First Lord's Fury (Page 135)

But then, he didn’t need to.

A chorus of answering bellows came from ahead of them, and a moment later a long line of gargants came lumbering toward them out of the dark – Doroga’s tribesmen. Gargants, moving in trios and pairs, went smashing into the vord that had leaked through the gargoyles, crushing them before they could mount an effective pursuit of the fleeing Aleran Legions. The sound of battle began to recede behind them, and Amara felt herself shivering in reaction.

She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t even reacting to the fear though she’d certainly been afraid.

The chill that went through her did so because of what had happened.

Invidia had told them the truth. They hadn’t expected the sheer size of the vordbulks, but Invidia had certainly tried to tell them they were larger than gargants.

She’d been telling the truth.

If there was even a chance that she might actually be able to deliver on her promise of taking them to the vord Queen, of ending the war, they would have no choice but to take her up on the offer.

Amara looked overhead. The battle was winding down up there, and the fliers were coming down to support the Marat in holding off the oncoming vord. They would be the last troops to leave the battlefield – their speed meant that even if they kept fighting for two or three hours, they could potentially reach Garrison before some of the Legions.

Invidia had told the truth.

The one thing Amara did not need was to lose perspective on the situation, but she couldn’t help it. Hope fluttered in her chest: hope that perhaps Invidia really was sincere. That perhaps all the horrors she had seen and committed had changed who she was. Though every reasoning fiber in Amara’s brain told her otherwise, foolish hope continued to dance in and out of her thoughts.

A dangerous emotion, hope. Very, very dangerous.

She felt her smile bare her teeth. The real question was this: Whose hope was the more foolish? Her own?

Or Invidia’s?

Chapter 46

"You realize, of course," Attis said weakly, "that she’s going to betray you."

The Princeps lay in the bed in the quarters normally reserved for Amara and Bernard, and he was dying. Attis had forbidden anyone to enter the room, apart from Aria or Veradis, his physicians – or Amara.

With good reason. He looked horrible, wasted from a magnificent specimen of masculinity to a starving scarecrow within days. His hair was beginning to fall out. There was a yellow tinge to his skin, and a horrible stench surrounded him. No amount of incense could conceal the smell. It could only dull its edge. It even defeated the room’s gargant scent.

"Is it not possible," Amara asked, "that Invidia has had a change of heart?"

"No," Attis said calmly. "A heart would be prerequisite. As would the ability to admit her mistakes."

"You’re certain of that?" Amara asked. "Without a doubt?"

"Absolutely."

"That was my assessment as well, Your Highness," Amara said quietly.

Attis smiled faintly. "Good." His eyes fluttered closed, and his breath caught for a second.

"My lord?" Amara asked. "Should I send for a physician?"

"No," he rasped. "No. Save their strength for men who might live." He panted for a moment before opening his eyes again. They were glazed with fatigue. "You’re going to use her," he said.

Amara nodded. "Either she will lead us to the Queen and betray us to her. Or she will not lead us to the Queen and betray us. Or she will lead us to the Queen and assist us as she said. Two of three possible outcomes result in an opportunity to remove the Queen. We can’t pass up a chance like that."

"And she knows it," Attis said. "She can do the math as well. She knows you have no choice but to try. And your figures are fallacies, really. I would make it seventy percent that she intends to lead you to the Queen and betray you. Another thirty percent that she simply intends to take you to a trap without ever revealing the Queen."

Amara shrugged. "By your argument, we have a seventy percent chance, instead of sixty-six. Regardless, it’s still a better opportunity than we’ve ever had or will ever have again."

Attis said nothing. Outside, trumpets blared. It was nearly noon, and the vord pursuing the fleeing Legions to their final fortification had begun their attack by midmorning. Crushed into the relatively small frontage of the final redoubt at the outskirts of Garrison, the vord were making little headway against the determined legionares. Mules operating from town rooftops and squads of firecrafters brought blazing death to the enemy. The air was filled with the grotesque stench of internal fluids and burned chitin, even here, inside the little citadel. The incense didn’t help with that smell, either.

"I think you know what she intends to do," Attis said.

"Yes."

"You’re willing to pay the price this could entail?"

"I have no choice," she said.

Attis nodded slowly, and said, "I do not envy you. When?"

"Four hours after midnight," Amara said. "The team will meet Invidia and strike just before dawn."

"Bother," Attis said. "I hate not knowing the end of a story."

"Your Highness?"

He shook his head. "You didn’t need to consult me, Amara, and yet here you are. You must want something of me."

"I do," she said quietly.

His weak voice turned wry. "All things considered, it is probably best if you do not dawdle. Out with it."

She told him what she wanted.

He agreed, and they made the necessary arrangements.

Not long after noon, Gaius Attis, High Lord Aquitaine, fell quietly unconscious. Amara sent for the healers, but they only arrived in time to see him take his last slow, quiet breath.

He died there, his expression that of a man with few regrets.

Amara bowed her head, and wept a few silent tears for the man Gaius Aquitainus Attis had become in his last weeks, for all the lives she had seen lost, the pain she had seen in his last days.

Then she dashed the tears from her face with one fist and turned to leave the chamber. This night would see the most important mission of her life. There would be time for weeping soon, she told herself.

Soon.

Durias, First Spear of the Free Aleran, rode beside Fidelias, looking back over his shoulder at Octavian’s forces. They had stopped for water, the first such rest in six hours, beside a small, swift-flowing river. Thousands of men and Canim, taurga and horses, drank thirstily.

"This is mad," Durias said, after a moment. "Absolutely mad."

"And it’s working," Fidelias pointed out.