The Scarab Path sota-5

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

'What do you need?' she asked. 'If I can help you, I will.'

  The sudden smile surprised her. He thought I would cut him loose. And why not? Do I need these complications, when everything else is falling apart? Despite the thought, she knew she would not turn him away.

  'Osgan's on the run with me, and he needs medical help. We're holed up in a drinking den. I need … What I need is just someone who has the freedom of the city, to come and go. Someone to fetch for me and tell me what's going on. Above all, someone I can trust.'

  'Major Thalric, are you trying to recruit me?' she asked with a slight smile, then collected her satchel, which held some basic medicines in it. When she turned to him again, his expression surprised her in its thoughtfulness.

  'I have just described an agent's work, haven't I?' he said. 'No matter how hard I try, the old instincts just won't leave me alone.' He shrugged. 'Just as well, for I'll need them. Ready?'

  She felt an odd leap of excitement at the thought, something she had been missing since the war. But I hated all of that, surely. She had served as her uncle's agent, therefore plunging into the invisible otherworld of the spymasters. Since the war's end, her life had been better in so many ways, and yet …

  'So long as it doesn't interfere with my duties or endanger other people,' she told him, 'you have my services, Master Thalric.' It seemed a small enough promise to make.

  'We should leave now,' he said, 'so I'll show you where Osgan and I are lying low. We can talk there, securely. Shall I meet you downstairs, outside?'

  'No need,' she told him. She had her cloak on, now, and sandals, so she was ready to go. 'Lead on.'

  He let himself fall backwards out of the window, his wings quickly catching him. She followed, pausing, with a knee on the sill, to look out over the silent city.

  She let her wings carry her through the window and into the air, clumsy beside Thalric yet able to follow where he led.

  Behind her, in her room, the door was pushed open once the sound of voices had faded. A figure crept in, and found the empty bed. A brief dialogue of puzzlement passed between the intruder and his kinsman, before the Vekken stalked over to the window and stared out, baffled and frustrated, at the night.

  There was a sudden commotion behind him, somewhere within the building, and Malius's immediate command: Hide!

  It should have been a simple job.

  Vollen had gone over the details both with the newcomer Sulvec and with his Rekef commander, the Beetle-kinden Corolly Vastern. This covered the second stage of the Rekef operation in Khanaphes. Although Thalric, maddeningly absent, was still the primary target, they had some Imperial obligations to the force that would appear outside the city's walls soon enough.

  Vollen himself had gone off to creep around some of the unoccupied embassies, enough to satisfy himself that each was built to a similar plan. Mustn't show favouritism to any of the ambassadors, he supposed. What it meant, in fact, was that his job was that much easier. He had never seen inside the Collegiate embassy, but now he knew for sure he did not need to.

  They had gone over the complement of the Collegiate delegation, so in his mind there was a concise list.

  'It's very simple,' Sulvec had explained. 'It is better for the Empire if word does not reach Collegium of what has happened until much later. Certainly not word brought by their own people. Therefore …' He had made a dismissive gesture with one hand, which had abruptly ended up with it raised and open, facing Vollen. Therefore kill them.

  Sulvec had spared him seven soldiers. The Rekef force inside Khanaphes was not large, but that should be enough.

  They burst in through three windows at the front of the building, two of which had not even been shuttered. The sound of the third window's wooden frame giving way was the first warning the Collegiates had of an attack.

  'Into all the rooms. Drag everyone out to the main hall,' Vollen snapped at his men, setting himself down beside the front door. He could hear various sounds of confusion from the house, but no outright panic yet. 'Tell them that they'll live so long as they cooperate,' he added. It was not true but it might be effective. He wanted them all rounded up, as peaceably as possible, and the entrance hall was the quickest place for it. His men were already spreading out, some to the downstairs rooms, others heading up the stone steps to the landing and the bedrooms. Once the residents were gathered in one place he could put them up against a wall and make an end of them all together. Vollen was a neat-minded man.

  He waited, looking at the blandly ceremonial decorations with which the Khanaphir had adorned the hall. They were different to those in the Imperial embassy, and yet they might as well have been the same. Their hosts clearly had a taste for the meaninglessly ornate — like all those little carvings they put everywhere.

