by Jim Butcher
Crassus banged out a rapid salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Crassus,” Tavi added. He hesitated, then said, “Be careful, all right? They like to leave surprises. And there might be more of those arrow-wasp nests.”
“If there are, I’ll burn them out, too, sir.” Crassus started signaling to the other Pisces in the air around him, and they all streaked back down toward the Legion lines.
Tavi watched the fight at the wall for another moment or two, but it was over. The vord were beginning to break, and the Aleran ranks moved forward with a steady, professional rhythm that silently declared their expectation of victory.
“Aleran?” Kitai asked quietly.
“I’m all right,” Tavi said.
She shook her head. “You succeeded today.”
“Hmmm?” He glanced at her. “Oh. The furycrafting.”
“Yes. Does this not make you happy?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. I suppose. But now… Now it’s all on my shoulders. There’s no escaping that.”
“It always was, my Aleran,” Kitai said. “You were just too stupid to realize it.”
Tavi snorted out a laugh and smiled at her.
Kitai nodded in satisfaction. “Come. You need to get back to your wagon and rest. Varg has things well in hand.”
“I should stay,” Tavi said. “Watch. Who knows, there might be something here, some clue as to their weakness.”
Kitai looked at him with what looked like enormous patience that was nonetheless clearly being tried. “Aleran,” she said between her teeth, “you should rest. In your wagon. Your enclosed, covered wagon. While nearly everyone else is busy with the battle.”
Tavi blinked at her owlishly, then his eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. A sudden smile lifted his mouth. “Oh.”
And Kitai was suddenly pressed against him. There was a limited amount of sensuality available, given all the steel that was between them, but her kiss was so searing that Tavi felt in danger of having the armor melt from his back. She drew back from him, green eyes bright behind heavy lids. “You were smart today. You were strong. It suits you.” Her eyes smoldered brighter. “I like the way it looks on you.”
They kissed again, slow and heated. Then he smiled, and said, his lips brushing hers, “Race you there.”
Kitai’s eyes danced. Then she elbowed him aside, sending him into a brief, tumbling spin as she kicked out her own windstream behind her and dived for the camp.
Tavi laughed and sent himself rushing after her.
CHAPTER 34
Isana had all but fallen asleep when she was awakened by a trilling vord cry she had never heard before. The ululating wail rose and fell so swiftly that it almost seemed a chattering sound. Odder still, it rang through the quiet green light of the hive with ear-piercing intensity.
Isana sat on the floor at Araris’s feet, leaning back against the cushionlike warmth of the croach. Both the wall and the floor sank gently beneath her as she sat reclined, essentially forming a couch under her. In point of fact, it was actually quite comfortable as long as one did not dwell upon the fact that it might at any time engulf and dissolve one’s flesh.
Isana opened her eyes only enough to be able to see, and remained silent and still.
The Queen came out of her little sunken bower-alcove in a darting motion that reminded Isana of a spider, rushing out of its funnel-shaped web to seize helpless prey. She crouched at the side of a shallow pool of water—or what Isana assumed was water—on the opposite side of the hive. Her rigid-looking lips peeled back from black chitin teeth, and she let out a furious hissing sound, staring down at the pool.
The Queen was looking at a watercrafted image, Isana thought. Which meant that the pool wasn’t simply a water-filled dimple in the floor. It was connected, somehow, to the water system of the surrounding area, where furies would be able to bring images and sounds.
Quiet footsteps sounded, and Invidia entered. She made some irritated gesture at one of the walls, and the ear-tearing wail ended. “What has happened?”
“My progenitors have arrived,” the Queen murmured softly.
“That’s impossible,” Invidia said. “The attack is about to begin. You cannot divert your attention now.”
“Not impossible, obviously,” the Queen said, a very faint tinge of displeasure in her tone.
The creature on Invidia’s chest rippled. She closed her eyes, and her cheeks lost all color for a moment.
“I suppose he could have been flown from Antillus in that time,” Invidia said, much more quietly. “Where is he?”
“In Riva,” the vord Queen said distantly. “Destroying the food stores.”
Invidia lifted her eyebrows. Or rather, where her eyebrows should have been, had they not been seared off. Her skin was still a patchwork of burned flesh. The scars, Isana thought, would surely be permanent. Not even a watercrafter of Invidia’s skill could remove them now, days after she received the burns. “The larder… but we needed the supply line from Riva to feed the warriors.”
The Queen lifted her dark, multifaceted eyes and stared coldly at Invidia.
Invidia folded her arms. “Your anger does not change the fact that the horde cannot possibly find enough food to support active operations.”
The Queen’s expression darkened more. Then she raised a hand and waved it vaguely at the air. “I will send a portion of the force into sleep. They will not require food. I will mark out the smallest warrior in every group of ten.”
Invidia looked slightly ill. “You’re feeding them upon their own?”
The Queen went back to staring at the pool. “It is necessary. They are the least useful soldiers at the moment. It will be done before the assault, so that they can maintain their activity levels.” Her mouth twitched a tiny bit at one corner. “And after, there will be other sources available.”
“You cannot sustain a campaign without supplies,” Invidia said.
