walking in pairs of one Cane to one Aleran, moving wearily. They assembled into a column.
"We're going to get there exhausted," Durias said quietly. "On open ground. No fortifications."
Fidelias took a slow breath, and said, "If the Princeps must sacrifice us all to give him a chance to take down the Queen, he should do it. I would. In a heartbeat."
"Yes," Durias said, even more quietly. "I suppose that's what is bothering me."
"First Spear," Fidelias said. "Shut up and lead."
Durias let out a snort of bitter amusement. "True enough." The two exchanged a salute, and Durias turned to ride back toward the Free Aleran's section of the column.
The second trumpet signal came - the normal cavalry call to mount up. Fidelias stopped to watch the nearest legionares. Each of them carried a pair of long, wide canvas straps, cut from the cloth of their tents. A loop in the cloth had been tied in one end. The legionares stepped behind their Canim partner and slipped their boots into the loops. Then they passed the straps to the Cane before them.
After that, there was a bit of scrambling as the Canim slid the straps over their own shoulders, wrapped their other ends about their paw-hands, and crouched as their Aleran partners clambered up onto their backs, the straps becoming makeshift stirrups, the Alerans taking on the role of human back-packs. Men occasionally fell. Canim occasionally were kicked in inconvenient (and unarmored) places. Several tails, particularly, seemed to be put in harm's way in service to the Princeps' novel concept in transportation.
Other legionares, Fidelias knew, were now mounting up behind taurg cavalry riders, and doing just as much complaining. But when the trumpet sounded again, the Canim began to work up to their loping overland pace, then even faster, running without difficulty as the Aleran partners bid the furies of the causeway to help them. Not a single Aleran was touching the causeway with his own feet. The Canim's greater natural speed meant that they could use the causeway to move almost as swiftly as a good horse. Within minutes, the entire column was on the move again, miles vanishing beneath Canim feet. They were making faster progress than any Legion would have made marching alone.
Fidelias began to guide his horse back toward the front of the column as they marched, trying very hard not to think about what the Free Aleran Tribune and its First Spear had said about their prospects for surviving another day.
"Shut up, old man," he breathed to himself. "Shut up and face it head-on."
He pursed his lips and thought about a different portion of the previous conversation. Then he barked a short laugh to himself.
Whatever might happen in the next day or so, one thing remained true: Fidelias did feel like a new man - and it would not be long before the scales of his life were finally balanced.
Soon, he told himself.
Soon.
Isana sat at the silently entombed Araris's feet, her hands folded in her lap, watching the vord Queen command her brood. The Queen stood in the alcove, staring up at the green-lighted ceiling, her eyes seemingly unfocused and far away. The light of sunset added the barest hint of yellow to the croach that grew near the entrance to the hive.
"The defenses at the final position are quite cohesive," the Queen said abruptly. "They are very nearly as formidable as those in Shuar, and the counter-strikes far more effective."
Isana frowned, and asked, "Shuar?"
"The hive of a subspecies of the Canim. A particularly tenacious strain of the breed. Their fortifications had withstood siege for more than a year when I left Canea."
"Perhaps they withstand it still."
The vord Queen looked down at Isana, and said, "Unlikely, Grandmother. The presence of Shuaran Canim in your son's expeditionary force would suggest that they are refugees, cooperating because they have no other choice." She turned her face back up to the ceiling. "Though it is far too late, at this point. A unified resistance might have stopped us several years ago, but you were all quite busy exhibiting the most glaring weakness of individuality: self-interest."
"You see self-identity as a weakness?" Isana asked.
"Obviously."
"Then one cannot help but wonder why you have one."
The Queen looked at Isana. The vord's alien eyes were narrowed. She was silent for a long moment before she looked back up, and answered, "I am defective." Green light flowed down over her upturned face for a time before she said, "I ran a poisoned sword through your son's