“You’re always going to be afraid. Right up until you die,” Isbrand explained.

  “Oh, that’s very comforting!” I mocked. I was being made to play the fool.

  “You’ve got a choice to make.” Isbrand continued. “Are you going to keep losing, or are you ready to start winning?”

  “You know I don’t have a choice!” I countered.

  “Wrong. You always have a choice!” Isbrand insisted. “Do you know what choice you need to be thinking about right now?”

  I wanted to disappear again. A desperate, gnawing sensation was growing in my mind. I was frayed out at both ends like an old rope too damaged to carry such tension. I thought back to my apartment. My body lay sequestered in my rig. I was safe there. I wished I had never left.

  “I’m questioning my choice to trust you,” I said.

  “It’s too late for that sort of regret,” Isbrand said. He was happy to get to tell me that.

  “Then what?!” I demanded. “What could possibly be so important now?”

  “We need to decide on a bar for afterward,” Isbrand said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Pritch wants drinks.”

  The words struck me like an open hand to the face. The tension I was under snapped. I thought I was going to explode in anger.

  Instead, I started to laugh. I couldn’t help myself at all. Everything poured out of me all at once. With each new bout of laughter, the immense weight of all that had transpired that night lifted a bit more.

  “You are going to be the death of me,” I said, finally able to regain some composure.

  “Not if I can help it,” Isbrand assured me.

  “I don’t want to get drinks after this. I just want to go home,” I said.

  “Too bad. You deserve to have a little fun sometimes,” Isbrand said.

  “That’s not my idea of fun,” I complained.

  “Come on. You might like it now that you’ve got me,” Isbrand offered.

  “Doubtful,” I muttered, turning my attention from Isbrand. I peered down into the darkened elevator shaft. “Let’s just finish this first. We have to focus.”

  “True,” Isbrand admitted. “You good to go?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  Isbrand started climbing down into the dark. I knew he wanted nothing more than to fall and sail into the depths below. Perhaps he thought better of it because of me. The trip down was quick, without being a free fall. The carnage of the chattels’ doomed pursuit was all around us. Many of the bodies had collected in the wreckage near the bottom of the shaft. Others were plastered across the shaft’s walls like burst sacks of blood and organs. As we neared the bottom, I could make out Pritch’s form standing atop the remains of the elevator compartment. She wore a bored expression while posing with her arms akimbo. I saw a few stringers trailing around her still. Even in all the chaos of Isbrand’s mad plan, some had kept following. I must admit that some part of me was impressed with their piloting skills.

  You could have given me a challenge. Pritch’s voice cooed in our minds. She wanted to play her games without giving our position away.

  Sorry, Pritch. I was analyzing our updated scan. I lied.

  You’re always fussing over every little detail. Lighten up, Caldburn. Pritch suggested.

  Those little details are the edge we need to maintain. I insist on keeping you apprised of our situation. I countered. I knew I had made a mistake as soon as my thoughts had reached her. Pritch turned her gaze from Isbrand and stared at my egg directly. She looked like the cat who ate the canary.

  You insist, huh? What’s wrong, Caldburn? Are you worried about me? Pritch baited.

  He’s worried about you looking bad for the cameras, sweetheart. Isbrand cut in.

  I do need to make a good returning impression. She affirmed.

  And we care about helping you do that. Isbrand assured her.

  Uh-huh. Is that true, Elias? You just want to help? Pritch zeroed back in on me.

  I… I suppose so. I need to make amends somehow. I said. Pritch’s lips drew back into a wide smile that bared her sharp, interlocking fangs.

  That guilt has you feeling raw, huh? Don’t worry. I’ll think of some way for you to make it up to me. Pritch thought. Her mental voice had dropped an octave.

  This must have been what stepping on a landmine felt like.

  Isbrand moved to the wreckage of the nearby wall, scanning the darkness with his visual dome.

  No Orgiastics, we’re clear for the moment. Isbrand informed us.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The chattels should be concentrated on the levels above us. I explained. I was desperate to change the focus of the conversation.

  Pritch came down from her perch atop the wreckage to Isbrand’s side. She peered at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. Pritch lifted a clawed finger to her one eye, tapping it before pointing at me wordlessly.

  Then, we have a clear shot to the brood chamber? She asked, grinning at me.

  If we get lucky. The chamber is going to be guarded by more than chattels, though. I warned.

  What do they have in store for us? Pritch wondered.

  In a Bacchanal of this size, there’s no certainty. I would expect stronger resistance than chattels provide. Partisans, at the very least, the Harlot Queen’s soldiers. I answered.

  It’s no use speculating. Regicide is the goal. The chaff gets winnowed. Isbrand stated. He started down the long tunnel ahead. Pritch’s gaze finally relented from my egg as she began to follow beside Isbrand. I felt relief at first, which turned to worry over Isbrand’s words.

  We’re not just talking about chaff here. I cautioned. If the Bacchanal is this developed we could be facing something else entirely.

  They all burn the same. Isbrand dismissed.

  But there could be a— I was cut short by a rumbling sound that filled the tunnel around us. Isbrand and Pritch stopped moving to listen closer. I looked down at each end of the tunnel for movement but saw nothing.

  What the hell is that shaking? Pritch asked.

  The Orgiastics are migrating. I answered.

  Take a wild guess where they’re headed. Isbrand thought. I didn’t need to guess.

  It sounds like the entire hive is moving. I commented.

