Codex Alera 06 - First Lord's Fury

by Jim Butcher

  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.

  The three remaining blade-beasts rushed forward through the crowd of wax spiders at Antillus. He met them boldly—and within seconds found himself driven back. A dozen blades came darting in at him from every angle, and when his sword met one of the beast’s limbs, there was an explosion of scarlet sparks against vord green.

  Furycraft. By the furies, Isana thought, these things could use furycraft.

  “Placida!” Antillus choked out. His sword became a blur of scarlet light, his steps as light as a dancer’s despite the steel that encased him, as he weaved and dodged before and between the blade-beasts. “Bloody crows, I need a hand here!”

  High Lady Placidus Aria darted in from outside the hive, cut several approaching wax spiders from the air without seeming to notice, and sized up the situation with a sweep of her eyes. Her nostrils flared as she tested the air in the hive and apparently found it suitable. She lifted her hand, and a spark leapt from her fingers to kindle into the familiar form of her fury, a fierce, fiery falcon. She gestured with one hand and let out a sharp whistle, and the fire fury streaked forth to slam into one of the blade-beasts fighting Antillus. There was a blast of intense flame no larger than the mouth of a steadholt’s milking pail, but the force of it ripped the blade-beast off of the ground and slammed it into the wall not seven feet from Isana’s head.

  Aria lifted her hand again, and the falcon was reborn upon her wrist, its flaming wings already raised and eager to fly. Aria’s mouth lifted into a chill little smile as she sent the thing flashing forth again, and in another roar of intertwined fire and wind embedded the broken remains of a second blade-beast into the far wall of the hive.

  “Thank you!” called Raucus in a calm, workmanlike tone, and suddenly shifted his motion, darting forward under the last blade-beast’s weaponry and striking its two foremost limbs from its body where they joined the trunk and were nothing but smooth chitin. The blade-beast recoiled, but Raucous took a spinning, dancelike step forward, to stay in close and build momentum for a thrust of his blade that struck into the unguarded area of the vord’s head and upper body, plunging deep into both. The High Lord’s mouth split into a ferocious, snarling grin, and he let out a sudden cry of effort.

  For an instant, light seemed to pour from the joints of the blade-beast, from where its limbs joined its body, then the creature quite literally exploded, the red fire of Antillus’s burning sword expanding into a firecrafter’s sphere within the beast’s body. Pieces flew everywhere, and an instant later, the High Lord of Antillus stood alone, scorched ichor plastered all over his armor. He whipped his head around and winked at Aria.

  “Show-off,” Aria sniffed. She turned to Isana, and said, “Isana. Are you well?”

  Isana managed a brief and jerky nod. “Aria, this isn’t right!”

  “Stay down and out of the way! We’ll talk about Invidia after,” Aria responded, and fell into step with Raucus as he turned to approach the battle in the alcove. The two of them moved lightly up to the edges of the fight, hesitated like a pair of dancers looking for the beat before they stepped onto the crowded floor, then flung themselves into the battle against the vord Queen.

  “People!” bellowed a voice from outside—Lord Placida. There was the boom of a nearby firecrafting. “The bitch has called in her pets! Hurry!”

  Isana looked up to see Placidus Sandos backing down the incline, step by step, his legs spread widely, anchoring him to the ground like tree trunks. That enormous sword was in his hands—in fact, often he wielded it in a single hand—whipping back and forth. He looked like a man hacking his way through underbrush: black chitinous . . . parts, for Isana could identify them no more specifically than that, scattered to the floor with each swing. Only in this case, the underbrush proved to be pursuing him. Isana could see a thicket of mantis limbs on the ground above Lord Placida as he backed step by step away from the pressure of the attack.

  Isana’s eyes went back to the alcove, where the three Citizens had trapped the vord Queen between them. Blades darted and bodies moved, all almost too quickly to be seen. Each combatant was little more than a blur—the result of windcrafting, it had to be. Sparks raged in blinding clouds. Isana had no idea how the participants could even see through them, much less continue the battle. She tried to scream to them over the chorus of miniature explosions and vord shrieks coming from outside, but to no avail.

  Then there was a brassy, metallic scream that cut over everything, shocking the world into an abrupt silence.

  Isana’s eyes widened as the battle in the alcove froze in place. The vord Queen stood pinned against one wall, with the hilt of Antillus’s sword standing out from her heart. She let out another scream and swept her sword in a futile slash at the unarmed man, but Aria caught the blow on her own sword in a last, feeble cascade of sparks, and as she did, the cold fire of Phrygius’s sword struck the Queen’s head from her neck.

  “No!” Isana screamed. “That—”

  Invidia was moving, after having hovered in the background during the whole of the battle. She reached out with one hand, and the scattered bits of steely blade-beast, all around the hive, abruptly rose up from the floor.

