Both young man replied in the affirmative and, Fidelias thought, tried to look more confident than they felt. But then, the captain was doing the exact same thing. He was just a lot better at it than the other two. It also said something about him that, even here, at the last, the captain had arranged matters so that he could have a moment to bolster their spirits before the rest of the commanders of the host arrived.

It took only moments for the command staff of both Legions to reach them, along with Varg, Nasaug, and Master Marok in his vord-chitin mantle. To Fidelias’s surprise, Sha was there as well, clad in Hunter grey, pacing along in Varg’s shadow.

“Gentlemen,” Octavian said. There were no murmurs to be quieted—everyone was tired, though only the Cane didn’t look it. Their fur simply seemed a bit limper than was usual. “Let’s get right to it. There are two and a half million enemy troops packed into the next fifty miles or so. There are about forty thousand of us. So there are plenty of vord to share. Let’s not be stingy.”

A rumble of laughter went around the group. Nasaug looked amused, though Varg didn’t. Varg looked patient.

“Garrison is about fifty miles from here, on the causeway. They’ve still got almost a hundred and fifty thousand legionares and support from another hundred thousand Marat.”

“That isn’t enough to face the vord directly,” Nasaug said, his deep voice resonant.

“No,” Octavian said. “It isn’t. Somewhere between here and Garrison is the vord Queen. Once we kill her, we aren’t facing an army anymore. We kill her, we have a chance.”

Sir Callum lifted his hand. “Sir... ? Um, how are we going to find her?”

Octavian gave him a wolfish smile. “Well, Sir Callum. It appears that some blackhearted villains destroyed the vord’s food storehouse at Riva, then proceeded to burn out the croach that was supposed to be their supply line.”

Another rumble of laughter went around the group.

“As a result, there are more than a million vord thirty miles east of here, at the site of an old steadholt called Aricholt. They’re completely motionless—asleep, in some kind of hibernation.”

“How do you know this?” Varg asked.

“Sorcery.”

Varg eyed Octavian, an expression far more intimidating on a Cane’s face than an Aleran’s, then flicked his ears in acknowledgment.

Marok let out a thoughtful growl. “Some of my monastic brethren once pursued similar disciplines. If the vord can do that, they will not need as much food to survive.”

Octavian nodded. “I think they must be the vord reserves. And I think the vord Queen will be nearby.” He looked around the circle. “Gentlemen, we are going to come down on them in force and annihilate them.”

Silence fell on the circle.