For the first hundred strides, Thalric had been running, heading out of the hall of tombs and back the way they had come. Even as Che bolted after him, she heard his footsteps stop as he took wing, skimming along into the pitch dark, finding his way by the roiling confusion of sounds ahead of them.
She had never been a runner but she did her best. Her wings flicked and flared, casting her forward in awkward jumps, and when she touched the ground each time she kept pelting along at top speed, still falling behind him but keeping him in sight. Then he had passed the last of the blue-flamed fires and was into the utter pitch, slowing to keep his course straight. She kept up her mad dash after him, still moving with all the speed she could muster. She was just about keeping level even as the next shrill scream coursed past them.
Too loud, the thought was irresistible. Too loud in this dead place. It was not a matter of respect but prudence. Too loud in the silence, and Thalric was coursing too fast over all the trampled ages that had lain here for so long. The thought that came to her in the midst of her hopping, awkward flight was, We will wake them.
There was light ahead, bright lamplight a hundred times more wholesome than the pallid blue of the braziers. She saw that a ring of Wasps were waiting for them, with two men in the centre, one of them crouching over the other. Thalric had gone high, wings carrying him near to the ceiling. They will spot him at any moment.
Motion caught her eye. She saw another man there, standing beyond the lamplight. He was a stocky Beetle-kinden with a shaved head, but the crossbow in his hands belied any claim to being Khanaphir.
In the dark, she thought, he sees as I do, and Thalric cannot see him.
‘Thalric, drop!’ she yelled at him, with all the breath she had left. She would remember, later, only that he did not hesitate, banishing his wings and falling from the air on to his feet just as the crossbow bolt ripped above him in the dark, to be lost amongst the buttresses.
Then: ‘Go! Go get Osgan!’ she called, even as he hesitated, and she herself was charging the Beetle man, her sword already out of its scabbard. He saw her coming, but had time only to cast the crossbow away.
Thalric lunged into the air and his hands were already wreathed in golden fire as he hit the lamplight. His sting was his strong Art, burning further and fiercer than most. Even though they were waiting for him he still surprised them. In his mind was the one simple thought: They need Osgan alive, to trap me. They will keep him alive, so I have a free hand.
The closest man loosed his bolt too early, the fire skittering beneath Thalric as he launched his own. He saw the Wasp thrown from his feet by the force of the impact, his armour melted through and holed, a fist-sized burning mark in his chest. Thalric did not slow, turning quickly and diving in the air just as the others loosed at him. He let fly another two bolts, missing both times, then was past them, diving fast into the darkness again. And how good is their leader now? He heard the words even as he landed again, feet skidding on the slick stonework as he turned himself around. ‘After him, you two!’ came the order, and Thalric was waiting for them, fingers spread and eyes hunting out their silhouettes.
In the darkness, Che drove in with her blade, with no time to think: I am killing another of my people. He was Rekef in her eyes, and that removed any trace of kindred. She ran him through without mercy.
Or that was the plan. The Beetle threw himself backwards but one arm was already sweeping for her swordblade. She felt the flat of her sword taken aside by his armoured forearm, and then he punched her with his other hand.
Even though he was moving backwards at the time, the blow hit far harder than it should have done, stopping her short with her head ringing. He followed up, grappling for her sword hand and driving a solid shoulder into her chest, knocking her backwards. She swung at him again but he was too close. The guard of her sword struck him in the face and gashed his cheek, and then he backhanded her hard enough to rattle her teeth. His fists were weighted with gnarls of bone about the knuckles, a Beetle’s Art-given weapons.
She tried for distance, hoping to get him at the end of her sword again while ducking aside from his next blow. He did not give her a moment’s peace, already grabbing for her wrist to get the sword off her. She cut his fingers once as he misjudged the distance, but even that did not slow him. His expression was implacable, a man performing a difficult but routine job.
I am really not a fighter. I forget that. She broke away sideways, hacking at his head, but he got an arm in the way. The blade bit into the leathers he wore under his Khanaphir clothes, but did not draw blood.
