His mind tugged itself towards that marvellous suit of armour, strong as stone, light as leather, that Totho's people had made for him. It had been forbidden him. The Ministers had spoken and, through them, the Masters.
In the stables, amidst the muted smell of the insects, he instructed grooms, 'Saddle up Penthet. I will ride him into battle.' To command his army truly, he would need to be mobile when the battle came. He flexed his broad shoulders, hearing the slight scrape of metal scales. The Many of Nem had not raided so near the city for eight years now, and never had they come in such numbers. That alone lent Totho's warnings more truth than Amnon needed to hear.
Why is he still here? Does he seek to profit somehow from the fight? It was an uncharitable thought and Amnon regretted it instantly. The unhappy halfbreed was still here because he was bound by chains that all his artifice could not break. Amnon understood, because he felt the tug of those chains himself.
He had gone to Praeda last night, seeking distraction, finding only argument. She thinks she is so clever, with all her learning. She does not understand. She had not understood when he had told her he must go to war on the morrow. Her objections had been Totho's objections, taken from that patronizing position of superior culture that all these foreigners seemed to hold, and not know they held. Amnon had weathered it — he was good at that — and in the end she had broken down, swearing that she would never speak to him again, that he could go hang himself if they could make a rope thick enough to hold him. The expressions on the faces of the other foreigners, the old man and the fat man, had been horribly embarrassed, as he made his exit. It was clear they had heard every word.
And, of course, he had thought that she might come here, before the army marched, with some last words to clear the bad air between them. She had not come.
One of his grooms brought him his favourite bow, short for cavalry work but curved back and back on itself, coiled with tautly strung power, of Mantis craftsmanship. He slung a broad quiver over his back, the arrow-tips spreading out like a chitin-fletched fan across his shoulders, ready for his fingers to pluck. When he turned round, it was to find a Beetle woman standing there.
It was not her, though. It was the other one, the ambassador who was shorter and rounder than Praeda. She was looking awkward, yet she had talked her way into the stables of the Royal Guard, and for no other reason than to see him.
'Yes, O Foreigner,' Amnon addressed her, 'how may I assist you?'
'Just Cheerwell, please,' she said. 'Or even Che.' She looked ragged, as if she had been short of food and sleep for a good while. 'Amnon …' she started, and stopped.
'Speak,' he told her.
'I've been talking to Praeda.' And she paused again, scowling at her own inability to push the matter forward. Then the grooms brought out Penthet, and she exclaimed, 'Hammer and tongs, what's that?'
The question brought a slight smile to his face. 'He is Penthet. He is a desert locust. My grooms raised him for me, from the very egg. We two have been companions in the fray for many years.' He ran a hand down the long, segmented flank of the creature, and it resettled its legs, one glittering eye watching him from above the constantly-working mouthparts. 'From his back I shall command the battle.' His hand moved to the high-ended saddle that sat so naturally over the locust's thorax, just in front of the wings. His face darkened momentarily. 'I am glad to see there is one part of war that you wise foreigners do not understand. Perhaps your predictions are not so all-knowing as you think.'
'Amnon, she could not make herself come and see you,' Che told him.
He nodded grimly. 'I had assumed as much.'
'She fears for you. It is true that we do not understand your ways here — of all people, I know that! — but you do not understand what is coming, with the Scorpions. They are bringing a part of our world against you — the worst part. Praeda … she fears that she will lose you.'
'All men must die. Warriors die in battle. Your world is not so different, I am sure,' he said. 'What would she ask of me? That the First Soldier of Khanaphes hides away, while his army fights?'
'She would have asked, I think, that you changed your battle plan — that you changed your ways as the Scorpion have changed theirs,' Che said. 'She would have asked that you took all the weapons and armour that Totho could sell you, and thus sent the Scorpions back to the Empire asking for more and better in return. She is a logical woman, but she does not see where her logic would lead. Besides, I myself have seen battles, and she has not. You cannot change an army in a day. Order and discipline are built from practice. The Scorpions cannot have had so very long to become used to their new toys.'
