He cast another look to his left and saw the Khanaphir cavalry mustering, falling into a phalanx.
"Messenger!" he bellowed, and one of his Wasps dropped down beside him.
"Send to Angved, have him ready his crossbowmen. The cavalry are readying for a charge."
It was the right thing to do, of course, a.s.suming there were no more surprises. Just as the main army was about to do the "right thing", on the same a.s.sumption.
Whoever was commanding the Khanaphir centre had now realized that staying still was a death sentence. The bombardment, a mere friendly greeting by Imperial standards, had killed more of them than both of the Scorpion charges, and it did not take any great mind to see that such tricks would be of limited use once the armies converged.
The Khanaphir army sounded the charge, and their ranks of locked shields thundered towards the disordered Scorpions with a great battle-cry. Their chariots began to rattle forward on either flank.
Hrathen took a deep breath, waiting for the whistle. Angved took his own time over it, but then it sounded high and clear over the sounds of battle. Second whistle: crossbows loose Second whistle: crossbows loose.
He was expecting a rabble of individual shots, but the crossbowmen had inherited a kind of pride from their teachers, and that paved the way for something more military. When they loosed, each unit was mostly together. The staggered crossbow discharge caught the Khanaphir in mid-charge. Their right flank managed to take the brunt on their shields, stumbling to a crawl but keeping their lines intact. The Khanaphir left, on the far side from Hrathen, fell apart instantly, men lanced through or speared in the leg, men falling over fallen comrades. That entire flank of the Khanaphir army was crashing into itself, utterly still, the uniform advance ruined.
The crossbowmen would be drawing back their strings with all of their strength. The Khanaphir centre had slowed to keep pace with its comrades, the charge faltering. The crossbowmen had made, by their discipline, their own chance for a second shot.
It struck, without the previous savage cohesion, now that they were getting excited, but it was enough. The Khanaphir right began pulling inwards, retreating. On the broken left it was the unshielded archers that took the worst of it, dropping in their scores. The left-flank chariots had mostly stopped, some wheeling in disarray, others stilled, their beasts brought down.
Hrathen looked back at Jakal and was about to signal to her, but she had the horn to her lips already, sounding it loud and long.
Third horn blast: charge. It was the end of tactics, for the most part, but tactics had played their part. Now the great host of the Many of Nem descended upon the halted Khanaphir line with all of its ferocious might, and the real killing began.
From his station amongst the cavalry, Amnon felt abruptly hollow inside, on hearing that earth-shaking roar from behind the Scorpion lines. Something in him had cracked. His former certainty was leaking out.
It was not immediately obvious to him what had happened, but something had struck within the infantry lines. He saw the dust, heard the distant cries. It was some device of the Empire, but he could not link cause and effect. It seemed like magic to him, that the enemy could simply punch ragged holes into his army.
He hesitated, four score of riders about him trying to calm their high-strung mounts, which were baring their mandibles in terrified threat at the very sky, as though to challenge the echo.
Then the sound came again, and he managed to connect it with the smoke of a moment before, the line of brief flares visible behind the Scorpion host.
"Form me a wedge!" he shouted out, but he had to give the order three more times before his troop got their animals under control. The beetles were pattering about madly, gaping their jaws and flaring their wingcases in threat, trying to scare off the future. Their riders, lightly armoured men and women, with shields slung over their backs, struck the beasts with the b.u.t.ts of their lances or the reins of their Art until they were back under control. By that time, Amnon"s officers had set the main army to moving forward. It was the right thing to do.
"Charge with me!" he cried out. He could not remember what name Totho had given to the weapons but he recognized the description. "They are exposed at the enemy"s rear, these noisemakers. We will kill the men who operate them."
They were mostly behind him now. Penthet the locust bucked uncomfortably beneath him, folding and refolding his wings. He and Amnon had been through a lot, and the insect"s simple mind trusted him.
He put his spurs in and the locust leapt twenty feet forward, the banner of Khanaphes streaming out behind him. The beetle cavalry would come scuttling after at their top speed, long-legged over the uneven ground, catching him at the end of each jump and then being left behind again. He readied his first lance, letting it rest between Penthet"s antennae as the world wheeled and plunged about him.