“I do not need to sustain a campaign,” the Queen replied calmly. “All I need to do is break them, here, in this valley. Once the Alerans are broken here, they are broken forever. If I lose every warrior, drone”—she paused to glance at Invidia—“and slave under my command but accomplish that, it will be well worth it.”
“I understand,” Invidia said, frost edging her words.
The Queen remained calm and remote. “Anger will not change the fact that the most intelligent course of action, in your position, is to go forth and position your fellow slaves in such a fashion as to maximize the cost for the Alerans to neutralize the warriors with furycraft.”
Invidia was silent for a long moment before she said, calmly, “Of course.” She turned to leave.
“Invidia,” the Queen said.
The burn-scarred woman paused.
“You are not replaceable,” the Queen said quietly. “I will therefore sacrifice you the most reluctantly. I would prefer it if you took whatever action you could to avoid becoming the victim of chance.”
“Since we are being candid,” Invidia said, “I must tell you that my motivations for cooperation are somewhat diluted by the fact that I am fully aware that when you no longer have a use for me, you will dispose of me.”
The vord Queen tilted her head, her expression pensive. Then she nodded slowly. “Nearly one million freemen have come to me wearing the green,” she said. “They are being sheltered and fed, and I will honor the bargain I offered them. It might reduce the amount of disruption if, when the organized Aleran resistance is broken, they are governed by one of their own. Someone who understands reality.” She paused, and added, “I suppose it might prevent needless suffering. Preserve lives that would otherwise be lost. If that matters to you.”
Invidia narrowed her eyes. “Are you making me that offer?”
The Queen nodded. “I am. Our partnership has been mutually profitable. I see no reason why it should not continue at the conclusion of hostilities. Survive, serve me well, and it will be so.”
Invidia was silent for
a moment. She looked away from the Queen, and Isana saw her bow her head. There was a flash of emotion from the burned woman, of fear and elated hope and bitter shame.
“Very well,” she whispered.
The vord Queen nodded. “Go.”
Invidia left the hive.
Several moments later, the vord Queen said, “I know you didn’t sleep through that noise, Isana.”
“I thought it would be more polite not to disturb you,” Isana said.
“You thought you might gain information covertly,” the Queen said. “It was a sensible attempt to attain some small measure of advantage.” She stared down at the pool for a moment, and murmured, “Your son has grown.”
Isana’s heart seemed to skip a beat as a sudden pang went through her chest. “I assume you do not mean physically.”
“His tactical furycraft is impressive. Less subtle and complex than Sextus’s talents, but applied with greater flexibility and intelligence.”
Isana swallowed. “You’re trying to hurt him.”
The Queen looked back at Isana, her expression surprised. “Of course.”
Isana carefully did not grind her teeth or show the vord fear or rage. “But you have not succeeded.”
“Yet,” said the Queen, “there was a very low order of probability that this attempt would succeed. That was not its purpose.”
“A sensible attempt to attain some small measure of advantage,” Isana said.
“Precisely.” She studied the pool’s surface. “Thus far, I estimate my own strength to be the greater by a considerable margin.”
“Unless he’s holding something back,” Isana said, primarily to plant doubt in the Queen’s mind.
The Queen smiled. “Always a possibility.”
Isana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then asked, “May I see him?”
“If you wish.”
Isana rose carefully. Her dress was beginning to smell almost as untidy as it looked. No, she decided. She was beginning to smell almost as bad as the dress looked. Her hair must look a fright. How many days had it been since she had bathed or changed clothes? There was no way for her to tell.
As she approached the pool, she saw a ghostly image appear deep within it, one that grew brighter and clearer as she drew closer to the Queen. It showed a large field of fallen stones and ruined buildings. There were warrior-vord corpses all over it. The Queen waved a hand, and suddenly the vord sprang back to life and were surrounded by the blurred form of legionares. An instant later, the wall rose up again, colored oddly green, then a slender young man stood before the city gates of Riva.
“This is what he did no more than an hour ago,” the Queen murmured. “The image becomes too indistinct to be useful as his Legion closes to battle. These events transpired just prior.”
Isana watched in awe as her son, tall and proud, tested his will against the furycrafted fortress and reduced it to rubble. She watched as the enemy came forth to kill him and found only death instead. She watched as the Legions marched up to the city and hammered into the vord. She watched her son cast his defiance into the teeth of the enemy who had all but destroyed Alera—and emerge victorious. Her heart pounded hard with terrified pride, with worry, with hopeful anxiety.
Her child. Septimus’s child.
“If only you could see him, my lord,” Isana whispered, closing her eyes against sudden tears.
“Was it difficult?” the Queen asked a moment later.
Isana willed her tears away with a simple watercrafting and opened her eyes again. “Was what difficult?”
“Rearing the child without the aid of your mate.”
“At times,” Isana said. “I had help. My brother. The other folk at his steadholt.”
The Queen looked up from the foggy haze that had enveloped the pool’s image. “It is a collective effort, then.”
“It can be,” Isana said. “Was it difficult for you?”
The Queen tilted her head inquisitively.
