Two of the little reed craft suddenly shot on to the broad waters of the river as though they had been spat out, their occupants poling them with precise grace and astonishing speed. There was a line trailing from one – Che could see it cutting ripples on the water – it was attached to—
It was attached to one of the land-fish, but a creature almost as long as Amnon’s boat. Its maw, snagged by a harpoon head and gaping with fury, could have swallowed Che whole. It powered over the mud and ferns, its stumpy front fins granting it a startling pace, and then sloughed into the river with a bellowing grunt. Amnon’s boat was cutting close, as the big man stood ready with a bow strung and drawn back. For a second the fish was invisible in the brown wash of the water, but something guided Amnon’s hand as he loosed the arrow into the murk, and then the fish leapt to the surface to meet this fresh assault.
They want it in sight of the barge, Che realized, but still in the shallows, where it can’t escape. Amnon and the Mantis-kinden were playing a dangerous game, herding the enraged monster up and down the river bank, not letting it slip into any of the smaller channels, nor vanish into the depths. Time and again it hurled itself at Amnon’s boat, but the Mantis crew pirouetted and sliced through the water, always cutting aside from the creature’s furious charge. Everyone on the boat, Amnon and his crew alike, remained standing throughout, as the big Beetle sent arrow after arrow into the furious beast. It turned from him towards the other boats, those fleeting little reed constructions, but they nimbly skittered out of its path. Once it was too quick for them, its jaws slamming down on a bundled stern. The Mantis poling the boat was in the air at once, wings glittering, as the monster shredded her craft into scraps with mindless rage.
‘What a barbaric spectacle,’ Praeda remarked, sounding disdainful, but she was clutching tightly at the boat’s side. Manny just stared, silently, fingering one of the bows they had been given.
At last it was done. The cornered fish, jaws agape in threat, reared up out of the water, its hide bristling with arrow shafts. Amnon held a spear now and took precise aim, spinning himself completely around to give the cast more force, yet barely rocking the boat as he did so. The heavy-headed lance plunged into the monster’s throat, and Amnon leant forward to take hold of the butt and drive it further in. The great fish recoiled under the shock of it, thrashing down on to the mud, and Amnon took up the bow again. He sighted on the beast’s eye, the arrowhead moving in minute twitches to track the creature’s death throes. His fingers released the string.
Che grimaced. ‘I think I prefer fishing the Collegium way,’ she said weakly.
‘Nonsense,’ Manny declared. ‘Can’t visit a foreign place and not try a few of the local pastimes. String this for me, would you?’
One of their crew took the bow from him and bent it back effortlessly, seeming to turn the curved wood almost inside out before she hooked the string over the notched end.
‘You’re not planning to use that, are you?’ Che demanded.
‘Might as well look the part,’ the fat man said jovially. ‘After all, I hear that fish-hunting is a proper hero’s pastime, and I want it to be said that I did my bit. A reputation for heroism around the city could work wonders’
‘You’re drunk,’ Praeda retorted flatly. ‘Or you’re mad.’
‘I am only slightly drunk,’ Manny assured her. ‘And, as to the other, neither you nor I am qualified to diagnose. Let us hunt the land-fish!’
‘Let us stay close to the bank,’ Che advised, ‘and watch, if you have to. While we’re all on this boat, you’re not taking it near one of those creatures.’
The other boats were splitting away now, some hunting down the channels of the delta, swiftly lost to sight amongst its riotous vegetation, others coursing across the clear water of the river, waiting for game to be flushed out. Che huddled in her cloak. The land-fish terrified her, their bloody fate appalled her. It was a very foreign land she now found herself in.
‘Remind me why we’re doing this again?’ Osgan complained. He had his arms wrapped tightly about both himself and a bottle, but he still looked uncomfortably sober.
‘They wanted the Imperial ambassador to come hunting with them,’ Thalric explained. ‘They gave me a chance to sit on the barge and merely watch, but Marger and I agreed it was not politic to choose that option.’
‘You’re going to kill one of those things, are you? With just a spear?’
