‘In which capacity you yourself were introduced to them,’ Brugan noted.
‘Indeed.’ A pause. Brugan nodded his head for him to continue. ‘Well,’ Hrathen went on slowly, ‘their way of life revolves around others now, whether it is through their raiding or their slaving. Between the Empire and the Spiders, they work for the highest bidder and take whatever they can.’
‘Including Imperial supplies,’ Brugan remarked. ‘Tell me, Captain Hrathen, did you fall from the path of duty by action or inaction? Not that the difference is material.’
Hrathen scowled before he could stop himself. ‘You … do not understand what it is like, to live amongst them.’
‘So tell me.’
‘Strength,’ Hrathen explained. ‘Power is all they value – the power of the arm’s reach. If I had cried foul when they took the supplies and killed the men, they would have turned on me. To run with them, you must live as they do, believe as they do.’ Brugan was now staring at him as though he was something in a menagerie, but he pressed on. ‘But if you can run faster than they, kill more swiftly, carry more spoils, care less, dare more, then they will welcome you in and make you theirs, without care for either kinden or blood. Any man may be free, amongst the Scorpion-kinden, if he is a greater monster than they are.’ He paused.
Brugan’s smile showed delicate distaste. ‘Are you such a monster?’ he asked softly.
Well, what does he expect me to say? ‘Look at me, sir,’ Hrathen said. ‘I am the Empire’s monster, but I am a monster.’
‘Tell me about the other Scorpions,’ Brugan prompted.
‘They are … not so used to civilized nations,’ replied Hrathen. ‘The tribes of the Nem call themselves “the Many” and, unlike the Dryclaw Scorpions, they are unified, most of the time, under a single warlord – whoever is the strongest of the strong, both in mind and body. They are not so nomadic as the Aktaian, either. The Nem had cities once, before it dried up. There are ruins in the mid-desert, beyond the fringes, and the Many dwell in some of them, wherever the wells still give water. They even raise some crops there – or at least their slaves do. There are cities in the deep desert, too, but even the Many do not dwell there. The reasons for that are … confused. The desert of the Nem has never been mapped. The Imperial scouts never penetrated it. It is said to contain … unusual threats.’
‘Would you venture amongst the Nem, if I asked you?’ Brugan said.
‘Yes.’
‘Would you hold the Empire in your heart, even so? Look at me as you answer.’
Hrathen met his eyes, but the answer was long in coming. ‘I am Empire,’ he replied. ‘I am Rekef. I shall do what is needed to fulfil your tasks, but I must do it in my own way. It may be that this seems to harm the Empire, but I know the Scorpion-kinden, of whatever tribe, and I know how to deal with them. General, will you trust my judgement?’
‘Why else would I propose to send you?’
‘Then give me men and supplies, and perhaps, as my second, an officer you are not overly attached to. With that I shall go to the Nem and accomplish whatever you wish.’
Brugan smiled widely then, his teeth very white. ‘I shall give you soldiers, and artificers. I shall give you siege engines and better weapons than the Many of Nem will ever have held. I shall give you all of this, Hrathen, and for one purpose only.’ Abruptly he was on his feet and walking round the desk. There was a knife in his hand.
Hrathen knelt very still. The knife flicked once, twice, and the bindings about Hrathen’s hands and arms were severed and he hissed in pain as his long-constrained joints were shocked into motion.
‘I shall send you now into the desert to destroy a city: to have your precious Scorpions shatter its walls and slay its people and feast in their halls. I give the Many of Nem the city of Khanaphes to play with. I buy them with that coin. Do you understand me?’
He was still smiling, and Hrathen matched his grin despite the pain, his fangs bristling in delight.
‘General,’ he said, ‘I do.’
Part 3
The Sacred City
Thirteen
Accius of Vek made sure that he was one of the first to reach the quayside. It would not do for the city-state of Vek to be thought fearful of these foreign lands. Inside, he was fearful: no Vekken had ever travelled so far, unless perhaps some luckless slave sold to the Spiderlands. He had no clear idea of precisely where he was. They were off all Vek’s maps.
