The commander inhaled, then complied.
The giant stared down at him, its milky blue eyes gleaming in the light of the lantern. It dropped the locust into his hand, then returned to shore.
“Look at it,” whispered Talquist, awe in his voice.
Swallowing his disgust, Fhremus moved the locust’s body closer to the light. His eyes widened in surprise. Like the smaller insect mat had impacted him on the rim of the cistern, this creature was sharp and angular, with razor-like mandibles and legs. But its appearance was very different from the smaller one; this creature had a serpentine tail, its wings were large and webbed, its eyes scored with vertical pupils, and its jaws more serpentine than insectoid. Almost draconic. “Have you ever been in Terreanfor?” Talquist asked, running a gloved finger almost tenderly over the broken body. “One time only, for the funeral of the empress and her son,” said Fhremus. “Then perhaps you have seen the marvelous statuary there. In the eternal darkness that shelters the Living Stone of the cathedral stands an entire menagerie of life-sized statues, trees as high as the towering ceiling beneath which graze antelope and tirabouri, gazelle, elephants and lions, all rendered in utter perfection—have you seen these?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“They are a sight to behold, are they not, Fhremus? Perfect down to the last detail, with no feature overlooked. The sculptors that rendered them must have been artisans of incomparable skill, would you not say?”
“Undoubtedly, m’lord,” Fhremus said, struggling to keep his voice patient and respectful. The Emperor Presumptive. “Undoubtedly, yes, Fhremus, because what you don’t understand is that the Earth itself carved those statues. Our forebears, the indigenous people of this land that were living here long before the accursed Cymrians came, with their inventions, their disease, and their wars, understood the role the Living Stone plays in immortality. They buried specimens of each beast, each flower, each tree, within the sacred ground of Terreanfor, and from that sacred ground earthen statues grew—with the exact properties and the beasts and plants entombed within it.” He caressed the insect’s wings. And soldiers, many of whom were giants, like the one I harvested to make Faron, he thought Fhremus inhaled silently. “Those properties survived the creatures’ deaths in more than one way, Fhremus,” Talquist continued. “More than just becoming statues, those beasts retained what was unique about them; there is strength of gargantuan proportions in the elephants still, a swiftness and quickness of eye in the prey animals, even as they stand, frozen, forever. Even the flowers have retained a modicum of their scent—when they had bloomed and died millennia uncounted before. A form of true immortality, to be certain.”
Fhremus maintained his silence, struggling to quell the questions in his mind. Chief among them was the extent of the emperor’s knowledge; Terreanfor, before it was recently sealed by an earthquake, had been closed to any but the priests of the manse in Jierna’sid, and only the highest ranking among them had gone inside to maintain the cathedral. How Talquist had become so aware of the place’s history and contents was unclear to him, but he quelled any suspicious thought by reminding himself, as he always did, that the All-God had chosen the emperor, and as a soldier it was his duty to support that emperor’s vision and carry out that emperor’s commands, lest his reluctance be seen as doubting the wisdom of the All-God. “This wyrm, at one time, was such a being, now a statue formed by Living Stone. In its lifetime, the beast had the same sensibilities, the same powers, as the rest of its species— including the ability of flight. These locusts have been feeding on grain that sprouted from the back of the wyrm—and thereby have absorbed some of its life, its properties, including that ability. They are little half-breeds, little mutant-spawn now—I call them iacxsis, as that is what I believe this lizard-wyrm was called—with their own voracious appetites and the power to travel long distances in the air. Touch it, Fhremus— take off your glove and feel its hide.” He chuckled at the shock on the soldier’s face as he complied. “Because they have been feeding on Living Stone, they are hard, even more armored than the sturdy carapace of their insect side or the scales of a wyrm would make them. And their shriek is a hundred times the sound of the fledgling swarm; music to my ears.”
“Forgive me, but why is all this a benefit, m’lord?” Fhremus asked, the words all but exploding from him. “The presence of these creatures, in our land, portends disaster, does it not? The ones that are found in nature bring with them famine, pestilence, starvation, and death—why are you happy to see them in an even more formidable form?”
Talquist chuckled. “You will be happy to see them such as well, Fhremus—when you see the adults. Come.”
He waded back out of the slimy water, shook off his boots, and led the commander up another tunnel where the dankness of the air and the horrific hum began to dissipate. The stone titan followed, still making no sound.
They finally came into light and air that smelled as if it might be near the mountain’s surface. At the end of this tunnel was a wide stone doorway, and Talquist stopped before it, almost unable to contain himself.
“Do you remember some months back I asked you to lend me some of your slighter soldiers, recruits that had shown strength of lung and a tolerance of the high reaches of our mountains?”
“Yes, m’lord. I hope they have been serving you well.”
The regent emperor smiled broadly and stepped to the side of the doorway. “Have a look.” Steeling himself, Fhremus stepped into the doorway.
At first the sight that greeted the imperial commander left him puzzled, unable to grasp what he was seeing. At the far end of the room was an opening, like the mouth of a cave. The opening overlooked the vast chasm that scored the earth beside Jierna Tal, its far fissures and crags shadowy in the approach of night. Closer in was a series of animal pens, like those that might stable horses, numbering in the scores. Soldiers walked the aisles between the pens, conferring with each other, going in and out of the paddocks at will. He looked back to the opening above the chasm. His mouth dropped open as a shadow passed horizontally before it, then disappeared again into the dusk. “Dear All-God,” he murmured.
“Dear Creator,” Talquist corrected patiently. “I understand it will take a while for you to adjust; do not worry. They train here, away from the eyes of the city, as the sun is going down. It’s best, at first, to keep this a secret, so that we maintain the element of surprise. Don’t you agree?”
Fhremus watched a moment more, rapt, then turned to the Emperor Presumptive. “Yes,” he said.
Talquist smiled broadly and led the commander farther up the tunnel back into his chambers. “So you understand what a boon this is for Sorbold in her fight against invasion?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“I take it you approve, then, Fhremus, of the defensive steps I have taken to ensure our beloved nation’s survival against the aggression that is being mounted by the Alliance?” Fhremus thought for a moment. “It is not my place to approve or disapprove of your commands, m’lord,” he said seriously. “The Scales adjudged you to be the next emperor of our mother country; I am grateful that you saw the wisdom in keeping Sorbold a single empire, rather than dissolving it, as the counts wished to. I am a soldier; I do as my emperor commands.”
“Whether or not you approve?” The question hovered in the air, thick as the mist. Fhremus inhaled deeply through the sodden linen scarf, pulled it from his face, then exhaled slowly.