by Jim Butcher
Doroga mused in thought for a moment. Then he nodded toward one of the fallen vord. "Like these. But not like these. Longer. Thinner. Strange-looking. Like it was not finished becoming what it would be."
Bernard said, "Doroga, your people had run this race for many years. How could Tavi and Kitai have wakened this creature?"
Doroga said, without expression, "Maybe you have not noticed. Tavi does things big."
Bernard arched an eyebrow. "How so?"
"He saw how the Keepers see the heat of a body. Saw how they respond to damage on the croach. So he set it on fire."
Bernard blinked. "Tavi… set the Wax Forest on fire?"
"Left out that part, did he," Doroga said.
"Yes he did," Bernard said.
"The creature bit Kitai. Poisoned her. Tavi was climbing out. But he went back down for her when he could have left her there. They had been sent to recover a mushroom that grew only there. Powerful remedy to poison and disease. They each had one. Tavi gave his to Kitai to save her from the poison. Even when he knew it would cost him the race. His life." Doroga shook his head. "He saved her. And that, Bernard, is why I killed Atsurak in the battle. Because the boy saved my Kitai. It was bravely done."
"Tavi did that?" Bernard said quietly.
"Left out that part, did he," Doroga asked.
"He… he has a way of coloring things when he describes them," Bernard said. "He didn't speak of his own role in things quite so dramatically."
"Doroga," Amara asked. "If Tavi gave up the race to save your daughter, how did he win the trial?"
Doroga shrugged. "Kitai gave him her mushroom to honor his courage. His sacrifice. It cost her something she wanted very much."
"Left out that part, did you," Bernard said, smiling.
Amara frowned and closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. "I believe I know what is happening." She opened her eyes to find both men staring at her. "I think that Tavi and Kitai woke up the vord queen. My guess is that it had been sleeping, or dormant for some reason. That somehow, whatever they did allowed it to wake up."
Doroga nodded slowly. "Maybe. First queen wakes. Spawns two new, lesser queens. They split up and found new nests."
"Which means they would need to cover new areas with the croach," Amara said. "If they truly need it to survive."
"We can find them," Bernard said, voice tight with excitement. "Brutus knew the feel of the Wax Forest. He can find something similar here."
Doroga grunted. "So can Walker. His nose better than mine. We can find them and give battle."
"We don't have to do that," Amara said. "All we really need to do is destroy the croach. If our guess is right, that will smother them all, sooner or later."
"If you're right," Bernard said, "then they will fight like mad to protect it."
Amara nodded. "Then we need to know what we're likely to face there. These wax spiders. What kind of threat are they?"
"Poison bite," Doroga said. "About the size of a small wolf. Bad enough, but nothing like these things." He nudged the shattered, flattened shell of a crushed vord with his foot.
"Do you think an armored legionare would be able to handle one?" Amara asked.
Doroga nodded. "Metal skin would stop Keeper fangs. Without the bite, they aren't much."
"That leaves the warriors," Amara said. She glanced around the courtyard. "Which are slightly more formidable."
"Not if we have the initiative," Bernard said. "Giraldi's century stood them off pretty well, working together."
"Yes," Doroga said, nodding. "Impressive. You people must get bored stupid practicing for that kind of fight, close together."
Bernard grinned. "Yes. But it's worth it."
"I saw," Doroga said. "We should think about going in at night. Keepers were always slowest then. Maybe the other vord are the same way."
"Night attacks," Bernard said. "Dangerous business. A lot can go wrong."
"What about their queen?" Amara asked. "Doroga, did you fight the queen at the nest you destroyed?"
Doroga nodded. "Queen was holed up under a big tangle of fallen trees with two queen whelps. Too many warriors guarding her for us to go in. So Hashat fired the trees and we killed everything as it came out. Queen whelps went down easy. The queen came last, vord around her. Hard to get a good look at her. Smaller than the vord, but faster. She killed two of my men and their gargants. All smoke and fire, couldn't see anything. But Hashat rode into it, called to me where to strike. Walker stomped on the queen. Wasn't much left."