In the darkness of the far side, Thalric’s hand flashed fire twice, three times. One of the men barrelling towards him abruptly tumbled out of the air. The other twitched aside at the first flash, and then was on him, faster than either of them was ready for. He had his sword out but Thalric skipped aside from it, and shoved an elbow painfully into the man’s jaw. For a moment they were grappling, each trying to find a clear moment for either stab or sting. Then Thalric dragged his opponent down and drove a knee as hard as he could high into the man’s ribs, at the point where the armour of the light airborne left off. He heard at least one crack, as the soldier hissed in pain and fell away. Thalric sent a stingbolt after him but it flew wide, the man’s wings taking him back into the dark.
Running out of time. Thalric let his own wings lift him, and was scudding back towards the lamplight and towards the diminished enemy. The leader in the centre had a sword out now, Osgan kneeling at his feet. Thalric extended a hand towards him, and swooped in with all the speed he had.
In her own fight, Che stumbled back three paces where she had intended one, catching the man by surprise. For a moment she thought she had him. The Beetle was at her sword’s end and she drove forward triumphantly. It had been a feint, though, to draw her out. He was already moving aside, after reading her perfectly. One solid hand smashed down on her wrist, the blade spinning clear of her numbed fingers. The other slammed for her jaw, but hit her shoulder instead, hard enough to take her off her feet.
She landed flat on her back, momentarily unable to suck in breath, one hand scrabbling uselessly across the slimy floor for a sword that was well out of reach. The Beetle dropped on her, planting a knee solidly between her breasts. He had his own sword out now, held point down. In a swift, businesslike motion, he raised it to stab her in the throat.
A metal ball bounced and rolled nearby. The Beetle man hurled himself away from it with instinctive fear, whilst Che just stared. Only later did she realize that he must have thought it was a grenade.
The sphere suddenly clicked open, its top half sliding into the underside to reveal the dancing flame of an oil lamp. A quisitor’s lamp for exploring caves and ruins, Che recognized it. It was a common enough toy in the markets of Collegium. But who?
The Beetle man had come to the same realization, as Che thought, Well, we’re both lit up like a bonfire now.
She heard the solid crunch of the crossbow bolt, as it took the man in the small of the back and split two inches out of his chest. His face at last wore an expression, although it was hard to categorize. He dropped.
She cast a moment’s glance towards the Wasps, and saw Thalric swoop into the lamplit circle and kill one of the soldiers there with a single blast of his hands. The other Rekef spread out, as if trying to get clear of their leader, but Thalric’s palm was now right in line with Sulvec’s forehead. They froze, waiting for orders, while Sulvec locked eyes with Thalric. He had one hand on Osgan’s collar. The other held the sword directed at his prisoner’s neck.
‘Let him go.’
‘Give it up, Thalric,’ Sulvec said. ‘Marger, take his sword.’
‘Not a move,’ Thalric warned, and Marger stopped, his own hands ready to sting.
Sulvec smiled.
Che had stared at them for far too long before going for her own sword. Even as her fingers touched it a boot kicked it down the hall. She found herself looking up into the face of A
ccius the Vekken.
‘What …?’ she said, utterly thrown. There was nothing readable in his expression. With a deft motion he scooped up the quisitor’s lamp and flicked it shut.
He grabbed her, finding her in the darkness by simple memory. Even as she recoiled instinctively, he had grasped her sleeve and yanked her towards him, off balance. His arm was about her throat, tight enough to hurt. She pried at it, but it was like iron. Ant-kinden strength. Even putting all of her weight on it there was not an inch of give.
‘Thalric!’ she got out, a strangled squeak. ‘Help!’
But as the cry rang out, it was Osgan that moved. He abruptly lunged upwards, his head striking directly under Sulvec’s chin. For a moment he was free. A stingbolt lanced over his shoulder, and Thalric returned the favour with both hands, making the Wasp soldiers scatter and scorching Marger’s arm.
Sulvec snarled furiously. His shot at Thalric was close enough to singe his hair. His other hand drove towards his prisoner.
The blade sank into Osgan’s gut, all the way to the hilt.
Thalric felt it as though it was plunged in him too, the sudden severing of his hopes. Not after all this! Not after the swamps, after dragging him across the city, all that thought in a fractured second. Osgan gasped, eyes wide, dropping to his knees with blood welling about the sword-hilt. Thalric had seen wounds like that, had inflicted a few. They were agony, and they meant death in almost every case, and never a quick one.
