A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  We have to stop at the landing of the next floor because there’s a mildly competent guard standing in our way. He’s got a hand out to stop us, so I grab it and whip him behind me. Jahi gives him a helpful push down the stairs, since he’s already off-balance, and he tumbles to bowl over the other two fellas, who are trying to catch up. We don’t encounter any more resistance for a few more floors, noting in passing that each landing has its own decorating concept and is furnished more expensively than most entire homes.

  “I want all the river people—the ones who weren’t in crews, like you and me—living in here after he’s gone.”

  “Perfect,” Jahi says. “I’ll see to it.”

  Shouting from above alerts us that we’re getting close to someone. Another orbit around the tower reveals it to be a pack of royal guards attending to the viceroy on a landing.

  I’ve never actually seen him before this. He’s a bit bloodier about the face than normal, I expect, since beaks and talons have had their way with him, but apart from his fancy boots and clothes and the extra weight he’s carrying due to a rich diet, he doesn’t look like he ought to be in charge of anything. There’s not a smidgen of kindness in his features. Deep brows cut in the middle with a frown line, jagged teeth clenched in a snarl, and dead, dark eyes devoid of empathy. Yelling at a guy trying to clean his wounds, instead of being grateful that he has anyone to look after him.

  “Pardon me, Viceroy, but you’ll need to come with us now,” I say.

  The tangle of men whirls around to see us standing there, and the guards all look at one another to see if anyone recognizes us or possibly to judge whether they can blame someone else for the fact that we are currently existing in the same space as they are.

  “Who are y—oh. Oh!” A tiny hint of a smile curls the edges of the viceroy’s mouth. “Are you Hanima? The hivemistress?”

  “I am.”

  “Excellent! Welcome.” He turns his attention to the four men clustered around him. “Gentlemen, listen to me very carefully. Are you listening? Good. This is important. Nothing is more important than what I need you to do right now. Forget all about me and instead simply kill her. Kill her immediately!”

  They hop to it with gusto and a chorus of manly roars. Swords out, muscles flexing, boots gleaming, they leap to casual murder on the say-so of a formerly rich man whose assets we’ve seized. I don’t have time to explain, however, that they’re probably never going to get paid for this, because the viceroy has left us no room for chitchat.

  I’m not an expert at combat, but I’m significantly faster than any of these fellows now, and I know that knees are pretty important to keeping people upright and also super vulnerable to pressure. I wait for the first dude to swing and I dodge it, lunge forward to hold on to his arm, and stomp hard on the side of his knee, which he’s bent already in his follow-through. Something crunches and he cries out, dropping the sword as he crumples to clutch his joint. Another dude slices at my head and I duck under his swing, crouching onto all fours and spinning around, delivering a heel to the side of his knee. It buckles but he’s not disarmed; once he’s down at my level he tries to hack at me from the floor, but I roll away and get to my feet.

  “Hey, stop that or I’ll throw bees at your face.”

  He quite sensibly stops, and I check on Jahi, who has rendered his first attacker unconscious somehow and is busy tossing the last one down the stairwell, because the stairs have proven to be reliably helpful in making guards disappear.

  We turn to confront Bhamet and he’s shaking his head, disgusted at his paid muscle moaning on the floor. He’s not even paying attention to us. “They’re untrained kids who don’t even weigh a hundred pounds. You guys are terrible.”

  He’s not sorry for setting the city aflame or for ordering my death. He’s not afraid of me either, because he knows I’m not the murdery type. He’s simply a villain who’s disappointed that he can’t win with mercenaries anymore, and I have to quash an upswell of rage at the thought, for fear that my bees will come and end him. This man chose to make so many lives miserable when he could have chosen to make them better. He used his money to secure power and then used his power to secure more money. If he had at any point been open to working with us to help people—to truly leading instead of profiting on misery—he would not have inspired the revolution that unseated him.