  His men were returning now, and he began his count.

  The fat man came first, ballooning out his nightshirt and complaining vociferously. He had a half-full bottle in his hands and nearly tumbled down the full length of the stairs, saving himself only by clutching at the soldier who escorted him.

  'What in the wastes is going on?' he demanded of Vollen. 'I'm a Master of the College of Collegium, curse you!'

  'Shut up,' growled Vollen, and backhanded him into silence. In the ringing echo of the blow the fat man reached up to touch his reddening cheek and there were actual tears in his eyes. His flabby lips phrased words of protest, but no sound emerged. Vollen smiled approvingly.

  The others were appearing now. A half-dozen servants had been rounded up by two of his soldiers, young Khanaphir men and women, wide-eyed but docile, being herded like beasts out into the hall. Best to kill them as well, Vollen decided. No witnesses, then. Not that this will be any great mystery, but let them wonder about it nonetheless.

  The older man and the proud-looking woman were being hustled after them. He wore a loosely belted robe that bared his dark chest, wiry with grey hair, and thin enough for Vollen to have counted his ribs. The woman had obviously succumbed to the Khanaphir heat, for she was wrapped in a bedsheet and he guessed she was naked beneath. She was a good-looking piece of flesh as well, for one of inferior kinden. For a moment he wished he had more liberty and time to spare on this mission. She would have proved a welcome reward for staunch Imperial service. The Rekef came before personal pleasure, though, and besides, his men would all want a piece. That was bad for discipline, and this was not the Slave Corps, after all.

  'Hurry it up,' he hissed, mostly to himself. There was another coming now from upstairs, a black-skinned Antkinden who was fully dressed, even to the now-empty scabbard at his hip. The soldier with him kept a few steps behind, well out of striking distance. Of the lot of them, he was the only one who looked dangerous.

  There was a flurry of activity further along the landing. A small figure flitted out and over the rail, landing so close to Vollen that his forehead and Vollen's palm were just an inch from touching.

  'Vollen, isn't it?' Trallo began, with a cheerful nod. He was fully dressed, and Vollen guessed he had been flying in and out this night already. They had not expected him to be here.

  The Fly was now smiling up at him. 'What's going on?' he asked, looking around the academics and the soldiers.

  'Just stand with the others, Fly-kinden,' Vollen told him sharply.

  'Now, wait, you know me and Ambassador Thalric …' The sentence died as Trallo registered Vollen's expression. Vollen saw something click into place in the little man's head, an understanding quicker and deeper than any to be found amongst the Beetles.

  He goes first, Vollen decided. If anyone has a chance of escaping, it's him. 'Keep a stern watch on that one,' he instructed his men.

  The last of his force was leaning over the landing rail now, waiting for orders.

  'Where are the others?' Vollen demanded of them.

  'That's all there are, sir,' one of them reported. 'We've gone through every room.'

  That's not right. There was that woman who had met them when they arrived, and mos
t of all there was the ambassador. Something else was niggling at him too, but he could not immediately place it.

  'Where's your ambassador?' he demanded of the old man.

  'Abed,' was the dignified reply. 'My name is Berjek Gripshod and if you have diplomatic business, at this late hour, I shall assist you.'

  'There's nobody else here, sir,' the soldier left on the landing insisted.

  Vollen put a hand out to pincer the old man's chin with thumb and forefinger, the heat of his sting already warming his palm. 'Where,' he said again, 'is the ambassador?'

  'She was here.' It was the Beetle woman. 'She's been here all day, and I saw her going to bed.'

  How did she know? was Vollen's immediate thought, because he understood instantly that the woman Cheerwell had somehow fled the embassy already, abandoning her companions to their fate.

  He had a sudden and unwelcome conviction that she would be somewhere with Thalric. The two of them had seemed too close for Imperial propriety.

  'Where is the other woman? The …'What was the name now? 'Coggen.'

  'Dead,' Gripshod explained. 'Some days back.'

  Vollen released him, stepping back and levelling his hand. It seemed to him that he had heard something of that, now it was mentioned.