He regarded her for a long time before responding, 'Speak the rest, O Foreigner. I see it in your face. These crossbows … Totho tells me they are a simpleton's weapon, that any fool can take them up and shoot. And the Scorpions have had many tendays to practise. Who knows how long the Empire has been dwelling amongst them? And the Many of Nem are truly many, in their war host. Never have we known the like, this swarming of them.'
'You see it all, don't you?' Che said.
'I see that we must fight. That is the true word of the Masters. What can we do but defend our homes? The Scorpions will accept no peace, give no quarter. They seek only to loot and kill. The Empire may have armed them, but it will not have changed them.'
'And we cannot change you.'
As he met her eyes, the force of his gaze was almost like a blow. 'The Ministers declare that the Masters will save us, at the end.'
'Do you believe that?'
'I will believe it at the end. I will have nothing to lose then.'
Thirty
It was a bright, cloudless morning, as they always seemed to be here. The dust of an army on the move had not yet started to choke the air. The war-host of the Many of Nem was just stirring.
In the distance, within a day's hard strike, the green that was the river Jamail was in sight, with all its treasures. Through a spyglass, focusing the little device awkwardly with his clawed hands, Hrathen could see the walls of Khanaphes in some detail. He passed the glass to Angved the engineer. 'Your professional opinion?'
Angved spent a long time passing the telescope back and forth, in minute increments. 'Big walls,' he said at last. 'Big old walls. Carved real pretty too, it looks like.'
'That doesn't count as a professional opinion,' Hrathen growled. 'How will the leadshotters fare?'
'Sir,' replied the engineer, 'given that it never rains round here, they might as well have made those walls of paper and spared themselves the effort.'
Hrathen frowned down at him. 'So confident?'
Angved shrugged. 'I've seen Beetle-kinden walls, and those aren't them. Those are great big blocks of stone set one on another, all beautifully cut and dressed, but there are walls and walls. We could bring those walls down with trebuchet and rock-throwers, maybe a tenday's investment, maybe less. With leadshotters? We'll have a breach in two days at the most. This is old, sir. It's all old work. When they built these walls, my trade wasn't exactly foremost in their minds.'
Hrathen nodded thoughtfully. 'So now we just have to get there.'
'They've moved their army out, then?'
'Just started to come for us, it looks like.'
'It's what I'd do, too. With walls like that, they must know they can't withstand a siege. A victory on the field is their best chance.'
Hrathen shook his head. 'Not like that, apparently. It sounds like this is what they always do whenever the Scorpions come for them. They tend to win, too, so you can see why they've not changed the recipe. The Scorpions have all sorts of excuses, but it comes down to basics. The Khanaphir are better disciplined, and the Many were never this many, before. Also, the Khanaphir had a superiority at range — with bows and the like.'
'Well, I can't say we've entirely solved the discipline problem,' Angved observed. 'Still, your woman there, Jakal, she seems to have them well in line.'
'We work within our lim
its,' said Hrathen. He had spent last night with Jakal, talking over what tactics they could reliably impose on the Scorpion warbands. Talking them over, and nothing further, despite what he had hoped for. The bitch is stringing me along, and she's enjoying every minute of it. He could challenge her, he knew. He could try to take her by force, but that would not achieve the Empire's goals here. And let me be honest with myself: I don't think I would succeed. She had not become the Warlord of the Many by anything less than ruthlessness and skill.
'The crossbowmen are looking good,' Angved remarked idly. 'They've picked up the idea of shooting all together, at least. When we started they were all for just popping off a shot and then up with the axe and go charging in. We were lucky to find that caravan. Live targets make all the difference for practice.'
The caravan had been a little convoy of foreigners, tomb robbers and relic hunters set on pillaging the ruins of the outer desert. They had been heavily armed, forming up around their wagons and hoping to stand the Scorpion outriders off, but instead of simply descending on them with knives and hatchets, Hrathen had sent for the crossbowmen.
