Taki spun frantically out of the way, but the sky was already full of them – everywhere she turned there were frantic, insanely angry insects battering and stooping and attacking everything in sight, and her mind was running over and over with the mantra: You can’t do this. Everyone knows this isn’t how it’s done. Insect against orthopter never worked – the insects were too nimble to be shot, the orthopters proof against the arrows and spears of their riders. But that was wisdom from flying against the dragonfly cavalry of Princep Exilla, over the Exalsee, and these hornets didn’t even have riders to control them.
In these moments – in these last moments, she reckoned – the Empire had taught her something new about fighting in the air.
A Stormreader wheeled past, spinning out of control with its wings still powering, a hornet clinging to its underside, mindlessly jamming its sting into the machine’s guts. A second Collegiate machine, cutting ahead of her, simply crashed into another insect, the orthopter’s blurred wings cutting the creature in two but faltering a moment later, one vane half smashed by the collision.
Taki tried for height, catching a brief glimpse of an Imperial Spearflight weaving desperately through the host – not being attacked but still barely able to navigate the thronging sky.
Got to get clear. She knew she could outrun these creatures with ease, but she was boxed in, insects diving on her from every side, almost brushing wingtips with her as the Esca slipped by them. She had given up trying for targets. Her world had condensed into trying to survive the next half-minute intact.
Bergild kept trying to get above, into clear air, but there were just too many insects clogging the heavens, more appearing everywhere she tried to fly. The sky about her became a chaos of horrific sights: everywhere she tried to fly she saw Collegiate machines locked in combat with the hornets – sometimes two or three of the creatures clinging to a single flier, chewing, grappling, stabbing, heedless that their simple weight was dragging the machines out of the sky.
We can’t fight in this – get on the ground. But her crystal-clear link with the other pilots was cluttered by that surrounding buzz, the deep fear it provoked coming back to her from every one of her pilots. They were losing their coordinated picture of the battle, and losing control.
Then one of her own pilots was screaming, because a hornet had slammed into his Farsphex and had thrust its jagged mandibles through the glass of the cockpit, and perhaps the engineers had stinted on the foul-smelling paint or perhaps the hornets were just mad now, and jealous of anything else in the sky.
Down! she cried out mind to mind, and just hoped the Spearflight pilots and the others would register her intentions. Down, all! Then she followed her own advice, dropping as fast as she could and hoping nothing would get in her way.
She had already lost perhaps one in three of her pilots to the superior numbers of the Stormreaders, and who knew how many she would now lose to the Empire’s own secret weapon. Was this the plan? Whose stupid plan was this?
Then she had broken through into a clear sky, and was dropping, for once in her aviator’s career wanting nothing more than the safety of the ground.
In the moment before impact, Taki had simply lost track of everything, her concentration funnelling down to encompass only the sky directly ahead, trying to turn back for Collegium and hoping that her comrades would reach the same conclusion. This is not a fight we can win. This is barely even a fight.
Then something slammed into her, skewing the Esca sideways in the air, its weight suddenly monstrously loaded to the right, and she realized that one of them had her.
Two hooked claws scratched across the cockpit, and she was limping sideways across the sky, still somehow keeping height and her aircraft’s wings working freely. But then the hornet must have rammed its sting home, because something slapped the Esca hard enough to make Taki’s teeth rattle, and in the wake of that she had no steering at all and the Esca was making a grand slow circle that was going to bring it round into . . .
Into the side of the airship. She had come all the way back.
She wrestled with the stick, but it was loose, all control severed. Then there was a splintering, grinding sound from behind her, and she knew that the beast had started chewing away with its jaws, blindly tearing through wood and metal to get at whatever was inside.
She was inside.
Despite all of this, and her very rational realization that she was dead in any number of ways if she stayed put, it still took supreme willpower to reach for the cockpit release. Even then she had to fight: the single barbed foot the insect had grappled to it was keeping it closed, and she had to put both hands up and push with all her strength to prise it open far enough to let her out.
