“I’d like to think that the vord are straining their limits as much as we are,” Bernard said. “But our experience with them thus far does not fill me with confidence.” He shook his head. “Well. We can only do what we can do. We’ll stand for as long as our legs hold us. Sir Ehren, I wonder if you would please inform High Lady Cereus of her lord father’s passing. Let her know exactly what happened.”

Ehren sighed. “Of course, my lord. Better to hear it now than in rumor half an hour from now.”

Bernard nodded and rubbed at his jaw—then froze and peered to the west.

Far down the valley, the storm clouds veiling Garados had apparently gone mad, spewing a thousand colors of lightning like spray at the bottom of a waterfall. Ehren stopped in his tracks and watched, as well, as the distant storm raked the land with lightning bolts. He was sure he imagined it, but for a moment it almost looked like one enormous windmane, miles and miles across, was raking the ground with claws of living lightning.

Then the vord all began to shriek, screaming as one creature. The wail put the hairs up on the back of Ehren’s neck, but he stepped forward and gripped the edge of the balcony’s railing, staring.

The seething, pulsing rhythm of the mass of vord, that sense of underlying organization and purpose that made them all seem like the various organs of a single body, began to fray. Over the next several minutes, Ehren watched the vord attackers change from an army driven by purpose and perfect discipline to a mob of hungry, dangerous predators. Though the sheer pressure of numbers crammed into limited space forced the vord at the leading edge of the mob to continue the attack on the walls of Garrison, farther back was a different tale.

Ehren brought up a sightcrafting and stared as the vord to the rear of the immediate combat began to turn upon one another, apparently driven by desperate hunger—and those farthest back began to depart altogether. It would take a long time, hours perhaps, for the pressure on the leading edge of the vord to relent enough to allow them to retreat, but it would happen. It would happen!

“What can you see?” Count Calderon asked, his weary voice anxious.

“They’re breaking,” Ehren said. He recognized that his own voice was thick with emotion he had neither expected nor approved. “They’re turning on one another at the back of the mob. They’re breaking.” His vision was blurred by something. “They aren’t holding together. They’re breaking.”

“They did it,” Count Calderon breathed. “By all the furies, they did it. They killed the Queen!”