Hjjks come streaming now from the Nest, the finest of the Queen’s Militaries; and as they rush toward the invaders Thu-Kimnibol and the other chieftains raise their weapons high, and bright light flares and a clap like the sound of the world’s final thunder sounds, and the plains are swept by fire and the Militaries fall, crisped like twigs in a firestorm. And the armies of the Seven Cities move onward toward the Nest.

They surround it now. They peer down into each of its many mouths. They raise their weapons high once again and touch the studs that bring them to life.

And force leaps from those gleaming ancient devices, an invincible force that rips the earth apart and lifts the roof from the Nest, stripping it bare, revealing the corridors and passages and channels so painstakingly constructed over so many hundreds of thousands of years. In that terrible glare all the Egg-layers and the Life-kindlers stand revealed, and the Nest-thinkers, and the uncountable hordes of workers; and they perish in the first blasts. Then the deadly power descends into deeper, more tender places, where the Nourishment-givers are holding the newborn to their mouths to give them food; and they die also, Nourishment-givers and newborn both, in the next wave of the onslaught.

And then, deeper yet, to the deepest cavern of all—

To the place where the Queen Herself lies hidden, but hidden no longer, for a flick of force has stripped the roof of Her chamber away and Her pale immense body is exposed and defenseless, while desperate Queen-attendants cluster close about Her and frantically brandish their weapons in vain. Thu-Kimnibol looms above Her, grasping a small sphere of shining metal from which a sudden amber light comes forth. And the Queen quivers and convulses and pulls away from that hot probing pressure. But where can She go, in that close chamber? Remorselessly the amber light plays up and down the length of Her. Huge bubbles and blisters begin to appear on the charred and blackening surface of Her. Black smoke rises from Her as She sizzles and crisps under that merciless amber beam. Until—

Until—

“This could never occur,” comes the cold voice of the Queen.

“Are You so certain? Vengiboneeza lies in ashes. The dead bodies of the insect-folk litter the plains already for hundreds of leagues. And we have only begun.”

“You are small-souled creatures. You would turn away in terror long before you reached us.”

“Are You absolutely certain of that?” asks Nialli Apuilana. “Could small-souled creatures have built our cities? Could small-souled creatures have fought You as we’ve fought You thus far? I tell You: we have only begun.”

There is a silence.

The Queen says at length, “I know you. You are of the Nest, girl. You were one of us, and then I sent you from the Nest, back to your own kind: but I meant to have you serve Me there, not to oppose Me. Why these threats? How can you utter such things? Queen-love is still within you.”

“Is it?”

“I know that it is. You are mine, child. You are of the Nest, and you can never do harm to it.”

Nialli Apuilana doesn’t reply. By way of answer she looks within herself, to that secret place in her soul where the Queen had placed a part of Herself long ago. And seizes it, and draws it out as though it were no more than a shallow splinter in her flesh, and hurls it from her. Down it tumbles through the many layers of the sky. And as it nears the surface of the world it bursts into flames and is consumed.

“Do You still think I am of the Nest?” Nialli Apuilana asks.

There’s another great silence.

Once again now Nialli Apuilana shows the Queen the vision of the final war: the Nest ripped open, its inhabitants consumed by flames, the royal chamber despoiled, the vast charred body, split apart and ruined, dead in the smoking depths.

“You know nothing of what it is to die,” says Nialli Apuilana. “You know nothing of pain. You know nothing of loss. You know nothing of defeat. But You’ll learn. You’ll perish in flame and agony; and the worst agony of all will be the knowledge that there is no way You can take revenge upon those who did this to You.”

The Queen doesn’t respond.

“It will happen,” Nialli Apuilana says. “We are a determined people. The gods have shaped us to be what we are.”

Silence.

“Well?” Nialli Apuilana says. “Is that Your answer? Is this what You’d have us do? Because I tell You that we will do it, if You won’t give us what we ask.”

Silence. Silence.

The Queen says at length, “What is it, then, that you want?”

“An end to the war. A truce between our peoples. A line drawn between Your lands and ours, never to be violated.”

“These are your only terms?”

“Our only terms, yes,” says Nialli Apuilana.

“And the alternative?”

“War to the death. With no quarter given.”

“You deceive yourself if you think there can ever be peace between us,” says the Queen.

“But there can be an absence of war.”

There is one last silence. It seems to stretch on forever.

“Yes,” replies the Queen finally. “There can be an absence of war. So be it. I grant you what you ask. There will be an absence of war.”

It was done. Nialli Apuilana bade the Queen farewell, and in a single moment withdrew from the high realm, sweeping swiftly downward toward the breast of the land, where dawn now had begun to glow. She relinquished her grasp on the Barak Dayir and sat up. She was back in the tent that she shared with Thu-Kimnibol.

He was just beginning to stir. He looked over at her and smiled.

“How strange. I slept like a child, lost to the world. And I dreamed the war was over. That a truce had been agreed on between ourselves and the Queen.”

“It was no dream,” said Nialli Apuilana.

The day was bright and fair, with a cool pleasant wind blowing out of the west, a sea-breeze, always a good omen. Taniane arose early, and went to the Temple of the Five to express her gratitude for the safe return of the army and to ask the gods’ blessings for the time to come; and then, for she was the chieftain of all the people, she went also to the Temple of Nakhaba and made her obeisance to the god of the Bengs. Afterward she called for her wagon of state, with four fine white xlendis to draw it, and made ready to ride out to the Emakkis Gate at the northern end of the city, where a great reviewing stand had been erected so that the chieftain and the Presidium could properly greet the troops as they arrived. She had the Mask of Koshmar with her, the shining black one that she sometimes wore on high occasions of state. This day seemed worthy of Koshmar’s mask.

Runners had been carrying word of the return for four days, now, stumbling breathless into the city with reports of the army’s southward progress. “They’re in Tik-haleret now!” came the cry, and almost at once, “They’ve reached Banarak,” and then, “No! They’re approaching Ghomino!” Thu-Kimnibol, the messengers said, rode proudly at the head of the column, with Nialli Apuilana beside him, and all the troops stretching on and on behind them as far as anyone could see.

Thu-Kimnibol had sent messengers of his own ahead as well, announcing the truce that had brought the war to its end. From the messengers, too, came the first official word of the death of Hresh. Which only confirmed what Taniane already knew, for she had not felt the presence of Hresh in the world since that day of strange numbness when Puit Kjai had come to her with his tales of insurrection; but it was hard news all the same. King Salaman also was dead, they said, dead of grief and weariness, after a great loss at the hands of the hjjks.

Taniane wondered what Hresh had been doing up there in hjjk country at the battlefront. That was the last place where she would have expected him to go. But evidently Hresh had remained Hresh to the very end, a law unto himself. Perhaps she would get the explanation of his mysterious final journey from Nialli Apuilana later.