Out into that busy, hungry sky, and whilst the swarm should not have been able to take on orthopters the way it was doing, it was most certainly well suited for taking living things on the wing.
The side of the airship’s gondola was coming up fast.
With a cry of despair over the loss of her flier, the loss of the battle and her fellows, but most of all out of sheer terror, she squeezed out of the cockpit and abandoned her machine, tumbling over and over into that terrible sky.
Twenty-Six
Esmail had already worked out that they would have been having a very different time of it here without her. These grey woods, the inner forest, this was not abandoned empty ground. Things dwelt here. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that things were remembered here. The landscape was composed of knots and snarls of memory – particularly the memory of Argastos that slowly decayed year to year, like one of the Mantids’ idols, and yet never went away.
The three Pioneers, who should have been breaking new ground ahead of the rest, had seen it too. They clung close to the Empress, divining correctly that if they strayed from her notice, they might never get the chance to stray back.
Esmail had seen a great mantis stalking between the trees, its carapace scarred and battered, its eyes like intricate stained glass. He had seen the rushing shadows of Mantis-kinden all clad in ancient armour – war bands of centuries past, perhaps Argastos’s own followers from when he drew breath and knew the sun. There were others, too, barely glimpsed, and Esmail knew that they must be those unfortunates who had found their way here in more recent times – who had slipped in so easily, without needing even a blood sacrifice to open the way, back before the Mantis-kinden were riled up and the forest suddenly bristled with hostility. He had seen Moths and Ants, Collegiate Beetles, Imperial soldiers: the forest’s many victims, still caught in image, here in the web of Argastos’s thoughts. Perhaps being killed by the Nethyen without would have been a mercy.
And will they see us here, too, those who come after us? If the Empress fails, I am afraid they will.
And that was another reason to stay his hand, should he ever find that combination of courage and motivation to carry out his Tharen orders. For, if he killed her here, there was no guarantee that he was magician enough to find his own way out.
Gjegevey had been leading the way. Seda had more raw power in one fingertip than the old slave had in his whole weary body, but he was wise. He had a skill and application that only years of experience could bring, and he had been guiding them through this tormented forest with patience and care, step by step. Now he leant on his staff, looking well past his time to die, plainly exhausted beyond all measure. Seda’s hands twitched angrily, and Esmail thought she would berate the haggard old man, but she visibly restrained herself, and something unfamiliar and awkward touched her expression. Seen on the face of the Empress of the Wasps, it was hard to recognize anything approaching compassion.
‘Rest now,’ she ordered, and Gjegevey sank down gratefully. Esmail knew he would need help getting up, too. Since entering the forest they had been travelling for so long that it seemed they should have passed every tree within it at least twice. Here, in this bleak place, where the sun never quite rose, the air was chill enough to leach away a bod
y’s warmth and Gjegevey had been funnelling all his fading strength into finding a path for his mistress. He was indeed old, but old was a feeble word compared to just how many years the man must have resting on his shoulders. Esmail knew little of the Woodlouse-kinden save that they had been a Power once, and had declined irrevocably centuries before ever a Beetle thought of revolution. With a jolt, some more of the old histories came to him: had it been the war with the Worm that had done for Gjegevey’s people, left them the hermits and recluses that they now were? And did that mean the ancient magician had his own reasons for being here?
To a mind used to intrigue it was an attractive thought, yet Esmail found that he did not believe it. Perhaps the old man had once pursued double purposes, served more than one master, but, at this faded, trailing end of his life, he was Seda’s creature, and perhaps he was the one man she would actually pause pursuit of her ambitions for. He had, after all, turned her away from the Worm once, if only to seek that self-same Seal again here with Argastos.
Thunder rumbled from the sky above them. That sky was mostly hidden behind the vault of the forest roof and, when it could be seen, coursed with clouds that seemed ragged and decomposing even as they seeped overhead.
Abruptly Gjegevey began scrabbling for his staff, and big Gorrec hauled him to his feet without being asked to. Everyone was now looking up at the sky, and the Wasp magician Tegrec cried out, holding his hands up as though to fend something off.