He bared his teeth, torn. He heard Che cry out again, more distant now. Don’t make me choose— The stingshots began to burst around him. He made an abortive move towards Osgan, felt one shot sear a line of fire across his leg. His own hands were blazing, aimed he did not care where.
Che.
He let his wings spring to life and hurl him backwards into the dark, after her. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He was Thalric, loyal to those who served him and obeyed his orders. He did not abandon them. But Che, I can’t leave Che.
Into the utter dark he went, and heard Sulvec bellow for his men to give chase. The crackle of stingshot was all around him. He risked a look back and saw two men coming for him. To hell with the darkness. He gave his wings their rein, keeping to where he imagined the centre of the hall was, hands outstretched for the walls. The blue fires are ahead, yet not so far ahead, and Che will see me coming. She will see me and warn me.
Marger had darted off after Thalric, as had one of the others. The second soldier crouched by the writhing Osgan, ludicrously looking as though he was checking that the man was all right.
‘What are you doing?’ Sulvec spat at him, already at the lamplight’s edge to follow Marger.
‘Putting him out of his misery, sir,’ the soldier said.
‘Don’t,’ Sulvec hissed. ‘Get after them.’ There was sudden movement from behind and he whirled round. It was only one of the soldiers who had followed Thalric, after the man’s first lunatic swoop across their torchlit space. He had an arm about his ribs and was grimacing in pain.
Something moved, everywhere around them. They all felt it save for Osgan, whose world had now contracted to the gash opening his stomach.
Sulvec froze. It was hard to say what had just happened. It was impossible, in fact. He did not have the words or the concepts. There had been a shudder, through the stone and in the air and in his mind, like an earthquake that had not moved a physical thing, but had shaken a sense of threat into their very bones.
‘Go …’ Sulvec started, and then he watched blue flames suddenly flash into existence down the hall, way beyond their own lamps. They illuminated no lamp-lighter. He turned round, seeing that the same ghostly braziers had sprung up the other way down the hall, too, leaving only a span of darkness immediately around the Wasps. ‘Stay …’ he got out. ‘Marger will do it.’ His throat was so dry that his voice was just a croak.
‘I saw something, sir,’ one of his men whispered, pulling closer. At his feet Osgan was whimpering with each new breath he took. The sound gave Sulvec courage.
‘That will be Marger, no doubt,’ he said, forcing the quaver out of his voice. It had better be Marger. The three Wasps had now drawn together. Their lamps guttered unnaturally low.
Sulvec crouched low over Osgan’s body, noticing their lanterns dip, one by one, and fail. Something was moving in the darkness but he looked away from it, looked to the floor. He dearly did not want to see what it might be.
Thalric’s sudden dash had caught up with them just as Accius had hauled his prey into the room of tombs, lit up by the braziers that cast the Vekken’s skin in cobalt.
Thalric dropped down just six feet from the Ant, sword in hand and left palm extended. Che stared at him, her own hands still uselessly clutching at the Vekken’s arm. She noticed a glitter in the corner of her eye and realized that Accius had drawn his own blade.
‘What …?’ Thalric’s eyes narrowed as he tried to understand. ‘What do you want with her? Where did you even come from?’
‘Vek,’ Accius said, his arm tightening so that Che almost choked. She stamped hard on his foot, but his boots were steel-toed and it got her nowhere. ‘Vek requires answers.’
‘Then seek them from me—’ Thalric started, but just then the Ant hurled Che aside, hard enough to bounce her off the wall. A stingshot danced through the air where Thalric had been.
Thalric had ended up on the floor, reacting to some instinct he could not name. He turned on his back, hands out. One of the Wasps went straight overhead, the other dropped straight on him.
Marger? He was fighting Marger. The man tried to pin him down with one hand and a knee, his sword drawn back. Thalric was stronger, though, and better at this kind of back-alley fighting. He twisted round, put an elbow into the side of Marger’s head, and threw him off. They both loosed stingshots at the same time, and both missed.
‘Run, Che!’ Thalric snapped. He saw the Beetle girl rise shakily. The other Wasp was coming back fast. Accius was loading his crossbow unhurriedly, with a soldier’s calm professionalism.
