Princeps' Fury (Codex Alera, #5)

by Jim Butcher

Tavi stepped forward, slapped the other taurg’s ear to startle it, then seized its nose ring with his hand and jerked firmly. The taurg let out a startled little bawl of basso discomfort, and Maximus appeared, stuffing the reins through the ring and securing the beast as Tavi had, muttering a dark string of curses beneath his breath as he did. “Roasted. Spit on a nice long lance and roasted over a roaring fire. Then boiled. Boiled in a pot big enough to fit your entire lazy, ornery, smelly ass.” “You’re taking it awfully personally,” Tavi murmured. “I think Steaks and New Boots is probably treating you the same way he does everyone else.” “It isn’t that’s he treating me badly,” Max growled. “It’s that he’s too stupid to understand something everything with brains enough to see the sky should know.” Tavi found himself grinning. “What’s that?” “Legionares are not afraid of dinner,” Max growled, giving the taurg a dire glare. “Dinner is afraid of legionares.” Steaks and New Boots returned Max’s glare with a placid stare, and began chewing cud where it lay in place. “Bastard,” Max muttered, and began unfastening the straps of the high-cantled saddle.

Please read this