Something’s coming. Argastos? But Esmail could sense that whatever was on its way now was as alien to this place as they were.
‘We must move!’ the hunched Woodlouse cried. He was trembling all over, and Seda took his arm.
‘Eyes out, lads!’ Gorrec shouted. The Pioneers already had weapons to hand, as did Seda’s remaining bodyguard. Tisamon’s right hand was his clawed gauntlet, of course, and he never took it off. Or can’t, more like.
Gjegevey had doubled his speed, even though he stumbled and skidded over the uneven ground, and around them all the ghosts of the forest flickered and danced, appearing almost too briefly to be registered, then gone in the next blink. A wind had struck up, fierce and unheralded, which clawed at the branches overhead, as if trying to find a way in.
Is this what it was like here when we forced our own way in?
There was something ahead . . . a mound, was it? And, on sight of it, Seda had cried out in triumph—
Then that thunder sounded again, so close, so apocalyptically loud, that Esmail found himself thrown to the ground, stunned by the sheer savagery of the air that shook and jumped with the impact of it.
And, in its wake, everything had changed.
The thunder itself was a poor accompaniment for the soundless shudder of force that rushed through that other forest, and Seda understood that she was following at last. Whilst Seda had been battling her way towards Argastos, she had somehow simply stepped here – had bided her time on the outside, had . . .
Seda tasted the sour triumph of the other’s arrival. Yes, she had won over the Nethyen; she had severed them from Seda’s own purpose.
But my purpose was only to get here – to get to Argastos – and I’m almost there. So close!
And she felt the mind of her enemy like a hot ball of iron, and knew that the Beetle had found her in turn.
‘They come!’ she called. Gjegevey was standing still, looking back. ‘Move, old man!’ she spat at him. He sensed only enough to know everything was now going wrong.
‘Soldiers, destroy them,’ she snapped at Gorrec and the pioneers, while she hauled on Gjegevey’s arm. ‘Come, slave.’ And she found the stab of fear she felt was not for herself but for him. She could defend herself, and he . . . he was withered and frail and, despite her many threats, he was hers, and he had been her friend once. ‘Ostrec – see them destroyed, every one of them,’ for the Maker girl had her own soldiers, she could detect them. Each new set of feet set this unnatural terrain dancing like a spider web, telling her – telling both of them – exactly where the fighters were, marking out the woodland between them like a chessboard. ‘Tegrec, help me with him.’
But she saw now that her intervention was required, or else her troops would have no chance of victory. She saw how it must be done. ‘No, lead him away, take him some place safe, Tegrec,’ she spat the words at the turncoat Wasp, ‘or I swear I will have your very spirit on crossed pikes for all eternity. Tisamon, guard me.’
Gorrec glanced at the Red Watch officer, Ostrec, but the man seemed disinclined to give any orders, just staring off into the grey mist of the trees as though he saw some great truth there. Up to me as usual. The Mantis woman who was Seda’s remaining bodyguard loped past him, the claw of her gauntlet jutting downwards like a dagger blade.
He was no great strategist, but he had led men in a fight before, and this cluttered and gloomy forest was as much ideal Pioneer territory as anywhere.
‘I’ll hold the centre,’ he announced, because it was what he was better fitted for than the other two. ‘Jons, left. Ic, right – flank, strike, fade. Once you’ve engaged I’m pulling back.’
‘She’s not left you many places to pull back to,’ Jons Escarrabin pointed out, hands busy working the winch handle to charge his cut-down snapbow.
Gorrec shrugged. He had a broad-headed axe in each hand and a heavy feeling in his stomach. How many enemy? How well armed? Nothing but ‘They come!’ from Herself. Still, he had known before now that he and his fellows were reckoned expendable. The Empress had not brought them here because she enjoyed their scintillating conversation.
Icnumon the halfbreed had his shortbow out, an arrow to the string, and he slunk off between the trees without a word, reliable as ever.
