Teams rushed out in pairs, each with one of the Legion’s best earthcrafters. Antillar Maximus looked hungover, but he wore his armor and moved under his own power. Beside him, the silver-skinned Araris Valerian kept pace, his eyes alert. Aldrick ex Gladius came after them, escorting a burly medico who had strapped Antillus Crassus to his back. Other Windwolves paced beside the engineers of the First Aleran, as they all hurried to spread themselves out equally within the defensive ring.

Marok kept on snarling and muttering to himself. The old Cane’s eyes were closed. His blood ran steadily.

Even before the earthcrafters all reached their positions, those who had gotten there began their work. The earth swelled and heaved like an ocean before the wind. Then it began to fold upon itself. Fidelias was reminded of the way a sheet would ripple and fold when one snapped it to get it spread out over a mattress.

Within moments, the crafting was complete. The earth rose slightly in a short ramp before the Legion lines, rising perhaps eighteen inches—but the far side of the ramp sloped down sharply, to a ditch seven or eight feet deep and twice as wide. Centurions began to shout orders to their units, and the Legions advanced to the lip of the ditch, dressing their ranks and changing out weaponry, to ply their spears against the vord as they tried to climb out. It was not by any means an ideal defensive structure—but it was also far, far better than nothing.

“They’ve got it,” Fidelias said.

Marok let out a slow exhale and allowed his snarling chant to trail off. The bloodspeaker slumped down to the stone of the roof and dropped heavily onto his side. His left arm was still extended, blood running from it. Fidelias turned to him with an alarmed intake of breath.

“Do not concern yourself for me, demon,” Marok said. “Bandages. My pouch.”

Fidelias found the bandages and began wrapping Marok’s arm to stanch the flow of blood.

“I thought you said clouds of acid were for amateurs,” Fidelias remarked.

“That was not a cloud. It was a wall.” He closed his eyes, and muttered, “Whining demon. You are welcome.”

Fidelias was about to order Marok taken to the healers when Ambassador Kitai stormed out onto the roof, looking around wildly. She spotted Fidelias and stalked toward him. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” Fidelias replied. “He dropped you off and left. The Queen went after him.”

Kitai ground her teeth, and said, “I might have known he would do something like this.”

Fidelias arched an eyebrow. “The healers said you had a bump the size of an apple on the back of your head.”

Kitai waved her hand impatiently. “I must go to him.”

Fidelias leaned toward her. “He’s alive?”