  I really, really want to punch him, or maybe deliver a swift kick to the groin, but he’s beaten and pathetic now, utterly impotent. He’s just sitting there and bleeding, and he’s not making eye contact.

  Commander Dhawan and his crew come up the stairs and take Senesh away to be locked up while we put out the fires he started. I’m very sorry Gunin and some others died or got wounded over this man, and I want to make sure we are cleansed of him.

  Much of Tamhan’s preparation for the siege involved setting up fire teams, so that helps tremendously. And since the Fornish are culturally conditioned to be paranoid about fire, they’ve already extinguished the fire from the first arrow by the time we get outside. I let my hive know it’s safe to return.

  As always, it’s the poorest who are hit hardest: The shantytown where Adithi used to live is lost completely, and some people die because the buildings are so close together and built so cheaply.

  I’m covered in soot and smell like smoke by the time I stagger into a bathhouse hours later. I have to get freshly scrubbed and convince myself it’s a new day before Hennedigha’s forces arrive.

  * * *

  —

  I am not an active participant in the defense of the city, except as an observer on the western wall. I’ve told Commander Dhawan and Tamhan that the local hives have been depleted enough just seizing control of the city and conducting the seeking, and the few stings they can deliver won’t be of much use against an army of many thousands. So I watch them come until it’s time to do my one assigned task, these men marching to subdue us to the will of another man many leagues away who demands our loyalty and our taxes but gives us nothing in return but a viceroy steeped in cruelty.

  It makes me sad. Especially since they are probably under the impression that they are coming to “liberate” us when we are already liberated.

  Tamhan stands next to me and sees the tears on my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry it’s come to this too,” he says softly.

  “Promise me again, Minister Khatri. We are never, ever going to do what they are doing right now. March on a city and threaten their lives to make them do what we want. So many people are going to die.”

  “I promise. There should never be a need. I’m confident that we can be self-sufficient.”

  “Thank you.”

  There were still many thousands of men and four siege towers in Hennedigha’s army, intent on returning Khul Bashab to the rule of King Kalaad the Unwell.

  Each one of those men was beloved by someone far away. Someone who would wonder why they had to die at all, whether the cause they fought for was worth it, and who’d find it difficult to weigh those lives against the need of some vague national pride or even one powerful man’s wounded personal pride. I could tell them already, before the bloody aftermath: No, their lives and deaths were not meant to be spent like coins to buy power for corrupt men. But neither are our lives to be sacrificed to bad ideas.

  Jahi and Commander Dhawan join us. Jahi’s blackwings are going to deliver a signal, flying unerringly to the person who needs to receive it.

  “We should start before they get too close,” Dhawan says, and Tamhan gives him the go-ahead. Jahi sends a bird to Adithi around at the Hunter Gate, where she’s amassed all the horses and all of the fire arrows that the viceroy had stashed in his tower. The blackwing just flies low and caws three times at her, which is her cue. Forty horse archers ride with her out to the west side of the walls and form up right beneath them, in
clusters of ten, then charge forward to get in range of the siege towers. The king’s infantry pulls out pikes, expecting them to try to breach, but Adithi has no intention of that. The archers pull up in bowshot range and just pour fire arrows at the siege towers. It only takes one to catch and weaken the whole thing, if not destroy it, and Hennedigha reacts as soon as he realizes what they’re trying to accomplish. He orders his front infantry to charge. And then, from somewhere, arrows start pouring back at the horse archers. Jahi’s on it; he has probably fifty blackwings—a not unusual number in any situation—soaring high above the army. The birds dive right at the infantry and go for the eyes, because nothing is so delicious to them as a juicy eyeball. That slows them down.

  Three horses, or the people riding them, get hit, but Adithi retreats to the Hunter Gate before any more damage can be done. The infantry doesn’t get a chance to engage. Her job is finished.

  The rest of the beast callers join us on the wall, ready to help however Dhawan needs.

