by Jim Butcher
Steel rasped on steel as ten thousand swords sprang free of their sheaths. The sudden, furious roar of the Canim shook the air with such force that the water of the pools danced and jumped as if under a heavy rainstorm. The watersendings could not maintain their integrity in the face of that disruption, and they collapsed, splashing back down into the pools, shaken to bits by the enraged howls of Canim and Aleran alike.
Tavi joined them, shouting in wordless anger, and drew his sword, lifting it high.
The storm of approval from the Canim redoubled, making the plates of Tavi’s lorica vibrate and rattle against one another, resolving into a thundering chant of, “VARG! TAVAR! VARG! TAVAR!”
Tavi exchanged a Canim salute with Varg, then turned and went back to his horse. He mounted up on the dancing, nervous animal and beckoned Max and his second guard. As they rode from the Canim camp, the crowd, still howling his Canim name, parted before and around them in an armored sea of swords and fangs and wrath.
Tavi kicked his mount into a run and headed back to the First Aleran’s camp.
“What are we going to do?” Max called as they rode.
“What we always do when the enemy attacks us,” Tavi said. He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. “We’re going to hit back.”
CHAPTER 6
Invidia entered the massive, dome-shaped structure where the vord Queen took a daily meal and shuddered as she always did. The walls were made of faintly glowing green croach. There were swirls and mounds of it everywhere, splayed into abstract shapes that were both beautiful and revolting. The ceiling stretched fifty feet overhead, and Invidia could have used the massive space beneath it to teach a class in flying.
Spiderlike creatures, the keepers, swarmed over the croach, their many-legged, translucent bodies fading eerily into the ambient glow of the walls, floor, and ceiling. If a keeper wasn’t moving, one could all but stumble over it, so well did they blend with the massive construction. Hundreds of the creatures swarmed through the place, climbing smoothly up the walls and across the ceiling, a constant and irritating motion.
In the center of the dome was the high table from the banquet hall of the High Lord of Ceres along with its chairs. It was a gorgeously carved, massive construct of Rhodesian oak, a gift to the current High Lord’s great-grandfather. One could have seated half a cohort of legionares along its length without once hearing armored shoulder plates click together.
The vord Queen sat at one end of the table, her hands folded primly upon its tablecloth. The tablecloth was grimy, stained with the great furies only knew what fluids, and had not been cleaned.
The Queen made a gesture with one pale hand to the seat on her left.
Invidia’s customary seat was at the Queen’s right hand.
If Invidia had, for some reason, been replaced, she knew it was unlikely that she would leave the dome alive. She controlled an urge to moisten her lips and focused upon her body, preventing her heart from racing faster, her skin from breaking into a cold sweat, her pupils from contracting.
Calm. She had to remain calm, confident, and competent—and most of all, useful. The vord had never heard of such a thing as a retirement. Unless one counted being buried alive and dissolved by the croach.
Invidia walked across the floor, nudging a slow-moving keeper out of her way with one foot. She sat down beside the Queen. She had to survive the meal. Always, survive. “Good evening.”
The Queen stared down the table and was silent for a moment, her alien eyes unreadable. Then she said, “Explain the gestures Alerans make to show respect to their superiors.”
“In what sense?” Invidia asked.
“Soldiers do this,” the Queen said, lifting her fist to her heart and lowering it again. “Citizens bend at the waist. Mates press their mouths together.”
“The last isn’t quite a gesture of respect,” Invidia said, “though the others are. They are an acknowledgment of the other’s status. Such an acknowledgment is considered to be necessary and favorable to the order of society.”
The Queen nodded once, slowly. “They are gestures of submission.”
Invidia did arch an eyebrow this time. “I had never really considered them such. However, that is a valid description, if an incomplete one.”
The Queen turned her unsettling eyes to Invidia. “Incomplete in what sense?”
Invidia considered her answer for a moment before saying, “Gestures of deference and respect are far more than simply acknowledging the greater power of another. By accepting such a gesture, the person who receives it also acknowledges an obligation in return.”
“To do what?”
“To protect and assist the person making the gesture.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “He who holds the greatest power has obligation to none.”
Invidia shook her head. “But no matter how powerful an individual may be, he is only a part of a greater whole. Gestures of respect are a mutual acknowledgment of that fact—that both the giver and the receiver are part of something greater than they, each with his role to play within the whole.”
The vord Queen frowned. “It… acknowledges the need for structure. For order. That for the good of all, that which must be, will be. It signifies acceptance of one’s part of that order.”
Invidia shrugged. “At its core, yes. Many Alerans never give such gestures any serious consideration. They are simply a part of how our society functions.”
“And if such a gesture is not given, what results?”
“Unpleasantness,” Invidia replied. “Depending upon the person who has been slighted, there could be repercussions ranging from retaliatory insults to imprisonment to a challenge to the juris macto.”
“Justice by combat,” the Queen said.
“Yes,” Invidia replied.
“The rule of strength over the rule of law. It seems to reject the ideals of Aleran social order.”