  'What is going on?' the old man asked, rubbing at his jaw. 'You must be mad.'

  'Vollen, listen to me,' Trallo spoke quickly. 'Vollen, there are other ways than this. There's no war between Collegium and the Empire — not yet. Do you really think that this will go unnoticed? Vollen, nobody wants these kind of complications, really, when you think about it clearly, come on-'

  Vollen turned his open palm on the little man, choking off the words. Fly-kinden — loathsome, treacherous vermin, and this one most of all.

  'Deal with them,' he snarled.

  The crossbow bolt took him by surprise, lancing into the back of the man standing nearest to the Vekken prisoner. Vollen's own stingshot went wild as the Fly-kinden ducked desperately away. There was another Vekken on the balcony. There were two of them? Of course there were two of them! So little had been seen of either of the Ants that somehow the two had become one in his mind. The ambassador's had been the absence that Vollen had fixated on.

  The soldier on the balcony turned his sting towards the newcomer, but the Vekken had closed already, and they were sword to sword instantly.

  'Kill them!' Vollen shouted. 'All of them!' The first Vekken was now wrestling with another of his men, holding both wrists away, trying to bend the Wasp backwards. Vollen turned back to the Beetles.

  The fat man moved. It was a ponderous lunge at the man next to him, but unexpected. The bottle smashed over the Wasp's head, and one thick hand closed about the man's sword-hilt and wrenched the blade from its sheath, hard enough to spin the Wasp half around. With a grunt of effort he drove it into the disarmed soldier as hard as he could. It punched into the man's armour, leaving a savage dent and knocking the man off his feet. The Wasp's sting flashed, more by instinct than intent, knocking the fat Beetle backwards.

  The old man made a try for Vollen, but the Wasp punched him in the face as hard as he could, laying him out on the floor. The Khanaphir slaves were cowering away, keeping as low as they could. Vollen snarled and looked around for the woman with his hand already extended.

  Something struck him hard, almost throwing him from his feet. He felt a blade scrape across his armour, and then the Fly-kinden, Trallo, was fighting with him, trying to wrench his arm aside. Vollen made a grab for him, but the little man was agile, tugging and pulling at him and escaping his clutching hands — a nuisance with a small knife, but a nuisance that was taking all of Vollen's attention.

  The Beetle woman lunged at him and broke a chair across his back, smashing the priceless Khanaphir craftsmanship to splinters. Vollen hit the ground hard, feeling his shoulder take the brunt of the attack. He turned onto his back, palms up. The woman grabbed one of his arms, trying to twist it flat. Trallo raised his dagger, his face a white mask of fear.

  The flash of the soldier's sting warmed Vollen's face, and the little man was thrown halfway across the entrance hall by the impact of it. The woman screamed and leapt away, staring at the Fly's charred body.

  Vollen whisked himself to his feet with a flick of his wings. 'Right,' he said, fully aware that he would receive no commendations for this. Then the front door burst open.

  He turned to see a huge Beetle-kinden in Khanaphir armour, a sword in his hand and bloody murder on his face.

  Emperor save us! he thought. It's the First Soldier.

  Amnon made a wordless sound and charged. Vollen's sting spat its fire, melting a hand-sized section of scale mail but not slowing the giant in the least. Then Amnon's leaf-bladed sword was thrust, effortlessly to the hilt, into his chest.

  Vollen fell to his knees, everything around him suddenly more than he could cope with. Amnon had his sword raised again, and the two Vekken were still spoiling for a fight. Two of his men fled out of the windows, the rest were already dead save for one man, who made a feint at Amnon and then plainly decided the big Khanaphir was too much to deal with. He tried to fly away, too, but the Vekken crossbowman picked him off even as he lifted into the space of the entrance hall.

  Feeling the world fall from him, Vollen toppled face-first onto the tiles of the Collegiate embassy.

  Praeda crouched beside Berjek Gripshod, calling his name and shaking him roughly. At last his lips moved and his eyelids fluttered. Peering up at her from floor level, his gaze was unsteady. 'Uncalled for,' he murmured. 'Quite uncalled for.'

  'They killed Trallo,' she got out. 'Oh Berjek, they killed Trallo.'

