Heirs of the Blade sota-7

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  Tynisa only distantly heard the cry of warning, but her sword came up and back without the need for thought, catching a blade as it rammed for her back, and turning the strike aside. The scouts had now sensed their chance, or else they feared the wrath of the Salmae if they did nothing, and they were dropping down all around, some with bows and some with swords.

  An arrow spiked Mordrec’s shoulder and he went down on one knee with a curse, the other arm flung out to sear its way across the bowman’s chest. Another archer loosed a shaft at Thalric, but hurriedly, the shot flying wide despite its close range, and then Dal Arche shot the man in the back, shouting, ‘Run for the woods! We have to move!’ In truth, by now only Tynisa, the two Wasps, Dal and Soul Je were still left.

  Tynisa let her rapier twist about the sword of the scout attacking her, flicked it aside with a circular motion of her wrist and then jabbed into the opening she had created, pricking him through the throat. The cavalry had meanwhile regained their courage, and a couple were plucking lances from the holsters beside their saddles. She risked a glance behind her, gauging the distance to the treeline.

  A bowman was there, the string drawn back to his ear and the arrowhead directed at her face. Even as she spotted him, he loosed.

  She felt the impact like a hammer blow, but it had fallen on the guard of her blade, the weapon and her arm both finding their way by the age-old Weaponsmasters’ partnership. The impact drove her sword hand back to her chest, and the archer’s jaw dropped as the arrow sliced to one side of her, deflected from the curved quillons.

  So it was me, and not him. She killed the bowman even while registering the thought, leaping into a lunge that drove her blade through the chitin of his armour, barely slowing. Then she was running, Dal Arche helping Mordrec along beside her; as Soul Je and Thalric sent arrows and stingshot at the oncoming riders.

  Abruptly the trees were above and around them, the riders behind them slowing and turning aside, and then they were running uphill towards tumbled stone walls.

  Within the trees, the bows were of less use, which was just as well, as the enemy were bringing up considerably more of them than the brigands could muster. The cavalry would be next to useless, too, unable to charge or manoeuvre between the trunks. There would be a moment when the front-runners of the attacking force hesitated, waited for their fellows, fearing some trap, perhaps brigand reinforcements. It was enough to give Dal Arche’s people a headstart on reaching the ruins.

  The airborne scouts were ahead of them, though, and a half-dozen had the wit to try and claim the ruin before the brigands could get there. The tower itself had been a circular structure, its height undeterminable now, but the lowest storey remained almost intact, surrounded by a broken area of fallen stone coated with moss and entwined by creepers. The fleetest brigands arrived just in time for one of them, a lean Grasshopper, to take an arrow in the throat from a Dragonfly archer crouched in the doorway. The others then scattered, taking cover amongst the trees. More arrows sped from the pair of narrow slit windows flanking the door.

  Tynisa took in the situation the moment she arrived. Dal and Soul Je were shooting from within the trees, but the doorway lent cover enough that they were getting nowhere. She grimaced – but somehow it turned to a grin.

  A moment later she was running forward, her sword levelled before her. She saw the man in the doorway draw back his string, focusing on some other movement within the trees, before one of his fellows shouted a warning and he saw her. His expression was all she could ask for, fright and shock making him twitch away, the arrow flying harmlessly high. Another shaft from one of his comrades hissed past her like a breath of air, and then she was amongst them. Her sword lanced the closest man under the ribs, but she just carried on running, plunging into the gloom of the interior while dragging her victim round until her blade slid free. The men within were dropping their bows, reaching for swords or daggers instead, but the walls close about them gave nowhere to run to. Her mind plotted a pattern on the dusty, leaf-blown floor and she let her feet trace it, treading in a jagged star with each point punctuated by blood. The rapier was never still, flicking and dancing through the air like a silver insect, fending off their strikes at her, leaping over their guards to pierce their armour of leather and chitin as though it was nothing but cloth. The last man got by her and ran through the doorway out into the open, only to meet Thalric’s sting that hurled him off his feet.

