Grant’s stern admonition checked Calre’s eager advance.

“You cam thate your curiothity rater, we have more matcheth,” Grant lisped through a bitten tongue.

Brought up short, Calre spun on his heel with a silent flourish and marched back to the sidelines with wide swinging limbs. Another tight heel-turn and he settled in to watch their remaining matches with an unblinking intensity.

Jack couldn’t contain the quirk of a smile at these antics, he appreciated such whimsical performance for its own sake.

Grant and Jack returned to their positions and resumed their bouts. Despite his initial success, Jack’s surprise victory against Grant did not repeat itself, and the subsequent spars followed a regular pattern.

Forewarned against Jack’s card, Grant focused on weathering the short period where Jack had superior mobility, and then finishing the fight at his leisure.

When it became clear that Grant’s advantage was insurmountable, they finished the day’s training, and reflected on the outcomes.

“You were right to remove the spearhead, I underestimated you lad. You only have a few moments of serious fight in you but with the reach of a spear you can hold your own,” Grant spoke cleanly, already healed from the bite on his tongue.

“I figured surprise was my only advantage and you showed me clear enough that was true. With perfect timing, I can use Pivot for just over seven seconds, but that’s hardly potent.”

Jack had felt cocksure after his victory, but Grant’s relentless dissection of him in all their following duels had quickly shattered any illusions of overwhelming natural talent. He was left with frustration for how little flexibility he could muster against someone with real power.

“What I’ve found, in all the cards I’ve encountered, is that the person wielding the card is what matters most,” Grant spoke slowly, letting the weight of his words draw Jack’s attention in, denying him the opportunity for reflexive denials, “...the sharpest blade in a dull grip is more likely to cut the wielder. But a rough stone held by you? I’d be careful, I think. Not many could slip such a ruse past me, you should hold yourself with pride.”

Jack stood a little straighter at the frank praise.

“Now… I think his lordship has shown remarkable patience, but I need you rested for tomorrow, so he’ll have to settle for a compromise,” Grant turned to Calre after this cryptic statement and called to him. “One!”

“One?!,” Calre responded with outrage, walking briskly to join them. “Three! That’s barely enough for a single card and you know it! With one I’ll be turning it in my head all night!”

“How about none?”

“Two!” a hurried reply, “I’ll need a follow-up, that’s only decency!”

Grant crossed his arms dramatically and leaned far enough back Jack wondered how he didn’t fall over, looking up at the sky, pondering.

“One and a follow-up. That’s requests for clarification or expanding on a point, dressed up non-sequiturs are forfeited.”

‘Questions,’ Jack realized, ‘he’s bargaining for questions.’

“Done!” Calre shouted, but then grew suddenly suspicious, “Could I have gotten three?”

Grant straightened suddenly, revealing a broad smile.

Calre huffed and grimaced, “Hiding your face was a dirty trick.”

Grant’s smile grew a little wider.

But Calre’s self-disgust evaporated as he turned inward to consider what he would ask.

After a minute he snapped to attention and began speaking quickly.

“Your hair turns with you when you spin, your clothes too. They don’t drag on you, so your card effect encompasses personal wear. But you hold your spear like you’re afraid it will escape. Why?”

Jack masked his surprise with a pondering look, Calre had observed one of the subtlest facets of Pivot with only a few exposures, when he had been moving at high speed at that. He constructed an answer he hoped would satisfy the noble.

“There’s a threshold. A function based on weight and distance from my body. Hold something closer or lighter, the less it drags. With the spear, it drags enough that I have to brace it with my arm, particularly if I’m going to be hitting a solid object.”

Calre’s look grew distant again, but returned after only a brief pause.

“A whip! Have you tried a whip? Light along its length, devastating power leveraged at the tip!”

‘He saw it that quickly huh. That’s the martial inclination of nobles for you, I didn’t think of that for days.’

“It doesn’t work. I end up wrapping myself in the cord, the far end is just too slow to respond.”

“But if you primed it! Swung the whip conventionally over your head, or held it coiled and let it out gradually in order to-”

Grant cleared his throat and Calre sheepishly cut himself off.