At the rail of the ship stood his brother Malius, watching over him. Only the contact of that one other mind gave him strength. Around him was a seething, babbling bustle, the unscripted chaos of this Beetle-kinden city. Numberless hordes of the locals, bald and indistinguishable, were heading in all directions, jostling and pushing, carrying loads and setting them down, meeting and talking. The air was full of it. Accius was amazed that anybody could hear anybody, that all those thronging words did not choke the whole dockside with their din.
I wish we were in Vek, he thought.
I know, came Malius’s answering thought. I too, but we have our orders.
Accius stood by the gangplank, a hand on his sword-hilt, feeling the weight of the chainmail beneath his tunic. It was not precisely concealed, for the sleeves and the hem of it extended beyond his civilian garment. The latter was his concession to being polite, and beyond that he would not go. He was a soldier. Yet they have made me an ambassador. It was an empty title, but the Beetles of Collegium were mad and an ambassador was what they wanted. Somewhere in Vek was Collegium’s own ambassador, being treated civilly, enjoying the tranquil, industrious quiet of a properly ordered city-state. Accius envied him.
The Beetle woman in charge was talking to her Flykinden servant now, as locals hauled down all the baggage that Beetles seemingly needed to travel with. Accius had added such an excess to the long list of things he did not understand. They were so slow, so clumsy; they loaded themselves with such unnecessary clutter, physically and mentally. Yet their journey across so many miles had been so deftly handled, with barely a hitch. They took everything in their stride, where an Ant would call a halt and regroup.
They have many dangerous qualities, our enemies.
True, came Malius’s instant response. Most especially their way of making friends.
The Collegiates were seeking allies here, it was plain, even though Collegium already had so many. It was crystal-clear in the minds of Accius and Malius that there would come an attack on Vek sooner or later. Vek and Collegium were enemies and, inevitably, enemies fought. All the confusing words of Stenwold Maker and his kind could not change the way the world worked.
Can we stand against them, with the Sarnesh, with their other allies? The future was a sword hanging over the city of Vek. When Accius thought of his city, he felt his heart twist at its beauty, its order, its solitary vulnerability. Vek must be saved. To save Vek they must dispense with its enemies, and to dispense with its enemies they must strike. All military theory taught that the attacker, by choosing the time and place of assault, gained key advantages. Vek must be saved, so Collegium must be defeated. The theory was sound.
But the theory, came Malius’s dry whisper, does not take account of this. His mind-touch took in the writhing chaos that was the docks of Khanaphes. It was only his company that steadied Accius, that allowed him to stand here surrounded by these hordes of chattering others without drawing his sword.
The other Collegiates were disembarking now. There was the thin old man, the fat man, and the reserved woman who seemed the most clever and potentially dangerous. In her quiet, focused way there was a touch of the Ant about her, Accius decided. The other two seemed mere fools, but it was so difficult to read these people. Their faces and their voices were loud, but their minds silent. They were deceitful, hiding a hundred contradictory thoughts behind their constantly jabbering exteriors. Real people are honest and truthful. To go like this, amongst foreigners, was the ultimate sacrifice for an Ant-kinden to make.
And we a
re proud to make it, he and Malius chorused exactly together. It made Accius smile inwardly.
Brother, there are soldiers, came the brief warning, and his sword was drawn by instinct. He saw the Maker woman, the expedition leader, turn towards him, stepping back. Her hand was also to her sword-hilt, although she did not seem to have realized it. Accius ignored her, knowing that Malius was watching out for treachery. Instead he stared at the bewildering crowd. How many? How close?
A score. They are on you now. Even as the warning reached him, he saw the soldiers pushing through the crowd. They had big shields like tapering ovals that were covered with a shiny brown carapace, and edged with gold. They wore armour, hauberks of gilded scales, greaves and tall helms. They had spears in their hands, and swords with leaf-shaped blades at their belts. Everything was chased and trimmed with precious metals, and they had elaborate gorgets about their necks embellished with turquoise and red stones, and more gold. They were an escort, Accius saw, for the old Beetle man in their midst.