‘Spear, sting,’ Thalric said vaguely. ‘Wings, too. We’re better equipped for this sport than our hosts imagine.’
‘I’m not the strongest flier.’
‘So long as you can fly better than a two-ton fish, you’ll be fine,’ Thalric replied. He was conscious of forcing the humour, but it helped. It gave him an act to maintain, which meant he did not have to think about more awkward matters. He was playing the role of Imperial ambassador, upholding the honour of the Empire by showing these savages just how good the Wasps could be at whatever they turned their hand to. That was easier than brooding over his revenge on Totho of the Iron Glove, or reflecting on his recent conversation with Marger.
Marger was up there on the barge, of course, since there needed to be someone to keep an ear open for what the Ministers were saying. The Fly, Trallo, was there, too, ostensibly as a servant of the Lowlanders, but then he was a servant of Thalric as well. He had many pockets, Trallo, and he could take anyone’s gold. Useful, but not a man to trust.
At Thalric’s direction, the two Mantids guided their boat into one of the channels. There were several reed punts moving ahead, hunting out a land-fish of suitable dimensions. Smaller beasts flopped and grunted on the mudbanks, staring back at the intruders with their huge eyes, raising bright red fins in warning.
A chorus of whistles from somewhere ahead signalled the scouts finding suitable quarry. With a word, Thalric bid his crew urge the boat forward. ‘I think Imperial honour will be satisfied by our driving one of the beasts into the river,’ he decided. ‘Let Captain Amnon deal with the bloodletting.’
They noticed the commotion ahead, then the little boats were hurrying back towards the river, while the humped back of a fish, fin raised like a banner, came surging through the shallow water after them. The Wasps would be too late, Thalric guessed, but he would be able to make a show of it, anyway, perhaps burn a few holes into the beast as Amnon dispatched it. His boat reached the fish’s wake, abruptly jolting over the disturbed water so that he had to use his spear to push himself off a stand of reeds and keep his balance. He saw others rushing out amidst the green, following the hunt on foot as they dodged between the giant horsetails and rushes.
He had turned to order his crew to chase the beast when the image of the runners struck a chord in his mind. Where have I seen that? followed by, What was I seeing? Those dashing figures, skipping swiftly between mud and greenery, walking on the water.
The first arrow knocked the Mantis at the bows right off the boat. Thalric saw him arch backwards, mouth open in silent surprise, and then vanish into the waters with barely a splash. Thalric’s wings flared, and he kicked off from the rocking craft. Another arrow sped across the water, and he heard Osgan cry out.
He saw them clearly then, or some of them. They were skipping over the water, crouching low from cover to cover. He had assumed they were the local Mantids at first, but they had long limbs and short bodies, all angular elbows and knees. They wore cuirasses of darkened metal scales, and they all carried bows. He saw three, in that brief moment, and one was aiming up at him already.
He let his sting speak for him, the old reflexes coming back. The arrow shot off to one side of him as he shifted in the air, but his own aim was true, the impact of his fire striking the man between neck and shoulder. In an instant the assassin was gone, his Art dying with him, the water receiving him at last.
The other two were shooting then and the air offered nowhere to hide. Thalric dropped down to just above the river’s surface, hovering near the boat. ‘Get moving!’ h
e snapped, but the Mantis woman had snatched up a bow, a little recurved thing, and was kneeling at the stern to sight up on some target invisible to Thalric. His heart lurched when he spotted Osgan lying groaning in the bottom of the boat. There was an arrow all the way through his upper arm, digging an inch into his ribs.
The Mantis let fly with her arrow, and at the same moment a shaft struck Thalric in the side. He was not wearing his army-issue mail, but the copperweave was hidden beneath his tunic. The arrowhead – broad-bladed to cleave flesh – did not pierce through, but the impact knocked him into the water.
His wings were abandoned at once, and for a moment he could do nothing but splash. Then his feet found the bottom and he reached up to drag himself into the boat.
The killers had broken cover, were racing towards them over the water, shooting as they came. One of them sprang backwards, with an arrow punching through his mail. The last assassin leapt up from the surface of the water onto the boat’s side, drawing back his bowstring again and aiming straight at the Mantis.