Enemy cavalry was already moving to intercept him, but the armoured scorpions were sluggish compared to his own fleet warriors. Only the swiftest outriders of the Scorpion-kinden were in time to cause him any inconvenience. Amnon couched his lance and let Penthet choose his own path down, wings steering so as to bring the steel point thrusting through the chitin of a scorpion before the creature or its rider even realized he was upon them. He unslung his bow as a rabble of the Many"s fleetest riders bore down on him. His own fastest follower caught the closest of them with a lance, skittering in from the side and hooking the Scorpion cavalryman off his mount, while the Beetle archer seated behind the lancer was busy loosing his shafts at more distant enemies. There was a chariot rattling down towards Amnon, two beasts yoked to a two-wheeled cart. The soldiers within were training some weapon upon him, but Penthet sprang obediently into the air and Amnon sliced an arrow back down at them, killing one of their animals and dragging the chariot to a stop. A moment later, he and the bulk of his riders were past the enemy cavalry. The last few of his wedge would meet them, he knew, peeling off to throw themselves at the enemy"s stings in order to buy time.
He spared a glance for the main army and saw that something was wrong. They were now locked in with the Scorpions, but were being forced back, the host of Scorpions surging to both sides of their formation.
Before him he spotted the strung-out line of weapons, long black tubes that the Scorpions were swarming around in some arcane ritual. He goaded Penthet onward, knowing that the riders behind him would take up the pace.
There were other Scorpions rushing to get between him and the weapons, but he knew a cavalry charge would break them. The Scorpions had no decent spear-wall to fend off riders, and their own cavalry was hopelessly outmanoeuvred.
Penthet came down before them, and he realized his next leap would clear the mob of Scorpions entirely. He felt the locust"s hind legs bunch with all the power of their colossal muscles, knowing that his charging followers would scatter and smash the Scorpions and join him on the other side of them.
Even as he jumped, he saw the enemy crossbows let fly into the charging riders.
He came down right behind them, within three yards of the hindmost Scorpions, and turned to see his cavalry. By that time, more than half of them were dead.
Something tightened inside him. The ground the Scorpions faced was strewn with fallen men, with dying animals. Riding beetles, whose sh.e.l.ls could shrug off javelins and axe-blades, had been pierced through with holes, the short, heavy bolts barely slowing for chitin or barding. They lay on their sides or on their backs, legs twitching and kicking in uncomprehending agony.
By now, the survivors had struck the Scorpion line, which fragmented before them, the enemy simply running left and right. Though many of the crossbowmen fell to the lances of the riders, or under the feet of their mounts, there were still plenty left.
"Onwards!" Amnon cried, although he heard his own voice sounding raw with grief. Penthet took him another great stride towards the enemy weapons, and his men followed without question. The crossbow shot began to fall on them from behind now, and from the left where the main Scorpion army was. The bolts zipped through the air like wasps. One bounded from Amnon"s shield. Another skipped across Penthet"s thorax right in front of him, leaving a shallow gouge, barely slowed.
The Scorpions were fleeing from the nearest weapon but he was too quick for them. He came down in their midst, his lance impaling one, and then his sword lashing out to kill two more. A scattering of riders reached him, slaying the rest before they could escape. He felt Penthet prepare for the next leap.
They had shifted the next weapon round, he saw. Some of the crew there were not Scorpions but Wasp-kinden, such as had so recently been the guests of Khanaphes. The gaping maw of the leadshotter was now facing him.
Amnon gave out a wordless cry, feeling two crossbow bolts impact into Penthet"s side. The locust kicked off from the ground, unevenly but high.
The thunder spoke.
It was not just that one, but many, the others dropping shot on to the rear edge of the Khanaphir forces. That one weapon filled Amnon"s view, though: the flash of fire followed by the plume of smoke. The lead-shot ball struck into his cavalry just as it was forming, smashing three riders and their beasts smashed into b.l.o.o.d.y shards.
The crossbows loosed again, and now there were just two riders behind him. The crew of the weapon ahead of him had scattered, and he did not have the numbers to hunt them down, or the strength to break the iron of the weapon itself.
He came down again, his two survivors still with him. "Rejoin the army!" he bellowed. "Fly!"
Penthet could fly, not strongly but enough. The beetles could manage a brief hop: a frantic, buzzing barrelling through the air. It would have to suffice.
The locust launched itself into the air, wings spreading into furious motion right behind him, battering Amnon with their force. The beetles lifted more slowly, clawing for height. One faltered, the bolts finding it an easy target, piercing its underbelly in a dozen places and bringing it down. The other one took three bolts but stayed in the air, in a single strained burst of effort that took it down behind the Khanaphir lines. Amnon felt the shuddering impact as another quarrel took Penthet in the abdomen.