“-alas, another time!” and he scampered away from Grant’s mock cuff.

‘Priming it… Hmm. I didn’t think of that.’

Jack was surprised to find he felt strangely at ease after the interaction with Calre, if he’d taken the time, he might even recognize it as nostalgia.

“Are you wondering at the effusive delight he demonstrated at your success?” Grant asked dryly, “I believe you’ve now qualified as a ‘frog’ of interest. I did say there was more little boy in him than you’d think, and little boys love surprises.”

“He cared for his frogs?"

"Loved them like they were his own children. Went into hysterics every time we found a dead one. I recall a Summer spent in a vendetta against the local snakes and birds. Now that was a phase that couldn't end soon enough. He didn't have the stomach to kill them, just laid traps and then released them far from the estate. Problem was he baited the traps."

“More snakes and birds than ever before?”

“A veritable plague.”

----------------------------------------

The next day's ride saw them encountering the first signs of the hiver colony.

Calre stopped the group at a particularly lush valley, eroded by signs of regular passage. Crushed grass and the beginnings of proper paths had been worn into the earth. He pointed out the shadow of a pit where the paths converged, and small mounds of stones lay scattered around.

"Clay extraction. They wouldn't carry that for more than a few hours. If we find a high point, we might be able to see their works."

"Surely their numbers aren’t enough to fire bricks?" asked Grant.

"No, likely they're doing cob houses, they have the fibre for it, and little else. It’s not a common expression of the builder instinct, but I’ve seen several records of it in similar regions."

"What kind of construction are they engaged in? Surely there's no stone quarries or ruins to salvage? No timber?" Jack asked the question that had been niggling at him since he’d learned of the hiver presence.

"Hiver construction is ingenious, possibly the most sophisticated aspect of their function. The builder caste will use any of those you mentioned, when available, but they're adept at leveraging whatever abundant resources are present. If they lack an essential resource for construction, they'll even undergo metabolic shifts to produce a substitute. They can produce mortars, glues, nails of hardened bone, etcetera.”

“All of this is instinct? Predetermined by their creators?”

“Not entirely. Material properties are too varied, some woods are simply temperamental, some stone too fragile. Small Hives are known to make structures of such unsoundness that they crumble with use. But if the hive is sufficiently large, and they lack sufficient familiar materials, they'll produce test structures out of what they can scavenge. With scale, it’s only a matter of time until they find something viable, if there is something to be found.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“That’s… ingenious. Intellect through force.”

Calre laughed, “You don’t know the half of it! They were a masterpiece! If the environment is too harsh for them to sustain a population of sufficient size, they'll determine a viable caloric strategy, systematize it, and then scale their population down to sustainable numbers. At their peak, hivers traversed half the world! I've read descriptions of underground fortresses carved out of sandstone in deserts, ice compounds in the arctic maintained by only a handful of individuals, resupplied by other Hives in more hospitable climes. We were ambitious before the Fall, and the hiver's reflect generations of specialized cards oriented to the single purpose of their refinement."

Vasala had an interjection to this.

"It was foolish of them to make creatures so capable. Now all generations hence must grapple with their hubris."

"Oh of course, we have the hindsight to know of their arrogance, but at the time they must have only seen the rapid approach of all horizons. And they were not entirely without sense: they had many measures of control, in fact, this is a timely moment to discuss our strategy. Grant, am I to defer to your experience or shall I muddle together something?"

"I'll weigh in as needed."

"Right then. ‘Principles of Hiver Extermination’ recounts a variety of methods in detail, fortunately we have a target of modest numbers and scarce resources. There are no nearby human settlements and it is an isolated colony. Textbook opportunity for an aggressive Queen elimination..."

Calre laid out his plan, and the principles that underpinned his reasoning.

The people who had made the hivers were not entirely foolish, and they implanted multiple control and failure mechanisms into colonies to maintain mastery of them. The chemical methods and the Shaped specifically made for the purpose had been lost after the fall, but the failure point of the Queens remained. They were not only the sole creature capable of producing new hivers, but also an intentional vulnerability. If a hiver detected the signs of its Queen’s death, it would undergo a catastrophic metabolic shift, entering a malaise that would rapidly advance towards death.