"Could he do it again?" Amara asked.
Doroga shrugged. "His feet look fine."
"Then maybe we have a plan. We can handle the spiders, the vord, the queen," Amara said. "We move in and use the legionares to shield our Knights Ignus. They put fire to the croach. Once that is done, we can fall back and let the vord drown."
Doroga shook his head. "You are forgetting something."
"What?"
"The taken," Doroga said. The Marat leaned back against the wall, as far into the shadows of the wall as he could get, and glanced apologetically up at the sky. "The taken. They belong to the vord now. We'll have to kill them."
"You've talked about your folk being taken several times," Amara said. "What do you mean by it, exactly?"
"Taken," Doroga said. He seemed at a loss for a moment, searching for words. "The body is there. But the person is not. You look into their eyes and see nothing. They are dead. But the vord have partaken of their strength."
"They're under the vord's control?" Amara asked.
"Hardly seems possible," Bernard said, frowning.
"Not at all," Amara said. "Have you ever seen what discipline collars can do to slaves, when taken to extremes? Enough of it will make anyone easy to control."
"This is more than that," Doroga said. "There is nothing left on the inside. Just the shell. And the shell is fast, strong. Feels no pain. Has no fear. Does not speak. Only the outside is the same."
Amara's stomach did a slow twist of sickened horror. "Then… the holders here. Everyone who is missing…"
Doroga nodded. "Not just the men. Females. The old. Any children taken. They will kill until they are killed." He closed his eyes for a moment. "That was what made our losses so heavy. Hard to fight things like that. Saw a lot of good warriors hesitate. Just for an instant. They died for it."
The three of them were silent for a moment. "Doroga," she said quietly, "why did you call them shapeshifters, earlier?"
"Because they change," Doroga said. "In the stories, my people have met the vord three times. Each time, they looked different. Different weapons. But they acted the same. Tried to take everyone."
"How is the taking accomplished?" Amara pressed. "Is it some kind of furycrafting?"
Doroga grunted and shook his head. "Not sure what it is," he said. "Some stories, the vord just look at you. Control you like some kind of stupid beast."
Walker made the ground shake with a basso rumble ending in a snort, and bumped Doroga with one thick-furred leg.
"Shut up, beast," Doroga said absently, recovering his balance and leaning against the gargant. "Other stories, they poison the water. Sometimes they send something to crawl inside you." He shrugged. "Haven't seen it happening. Just saw the results. Whole hunting tribes all gone together. Doubt they knew it was happening until it was over."
They were all silent for a long moment.
"I hate to say it," Bernard said quietly. "But what if the holders who were taken… what if the vord can use their furies?"
A slow sliver of apprehension pierced Amara's spine. "Doroga?" she asked.
The Marat shook his head. "Don't know. Furies are not my world."
"That could change everything," Bernard said. "Our Knights' furies are our decisive advantage. Some of those holders are strongly gifted. You have to be, this far from the rest of the Realm."
Amara nodded slowly. "Assuming the vord do have access to furycraft," she said. "Does it change anything about ou
r duty?"
Bernard shook his head. "No."
"Then we have to plan for the worst," Amara said. "Hold our Knights in reserve to counter their furycraft, until we are sure one way or another. If they do have it, the Knights may be able to counter them, at least long enough for the Knights Ignus to burn off the croach. Can we do it?"
Bernard frowned for a moment, then nodded slowly. "If our reasoning is sound," he said. "What do you think, Doroga?"
Doroga grunted. "I think we got too many ifs and maybes. Don't like it."
"Neither do I," Amara said. "But it's what we have."
Bernard nodded. "Then we'll move out. We'll take the Knights and Giraldi's century. I'll leave Felix's here to guard the wounded."
Amara nodded, and her stomach growled. She lifted the forgotten cup of soup and drank. It tasted too salty but was pleasant going down. "Very well. And we'll need to establish passwords, Bernard. If taken Alerans can't speak, it will let us sort out friend from foe if there is any confusion. We can't assume we're any more immune to it than the holders were."
