593000+00:00

Chapter 26

Tavi glanced back at Fade and then followed Doroga out of the tent and into the blinding light of the first day of winter. Sunlight poured through crystalline skies to blaze over the snow that covered the ground in an almost perfect layer of white. It took Tavi's eyes long seconds to adjust and for him to squint around him as he emerged from the tent, Fade clutching at his arm.

They stood among hundreds of Marat.

Marat men, most of them as heavily built as Doroga, sat at cooking fires or watched casually, hands near the hafts of spears or on chipped-stone daggers or furyforged Aleran blades. Like Doroga, they wore only a brief loincloth, despite the weather, and evinced no signs of discomfort, though some of them wore cloaks of hide and fur that seemed more ornamental or martial than made with the intention of keeping their owners warm or dry. Children ran here and there, dressed in the same long leather tunic Doroga's whelp had worn, and watched the strangers with obvious interest.

To Tavi's astonishment, the women wore nothing more than the men, and lean, muscular legs, naked, strong shoulders and arms, and other things a proper Aleran boy was not supposed to see (but wanted to anyway) abounded.

Tavi felt his face flush, and he shielded his eyes furiously, trying to pretend it was still the sun in them.

One of the young warriors nearby made a quiet comment, and that same coughing laughter resounded around the camp, which Tavi saw was arranged down the slope of a long, bald hill. He felt himself flush further, yet, and glanced at Fade. The slave stood beside him, no expression on his face, his eyes somewhat distant—but he put his hand on Tavi's shoulder and squeezed, as though reassuring himself that the boy was there.

Doroga stood, patiently waiting, and then nodded toward the crest of the hill. He started that way himself, clearly expecting to be followed. Tavi glanced around them at the young warriors, who watched him with studied disinterest and fingered their weapons. Tavi moved his eyes to where a couple of older Marat women were chatting to one another and piling up wood beneath a roasting spit. One of them turned to Tavi and squinted at him, holding up a weathered thumb, then compared it to the length of the spit.

Tavi swallowed and hurried up the hill after Doroga, Fade close at hand.

At the top of the hill stood a dozen huge stones the size of a small house, arranged in a loose circle, some leaning upon others. They were rounded, any rough edges filed away by the winds and rains and seasons, but had obdurately resisted the elements, with no cracks apparent in their surfaces.

At the center of the stones was a pool with seven white stones spaced around it. Upon two of the stones sat Marat.

Tavi was struck at once by the difference in their appearance. Doroga, huge and solid, paced around to one of the stones.

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