The wolves and their barbarian companions were all wearing some form of armor—what looked like aprons fitted with steel plates. Moving swiftly, these Marat and their companions fought in tightly coordinated groups, all working to cut single mantises out from their companions, where they would be surrounded and brought down. Though Clan Wolf wasn’t inflicting the sheer, savage amount of harm Clan Herdbane had, their efforts were bogging down a much larger number of mantises, and their cooperative tactics seemed to Isana to be doing a very great deal to keep their fighters from being severely injured: Wolf had made their battle into a contest of endurance.
“Withdraw them,” Invidia urged quietly. “Wait until we can build a greater mass of troops atop the bluffs. Then we can remove the Marat and take the fortress.”
The vord Queen looked distant. “It will take until nearly dawn to build up such a concentration.”
“What matter?” Invidia said. “It still leaves us nearly a day to prepare for Octavian’s force.”
“You,” the vord Queen said slowly, “are treacherous.”
Isana looked hard at Invidia, and said, “Yes. Because she is a slave to her own self-interest.”
“Mmmm,” said the Queen thoughtfully. Then she waved a hand and turned from the pool. The image faded, but before it did, Isana saw the mantises within it begin to break off combat with the enemy, withdrawing. “You will proceed to the deployment areas and do all in your power to expedite the buildup of forces. Earthcrafting a number of ramps over the worst terrain should be sufficient.”
Invidia bowed and turned toward the exit.
“And, Invidia,” the vord Queen said in a very soft voice. “Do not make another covert departure until after the fortress has fallen.”
The creature on Invidia’s chest let out a hiss, and its limbs stirred. Invidia made a choking sound and fell to her knees. She kept her teeth clenched over a scream that lasted for several heartbeats, then sagged down to the floor.
She pushed herself up slowly, a moment later. She nodded to the Queen and departed, her expression a mask—one Isana had often seen her use to hide her anger.
The Queen ignored Isana and went back to the alcove, staring up into the green light above her.
Isana turned and walked slowly over to Araris, her heart beating quickly. She stared into his eyes through the murky translucence of the croach that held him and mouthed the word, Soon.
For an instant, one of his lips quivered, baring his teeth in the smallest of wolflike smiles.
Isana nodded and settled back down onto the floor. Waiting. But not for much longer. The time to act would be soon, she told herself.
Soon.
Gaius Octavian rode his horse at the head of the rather unusual column behind him, shivering as Acteon pounded steadily down the causeway, through the cold hours of midnight and beyond. He had never traveled the roads outside the Valley on foot, but when the moon had risen, he had been able to see the lofty peak of Garados, rising above the other mountains like an enormous, surly, dangerous drunk on the fringes of a harvest festival.
He was nearly home.
Beside him, Kitai rode with the same easy grace she brought to every endeavor—and if she looked weary, Tavi could hardly blame her. He was more than tired enough to suit himself, as was every man and Cane there with him. But he had made better time than even he had expected. They would reach the western end of the Valley well before sunrise. And then…
He shivered.
And then he would cast them all into harm’s way beside him. With any luck, he would be able to coordinate with the Valley’s defenders, cooperate in a mutual attack from either direction. Though badly outnumbered, the Alerans might still be able to use furycraft and the terrain to overwhelm their foe—and force the vord Queen to appear and intercede.
And then he would learn whether or not a lifetime of uphill battles would save his Realm and people—or see them both smashed to pieces and devoured. Either way, everything he had ever been and done would be justified or found wanting soon, he told himself.
Soon.
CHAPTER 47
Isana meant to stay awake all night, but found she couldn’t. The continuous, unchanging lighting of the hive had made it impossible for her body to be certain whether it was night or day. She had slept fitfully, here and there, for what she suspected had been two weeks. Here, at the end, when she most needed to be alert, she found sleep creeping up on her—and by the time she realized what it was up to, it was too late to do anything about it.
She started awake with a small jerk, and swept her gaze silently around the hive without moving her head, careful to do nothing else to draw attention to herself.
All was quiet. The vord Queen stood in the alcove in that awful old gown, staring steadily up into the green light, her long white hair spilling in a fine sheet down her back and over her breasts. She paid no attention to Isana, though that was hardly unusual.
Still…
Something was different. Something she could neither identify nor define pressed upon Isana’s senses. A shiver went down her spine.
There was death in the air.
Invidia entered the hive. The burned woman looked exhausted. She strode across the hive with a nod in the Queen’s direction and was ignored as thoroughly as Isana had been.
Invidia walked straight to Isana and crouched. A slight motion of one finger and a tightening of the pressure around Isana’s eardrums warned her that there was a very small, very subtle windcrafting in effect.
Invidia wanted this to be a private conversation.
“In moments,” Invidia whispered, her back to the Queen, “things will change.”
Isana’s eyes widened. She glanced past Invidia to the Queen and nodded very slightly.
“She’s hearing something different than I’m saying,” Invidia said. “So far as she is concerned, I am gloating over your predicament.”
Isana schooled her expression and made no motion, watching Invidia’s face.
“Tell me what and where this cure is,” Invidia said. “And I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to take you and Araris out alive.”
Isana studied her quietly, then asked, “And if I do not?”
One of her eyelids twitched. “Neither of you will get out of here alive, Isana. Not without my help.”
Isana took a slow breath. It had worked—at least, she had given Invidia enough hope that she had taken action of some kind, perhaps during her un-supervised scouting mission the day before. Isana felt her heart begin to pound. Had she truly gone to the High Lords?
“Once I give them to you,” Isana whispered, “what is to stop you from seeing to our deaths?”
“I told you. My word.”
Isana met her eyes and felt a swift, brief stab of pity for the woman as she slowly shook her head. “You don’t have that anymore, Invidia. You cannot give me what you do not have.”
Invida stared at Isana without expression. Then she said, “What would you have of me, then?”
“Your sword,” Isana said calmly.
Invidia’s head tilted slightly. “Why? You’re hardly a threat, Isana, even armed.”
“If I have it, you don’t,” Isana said.
The burned woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Does it matter?” Isana asked. “You said there isn’t much time. After any sort of battle, your cure won’t be left whole. Do you really have time to debate with me? Do you have any choice?”
Invidia pressed her lips together. Then she started unbuckling her sword, and said, “A certain amount of drama will be required.”
“The means in question is a mushroomlike growth found in hives like this one,” Isana said. “The Marat call it the Blessing of Night. Unlike most fungus, it apparently has thorns. I would look for it concealed around the edges of the pool or within the Queen’s alcove.”