Amnon"s officers had already begun the retreat. With what discipline was left to them, the Khanaphir forces were falling back. In places it was already a rout, but the centre the Royal Guard itself was holding the Scorpions at bay, selling their own lives at a ruinous cost to the attackers.
Behind them, on the approach to the river Jamail, there lay farms and tributary villages, herders" hovels, dozens of little homes that had trusted to Khanaphes"s protection. The army retreated through them at the best pace it could, and the Scorpions, who might have harried them right up to the very walls of the city, fell away to seize on this immediate chance to loot.
So it was that the remnants of the army of Khanaphes regained its city. Half of the men and women who had marched out that morning never came home.
Jakal came to him at last, that same night, after the host of Nem had made its camp amongst the burned-out farmhouses, the ruined fields. When the last prisoners had finally been tired of and slain or packed off for slaves, when the bloodl.u.s.t of the battle had simmered into an antic.i.p.ation of the morrow, she came to him, at last, naked save for a belt where a long dagger was sheathed.
In the gloom of his tent, by two guttering oil lamps, he could see her well enough. The bluish light tinted her pale skin with an undersea glow. She was lean and muscled, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s small, little of the feminine about her. Hrathen was more used to slave women, Wasps or other kinden of the Empire. Jakal"s jaw jutted with narrow fangs, her hands bore claws curving over thumb and forefinger.
Gazing on her, he felt such a surge of arousal as he had never known. She was the Warlord of the Many of Nem, on whose word the horde of Scorpion-kinden fought and died. She had marked him out from the start: a constant teasing, backed with steel, that had found all the gaps in his Rekef facade. Her eyes still glinted with amus.e.m.e.nt at the victories she had won in her own personal campaign.
"Do you not trust me, yet?" he asked, looking at the dagger. She knelt beside him, pressed one hand to his broad and hairless chest, pushing him back on to his bedroll.
"I will never trust you, Of-the-Empire," she replied, "but this is our way. We are a fierce people, after all, and couplings turn into killings sometimes. Claws, daggers ... perhaps I should take one of your crossbows into bed with me, to mark today"s conquest."
He had reached for his own sword-belt, but she pounced on his arm, pinning his wrist with her claws, gripping hard enough to draw blood.
"What need have you of steel?" she demanded. "I know you are never unarmed, Of-the-Empire, for your Art lives in your hands the Art of both your kin." She drew his hand to her mouth, biting at it gently, the rank of her fangs barely denting the skin. He felt her tongue lick his palm, as though exploring where his Art came from. He could feel his palms warm with the sheer excitement of it. She released his hand and laughed at him delightedly.
She is ready to kill me, he thought, but that was no revelation. She was equally ready to kill him at any time, for any reason. It was how they lived, the Scorpion-kinden, and it meant he belonged.
She was upon him in an instant and they wrestled briefly. He might have been the stronger by some small margin, but she fought with more fire the Warlord of the Nem demanding nothing less than a complete surrender, pinning him down beneath her and clasping him between her claws.
Her eyes held his, and he thought: Claws first, and then sting. Always the way of it Claws first, and then sting. Always the way of it. His death was now in the forefront of her mind, being contemplated, and that did nothing but inflame him more.
She thrust herself down on to him, and he was more than ready to enter her. Locked together, still grappling, his hands warm against her cool skin, in that moment he abandoned the Empire, all the games and rules and weaknesses.
Later, separated, they lay watching each other, as the watches of the night turned towards morning. Scorpion-kinden did not slumber in one another"s arms. Jakal had fallen back out of arm"s reach, perhaps close enough still that the claws of her hands could sc.r.a.pe against those of his.
"Let me in," he said, barely more than a whisper. "What is it that I cannot understand of your people? I want to be part of your world."
"Have I not let you in, this very night?" she asked him, amused.
"I have worked with your kinden for years, in the Dryclaw," he told her, feeling an urgency about it. "You are not like them: they have been corrupted by the Spiders, by the Empire. How is it you have not?"
"They forget their true enemies. They forget their past," she explained, with a one-shouldered shrug. "They tell no histories, they keep no lore. We hold firm to our histories here. Perhaps you had not thought of us as scholars?" He saw her fangs bared in a grin. "Our histories are our grudges, told by each generation to the next. We hold to those grudges, and we would never let them go. Let our cousins of the Dryclaw be seduced away from their past. We remember."