  She looked up, and saw another fallen body. Her hands went to her mouth again, she was feeling ill. 'Oh, Berjek …'

  The old man levered himself up, and then saw what she had seen. He struggled to his feet, a hand to his head, and staggered over.

  'Gorget! Get up! Manny …'

  Praeda saw him stop as he reached the great sprawling form, then drop painfully to his knees. She joined him there tentatively. There was no doubt at all from the outraged expression in those open eyes, or from the char-edged burn-hole in his chest. Mannerly Gorget was dead.

  Praeda stared about her, as though, somehow, someone would be able to help. Do magic. Bring back the dead. She saw the two Vekken standing close beside each other, like some trick with mirrors. And we would all be dead, if not for them. Then her eyes found Amnon. His face, though expressionless, was watching her.

  Trembling, she put out a hand towards him. Without a moment's thought he swept her up in his arms, clasping her to his broad chest where the armour was still warm from the Wasp's stingshot. There she let herself go, sobbing into his embrace, shuddering over and over until at last she could manage the words.

  'You came,' she said. 'You came for me.'

  'It should have been sooner,' he said gently. 'But I had a dying friend I could not leave. This has been a night for death. First my Penthet, and now your companions. I am sorry, I should have come sooner.'

  'You came,' she said.

  Berjek gave a long, sad sigh. 'This is too much,' the old man's voice came to her. 'Too much to bear. War … murder … the time has come to cut our losses, Praeda. We should have left long before, while we all could.'

  She felt Amnon's arms tighten slightly and she said to her colleague, 'Go. You must leave. The Khanaphir will find a ship for you, and lower the Estuarine Gate.' Around Amnon's shoulder she met his gaze. 'But I will stay.'

  'I suppose I should not be so surprised at that,' he said sadly. 'And, as for Cheerwell, she will not leave, I am sure. Something in this city has its hooks in her.' He glanced up at the Ants. 'And you two?'

  'We have a task unfinished here,' replied one of them. Berjek could not guess at the conversation that they were holding, in the space between their heads. 'We may decide to leave with you, but it depends on other factors. Perhaps, if the ambassador leaves with you, she could assist us on
the journey back.'

  Thirty-Two

  'I've done what I can for your arm,' Che said. It had involved more of her night's work than her earlier talk with Thalric. The wound was infected, and she had cleaned it out and applied whatever salves she had handy to keep it pure and deaden the pain. Osgan was conscious but pale, his forehead shiny with sweat even in the cool of the night.

  'Thank you,' he croaked.

  'If we were in Collegium …' Che shrugged. 'I can't guarantee that you'll keep the arm, though. I'm sorry. It's not gone rotten yet, but …' Her gesture took in the shabby little room that Thalric had found them, a cellar dug out beneath a drinking house and with one of the walls cluttered with barrels. The first dawn light glimmered through the two wide shafts cut into one wall, where the river-borne goods came in. They were also the way Thalric would escape, if the worst came to the worst.

  Osgan nodded weakly.

  'There isn't a proper doctor in this whole wretched city,' Thalric complained. 'They don't know the first thing about medicine.'

  Che thought about that. 'I think you're right, actually.'

  He barked a brief laugh. 'The legendary cosmopolitanism of Collegium is rubbing away, is it?'

  'Apt medicine and Inapt medicine are very different,' Che reproached him. 'You and I have good cause to remember that.'

  It took Thalric a moment to catch the reference, but she saw the understanding dawn in his face. Achaeos, in Collegium, asking to be taken back to his own people — for all the good it did him.

  'These Khanaphir are Apt,' Che went on, 'but they're … they're trying to live like the Inapt, for some reason.'

  Thalric made a derisive face. 'They're just backward, holed up at the east end of nowhere.'

  'It's more than that,' Che argued, the pieces falling into place one by one. 'They trade with the Exalsee ports, and they're close enough to some of your Imperial cities, for that matter. So it's not geography, it's …'

  'Wilful ignorance,' Thalric suggested.

  'It's something like that, yes. They are fighting tooth and nail to ignore the last five hundred years. It's like with the Moth-kinden, except … except these people are Apt.'