Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

Bernard wore his colors of green and brown, his sturdy and sensible tunic a marked contrast to Senator Arnos’s rich robes. He stood at the podium at the platform’s center, facing those present in the hall with a demeanor of calm, competent composure.

“In short,” he said, “I believe that these vord are far and away the deadliest threat this Realm has ever known.” His voice carried clearly through the hall thanks to the windcraftings built into the place to make sure speakers could be clearly heard. The windcrafted acoustics were necessary. The hall was filled with a continual low buzz of whispers and quiet speech.

“That single vord queen entered my holdings,” Bernard continued. “Within a month, the vord had become a force that destroyed two-thirds of my command, including a half century of Knights, and the entire population of a frontier steadholt. Their use of tactical judgment, as Centurion Giraldi and I have enumerated it to you today, proves that these creatures are more than mere beasts. They are an intelligent, coordinated threat to all of mankind. If we do not exercise the highest levels of caution, immediately stamping out an infestation, that threat may well grow too swiftly to be stopped.” Bernard exhaled, and Amara could see a bit of relief on her husband’s face, though few others would have. Bernard was glad to be finished. “At this time, I will open the floor to questions.”

Several dozen hands went up at once, but then faltered and lowered again as Senator Arnos calmly raised his own hand.

Bernard frowned at the hall for a moment, until Giraldi nudged Bernard’s leg with his cane. Bernard glanced at him, then to Arnos.

“Of course, Senator,” he said. “Please.”

Arnos rose and faced the hall. “Count Bernard,” he said. “I have heard several tales of what happened out in Calderon, and each seemed less plausible than the last. I confess that, upon the surface, your own tale sounds more fantastical than the others.”

A low, rumbling round of chuckles rolled through the hall.

Bernard’s eyes narrowed a bit, and Amara recognized the first sign of his irritation. “Be that as it may, honored Senator,” he replied, “I fear that I have nothing to offer you except the truth.”

“The truth,” Arnos said, nodding. “Of course. But I think we all know how… amorphous, shall we say, the truth can be.”

“Forgive me,” Bernard said. “I did not mean to confuse you, Senator. I must amend my statement. I have nothing to offer you except fact.”

“Fact,” Arnos said, nodding again. “Excellent. I have questions about some of the facts you have presented today.”

Amara got a sickly little feeling in her belly.

“By all means,” Bernard said.

“Do I understand you correctly that you learned of these creatures’ presence from a barbarian Marat. “

“From Doroga of the Sabot-Ha,” Bernard said. “The most powerful and influential of their chieftains.”

“But…” Arnos shrugged a shoulder. “A Marat.”

“Yes,” Bernard said.

“That is how you know that they are called the vord?”

“Yes.”

“In fact,” Arnos continued, “no Aleran had ever heard of this creature before the barbarian told you of it.”

“Given the kind of danger the vord represent, I suspect that by the time one learns of them, it may already be too late to fight them. Without Doroga’s warning, we might already have lost half the Realm.”

“And you believe that?” Arnos asked.

“Yes,” Bernard said.

“And yet, according to the barbarian, his own unlettered, tribal, pauper-folk, without a civilization, without furycrafting, somehow managed to defeat them in the past.”

Bernard paused for a moment before speaking. Amara recognized the gesture: it was the same one he got on his face before rebuking a particularly foolish subordinate. “They did not defeat the vord, Senator,” Bernard said. “The refugees of their civilization managed to flee and survive.”

“Ah,” Arnos said, skepticism flavoring the sound. “Come now, Count. What surety can you give that the entire situation was not some kind of ploy on behalf of the Marat? There are many dangerous creatures in the world. It seems to me that we had nothing to fear from these vord before the Marat spoke to you about them.”

Bernard’s jawline twitched. “Doroga very nearly gave his life in defense of me and mine, when we fought the vord together. He lost nearly two thousand of his own people fighting them before they came to Calderon.”

Arnos waved a vague hand. “Come now, Your Excellency. The Collegia contains a thousand years of military history, hundreds of battles faithfully recorded, large and small. The morale of a military force in the field breaks well before it sustains fifty percent casualties. Are we really to take the barbarian’s word that his people fought on after losing ninety percent of their force?”

“If Doroga says so. I believe him.”

The Senator permitted himself a small, sly smile. “I see. It would appear, then, that your struggle together against these creatures the barbarian knew all about has engendered within you a sense of trust.” He paused, then added lightly, “Or credulity.”

Bernard stared levelly at Arnos for a long moment. Then he drew in a breath, and said in a patient tone, “Senator, disregarding any evidence I did not see with my own eyes, the vord are still clearly an intelligent, resourceful, ruthless foe who will not discriminate between armed forces and noncombatants. They clearly possess the wherewithal to inflict tremendous damage upon anyone unfortunate enough to be near them.”

Arnos shrugged a shoulder, still wearing the faint smile. “Perhaps. But their most vaunted, feared trait seems to be their ability to reproduce at such a fantastic rate. That if even one of them remains, they could repopulate themselves at tremendous speed.” He tilted his head, and said, “Yet, it has been three years since you fought them, Count, and they have not been seen again. I cannot help but wonder whether or not it might have been a lie, told to you by the Marat in order to heighten your sense of danger, and therefore the amount of trust you would place in them after successfully overcoming it.”

“Do you mean to say that Doroga lied to me?”

“He is a barbarian, after all, Count.”

Bernard gave the Senator a tight smile. “The Marat’s tribal tongues had no word for ‘lie’ until they met us, Senator. The very idea of speaking falsehood was introduced to them only a few generations ago, and it never picked up much of a following. For one Marat to call another a liar is a challenge to a fight to the death, and one that is never refused. Doroga is no liar.”

“I see no way to be sure of that.”

“I do, Senator,” Bernard said. “I believe him. I am a Count, a Citizen of the Realm, a veteran of the Legions who has shed and spilled blood in defense of Alera. I will vouch for his word with my own.”

“I’m sure you would,” Arnos said, his tone that of the kindly grandfather speaking to a foolish youth. “I have never questioned your sincerity. But I suspect that the Marat has manipulated you.”

Bernard stared at the Senator and rolled his shoulder in a gesture Amara had seen him use when preparing to shoot his war bow. Bernard’s voice suddenly rang out sharp and clear, though still perfectly polite in tone. “Senator. If you call my friend a liar one more time, I will take it badly.”

“Excuse me?” Arnos said, his eyebrows rising up.

“I suggest you find an alternate shortsighted, egomaniacally ridiculous reason to blatantly, recklessly ignore an obvious threat to the Realm simply because you don’t wish it to exist. If you cannot restrain yourself from base slander, I will be pleased to meet you in juris macto and personally rip your forked tongue from your head.”