The locals are kept in good order here, Malius noted, almost approving. Everyone had given the soldiers a wide berth. Work had stopped, everywhere labourers putting down their loads and waiting. The Maker woman glanced at her compatriots, had a quick word with the Fly-kinden teamster.
‘Put your sword away,’ she told Accius. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He regarded her. Your time will come, he silently admonished. Do not think you can command the Vekken. He felt Malius agree with him, but the words rang hollow even in his own mind. This was a show of force: the Khanaphir had arrived with weapons, with soldiers. One met a show of force with a show of force, or one retreated. These Beetles did not understand that.
‘It’s only an honour guard, a ceremonial display,’ the Maker girl hissed. ‘Look at them.’
Their spears are real, as are their swords. The gold trimming does not mean that their armour is not functional, you stupid woman. But he simply did not understand. A lot of people were staring at him now. Somehow, despite the fact that their minds were all so obstinately separated, some idea had travelled between them all, excluding his brother and himself. He sheathed his sword, though his training resisted fiercely. As he had so many times before, he wanted to shout at them, to rage at them. They would not hear, though, because they could not. He had spent whole evenings cursing the Maker woman and the others, as loud as he could, with Malius competing with him for the most apposite phrase. It was wasted – more, it was misconceived. She had got them here without any apparent difficulty, and he could not understand how she had managed it.
The aged Khanaphir was stepping forward. He wore a white robe that fell from one shoulder to mid-shin, reminding Accius uncomfortably of the Assemblers of Collegium. He was barefoot, but he wore a considerable amount of jewellery. Like the other locals he was bald, although he wore a thin gold band about his forehead, the ends of it spiralling together above his brow. To Accius’s eyes he differed from all the rest only because he was clearly so old, his face lined and wrinkled.
‘I give you greetings, ambassadors sent from our distant kinfolk,’ he began. His voice was very quiet and yet clear. Everyone, locals and foreigners alike, had fallen completely silent. The sounds of the city beyond were now a distant tide surging behind him. ‘The city of Khanaphes is seldom graced with such an honour as to meet more of our long-lost family. My name is Ethmet and I am privileged to be the First Minister of this city. On behalf of my Masters, I extend the full welcome of Khanaphes to you and all your people.’
The Maker woman stepped forward and said some words in response, the usual patter of meaningless pleasantries that Accius had heard before. They said so much that was unnecessary, these Beetles, or so much that defied interpretation to a poor Ant-kinden of Vek.
Ethmet, the First Minister, was making some offer of accommodation, which had apparently been accepted. Local porters were coming forward to take up the Beetles’ baggage. Accius felt Malius, on board ship still, reach down to shoulder their own compact belongings. No doubt these local Beetles would understand privacy as little as their Collegiate cousins.
Who are his Masters? Accius wondered.
He felt Malius shrug. More Beetles. No doubt we will meet them in time, instead of this functionary.
And then what?What does the King expect of us, here?
We only observe, Malius replied, but he sounded uncertain. The Collegiates have some purpose in coming here, and it can be no purpose friendly to Vek. Perhaps they seek military supplies or aid. He looked about the crowded dockside, noticing there was a distinctly primitive feel to it. Perhaps they seek expendable soldiers to send against us. They could plan to offset our superior troops with sheer numbers.
It was Accius’s turn to shrug. Everyone was now moving on. Malius brought up the rear, keeping watch over him as he forced himself to wade into the rushing torrent of people, seeking to keep pace with the Maker woman.
He reached out, felt Malius’s presence. I would go mad. How can they live like this? The business of the docks was picking up again all around them, so many flapping mouths, so much wasted noise. Have we made a mistake in coming here? Is this merely a diversion? Perhaps our comrades in Collegium have been killed by now. There may already be a war.
