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After removing the beast’s corpse from the Bower, Barry and Arturo returned from the honest dark of night covered with persistent rain. Arturo took Trevor’s place tending the Prince’s wound.
The Knight shook his head, whispering, “He’s hanging on by the tips of his tentacles. I’m not sure he’ll ever wake up.”
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A crash of lightning followed the shape into the bower. Miranda lay senseless beneath the invading mass of muscle and rage.
Colored spots before Elliot’s eyes throbbed in rhythm with his pounding head. He gritted his teeth against the agony in his side. Thinking only of shielding his daughter, he sank into cold, black emptiness. Cassandra’s voice called to him from far, far away.
“Elliot!” Her cry surged and expanded to a scream of desperate cramping lost in the thunder’s drumming.
The beast’s voice rumbled its own thunder. “Where is General’s Assassin?”
Arturo winced as he moved to stand between the Prince and the invader. Clark followed him.
“Mama!”
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Trevor lay face-up in the mud, peering through the deluge splattering in his eyes at the scaly, barbed creature holding him down.
Bending his knees, muck squelching at his heels, the Knight jabbed the stinger into the belly hanging over his face while he thrust his hips up, flipping the attacker over his head. As he sprang to his feet, another electrifying bolt gleamed off each scale of the spiky creature scrambling to right himself. If they’d had fur, it would have been standing on end. Blood dripped from the fang’s gash.
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked. “What happens to me matters not,” the Knight’s foe declared. “We are many and we are here.” He lunged at Trevor and grabbed his arm, twisting till it popped, as he spun to slice across it with the barb at his elbow, tearing at muscle.
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Arturo strained to talk as he flew. “A Hive Elite team found us… when they saw Lieutenant Terrance’s body… I had them carry the Prince and Princess… back to the Bower, and deliver… the body to the Queen.”
“What about the Assassin’s?” Vernon asked. “It was your triumph. How do you wish to dispose of it?”
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Although a mere drizzle fell when Ambassador Arturo arrived at the Alliance camp in the dark hour before dawn, thickening clouds and a brisk wind promised a brief dawn and another storm. He thought of the Wildlands Ants and resisted the atmosphere’s depressing heaviness.
Great commotion at the Medic station drew his attention, but the voice calling, “Arturo! What’re youse doin’ here?” turned him around.
“Barry!” His friend was covered with cuts. “What happened to you?”
“Nuttin’ wort’ worryin’ about. Youse should see da stitches dey’re puttin’ in Trev’s face. What brings youse here?”
“I’ve got some good news for the Alliance.”
“We could use some.” Barry looked back at the Medic tent, and spoke in hushed tones. “Da King’s in dere. De Assassin got ’im an’ dey aren’t sure he’s gonna make it.”
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General Hai’s glowing wings flared, igniting the fumes trapped against the ceiling of the little cavern he claimed as his field headquarters. “What do you mean, ‘all the prisoners are gone’?” His icy tone shivered the hapless soldier who’d been ordered to fulfill the demand Queen Lilian had relayed through her mouthpiece.
His breath shallow and shaky, the young wasp stared at the ground and elaborated. “I’m sorry, Sir. We found the same thing at every holding area: dead guards and no prisoners.”
Melting into the shadows, Anthony was familiar with their leader’s tone. Unless this young soldier was a lot smarter than he looked, the Assassin knew what would happen next. It was always a shame to throw away one of their own, but there was no reasoning with Hai when he got like this.
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“This wasn’t the plan, Anthony.”
The Stinger shrugged. “What can I say? The General’s schedule opened up at the last minute, and he’d like to conclude this arrangement without delay.”
General Hai hovered above an assortment of Stingers, both Creepers and Flyers. Scorched spots on nearby plants testified to his touch.
Peering through the haze emanating from the smoldering wasp, Elliot asked, “How did you enter Fen without being seen and apprehended?”
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Leaving Cyrus to watch over Miranda and her brood, the King led the three Knights away from the Bower and the Hive in the only direction that made sense to him: toward the enemy. His daughter was out here somewhere, and he would find her or die trying.
Rain beat on everything, washing away evidence of anyone passing in either direction, drowning out all sounds but its own, and obscuring to a blur anything further away than they were from each other. Even when lightning shredded the darkness, grotesque jerking shadows wrestled reality into submission.
The Assassin was just as surprised as they were when they met.
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“We’ve heard enough!” The single voice drowned in the assent that rumbled through the hastily convened Wildlands Congress of Ants.
“War breeds carrion,” another called. “It’s good for us no matter who wins!”
Commandant Marabunta banged her staff against a hollow log. “We are charged with more than disposal. The Alliance wants us to assist their side in combat. Ambassador Arturo can’t guarantee access to their enemy’s dead unless his Alliance wins. So I ask, who would march east to join with this new Alliance in battle against The Arids tyrant?”
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“I remember the process you’re talking about, Arnie.” With her eyes closed, Queen Lilian gazed at the pointed end of a memory that still cut into her heart. “We haven’t used it since Mother died.” She opened her eyes and willed her face to smile.
King Arnie asked, “Could we use it for Randall?”
“Of course. We’ll prepare a work area tonight, and they can bring his body in the morning.”
“Thank you, Lilian.” The King looked at his feet. “I tried to keep him safe, and I failed.”
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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