From river-level, Thalric put a hand out and loosed his sting, catching the man at a range of five feet, splintering his bow and melting his mail, hurling him back off the boat into the water. When Thalric cautiously lifted himself up and into the boat, there was no sign of any of them, all their bodies reclaimed by the river.
Skater-kinden from Jerez, he named them, acutely aware that there could be more of them nearby, and another team of three would just about settle matters here. Skater-kinden? It was a long way from Jerez to Khanaphes, but of course there were Skaters in service to the Empire, with all the skills and the temperament necessary for the assassination game. That someone had sent them this far afield said a lot about how much they wanted Thalric dead. And if I had stayed in Capitas, what might they not have sent against me?
He had grown complacent, stopped thinking like a Rekef officer, and it had come close to killing him.
‘Get this boat back on the main river,’ he snapped. ‘If we’re to deal with assassins, let’s have witnesses too.’
But the Mantis woman did not move, peering still into the tangled ferns. ‘There are more,’ she said, nocking another arrow. ‘Between us and the rest of the hunt.’
Fly, thought Thalric, and it would be simple enough – save that even in that short space between here and the barge he would become a target for any halfway competent archer. It would mean leaving Osgan as well. Crouching low in the boat he studied the injured man. Osgan was shaking, skin gone pale, but he was conscious still.
‘Now,’ the Mantis said, and stood up suddenly to loose her arrow. Thalric raised his head briefly, saw a confusion of movement, heard a cry. Another arrow zipped past, a foot over his head. He saw the Mantis sighting up again.
‘Out of the boat,’ she urged abruptly. ‘Into the trees.’
‘What …?’ Thalric started saying, but she kicked hard at the boat’s side and it capsized neatly, dumping its two Wasp passengers into the murky water. Thalric, one hand still clawing at the curved hull, felt it quiver twice, knew that arrows were hammering into it from the far side. The Mantis woman had sprung into the air, her wings flickering. She loosed another shaft at a target he could not see, dodged in the air as a return shot sped past her. The arrow that jutted from her side was as unexpected and unlooked-for as a magic trick. She hissed in pain, fell towards the overturned boat, still reaching for her quiver.
‘Go!’ she spat, and Thalric waded two steps, then turned to haul up Osgan, who was spluttering and splashing fitfully. The man cried out as Thalric jogged the arrow through his arm, but there was no time to do anything about it. Thalric dragged him through the water, sometimes with Osgan’s help and sometimes despite it. The Mantis woman landed beside him, just as he reached the nearest stand of ferns, and she shoved Osgan forward into the green and the mud. She collapsed shuddering beside him, the spine of the arrow in her side jerking in irregular time with her breathing.
Thalric crouched, watching, but he saw nothing more. That the assassins were still out there he had no doubt, but the same leaves now keeping him alive also hid his persecutors. Osgan gasped loudly, and Thalric hissed at him, ‘I know, you’re shot. Keep quiet.’
‘She’s dying,’ Osgan’s voice responded, sounding more controlled than Thalric would have expected. He glanced back to see the other Wasp sitting up with his back against the segmented trunk of a horsetail. Pain was written in sharp lines about his eyes, but it had chased the drink away at least.
The Mantis was still lying on her back, her teeth bared in defiance at something Thalric could not see. The arrow had penetrated deep but it was that final effort of getting her charges to cover that had finished her. Thalric reached over and took her hand, and she gripped it fiercely, the spines on her arm flexing.
‘Still between us … and the river …’ she got out. ‘Further in …’
‘I know,’ Thalric interrupted. ‘Don’t speak.’
She coughed violently, and he felt it racking through her, holding on to her hand until the final spasm and the quiet that followed told him she was dead. It was no more than the Rekef man had always tried to do. He had always done his best for those that served him.
‘What now?’ Osgan asked, with a tremor, but some vestige of the career quartermaster of old had dragged itself to the surface and was holding the man together for now.