Malius had no answer for him. Surrounded by his enemies, it was all Accius could do not to draw his blade again.
Everything was going well. Everything was falling apart.
The Empire is here in Khanaphes. Che recited the words to herself in a tone of urgency. That, she insisted, explained the shock she felt still resonating through her. Thalric is in Khanaphes. She did not know what to make of it. When last they had met, over a year ago now, he had been the big man in the Empire, consort of their new ruler. What would such a prominent figure be doing here?
Concentrate on the Empire, she urged herself. Hypothesis one: the Empire is here because we are. Hypothesis two: the Empire has an independent reason for being interested in Khanaphes. Which leads us on to hypothesis three: We are here because the Empire is here, and Uncle Sten didn’t trust me with the information. So when was I going to find out?
She knew now that she had to seek out their people in Khanaphes as soon as possible. In light of this new discovery, it made sense that they must be Stenwold’s agents as well. She had heard not a whisper that Stenwold had been plying his trade this far out, but then a lifetime in the intelligencing business had made him highly secretive, even with his own niece.
Too cursed secret, Uncle Sten.
But there was nothing she could do about it now. She pushed forward a little to walk alongside Ethmet, very conscious both of the Khanaphir honour guard around them, and the twitchy Vekken following just behind her.
‘Excuse me, First Minister.’
‘What may I provide you with, O Beautiful Foreigner?’ he asked, with an elegant gesture of his spreading hands, from his stomach outwards. The mode of address put her off balance, for all that it was an obvious formality.
‘Well … I was wondering, there are some scholars from Collegium in the city already. I was hoping to meet with them soon, just to catch up with their news.’
‘Why, this has already been anticipated,’ Ethmet replied, with a small smile. ‘You shall see as much, when we reach your dwelling.’ His manner should probably have reminded her of the magnates of Collegium, but he lacked their vigorous pomp and vanity. There was a quiet, self-contained authority to him, an assurance that put her more in mind of Spider-kinden Aristoi or the seers of the Moths. Here was a man who was absolutely sure of his place in the world.
She fell back until she was close enough to Berjek Gripshod and the others to converse with them. ‘Well?’ she said.
‘Speechless,’ Gripshod admitted. ‘I mean, look at the place – so much stone and so large. How long did it take to piece all this together?’ He shook his head. ‘We were right to come here. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘But we build in stone,’ Ch
e pointed out.
‘Not like this,’ he insisted. ‘New buildings in Collegium are constructed of brick, or perhaps wood and plaster, at least above the first storey. It’s only the grand old structures, the College and the Amphiophos, that are entirely of dressed stone. And that’s only because they date from before the revolution. Our erstwhile masters preferred stone – and so, clearly, do the Khanaphir. And look – every piece is carved. Every piece.’
With all the rest on her mind, after seeing Thalric here in Khanaphes, she had not noticed it. Now the facades of the riverside warehouses and residences came into focus as rank upon rank of elaborate inscriptions. These carvings were hand-sized, square-ish, abstract, and everywhere, arranged in rows as high as a man could reach, on every surface of stone she could see. On some buildings, which looked older, they reached even higher, ascending all the way to the flat roofs. The myriad pictures swam before her eyes, marching for ever and for ever along every stone in an innumerable sequence.
‘I’ve seen similar, and not just on the big mound-fort at Ostrander,’ Berjek continued. ‘I believe they tell stories, even histories, in pictorial sequence, but they’re so stylized as to defy comprehension. So much to study here! Give me another twenty years!’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Give me a Moth-kinden’s lifespan and I’d unravel it.’
Che felt suddenly dizzy, stumbling so that Berjek had to grab her elbow to keep her upright. For a moment she had seemed to perceive something more in the carvings. It was as though she had seen the message behind them, not just a series of drawings but as though words had been scribed there – jumbled words, nonsense words. She felt the world lurch for a moment, on the edge of some revelation that would still not come.
‘Steady there,’ Berjek murmured. ‘The heat, I know. We all feel it.’
The Scarab Path Page 16
