Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(63)
“He is unfit to hold our trust!” the Chooser declared. “He has proven it time and again. Why do you persist in giving it to him?”
“That is very simple, Lord Chooser,” Esshk explained resignedly. “Because we need him. I do not trust him, however. He is motivated only by survival and ambition—in equal parts, no doubt.” He brightened. “He has been rewarded for returning to the Hunt, which will sate his ambition for a time, and even he must know at last that his fate is inextricably linked to our success. That cannot be more obvious, even to such as he. If we prevail without his aid, we will certainly destroy him next. If we do not prevail, the enemy can then focus all its might on him.” He hissed appreciatively at the Chooser’s expression.
“In the meantime, we have time. The weather will soon moderate—never have I seen such a lengthy rainy season!—and we have the luxury of completing all our preparations. We will continue to build our Swarm by drawing new army forces from across the empire. We already pulled much from the south, but can take more. It is still cold down there, and likely even wetter than here. The Other Hunters—the Republic, Kurokawa calls them—could not move against us even if they dared.” He hissed again. “And no, I have not forgotten them. Their refusal to join the hunt will be repaid one day. In any event, we will soon have six hundreds of ten hundreds of warriors at our disposal, old and new, and the transports to carry them.”
“Six hundred thousand!” the Chooser almost wailed, using the new way of numbers Kurokawa taught him. “We cannot feed them! Why do we need so many?”
“Because we will not stop at the Celestial City, Lord Chooser,” Esshk replied coldly. “We must be prepared to move immediately on India and beyond. We have a new army and fleet, but they must be invincible. They will both fight better than ever before, but only numbers can ensure success. Much has changed, but that has always been the Way, and numbers add the greatest measure of quality of all, beyond any training or weapons we can supply. That, at least, will never change. Do you doubt for an instant that even armed and trained as they always were, so many committed to any previous swarm would have prevailed?” He paused. “Of course not. And in the meantime, we will feed them what we must; keep the majority dispersed as long as necessary.” He gurgled a laugh and jerked a diagonal nod. “Feed them Uul from across the river—or even here, if they become too‘dissatisfied.’ One way or another, when the Final Swarm begins its hunt, it will not be stopped!” He glared at the Chooser. “I told you before, when we move, I want no ‘perhaps,’ no ‘possibly.’ Absolute certainty is all I will accept.”
The Chooser hesitated a long time before speaking. “Lord, not all the mysteries of my order are . . . unfounded. You alone outside the circle know the truth. But you also know we actually can, on occasion, see certain potentialities. We can often even feel fairly certain about various traits—that a particular hatchling will make a fine warrior general, for example . . . such as yourself. But if any of us were commanded on pain of death to choose one hatchling based on certainty of any kind, we would condemn them all to the cookpots.”
“What are you saying?” Esshk demanded. “You are the one who counsels haste above all.”
“True, Lord, but only because I . . . I dread the word ‘perhaps’ as much as you. How can I not? And it is a word we cannot ignore, associated with any endeavor, regardless how much we would wish. That, above all, this particularly worthy prey has taught me. And no matter how diligently we prepare, the longer it takes, the larger ‘perhaps’ must loom. It is always thus with this prey, Lord,” he stressed urgently. For just a moment, Esshk considered, and the Chooser thought he might have won his point at last. But Esshk’s crest suddenly flared and he snorted with derision.
“No, Lord Chooser, even something as dreadful”—he used the word almost mockingly—“as ‘perhaps’ can be overwhelmed by the purity of the Way, when sufficiently beleaguered by the sheer numbers with which we will assail it.”
The Chooser bowed, hiding the fear that flashed in his eyes. True fear, not just the ultimate outcome of “turning prey,” was something he understood like few Grik did. He’d somehow learned to master it, however, and must never let it show. “Yes, Lord,” he simply said.
It was almost completely dark now, and torchlight was glowing within the palace, illuminating the arch. Other lights began to flicker around Old Sofesshk, but the hive across the river was brightening even more, as fires were stoked beneath innumerable cookpots and the ageless scent of smoldering dung crowded the air. Esshk appreciated the more . . . refined airs in Old Sofesshk, but the other didn’t disturb him. It was what he’d always known, and it smelled of normalcy. The faint addition of woodsmoke to the building fug reminded him of a swarm on campaign, however, and that quickened his blood. The delays have been necessary, and still are if we are to succeed, he thought. I have sampled the bitter, ashy draught of defeat—mine and others—far too often. I will not taste it again. But what if the Chooser is right and delay is as much our enemy as the worthy prey across the strait? He snapped his jaws in sharp objection, startling the Chooser. No. Despite how keen I am to stir this greatest and most unique of Swarms to motion at last, the wisdom of the Way must still have meaning. Combining the quality of the New Army with the universal quality of numbers must be irresistible. The enemy still possesses formidable material advantages, but can never match my numbers. Delay only strengthens me in that respect. It is me whom time will aid! Any additional costs delay might bring will be insignificant to the final outcome.