Gaius Octavian’s image sank with perfect, controlled grace into the water.
And then he was gone.
The pool was very still.
The vord Queen lifted her hands and slowly drew up her hood. Then she resettled her cloak around her though Invidia knew perfectly well that she was all but unaffected by temperature. The vord didn’t move for several moments—then, abruptly, she let out a hiss and turned, bounding into the air and summoning up a gale of wind to bear her aloft, streaking toward the little steadholt.
Invidia called upon her furies to race after the Queen and caught up to her by the time they had reached the steadholt. They descended together, landing in the central yard. The Queen streaked toward one of the homes, smashed the door to splinters, and darted inside.
Invidia braced herself, her stomach twisting in agonized anticipation. She wished those poor holders no ill—but she could do nothing to save them from the Queen’s wrath.
Crashing sounds came from inside the house. Then a wall exploded outward, and the Queen smashed her way into the cottage next door. Again came the sounds of furious destruction. Then the Queen smashed her way into the next cottage. And the next. And the next, moving so swiftly that there was no time for screams.
Invidia drew a deep breath. Then, deliberately, she forced herself to walk to the first house—the one with the little family they had visited weeks before. Invidia could have killed the Queen earlier that evening. If she had, those holders might not have died. The least she could do for them was force herself to look upon what she had wrought by her inaction.
Stones crunched beneath the chitin armoring her feet as she approached, smelling the woodsmoke of the makeshift family’s fire. She steeled herself for a moment against what she would see, then stepped through the front door.
The kitchen table was smashed. Pots were strewn everywhere. Broken dishes littered the floor. Two windows had been shattered.
And the little house was empty.
Invidia stared in incomprehension for a moment. Then, in dawning realization, she rushed back out the door and went to the next house.
As empty as the first.
She left the cottage and studied the ground. The stones that crunched beneath her feet were not stones. They were the bodies of hundreds of the vord hornets, their stingers still extended in death, shattered, bent, and twisted.
The vord Queen let out a furious wail, and redoubled sounds of destruction came from inside another home. Within seconds, the place simply collapsed in on itself, and the Queen emerged from it, her alien eyes strange in her furious features, tossing aside a crossbeam as thick as her thigh and several hundred pounds of stone with a flick of one arm.
“Tricked,” hissed the Queen. “Tricked. While I listened to his words, he took my steadholt away from me!”
Invidia said nothing. She fought to keep herself calm. She had never seen the vord Queen so angry. Not while she was disemboweling her traitorous child. Not when Gaius Sextus had all but annihilated her army at Alera Imperia. Never.
Invidia was well aware that she was one of the most dangerous human beings on the face of Carna. She also knew that the vord Queen would tear her apart without growing short of breath. She focused on being silent, calm, and part of the background. The raid had been flawless. Octavian had not only let his image stand there to give Alerans time to gather—he had used it to trigger any defenses around the little steadholt, revealing them to the raiders. Once aware of the vord hornets, his men had evidently been able to circumvent them.
She’d sensed the rescue attempt when it had begun. The surge of hope from the other side of the hill. And she’d assumed it was a result of his speech and actually spent effort blocking it out.
She thought it would be best not to mention that fact to the near-berserk Queen. Ever.
“He took the dogs,” the Queen snarled. “He took the cat. He took the livestock. He left me nothing!” She looked around her, at the empty shell of the steadholt, and with a gesture of one hand disintegrated a cottage in a sudden sphere of white-hot fire.
Pieces of molten stone flew everywhere. Some of it arched high enough to come raining down like falling stars, several seconds later.
Then the Queen went still again. She stayed that way for a moment and turned abruptly to begin stalking toward the nearest edge of the croach. She made a curt gesture to the Aleran woman as she went.
Invidia fell into step behind the Queen. “What will you do?”
The vord looked over her shoulder at Invidia, her fine white hair in wild disarray, her pale cheek smudged with soot and dust and earth. “He has taken from me,” she hissed, her voice quavering with alien rage. “He has hurt me. He has hurt me.” Her claws made that stretching-tearing sound again. “Now I will take from him.”
CHAPTER 7
Valiar Marcus entered the command tent and saluted. Octavian glanced back and nodded at him, beckoning Marcus to come in. The captain looked weary and ragged after the effort he’d expended to send forth the watercrafting he’d used to address all of Alera, but he had not slept since then. He’d spent the night in the command tent, reading reports and poring over maps and sand tables. A small pool, crafted into existence by Legion engineers, occupied one corner of the tent.
The Princeps stood before the little pool, looking down at a shrunken image of Tribune Antillus Crassus, which stood upon the water’s surface. “How many holders did you get out of there?”
“Eighty-three,” Crassus replied. His voice was very distant and dim, as if coming down a long tunnel. “All of them, sire—and their beasts and livestock, too.”
The captain barked out a short laugh. “You had fliers enough for that?”
“It seemed a good statement to make to the enemy, sire,” Crassus replied, one corner of his mouth turning up in a small smirk. “We had to drop them off within a few hours, but at least they won’t go to feeding the croach anytime soon.”
Tavi nodded. “Casualties?”
Crassus’s expression sobered. “Two so far.”
Marcus saw steely tension stiffen Octavian’s shoulders. “So far?”
“You were right. The vord had defensive measures in place—this kind of hornet thing. They came flying up out of the croach like balest bolts when your image appeared in the pool.” Crassus’s expression remained calm, but his voice sounded ragged. “They had stingers that could drive right through leather or mail. We were able to stiffen the plates of the lorica with battlecrafting, enough to keep the little bastards from punching through. If we hadn’t been able to prepare for it… crows, sire, I don’t want to think about it. We did well enough, but their stingers were poisoned, and wherever they hit flesh instead of steel, our folk got hurt. I lost two men last night, and another dozen who were hit are getting sicker.”
“Have you tried watercrafting?”
Crassus shook his head. “Hasn’t been time. We had a sky full of vordknights to worry about. I’m nearly certain that some of the windcrafters the vord turned are spooking around on our back trail. We had to stay ahead of them.”
Octavian frowned. “You’re out of occupied territory?”
“For now.”
“Do you have time to make the attempt at a healing?”
Crassus shook his head. “I doubt it. The vord are still trying to find us. I think the best chance for the wounded is to get them back to the Legion healers.”
Marcus saw the captain debating with himself. A commander was always tempted to involve himself too much in whatever mission was under way. But to lead, one had to maintain a rational perspective. Octavian couldn’t assess the men’s condition himself or the disposition or skills of the enemy. Yet he did not want more of his men’s lives to be needlessly lost. The temptation to override the judgment of a field commander had to have been very strong.