“The truth,” Arnos said, nodding. “Of course. But I think we all know how… amorphous, shall we say, the truth can be.”
“Forgive me,” Bernard said. “I did not mean to confuse you, Senator. I must amend my statement. I have nothing to offer you except fact.”
“Fact,” Arnos said, nodding again. “Excellent. I have questions about some of the facts you have presented today.”
Amara got a sickly little feeling in her belly.
“By all means,” Bernard said.
“Do I understand you correctly that you learned of these creatures’ presence from a barbarian Marat. “
“From Doroga of the Sabot-Ha,” Bernard said. “The most powerful and influential of their chieftains.”
“But…” Arnos shrugged a shoulder. “A Marat.”
“Yes,” Bernard said.
“That is how you know that they are called the vord?”
“Yes.”
“In fact,” Arnos continued, “no Aleran had ever heard of this creature before the barbarian told you of it.”
“Given the kind of danger the vord represent, I suspect that by the time one learns of them, it may already be too late to fight them. Without Doroga’s warning, we might already have lost half the Realm.”
“And you believe that?” Arnos asked.
“Yes,” Bernard said.
“And yet, according to the barbarian, his own unlettered, tribal, pauper-folk, without a civilization, without furycrafting, somehow managed to defeat them in the past.”
Bernard paused for a moment before speaking. Amara recognized the gesture: it was the same one he got on his face before rebuking a particularly foolish subordinate. “They did not defeat the vord, Senator,” Bernard said. “The refugees of their civilization managed to flee and survive.”
“Ah,” Arnos said, skepticism flavoring the sound. “Come now, Count. What surety can you give that the entire situation was not some kind of ploy on behalf of the Marat? There are many dangerous creatures in the world. It seems to me that we had nothing to fear from these vord before the Marat spoke to you about them.”
Bernard’s jawline twitched. “Doroga very nearly gave his life in defense of me and mine, when we fought the vord together. He lost nearly two thousand of his own people fighting them before they came to Calderon.”
Arnos waved a vague hand. “Come now, Your Excellency. The Collegia contains a thousand years of military history, hundreds of battles faithfully recorded, large and small. The morale of a military force in the field breaks well before it sustains fifty percent casualties. Are we really to take the barbarian’s word that his people fought on after losing ninety percent of their force?”
“If Doroga says so. I believe him.”
The Senator permitted himself a small, sly smile. “I see. It would appear, then, that your struggle together against these creatures the barbarian knew all about has engendered within you a sense of trust.” He paused, then added lightly, “Or credulity.”
Bernard stared levelly at Arnos for a long moment. Then he drew in a breath, and said in a patient tone, “Senator, disregarding any evidence I did not see with my own eyes, the vord are still clearly an intelligent, resourceful, ruthless foe who will not discriminate between armed forces and noncombatants. They clearly possess the wherewithal to inflict tremendous damage upon anyone unfortunate enough to be near them.”
Arnos shrugged a shoulder, still wearing the faint smile. “Perhaps. But their most vaunted, feared trait seems to be their ability to reproduce at such a fantastic rate. That if even one of them remains, they could repopulate themselves at tremendous speed.” He tilted his head, and said, “Yet, it has been three years since you fought them, Count, and they have not been seen again. I cannot help but wonder whether or not it might have been a lie, told to you by the Marat in order to heighten your sense of danger, and therefore the amount of trust you would place in them after successfully overcoming it.”
“Do you mean to say that Doroga lied to me?”
“He is a barbarian, after all, Count.”
Bernard gave the Senator a tight smile. “The Marat’s tribal tongues had no word for ‘lie’ until they met us, Senator. The very idea of speaking falsehood was introduced to them only a few generations ago, and it never picked up much of a following. For one Marat to call another a liar is a challenge to a fight to the death, and one that is never refused. Doroga is no liar.”
“I see no way to be sure of that.”
“I do, Senator,” Bernard said. “I believe him. I am a Count, a Citizen of the Realm, a veteran of the Legions who has shed and spilled blood in defense of Alera. I will vouch for his word with my own.”
“I’m sure you would,” Arnos said, his tone that of the kindly grandfather speaking to a foolish youth. “I have never questioned your sincerity. But I suspect that the Marat has manipulated you.”
Bernard stared at the Senator and rolled his shoulder in a gesture Amara had seen him use when preparing to shoot his war bow. Bernard’s voice suddenly rang out sharp and clear, though still perfectly polite in tone. “Senator. If you call my friend a liar one more time, I will take it badly.”
“Excuse me?” Arnos said, his eyebrows rising up.
“I suggest you find an alternate shortsighted, egomaniacally ridiculous reason to blatantly, recklessly ignore an obvious threat to the Realm simply because you don’t wish it to exist. If you cannot restrain yourself from base slander, I will be pleased to meet you in juris macto and personally rip your forked tongue from your head.”
The muttering in the room stopped, and a bottomless silence fell.
Amara felt a rush of fierce, pleased pride flash through her, and she found herself smiling down at Bernard.
Arnos’s face flushed dark red, almost purple. Without another word, he turned and strode from the hall, steps sounding angrily on the hall’s floor. A little more than a third of the room, including several of the men also on the raised platform, rose and followed the Senator out.
When they had gone, Bernard shook his head and cast an almost imperceptible wink in her direction. “All right,” he said. “Next question.”
A small forest of hands went up. Those men who remained, all of them wearing Legion uniform tunics or armor, or with their hair cropped Legion fashion, settled down to listen.
Amara descended to the hall floor after Bernard’s talk was over. He was shaking hands with the few members of the Collegia’s staff who had remained when Senator Arnos left. Giraldi hovered in the background, leaning on his cane, and traded gibes with several other old soldiers apparently of his acquaintance.
Amara smiled as Bernard broke away from the men and came to her. “You will rip his forked tongue from his head?”
He gave her a fleeting smile. “Too much, you think?”
Amara imitated Arnos’s clipped Rhodesian accent. “You are a barbarian, after all, Count.”
Bernard let out a rumble of a laugh but shook his head. “He didn’t believe me.”
“He’s one fool,” Amara replied. “We knew when we set out to come here that there would be plenty of them around.”
“Yes. I just didn’t think that one of them would be the Senator holding the purse strings for all the Crown funds for the Legions.” Bernard shook his head. “And he has a following. Maybe I should have let him strut a bit.”
“If you had, you wouldn’t be you,” Amara replied. “Besides, you struck a solid note with the active duty soldiers here. They’re the ones whose opinions will matter most.”
“They’re also the ones who will suffer the most from budget cuts,” Bernard said. “It’s hard to fight anyone when your equipment is wearing out and falling apart around you. Much less something like the vord.”