"But remember what?"
She eyed him, still smiling. "And why would you know?"
"Because I would be a part of it. Your grudges are mine."
"So besotted, Of-the-Empire?"
"I will kill you if you name me that again." The words came out flatly, but sharp-edged. She paused a long moment, regarding him, turning his death over in her mind once again, but the smile stayed put.
"At last you speak as we do," she said. "A warrior needs no more reason to shed blood tomorrow than because the sun shines, but perhaps you should know our story, at last. We remember remember. We remember to the time when the desert was green. Long and long ago, when the desert was green and the cities of the Beetle-kinden were strung across it like dew on a spiderweb. Long ago when we lived in the dry fringes. When the whole world was ruled by the Masters of Khanaphes, and we alone would not bow the knee."
Hrathen felt an odd feeling stir inside him, as though he was at the edge of a chasm, looking down. How many generations? How many generations? he wondered. he wondered. How much was "the whole world" when that was true? How much was "the whole world" when that was true?
"Year on year, mother to daughter, and the slaves of the Masters tried to tame us. They forced us to the very edge of the world, but we would not be their slaves. We alone, of all the kinden of the world, would not surrender, nor would we flee to seek other lands and other masters."
Other lands and other masters? Hrathen had never been a student of history, but he guessed this must mean what they called the Bad Old Days, those times in which the world had belonged to very different kinden: Moths, Spiders. Hrathen had never been a student of history, but he guessed this must mean what they called the Bad Old Days, those times in which the world had belonged to very different kinden: Moths, Spiders. Were these "Masters" in fact Spider-kinden? It sounds like their way Were these "Masters" in fact Spider-kinden? It sounds like their way.
"Then the dry times came," Jakal went on, "and the green lands faded and the Beetle-kinden departed. Year on year, mother to daughter, the land dried, and the Beetle-kinden returned to their river, where it was always green. It was not that they could not have survived in the drier lands, but that their Masters could not, and where their Masters" power failed, so they failed also, for they were slaves always to their Masters." Jakal"s telling had started to sound almost ritualized, recalled words told over and over, told to him now in this tent in sight of Khanaphes"s walls. He sensed history all around them: the clawed and brutal story of the Scorpion-kinden.
"So we came unto the lands that had once been green, and we came unto the cities of the outer desert and the mid-desert, and all the things that the Beetles had left behind. We took their metal and made swords from it. We took their wood and made spears of it. Such was the wealth they had discarded that we yet mine their cities for the commonplace treasures they have left behind. Only the cities of the inner desert are barred to us, for there the Masters posted their guardians, and those we may not disturb."
The inner desert? Hrathen shivered again. Nothing lived in the inner desert, of course. Even the Scorpions could not survive there. That had been the Imperial understanding, at least. It had not been considered that fear of something Hrathen shivered again. Nothing lived in the inner desert, of course. Even the Scorpions could not survive there. That had been the Imperial understanding, at least. It had not been considered that fear of something worse worse might keep them away. might keep them away.
Once Khanaphes is dust, he thought, I shall go there and view these cities I shall go there and view these cities, But it was a hollow boast because, in absorbing the Many"s history, he was adopting their strictures too.
"Yet still," Jakal watched him carefully, "still our enemies kept to the river, and held all the land that was still green, and penned us up in the dry lands, year on year, mother to daughter. Until the strangers came from the north and brought us many weapons, and showed us how to take those green lands from the Masters" servants. And we smote the servants of the Masters and tore down their walls, and slew them, women, men and children, each and every one," and she said it sweetly, very sweetly indeed, and he loved her for it.
Thirty-One.
We have lost control.
Malius"s gloomy response came back. We never had it. We never had it.
We cannot remain long in this city, Accius told him. This war of theirs has no relevance to us This war of theirs has no relevance to us. The Vekken were sitting side by side on one of the beds in their room, in their customary silence. The movements of the Collegiates, their babble and clumsiness, intruded on them through the closed door.
It has been claimed that the Empire is behind the attackers, Malius reminded him.
I am not convinced. I can see no gain for the Empire.
We are not best placed to know what the Empire seeks.
Accius sighed inwardly. They talk and talk of leaving They talk and talk of leaving. He referred to the Collegium delegation, who had been packing their belongings frantically, but yet never seemed to make any definite plans. The implication was clear.
A poor deception then: they intend to stay.
Denying us our chance to return home.