  Then, so are we! Isbrand added, breaking out into a sprint on all fours. I looked back to see Pritch gaining ground. She moved like a sleek stone across placid waters. Each step propelled her forth into another perfect stride. She overtook us in mere moments. She stayed just ahead of Isbrand as if to flaunt her speed.

  As we ran deeper into the hive, the tunnels began to curve and slope at shallow angles. According to the schematics Trevelli kept, the bottom section of the building was significant, hollow, and described as a warehouse. The entire space seemed to be filled with the Orgiastic’s living structure. The flesh walls around us were thick enough now that the residual glow of the building lights had been completely eclipsed. The view from the OVM was starting to suffer in these conditions.

  I’m in the dark here in the egg. I’m bringing up the external lighting. I informed Isbrand and Pritch.

  That won’t give us away, will it? Pritch asked.

  No. Orgiastics have vestigial photoreceptors. They can’t see light. I answered.

  I gave the mental command for the Incarnum’s light system. A series of thin panels opened along the Incarnum’s frame, illuminating the area around us in all directions. The sight of the disgusting nature of the hive around us made me wish I could turn them off again. Everything around us was the color of old scabs. Every surface was moist from the ambient humidity. I was sure it reeked worse than the city’s sump levels. Thankfully, I would never have to find out.

  The sound of Orgiastic fervor began to echo through the tunnel as we advanced.

  The bolstered light levels quickly restored the OVM to full function. Ahead of us, I could see an opening in the tunnel. I checked our approximate location within the building on the map. We were near the center of the warehouse. This must have been the brood chamber. If the scans couldn’t be trusted, the sounds certainly could. There was a chorus of Orgiastic voices emanating from the path ahead.

  The Harlot Queen will be somewhere near the back of the chamber. The guards will be clustered near each tunnel opening. We’ll have little time to finish her before the rest of the hive swarms the chamber. They’ll drown us in numbers given the chance. I warned Isbrand and Pritch.

  So we hit them hard and fast and make sure they stay down. It couldn’t be easier, Isbrand declared.

  In theory. I agreed cautiously.

  As we reached the threshold, the light from Isbrand’s Incarnum finally entered the chamber. The scene stretched before us like a charnel house nightmare. The brood chamber was shaped roughly like a dome, making it a natural rotunda. The Harlot Queen dominated the back wall with her immense and grotesque frame. She had a bulbous, grub-like body supported at the front end by two elongated legs. Like the chattels, she had no discernible head. There was only a vertical orifice nestled above her swollen, gravid underbelly. Her skin was a mixture of pallid grays, bruised purples, and coiling streaks of vascular red. She was flanked on all sides by larval chattels. They pushed and squabbled viciously to nurse from the rows of protruding udders that sagged heavily from her body.

  The Queen’s soldiers, the Partisans, were much closer to us and gathered around each of the other chamber entrances. They closely resembled the chattels in shape, but they were larger and possessed arms to match their powerful legs. Their bodies were covered in plate-like growths of bone, giving them the appearance of wearing armored suits. They carried a myriad of crude armaments made of that same material. Swords, knives, bludgeons, and shields were all carved, or more likely grown, from the sickly yellow bone.

  As we arrived, the riotous jubilation of sound that had once filled the chamber died down to a whispered murmur. An untold mass of bodies turned toward us. The Queen let out a deep, cachinnating laugh that shook the air. It was uncannily human, coming from such an abomination. The Orgiastic congregation erupted in joyous acclamation, and the entire chamber vibrated with their exuberant screams.

  They were happy we had come here.

  Isbrand raised his fist towards the crowd of Partisans near us.

  “Burn, motherfuckers!” Isbrand shouted. A brilliant orange flame spewed forth from Isbrand’s hand-mounted slugger barrels. He swept the streams across the Partisans, engulfing them all in moments. The Partisan’s joyful screams twisted into panicked cries of pain. They scattered in random directions, desperate to escape the heat of Isbrand’s flames.

  Pritch dashed ahead, slicing through the closest of the Partisans with her arm blades. She danced among the crowd, avoiding the flames and eviscerating any Partisans that drew close. She was carving a path to the Queen.

  Isbrand drew his machetes and fell in beside Pritch, hacking through anything in his way. The Partisans that had been guarding the other tunnels were closing in. Another blast of flames devoured them as they threatened to draw near.

  I began to hope against all odds that we would make quick work of this abominable place. Isbrand and Pritch were a force to be reckoned with. The Partisans and chattels were being decimated on all sides, leaving an unobstructed path to the Queen.

  Then I heard the thrum of massive wings.

  A dark shape flashed across my vision, intercepting the path of our advance. Pritch flung herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding being cleaved in twain by a massive blade of bone.

  Isbrand raised his metal forearm just in time to block the strike. Damage warnings flashed across my vision, highlighting the limb he had used to block. It wouldn’t save him a second time.

  I finally had time to process what had attacked us. It dwarfed the few remaining Partisans, standing nearly as tall as Isbrand. It had a robust, humanoid frame covered in solid, interlocking plates of bone. If the Partisans looked to be wearing armor, this thing was armor. A living suit of it fashioned as a defender and bearing an imposing greatsword of bone. Atop its faceless, helmeted head was a glorious horn signaling its station and prowess.

  This was not the chaff Isbrand had been expecting.

  This was the thing I had been wary of.

  The Queen’s last line of defense.

  The hive’s Seneschal.