It would not be so simple however. The Queen would be hidden, potentially underground if the hivers had built subterranean structures—not that they expected such with the hiver numbers they had observed so far. They would approach stealthily, not allowing any coordinated defence until they entered the Hive. From there they would kill hivers, pressing towards the greatest resistance until they could ascertain the location of the Queen and end it. It was an outrageous plan for anyone mundane to contemplate—but to the nobility, the possibility of being physically outmatched was ludicrous.

"We should have a competition!" Vasala declared.

"Oh? To what end?" Calre said.

"Whoever kills the most hivers of course!"

"Seems a trifle weighted toward whomever manages the Queen, as they receive the entire rest of the remaining colony, rendering all earlier efforts moot."

"Well if you simply discount those..."

"We must also keep our focus and not indulge in superfluous culling of hiver drones. I'd offer a revision. Our purpose is the killing of the Queen. Any efforts that further that goal meaningfully to that end should be tallied by impartial judges for their respective contribution.”

"And this panel of judges you propose?"

Calre gestured casually at Jack.

"He has little stake in our competition as neither competitor nor biased agent. What do you say Jack?"

"I don't have any objections... though I may make a slight expansion to the activities by which points are awarded if I'm permitted," Jack replied, carefully watching for the reaction his words might bring.

"To encompass what?"

"All efforts that ensure the safety of the judge."

Calre paused, startled, and then gave a delighted laugh.

"Granted."

'Well, now at least they won't go raring off to leave me vulnerable.'

----------------------------------------

They made for the small peak of a nearby hill where they might look to see if the Hive could be pinpointed and the landscape scouted.

The last day had seen a significant easing in the tensions between them, and Jack realized belatedly that it had been his presence that had likely produced any early awkwardness. In a discreet moment, he asked Grant about it.

"Calre relies on the formal courtesies with the caravan. Being overly familiar would just make most people uncomfortable, or even feel threatened. Formal interactions are used to indicate stability and reliability to tradespeople who work with the nobility. But you’ve been present enough that he's let himself slip into a bit more casual of a demeanour, you'll notice he doesn't expect his title or even his family name from me when we're in a more private context."

"And Vasala?"

"The nobility of Calamut have a reputation for distancing themselves from the affairs of the common people. You may be the only person not directly connected to the peerage she's spent any lengthy time with at all. She'll follow Calre's lead. As he's deemed you acceptable for casual interaction, so has she."

"They're much... different than I expected."

"They are different. Calre seeks out differences, I've found," Grant turned meaningfully towards Jack, "you would be wise not to generalize them to other members of the nobility. Showing similar ease would be seen negatively by many in the peerage.”

----------------------------------------

From the top of the hill, which truthfully only gave a dozen meters of extra height above the rest of the landscape, they looked out in the direction the trails from the clay site led, searching for any more signs of the hivers.

Calre was the first to spot something, indicating a point barely visible from their position.

"There, a dozen kilometers off, based on our height. They’ve built a lookout tower of some kind, it peeks over the horizon. If we'd advanced much further they'd have spotted us."

Once Calre had indicated it, Jack had only a little difficulty seeing it as well. The only startling thing was how quickly he had managed to find it across the landscape before them, seconds for a single deviation that would have taken at least a minute of careful scanning in Jack's estimation.

They refined their plan. They would turn the hiver's own techniques upon them, using the cover of the grass and darkness to come close just as the hivers had approached the caravan. They would wait until dawn and watch for their moment, and then they would attack.

All but Grant dozed fitfully, getting what rest they could in anticipation of the early rise. Jack found himself drifting off, only to come wide awake an indeterminate time later, mind racing with possibilities made certainties, opportunities made risks, and doubts made fears. He would reassure himself, item by item, rationalizing away his fear with self-made arguments until exhausted by internal debate he would drift off, only to rise again as his sleeping unconscious formed more concerns.