  My task is what Commander Dhawan calls a “special recon op”: Find Tactician Diyoghu Hennedigha. No engagement, just observation. We know he’s not dressed differently from the others, or we would have spotted him already. But still, orders have to originate from somewhere, and he’s probably not at the very back or at the very front. The central authority is most likely somewhere in the actual center.

  “Ready?” Dhawan asks me. I nod yes. He’s going to have the rest of the beast callers act in sequence, and the theory is that Hennedigha will do something—perhaps many things—in response, and hopefully I’ll spot him giving orders.

  Some have already been given, because the soldiers near the riverside are mobilizing to try to save at least one siege tower, with an impromptu bucket brigade. I didn’t catch where that came from, however.

  “Vibodh,” Commander Dhawan says. “Send in the rhinos.”

  As we did the previous night, we charge their rear flank with rhinos to soften them up, then follow with a stampede of Charvi’s thunder yaks. These turn left at the river to circle around for another pass if necessary. But we don’t stop there this time.

  We tear at them with packs of wheat dogs and prides of sedge pumas. We ram them with a herd of gut goats. And then, while they’re all turned toward the plains and looking at the ground, Jahi’s blight of blackwings descends from the sky on the riverside and goes for their eyes. It’s a much bigger flock than the one he brought before.

  Between these various charges, we’ve trampled, chewed up, or disemboweled another quarter of the king’s army, which means Hennedigha is at half strength before we even come back for another pass. It’s chaos that demands a response. And my wasps spy one man losing his mind, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts, and nobody tells him to shut up. He’s allowed to behave like that, and they clearly defer to him.

  “Hennedigha is behind the first two siege towers on the right, almost directly between them,” I announce.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But if he’s not the king’s tactician, he’s somebody else important, because people do whatever he says and repeat his words. Tactician Varman is there, shouting whatever he shouts.”

  “Very well.” Dhawan turns, spots a somewhat nebbish but also kind of cute fellow who’s gathered his hair into a bun and looks distinctly uncomfortable in his own skin, and strides over to him. “Consult with the hivemistress, then proceed. Deploy the tactical moths.”

  I cup a hand to my ear. “Pardon me, Watch Commander, what did you say?”

  “Deploy the tactical moths.”

  “Thank you! I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of that.” I scoot down to the man and give him a quick side-hug. “This is going to be great!”

  He looks uncertain. “It is?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’ll be the best. Because they probably won’t have much heart to fight if we get rid of their leader. So, hey, I’m going to just have a small cloud of wasps hover directly over his head so you can target him, all right? I’m going to do that now, so you can…do your thing. What is your thing again?”

  “My thing is deploying the tactical moths?” He says it like a question because he probably can’t believe this is his life now.

  “Yes! Yes. Do that. Is it okay if I keep my arm around your shoulders while we do this? Because it’s a thing we’re doing together.”

  “Killing a man with insects?”

  “Yes. It’s not something I normally like to do, like eat breakfast, but this is the guy who brought all these other guys here to kill us all. So is it okay?”

  “I guess?”

  “Awesome! What’s your name again?”

  “Lavi.”

  “You smell good, Lavi.”

  “I do?”

  “You do. But I’m not flirting. Unless maybe I am. I’m not clear on what flirting is. I’m just really nervous because, you know—war zone!—so I’m talking a lot but I also want you to relax and I’m probably not doing a very good job of helping you there. I was just commenting on your pleasant smell so that’s one less thing you have to worry about, you know. Be confident.”

  “Thanks?” he tried.

  I hum with pleasure and close my eyes, determined not to say anything else. I reach out instead to the wasps in the field and ask them to circle above Hennedigha, seeing him in a collage of swirling compound viewpoints.

  “Target locked,” Lavi the kinda-cute moth man says. “Here we go.”

  Moths, he confided to me earlier in a rare series of declarative statements, are the ultimate party animal.

  “All they want is a good time, and they will pursue any hint of a party to their deaths,” he explained. “Despite being highly flammable, for example, they enjoy flying into fires, because the flames look so festive.”

