Gaius winked. He gestured, and Count Bernard stepped to his left side, to stand with Sir Frederic.
Amara smiled and said, “Doroga, of the Gargant Clan of the Marat. Step forward.”
The crowd parted for the giant of a man, and Doroga strode over to Gaius, decked in gewgaws and rich clothing, which holders and legionares had given to him. He put his fists on his hips and looked Gaius up and down, then declared, “You aren’t old enough to be a headman.”
Gaius laughed, the sound rich and rolling. “I look young for my age.”
Doroga nodded wisely. “Ah. Perhaps that is it.”
“I am here to thank you, Headman Doroga, for what you did for my Realm.”
“I didn’t do it for your Realm,” Doroga said. “I did it for the young warrior. And would do it again.” Doroga lifted a finger and poked it lightly at Gaius’s chest. “You be good to him. Or you and I will have words.”
Amara stared at the barbarian, appalled, but Gaius oniy tilted his head to one side, his lips quivering with the effort to restrain laughter. Then he took a step back and bowed to Doroga, to a sudden murmur from the Legion and the holders. “I will do so. Name me a boon, and if it is within my power, I will grant it to you.”
“I owe favors to enough people already,” Doroga sighed. “We done?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good.” Doroga turned and let out a piercing whistle, and from around the hill came a sullen young Marat girl on an enormous black bull gargant. Doroga walked over to her, swung up onto the great beast’s back, and nodded to Gaius before turning to ride away.
“Colorful,” Gaius commented.
“I’m sorry, sire. I didn’t know that he would —”
“Oh, no, Cursor. It’s perfectly all right. Who is next?”
They ran through a number of legionares and holders who had performed bravely during the incident, including a stammering Pluvus Pentius, who had saved a handful of children from a wounded herdbane by clubbing it to death with his accounts ledger.
“Isana of Bernardholt,” Amara called, finally. “Please step forward.”
Isana came forward in a gown of dark grey, her dark hair pulled back into a severe braid, her chin lifted. She walked forward and stopped before Gaius for a long moment before performing a deep and graceful curtsy to him, without lowering her eyes. Amara saw something cold there, something defiant, and she blinked at the hold woman.
Gaius remained silent for a long moment, studying Isana. Finally he said, in a very quiet voice, “I understand that your courage and bravery saved a great many lives.”
“There was only one I was truly concerned with, sire.”
Gaius drew in a slow breath and nodded. “The boy. Your —”
“Nephew, sire.”
“Nephew. Of course.” Gaius glanced aside, at Amara. “And I am told you have ownership of a slave who likewise performed above and beyond anything expected of him.”
Isana inclined her head again.
“I will purchase this slave from you.”
Isana looked up at Gaius, her expression strained. “I’m sure he isn’t what you think, sire.”
“Let me be the judge of that. In the meanwhile, Isana, please kneel.”
Isana did, her expression puzzled. Gaius once more drew his blade. “I dub thee Steadholder Isana, with all the responsibilities and privileges therein.”
There was a second’s silence, and then a shocked murmur from the crowd of holders and from the legions behind Gaius.
Gaius murmured, “The first appointed female Steadholder. Isanaholt. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Isana flushed. “It does, sire.”
“And your brother is going to be busy with his new duties. Someone needs to assume control. I see no reason anyone could object to you. Rise, Steadholder.”
Amara smiled, as Isana stepped aside. “Tavi of Bernardholt, please step forward.”
There was an eager murmur from the crowd.
But no one stepped forward.
Amara frowned. “Tavi of Bernardholt. Please step forward.”
Still, no one did. Gaius arched an eyebrow, and Amara shot a helpless look at Isana. Isana closed her eyes and sighed. “That boy.”
Gaius said, “Are you sure he wanted this reward, Cursor?”
“Yes, sire,” Amara said. “He told me he was trying to return some sheep, so that he could use them to help him save some money for a semester at the Academy. That’s why he stumbled onto things to begin with.”
“I’m not offering him a semester. I’m offering him patronage. He should be here.”
Isana blinked at Gaius. “Patronage? To the Academy? My Tavi?”
“The finest center of learning in all of Carna,” Gaius said. “He can study there. Grow. Learn all that he needs to lead a successful life.”
Isana said, “He doesn’t need the Academy for that.”
“Yet that is his wish, Steadholder Isana. And that is his reward. He will be Tavi Patronus Gaius and be trained at the Academy.”
Isana nodded and said, “Yes, sire,” but her expression was worried.
Bernard frowned, looking around for a moment. Then pointed and said, “Sire. There he is.”
Everyone turned to look to the north of Bernardholt.
After a moment’s silence, Gaius asked, “That is this Fade, with him?”
Amara nodded. “Yes, sire.”
Gaius frowned. “I see. Cursor, why wasn’t the boy here?”
“He, um. He seems to be rather independently minded, sire.”
“I see. And why is he doing that, instead of accepting his reward.”
Amara fought to keep a smile off of her lips. “Sire. He’s a shepherd’s apprentice. I suppose he’s doing that because it’s what he set out to do.”
And so the First Lord of Alera, surrounded by subjects, Citizens, and Knights of the Realm watched in silence while Tavi drove home Dodger’s little flock of ewes and lambs, the shaggy-haired Fade loping along behind him.
Read on for an exciting excerpt from Book Two of the Codex Alera
ACADEM’S FURY
by Jim Butcher
Now available from Ace Books
Wind howled over the rolling, sparsely wooded hills of the lands in the care of the Marat, the One-and-Many People. Hard, coarse flecks of snow fled before it, and though the One rode high in the sky, the overcast hid his face.
Kitai began to feel cold for the first time since spring. She turned to squint behind her, shielding her eyes from the sleet with one hand. She wore a brief cloth about her hips, a belt to hold her knife and hunting pouch, and nothing else. Wind threw her thick white hair around her face, its color blending with the driving snow. “Hurry up!” she called.
There was a deep-chested snort, and a massive form paced into sight. Walker the gargant was an enormous beast, even of its kind, and its shoulders stood nearly the height of two men above the earth. His shaggy winter coat had already come in thick and black, and he paid no notice to the snow. His claws, each larger than an Aleran saber, dug into the frozen earth without difficulty or hurry.