  The brigands raced inside. Che limped in next, leaning on Maure, and finally Mordrec aided by Soul Je. It was now crowded company there, but even so it was plain that several of them had not made it. Aside from Dal and Soul, even now trying to extract the arrow from Mordrec’s shoulder, there were only half a dozen brigands left: two apiece of Grasshoppers and Dragonflies, a halfbreed and the Spider, Avaris.

  ‘They’re hiding in the trees now,’ someone called out, and bandits moved to the slit windows, arrows nocked. Tynisa herself went to the door, waiting for her next challenger. Overhead the sky darkened, the evening coming on fast. They had been constantly on the move for most of the day.

  And I don’t feel tired, not at all. She suspected that she would, though, as soon as the rush of it all had drained away, but for now Tynisa felt as though she could run for ever.

  The first wave to come against them included a fair number of noble retainers amongst the levy, their armour glittering in the last rays of the sun. They met arrows and stingshot from the defenders – and then they met Tynisa in the doorway.

  For a moment she felt fear: not fear of them but that the spectre of her father, or that murderous piece of her father that had been left behind, would descend on her again and make her his creature. Instead, she felt her training, her skill, her heritage and her blade all converge within her, a council of war that was resolved in moments, and she swayed away from an arrow and then met the first blade, flicked it aside with a small motion of her wrist and then laid open the wielder’s forehead, beneath the rim of his open helm, sending him staggering backwards with blood in his eyes. She cut aside spearheads as they quested for her, darting to gash hands and arms, to sever fingers, making a mockery of their reach. Then another noble was rushing at her, a Dragonfly woman with a fixed look of hatred, and Tynisa let her try to strike, let the sword cleave empty air, and then put an elbow in the woman’s eye and ran her through as she stumbled, dropping her neatly. The longer she held the door, the more damage the others could do through the arrowslits, and now Mordrec had hauled himself over to a window, so that stingshot was crackling from both sides.

  The enemy fell back, the levy giving way first, and their betters following suit rather than be left exposed.

  The next wave, after a pause of almost half an hour, was a throng of armed peasants: a mob of desperate, frightened Dragonflies and Grasshoppers lacking armour save for quilted jackets or the odd cuirass of chitin scales, and armed only with spears. Tynisa steeled herself, and took a lot less joy in staving them off, but the confrontation was a brief one. With no inbound arrows, other bandits had the courage to back her up with bows, and the wretched peasantry broke and fled a minute after they had reached the door. By then the dark had fallen, and she knew that, whilst Dragonfly eyes were as good or better than hers, their Grasshopper levy could not see well at night.

  And besides, she suddenly considered, how many of them are left?

  It was an unexpected thought, but a salient one. After all, how many had Salme Elass been able to muster for her grand campaign against the brigands? And how many remained with her now, of her guests and their retainers, and whatever peasants she had pressed into service along the way? Oh certainly, she would still have a force that greatly outnumbered the defenders, but even so, not vast by the standards that Tynisa was used to thinking of: not the resources of an Ant city-state or a Wasp army, or even a Collegium merchant company. Not enough to waste.

  Enough to kill us, she had to concede, but the odds she faced were simply extremely bad, not actually overwhelm
ing.

  That thought made her laugh, startling her fellows, but then her reputation amongst them was for bloody-handed madness, so this did not seem out of character.

  Tynisa stood watch, peering into the gathering darkness and waiting for Salme Elass’s next assault. Occasionally she thought she heard wings overhead, but no onslaught came from the trees.

  How many of them have we killed, in all? she wondered. With her blade to aid them, and with the great doomed assault Varmen had made on the enemy camp, the brigands had certainly given far better than they had received. This was helped by Salme Elass’s lust for vengeance, which had made her throw her people pell-mell at them, in whatever numbers could be mustered, rather than conserving her strength. Still, that vengeance would mean the end of the bandits, however long it took. She would keep spending the lives of her own people until nobody was left, and most of all until Tynisa herself was dead.

  If I walked out there now and gave myself up… She glanced back at her companions: Che she would die for certainly, Thalric, probably not, and she barely knew Maure. Of the others, they were desperate, violent men, and scarcely worth a grand sacrifice.