  “—is not—”

  The former High Lady of Aquitaine flicked her hand—and a cloud of broken, deadly blades hurtled toward the alcove, a lethal storm of steel.

  “—the true vord Queen!” Isana screamed.

  Aria’s head whipped around just as hundreds of bits of razor-sharp flying metal hurtled into the alcove. Her sword flashed up and steel chimed, but no one could have defeated every single threatening blade with nothing more than a sword in hand. Their armor offered some protection, but it was far from perfect.

  Antillus managed to lift an arm to shield his face and neck, but Phrygius was too slow. Metal fragments slashed into his face, and Isana saw, with sickening clarity, the way his eyes were sliced from his head. Antillus reeled against the wall, his face bloodied. S
carlet droplets scattered the wall.

  The true vord Queen, naked but for her dark cloak, plummeted from the roof of the alcove. The first stroke of her blazing green sword echoed Phrygius’s own strike with sinister irony, and the High Lord’s head flew from his neck. Raucus reached for his sword, trapped in the wall, but the second motion of the Queen’s attack struck his arm from his body at the shoulder. The third strike shattered his armor in a burst of ugly fire, slicing through his body just below his ribs and sweeping almost all the way to his spine. Never stopping, the Queen whirled, her sword describing a deadly arc aimed at Aria’s neck as Raucus crumpled to the floor.

  Aria’s face was cut to bloody ribbons, and one of her eyes was shut with flowing blood. She did not even attempt to block the attack, but threw herself to one side in a roll and came up on her feet, the motion smooth and swift—but not swift enough to prevent the vord Queen from altering the sweep of her blazing sword to slash through the back of Aria’s left thigh. Lady Placida let out a cry as her left leg buckled. She caught herself with her empty hand and began scrambling toward Isana, her leg dragging uselessly. She shook her head left and right, trying to clear her eyes of blood as she went. “Sandos!” she screamed.

  The vord Queen’s head snapped toward the entrance, and she made a gesture with one hand. The entire mouth of the hive suddenly fell, as abruptly as if it had been a nail driven down by the blow of a titan’s hammer. One moment it gaped open, showing them Lord Placida’s wild-eyed, panicked face, and the next it was a wall of granite.

  Aria continued retreating, until her fingertips touched the hem of Isana’s filthy gown. She swiped at her eyes a few more times, then hoisted herself to lift her sword into an awkward guard position, her left leg hanging lifelessly beneath her.

  There was a quiet rustle of sound—and no fewer than eight more blade-beasts dropped from the ceiling all around the vord Queen and slowly rose. Their gently glowing eyes focused on the Alerans, and the vord creations lifted their sword-limbs, ready to strike, as they rustled closer.

  “Crows take you,” Aria choked, her voice shaking. “Crows take you, Invidia.”

  Invidia stared at the vord Queen from one side, her face bloodless. It made her scars stand out purple and hideous. “I didn’t . . . I thought that . . .”

  “You thought,” the Queen said, “that you would allow the High Lords to exterminate me. Then you, in turn, would exterminate them—disposing of nearly every Aleran still alive who could match your power.” She shook her head as she looked at Invidia. “Did you think me a fool?”

  Invidia licked her lips and took a step back. Blood ran down her wounded arm and dripped to the croach in a quiet, steady patter.

  “You have no need to fear me,” the Queen told her. “It is a weakness over which you have no control, Invidia. I simply planned to take your shortcomings into account. It was not difficult to remove a junior queen’s higher functions and reshape her into the lure for the trap. I regard your treachery as a minor shortcoming of character, in the greater scheme.”

  Invidia stared at the vord Queen, and whispered, “You aren’t going to kill me?”

  “I do not condemn a slive for its venom, a hare for its cowardice, an ox for its stupidity—nor you for your treason. It is simply what you are. There is still a place for you here. If you wish it.”

  “Traitor,” hissed Lady Placida.

  Invidia bowed her head. She shook silently for a moment.

  “Invidia,” Isana said gently, “you don’t have to do this. You can still fight. You can still defeat her. Aria will help you. Sandos will find a way in, soon. And my son is coming. Fight.”

  The woman shuddered.

  “Isana was not lying about the Blessing of Night,” the Queen said. “Serve me until Alera has been put in order, and I will grant it to you when I release you to rule what remains.”

  “When, Invidia?” Isana said urgently, leaning toward her. “When is the price too high? How much innocent blood must be spilled to slake your thirst for power? Fight.”

  The Queen looked at Isana, then at the former High Lady. “Choose.” Invidia’s eyes flicked to the two unmoving forms in the alcove, then to Lady Placida. She shuddered, and Isana saw something in her break. Her shoulders slumped. She bowed forward slightly. Though nothing about her changed, her face, Isana thought, suddenly looked ten years older.

  Invidia turned to the vord Queen, and said, her voice bitter and weary, “What would you have me do?”