“Bringing forth this horde without the aid of subordinate queens,” Isana clarified.
“Yes.”
“Would it not make it easier to use your warriors effectively if you had the help of more queens?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you have not created more.”
The Queen turned her young-seeming face back to the pool, troubled. “I have tried,” she said.
“But you cannot?”
“I can create them.” The Queen’s face became puzzled, wounded. It was a child’s expression. “They all try to kill me.”
“Why?” Isana asked.
For a moment, she thought the Queen wasn’t going to answer. When she spoke, her voice was very small. “Because I have been changed. Because I do not function in the manner which their instincts tell them I should.”
A slow wave of sadness and genuine pain washed out of the vord Queen. Isana had to fight to remind herself of the destruction and death brought by this creature to all of Carna.
“That’s why you left Canea and returned here,” Isana said suddenly. “Your junior queens turned upon you, so you escaped them.”
As she sat beside the pool, the Queen drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I did not escape them,” she replied. “I merely postponed the confrontation.”
“I don’t understand,” Isana said.
“The continent across the sea called Canea has been overrun,” the Queen said in a quiet monotone. “But it will take decades, perhaps centuries, for my children to consolidate and fully exploit their new territory—to make it impregnable. Once that is done, and they have a secure base of operations, they will come here to destroy me and everything of my creation. Already their forces have grown to an order of magnitude beyond mine.”
The Queen turned her eyes to Isana. “That is why I am here. That is why I must destroy you. I must create my own stronghold if I am to survive. That, too, is a task requiring many years.” She rested her chin upon her knees, closed her eyes, and whispered, “I wish to live. I wish for my children to live.”
Isana stared down at the monstrous child’s genuine sorrow and fear, and fought against the pity the sight and sense of her evoked. She was a monster, nothing less—even if she might also be something more.
The Queen rocked back and forth, a tiny and distressed motion. “I wish to live, Isana. I wish for my children to live.”
Isana sighed and turned to walk back to her place beside Araris. “Who doesn’t, child,” she murmured. “Who doesn’t.”
CHAPTER 35
From the beginning of the Vord War, the enemy had, time after time, attacked positions that were not ready to defend against a threat of the magnitude they represented. Despite the desperate attempts to warn Alera of what was coming, no one listened, and as a result, the vord had driven the Alerans from their fortresses and cities alike, one after the next. Time after time, the lightning-swift advance of the vord or the inhuman tactics they used had overwhelmed the insufficiently prepared defenders. Time after time, the light had dawned upon a world more and more thoroughly dominated by the invaders—but this dawn was different.
The Calderon Valley was ready to fight.
“There’s a dent in it somewhere,” growled Antillus Raucus, slapping one paw back at the ornate lorica covering his right shoulder. “It isn’t moving right.”
“You’re imagining things,” High Lord Phrygius answered. “There’s no bloody dent.”
“Well, something’s not right.”
“Yes,” said High Lord Placida in a patient tone. “You slept in it again. You aren’t young enough to keep doing that, Raucus. You’ve injured your shoulder joint, likely.”
“I’m young enough to toss your short ass right off this wall,” Raucus snapped back. “We’ll see whose joint gets injured.”
“Boys, boys,” Placidus Aria said. “Please don’t set a bad example for the other children.”
Ehren, standing well behind the High Lords, was too self-c
ontained to smile. But he rocked back and forth on his heels in silent amusement before turning his head to cast a wink at Amara.
She rolled her eyes at him in response and stepped up to stand beside Lady Placida. They stared out at the wide-open plain rolling out of the mouth of the Calderon Valley, a sea of gently rising and falling green. The sun had risen bright, the day fair. Crows had been wheeling overhead for days, first in dozens, then hundreds, and now in thousands. They cast a steady stream of flickering shadows over the earth. The enemy had used them to drop takers into Aleran defensive positions before—now any such attempt would be thwarted by the earth furies on constant patrol among the Aleran forces, which had created a side benefit of all but exterminating the rats, slives, and other vermin that tended to haunt garbage piles around a Legion position.
Let the vord try to use the crows against them again. Calderon was ready.
“Countess,” Lady Placida said. “I believe I heard Lady Veradis tell you to sleep for at least twelve hours.”
“Which is ridiculous,” Amara replied. “It was just a broken wrist.”
“And several injuries from Riva, I believe,” Lady Placida said.
“She only told me twelve because she knew I needed six,” Amara said.
“A most excellent rationale.”
“Thank you,” Amara said gravely. After a moment, she said, “I have to be here. He still can’t talk very clearly. Interpreting for him could be important.”
“I understand,” Lady Placida said. She turned to face Amara, her lovely face calm and hardly showing the weariness Amara knew she had to be feeling. “Countess… should we win this battle, not all of us are going to survive it. Should we lose, none of us will.”
Amara glanced away, out at the plain, and nodded.
Lady Placida took a step forward and put a hand on Amara’s shoulder. “I am just as mortal as anyone else. There is something I would say to you, in case there’s not another chance.”
Amara frowned and nodded.
“I owe you my life, Countess,” Aria said, simply. “It has been my honor to have known you.”