"Good idea," Bernard said. He looked around the courtyard, his eyes bleak. "Great furies, but this doesn't sit well on my stomach. Everything ran from those things. Except for the crows and us here, there isn't an animal stirring for half a mile. No birds. Not even a crows-begotten rat."
Amara finished the soup, then looked sharply at Bernard. "What?"
"It's got me spooked," he said. "That's all."
"What do you mean, there aren't any rats?" she demanded, and she heard her voice shaking.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Just thinking out loud."
Terror made the fingers in her hand go numb, and the tin cup fell to the ground. The tactile memory of something small creeping over her feet as she woke flooded through her thoughts in bright scarlet realization and fear.
Sometimes they send something to crawl inside you.
"Oh no," Amara breathed, whirling toward the darkened great hall, where weary knights, legionares and holders lay wounded, resting, sleeping. "Oh no, no, no."
Chapter 26
Behind her, Amara heard Bernard let out a startled oath, and then two sets of heavy steps following her back to the great hall, where Giraldi stood a laconic watch. The old centurion frowned as Amara came running up.
"Your Excellency?" he asked, frowning. "Is something wrong?"
"Get everyone," Amara snapped. "And get them all outside. Now."
Giraldi blinked. "Ev-"
"Do it!" Amara snarled, and Giraldi automatically went rigid at the sound of unwavering authority in her tone and banged a fist to his breastplate. Then he spun about and started barking out a string of booming orders.
"Amara?" Bernard asked. "What is this?"
"I felt a rat or a mouse brush past my foot as I woke," Amara said. Her hands were clenched into impotent fists. "But you said that there aren't any left."
Bernard frowned. "Maybe you dreamed it?"
"Great furies," Amara breathed. "I hope so. Because if the vord are taking people by sending things to crawl into them as they sleep, we have a problem. Most of the Knights were sleeping near me, on the cots where the lights were dimmest."
Bernard sucked in a sudden breath. "Crows and bloody carrion," he swore quietly. "You mean that you think that there were… things… crawling around in the hall?"
"I think that this is part of their first attack," Amara said. "It's just happening more quietly."
Doroga grunted. "Makes sense why the vord withdrew early, now. Gave you wounded to care for. Knew you would take them inside. Then they send takers."
Inside the hall, Giraldi continued bellowing orders. Every furylamp in the place had been brought to its most brilliant, and the hall was bright enough to hurt Amara's eyes. She stepped to one side of the door as the legionares nearest it took up their weapons and shields and headed outside at a quick jog. Several men limped painfully. The wounded had to be carried out on their cots, one man lifting either end.
Amara fought down an urge to scream for more haste in exiting the building. Giraldi was already doing plenty of that. Amara hoped desperately that she had leapt to an incorrect conclusion and that the evacuation of the building was an unnecessary measure. But something in her guts told her that she hadn't been wrong. That the carefully laid trap had already been sprung.
Two men carried the first of the cots outside, and Amara frowned down at them, chewing on one lip. Several of the heavily armored Knights Terra went out next, still carrying pieces of their armor to the courtyard. A few of the men were milling around in knots of two and three, speaking quietly, their expressions uncertain. Giraldi started to bellow an order at them, then stopped himself with a visible effort and turned around to continue berating the young legionares of Felix's century.
Amara frowned and studied the idle men whom Giraldi had declined to order around. They were Knights, every one of them. Why weren't they leaving?
"Gentlemen," Amara called to them. "With the rest of us, please."
The Knights glanced up at her, and several of them thumped a fist to their breastplate in response. They all headed for the door, falling into line behind those bearing stretchers.
They'd just been waiting for an order, Amara thought. Surely Captain Janus would have deduced that the evacuation order was intended for everyone.
Another cot went by, and Amara almost didn't notice that the mart carrying the foot of the cot was Captain Janus. The captain's mouth started an irregular tic on one corner, and he glanced around until his eyes met Amara's.