“On the surface. But the fact of the matter is that some Alerans are a great deal more powerful, in a direct and personal sense, than nearly all of the rest. Attempting to force a particular behavior out of such individuals by any direct means could lead to an equally direct conflict, in which a great many people could be harmed.”
The Queen considered that for a moment. “Thus, indirect means are used to avoid such situations. The lesser are encouraged to avoid provoking a direct confrontation from one of greater power. Those of great power must consider the possibility of direct conflict with someone who is their equal before taking action.”
“Precisely,” Invidia replied. “And the safest way to manage conflicts is through the rule of law. Those who too often ignore the law in favor of the juris macto become outcasts within the society and run the risk of another Citizen taking matters into his own hands.”
The Queen folded her hands on the tabletop and nodded. “Among the vord,” she said, “we rarely contemplate indirect means of conflict resolution.”
Invidia frowned. “I had not realized that any internal conflict existed among your kind.”
The Queen’s expression flickered with something that was both chagrined and sullen. “It is rare.” Then she straightened, cleared her throat—an artificial sound, since as far as Invidia could tell, she never did it at any other time—and asked, “How was your day?”
It was the signal to begin the ritual of dinner. Invidia never grew any more comfortable with it, despite the repetition. She replied politely and made inane, pleasant conversation with the Queen for a few moments as the wax spiders, the keepers, trooped toward the table bearing plates, cups, and cutlery. The insectlike vord swarmed up the table’s legs in neat ranks, setting a place for the Queen, for Invidia…
… and for someone who was apparently to sit at the Queen’s right hand. The empty chair with its empty plate setting was unnerving. Invidia covered her reaction by turning to watch the rest of the keepers bringing forth several covered platters and a bottle of Ceresian wine.
Invidia opened the bottle and poured wine into t
he Queen’s glass, then into her own. Then she looked at the glass in front of the empty seat.
“Pour,” the Queen said. “I have invited a guest.”
Invidia did so. Then she began uncovering platters.
Each platter bore a perfectly square section of the croach. Each was subtly different than the next. One looked as if it had been baked in an oven—badly. The edges were black and crisp. Another had sugar sprinkled over its surface. A third was adorned with a gelatinous glaze and a ring of ripe cherries. A fourth had been coated with what had once been melted cheese—but it had been scorched dark brown.
Invidia sliced each piece into quarters, then began to load the Queen’s plate with a single square from each platter. After that, she served herself the same.
“And our guest,” the Queen murmured.
Invidia dutifully filled the third plate. “Whom are we entertaining?”
“We are not entertaining,” the Queen replied. “We are consuming food in a group.”
Invidia bowed her head. “Who is to be our companion, then?”
The Queen narrowed her insect eyes until only glittering black slits were visible. She stared down the length of the enormous table, and said, “She comes.”
Invidia turned her head to look as their guest entered the glowing green dome.
It was a second queen.
It shared its features with the Queen: Indeed, it might have been her twin sister—a young woman little older than a teenager, with long white hair and the same glittering eyes. There, the similarities ended. The younger queen prowled forward with alien grace, making no effort at all to mimic the motion of a human being. She was completely naked, and her pale skin was covered in a sheen of some kind of glistening, greenish mucus.
The younger queen walked forward to the table and stopped a few feet away, staring at her mother.
The Queen gestured to the empty chair. “Sit.”
The younger queen sat. She stared across the table at Invidia with unblinking eyes.
“This is my child. She is newly born,” said the Queen to Invidia. She turned to the young queen. “Eat.”
The younger queen considered the food for a moment. Then she grasped a square in her bare fingers and stuffed it into her mouth.
The Queen observed this behavior, frowning. Then she took up her fork and began cutting off dainty bites with it, eating them slowly. Invidia followed the elder Queen’s lead and ate as well.
The food was… “revolting” fell so far of the mark that it seemed an injustice. Invidia had learned to eat the raw croach. The creature keeping her alive needed her to ingest it in order to feed itself. She had been startled to learn that it could taste even worse. The vord had no grasp of cooking. The very notion was alien to them. As a result, they couldn’t really be expected to do it very well—but that evening they had perpetrated nothing short of an atrocity.
She choked the food down as best she could. The elder Queen ate steadily. The younger queen was finished within two minutes and sat there staring at them, her expression unreadable.
The younger queen then turned to her mother. “Why?”
“We partake of a meal together.”
“Why?”
“Because it might make us stronger.”
The younger queen absorbed that in silence for a moment. Then she asked, “How?”
“By building bonds between us.”
“Bonds.” The younger queen blinked slowly, once. “What need is there for restraints?”
“Not physical bonds,” her mother said. “Symbolic mental attachments. Familiar feelings.”
The young queen absorbed that for half a dozen heartbeats. Then she said, “These things do not improve strength.”
“There is more to strength than physical power.”
The young queen tilted her head. She stared at her mother, then, unnervingly, at Invidia. The Aleran woman could feel the sudden heavy, invasive pressure of the young queen’s awareness impinging upon her thoughts. “What is this creature?”
“A means to an end.”
“It is alien.”
“Necessary.”
The young queen’s voice hardened. “It is alien.”