  She found, though, that she liked and respected them, their leader most of all. She had seen him shepherding his people all the way from Leose to this forsaken place, and decided he was a man to admire. If the Commonweal could have recognized such qualities in a man of common blood he would no doubt have become a war hero, an officer, a tactician. But all that life had granted him was to be a leader of criminals.

  Che appeared at her elbow. ‘I’ll take over now.’

  ‘You get your sleep,’ Tynisa urged her.

  Unlike the meek girl she remembered, Che managed a smile with about a hundred years of pain and wisdom in it. ‘And you’re so fresh, after a day running and fighting? We’ll need you tomorrow, so go get something to eat with the others, then sleep. And be thankful the nights are still long.’ When Tynisa opened her mouth to protest, Che added, ‘And I can see in the dark, like a Moth.’

  Her tone was almost commanding, imperious, and Tynisa found that her natural reaction was to nod and obey. But you and I will talk, about what has happened to you.

  The bandits had stoked up the embers of a fire, and the walls around them helped a little to confine the heat. They all looked ragged and drained, but they were passing around jerky and grain cakes, and someone had a little pot reluctantly coming to the boil. To her amusement they were making kadith, Soul Je producing a roll of sad little dry bundles to steep in the water.

  ‘How the other half lives, is it?’ she asked, elbowing herself some room and sitting down.

  ‘Kadith is an ancient and inviolable ritual,’ Soul Je replied softly, almost reproachfully.

  ‘And besides, what are we saving it for?’ added Dal Arche. The brigands produced a motley collection of drinking vessels, from clay bowls to tin cups that still bore the stamp of the Imperial army.

  Thalric was carefully bandaging Mordrec’s shoulder with torn cloth. The Wasp’s armour, metal plates sewn into cloth, had taken some of the force, but the arrow had still driven in some way.

  ‘Well,’ he said, after the kadith had been shared out, just a half-cup for each, ‘this will be it then?’

  There was sober nodding about the fire.

  ‘We’ve given them a run, though,’ one of the Dragonflies remarked.

  ‘We were close, too,’ added the other. ‘They won’t forget us.’

  ‘Small comfort,’ Thalric muttered.

  ‘Oh?’ Maure challenged him. ‘And when the next leader comes along to rouse up the underclass, is it no consolation at all that the work of those gathered here will inspire them?’

  Thalric gave her a bleak look. ‘Rouse up the underclass? And how did that ever solve anything?’

  ‘Ask Collegium that question,’ Che called back from the doorway where she sat watching, wrapped up in cloaks and her breath steaming. Tynisa saw Thalric about to argue, but then he stopped and, to her surprise, he tacitly conceded the point. A moment later Che squeaked – there was no other word for it – and then got out, ‘Alarm! I mean someone’s coming! Attack!’

  They were up and to the windows instantly, peering into the darkness.

  ‘I don’t see… yes, yes I do,’ Dal started, nocking an arrow. ‘Is there… just one?’

  ‘Wasp-kinden,’ Che replied. ‘Approaching, walking with hands closed – Gaved? It’s Gaved.’

  ‘And who’s Gaved?’ the bandit leader demanded.

  ‘He works for the Salmae,’ Tynisa said, and added hurriedly, ‘so they may have sent him with a message. Especially if he’s on his own. He’s no hero.’

  ‘We see you,’ Dal Arche yelled. ‘What’s your business?’

  ‘Just to talk,’ came the Wasp’s voice, from the night.

  ‘Let him talk from out there,’ suggested one of the brigands, but Tynisa shook her head.

  ‘Let him come in,’ she decided. ‘I know him.’

  They looked to Dal questioningly, but the Dragonfly nodded. ‘Any tricks and he’s a dead man, even if he’s your lover or your brother,’ he warned.

  ‘Approach, Gaved,’ she said, pitching her voice sufficiently to carry out of the window. He did so cautiously, until the faint light of the fire touched him. For a moment he stood just beyond the doorway, plainly debating the wisdom of entering, but then he ducked under the lintel and stepped inside.