It had been bloody work, and not swift. The thieves and their hangers-on had tried to stay together, to find cover, as the crossbows had loosed and loosed. The Scorpions had begun to learn the joys of killing at a distance: now the same crossbowmen would not trade a kill at thirty yards for all the savage delight of getting their claws bloody. It had been a useful object lesson, as they had begun to understand the archer's pride and joy in seeing the enemy wither and fall, without ever having a chance to fight back. For a Scorpion it was no great mental leap.
'Your woman's coming,' Angved reported, and prudently absented himself, heading off to check the siege engines. Hrathen turned to greet Jakal, finding her in her full armour, spear in hand.
'I have spoken to the chiefs,' she said. 'We have our battle order, as you call it.'
'Is it as we discussed?'
Her strange eyes regarded him. 'I have taken those I like least, or those who will not stand the fight, and made them our centre. I have gone among the others, telling them not to worry if these break, since they are marked as weak. The crossbows will make the claws on either side, with the better warriors, and you yourself have the sting.'
'Lieutenant Angved has the sting, yes,' Hrathen agreed. 'The weapons are designed for siege, not open field work, but it has been known. It will test the crews.'
Jakal shrugged, one clawed hand spread wide. 'Let them be tested, then. Have you found a place for yourself in all this planning, Of-the-Empire?'
'Of course. I shall drive your chariot.'
He had amused her at last. 'Will you, indeed? And you are so used to chariots in your Empire that even the word was strange to you, at first.'
'But your beasts will know their work,' he said. 'And I shall speak with them, and let them instruct me.'
'And you will follow my orders, without question?'
'I have brought you weapons, and the knowledge of how to use them,' he reminded her. 'Now you must use them — use them as you will. I shall bow my head to you, for as long as the battle lasts.'
Beneath the rim of her helm she was smiling. 'Have I conquered the Empire now?' she teased, one thumb claw coming up to rest along the line of his chin. 'Well then, you shall indeed have that honour.' Her eyes met his directly now, bold and fierce and utterly unlike the eyes of any Imperial woman. 'Perhaps you shall have other honours, when we have driven them from the field. Perhaps we shall celebrate, you and I, if I am pleased with you.'
The plume of dust that the Khanaphir army was raising was more clearly visible. They wanted to fight the Scorpions far enough from the city that the river would not become a barrier at their back. Hrathen was fretting at a lack of scouts, but he did not want to risk any Wasps to the bows of the enemy, and the Scorpions had no fliers, and slower cavalry than the defenders. He was obliged to rely on his telescope and the reports he had heard of older conflicts. At least the Khanaphir did not seem to be the type to innovate.
The difficulty, as he had discussed with Jakal, was to make best use of the Many's new-found advantages. The crossbows were slower than the shortbows the Khanaphir favoured, but they outranged them. And perhaps not really so much slower, for that matter. They were the old Imperial heavy crossbows for which the archers were supposed to draw the string back by winch, but most of the Scorpions had notched their thumb-claws and were tensioning the weapons by hand in half the usual time. The Empire had not considered just how strong they were. There would be more than a few broken claws by the battle's end, more than a few broken crossbows for that matter, but they had quickly made the weapons their own. It only remained to give them the best chance to use them.
The normal Khanaphir tactics were reliable and unimaginative, from what he had been told. They fielded an infantry-strong army with good cavalry wings and archer support. It was not something out of the Imperial tactics textbooks, but he could see the strengths and weaknesses. The Scorpions were more mobile, so that meant that, for a decisive victory, the Khanaphir would at some point have to come to them and follow them up. Otherwise the fight would go on all day, with the Scorpions picking and choosing the targets of their strikes.
The Khanaphir would understand the same thing, Hrathen was counting on it. The plans had been made, so no point worrying about them now. They would deform and change as soon as they met the enemy, just as plans always did. The Scorpions were not a disciplined force, but the Khanaphir knew that too, and it became just one more factor that a clever general could use.
He stretched and went off to see about Jakal's chariot, to have a talk with her beasts and set them straight.