She stared at him in shock. The man's eyes were… wrong. Simply wrong. Janus was an excellent, conscientious officer, whose mind was continually occupied with how best to lead and protect his men, attend to his duty, and serve the Realm. Even when he had been eating or at weapon's practice, whether relaxed or angry, there had always been a sense of reflection to his eyes, his expression, as his mind assessed, planned, and weighed advantages.
That reflection had vanished.
Time stopped. Janus's eyes were half-hooded, unblinking, his expression oddly slack. He met Amara's gaze and whatever it was that now looked at her, it was not Captain Janus.
Great furies, Amara thought. He's been taken.
Something alien and mad flickered through the taken man's eyes in response to Amara's realization. He shifted his grip on the cot, then tore it bodily from the hands of the man at the other end. The wounded man in the cot screamed as he tumbled from it to the stone floor.
Janus swept the heavy cot in a two-handed swing that clipped Amara's shoulder and spun her to the floor. Then he turned, and with another swing of the cot shattered the skull of the cot-bearing man walking backward in line behind him. The man went down without making a sound. Janus hurled the heavy cot at the next man, and the missile hit hard, knocking down several more.
Janus turned back to the door and broke into a run, but as he went past Amara, she thrust out her foot and deftly caught it on the man's ankle, sending him into a sprawling trip that carried him out the door.
"Bernard!" Amara shouted, rising to her feet to follow him. "Giraldi! Janus has been taken!" She came outside to find Janus walking calmly in a straight line toward Harger. "Stop him!" she shouted. "Stop that man!"
A pair of legionares near Janus blinked at her, but then stepped into the man's path. One of the men held up a hand, and said, "Excuse me, sir. The Countess would like to-"
Janus reached for the legionare's upraised hand and with a single motion of casual, savage strength he crushed it to pulp and splintered bone. The legionare screamed and staggered as Janus released him. The second legionare stared for an instant, then his hand flashed toward the hilt of his sword.
Janus swept a fist at the legionare's head and struck with such force that Amara clearly heard the man's neck snap. He dropped to the ground in a boneless heap.
"He's heading for Harger!" Amara shouted. "Protect the healer! Get him out of here!" She drew her sword, called to Cirrus
to lend to her of his swiftness, and rushed at Janus from behind.
Just before she closed to within reach of her blade, Janus spun to face her and threw a crushing fist at her head. Amara saw it as a lazy, slow swing rather than the pile-driving blow that she knew had to have lashed at her as swiftly as a slive's tongue. She altered her balance, her own movements sluggish and dreamlike, and let the blow slip past her head without landing. Then she slashed downward with the short, heavy gladius, and the blade bit deep into the muscle of Janus's right thigh.
From the reaction the taken captain showed, she might have struck him with a handful of down feathers. Without pausing, another blow swept at her head.
Amara let her legs go out from under her, diving to Janus's right, and hoped that the wound in his thigh would slow him down as she dropped into a forward roll and came back to her feet several paces away.
Janus stared at her for a blank second, then turned and walked toward Harger again. The exhausted healer, himself in a cot, had not awakened in the commotion. His face looked sunken, his iron grey beard shot through with white. Two more legionares bore him away while half a dozen others set themselves in a line of shields facing Janus, weapons in hand.
Janus lashed out with one boot in a stomping kick that landed in the middle of a legionare's shield. The blow hurled the man several yards backward, and he landed awkwardly on the stones. The legionare beside the stricken man laid open Janus's arm from shoulder to elbow with a hard slash, but the taken man ignored it, seized that legionare's shield in both hands, and threw him with bone-crushing force into the next man in the line.
And then Bernard appeared, facing Janus, his hands empty. Amara's heart leapt into her throat in sudden fear for him. Bernard growled a curse under his breath and swept his fist at Janus with the incredible fury-born strength Brutus gave him. The blow hit Janus like a battering ram and he arched up and landed on his back on the cobblestones. Bernard pointed at the taken man and called, "Brutus!"
The cobblestones heaved, then the jaws of the earthen hound emerged from them and clamped down hard on Janus's leg before the taken man could rise.