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.”
Invidia took her sword, in its scabbard, in hand, and asked, “How is it used?”
“Eaten, according to Octavian, or squeezed, and its juices applied to wounds.”
Invidia stared at her for a moment. Then she frowned, and said, slowly, “I cannot tell if you are lying to me.”
“Things are never true because we want them to be, Invidia,” Isana said. “Or because we don’t want them to be. They simply are.”
Her spine stiffened. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“That it is not surprising someone who has so thoroughly deceived herself about the truth can’t recognize it when it is spoken to her.”
Invidia’s face turned cold. She drew back her hand and struck Isana’s face with her palm. Quick, sharp pain expanded and dissipated almost immediately, leaving a harsh tingling in Isana’s cheek. As the blow landed, the windcrafting concealing their speech vanished.
Invidia threw her sword at Isana’s chest. “So pleasant to be lectured by a self-righteous camp whore who has stumbled into power.” She sneered, and Isana felt the lash of Invidia’s hatred against her skin like an unseen riding crop. “If you’re so convinced of your cause, draw it. Challenge me to the
juris macto
. If you can take me, perhaps you will be allowed to rule a Realm of ashes and graves.”
Isana gathered in the slender sword and held it against her stomach without ever looking up at the burned woman. The fire of her emotions was no act—and Isana knew with a sudden chill that while Invidia may have been manipulated into action against the Queen, she had no intention of letting Isana leave alive. “I never wanted a struggle with you, Invidia. All I ever wanted was for my family to be left in peace.”
“Keep it,” Invidia spat. “In case you change your mind.”
Isana looked past the other woman to the vord Queen. Black, alien eyes had focused upon them both. They stayed there for a long moment, then, without comment, returned to the ceiling above.
Invidia literally spat upon Isana. Then she turned and began walking toward the exit. “There have been no troubles moving enough troops onto the bluffs, I trust?”
The vord Queen ignored her.
Isana felt a horrible suspicion begin to grow in her thoughts. The Queen had said nothing about Invidia’s giving her the weapon. At the very least, she would have expected some sort of comment along the lines of how irrational the act was.
But the Queen said nothing.
Evidently, Invidia had been struck by a similar impression, but she seemed to brush it aside. Her steps slowed for an instant, and she slowed in midstride, perhaps poised on the precipice of some decision. Then her eyes narrowed, and her steps quickened. She went to the hive’s entrance and, with a flick of her hand, sent a ball of stuttering red-and-blue light into the world outside.
The hive exploded into motion and violence.
Isana simply couldn’t believe how
fast
everything had suddenly become. It seemed that for an instant, she could focus on absolutely everything in her field of vision, all at once, no matter where it was.
The hive’s walls vomited forth a horde of wax spiders, the ones that were constantly in attendance, yet managed to remain all but invisible most of the time. She had expected that. It made their sudden appearance, all leathery, translucent bodies and legs and fangs and gently luminescent eyes no less hideous, no less terrifying—and it certainly made the venom on their fangs no less poisonous. But, at least she had expected them.
She had
not
expected the four creatures that came dropping neatly out of the ceiling—what looked at first like . . . she wasn’t sure what. Some kind of bizarre furylamp fixture, perhaps. They were spheres, essentially, with blades of gleaming steel standing out in ridges from the inner surface of each sphere, smoothly beautiful—until the bodies of the forms began to unfold with delicate grace into the long legs of creatures that resembled wax spiders—but which were ten times the size, and whose limbs were graced with blades of what was obviously furycrafted steel.
Vord. Made of steel. Isana felt fairly sure that didn’t bode well for whatever Invidia had planned.
Invidia turned as the initial wave of wax spiders leapt at her. Her hand twitched, as if to move toward her sword, then reversed itself, sweeping in an arc with her fingers spread. Blue-white fire slewed forth in a liquidlike spray from her open hand, splashing upon leaping spiders and clinging to them like hot oil, causing them to curl up into lumps of flaming, withered flesh. In an instant, two dozen of the leaping figures were destroyed—but there were far more than two dozen surging toward the burned woman. She swept one leg easily into the air, kicking a leaping spider aside, and brought her heel and foot straight down with a cry, a furycrafting movement that sent a violent jolt through the earth in a wave that spread out from her foot, knocking small and large spiders alike into one another, sending them tumbling over the floor and bringing dust and gravel falling from the holes in the ceiling where the great spiders had landed.
Except for one. One of the large, bladed spiders had already flung itself into the air before the shock wave could shake it, and two of its bladed legs snapped forward from its body, striking with the speed and precision of serpents.
Even then, the former High Lady was not to be undone. One of her hands moved with impossible speed, her chitin-covered forearm catching the blades, sliding them aside—almost. One of the swordlike limbs plunged through the chitin-armor covering her other arm, and emerged from the back of it in a small fountain of blood.
Invidia cried out, seized the weapon-limb, and tore it free of her arm by dint of pure, furycrafted strength, ducking aside as another half dozen weapons flashed toward her from different directions. She fell back toward the entrance, seized another leaping wax spider, and flung it at the blade-thing with such strength that it was slammed several feet back across the floor, staggering under the impact.
Isana could only remain in place, motionless, hoping to avoid any attention, stunned at the display. Invidia’s power had, for an instant, stemmed the tide of hostile vord.
That instant was all that was required.
Blue-white lightning streaked through the entrance to the hive, twin lances arching around Invidia and converging upon the blade-thing in front of her. They struck in a hideously bright flash of light and a roar of sound that was physically painful. Isana felt the breath sucked from her lungs at the sudden change in air pressure. When she could see again a few seconds later, a blackened patch of ground remained where the first blade-thing had been standing, scorched free of vord and
croach
alike. Scattered pieces of sharp steel littered the ground, all that remained of the creature.
There was a roar of wind and two armored figures rode in on windstreams, miniature gales that carried them down the incline, growing weaker as they descended into the hive, and let both men land on their feet, blazing swords in hand. One weapon burned with cold blue fire, the other blazed with scarlet heat—High Lords Phrygius and Antillus, respectively, Isana thought.
Once more, wax spiders leapt forward, trilling their cries—but this time they faced master metalcrafters with steel in their hands. Quivering, scorched pieces fell to the floor as the two men strode forward, untouched, through the rain of screaming wax spiders.
“In the alcove!” Invidia cried.
Phrygius spun toward the alcove just in time to raise his blade and intercept the dark weapon of the vord Queen. Her sword, a weapon of gleaming dark green-black chitin, met the blazing steel of the High Lord and flexed with unnatural tensile strength, not so much blocking the weapon outright as catching it and flinging it back. The motion surprised Phrygius, who recovered swiftly, but not before the Queen’s sword had left a deep slice in the steel plates of his lorica, the split steel bubbling with frothing green poison. They exchanged a series of blows too swiftly for Isana to keep track of them, circling around one another, darting through short passes. Neither seemed able to gain an advantage.