leached the water from the land nearby.
Beyond the curtains of wavering heat, the vord were massing, moving, flowing like a single being with a million limbs. It was impossible to make out any details, beyond the fact that they were there - and that more and more of them kept coming.
Amara shuddered.
"Shouldn't we go?" she asked her husband.
"There's a little time," Bernard said. "That's the beauty of this plan. It does two things at once. Kills the vord and gives us time to fall back to a stronger position."
He fell silent and resumed staring to the west.
Amara said, very quietly, "You're thinking about Isana."
"She's my sister," Bernard said.
"You heard what Ehren said."
Bernard's expression hardened. He clenched his fist and slammed it into one of the low merlons on the wall. A webwork of cracks shot through it. "The Queen has her."
Amara put her hand on his fist and squeezed gently. Bernard closed his eyes and made a visible effort to relax. His fist came unclenched a moment later.
"I hoped this would draw her out," he whispered. "She'd run from a confrontation, but she might lead us back to Isana."
"The vord Queen is anything but stupid," Amara said. "She must know that we plan to kill her."
Bernard grunted. "We've got to make her come out. Show herself. If we can't do that, this is over."
"I know," Amara said quietly. "But so does she."
Bernard rubbed at his jaw again. "How's Masha?"
"According to Olivia, she's frightened," Amara said. "She knows that there's something bad going on."
"Poor thing," Bernard said. "Too bright for her own good."
"For her own peace of mind, perhaps," Amara said. "Not necessarily the other."
He grunted an agreement. "Suppose we shouldn't waste any more time here." He put two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. The horses they were riding nickered and came trotting over to the stairs nearest them.
Amara eyed him, smiling a little. "How do you do that?"
"It isn't hard," Bernard said. "You just - "
He stopped talking abruptly as a plume of gaseous white vapor suddenly billowed up from the far side of the field of coal. Amara felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched. The plume thickened, doubling in size and doubling again. At its edges, it became translucent.
"Steam," Amara breathed.
"Watercraft?" Bernard murmured. He looked up. Only a few white, innocent clouds raced across the sky, none of them dropping rain. "How?"
Amara frowned, then said, "They must have diverted a river. Like Aquitaine did at Alera Imperia."
Bernard thought it over for a moment, then nodded. "The Little Goose is about a mile and a half past that last hill. Would it be possible to move it that far?"
Amara tried to picture the intervening terrain in her mind, especially elevation. "It shouldn't be," she said. "We must be thirty or forty feet higher here than at the river's nearest point."
The plume doubled and redoubled again, and the rising column of steam began to approach their position on the wall.
Bernard whistled. "Serious crafting. And they did it far enough out so that even if the Queen was in on it, we'd never come within sight of her. Invidia's idea, you think?"
Amara shrugged. "It would take several crafters working together to accomplish this. Water is heavy. To make it move against its nature that way - I'm not sure if even Sextus could have done it."
Bernard spat on the ground in frustration. "I make it maybe three-quarters of an hour before they can walk right on up to the wall again."
Amara shook her head. "Less."
"Figured we had two, three hours at least." Bernard clenched his jaw and turned to descend the steps toward the waiting horses. "We'd better get moving."
Chapter 38
Tavi had been tricked.
Kitai, of course, had been in on it.
He hadn't meant to sleep, not with so much work left to do securing the city. But between the recent bleeding for Marok and the enormous effort the furycrafting of the Rivan gates had required, he had already been exhausted. And Kitai had been particularly... he searched his thoughts for the proper descriptive word. "Athletic" didn't seem to convey the proper tone. "Insistent," while an accurate description, fell somewhat short in any but the most objective sense. He decided that his language lacked entirely a word sufficient to the task of describing such hungry, joyous, utterly uninhibited passion.
There had been food, at some point, discreetly left on the wagon's seat. Tavi suspected, in retrospect, that it had been laced with a tiny amount