  The Queen smiled slightly. Then she gestured with a hand, and a trio of wax spiders came walking over the croach, carrying with them the sword of the fallen Phrygia. They stopped at Invidia’s feet.

  “Take the weapon,” the Queen said quietly. “And kill them all.”

  CHAPTER 48

  “Bloody crows, Frederic,” Ehren complained, as they moved into the hall. “You don’t have to carry me. I can walk.”

  The hulking young Knight Terra grunted as the little Cursor elbowed him and stepped a bit away. “I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s just that Harger said—”

  Frederic was interrupted as Count Calderon rounded the corner at a brisk walk and slammed into the young man. Frederic let out a grunt at the impact and fell backward.

  Count Calderon scowled ferociously. “Frederic! What the crows are you doing in the citadel?” He looked at Ehren. “And you. You’re . . .” His eyebrows went up. “I thought you were dead.”

  Ehren leaned on his cane and tried not to let too much wince leak into his smile. “Yes, Your Excellency. And so did Lord Aquitaine. Which was the point.”

  Bernard drew in a slow breath. “Get up.”

  The young Knight Terra hurried to obey.

  “Frederic?” Bernard said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re not hearing any of this.”

  “No, sir.”

  Bernard nodded and turned to Ehren. “Amara said that he suspected you had manipulated him into that stunt at Riva.”

  Ehren nodded. “I didn’t want to be within reach when he figured it out. And the best way to do that was to be tucked safely into a grave.” He shifted his weight and winced at his injuries. “Granted, I hadn’t intended my exit to be quite that . . . authentic. The original plan was for Frederic to find me at the end of the battle.”

  “Wait,” Frederic blurted, his eyes almost comically wide. “Wait. Count, sir, you didn’t know about this?”

  Count Calderon narrowed his eyes and eyed Ehren.

  Ehren smiled thinly. “Sir Frederic, Tribune Harger, and Lord Gram may have been operating under the impression that they were acting under your direct and confidential orders, sir.”

  “And what would have given them that impression?” Calderon asked.

  “Signed orders!” Frederic said. “In your own hand, sir! I saw them!”

  Calderon made a rumbling sound in his chest. “Sir Ehren?”

  “When I was learning forgery, I used to use your letters to Tavi for practice, Your Excellency.”

  “He gave you those letters?” Calderon asked.

  “I burgled them, sir.” Ehren coughed. “For another course.”

  Calderon made a disgusted sound.

  “I—I don’t understand,” the young Knight said.

  “Keep it that way, Frederic,” Calderon said.

  “Yessir.”

  “Leave.”

  “Yessir.” The brawny young Knight saluted and hurried away.

  Calderon stepped closer to Ehren. Then he said, very quietly, his voice hard, “You’re telling me, to my face, that you conspired to murder a Princeps of the Realm?”

  “No,” Ehren said, just as quietly, and with just as much stone in his voice, “I’m telling you that I made sure a man who absolutely would have killed your nephew could never hurt him.” He didn’t let his gaze waver. “You can have me arrested, Your Excellency. Or you could kill me, I suppose. But I think the Realm would be better served if we sorted it out later.”

  Count Cal
deron’s expression didn’t waver. “What,” he said finally, “gave you the right to deal with Aquitaine that way? What makes you think one of us wouldn’t have handled it?”

  “He was ready for any of you,” Ehren said simply. “He barely looked twice at me until it was too late.” He shrugged. “And I was acting under orders.”

  “Whose orders?” Bernard demanded.

  “Gaius Sextus’s orders, sir. His final letter to Aquitaine contained a hidden cipher for me, sir.”

  Calderon took a deep breath, eyeing Ehren. “What you’ve done,” he said quietly, “orders from Sextus or not, could be considered an act of treason against the Realm.”

  Ehren arched an eyebrow. He looked down at the stone floor of the fortress beneath him and tapped it experimentally with his cane. Then he looked up at Calderon again. “Did you have orders from Gaius Sextus, sir?”

  Bernard grunted. “Point.” He exhaled. “You’re Tavi’s friend.”

  “Yes, I am, sir,” Ehren said. “If it makes it easier for you, I could just vanish. You wouldn’t have to make the call.”

  “No, Cursor,” Bernard said, heavily. “I’ve reached the limits of my tolerance for intrigue. What you did was wrong.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ehren said.

  “And smooth,” Bernard said. “Very smooth. There’s nothing to link his death to you but a dying man’s babbling suspicions. And only Amara and I know about that.”

  Ehren waited, saying nothing.

  “Sir Ehren,” Bernard said, slowly. He took a deep breath, as if readying himself to plunge into cold water. “What a relief that your injuries were less serious than we believed. I will, of course, expect you to resume your duties at once. Right beside me.” He growled, beneath his breath, “Where I can keep an eye on you.”