  “What if you tell them there’s all kinds of fun waiting for them down this one guy’s soup hole?”

  “They’re probably not going to believe you, but they’ll go investigate anyway just so they don’t miss out. Plus, they like soup. Or they think they do.”

  And that is why a vast shudder of white moths descends upon the face of the king’s tactician, Diyoghu Hennedigha, whispering their ecstasy that he has decided to throw a party in his mouth, just for them.

  He puts up a decent fight. There is some spirited flailing. An attempt to cover his mouth and nose with his arms is effective for about three seconds. The thing is, moths tickle. And as his arms move to swat at them elsewhere about his face and neck, they land on his lips. Their wings are blocking his nose. He can’t breathe that way, and he’s running out of air anyway because of all the flailing, so he has to open his mouth. He breathes in a moth or two and they flutter and spread their dust around, and then he’s coughing. More moths fly in and he can’t get them out unless he keeps his mouth open, but more just keep coming. Hennedigha falls to his knees in a flutter of moth wings, and the men around him, most likely his lieutenants, are losing their nerve as they watch this, because it truly is a horrifying way to go. That gives me an idea.

  “Maybe suggest that the guys around Hennedigha have party mouths too,” I say, even as Hennedigha crumples fully, choking to death on moths.

  The shudder of moths contracts and then fans out, and once the lieutenants realize they’re next, they abrubtly decide they don’t want to be and don’t need to be, because Hennedigha is dead. They turn and run, and I do believe that they recommend such action to their fellows. And many of them, having seen their comrades get trampled and bitten and their siege engines destroyed long before they ever reached the walls, heartily agree that going home would be more prudent than dying of moth mouth.

  It’s a general retreat of thousands. Four or five thousand, at least? I don’t know, but it’s lots of lives. Lots of guys who get to see their families again, maybe start their own families, an
d tell everyone not to mess with Khul Bashab. I squeeze the shoulder of the super-cute moth man.

  “Yay! We did it! And you still smell good.” Lavi freezes in my grip and I let him go. “Ohhhkay. I’m just going to back off now and be embarrassed. Sorry. I am really bad at flirting. But if you want to have tea or something later, the answer’s yes.”

  “You mean if I ask you if you wanna party?”

  “Yes.”

  He flinches, as if this immediate positive feedback is a hammer blow to his emotional equilibrium, but then he smiles shyly.

  “Whoaaa. Maybe we could have a tea party later?”

  “Yep. Uh-huh. That is a thing I would like.”

  There is plenty of cheering and hugging going on at the sight of the retreat. I remind everyone to have their critters back off and let them go. But then we see the carnage left behind, the blackwings and all the other scavengers dropping down to feed, and the juicy joy of winning kind of dries up real quick.

  The minister orders Commander Dhawan to bring Bhamet Senesh up here. We want him to witness the battlefield from the wall before seeing him off.

  “It was a complete rout of your nation’s biggest and best army,” Tamhan says when he arrives, sullen and caked with dried blood. Tamhan points to the blazing hulks of the siege towers and the field of dead lying behind a haze of smoke. “They never even made it to the walls. You caused more damage to the city than they did. So do us all a favor and admit it to yourself, inform your cousin and the king: We are no longer part of Ghurana Nent’s monarchy, and we are going to prosper here with the Sixth Kenning. If anyone wishes to take part in that prosperity, they should send someone to negotiate.”

  Bhamet Senesh blinks. “You’re letting me go?”

  “Yes. You’re being exiled. My order has the unanimous approval of the district and clave councillors. Never return, Bhamet, or it will be you feeding the blackwings.”

  He doesn’t say anything in response, obviously waiting for us to say we are just joking before we kill him anyway, because that is what he would do. But we have firmly established our power now, so killing him would be both unnecessary and immoral. We send him down the river instead, with some food and the clothes on his back, and make sure to tell him that all the city’s homeless will be living in his former home and wearing his clothes and spending his money.