If Anthony managed to survive and evolve another two or three times, his true potential would be unveiled. Thinking about it, the ambitions that Granin had thought buried with his youth ignited within him once again. The dream of every cult member was to create or mentor the final Ancient and complete the circle. This had been their mission since the mission had been handed down to them by the Great Worm itself.
Like all new cult members, Granin had yearned for that glory and devoted long hours to scouring books and roaming the Dungeon in search of overlooked, under-researched or unseen specimens. Whilst he’d contributed well above the average for a cult member and experienced many great successes, the dream eventually died out in him.
Only for a strange ant to stumble into his path and open his eyes to new possibilities and a future he’d given up on bearing witness to. At times, he regretted not going with his younger Triad members when Anthony escaped. He had decided at the time that he would rather stand alongside his people for the trials that were to come, but every day, his people seemed to find a new way to let him know that they didn’t want him there.
A few metres away, the Warrior caste muttered amongst themselves in a loose circle around the High Blade. Their glorious leader listened to all of it with a pensive frown, as if anything that was being said was in any way relevant. Granin doubted they had anything to say that hadn’t already been chewed over a hundred times. Despite spending golgari blood like water, they were no closer to achieving their goal and they were running out of time. All for the pride of the clans.
“Shaper Lazus, the High Blade wishes to speak with you.”
Finally, they had time for him. He still wasn’t sure why they insisted on speaking to him at all. They had their own clan-aligned Shapers loyal to the House of Balta, why call on someone like him? Because of Anthony, obviously, but he wasn’t sure what it was about his connection to Anthony that interested them so much.
“I am here,” Granin announced himself, making a point of openly displaying his granite skin as he saluted. “What is your will?”
The High Blade stared hard at him, disgust and contempt clear on his face. Granin nearly laughed but managed to stifle it in his chest. If he only knew Granin felt the exact same about him, how would he react? He’d probably cut off the Shaper’s head, to be honest.
“It is good to see you have survived the hardships of this expedition,” Kooranon Balta intoned in the needlessly formal way of the nobility. “You have proven to be a survivor.”
“Shapers learn to adapt and survive in situations that don’t allow us control. The Dungeon does not bend to our will from birth, so we learn to manage it,” Granin replied.
Muttering and growls rose from the warriors around him for the implied insult to their caste. Every citizen of the empire hopped when the warriors said jump. They truly were coddled from the day they were born. Though, usually, Granin would put some effort into concealing his jabs; he must be more bored with living than he thought. Insulting warriors to their face was a quick way to get into an honour duel. Totally fair one-on-one combat, with no magic allowed…
Surprisingly, the High Blade raised a hand and silenced those around him in an instant.
“You are bold,” he observed. “Perhaps foolishly so.”
Granin nodded. “With respect, I think I’m merely getting old. One tends to lose their subtlety as one ages.”
“I have found the same. Perhaps I would be able to speak with you directly then.”
He waved a hand, and an adjutant brought a chair over in a rush, placing it behind the noble and inviting him to sit with a quiet “by your will”. With his eyes still on Granin, Kooranon sat, placing his sheathed blade across his knees. The Shaper noted wryly that no seat was offered to him. Typical bloody nobles.
“You have a relationship with the reincarnated creature, do you not? He was under your care during his stay with the Shapers?”
“He was. I wouldn’t say we had a relationship, but we spoke many times.”
The noble’s eyes glittered.
“That is good,” he said. “I had hoped for as much. You may be fit to serve the purpose I have in mind then.”
Granin had a bad feeling about this.
“May I know what the nature of that service will be?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
Surprisingly, the High Blade elaborated.
“I have made no secret of my desire for the creature to die by my hand. It is necessary to expunge the shame that filth has placed on my house. Sadly, breaking down this nest and slaughtering all within has proven more challenging than anticipated, and, strange as it might be, the possibility that the wave will force us to retreat before the work can be completed has become very real.”
He leaned forward, his hands unconsciously caressing the sheath of his blade.
“This is unacceptable.”
The unbridled anger that burned in the noble was intense and the power of the man began to leak out, oppressing Granin where he stood. As much as he looked down on the warrior, his Level was the real deal.
“So I have been forced to consider an alternate strategy to destroy the pest. I will use you as bait and demand the beast meet me in combat outside the gate. Should it refuse, I will cut off your head in full view of the nest and the siege will resume.”
Somehow, Granin doubted this was in line with what the High Blade had no doubt promised his allies in the Legion, but it wouldn’t matter to him. Clan honour was the only honour that truly mattered to the Blades.
“Typical,” he sighed.
A sharp blow cracked the stone on the back of his head, and he knew no more.
136. The Siege, Part 14
I can already hear the fighting. The sounds of clashing steel and snapping mandibles tug at my claws. I have to force myself to resist charging blindly into the fray like a shinier, much smarter Leeroy. Keeping myself so still has never been so hard before. Then again, the only member of my family that I know was exposed to danger in my previous life was myself. In Pangera, I have thousands of siblings exposed to terrible danger almost every day. It’s enough to drive a person nuts.
The Vestibule makes my situation even worse, but if I focus, then I can filter out their whispers.
We have a plan and I’m going to stick to it. When the fighting gets hot here at the gate, I’m going to be right in the thick of it, which is where I want to be. At the front gate, the lead force of a few thousand is busy putting the Legion through their paces using the same tricks and tactics we spent on them the first time around. River of acid, magic barrage, the works. They’ll have to fight their way through all of it a second time before they even get through the first gate. By the time they reach me here, I’m hoping they’ll be all tuckered out and want to quit and go home.
More likely, they’ll be mad as hell and wanting to carve me into itty bitty pieces, but at the very least, they’ll have worked to get here. The ants and humans on this side of the picture need every edge we can get.
“How confident are you, eldest?” Advant asks.
The powerful soldier stands next to me in the dark, her antennae twitching in a rarely seen sign of nerves.
“We’re going to win,” I tell her with certainty. “We’re ants. What can they possibly do against us?”
“They’ve managed to bottle us up in our nest and destroy the outer gate.”