‘Good luck, Sergeant.’ Jons threw Gorrec an abbreviated salute and was gone, too, stepping away with stealth rare for a Beetle. The Empress was still in sight, behind, with that armoured – whatever it was – standing before her. Not my problem, not right now. Right now, I’m my problem. He crouched down, taking cover leaning against a tree, ready to throw himself at an enemy or out of the way, as circumstances recommended. Many thoughts rose to mind, but he let them pass.
When she passed beyond, through that gate opened by blood – whose blood? – Che realized that she had wooed the Nethyen too well. She was here at the very heart, within reach of Argastos’s barrow – and so was she.
‘The Empress is here! Ready yourselves!’ she managed to gasp. ‘They’re coming!’ Because, of course, Seda would sense Che just as easily and, of course, she would send her followers. No, more than that. Che knew they were coming, as if she could see the forest from above and track each man’s progress by the ripple of undergrowth. ‘There, that way!’ She dragged her sword out, and instantly her three protectors – the Wasp, the Mantis halfbreed, the Beetle – were moving as directed, whilst Maure hung back, with a shortsword in her hand and absolutely no intention of using it.
The woods here were less overgrown, but there was a misty gloom over everything that even Che’s eyes made little headway with. Still, she saw Tynisa clearly, as she rushed forwards, leading the way with her blade – saw Amnon peeling off to the right, moving to intercept some enemy that he must have seen or heard, but that Che could not know about – save that she did. She could feel that dagger-like mind drawing near, drenched in thoughts of blood and honour.
She stood stock still, trembling, having stepped into a world that was crowding in on her with knowledge.
Thalric she had already lost track of, somewhere off in the trees and acting on his own recognizance. She reached for him but felt only a shadow, an echo of him that she could not pin down.
Then the killing began, as swiftly as that. A Mantis woman was abruptly rushing Amnon, breaking from the greying ferns too rapidly for him to bring his snapbow to bear. He caught her blade-arm with one hand and her off-hand spines raked down his breastplate before he cast her aside. His snapbow swung back on its strap and, when she leapt for him again, he had his
sword out, fending off two jabbing lunges. Che felt the woman’s astonishment at finding a Beetle so swift, and yet still strong enough to snap her in half. The Mantis fell back a pace, daring Amnon to follow her, darting in again as he tried to make more distance between them. Che found herself almost rehearsing Amnon’s moves as he made them, even though he was out of her sight, even though she had none of his skill and experience.
Her own hands twitched as the big Beetle twisted at the woman’s next lunge, letting the metal claw gouge a furrow in his backplate. When his sword came in, the Mantis was ready for it, her free hand slapping his strong, lumbering stroke aside – just the sort of artless stabbing she expected from a Beetle – and Che saw the thought as if it had been her own – but then a solid blow from Amnon’s left hand thundered into the juncture of neck and shoulder, sending the woman staggering to one knee.
He did not hesitate, kicking her in the chest with all his strength, enough to send her sprawling six feet away. She was on her feet in moments, but he had his snapbow aimed and the trigger pulled in the same space of time, and the bolt snapped her head back before she knew it.
Che’s attention jumped elsewhere, because Tynisa had found an enemy that she herself had almost missed. To her, he seemed barely there, just as Thalric had become a thing of glass and shadows. This man came to her only through Tynisa’s focus on him: a big, burly Wasp-kinden, almost a match for Amnon, and more than happy to meet Tynisa one on one. He had a pair of huge axes and he danced with them, never letting them fall still, so their whistling passage made a steel maze for Tynisa to step through. She was faster, but the man was an old hand, and Che could read in his defences a long experience of fighting against swift Inapt blades, Mantis and Dragonfly both. Tynisa was forcing him back, evading his explosive counter-attacks, but he turned any retreat in a circle, losing individual steps but never giving any real ground.
And elsewhere: here was a stealthy half-Mantis killer stalking her . . . here was another Wasp – no, what was he—? – watching Tynisa’s fight without stepping in . . . there was the Empress, with Tisamon the revenant as her shield. And behind her, some others, making a crippled escape – but who was so important that the Empress herself would cover their escape?
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