  ‘Salme Elass sent you?’ Tynisa observed. She, Che and Thalric had stayed to talk with him, while the rest of the brigands returned to their fire, save for Dal Arche, who remained by one of the windows, plainly not convinced that this might not be some kind of distraction.

  ‘She did and she didn’t,’ said Gaved. He looked tired, having no doubt been kept busy trying to track them down across half of Leose Province. ‘She sent out all her scouts, and there are a dozen of us around this place, making sure nobody slips away.’ He shrugged. ‘But I came to say goodbye.’ He looked from face to face, seeing matching frowns. ‘The game’s changed. I’m lighting out, while I can.’

  ‘But Salme Elass…’ Che started uncertainly.

  ‘Will take it badly, I suspect. She took it poorly enough when I didn’t pitch in against Varmen, as though I could somehow conjure up some kind of Imperial magic to counter him. They want me to fight for them. Because I’m a Wasp, they want me to be a soldier.’ His eyes flicked about the ruined tower’s interior. ‘I guessed Varmen didn’t make it, after there was no sign of him yesterday. They don’t know for sure, though. They can’t be certain he’s not going to rise up again. They never found his body.’

  ‘But what about Sef?’ Che interrupted

  ‘I sent her to Prince Lowre, he’ll keep her safe enough until I can find her again. I knew, before the start. I knew the deal was going sour.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tynisa said.

  He blinked at her, taken aback. ‘Not your fault, girl. Maybe you stirred the pot, but Salme Elass has had this planned from way back – stir up the brigands, get them marching in strength, put them down, and then swallow up Rhael under cover of keeping her own lands safe. You helped, of course, and certainly the bandits put up a better fight than she’d guessed, but her plan’s still on track right now. Except of course she’s down a son, which might complicate her plans for keeping up the dynasty.’ He sighed wearily. ‘They’re going to come for you soon after dawn,’ Gaved stated flatly. ‘You must know that already. You’ve cut a dent into her numbers, with all your fun and games, but she’s not giving up, not now, not ever.’ He looked over at Dal Arche. ‘You’ve given her a better run than I’d ever have guessed, but it ends here – you must know that.’

  ‘You say it as though we planned this,’ Dal said dourly.

  Again Gaved shrugged. ‘I wish I could do something to help, but right now I’ve got my hands full just helping me. I have to go and dodge my fellow scouts now, and most of them can see in the dark.’

  ‘Luck go with you, Gaved.�
�� Tynisa put out a hand and he took it cautiously, clasping wrist to wrist. It was, she reflected, a Lowlander gesture, therefore unlikely to see much use amongst Wasps.

  After he had gone, and Che had taken up watch again, Dal turned back to his fellows. ‘When they come tomorrow… if we can beat them off just once, then we’ll sally out,’ he suggested. ‘Those that can get away, go. Split up and lose them in the trees.’

  ‘They’ll be overhead and waiting for that,’ said his halfbreed follower.

  He shrugged. ‘We’re at the end of the wire now. Maybe someone will get clear. But wait till tomorrow for that talk. Let’s have something more cheerful now. A song, anyone?’

  One of the Grasshopper-kinden had a little instrument, a holed gourd small enough to be cupped in one hand, but she played something soulful on it, pleasant in its way but hardly qualifying as cheerful. After that the Spider, Avaris, told them some unlikely story about ghosts and buried treasure, and told it well enough to take their thoughts away from their cramped and grim surroundings. Then the other Grasshopper tried for a song, with a voice that was strong and pleasant at first, but the refrain seemed inexorably to speak of things past, things lost, time’s hand closing the book of days, until a quaver came into the singer’s tone, and he let his words fumble to a halt.

  ‘Ah, well,’ said Mordrec, into the ensuing quiet. ‘This is it, then. I’m glad we gave them the run in the end, but all we’ve done is move our prison cell eastwards a ways. No last-minute schemes, Dala? You always did have a head for them.’

  Dal Arche’s expression suggested not. ‘I’d rather Ygor was with us now. He was always a good man in a scrape.’

  Maure took a deep breath. ‘And Varmen, too,’ she said, and there was an odd tremble in her voice as she said it, suggesting something more than mourning.