The army of Khanaphir marched tirelessly, as Beetles could. To Hrathen it was a great row of white squares, reinforced with steel in the centre where their heavy infantry was posted. On the flanks there was an odd mixture of the Mantis-kinden skirmishers, Khanaphir archers and chariots. The beetle cavalry, seated on its long-legged black animals, was taking a wide path in order to flank the Scorpions when the forces were engaged.
'How do their riders stack up to ours?' he asked. Their chariot jolted and bounced, finding its place on the Many's left flank. He could feel the minds of the animals, keen and hungry. Each had an armoured shield fixed to its outside pincer and barding of chitin over its back.
'They are faster, but scorpions will kill beetles if they catch them. They will hold off until they can catch us unawares, perhaps come all the way round behind us,' Jakal told him. The chariots are different …' She stopped, gave a particularly vicious laugh. 'Or they were until we got your crossbows. I've told them to aim for the beasts first.'
'And your soldiers will stay with the plan?' The chariot was in place now, amongst a slew of other vehicles arrayed about the Scorpions' left flank.
'Probably.' Jakal shrugged. 'Mostly.' The Khanaphir had stopped now, waiting. Hrathen saw their front rank bristling with spears. Behind them were archers, identifiable at this range because they had no shields. The Beetles would wait for as long as it took, Hrathen knew. They were a naturally more patient people, but it was all taken care of in the plan.
Jakal took up a bulbous horn made from a hollowed-out stinger, took a great breath and sounded it. The strange, wailing note sounded out across the restless, uneven lines of the Many's war host. Instantly it was eclipsed by a great roar, a thousand Scorpion throats cheering on the initial charge. The centre of the lines surged forward, a great mass of halberdiers and axemen rushing for the Khanaphir centre. Hrathen steadied the chariot beasts, feeling in his mind their instinctive urge to follow, looking to his right to assure himself that not too much of the host had just committed itself. He felt a wash of relief when he saw that at least two-thirds of the infantry was still waiting, although milling angrily, obviously exercising every drop of restraint they possessed. On either side of that belligerent centre were the crossbowmen, looking already more ordered and disciplined, as though he had sewn W
asp brains into their heads. He and Jakal had gone over the plan with their chiefs in great detail, so they knew their glory would come.
The sky above the charging Scorpions turned abruptly dark. The Khanaphir archers had loosed their first volley, arrows arching over their own spearmen to impact among the onrushing warriors. If the Scorpions, unevenly armoured as they were, had come charging in a block, then they would have been slaughtered. Their own lack of discipline helped them in this one thing, for their running mass was so loosely knit that, although the sleeting shafts killed many, there were just as many missed shots as the arrows fell into the gaps between them.
That was the first volley, and the shortbows of the Khanaphir did not have the range of a proper battlefield weapon, but the second volley caused havoc amongst the Scorpions' rear ranks as they pressed closer in anticipation of making impact — the Khanaphir arcing their arrows high to fall on them, making exquisite use of the limited tools they possessed.
Hrathen grinned, his hands tightening on the reins in anticipation.
The Scorpion vanguard struck, and he saw the enemy line bow under the force of them — under the great cleaving blows of axe and halberd. Scorpions were not soldiers at heart, but they were warriors: they knew how to fight. They were taller, stronger, longer-armed and vastly more bloodthirsty by nature than their foes. The Beetle lines bent before them, even as dozens of Scorpions died on the enemy's levelled spears.
The charge had struck at the point where the Khanaphir light infantry met the Royal Guard. The unarmoured militia buckled helplessly, shields cracking and splitting under the Scorpions' ferocious blows, the men behind trying to give ground in order to stay out of the reach of the hacking polearms. The Guard pressed forward even as the Scorpions advanced and Hrathen saw swords rising and falling behind their solid line of shields. They were now butchering the men confronting them, turning their front line into a flank, rolling up the Scorpion advance. Behind them, more shields were stepping forward to keep the line intact. It was an impressive display of military order.
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