Home, Malius echoed, and his inner voice was wretched. But we cannot give up all hope But we cannot give up all hope.
Could we even find home, if we left this city on our own? They compared maps, mind to mind, trying to st.i.tch the borders of where-they-were to those of where-they-knew. But Vek had lived in isolation for such a long time, it barely acknowledged h.e.l.leron and Tark, let alone the Exalsee. They compared maps, mind to mind, trying to st.i.tch the borders of where-they-were to those of where-they-knew. But Vek had lived in isolation for such a long time, it barely acknowledged h.e.l.leron and Tark, let alone the Exalsee. We are lost. Only by staying with the Collegiates can we ever hope to reach home. We could put a blade to their throats and force them to guide us, if need be We are lost. Only by staying with the Collegiates can we ever hope to reach home. We could put a blade to their throats and force them to guide us, if need be. Accius was warming to the idea. Or we could take their Fly-kinden slave and force him, instead. Fly-kinden are pliable Or we could take their Fly-kinden slave and force him, instead. Fly-kinden are pliable.
A plan, Malius admitted. But what would we tell the Court, after we found our home again? What have we accomplished? What have we discovered? But what would we tell the Court, after we found our home again? What have we accomplished? What have we discovered?
That Collegium seeks common cause with the Empire! was Accius"s prompt response. was Accius"s prompt response. That our enemies gather against us That our enemies gather against us. Another thought followed swiftly on: They pretend to leave, but they must wait here to betray the local Beetles to the Empire. Perhaps that is what they have promised, in return for Imperial help against Vek They pretend to leave, but they must wait here to betray the local Beetles to the Empire. Perhaps that is what they have promised, in return for Imperial help against Vek.
Plausible, agreed Malius. Feeling the other man"s alarm at the thought, he fed him caution in return. We must accomplish what we have set out to do. We cannot return empty-handed. We must attempt to spoil their plot We must accomplish what we have set out to do. We cannot return empty-handed. We must attempt to spoil their plot.
We care nothing for this city, Accius argued. In fact, we hate it. This is a crude, loud, chaotic place In fact, we hate it. This is a crude, loud, chaotic place.
Still, it is being attacked by our enemies. In following our course of action, we deprive our enemies of their advantage. We must kill the amba.s.sador, as we planned.
Accius"s mind signalled frustration. She seems to be able to appear and disappear like a Moth-kinden. Whenever she is present, others watch her. That Fly slave has his eyes on her often, yet at times even he cannot find her, or that is what he claims She seems to be able to appear and disappear like a Moth-kinden. Whenever she is present, others watch her. That Fly slave has his eyes on her often, yet at times even he cannot find her, or that is what he claims.
That is what he claims, Malius echoed. We no longer have the time to do this properly, like soldiers. We must resort to other facets of our training. They fight their battles even now. We must be expedient We no longer have the time to do this properly, like soldiers. We must resort to other facets of our training. They fight their battles even now. We must be expedient.
I understand you. Accius signalled his preference for a simple killing, out of sight and without subtlety, but he felt Malius holding firm and ultimately knew the other man was right. They were not, after all, diplomats by profession, nor were they wholly soldiers. They could fall back on other resources, if need be, and that need had made itself amply apparent.
She is here, in this building, right now, Malius told him, building his confidence. She has returned to her fellows. Tonight she shall sleep in her own bed. I shall watch out for the others and, when she is settled, you must make your move. It must be swift She has returned to her fellows. Tonight she shall sleep in her own bed. I shall watch out for the others and, when she is settled, you must make your move. It must be swift.
The swifter she is dead, the sooner we can make the others leave this place and return us to the Lowlands. To our own city. Accius felt a tremor of the old homesickness rack him momentarily, leaning on his comrade for support. This is a vile place, and we will be well rid of it This is a vile place, and we will be well rid of it.
Malius stood up, stepping out of the room and on to the landing, to look down at the bickering Beetles in the main hallway below. He was out of the room but not out of Accius"s presence, and so he could feel his friend begin to prepare, removing his armour, blacking his sword. The a.s.sa.s.sin"s knife would now be whetted for Amba.s.sador Cheerwell Maker. She would be found dead by one of the others. Then they would leave.
Or, if they do not leave, we will cut them until they agree to, Malius thought with a spike of anger. He could feel Accius"s approval radiating to him through the wall.
Below him, the Beetles were still arguing. Their Flykinden slave had just flown in with news that the Khanaphir army was returning.