‘Run!’ Thalric shouted again, and jumped on Marger, feeling the heat-flash of the man’s sting warm his own side. He put a fist into the man’s face, feeling Marger’s nose shift, and then he had his own sword drawn back. Marger snarled in desperation and slung both of them aside, colliding with Accius as he loosed his crossbow. The bolt vanished into the darkness and the second Wasp had now landed, arm outstretched for a target as Marger and Thalric wrestled.
Accius hit Thalric. He had probably not been aiming at either Wasp in particular, but Thalric had the bad luck to get in the way and the Ant’s fist hit him in the stomach like a battering ram. Through three layers of silk, he felt every link of his copperweave armour dent into his skin, and he sat down heavily.
Marger turned his hand on to the Ant, but Accius grabbed his belt and one arm and threw him a full ten feet with a bone-jarring crash. Art-given strength was virtually boiling in waves off the Ant-kinden.
The Vekken turned to find the other Wasp with his hand outstretched, but out of reach. That was when Che appeared out of the dark behind the threatening figure, armed with Accius’s own discarded sword, and stabbed him in the back.
The stingbolt was loosed, but flew far over Accius’s head. As the Wasp dropped Che stabbed him again for good measure, leaving the sword buried between his shoulders. Thalric saw that her hands were shaking.
He backed off from the Ant, ducking to collect his own sword again, prying it from the oozing ground. ‘Che, come here,’ he ordered quietly, then looked around for Marger, saw him upright. The Wasp cast a half-glance behind him, and his expression of betrayal revealed, more than any words could, the fact that he had thought there were reinforcements behind him.
‘Thalric,’ he said wearily. ‘Thalric, you’ve got to die. Let the Beetle go, let the Ant go, I don’t care. But they’ll just keep coming for you. At any cost. You’ve got to die.’
‘I disagree,’ Thalric told him. ‘To the pits with Imperial polit
ics.’
‘Thalric, this isn’t politics,’ Marger stressed. ‘I saw the orders, they were sealed by General Brugan himself. Thalric, if you don’t die, none of us goes home alive.’ He took a deep breath, steadying himself against one of the tombs.
‘Brugan?’ Thalric felt a strange chill. He remembered his own briefing with the general, that had sent him here. ‘Why?’
‘Brugan’s currently having this whole city destroyed just to cover your death,’ Marger snapped. He bared his teeth in utter frustration, crooking his fingers into claws. ‘What did you do? What did you do to piss him off that much? Why won’t you just die? ’
Che glanced sideways, and saw that Accius had retrieved his crossbow, and had recocked it even as the Wasp spoke. He was aiming it at no one, not yet. His eyes flicked between the two Wasps, his face expressionless.
Marger was now approaching, step by dragging step, limping slightly from whatever hurts he had taken when Accius had thrown him. Thalric hefted his sword, levelled his hand. ‘Marger …’
‘Then do it! ’ the other Wasp shouted. ‘Because they’re going to kill me anyway, if I fail, and probably even if I succeed. Why did you have to go and mess with the General of the Rekef? ’
It was obvious, in retrospect, that he had been going to charge just then, whatever the consequences, but instead he stopped, jaw dropping, staring past Thalric and the others. A small, strangled noise emerged from him.
Accius followed his glance, and Thalric heard the Ant hiss, turning and raising his crossbow. With that Thalric could do nothing but glance behind him, despite all his training. Once he had glimpsed what was there, he had to turn to face it too. Although it brought him closer to Marger, he started backing away. They were all of them backing away, the four intruders seeking what dubious retreat they could in the face of what they saw.
‘Oh,’ Che breathed, watching the apparition walk ponderously into view. It was a woman ten feet tall, and massively proportioned, her frame a cascade of curves running down shoulders, breasts, stomach and hips, voluptuous with fat and yet unencumbered by it. She walked with the assurance of kings, and her hair was long and black, lustrous with the gleaming slime that coated her. She wore only a few folds of cloth about her loins, but she would have been fit for the court of the Empress. Her face – with a majesty no Beetle or Ant or Wasp could ever muster – was that of the effigies on the tombs, the dancers atop the pyramid, the forbidding giants of the Estuarine Gate.
The Scarab Path Page 57