And indeed what now? The thought had come to Thalric again that he could just trust to his wings. He could flit from green to green until he had the open river before him, and then he could skim for the cover of the boats and hope that the assassins valued secrecy over success. But that would involve leaving Osgan here alone, wounded and fair game for any killer or predator that found him.
What would the Rekef man in him do? And he knew that same Rekef man had possessed one oft-boasted and overriding virtue, which was loyalty. Even though the Rekef itself had been torn out of the heart of that man, the loyalty remained.
‘Further in, like she said,’ he told Osgan, and draped the man’s good arm over his shoulders, sinking calf-deep in mud to lever him to his feet. ‘We’ll take a curved path, head back for the river somewhere closer to the city.’ Looking about him, searching for bearings in this baffling maze of channels and fronds, Thalric kept his voice confident for Osgan’s sake. ‘And when we get back, I’ll give Marger something worthwhile to put in his cursed report.’
Twenty-Two
They were still trying to roust a second land-fish for the hunt when Che saw it, glimmering amid the foliage on the far side of the river as though it was a ragged cloth caught amongst the leaves.
No! she thought, but that part of her, the part inside that was helplessly anchored to him, was already responding. ‘Take the boat across,’ she heard herself say. She was pointing right towards the shuddering blur that only she could see. ‘Take it there.’
She heard Manny say, ‘That’s more like it,’ and knew that they were also heading for where the hunt was. I’m doing it again. It’s the Fir-eaters all over again. Only this time it was two bewildered academics she was dragging into danger alongside her. Can I not just turn my back?
She could not. It was not even love, now. She was cursed. Her life, her understandings, had been taken from her. Chasing this ghost was the only way she might ever get them back. And what am I willing to pay for that, at the expense of others?
The ghost was gone but she had seen it, felt it. It would come back to her. Whatever it wanted, it wanted here. The Mantis crew tacked their boat to what passed for a riverbank, barely more than stands of reeds and ferns jutting from the winding water. Manny put an arrow to his bow and tried to look heroic, while Praeda huddled as low as she could manage in the boat, trying to look bored. Che stared into the shadow-maze of the delta and searched for Achaeos.
Something was moving out there, she saw. There were quick flashes of rush-boats speeding, she heard shrill whistles and, across the river, Amnon’s boat turned and began heading towards
them.
‘I think …’ she started, and then a land-fish burst through the reeds not ten feet ahead of their boat, careering over a mudbank and into the river. Che toppled back into the bottom of the boat, on to Praeda, as she heard the distinct twang of Manny’s bowstring releasing the arrow.
‘Manny!’ she shouted. ‘Tell me you didn’t shoot it!’ She levered herself up, saw the land-fish now rearing and plunging past Amnon’s boat, being herded by the smaller punts of the Mantids. Manny stood at the prow of their own vessel with the bow in one hand, mouth open.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just … it startled me. I shot the river, I’m afraid.’ He turned a sheepish smile on her, but just then one of the Mantis crew gave a warning shout, pointing.
There had been a line attached to Manny’s arrow, and it was pulling taut, unspooling from the bottom of the boat and whipping into the water faster than Che could watch. She met Manny’s uncertain gaze.
‘You shot something more than the river,’ she said, but then the line went suddenly slack. Manny gave a great sigh of relief.
‘Well, whatever it is—’ he started, before Praeda cut him off.
‘Whatever it is, it’s stopped moving away. It’s coming back, you fool.’
The Mantis crew had snatched up short-hafted spears, as Che stared at the murky waters of the Jamail. What have we woken?
It struck them from the opposite side of the boat, the narrow wooden hull almost kicked over by the force. One of the Mantids took to the air; the other crouched at the stern, holding the boat with one hand, and spear raised high. For a second there was nothing but churning water, then segmented arms began hooking on to one side of the boat and the creature was doing its best to climb in with them. Che saw a rounded carapace break the water, and below it a small head with fist-sized faceted eyes the colour of fresh blood and a beak like a shortsword. Manny’s arrow jutted from the joint between the creature’s head and body. The barbed arms scrabbled at the wooden hull, and then made a great effort to climb. Surging out of the water, it was twice the size of a man.
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