I Became an Ant Lord, So I Built a Hive Full of Beauties

---

Mardek leaned back on his elbows by the dome, eyes on the sky like it had told him a good joke. His men kept quiet because that was how he liked it. When he felt the edge in the air turn, he sat up, brushed sand from his palms, and spoke in a steady voice.

"Send fifty men to the east," he said. "Something is coming with killing intent. It could be a beast. It could be a wild predator. It could be someone who does not like us. The fifty must be four star rank or higher. If it is a wild beast, kill it and bring the corpse. If it is a predator you cannot beat, fall back and tell me. If it is a beast man, capture him or her. I am bored. Let us have sport."

The nearest captain bowed his head. He did not ask for more words. He already had three squads marked in his mind. "Yes, Vice General."

The captain turned and moved through the camp in a clean line. He did not shout. He touched shoulders. He tapped plates. He showed four fingers, then one. Men rose from mats at once. They checked straps and blades. They drank once and capped jars. The captain chose a fifth unit leader and walked the row with him, eye to eye, to make sure the right ones were going.

"Four stars," he said. "No gaps. One five-star with me. We walk light. We hold a screen. When the dust moves wrong, we fix it."

They left the shade of the dome and crossed the hard pan toward the low dunes under the moon.

Silvershadow saw them pass like a dark tide. He lay on his side in the narrow space between two supply tents, one cheek in sand, breath slow, eyes half-lidded. His body did not move. Only his gaze slid, a finger's width at a time, from shadow to seam to knot. He had counted fifteen tents in the inner ring. He had counted three lamp posts, each with a small cup tied low for oil. He had counted the steps of the four guards who had been told to stand near the cage. Two heavy. Two light. He had counted the time between each stop at the water jar. He had counted the way the dome ropes hummed when the evening wind shifted.

He did not crawl. He flowed. He let the tent wall brush his plates so the fabric took his sound. He let the roll of the ground hide his line. He made no marks. He used the marks others had made and pretended they were his.

He reached the line that circled the dome's legs and stopped. He did not cross it. He watched the way the nearest guard's eyes moved when the guard turned his head. He watched where the guard did not look. In that gap, he saw the low cart under the dome. He saw the cage on the cart. He saw a small shape in white and gold, sitting very straight, one hand on a sleeping friend. He saw her breath move. He saw her keep her chin up. He did not let the sight break his face.

He withdrew the same way he had come. Back under the tent seam. Back past the water jars. Back to the edge where the supply lines met the carts. He left a thin reed stuck upright in a place no reed should grow. That was his mark. He would tell Kai with it when the time came.

Out in the dunes, the fifty moved east. They did not march in one line. They moved like water over steps, five across, then ten, then five again, always finding the hard sand. The captain set them a pace that did not make dust. He raised his hand and the line stopped on the shoulder of a dune. He closed his eyes and listened. Men who did not know him would have said he slept on his feet. His men knew better. He was counting heartbeats and wind.

When he opened his eyes, the moon was pushing free of a thin cloud. He pointed with two fingers. "Here," he said. "We hold here."

They spread in a crescent across the low saddle between dunes. They were silhouettes at first, then men. Plates dull, spears grounded, eyes up. They stood like they had been waiting there all night.

To the west, Kai and Azhara came on light feet, low and fast through the cold sand. The sky was black-blue. The wind had teeth but not many. The moon slid from cloud and drew a pale stripe across the dune they had to cross.

Kai pulled up on the lee side and scanned the lip. He smelled oil, rope tar, reed, dust, and the clean sharp scent that comes off men who have focused their fear and put it behind their teeth. He turned his head a little.

"Azhara," he said, voice low, "follow me at two hundred meters. Do not break the sand if you can help it. If you see an ambush, deal with it. If you cannot, tell me. I will keep the soul road open. We are close. It will not cost much aura."

Azhara nodded once. "Yes," she said, simple and clear. She shifted her strap, checked her short bow, and slid down the slope to cut her distance. Her steps curled around the base of the dune like smoke.

Kai went straight up.

He crested the lip and saw them. Fifty figures spread across the saddle, shoulder to shoulder with gaps where a spear could pass. The captain stood at a pace ahead of the line. He held his spear like a staff. The moon put a weak crown on his helm.

Kai walked down the slope toward them. He did not hurry. He did not hide his face. He did not lower his eyes. The anger in him burned like clean coals. He did not let it run over his legs. He kept it where it needed to be.