Chapter One
Amara rode atop the swaying back of the towering old gargant bull, going over the plan in her head. The morning sun shone down on her, taking the chill out of the misty air and warming the dark wool of her skirts. Behind her, the axles of the cart squeaked and groaned beneath their loads. The slave collar she wore had begun to chafe on her skin, and she made an irritated mental note to wear one for a few days in order to grow used to it, before the next mission.
Assuming she survived this one, of course.
A tremor of nervous fear ran down her spine, and made her shoulders tighten. Amara took a deep breath and blew it out again, closing her eyes for a moment, and blocking out every thought except for the sensations around her: sunlight on her face, swaying of the pungent gargant's long strides, creaking of the cart's axles.
"Nervous?" asked the man walking beside the gargant. A goad dangled from his hand, but he hadn't lifted it in the entire trip. He managed the beast with the lead straps alone, though his head barely came to the old bull's brown-furred thigh. He wore the plain clothes of a peddler: brown leggings, sturdy sandals, with a padded jacket over his shirt, dark green on homespun. A long cape, tattered green without embroidery, had been cast over one shoulder as the sun rose higher.
"No," Amara lied. She opened her eyes again, staring ahead.
Fidelias chuckled. "Liar. It's not a brainless plan. It might work."
Amara shot her teacher a wary glance. "But you have a suggestion?"
"In your graduation exercise?" Fidelias asked. "Crows, no. I wouldn't dream of it, academ. It might invalidate the exercise."
Amara licked her lips. "But you think that there's something I should know?"
Fidelias gave her a perfectly guileless look. "I did have a few questions."
"Questions," Amara said. "We're going to be there in a few moments."
"I can ask them when we arrive, if you prefer."
"If you weren't my patriserus, I would find you an impossible man," Amara sighed. "This is why the Cursor Legate keeps sending you away on missions, I think."
"It's a part of my charm," Fidelias agreed. "Now, then. My first concern--"
"Question," Amara corrected.
"Question," he allowed, "is with our cover story."
"What question? Armies need iron. You're an ore smuggler and I'm your slave. You heard there was a market out this way and you came to see what money could be made."
"Ah," said Fidelias. "And what do I tell them when they ask where I got the ore? It isn't just found by the roadside, you know."
"You're a Cursor Callidus. You're creative. I'm sure you'll think of something."
Fidelias chuckled. "Delegating skills, at least. So, we approach this renegade Legion with our precious ore." He nodded back towards the squeaking cart. "What's to stop them from simply taking it?"
~
Uh, I can't find the back cover text and I know my book had a small preface type section. Anyways, this is part of the first chapter from Butcher's site. Enjoy and disscuss the book!