Finally, Grant woke them intentionally for a final time, and they set out for the Hive. The night ride was quiet, almost solemn, as their dark procession marched on. The nimbles had no difficulty navigating in the night, seemingly unbothered by the darkness.

They were so silent Jack looked behind to make sure the other followed, only to see a pair of palely glowing orbs directly before him, haunting the darkness with an eerie glow.

He froze, but rather than panic, a moment’s careful examination revealed them as the eyes of the nimble, keeping—to him—an unnervingly close position to his back. The rest of the ride he routinely imagined he could feel the weight of those eyes, but every time he checked it stood further back.

They neared their goal, and so they left the nimbles in a sheltered spot, hidden from the view of the hiver's tower that had been rising steadily in their vision, piercing the black sky with its own darker-than-night pinacle. The final stretch was on foot, following the contours of the land to minimize their profile until they crouched only a few hundred meters from the Hive structures.

They were submerged in the grasses, looking over the crest of a small hill onto the hiver colony. The slow arrival of dawn brought ever more detail into view, Jack took it in, hungry for the bounty of experience it promised.

Long lines of parallel shadows ran in sets, alternating light and dark. Jack suddenly realized they were some kind of intentionally raised earthen-work structures, some two meters in height from crest to valley. He puzzled over their purpose until more light revealed the shifting shades of plants within the furrows—their agricultural function was made clear.

Trails of cobblestones ran throughout the settlement, cutting off intermittently into simple beaten earth, before resuming again tens of meters away without any seeming logic.

But what struck Jack most of all, what threw all other details into unattended corners of his mind, were the buildings. They reminded him of the mudwasp nests that appeared in the summers, smooth rounded mounds of clay, clustered carefully in rows along the sheltered sides of buildings, attended dutifully by their makers hurrying to build them up layer by layer. These constructions of the hivers had the same basic shape and colour, but there all similarities ended. Rather than a careful arrangement of rows, these were arrayed in curving arcs, continually merging in and out of each as if they had been melted and allowed to run into each other.

Most were built up, like mounds of clay bubbles stacked in elaborate edifices blown by some ancient god—rising as high as seven or eight meters, the larger structures growing more common as they approached the central tower. Strung between the structures were bridges of woven grasses, connecting the sloping rooftops, or allowing passage from the ground to a higher egress. Etched into many of the surfaces were inlaid ladder rungs, carved wherever the curvature grew too great for reasonable footing.

All of it was decidedly inhuman. The absence of observable logic, of even the organic influence of a place shaped by need, left it feeling vaguely discomfiting. There were alleyways that ended prematurely, providing no obvious utility, when just a few more feet would have connected two major routes, instead of necessitating an extensive detour. Paths broadened or narrowed as the building's variation encroached on byways or receded suddenly to leave bizarre gaps.

Jack was drawn to it.

'What a place to run… Neavie will love—Well, she’ll love to hear about it.'

Their contemplation of the strange hiver construction was broken only by the approaching dawn. The nest had grown more active, soldiers and workers emerging from the scattered openings of their city to mill about the streets. Many began construction or drifted to the strange fields Jack had first spotted. As they waited, the hiver’s numbers continued to grow until hundreds of the creatures crossed from crowd to throng.

'We are meant to enter that?'

Jack could scarcely believe it, the number of hivers seemed utterly overwhelming, even with the capabilities of the nobles. Any one of them could expect to kill dozens with the actives of their cards, but they were only three, and the time they waited for a new cycle would see scores more pressing on them from all sides.

"They are too many," Grant whispered, and Jack felt a surge of relief, they were not going to press into that mass. "This colony is more advanced than I thought possible, how it's gone undiscovered this long... This needs a group ten times our size."

"I don't know if we have a choice," Calre said, looking behind them, "they've cut-off our retreat."

An arc of soldiers marched in a line from behind them, edging closer through the grass.

"How did they get there?" Vasala asked, "we've watched every angle, they couldn't have circled around in those numbers!"

As if in answer to her query, the ground beneath them began to shift.

'Tunnels,' Jack realized too late.

And then they fell.