“Necessary,” repeated the elder Queen.
Again, the young queen fell silent. Then, her expression never changing, she said, “You are defective.”
The enormous table seemed to explode. Splinters, some of them six inches long and wickedly sharp, flew outward like arrows. Invidia flinched instinctively, and barely managed to get her chitin-armored forearm between her and a flying spear of wood that might have plunged through her eye.
Sound pressed so hard against Invidia’s eardrums that one of them burst, a wailing thunderstorm of high-pitched, shrieking howls. She cried out at the pain and reeled out of her chair and back from the table, borrowing swiftness from her wind furies as she went, embracing the weirdly altered sense of time that seemed to stretch instants into seconds, seconds into moments. It was the only way for her to see what was happening.
The vord queens were locked in a fight to the death.
Even with the windcrafting to aid her, Invidia could barely follow the movements of the two vord. Black claws flashed. Kicks flew. Dodges turned into twenty-foot bounds that ended at the nearest wall of the dome, whereupon the two queens continued their struggle while crouched on the wall, bounding and scuttling up the dome like a pair of dueling spiders.
Invidia’s eyes flicked to the ruined table. It lay in pieces. A ragged furrow was torn through one corner, where the younger queen had surged forward, plunging through the massive hardwood table as if it had been no more a hindrance than a mound of soft snow. Invidia could scarcely imagine the tremendous power and focus that would be required for such a thing to happen—from a creature who had been born, it would seem, less than an hour before.
But swift and terrible as the young queen might have been, the match was not an even one. Where claws struck the elder Queen, sparks flew from her seemingly soft flesh, turning the attack aside. But where the younger queen was hit, flesh parted, and green-brown blood flew in fine arcs. The vord queens fought a spinning, climbing, leaping duel at a speed too swift to be seen clearly, much less interfered with, and Invidia found herself tracking the motion simply to know when she might need to leap out of the way.
Then the elder Queen made a mistake. She slipped on a slickened spill of the younger queen’s blood, and her balance faltered for a fraction of a second. There was not time enough for the young queen to close in for a more deadly blow—but it was more than time enough for her to dart behind the elder Queen and seize the fabric of the dark cloak. With a twisting motion, she wrapped the cloak around the elder Queen’s throat and leaned back, pulling with both frail-seeming arms, tightening the twisted fabric like a garrote against her mother’s neck.
The elder Queen bent into a sinuous bow, straining against the strangling cloth, her expression quite calm as her dark eyes fell with a palpable weight upon Invidia.
The Aleran woman met her eyes for a pair of endless seconds before she nodded once, rose, lifted her hand, and with an effort of will and furycraft caused the air within the nose, mouth, and lungs of the young queen to congeal into a nearly liquid mass.
The response was immediate. The younger queen twisted and writhed in sudden agony, still holding on desperately to the twisted cloak.
The elder Queen severed it with a slash of her claws, slipped free, turned, and with half a dozen smoothly savage movements tore the younger queen open from throat to belly, removing organs along the way. It was calmly done, the work of an old hand in a slaughterhouse more than the intense uncertainty of a battle.
The young queen’s body fell limp to the floor. The elder Queen took no chances. She dismembered it with neat, workmanlike motions. Then she turned, as if nothing at all had happened, and walked back to the table. Her chair remained in its place though the table had been ruined.
The Queen sat down in her chair
and stared forward, at nothing.
Invidia walked slowly over to her side, righted her own fallen chair, and sat down in it. Neither of them spoke for a time.
“Are you hurt?” Invidia asked, finally.
The Queen opened her mouth, then did something Invidia had never seen before.
She hesitated.
“My daughter,” the Queen said, her voice a near whisper. “The twenty-seventh since returning to Alera’s shores.”
Invidia frowned. “Twenty-seventh…?”
“Part of our… nature…” The vord shivered. “Within each queen is an imperative to remain separate. Pure. Untainted by our contact with other beings. And to remove any queen that shows signs of corruption. Beginning several years ago, my junior queens have universally attempted to remove me.” Her face was touched by a faint frown. “I do not understand. She did no physical harm to me. Yet…”
“She hurt you.”
The Queen nodded, very slowly. “I had to remove their capacity to produce more queens lest they gather numbers to remove me. Which has hurt us all. Weakened us. By all rights, this world should have been vord five years ago.” Her eyes narrowed, and she turned her faceted gaze upon Invidia. “You acted to protect me.”
“You hardly needed it,” Invidia said.
“You did not know that.”
“True.”
The vord Queen tilted her head, studying Invidia intently. She braced herself for the unpleasant intrusion of the Queen’s mind—but it did not come.
“Then why?” the Queen asked.
“The younger queen clearly would not have permitted me to live.”
“You might have struck at both of us.”
Invidia frowned. True enough. The two queens had been so intent upon one another, they would hardly have been able to react to a sudden attack from Invidia. She could have called up fire and obliterated them both.
But she hadn’t.
“You could have fled,” the Queen said.
Invidia smiled faintly. She gestured to the creature latched upon her chest. “Not far enough.”
“No,” the vord said. “You have no other place to go.”